#How To Avoid Bitterness After Divorce

[cagcd]

While I'm still nerding out about X, the chain Johnny's wearing has a ring in the middle and you bet your butt that's his wedding ring ...

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Mind The Gap - Just life II

But I love that man like nobody can

Toto Wolff x fem!reader

-> masterlist

Summary: The crisis in the Wolff’s den has a surprising and beautiful ending that nobody has expected.

Warnings: angst, love, fluff, mentions of sex, George appearing again, The girl Wolff being described as “baby girl, your girl, your daughter”, not gonna spoil the whole story here

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: Because you commented so nicely on the last chapter of this universe, and it was like a fuel for my writing, here’s the next part. I really took my time with it, trying to make it nice. Thank you all for your support, it means so much to me, your comments make my day. ❤️

Playlist: My Baby by Japanese Breakfast , Wildest Dreams (karaoke version) by Taylor Swift

—

“I just want to talk about the possibilities… just, don’t- don’t send those papers. When I decide to take legal action into this, I’ll let you know. Thanks.”

Toto stood on the balcony of your apartment, looking over the coast, watching all the yachts moving slowly around the sea, he sighed. Gripping the railing, his chest hurt, he was in deep pain, not knowing what to think about the behaviour of his wife.

“Morning…” your hoarse voice took him out of his mind, turning over to look at you. His heart shattered even more at the sight of you. Sadness written all over your face, dark circles under your eyes and you were clearly shaken.

He gestured at the kitchen table for you to sit there. With a silent nod you took a seat, watching him, how his face was twisted in hurt and sorrow.

“Where is our girl?” You asked, looking around, your heart clenching.

“Nanny took her outside.” He responded plainly, his fingers brushing over the paper of the news of “Monaco daily list”. Your eyes fell on that and you visibly shifted in your seat.

“So… today’s news is filled with your infidelity. Pictures where you kiss George. Where you sit in that cafe and he’s eyeing you like… like I am only supposed to.” He spoke with a calm voice.

“Toto- I deeply regret going for that coffee with him. I thought he wanted to chat like an old friend. That maybe he came to his senses after all those years of avoiding us. I was wrong. I don’t want him to be the cause of losing my life with you.” You tried desperately to say all those words.

Toto pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, then looking into your eyes again. “I know how he hurt you in the past. How scared you were for him to find out about us. But… I can’t afford to have my life dragged through dirt in the press. I have an image to hold. And you have too as my wife.”

You let out a small frustrated huff. It was always about the public image. You knew what you’re getting yourself into, yet it hurt that he cared so much more about how he'll look in the press than about your feelings.

“Yeah, of course…”

He noticed your bitterness. “You should carry the responsibility for your actions. Even if George didn’t do what he did, I still can’t wrap my mind around why you met him. I just… I can’t. I don’t understand. And I need time to think about it.”

“Toto. I told you. I regret it. I’m sorry. It was a mistake, I don’t know what I thought. I was stupid, okay?”

“Don’t call yourself stupid. You're an intelligent woman.”

You smiled a little. “Sorry.”

“Look… let’s take some time off between us. There’s still two weeks until summer break is over, and I want to spend them alone. To recollect my thoughts and to work. It’s really chaotic and hard this time, I’m under so much pressure.” Toto ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, looking tired.

There was a small hope in your heart. “So, you don’t want to divorce me or…”

He hesitantly reached for your hand grabbing it in his, squeezing gently. Looking into your eyes deeply. “I’m not gonna give up on us because of some prick who’s not able to get it together.”

That made your heart full again, you smiled with tears in your eyes. “Take any time you need, just come back to me.”

He gave you a small smile. “We’re gonna get through this. Just… we need to be careful. The most important thing is that it can’t affect our daughter. She’s the absolute priority above everything else.”

You agreed, the baby girl must not suffer from the pain of her parents. “Can I… can I be with her or will you still keep me apart from her?”

Toto frowned sadly, pang in his chest from how he could feel you being hurt. “I’m sorry for how I acted last night. I really didn’t think it through and I hurt you. I won’t keep you from our girl. You’re the best mother in the world and I don’t want to ruin this bond. We’re family. We’re staying together. I don’t want to lose you. I would even step out as a team principal if it was needed. This is what I got for my obsession with Verstappen.”

You were on the verge of the tears, your heart beating fast against your rib cage and you shook your head. “No, I want you to stay at Mercedes. You’re practically the engine of that team. And yeah, you were acting like crazy because of Max, but you managed to get him. And now it will pay off. If George was that great, he’d surely convince you about his performance and he’d stay with the team. But the reality is elsewhere.”

“Sadly, it’s true. I really adored him, he was my golden boy. But then with Kimi, I saw things differently and I needed to think about the future.”

“You know the best what you need to do. So don’t worry. I’m sure that you’re doing the right thing. And well… our lives can’t be that simple everytime. We’re strong. We’re family.” You squeezed his hand with a reassuring smile on your face. You wanted to hug him, to just shut the world around and be with him. But you gave him space.

—

It was about the week later when you felt off, you were more tired, uncomfortable and nauseous. It looked like the stress was taking its toll on you.

Your daughter was unbelievably calm, not giving you a hard time when Toto wasn’t around. She didn’t even ask for him as she spent so much time with you, clinging onto your side.

One evening when you were in the bed after cleaning yourself and tucking her to the bed, she came to the bedroom, her stuffed animal close to her chest. Climbing on the bed, she just sat there watching you sleeping. You were so exhausted that you fell asleep with the TV on, also you didn’t close the balcony door so the summer breeze was flowing through the room.

“Mommy…” your daughter caressed your cheek gently with a whisper.

Maternal instincts kicked in and you were awake in an instant looking at her. “What is it, sweetie? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

She slid under the covers beside you, placing her head on your chest. “I miss you.” Her whisper nearly made you cry.

“Aww, sweet girl.” You brushed your fingers through her dark hair, which she inherited from her father.

She then moved to place her head on your belly, as if she was listening to something. You watched her curiously, quirking your brow.

Her small hands dipping into your skin, she was mesmerised by something.

“I’m gonna be a big sister.” She blurted out, smiling softly.

You were surprised and your mouth went wide. “What…?”

“The baby, here.” She nuzzled her head more into your belly. For a moment you felt your breath stopping, the million thoughts reeling through your head - the nausea, exhaustion and the pain in your body. It finally clicked and made sense. Fear washed over you, all of the problems with your past pregnancies present in your mind again. Your baby girl felt your distress and she sprawled her arms around your belly, placing small kisses against your skin.

“I love you, mommy.”

Now you were crying. You carefully sat up against the headboard and you looked at her, making a core memory of this. It was clear that she was that clingy to you because she might feel the baby in you. Children are such sensitive creatures.

“I love you too, darling. What about we get on the trip tomorrow? Maybe see the daddy on his yacht, hm?”

Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Daddy!”

You laughed softly, it was for the first time since his departure to hear her calling for him.

—

Staring at the stick laying on the vanity, your mind was spinning already. It was very early in the morning, your daughter was still sleeping in the bedroom. You wanted to be sure.

Toto wanted a big family with you. But after the girl was born, you didn’t have time to think about any more additions to your family, you just simply lived your life. Counting the weeks back you tried to get the date of conceiving, and it was that race weekend in Italy when you got a little more drunk than usual and managed to seduce Toto in the huge rented Mercedes, when you were teasing him that there’s not enough space for love making. And you forgot about protection, thinking that nothing can happen.

Naive.

Alarm on your phone indicated that it’s time to look at the stick.

Chest tightened, you leaned closer to the counter, eyes sliding over the stick, the positive result glowing like crazy.

Your hand shot to your mouth to gather your surprised whine, you were crying. You were pregnant.

Baby girl stormed to the bathroom, startling you. “Mommy! You’re not sleeping!”

Quickly you brushed away your tears, kneeling on the ground to be on her level. “Mommy couldn’t sleep. Do you want to see something?”

She furrowed her brows in a cute way with a nod. You showed her the stick and she curiously looked at it. “What is it?”

“That’s a pregnancy test. Mommy peed on it a little to see if she’s having a baby or not. And this came back positive, so you’re gonna be a big sister.” You smiled at her, her small face turning into awe.

“I knew it!” She grinned, jumping a little on her spot.

You placed the stick on the vanity and took her into your arms. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, do you know that?”

She nuzzled into your neck with a soft giggle. “Can we see the daddy now?”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling softly. “Of course. Daddy is the centre of our universe, isn’t he?”

—

Evening with dark clouds stretching across the sky made Toto feel uneasy, his phone buzzing with this never ending sound, then finally he decided to invite the guest who was demanding his presence.

George arrived at Wolff's yacht, a smirk playing over his lips and Toto was already pissed. They sat at the deck at the table, he was watching George with his arms crossed over his chest and furrowed brows from anger.

“Thanks for wanting to listen to me. Anyway, where’s your wife? I heard something about divorce?” George had the audacity to chuckle mockingly.

Toto held his stoic composure, he didn’t want his anger to slip from his control. “There is no divorce. And I won’t talk about my family with you. What do you want to discuss?”

“Look, I might seem a little crazy but who wouldn’t be? I’m on the verge of keeping my sanity because of your obsession with Max. It was always like that. Even though I did everything, it wasn’t enough.”

“You simply can’t convince me anymore that you deserve to stay in the team. You can’t even win a race anymore. Where are your pole position Saturdays, where has your consistency gone? You’re costing me more money than you bring in the house. You must understand it, George. And you played me dirty, you tried to ruin my family, and that’s an unforgivable mistake.” Toto talked with a firm voice, his eyes cold with no mercy.

George tried to play on his heart strings, to act like a lost puppy. “But- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I was- I’m- look, I’m going through the hard times right now, my fiance breaking up with me, it’s hard. So you can’t blame me for things I did.”

Toto couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Look at you, you can’t even be responsible for your actions. I’m so disappointed in you. I can’t even look at you and not feel disgusted. I forgave you for those things you did to my wife when you were together back then, because I tried to see the good in you, and that everybody makes mistakes when it comes to love and relationships. But this stunt you pulled, it's a planned out strategy and I don’t want you near me or anybody else anymore. You won’t be racing for Mercedes from now on, and await the call from my lawyer. I’m done playing nice, George.”

George had his lips formed in the thin line, realising how bad this situation got for him. He pursed his lips a bit, furrowing his brows, getting up from the seat. “You’re gonna regret this, Toto.”

“I think I won’t. Get a grip of yourself, George. I wish you luck, you’ll need it.”

After that George stomped on the spot and then quickly walked off the yacht.

—

Next day Toto sipped his morning coffee while looking over the coast on his yacht in the dock in France. It was an hour car ride from Monaco, he didn’t want to be far from his girls but still enough for him to be alone with his thoughts. He missed you and your girl. You were his whole world.

His phone rang with a well known number. “Wolff… hm… okay… that’s great. I want to press charges against him. I have a lot of other things that you can use. Just don’t get my family involved. It’s my business.”

When he talked over the phone he noticed the familiar car stopping at the parking lot of the dock and he raised his brows in surprise when he saw you and your girl walking towards the yacht.

“Send it to my email, you have my permission to do what’s necessary. Have a nice day.”

He just slid his phone to his pocket of his shorts when the baby girl climbed the yacht stairs running straight to his arms. “Daddy!!!”

“Oh, baby, what a surprise.” He took her up in his arms, her small arms hugging his neck while she giggled happily.

You followed her, standing there a few feet away with a small smile. Toto could say that something was different with you, but he didn’t want to poke into it. With your daughter in his arms he walked to you, hugging you.

“We don’t want to bother you, Toto. Just.. we missed you.”

“That’s absolutely okay. I missed you too. I was thinking about coming home tomorrow anyway.” He smiled, cupping your cheek softly. You noticed how he was refreshed and relaxed.

“I need to tell you something.” You sighed nervously, looking at your girl who promised not to blurt something out and she was keeping her promise.

“Well, okay. Me too.”

The dread washed over you and he noticed. “Don’t worry. It’s good news.”

“Uff, mine too.”

—

The girl was playing with some toys on the deck while you sat tangled in his lap. Your heart was full, your stomach fluttering at his closeness, your body clingy as hell.

“So, what’s the news, sweetie?” He broke the silence, looking down at you.

“Ehm… do you remember how we had rented that huge Mercedes back in Italy a few weeks ago?” You brushed your fingers over the collar of his shirt nervously.

Toto furrowed his brows in confusion but then he smiled smugly.

Taking in your blushing face from how drunk you were, he was close, guiding your hips up and down relentlessly. Your moans echoed through the limited space of that car, your hands gripping on his shoulders, ecstasy controlling your body.

“Oh… of course. A night to remember I guess.”

“Fuck- I’m gonna fill you, love. You won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Everybody will know who you belong to. Who can have this body anytime- god!”

“So… it looks like we have a little souvenir from that night.”

He was silent for a while, growing impatient at his own oblivion, but then he realised what you were saying.

“Oh… Oh! You mean…?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Toto placed his free hand over his mouth, hiding the wide smile, his eyes glistening a little with tears of happiness.

“That’s definitely a souvenir for life. Oh my…” his hand travelled down on your stomach.

“I need to see a doctor to confirm it, but I'm definitely sure about it, because, well, I’m showing already.” you bit into your lip with a chuckle.

He looked at you with a little smirk. “Show me.”

You didn’t hesitate, getting from his lap to sit on the table in front of him, rolling your dress up to show your little belly. Toto was absolutely taken by you, his large hands spreading your legs to be between them, his gaze resting on you.

You chuckled at his expression, finding it funny.

“You’re absolutely breathtaking, love.” He breathed out, leaning close to your belly to place a gentle kiss over it, nuzzling with your skin for a while.

“I’m so happy, Christian.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Lifting his gaze at you, he had a full blown smirk on his face. “You know, you always get pregnant when you call me that… you should be careful, young lady…”

You were a blushing mess, he really knew how to make you flustered. “I love you.”

“Oh, I can’t even describe how much I love you, babe.” He placed another kiss over your belly and again and again.

“Mommy! Daddy!” Your daughter ran towards you, climbing on the seat to Toto. When she was at Toto’s lap she reached her small hand to place it on your belly, her giggles filling the air while he held her so she couldn’t fall in the process.

“Baby! Baby!”

“Yes, sweetie, you’re gonna be a big sister, huh?” Toto smiled, feeling full of happiness and joy of his family growing again.

—

Spending two more days on the yacht, you almost forgot about the news Toto wanted to tell you. When you arrived back to Monaco, you went to the doctor to confirm the news and now you were pinning another ultrasound picture on the fridge in your apartment. Toto was finishing his work for the upcoming Dutch Grand Prix when you knocked on the door of his home office.

“Come in, darling.”

“I don’t want to bother you, but… you didn’t tell me that news on the yacht.” You took a seat in front of his desk, looking at him.

Toto narrowed his eyes at you, pursing his lips a little. “Yes, I forgot. It was about that George situation. I threatened the media that shared photos with you and him that I’ll sue them if they won’t take it down, so they did, that’s the first. Then I pressed charges against George, for stalking and harassment, for potential danger he put my family through. That’s the second. And finally… I dropped him from the team immediately, and I signed Max from now on and he’s gonna make a debut at Mercedes mid season this weekend, it’s really symbolic. So that’s a third.”

You sat there with your mouth wide open, you couldn’t even find the right words. “Wow. That’s… shocking?”

“I’m just doing what any man should do. Protecting my family and my business.”

You stood up walking around the desk, to sit in his lap. “I’m so proud of you.”

“And I’m proud of you, at how you dealt with this shit. It wasn’t easy. And I’m so fond of you, you can’t even imagine.” He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you closer. Your mouth left a relieved sigh, it was finally over, all the madness around George was gone and your relationship with Toto was maybe a lot stronger than before.

—

“So, what’s the big deal?” Rosa sipped her coffee, even though Toto called his kids over for a fancy dinner in their apartment, he wasn’t fond of his kids drinking alcohol near him.

You all sat around the huge dining table in the spacious kitchen, enjoying the meal and cupcakes. Benedict was showing Jack something on his phone when Rosa kicked one of them under the table to get their attention. Your baby girl was sitting on her chair next to Toto, of course.

Clearing your throat slightly, you took a glance at Toto and he gave you a simple nod with his serious expression. “Well… we just wanted to spend some time together. As a family. It’s really rare to gather together with our busy schedules.”

Rosa knew you pretty well over the years. She was there for the main events of your relationship with her father so she wasn’t the one to fool easily. “Drop the bullshit.”

“Rosa!” Toto scolded her, Jack laughing a little along with Ben and the baby girl looked at Toto with a simple: “What is bullshit, daddy?”

“Ehm… fine. Well… we want to announce something and we don’t want you to read it on social media.” You smiled softly at all of Toto’s kids.

“You’re getting a dog!” Jack exclaimed with joy in his eyes and the baby girl just furrowed her brows at his obliviousness. Even though she was three years old, she had a personality already.

“Mommy has a baby in her belly, you stupid.” She rolled her eyes dramatically.

“What?????” Ben just blurted out in shock.

Rosa nearly choked on her coffee. “Oh, okay?”

Toto grabbed your hand under the table, to relieve your stress but maybe more for his own relief of nerves. As he watched the scene unfold, he didn’t know what to do - to scold his youngest daughter for her behaviour to her brother or calm Benedict down and erase that knowing smirk from Rosa’s face.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be a father.” Toto sighed defeated. You looked at him with an amused smile, noting how he was acting dramatically.

“Again.” Rosa chuckled jokingly.

Ben smiled smugly. “I didn’t know that you wanted to have a whole formula one team just with your kids…”

Toto was crushing your hand under the table and you placed your other hand over it to calm him down with your touch. Looking over his kids, you grinned. “Let’s have those amazing cupcakes, what do you think? I think that your father needs some rest.”

“No rest for the wicked for the next few years, I guess…” Rosa murmured amused.

“Rosa!” You and Toto exclaimed together a little louder and others just laughed in happiness.

—

Dutch Grand Prix

There were some rumors about George’s doing, he tried to get a seat in other team, he was that desperate that he even tried to negotiate with RedBull who lost Verstappen mid season, but Toto made sure that his actions were well known amongst the paddock, to have his reputation and mainly future ruined. He also made sure that you’re safe as a family, so he hired private security, guarding you from the shadows to not distress you more than you already were in the past. You didn’t question anything, being simply happy with everything he did for you, because he knows the best.

Crowd went nearly crazy when Max won his first race for Mercedes. He stood proudly on the podium, looking down at you and Toto. You stood beside your husband while your hands rested under your small belly, that was another thing that made the crowd wild.

Toto had his hand over your shoulder, standing all proud and confident, very happy about how his life turned.

His gaze went to you, taking in how you were glowing, your smile shining. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You turned your head to him. “Oh… you old flatterer.”

“I’m not that old, young lady.” He huffed with furrowed brows.

You laughed, leaning towards him to kiss his cheek. “You secretly love it, when I call you that.”

“No way.” His hand ended on your waist, pulling you to his chest.

“Or should I call you daddy?” You whispered playfully.

He quirked his brow, looking down at you with a smirk. “Oh. That’s new, baby.”

“I think my back needs some massage, daddy.” You chuckled, kissing him again.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, liebling.”

—

It was around Christmas when you sat in the rocking chair in the nursery, heavily pregnant, caressing your baby belly, when Toto knocked on the door gently, not to startle you.

“Love, there is a package for you. It just came.” He handed you a huge blue box with a ribbon. It looked like another designer gift you received this pregnancy from all the sponsors that Mercedes had.

You smiled and took it from his hands, opening it carefully. Toto stood there watching you, just in case, his expression unreadable.

With the lid away, there were little socks, a stuffed animal and the onesie with “The Wolff” on it and a small round box with roses tucked in it. You chuckled in confusion but then you spotted the card with a note.

“Wish you and your family the best. Nothing can change what I did to you. I’m sorry. GR”

Staring at the card, Toto grew impatient. “Who sent it?”

You handed him the card and smiled a little with a soft relieved sigh. “From George.”

Toto read it with furrowed brows but after a while he softened, taking a step towards you leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Maybe there is some hope for everyone in this world to change a little bit.”

“Who knows…”

—

Please don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

-

Tags: @mimisweetz

[cbeargyu]

hi! can i make a request of husband beomgyu pls 🥹 love you as always <33

second chance

summary: after weeks apart and a looming divorce, a tearful call from beomgyu leads to an emotional reunion. through painful honesty, soft memories, and tender promises, you both choose to love again.

pairing: husband!beomgyu x wife!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, slow burn, marriage reconciliation, established relationship

warnings: mentions of divorce, emotional breakdowns, crying, soft intimate scenes (suggestive not explicit), hopeful ending.

wc: 9,3k

notes: anon, thank you for your request T-T beomgyu as a husband is such a cute concept, I love him so much, these days I've been so obsessed with him, as you can tell, he's the one I've written the most fanfics about HAHAHA but really, I can't let him go, I hope you like this fic🩷

the second you heard the door unlock, your heart sank. not from fear, not even from fury anymore—just from the unbearable weight of disappointment. 2:47 a.m. the digital clock on the wall blinked mockingly in the silence. your legs were stiff from sitting too long, your arms folded so tightly across your chest they almost numbed your skin.

beomgyu walked in quietly, carelessly, like it wasn’t the third time that week he got home long past midnight.

he looked up, and for a moment, he froze. “you’re still up?”

you didn’t move. “yeah. shocking, huh?”

he let out a soft sigh and closed the door behind him, dropping his keys in the little ceramic bowl you’d both picked out together on your honeymoon. “we stayed late. my boss brought everyone drinks.”

you laughed under your breath, but it was bitter and sharp. “again?”

“it wasn’t like that,” he mumbled, toeing off his shoes. “you know how it is. if i want a shot at the promotion, i have to—”

“what?” you interrupted, your voice calm but taut like a stretched wire. “kiss ass? let him walk you around like some lapdog while your wife waits up, thinking maybe this time he’s in a ditch somewhere? or maybe—just maybe—he’s fucking someone else?”

he straightened up sharply. “don’t do that.”

“don’t do what?” you tilted your head, your expression unreadable. “don’t say out loud what’s been sitting in my throat for months?”

“you know damn well i wouldn’t cheat on you,” he snapped, finally facing you head-on. “i’ve been busting my ass for us. for this house. for our future.”

“and what future is that, beomgyu?” your voice cracked despite you. “we haven’t kissed in weeks. you don’t even look at me when we’re in bed. you roll over, you sleep, you wake up, you leave. when did we stop being us?”

he walked past you, his face hard, avoiding your gaze as if it burned. “i’m tired, y/n. we both are.”

“so that’s it? you’re tired?” you followed him, your steps heavier, breath catching in your throat. “we used to be a team. now we’re just… roommates who occasionally fight.”

he turned slowly, exhaustion etched deep in the lines under his eyes. “i don’t know what to do anymore.”

you looked at him for a long time. really looked. he was still your husband. still the boy who walked you home from school in the rain, who held your hand during every hospital visit your mom had, who cried like a child on your wedding night because he couldn’t believe he got to marry you.

but he was also someone else now. someone closed off. hardened.

“maybe we should separate,” you said, and it landed between you both like a gunshot in a silent room.

his lips parted, but no sound came out.

“just… for a while,” you added, as if softening the blow would make it less real. “i’ll go to my parents’ place in the morning. take some time to think.”

beomgyu looked down, his fists trembling by his sides. and then, slowly, he nodded.

“if this marriage is hurting us more than helping us,” he said hoarsely, “then maybe… yeah. maybe it’s the right thing.”

you didn’t cry. not then. your throat burned and your chest felt like it had caved in, but no tears came. maybe because you’d cried them all out on nights like this, waiting and waiting, hoping he’d still fight for you.

he didn’t beg. didn’t ask you to stay.

he just turned away.

when the sun broke through the blinds, the house felt like a ghost town. you barely said anything as you stuffed a few bags, folding clothes like you were packing for a short trip instead of leaving a life behind. beomgyu helped, but in silence. his face blank, his movements mechanical.

he walked you to the car with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“you should take the car,” he said, handing you the keys. “it’ll be safer. i'll manage.”

you stared at him for a long time, hoping—just hoping—he’d stop you. say something. ask you to give him one more day. but all he did was give you a sad smile.

“take care,” he murmured, barely audible. “let’s think about everything. properly. maybe some space is what we need.”

you bit the inside of your cheek so hard it tasted like iron. “yeah,” you said, your voice cracking. “maybe.”

you didn’t look back.

the drive to your parents’ house took forty minutes. but it felt like you were crossing continents. the entire world blurred outside your window as you clutched the steering wheel like a lifeline. every traffic light turned green for you—no stops. no pauses. just movement.

when you pulled into the familiar driveway, your hands were shaking.

your mother opened the door before you even rang the bell. maybe she’d known. maybe mothers always do. you didn’t say anything—you just collapsed into her arms, burying your face into her shoulder as the tears finally came, violent and unstoppable.

“oh, my love…” she whispered, stroking your hair. “you’re home.”

you clung to her like a child, sobbing harder than you had in years. twelve years. twelve years with beomgyu. how do you start to forget something that was your whole life?

��noona?” a softer voice called from behind.

you turned and saw jungwon standing there, already taller than you, his eyes wide and worried.

he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you tightly. “it’s gonna be okay,” he said with that naive, youthful certainty. “you’re gonna be okay.”

you laughed through your tears, kissing his forehead. “you’re so tall now,” you whispered, trying to smile. “when did that happen?”

“started high school this month,” he said, proud. “i’m not a baby anymore.”

you ruffled his hair, your smile wobbly. “you’ll always be my baby brother.”

and for a fleeting second, the weight in your chest lifted.

when the sobs finally slowed, and your mother’s arms loosened just enough for you to breathe again, she gently cupped your face and kissed your forehead.

“go lie down, honey. you must be exhausted,” she said softly, brushing your hair back like she used to when you were little. “your room is ready.”

you nodded, barely able to answer. your eyes were sore, your body heavy, and your heart… your heart felt frayed in ways you hadn’t even begun to understand.

you walked down the familiar hallway, feet padding against the cool tiles. everything looked smaller now—narrower, dimmer. like the house had aged with you, quietly, patiently waiting for you to come home.

you stopped in front of your old bedroom door.

it had been over seven years. seven years since you last turned that doorknob. seven years since you packed all your things and left with beomgyu, full of hope, your heart bursting with love and plans and dreams. you hesitated for a moment, almost afraid of what you’d find inside.

but when you opened the door, it felt like stepping into a memory.

everything was exactly as you’d left it.

the pale blue curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. your bed was neatly made with the same faded sheets you used in high school—soft cotton, patterned with tiny constellations. your desk sat untouched beneath the window, the surface bare except for an old lamp and a few dust-free trinkets. the shelves were empty. the repisas above your bed were clean, but void of the books and little figurines you once adored.

the air smelled faintly of lavender, of clean linen and something sweetly nostalgic. the sunlight filtered in, casting quiet shadows on the floor, painting soft lines across the blank surfaces.

you stepped inside slowly, your hand brushing against the smooth edge of the wooden desk. your fingers trembled. your chest felt hollow.

“i always kept it clean,” your mother said from behind you, her voice low and warm. “just in case you ever needed it again.”

you turned to look at her, eyes stinging. she smiled gently and stepped forward, fixing a corner of the bedsheet like it had even needed fixing. “didn’t have the heart to change it. not even the curtains.”

your throat tightened.

“everything’s gone,” you whispered, walking over to the empty shelves. “it used to be full.”

“you took your life with you,” she replied, resting a hand on your back. “as it should be.”

you nodded, staring at the barren walls that had once held photos, posters, love notes, your high school class schedule… now they were just walls.

“you can put things back, if you want,” she added. “or leave them like this. it’s yours, however you need it.”

you didn’t answer right away. you walked over to your bed and sat down slowly, the mattress creaking softly beneath you. it felt both familiar and foreign—like hugging an old friend you hadn’t seen in years.

“i don’t even know what i need right now,” you said finally, staring at the floor.

your mom leaned down, kissed the top of your head. “then don’t decide anything tonight.”

she left you there in the silence, in that sacred, untouched space that had once been your refuge from the world. and now, again, it was.

you lay down slowly, curling up on your side, the same way you used to after long school days when the world felt too loud. the tears came again—but not violently this time. they came slow. quiet. like raindrops on a forgotten window.

twelve years.

you were sixteen when you met beomgyu. seventeen when you told him you wanted forever. twenty when you moved in together. twenty-three when you married him. and now… now you were twenty-eight and sleeping in your childhood bed, wondering how everything that once felt like fate had slipped between your fingers like sand.

you stared at the ceiling, your fingers curled into the pillow.

somewhere, back in the apartment you shared, beomgyu was probably lying awake too. maybe staring at your side of the bed. maybe not. maybe already letting you go.

but you weren’t ready to let go.

once your breathing returned to something steady and the tightness in your throat dulled into a quiet ache, you wiped your face with the back of your hand. the room still smelled like childhood, like comfort, but now it carried a tinge of sorrow too. you stood up from the bed, deciding to distract yourself, to at least put away the few things you’d brought with you.

you started with the closet.

opening it felt strange—like opening a door to the past, like stepping into something that had once been yours but had lived without you for years. the hangers were empty, the shelves dusted and bare. but down at the bottom, tucked into the corner where the light didn’t quite reach, you saw them.

boxes.

you blinked, frowning. boxes?

and then you remembered.

you had left them there.

they didn’t fit in the moving truck. there hadn’t been space, and you’d told yourself you’d come back for them later. you never did.

the curiosity itched at you instantly, like the gentle tug of memory pulling at your sleeve. what had you packed away? what pieces of yourself had you abandoned without meaning to?

you pulled one box out and placed it on the bed.

when you lifted the lid, the scent of old paper, dried ink, and something faintly sweet hit you. your breath caught in your throat.

letters.

photographs.

little gifts.

neatly stacked, carefully organized. like a timeline of your love. from the very first spark to the last flame before the plunge into adulthood.

you sat down, your knees weak, heart already pounding.

the first letter on top was creased and slightly yellowed at the edges. your name was written in beomgyu’s handwriting, back when it was still a little uneven, back when he still dotted his i’s with tiny hearts just to make you blush.

“i don’t know if you’ll ever like me back, but i think i like you too much not to say something. you smile like you invented the sun and every time you laugh i forget how to breathe. if you ever give me a chance, i swear i’ll make you the happiest girl in the whole damn school. maybe even the planet.”

you exhaled shakily, fingers trembling as you folded it back up.

you moved on to the next one. his confession letter, written after your first date at the old arcade in town.

“i still can’t believe you said yes. i haven’t stopped smiling since saturday. i keep thinking about how cold your hands were and how you still let me hold them anyway. i think you’re magic. like… like maybe you’re not even real. i don’t know. i’m just really, really lucky.”

another tear slipped down your cheek.

beneath the letters were bundles of polaroids tied with ribbon. you untied one, your lips parting as you flipped through them.

you and beomgyu holding ice creams, faces smeared with strawberry and chocolate.

a blurry one of him carrying you on his back through the rain.

another one from your first trip to seoul, sitting on the subway, both of you looking exhausted but so in love.

and then… your first anniversary. there you were, cheek to cheek, grinning at the camera, and between you stood jungwon, five years old, flashing a crooked peace sign like he was the star of the photo. he had two front teeth missing and a bowl cut that you’d teased him about for months.

you let out a choked laugh, the sound watery and fragile.

next was a box of keepsakes—movie tickets, pressed flowers, the wrapper from your first shared chocolate bar. even the doodles he used to leave in your notebooks during boring lectures.

“stay awake, sleepyhead <3 you promised me lunch after class!!”

“reminder: i love you more than ramen. and that’s saying a lot.”

your hands reached for one more envelope—thicker than the rest. inside were pages and pages written in his voice. you recognized the style immediately.

it was the letter he gave you on your 100 days.

“people say 100 days isn’t much. but for me, it’s been everything. 100 days of waking up excited. 100 days of knowing i’m yours. 100 days of learning your laugh and the way your eyes crinkle when you’re really happy. i don’t ever want to stop counting. 200 days. 500. 1,000. i want all of them, with you.”

you pressed the paper to your lips.

you couldn’t remember the last time he wrote you something. couldn’t remember the last time you kissed without it feeling like a routine. without checking the clock. without your mind already racing toward work, bills, dinner.

you leaned back slowly, curling up on your bed with the open box beside you, the letters scattered across your chest like armor and daggers at the same time.

he used to write you poetry on napkins.

he used to hold your hand under the table at family dinners.

he used to tell you that even on his worst days, coming home to you made him believe the world wasn’t so bad.

when had it all changed?

when did the love become background noise? when did you both stop fighting for each other?

you closed your eyes, the ache in your chest sharper now—because this love had been real. it had been raw and loud and beautiful. and now it was bruised and quiet and bleeding out slowly between your fingers.

you fell asleep without meaning to.

the tears never really stopped, they just slowed, like rain running out of strength. your arms curled around the open letters, clutching them tightly against your chest as if they'd vanish if you let go. the box of memories lay beside you, its contents half-spilled across the bed. it still smelled like him—like ink, cologne, and something warm you couldn’t name.

you didn’t remember when your eyelids gave in.

but suddenly… you were somewhere else.

you blinked against a brightness that felt unreal.

the sky above you was the kind of blue that looked painted, too soft and pure to exist in real life. you were lying on something hard—cement? gravel? no, the warm tiles of a school courtyard. familiar. strange.

the hum of voices buzzed in the distance.

you sat up slowly.

your limbs felt light, your body foreign. when you looked down, your heart lurched violently in your chest. you were wearing your old high school uniform—navy skirt, white blouse with the school crest stitched at the corner. your nails were painted a glossy burgundy, long and delicate like you never wore them now. your hair brushed past your waist.

what the hell...?

you stood, dizzy.

your eyes scanned the courtyard. same fountain, same benches, the same vending machine that used to swallow coins and never return drinks. everything was how you remembered it, but not how it should be.

and then—

there he was.

beomgyu.

but not your husband.

no.

this was the seventeen-year-old version of him. he was running across the courtyard, brows furrowed with something urgent, panic written all over his face. his backpack bounced on his back, shirt untucked, tie crooked—exactly how he used to wear it when he didn’t care about dress code.

you took a step toward him.

“beomgyu—”

but nothing came out.

your voice caught in your throat like a breath that never formed. you tried again, louder, desperate.

silence.

you looked down at yourself, touched your lips, tried to scream—but no sound, no reaction, like your existence here didn’t register.

and he didn’t look at you.

he ran right past you.

your stomach dropped.

you spun around, confused, breath shaky.

was that...?

a crowd was gathering. a cluster of students forming a circle near the gymnasium doors, their murmurs rising in pitch. you moved toward them, heart thudding like a warning, dread curling in your stomach. you pushed past ghost-like silhouettes, none of them noticing you.

and then you saw.

him.

beomgyu pushed through the crowd, dropped to his knees without hesitation.

and beside him—

on the ground—

was you.

you.

the past you. passed out. lips pale, skin gleaming with sweat, the buttons of your blouse undone at the top as someone had tried to help you breathe. your limbs sprawled awkwardly on the warm tile, your chest rising faintly with shallow breaths.

he was panicking.

his hands cupped your face with such care, trembling as he brushed your hair from your forehead.

“someone call the nurse!” he shouted. “she’s burning up—fuck, where’s her water bottle?”

his voice cracked.

you could feel his fear from here. how tightly he held you. how his fingers gripped yours even unconscious.

and then—memory crashed into you like a wave.

that day.

that impossibly hot, breathless day.

you had collapsed during p.e., heat exhaustion hitting harder than you expected. you didn’t even know beomgyu back then. maybe you'd seen him in a few classes, heard the way he always made everyone laugh. but you never talked. you didn’t think he even knew your name.

but when your body gave up, it was him.

he was the first one to move. the one who didn’t wait. the one who lifted you in his arms like you weighed nothing, running all the way to the infirmary with you whispering nonsense against his collar.

he didn’t leave your side that day.

he stayed.

until your eyes opened again.

and he smiled like he’d just seen the sun rise after a storm.

you remembered your friends teasing you after.

“your knight in wrinkled uniform.”

“your hero with pretty smile.”

and from then on, he never left your orbit.

but now—why were you seeing this?

why were you outside of it, watching like a stranger?

you tried to move closer, but your feet felt heavy, stuck.

everything blurred, like fog on glass.

and in a blink, the courtyard faded.

you were standing in the hallway now. the infirmary door cracked open. you could hear soft voices inside.

you peeked.

and there he was again—beomgyu, sitting beside your unconscious self, head in his hands. he looked young, terrified, still catching his breath.

“you scared me,” he whispered.

“please don’t do that again.”

and then he looked up, straight at where you were standing.

your heart stopped.

his eyes met yours.

but… that wasn’t possible. right?

his gaze didn’t drift away. he stared, like he saw you.

like he was looking through time.

“is it really you?” he said softly.

and before you could move—before you could answer—

everything went dark.

the dream shattered into blackness.

and you gasped awake in your old bed, the letters still clutched in your arms, your chest heaving.

your cheeks were damp. your hands were shaking. and somewhere, deep in your bones, the feeling of that day still lingered.

he had saved you back then.

you didn’t know what this dream meant. but one thing was clear.

something inside you had shifted.

the love you thought was lost wasn’t gone.

it was buried.

you woke up with a dry throat and a strange weight in your chest—one of those mornings where your body feels like it came back from somewhere far, far away. the room looked familiar, your old bedroom at your mother’s house, but you felt like a stranger inside it.

there was something off. you couldn’t tell if it had all been a dream or something more. the feeling clung to your skin like humidity. the memory of the uniform, the sun on your face, beomgyu kneeling beside your crumpled body on the schoolyard… it wasn’t fading. If anything, it felt sharper now. too vivid.

you went downstairs, still in your sleep shirt, walking like someone who didn’t fully trust the floor. your mom was already at the stove, flipping something in a pan. she turned as she heard you step into the kitchen, a soft frown on her face.

"morning, honey. you look like you’ve seen a ghost," she said with a half-smile, handing you your favorite mug, the one with the chipped handle.

you held it between your fingers like it might slip.

"i didn’t sleep well. that’s all," you muttered. "weird dreams."

you didn’t elaborate. what could you say? that you had felt him again? that you’d heard his voice in your bones?

the workday dragged by in a blur of emails, and pretending to care about things you couldn’t name. everything felt like a shell. like a play. you smiled and nodded, typed “best regards” with fingers that wanted to tremble.

by the time you returned to your mother’s house, the sun was low and warm, and the kitchen smelled like soy sauce and rice. you joined her, needing something to do with your hands, with your mind.

"i found some boxes in my old room," you said as you stirred the soup. "stuff i never took with me."

"yeah, i saw them. i never opened them," she replied. "didn’t know what they had… and i guess i didn’t want to look."

you both fell quiet after that. until the doorbell rang, and jungwon came in, cheerful as ever, making the house feel a little less haunted. the dinner was full of small talk, laughter that didn’t quite reach your chest—but it helped. It let you forget, for a while.

but when night came… the fear returned.

you lay in bed, eyes wide, body tense. you were scared—not of dreaming, but of remembering. of feeling everything again and not knowing what it meant.

eventually, sleep took you like a wave crashing over your head.

and again—you opened your eyes.

you were sitting on a wooden bench. the air was soft and golden. it was late, nearing sunset. the sky was lilac, dotted with floating lanterns. somewhere nearby, people were laughing, music echoed faintly in the distance. you were wearing a pink hanbok, your hair braided and pinned up in a way you hadn’t worn it in years.

your feet… ached.

you looked down and saw them—bare, red, sore. small blisters on your heels.

this day.

that day.

your first date with beomgyu. chuseok. the festival with the food stalls and the lanterns, the one where your shoes betrayed you halfway through the evening.

you turned your head just as his voice wrapped around you.

"y/n! there you are."

you looked up and saw him—young, flushed from running, holding two corn dogs, a plastic bag, and two drinks crushed between his fingers. he looked breathless and beautiful, like he always had.

"sorry, i took forever. there were too many people, and finding these was a nightmare," he said, smiling as he approached.

he handed you the corn dogs and set the drinks down beside you on the bench. then, without asking, he knelt in front of you.

you could barely breathe.

from his pocket, he pulled out a little box of band-aids.

"no one was selling these inside, so i had to go out to find a pharmacy. you should’ve told me your feet were killing you."

his voice was soft, a little scolding, a lot loving.

with gentle hands, he cradled your foot, cleaning it with a tissue from his bag before carefully applying the band-aid to the angry skin. the sensation made your breath hitch. he was so close. so warm.

"you should’ve said something," he murmured.

and before you could stop yourself, before you even thought to speak, you heard your own voice say:

"but i wanted to be with you."

you froze.

not because it was untrue—but because those were the exact words you had said back then. not now. then.

beomgyu blinked. he looked at you like you had just stabbed him sweetly in the chest.

he adjusted the cheap plastic sandals he’d bought for you, gently securing them around your sore feet. then he stood, slowly, standing in front of you with a look that was shy and full of something deeper.

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your skin like a whisper.

"i liked you before this," he said, his voice low, trembling. "but that night… i knew i couldn’t let you go."

your chest clenched. you swallowed hard, eyes already burning.

he leaned in.

so close, so slow, like gravity itself was pulling you toward him.

you closed your eyes.

his breath met yours. you tilted your head, lips parting.

and just—just as his lips were about to touch yours—

you woke up.

gasping.

heart racing like a runaway train. sheets tangled around your legs, skin hot, mouth dry.

but the scent of grilled corn dogs and candy still lingered.

the feel of his hands on your skin hadn’t left.

and in the silence of your old room, as you clutched your chest and tried to breathe, you knew it:

these weren’t dreams.

not just dreams.

they were memories.

and something—someone—was reaching out from the past.

the dream fades, slow and reluctant, like a fog lifting from a lake at dawn. you wake up still tangled in the remnants of it—your breath uneven, skin warm where you swore his lips had touched it. you stay still for a while, buried in the sheets that no longer smell like him, eyes fixed on the ceiling that’s slowly turning gold with the rising sun. your heart aches in that dull, pulsing way it always does now, as if it knows it’s missing something crucial but can’t quite remember what. you reach for your phone instinctively, fingers trembling just a little as you check your notifications. nothing. no messages. no missed calls. no beomgyu.

you shouldn’t be surprised. it’s been days. still, the emptiness stings in a new way every morning. it plants itself in your throat and swells throughout your chest as you force yourself out of bed. you go through the motions—brush your teeth, wash your face, stare at your own tired reflection and try not to ask why you look so hollow. you throw on the same sweater you’ve worn all week, the one that used to be his, and head out the door into a world that keeps spinning, oblivious to your slow unraveling.

the office is a blur of white light and cold coffee. your coworkers smile and chatter, and you nod when expected, laugh when prompted, answer emails like you haven’t been dying a little more each day. you check your phone again and again between tasks, hoping for a miracle notification, a simple “hey” that might put your heart back together. it never comes. during lunch, you barely touch your food, appetite lost to a gnawing ache in your stomach that no amount of rice or tea can soothe. when the day finally ends, you don’t go home. you wander instead, drifting through the streets like a ghost, ending up in front of the tiny bookstore he used to take you to. you step inside, hoping for comfort in old pages and the smell of ink.

you flip through poetry books, and a line jumps out at you: “i do not know what i was made for, but when you cried into my mouth, i remembered.” it hits something deep, something raw. you close the book and leave without buying anything.

your mom is asleep when you get home. you shower slowly, let the water wash over your face like it could cleanse the sadness out of you. it doesn’t. you fall into bed fully clothed, the blankets too heavy and the air too quiet. sleep takes you quickly, dragging you back under, where your heart can remember what your mind tries so hard to forget.

in the dream, you’re on the school rooftop, the wind tossing your hair like in some cheesy drama. you’re standing next to beomgyu, his presence warm and familiar beside you. the sky above is overcast, a storm on the verge of breaking. a group of students lingers nearby, and one girl—minhee, her voice sharp as broken glass—smirks as she speaks just loud enough for you to hear.

“he’s going to leave you,” she says with venomous confidence. “he told me he liked me. he just doesn’t know how to break up with you yet.”

your heart stops. your throat tightens. you turn to beomgyu, eyes searching his face for denial, for reassurance, for anything to counter the horror clawing at your chest. he frowns deeply, jaw tightening as he looks at minhee with disgust.

“she’s lying,” he says, stepping between you and the venom she left behind. “she’s been trying to get in between us for weeks. i told her to stop. she just wants attention.”

you want to believe him. god, you do. but the damage is already done. your eyes well with tears you can’t control, your vision blurs, and the ache in your chest sharpens.

“i just… i don’t want to lose you,” you whisper, your voice cracking like fragile glass. “even the thought of it hurts.”

his face softens instantly. he cups your cheeks in both hands, thumbs brushing away tears as fast as they fall, like he’s trying to undo the pain with just his touch.

“you won’t lose me,” he says quietly, urgently. “i’m not going anywhere. you’re the only one i look at. the only one i want. the only one i love.”

he kisses your forehead, your nose, your cheeks—lips gentle as feathers—before finally kissing your lips with a soft, lingering tenderness that makes your knees tremble. as he kisses you, more tears come, falling silently down your face, not from doubt anymore, but from overwhelming relief. he kisses each tear, one by one, whispering promises against your skin like prayers.

you wake up with your pillow soaked. the tears haven’t stopped. your chest rises and falls too fast, the sobs sharp and painful, tearing through your throat as your hands clutch the sheets. it wasn’t real. it was just a dream. but your body doesn’t know that. your heart doesn’t know that. you cry harder than you have in weeks, and for once, you let yourself. because it felt real. because you miss him. because he hasn’t written to you. because he promised he wouldn’t leave, and now he’s gone.

you curl into a ball under the blankets, breath catching in your throat, willing yourself to fall asleep again, hoping you’ll see him there—just for a little while longer.

the next morning is no kinder. your eyes are swollen, your limbs heavy, your spirit dulled. you check your phone. still nothing. the silence is louder than any goodbye.

your routine drags on—shower, coffee, the same lifeless office, the same forced smiles. your coworkers laugh at something, and it grates on your nerves. how can they laugh when your world is crumbling? you eat a single apple for lunch and throw away the rest. you scroll through old messages, rereading the way he used to say “good morning��� like it meant something sacred. you ache.

that night, you fall asleep with the phone clutched in your hand.

and again, you dream.

this time, you’re in his room. the lamp is dim, casting a golden glow over his features. he’s watching you like you’re made of galaxies, and you’re breathing fast, heart pounding in your throat. you remember this night. you remember every second.

you’d told him you were ready. to be his. completely. and he asked, with trembling hands and wide eyes, “are you sure?”

you nodded. you remember the way his lips parted, how his hands shook as they held your waist. how he touched you like you were something sacred.

it wasn’t perfect. it was real. clumsy giggles, soft gasps, the smell of his shampoo, the heat of his breath, the way he whispered your name like it was his salvation.

when it was over, he pulled you against his chest, kissing your forehead, your temple, your shoulder.

“i love you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “i didn’t know love could feel like this.”

you said it back. again. and again.

you wake up gasping, a sob bursting from your throat like a wave. tears stream down your cheeks, soaking your skin, your pillow, your soul. you bury your face in the sheets, fists clenched in pain. it’s too much. too vivid. too real.

you remember how it felt.

you remember everything.

and now you’re alone.

and he still hasn’t written.

you dream again. every night now. your mind keeps dragging you back, stitching memories into something soft and cruel. this time it’s your first anniversary. it had rained all day, the kind of soft, moody rain that made the world feel quieter. you’d both been too broke to plan anything extravagant, so he cooked for you in that tiny kitchen with the crooked lightbulb that flickered every time someone opened the fridge. he was wearing an apron that didn’t fit him, sleeves rolled up, hair messy, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration as he tried not to burn the rice.

you’d sat at the counter, watching him like he was magic. he handed you a plate with a bashful grin, eyes glinting as he said, “chef gyu at your service.” you’d laughed until you cried, and then he kissed you with soy sauce on his lips and the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. later that night, you danced barefoot in the living room, holding onto each other like you were afraid the moment would slip away. you’d fallen asleep tangled on the couch, the half-eaten cake still on the table.

another night, another dream—this one hazier. your first time. not the night it finally happened, but all the nights it didn’t. the failed attempts, the soft gasps, the nervous hands, the whispered “it’s okay”s. neither of you knew what you were doing. you were clumsy and young and a little scared. but it never felt wrong. it felt like… learning. like loving someone deeply even in the awkward, imperfect moments. you remember one night, curled up in bed after another failed attempt, how he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “we don’t have to rush. i just like being with you.”

you held onto those words like a lifeline. even now. even when everything else is falling apart.

you wake up in tears again, the kind that come from too much remembering. it’s exhausting—this longing, this ache that stretches through your chest like a second heartbeat. you stare at the ceiling and tell yourself: you have to forget him. you have to move on. it’s over.

you pull up the divorce email thread. it’s half-filled, half-hearted. your replies are short. factual. robotic. there’s no signature at the end. just your name, plain and cold.

and then your phone buzzes.

his name flashes on the screen. beomgyu calling.

your heart stops. your fingers hover over the screen like they’re made of glass. for a second, you consider not answering. but something in you still reaches for him, even now.

you press accept.

“hello?”

his voice is quiet. rough. like he hadn’t used it all day.

“hey. uh…” there’s a pause. “i found a lawyer. a good one. she said she can help with the case. make it simple for both of us.”

you swallow hard, forcing air through your lungs.

“okay.”

“i thought…” he clears his throat. “maybe we could meet? after your shift. during my lunch break. there’s that restaurant near your office. the one with the bulgogi you like.”

your voice doesn’t tremble when you answer. you don’t know how. maybe you’ve grown numb.

“sure. that’s fine.”

“okay.” another pause. “see you then.”

he hangs up before you can say anything else. you sit in silence, the echo of his voice still clinging to the walls.

when you see him, it’s like being sucker-punched. he looks tired. thinner. the bags under his eyes speak volumes. he doesn’t smile when he sees you. doesn’t even fake it. he just holds the door open for you, silent and awkward.

you sit across from each other at a corner table. the waitress brings water. neither of you touches it.

he opens his folder and places a few documents on the table.

“she says we don’t have to go to court. we can file separately and sign within the next few weeks. no need to argue over property. it’s all split already. she gave me a list of steps.”

he hands you a copy. you don’t take it.

“beomgyu.”

his hands still.

“do you really want this?”

his eyes flicker to yours. and in them, you see it—everything. the love. the guilt. the fear.

he doesn’t speak for a long time. when he finally does, his voice is barely a whisper.

“i don’t know what i want anymore. i just know we’re not… us. not like we used to be.”

you nod slowly. your throat is tight, your heart thundering so loud it drowns out the sound of the restaurant.

“we used to be everything.”

he presses his lips together.

“and now we hurt each other more than we help.”

your eyes sting. you blink fast.

“so that’s it?”

he looks down at his hands.

“i think it’s better this way. for both of us.”

“but it doesn’t feel better.”

“no,” he says, almost breaking, “it fucking doesn’t.”

you sit there, surrounded by the smell of grilled meat and the quiet hum of people living lives you’re no longer sure how to live.

you reach for the water. take a small sip. it doesn’t help.

he folds the papers back into the folder. pushes it toward you.

“just think about it.”

you stare at the folder like it’s a bomb.

“yeah,” you whisper. “okay.”

the phone rings at 2:17 a.m.

you’re not asleep. you haven’t been for nights now. the sheets are tangled around your legs, your eyes raw from crying, and your chest feels like someone’s been sitting on it for hours. when you see his name on the screen, your breath catches in your throat. your thumb hovers above the green button, shaking. you hesitate for one, two, three seconds… and then you press it.

you don’t speak. neither does he. at first, it’s just the sound of the line open between you, the hum of silence, and then…

his voice breaks.

“i’m sorry.”

it’s quiet. hoarse. like he’s been crying long before this call. you sit up slowly, holding the phone to your ear like it might slip from your fingers.

“i shouldn’t be calling you but—fuck, i can’t sleep. i can’t breathe without thinking about you.”

you say his name, just a whisper. it leaves your lips like a prayer.

“beomgyu...”

and then he lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been waiting to hear your voice to fall apart completely.

“i miss you. i miss you so much, it’s driving me insane. every night i close my eyes and it’s you. you laughing, you calling my name, you dancing in the living room in that oversized sweater... everything reminds me of you.”

your bottom lip quivers, and you press the back of your hand to your mouth to muffle the sob that’s already building.

“i dream about us,” he whispers. “not just once. every single night. our first anniversary, your hands in mine... the way you looked at me when we promised we’d never give up on each other. i see it all. i wake up and i swear i can smell your shampoo on my pillow. but it’s not real. it’s never real.”

his breath hitches again, and now you can hear the tears in his voice, full and wet and unrestrained.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he says, breaking down mid-sentence. “i thought maybe if we separated, if we took space, it would get easier. that maybe this was what we needed. but i was wrong. it’s not easier. it’s fucking unbearable.”

you’re crying now. soft at first, but growing louder with every word that spills from him like a confession he’s been dying to make.

“i don’t want to influence your decision. if you want the divorce, if this is what you really want, i’ll sign everything. i’ll do whatever it takes to not make this harder for you.”

he goes silent for a moment, like it’s physically painful for him to say the next words.

“but i need you to know… i haven’t stopped loving you. not even for a second. you’ve always been it for me. even when we fought. even when we hurt each other. you are—”

his voice cracks and he breathes out your name like it’s breaking him.

“you are the love of my life.”

and something inside you shatters.

you clutch the phone tighter, your body folding in on itself from the weight of everything he’s saying. from the truth you’ve been trying to run away from.

“i still see you in everything,” he continues, voice trembling. “i see you in the places we used to go, in the goddamn coffee i make in the morning, in the way i can’t fall asleep without your breathing next to mine. this divorce... it’s not fixing anything. it’s just making me more aware of how much i need you. how much i still want you.”

you can’t hold it back anymore.

“beomgyu, please...”

you sob into the phone, your whole body shaking. he goes quiet, waiting. and then you hear it—his soft cry on the other side. broken. desperate. raw.

“i love you,” he says again, this time so tender it makes your heart convulse. “i love you so much. too much. and if i could go back and fix everything, i would. but if this is what you truly want… i’ll respect it.”

but even as he says the words, neither of you believes them. not really.

because the love is still there.

burning. aching. undying.

and in that moment, in the dark silence that follows, you both realize—

letting go might be harder than staying.

he goes quiet after saying he still loves you. the kind of silence that vibrates with weight. and just when you think the call might end, he exhales like something inside him snaps.

“i’m coming to see you.”

your heart stops.

“what?”

“i’m coming to see you. right now.”

you sit up, your pulse thundering. “beomgyu, no. it’s late, and you’re far—”

“i don’t care.” his voice is raw, breathless. “i don’t care how far it is. i just… i need to see you. even if it’s just once. even if you close the door in my face. i need to see you one last time before i lose my fucking mind.”

your throat tightens. the tears you’d barely managed to hold back spill freely now.

“beomgyu…”

“please,” he begs softly, “please don’t hang up.”

you shake your head, clutching the phone to your ear like it's the only thing anchoring you.

“i’m not going to hang up.”

and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. there’s only the sound of your shared breathing, uneven and emotional. your heart feels like it’s been torn wide open, and suddenly, words pour out before you can stop them.

“i’ve been dreaming about you too,” you whisper. “every night. i remember everything. our first time holding hands, the way you cried when you gave me your first letter, our anniversary… even the night we didn’t know what we were doing, but it didn’t matter because we loved each other so much it made up for everything. i wake up missing you so bad it hurts.”

you cover your mouth with your hand, sobbing softly.

“i thought i needed space to think clearly, but all i’ve done is remember every reason i fell in love with you. and it’s still there, beomgyu. it’s all still there. i can’t let you go. i don’t want to.”

there’s a silence so thick it feels like the world holds its breath. then—

“don’t say that unless you mean it,” he chokes out. “because i’ll be there in thirty minutes. i swear to god, baby, i’ll run red lights. i’ll come barefoot if i have to.”

and you whisper, “i mean it. come home.”

you don’t even change clothes. you wait by the door, heart in your throat, wiping your tears only for them to fall again. the longest thirty minutes of your life. your fingers twist the edge of your shirt. your feet tap nervously against the floor. your thoughts are a whirlwind. and then—

a knock.

you don’t even check the peephole. your body moves on instinct. you unlock the door and pull it open—

and there he is.

beomgyu, standing in the hallway, drenched in moonlight and grief and rain that must’ve started on the way. his hair’s a mess, sticking up like he ran both hands through it a hundred times. his shirt’s wrinkled, his jacket barely thrown on, shoes untied, cheeks streaked with tears. his eyes—god, his eyes—are swollen and red and filled with a kind of devastation you’ve never seen on him.

he opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out.

instead, he stumbles forward.

his arms wrap around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. he buries his face into your shoulder, and you feel his body tremble as the first sob rips through him.

“you’re here,” you whisper, voice broken.

he clutches you tighter.

“i couldn’t stay away.”

you press your face into his neck, breathing him in, letting the heat of him soak through your skin.

“i missed you,” he cries into your hair. “i missed you so fucking much, i didn’t know how to survive it.”

you both collapse to your knees just inside the doorway, tangled in each other, crying, holding, clinging.

and in the silence of your shared heartbreak, something begins to heal.

because he came.

because you still love him.

because love like this doesn't die.

you don’t know how long you stay there, on your knees in the entryway, holding each other like lifelines. time folds in on itself. the only thing real is the weight of his arms around you, the way he breathes your name into your skin like a prayer, and the way your hands tremble as they run through his damp hair.

then, a light flicks on down the hall. footsteps shuffle. your heart skips.

your mom appears, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a soft robe, confusion etched into her face—until she sees you both.

her expression softens instantly.

“beomgyu,” she says quietly, blinking at the sight of him. “you’re here.”

he lifts his head from your shoulder, cheeks wet, lips trembling. “hi, mrs. yang.”

your mom’s eyes move between the two of you, piecing it all together. the tears. the way you hold each other. the way neither of you has moved from the doorway like you were afraid letting go might make it all disappear again.

she steps closer, places a gentle hand on your back.

“come inside. talk. say everything you’ve been holding in before it’s too late. don’t let the routine, or the silence, or the fear kill the love you built. you two have something worth fighting for.”

and just like that, she leaves you alone again, giving you the space your hearts desperately need.

you help him up, hands never leaving his. and you sit together on the old couch in the living room—the one that witnessed countless lazy sunday mornings, shared meals, stolen kisses, fights, makeups, and all the little moments that built your marriage.

you sit close, your knees touching. your fingers linked like you’re relearning each other.

“i don’t even know where to start,” you whisper.

“then start here,” he says, cupping your face with one trembling hand. “i love you. i never stopped. not for a second.”

you cry again, soft and open, and he catches your tears with his lips.

“i thought we were done,” you murmur, voice cracking. “i thought the love ran out.”

“we just got lost,” he says. “too much noise. too much pretending we were okay. i didn’t know how to ask for more. i didn’t know how to tell you i missed you even when you were lying right beside me.”

you lean into him, forehead pressed against his.

“we let it all pile up.”

he nods, breath shaky. “but i don’t want to give up. i want to work on it. every single day. i’ll learn how to love you better. i’ll talk more. i’ll listen harder. just… let me try again.”

you answer him with a kiss. slow. trembling. sweet and deep like home.

and when it grows late—when your bodies are too exhausted from all the crying, the confessing, the ache—you take his hand again and lead him to your bedroom. the same one you once shared, where the mattress still holds the shape of your memories.

you crawl under the sheets together, like you never stopped belonging there. his arms wrap around your waist, your legs tangle with his, and his nose presses into your neck like he’s memorizing the scent of you all over again.

your hands explore his face, his shoulders, like tracing the edges of your favorite story.

he whispers, “is this real?”

you nod, pressing your lips to his.

“stay,” you whisper. “for tonight. and tomorrow. and as long as you want.”

he exhales the softest sound, a smile breaking through the pain.

“always.”

and that night, you sleep curled against each other. his fingers never stop moving—over your back, your cheek, your lips. your kisses never stop—on his forehead, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

and just like that, two people who thought they were lost find each other again. not in grand gestures, but in small ones. in held hands. whispered apologies. quiet laughter between tears.

in love that refused to die.

after the long and emotional night at your parents’ house, you and beomgyu returned to your shared apartment—your home. it looked the same, smelled the same, every object still in place. but it felt different. lighter. as if the air had been scrubbed clean of silence and bitterness.

you unpacked slowly, side by side, laughing at the amount of socks he still had under the bed, and how your favorite mug had survived the weeks of absence.

you sat on the bed together that night and talked. about the little things—how many cups of coffee you’d had, what your coworker had said to you, how loud the subway had been.

you let your bodies melt into each other under the sheets, arms tangled, whispers between kisses, touching each other with the reverence of people who almost lost everything.

that night, you didn’t just make love. you healed. you forgave.

the next morning, you made breakfast together. you accidentally spilled flour on the counter, and he smeared some on your nose, laughing as you gasped. he kissed the flour off your skin before handing you the whisk.

you stood behind him, arms around his waist, swaying slightly to the soft music playing from the speaker as pancakes cooked. and when he turned around to feed you a bite, his smile was sunshine.

days passed, then weeks. and each one felt like a little piece of heaven earned.

you both kept your promise.

every night before sleeping, no matter how tired, you shared something from your day. sometimes it was a joke, sometimes a frustration. but it was always honest.

every morning, you made time to kiss goodbye—no rushed pecks, no distracted waves. real kisses. warm hugs.

during work hours, you sent each other messages—not clingy or constant, but enough.

"you got this today, baby." "thinking of you. breathe. you're doing amazing."

and you had dates again. little ones. ice cream runs. grocery shopping hand in hand. once, he surprised you with a dinner reservation at the place where you had your first anniversary. you wore the same dress. he wore the same nervous smile.

he listened more now. you did too. when he had a hard day, you held space for his words, even when they didn’t make sense. he did the same for you.

then came saturday.

you were curled up together on the couch, the soft hum of a movie filling the room. your legs rested over his, your head on his shoulder, his arm draped over you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you were watching some quiet, artsy film about love and time. at one point, the couple on screen found out they were expecting a baby.

there was a quiet pause between you and beomgyu as the characters celebrated on screen.

his hand, which had been stroking your arm absentmindedly, suddenly stilled.

"i want that," he said softly, eyes still on the screen.

you turned slightly, your breath catching.

"what?"

he looked at you now, his voice steady but vulnerable.

"a family. with you." he swallowed, his hand reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

"i want messy mornings and toys all over the living room. i want little feet running to our bed at midnight. i want to see you holding our child, laughing in the kitchen while i burn toast trying to help."

he laughed softly, but there was a crack in his voice, a shimmer in his eyes.

"i want everything with you. the chaos, the tiredness, the joy. i want to build that life with you, if... if you're ready."

you stared at him, your chest swelling so full it almost hurt.

"i do want it," you whispered. "i want it with you. only with you."

his lips met yours then, slow and deep, filled with silent promises. and as you lay there together, under the soft glow of the tv, you knew—this was the beginning of a new chapter.

you and beomgyu.

the home you rebuilt.

the love that refused to die.

and soon… a family born from it.

forever didn’t feel like a fantasy anymore.

it felt like the quiet beating of two hearts—pressed close, full of hope, writing a future one kiss at a time.

[drfleetflower]

The Secret

~Requested~

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

Summary: After divorcing his wife, Coriolanus needed someone to look after his son. You were fit for the job. Maybe too fit, as unbeknownst to him, his son had begun to call you 'mommy'.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, propaganda, Coriolanus is a little brazen towards his son, reader is referred to as 'mommy' but Coriolanus's toddler

WC: 1.6k

Scandal was the first thing on Coriolanus Snow’s mind when he decided to divorce his wife. He had thought through every possible option, any way he could avoid the judging eyes of his peers and the public. Poison was one he kept coming back to, but the ramifications of it weren’t worth the energy. Of course, it would have been more pleasant to receive condolences for the tragic passing of his wife, than to receive unwarranted opinions on their separation. Alas, another poisoning so soon would draw too much attention…

Thus, he was forced to let her live and endure the humiliation the divorce would bring. 

The second thing that crossed Coriolanus’s mind was his son. Caelius complicated the ordeal greatly, and was a main contributor to Coriolanus’s struggle in the aftermath of the divorce. He wasn’t particularly fond of children. He assumed when he had one of own his feelings would change, but it had little effect. In fact, the neediness and carelessness of the toddler infuriated him in moments. But even so, Caelius was his. His flesh and blood, his image, his. 

It was natural that he didn’t settle for joint custody, any further interaction with his ex-wife would surely drive him insane. And, as the failure of their relationship was her fault, he wouldn’t let her have the chance to ruin his relationship with his son too. 

He wasn’t completely cruel though, she got enough in their settlement to continue her life of luxury in the Capitol just no longer as the First Lady, nor with his son. She could have other children. 

So, now that Coriolanus was the sole caretaker of Caelius he needed help. The Avoxes had been somewhat helpful since Caelius arrived at the Snow Mansion, but they weren’t well versed in childcare and neither was Coriolanus. And, he was a busy man. When he wasn’t at public events and at meetings, he was in his office. Unfortunately, Caelius loved to disturb him there and practically whenever he was home. He needed someone to take the responsibility. 

That someone was you. After long and tiresome interviews, something about you impressed him. You seemed worthy of the job. And, you soon proved yourself to be. You stayed on full-time, you kept Caelius occupied and entertained, and even when Coriolanus was present you would continue to care for his son. Coriolanus found that with you around he could finally relax, and it helped that you weren’t bad company. In fact, he started to crave your presence when you weren’t around.

---

You had been working for Coriolanus Snow for almost a year. Then the problem started a few weeks ago. You weren’t sure how to address it. You thought if you ignored it, it would go away… but it didn’t. 

“Mommy!” Caelius squeaked to get your attention.

It felt cruel to correct him, but what would your employer say if he found out? The poor four year old had lost his mother to a bitter divorce. He was confused, not able to understand what had caused the sudden disappearance. He looked to you as a replacement for that piece of his heart. And, a part of you wanted to fill that hole.

From what you had heard, his mother wasn’t a good role model. She left the boy to the Avoxes to be taken care of and often questioned the president on everything from his wear to his judgement. Some even said, and you hesitated to repeat it, she was a rebel sympathizer of all things! That, it seemed, was the cause of the divorce. 

You didn’t blame President Snow for ending it after you had heard the full story. Of course, divorce is always hard, especially when you have children and you had questioned the choice due to Caelius. But you quickly determined it was much better for the boy to not have that influence in his life. Caelius needed to develop without the pressure of a mother who would inflict her dangerous beliefs upon him. You could admit that you had at least a touch of sympathy for the districts, but it could only go so far when you reminded yourself of the pain they had caused the people in the Capitol. And you believed President Snow ruled Panem as he should.

You told him as much too. When evening would roll around and Caelius was safely tucked in bed, you saw Coriolanus unwind. He couldn’t help but open up to you and your kind eyes. He couldn’t say everything he was thinking, but he could let go of a few thoughts that he wouldn’t otherwise let out. He felt close to you, emotionally and- when had he gotten so close to you?

Your breath seemed to mingle as he spoke and he abruptly stopped at the realization, taking a big step back. 

“Goodnight.” He ended the interaction, swiftly making his way to his chambers. 

You hesitated before calling, “Goodnight!” Caught off guard by the sudden dismissal of your presence. 

You stood there for a moment, too, basking in the very recent closeness and attempting to get your bearings after it was taken away.

Then, you were interrupted again by a cry from Caelius’s room. A heartbreakingly familiar cry. You sighed and made your way to the child’s room, finding him sat up with puffy eyes. “Mommy!” He cried.

“I know, sweetboy.” You consoled him, promptly sitting on the bed and holding him. “It’s alright. It was just a dream.”

“Why won’t mommy marry daddy?” Caelius pouted.

“She went away, Cael. She can’t come back.” You tried to explain.

“No! You didn’t go!” The ruckus had gotten Coriolanus to reappear.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to calm him.” You said sincerely. 

Coriolanus sat on the bed too, taking Caelius from you. “Why won’t you marry mommy?” He kicked his feet and thrashed.

Coriolanus sighed deeply, you could tell this was not a conversation he wanted to be having. It felt too personal and you got up to leave but he stopped you. “Stay.” He said, catching your hand. He let go almost immediately though, unfortunately. “... He’ll be calmer with you here.” Coriolanus excused his action.

Of course, you obliged.

“We’ve talked about this, Caelius.” He attempted a measured tone. “Your mother isn’t coming back. She’s proven to be bad for you. You’re stronger without her.”

It seemed an odd approach but you didn’t dare interject. 

He looked at you, trying to appoint Caelius’s attention on you too. “Look, you have a new… person in your life, hm? You like them.” 

This only seemed to rile Caelius up more, causing him to whine.

“Use your words, Caelius.” Coriolanus said firmly.

“Don’t want past mommy!” He said, frustration now mixed into his lisp.

“Right.” Coriolanus nodded once. “What do you want?”

“Mommy!”

Coriolanus rolled his eyes away from Caelius, clearly not understanding him. But you had begun to. You knew something he didn’t. Something you really didn’t want Coriolanus to find out, and definitely not like this.

“Here, I’ll try telling him a story. You don’t have to worry about it.” You offer.

“No, I must see this through. He’s my son, he should know the truth.” Coriolanus insisted. 

One thing you were forbidden to mention to Caelius, and why you had some sympathy for his ex-wife, even if she was foolish to side with the districts, was that Caelius’s mother had passed. She suffered an early heart attack only a few months ago and you were never one to speak ill of the dead. It was a truly terrible tragedy. And, you didn’t believe now was the right time to tell Caelius when you knew he wasn’t even talking about her. But you.

“Coriolanus-” You began.

“Your mother is dead, Caelius. The rebels snatched her into their clutches and her heart couldn’t take the stress. She’s not coming back even if I wanted her to.” He stated, bluntly.

Caelius simply blinked for a few moments, tears still rolling down his cheeks, before he began to squirm again. “Mommy!” He reached for you.

At this point Coriolanus let him go to you, still unaware about the correlation between Caelius’s words and who they were directed toward. That is, he was very briefly unaware because once Caelius was in your arms he looked right up at you and asked again, “Why won’t you marry daddy?” 

You laughed nervously, harshly avoiding eye contact with Coriolanus. “You’re confused, Caelius. Let’s go to bed, yes?”

Coriolanus would not excuse this. “Would you point to your ‘mommy’, Caelius?” He asked.

Of course, Caelius pointed to you. 

You looked between the boy and Coriolanus, waiting for a reaction. It was quiet for what felt like a long moment before you got one. Coriolanus smiled softly. 

“You think I should marry Y/n?” He asked Caelius surprisingly softly.

“Mommy.” Caelius nodded, sniffling.

“Hm.” He hummed like he was pondering the idea. “I think so too.” 

You felt your heartbeat in your entire body, eyes wide, hands clammy, and you laughed again because he had to be joking.

“What do you say, Y/n? Y/n Snow does have a nice ring to it.” He was not joking.

You struggled to answer.

“Wait, we can postpone. I’ll arrange everything first. Then you can say yes properly.” He determines before looking at Caelius. “Happy now?” 

Caelius let a little smile cross his lips and then began giggling and squealing when Coriolanus tickled him. You watched the scene in shock, still trying to process everything that just happened. Then Caelius tried his best to tickle you with Coriolanus joining in, his hands feeling right at home on your sides, and you succumbed to the moment, joining in on the fight.

[lieslab]

Skipped through the five waves of grief

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: After being caught in the middle of your parents' messy marriage, Chan finds you after they announce their divorce.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.4K

Domestic abuse and depression resources

Trigger warning: Domestic abuse, mentions of anger and yelling, depression, and emotional defeat

A/N: I'm on a roll with requests. This request is also from a while ago and requestee, I made the ending silly and fluffy. Sometimes Chan gives me cuteness aggression, so in order to ease the hurt about this topic, it ends playfully. This topic is a lot emotionally speaking, so I hope this eases a bit of your burden <3

_ _ _

Parents were supposed to love each other. They were supposed to be the light of each other's lives. Tender touches and sensual kisses. Healthy communication and cemented boundaries for one another. Marriage was supposed to be a joyous celebration. It was supposed to be something that would last forever, but the rings on your parents’ ring fingers began to rust. 

You didn’t know when it first happened. So many days had been spent arguing and bickering. Kisses were withheld from one another and words were thrown. The walls used to be nurtured with sweet murmurs and ‘I love you’s.’ They turned into rot. 

Golden rings rusted and turned their skin green and blue. They cut off blood circulation to their hearts and morphed them into something indescribable. The same reasons that they fell in love, it was the same reason why that love crumbled apart years later. 

The compliments from your mom turned into your father’s annoyance. Your father’s independence swallowed him whole and pig-headedness led him to push your mother away. Simple conversations began to get louder as anger burst out of each of their lungs. 

And you? You were innocent in this entire thing. Your existence was proof that they loved each other, but that was a long time ago. Every year that you grew older, it was another year that their connected flame began to shrink. Smaller and smaller until it snuffed out all together. 

It was easier to use you. The two of them managed to avoid one another like crazy, but you became the scapegoat. A ping pong ball that was forced to hit the board between both of them. Over and over and over and over again. 

“Mom said-” 

“Dad wants you to-” 

“Mom wants to know if you-” 

“Dad wanted me to ask you-” 

It always led to you feeling awful. You were no longer their kid, but rather a pigeon that was forced to carry their notes back and forth. Your back ached from the emotional toil and your brain suffered from their attitudes, but they didn’t see that. 

When a wave of anger was shoved towards you because you were the messenger, you forced yourself to take it. Day in and day out, you were just a cog in their toxic wheel of romance. The romance died, but their bitterness towards each other didn’t. So you bowed and you leaped. You took each cue with hesitation and a held breath. As time went on, your house turned into a battlefield with yourself as the victim. 

Too focused on fighting one another, neither parent understood the holes that they were drilling into your heart. They didn’t understand the ache in your bones and the curdled marrow. Even after you moved out, you still felt the effects of their disintegrating marriage. 

Text messages blew up your phone from both parties. Fingers pointed and both of them blamed the other for things falling apart. Despite you not being home, they still asked you to check in with the other for one reason or the next. 

No matter how miserable it made you, you complied. You didn’t want something to happen and cause the two of them to do something indescribable. Their violence came out in curses and shrieks. Flinging arms, bulging veins, and red faces. If that anger built and snapped, you weren’t sure if it’d ever truly get physical, but that thought worried you. 

You moved out months ago. When Chan suggested that the two of you grab a place, you agreed in a heartbeat. It provided some comfort away from your parents and for once, you felt like you could finally breathe. Neither of their hands were wrapped around your lungs and squeezing to leave you breathless. 

So the two of you went apartment shopping. You picked out furniture and paint colors. Fortunately for the two of you, the landlord was a sweeter older lady. She didn’t mind what you did with the place, as long as you had her permission before you began a project, she was pretty relaxed about most things that other landlords hated. 

You slathered your shared room with a brighter version of your favorite color. At least, by using that shade, it’d keep you rather upbeat. It was better than the last room that you had. Plus, the room was bigger, so you had more space to play with and freely added more and more objects. 

You and Chan had been living at the place for nearly a year. You had your job and he had his. The two of you grew accustomed to one another’s schedules. You went grocery shopping together every week and took turns divvying up the chores. Besides the shitshow from your parents, life was treating you fairly well. 

When you came home from work, you kicked off your dirty shoes, left them by the door, and headed into the kitchen. You were on duty to make dinner and you already knew what you were making. For the past two days, you had been planning to make this special dish tonight. 

Two days ago, your parents got into a huge fight. You didn’t know what happened until your mother informed you the next day. The verbal altercation was so loud that someone alerted the cops. When the cops broke it up, it was so bad that both of your parents had to be separated and calmed down. 

Your heart ached at the news. You felt awful because you didn’t know and couldn’t stop it. Guilt weighed upon your heart heavily. Maybe if you could have been there, you could have stopped it from happening. 

You carried the guilt and burden from things that you didn’t have to. It was one of those things that you couldn’t help. You grew up with your parents being dependent on you during their heated moments and when you weren’t there to stop it from escalating, it made you feel like shit deep down. 

You knew that it wasn’t really your fault. You weren’t responsible for their reactions, but it still felt like you were. If one of them would have alerted you, you would have dropped everything and rushed over. Anything to get them away from potentially hurting each other. 

Picking out the best knife, you took your time cutting the vegetables. You washed them and one-by-one, you placed them on the chopping board and began to dice and slice. Mince the garlic, ignore the sharp scent on your hands, and continue on to the next step. 

Chan would be home from work soon and the past few days, the two of you had been consuming frozen prepackaged food and ramen. Time had been relatively short for both of you and it was something quick and easy. Chan had been discussing wanting a homemade meal and you were thrilled to provide one for him. 

You continued to follow through the steps, but you stopped when your phone vibrated. Worried that Chan had to stay over at the studio, you washed your hands and pulled out your phone. You were expecting Chan, but when you pulled up the message, it was from your mother instead. 

“Your father and I are getting a divorce.” 

You read the words over and over and over again, trying to make sure you read them right. In the past, when anyone mentioned your parents divorcing, they each scoffed at the idea, stating that it took too much effort. 

For months, you had been praying for this moment, but now that you were here, you felt defeated. Your heart weighed heavily in your chest. Instead of responding right away, you left your mother on read, and you tossed the phone onto the nearby counter. 

Days and days of emotional torment finally broke the camel’s back. Your hands shook and tears collected in your eyes. Your legs wobbled and you desperately reached out to grab the kitchen counter. There wasn’t time to catch your weight before your legs slipped from beneath you. 

You hit the ground with a gasp. For so long, you felt so burdened by the scenario. Throwing knives struck your heart and they had been embedded there for so long. This information was like jerking them out all at once. 

How many times had you been involved in fights along with them? When a parent got too mad and the pendulum of anger swung towards you. You had kept it inside for so long. You were still just their kid, but your parents weren’t there to comfort the unsealed hurt that leaked out. 

Twenty minutes later, Chan sang the latest chorus of the new song that he’d been working on. He sang beneath his breath and bobbed his head. With a clicking tongue and humming of the last few notes, he spun the silver key ring around his finger. 

The two of you always kept the door locked no matter what. Even when the other was home, you still used your keys to get in. It was easier that way and you were anxious about strangers. Chan thought it was a bit silly, but he went along with it to make you feel better. 

He headed inside and kicked off his shoes. He pulled off his bag’s side strap and placed it on the couch. His laptop, hoodie, and an empty bottle sat inside. His tongue clicked again and he bobbed his head while walking into the kitchen. 

He spotted the half sliced carrot and the minced garlic. A few plastic bottles full of spices sat off to the side. Pork belly had been pulled from the fridge and a pan sat on the stove, but you were missing. 

His head tilted and he spun around to go find you. Knowing you, you were probably in the bathroom or you got distracted and went back to the bedroom. The floor creaked beneath his feet and he walked past the open bathroom door. 

The bedroom door was also open and when he stuck his head in, you were gone. Your unspoken name sat on the tip of his tongue, but it never rolled off. His head jerked backwards, wondering if he missed you somewhere, but with another look around the apartment, he couldn’t find you. 

“Where’d you go?” He mumbled beneath his breath. He headed back to the kitchen with a hand rubbing the side of his neck. It wasn’t like you to come up missing randomly. 

He walked further into the kitchen, up to the spices to see if you left a note. It was only then that he saw the hunched up figure off to the side. He frowned and headed towards you. “Whattcha doin’ down there?” 

His thick Australian accent usually made you laugh, but it never came. Sometimes he exaggerated his accent to make you laugh and this was one of those times. However, your usual smile didn’t appear. You were curled against the corner of wooden cabinets with your knees to your chest. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He frowned and crouched down beside you. “Did you hurt yourself while cutting the vegetables?” 

Your eyes were red and so were the tops of your cheeks. Your head weakly shook and the worry in his heart grew. “Then what happened? Why are you down here?” 

“My parents are getting a divorce.” 

He blinked and let the words sink in. He didn’t really know anything about your parents. A breath was sucked in through clenched teeth. “I’m really sorry about that.” 

Your head shook. “Don’t be. I’ve been wanting them to get divorced for a while, but I just-” You leaned down and let your chin rest on the top of your knees. “I don’t know. I’m relieved and I feel miserable about it all at once. A lot of the time, they used me to communicate with one another. I’m happy, but I’m empty and I also feel hurt.” 

“I fought a lot with my dad and I don’t know how to put it all together. There’s a hundred feelings all at once. I’m so happy it happened, but I just…” 

“Wish it happened earlier, so you didn’t have to be involved so much?” 

You finally nodded and swallowed. “Yeah, I guess that’s it. My mom texted me a while ago and I needed a moment to let it sink in.” 

“So you picked the dirty kitchen floor?” He teased you slightly.

“I just cleaned this floor last night.” 

“And it’s such a shame that I might have spilled milk on it late last night.” 

Your head went back up. “You didn’t clean it up? What’s wrong with you?” 

He laughed and pulled away. “I’m just kidding! Of course, I cleaned it up. It would have smelled nasty if it sat and curdled.” He stood up and stretched his hands out towards you. 

“I think this calls for a celebration of sorts. It looks like you were in the middle of making something, so I’m going to help you. Let’s do something to take your mind off it.” 

You reached up and he tugged you up with ease. The moment you were back on your feet, he yanked you towards him. You squeaked  as he wrapped you in a tight hug. 

His forehead found the side of your neck. You tried to squirm away, but he held you tighter. Warm lips softly pressed against your skin. You cried his name and tried to lean back again, but he didn’t let go. 

“Stop trying to escape my love.” His breath was warm on your skin. He planted another soft kiss against your pulse point. “Just let me love my baby.” 

Your head leaned back with a loud whine. “You’re giving me your cooties and it tickles. How am I supposed to tolerate it? I can’t help that I’m ticklish!” 

He giggled and kissed the side of your neck once more before he gave up. His arms remained around your waist and he let his head nuzzle against you. “You know, one day I might marry you.” 

“Oh brother.” 

“What do you mean?” He pulled his head back in mock offense. “We’re going to have the best marriage of all time. Maybe we might even end up with kids.” 

“Too fast and too soon bucko.” 

“Bucko?” 

“Bucko.” 

His parted lips began to turn into a smirk. When you saw the glint in his eyes, you quickly jerked backwards. “Now wait a-” 

“Come ‘er.” 

You spun around and took off. He chased after you with his hands out. His fingers wiggled, a silent threat to tickle you. You shrieked and rushed out of the kitchen. He giggled as he hurried after you. 

Your parents’ marriage might have ended in divorce and heartbreak, but with Chan, you were certain your marriage would be eternal. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

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[millie-multifics]

Parallel Lines (1)

Dr. Robby x Nurse!OC

Navigating divorce is hard, made more difficult by the relationships Kate built with her step-children. Robby understands her situation in a unique way and helps comfort her when one of her kids ends up becoming his patient.

Warnings: Mentions of drowning and injury, divorce, a little bit of angst, a yearning Robby with Pitt Fest Trauma, OC has step-children.

Word Count: ~1.8k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Inspired by this thought | Next

x x x

Though quite new to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre, Kate had learned quickly that there was never a dull moment. She found herself fitting well on the dayshift; quickly falling into natural motions with the charge nurse, Dana and Chief Attending, Dr. Rabinovitch.

Kate’s switch to PTMC- or as the Emergency Department lovingly referred to as “The Pitt”, was accompanied by back-to-back life changes. Her family had moved from California, finding their way into a quiet Pittsburgh suburb. Eight months later she found herself moving from the family home to a two-bedroom walkup deeper in the city, fresh ink on divorce papers heavy in tow.

She had grown accustomed during her eight years of marriage to waking before the sun, readying herself before coaxing the kids out of bed with the promise of a delicious breakfast to start their day. Now that her apartment was empty and quiet, she still rose before the sun, spending extra long under the heat of the shower and grabbing a half-charred piece of toast on her way out the door.

The apartment was close to the hospital, so she always walked, even when the clouds opened over the city to release a downpour that surely put a damper on Saturday plans.

It had become routine to stop at the Café between her building and the hospital for coffee. She had unexpectedly gained a morning coffee buddy a few weeks prior, having quite literally bumped into Dr. Robby as he exited the very same Café on a particularly tired morning.

Kate glanced at the clock centered on the chalk written menu board; he was already running late so she went ahead and added his coffee to her. A simple black coffee, two sugars. He had confessed it was an order he had grown accustomed to when he was a smoker, needing the sweet to battle the burnt bitterness the Tabacco and nicotine left lingering in his mouth- he had quit some months ago but not without great difficulty.

She waited outside with the two paper cups. Umbrella tucked in her elbow to block out the moisture as she patiently waited. She spotted him first, the familiar navy hoodie hanging off his frame. His head was ducked to avoid the large, wet drops; it must have started to rain after he had already begun his journey as there was no umbrella in sight. She stepped forward to match his pace, the large paper cup slowed his steps as it came into his view. He glanced over at her with surprise, having not spotted her on approach. He accepted the coffee as he removed his air pods, ducking under the dry sanctuary of the umbrella as she lifted it to accompany his extra height.

“Morning, Dr. Robby.”

“Good morning, Katherine.” He sipped the warm beverage, sighing as his body accepted its first taste of caffeine of the day. “Coffee is on me next time.”

She brushed it off with a small knowing laugh; he was never early enough to beat her to the coffee counter. “Shall we?”

He nodded, stuffing his free hand in his pocket to keep it from naturally finding the small of her back to keep her close while they walked. They stepped between two parked cars, silently waiting as traffic thinned enough for them to cross the street to the hospital.

Dana was observant, she also how to be discreet when it was needed. She had noticed on the fourth occurrence of Kate and Robby arriving together, same coffee cups with distinct orange markings. They would part ways to visit their lockers and proceed with the day as if they were merely colleagues, but Dana had picked up on underlying tones, ones which Princess and Perlah had yet to notice. Dana knew the pair had two options; they could leave it unacknowledged, the ease they felt in each other’s presence that led to soft looks and subtle jokes, or they could face the unknown and just go for it.

The charge nurse knew Robby well, they had worked together for a very long time, and she had seen the various periods of struggle in his life. The breakdown of his relationship with Janey, the internal struggle with his initial feelings for a younger aspiring Dr. Collins, the choices that had to be made surrounding Adamson’s death, and in the months since Pitt Fest, the loss of Leah and growing distance of Jake. The man simply needed something good in his life, not that it would fix everything but maybe give him the motivation to face it.

Kate was quiet but she was experienced and good at her job. Dana could sense a lingering sadness surrounding the breakdown of her marriage. She had once opened up to her new friend about the circumstances surrounding the successful lawyer she had married; the two wonderful stepchildren she had the privilege of helping raise - how it had all come crashing down faster than she could breathe. But the world kept turning slow and steady.

It was around midday when Kate felt like the world had halted, flipped on its axis and spun out of control while her body froze, unable to step into Trauma One of the Emergency Department.

“Got an incoming, teen drowning victim with a head lac. ETA 4 minutes.”

Kate had been returning from her locker when Dana made the announcement, the five-minute break to devour a protein bar was much needed at this time in the day. Her chest tightened as she met Robby’s eyes, knowing their thoughts were shared. A child, a teen, the unimaginable to any parent.

“Hey, is this your phone? It’s been buzzing non-stop for the past few minutes.”

It was indeed her phone; she caught a glimpse of the contact photo before it flashed off the screen. She scooped it off the desk, panic brewing in her chest at the 15 missed calls all from the same number. She redialed, biting at her lips as she listened to the phone ring.

“Mom!” Pure panic replaced the usually small voice of the ten-year-old on the line.

“Charlie? What happened?” She tried to keep her voice level, clear of the panic gripping her chest as to not further alert the boy. Her hands shook and she had to brace herself against the tall counter as she waited for the inevitable.

“Grace.” The boy sobbed, “We went to the pool, and we were playing around, but she fell in and was bleeding.”

She angled the phone away from her mouth, reaching up to cover the microphone.

“My kids.” She breathed, choking back her own sob that threatened to escape. “Robby, those are my kids.”

Something flashed very briefly in Robby’s eyes, something akin to doubt; the reminder of Leah and the consequences of not being able to save her no matter how hard he had tried. The reminder of what he had lost before he steeled his emotions, stripping off his hoodie, replacing it with a gown and gloves as he followed nurses and residents into the ambulance bay.

The wail of sirens echoed through the phone and from outside, pulling her back into the moment. “I’ll be right there, baby.”

Her phone clattered to the floor as she attempted to put it into her scrub pocket, not bothering to retrieve it as her feet carried her into the bay.

The ambulance jolted to a stop, the door slammed open and the doctors rushed forward, vital information being shouted by the paramedics as the gurney rushed past.

Kate stood back, standing off to the side knowing her emotions were much too strong to do anything useful in the moment. There she was, her Gracie; hair wet with a mixture of chlorinated pool water and thick, sticky blood. Skin pale, lips borderline blue, pulse there but weak.

“Mom!” Charlie leaped from the back of the ambulance, arms circling Kate’s waist tightly as he cried into her hip.

Robby found her two hours later. She was sitting in the waiting room with her head in her hands- it was the only way she had been able to get them to stop shaking. He silently sat in the chair next to her, offering her a familiar paper cup containing her favorite latte. Robby had bribed an intern to go to the Café to retrieve her order; a latte with only a single pump of vanilla syrup.

“Charlie was supposed to be at home, but the sitter cancelled so Gracie took him to the pool with her.” Kate’s voice was rough. She had taken the opportunity of Charlie exploring with Mateo to let out her bottled emotions. “Gracie is a competitive swimmer, spends most of her time at the pool.”

“The paramedic’s said Charlie was the one who started CPR when the lifeguard froze.” Robby had been stunned when he first heard it. The lifeguard had lost composure when she had been pulled from the pool, not breathing and heavily bleeding. “You should be very proud.”

“I am.” She sipped the warm beverage to clear the thickness in her throat. “I am so proud of both of those kids. It hurts not seeing them every day. I still go to her swim meets and his little league games, they stay over sometimes but it just feels like someone ripped the biggest part of my heart out of my chest all the time.”

Robby gently grasped her hand from where it was gripping the plastic arm of the chair, wanting to offer her comfort in a situation he was all too familiar with. He had experienced it with Jake; adaptions in life and schedule made to accompany family time, sitting at the dinner table to help battle through math homework or just the simplicity of knowing they were safety across the hall asleep at night. Having a child brighten your life, only for it to all fall apart one day with no official claim to cling onto, that connection grown in your heart left in purgatory.

“Katie.”

The voice had her pulling her hand from Robby’s larger, warm one as if his touch burned. She stood from the chair, careful not to spill her coffee as she flung her arms around the well-suited man approaching.

“Eric.”

It was her sigh of relief as she said his name that made Robby stand, his gaze lingering at their soft touches before he wandered back to the Emergency Department. For weeks he had thought that they had the potential to be more, attempting to push away his cynical thoughts that he was not worthy of love and companionship, but now he had seen maybe that voice of doubt had been right. She was freshly divorced, the love and care palpable between the two embracing forms in the hospital hallway.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bowen McCurdy and Jordan Morris’s “Youth Group”

NEXT SATURDAY (July 20), I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

Youth Group is Bowen McCurdy and Jordan Morris's new and delightful graphic novel from Firstsecond. It's a charming tale of 1990s ennui, cringe Sunday School – and demon hunting.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250789235/youthgroup

Kay is a bitter, cynical teenager who's doing her best to help her mother cope with an ugly divorce that has seen her dad check out on his former family. Mom is going back to church, and she talks Kay into coming along with her to attend the church youth group.

This is set in the 1990s, and the word "cringe" hasn't yet entered our lexicon as an adjective, but boy is the youth group cringe. The pastor is a guitar-strumming bearded dad who demonstrates how down he is with the kids by singing top 40 songs rewritten with evangelical lyrics (think Weird Al meets the 700 Club). Kay gamely struggles through a session and even makes a friend or two, and agrees to keep attending in deference to her mother's pleas.

But this is no ordinary youth group. Kay's ultra-boring suburban hometown is actually infested with demons who routinely possess the townspeople, and that baseline of demonic activity has suddenly gone critical, with a new wave of possessions. Suddenly, the possessed are everywhere – even Kay's shitty dad ends up with a demon inside of him.

That's when Kay discovers that the youth group and its corny pastor are also demon hunters par excellence. Their rec-rooms sport secret cubbies filled with holy weapons, and the words of exorcism come as readily to them as any embarrassing rewritten devotional pop song. Kay's discovery of this secret world convinces her that youth group isn't so bad after all, and soon she is initiated into its mysteries, including the existence of rival demon-hunting kids from the local synagogue, Catholic church, and Wiccan coven.

As the nature of the new demonic incursion becomes clearer, it falls on Kay and her pals to overcome these sectarian divisions over the protests of their guitar-strumming, magic-wielding leader. That takes on a special urgency when Kay learns why the demons are interested in her, personally, and a handful of other kids in town who all share a secret trait.

I confess that as someone who lived through the 1990s as a young man, there is something disorienting about experiencing the decade of my young adulthood through the kind of retro lens I associate with the 1950s or 1960s. But while the experience is disorienting, it's not unpleasant. McCurdy's artwork and Morris's snappy dialog conjure up that bygone decade in a way that is simultaneously affectionate and critical, exposing the hollowness of its performative ennui and the brave face that performance represented even as the world was being swept up in corporate gigantism.

McCurdy and Morris are really onto something here, implicitly asking us why the 1990s gave us Buffy and Sabrina (and The Coven, etc etc) – what was it about that decade in which Reaganomics and globalism consolidated the gains of the 1980s, where the climate emergency took on its undeniable urgency, where media monopolies mastered the art of commodifying counterculture faster than it could mutate into new forms?

Morris's writing really shines here. If you enjoyed Bubble, his earlier outing based on the post-apocalyptic comedy podcast of the same name, you will love this one:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/21/podcasting-as-a-visual-medium/#huntr

Morris is also half of Jordan, Jesse Go!, the long-running podcast where he and Jesse Thorn do a weekly ha-ha-only-serious goofball schtick that never fails to smuggle in really clever and insightful ideas amidst the poop jokes.

https://maximumfun.org/podcasts/jordan-jesse-go/

John Hodgman calls nostalgia a "toxic impulse." Church Group deftly avoids nostalgia's trap, managing to be a period piece without falling prey to the Happy Days pathology of ignoring the many flaws and problems of its era. And of course, it's a hoot and a blast.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/16/blight/#the-dream-of-the-nineties

[periprose]

Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

You're a family friend of the Berzattos and you're invited to have fun at their annual Christmas dinner. You think you still harbor feelings for Carmy, but as the evening progresses, you feel something for his brother.

Genre: friends to lovers, former crush on carm, really everything w carm is mostly platonic, unrequited stuff, insecurities, age gaps (reader and carm are 25, Michael is 38), takes place in 2017, takes place in S2E6, lots of angst, anxiety, some fluff, no use of y/n (you have a nickname: Birdie)

Word count: 11k

There’s a bauble and trinket everywhere you look. Festive, Christmas spirit seems to ebb from the very walls of the Berzatto household– and you would be remiss not to compliment it vocally in some way.

Donna is clearly waiting, teetering on a response from you as you take everything in from the front door. And you know how she reacts if you don’t say things in that perfect, supportive tone that she so desperately thrives off of.

“Wow, Mrs. Berzatto!” You clasp your hands, trying not to seem too cloying or ironic. “I love what you’ve done with the house. Such an eye for details.”

“Oh, stop.” She giggles, and lightly taps your shoulder as she takes your coat and hangs it up in the closet. 

“No, really. I wish my house was so… Christmassy this time of year.” You shrug, knowing that your dad isn’t the festive type after divorcing your mother.

“Aw. Well, we have love to spread here.” It’s a strange unseen sympathy coming from Donna, and she pulls you inside, and you take off your shoes, shuffling around in your socks and your comfy, hopefully chic, green loose turtleneck sweater. “Except you might have to wait a bit, because some of these fuckers are late.”

There’s that bitter tone you remember from Donna. You don’t really care for that– you tend to have an avoidant personality especially with how your own mother acts sometimes– and she yells out for Carmy and Mikey to greet you.

“Boys! Birdie’s here!” She calls from the stairs, and you suddenly feel self conscious.

Ever since your dad, a former co-worker and friend of Cicero’s, starting taking you as a teenager to these Berzatto hangouts, you have always had a eye for Carmen. It was hard not to be, seeing this bashful, slightly angry, awkward boy, around the same age as you, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. You felt like sometimes, he really, really listened to you, and that was all you needed.

You wish you could be there for him too. 

It’s something you’ve never acted on, never bothered to actually approach him about– he always seemed so absorbed by his own thing.

You relished in the fact that he never had a girlfriend. You felt secure in that, because he just seemed safe. And it’s not like he would’ve been mean about rejecting you if he knew– you were always close to the Berzatto siblings. You were Bear and Birdie, ready to head out on a walk together, while the adults gossiped and drank.

Of course, you haven’t seen him in about… two years now. Around after he left to his apartment, and did his chef-education-training (you’re a bit vague on the details, honestly), and ever since then, as far as you know he’s slowly been doing what he loves. He does text you from time to time, but you’d be overstating those texts’ importance if you pretended it really quantified a relationship.

Mikey clambers down the stairs, wearing what looks to be pajamas, or very chill homebody clothes, and he raises his arm in a big, Italian gesture.

“Oh! Is that little Bird I see?” He exclaims, and pulls you into an eager hug. Maybe a little too eager– you think it’s almost as if you’re comforting him as you hug him back, his face coming down onto your shoulder, as he encapsulates you– and he pulls away, grinning.

He actually looks really good. You don’t know when you started thinking that Mikey was good looking, but it’s true– he has a certain, rough around the edges appeal that you find yourself drawn to.

“Merry Christmas. You’ve been keeping away from us.” Mikey points as you, intended as a stern remark, but you snort.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas. I’ve been busy with work and law school, Michael. I’m not a kid anymore.” You resist the urge to comment on his beard, and then do it anyways. “Are you sure I’ve been keeping away? You’re the one with a hermit-ass beard.”

“Oh… they grow up and just start taking shots at you, don’t they, Ma?” Mikey places his hand over his heart, as if he’s wounded, and Donna shakes her head in agreement, before heading back to the kitchen, already seeming annoyed about something. “Beards are fashionable in 2017, Bird. Maybe come back to our current time– no reason for you to start dressing like a grandma already.”

You scoff at that, pointing at your sweater. “It’s semi-formal, c’mon! It looks nice. Respect the gathering’s rules.”

“It’s my house, babe.” Mikey leans in with maybe a little too much comfort, his eyes shining with some warmth, mirth even, and you don’t exactly pull away– the guy is like thirteen years older than you, and even if he does kid around, play up an older brother thing, you’ve started feeling like he’s restraining something more as of late, maybe some primal level of attraction that he knows better than to mess around with. You know that the feeling is kind of mutual– but you really don’t know how to quantify it. “I’m man of the house, and I say you should wear something that maybe, uh, shows off the pretty twenty-five year old that you are.”

The last part of this sentence has you swallowing a little, and you feel your face turning warm, and Mikey himself looks embarrassed that he’s said it, that he’s given a bit of evidence to your theories– he seems to brush something off, inside himself. 

You have never thought you were all that. You’ve always been pretty sure you should be glad that you’ve gotten by without having to worry about your looks. The idea of wearing a nice, somewhat revealing dress to the Berzattos’ house has you cringing, because you know it would just be… bad. 

“I’m not–” Mikey scowls at himself and you can visibly see himself fighting something, looking a little anxious, and you tentatively grasp his forearm.

“I know what you mean. I’m not offended.” You smile slightly, making the effort to calm him down a little, because you would never want Michael to beat himself up over you (he really seems to do that as of late and you know you’re not worth the trouble), and he nods and inhales. “You look good, too.”

“Right. Right on, Birdie. You can do what you want, anyways. Not up to me.” He seems to really dial back some of what he said, and before you can respond, Carmy walks downstairs.

“Hi. Hey, Birdie. Merry Christmas.” He says, kind of quietly, and you find yourself somewhat happy to hear him say your nickname again. Carmy looks especially nice– deep blue has always been his colour, it brightens up his eyes– and he has slightly longer hair than you remember. 

He leans in for a brief but firm hug, and glances at your eyes once, before looking towards the floor again.

Mikey nods and proceeds to exit to the kitchen, and you’re left with Carmy grappling with what to say.

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

Carmy coughs awkwardly, and you find your face turning warm as he looks towards you.

“Sorry, Bear.” You let him speak, hoping not to scare him away. “How’s everything? You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh… well, I’ve been training at Copenhagen?” He furrows his brows, runs his hand through his hair. “Just learning as much as I can.”

“Oh. Uh-huh.” Your curiosity is piqued– you didn’t know he was in Denmark, much to your disappointment– but you want to pry more of an answer out of him. He doesn’t seem interested in talking about it more than that. 

“Sorry. Sorry. Stupid answer, there’s just not much to say.” Carmy shrugs, and then realizes suddenly that you’ve been standing at the foyer of the house for quite some time now, which isn’t very polite or inviting of him. “Wait, hold on. Let’s go sit inside and talk.”

Carmy makes some offhand comment about how you need to speak up sometimes and stop being so nice and accommodating to idiots like him, and you snicker, knowing that this is the Carmy you remember– snarky, ready to fight people on sometimes, even if he is a little weird and bashful. Although he’s short– he makes up for it with his resilience.

Carmy leads you through golden-lit hallways, a certain pepperminty, pine tree scent seeming to overlay the entire house, and there’s bushels and wreathes and mistletoe everywhere, and somehow even more baubles, ornaments, trinkets, knickknacks, all gold and red and warm tones that do make you feel a little fuzzy.

Carmy sits you down in the living room, on the sofa, and you’re next to him, and you place a foot under your knee, trying to feel casual. Not freaking out about him sitting right next to you. Weirdly enough… you don’t think you feel anything anxiety inducing. 

Perhaps you’re just getting more reassured of yourself with age. 

“So? How is Copenhagen, otherwise? I know Denmark is really interesting, but you’re probably busy with chef stuff, huh?” You prod just a little further. Just out of your own personal curiosity to see how far Carmy will go for you, and he nods. “Any friends?”

“Ah…” Carmy winces a little. “Can’t say if he’s a friend yet, but there is this guy that’s out of this world with pastries. I don’t know if I can meet his standard on that.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. “Bear, you make my dad cookies all the time. Or, well, you used to. You can’t be that bad at it, considering that he always eats all of them.”

“Oh, really? Fuck, man.” Carmy looks at you in disbelief, settling more into his corner of the couch, closer to the tree, but looking more openly at you. You feel yourself cower a little under his watchful gaze. “I didn’t know your dad enjoyed them that much… I would’ve made more. Did you ever try them?”

“Hm?” You were getting lost in the details around Carmy– the dark blue shirt, the little bits of stubble around his jaw, the tattoos peeping out from under his long sleeves– and you nod. “Ah, I tried a batch around the last time you gave him some. I think it was… macadamia, matcha, white chocolate? Really good.”

Carmy is unreadable, his eyes flickering from the ground to your eyes– you think maybe you’ve embarrassed him a little– but he thanks you. “Where is your dad, anyways?”

“Ah. He’s got the flu, and he was kind enough to not want to infect you guys.” You admit. “Even though he was trying his best to walk over here from our house.”

Carmy remembers that you live in the neighbourhood over. You two used to hang out a lot during elementary and high school. He kind of missed you– something he’d never say out loud, but Carmy knows friends are few with him, and you were always a good friend to him growing up. You were always a comforting presence for him– you never asked him for too much, and he could tell you were being careful to do so. No pressure.

You just became really busy with law school, and he became really busy with chef stuff, and now you’re both… you both just lost touch. He feels bad about it– bad like he always does, with former friends and acquaintances from high school that he’s accidentally ghosted and lost– but at least you don’t seem to be annoyed about it. 

He thinks it’s probably because in this case, you pulled away just as much as he had to.

“How’s law school, anyways?” Carmy counts the years in his head. “You’ve either just finished or you’re in your final year?”

“I’m in my final year.” You stretch out your arms, looking eager. “It’s a lot of work– I’m only here because I’m lucky enough to have a bit of a break in the winter months, and I’m ahead on my courses. But, uh… I don’t know. It’s fun.”

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little. 

“What?”

“I don’t know, Birdie. Fun is more… fucking, I don’t know, fireworks or something? Drugs, maybe, yeah.” Carmy watches as you laugh, and laugh, at what he’s said, and again he’s never really sure what’s so funny about what he’s said, but he likes to hear you laugh.

“Clearly you don’t know either.” You snort, and lightly punch his arm. “When did we become workaholics?”

“Probably when we became, uh, adults and entered the workforce.” Carmy states, and you wrinkle your brows.

“We’re not really in the workforce yet, but–”

“What, really? C’mon. You’re a fucking receptionist or some shit, right?”

“Business administration specialist.”

“Yeah, there you go. That’s work, especially with all the school you have to do.” Carmy shrugs. “But what do you really want to be, then?”

“Oh, we getting into dreams, then?” You cock an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you cared that much, Bear.”

Carmy, for some reason he can’t detect, turns a little red. “No, of course I do. We’re still friends, right?”

“Acquaintances.”

“For real?” Carmy looks back at you, affronted, but you have a little smile and he knows you’re teasing. “Oh fuck you. Stop it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You shake your head, giggling a little, glad to have so easily fallen back into a comfortable, friendly banter. “Of course we’re friends, it’s just that… I always thought very highly of you, Carmen, and I can’t always be sure that feeling was returned. You know? I assumed that you’d be out doing sophisticated cooking in big, upscale restaurants, and the rest of us would just be reading about it. Forgive me for feeling a little behind it all.”

“No, no, no. You got it all wrong, Birdie.” Carmy half-laughs at how you put him on such a pedestal. “You were always the one doing real work, as Mom would call it. You’re the one who’s actually smart and good at arguing, debating– that’s a real skill coming from me, because I just yell fuck at everyone and hope it works. I always thought you were the impressive one out of all of us.”

You snicker, but you’re actually quite pleased with that, and you feel your heart warm at his praise. “Ah, that’s so sweet. Thank you. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been surviving off of ramen and convenience store food for the last month. I can hardly make the time to cook efficiently.”

“...” Carmy shakes his head. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You’re gonna eat good food today then, I hope.”

Almost as if on cue, Donna calls for Carmy to come help her with something– and you’re left sitting as he tells you that he’s going to hear about your dream job when he gets back.

/

Fifteen minutes later– Carmy is still MIA, and you’re starting to get a little hungry. 

You know it’s rude, but luckily Michael comes by and asks if you want a snack.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, and Michael snickers.

“You’re the same girl that can eat a whole number four combo at the Beef. I’m pretty sure you were hungry before you got here.” Michael jokes, and you blush in embarrassment.

“Oh my god, stop it.” You shake your head. “Anyways, yeah. A snack would be nice.”

Michael gives you a wink that strangely has you a little twitterpated, before you shake that off. He comes back a few minutes later, chewing on something himself– and he hands you a bowl full of Italian sausage stirfry.

“Thanks, Michael.” You smile up at him, and he nods, trying not to smile too much back at your gratitude, but he likes how you take a bite and look super relieved, happy with the food. He’s always loved giving food to people– taking care of them. Especially you, for some reason.

Michael heads back to the kitchen, and Natalie comes by and takes his place.

“Birdie!” She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, equally happy. “Oh my gosh, if I knew you were down here I would’ve come by ages ago!”

“Aw.” You beam at her. “That’s okay, Nat. I’m happy to see you too.”

She’s off ranting about how Pete, her husband, is late, and how she can barely manage everything going on, and you’re sympathetic. You know Nat gets more of a harsh treatment from Donna, and you tell her that you’re there if she needs a person on her side.

“Oh, Birdie. I couldn’t do that to you. Even if you are amazing at talking, Miss Lawyer-to-be.” She lets you continue to sit down in your corner of the living room, as she heads off to check on her mom– maybe pour out some alcohol.

 Carmy comes back in, slightly powdered with flour on his forehead– and he sits back down, sighing, as he drinks a glass of water.

There’s the slightest air of awkward tension still– even if you and Carmy have fallen back into your old ways, he still keeps a slight distance, one that he’s grown into, and you feel that you have to break the silence. You don’t know if he’s just tired or if there’s some level of irritation of having to deal with all the holiday bullshit, but you take a guess it has to do with Donna.

“That bad?” You grimace, and Carmy matches your expression.

“That bad.” He shakes his head. “She always gets a little woo-woo around these fucking events. Like, I never wanted her to do all of this– but she insists and insists and doesn’t know how to let go of the, uh…”

“Hubris.” 

“Yes. Hubris.” Carmy sighs, glad you still have the perfect word for everything. “Whatever. Anyways, haven’t forgotten. Hit me with your dream.”

“Okay, it’s going to sound a little weird, but, um… I’m really interested in becoming a labour relations lawyer?” You feel almost too much glee at the fact that Carmy remembered, and you see Carmy bite his lip, a little confused, so you continue, hoping you don’t sound like too much of a fucking nerd. “Meaning to help employees get out of their shitty situations with wages, working hours, benefits and fight for their rights. Union stuff. I don’t know, just feels like everyone is struggling with this nowadays… might as well push forward and try to help them out.”

“Wow, now that you’ve said that, it makes a lot of sense.” Carmy blinks. “I mean, uh, it’s not just that you’re good at arguing– you always go for the justice part of things. Remember when Michael and Sugar were arguing about cleaning the basement?”

You do remember that. You suggested dividing up either equally or by who owned what, and they eventually came to an agreement based on that. Michael wanted to dip because he was older, and Sugar thought it was demeaning to ask a girl to clean.

“Or when Lee said that women can’t think analytically, or what was it… mathematically?” Carmy laughs as he watches your face turn angry again.

“Yeah. I especially remember that. I told him to think about Ada Lovelace and to shut up.” You wince. “Maybe not the most mature thing I’ve ever said. I don’t think that’s such a great thing… sometimes I don’t know when to let go of arguments.”

“It’s alright, it was funny.” Carmy plays with his fingers. “That being said, I think you’ll be good if you choose to be that. A labour relations lawyer. You’re smart, and god fucking knows we all need the help. You should check out how many chefs get fucked over because they work at places for the prestige of doing so.”

“Damn.” You make a mental note of that, feeling embarrassed over how much praise Carmy has freely given you. “Is that going to be you?”

“Doesn’t matter if it is. Sometimes you gotta do what you can.” Carmy doesn’t really give you a clear answer, and you feel bad for him. Bad that he’s still stuck in that mindset.

/

You can hear people hooting and jeering near the stairs, as you walk around the house, exploring a little. Tiff was grateful that you visited her for a brief moment– she told you being pregnant was not all it was cracked up to be– and now you’re just on the upper floor, near the stair railing, on your phone.

You’re not really one to eavesdrop, but you hear– you believe it’s Mikey and Richie– they’re chanting “Claire! Claire Bear!”

Your stomach drops, as you hear them hoot about how hot she is, whoever this Claire girl is– how stacked she is, apparently, the banging body she has, the glasses no longer ruining her appearance– and although you know it’s gross men talk, there’s a small, sad part of you that wants to be perceived as attractive, too. 

Still, even as you find yourself frowning and turning away in disgust, you can’t stop yourself from listening.

You remember her. Claire, one of the neighbours down the street. Went to the same high school as you and Carmy. She was really something, someone of note if you remember the popular kid cliques correctly, but she had largely gone unnoticed by you, and it wasn’t for any reason in particular. You can’t be close with every person in high school.

But still– you feel jealous. Just a teeny bit. What was so different about her?

Sure, she was a nice girl. But weren’t you? You arguably had more history with the Berzattos, and yet… it’s as if you’ve simply blended into the wallpaper, their assortment of home decor and furniture. You’ve always been here, and so you don’t stand out.

You might never stand out.

You can hear Carmy trying his best to argue against them, asking them what they did, telling them to fuck off with their teasing– but he sounds sheepish, embarrassed, righteously mortified in the telltale way one would be when they have a crush, and you feel sick. 

They’re heaping compliments on her. You know what they mean when they talk about her like this– she’s the clear, obvious choice, probably closer to the family, more interesting, more affectionate, a genius. You don’t really know Claire that well, but apparently, she’s perfect. And you know you, in your silly frumpy sweater, in your attempts to dress up– you are not. You feel humiliated that you even believed Mikey when he said you were pretty– he was clearly complimenting you just to be nice. 

You weren’t even an idea in their minds, not for Carmy, anyways. You don’t even think Carmy is capable of seeing you like that now, and it’s with a crushing blow that you realize you were holding out hope. Mistaking familiarity for affection.

It’s a rookie mistake. One that you thought you were self aware enough not to make, because you’ve always known Carmen Berzatto was just out of reach for you.

You wait for them to leave, and come down the stairs, running into Carmy as he groans in annoyance.

/

Carmy says he needs to wipe some of the flour out of his hair, and you let him go upstairs, not really wanting to look at him, doing everything you can to make your way back to the living room unnoticed. In the meanwhile, Michael comes back and flops into Carmy’s seat on the sofa, next to where you sit, sullen.

“Hey, Birdie.” Michael starts, and you can’t read his tone, and you’re a little annoyed with his fake-nice attention. “Why not sit with me, the Faks, Michelle and Stevie? They’re really good people, I promise.”

“How do you know I’m avoiding people?” You snap back, maybe a little too aggrieved.

“It’s written all over your face, little Birdie.” He touches his knee to yours, and you bite your lip, swallowing your confusion, and Mikey enjoys the fact that you’ve chosen to wear a deep, brick-red Christmas lip colour. It’s hot– he doesn’t get how you don’t seem to be aware that you’re attractive.

He wants to kiss you. Maybe mess up that fancy lipstick and that sweet, annoyingly justice oriented, always-right character of yours. But he keeps it to himself.

“Don’t be antisocial. You of all people shouldn’t be alone during the holidays.”

“I’m not trying to be antisocial. I promise.” You shrug, trying to keep your emotions, that sinking feeling in your gut at bay– the last thing you want is for Michael to see you upset. “I was keeping Bear company, but I can come sit with you guys.” 

“That’s my girl.” Michael pulls you up by the arm, and you can feel your face warming at his choice of words– you like being in Michael’s good graces, even if you feel less than great right now.

Michelle, cousin of the Berzattos, has always been sweet to you. She’s impressive in her own right, and as you sit down in front of her and Stevie– she gushes about New York.

“Ah, that’s not to say Chicago isn’t impressive. Right, Birdie?” She smiles at you, not unkindly, and you feel happy to be included. 

“Right.” You shrug, knowing that the law firm you work at isn’t all that crazy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re nothing special, not after what transpired just a few minutes ago, and you voice it. “It’s just okay.”

“No, c’mon. You work at one of the top fucking law firms in the city– you’re gonna make it.” Michael admonishes you. “Out of us Chicagoans, I mean, Michelle, before you take offense.”

“Yeah, Mish.” Richie echoes, popping up out of nowhere.

“None taken.” Michelle fixes her eyes between you and Michael– perhaps reading on something that you’re not even really sure how to understand, let alone explain– and she laughs. “Anyways, what was I saying? Right.”

She launches into a story about hating a woman who didn’t understand the Berzatto name. It’s quite funny– you find yourself laughing every now and then, the dull ache in your heart less noticeable, especially with how good Michelle is at telling stories, and somewhere along the story, Michael’s hand has stayed intertwined with yours, without you really noticing. You only notice when he lets go, and again– a pitfall in your stomach, wondering if Michael just feels familiar around you because there’s nothing to be attracted to and thus respectful of– and it’s such a stupid thought, but you still just know you want to feel wanted. You want to get a hold on yourself– remind yourself you’re not owed attraction and there’s nothing wrong with Mikey or Carmy seeing you as just a friend.

You realize with a start that you’re feeling confused about Michael, too. Was it just a weird quirk of his, calling every single girl pretty just for laughs? Could you even trust what he said? Why does Michael’s opinion of you feel way more pertinent and important than Carmy’s does?

You find yourself mulling over these thoughts, not sure of what’s going on around you, and you hear Michael tell the Fak bros, Ned and Ted, to shut up about California, which they do.

Donna starts screaming in the background, which causes you to turn abruptly. “Oh, fuck me!”

Michael turns and looks at you with some caution– he’s used to his mother’s outbursts, but he never ever wants you to face them. You don’t deserve that, you’ve probably never done anything to deserve it. Not like him.

Stevie gets up, much to the surprise of everyone around him. “Looks like Auntie D needs help, huh?”

“No, no, no.” Everyone tries to stop him, including you.

“What?”

Michelle pushes him back down, but he gets back up, resilient. 

Lee decides to comment in. “Let him, why not?”

“I’m sure she could use a few extra hands. I’m going.” He goes, and you stand up to follow, not willing to let an innocent person get dragged into Donna’s insanity.

“Wait, Birdie. Where are you going?” Michael holds your hand again, and you turn red at his action– a little angry, a little glum that he seems to care for you, and you can’t even be grateful for it. “Don’t throw yourself to the wolves. It’s not fucking worth it.”

“Not throwing myself– just want to make sure Stevie is protected.” You move forward, your face stony, and Michael lets go of you, sighing as he wraps his blanket around himself, wondering when you got all pissed off, but glad that you’re not so upset that you wouldn’t act all lawyer-y for Stevie.

Lee is glancing at him, while Michelle looks pleased as punch.

“What? What the fuck are these expressions?” Michael looks around questioningly, and Richie gives him a side glance.

“When’d you get all sweet on her, bro?” Richie gags a little. “Not that she’s not your type, but, uh–”

“I’m just being friendly.” Michael dismisses him, leaning back in his seat. “It’s the holidays, she shouldn’t be lonely.”

“Bullshit you are.” Richie sniggers, and Michael lightly shoves him.

“Yeah, I call bullshit too.” Michelle grins. “I can see it– you’re blushing.”

Michael groans, hating to be so obviously vulnerable in front of everyone. 

“Well I, for one, think it’s a huge, fucking catastrophic mistake.” Lee starts, and Michael feels himself blanch under the judgement of this guy. “You’re going to ruin that young woman’s potential if you go around messing with her.”

“Lee, she’s not that young–” Neil starts. “I think she can decide that herself?”

“Whatever. This one knows he isn’t right for her– always wants what he can’t have.” Lee mutters, and Michael feels that white-hot rage– the anger he feels bubbling inside of him as of late. 

He does his best to swallow it down, but a part of him knows that it’s true. As much as Michael enjoys your random visits over the past two years, he knows– you’re too good for someone like him. Too young, too selfless, too honest and good and pretty, and he feels an overwhelming wave of shame that he came so close. It’s like he just… doesn’t know how to be a good, responsible person, and it kills him on the inside that he could be so shameful, be so abhorrent and take advantage of you like that, and even if there is a tiny part of him screaming that it’s not so black and white– that you could be just as interested, of your own volition, in him as he is in you– he feels guilt. 

Michael is ashamed of who he is. Over, and over, there’s that feeling again– kill yourself– that he doesn’t know how to suppress, and he ignores it as he starts up a new story.

/

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

You came towards them in the midst of Donna yelling for Stevie to get the fuck out of the kitchen, and Sugar shushing him and shoving him away, and you now place a hand on her shoulder– clearly Stevie has it handled, somewhat.

When he lets go, she sniffles and you smile encouragingly, albeit a little sadly, and Natalie wipes away a tear. 

“It’s okay. It’s fine, it’s nothing. You don’t need to talk to her.” She starts, and you shake your head.

“I’m not going to. I can see that would make things worse.” You squeeze her shoulders, and Stevie nods.

“Yeah, Natalie. But we’re here. We’ll always be here if you want to talk.” He tries, and you smile at her– but something about Nat’s slightly upset, off putting expression, and Donna’s grumbling in the background– you feel your heart seizing a little at the tense emotions, so similar to your own, and you excuse yourself.

You walk until you reach the pantry, hot tears already working their way down your face. Every single negative emotion have come to a head, and you’re in terrible danger of having to explain things if you don’t get it together in under ten minutes or so.

You sit on the high table in the pantry, trying not to cry anymore than you already have, your head between your knees– but something about today has all your nerves on edge, and you know it’s because you put in some effort to come here, to see your dear friends, to look appealing enough, to be someone worth talking to, and now you feel as if they never really cared about you at all. 

You know these are lousy, immature feelings. You know you can be above them if you really, truly tried, but you let yourself sink into them further, because something about this environment is terrible and you just can’t let it go.

Even worse, no one has really done anything wrong. If this was a court case, you wouldn’t even have any evidence to make a claim. You’re simply confused, perhaps looking at things from the wrong angles– but the fact that you can’t look at this rationally makes you feel worse. As if you’re not as smart as you believed.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in here, when you hear someone shuffle into the pantry, next to you– it’s Michael.

He’s quick on his feet– you try to move away, let him grab whatever household ingredient he needed– but his full attention is on you as his eyes narrow, scanning your tear stained face and your hunched over body.

“Birdie?”

You can’t quite look at him, and you desperately try to wipe your tears, burying your face more between your knees. 

“Hey, no. Birdie.” He shakes his head, grabs your arms. He thinks it’s a little strange he’s had to cheer up two different people in the pantry, but he chalks it up to how his house always is. “What happened? Was it Ma?”

“No.” You sight and swallow down the sobs in your throat.

“Then what was it?” Michael’s eyes turn steely. “Fucking ‘Uncle’ Lee? Asshole. Told me I can’t finish any fucking businesses.”

“But… you run the Beef, don’t you?” You say, amid sniffles, entirely honest about it, and Michael’s eyes soften. “That has to count for something.”

“Yeah, little Bird.” He’s glad to have you here– he doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, not when you’re the only person on his side at this moment. “But why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

“I–” You shake your head, and feel your head hang heavy as you slouch over the table, and Michael leans over you, pressing your head to his chest, and you feel yourself crying silently into his shirt, as he shushes you and combs back your hair, his other arm caressing your back.

Michael’s not the best person– not the most comforting to be around– but he knows, by being an older brother, by being someone people want to be around, he knows how to make it count when he does give in to comfort. 

He just wishes he didn’t feel so goddamned depressed himself, so he would know the right things to say. He doesn’t want to be so useless all the time.

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small. 

He feels both elated that you would trust him with this, and devastated that he’ll never be good enough to deserve your trust. 

“Yeah, Birdie?”

“It’s so juvenile, but I…" You shake your head and decide to commit to it. "I wish I was pretty."

“Is that it?” Michael’s arm wraps around your shoulder as he squishes onto the seat of the table, next to you. “You think you’re ugly, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m–” You inhale deeply, and wipe away your tears again. “It’s not about being ugly. It’s more like an objective reality that I have to accept. I’m just not… I’m not anything special to look at.”

“Wow, kid.” Michael tuts and shakes his head. “Ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? That stupid fucking mantra, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s true.” Michael almost starts laughing, but you look so solemn and serious, he resists the urge. “You’re not ugly. You might not think you’re all that, but you don’t see what I see.”

Michael tenses, and you watch as he falters over how to explain.

Michael thinks you're so damn annoying with that ardent, sweet expression– even if your tears are staining your face, you still look so grateful to hear him say those words– and it just crushes him. It crushes him to know that you look for his approval so much, when he knows you're worth so much more than that.

He doesn't want to let you down. You and Carmen– he will never be enough for the two of you. 

"I don't– I'm fucking stupid, Birdie, don't listen to me." He swallows, but you're hanging onto his words and your face falls again. 

"But I can listen to you get all poetic about Claire, right?" You mutter, angry, and you get up to leave– but Michael grabs your forearm, and he's quite a bit stronger than you are. 

“Hey. That’s different.” Michael tries, but you shake your head, and you’re left sitting on the table again. “I was only teasing Bear. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I know.” You turn even more glum, and Michael is left feeling terrible, wondering what was so wrong with what he said. 

You’re silent for a moment– you know that you like Carmy, but something about telling Michael about it feels weird, like you’re pre-emptively rejecting him rather than Carmy by confessing feelings that are slowly disappearing– and you just don’t want to.

But you know you need to. You need to accept that Carmy would never see you that way.

“I just… for a really long time, I thought that I…” You fall to silence, again, and Michael is staring at you, hanging onto every word, watching your side profile shake as you try to gather your thoughts. “I really liked him, you know? I don’t even know why– maybe he was just the clearly available, safe option, and now that’s not even true and I feel like I’m mourning something that was never even real. How stupid and childish can I get?”

“Wait, Birdie–”

“And I just… I know I’m not like Claire. I don’t know what I got myself into. I don’t even really like him anymore– it’s just that the situation makes it so damn apparent that I am just average.” You huff out your words with an air of finality that even has Michael flinching a little, and he runs his hands through his hair, unbelieving of what you’ve said. “You can’t even say I’m not, Mikey, because I know how you talked about her and it was just so different to how anyone here has ever thought about me.”

“Birdie, shut the fuck up.” Michael breathes out really heavily, pinching his brows, thinking that he regrets everything he said and he wishes he could take it back. “I didn’t really– I was trying to tease Carmy, you know? It didn’t mean the shit you think it does. Hell, I would be way more serious if I was talking about you.”

He takes a beat of silence– should he read your reaction to that, or keep going? And he decides to keep going.

“You can’t just act like you can read everyone’s minds because you’re a lawyer, Birdie.” Michael says it with a slightly lighter tone, and his hand traces the small of your back as you lean against your knees, staring up at him. “Didn’t you learn about intent or whatever the fuck it was? In school?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You admit despite yourself, and Michael smiles but continues seriously.

“I don’t think that about Claire, okay? If anything, I’m fucking embarrassed you heard me talk all of that shit– that was just meant to be, uh, guy talk. I swear.” Michael swallows, feeling guilty that he still had to be so low about it. “I don’t– I care so much about him, I just went too far in working him up. I think it would be a good thing for him, right?”

Hurt flashes across your face– you still don’t think you like Carmy anymore, you just don’t know how to feel about someone else being portrayed as a “good thing.” But you inhale– you know part of getting over it is having to accept this, and you let yourself think and then nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.” You agree, and it doesn’t hurt as much since Michael is looking at you sympathetically. “I just… I want to be a good thing, too. Not for Carmy, just…”

“For someone?” Michael answers as you trail off. 

“Yeah.”

“Listen, Birdie. I’m gonna tell you something you gotta hear.” Michael has that determined look where you know he’s going to say something smart– he has his fleeting moments of wisdom even if he doesn’t believe in himself– and he goes for it. “I can’t believe no one has ever told you just to, I don’t know, fucking love yourself a little? Like, c’mon, you should be able to like yourself! You’re an incredible person and you deserve– you have the right to be insanely fucking confident and it’s so fucking annoying that you don’t see it.”

In the heat of his argument, Michael’s come too close again, and he can feel your breath on somewhere near his jaw or neck, and he has to remind himself to pull away again.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Michael combs back a strand of your hair.

“Don’t be sorry. Just listen to what I’m saying.” Michael inhales, thinks over why he can’t do this himself– Tina always tells him to be a little easier on himself, but he just struggles– and he thinks that you look terribly cute so it’s just a lot easier to root for you. “Don’t do it for some idiot guy who will never really appreciate you, little Birdie.”

You can feel the conclusion of that sentence, even if Michael doesn’t quite say it: do it for yourself. Be there for yourself. Listen to the good part of yourself, rather than him.

“Oh. I guess that’s…” You swallow, taking it in, knowing the value of his words. “It’s true.”

“See? You know it.” Michael leans in a little too close again, his face a mere breadth away from your own.

“I think you’d actually make a fantastic lawyer.” You slyly comment amid wiping your face, and Michael blinks and then laughs.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d get to see me and hear my advice all the time.” Michael mumbles a little over his words but to his surprise, you nod. 

“Yeah, then I’d get to see some idiot who really does appreciate me.” You murmur even more quietly, and Michael, feeling stupid, has a wistful smile on his face that he maybe has not felt in a decade. It’s so sweet– he thinks his heart is bursting with something. 

Maybe love. Maybe that jovial, Christmas spirit that seems to emanate as the food smells closer to ready, maybe what Carmen gave him as a kind gift, most likely the closeness he feels with you– not just being close in familiarity, more like– he can make out the little spots and freckles adorning your face, every single eyelash your still watery eyes have, the faint lines in your still-red lips, and it occurs to him that he’s too close. Somewhere during this talk, his hand has stayed around your back, and you have been tentatively tracing his right hand’s knuckles with your own thumb. 

Michael knows how it looks. If anyone was to walk in right now (and he’s sure Michelle or Richie have already put it together that the two of you have been gone for a while) they would assume you two are a couple.

He has a sudden air of regret– it’s not because he wants to reject you, he just… he struggles a lot with feeling wanted. He struggles with the standards that people seem to put on him. Michael has always known he’s not a good guy– he doesn’t know how to be the person that everyone seems to think he is. Carmen, Natalie, Richie, you– you all seem to think the best of him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He nearly had a breakdown watching Carmen look up to him so lovingly.

Before he can pull away– with another responsible refusal, telling you that he’s too old and washed up, and that you deserve the whole world and he is not enough to offer that to you– you gently but firmly grab his face, tracing his cheek, and he thinks it could be wrong– what if you’re just feeling all confused and willy-nilly about feelings because you’re displacing what you felt about Carmen, what if you don’t actually like him and you’re assuming that you do because of his clear attraction to you, what if you’re just feeling the moment and the sweet guidance he’s given you?

Tons of questions seem to flow from his mind, things that he wants to ask you, but Michael thinks fuck it, because you’re leaning in first and pulling him in and it’s something he would’ve never expected in a million years, that you could be just as attracted to him.

He kisses you maybe a little too hard– maybe it should’ve been softer, more gentle since you’ve opened up to him so much, but you kiss him just as eagerly back, and he doesn’t fucking care to be gentle anymore. He’s leaning over you and Michael knows he’s quite a bit taller, so he has to pull you upwards to really reach your lips, and the table the two of you are sitting on is quite small– it shakes a little and there’s not much room for Michael to really feel you.

Until you climb into his lap, because of course you do, and now you’re just tangling your fingers in his hair, and he thinks he can feel whatever migraine that the day’s events have spurred on him slipping away, and his hands wrap around the smallest part of your waist as he pulls you in, pressing his chest against yours. 

You feel like Michael’s beard tickles a little– but you don’t mind that. You weren’t sure until you did it that you’ve wanted to kiss him for a while. You feel like maybe you’ve actually been more attracted to him than you ever were with Carmy, maybe even just going for Carmy due to his aforementioned security. 

Michael groans, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you sharply inhale as his tongue roams around your own, and he knows he likes hearing you gasp when his hands come up under your sweater, just to feel your bare skin, and you pull away.

Michael comes in too close again, placing a soft yet firm kiss on the corner of your mouth, and you laugh at him, and it’s one of the best sounds he could hear. No longer are you all gloomy and sullen in the corner of the room– but there’s still an air of heat around you two, and he knows he should let you go before things go too far. 

“Consider that a Christmas present.” You murmur softly, tapping his face, genuinely smiling despite the smeared lipstick, and you clamber off his lap, and peek out the pantry. “I think you’re good to go eat dinner– let me just…”

You wipe the red lipstick from his mouth using the corner of your sweater sleeve, so not to leave evidence, and it’s an intimate moment that has Michael staring at your hand, to your eyes, and there’s something in his eyes– maybe sorrow, maybe appreciation, but most of all, tenderness, and he takes a silly, soft moment to just kiss your hand. You beam at him.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” You tease him, because you know that Michael has always had that look, and he stiffens for a moment.

“Ah… maybe around when you came back from graduating college.” Michael admits, feeling weirdly high and low all at the same time, but he questions you too. “What about you? Don’t tell me you just decided to kiss me right now. That would fucking… that would be too much.”

His heart falls for a split second– thinking about how again you could’ve just been having a little fling– why would you ever like him? He struggles to think how you could, even after having kissed you.

“No, no. I swear it’s not like that.” You turn a little red and play with your hands. “Um. You’re not like a rebound, Mikey, I just… I think I liked you ever since I started coming around more, maybe around last year? I probably just didn’t notice because I thought I was into Carmy. You know? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael tries not to let the relief show through his face too much. “I thought maybe I was… reading too much into it. Putting pressure on you.”

“No, you’re good.” You shake off his concerns. “I don’t think that at all. I really do like you… might’ve just been obsessed with the idea of a childhood friend turning into a lover.”

Michael grins. “Well, who’s to say that didn’t fucking happen, Birdie? Are we not childhood friends?”

“Eh… kind of. You’re a bit old.” You give him a so-so motion, and Michael jokingly pushes you a little. “I’m kidding! This is more like– your friend’s hot older brother gives you a chance and it’s crazy and exciting and you just want to know more.”

You were half kidding, but you’re so honest about it, and Michael loves it, but there’s still that undercurrent of agony– he wants to just openly like you, too, but he doesn’t want to be such a fucking failure about it.

“I’m gonna just head to the dining table, I think.” You check your watch. “Gotta go think about this a little more– is that okay? Not in a bad way, I’m just overwhelmed with everything that’s happened today…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s okay, Birdie.” Michael presses a kiss into your hairline. He knows it is a lot for anyone to handle– getting over a crush you thought you had, realizing that you like someone else– he gets it. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay.” You smile eagerly at him and then walk outside through the hallway, wiping your mouth so it looks less kiss-stained, and peek around so no one is looking at you. 

Michael feels a million emotions hit him at once, and he knows he has to cool himself down before explaining to everyone where you’ve gone, what’s happened– or he’s certain to implicate himself, and he can’t have that. 

/ 

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

You’re sitting pretty between Richie and Tiff, who seem to be a little bit… awkward, maybe arguing mentally about something you don’t completely understand. No one has really commented on your disappearance, but you’re sure it’s obvious based on how Michelle and Stevie are whispering and smiling at you.

Michael gets a massive, depressive episode right after you’ve left him. He can’t exactly pinpoint why– he feels like a creep even if he isn’t one. Hell, he only actually met you when you were nineteen– he was in a different state when you started visiting the Berzattos. But even if Michael ignores his potential, old-man creepiness… he also feels like you’re headed for so much more than he ever was, and he knows he’s holding you back if he does this. 

For once in his life, he just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be wanted without the stigma of not being good enough. 

You, Carmy, and Nat. He knows you guys are on your way. Michael feels a pit in his stomach as he imagines why you guys all have to look up to him so much– he just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

He can’t ignore the feeling that he is just a major fucking loser.

That’s why Michael goes and gets high. He knows he’s making a mistake, and he doesn’t want to do something so disappointing– but he figures he’s already a disappointment anyways. He’s grateful you’re not here outside to see how pathetic he really is– how much he craves a hit just to feel a little less shitty. And yes, it calms him down as he feels the high of the painkillers exacerbate positive memories, like with you, Carmy, Natalie– but it still makes his anger, his depressive tendencies strong, too. 

When he sits down at the dining table– he’s not that intoxicated, but he knows it’s a little apparent on his face, based on the mild alarm on your own. You’re sitting just far enough from him for there to be plausible deniability, but still– you are worried about him.

“You good?” You mouth, and he waves away your question with an air of fake nonchalance. 

You don’t look convinced. You can see the red in Michael’s eyes, the general tension in his shoulders, the unnerving sense of resentment in his expression. You wonder what could have happened in the last ten minutes that you’ve been sitting at the table, why Michael decided to go and get intoxicated just minutes after kissing you.

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

You know Michael gets high. In fact, last Easter, you’re pretty sure he spent the entire time high on something– but you only vaguely know about his anger flare ups. About his negative emotions, the supposed depressive periods he goes through. You’ve seen him argue a bit with Richie, you know he’s gotten a bit harsh with Carmy, but you know he’s a bit more troubled than that. The whole family seems a bit troubled. Natalie has told you that much, and you have your experience with that– your mother and father’s fights are ones that still make you quiver to think about. But with Michael?

You don’t know how much you believed it, until now, because Michael always seemed kind of… like he always had the right thing to say. You almost feel like he’s in the right to get upset, because he’s had a hard time, with his family, some of his luck surrounding his career– especially with how Lee continually riles him up.

The table is formal and nice for a bit. Michael and Tiff converse about something, Carmy asks if you’re okay and you mostly are. Michelle asks Mikey to say grace, and he sounds resentful, again, of Lee cutting him off so often. 

Cicero, being the responsible uncle that he is, tries to push off grace to Stevie, who promptly rejects it, and Michelle decides to ease the tension by asking what the hell the seven fishes are all about. Lee, of course, gleefully answers, about the dutch potatoes and the bible.

Michael glares at him and throws a fork. A real, honest-to-god, heavy piece of silverware. It clatters on the carpeted floor– you feel yourself flinch, and you watch Natalie and Pete’s expressions crumble into the realization that Michael is not okay, and everyone seems to look towards him in fear.

“You see what you did, right? You already did that. You already bitched about the dutch oven.” Michael retorts at him, not completely coherent, and you can feel the lights glazing over– the Christmas tree, the wreaths and baubles, everything seems to lose focus in comparison to the red-hot anger that Michael is bubbling over with.

Cicero and Carmy try to call him off, but Michael isn’t listening, and you can tell– he’s in a place to be upset. It’s like a slowly proceeding car crash– as much as you don’t want him to do it, you understand why he’s going to. You feel like there is a bit of a double standard in place here– Cicero seems to want him to respect his elders, and Michael is being kind of childish, but you can’t say you don’t understand why.

Michael asks for Fak’s fork, in direct opposition to Lee’s attempts to play the father in this house. Despite Fak’s insistent refusals, Michael successfully takes it. Everyone speaks with the intent to stop him, and he’s too focused on Lee to stop.

You know you hate Lee too. But such a severe reaction, coming from Michael? It has you wincing a little. You want to pull him away– tell him to be the nice older brother you’ve always known him to be– but you know it takes time. You know it’s probably going to get worse. You try to catch his eye– and he can't quite look at you.

You have faith in him. You know Michael can do better than this– you just hope he can see it, too. 

Michael throws the second fork, and you feel regret in trusting him, again, because he’s making things bad but it’s almost as if he can’t help it. You catch Natalie’s eyes– she’s clearly disappointed, too.

Michael feels a sick sense of pleasure, as he often does when it comes to acting out his worst desires. But he feels a flash of anger with himself– is that what he did with you? Is he really this guy? He thinks that he is, he is a bad dude and he can commit to that role if that’s what’s needed.  

“Cousin, you’re scaring the normals.” Richie tries, looking at Tiff and you, but you’re still yearning to catch his glance– and Michael can only respond that it’s nothing, everything is fine, and you’re suddenly reminded of when your parents used to fight and how you used to have to be the middle man and convince them that things were alright.

Michael looks towards you this time– but you’re not looking at him. You have your hands neatly clasped in your lap, your eyes are focused on the set of candles in the middle of the table, and you look horribly upset, with your neck all tense as you wait for things to blow over, and he can tell– he’s fucking up big time. Stevie, Carmy, everyone is looking pained, and Michael can only think that he doesn’t give a shit. He wants to make Lee feel just as terrible as he does.

"You see– I can throw forks because this is our father’s house." Michael scoffs back, and there's real agony in his tone. “My father’s house.”

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

“Okay, you got everyone's attention, so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.” Lee spits out, barely holding back his own contempt for Michael, and Michael starts laughing as if everything’s alright. “Tell a story about how you're living with your mom and you're borrowing money off of her and any other sucker who'll listen to your bullshit.”

Everyone looks towards the table, feeling terribly awkward about Lee’s accusations– it’s not that it’s necessarily untrue, but there’s a hefty amount of his own assumptions, his own bias thrown in there, and you want to speak up.

“Lee, shut the fuck up.” Cicero looks absolutely pissed off at him, and you’re grateful someone has taken some of the heat off of Michael. It’s Lee’s fault, too.

“I’m sorry. I told you not to be a sucker, Jimmy.” Lee comments, and Cicero exhales, exasperated.

“Lee. That’s not really fair– you’re being too hard on him.” You utter through gritted teeth, and Lee’s eyes narrow on you. It's the first time you've spoken, and Michael glances at you– his eyes are bright and he genuinely looks sorry. Sorry he had to go this far.

“Oh, am I? Really, Birdie? I would suggest I’m not being hard enough.” Lee raises his hands, invites you to speak more, and you know that it’s not really your place to do so, especially because Lee and Michael seem to have a lot of history.

But you have your almost-lawyer tendencies, and of course you’re not exactly unbiased either, because you want to see the best in Michael– you want to like him. 

"Please, Lee… Michael's working on himself. You don't need to lie to him." You stare at him, and Lee’s face seems to turn darker with that. “I’m sure we all have our issues… it feels like a lot.”

"Is that what he's told you, Birdie?" Lee sneers at you, and you suddenly feel small. "He's a sick, fucking twisted man, and you would trust him, wouldn't you?"

He doesn’t go further than that– but it’s enough that you feel humiliated for being read so thoroughly. It’s obvious what he’s implying– you’re a silly little girl who doesn’t know any better. 

“It's fine. It's fine. Because this guy's nothing and he's nobody.” Lee points at Michael again, and his expression sours so much. You watch as Michael seems to zero in on what Lee’s rambling on about. 

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

“Hey… Petey… I just need to, uh… I need to borrow this for one second.” Michael’s got that nonchalant expression again, but there’s pain in his eyes, and there’s a clamour of everyone again telling Michael to stop, calling his name, trying to distract him.

"Michael. Michael. Please don’t do this. Hey. Hey. Hey!" Natalie calls at him, and you know she's just begging for him to leave it alone. “I love you. Okay?” 

You watch as Michael, holding the fork, just holding it, clear malicious intent in his eyes, tension building in the air and you feel a little sick, but his eyes are watering and he clearly doesn’t want to do what he thinks he has to.

“I love you too, Sug.” Michael says honestly.

Stevie giggles, Cicero de-escalates things further, and you think you see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not for the fact that Michael is still holding the fork. Still standing up, taunting him, acting like a big old child as Carmy rebukes him– and it’s really just two grown men beginning to get all macho and toxic about who’s tougher, who’s really the man of the house, and they start screeching at each other and you watch as Michael’s eyes glaze over with something, with Lee’s final insult that “he’s nothing.”

You watch as Michael takes his seat. He seems ambivalent, hard to read– he’s not meeting anyone’s eyes and you feel terrible about it.

Donna comes in and takes her seat– she seems rather drunk, too, and the last thing you need is more evidence that substance abuse is a bad thing– and Stevie starts the most wonderful prayer that still isn’t enough to dissuade Michael. You catch his gaze– he’s mulling over something, his eyes are watery, and you want to go over there and talk him down, even if that idea is unwise.

Donna cries over the prayer, and Natalie commits the most cardinal sin that she could at this moment: she asks if she’s okay.

You flinch with recognition as Donna starts screaming at her, about how she is okay and could a person who isn’t okay make such a gorgeous meal, and she exits the room in visible anger, and Natalie begins to hyperventilate, while Michelle tries to calm everyone down.

Donna throws a plate down on the floor, and exits the room continuing to scream– and there’s a beat of tense silence, full of angst and what-nows, and Lee decides to take initiative breaking that silence with a silly joke– almost in a paternal role, again, a hot topic between him and Mikey– and you watch Michael’s eyes start narrowing as he leans against his hand.

Michael throws the third fork.

It’s like every single nerve you felt, every bit of tension that was already in place, comes to a head as Michael starts going batshit, trying his best to attack Lee, while the Fak brothers and Richie are between them, and you can barely think straight as everyone starts screaming at each other. 

Tiff almost gets dragged into the chaos, and you're left shielding and comforting her from the fight. Pete and Richie hold Michael off and you're thankful– the last thing you want is to go up in there and get caught in the crossfire yourself. It’s genuinely a blur– you have no idea how bad things are getting until Cicero starts telling them to get the fuck out.

Suddenly, the wall of the living room bursts inwards, the Christmas tree getting dragged in the crossfire, and you realize with shock that someone’s driven a car inside.

Not just any car– that’s Donna in there, driving, and you think for a moment she’s dead. You can’t believe what’s happening– you can feel your heart hammering through your chest.

Michael runs towards the car, tries to open the front door, yelling and asking her what she did, asking her to open the door. She stirs a little.

Everyone else is standing there, in shock, not focusing properly on what to do, and you pull yourself away from the crowd of people, as they stare on in horror. You don’t want to be a part of this, but you are, and you know what a responsible adult would do. 

You go outside, into the December night’s cold air, and call 911. Specify for the firefighters and ambulances, because Cicero has a big thing against narcs and cops and you’re not getting into that right now.

Even though you’re freezing, and that’s what you should be focusing on? You’re in an incredible amount of despair because of what’s taken place. You hang up the call and feel exhausted by everything that’s happened, and you wonder if Michael really knows better. If he can be more than this. It’s not something you’re judging him for– but you feel terrible about his circumstances and you want him to get out of there.

Worse, you can’t help but feel a little upset with him. Because you know that Michael didn’t have to stoop that low– he chose to, and that’s what bothers you the most. He let his emotional responses dictate how he was going to act, and you know it’s hard to not be so provoked in this environment, but still: you are concerned and upset with him, and you know you need to take a step back. As much as it hurts you to stay away, you feel like it’s going to hurt even more if you intentionally stay around.

You wait for the ambulance and fire trucks to show up– you take a minute to direct them through the house, and then you trust that someone else has got it from there. Carmy, Natalie, Michelle, Stevie– they’ve got each other, they’re whispering about something, and you know where you’re not needed.

You grab your coat and leave, leave as silently as you can without interrupting everything that’s going on. It’s an strange walk home– ten minutes of you thinking about everything.

You hope next Christmas will be better.

/

Michael comes down from his high hard. Someone’s wrapped a blanket around him, and he’s sitting on the front porch’s staircase, wondering what the hell is going on. Donna’s apparently been taken to the hospital– and there’s a makeshift tarp where the wall has been crashed in. Everyone has gone home.

Where did you go? He has a moment of panic. Are you okay? Did he fuck it up that badly? That you would leave without saying goodbye? Michael can picture the disappointment on your face, and he wishes– he really wishes he was someone else.

He’s stressing really hard, his eyes are beginning to tear up. God, he knew he wasn’t really worthy of your attention– you’re young still, you have the whole world ahead of you– and he wonders if he can apologize. He wonders what he could possibly say to make it right. After such an insane situation, he can’t even blame you for taking off.

Natalie tells him, kind sister that she is, that you were the one to call emergency services. Of course you were– you have a strong head on your shoulders and Michael feels strongly that his family is in debt to you. And then you headed home, but Natalie doesn’t know why.

He does have your number. But he’s not going to call you, not right now– he’s not going to make a bigger mistake and fuck things up further. 

Michael sighs, and leans back. He doesn’t deserve to be happy.

[coco-loco-nut]

loml part 2

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: it’s time for you to finally have some happiness, even if you’ve sworn off drivers

part one masterlist ttpd masterlist

——————

A year after the break up, you are still living in George’s Monaco apartment. You keep to yourself, sticking to a simple routine and avoiding Formula One when you can. You could’ve gotten your own apartment with the divorce settlement and your job salary, but George insisted that you take care of the apartment for him.

George and Carmen were with you every step of the way, helping you pick up the pieces and bringing you back to as close to normal as you can.

“I’m done with drivers, I will never date one ever again,” you tell George one afternoon. George was almost offended but you added on the second half.

You go out for a run like you do every morning before work, and on your way home you stop in a bakery you’ve been eyeing. After placing your coffee and pasty order, you accidentally bump into someone.

“I am so sorry, I- Charles. Hi,” you look at the equally stunned man.

“Hi, how are you doing,” Charles says gently, sounding concerned. That isn’t what you expected out of your ex’s friend.

“Better, how’s, um, how is he?” you ask a little bitterly, internally cringing at the clear discomfort on Charles’s face. His name is called alongside yours, so he picks it up and sets it on a table, silently inviting you to join him, and you do.

“I don’t know. After the whole Kelly thing, I argued with him and we haven’t really talked since,” Charles admits, you look stunned.

“I’m sorry that happened,” you can’t really hide your bitter expression as the thought of Kelly runs through your mind. Not even a month after you separated, Max was off playing happy family with his new girlfriend. Your divorce wasn’t even legalized yet.

“I’m not. He lost someone incredible just because he wasn’t willing to put in the work for a good and healthy relationship,” Charles looks you in the eyes. You finish your pastry and process his words and his underlying meaning.

“Charles, everything is still so fresh, I don’t know,” you look out at the streets. You couldn’t deny he was attractive, but you didn’t want to reinvolve yourself with Formula One.

“One date, we can take it as slow as you want to. I know it must be hard, but you deserve to be happy,” Charles reaches out and touches your hand gently.

“I have to get to work. You should have my number, Charles,” you softly smile, leaving the cafe. Charles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Naturally, he asked George for permission first. He knew George was acting as your overprotective brother, and George knew you better than anyone at the moment. Despite you swearing off drivers, George felt that Charles might be what you need.

The first date goes well, and so does the second, and the third. Charles prioritized privacy, and you were grateful. He shows up to your door for the fourth with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, ones that Max always forgot to get. He always gave you chrysanthemums, fitting that he would choose a funeral flower seeing as how he killed the relationship.

“Cheri, are you okay?” Charles asks, seeing you tear up a little.

“Max never did this, and when he did they were always the wrong flowers,” you shake you head slightly, fending off the anger and sadness.

“Well, if he wanted to treat your right, he would. I want to treat you right,” Charles presses a kiss to your head. You invite him in while you find a vase to put the flowers in.

“I want that,” you tell him, his hands find yours.

“Be my girlfriend?” Charles asks, you nod happily.

“There is this restaurant that I’ve been wanting to try, down the street. Maybe I can take my boyfriend there,” you smile, heart racing.

“Lead the way, mon cœur,” Charles tells you. You lock the apartment behind you and take his hand as you lead him down the street to a restaurant that opened a couple months ago. The two of you are so caught up in each other, you don’t notice the table across the restaurant.

Max watches you walk into the restaurant, hand in hand with Charles - the guy who used to be one of his closest friends. You look stunning, and happier than you were the last few months before the separation. Of course Max saw you for divorce meetings, but this is different.

“Max is here,” you quietly tell Charles.

“Don’t worry about him, he won’t cause a scene,” Charles reassures you, knowing his old friend. You are grateful for the man sitting across from you.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask, causing Charles’s hear to soar. can’t believe he is finally happy.

Charles is by your side during the rough days, especially the day that should’ve been your wedding anniversary with Max. You couldn’t help but to be upset, and healing takes time. Charles didn’t push you to do anything, he just kept you company and followed your lead.

When you were together for six months, you felt comfortable enough to reintroduce yourself to Charles’s friends and family. It helps that the two of you adopted a dog.

“These are my sons, Ollie and Oscar,” Charles tells you as you stand in the kitchen, watching over the dinner you had been working on. He would’ve invited Liam, but that would be awkward for everyone.

“It’s lovely to meet you, I’m Y/n. I suspect you know Leo from social media. Would either of you like wine, or anything from the fridge? Please, help yourself,” you stop yourself from fussing. Charles recognizes it as your hormones kicking in, making you fuss over them.

“Thank you, need any help?” Ollie asks as Oscar plays with Leo.

“Thank you, but you are a guest. I couldn’t let you. Now, I think Charles has a really expensive bottle that will pair well with this meal, let me grab it and pour a couple glasses,” you wink.

“Only the best for you and the kids, Cheri,” Charles yells from the dining room where he is setting the table. Ollie takes the glass you poured for him, he wouldn’t mind you being his grid mom.

“Charles, come help me bring food in while the boys sit down,” you tell him, giving Oscar and Ollie a little glare when the move to help you.

“Of course, mon cœur,” Charles smiles, carrying the heavier plates in while you grab the wine bottle and the two empty glasses for you and Charles.

The two boys try to make sure they don’t come off as interrogating you, but you don’t mind. They are avoiding the elephant in the room, and both you and Charles know it.

“You can ask, I don’t mind,” you say gently, knowing it’s eating Oscar alive. He’s like you and George if you two had an idgaf attitude.

“Is it true that you and Max, um,” Oscar pauses looking for the words.

“Yeah, he’s my ex-husband. He did me a favor though, without him I wouldn’t be with Charlie,” you look adoringly at your boyfriend.

“Ask George and Carmen, they will give you the best version of the story,” Charles laughs and so do you.

“This is really good, I might need you to cook after races for me,” Ollie changes to topic, groaning a little at how full he is.

“She’s our mom, of course it’s good,” Oscar replies, you can’t fight the grin on your face.

“Of course I will. I can send some frozen meals for you to heat up along to the with Charles,” you tell them.

“Or you could come to the races and keep me company,” Ollie says, looking at you hopefully. You are one hundred percent adopting him. Charles looks at you a little panicked, you never really talked about being in the paddock as his girlfriend. Of course, he has publicly talked about how he has a girlfriend who he adores, but no one knows it’s you, except for a few people.

Max never told anyone about your relationship, despite him seeing your date and reporters asking him about you. It would be an asshole thing to do after he moved on so quick, and you deserved better than what he had done to you already.

“I’d love to, but don’t regret it when you are being mothered,” you point your fork at them.

“Wait, why only Ferrari,” Oscar pouts.

“I can visit you too, I’ll even bring cookies,” you tell Oscar. He pumps his fist in celebration.

Charles is happy to hear you are okay going to races again. You have to be a little stealthy about it at the start. You go the first couple times as George’s guest, and slowly increase how long you are with Charles each time.

Things change when you miss your period. You and Charles have always been very careful, but there have been a couple time that you forgot a condom.

“What does it say, mon cœur?” Charles sits beside you in bed, rubbing soft circles on your shoulder. You take a shakey breath and turn the stick over, ready to be shown another negative.

“Positive, I’m pregnant. I thought I couldn’t have kids,” you feel Charles brush tears from your cheeks.

“We will be the best parents, I’m so happy,”he reassures you, and you can see how happy he is. From then on you go as Charles’s partner, Ollie is happy to have you with him in the garage, and even accompanies you to visit Oscar. Ollie claimed it was to protect you and the baby against Max, but that doesn’t work when Max is talking to Lando at the same time you visit Oscar.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Max asks a little hesitatily.

“I’m really well, how are you?” you ask, pushing down the bitter parts of you. You truly are very happy now.

“I’m okay. Do you think we could talk at some point this weekend? I think it’s been long enough and you deserve closure for yourself,” Max scratches the back of his head.

“Message me on Instagram. We can find a time,” you agree, needing to get a couple things off your chest. That time is the next morning in an open room in Red Bull hospitality.

“You wanted to talk,” you say as you sit down across from Max. Charles was apprehensive when you told him of your plan, but he trusted you and was supportive of your choice.

“I wanted to apologize for how I treated you at the end, it was unfair to you,” Max tells you, clearly pushing through his pride. “So, I’m sorry. I can’t say it’s easy seeing you happy with someone who isn’t me. Are you happy?” Max asks, needing to know.

“Of course I am. It was really hard to move on. Charlie makes me extremely happy, and he’s given me the greatest gift I could ask for,” you smile, subconsciously putting a hand on your stomach. Max feels his stomach swirl with jealousy. Charles is living the life he should be living, Charles is doing everything he should be doing for you, but he fucked it all up.

“I, uh, wow. Congratulations, I know how much you wanted a kid. I’m happy for you, schatje,” Max says, pushing down his jealousy. It’s his fault he lost you, now he has to live with the consequences and be mature about it. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten with Kelly so soon he would be with you, but it’s too late now.

Max did try. He constantly asked George where you were, or to convince you to talk to him. George was protective though, he saw how hurt you were and knew you needed to heal on your own time. So he did what any overprotective best friend would do, talk reasonably and show Max why he needed to stay away.

“Thanks, Maxie, that means a lot,” Maxie, a dagger through Max’s heart. “I can’t be friends with you right now, but maybe someday. I like this version of you, maybe Kelly was the right one for you after all,” you can see the pain in Max’s somber eyes, the same one you see from the end of your relationship, and the same one that haunts you.

“I really am sorry,” Max’s voice cracks. “You’re the love and loss of my life,” tears well in his eyes as he looks at you.

“You’re the loss of mine as well,” you stand up and move towards him, pulling him into a hug. “You are going to be okay, Max. We weren’t right for each other, but now you can move on,” you say softly. In your heart you can feel the closure you’ve needed. Max felt it too, and when the day came, he would be ready to be a good friend.

Until that day, he is publicly supportive of your family with Charles. Max repairs his relationship with Charles first, then he slowly repairs it with you. When Julianna Herveline Leclerc graced the world, he was one of the first people to send a gift and well wishes. And when you and Charles finally make it to the alter, Max is standing beside Charles, happy to support the two of you.

[dailydelulu]

"Code Coffee" Bucky x Reader

Pairing- Bucky x fem! reader

Fluff with angst

CW: Panic attack and mentions of former abuse

(Bucky attempting, and failing, to use GenZ slang)

Context: Reader is a former HYDRA experiment adjusting to life in the Avengers Tower, unused to this life without orders, until their newfound companion Bucky comes along to help them out

Part of my fic "In Your Eyes" but can work as a oneshot

Note: Set pre- FATWS which explains Sam and Bucky's behavior and is NOT the Sam x Bucky divorce after Thunderbolts

link to fic: In Your Eyes - Chapter 1 - daily_delulu - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

Code words, only a few small phrases, made up every fraction of your life for the past few years. Letters strung together made your every step, syllables your every action, and a sequence your every choice. 

Funny how a few words could burrow into the grooves of your brain, sink claws into the mind, and scar your memory for the rest of your life. Honestly, it terrified you how any day someone could waltz right in, say a few words, and you would fall right back into the hands of HYDRA. Those words made the world feel blank, as if a darkness shrouded everything with one singular focal point on the target ahead. Everything and anyone would be blurred out with whatever orders are given, the only clear thing. Nobody knew what it was like to have your body out of your control, to feel so far away as if a ghost looking at their own corpse while being in synch with every single twitch of a muscle, to feel even the slightest stroke against a hair to know an opponent was behind, ready to strike. As if one were with everything all at once. 

Early mornings were a habit by now, especially with your nightmares. Sleeping late had no point when only more nightmares would come. Besides, by getting up earlier, you could avoid running into anyone. 

The bitter smell of coffee filled the air, waking you up further before stopping in your tracks. Who would be up at this hour? It was 5:30 in the morning, and you hadn’t run into anyone before. 

Standing in front of the break room’s coffee pot was Bucky in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white tee shirt, hair messy from bed, gripping a cup of coffee in his metal hand.

Carefully, you walked up behind him, trying to act as normal as possible, hoping to avoid any awkward interactions. After your conversation the day before, you had no reason to distrust Bucky. He shared a similar past, holding no fearful looks or judging stares. 

“Getting coffee, too?” you asked quietly, causing him to jump, nearly spilling coffee onto the counter. Great, you’d forgotten about assassin steps, being able to walk without a noise behind anyone. For once, it didn’t come in handy.

“Wow, you scared me,” Bucky muttered, turning to look at you, “I forgot how quiet we can get.” 

Stepping up beside him, you set some coffee grounds inside. “Sorry about that.” Bucky reminded himself that none of this was your fault. 

“No, don’t worry,” his gaze softened only a fraction, “I literally had to retrain myself to remember to walk more loudly here at the tower after I kept sneaking up on everyone.”

“Tony used to yell that I was trying to assassinate him every time I snuck up on him,” he added with a laugh, although it was a bitter one. 

“So you get up early like this, too?” you asked, glancing in his direction.

“Most days, yeah,” he took a sip of coffee, “You get used to it, but you would know that, right?” Bucky wasn’t sure whether or not his early rising came from his time as a soldier in the military or from his decades spent at HYDRA. Memories from those days with the troops were somehow nostalgic and haunting all at once. Things hadn’t been easy, but at least they were easier than before he’d been kidnapped.  When he had first returned, his sense of time had been so messed up he would find himself trying to talk to Steve at 3 in the morning, feeling as if he were in the afternoon, or sleeping until noon on the rare occasion he didn’t have nightmares. 

All you could manage was a small nod, appreciating the small talk rather than the usual avoidance from the rest of the team.  “I haven’t been sleeping much,” you said as steam rolled off the coffee as it poured into your waiting Styrofoam cup below. For such a rich guy, Tony was really cheap when it came to his coffee pot. You’d considered bringing up the nightmares to Bucky, knowing he likely had experienced similar, asking if they ever went away. No, talking about your nightmares with someone was too much openness for now. 

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” he shrugged, leaning his back against the counter, “I used to be in the military, so it could be that.”

“Really?” you asked in surprise. He had been a soldier before becoming an assassin?

“For how long?”

“A while,” is all he would say, giving you the idea the subject was still too hard to talk about, so you quickly dropped it. 

“So you like coffee?” he asked, hoping to change the subject to something a little more normal. He shifted on his feet, usually rigid like a statue from years of training as an assassin. Small talk never came easily for him, always feeling so forced and out of place, pretty much like everything else in Bucky’s life.  Giving you a sense of normalcy was the only thing he could offer for now, which, from his experience, was more than anyone could give. As much as he appreciated the same sense Steve and the rest of the team had given him after wiping clean his past, there was always that distance between them. None of them understood the past could never quite be wiped clean; those who did knew blood could be washed off, but the stains forever remained. Sin of the past lingered in the shadows, hovering above like a ghost. Seeing you up and about sent the warm feeling in his chest again, one he still couldn’t quite grasp. The air was stagnant, still, with a startling lack of tension as if the air was open with so many unspoken words and unanswered questions. Where would he even begin to ask? 

He watched as your eyes darted to and through, from his metal arm, to the coffee pot, to the door as if expecting a threat to walk in any second. Analyzing and watching seemed to be the only way you could see the world. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted truthfully. After so many years of being unable to make a single choice of your own, a life defined by codes, simple acts such as making coffee felt free. Could you even make choices without feeling the sting against your skin from every punishment received from disobeying? 

Anger rose in Bucky, remembering how HYDRA took everything- your name, choices, and preferences. Pouring a cup of coffee became a struggle against orders. One thing separated the two of you. Bucky had Steve, an anchor to his past, while you had nothing, severed from any connections. Both your minds had been made blank, nothing except a vessel for HYDRA to fill up with lies, except he had someone there to fill in the blanks. Bucky felt out of place enough, so he could only imagine how much you did. A person without a name or a past, stuck with all these strange people. Lost. 

 He had asked Tony last night if anything had turned up in the search for family from your life before. Still no answers. 

 “Maybe I could find out,” you suggested, snapping him out of his thoughts, calling back to his words the day prior with a slight upturn of your lips- a not quite smile. He loosened the grip on his own, taking the last sip. 

Reaching for the cup, a slight brush of your arm against his caused a tremble to run down your body, not unnoticed by Bucky. 

“It’s okay, doll,” he assured, voice still a bit groggy from the morning, “Nobody’s going to hurt you, I promise.”

Bucky remembered the feeling, the feeling of how your skin would crawl at the slightest contact, anticipating pain. Even Steve’s pats on the back would nearly set him off, taking everything in him not to lash out. He was surprised you hadn’t tried to jab him in the gut for touching you, even by accident. Browns and whites blended together as you stirred cream into the mug, watching as a memory came back in bursts. 

Mud against snow, your face pressed into the dirt as a faceless figure held you down.

“Think about running away again, птица, and I’ll cut your wings right off!”

A knife slid down your back, along the curve of your spine, aiming to clip the nonexistent wings after daring to try and fly. 

Struggling, you’d tried to get up only to get a boot to the side, knocking the air from your lungs. 

“Big mistake,” the figure had gripped your hair, making you look him in the face- a face nothing but a cruel outline made of shadow in the blurry memory, “Stay in your cage, little bird, and this time I’ll make sure you never run away from me again.” 

Gripping the counter, you caught your breath, trying to focus as the air came in gulps as if you’d been kicked all over again. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Bucky’s hand hovered over your back, too afraid to touch. “Do I need to get Dr. Lee?”

“No,” you gasped, feeling the dizzying edge of falling into a black out, “I’m fine.”  

Asking for the doctor was useless; Bucky knew exactly what was happening. Recognizing a memory was as easy to him as knowing his left from his right. 

“Breath, just take deep breaths.” He urged softly, lowering himself a bit to meet you at eye level, “Deep ones.”

Breathe. Breath. Breath. All of this was real, not the past anymore. One, two, three…

“Good, that’s it,” he nodded, not looking away for a second, “Keep breathing.” You kept staring back at him, focusing solely on the man in front of you, noticing how his words were gentle. Not harsh, or angry, or judging…just true understanding. 

“I’m alive,” you whispered, making Bucky’s heart nearly shatter again.

How many times had you felt as if you weren’t going to make it to the next day? For some odd reason, you began to calm in his presence, which he could never begin to understand. Bucky was the image of terror, stone still and broad, with a scar that still remained carved into the edge of his brow. Slowly, you reached out, pulling his hand to your chest as he felt the rise and fall of your chest. Bucky nearly backed up from shock, not expecting you to willingly touch him, let alone get him to touch you. If it were possible to be any more shocked, you had grabbed his metal arm. The one most people shied away from or found disgusting. Your fingers had it in a death grip, making him thankful you had subjected the metal to your unnatural strength instead of breaking his fingers. A steady thump of a heart rattled against the cool metal, as his own pace began to quicken for reasons he didn’t understand altogether.  Hard and steady vibranium, soft is how the hand felt against your steadily slowing chest, more humane than anything in HYDRA, all while being the least human part of him. 

“Tell me to breathe,” you gave him a pleading look, “I need to breathe.”

Worry knitted his brow as he stared back at the desperation written across your face. Did you think you needed permission to breathe? The thought almost made his own breath go away, to think HYDRA had put you through who knows what to make you think that way.

“No more orders,” he reassured, pressing his hand firmly against you. No more orders. 

Suddenly, a gap was between the two of you, making the metal feel strangely colder than usual, leaving him confused at the change until the person he wanted to see the least. 

Idiot always has the best timing. 

“Those morning runs really help your time, not like it matters when you’re trying to keep up with Cap.” Sam sprinted into the room with a box of a dozen donuts, with a smile, completely oblivious to Bucky’s obviously annoyed glare. “I had to grab myself something sweet, so I grabbed some for everyone.”

A mask had slid into place, one worn so many times before, as a perfectly calm look settled on your face. Bucky found the change almost startling, but understood that hiding those scars running so deep was easier than exposing them to others. 

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, taking a bite of a sprinkled donut with a near-teasing smirk. 

“No,” Bucky gave him a near warning look, daring him to suggest anything from the proximity the two of them shared moments ago while he tried to think of an excuse. Anything, think of anything, Buck. “We were…uh, spilling tea.”

“What?” you and Sam said simultaneously as you stared at him. “Do you even know what that means?” you asked now in too much shock from seeing a man from the literal 1940s saying “tea.” At least the panic attack was forgotten for now. After browsing some online records while you were recovering, you had discovered Bucky had been kept alive by HYDRA for decades, explaining how Steve and he were so close. You were aware he was technically from a completely different time than you, yet it still left you in disbelief at times. Steve was easy to see, since he stuck out with his inability to turn on a computer. Bucky had adapted, probably due to HYDRA preparing him for assassinations. Something that had stopped you from looking into his life any further, unlike the rest of the team. Those stories you wanted to hear from Bucky’s mouth himself. 

“I do, it means sharing gossip or something,” Bucky crossed his arms defensively. “Shuri taught me a few words and phrases while I was being treated in Wakanda. When young people want to talk about stuff, they say tea, and when they think someone is charming, they have rizz.”

“ I don’t think rizz and charming should be used in the same sentence,” you said as Sam burst into a fit of laughter. 

“No way!” Sam nudged Bucky, causing him to shove him back lightly, “Explains why you can text so well for someone older than my grandpa, although your use of emojis could use some work.”

“Touch me again, and I’ll shove that donut somewhere you’ll never find it,” Bucky huffed, giving Sam another steely glare. You looked between the two as Sam left, giving Bucky a mock salute before going with another donut in hand. Why did these two get along so horribly?

“Sam wants you to like him, you know,” you said. 

“What?” Bucky looked at you as if you were insane. “Sam hates me, has since day one. He’d probably jump off a building without his wings before he admits he even tolerates me.”

“Don’t you see how he tries to get your attention? Or yesterday when he tried sharing those playlists with you?” 

“So?” Bucky sounded unconvinced. “He’s just tired of me playing nothing but 40s music. Where’d you get this idea anyway?” Connecting with others wasn’t his strong suit, so attempting anything with a guy like Sam seemed impossible. The whole idea was a lost cause. 

“I’m an assassin.” Something akin to a smirk tugged at your lips. “Observant, remember?” He shook his head, pouring another cup,

“How could I forget? Always watching, aren’t you?” 

Glancing over at his coffee, you teased, hoping to lighten the mood from the earlier panic, “Black? No sugar at all?”

“No, I just prefer it this way,” he said, setting the cup aside. “Always have, always will.”

“I knew it,” you pointed at his arm, “You really are a robot, no human could like plain coffee.”

“I am not a robot, technically the Wakandans called me a cyborg in a sense,” Bucky took another sip. “Plenty of people drink black coffee.” 

“No, they don’t,” you argued before taking a long sip of your own and choking on it. The coffee was bitter and rancid, with a strange, lingering aftertaste that reminded you of dirty water.

“This is awful!” you sputtered, “Why do people drink this?” So this is what people stayed in line for so long at Starbucks?

“Have you never drunk coffee before?” Bucky asked, suppressing a laugh at the way your nose scrunched up at the taste.

Conversation was difficult for him, and small talk was even worse. After so many years stuck in HYDRA, unable to speak unless ordered, social skills weren’t exactly top priority. Talking to you came easily in a way he couldn’t understand, maybe because you both felt just out of place.  No matter the explanation, having someone to talk to, someone who understood, was a nice change of pace. 

“Guess not,” you said, pouring the unholy caffeinated mix into the sink, “I just assumed I had before I was, well, taken.”

A darkness settled over the conversation again at the stark reminder, making the room heavy compared to the lightness of banter only moments before. 

“I should go,” you turned to the door before he spoke up, “If you ever want coffee again, let me know.”

Although you knew the “coffee” he was referring to wasn’t actual coffee, instead, what he had done for you, pulling you out of a waking nightmare. 

“I will,” you agreed before turning out the door, feeling as if a small weight had been lifted, falling away. 

“By the way, sugar helps with the taste,” he called down the hall as you went back towards your quarters. “I’ll keep that in mind!”

Coffee. A new code word. One that felt a lot like a new beginning. 

[0x1000]

Thoughts on Spamtenna? (Mostly past, in the present they seem like a bitter divorced couple)

A few. Mostly though I can't stop thinking about their stupid matching suits. Actually kind of adorable.

Anyway, from my cursory glances towards Spamtenna content, I've noticed that people are a lot more willing to portray and play up Spamton's sleaziness and overall willingness to be manipulative—which I think is fun, though I'm not sure if it's entirely relevant to the dynamic of their past relationship. Considering how fervently hateful he is of Tenna in the present, who is a sweet and adorable CRT who has not sold weapons of death to children, it's easy to see him as just, like, a Shitty Guy. But I don't think that's quite the whole picture.

Okay. So, we know that Spamton began having his fixation on "Heaven" before he was ejected from Queen's Mansion.

We also know that he only stopped talking to Tenna after this.

So, his abandonment of Tenna does not seem to be something he did in a sound state of mind or situation; he was having Shadow Crystal-induced religious delusions and literally being evicted from his home. It's worth noting that he had already stopped receiving help at this point, so him agreeing to "sign the deal" with Tenna could have been an act of desperation. In fact, it seems that his refusal to tell Tenna about "his secret" could have been for his own good, considering the involvement of Shadow Crystals (and perhaps a way to avoid competition, too.) Either way, Spamton's sudden willingness to divulge this secret at all speaks to a sudden and abrupt shift in values.

So, why were they partnered in the first place? Let's shift into Light World mode for a second. It's clear that Spamton and Tenna's partnership is playing on the idea of modern TVs being full of, well, ads and bloatware—internet connectivity, preinstalled apps, streaming, etc. A CRT TV is obviously not technologically equipped to do any of these things; Spamton and Tenna's partnership physically could not have functioned. They were kind of hopeless from the start.

There's a kind of optimistic naïveté from both parties, I think. Neither of them knew how to function without the people that controlled them—for Spamton, it was his benefactor; for Tenna, it was the Dreemurr family. Both of these figures were a kind of nebulous "higher power" for them. And both of them were eventually abandoned by it.

Their end motives are what differ the most. Tenna was desperate to find a way to appeal to this higher power—to still be loved by it. Spamton was desperate for a way to escape it, or to surpass it.

Basically: I think at the time they knew each other, they both had no idea what they were doing—maybe they pretended they did, and maybe they started to believe it when they were with each other.

Also they literally had a child together what the hell

[kyoshithewriter]

The Missing Piece. (Part Eight)

Wc: 3.8k

Warnings: mature themes (18+)

A/n: Just a little chapter that I tried to do from Virgil’s pov because I realize I don’t usually do that? lol anyway, I have two chapters of this left tops(knowing me I’ll probably just wrap it all up in one long chapter). Hope you enjoy 🫶🏾

Virgil stares out the window above the stove looking at nothing in particular. If his neighbour should coincidentally do the same, they’d probably think he’s staring right at their house. But he’s just zoned out; not in the way he’s become used to doing these past couple months. Not with bitter, melancholy thoughts feeling like they were physically eating at his brain and consuming his very being. But in a way that’s… peaceful. For the first time in a long time, he’s able to just exist without darkness clouding his mind. There’s an uncharacteristic lightness to his shoulders; his inhales actually feel like they fill his lungs instead of being obstructed by the heaviness in his chest. His muscles and limbs feel lax— like they actually belong on his body and aren’t just there to burden him down. Is this what a little serotonin and prolactin does to a man? But he knows it’s not just the act of sex that has him feeling this good. It’s the who— Niamh. It’s Niamh and how she still found attraction in him at his lowest. It’s Niamh and her pretty little eyes and soft demeanor but fiery spirit when it’s necessary. The very first night he saw her in this very kitchen— even in that oversized, unflattering shirt and her hair tied up, he knew from the way his heart leaped just at her soft, nervous gaze that it would be a long fucking day for him. He had assumed she was a lot younger, and ran out the room because he didn’t know what to even say to her. Once upstairs, he actually took the time to comb through all the information Ivy had texted him about the new hire. 25. He had assumed 21, but she’s still a lot younger than what felt right. He thought it best to avoid her, like he does all his problems. But he found himself looking at the cameras more often, just to get a glimpse of her walking through the hallways. She was so gentle with his children like they were her very own and it made him restless because it heightened the attraction he was so desperately trying to ignore. He felt like such a creep. He almost fired her but decided against it. He’ll admit he had fallen out of love with his wife long before they got divorced. The constant fights, the way they never saw eye to eye, the way she didn’t show any appreciation for anything he did; they didn’t share a bed for almost a year before the divorce. It was loveless for a long time; but it provided a kind of stability that he and the kids craved. Losing her didn’t send him spiraling because he was still deeply in love, it sent him spiraling because he knew it would change everything drastically. Seeing Niamh create a perfect routine for them to fall into, the way they clearly adored her— he didn’t want to rip that away because he was a grown fucking man with a crush. So he let her stay. Even after she almost beat his door off its hinges to yell in his face. Virgil can’t help the way he smiles at the memory. Soft foot falls reach his ears before her hands loop around his waist. She rests her head in the middle of his back and he almost sighs out loud. Content.

“You left me in the guest bedroom.”

He can’t see her face but he knows she’s pouting her cute mouth like she does so often with him. Warmth spreads throughout his entire body.

“You could barely stay awake while we showered, so I carried you to bed. You were out as soon as your head hit the pillow.” He says with a chuckle.

“But I wanted to stay in your room. With you.” She gives a little yawn after the words leave her mouth.

He feels like he could actually fucking melt in a puddle of goo. Does she have any idea what she does to him?

“You’ve made a mess of my bed, baby. I slept with you in the room for a while. I only woke up a few minutes ago.” He responds truthfully. He turns his body just in time to catch her hiding her face bashfully. Niamh buries her face in his chest instead as he chuckles.

“‘M sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I loved every single second and I’d do it all again.”

He can’t resist the urge to grab her plump behind in his hands to give a gentle squeeze while pulling her closer to his body. He groans a little at how soft she feels in his hands. How did he become so lucky? Not only with her literally stumbling into his life like this, but being the man she trusts enough to share her body with.

“You did?”

He can hear the little sliver of insecurity in her voice. He knows it has something to do with her inexperience.

“Even more than you did, and you loved it a lot.” He says without a shadow of doubt.

“It was okay…” she ducks her head too late so he catches the teasing smile on her face.

“Okay? I’m sure everyone in the community knows my name now. Virgillll..” he tries and fails to imitate her whiny, breathless voice.

“Stop!” Niamh slaps his chest and burrows into his chest like she wants to actually crawl into his skin.

“It’s true though.”

“Yeah? Well you try taking a dick that big and see how you’ll sound.”

A sharp laugh is pulled abruptly from his chest.

“And you didn’t even take all of it, hm? Imagine how you’re gonna sound when I fit every single inch-”

“Shut up!”

Niamh slaps her dainty hands over his mouth. Amusement twinkle in his eyes as he looks down on her and flicks his tongue against her palm.

She pulls her hand away, eyeing him in faux disgust. Virgil stares down at her and he’s sure his gaze is tender; he doesn’t care. She eyes him with a contemplative look on her face.

“Your smile is beautiful. I hope I get to see more of it.” She mutters shyly.

He tips her chin up to kiss her softly in lieu of responding. With a little sigh, she melts into him completely. He pulls away to rub at her chin with his thumb.

“It’s almost 1:30. We need to leave soon. Do you need me to pick you up on my way back?”

“Um I have some shopping to do and I’m not sure when I’ll be done with that so it’s okay. I’ll call a taxi or something.” She smiles softly at him, dropping her chin against his chest. He wonders if she can feel the fast pace of his heartbeat.

“Do you have your license?”

She shakes her head with an embarrassed expression on her face.

“No need to be embarrassed, baby. I understand your circumstances. I would’ve allowed you to take one of the cars but…” He pulls his phone out of his pocket to hand it to her. “Put your number in, just get ready at your place. I’ll get the kids ready and pick you up on our way to dinner.”

Niamh saves her number and hands him back the phone.

“Okay. I made a reservation for 7.”

“Okay. Could you um… could I borrow a pair of boxers?”

His dick twitches in his sweats at the thought of her being completely naked under his shirt again.

“Of course.”

Niamh steps out of his embrace and he follows her out the kitchen. He tries not to chuckle at her gait but fails terribly. It’s a little slower with her legs a bit further apart.

“I swear on everything, Virgil, if you're laughing at me after you did this…”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll kiss it better later.”

He smirks at the sound of her breath hitching. Suddenly, he can’t wait to have her all to himself again.

*************

When Virgil planned this family outing, he forgot what going outside actually meant. Being isolated so long made him forget that he’s an actual celebrity. He sits tensely, trying not to snap at paparazzi sitting outside the restaurant trying to be subtle as they take flick after flick. Thankfully, the children don’t seem to notice and it’s all thanks to Niamh as she engages them in conversation about any and everything. Beautiful Niamh in her long sleeved, black dress that shows off the black tights underneath. He has never seen her in heels before but he hopes this isn’t the last time. The shoes accentuate her long legs so well. And she looks so beautiful with her hair styled in an up-do that shows off her cheekbones with a few curls falling into her face. She’s so beautiful and that’s another reason he’s a little annoyed. The waiter has obviously been trying to flirt. The young man had been excited to see him and asked for a picture, which he politely declined, not wanting everyone’s attention on them. He then subtly inquired about Niamh’s position in his life.

“So… who’s the lady who finally managed to get Virgil van Dijk out the house after his injury?”

Virgil had hurried to let him know Niamh was the kids’ nanny, not wanting her face and name all over blogs. He’s realizing now that the cheeky bastard asked to know if he had the okay to flirt with the woman.

“Um, here’s the molten chocolate lava cake I suggested.” The boy is tall in a way that makes his limbs look awkward and his cheeks are blotchy from Niamh’s attention.

“Oh, but I didn’t order-”

“It’s um… it’s on the house.”

Virgil wants to gnash his teeth at the pretty smile she beams up at the man.

“We’ll take the bill now.” Virgil didn’t intend to make his voice so rough but his patience is wearing thin.

“Oh! Of course.”

The waiter, who introduced himself as Brandon, looks at Niamh one more time before shuffling away.

Virgil watches, fascinated, as Niamh manages to make five pieces out of cake no bigger than Aurora’s fist. She spoons a piece in each of the kids’ mouths and he almost protests since they just had gelato for dessert. But before he can, she scoops a piece of cake on the spoon again and shyly stretches it in his direction. He tenses. If he leans forward to eat directly off the spoon while she holds it, it will look intimate enough to create a headline out of.

“I shouldn’t. I need to stay in shape even through injury.”

He hopes the excuse is believable but his heart sinks at the little pout on her face.

“I’ll have daddy’s piece!” Aurora and Shelly yell in unison.

Niamh offers them a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and gives both girls the remaining pieces of cake. So unselfish; he feels like shit. Virgil hurries to pay the bill and still leaves the waiter a generous tip even though he’s annoyed at him.

“Thanks for taking us to dinner, dad.”

Shelly, always thoughtful, always appreciative, whispers as she hugs at his waist as soon as they enter the house.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Virgil stands in the living room watching as Niamh ushers them all upstairs to get them ready for bed. It’s a little past 9:15 and they have school tomorrow. By the time he’s done brushing his teeth and changing into something more comfortable, he hears the guest bedroom door open and slam shut.

“For fuck’s sake.” He scrubs a hand down his face and eyes his bed that’s stripped bare. It might as well have an “out of commission” sign hung above it. He exits his room and almost shuffles his feet down the hallway to the door of her room. He actually feels nervous and he wants to laugh at himself for it. He gives two firm knocks on the door before swinging it open. Virgil eyes Niamh standing by the vanity with her phone in hand while it’s plugged into the wall. She’s still fully dressed and definitely ignoring him. Sighing, he reaches behind to close and lock the door.

“Thank you for coming to dinner.” He starts cautiously, just to gauge her reaction.

“Okay.”

“Niamh…” he trails off with a tired groan.

“I just think it’s funny how you weren’t concerned with keeping your body in shape when you were chugging whiskey like water but a dime sized piece of cake is where you draw the line.”

He chuckles bitterly. “Wow, that’s low, Niamh.”

She chews on her lower lip and he can already tell she feels regret. It shows in the hunch of her shoulders and the way she can’t look at him.

“I just… I saw your body language all throughout dinner, Virgil and the way you hurried to let the server know I’m ‘just the nanny’ and… if you’re embarrassed to be seen outside with me then why invite me in the first place?” She questions with a sad frown on her mouth.

Virgil can only stare in stunned disbelief for a few seconds— then he starts chuckling. He makes his way over and drags her by the waist to stand between his legs as he sits on the bed.

“You think I’m embarrassed to be seen with you? Niamh, there were people taking pictures. I just thought accepting that cake would look intimate enough for some headlines. I know how cruel the public can be and I was trying to protect you, baby.”

“Oh.” She looks down at him bashfully. She rests her palms on his shoulders.

“And I was tense because that scrawny fucking waiter kept trying to flirt with you.”

“No he wasn’t. He was just being nice.” Her breath stutters when he playfully bites at her lower belly through her clothes.

“Yes he was.”

Her body calls to him in the gentle way she quivers and the subtle way her breathing picks up. He doesn’t dare resist. He grips at the hem of her dress and slowly pushes it up her legs. Shamelessly, he buries his face in the apex of her thighs— taking a deep inhale. He groans long and low in his throat at the heat of it- at the light musk. Her fingers grip at his hair, fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. Virgil grips at the material of her black tights, it gives easily under his strength and rips right down the middle. She gasps above him.

“Still sore?” He bumps his nose against her black, cotton panties.

“Uh huh.”

“I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

Her soft thighs quiver in his hold.

“Yes you did.” She pouts.

“Mhmm. Take your clothes off, baby.”

*******

Niamh’s feeble attempt to flee his hot, relenting mouth is futile. The iron grip he has on her waist makes her immobile. The woman blinks down at him, eyes wide and teary- pleading. She still wears an expression of disbelief— like she’s still unable to wrap her head around the fact that he has her in this position. Even though he has already pulled one orgasm from her. He’s lying on the floor with Niamh’s legs spread on either side of his head. He learned his lesson earlier on just how wet she’s able to get and he couldn’t afford her ruining these sheets too; so he decided the floor was the better option. He’s glad he listened because she is currently making a mess of him; the entire lower half of his face is dripping— even the collar of his plain white tee is a sopping mess. Virgil wants to curse himself for choosing tonight of all nights to actually wear a shirt.

“Virgil- hah. Too much.”

He’s not sure if Niamh is just extra sensitive to every sensation or it’s because her body isn’t used to this kind of pleasure yet; whichever one it is, it makes her so easy to rile up. By the time Virgil kissed his way down her body and heaved her onto his face, he only had to flick at her clit with his tongue a few times before she was shaking through an orgasm. He was surprised but decided he wasn’t going to stop. Not until he’s had his fill; not until she’s begging for him to stop. He slithers his tongue through her warm, wet folds and teases at her entrance with it. She keens long and low in her throat — her body jerks causing his nose to bump into her clit. She tries to ease off his face, he allows her a few centimeters while he glares at her.

“You try to move off my face again, Niamh…” his voice is gruff with the warning.

“B-but it’s… I- I already came. It feels… it’s too much.” Her voice trembles with the effort. Gosh seeing her like this is enough to drive him wild. He never knew how much he craved a little submission. The way she eyes like she can’t believe he’s even capable of making her feel this good. Something nasty burns in the back of his mind that spreads shameful warmth through his entire body. ‘I’m her first.’ He’s the first man to have ever had her like this. The first to ever be inside her. The only man that knows what she looks like when she feels good. The only man that knows what she sounds like. ‘It should fucking stay that way.’

“Mhmm I know, baby. But you want to be good for me, don’t you?”

She looks down at him with those innocent eyes and nods.

“Good girl. Give me one more.” He pulls her back down on his mouth and his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. Warm. Wet. Niamh. He grips her ass in both hands and drags her back and forth on his tongue. She glides along so easily, only little resistance from the texture of her swollen clit each time. He can’t help himself; her taste is so heady— pontent. Her little cries make him shiver to his bones. He’s so hard it hurts. He reaches one hand to push his shorts and underwear down before quickly fisting his dick. He groans at finally getting some stimulation and the vibration sets off a little sob from the woman above him.

One more orgasm turns to three. On the second one, she throbs wildly against his tongue and he moans from the pit of his stomach as he comes. Ropes of it spilling over his hand and on his lower belly as he fucks wildly into his tight fist. He keeps going even after he’s spent. On the third one Niamh actually starts begging for mercy through her tears as she wets his face and shakes through it.

“Virg, please. No more. Please! Hah! Can’t. ‘M sorry.”

He eases her off his mouth and carefully slides her down his body.

“It’s okay, you did so well. So good for me, princess.” He coos as he hugs her into his chest. Niamh trembles like a leaf, teeth clenched tightly as if the orgasm is still buzzing unrelentlessly through her body.

It takes a few minutes for Niamh to gather her bearings enough for him to take her to the bathroom. She’s pliant and clings to him as they stand under the warm stream of the shower. Virgil gently sits her down on the counter as he swishes mouthwash around in his mouth. Niamh stares at him through hooded eyes with something akin to reverence dancing in her pretty, brown orbs.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks as soon as he spits the contents in his mouth into the sink.

“How do you do it? How do you know how to make me feel that good?”

He smiles at the flustered expression on her face.

“Years of practice and experience. Observing how you react to certain touches.” He moves to stand between her legs.

“How… How did your wife go months without…? Like I’ve only gotten a small taste and I know it’s all I’m going to ever think about. I have exams soon too” She whines as if it’s genuinely distressing.

Virgil chokes on his laughter feeling the way his chest warms. How the fuck can one person be this cute?

“You better focus on your exams, baby.” He says a bit sternly, rubbing small circles into her thighs.

“How can I even think of studying in my free time when I know what your mouth feels like on my…” she trails off shyly.

“Maybe I’ll reward you? Hm? After every study session, if you’re able to answer all the questions I ask I make you feel good.” He murmurs suggestively before capturing her lips in a kiss.

“Deal.” She tries to chase his lips again but a tiny knock on the door makes them both stiffen.

“Niamh? I had a nightmare, can I sleep with you?” Aurora’s tiny voice both kicks them into gear.

“Coming, sweetheart!”

Niamh hurries to slide the oversized shirt overhead and slips her panties and sleep shorts up her legs. Virgil almost falls in his haste to get his boxers and shorts on. She’d laugh if she wasn’t so flustered. He throws his shirt in the hamper and they both power walk into the room. Once they reach the door, they both pause- eyeing each other. The question is clear without either of them having to ask. ‘How the fuck are they going to explain this?’ Niamh sucks in a deep breath and swings the door open.

“Hey pumpkin. Come in.”

Aurora rubs her little fist against her eye that’s heavy with sleep. The second she realizes her father is in the room, her face lights up.

“Daddy? You had a bad dream too?”

“Uh… yes?”

Niamh eyes the man above Aurora’s head, trying to keep her laughter at bay. Virgil bites at his lower lip hard enough to bleed.

“Don’t worry, Niamh gives the best cuddles. She’ll make the bad dreams go away.”

The little girl reaches for both their hands and leads them to the bed. Aurora slides in the middle; Virgil and Niamh flank on either side of her. The little girl tugs them closer so they both hug her little form between their bodies.

“Night, Niamh. Night, daddy.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

They both whisper the words simultaneously. Niamh eyes him with a look so tender it makes him melt against the bed. Reaching an arm above Aurora’s head, he rubs at the apple of her cheeks softly.

“Goodnight, Virgil.”

“Sweet dreams, Niamh.”

[sheerfreesia007]

His Little Star

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word count: 4,871

Content warnings: Angst, infidelity

Summary: It’s been a year and a half since the divorce and Chan is still trying to salvage any business deals for his company. But when you step in to reassure an unsure investor at an event it sets Chan’s life on an unknown track.

Part One: You're Losing Me

The soft lilting melody of the live band seems to almost lull Chan into a peaceful haze as he stands in front of another business owner who just keeps droning on about how he started his own business from the ground up. Chan just barely curbs the urge to roll his eyes at the man’s words as he takes a sip of his drink, his lip curls slightly at the bitter taste of the alcohol on his tongue and he sighs softly to himself. He’d rather be at home right now putting his pretty little girl to bed but he had to try and gather any investors for his sinking business.

Ever since the divorce Chan’s life had been turned upside down, and for good reason. He knew he wasn’t a good person for what he did to you, he actually couldn’t believe that he had worked with your dad to make you fall in love with him and then keep you blinded while he kept his girlfriend by his side throughout your whole relationship. That wasn’t like him or it hadn’t been before he became desperate, but since being served with divorce papers almost a year and a half ago he’d been reflecting on his actions and the guilt he now held whenever his mind turned to you was nearly all consuming. And it had only grown with the birth of his daughter.

The birth of his daughter was a turning point for Chan, he had been too wrapped up in the feeling and emotion of suddenly losing everything that he had thanks to you and your family. But now after having her in his life and being able to raise her he could see how wrong he had been to do that. His daughter opened his eyes and made him see things the way they were supposed to be, now that he was responsible for such a tiny innocent little being his whole outlook on life changed.

Right after his daughter’s birth he had tried to approach you at any event that you both were at but you rightfully avoided and kept your distance. It had stung at first but Chan understood the reason behind it, he had hurt you deeply and for him to try and approach you again after being divorced for a while he understood your need for space away from him. So he had bided his time and kept his distance like you wanted while still trying to find a way to apologize for his actions, he didn’t think it would be received well but he felt like he had to try and apologize almost atone for his betrayal to you.

As his eyes roam around the room he wonders idly if you’re here tonight, he knows that you’ve stepped away from your family after the divorce when you found out that your father had had a hand in fabricating your relationship with him and the deal that resulted from your marriage. Chan had been surprised to read about you completely cutting all ties with your family as you started your own event planning business, he was actually slightly envious of you being able to branch out without the help of your family. But then again, you had always been a hard worker and someone very reliable in everything that you did. You always went above and beyond in your work and it showed at every event that you planned.

Tonight as his eyes dart around picking up on little details he realizes that this is another party that had your little touches all over it. He’s not surprised really, every event you planned was always well done and they always managed to soothe and calm his anxiety over having to almost beg investors to take an interest in his company. It was a talent that he had always seen in you when you were together, you always had this calming effect on people no matter where you were.

“So Mr. Bahng, can you tell me more about your business? I remember your business putting out a product about a year ago that was a real hit.” said a curious tone that pulled Chan’s attention away from the room. He stared at the older, taller man in front of him in shocked silence, he was surprised that someone was actually talking to him for once and not at him. And for that man to be Mr. Oh a very successful business man it made it all the more nerve wracking as Chan began to explain the product that Mr. Oh was asking about.

“Yes, the product was a music production software that was more user friendly for music producers. It was geared towards being more mobile and not having to constantly work in a recording studio.” Chan began to explain and watched surprised as the man nodded his head along with his words.

“And since then has your company tried to expand on that software?” asked Mr. Oh and Chan felt hope begin to bubble up inside of him.

“We’ve had expansions in the works but because of a business deal that ended with my company, it stalled the production line of those expansions.” Chan explained delicately hoping to not have to speak about his deal with Mr. Candela. Thankfully the man nodded his head at his words before his face took on a curious look for a moment.

“Has there been no other investors since then?” he asked softly and Chan sadly shook his head.

“That’s because Candela all but ruined his company after his divorce from his daughter. There have been rumors surrounded Mr. Bahng’s company and his relationship with his manager and Candela’s daughter. You would do well to stay far away from his company.” said the obnoxious man from earlier in a loud tone of voice that made Chan flinch before glaring at him hatefully. Silence fell over the small group and Chan felt defeated as he watched Mr. Oh frown at the other man.

“You would do well to keep your opinion to yourself Mr. Soon.” came a frosty stern tone that had Chan’s eyes widening as his head whipped to the left and saw you standing there with Choi Jongho standing slightly behind you. The two of you made a very intimidating and imposing image as you glared at Mr. Soon while Jongho looked at the man as if he was a mere bug on the bottom of his shoe.

“M-Miss Candela-” stuttered Mr. Soon in a rush and your glare turned even icier as you stared at him with rage behind your eyes.

“Since you know so much about me Mr. Soon, you should know better than to use that last name.” you said stoically and Chan watched as the man bowed his head quickly.

“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right. My mistake.” he gushed out quickly and Chan watched as your eyes flicked from him to Mr. Oh dismissively.

“Mr. Oh, if you’re thinking about investing in Mr. Bahng’s company I think it would be a smart investment.” you said suddenly in a firm business-like tone that had Chan staring at you wide eyes. You were helping him secure an investor? But why? “If you’re worried about any backlash from myself you won’t find any. As for my family? I doubt they’ve thought of Mr. Bahng in any way since the ending of the business deal. But if they ever do cause problems you have my full support and I will have a word with my Father if it comes to that.” you say confidently and Chan feels his breath escape from his lungs in a soft hiss. You were willing to help him that much after everything he had done to you? It didn’t make any sense to him but he was more than grateful for your assistance.

“Thank you, my dear. I appreciate the reassurance. Mr. Bahng shall we go have a discussion somewhere quieter?” Asked Mr. Oh and Chan looked up at them in silent shock before quickly nodding his head at him and gesturing for him to lead. He looked over at you and you stared at him with indifference on your face before you nodded your head at him and then turned to Jongho who quickly led you away from the group without a glance back at them. Chan watched you walk away with Jongho as confusion filled him but at the thought of gaining an investor he quickly turned and followed Mr. Oh out of the room.

*-*-*-*

As Chan quietly slipped through the front door of his apartment he couldn’t help but grin softly. The night had definitely taken an odd turn after you had spoken up in his favor at the event but it had absolutely been a good odd since he had secured Mr. Oh as an investor in his company. Hope had started to fill after a long time of not having it and Chan felt as if he could let out a small breath of relief with this first step of making things better for him and his little family.

Slipping his shoes off he stowed away his wallet and keys before walking through the apartment towards the first door in the hallway. There he silently opened the door and tiptoed inside to the small crib. He beamed down at the little girl sleeping soundly in the crib and leant down against the railing letting his head rest on top of his folded arms as his eyes took her in. Her cute little mobile lazily turned in a circle as it played a soft lullaby while she slept below it. Chan felt his heart swell with pride as he gazed at her silently, she was his pride and joy. One half of his heart and he sighed softly as he watched her, she was just so tiny and sweet even in sleep he couldn’t help but fall in love with her all over again.

He gently grazed a finger along her cheek needing to feel her soft skin against his just once before he went to bed himself. She shifted in her sleep as his finger slipped away from her chubby little cheek and he held his breath hoping that she wouldn’t wake up. He knew she was having another sleep regression phase since it was so close to her first birthday, he had followed up with the doctor about it after she had started having issues staying asleep at night.

When she settled back down and let out a soft long sigh he hummed softly to the tune of the lullaby playing, thankful that she hadn’t woken up. Leaning there for another quiet moment his eyes traced along her sleeping form taking her in one more time before he stood from the crib. He then turned from the crib and tiptoed back out of the room before heading to the next door in the hallway. 

Stepping into the bedroom a smile slipped onto his face when he spotted the other half of his heart lounging in bed idly scrolling through the channels on the television. When she heard him gently close the door her head turned to him and a smile formed on her face before she began to crawl across the bed towards him with a happy sparkle in her eyes. Chan eagerly met her at the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her flush to his body.

“Oh, what’s this? Was it a good night?” she asked with soft surprise lilting her tone as she looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

“It was a good night. I got one investor tonight and there’s already interest from others.” he said softly and watched happily as she squealed with delight before wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. Chan beamed at her reaction as he hugged her tightly to him. “It’s all looking up baby. I can’t believe it to be honest and there was a moment where I thought it wasn’t going to happen all because Mr. Soon had to open up his mouth about the Candela family.” he said excitedly as he began to explain the evening to her.

“What happened?” she asked shocked as she pulled away from him slightly to stare up at him.

“Mr. Oh was talking to me about the product we put out last year and Mr. Soon began to mention that it would be a bad idea to invest with me all because of the divorce and the ending of the business deal. And I thought Mr. Oh would be swayed by what Mr. Soon was saying but then my ex-wife showed up and shot down Mr. Soon’s claims that it would be troublesome for Mr. Oh to invest in my company.” Chan explained in an awed tone, he was still so surprised that you had stepped in and shot down Mr. Soon about it all. And the fact that you had done it so effectively and swiftly still gave Chan chills.

“She was there?” she asked softly and Chan nodded his head at her question.

“Yeah, she was there with Choi Jongho. I’m pretty sure she was the event planner for the event also. But she completely shut down Mr. Soon and reassured Mr. Oh about investing with my company and I was able to make a deal with him.” Chan said as he continued to nod his head.

“Did she say anything else to you?” she asked curiously and Chan rose an eyebrow as he detected a weird lilt to her tone.

“No, I wanted to thank her for her help with reassuring Mr. Oh but she just nodded her head and walked away with Jongho. And then I didn’t see her again before leaving after my talk with Mr. Oh.” Chan said with a shake of his head. He watched as she nodded her head slowly before her smile reappeared after it had dimmed when he mentioned his ex-wife. “Are you okay?” he asked softly as his eyes danced around her face curiously.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I just don’t like that she was there and that she interacted with you.” she said with a twist of her lips and Chan frowned softly at her words.

“Baby, you have nothing to worry about. It was just a weird interaction, a good one for us but a weird one all the same.” he reassured her and she nodded her head slowly.

“Yeah, you’re right.” she said softly before smiling brightly up at him. “Wanna celebrate securing a business deal?” she asked in sultry tone suddenly and Chan smirked down at her.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked lustfully before pushing her onto her back on the bed and following after her.

*-*-*-*

The next party he goes to Chan is feeling much more enthusiastic and hopeful as he enters the large ballroom. Once again it’s beautifully decorated and there’s a live band in the corner as waiters flit around the crowd with trays ladened with glasses of champagne. There’s tall tables dotted around the edges of the room with faux ice covered floral centerpieces to match the winter weather outside. Chan stands at one of the tables with a group of young business investors as he begins to talk about his business with Mr. Oh by his side. As he’s explaining the product that he’s already produced and his plans to expand upon he spots you talking with a mixed group of people as Jongho stands at your side almost protectively.

He watches quietly as you laugh at something one of your group says and he’s reminded of how sweet the sound of your laughter was when you truly found something funny. It’s a stark contrast to how you were right after the divorce, back then you had grown withdrawn from almost everyone after you had dropped the bombshell of knowing about his betrayal to you. You had become almost a recluse during the divorce proceedings and while they were quick he had seen on your face and in your posture how much everything had affected you. His betrayal, your father’s betrayal, the affair, and the business deal that had come from your marriage; it had all nearly destroyed you. So to see you now happily laughing at an event that you had planned made something in Chan swell with quiet pride.

He was proud to see you rise above the mess that he had made of your life. While what he had done to you was probably all that you could see whenever you thought back on your relationship with him, it was different for him. He had been able to see the side of you that not many others got the privilege to see, he saw the raw emotions that you hid away all because of who your family was. He saw the need and desire to do your best in everything that you took on. He saw the love and care you gave to all your friends and close ones.

And after the divorce when you had withdrawn so much that that side of you had seemed like a ghost it was nice to see you blossoming once more and returning to the person he knew you were. Suddenly your eyes darted up to his from where you stood and Chan felt his breath stutter in his chest, your eyes while sparkling with leftover laughter from your group’s talk never dimmed when they connected with his they did turn indifferent. And while that still stung a bit he knew it was what he deserved, you owed him nothing. He gave you a small smile before dipping his head slightly and watched surprised as you dipped your head in response as well before turning toward Jongho who still stood proudly at your side.

The soft smile the younger man gave you was full of sweet soft affection and Chan watched as you soaked it all in. He smiled softly as he watched the two of you quietly interact together and he couldn’t help but be glad that you had found someone to trust through everything you had been put through. It was a testament to your resilience and he was glad to see you rise up.

*-*-*-*

It had been a month now since Mr. Oh invested in Chan’s company and as the holiday season was drawing closer and closer as time passed Chan was elated to find that more and more investors were showing interest in his company. He had now been able to secure five more investors and with the new year coming up quickly he was so excited that his business was picking up and he didn’t have to worry constantly anymore about money and his company. He was finally able to relax and enjoy himself as a business owner.

That was why Chan found himself carrying his little girl in his arms while the other half of his heart proudly hung onto his arm as she walked in at his side to the Christmas party to end all parties this year. The room was very spacious and while there were so many people in attendance it didn’t seem as if the room was crowded or packed, which was a good thing for Chan’s nerves as he worried that the event would be too much for his little girl. But as the three of them moved to a pretty snowy backdrop for professional pictures he watched as his little girl lit up with happiness at all the sparkling lights hung around the room and the large ball ornaments. 

After seeing how happy and calm his little girl was while in the middle of an elite Christmas party he felt himself calm and started to enjoy his time here. The three of them posed for a few pictures together before Chan asked the photographer to let them pose for pictures with each parent with their little girl. He wanted to pick the nicest picture and get it framed or even painted by a professional to hang in their home as well as smaller photos of them to frame.

Once the pictures were done Chan guided his little family around the room to introduce them to Mr. Oh and the other investors that he had become close with as well as anyone else who stopped to say hello to them. The evening was quickly becoming a big hit as more and more people stopped to say hello to Chan and his little family as everyone seemed to focus on the bubbly little girl in his arms. She was honestly the star of the event and he was proud to show her off. 

As he talks with another group of fawning women about his little girl he suddenly spots you and Jongho talking to another group not far from where he stood. He can feel his girlfriend tense at his side and he frowns softly before darting his eyes to her quickly. He knows that she still blames you for all the hardships that they’ve had to go through since the divorce and while he doesn’t agree with her reasoning he has come to accept that he can’t change her mind on this and has vowed to try and keep the two of you separated. He knows that it’ll just be something volatile if the two of you came face to face, he knew his girlfriend would make a scene and he didn’t know how you would react now that you’ve come out of the ordeal on the other side.

He’s talking to the group about the ups and downs of having a baby and all the funny little stories that he’s collected since having his little girl when suddenly she bursts out into happy screeches causing everyone to turn to see what she’s so excited about. Chan feels dread instantly wash over him as his little girl leans to the side reaching out her little hands to you. You and Jongho had been talking with the group next to Chan’s and his daughter had spotted your large sparkling engagement ring as the older woman in front of you held up your hand delicately examining the ring.

As you turned your head to gaze at the little girl reaching over to you Chan watched as a beautiful smile slipped onto your face while your eyes sparkled with delight before you wiggled your fingers at her causing her to screech with delight. Everyone around Chan cooed and awed at the interaction, Chan felt a pit form in his stomach as he felt his girlfriend grip his bicep tightly in her hand as she seethed silently next to him.

“She’s beautiful and such a happy baby. Congratulations.” you say pleasantly and Chan knows that you’re trying to be kind while everyone watches on in silence. He nods his head at your words as a warm smile slips onto his face as his eyes dart down to his daughter, he opens his mouth to thank you but his girlfriend beats him to it.

“Not like you could ever produce such a beautiful baby. Especially since you’ve gotten up there in years.” comes the snarky comment and Chan stiffens in shock. “Such a pity that a young wealthy successful man has tied himself to your dried up expired self.” comes the nasty hateful words from his girlfriend and Chan’s eyes widen in disbelief. He quickly shakes his head in dismay before turning to his girlfriend with hard unforgiving eyes.

“That’s enough!” he hisses at her angrily feeling all eyes have turned to him and his girlfriend with looks of disgust. “Apologize, right now.” he snaps at her and she whips her head to glare up at him with rage filled eyes.

“Absolutely not! She’s the reason why your business went under! She’s the reason why we suffered for all those months!” his girlfriend snapped angrily and Chan gritted his teeth before turning back to you and Jongho with a pleading look on his face.

“I am so sorry for her words. Please-” he begins to apologize to you as you stare at him with wide teary eyes.

“You always were too soft Channie!” sneered his girlfriend and Chan turned back to her in shock at how hateful she sounds to him. “Always trying to be the peacekeeper. Always trying to make amends. You spineless fool!” she hisses at him hatefully and Chan stares at her with wide eyes. “I had thought eventually you’d step up and be the man I thought you could be but I’ve been mistaken.” she snipped and Chan felt her words hit him in the gut.

“Is that what you think!?” he hissed back at her feeling his emotions start to swirl within him like a hurricane.

“It’s what I know.” she said darkly. “Even after all these years you can’t step up and be the man that I need you to be. Which is why I’ve been cheating on you for the past six months.” she told him proudly and Chan felt his stomach drop at her confession. “He’s more of a man than you will ever be!” she snips out angrily and Chan feels rage rush through him as he glares darkly at the sudden stranger in front of him. No longer is the love of his life, no longer is the one woman he thought he would have at his side forever. She’s reduced herself to a mere stranger, a ghost of her former self. He idly wonders if this is how you felt when you found out about his affair and he understands why you had pulled away from him after learning about it. He feels dead inside.

“Then go be with him. I’ll have my lawyer draft up a parental agreement.” he says darkly and watches with bitter satisfaction as his now ex-girlfriend’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing hatefully as her lips curl up in distaste.

“Don’t bother, I’ll sign my parental rights away.” she snaps and then whirls around on her heel before stalking out of the event. Chan sighs softly and feels his shoulders drop with sadness and defeat, when he looks up to his surprise the group has dispersed and only you and Jongho are left standing awkwardly to the side watching him quietly. His daughter begins to sniffle softly and Chan looks down at her sadly as he comes to realize that his life while slowly on the up had just taken another blow.

“Oh don’t cry little one. Your Dad will make sure everything is perfectly alright for you. He loves you very much and he’ll move mountains for you.” comes your sweet soft voice as you shake a green colored sleigh bell near his daughter’s face to try and distract her. Chan watches as his little girl suddenly brightens up at the twinkling bell and eagerly reaches out for it. You look over at him silently asking if it was alright to give to her and he nods his head quietly. He smiles softly as his daughter happily shakes and rings the sleigh bell loudly while laughing happily.

“Thank you.” he says softly to you and you nod your head at him before taking a step back towards Jongho. Chan watches silently as Jongho effortlessly wraps an arm around your waist and quietly gives you the support that you need after interacting with Chan and his daughter. He sighs softly knowing that this will probably be the last interaction you ever have with him and while it didn’t go the way he wanted it to he knows what he has to do. “I’m sorry for everything that I put you through. I hope in the new year that what I did won’t bring you too much pain anymore.” he apologizes to you while keeping his gaze locked on yours and watches a soft crooked smile slip onto your face.

“I forgave you a long time ago Chan. Consider it water under the bridge. Just focus on your daughter now, make sure she’s well taken care of. You’ve seen how it shouldn’t be done so make sure you do it right. Otherwise I’ll come knocking on your door to remind you.” you tell him stoically and Chan smiles softly before nodding his head.

“I will don’t worry.” he responds and you nod your head at him before walking away with Jongho.

*-*-*-*

Later on that evening as the event is winding down Chan finds a large plush armchair to sit in while cradling his now sleeping daughter as he looks around at the beautifully decorated Christmas trees. The twinkling lights bounced off the polished floor of the event space and Chan quietly watched as the lights reflected off his daughter’s sleeping face. The quietness around him didn’t feel suffocating as his eyes darted over her face, he knew that things were going to be very different now but for once he didn’t feel stressed or worried about his future. He knew that if he truly did his best by the little angel in his arms he would be alright.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

[genderqueerdykes]

i know this won't solve anything because racists are determined to be racist no matter what, but i realized i haven't shared a picture of my dad in a long time, so i'm going to do it again. when i came out as biracial a few years ago, people were asking me something to the effect of "What, did you get a new dad or something?". the thing is, i don't think a lot of folks realize that divorce can play a massive role in things like this. i'm not sure why the concept of divorce is hard for people to picture in this situation, but people's parents really do get divorced, and sometimes, the child is at a young age when it happens.

my dad left my life when i was 10 years old because he cheated on my mom and they separated. my mother kept me away from him at all costs and only allowed very rare, sporadic visits, usually where him and i would eat dinner together and that was really it. we would barely have time to actually talk or chat or do much of anything. i would pointedly avoid eye contact with him because i was still scared of him after all the abuse. i have extremely poor memory of my childhood due to constant abuse from both of my parents, resulting in PTSD and DID. i had a hard time remembering what my dad looked like because i hadn't seen him since i was a teenager, and struggle to remember damn near anything from the first decade of my life.

not everyone has both of their parents in their life, still. some people have had one or both parents die at a young age, and never get to meet their parents. because of how bitter the divorce was between my mom and my dad, there weren't just pictures of him around the house or anything like that. she hated him so bad she basically tried to erase him from both of our lives. he's an asshole, don't get me wrong, but i still deserved to know more about literally 1/2 of my parents.

looking through a photo book at my sister's house, i was finally able to see him again for the first time in a decade and it gave me a wave of emotions and memories. i remembered asking my mom as a kid if my dad was black, as he has dark skin, an afro, and nonwhite facial features. she would always laugh at me and tell me that he "just has a white guy afro" and would mock me for questioning if my dad wasn't white. she was very racist. this never sat right with me, it always felt wrong.

this photo was taken in the 1990's on a disposable camera, with the flash on. you can see the flash being reflected in my father's glasses, and on his forearm. that means that my father appears even darker in real life than he does in this photo. it's a shitty, grainy photo, i know, and i apologize, but you can clearly see my father's skin tone, hair and facial features despite how poor of a photo it is. again, the photo was taken in the 90's on a disposable camera

just because i'm pale from staying indoors most of the day due to being severely disabled does not erase my father. he is an entire ass person, and it doesn't matter how angry someone on the internet gets when i say that i'm mixed race, it doesn't erase my father and the genetics i carry from him. it doesn't matter how mad you get that mixed people look mixed. it doesn't change a damn thing.

you don't know someone's genetics just by looking at them. you don't know what someone's parents like just by looking at them. don't racially profile strangers. you have no idea what their genetics and families are like.

[maddascanbe-blog]

Part 2 of the life-swap series! Oddly enough when I asked those close to me, none of them anticipated that I'd swap Chloe and Luka. Honestly it made more sense to me? Both have sisters, have at least one obscenely rich parent, and have crushed on the two leads?

Now onto the plot-

After finding out about the twins Jagged decided to battle for custody. He managed to get full custody of Luka, but not Juleka, and out of spit decided to cut the twins off from each other, causing Anarka to move to the the US. But despite having a young son now, this didn't stop Jagged from touring, often leaving Luka behind in Paris to be looked after by whoever was available. Even when he was in Paris he often avoided Luka, instead leaving Penny to watch him.

Luka grew up bitter at his fathers lack of care for him, and took it out on everyone around him. Mostly the staff of both Le Grande Pari, where he lives, as well as whatever caregiver his father/Penny had hired. When he went to school, he immediately began taking his anger out on everyone there too. Once Adrien's mom passed he took a special hatred to the blonde, in some ways seeing himself in Adrien. Both now children of single fathers, but Gabriel is in his sons life (whether that's good or bad doesn't matter to Luka).

And Luka, being an empath knows exactly how to get under ones skin. Because even if you don't show your emotions outwardly, he still can tell when he's struck gold. The only person he doesn't hate is Marinette, his childhood friend and the only person unaware of his attitude.

And yes, we are going for Cannon Chloe swap here, so no redemption for Luka. Sad. I'll draw Akuma-Viperion later.

Onto Chloe, once Andre found out about Audrey's infidelity he gave her two options. The first, he expose her and her career be permanently marred. Or she give him full custody of both Chloe and Zoe and the could divorce peacefully. Chloe hasn't seen her mom since she was 3 and quite frankly had no interest in her. Zoe only being a half sister to Chloe is a carefully guarded secret, one that Zoe thinks even Chloe doesn't know.

Chloe, not wanting to emulate her mother grew up with a very different mindset. Instead being taught that being both too aggressive and a pushover will lead to a mess. So she instead learns to govern her hive with a firm but steady hand. The staff of Le Grand Paris greatly respect her, and she is often the one sent to head off a Luka temper tantrum, as the only person unimpressed by both him and his father. She's more of an Clara Nightingale fan anyways.

She fast tracked her way through school, and decided to take Highschool online as to give herself more time to work both at the hotel and at her event planning company. As Queen Bee, she is fierce but kind. The favorite of the secondary heroes, since she is not only efficient at stopping the akuma, but will stick around to comfort and reassure both the victim and the civilians who were caught in the attack.

Due to her calm voice and good advice, Ladybug and Chat Noir have turned to her many times for comfort on both the chaos hero life and civilian troubles. She's always willing to listen when they need her. As such Hawkmoth sees her as the most beneficial to target. Only he seems scarred to akumatize her for some reason...

[pruneunfair]

Manhwas except the villainess is the protagonist.

Groundhog Duchess, FL: Rhyse Sinclair. Tone: psychological horror (Not your typical reincarnation story)

Rhyse has achieved everything she could've ever wanted, she found a loving family, she has supporting friends, the woman who schemed for her downfall is dead, and now she's married to her husband Cliff as the new Duchess Rudwick! Until she woke up in her bed, the dates set back to where she started, living in her abusive family home where she laments that it was just a dream.. and then her dream comes true! Finally, she's achieved the happiness her dream foretold. Right after her wedding night she wakes back up, in her childhood home with her abusive family. It keeps happening over and over, no one believes Rhyse when she tries to speak out. There's something pulling the strings, something keeping her from speaking on her accord. She begins to avoid the Rudwicks, hoping that it would end this teasing nightmare but no matter where she goes, she always ends right back into Cliff and Killians arms, back to being tormented by Edith, back to a life that will always be taken away from her right when she's at her highest and with each passing time, she starts to lose more of herself and becoming more and more spiteful and bitter. Will Rhyse finally be able to put an end to this cycle and achieve a happy ending that lasts forever with her unexpected ally?

the flowers from another world, protagonists: Robelia and Aisha Tone: Comedy (Divorcing my tyrant husband)

Aisha had it all. She was the pampered consort of the tyrannical Alexandros and on her way to becoming the next empress, a major improvement from her boring life in Korea. She never wanted to leave, that is until mysteriously all the love and attention she would bask in has disappeared.

The once quiet and obedient empress Robelia was all of a sudden Alexandros love again! One by one Aisha starts to lose everything, all her allies turned on her and none of her endeavors had a chance to succeed not to mention Robelia has been nothing but insufferable the entire time. When Aisha finally confronts Robelia on her sudden change in behavior the two argue further until Alexandros shows up. Much to Aishas dismay, he only assists Robelia but somethings odd.. Robelia doesn't seem to be enjoying ANY of the attention..? Huh, odd. Who wouldn't want to be adored by a man who would do ANYTHING for you? Well it turns out Robelia is also from the same world as Aisha and she's been acting the way she has so she can divorced and live away from the nobles. The women come to an understanding in their commin goal and as frenimies they go on misadventure after misadventure to restore Aishas plot powers so Robelia can easily get divorced and leave. But the more time Aisha spends with Robelia, the more she sees from her point or view and she starts to wonder if Alexandros is even worth it?.

Two birds on a wire, FL: Claudine Van Brandt, tone: drama+tragedy (cry or better yet beg)

As far as Claudine could remember she was reminded that everyone has a destiny to fulfill in the aristocracy and hers was to marry and bear heirs. All Claudine really wanted in life was a carefree one where she got to live in luxury and enjoy the finest of all so to please her family and live her ideal life at the same time, she chooses a long time acquaintance, the Duke of Berg, Matthias Herhardt. Despite her fiancé's strange behavior Claudine was fine with how things were until she starts to notice Matthias take an interest in someone else.. the niece of one his employees and a girl she knew back then: Layla Llewellyn. Suddenly everything begins to feel as if it's falling apart. Claudine guaranteed luxurious life is now at stake and she's willing to do what it takes to achieve it! But what about Layla? No, why should she care? She's the one who's wreaking Claudines home, if she'll become collateral damage then she deserves it for flirting with someone else's man.. until she learns of what kind of psychological damage Matthias is inflicting on Layla, Claudine terrified now: if she marries that man then who knows what he'll put her through, screw her luxurious life and her families desires she needs to escape now!.. but not before she breaks Matthias and Layla up and free the poor girl she wrongfully accused, that is if Claudine isn't already too late.

the human saintess, FL: Diana tone: romance+ self growth (For my derelict favorite)

Diana is a saintess of common origins, with no one reconginizing her due to her lack of status a miracle in the form of two handsome men grant her the chance to finally use her healing powers for the good of the common folk, all seems well until one of her friends Cael reveals that he killed their enemies for her in the name of love. It seemed sensible at the time that she rejected him harshly and told him to leave. With only one man left she chooses Helios as her husband and becomes the crown princess. Now that she's a noble, Diana must learn how to act as one even if it means restricting some of her power to the poor. All Diana wants is to be accepted, to finally receive some payment after all that hardwork she'll even ignore news on Cael if she has to, he must be doing better anyway now right?. Well, not exactly. By ignoring any news about him Diana never realized that Cael had attempted suicide more than once, but what could she do? By the time she finds out she also learns that Caelus is married so it should all be fine.. until Caelus's new wife Hestia keeps harassing her for her faults, she just won't leave! But Diana can't say anything, she's the saintess! She HAS to be good.. but to who? The nobles or the commoners? Why can't it just easy for once!?

Slowly but surely, Diana will learn that even if she's a saintess, she's still a person and as a person, she makes mistakes, some big and some small. If she wants to get any better she has to make things right. Starting with the people she neglected below.

into the dark forever, FL: Marianne Edenverre, tone: self destruction.

All her childhood Marianne had been nothing but bad fortune. Her mother treated her terribly and even living as the 5th princess did little to differentiate from her previous homelife. All her new half siblings refuse to treat her as human for her status as an illegitimate child except for the 4th princess Alisa, the bright bundle of joy that made her feel welcome.However, a single person cannot make up for the mistreatment, especially if that person is the star of the family. Why can't Marianne have that? Who does Alisa even think she is!? Is she taunting her? Marianne won't stand for that disrespect, she suffered enough hasn't she? When is she gonna get her paid her dues? If God won't pay her then she'll just have to steal it herself so Marianne summons a demon to give her the help she needs. All of a sudden, everyone loves her! She's the star of the show and now Alisa is the scapegoat, finally, now the 4th princess will know what it feels like to be ostracized but when that doesn't work, Marianne decides to just arrange her death instead. There, no more Alisa, she's finally the most adored girl in Edenverre... wait, Alisa has been reincarnated into the princess of a enemy empire? Well Marianne can't let that stand idly by, she needs to get rid of Aisha de Elmire now, no matter what it may cost.

Project Leila, FL: Yvonne Eckart, tone: coming of age tragedy.

After getting lost during a festival, Yvonne loses her not just her brothers and father but her sense of self, she had been possessed by the goddess Leila and its been relentless in its pursuit to possess her. Yvonne waited and waited for her father to come and find her, she wouldn't let Leila break her spirit but when she finds her father taking another girl in as her replacement, Yvonnes heart drops and she almost loses all hope and Leila almost succeeds.. but Yvonne is able to snap out of it at the nick of time, it was a close call but the pain of abandonment never did go away. During the remaining years, Yvonne never bothered to go back home anymore, they seemed to like that purple haired girl anyway and surprisingly Leila wasn't so bad to talk to as it was the perfect being to vent to. Day by day Leila keeps trying to trick Yvonne into letting it possess her but she always stands her ground and declares that she'll never affiliate herself with the likes of the goddess. But when Yvonne is found and arrives on Penelopes coming of age ceremony, it becomes tempting. All Yvonne saw was the girl who stole her life but the real monsters may have been more close to home then she thought. Just how toxic did her family become and will she be able to resist Leilas temptation?

The concubines woes, FL: Diane Poitier, tone: female rage+self reflection (I will abdicate my title as empress)

Diane Poitier had been a patient girl. After losing everything at a young age she had been determined to never let that happen again when she becomes the Emperors concubine. He has no wife, she's is the owner of the Ivory palace, and she resembles his deceased mother, the cards should have all fell in place, but they never do. The Emperor instead marries the crown princess Adelaide of Kotrov. Just like that Diane feels everything crashing down around her so she makes an enemy out of Adelaide, belittling her and trying to drive a wedge between the new married couple so she can return to the escapism of knowing she's the Emperors one and only. Yet with all the grievances she causes, Adelaide never sees Diane as an enemy, if anything the empress is the kindest to her then anyone else has ever been, one side of Diane wants to keep pushing until Adelaide snaps but the other is weeping so much it can't come up with the words. Why is she even doing this? What will this get her? Will the Emperor even marry her at all when he gets divorced? Why is she being this way to the one woman who has shown her kindess?These are the nagging questions the keep Diane up at night.

Divorcing your husband, FL: Sumin Jeong, tone: comedy (Marry my husband)

Sumin will never admit it but she's been a snake in the grass for most of her life, she can't stand seeing her friend Jiwon happier than her so what better way to ruin her life then to sleep with her husband while Jiwon is terminally ill? Well.. Karma inevitably catches up to Sumin and she is killed by the very same man she slept with after he accidently murdered Jiwon to eliminate any witnesses. Instead of waking up in heaven or hell, Sumin is back 10 years ago! Does she even deserve this? Of course she does! How could someone so deserving like her not? It turns out though that she lost a little something along the way.. her charisma! It's been stolen the moment Jiwon died and when Minhwan killed her. Without her cutesy baby act no man will just crumble when she says "Oppa!" Sumin actually has to work for what she wants now, and the only 2 men who are still willing to adore her are her killer and older co worker who has a thing for her childish talk, jeez were her co workers always this terrible? Whatever, she'll play into Minhwans hand for the time being.. after all, she could use a little life insurance from him.

Golden cage, FL: Rashta Ishka, tone:tragedy+female rage (remarried empress)

The tragic tales of a girl sold into slavery and the men who take advantage of her. Most strived for beauty but Rashta hated it, her beauty was a curse and it drew in all predators who wanted to take a bite out of her. The first man who fell for her was one of her masters who currently raises their child, the second is the Emperor of the empire who loves her like a hunter loves their trophies they caught and the third is the most charming yet manipulative of them all. During the duration of one year, Rashta navigates the life of a concubine and later empress. The ladies in waiting hate her for displacing their empress, the men desire her for her innocent beauty, her former master blackmails her, and her idol: the empress won't even turn an eye to her direction, her only hope is to keep going with her role of the prey Sovieshu caught. Keep acting cute, keep speaking in 3rd person, she doesn't even have to learn much etiquette if it means Sovieshu will find it charming. Slowly, she is picked apart by everyone in her life and the only people who could've helped her have been pushed away. There's no saving Rashta, she's already trusted too many of the wrong people and made too many mistakes but maybe when her children grow up and learn their mothers story they'll be the voice to put an end to slavery and grant the next generation the future she always wanted.

Aim for the throne, FL: Isabella de Mare, tone: suspenseful drama (Sister I am the queen in this life)

Isabella may be her families favorite but that alone isn't enough. She knows her worth as a woman only means so much and as much as she loved her mother, she refused to end up like her as a de-facto wife of a mere cardinal. No, if she only mattered for her beauty than Isabella was going to use it to it's fullest: she wants to become queen of San Carlo, but when her half sister Ariande comes to live with the family, the new competitor meant buisness and had already earned their fathers favor much to Isabellas annoyance. What was supposed to be a subtle warning is quickly figured out and it turns out Ariande isn't as dumb as Isabella thought. Throughout the years that follow, both sisters clash and plot to rise up the ranks. Isabella becomes a renowned beauty engaged to prince Alfonso and Ariande becomes reserved but most devoted to her religious studies, earning her privileges with the clergy. This has been Isabellas most formidable foe yet and she's willing to go to lengths of murder to secure her destiny as queen of San Carlo. Little does she know.. the golden rule cares little about beauty.

Black widow, FL: Krista, tone: thriller drama (remarried empress)

Out of all the ways it could have happened why this?, Krista was already deposed of her position of queen as expected when her husband died but with her positive reputation with the people and her brother in law remaining single, Krista was confident she'd stay as the beloved queen of the west. Oh, Heinrey brought in the former empress of the east to be his wife? Well she can't be shocked, the kingdom does need heirs after all, Heinreys starting to establish his fiancé as queen already? It's fine.. maybe he'll let her stay with them instead of sending to her to compshire to mourn for the rest of her life besides, she'll always have her loyal ladies in waiting. Wait no.. most of them are already defecting from Krista to the new queen.

Krista is losing everything and her foolish family isn't helping her case, all she has left is the peoples support for her but even that is fleeting!? What? Of course.. his majesty has stated he'd fill the mouths of those disrespectful to the new queen with rocks and sew it shut, it must've scared everyone into submission. Everything is on line now, Krista's father is continuously pushing buttons he shouldn't be pushing and when Krista's brother attempts to kill Navier, all fingers point to her as his accomplice. If Krista wants to clear her name she's gonna have to play the hard way and put on an act like she's loyal to Heinreys new wife and hope that the Heinrey doesn't execute her to protect Navier.