#If anything certain music makes me more awake

[s1ushyz]

I don't get how people can sleep faster with music on, the phoenix by fall out boy played and all I could do was shake ass in bed

[gothgoblinbabe]

Nothing Worth Saying Aloud

Logan Howlett x fem reader

A/N: This one is short n' sweet! Inspired by the song "Need 2" by Pinegrove which I had first heard because I read this one shot that used that song as inspiration! Theirs is much better I'll be real but I had this festering in my brain for too long every time I'd play that song on repeat

Summary: Misunderstanding and miscommunication makes for a terrible combination that leaves you feeling like you've had your heart ripped from your chest

Warnings: Angsty as all hell, a lil' bit of fluff at the end, that's really it!

Word Count: 2K

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

You’d gone through a couple break ups in your life, a handful of failed situation-ships that ended awkwardly - even a long term relationship or two - but all the heartbreak you’d experienced couldn’t compare to the chest-crushing agony you experienced now.

The terrible moment of facing the music; accepting what couldn’t be, even if you wanted it more than anything.

Logan was not into you and he was never going to be.

You had to confront that when you’d gone down the stairs of the mansion one night to get a glass of water, almost certain you were the only person awake. That was until you’d stopped short in the hallway, seeing Logan and Jean standing with their backs to you. You couldn’t hear their conversation and didn’t think anything of it until you watched his arm snake around her shoulders, pulling her into him for a hug.

Your stomach sank. You really should have known.

The way he talks to her, looks at her, is always there to help her; it must have been obvious to anyone but you. You’d been friends for so long that you were almost dumbfounded that you never realized, probably too blinded by your own rose colored glasses.

You turned on your heel immediately, climbing the stairs to hide in your bedroom. Your chest felt heavy and your skin felt like it was on fire. You never ended up sleeping that night, too sick to think of anything else but Jean and Logan.

That was maybe two weeks ago now and you’d avoided Logan every day since as best you could. You’d gone from being nearly inseparable to speaking only when you had to. He’d try his best to get you to talk to him about anything at all but you only gave him one word answers. He even tried to keep you after training one day, gently having a hold on your bicep.

“Hey, what’s going on with you?” He asked bluntly. He tried to look you in the eyes but they were nearly glued to the metal floor of the basement corridor, your hair falling in your face.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, Logan, really,” you were able to mutter out, somehow keeping your voice from cracking. Before he could interrogate you further, you shrugged yourself out of his soft grip and speed-walked to the elevator, tears flowing the second you turned away from him.

You were not fine. Your eyes were always red and puffy from crying yourself to sleep and everyone could tell something was off. 

Ororo even stopped you in the hallway outside your bedroom one night, begging you to tell her what was wrong and what she could do to help.

“It’s nothing, I - “ you had started to dismiss her, but she was having none of it. 

“Stop with that! Enough! You need to tell me what’s up or I’m gonna have to force it out of you somehow and you know I do not wanna do that. Now tell me.”

You sighed, never picking your gaze up from the floor. 

“Come here, I don’t want anyone to hear me,” you beckoned her into your room.

She sat by your side at the edge of the bed as you confessed what you had seen and how badly it had torn you apart, rubbing your back gently when you choked out a sob.

“Honey,” she cooed, pushing some hair from your face and wiping a tear away, “I think you need to talk to him. This is gonna eat you up inside if you don’t and I think maybe it could’ve been a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t know, ‘ro. I can’t even look at him without feeling like I’m gonna burst into tears,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes with the collar of your t-shirt.

“Think about it. I can’t tell you what to do, but I think you really should. And if it was what it looked like, sweetheart, this is not the end of the world,” she reminded you.

“It sure does feel like it,” you joked, tears still rolling down your cheeks.

“I know,” she sighed, patting your back gently, “talk to him.”

You nodded and she left the room, reminding you to come find her if you needed anything at all.

You thought her words over and ultimately still hid in your room the next day, skipping training to rot in bed in sweatpants and a tank top. The thought of having to confess to Logan that you were really in love with him was far too paralyzing. It almost made you sick If you thought about it too long.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea to keep shuffling sad songs on repeat and yet you did, keeping your CD player at a low volume so you wouldn’t bother anyone and they wouldn’t bother you. Your hair was a mess and you were glad that at the very least, you’d had enough energy to shower that morning after three days of not doing so. You held your knees to your chest while laying on your side, burying your face into your pillow to muffle your wailing sobs. 

Logan was downstairs at the same time, making his way towards the stairs, only to run into Scott.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Logan spoke, stopping him with a hand on his upper arm.

Even through Scott’s glasses, Logan could tell he was glaring suspiciously.

“About what? Why?”

Logan said your name, looking around to be sure they were alone in the hallway.

Scott’s expression softened and he leaned against the wall, waiting for him to explain.

“Do you know what’s up with her? She won’t talk to me, she hasn’t in two weeks. She won’t even look at me. Has she said anything to you?” Logan spewed out, rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous tic. 

“No, your girlfriend didn’t mention anything,” he teased, shaking his head, “but hey, just talk to her. You’ve been close for a while now, you just have to confront her.”

“She’s not my - okay, whatever. Yeah, I’m gonna go talk to her. Maybe she’s in her room,” Logan sighed.

“She’s always in her room lately. If there’s anyone that can pull her out of it, it would be you.”

He quickly thanked Scott and finally reached the stairs. He had been walking through the hall, finding your bedroom door and stopping when he heard a noise he couldn’t quite make out. He heard you sniffle and his heart dropped.

You were crying.

He tried to give you your space, work through whatever it was that was bothering you, but it broke him to see you the way you were and his prodding didn’t seem to help. Still, he didn’t know how much longer he could let you dodge him in the halls or live with the fact that you wouldn’t even look at him anymore. He had planned to talk to you that day, but you rarely came out of your room now.

So, he laid a hand on your doorknob, turning it slowly. He would’ve knocked - he always did - but every time he had recently, you laid silent and pretended not to be in the room. He always knew you were, recognizing the smell of your perfume behind the door. 

The door cracked open a few inches and he saw you, curled in a ball in your bed with your face in your pillow. Your shoulders moved up and down as you sobbed, gripping the pillow so hard that your knuckles turned white.

There’s no way Logan could leave you like this. He slid into the room and closed the door gently, but you could hear the click of the knob over your music.

Your head shot up and you saw Logan standing with his back to your door, an almost devastated look on his face.

“Oh god, Logan, please, don’t - “ you choked out, turning your face so he couldn’t see you and waving him away. Out of everyone you wanted to see right now, he was at the bottom of the list because this was humiliating. 

He’d seen your bloodshot eyes and pink nose, your cheeks wet with tears. There was no way you could tell him you weren’t crying.

“You have to talk to me. Please, what did I do?”

The last thing you wanted was for him to think it was all his fault. It wasn’t, really. He didn’t do anything to hurt you on purpose; He couldn’t have known it would upset you in the slightest or that you were even in the hallway that night. 

“Nothing, Logan, please, just go away - “ you begged, still facing away with your face buried in your hands.

“I’m not leaving till you tell me what’s going on,” he said firmly, “you won’t even look at me. I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’ll make it up to you.”

You still had your face buried in your hands when you felt the bed dip as he came to sit beside you.

“I miss you, you know. You won’t train with me anymore, you won’t come out with me, you won't talk to me. Please, I don’t know what to apologize for if you don’t tell me.”

His voice so close to you made your heart ache. You wanted to just hug him, tell him you missed him too, but you sat paralyzed. He really wasn’t going anywhere until you said something.

You removed your hands from your face, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. You took a long inhale, closing your eyes and trying not to let your voice crack.

“It’s nothing worth me saying aloud,” you muttered, gnawing on your bottom lip. You felt like you needed to, though - like a lump in your throat that you couldn’t cough up. 

“Please,” Logan’s voice was quiet, his hand arm coming to rest around your waist.

You squeezed your eyes shut and scrunched your face in an attempt not to cry even harder when he touched you. You had wanted him to for so long, but not like this. 

You inhaled sharply, standing up as you did so to pace around your room. You couldn’t sit still with his hand on you.

“I - “, you tried to speak, the words getting lodged in your throat, “ it’s not your fault. I’m not mad at you, it’s not that.”

“Then, what? Tell me. You know I’d do anything to help.”

He would, and that’s what made it all hurt so much worse; how sweet he could be to you. You reminded yourself that he was also probably like that with Jean and you shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the thought. 

“It’s so stupid, Logan, really - “

“Pretty girl, it’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.”

Pretty girl. He probably called her that too.

Fuck, you couldn’t get it out of your head no matter how bad you wished you could.

“Ugh,” you groaned, leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe it would be easier to spit it out when you weren’t looking at him. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to get it all out in one go.

“A couple weeks ago, I went downstairs in the middle of the night and I saw you and Jean.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but Logan’s eyebrows were furrowed, completely lost on what exactly it was that you saw.

“And it’s so fucking stupid, I know, but I - “, you choked back a sob, “fuck. Logan, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m in love with you, I don’t know how to handle it, not when I know nothings ever gonna happen.”

When you didn’t hear a response, you dreaded the moment you finally tore your eyes from your ceiling. Logan was still in the same spot at the edge of the bed, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Sweet heart - “, he began, but it only hurt you more to hear him call you stuff like that.

“Logan, please, I know, just - I don’t want it to be a big deal and you don’t have to give me the rejection speech, trust me.”

“Are you gonna let me explain?” His tone was mildly frustrated, though he was still clearly worried about you.

You sighed, hands on your hips as you stood almost completely across the room. He got up to meet you where you were. He wanted to put his hands on your shoulders but he could tell you didn’t want to be touched.

“Explain what?” You muttered, gaze glued to the floor when he stood in front of you.

“There’s nothing going on between Jean and I.”

Seeing that your expression never changed, he continued.

“I think I know what you saw. I hugged Jean, that’s what you’re talking about, right?”

You swallowed hard, dreading any details he wanted to spill. You still didn’t believe that there was nothing, convinced he was lying to save your feelings. You nodded anyway, still looking at the floor.

“I gave Jean a hug because her and Scott got into a fight. She said she fucked up and wanted my advice, I hugged her and that was all. Honey, I’m telling you, nothings going on.”

You were nearly turning pink at the realization that he was being truthful. 

“And another thing,” he began again, tentatively pulling your hands from your hips so he could hold them in his, “you think I don’t love you?”

You finally met his gaze then and his heart broke when he saw your watery eyes. He brought a hand up to wipe your tears, leaving it there to cup your face while his other still held your hand. 

“I love you. I’m in love with you, too. I don’t feel that way about Jean at all. I thought it was obvious, but I guess neither of us have the greatest communication skills, huh?” He laughed a little, nervously waiting for you to finally say something.

You were still soaking in his words, first about Jean and then about you. 

“Really?” You squeaked, unable to say anything more.

“Really, baby,” he said sweetly, continuing to wipe away your tears.

You sniffled and leaned into his touch, happy to just be near him again.

“I missed you too, you know. I miss everything about you. I just couldn’t look at you when I thought - I don’t know, when I thought you couldn’t love me like that. Oh god, I’m so stupid, Logan, I’m so sorry - “ you began to apologize and he cut you off, shaking his head.

“None of that, c’mere,” he pulled you into him gently, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to hug you. 

You smiled into his t-shirt. You missed the smell of his cologne, the warmth of him, the way he called you sweet names. You had your arms wrapped around his neck, standing on your toes to do so.

“I love you, Princess. I’m so glad I get to say it,” he mumbled into your hair, neither one of you letting go of the other, “and I’m a dumbass for not saying something sooner and letting you think all that.”

“No, I’m a dumbass because I should’ve said something sooner instead of assuming. I was just terrified, I guess.”

“No more being terrified, right?” He pulled away a little to look in your eyes.

You nodded, a smile on your face for the first time in weeks. You both stood there in the middle of your bedroom, frozen in an embrace with your eyes locked on each other.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his hand rubbing up and down your back reassuringly, “you can say no if it’s too soon -“

You leaned up to press your lips to his, not wanting to waste any more time than you already have. He kind of grunted in surprise, relaxing into your touch when you ran your fingers through his hair at the back of his head. It was better than you could have ever imagined. His lips were so soft and he was so gentle with how he held you that your knees could’ve buckled. He pulled away reluctantly after a few seconds, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I didn’t wanna ruin anything,” he explained, tucking your hair behind your ear, “you know, just being with you. I would’ve swallowed it all down to be just your friend if it meant I wouldn't lose you.”

You brought both of your hands to cup his face, scratching lightly at his mutton chops, “Really?”

He nodded, kissing your forehead, your cheek and your lips again. It was sickeningly sweet, making you giggle into the kiss.

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothin’. Just really happy.”

“Me too, pretty girl. Hey, you owe me a couple of movie nights, by the way.”

“Race you to the TV?”

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

A/N: ik this ones pretty short but it was rotting in my google docs so here u go <3 pls like and reblog if you enjoyed!

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2024

July 6th Prompt: Dizzy

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 7

@steddie-week

Steve stands up, and that’s where it all goes wrong.

His intent was to grab more drinks from the fridge, but when he stood, he blinked a few times. “Whoa,” he murmurs.

“Steve?” Robin asks. She sounds like she’s at the end of a long tunnel.

“Steve?” Eddie asks. He sounds closer, but not as close as he should.

“‘M fine,” he says, “jus’ dizzy.”

Then he’s waking up in the hospital. “What,” he asks, then doesn’t complete the thought because Robin and Eddie are both standing over him, one on each side, holding each of his hands, and he’d feel so much love if he could feel anything besides general panic because- “I can’t hear you,” he says, breathing picking up. “I can’t- please, I- I need-”

Eddie shuts up, staring at him with wide eyes, and after a second of hesitation, places Steve’s hand, palm down, on his chest. He takes deep, purposeful breaths, and Steve can feel his hand moving, feel the breaths, feel his heartbeat-

He takes a breath. Another. Another. By that time, Nancy had gotten a doctor.

Later, he’ll learn this is something they’d been watching for, but couldn’t be sure of until he woke up. Later, he’ll learn that Eddie lays awake at night, sometimes, hearing the sound Robin makes.

All he knows right now is how to keep breathing, how to keep holding Robin’s hand, how to believe he’ll be okay, because he has to.

He has to.

He stays with Eddie upon his release, because they’re together most days anyways, and it’s a certain kind of torture on Steve’s heart because Eddie’s started carrying around a notebook and a pen just to write to Steve whatever he was gonna say, and Steve doesn’t think he could love another person more than he did, but here’s the proof, apparently.

They’re sharing a bed, because Wayne had previously called their couch “older than Jesus,” and Steve lasted for all of an hour on it before slipping into Eddie’s room.

The good thing about sharing a room is it helps curb the nightmares for a time.

Eventually, though, they come back with a vengeance.

Steve’s laying in bed, like he does every night, when he rolls over to face Eddie. “Eddie?” He asks. Eddie’s always last to sleep, so Steve’s not hesitant about asking, except Eddie doesn’t answer.

“Eddie?” He asks again, jostling Eddie’s shoulder a bit.

Suddenly he shoots up in the air, and Steve bites back a yell.

Suddenly there’s a voice that sounds like it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating off the corners of the room, echoing louder and louder. You took everything from me. Eddie’s arms snap, and Steve yells, scrambles up, music, except what’s his favorite song—that puppet one, metal, come on brain, think—but there’s nothing here but country, bluegrass, stuff Wayne likes, and Steve turns to watch the blood drain from Eddie’s face as another gristly crunch echoes, louder than anything so far. So I’ll take everything from you!

Something reaches out for him, grabs his shoulder, and he yells, twists around, pushes away, hard enough he falls on the ground. He opens his eyes to see Eddie on his bed, Steve sitting just off it, eyes wide and hand reaching to help, stalled halfway. Illuminated by the lamp, too, which wasn’t on half a second ago.

Steve blinks at him, looks at the room. No floating Eddie in the middle of it.

“Dream?” He asks. Eddie nods. He stifles the sob and practically launches himself onto the bed, into Eddie’s arms, lets himself shake apart because he can.

Eventually he feels reverberating in Eddie’s chest that he knows means words, means speaking, so he looks up at Eddie, who’s looking at the door.

He turns to look, too, and sees Wayne. “S-sorry,” he tries, still sniffling.

Wayne shakes his head at him, walks into the room, sits on the edge of the bed. Offers his arms out in a hug.

Steve thought he was done crying. Trust Wayne to prove him wrong, because he’s tearing up all over again as he leans into Wayne.

His new position means he can see Eddie, who points at him, makes a talking motion with his hand, then points at himself and Wayne. Steve frowns. “You… want me to tell you?”

Eddie points at Steve again, insistently, and Steve understands: your choice.

“I can,” he agrees. “We were in bed and I was tryin’a talk to you, but you didn’t answer, and I kept trying to get your attention, but suddenly you- you were up in the air, and your arms and legs broke, and a voice—it was Vecna, I didn’t recognize it in the dream—said I’d taken everything from him so he was gonna take everything from me. And I was trying to find music, but I couldn’t remember the name of your favorite song, and the only stuff in here was Wayne’s stuff, country and bluegrass and stuff like that, and…” he sighs out a broken sob. “I couldn’t save you.”

Eddie reaches for his hand, but suddenly that’s not enough, he needs to be able to feel his heartbeat, have his breathing move Steve’s hand, so he tips over into Eddie again, gets his hand on his chest and his face in the side of his neck.

Eddie says something, but before Steve can move Wayne’s got a comforting hand on his back. He removes it after a minute, and Steve can feel the shift in the bed of him getting up, but before he can mourn the loss, Eddie’s got his arms wrapped around Steve as he carefully lowers them back down. He rubs a hand up and down Steve’s spine, slips the other into Steve’s hair.

Steve falls asleep like that.

He wakes up in almost the same position. He tries to apologize, but Eddie waves him off, hands him some clothes and points to the bathroom before pointing to himself and miming cooking.

Steve’s heart clenches at the thought. “Okay,” he whispers.

Robin comes over later, and they sit on the front steps as he recounts what had happened. “He’s just so sweet,” he sighs. “And I’m an idiot who’s letting my heart get involved.”

Robin wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses his temple. It doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped it would, but he appreciates the gesture anyways.

Later she leaves, and Eddie pulls out his dedicated Steve Notebook.

I’ve got a friend in Indy who knows sign language. I could give her a call, if you want? He writes, and again Steve’s all but overcome with love for this man.

Instead of anything he wants to do, he just nods. Eddie grins and hops up to use the phone.

He’s back in a couple of minutes, collapses onto the couch with the notebook before furiously scribbling and handing it to Steve.

I spoke to my friend. She says sorry and it sucks, first of all. Steve snorts and nods. She’s willing to talk to you, get you started, maybe even get you some books. Does tomorrow work?

Steve gapes up at Eddie. “Tomorrow?”

Eddie nods and grins, then points at Steve in a gesture Steve knows has come to mean you decide.

“That would be great,” he says. “Seriously, I- thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him off, but Steve can see the happy little blush on his cheeks.

They head out the next day. It’s probably twenty minutes into the drive, and even with Eddie sitting next to him in the driver’s seat, it feels lonely. He never realized how much he’d miss the sound of tires on asphalt. He wasn’t ever truly into music, like Eddie is, but he misses the radio. He misses the wind rushing past, the silence that’s possible to share when both people can hear-

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s pulled over, a hand on his cheek and a concerned expression on his face. “Sorry,” he tries. Eddie shakes his head, presses his palm more firmly to Steve’s cheek. “Fuck,” he mutters. “‘S stupid. Just… felt alone. I dunno. There’s, like, a million little things you hear every day that you don’t think about, like the way your hands tap the steering wheel when you turn, or the way your clothes shift and rub against each other, and it’s all silent now, and there’s not even music, and-” he takes a deep, shaky breath. Lets it out as evenly as he can. “I just… felt really alone all of a sudden.”

Eddie brushes his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone as he thinks. Suddenly, he grins and moves his hand, shoving a tape into the deck and cranking the sound. He demonstratively puts his hand on the door. Steve laughs and does the same, gasping when he feels the vibrations of the song move through him. He can’t tell notes, but it’s something, and then Eddie carefully reaches for his hand, keeps his grip relaxed until Steve smiles at him and tightens his own fingers around Eddie’s. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Eddie smiles, nods, and gets back on the road.

They arrive at his friend’s apartment in no time, and Steve would be jealous at the length of the hug if Eddie didn’t immediately step back to grab Steve’s hand again. Based on his hand motions, he’s introducing Steve.

She asks Eddie something, and he turns bright red, pulling a strand of hair across his face as he glances at Steve before looking back at her and answering.

She invites them in, scribbles on a little chalkboard, and hands it to Steve with a smile. Hi, Steve! My name is Nicole. It’s nice to meet you.

He grins up at her. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

She takes the chalkboard back, scribbles something else. Eddie tells me you recently lost your hearing. Do you mind me asking about that?

“Not at all,” Steve says, then frowns, somehow just now realizing he doesn’t know the full extent of what happened. “Honestly, all I know is I stood up and got really dizzy, and then I was waking up in the hospital.” He shrugs. “I’ve had a couple of pretty bad concussions, and I guess whatever made me pass out also just… took my hearing.” He shrugs.

Eddie shakes his head, grabs for the chalkboard. Almost. He bites his lip. You passed out, and I wasn’t fast enough. You hit your head on the floor. He looks away, takes a deep breath. I’m sorry.

“That is not your fault, Eds,” Steve tells him firmly. Eddie won’t look him in the eyes, so Steve grabs his chin. “Hey, look at me. Not your fault. I don’t blame you. Okay?”

Eddie shrugs, pointing to himself with a self-deprecating smile, and Steve knows what he’s trying to say. I do.

“Well I don’t,” Steve says. “But if- if you need to hear it. I forgive you, okay?”

Eddie nods, eyes big and wet, and Steve pulls him into a hug.

Eddie suddenly laughs, pulling away to wipe his eyes before saying something to Nicole.

Right. They’re not alone. “Sorry,” he tells her, but she waves him off, handing over the chalkboard again. I think we’ll start on the alphabet today. That way you can at least finger spell what you need, even if it’s slow.

“Sounds good,” he says, and she nods, talking the chalkboard to write the alphabet.

Slowly but surely, she teaches Steve and Eddie the alphabet. They get a little tripped up on some of the letters, most noticeably p and q, until Nicole takes pity on them and makes a p. She uses her other hand to draw a line down both her extended fingers, then tracing her own legs. She taps her thumb, peeking out between the two, and with a mischievous grin, points between Steve and Eddie’s legs.

They share a look and burst out laughing, but they don’t forget those letters again.

By the end of the day, they’ve gotten through the alphabet with enough regularity that Nicole feels they can practice on each other.

Steve pauses before they leave. T-h-a-n-k, then a pause, then y-o-u.

Nicole smiles, presses her fingertips to her lips, then brings her hand down to chest height, palm up. She does the motion again, and Steve copies her, grinning when she nods excitedly.

“Thank you,” he signs and says, grinning even wider when she pulls him into a quick hug before waving at him and Eddie.

They wave back and pile into the van, Steve’s hand in Eddie’s before Steve can practically blink. He smiles, unbearably fond, and squeezes to get his attention before signing, “Thank you.”

Eddie just smiles back, throws the van into reverse, and starts home. 

They practice more while they make dinner, throwing words like spatula and stir and chop around, and Steve didn’t realize learning could be this fun.

He’s watching Eddie stir the broth, hips moving in a little dance to a song only Eddie knows, and his heart is so full, he has to say something before his heart bursts. “I’m gonna say something that’s gonna sound incredibly sappy,” he says. “But just… please just listen until the end? And try not to tease me too much.”

Eddie just smiles, grabs his hand and squeezes, and Steve takes a breath before starting.

“I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad you were there that day, I’m glad you were there when I woke up at the hospital, I’m glad you were there when I realized going home meant being completely alone. I’m glad you made a complete fool of yourself in the hospital lobby, doing charades to let me know I could stay here.” He takes a breath. “I’m glad you have Nicole, because it lets me talk with you easier. I’m glad you never once let me feel like I’m alone, or like I’m going through this alone. I’m glad you’re learning with me. I’m glad you’re making this fun. I didn’t know learning could be fun, but it is with you, and I-” he takes a breath, swallows the three words that want to come out. “I’m glad it’s you,” Steve whispers, “here, at the end of all things.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s hands are cradling his cheeks, wiping away tears. Eddie’s just as teary-eyed, though, and he pulls away, looking for the notebook. Please don’t punch me.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed, to watch Eddie spell something. I l-o-v-

That’s as far as he gets before Steve gasps, understanding, or hoping he understands, and pulls Eddie into a kiss.

He pulls back almost immediately to check that’s correct, that that is what Eddie was trying to say, when Eddie pulls him back in, dinner be damned, crowding him in against the counter and doing his best to lick into Steve’s mouth.

Steve lets him, pulling away for a sharp inhale before diving right back in, fingers tight in Eddie’s hair and the back of his shirt, and there’s a sudden vibration that he just knows means Eddie moans, and suddenly he’s dizzy again, but this time he welcomes it, because this time he’s not passing out; this time, he’s dizzy because he’s drunk on love.

[sserpente]

Bite Me (HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 🎃)

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! I’m dressed as a kitten tonight because…well. ;) This year's Halloween Imagine simply had to go to Sylus.

Words: 2029 Warnings: semi-public smut, biting

“Pleeeeeease?” You drew the word out, putting on your best puppy face. Sylus was a hard one to convince. But if there was one opportunity to spend time with him in public, with your friends, it was Halloween.

Tara and Simone had invited you to a party on the 31st, a costume party you desperately wanted to go to with Sylus. It would be the perfect chance for him to dress up and remain undetected. Besides, the idea of dancing with him, grinding against him on the dance floor surrounded by strobe lights and fog…it was on occasion you both knew would lead to sex sooner or later.

“No, kitten. You go and have fun with your friends. I’m not the type to play dress up and get drunk on cheap party alcohol.”

But Sylus was a tough nut to crack. He really wasn’t the type for parties like that, you knew him well enough by now to know that. Still, you’d hoped he’d make an exception for you. After all, it was Halloween! The best time of the year!

The connection of the video call wavered for a moment.

“Sylus, pleeeease? You don’t have to do anything crazy. How about we just smear some fake blood all over you? Then you can say you’re dressed as a serial killer. That should do it!”

“A serial killer? That’s what you think would suit me?” He didn’t sound offended, instead he gave you a low chuckle. “Go to bed, kitten. I still have work to do and you will complain to me in the morning that I kept you awake.”

“Well, you are keeping me awake! Just say yes and I can go to sleep peacefully!”

“No. Good night, sweetie. Sweet dreams.”

He hung up before you could prepare a comeback. You growled. Damn it. But for what it was worth…at the very least, Sylus had just given you the perfect idea for your Halloween costume this year.

You were a little irritated when you got ready for the party the following evening. Applying your make-up meticulously, you eyed your outfit. A black bodysuit, a black skirt, black tights, high boots you normally wore for hunting, glued-on fake whiskers, and adorable cat ears made you absolutely certain that Sylus would have loved your costume of choice.

As you drew on a little button nose with your eyeliner, you debated whether you should send him a picture. But he didn’t deserve that, really, right? You could respect him not wanting to go to a party with you but you couldn’t help but feel bitter he’d turned you down regardless. He knew you loved Halloween!

You sighed, glancing down when a message from Tara popped up on your phone.

Are you ready, friend? We’re outside!

You nodded at your reflection. You were ready. With or without Sylus. Tara’s friend would drive you tonight so you could drink. And you were just on time too, arriving just before midnight.

The building where the party took place was decorated brilliantly. There were spiderwebs in the corners, garlands and pumpkin string lights lining the walls, and orange and purple strobe lights illuminating the dance floor. Fog wrapped around the ankles of the people dancing.

Pumpkins with spooky faces carved into them laughed at your face, and the selection of snacks and drinks was phenomenal. The bass of the music reverberated in your chest the more you mixed in with the crowd, with Tara holding your hand so she wouldn’t lose you.

You went with a Dracula shot for your first drink—vodka and cranberry juice—before hitting the dance floor. It’s just that someone was missing for this to be truly fun. God damn it.

You didn’t want to be one of those girls who couldn’t enjoy themselves without their boyfriend anymore. You could and you would. Still, it was alright to wish Sylus was here, right?

With a sigh, you nodded when Tara gestured she would get another drink and kept on spinning around on the dance floor—and rolled your eyes when a stranger placed his hands on your waist from behind.

“Go away! I have a boyf—” You flipped around only to be met with a very familiar figure. Your heart skipped a beat. Sylus.

“Sy-Sky! You…you’re here!”

“And you look absolutely ravishing. My kitten is a kitten. How adorable.”

Heat crept up your cheeks. Sylus didn’t exactly look bad either. A small trickle of blood decorated the right corner of his mouth, and his black shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way. A pair of fake fangs completed the look when he flashed you a mischievous grin.

“You…you’re a vampire!”

“Let’s just say our conversation inspired me. Besides, I wasn’t keen on the idea of smearing fake blood all over myself.”

Oh, but I would have loved to roam my hands all over your bare chest, Sylus. You cleared your throat.

“But…you’re here! I thought you didn’t want to come…”

“I changed my mind. You seemed rather upset when I declined.”

You smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Tara returned with your drinks before you could say anything else. You passed the one she handed you on to Sylus and leaned against him, careful not to smudge your makeup on his shirt and ruin it.

“Oh hello! Sky, right? Lovely to see you again! So you’re a vampire?” Tara began.

“And you. I am indeed. And you’re a…”

“A werewolf-zombie-witch!”

You chuckled. “Tara couldn’t decide which of the three she wanted to do so she combined all three of them.”

“I see. Very creative.”

“I’m sure you two want some alone time. Here, take my drink, I’ll meet you later!” She left with a wink before you could protest—not that you had any. You all but longed to throw yourself into Sylus’s arms. Which you immediately did as soon as she was out of sight.

“Kitten, you’re going to spill our drinks.” But instead of pushing you away, his arms wrapped around you even tighter.

“Let’s get rid of them then.” You downed your little cocktail way too fast for it to be healthy and put the plastic cup on a nearby snack table. Sylus took his time with his drink before doing the same though. You almost started tapping your foot impatiently—and you were certain he was doing this on purpose because the amused expression on his face spoke volumes.

God, he looked so handsome tonight. Your mind drifted back to that conversation you’d had with him, back when he’d taken you to this old castle and you’d slept in front of the fireplace. You’d told him he resembled a vampire…and right now, you wanted him to bite you so badly you could already feel yourself getting wet. Fuck.

“Dance with me!”

“Are you tipsy already?”

“That first shot was strong. And I had two glasses of wine prior to coming here so… probably yes.”

He shook his head, smirking.

“Now dance with me!”

“So demanding, kitten.” Sylus wrapped his arm around your waist and flung you around so your back was pressed against his chest. He moved you both to the rhythm of the music, his face buried in your neck.

“That’s a new perfume,” he muttered.

“Should the fact that you can tell concern me?”

“You tell me, kitten.”

You grinned and kept on dancing, your behind grinding against his crotch in the process. Again, and again and again…for what felt like an eternity, ignoring the rest of the crowd as if you two were the only one who existed.

“I can’t guarantee anything if you keep rubbing yourself against me like that, kitten,” he murmured with a start.

“Maybe that’s the plan,” you whispered back.

Sylus’s gaze darkened. Challenge accepted. He didn’t need to say it out loud. Still, you were unprepared for when he wrapped his hand around your wrist with a start and dragged you out of the main room into the hallway, crimson eyes darting around in an attempt to find...somewhere private, assumingly.

You laughed, the sound echoing through the building. Out here, the music was duller, the bass more bearable. Your eyes were ringing from the noise inside and you registered a little too late what was happening when Sylus tried for a broom closet and pulled you inside without any forewarning.

“That’s not very romantic!”

He huffed a laugh. “Romantic is for when we get home and I can make love to you in my bed. Be glad we’re gonna be here for a while longer or else I would have ripped those clothes off of you already. This…will have to suffice.”

With but one swift motion, he hooked his index fingers under your tights and pants and pulled them down to your knees before you lifting you up and against the wall, forcing your legs apart to accommodate his body.

You bit your lower lip, your pussy pulsing with need.

“S-Sylus,” you choked out, “c-condom?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, kitten. I have some with me.”

Your breathing was heavy by the time he nestled with his belt and eventually, freed his erection. You understood now why he’d been so eager to drag you off now. He was hard. He was struggling to roll the condom over his length while refusing to let you down. But as soon as he managed…you did not receive a forewarning before he buried himself inside you to the hilt, growling against your neck.

“F-fuck, Sylus!”

His hand came up to press against your mouth, keeping you from making a sound. “Quiet, kitten. We don’t want anyone to hear us, now do we?”

“T-the music is t-too loud a-anyway…” you said, muffled because of his palm.

Sylus chuckled, his lips ghosting over your neck as he thrust up into you, hitting your sweet spots with every single stroke.

But instead of giving you a hickey like he normally did (and then watching your reflection in the mirror afterward, smug and amused as you tried to cover it up with make-up when you had to get back to work)…he bit down on your neck. Hard.

Whatever fangs he was using, they held onto dear life as if he’d superglued them on. They were pointy, painful…but not painful enough to seriously cause you any distress. If anything… fuck, this was so hot…

You moaned, throwing your head back to give him better access. At this point, you didn’t even care if he drew blood. Would he drink it? If he broke the skin and a few droplets sneaked their way past his lips?

Sylus fucked you like the filthy girl you were being, teasing and riling him up like that, and much to your luck, it had worked. He knew. Of course he knew. This man was always in control, and you would be lying if you claimed you did not love it.

“Sylus…” You repeated his name over and over again against his mouth as if it were a prayer that would bring you salvation. It would. Oh, it would…for with every single thrust, you felt yourself creeping closer and closer to an annihilating abyss of pleasure. If you hadn’t been pressed up against the wall, legs wrapped around his hips, your knees would long have given in.

“I’m…I’m gonna come…” you whispered out of breath.

Sylus released your neck, the wound pulsing with a dull pain as he licked over it with relish and then released your mouth to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. His strokes grew more frantic, more eager. And it drove you straight over the edge.

You came with a grunt, moaning into his mouth. Pleasure rippled through you as you squeezed around his cock repeatedly, triggering his own release.

Sylus’s heavy breathing turned into a carnal groan as he came, his length jerking against your slick walls gripping him tightly. He slumped against you once he came down from his high, cradling you in his arms.

“Sylus…”

“Yes, kitten?”

“Take me home?” There was no way you were going to return to the dance floor. Not after this. Oh god…

He chuckled. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

[nataliasquote]

Can’t You See This Is Breaking Me? | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha isn’t quite ready to give her entire life for the woman she loves

Warnings: injuries, blood, stitches, no happy ending

wc: 5.2k

note: this idea was given to me by @katyaromanoffpetrova (love you 🤍) and she’s fuelling my love hate relationship with angst. Also, this was so hard to condense, so I’m sorry if it’s lacking detail. I tried to cram three years of a relationship into 5k words :)

-⧗-

It was no secret to anyone how little regard Natasha had for her own life. Even since her very first Shield mission, she’d been a force to be reckoned with, partly down to her pure destructive nature. She didn’t care if taking down Hydra agents meant coming away with a bullet wound or two. Or if destroying an enemy testing laboratory meant four broken ribs and a cracked collar bone. As long as the job was done, that was all she cared about.

Nick Fury was getting tired of how many lectures he had given a young, 25 year old Natasha in his office when he’d read her completed mission report. He knew why she had such a blatant disregard for her life but it didn’t make it any easier seeing one of his best agents beaten and bruised each week. The redhead barely flinched when her wounds were inspected, but to be honest she didn’t really react to anything.

She was more of a ghost really, a pale figure soundlessly walking the halls at night. If her injuries didn’t let keep her awake at night, then the nightmares gladly took their turn, drenching her entire body in a cold sweat and leaving her shivering in her tangled sheets. But if the dark circles under her eyes looked worse, her friend and mentor Clint didn’t utter a word.

The structure and routine that manifested week by week kept her grounded and focused. Wake up, train, eat, surveillance, sleep. Missions were a welcome break from the otherwise monotonous rhythm Natasha had found herself in. She much preferred working solo as opposed to in a team, but Shield was all about team work so she had to suck it up.

A lot of the time she found herself alongside Clint Barton who weirdly offered her a feeling of comfort. She liked how he never pried too much into how she was feeling, or her past, but kept a look out for her whenever they were together. Her icy demeanour slowly melted away thanks to his warmth that he never failed to show her.

He showed her how to let people in, how to not keep her heart so tightly guarded in fear of actually feeling something about someone. And as much as she would hate to admit it, he was right. It did feel better knowing people cared about her. But it also terrified her at the same time. Vulnerability wasn’t her strong suit.

Yet somehow she had managed to let her tough exterior be pushed aside just long enough for a certain someone to wiggle her way in and take up permanent residence inside the redhead’s mind.

Y/n Y/l/n wasn’t really anyone compared to Natasha. Sure, she was a shield agent, and a high ranking one at that, but that was nothing compared to an Avenger. She’d spend years in their shadow, always looking up to Natasha Romanoff. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s pretty badass.

But the young agent thought her relationship with said Avenger would end at idolisation and daydreaming. She never expected to suddenly be living amongst them in the compound. But when an empty training room was suddenly disrupted at three in the morning, it was a sign things were to change forever.

Y/n relished the silence that the training room at night brought. Most of her colleagues preferred to train in a group at 7am, but insomnia often brought her into the gym a lot earlier. She loved it though; a way to clear her head and exhaust her body whilst maintaining peak physical fitness required in case of a last second mission.

Lost in a world of music playing through her headphones, Y/n failed to notice the door slowly open, caught up in her boxing routine on the punch bag. She should have been more aware of her surroundings, like she’d been trained, so that she didn’t nearly jump out of her skin as a voice cut through her music.

“You’re gonna get a sore back if you keep using the wrong form.”

Without having ever met in person, Y/n would recognise that voice anywhere. She whipped around and quickly pulled her headphones off around her neck, cheeks flushing as she took in the woman in front of her.

A black sports bra and navy sweatpants was all that adorned Natasha’s toned body. She stood there with a hand on her hip, the other holding a small towel, a water bottle and her own pair of headphones. Y/n desperately tore her eyes away from the widow’s toned abs, feeling her own insecurities creep upwards. She itched for her sweatshirt that lay discarded on the bench just out of reach. That was the last time she ever trained in a sports bra.

“You keep twisting your back as you punch. You need to move from your hips.” Y/n just looked at her with surprise, not fully processing that they were having a conversation at all. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Yeah, sure.” That snapped her out of her trance. Y/n took a step back and allowed Nat to place her things down before she packed a swift punch to the bag, sending it swinging slightly on its stand. Y/n couldn’t lie, she looked really good, arm muscles tensed as she threw a few more punches. Her form was impeccable, but of course it was.

“When you swing round you have to rotate your hips for momentum. Just turning from your back will cause injury.” Y/n nodded, mirroring her stance on the punching bag beside Natasha. “Unless you’re doing lots of smaller ones, then you need to keep your hips still. That just comes from your shoulders.”

Nat threw a few more punches before Y/n copied, missing the small smile that broke out on the Russian’s lips as she observed. Fast learner, she noted, nodding in approval as Y/n turned back to her.

“Very good.” She bent down to grab her things, back muscles on full show to Y/n who just could not stop staring. You’d think she was used to the sight of toned bodies after working out everyday, but there was something different about Natasha and she couldn’t quite work it out.

“Thank you. I’m Y/n, by the way. I work in-“

“I know who you are,” Natasha said casually, looking the woman up and down. “You work with Hill. She talks about you.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “She does?”

Nat smirked. “Yeah, why? Does she not talk about me?”

“No, she does- we do-“ what happened to calm and collected shield agent she once was? Reduced to a stuttering mess of words in front of a pretty redhead. God, Y/n cursed herself for not being able to talk to women.

“I’m joking, don’t worry.” Natasha gave her a soft smile before walking off to the weights section, her headphones shutting out the world so she could focus.

Y/n however, could not focus on anything except that brief interaction. It was probably so small in Natasha’s life, yet it would consume Y/n for at least a week, if not more. Maria was going to have a field day with this.

Except it wasn’t small in Natasha’s life. The flustered agent had left quite a mark and Natasha found herself creeping down to the gym at 3am most mornings, hoping to see the woman she’d grown to love so much. And, more often than not, Y/n was there, punching away at the bag and pausing when Nat came in.

Over a course of many weeks, both had changed their training plans to match each other. It felt nice working out with another, Natasha had to admit, and Y/n was so easy to talk to she set the redhead right at ease. They talked and laughed and Y/n noticed how the usually uptight Russian had come out of her shell a lot more since that very first night.

However, one night didn’t go so smoothly. Y/n was in the training room first, of course. She sat on the bench and adjusted her socks, keeping herself busy until Natasha arrived. The past couple of nights had been just her as the redhead had been on a mission, but Maria informed her that she would return tonight, so Y/n anxiously awaited her return. She was more worried about Natasha than she let on, but they had no relationship outside of those four walls so she bounced her knee, willing her new friend to walk through the doors.

And she did. Except this wasn’t the confident Natasha she usually knew. No, this Natasha was walking stiffly, almost as if she was in pain.

“Nat?” Y/n asked, standing hesitantly at the sight of her. Small cuts and bruises littered her face and what skin was exposed under the neck of her tactical suit. Agents always had to report to medical following their return from a mission, but by the looks of Natasha, she hadn’t done that. “Why- what are you doing here?”

“Can’t miss training with my favourite girl, now can I?” She tried to sound upbeat but it fell flat, her pain evident even in her voice.

Y/n pushed aside the butterflies that erupted in her chest at those words and sprung up to help her, guiding Natasha to the nearest bench and forcing her to sit. She took note of how Natasha’s hand tightly clutched her side and she feared the worst.

She thought for a second, feeling Natasha’s eyes all over her face. “May I…?” She gestured to the zip on Natasha’s suit and the redhead nodded, stiffly manoeuvring her arms out of her sleeves as Y/n tugged it down to her waist. The agent had switched to processional mode and ignored how close Natasha’s bra clad chest was to her face as she inspected her side.

“What happened?” She asked, crouching down with a hand gently resting on the redhead’s knee as she gently felt the skin around the wound.

“Some stupid agent snuck up on me and threw his knife. Shit aim though.” Of course she tried to make a joke, but Y/n wasn’t laughing as she looked into her eyes. The redhead almost wanted to roll her eyes, and she would have done if anyone else looked at her with pity like that, but Y/n was different. Safer.

“Why didn’t you go to medical?”

Nat looked down, averting her eyes. “I didn’t want to. I hate it there.”

Y/n knew not to push. She didn’t know much about Natasha’s past but knew enough to know that it must have been horrific to endure. She sat back on her heels and bit her lip in thought.

“Will you let me sort it? I keep a suture kit and supplies in my bathroom.” She caught Natasha’s eye and gently squeezed her knee, trying to establish enough trust between them to let her accept the help. But Natasha was stubborn, so there was truly no way of knowing which way she’d swing.

“Ok.” That was not the expected answer but Y/n was happy to hear it. She knew not to help Natasha up, the redhead probably would have punched her, so she collected her things and led them both back to her apartment, walking a bit slower than normal to help Natasha keep up.

Her room was nothing special and probably looked identical to Natasha’s as they both had Shield issued rooms. Although Natasha’s would be fancier thanks to Tony Stark and his upgrades.

There were no personal items on any of the surfaces, not even in the bedroom. Natasha looked around with a frown, not liking how bare everything seemed. Not homely, that’s for sure. Even the bedside cabinets were empty, not even a picture frame for decoration.

“Take a seat anywhere, I’ll be right out.” Natasha chose the couch by the small coffee table and sank down onto it. The couch wasn’t anything special and neither was the table, ring marks displaying its age and use on the surface. The overhead light was dim but brightened up as Y/n stepped back into the room, a medical kit tucked under her arm.

She worked in silence, only broken by a hiss of pain from Natasha as the alcohol stung her wound. Y/n muttered an apology under her breath but kept working, fingers brushing gently over the soft skin as she made light work of stitching it closed. They weren’t the neatest but they’d do the job just fine.

“Thank you for this,” Natasha spoke into the silence, her eyes fixed on her fingers that rested on her lap. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Natasha stayed silent for a moment, trying to organise her thoughts. She had people who cared about her, the Avengers, but not quite like Y/n had. She didn’t care who Natasha was, or how well she could take down enemies. She just enjoyed her presence and cared for her as a human being, something she rarely felt like she was.

“Can I make this up to you?” She tentatively asked, the strong Black Widow now a weird mess of nerves. What even was this?

“No, you don’t have to-“

“Come out with me on Saturday, into the city. Can I buy you lunch?”

Y/n stifled her smile and hid her face whilst packing up her equipment. She knew Natasha was asking her out on a date, albeit in a very roundabout way. It warmed her heart though, seeing her so soft. It was a side very few people ever got to see.

“Ok, sure. I’d really like that.”

Natasha smiled. “Now I know where you sleep, I’ll come pick you up.”

Y/n scrunched her nose at the odd phrasing. “You had to make it weird.”

“You know me,” she replied with a wink.

~~~

That date was a catalyst for many more to follow, and many midnight training sessions too. It took six more months of flirting and secret meet ups before Natasha pulled her heart out and wore it on her sleeve, asking Y/n to be her girlfriend.

The agent wasn’t stupid, of course she said yes. And at first their relationship was purely in the honeymoon stages; sneaking kisses in the hallway, comforting touches underneath the table, more midnight training and also moving in together. Natasha’s apartment was bigger than Y/n could ever have imagined and she adored the bed, starfishing face down on the mattress the first time she saw it.

But that was two years ago. Sure, they were still very much in love but something had shifted between them, creating a rift that Y/n had started to notice more and more. She knew what was causing it too.

Natasha was going on missions every other week, for days at a time. And she’d fallen back into her old habits, putting the job and the result over the safety of herself. More times than not did she come battered and bruised, open wounds bleeding as she walked into the bedroom. Y/n begged her to stop, to stay home more, to reduce the amount she went on even just to one a month, but her desperate attempts were met with a slammed door and a wall in Natasha’s mind. But she still persisted, trying again the next time Natasha came home. But it was useless.

Y/n always waited up for her though, the nerves of what state Natasha would be in when she returned making sleep pretty much impossible. Whatever she imagined, somehow it was always worse. She used to quiz Natasha as she led her into the bathroom and patched her up, placing kisses on each bruise that she found.

But now they barely said a word, Y/n almost running on autopilot as she cleaned cuts on Natasha’s back for what felt like the millionth time. It was draining her, anyone could see that, and being on edge all the time had made Maria notice.

“Take a week off to clear your head,” her supervisor had ordered, not taking any protests into consideration. “I don’t want to see you in this office before next Thursday, Y/l/n.”

A week off would have been great for anyone else but her. Natasha was away, again, which left Y/n with no ways to fully distract herself like she usually did to cope. She spent the first day in bed, holding onto Natasha’s pillow as her tears soaked the pillowcase. She hated how out of control she felt when Natasha was gone. It was her job, yet Y/n often wished Nat would retire, or at least pull back from constantly being in the field. But that’s what her girlfriend loved, so she had no choice but to respect it.

But on the third day of very little sleep and increasing stress levels, Y/n hit breaking point. She stared at her ghostly reflection as she splashed her face with some water, trying desperately to snap herself out of the lie she was feeling. But under the glaring lights all she could focus on were the heavy bags under her eyes and her discoloured skin, pink blotches littering her cheeks and forehead. She’d been picking at her skin to cope, but it did nothing but make her look worse.

She remained a zombie all day, curling back under the covers at 7pm to shut out the world. There was no telling when Natasha would return but part of her didn’t want it to be yet. She didn’t want to see the state she was in, the mess that she’d have to clean up. She loved Natasha, she really did, but with no contact allowed on her missions and no updates from the team, Y/n was starting to question if their relationship was even working.

She flicked off the light and turned to face the wall, images flashing in front of her as she worried herself stupid about her girlfriend. What if she wasn’t coming home? What if she’d been kidnapped? What if-

The apartment door opened.

Y/n held her breath, pulling the covers tightly under her chin as she waited. She knew the sound of Natasha’s footsteps based on her different moods, but the assassin stepped so lightly it was hard to tell. She felt footsteps getting closer and closer and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to face the horrors to come. She wanted one more blissful moment, but her heart was racing in her chest and her throat was getting tight.

The bedroom door opened.

Light from the living room flooded in through the small gap as Natasha stepped through, brows furrowed at the darkness. It wasn’t that late, but maybe she’d missed something. Wasn’t like she was around much.

“Y/n?” She whispered, not wanting to turn the light on. But she didn’t need to worry about that when suddenly the room was bathed in light. Her girlfriend was sat up in bed, eyes blotchy as she stared at her with a hand on the light switch. “What happened?”

“What hurts?” Y/n asked, sliding off her side of the bed and padding over to the bathroom. “Stitches? Probably bruising too.” She was talking to herself more than Natasha, hands working to gather her supplies. But she was stopped when a pair of rough hands gathered hers inside them, tugging her away from the sink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m ok,” Natasha said, removing one of her hands to gently cup Y/n’s chin, tilting her eyes to meet her own. “Just a couple of bruised ribs, but that’s nothing.”

“At least let me look at them.” Natasha knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer so she unzipped her suit and pulled it to her waist, revealing the nasty colourful sight. It was swollen and tender and Y/n cursed under her breath. She grabbed the tiger balm and gently applied it, trying to steady her shaking fingers as they touched Natasha’s skin.

“How have you been? How’s work?”

“Its fine, thanks.” Y/n wasn’t going to admit that Maria made her take a week off. She avoided Natasha’s gaze as she worked, even though there wasn’t much she could do for bruised ribs. “I’ll get you an ice pack when you’re dressed.” That was Natasha’s dismissal cue and she took it, but not without lingering in the doorway to watch Y/n for a moment.

By the time Natasha was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Y/n had wrapped the ice pack in a towel and handed it to her. There was an uneasy tension between them and Natasha could see something was on Y/n’s mind, just waiting to be said.

“Y/n-“

“This is your last one, right?” She couldn’t help herself but blurt out. Somehow she found the confidence with her back to Nat, sitting on her side of the bed. “Please tell me it’s your last one.”

“Of what?”

“Your missions, Natasha.” She bent one knee and tucked it beside her as she turned her body to face Natasha who was still standing in the middle of the room, ice pack pressed to her ribs. “How many times are you going to keep doing this? Coming home in a state! I never know if one day you’re just not going to come home at all.”

Natasha bit her bottom lip. She knew this was going to happen, it always did. And shutting Y/n down didn’t exactly get easier with practice. “Don’t do this again Y/n, please. You know what my answer is.”

“No, Natasha. I’m not gonna accept that anymore. I’m not asking you to quit all together. I just mean reduce the number you go on, take up desk work or surveillance, just something, anything, to get you out of the firing line.” Y/n ran her hands over her face, trying to keep herself together. But the more she spoke, the stronger her emotions got. “I can’t live like this anymore!”

Natasha had placed her ice pack on the bed, not feeling the need to hold it up right now. She couldn’t move, even though she wanted to run to Y/n. “I know you don’t like it-“

“I hate it.”

“Ok fine, you hate it,” she held her hands up in defense. “But that doesn’t mean I suddenly have to stop.”

Y/n stood up from her position, not wanting an ache in her back from turning so much. She and Natasha were now at eye level although the redhead’s stoic face was a lot more composed than her own.

“You’re not listening to anything I say. I never said you had to stop. Ever. Because that would be hypocritical coming from me.” Natasha pulled a ‘sounds about right’ face which Y/n just ignored. “I’m just asking you to reduce the amount you go on. Once a month, maybe? You can still be in the action, still do everything you love, but that way you’re safer and you’re here more. I hardly see you.”

Natasha shook her head. “Our line of work isn’t safe Y/n, even you know that surely.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was getting defensive, having reached her limit of Natasha trying to shut her down.

Natasha was too stubborn to give up, even when she knew she fucked up. She just couldn’t let it go. “You rarely leave this place! Always stuck in the same office, the same four walls going insane every day! I don’t know how you do it! I’d rather quit than do that.”

“I do that because I can still contribute to the missions without the risk of getting blown to hell,” Y/n spat, taking full offense to Natasha talking down about her job. Sure, she didn’t go into the field as much as the other agents but she preferred to be in the chair, handling everything from above. “And you know damn well those missions you love don’t work without someone like me.”

“And that’s great, for someone like you. But I can’t do that, you have to understand me. I can’t be behind the fight, I have to be in it.”

“No one else goes on as many as you do, Natasha. Don’t you think that just once, someone else can take a mission-“

“I don’t care Y/n!” Natasha may be a passionate person but she never raised her voice. So her elevated tone made Y/n’s jaw clench, her innate response whenever someone shouted at her. “You don’t get to dictate my life! That wasn’t our agreement-“

“Agreement? What, so this is, are we some kind of, I don’t know, contract that you’re obliged to?”

Natasha scoffed, her eyes rolling back at the pure ridiculousness of her statement. This whole argument was pointless really but she entertained it, too stubborn to give in or let Y/n win. “Oh come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m just sick of lying here in fear every week wondering if you’re actually going to come home or not! I can’t keep doing this Nat.” Y/n was having a hard time keeping Natasha in her vision as tears blurred in her eyes. But she wouldn’t let them spill. Crying meant Natasha won and she was done with backing down.

“We can’t keep having this conversation, Y/n,” Natasha grunted, running her fingers through her hair and tugging out the messy braid. “You know I can’t stop. This is my life, it’s what I was made to do. I can’t live without this job!”

“And I can’t live without you!” Her voice cracked and a tear slipped down but she fought the urge to wipe it, praying Natasha didn’t see. But she did see. Of course she did. The Russian noticed everything.

Natasha went silent. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. In this line of work, relying so heavily on someone wasn’t a good idea. She knew that, it had been drilled into her since she was a child. But Y/n didn’t, and that’s where she slipped up.

“Don’t say that.” Heavy emotions and Natasha Romanoff didn’t really mix well. “You have to, one way or another. You can’t just rely on me Y/n.”

“Nat, I am in love with you but lately it feels like all you care about is your job. When is it going to feel like you actually want to be here? With me?”

“I do Y/n, I do-“

Y/n dropped her head. “I know there’s a but coming.”

Natasha looked at the defeated form of her girlfriend and winced. She never thought she’d ever be in the position where she had to choose between family and her job. But she knew what her choice would be, what it always had been. Long before she even had a family.

“This job means everything to me. I didn’t choose this life, like you did, I was forced into it. It’s part of who I am, and I can’t just stop doing that to be with you.” The second those words fell from her lips Natasha knew that was the wrong thing to say.

Y/n adjusted the collar of her shirt and started to pace. If she was sitting down her leg would have been bouncing all over the place.

“What, that’s it? You’re just gonna call this whole thing off because you can’t take a break from your job?”

“What ‘whole thing’?”

“Us, Natasha! Us!” Y/n stopped in her tracks, gesturing between them both. They were on opposite sides of the room, a clear divide in space and opinion. “Unless there isn’t an ‘us’ anymore. Maybe I’m just the girl who keeps your bed warm and stitches you up in the middle of the night, no questions asked. Occasionally gives you head if you are really in the mood-“

“Stop it Y/n.”

“Stop what? It’s the truth, isn’t it? That’s all I am to you.”

“‘No, you’re so much more.” Natasha’s fingers were fidgeting with each other and they’d stumbled across a small cut on her palm that they were now playing with, the pain trying to keep her grounded. “But you have to understand that I can’t just take a step back. I love this job more than anything because I actually get to do something good with my skills that have been used for the opposite my whole life. I just need you to understand that, please!”

“You’re not gonna stop, are you?” Natasha just stared at her, chewing on her bottom lip. “No matter what, you will keep coming back here in a mess and I will keep fixing you up and we will keep having this conversation. Is there an end to this?”

“I won’t come here then.” Natasha stated simply, eyes darting momentarily to the bathroom door. “I’ll go to medical, where I should be.”

“You hate it there.”

“You hate me here.”

Y/n sighed, her breath shaky. This was the longest they’d ever fought for, and fighting Natasha was mentally exhausting. She had an answer to everything.

“I don’t hate you here, I just wish you’d fucking listen to me for one goddamn second!” Natasha nodded, almost challenging her to speak.

“I am.”

“I didn’t want to say this, but you haven’t exactly given me much of a choice. It’s me or the job, Nat. You choose. And you know what? If you choose me, you still keep half your job! But if you choose the job, you don’t get to keep half of me.” The last part sounded stupid but Natasha knew what she meant. She only had half of Y/n right now. The half that slept in her bed and fixed her wounds. If she chose her, she’d get the other half she fell in love with back.

But she couldn’t, could she? Natasha looked down, not wanting to watch Y/n’s face respond. “I’m sorry…”

“Get out.” It was barely a whisper but Natasha heard it. “Get. Out.” Y/n didn’t want Natasha to see her cry but when their eyes met again, Y/n’s were flooded with tears. She didn’t care, how could she when the green ones staring back at her were so cold. Natasha didn’t say a word, only grabbing her sweatshirt and slipping out of the room. The faint jangle of her keys sounded as the door slammed shut and only then did Y/n allow her walls to come crumbling down.

She collapsed onto the bed, only this time hugging her own pillow close as she choked out her sobs. They echoed around the room and her gag reflex kicked in from how hard she was crying. But all she could see was Natasha’s emotionless face staring back at her, not a hint of remorse visible in her eyes.

Reaching to flick off the light, Y/n caught sight of something that made her cry harder. Her bedside table hadn’t been empty for two and a half years. A single picture frame now sat there. And it was in that moment that Y/n wished it had just stayed empty.

[dyns33]

For a smile

Dream of the Endless x female reader, sweet fools as ever

Following the formalization of their relationship, Morpheus had been very clear with Y/N on two points.

He wasn't dancing, and he wasn't laughing.

Regarding the first point, he never gave a real explanation, simply refusing to move as Y/N spun around him to the music, frozen like a statue and calmly repeating that he didn't dance, ever.

Concerning his laughter, she had managed to make him laugh several times, and it quickly became apparent that he was simply ashamed, because this laughter was quite peculiar, to use simple and neutral terms, since the dreams master was easily hurt. It was likely that he was also simply ashamed of the way he danced.

Y/N had made the decision not to force him to do things he didn't like or that made him uncomfortable. It seemed normal in a relationship after all, even if Morpheus had some difficulty with the concept at first.

Fortunately they had talked about it, and he had come to accept his mortal lover's requests, even if he didn't understand them all.

“Why do you want me to knock on your door to enter your home ?”

"Because maybe I'm busy or with someone."

"… Do you have things to hide from me, agápi mou ?"

"No, but it's just being polite. I know I enter your kingdom every night without really asking you, but you sense that I'm coming. For my part, I almost have a heart attack every time you appear behind me without making a sound."

"I can send Matthew to let you know I'm coming so you won't be surprised."

"Dream. The door."

“Very well, agápi mou.”

"… I'm really not hiding anything from you, you know ?"

“I know, I was just saying that to tease you.”

It was sometimes difficult to know what Morpheus was thinking.

Not always, because the Dreaming reflected his mood without him being able to do anything about it, and he had difficulty with certain feelings, like sadness or anger.

But joy. Dream of the Endless had difficulty expressing joy.

It wasn't just the laughter that was the problem. He rarely smiled. So rarely that Y/N almost jumped the first time she saw this wonder appear on his face, and he had no excuse to hide this sweetness from her. His skin hadn't cracked, his features hadn't distorted, he was even more handsome than usual.

Y/N dreamed of seeing him smile more often, if not always. But his lips remained frozen in a flat, imperturbable line most of the time.

The few times the smile appeared, it was sudden, so vivid that you only had to click your eyes at the wrong time to miss it, and each time it was as if Y/N was seeing it for the first time.

A pure marvel.

In order not to scare Morpheus, who tended to act like a wild cat, Y/N tried not to stare too much or show interest. As discreetly as possible, she nevertheless did everything to make him offer her this spectacle.

Most of the time it worked, but Dream also smiled without her needing to do anything, simply because she said or did something he found charming.

“Are you still trying to hear my laugh ?”

"Not at all ! I swore I wouldn't do it again. Why ?"

“You’ve been terribly distracted and affectionate lately, agápi mou.”

"I'm just happy to be with you." She said, resting her head on his shoulder, her arms around him. "You're very distracting, and huggable."

"It is rather you who deserves such adjectives. I have a lot of difficulty concentrating on my task. Your presence in my domain monopolizes all my attention, and I only think of you when you are awake, waiting for your returning or fighting the urge to visit you in the Waking."

"Flatterer."

Her response made him smile again and Y/N felt butterflies in her stomach.

When Morpheus talked about needing to see her, Y/N could understand the feeling. She felt the same way about him, but also about his smile.

She asked the inhabitants of the Dreaming for advice. Lucienne thought poems might help. Abel had time to respond that talking about old stories would give him pleasure, before Cain planted an axe in his head, saying that she could confide secrets to the nightmares master. Mervyn made some rather indecent comments about strawberries and a bed. Matthew simply begged her to keep the Dreaming from raining again.

“It’s adorable that you try to make him smile, but you know him, I know him, if he misunderstands something, it will be a disaster.”

“Why would he take it badly that I wanted to make him smile ?”

"He might think you're mocking him. He's very sensitive, this guy."

"I don't know what he went through before we were together, but I would never make fun of him. I just want him to be happy."

"I know, kid. But does he know that ?"

She should have listened, and remembered once again that Dream was a big, timid cat, unaccustomed to receiving signs of affection. He didn't hate that she surrounded him with love, but he seemed lost that it was so common.

Such an outburst of passion could only be linked to madness, and he knew that Y/N was not in his younger sister's domain. Maybe she wanted to get something in return.

After some time, Y/N then got the exact opposite of what she was looking for. Each of her romantic or generous actions received an almost frightened look from Morpheus, his entire face resembling that of a marble statue, devoid of a smile.

She might have been afraid if she hadn't known he would never hurt her. Following the many mistakes he had made in the past with his lovers, Dream had ended up learning certain things, like keeping calm, and trying to communicate.

The key word being 'trying'.

"Ilie mou, you offer me so much affection, what can I give you in return ? Is your sleep disturbed ? Are you lacking inspiration ? Do you have a particular need ?"

"No. Everything is fine." Y/N replied, not understanding that his questions were full of confusion and fear.

"… I see. Is it honey then ? A little sweetness before having to announce something bitter ?"

"If it's a poem, it's quite strange. I don't have any honey, Morpheus. Would you like some tea ?"

He ended up believing that she wanted to leave him, but without knowing how to tell him, too kind or worried that he would react violently like with the others before her.

The thought crossed his mind that the process was far too cruel for Y/N. It seemed absurd to shower him with love in order to protect his feelings, only to tell him right after that she didn't love him anymore.

But it happened that some beings were thinking with their hearts, not listening to reason, and it was always possible that his beloved had not seen that far.

"I knew it… It's raining."

"Why do you say that like I'm responsible ? He might be saddened by something else, Matthew."

"He would have talked to you about it. Or he would have talked to me about it. He would have talked to someone about it. He loves to complain when it concerns his family or his work. Everyone needs to know that he is the poor wretch who has done nothing wrong and is trying to save the world. But for private matters ? He hides in a corner."

"… But he has no reason to be sad. It's true that he seems worried lately, but everything is fine between us."

It was a conversation as surreal as it was depressing, having to explain to the dreams lord that all the attention he had received for several weeks had no hidden meaning, no tragic end, but only the desire to make him happy and to see him smile, without expecting anything else in return.

That, he could understand. Morpheus loved seeing Y/N smile. It was just the fact that someone might care about him that was new to him. Absurd. Not deserved.

"Besides, agápi mou, I am happy in every moment spent with you. I tell you as soon as you ask me. Why so much fuss about my mouth ?"

“Don’t say that sentence again in that voice, I might faint.”

"So it's a question of aesthetics ? Don't you like my 'sulky goth teenager look' ?"

“I never said such a thing.”

“No, Matthew said so.”

"Hmm. I won't deny that you look beautiful when you smile and that's a plus. But I love you, even when you pout."

“I’m not pouting.”

"Of course not."

“I love you too, Ilie mou.” he said, kissing her.

Y/N’s response was to stare at him with wide eyes. Dream stared back, raising an eyebrow. She raised both, as a challenge, continuing to look at him, before she couldn't suppress her smile.

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop his lips from curling. The message was clear, even though they knew they were happy together, it was still nice to see their loved ones' faces lit up like that.

As with many things, it wasn't usual for the Endless, but smiling came naturally in Y/N's presence, so it shouldn't be too difficult to please her. Maybe one day they will even dance.

[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicting Feelings Part Two

Author's Note: Wow! I was expecting negative feedback from Conflicting Feelings and I'm absolutely blown away at how it's been received on WattPad, especially Tumblr. I'm thankful to each and everyone of you that takes the time out to read my stories. They're literally my own personal fantasies in my mind, so I wasn't expecting others to enjoy them as much as I obviously do. But thank you for all of the love! 

The night had flown by as we laid on the sofa holding one another in silence. I felt his breathing steady, looking up slightly to see him sleeping. I sighed. I didn't know what to say or what to feel. There was no doubt in my mind that I loved him. The problem is the guilt I feel knowing that my friendship with him is what caused his marriage to collapse. I'm well aware that I can't control someone else's emotions or actions, and I know that throughout the course of our friendship, I did nothing wrong but the thoughts still consume me. 

Had he never met me, would his marriage be ending? Would he have found solace in another person?  I'd always envisioned that if this were to ever become a reality, it would be done very differently. This is not what I wanted, but did I want him? Absolutely. Truth be told, I'd never wanted anything more. 

I tilted my head, looking at him as I softly caressed his beard sighing to myself as I anxiously chewed at my bottom lip. I pulled my phone from my pocket, clicking on social media to see the news of their split had hit the internet. I shook my head, putting my phone beside me. I knew their marriage wasn't the most loving. Every premiere we'd go to for his movies, even his musicals, Deb never seemed interested. She could always be found in the crowd dozed off, being shaken awake just in the nick of time to give him a round of applause at the end. He knew this. I was always the one cheering, watching his every move even if I was bored out of my mind. I was the one who would spend hours going over lines with him when I had zero involvement in the film or play he was doing. When she would try to talk him out of certain scripts, I'd encourage them, not to spite her but because I knew he would make it a hit. 

My supportive nature was what he craved the most. He craved someone that believed in him, pushed him to do better and to further his career, and for years, ever since she tried talking him out of the X-Men script calling it a flop, he never received it from her. When his father passed and all she could manage to do was say she was sorry was when he started to realize the younger woman that had his back and supported him in every aspect of his life, even when she herself wasn't interested. The effect it had on him drove him mad and he couldn't continue denying his feelings. 

 I wrapped my arms tightly around him, closing my eyes as  took his scent in, "If you only knew how much I love you..." I said, barely above a whisper. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Including flying halfway across the world. I just wish things could be different..." I finished with a deep shaky breath.

His grip tightened on me, "That's the thing. Things are different." He said softly as I lifted my head to look up at him. "How long have you been awake?" I asked, furrowing my brows slightly. 

He chuckled, "Long enough to hear what you said.", I nodded with a chuckle, "Touche." 

He cleared his throat, "Let me take you to lunch tomorrow." 

I lifted myself off of him, quickly shaking my head no, "Absolutely not. Are you crazy?" I yelled. 

He rolled his eyes, "Why do you act as if being with me is such a bad thing?" He asked getting defensive, his words dripping with hurt. 

I looked at him, lowering my voice, "Hugh, that's not what I'm saying." 

He looked at, throwing his hands up in defeat, "It's not?! What are you saying then?!" he shouted at me. 

I rolled my eyes becoming annoyed at his shouting, "I'm saying news of your separation made headlines today. I don't think the smartest thing in the world would be for my face to be blasted all over the internet as a mistress just because I had lunch with you."

He calmed down, sighing, running his fingers through his hair, "Why do you all of a sudden give a shit about people's opinions?" 

I sighed, "Look, I know you don't get it. People not liking me is fine. But people humiliating me and possibly canceling me before I can fully kick start my career because they assume I'm some dirty mistress is different." I said honestly.  He looked at me and I knew judging by his expression that he understood my hesitance. "I'm just saying we need to lay low and look as platonic as possible right now. Let's let some time pass before we start advertising this to the world." 

He nodded, giving his shoulders a shrug, relaxing a little. "If you want to get take out, we can do that. I would love to have lunch with you, I'm just not ready to be ripped in half by the press yet." I said softly, caressing the side of his check. "That's all it is. I would never say that being with you is a bad thing. I love you with all of my heart. We just need to give it more than one day after a separation has been announced. At least a few months." 

He nodded once more, pulling me onto his lap. "I know you're right. It's just difficult when I've already been waiting two years for this." He said annoyingly, resting his head in the crook of my neck. 

I laughed softly, pressing a kiss on the top of his hair, resting my chin atop of his head. "I know, I know. Just trust me, you do not want the press printing that you've got a girlfriend the same day your soon to be ex-wife announces your separation." 

I felt him smile against my neck, "Okay, maybe you're right." He mumbled, against my neck causing me to laugh, squirming. "What? What's so funny?" He asked, caressing my neck with his face. 

He knew what I was laughing at. 

"Your beard. It tickles." I said through laughter. "Does it?" He asked cheekily, continuing to rub his face into my neck causing me to try and get off of his lap, but he kept his grip on my waist, preventing me from moving. "Where do you think you're goin', love?" He asked with an amusing tone. 

"Away from you. Stop messing with me." I said continuing to laugh while struggling to get out of his grip. 

He smirked, "Stop messing with you? How should I mess with you then? Like this?" He asked, pulling us down to the sofa as he pressed his forehead against mine, looking deeply into my eyes, with a smile plastered on his face. 

His eyes went from my eyes down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. "I love you." He said sweetly, "I love you." I assured him, as I felt his hands cup both sides of my cheeks and his lips land on mine. 

[macfrog]

if i had a gun cowboy like me chapter 12.5 (joel's pov)

long-awaited, pain-packed, and sealed with a bow by yours truly. i love y'all. thank you for being so patient and kind with me on this one. this chapter is joel's experience of the end of illicit affairs and all of hits different. you might wanna check those chapters out before you indulge in the angst-fest that is this one. hope you enjoy 🧡

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: walk a mile in joel miller's shoes. see if you'd do anything different

warnings: more heartache, more angst, lois, alcohol + drug consumption, mention of reader being roofied, very brief mention of joel punching knox, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 9.8k

terrible news! there is no more taglist! make sure you're following @macfroglets w notifs on if you wanna be buzzed when i post 🤍

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.” It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks – “Where is she?” “We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –” “’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

You’re still fast asleep when he lifts his head.

You’ve had this argument plenty before. I do not snore. Yes, baby, you do. I’ve heard you. I don’t! It’s alright, it’s okay that you do. It’s a cute snore. Joel, I don’t fucking –

Right now, he’s pretty certain you’re snoring. He just wishes you were awake to hear yourself.

He thinks about pulling his phone, taking a video so that once you’re up, you can hear the little bursts of air, the tiny rasps from your nostrils as you snooze. But if he ever did record anything like that – just like the Hillcrest pictures, until you’d found them last night – he’d keep it for himself. Wouldn’t offer it up so easily.

Just something for him to have, for all the time he spends without you.

Your hair’s still all over the place. Tangled in Joel’s right arm, still smelling of chlorine and sex. Your head rests softly on the crook of his elbow like it’s a pillow; your lips and eyes are puffy, tired. You have this ridiculously strong vice grip on his left arm; during the night he felt you wrap your wrists around it and pull it into your chest, tucking it gently under your chin until your entire upper half was drowned in his.

His chest snug against your back, his arms encasing you safely, and his hips…his hips lined with yours. His now semi-hard cock buried between your legs – he’d slept inside you last night, and it was like, after forty-eight years, someone finally took him by the shoulders and said: This is how you do it. This is how you rest.

He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, soon as his eyes fell shut. He stirred only to feel you maneuvering his arm, and then fell straight back asleep.

He felt comfortable. He felt safe. Big, old, tough guy Joel Miller. Never let anybody in since Sarah’s mom left. Alone for almost seventeen years, and fine with it. His cheeks heat at the idea of needing – of wanting to feel that. Safe. But then you came along, and he realized he’d been waiting his whole life to feel it. Didn’t even notice he’d been missing it.

That’s how these things go, right? Can’t miss what you don’t have, and all that.

But now he has it. Now he has you.

And you make him feel things he’s never felt before, or if he has, it was so fucking long ago that he’s forgotten. You drive him fucking insane. Keep him up at night, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into. Make him do stuff that his reflection glares at him over. Are you being serious right now? Make him…different. New.

The night before last, when he’d picked you up from Frank’s after rodeo night, he promised to make you a big breakfast in the morning. Compensation for not swinging by McDonald’s on the way home. But then your dad called, and you had to take off before Joel had even properly woken up.

When he eventually rose from the bed, he went straight to the store. Stocked up on eggs, flour, sugar, bananas. He’d printed a recipe from his computer while you were gone. Marked the items off as he meandered through the store. Stood for ten minutes deliberating over which gluten-free flour would be best, before an assistant asked if he needed any help.

I’m good, he muttered, and then, as the kid wandered off, cleared his throat and said, Actually –

Greg – the kid assistant in question – had suggested the red bag. Said it’s corn flour, instead of wheat. Joel can’t pronounce the brand name. He just knows it’s tucked behind a box of cereal in the cupboard downstairs – he hid it there so you wouldn’t find it and snuff out his plan.

His plan, which he now has to put into action. Without waking you. He’d lie here forever just staring at you, if he hadn’t sworn to himself to make good on his promise and cook you some damn pancakes.

So he slowly pulls his left hand from between yours, loosening your death grip, and steals it back across your waist. He does the same for his right arm – more careful, though, so he doesn’t tug on your hair. Like some kind of wild cat creeping through the jungle, every moment calculated and careful.

He bunches the comforter up a little at your back, so that if you do stir, it might feel like he’s still there. Still a weight, curving around you. He takes a good five minutes just to travel the length of the room – the lightest he’s ever walked, dodging the spots on the carpet that he knows make the floorboards squeal.

When the door gently clicks back into place, he heads downstairs. Cracks out his frying pan – non-stick, obviously – and all his ingredients, pulls the printed recipe from its hiding place between two cookbooks and lays it out on the counter, flattening the creases and unfolding the corners. And gets to it.

His first egg cracks messily over the lip of the bowl. The yolk runs down the outside, and he curses before swiping it back up with his index finger. The second egg empties fully inside the bowl, but drags with it tiny fragments of shell. Joel spends five minutes focusing on picking every single piece out of the mixture. He crouches to make sure he’s poured the exact amount of milk, eyes level with the top of the liquid, and he double checks every step before he follows it.

This has to be perfect. Has to be. For you.

The entire time, all he can think about is you asking to sleep with his body inside yours. Wanting him closer than you’d ever wanted him before, as close as he could physically be. Your sleepy voice circles between his ears on loop – want somethin’ else. That safe feeling creeps up on him all over again.

He knows he shouldn’t. He can’t. He’s spent the last month purposefully pushing those feelings down, dampening them anytime they rose to the surface. Only allowing himself to feel them, to acknowledge them, when you’re around. Because he can’t fucking help but acknowledge them when you’re here – they stare him straight in the face.

So he’d been making peace with letting the floodgates open just a little bit at a time – one quick rush whenever you’d give him one of your meaningful glances, when your hot skin would brush against his, when your mouth would fall open at the feeling of his first deep thrust inside you.

And then he’d bolt them back up.

Except that, now…he’s not sure the dam can hold much longer. There are cracks he’s not repairing quickly enough. Unintended consequences hammering against the other side of the stone in the form of angry white waves.

He’s staring at the beige circle of batter in the pan, swept off with the waves into someplace far from his kitchen, when the sound of your voice draws him back.

“Joel? You down there?”

The floorboards at the top of his stairs creak. You’re leaning over the banister.

“Yeah, darlin’, I’m here.” He slips halfway out of the kitchen door, closing it over his body in hopes you won’t smell the pancakes. You ask what he’s doing, and he says, “Just makin’ a coffee. You want anything brought up?”

“I’m good,” you reply. “’m gonna take a shower.”

“Alright, baby. There’s probably some stuff in Sarah’s bathroom you can use.”

He listens closely as your footsteps recede, waiting to hear the hum of his shower before he relaxes again, flipping the pancake over. It sizzles away as he runs one thick finger along the inside of the bowl and tastes his handiwork. Pretty damn good, he thinks. He’s sucking his finger clean when his cell goes.

Joel swipes to answer, and before he can utter a Hello?, your dad’s voice is screaming down the line to him.

“Mornin’, pal! You in? You up?”

He figures this is the infamous speakerphone you rambled for ten minutes about last night. Like a fucking foghorn, man. I’m deaf in this ear now.

He doesn’t wait for Joel to respond. “I was just passin’ by, remembered you got that leakin’ pipe, or whatever it is. Under your sink, right? You good for me to drop in ‘n take a look?”

“Uh – uh, I’m –” Joel stammers his way through a sentence he doesn’t know the ending of, slotting the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and giving the pan a rattle against the stovetop. He slips the spatula under the mixture, and when he flips it over, the pancake is charcoal black. “Fuck.”

“What’s that?” you dad roars, deafening in Joel’s ear. Fuckin’ speakerphone.

“Nothin’, it’s…” He sighs, accepting his new-found position: backed into a fucking corner. What’s new these days?

“Yeah, I’m up. See you in a bit.”

He hangs up the phone midway through an Alright, buddy from your dad, and whacks the chargrilled pancake on top of the pile. His phone surfs across the counter in a blur of blind panic, before Joel’s taking the stairs two at a time to get to you.

The door’s ajar. He can hear you quietly singing to yourself. Same song you’re always fucking singing, always trying to coax Joel into singing along with you. You’re humming the guitar solo when he whips the door open.

“Hey, hey,” he’s panting, taking your towel in one hand and reaching for the shower door with the other, a blur of movement before his eyes like he’s not in control of his own body. “Out.”

“Huh?” you reply, blinded by the soap suds running down your forehead and into your eyes.

“Baby,” Joel whispers, desperate, “you gotta get out. He’s here. Your damn dad’s here.”

He drags you over to the first place he spots: his closet. He knows it’s no fucking good, but he can hear your dad’s car squealing to a halt in his drive, and he’s in a blink panic wondering what artefacts, what evidence of your being here lie dotted around his house. Your bikini’s hanging up out back, there’s probably a hoodie still strewn over the back of his couch.

He doesn’t have time to think, though, because in the midst of his mental scan of every room whilst explaining to you what’s going on, your dad’s heavy boots just thudded onto his doormat.

“Miller?” he calls up the stairs. And Joel closes the closet over.

----------

He stands by the front door watching your dad’s car purr off down the street, waiting until it turns left and disappears behind the Dawsons’ back fence to shut the door. When he turns back into his hallway, the house is uncomfortably silent. You’re still up in his room.

The weight of your phone pulls at the waistband of his jeans. He slips his hand into his back pocket, fishes it out, and takes one step toward the stairs. The screen lights in his palm.

There’s a cluster of notifications from some film class group chat, a couple Snapchats from Sarah. A reminder to take your birth control from some pink-icon app, and then –

I’m heading over to Joel’s to check something out for him. Wanna meet me there?

He stares at it until the text burns into his eyes. Blinks, and it’s seared into his lids. His breath leaves his chest in a heavy, burdened sigh. It trembles as it pushes from his lungs. He feels something burning under his skin. All over.

He’s angry. And he’s trying to keep it contained.

Keep it where it lies, keep it beneath the surface. Stop it from pooling right behind his lips, collecting in the light of his eyes. Keep it from revealing itself. But when his foot lifts to the first step, it’s like a deadweight in the air.

He’s angry. But he’s fucking exhausted.

The bedroom is empty when Joel pushes the door open. You’re still hidden in the closet. You don’t look up at him when he pulls on the shuttered door, letting light flood across your hands, still covering your face. There are flicks of dripping wet hair peeking out from under the towel on your head.

He wants to put his arms around you. Wants to kiss you all over. Tell you, It’s okay, it’s alright. He didn’t see nothin’.

But he can’t. Because neither of those things are true.

Your dad saw the cowgirl hat. Hell of a lot like a hat my daughter has. It sent a sharpened bolt of panic through Joel’s body the second the words came tumbling out. He might’ve seen your bag lying at the bottom of the stairs. Might’ve passed your car on his drive here. There are so many loose fucking ends.

And more than that – harder to accept: maybe this isn’t okay anymore. Maybe it hasn’t been the entire time. And maybe, despite all his good efforts and the fucking way you make him feel, despite it being weeks now of tiptoeing and lying and covering your tracks – maybe you finally crossed a line.

He can’t look at you a second longer. His heart’s in his throat. If he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll probably choke. Break down. So he walks away.

You follow him downstairs a few minutes later, fully dressed and silent. Your touch sweeps across his shoulder blades, and it takes everything in him not to turn to you then and there. Come here, kiss me. Pretend none of it’s happening, just for a moment.

He sets your plate down in front of you. He’s taken the burnt pancake. He follows a pattern: cuts into the food, glances out to the backyard, and back to the plate. It’s the only thing keeping the words from rolling out onto the table in front of him. The only thing stopping him from –

You kick his leg. So gently, he barely feels it.

“You gonna eat?” he asks in response, chewing on the smoky flavor of burnt batter. Your hands hesitate, and he feels his own flinch as if to take them, rub them, squeeze them. And then he watches as you drag your knife through your own breakfast.

He wants you to yell at him. He wants to give meaning to the guilt he feels. He knows what’s coming, and he isn’t so sure that you do.

This is…impossible. It has been, from the start. Always sneaking off, coming up with excuses. So many fucking excuses, he can’t even keep them straight in his head anymore. She’s here, droppin’ my flannel off. Now we’re upstairs, I’m showin’ her my guitar. Need her to help with decorations. Your TV’s broken, did you know that? Don’t mind us, just sat in this private corner of my backyard, out of view of fucking everyone. I’ll pick her up from her rodeo night, take her home. She’s at Anna’s all day today, right?

And your dad – kind and naïve, or maybe just so fucking gullible that every single one lands like the flour did in the egg mixture. Just gracefully floats down into his brain, absorbs itself and folds perfectly into place.

So, yell at him. Get mad. Make him feel like the fucking asshole he knows he is. Leading you on, and letting you get close to him, and then when it gets too hard – pushing you away. Doesn’t matter if that’s what he did or not; doesn’t matter whether he did or didn’t mean it. He wants you to be mad at him. To justify what he’s about to do.

He slides you your phone. Motions for you to read it.

“Fuck…” you whisper, and then he thinks you get it.

But then you say, “…he didn’t see me, though. Right?” and his heart sinks.

No. He didn’t see you. But he saw so many little pieces of you, that Joel finds it impossible to consider that he isn’t already seeing the entire picture. He’s picturing your dad at home in the living room, one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair, adding two and two and two and two and –

You’re bickering. Actually arguing. He doesn’t know how to navigate it, save for letting the frustration take the wheel and drive the point home: you came too close to being caught.

You’re smarter than this, he knows you are. He knows that you can see plain as day, everything that he can. The bag, the hat, the fucking home-cooked breakfast sat on his kitchen counter. He’s watching you argue your point, hands dancing in the air animatedly, eyebrows lifting, eyes widening. Hear me out. Listen to me. Hear me out.

“I didn’t fucking mean to let him see the b–”

“That’s not the point,” Joel says, before he has time to stop himself.

“Then what’s your point?”

He feels his voice carry off into the air with the images racing around his head. Hank’s shadow under the door. The roar of voices downstairs as you climaxed. Your body pinned under Joel’s on your couch. The way the morning light screamed into the house as your front door burst open.

He doesn’t sound like he has much of a point, even to himself. He’s in it just as much as you are. He’s lied and he’s hidden just as much as you have, and made mistakes that are…worse, as far as he’s concerned.

And the worst one of all sits directly opposite him. Head low, eyes boring into the wood of his kitchen table. He can see the tears swelling across your waterline. Can feel the heat from here as it spreads across your face. Anger thrums through his chest again, and his teeth grit.

He murmurs, pushing himself up from the table and away from you. Tells you there’s some stuff he needs to see to. You’re mad about it, like he knew you would be. Like you should be. He promises he’ll be back in a couple hours; promises you’ll talk when he gets home.

And then he leaves.

----------

Clark’s is on the other side of town. It takes him nearly forty minutes to get there, and more than half of that time is spent staring at the tail lights of a Honda in front of him. Some accident up ahead. His eyes bore into the burning red strip of brake light until it’s singed into them, a blur of blue when he finally rips his glare away and stares up at the white sky.

He thinks about calling you. Saying, Hey, I’m stuck in traffic, talk to me, but he doesn’t. He just…doesn’t.

Instead, he wonders what you’re doing. Whether or not you’re still at his place. He wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. But if you are – and he hopes you are – what are you doing?

He thinks: She’s on the couch. Bundled in blankets. Grey’s is on TV. She’s rewatchin’ her favorite episodes.

Least, that’s what he wants you to be doing. Wants you to be making yourself feel better, because he knows he was a complete ass earlier. You didn’t deserve any of it. Nothing that he didn’t deserve himself, just as much, anyway.

He thinks about coming home, and you hitting pause, pushing yourself off the couch and sauntering around to him. Wrapping him in the blanket until your bodies are pressed together under the woven red, and kissing him. Kiss me kiss me kiss me.

And the thought of you, standing on your tiptoes to press your soft lips to his, your fingers sifting through his hair, is like a cold pack on a searing wound. Dulls his anger, even if it’s just for a second.

His wide tires crawl silently across the smooth lot of the plant hire, parking right in front of the wire fence. The truck door slams shut when he gets out. He doesn’t mean it. Maybe he does. But he does it without thinking, and with a hot head, a temper sharper than nails, he strides over to the glass-paneled door and swings it open.

She’s sat behind the desk, same as always. Dark, deep auburn hair, groomed and set to perfection so that when she looks up, it doesn’t move an inch. Curls around the sweetheart shape of her face, smooth and shining. Her blue eyes twinkle in the glaring light from outside, and she stands.

She tugs lightly on the hem of her white blouse. You’d probably elbow him and say, That’s cream, not white. She smiles at him and it doesn’t look a thing like your smile. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw your smile. Fuck, he thinks, when did I last make her smile?

And he’s still wondering, when Lois says, “Hey, stranger,” and puts a gentle, pale, red-nailed hand down on the desk. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” Joel grumbles, clearing his throat and glancing at the man in a pair of thick, steel-toe boots, sat in a waiting area to his left. He thinks it’s probably polite to ask how she is. It’s been seven weeks since he blew off her hint for a date.

“Good, thanks,” she replies, cheeks swelling even more. They’re lightly shaded crimson, a soft shimmer to them against her snowy skin, dappled with light freckles. “You?”

He nods once. “Good,” he echoes, not sure what else to say. He’s lying, and she doesn’t seem to figure him out the way you would.

No. Instead, Lois steps back, straightens up, and twirls the pen in her fingers. “What can I do ya for?”

“Got some equipment I’m after,” he mutters, hand slipping into his back pocket for his phone. Lois’s eyes flit up and down his body as he taps his passcode in with his thumb.

She asks him something, but it sounds like she’s speaking through a closed door. He’s elsewhere.

The phone unlocks, screen lifting to reveal the last open app: his camera roll. His thumbs hover over the screen, tracing where yours would’ve tapped last night.

The video’s muted, she won’t hear it even if he let it play, but he swipes away the second he recognizes the tangled mess of your hair, his fist locked tight in it. His own hair, salt and pepper buried deep in the crook of your neck.

Something in his chest aches. Pulls tight, hurts his heart. He takes a deep breath and scares the feeling away. He’s staring at his camera roll. Staring at twelve little square thumbnails – couple of them work stuff, couple of them lists of supplies he has to remember to pick up – and then. Then.

You. At the Hillcrest. Dimples in your cheeks. That’s what made him take his phone out. The soft dips in your skin that appear anytime you smile, laugh, sometimes even just when you talk. He’d first noticed them when you had a mouth full of pizza, chatting animatedly about Meredith and Derek, and he’s noticed them every time since.

He’d seen them, as you posed with Sarah for a selfie at lunch. And his hand had slipped into his pocket before his brain even had the chance to finish the thought.

His quiet way of marking how he felt in that moment. How his chest seemed to fill as if with air, or something thicker. Sweeter. Like it was trying to push words up, a comment to tell you how beautiful you looked. Trying to make him move, run his thumb light as air across that tiny valley in your cheek and look at you with eyes that translated the words hammering behind his eyes.

But you had company. And all he managed to do was take two fucking photos.

Lois talks again, and this time, there’s no closed door.

“Huh?” Joel’s head snaps up, takes a few seconds to focus on the red hair in front of him. “Sorry, Lois, sorry.”

“’s alright. You okay?” She’s smiling so warmly, so sincerely. And there are no dimples in her cheeks.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “just checkin’ for the address.”

She holds out a pad, a stack of hire agreement forms hovering between her body and his, but he’s not looking. He’s still scrolling through his phone, thumbs searching your dad’s text thread for the information. Lois lowers the pad to the counter, places the pen on top. Fiddles with it until it’s lined up with the top of the form perfectly.

Then Joel looks up, and she smiles again.

“Not for you, then?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Just the messenger.”

“Got it. Well, you know what you’re doing. Let me know if you need anything.”

Lois takes a step back, eyes still on Joel, who smiles politely, then swipes the form from the desk and takes a seat between Steel-Toe Boots and some tall, leafy plant that he has to bat away when he sits down. He’s copying the site address, phone resting on his thigh, when the receptionist speaks again.

“How’s Sarah doin’? She home yet?”

“Yeah,” Joel replies, “been home a couple weeks now. She’s been in Nashville this weekend.”

Lois lifts her head, blinking slowly. “Nashville. Nice. So, you’ve had a weekend to yourself.”

He scoffs. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“And what does Joel Miller get up to when he has an empty house for a few days?”

His fingers squeeze around the pen, pushing deeper into the paper. His expression hardens. “Nothing excitin’ enough to share. Sat by the pool yesterday. Was nice out.”

She agrees. “Sure was. You have company?”

Joel shakes his head once. Blinks the image of you and your red bikini from his vision. Focuses on dragging the pen one digit at a time across the line labeled Phone Number. If he cared enough, he’d give the obvious hint a couple seconds’ consideration, even just to protect Lois’s pride a little.

But he doesn’t care. And right now, he ain’t interested in protecting anyone but you.

“Nope. Just me ‘n a few beers.”

“Better off that way,” a hoarse, forty-cigs-a-day voice rasps from his right. “Less fuckin’ problems.”

Joel’s jaw rotates a degree towards the work boots; notices the folds of dry, leathery skin piled atop the raised gray eyebrows of their owner, and then turns back silently.

Lois clears her throat awkwardly. “Well, I spent the day with my book. I’m readin’ a Colleen Hoover. Adam’s at camp, so – quiet house for me, too.”

Joel finds himself nodding. Autopilot. He’s pretending he’s listening.

You’re still in his sight, wandering over from the sliding kitchen doors, a bottle in each hand. He can hardly see you when he looks up, the sun’s so bright. You hold a beer out, condensation dripping down your fingers towards Joel’s when he takes it, and then you slump down in the sun lounger next to his.

His arm reaches across, and your small fingers wrap and then unwrap around his, running across his knuckles, nails lightly scratching his worked hands. And he’s smiling, and he doesn’t even notice it until his eyes meet yours and you laugh, and he asks, What? through a chuckle, and you say, Nothin’, you just look happy.

Your dimpled blush blurs back into checkboxes and scrawled handwriting. You’re gone again. He’s in a white office, and the gentle lapping of the water on the pool’s edge fades into the headache noise of a fan humming, and he feels the warmth of your gaze on his skin turn into the cold, harsh spotlight glare of Lois’s eyes on him.

He looks up. She’s still smiling. At this point, he finds it fucking unnerving.

He rises from his chair, swings a wandering leaf from that ugly green plant out of his way and paces back over to the desk, sliding the pad back across to her. Their hands brush as she takes it from his grip, and he pulls his wrist close to his body. Lois doesn’t seem to notice.

She’s running the pen down the form, checking everything he’s filled in. Her tongue moves around the inside of her cheek, sucking on a hard candy. “Delivery on Friday?” she double checks, and Joel nods. “Alright,” she says, tearing away his copy, “we’ll call ya.”

“’ppreciate it,” he mumbles, folding the paper into his back pocket.

She turns, reaching to slip the form into a blue tray, and Joel pauses. Thinks to say something – he hopes Adam has a fun time at camp, or that Lois enjoys the rest of her quiet week. But then he sees you sat opposite him, staring fixedly at the plate before you, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He feels your hand laced in his, hears your laugh still ringing in his ears.

He misses you. He should never have left you. You matter more to him than some equipment for a site. Matter more to him than anything. He should’ve never fucking left.

Joel nods. Reaches for the handle of the door. Glances back to Lois. “There a florist anywhere near here?”

----------

He pulls the truck in alongside the florist. Teal window frames, a little pink door. He can hear you now. How fucking cute is that store? Give me your phone, I gotta get a picture. Mine’s is in my bag in the back. Look, the traffic’s movin’, Joel, give me your phone – quick!

His fingers hook around the silver door handle. He pats his jeans once – wallet’s right there – and goes to pull, when his cell vibrates from the center console. He can see himself in the glass screen, your dad’s name written across the reflection of his forehead.

He bites down on his lip. Hard. Glances up to the road ahead. Blinks. And decides to answer.

“Joel,” your dad chirps down the line. “Sorry, buddy, you’ll be sick a’ the sight ‘n sound of me today.”

Joel manages a convincing laugh. “What’s up?”

“Just makin’ sure you’re rememberin’ to put Friday’s date down for delivery on that order. We’re gonna need the stuff over the weekend, so.”

“Yep. Just been to do it right now. Friday’s date, Harvey’s site, your card details ‘n everything.”

“’attaboy. Good job. You’re all grown up.”

“Funny.”

“Thanks, pal. I appreciate it. There wasn’t no chance I was gettin’ time to do it myself,” he lowers his voice, “I’m still stuck here with Kelman.”

Joel’s fingers trace around his steering wheel. “Oh, yeah? He keepin’ you busy?”

“You bet. Had to haggle with ‘im just to get a lunch break. Speakin’ of – I swung by the house and that daughter of mine wasn’t home. Haven’t seen or heard from her since yesterday mornin’. I’m just checkin’ she ain’t stop by to see Sarah or som’?”

His fingers lock tight around the leather. “Sarah’s still in Nashville, she gets in tonight. Couldn’t tell you where yours is. I’m not home yet, so.”

It’s a half-truth. He could wager a pretty good guess, but he can’t be certain, can he?

Your dad chuckles down the line. “She spent the night at Anna’s. My house must be like prison to her – she’s never around anymore. I’ll hear from her soon, I’m sure. Alright. Thanks, again, Joel.”

He drops the phone back into the cupholder with a sigh, leaning back against the headrest to stare at the roof of the truck. He’s still picturing you in his living room, head turning to the street at every sound of a car door, or tires rolling by. And then the image is marred by your dad, peering in the window back at you, catching you wrapped up in a situation you shouldn’t be in.

He doesn’t want your dad to find out. For obvious reasons. Because it would mean the collapse of their friendship, the collapse of the world they built between them – for you, for Sarah, for themselves. Comfortability, and normalcy, and routine and order all thrown to the wind on account of some month-long fling.

But more important than all of that: it would mean dragging you into all of that, too. Fucking up your relationship with your dad. Making things weird between you and Sarah. Ruining whatever’s left of what you and Joel had, before you both took it too far.

And if he doesn’t want all that – if he doesn’t want your dad finding out – then something has to change. Something’s gotta stop.

His fingers wrap tight around the key and turn, and the truck jumps to life. He turns away from the teal-colored florist as he pulls off.

----------

You take it about as well as he reckoned you might. About as well as you should, given the circumstances. He isn’t surprised, and he doesn’t blame you. He’s probably on your side, when you argue back with him.

“You’re not serious, right? Joel. You’re not –”

“Kid, I…”

“No. What? Because of a fucking bag?”

He lifts his gaze and pleads with you. “Because of the lying.”

You’re right, with your response: it’s never been an issue until now. He’s been more than fucking happy to sneak off, take you as his own, and then return with a satisfied grin and a mouth full of excuses to feed your company. He almost agrees.

It’s just: this time, your dad’s at your heels like a bloodhound. A little less sharp, maybe. Blind as a fucking bat, sure. But he can smell something’s up. And he’s circling it, nose to the ground, drawing nearer and nearer to the pair of you with each step.

You ask if he wants to tell the truth. That thought scares him just as much. Knocks him back a few steps. No, he doesn’t want to come clean.

The words fly back and forth like a tennis match. Too fast for him to keep control of what he’s saying and how you’re hearing it. He wants to break it off – is there anything to break off? – but he doesn’t want to lose you – how can you lose something you never had? – and then: did he ever have you in the first place?

You’re standing over him, between his knees. “End it,” you tell him. “I’ll go.”

There’s a casualness in the loose shrug of your shoulders that scares him more than the prospect of you actually leaving. How easy it looks like it could be, for you to just wander out. Sling your bag over your shoulder and revert back to the start of the summer, when he was just a ride home after a rainy day at work.

Forget how to touch him the way he’s certain only you can, forget the secret language between you, forget every stolen glance and whispered word and every thought that ever translated from your brain to his as easy as they would pass between your lips.

“You don’t mean nothin’ to me? That what you think?” He’s laughing. Disbelief, fear, shock. Whichever one it is, it pulls across his cheeks painfully. Somehow, you’ve ended up at the foot of his bed.

“Well, what else am I supposed to take from this, asshole? That you’re fuckin’ in love with me?”

It’s cold water over an already-dying fire. The words smother into ash on his tongue. No more come to the front. He just stares at you. His phone starts to chitter out into the silence between you.

You take a step forward. Your voice is low. “You don’t get to do this, you know. You don’t get to pull me in and then drop me…once you’re done with me.”

“Don’t.”

It’s not much, but it soars from the pit of his stomach, through his throat and past his lips like a final arrow. All he can muster up.

“Don’t.”

There’s a weight where the words originate from. Something deep in his gut, an ache pulling its way upward, swelling across his chest. His ears are screaming.

Of all the things you might think – he’s an asshole, he’s a liar, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing – the worst one would be that he spent this entire time leading you on. Making you feel special. Making you think you were something to him.

You are something to him. You’re – you’re fucking everything to him. It’s why he’s doing this, right? Going against every instinct, every gut feeling. To protect you. To do what’s right by you. He’s not fucking done with you. He wonders if he’ll ever go another day in his life without thinking about you.

“I can’t read your mind anymore…” you whisper, and his lungs steal a breath. His lack of response flattens your expression.

Joel might not be done, but you are.

He can feel you slipping from his grasp like sand through his knuckles. Each grain rocking itself loose, choosing to throw itself to the depths below rather than spend another second wrapped in his clutch.

He’s trying so desperately to hold onto you. Listen to me, he thinks, and he knows you can’t hear him anymore. Because now you’re really going – you’re tripping out of his room. Your heel catches on the threshold, like one last-ditch attempt from fate to pull you back into him, but you stop yourself and spin, fleeing down the hallway.

He takes a loose grasp of your wrist, fingers barely meeting on the other side of your skin before you tear it away from him like he’s scalded you. The look on your face makes him think for a moment that he might actually have done it – burned you. Pained you. Raised the skin below your gentle palm in a furious, red glow.

He’s swapping words out like they’re tools, each one immediately breaking and being flung back into the box. He’s trying any combination, any useless, futile order of words to make you stop in your tracks. You know how much I care about you, ‘s why I’m doin’ it, baby, come back, we can talk about this.

And he opens his mouth to give voice to the only words he knows would stop you – the reason why he’s doing it in the first place, the only thought he’s had anytime he’s looked at you for the last couple weeks. He opens his mouth to say it, or say something like it, when the machine silences the ringtone and the pair of you, too.

Her voice is like ice down the back of his shirt. He stares at the machine, red light blinking like a rag to a bull. He could walk over to it and smash the ever-loving fuck out of it with his fists until it’s dust on his coffee table. Until it shuts the fuck up, stops interfering with his fucking business.

And then he thinks about Lois, and her cream blouse, and her red nails, and her big, blue eyes, and her soft drawl and everything about her that is so entirely opposite to everything about you.

And how much – despite how nice and friendly, or funny and good-natured she is – how much he hates her right now, and how much he fucking loves you.

But you’re gone, now. Washed away by the tide. No more sand in Joel’s palm.

He tries to stop it. Tries to wind back a little, tries to make the sea cough up what it just stole from him. Give her back, you fuck. His eyes are stinging like salt water. Why are they stinging? There’s a roaring in his ears – the waves laughing in his face. Sickly and deafening.

He’s doing his best to keep a hold on his trembling voice. He knows he sounds pathetic. But yours is louder, stronger, steadier. And when you talk, it’s with an air of finality. Like you’re turning over the horizon. The last time he’ll ever see you again.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Joel.”

----------

He doesn’t call or text you that night. He doesn’t know what he’d say. Doesn’t even know where he’d begin. You’re mad, and Joel figures you got every right to be. This entire thing – today, this weekend, the whole month you’ve been together – is one big fucking mess.

He spends the afternoon hunched over his kitchen table, trying to distract himself with work. Twirling a pencil between his fingers, reading three, four, sometimes five times over the same building plans before deciding that the words and numbers won’t fucking sink in. He leaves them strewn across the table, wanders aimlessly upstairs and takes a cold shower.

Sarah’s flight gets in at 8PM. Joel’s sat curbside, truck engine humming, scanning every single figure that walks out of the airport building. When he spots the gray hoodie, the brown hair tied back with a pink scrunchie, the much-too-big-for-four-days-away suitcase rolling at her heels, he gets out.

She hugs her friends, they nod in passing greeting to him, and she skips over.

“Hey,” he breathes as she wraps her arms around his waist. “How was your flight? Saw you comin’ in.”

She shrugs in response. “I’m hungry. Wanna go get McDonald’s?”

Joel grumbles, slotting her case in the back of the truck. “You don’t wanna get home? Take a shower first? You smell like plane.”

“Ha! No.”

She opens the passenger side door and hoists her foot up on the seat, retying her sneaker. Joel’s already in and buckled up, hands on the wheel, watching her blue nails loop the laces.

“There’s one, like, ten minutes away.”

He’s shaking his head. “We got food in the house.”

Her gaze lifts. Her foot drops. “Oh, c’mon, it’s on the way home. We’ll be, like, five minutes. I just got off a two-hour flight, dude, right through dinner. I’m starving, I –”

“Would you just get in the damn truck, Sarah?”

It’s shorter, snappier, angrier than he meant. But he’s parked in the middle of the packed pick-up area, and the rattling of suitcase wheels and the whistling of cab drivers and the fucking roaring of planes overhead are making the headache behind his eyes worse.

Sarah freezes, one arm still leaning on the doorframe. “Jesus. What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Joel mutters, shaking his head. “Sorry. Just – get in.”

“No need to be an asshole about it,” she murmurs, pulling herself up into the passenger seat.

Joel’s face is in his hands, elbows atop the steering wheel. “I’m not tryna be an asshole,” he says into his palms.

His daughter looks at him. Concerned. “Somethin’ happen? While I was gone?”

He shakes his head again.

Nothing happened.

He’s quiet the rest of the night. The rest of the week. Sarah notices, he knows she does, because she pries. In her own way. She’s smarter than he is. Less obvious.

She’s already up and in the kitchen when he rises on Tuesday morning. Spins around at the toaster, tells him the machine’s ready for his coffee. Asks if he wants her to make it. Asks if he wants any breakfast.

Thanks, kiddo. No, I’ll get it. No, you’re good, thanks.

They sit opposite one another in silence, save for the crunching of Sarah’s toast. He can feel her eyes on him, same way he felt Lois’s. Trying to burrow deep inside, take a look at his brain. Catch a glimpse of the words he’s thinking over and over and over.

There ain’t no words, though. It’s just images. Video replay of your back as you strode down his driveway, the way the wind caught your hair and brushed your cheek, the way your hand came up to wipe your tears. And the way he stood there, like a fucking idiot, and did nothing.

His chest hurts any time he thinks about you. Pulls in, knits itself together in knots. He’s good at pushing feelings down, good at turning them away from the sunlight like faded pebbles. But this is different. It’s a different kind of hurt.

It’s unresolved, it’s an open wound. It’s you. And it’s every time he hears REO Speedwagon, every time he pulls a flannel over his shoulders and catches the scent of your perfume on it, every time he’s flicking through the TV and catches a flash of a hospital setting, it’s a pair of hands deep inside the wound, pulling it a little wider.

It aches. It stings and it aches and it winds.

And then he turns the pebbles around. Back to the shade. Over and over and fucking over.

On Wednesday night, he caves. Asks Sarah if she’s spoken to you.

She’s chewing on a slice of pizza; licks the grease from her fingertips before she answers. “Not really. She’s been quieter than usual. Why?”

“She’s been quieter than usual?” he repeats, playing off the way his head shot up by looking straight back down at the pizza box.

Sarah narrows her eyes. “Yeah. I figure she’s working a lot.”

“Right. Right.”

“She gets tired of being in the house all the time, I think. Getting treated like a kid still. So I guess the more time she can spend outta there, the better.”

Joel nods slowly. He already knows that much.

Sarah studies him. Watches his hands as he dabs a pizza crust into the dip. When he tosses it in his mouth, he looks back up at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “You want the last slice?”

“You take it,” he mutters, sitting back and wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’m stuffed.”

She hums, reaching forward. “Whatever it is,” she says, pulling the dough apart, “that’s got you this down –”

“Ain’t nothin’ got me down, kiddo.”

“– whatever it is,” she continues, “I bet it works itself out.”

Sarah stands up, taking her water with her, and wanders out of the kitchen.

----------

Joel struggles through another sleepless night, Thursday through Friday. His eyes don’t close over once. He hauls himself out of bed early in the morning, forces a black coffee down his throat, and heads off to work.

He’s up at some new client in Waco. Andrew Curtis – or, well, Andrew Curtis’s father, but Joel���s been dealing primarily with the son, and the guy’s a fucking imbecile. Doesn’t know his head from his ass, probably. And he has a voice like nails on a damn chalkboard, and his shirt’s untucked around the back, but Joel ain’t got a tone kind enough, or half the wordsmanship, or an ounce of energy to tell him.

Anyway – he spends all day at this dusty site, trying to work and instead, thinking about whatever the fuck you’re doing. Wherever you are, whoever you’re with. It’s almost seven by the time he’s leaving, packing up his truck and watching Andrew Curtis across the yard. He’s spotted his own shadow; he’s twisting around to reach the ducktail poking out from above his belt loops.

Joel thinks to call you about it on the way home. Tell you all about the guy: his dry conversation, his flannel, the fact he kept calling Joel Joe all day. He figures it would make you laugh, least the way he’d tell it, and he reckons that’s exactly what you need right now. That’s exactly what he needs, right now.

When Clark’s call him, he dials your dad. Has his ear blown half to hell by the speakerphone. Learns midway through the conversation that you’re right there in the car, too, and bites back a stream of incoherent, senseless words. Settles for a quiet reminder: he’s right here if you need him.

He doesn’t expect you to take him up on it. Knows you got better things to do than deal with some asshole who’d rather break your heart than have a few difficult conversations. You’re probably having fun, probably finally feeling good again. You’re probably fine.

But still. He doesn’t sleep that night, either.

It’s just gone two when Anna calls. He’s lying in bed, some shopping network on loop on the TV. His tired eyes bore into the screen, defocusing over the pixels, not watching nor listening and barely fucking breathing until he picks up the phone. Her voice is panicked, shrill, and shaking so much he wonders if his own phone is trembling with it.

“Mr. Miller?” she asks, and Joel sits up. “Got your number from Yelp. ‘m sorry it’s so late, it’s…oh, fuck – it’s, like, 2AM.”

“Anna,” Joel says hoarsely. Get to the fuckin’ point.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.”

It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks –

“Where is she?”

“We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –”

“’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

In one long, drawn breath, she spills. “She was fucked from the second we walked in here; she drank too much too quick, Mr. Miller – Joel,” she says when he corrects her, “and then she just – I dunno, she just – fucking disappeared with these guys, me ‘n Kara never saw ‘em in our lives – and they went upstairs we think, and she came back smelling like weed, and then this guy – he just, like, scooped her off, Mr. M– I mean Joel, like, totally dragged her away, and then –”

“Who–? Anna – Anna, wait,” Joel says, shushing her between her rambling, trying to rein in what she’s saying. When she finally shuts up, he speaks slowly and calmly. “Who dragged her away?”

“We don’t fuckin’ know!” she almost shrieks down the line. It cuts out for a second and Joel’s heart stops dead.“– so we don’t know,” she says when her voice filters back through into his ear, “but Sam said he saw the dude drop something in her bottle when he turned away. A pill or something.”

Joel’s body tenses. Freezes solid, with the blood in his veins. His eyes fix on one spot on his dresser: the loose handle that sits a little squint. He stares at it until his peripheral starts to blur.

“He – say that again?”

“He roofied her, we think. But we can’t fucking find them. Sam and Kara are in there just now looking. The guy pulled her away, that’s what I’m tryna say!”

“Right,” whispers Joel, nodding. He drags a heavy hand over his eyes, tries to push the image of you in danger out of his head for one second so he can figure out what to do.

Anna doesn’t hear him. She keeps talking. “…and then Sam said she told him not to call her dad, but I had to call someone, y’know? You’re the only person I think she wouldn’t – I think she wouldn’t mind me callin’. Please.”

He’s already halfway down the stairs, arms pushing through the sleeves of his shirt. He keeps the phone against his cheek when he bends to reach for his boots, ties them loose and grabs his keys.

“You call me as soon as you find her, you hear? I’m on my way,” he tells Anna, and hangs up.

He’s panicking. Fear, transferred between her cell and his, creeping over his shoulders, wrapping long, cold fingers around his throat. He’s panicking. He’s panicking. He never panics. Where the fuck are you? Who the fuck are you with?

There’s barely any traffic on the road, but the drive takes for-fucking-ever. The lights at the side of the road blur into long, thin streaks of orange. His hands are tight around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. Your name lies loose on his lips.

He pulls up right outside the bar. There are small clusters of people, congregated tight together under the streetlights; cigarettes hanging from lips, bottles loose in hands. He shoves by them on his way to the door. Some guy shuffles out of his way, looking up to cuss Joel out and quickly dipping his head again when he locks eyes with the grizzly expression.

He shoves the door open with his shoulder, and spots you instantly.

----------

His knuckles are throbbing. Skin stretching anytime he moves his hand, searing hot and sharply stinging across the bone. Your touch is the only thing soothing them right now.

He got two good punches in. Just two. Burst the guy’s nose. He would’ve kept going, had he not been in a bar full of people – people who knew who he was – and had you not been stood behind him, body liquid-like from how much you were swaying.

But he has you home now. Up in your room, settled in bed. You’re safe. You’re with him.

You’re fucking wasted. Like, can barely lift a glass of water to your lips unaided wasted. He spent the entire drive watching over you, stealing glances when your head turned or your eyes lulled closed, checking you were still awake, still talking, still fucking breathing.

Whatever that asshole gave you, you don’t seem to have had enough for it to do too much damage. The alcohol is the real culprit. Though you were cognitive enough to yell at him over Lois in the kitchen, which relieved him for a second before it fucking crushed him. He’s lying awake right now – listening to the sound of your snoring – replaying the argument in his head. Over and over.

You’re an asshole and a liar. Just stringing me along this whole time.

He’s some awful cocktail of angry and terrified and fucking heartbroken. You’re lying inches from him, your hand resting softly on top of his, and yet – you’re miles away. The space between you both – fragmented, treacherous.

In a perfect world, he’d have wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He’d have pulled you against his weight, against his strong, steady form. And he’d have walked you, as slow as you needed, out of the bar and to his truck. Maybe laughing. Maybe singing.

He’d have told you everything was fine, told you he loved you, told you he was gonna get you home, make you feel better. He’d hold you until the sun came up, and then hold you until it went back down.

He’d love you. And you’d let him.

Maybe that world doesn’t exist, Joel thinks. And maybe that’s for the better.

It fucking hurts, though. Stings like a hot blade through his chest. All this time, messing around, pretending there was nothing more to it. Letting his feelings through like water in a fucking dam. It was bound to break eventually.

And maybe he really thought, even just for a fleeting moment, there could be something here. Something worth holding onto. More than two idiots messing around, more than sex and secrecy.

He didn’t even realize. Didn’t notice the shift. When did he start feeling…more? When did it cross that line?

He’s staring at the end of your bed. Thinking about you under him, gripping onto his shirt, his hand between your legs. The very first time. And every other fucking time since then. Which one was the threshold? Who pushed who?

His ringtone bursts through the silence, making him jump. His arm swings to fish it from the nightstand, swiping to answer before he’s even read who’s calling, just to shut the thing up.

“Hello?” he murmurs.

“Hey, Joe? Uh, I mean, Joel? It’s Andrew Curtis here.”

He rolls his eyes. For fuck’s sake. “Mornin’, Andrew.”

“Hi. Sorry, I know it’s super early. I’m just checkin’ we’re still good to go. I got my guys ready, we’re rarin’ to get goin’ whenever you are.”

Joel clears his throat, pushing slowly off the plush mattress, resting your hand on the sheets. “Yeah, uh…” He slips out of your room, hopping over to the bathroom and closing the door over. “…I had a, uh…a family emergency durin’ the night. I’m gonna be a little late, but I’ll be there.”

“Oh, gee, I hope everything’s alright?”

He phrases it like he wants Joel to clue him in. He considers for a second actually saying, Yeah, my best friend’s daughter – who I’ve been sleeping with for the last month – got plastered at a bar – Frank’s, local place, you heard of it? – because I broke things off with her – but I didn’t want to, I was just tryna be fuckin’ noble – and I went and picked her up, punched a guy who was tryna hurt her, because guess what, Andrew – I’m in fuckin’ love with her.

He sums it up with: “Yeah. Everything’s fine now. Thanks.”

“Alright, well, great news! Call me when you’re twenty minutes out, I’ll have the guys here for you arrivin’. Safe journey, Joe!”

Joel breathes an Uhuh and hangs up, holding the bridge of his nose. He has a headache, like he’s the one who’s been drinking. It’s only going to get worse, too, heading off to go spend his Saturday with Andrew fucking Curtis and his loose flannel.

The sun’s rising slowly, lighting the hall in a warm glow. Joel pads quietly into your room and pulls the cover back over his side of the mattress. You stir; your head jerks only to move some hair from your face, and then you sigh, sleep pulling you back into its arms.

He watches you for a second. Wishes he could run a light hand down your cheek, kiss your head. Whisper a goodbye, the same way you did to him almost a week ago.

He shakes the thought, collecting his boots from the floor. His hand hovers over his shirt for a moment. And then he lifts it by the collar, lays it neatly on the pillow by your head, and leaves. You can keep it, trash it, burn it. But it’s yours. Everything about him is yours.

In the kitchen, he stands by the sink, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s a quarter to six. This early on a Saturday, he figures he’ll be in Waco by seven, seven-thirty latest. His eyes fix on the spot you two stood last night, yelling back and forth about Lois. She seems so far away, now. He can barely remember the shape of her face, the sound of her voice.

His grip tightens around the mug. He places it in the sink, and grabs his keys. As he passes the stairs, he pauses. Leans on one foot, head tilted to listen out for any sound of life. Any fucking sound – the creak of a floorboard, the squeak of a door handle. Anything to keep him here. Anything.

Nothing comes. No sound, no movement, no you.

He closes the front door gently on his way out.

----------

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[evangelineshifts]

FUCK IT !

You know I started thinking about the analogy that people use for manifestation and shifting comparing it to when you order something online.

And for me that analogy made sense but I could never truly relate to it cause when they said “you don’t wonder when your package is coming, you just know it is and you don’t question that etc etc”

And while yes that is true to a certain extent, I actually DO wonder when my packages are coming sometimes. I DO check how far they are from my location. I do anxiously wait for them to come.

I realize that that’s okay. Cause no matter how many times I check the order status. No matter how many times I check how long it’s been since I ordered it, my package STILL CAME.

I think the way we’re told to restrict ourselves from thinking about how much time our manifestations are taking or when we’re gonna shift actually makes it worse.

When you tell someone not to worry about something, to let it go and not thinking about it, to feign indifference the harder they’re going to try to. Which in turn just makes them think about it more.

It’s counterproductive at best.

When I order something I do think about how long it’ll take. I do check the status but once I do I just kind of go on once I’m done. I don’t really feel any particular way about how long it’s taking cause I know it’s mine and it’ll get here.

I trust that the delivery service will get it here in due time cause that’s THEIR job not mine and leave it at that 🤷🏽‍♀️

Another thing I noticed is that in ordering things- at least for me - I don’t worry about HOW it’s gonna get here. It could be delivered on my doorstep, in the mailbox, dropped from a fucking helicopter, ANYTHING, and I have never once cared.

And it might just be me being slow and realizing this is what they meant in those posts later than everyone else but it’s just like- clicked !

I’m always SO worried about the process of shifting.

What method should I do? Should I even do a method?

What if I get bored? I dont want to do it if I’m bored.

What will I think about? Should I look over my script? Maybe Pinterest boards for visuals?

What if I forgot something? I should check my script.

What if I fall asleep?

What if? What if? What if?

WHO FUCKING CARES?!? That is not why you’re doing this. Who cares about that process when the end goal is the destination.

I’ve been avoiding shifting for the longest because I just kept stressing out over the shifting aspect of it. I would maladaptive daydream about my dr and be happy in that but the thought of attempt a shift made me groan.

The thought of affirming and persisting in my manifestations seemed strenuous.

But thats not the point. With practices as fluid as this focusing on what to do is literally the last thing you need to be worried about and I just now realized that.

You’ve probably heard this all before but like fr, do whatever the hell you want. If you want to shift wide awake, eyes open and dancing with music blasting in your ears- do it. Who’s gonna tell you that you can’t? Who has the credibility to say it’s impossible.

No one.

If you want to manifest by literally saying one affirmation and deciding it’s done and then going on doing whatever the fuck you want until the 3D catches up, then do it.

Tell yourself it works for you and then do it.

✧ dividers by @benkeibear !

[junedenim]

have lunch with the english

part 1 part 2

one day at home

warnings: fluff, smut, angst (the triple cocktail)

word count: 10.1k

The plane ride is rough. For the first hour, he zones out and watches the airplane-provided entertainment because that's what Lottie would do. It's episodes of Friends and it grows tiresome around the tenth laugh track. He switches to music in the second hour and in the third hour, after the cold but edible meal, he tries to fall asleep. He thinks he makes it an hour before a baby starts crying. Then, he thinks of Franny but then again everything reminds him of Franny.

He's in and out of sleep after that. The baby cries for the rest of the flight and Friends has switched to Planet Earth so he settles for listening to David Attenborough for the rest of the flight instead. 

The flight lands at 10 AM London time, but he feels like it's 2 AM. It takes him too long to get through customs as someone with a British passport but the guy is certain that his picture doesn't match his face. That's what he gets for updating his passport when he still had the goatee. 

He's still rubbing his eyes going down the escalator. At the bottom, Franny on her hip, stands Lottie. Bell-bottom jeans and that short-sleeve white blouse Franny loves so much because she gets to play with the buttons on it. A distracted Lottie coos Franny, bouncing her on her hip, which means he narrowly missed a crying Franny. Franny, dressed eerily similar to her mother (seriously, this kid ignored all his genes besides his brown hair), giggles ferociously. Lottie laughs back and it's cheesy to say but it mends something in him. Shoots him awake after any restless sleep.

"You look like you were woken by a toddler at 4. Wait, that was me." Lottie is the same as she's always been. She keeps her hair long because Franny likes to tug on it. Her eyes show no signs of tiredness like his do. Her smile, always bright.

Franny makes grabby hands at him as he approaches. Alex takes her, planting a kiss on her chubby cheeks. "I practically was. Baby crying the whole flight. Hi." He grabs the back of Lottie's head and pecks her lips.

Her hand lands on his chest, stroking his collarbone. She puckers her lips in reciprocation. "That poor mother." Lottie holds the belief that Franny likes Alex more than her because Franny never cries when Alex holds her. He finds that untrue but Lottie has always been stubborn in her beliefs.

"Why'd she wake up?" Alex asks. Franny tugs on his hair and falls onto his cheek, her lips slobbering over his cheek. He knows Lottie will likely use this in a later argument she has about who Franny loves more.

"Hungry. Always hungry. And whining 'Papa! Papa!' because I made her eat Cheerios."

Alex huffs. "She doesn't love me more than you, Lot, and since when does she call me Papa?"

Lottie sighs and practically stomps her foot. Sometimes it's like Franny isn't the only toddler. "It's bad enough she loves you more than me, she has to call you dad too. I can't have anything be French. So dull." Yeah, that argument comes up a lot too.

"She calls you maman."

Lottie rolls her eyes. "She calls me 'Ma.'"

Alex laughs. "She can barely get two syllables out. You want her saying se branler."

Lottie bolds her eyes and juts her head out. "Alex! Don't talk about jerking off and our daughter in the same sentence."

Her voice is loud and causes him to look around Heathrow for any shocked onlookers. "When did you become so stuck? I thought the French were supposed to be adventurous."

"She isn't even 2 and you want her to start talking about masturbation. I always knew you were a pig."

He chuckles and kisses her again. He's missed her. He thinks he'll spend his whole life missing her, even though he has her now. Franny just makes that ache even worse. "Where's her stroller?"

"I left it in the car. I didn't want to set up the whole thing if she was going to insist I carry her anyway. I can drag your carry-on."

"No, I got it."

She's got her hands on the handle before he can grab it. "I can manage the carry-on, Alex. You hold your daughter."

Alex wraps his arm around her and there's a crack down his spine where everything aligns again. "What'd my girls get up to while I was gone?" They talked every night—well, night for her, afternoon for him—but hearing it from her in person is always nice.

"Same old. I've got a last-minute opening I have to go to tonight."

"Really? Can I come?"

She looks over puzzled at him. "You want to come to some dumb uni student's gallery opening?"

"Yeah, we'll make a night of it."

"The last time we made 'a night of it' Francoise happened."

"I think Franny's pretty nice."

"Because Francoise likes you."

"Maybe if you called her Franny she'd like you more."

"It sounds like Fanny. I don't want my daughter to be called fanny."

"Shall I start calling you Charlotte then?"

"Ew, even my name is stolen by the English. Why can't she go by her beautiful French name? Is that so hard?"

He finds it's best to change the subject when Lottie gets caught in these knots. "Do you want to go to Bouchon Racine tonight?"

She's giddy and jumping—skipping toward their parked car. "Ooh, can we? Can we?" He laughs at her, so full of childish giddiness, a quality that has only expanded with Franny. "I want to bring home a bucket of their olives."

"You know they are probably the same ones they have at Tesco." They definitely are. When she was pregnant she insisted on olives, olives, olives, and he quickly realized she could never tell the difference between whether the olives were from a can or special-ordered from Bouchon Racine.

"Maybe we should name her Olive," he suggested one night. 

Lottie, who was balancing a bowl nearly overflowing with olives on her stomach, sat up quickly, which was a shocking sight; she must have been 8 months pregnant by that point. "She will not be named Olive. You English naming your children after food. We might as well name her Steak or Potato."

"No, they're not!" She insists. "They coat them in something different. You can't tell. You don't have a refined palette like me."

"Alright, I believe ya."

"Olive," Franny sounds, clapping her hands together.

Lottie points her hand at Franny. "See! Even she knows they're different."

"Do you want me to drive?" He asks.

She thinks for a moment. "Uh, no. I'll do it. I told Francoise we'd go to the park today." She reaches into her pocket and grabs the keys, twirling them around her finger.

"Okay, we can go after we park." They've reached the car and he opens the backseat door for Franny while Lottie places his suitcase in the caboose.

"You sure? I can just take her." 

"Nonsense. I've missed my girls."

"Nonsense," Lottie imitates like he's a ghastly old British man (something she would say he is). She slips into the driver's seat as he secures Franny in her car seat.

She's started the car before he's even in the passenger seat. "Should I call Laurie for tonight?"

"She can't. She has a date tonight," Lottie says as she backs out of the parking spot.

Alex chuckles. "You know when our babysitter has a date?"

"Yes, Alex, unlike you I talk to Laurie."

"I talk to her!" Alex insists.

Lottie snorts and shakes her head. "You pay her at the end of the night like 'uh, here's, uh, your money, miss, uh.'"

"I don't do that. Most women would be happy I don't talk to the babysitter."

"I should be happy you're not making out with the babysitter? What high standards? Especially considering how we started." Yeah, he should have seen that one coming.

"What? Like you regret it?"

"No, and I'm sure when you run off with the babysitter she won't regret it either. Meanwhile, I'll be sitting all alone, except I won't even have branded you, I'll just have a baby."

"If you want me to get it removed, I'll get it removed." Nowadays, the tattoo that sits on his arm is generally covered by his shirt. Sometimes Lottie stares at it in the dead of night.

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Why do I have to want it to be removed? Shouldn't you want it to be removed?"

"When I made the appointment, you told me not to do it."

"I would have told you not to get the tattoo in the first place."

"Well, where were you?"

She giggles and reaches out to fluff her hand through his hair. He gives her a boyish grin, the one that makes him seem a decade younger, traveling through Brussels. Franny erupts in giggles from the backseat and Alex spends the rest of the car ride babbling away with her.

They arrive home around a half hour later, luckily not hitting much traffic. Lottie gets whiny in traffic. The house seems the same as when he left it two weeks ago. Franny's toys scattered on the carpet in front of the TV, Lottie's laptop left open on the kitchen counter, his coffee mug that he left atop his piano still sits empty and unwashed. He's comforted that the painting on Lottie's mini easel is a different unfinished painting meaning she was able to do something other than working and caring for Franny while he was gone.

"Francoise, pourquoi ne montres-tu pas à papa ce que tu as fait?" Franny at nearly 2 years old is better at French than him, go figure.

She walks quickly, scuffing her feet on the wooden floor as she rushes off to her bedroom. "You didn't tell me you finished your painting?" Alex teasingly asks her. Lottie's still so overprotective about it, not wanting him to stare at her while she does it.

Alex sits with a tiresome sigh on the couch. Lottie kneels on the floor, trying to clear some of Franny's plastic kitchen items off the carpet. "That's part of your surprise tonight." She's moving toward him on her knees, closer and closer, until she leans over, placing her hands on his thighs. 

He raises his eyebrows. "My surprise?"

She smirks. "Yeah, you have a surprise tonight. I didn't tell you that?" She leans back on her feet as Franny comes toddling back in with a piece of paper. 

"Papa! Ah, papa!" He swears Lottie's smile turns into a wry Grinch smile.

"It's what you get for being gone," Lottie tells him. She might as well start taunting him with "Nana, nana, boo, boo."

"Look," Franny tells him, lifting up the piece of paper. It's abstract, to say the least. There are squiggles from crayons and a stick figure that has pipe cleaners glued onto its head for hair, which means Lottie did that part. There are paint imprints from flowers, which must be from the small garden Lottie has grown in the backyard. Franny enthusiastically points at these marks so he guesses Lottie let her do that part. 

"You drew this? Are you kidding me? Magritte could never, we're putting this on the fridge."

Franny does that excited squealing thing, claps her hands together, and then she clings to his leg. She looks over at Lottie and says, "Park."

Lottie giggles with delight because Franny really is the cutest thing. Big-eyed baby blues just like her maman and these long lashes that people would kill for. Lottie leans down and wiggles her nose against Franny making her giggle. "Papa might want to take a shower first and relax a little—"

"No, no, we can go now." Franny is jumping up and down.

"You sure?"

Alex stands up, readjusting his trousers. "Yeah, if I relax now I'm just going to fall asleep."

Lottie wrinkles her nose. "You sure you don't want to take a shower."

He reaches his hand down to help her stand up. "I will fall asleep in the shower if I do that."

"Alright, park time," Lottie announces, which causes Franny to repeatedly say "Park! Park! Park!" all through the house. 

"Should I get the stroller out?"

Lottie sighs. "She's not going to sit in it anyway."

"You want to carry her the whole time?"

"No, you're going to carry her the whole time."

Alex huffs a peal of laughter. "Franny." She stops her chanting and snaps her head in Alex's direction. "If we get the stroller out, are you going to sit in it?" She eagerly nods.

Lottie throws her hands at her side. "I had to carry her around all week and the second you come back she's all about the stroller again. I'm going to have hip problems because of this kid."

"Shall we get you a stroller too?"

"You're the one that can't sit on the floor because of your back."

London is quiet, at least, their little section of it. It's still early enough in the morning that the heat of summer hasn't caught them yet but late in the day to avoid work travelers. Alex pushes Franny's stroller while Lottie eats an apple. "I can't remember the last time I had a proper meal. Like a very proper meal." She amusingly tells him, "I think we've had mac & cheese for the past 4 nights." Life depending on it, Lottie can't cook. "I am going to go crazy at Bouchon Racine tonight. You're not going to like me when the bill comes." 

"It's my treat. I have to keep you healthy."

"I'd be a pile of bones without you."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Is it 'Will you marry me?'" That's their biggest problem.

"Lot, come on."

"What? You have to get around to it someday."

"Can we not fight in Princess Diana's playground right now?"

"You're avoiding."

"I'm not avoiding—"

"Yes, you are. You're an avoider, Alex, and it's fine. Continue." She's getting passive-aggressive. 

He doesn't want to ask now. It feels awkward and clunky. "I had this thought the other day. I was telling someone the story of how we met—"

"Were they dazzled?" She's obsessed with how people react to the story. It's the romantic in her. The story is a prize she won and she gets to taunt all the other school children that she has the best story out of all of them.

Alex can't lie either. The story is pretty fucking incredible but her excitement over it—the way she grabs his upper arm tightly and those dimples imprint on her cheeks—that's everything and more. "Yes, and they asked me if I hadn't picked up your book what would you have done?"

"You mean from the train?" He nods. "Probably nothing."

"Really?"

"You're shocked by that?"

"No, but I thought you'd indulge me a bit."

She shrugs. "I would have thought you weren't interested."

"I could never not be interested in you. What about me? You thought I wasn't attractive."

She giggles. "You were very adorable at 21."

"Only adorable?"

She looks over at him and downturns her head. "I did have sex with you. You've only grown hotter with age, Al. Not something all of us can say."

"What? Are you talking about you?"

"I've had a baby. You don't have to suffocate me with delusions of grandeur that I'm hotter than I've ever been. I was the hottest at..." she thinks for a moment "25. You would've liked me at 25."

"I like you now and you're hotter than you've ever been now."

"Please. I'm the only mother on the planet whose boobs got smaller when she had a baby. The only haircut I've had this year is when Francoise cut a chunk off with her play scissors. I was never really fit but now—"

"Hey, every you has fit for me. No version of you will fit better for the version of me I am right now. If I had 25-year-old you, sure you'd be hot, but I'd look like a total creep so this is really all for my benefit."

"Well, if it benefits you then we're fine."

"Exactly."

"Good." They laugh. "I'm plenty happy with my body. You don't have to worry about me. However, looking like you do now, I'd totally get with you at 25."

It's days like this when life feels perfect. The sun shone just right and Lottie looked over at him with that beaming smile. It's good for his ego too. "Yeah, I'd probably get with you too. You'd be more mature than me anyway."

Franny is itching to get out of her seat so they take her over to the slide. They've developed a method where Lottie will stand at the end of the slide to catch Franny and Alex will then pick her up and place her on top of the slide for her to go down once again. They do it because Lottie read that if you go down the slide with your child then you're more likely to injure yourself or them because your foot could get caught and break and your child will be flung across the playground. Alex thinks it's because she told him that when she was little she rode down the slide in a skirt once and exposed her knickers to the whole class, but he doesn't say that. It makes Franny more independent anyway, except for the part where she refuses to climb the stairs to take the slide, therefore insisting Alex pick her up or she'll throw a tantrum. She can barely walk upstairs so he gives in. 

"My maman wants us to visit soon. Start of July maybe."

He hums. "Paris in July. Will it be abandonment or a whole month of banging?"

"Shush. I don't understand why she won't just come here."

"You've been saying you want to go back for ages now."

"Yeah, not with a 2-year-old though. I'm going to be that poor mother trying to calm her baby on the plane."

"Franny is more well-behaved than that baby. We'll be fine. We could take the train."

"The train?"

"Come on. We've had fun on the train. We could go up to Brussels for a weekend. Stay in 505."

She's biting her lips, which means she's tempted. "You just want my maman to look after Franny so you can knock me up again."

"Precisely. We could get a private cabin. It's a quick train ride anyway. I'll make a fool out of myself on the metro for the thousandth time. You'll love it."

"Fine, fine. But you have to call her Francoise the whole time."

"That's fine. Franny can be Francoise in France and Franny in England and the rest of the world."

"No, in French-speaking countries she will be Francoise."

"Which means in English ones she'll be Franny. Franny Wanny Anny." He plays with her limbs making her giggle.

"Fine," Lottie concedes with a straight face.

"I'm going to have to go back out to LA again before that."

She scoffs, "Really?"

"If we're going to spend all of July there. I left some things there."

"You can't have Matt send them to you?"

"We just have to finish some things up."

"Oh, 'some things.'"

"What?"

"Nothing. Just curious," she says evasively. "I'll have to figure out what to do with work."

"You already work remotely anyway."

"I work remotely in London, Alex. You expect me to come up every weekend to attend a gallery in London."

"Tell them you'll do a Paris special."

"It's a London-based company. The point of what I write is for people to go see these exhibits."

"Tell people to take the train."

"Yeah, I don't think that'll work."

"It's not like you need the job anyway."

"I am practically already a stay-at-home mum, Alex. If I don't have a job, I will turn into Mommie Dearest. You need for me to have a job."

"Bill will understand. Your job will be waiting for you when we're back."

"Maybe if I didn't take the biggest maternity leave ever."

"Stop shaming yourself over the leave." Shockingly, pregnancy and birth weren't exactly easy, and nearly 2 years post, Lottie still guilts herself for the extended leave. As if she didn't have to recover from growing a full human being, having her cut out, and then caring for it. Alex thinks he helped the best he could at least when dealing with Lottie's stubbornness and insistence on 50-50, which luckily became 60-40 for her sake.

"It'll all work itself out. And Francoise will go to Brussels for her first time!" Lottie squats down and wraps her arms around Franny's stomach, squeezing her tightly.

"Fine. Franny can come too."

Lottie gasps. She says to Franny, "Papa was so mean. He wasn't going to let you go to Brussels. What a mean, mean man. But maman will take you anywhere she goes."

"What is this? Parental brainwash?"

"I'm simply informing Francoise of the plans. It's a great way to keep her involved and expand her vocabulary."

"Is she going to start burning bras next?"

"Francoise will be a smart activist. She's the smartest baby I know."

"You barely know any other babies."

"That's not true. Did you hear that, Francoise? Your papa just called you stupid. Maman would never say that about such a smart intelligent angel." She rubs Franny's nose, making her wrinkle it up.

"You're really good at this whole twisting my words thing."

"You're just catching on?"

They move over to the bench where Franny sits on Alex's lap, messily eating strawberries. Lottie tries to blot away at the juice that drips from her cheeks. "Gabriel and Brigitte are getting divorced," Lottie informs him.

Alex's jaw drops. "What?"

Lottie purses her lips and nods her head. "Yeah. I haven't gotten the full details from maman because he, of course, has not called me, but, you know, they've been on and off for the last couple of years so now it's—" She moves her hand across her neck to symbolize finished.

"I never thought they would call it quits though," Alex says.

Lottie chuckles. "I did. I'm surprised they lasted this long. They hated each other even when they got married."

"Another reason not to get married."

She drops her hands to her lap along with her face. "Alex."

He feels bad about that one. He kind of feels bad about all of it. Like there's some part of him he can't change. "Sorry. What about the kids?"

Lottie exhales loudly and shakes her head. "No clue. I can't even get him on the phone. I even tried calling her."

"Yeah, how'd that go?" He laughs.

"I'm pretty sure the second she filed for divorce she blocked me. No longer has to put up with me at family functions."

"I missed you," he says because he has to. She's sitting there, wiping her red-stained strawberry hands with an old McDonald's napkin after cleaning up their daughter's sticky face and sometimes he just gets hit with these waves. It usually happens in parks. Brussels Park, Luxembourg Gardens, Kensington Gardens. Ever since that flower behind his ear and that first kiss that sealed it.

She's sardonic as always. "Pft, it was only 2 weeks, Alex." She walks to toss the napkin out, which gives him a good view of her ass so he can't really complain.

When she walks back, she grabs his head, bends down, and kisses his cheek. "Love you."

She stands up and he grabs her hand, squeezing it. "Thanks, Lot."

She forces a smile down and slaps his arm playfully before putting the remnants of the food baggie back under the stroller. He just watches her. He's always loved doing that. 

"We should figure out the babysitter issue."

"Leah's gonna do it." Leah is one of Lottie's friends from university. She's lived in London ever since graduation and the whole reason Lottie made that train ride to Brussels was because she was visiting Leah in London. Leah doesn't know this, of course. Lottie says she'd get too big of an ego.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"What time?"

"She's coming over at 4 once she picks Jace up from camp."

"When's the gallery start?"

"6, I think."

"So we get 2 hours to ourselves?"

"No, you get 2 hours to take a nap. I have 2 hours to get ready, get my notes together, maybe clean up the house for once."

"Oh, Lottie, we're never cleaning up the house."

"A girl can dream."

"Honey, your studio flat was a mess and you didn't have a baby to blame it on. Our house is never getting cleaned."

"I like a cluttered mess. I don't like mice in my house!"

"There's no mice in the house."

"I hear them in the walls, I swear to you, Alex!"

"It's an old house."

"So the house is falling apart. That makes me feel a lot better, Alex."

"Remember when we used to be fun? Now we're arguing about mice."

"Yes, but it's mice in our house and I like the sound of our house." It's been their house for nearly 3 years but Lottie woos about it like it's freshly done. He gets a warm feeling inside whenever she does.

Lottie tries to put Franny back in her stroller. She, of course, cries. "This child hates me. I'm not going to carry you." 

Franny just cries more, making grabby hands to be picked up. Alex can't help it. She's got tears streaming down her face, those blue eyes swelling. He blames Lottie for putting the curse upon him back in '07. He picks her up. Her cries soften to whimpers.

"Alex," Lottie warns.

"I haven't seen her in 2 weeks. I'm not going to stand her and watch her cry. Besides, she doesn't seem to like me anyway."

Franny reaches her hands out for her mother and it would be rude to refuse such a cute baby. Lottie places her on her hip. "I didn't want to push the stroller anyway."

They head off in no direction in particular. On empty days when they need to kill time, they walk around London with little care. They've never lacked in walking and talking. It seems like they've walked this area of London a million times. When Lottie was pregnant they walked around the area so much that it became a bore and they would take the underground to different parts of London to have another area to explore. Weekends they'd walk along the Thames for hours. The conversation never lulled, even if it had become as dull as I Spy, they'd turn it into a game of laughter. 

"I'm sorry I haven't been around," Alex apologizes. From the moment Lottie got pregnant—probably way before then—he was overcome with the fear of this occurring. Dashing around the planet and leaving Lottie & a baby for endless amounts of time.

Lottie sighs. "You were gone for two weeks. That's nothing."

"That's something. Enough for her to start calling me Papa. I'm missing things. I'm leaving you to eat apples and mac & cheese for days on end—"

Her laughter cuts him off. "Alex, I lived for about 32 years without you, I can manage two weeks."

"Two weeks for Franny's life is like 10% of it."

She can't stop laughing. "No, it's about less than 1%. You avoiding maths in college might not have been the best idea."

"Alright, alright. I just I'm missing it and I'm shoving it off onto you and—"

"Alex, you might want to sit down for this, but she's my daughter too. You spent nearly 2 full years at home while I went back to work."

"You left for 4 hours for a gallery opening. I'll be gone for...too long."

"Baby, my father wasn't even around. You're like ten billion points above him. Gabriel is there every day at his house with his kids and I don't think he once sat down on the floor and played dolls with them. Do you think I'm picking some loser to have a kid with?"

"Maybe for the royalty checks." He cracks a bit, a hint of a smile approaching. 

"Have more faith in me." She reaches up and tucks a tuft of his hair behind his ear. "It's okay to have a life outside of us."

And like always, she makes everything make sense. He takes her hand, the one pinching his earlobe and kisses the back of it with a tenderness they've always had. The one that makes him ache even when she's here to heal it. 

"I'll still feel bad about it," he says.

"Well, you better," she says bluntly. He's laughing and she's laughing and Franny just looks confused but she laughs too. "It's called parental guilt. It's what prevents us from eating the suckers."

Alex rubs his stomach. "But Franny looks so tasty." He leans over, chomping the air toward her. 

She's squealing, clutching onto Lottie with all her might, insisting, "No, no, Daddy, not me!"

Alex sighs and pulls away. "Fine, but all because you gave me one of your strawberries."

They're walking through Kynance Mews where Lottie does her usual musing. "I wish we lived here." She's slow, admiring each inch of wisteria and how it crawls over the buildings. She does this every time. It started when she was pregnant and she insisted Franny kicked harder when they were here. It has only persisted to a greater degree. Her enthrallment with nature is deep. It's why they have a garden in the backyard. She explains each inch to Franny in such a soft voice Alex has trouble hearing, but Franny's quiet. Her eyes follow where her mother points and her lips part in her usual way but she looks blown away.

"You're only about 10 minutes away from it," Alex points out.

Lottie rolls her eyes. "I know I can look at it. I want to live in it. With the cobble-stoned streets and nature overtaking architecture. It's so peaceful." As they walk, she gazes around the mew like it's the first time she's seen it.

Alex looks on at her, a smile perks his cheeks. "It reminds you of home."

She meets his eyes. "Maybe. With the arches and the way my feet click on the street." Franny is squirming in her arms so Lottie sets her down and she goes running off to a tiny plant that's about her height. "But I like it here."

"London or here specifically?" He questions.

"Well, I meant in London but, yeah, here." She puts her hands in her pockets finally able to rest them.

"Me too. Life makes sense, you know?"

She laughs. "No." Her eyes are away from him, watching Franny. "But I don't think it's supposed to. I think this is the closest we'll get. I felt that when Franny was born, you know?"

He nods. "I forgot what it felt like to be excited over nothing." Franny is hugging the plant.

Lottie turns to him and shakes her head. "It's not nothing. For her, it's the first time she's hugged a plant."

"I don't think I ever hugged a plant. I hated nature as a kid."

She's smiling wide, beaming. "Francoise, honey, papa is going to hug the plant now."

"Lottie." Alex chuckles and shakes his head. 

But Lottie has already got her hands on his shoulders pushing him toward the tiny plant. Franny is giddy and Lottie is giddy and he's a fool. "Come on, come on, come on!" Franny shouts, her tiny hands tugging on his fingers.

"Alright, alright. The person who lives here is going to think I'm a psycho."

"Plants need love too," Lottie defends.

"Yeah," Franny repeats, "plants need love too."

So, he bends down with a crack in his knees and hugs the plant loosely. Franny claps and Lottie is snapping a picture on her camera. "Adorable!" She cheers.

"Now let's get out of here before they call the police on me."

Franny tugs on his hand. "Shoulders, pweaseeeeeee!" Those eyes should be outlawed. Puppy dog ocean eyes gazing up on that cupcake face, begging him.

Alex looks over at Lottie and she understands. With a huff, she says, "I'll push the stroller."

Franny is already clapping her hands excitedly. Alex picks her up, lifting her over his head, and sitting her onto shoulders. She clutches the ends of his hair like she's stirring him. "Thank you!" She shouts.

"She's going to be such a spoiled brat," Lottie tells Alex.

"Hey, she said thank you," Alex reasons. Lottie is probably right. They give in—he gives in a lot to Franny's will but she's too hard to say no to and she's well-behaved for the most part so he'll give in and carry her on his shoulders and if she'll cry one day when he doesn't.

"Love you, maman," Franny calls down.

Lottie gasps and stops walking. A giant smile spreads across her face as she looks up at Franny. She shakes the little girl's foot. "Well, aren't you the sweetest girl in the world!"

"She's a very smart girl," Alex says as they walk again.

"She has your charm," Lottie says begrudgingly. She's too quick to fall to the smooth words he speaks. He's grateful for it. It might be the only upper hand he has with Lottie. It's probably the only reason he has Lottie. Tucked away in his songs leading them to meet again in Paris. 

They start heading home. Franny is tapping on his head and Lottie walks a step ahead of him with the stroller. "What should we do now?" He asks her.

She turns around, biting her lip.

He instantly knows what she's thinking. "You're such an art nerd."

"I am not!" She defends. Alex gives her a knowing look. "Maybe. But I want to go because Francoise gets so excited over the sculptures and it's the cutest thing ever and she's the cutest thing ever and you're the second cutest thing ever and you and me in art museums is always fun and it's free so let's do it."

"You make a convincing argument."

He stays silent as she slowly smiles and bats her lashes. "I'll give you a kiss."

"Fine, but I get a foot rub at the end of the night."

She moves closer to him. "Oh, just a foot rub. No other kind of rub. That's fine."

He laughs. "Shut up. Come here." He wraps his arm around her lower back and kisses her lips, strong and hard. The kind that would usually have them running home to fuck. But that was before Franny.

When they walk into the Victoria & Albert Museum, Lottie takes Franny to her hip, and Alex checks the stroller. As usually happens at museums, Lottie becomes a tour guide. "I love these altarpieces."

"It's the repressed Catholic in you," Alex says. 

Lottie chuckles. She leans closer as if they haven't stood before the St. Margaret altarpiece a hundred times before. "All that little detail."

"And it's from the 1500s!"

Lottie turns back at him with a face etched with annoyance. "You're mocking me."

"Never." She stares intensely at him making him feel apologetic. He mutters, "Sorry." He sounds like Franny after she spills her cereal. 

Lottie smiles, pleased by the apology. She bounces Franny on her hip, trying to keep her calm and interested. "They tried to kill her and couldn't," she tells her.

"I thought they beheaded her in the end," Alex states.

Lottie turns back, annoyed again. "I was getting there."

They slowly walk through the museum, into various rooms. They venture up to the stained glass section, one not often looked through. It's usually toward the end of their visits and feet are worn out or Franny is cranky. 

Alex, ahead of his girls, walks back to them and tugs on Lottie's arm. "I've got something to show you."

"What? Are you on display here?"

"While I might be the great find in your collection," Alex says, getting a laugh out of Lottie, "it's just a little thing."

"Okay." They walk past stained glass windows and sacred silver. 

They land in front of one. "I know it might be stupid but...you know."

She looks at the piece. A stained glass panel with an angel with a sword in one hand, a scale in his other weighing the soul of a woman. "It's very pretty."

"And you claim I don't notice anything. It's Saint Michael."

She looks back at him and it clicks. He's beaming with pride in himself like he discovered the Mona Lisa or something. "Do you want to steal it?"

"We could probably just take it," he jokes. "Nobody cares about him as much as we do."

Lottie giggles. "I think some Christians might argue with you." The saint had become a thing between them. On their one-year anniversary right before she got pregnant, he gave her a Saint Michael pendant necklace and she said, "Is this blasphemy?" She doesn't wear it often. It's tucked away in her jewelry box. She usually elects to wear one necklace at a time. Nine times out of ten, it's that shitty one purchased from the babushka. She fiddles with it, Franny fiddles with it, and Alex fiddles with it. It's like some unity stone connecting everything.

Later, when they've returned home, Alex takes a nap. Franny easily occupies herself with toys before Leah picks her up. The second the front door closes behind them it's like a siren sounded, alerting Alex who walks into the living room just like Franny does after a nap. He's rubbing eyes and yawns. He might as well be carrying a stuffed animal.

"I have to get ready!" Lottie instantly says, walking straight past him. 

"Oh, come on, we don't have to be there for another 2 hours."

"I have to shower. You have to shower. I have to get ready. You have to get ready. I have to get some notes together. No time."

He walks to her at a tortoise's pace and hunting stare. "So, let's do it together."

"What?"

Alex bends down at a hare's pace and throws Lottie over his shoulder, a screech coming from her lips. "I have to shower. You have to shower." Lottie's giggling, patting her hands on his ass, and kicking her feet.

"Fine but you have to wash my hair," she reasons. He knows she loves that without needing her to say it. He loves it when she does it, even if she always gets shampoo in his eye.

He plops her down on the tiled floor and starts the shower. She's already shed her clothes when he turns back around. He whistles. Lottie rolls her eyes. "Stop it, pig."

"I'm an admirer of art." He wraps his hands around her body, tugging her close. Her boobs up against his shirt. "Seriously, they should be writing pieces about this body."

"Isn't that what you do?" She's flirty, which is a good sign.

He's kissing her, close, tight, together. A true proper kiss. Lottie pulls away with a huff and enters the shower, which means Alex practically rips his clothes off to get in the shower.

"The last time we had a Francoise-free night was back in February when your parents came down." She hands him her shampoo and turns her back to him.

"No," Alex disagrees. "It can't be that long ago." His hands are soothing and meticulous in their kneading.

"Yes, they came down on the week of Valentine's Day, and when we've had Laurie watch her it's only been for nights out. We haven't had the house by ourselves overnight since February."

"Jesus. Then why am I shampooing your hair?"

"Because you're a good man."

"A good man? I thought I was a pig?"

She hums. "Your patience has changed my mind. Besides, I can call you a pig in a few minutes when you try to finger me."

Alex fakes a gasp. "What cruel man would try to please a woman? I would have you blow me."

She's giggling and sending vibrations through him, her back to his stomach. His cock is against her ass, growing harder and harder with each movement.

It starts with him kissing her neck and then she's turning around and getting on her knees. She takes him in her mouth. Her tongue is playing on his tip, swirling around getting him all flustered. She knows exactly what to do. They've done this a hundred times now and yet it still feels like he is experiencing it for the first time.

She takes him fully in her mouth. One hand playing with his balls, the other holding his thigh. It's wet and messy. The water from the showerhead beats down hard on his head and Lottie is giving good head. Every time she pops off, she comes back taking him an inch further and further. He nearly comes down her throat when he hits the back of it. 

He's a moaning mess. It's something about the environment. Probably knowing he can be as loud as he wants with no curious ears. Definitely because Lottie is licking up his shaft with such care. "Fuck, Lot," he says. He throws his head back and he's not sure if his cum lands on her or not, either way, it's circling down the drain when he's finally able to open his eyes. "Fuck, you're a saint."

She furrows her brows. "Then why am I on my knees?"

Alex raises an eyebrow. "You want me on my knees?"

"I want to take a shower," she says. She grabs his hand to help her stand up.

He scoffs, "God, how boring of you."

"You have to condition my hair," she insists. 

He listens and carefully applies the product just how she likes it, letting it soak in. He detaches the showerhead from its stand, moving it closer to her head, the conditioner slowly washing away. Lottie has always liked the showerhead, specifically the water pressure. She raves about it like it's some Michelin Star showerhead. 

Alex drops the showerhead to his side, pets her hair back, and wraps an arm around Lottie's waist. "Job well done?" He asks.

She's rubbing the water out of her eyes as she nods. He moves the shower head so it's right around her. "Alex," she giggles. She tries to move but his arm has locked her in.

"What?" He asks, moving the head closer to her core. 

"We have to wash your head," she insists.

Alex says into her ear, "Uh, no, no. I don't think we have to do that right now." She's squirming, which he knows means it feels so good and hits her just right. Her clit is beaten with the water and she's trying to hold her noises in. "Let it out."

She's groaning and rutting her hips in an effort to achieve her high quickly. The water is a torturous pleasure. A hands-free application for getting off. She isn't sure what to do with her hands so she hangs onto Alex's arm holding her in. It's the only thing keeping her arm. His body is a wall for her to thrash upon. Then, she's whining before she's coming in full force. It's enough for her body to shake and for Alex to feel pride in his innovative thinking. 

He keeps his arm around her to keep her steady as he returns the showerhead to its holder. "Good, huh?" He asks teasingly.

She's panting and can't say much, so she just nods. After she washes her and they dry off in their towels, with the remaining 45 minutes, he lets Lottie get ready.

Alex is lying on their bed, still undressed minus his underwear. He's always enjoyed watching Lottie get ready. The way she darts in and out of their closet, holding a piece up to her body in the mirror, putting it back, trying a piece on, putting it back. She'll mess with her hair, up, down. She'll dash off into the bathroom to do her makeup before redoing her hair all over again.

She's always particular about it. She told him once she liked the act of getting ready. She liked the chaos and her clothes thrown about on the floor. He thinks she especially likes it when he cleans the mess up for her. 

Now, she's settled on a little black dress. She said once she didn't think she had the ability to pull mini dresses or skirts anymore after Franny was born. He said that was idiotic and pleaded with her to never stop wearing her minis. She's continued the habit since. Mostly in this summer heat but it makes him a little happy to know that she's watching him watch her as she pulls on the dress and asks him to zip it on for her. Then, she goes over to their bureau and slips on her Saint Michael necklace.

When she catches his eye in the mirror, she asks, "When are you going to get ready, mister?"

He sighs. "Okay, I'm up." He hops out of bed and hides away in the closet. His daily attire isn't much different from what he's wearing tonight. Something he knows she'll make fun of him for. "Do you want to take the tube?"

"Do I want to take the tube?" She repeats like it's some shocking piece of news.

"Yeah." He steps out of the closet, readjusting his suit jacket. She's putting on a black-heeled Mary Jane and staring at him bewildered. "Don't have to deal with parking and it'll be like old time's sake."

She sighs, "Fine. If my feet hurt you have to carry me on your shoulders like Francoise."

He bends down and kisses the top of her head. "Deal."

Typically on nights out, they'll drive the car, and since they haven't had many nights out without Franny the car has always been the easy choice when it's all three of them. The District line is packed enough that they have to stand against the pole. Alex likes this, even if it's shaky and hurts Lottie's feet. He wraps his arm around her and gets to keep her close as a means of keeping them steady. 

"You didn't even get to tell me about LA. I just babbled about myself the whole time," Lottie says in between Embankment and Westminster. 

Alex sighs. "It was good. I told you most of it on the phone. Worked, hung out with people, the usual drill. Would've been more fun if you had come with me."

"One day maybe. I don't like leaving Francoise so far away and she's too young for that kind of trip. Maybe next year when you're on tour."

"Yeah." He smiles. He can picture it. Them by the ocean. Lottie in a bikini, Franny in her cute little sun hat. A walk up to Griffith Observatory. Lottie insisting they go to the Walk of Fame then calling it stupid after seeing all the tourist traps. Trips to the Museum of Art, The Getty Museum, The Broad, Hammer Museum, whichever one or all of them. "I'd like that. You'll have to pick your favourite cities you want to join us for."

"I'd want all of them." She stares up at him softly. A sad smile plays on her first for a moment but they still have months before he'll be away. They'll figure it out. They always do. "But I'll make a list. Maybe leave Francoise with my maman for a couple of weeks and join you somewhere nice."

"Like Boston?" She wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him close, and giggling into his neck.

The gallery is small but decently packed. The paintings are abstract in a Jackson Pollock way that he's never quite understood but Lottie explained it to him once and it made sense. She doesn't seem to be enjoying this one. Her face is stuck in a frown but she holds the free champagne in her hand in a relaxed way, which means it can't be horrible.

"I liked the first one," he whispers in her ear. Her eyes follow where his eyes have landed—an art piece made of shattered glass that sits at the gallery's front doors. She snorts and crashes her head into his chest. "What?" He chuckles.

She lifts her head, just enough for him to see her. "That's a mirror that broke."

"No, it's..." he trails off looking at the object.

"A mirror that broke," she finishes.

"God, this art sucks."

She loudly shushes him. "I agree with you but I don't want the poor artist to overhear."

They take a few more minutes, trying to observe everything as best they can. He leans down to her ear. "Bouchon Racine."

She lets out a heavy breath. "Yes please."

They shuffle through the crowd quickly, her heels can be heard hitting the wood of the floor. They leave their glasses on the front desk and Alex leads them out of the building. "I swear I was going to suffocate in there."

Lottie giggles. "You are aware you don't have to wear a suit jacket 24/7."

"I like how I look in a suit," he says, all sweet and innocently.

She grabs his upper arm, shelving her head on his shoulder. "I like how you look in a suit."

"Nah, it's got nothing on you in that dress." He tugs on her waist, urgent and needy. "Very hot, Madame Guess."

She rolls her eyes. "Mademoiselle," she corrects. A pit forms in his stomach. He feels bad. These unintentional slip-ups keep occurring. She ignores the misstep. "I'm glad Bouchon is so close by because I'm hungry."

Their table is in the back right next to a wall. They look over their menus but they both already know what they want. They get the olives as a starter but Alex only eats one and leaves the rest for Lottie. "I want a bunny," she says.

Alex laughs. "Who are you? Franny?" Franny has this little bunny she sleeps with every night. Alex's dad got it for her when she was born and they think she'll have it forever. Despite having it for so long, she cares for it so cautiously that other than some slobber and stains, it's in a near-perfect condition.

"I think we should get a pet or something."

"Or another baby," he suggests.

"I'm not having another baby," Lottie casually announces. She sips her wine and looks away like her serious tone is no big deal. 

"Lottie."

She ignores him. "I wish Cadbury Eggs were in season year-round." Their dishes come and the conversation drifts away. 

Lottie is cutting her chicken and tells him, "Last night, Francoise came into our room in the middle of the night. She had a bad dream and she was telling me about it and she was lying, you know, on your side of the bed, and the whole time I'm thinking I'm talking to Alex."

He smiles so big it turns into a laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, she's so imaginative and she talks the same way you do—dreams the same way you do. She's got this active mind and she's so creative in the way she tells these things just like you. And she was so cute, you know how she is under those big covers, her body so small but so wiggly. She was like how you get in the morning when you stretch out."

"I'm glad she's a little like me. She looks just like you."

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. You should've seen her last night. You would've thought you were looking in a mirror."

"All that creative stuff is from you too. That drawing she gave me today. You know what it reminds me of."

Lottie lands her head in the palm of her right hand laughing. "No, it does not."

"Yes, it does. It looks exactly like that drawing you did of me. It even had the flower prints around it like the ones you drew." In the first month, when they hid out in her little Parisian apartment, she sketched him one morning while they sat near her little Juliet balcony, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette between them. 

She concedes. "She's smarter than both of us."

And that he'll agree with.

After dinner, with an extra takeaway order of olives, they walk down the street for a box of macarons to cap off the French cuisine night. They take one each and put the rest away with the olives. 

"I wish I could bake," she says as she bites into her raspberry macaron. "Or you could bake. I wish one of us could bake."

"I'll learn for you," he says. "It'll be shit but it'll be better than whatever you make."

"I'd tell you to fuck off with that if it weren't true."

A lull of silence falls between them and he feels that questioning pit in his stomach. He finishes his vanilla one and once they cross the street he asks, "So, that thing about no more kids earlier."

"Hm?"

"We've never talked about it before but, you know, I'd like another one, maybe." He's trying to tread lightly. It's weird to not know where Lottie stands on something. He always figured she wanted more. Her words always seemed to be that way.

"I don't think so."

"Oh, okay."

"Why would we even have another kid if we're not going to get married?"

This neverending argumentative contention between them. "Lottie—"

"I just don't understand it," she's calm when she says this, unlike other times. The heat between them always tends to rise when they have this discussion that they never get to actually talk through it.

Before he can say anything, she boils over. "I mean, you want to have another kid but we won't get married."

"That's not it."

"That is it! How is it not it?" 

"Can we not fight right now?"

"You always do this! You always deflect everything!"

He grabs her forearm, stopping her from walking. "I'm not deflecting, I just don't want you to be screaming at me in the middle of the street."

The ride home is silent. He doesn't think that's ever happened before between them. Even when she was in labour they talked on the ride over. It's unnerving and he feels like something is lodged in his throat.

When they leave the underground, she walks five steps ahead of him and never gives him the chance to catch up so he figures he'll give her the physical space she needs. He walks with his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shoes. She walks with her arms crossed.

At home, she storms back into their bedroom without a word, slamming the door. "Can we talk about this? Come on." He stands in the living room. He drops to the couch, running his hands through his hair frustratingly. 

He hears the door click open and she comes rushing back out shoeless. She stops a few feet away from him. Her arms are crossed, her foot tapping the floor. "Well?"

Alex leans with his arms on his knees. "I don't know what you want me to do, Lottie."

"What I want you to do?" She's already firing up and he knows he can't stop it. "What do you want to do? It shouldn't be about what I want you to do. I'm not some control freak, Alex."

He scoffs, "No, you're not, but then you yell at me for every decision I make. You hold it against me like I forced you to do it."

She huffs, "No, I do not!"

Alex rolls his eyes and leans back against the couch. "Yeah, right."

"I moved to a whole other country for you! I had a baby for you!"

"Yes, yes, Lottie, in the ultimate sacrifice polls you're winning. Sorry, I've made your life so hard."

"Throw your own pity party, Alex. I don't want to deal with it." She's walking away, bitter and superior, and he can't take it.

"And that little display of yours. The poor French girl kidnapped from her home and impregnated against her will. Everything we've done has been mutual. We decided on London together. When you got pregnant we decided to have Franny. Don't act like I forced that on you."

"Then why won't you marry me?"

"I never said I didn't want to marry you."

"Are you kidding me?! You have shunned the idea completely. When I got pregnant and I wanted to get married you said it was because I had abandonment issues." He winces at that one. The last time they fought about this like they are doing now—full-out and acidic—he was mean, bringing up her dad. He's apologized for it ever since and he was right in thinking Lottie never forgave him for it.

"I didn't want you to think I married you because of Franny," he explains.

"I'm in this relationship too. I know how I feel about you and I was confident in the way you felt about me." Was. Had he really fucked up that badly? "You told me so!" He remembers. It was on the bathroom floor at her old place. A positive test sitting on the floor in front of them, everything felt right. 

"And I asked you then and you said that you didn't want me to be forced into it. Every time I've tried you've shut me down. I don't know what the fuck you want me to do, Lottie."

"I want you to want to do it. You ask me in the middle of a fight or when I've brought it up. It's a second thought to you."

"But it's not something I want to do." He just wants to be honest.

There are tears in his eyes and he feels like the biggest jerk ever. "Why?"

He shrugs. "It's just not my thing. But I'll do it if you want it."

She seems so small to him. Her hands are behind her back and she's looking down at her feet. "I want you to want me to be your wife."

"Lottie," he consoles. He stands up making his way over to her. "I do. I'm not going to shack up with some other chic—" he stops himself. Her eyes dart away from him, looking at the opposite wall from him. "Is this what this is about? You think I'm going to leave you."

She shrugs. "Once a cheater."

He's taken aback by it. He has to catch his breath for a moment. "Wow. You did that too, you know."

"What with my once-every-six-months boyfriend? You had a whole life with her—"

"No, I had a relationship with her. I have a life with you. I have a kid with you! Isn't that some sense of permanency?

"You have her name tattooed on your arm!"

"I thought we put this shit to bed years ago. Why do you have to dig it up? You don't think I feel horrible about that? I thought you were never a possibility. You know what it was like and if I could have done it differently I would have. If we got together in 2007 it would have never been an issue."

"You're going back to me not showing up in 2007. That's a new one, Alex. You're running on such low material you have to pull that out. You want me to be some housewife for you—"

He talks over her, "What are you talking about?!" 

"I was doing something for my career, for my life. Sorry, I didn't care about a stupid boy enough to mess with my whole future."

"It was a dumb comment. Why do you have to make it into such a huge issue? You're making a molehill out of a mountain." 

"I don't even know what that means but at least I'm better than you. You never even bothered with French."

"You're just bringing up every problem you have with me. What next? You don't like that I drive on the left-hand side of the road? You want to go through the problems I have with you, huh?"

"Yeah. Tell me how awful I am."

"That!" He points his finger at her. "You think everything is some attack against you."

"Right now it feels like it is."

"You're not a victim. Not against me. You're going to have a hard time getting rid of me, Lottie. I will be with you in whatever way you want but just because I don't want to have a wedding and I don't care about marriage that doesn't mean I love you any less. I loved you when I met you and that was that. Maybe I am a horrible guy that I was with other people and still thinking about you but I don't really think about everything else now that I'm with you. You and Franny are all I think about. You're all that matters."

She's got tears streaming down her face. He steps closer and wipes them away, holding her face in his hands. "You're a real sucker." She wetly giggles. "I love you. Did you know that?"

He shrugs. "I had a feeling." He kisses her softly and chastely. Some seal of love after a rough night. "Do you wanna go to bed now?"

"I don't want to have sex, Al."

He kisses her cheek. "I just want to lie with you. I'm really tired anyway."

She giggles. "Me too."

She wears one of his ratty old t-shirts and his boxers. He wears just his boxers and pulls her on top of him, skin-to-skin. They hold each other. No talking, just touch. She tucks herself in the nook of his neck and he rubs up and down her back until he feels her fall asleep. He falls asleep sometime after her.

Then, something wakes him up at around 4 AM. He thinks it's Franny at first but then he remembers she's not here. Lottie lies still beside him and he figures it must just be his jetlag. He thinks about getting up but doesn't. For a while, he hopes he'll fall asleep and then he starts to think.

He nudges Lottie awake. She stirs for a bit. She tosses and turns before finally opening her eyes. "What? What's wrong?"

"Do you want to get married in Brussels?"

She's sleepy and still gaining cognizance. "What?"

"In July, I'd like to get married in Brussels. We could do it at the Town Hall. Can you do it in the Town Hall?"

She shakes her head against her pillow. "I don't know."

"Well, if we can, I'd like to do it there."

"With Saint Michael looking down." He nods. "Who knew you were such a religious guy?"

"Do you want to?" He rounds an arm around her waist. "Please say you want to."

Lottie nods. "Yeah. I want to."

"Good. Should Franny be our witness? Our flower girl?"

"Aw!" She coos. "She'd be such a cute flower girl. I'm going to find her the cutest dress." 

"You can plan the rest. I just want my two girls and Saint Michael."

*

a/n: i really wanted to get this out there so it hasn't gotten the full read-through. hopefully, it makes sense or my mistakes gave you a laugh. this is probably the last full part i'll do for this series unless i get struck with inspiration again. i might do some vignettes from it. either way, thanks for reading it!

[notmorbid]

twin peaks: season 2 [1/2].

dialogue prompts from season two of twin peaks.

how you doing down there?

did you call the doctor?

i've heard about you.

i will tell you three things. if i tell them to you, and they come true, then will you believe me?

think of me as a friend.

the question is: where have you gone?

i guess you could say that about most things in life: it's not so bad, as long as you can keep the fear from your mind.

how long have i been out?

we haven't had this much action in one night since the elks club fire of '59.

just give me a couple of hours to get dressed.

what's there to smile about?

have you been missing your mom?

i had the strangest dream last night.

you tell me: vigilante justice or just clean country living?

is it not okay for me to want you?

i don't want any baloney, magic tricks, or psychological mumbo-jumbo.

i won't let ___ hurt us anymore.

i guess i love you, too.

i was half joking, half drunk. half crazy.

i don't believe in fate. you make your bed, you sleep in it.

what is it that you do, exactly?

would you care for a piece of pie?

i wish you nothing but the very best in all things.

i know you're hoping for the best, but you ought to prepare for the worst.

what the hell happened to your hair?

i left you a note. didn't you get my note?

to be perfectly honest, i think i'm in a little over my head. not that i can't handle it.

better to listen than to talk.

don't search for all the answers at once. a path is formed by laying one stone at a time.

it looks like we're 100% certain that we're not sure.

achievement is its own reward. pride obscures it.

i'm going to eat you up.

you don't know what trouble is. not by a long shot.

do you have a judgment about that you'd like to express?

you're every bit as lovely as ___ said you were.

running away won't solve anything.

if i've overstepped my bounds with my concern, i apologize.

how can you be so smart about things like that, and so stupid about so much else?

i wanted so much to be like you.

why do i even care? why should i?

parents should not bury their children.

what should we drink to?

i think it would be healthier for everyone if you got whatever is bothering you out in the open.

after i watched this tv show, i decided i needed some 'me' time.

i want you more than my own life.

you're a cool drink of water to road-weary eyes. what's your secret?

sometimes, the can-do girls can't.

actually, i grew up in books.

there are things you can't get anywhere, but we dream we can find them in other people.

i'll advise you to keep your eye on the woods.

the woods are wondrous here... but strange.

you want the steak, but you don't want to know how it got on your plate.

what does ___ do for you that i can't?

you've got to stay awake. talk to me.

i prayed that you would come, and you did.

it's hard to know exactly what to believe in.

you remind me today of a small mexican chihuahua.

it's best if you forget about me.

do you like musicals?

i find adherence to fantasy troubling and unreasonable.

i just miss having a life of my own.

it's like you're blaming me for something.

i was there. i saw you.

i don't want to let you down.

i am so happy, i could just kiss you to death.

something is happening, isn't it?

now look here, buster. you just watch it.

lord, what's become of us?

some of my best friends are white people.

i've tried running, but there's always been somebody faster.

sometimes it's better just to hole up and wait for the storm to pass.

you're not going to say anything, are you?

i'm trying very hard to tell nothing but the truth, these days.

i never stole from a church. it was a savings and loan.

the last few steps are always the darkest and most difficult.

go to your room and lock the door. no questions.

you're on the path. you don't need to know where it leads. just follow.

i've tried so hard --- i try so hard --- and nothing i do is ever good enough for you.

you're a slimy rat bastard.

i intend to make whatever remains of your pathetic existence a living hell.

we've spent our entire adult lives lying to each other. why spoil it with the truth now?

it doesn't matter if we're happy and the rest of the world goes to hell.

so this is it? you save my life, then break my heart?

someone must have hurt you once really badly.

friendship is the foundation of any lasting relationship.

it's nice to be quoted accurately.

you know, there's only one problem with you: you're perfect.

i'll take care of you in ways you never even dreamed of.

forgive my saying so, but aren't you dead?

do you believe in guardian angels?

to tell you the truth, i'm not sure what i believe these days.

i believe an angel saved my life.

i have no idea how i escaped.

little late for halloween, isn't it?

you're up to something, but i'm sure that's none of my business.

pick your lower lip up off the floor.

please don't tell me how to feel.

maybe i am overreacting. but they're my reactions, and the hurt i feel is my hurt. and how i react is none of your damn business.

i want you out of my life. i don't want to be hurt by you anymore.

there's nothing quite like urinating out in the open air.

let a smile be your umbrella.

i'm talking about seeing beyond fear. about looking at the world with love.

is there some place you're going to, or running from?

you may be fearless in this world, but there are other worlds.

my experience has taught me never to judge too quickly.

i'm trying very hard, recently, to get more in touch with my feelings.

i had to do those things to stay alive.

[livingincolorsagain]

for @fiprobably’s prompt: Non-AU: Sam and Bucky going shopping for groceries. Except Sam is away and on video call with Bucky, who is the one actually doing the shopping. Them arguing back and forth because why can't Bucky just find that specific orange juice brand Sam likes and how can Sam want to get snacks that high in calories they're supposed to be snacks not protein bars and Bucky is so goddamn insistent on the canned peaches and Sam isn't having any of it there is literally fresh peaches over there—

Bucky doesn’t like grocery shopping. He hates it, actually. He would rather do the laundry, or the dishes. He loves doing work in the backyard, or cleaning up the garage. Anything but the groceries.

That’s why it was mostly Sam’s job. Sam doesn’t mind it, Bucky is certain he actually likes it. He writes down a list and plays his shopping playlist—because Sam has a playlist for everything—and he pauses his music to make small talk with everyone and gets a lot of free samples and freshly baked goods for it.

But Sam has been running a fever since he came back from his latest mission a few days ago, and despite the fact that he keeps saying he’s fine and he can do it, he actually can’t stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, and even going to the bathroom is an effort, so leaving the house is out of question.

Bucky can’t really hold off grocery shopping any longer. The fridge is starting to look kind of sad, and the pantry is running low on everything, and if Sam was to actually leave the bed and check the kitchen he would side-eye Bucky to hell, because Bucky, you’re a Wilson now and no Wilson household should look like that.

So, after he gives Sam his pills and checks his temperature one last time, Bucky puts his best pair of sweatpants, Sam’s old sweatshirt and his bravest face on, and makes the short drive to the grocery store.

It’s a random Wednesday morning, so the parking lot isn’t full. Bucky grabs a cart and pulls out the list. He’s barely inside the store when his phone starts vibrating. He pulls it out of his pocket, frowning with worry when he sees it’s Sam video-calling him.

“Everything’s okay?”

Sam’s face is half buried in the pillow, his one visible eye barely open, and when he says, “I’m making sure you’re getting the right stuff,” his voice is croaked and small.

Bucky snorts even as his heart twists fondly.

Sam makes a small noise of protest. “You always get the wrong orange juice.”

“It happened once.”

“And it was awful.”

“They were out of the brand you like, and it was years ago, can you let it go?”

“It’s burned into my brain.”

Bucky lowers the phone as he bites back a smile. “Jesus, fine.”

So, that’s how it goes. Sam supervises as Bucky goes from one aisle to another, arguing about every single item Bucky chooses, because no, Bucky, that’s the worst kind of beans and get the whole wheat spaghetti instead and wait, I can’t see, go back. No, that's too far. Go back a little. A bit down. Y’know what? Just take a picture and send it to me.

Bucky can’t stop smiling.

“Don’t forget the snacks,” Sam says, yawning. Alpine moews in the background. “Bring Alpine some snacks too.”

“She already has a lot of snacks.”

Sam lifts his head a little off the pillow and turns it away from the camera to what Bucky assumes is Alpine napping on Bucky’s side of the bed. “Daddy says no snacks for you, baby.”

Bucky sputters. “I didn’t say— fine!”

Sam smiles, burying his face back into the fluffy pillow. “That’s what I thought.”

Bucky shakes his head, but he can’t stop smiling, because Sam’s eyes are drooping and he’s fighting it. “Go take your nap, I’m almost done anyway.”

Sam stubbornly opens his eyes wider. “No.”

“I only have the snacks and cat litter left, there’s no way I’m gonna mess that up.”

“But—“

“Sam.”

“Fine,” Sam says. “Love you.”

Bucky’s smile grows. “Love you, too.”

“Salt and vinegar chips.”

“I know, Sam.”

“Just making sure.”

“I’m hanging up.”

He hears Sam laughing just as the call cuts off.

check out this post if you wanna send me a prompt!

[nardos-primetime]

first thing that pops up on my for you page from your blog:

i am so lost from where this guy came from. is this an au? also i am extremely jealous of their hair, i want it for no good reason. lmfao sorry for the weird question/ask.

He's from a newer au I haven't talked about yet! Don't feel weird for asking at all!

The whole au is like. Heavily inspired by Cyberpunk 2077 (a guilty pleasure of mine), it could technically be a crossover au, I guess? I dunno, but I'm lazy/like to do stuff for fun, so certain aspects are obviously going to be changed. I'm not totally settled on designs, but I think I'm gonna keep most of the design aspects from this drawing for the "finalized" concepts.

The main plot centers on Casey Jr being put under the care of the turtles by "Mother" soon after having a whole (unwilling) relic insert situation in his brain, leading to former star Lou Jitsu to be revived within his mind!

The issue is that all of the turtles aren't really. The best father figures. None of them even want anything akin to a child, and even if Casey is 19, these guys are Mercs. Outside of their own clubbing and shows they do gigs for cash, including dangerous ones, ESPECIALLY dangerous ones. Having this new guy is like, a total roadblock, especially because Casey still, somehow, despite Night City's clutches and the last group he was pressured into before this, has some morals about him. The only reason they didn't kill him and stage an accident is because Mother promised them financial compensation for caring for him.

So he's stuck with four new "dads" who mostly all hate him or find him annoying, and Lou is not any different, he also finds him naive but he dislikes the turtles as well because he's a jaded old fuck (major hypocrite, too).

While the turtles are baseline all mercenaries, they share some traits between each other instead of leaving it to a "one guy only" job in most cases.

Donnie has the most technical skill, falling mostly under Techie and Net/Edgerunner, he adores tech after all, he also has illegally dabbles in being a ripperdoc, primarily for his brothers.

Mikey is actually the fallback for general medical issues, including those involving backfiring implants. He's only better at this because he's dabbled in researching (and using) tons of remedies, mainly for pain. He's the guy who's helped Donnie when working on inserting implants in the others. He's even stayed awake during his own surgeries to help Donnie during his fuck ups and implants.

Leo, while not extreme netrunner levels, does hold some hacking knowledge, just what he needs to make things a little easier with anything but combat most of the time, as combat is what he enjoys the most within jobs. He also tends to be the one to make their deals with Mother.

Raph is mainly muscle. Not to say he's simple, it's just his main role and main focus, having grown much more protective over the years, often acting as a bodyguard for the others during their own shows (hence he has the least involvement with any of their music). He's the least of the bad influences for Casey, at least directly.

They used to have another member of the group a few years ago, a media. Or a media wannabe, at least.

They normally have some reference to her, even if small, hidden within their shows.

This is all, of course, not tapping into their mystics, which are a bit different in this au as well with how they work. Lets just say Mother allows them special permissions when it comes to mystic usage.

...at least those are some of the basic ideas I've been throwing around in my head for the story, lol. I like to throw ideas at the wall and see what sticks to me. The whole thing is technically a wip still but so are 90% of my aus tbh lmao, this onrs just a lot more wippy because it's mainly a "for fun" au and I also haven't been able to play cyberpunk for myself to brush up on things outside of research and sometimes a man is just... not up for that, especially lately with my attention span, I hope to brush up a little more again sometime soon and maybe even delve into some aspects from the og ttrpg perhaps, I'm not sure yet, though, haha.

Oops long post, huh? My bad </3

[rebelliousstories]

Hearts of Sea Stone

Relationship: Sean Renard x Reader, Nick Burkhardt x Reader(Platonic)

Fandom: Grimm

Request: No

Warnings: Brief Strong Language, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 6,629

Main Masterlist: Here

Grimm Masterlist: Here

Part 1: Tidal Wave // Part 3: Lost to the Sea

Summary: Caught in a net of mysteries, Nick Burkhardt has to find what is the truth, and what is false.

“So I shall die," said the little mermaid, "and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?”

“Are you certain that was his name?” Nick felt bad for shaking the startled woman but he needed to be sure that he had heard her correctly.

“Of course I am,” she defended, “I’d sooner die than forget his name.” She looked incensed at the hidden accusation in the detective’s tone.

“Alright. I believe you but you need to come with me, and trust me.” And with that, the unlikely duo were off to go inside the precinct. Uniformed officers milled about, but not as many as there were during the day when he was usually here.

Nick could feel his breathing pick up but he did not know why. Why was he nervous about having this Tödlicheslied inside the office where his captain with the same name and same face as her supposedly dead lover might be? There was a light on in his captain’s office and felt a bit conflicted. Does he rip the bandaid off, or is there a way he can ease her into this?

“Nick?” She called softly, drawing him back into the present. He noticed that they had stopped in the threshold of the specific room where his desk was located. Letting out a sharp breath from his lips, the detective nodded and tried to get himself back in the game.

“Sorry. Um, my desk is just over here.” He stole a glance to the private office, and saw the blinds were open. Burkhardt set the woman in Hank’s chair with her back facing the captain’s line of sight and sat down in his own chair. Clicking his computer awake, Nick tried hard to keep his eyes on the screen and on the woman.

“So what is the name of the hotel you’re in?” His question sounded strained, but there was no way for his to stop it.

“It’s the Rose Red hotel on fifth and second.” She replied sweetly and softly, choosing not to draw attention to his tone.

“Okay, got their information. Now this book store. What’s the name?” Trying to wrack her brain for an answer, Nick casts his eyes over to the captain’s office. It did not appear that he noticed them in this late yet.

“I think it was called ‘Book Nook.’ I’m pretty sure that’s what it was called.” She had calmed down since she first met the Grimm, but being questioned about her whereabouts was enough to make her nervous again. Her hands began to fiddle with her necklaces yet again which drew the man’s attention to them once more.

“Okay. Do you mind if I have that for a moment,” his hand pointed to hers, “the gold one at least.” A shaky breath and a look of panic was all he got in return. Nick held up his hands in a, hopefully, non-threatening manner towards the woman.

“I just want to ask my captain if he knows the man in that photo. He’s been here longer, and may recognize him. Or maybe he remembers seeing a John Doe that looks like him. Please, it’ll be for just a moment.” He watched her battle herself once more and fiddle with the necklaces even more. It took another minute before her hands reached behind her head and unclamped the gold necklace that hung around her throat. Delicately, it was placed in Nick’s awaiting hand, who closed his fingers around it softly.

“Thank you. I’ll be right back.” Standing, he sent the woman another reassuring smile and watched her fiddle with the lessened weight around her neck before walking over to his captain’s office. Three knocks later and a call for him to enter was heard. Nick kept the locket and chain hidden from view at first, wanting to see how this was going to play out.

“Captain.” The detective called, watching him intensely.

“Nick,” a surprised statement came, “I thought you had gone home already.” Sean dropped his pen on his desk and turned his attention to the Grimm before him.

“I wanted to ask you something, but it might be kind of personal.” He started, unsure of how he was going to play this out even this far into it. Renard’s face scrunched in confusion before signaling the younger man to continue. But Nick could only get out the name the young lady at his desk had provided him. Sean’s face drop, and felt his heart grow icy as it fell into his stomach.

“How do you know that name?” He questioned, standing up slowly and maintaining eye contact with Burkhardt.

“So you know her?” He sent back, keeping his tone level and hands closed.

“Nick, I will ask you once more. How do you know that name?” Renard’s voice turned deadly.

“I need to know how you knew her first. Tell me that, and I’ll tell you how I know.” Nick spoke determined. Sean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face as he thought about what to say next. The captain motioned to the chairs in front of him and his detective followed the movement.

“I was very young, keep that in mind.” He sighed yet again. “The only time I’ve ever truly been in love was with… her.”

“When I moved to Portland, I was lost for a bit. Had no idea what I was going to do exactly and would often find myself at the edge of the Willamette river just thinking.” Sean’s eyes glazed over as he was sucked into his memories.

“One night, I found a woman that was unlike anything I had seen. I heard myths of Tödlicheslied, but never thought I would see one in person. She was scared, rightly so. They don’t go near humanity except to feed. Eventually she was able to calm down enough that she could become less noticeable.” Nick felt his own hands trace over the locket in his hands.

“We tried to find her family, but it looked like they had abandoned her. Didn’t stop us from trying every full moon after that first month though. I helped her after she accidentally charmed a young man on the street into becoming obsessed with her. It was then I realized I needed to keep her safe, from anything. There are certain tonics that minimize the effect her voice had. A specific cream to keep her skin from drying out in between swims.” Renard leaned back in his chair and acquired a soft small on his face.

“I guess, over time, we fell in love. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. There was a time right after I joined the force, that she waited up for me until 6:30 in the morning the following day. She went to bed at eight, but she waited up because I hadn’t checked in and was so worried that something had happened to me that she left crystals all over our coffee table.” This simple confession piqued Nick’s interest.

“Crystals?” He asked.

“Tödlicheslieden cry crystals on land. It has to do with the oxygen mixing with the chemical make up of the solution. We tried to figure it out when she was still here. But they cry crystals. Anyways,” the captain took a deep breath, “her family did eventually find her. About a year later. There message was clear: she was to return to the sea and her clan, or they would make her do so. They didn’t take kindly to her asking for time to think about her answer.” Another deep breath. Sean’s hand went to his neck, like there was something that was supposed to be there for him to mess with.

“That night, we were on the banks of the Willamette, trying to think about what our plan was. That’s when they jumped us. A couple of her cousins grabbed her and took her below the surface. Her father and brothers, however, stayed on land just long enough to ‘knock some sense into me.’ Their words, not mine. I don’t quite remember what happened after that, they hit me pretty good. Next thing I knew, I was watching an ambulance pull up on my location, and someone was asking my name.” Sean kept rubbing his hand just under the collar of his neck while he spoke.

“What happened to the woman?” Nick questioned softly, trying to keep from doing anything brash or sudden.

“I never knew,” Renard shook his head, “I tried to look out for a sign that she was coming back but nothing. I think at some point I just accepted that she had either truly forgotten me, or had died trying to get back to me. Whichever, I can only hope that she’s happier now.”

“Your hand keeps going to your collar. Is there something that’s supposed to be there?” The captain’s face hardened, as if he was trying to keep himself from becoming too emotional and remain objective. Like this was another investigation.

“We had matching lockets. I got them for us around the one year mark. Her’s was silver, mine was gold. She always looked better in silver than she did in gold.” His eyes glazed over once more, and his voice took on a soft, dream-like quality.

“A necklace like this?” Only then did Burkhardt place the golden chain and locket on his captain’s desk and watched.

Watched for a sign of emotion, of some sort of humanity in the man. It took a minute, but as Sean Renard came out of his thoughts to observe the object on his desk. A breath was punched out from the chest of the older man as he gingerly picked up the chain. He gasped in disbelief and tried to find the words to voice his thoughts, but none came to mind. In all the languages he knew or was fluent in, there were no words to describe the feeling of seeing the necklace in almost twenty years.

“Where did you find this?” Sean choked out, feeling his throat close.

“I need to know something first. Would she ever commit murder?” A humorless chuckle puffed out from the captain’s lungs.

“No. Never. When she lived with me, she went completely vegetarian, and was super careful about using her voice. Especially if she didn’t have the dampening tonic.” Both sets eyes stayed locked on the flash of gold.

“Okay. Is it possible that she could have been living her the entire time, trying to find you and never did?” Sean blinked, and leveled Nick with a look he had never seen before.

“Excuse me?” The captain growled, but the detective was unfazed.

“Captain, I’m pretty sure that I found her.” Renard said nothing. Not a word. But instead, he turned back to the locket and clicked it open. Photos he never thought he would see again, stared up at him. Black and white images of him happy that almost felt like a lifetime ago.

“Where is she?” Sean was sure that he was going to cry if he did not see the woman after all this.

“She’s out at my desk,” Renard stood with a fury, “wait!” Nick shouted at the taller man.

“Just, be careful. I’m still checking out her alibi for the drownings.”

“There is no way that she could have done this. Now if you will excuse me.” With that, Sean left the office in a blaze. The gold necklace in his hand felt like lead the closer he got to the woman who was still sat in Hank’s chair, beside Nick’s desk. The Grimm watched from the threshold of the office as the scene unfurled.

Calculated steps moved the man closer and closer to her. The same woman he had not seen in almost two decades. Her hair was shorter than it was back then. But her skin was no less as luminous, even underneath the precinct lights. Sean felt his hands begin to clam, and his throat tighten even more than before. There was no less than five feet between the pair, and yet, he made no move to call for her. As if he did, she would be gone just like how she disappeared every time from his dreams. Nick watched with keen eyes, and cleared his throat loud enough to catch attention. Renard turned to face his subordinate, and was drawn away when a gasp was heard from behind his head now.

Turning back, Sean watched tears gather in her eyes. He felt his own breath get pulled from his chest, and it appeared that she was suffering from the same breathlessness. Before he realized it, he was whispering her name, hoping that she was truly there.

“Sean? Is that really you?” Her whimper made the man’s heart burst in his chest.

“Yes. It’s me.” He whispered back at her. In all of about three seconds, the woman had thrown herself into his chest, and sighed as his arms wrapped tightly around her.

“You’re alive! I can’t believe you’re alive.” The words were slightly muffled into Sean’s chest, but neither one could find it in their hearts to care too much.

“Oui, mon siréne. I’m alive. And you’re here, on land.” One hand stayed on her back, keeping her pressed as closely as she possibly could. While the other one, traveled to pet the top of her head, and lay a kiss in the wake of his hand.

“Of course I am. I tried so hard to find you. Couldn’t exactly do that from the water now could I?” She teased, and was rewarded with another squeeze and kiss to her head. Pushing her lover away, the naiad looked at him in his eyes once more.

“I don’t understand though,” she began feeling her lashes become wet with unshed tears, “I thought you had died? They gave me your-” she cut her own words off. The necklace was resting against her head, still captured in Sean’s hand.

“No. No. Do you honestly think that it will only take a beating to kill me? Come now, mon siréne.” The hand on her head moved to cradle her face. Shockingly cool metal graced her cheeks from where the necklace was tanged in his fingers.

“I tried so hard to come back. But when I did I was… captured. It’s the only reason I don’t have my family trying to get to me now.” Her whispers were meant only for Sean, and this admission made his skin prickle.

“Captured? By who? I need the name.” He stated, ripe with a protective and possessive energy.

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of it.” She reassured him.

“Here.” Her hands reached up and took the gold chain from his fingers. She took apart the clasp mechanism and placed it around the man’s throat before securing it once more. The weight was something Sean had almost forgotten about, but now that it was back, he felt like there was no time that had passed since they tore it from his neck.

“I hate to break up the reunion,” it was only then that the couple realized that Nick was still there amongst them. “But, you can go back if you would like. I’ll call if I have any updates or any more questions.”

“Captain, you may want to take the night off.” He offered gently, watching Sean and his lady take in his words.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move. I’ll return shortly.” Renard all but ran back to his office to close down for the night.

“How did you know?” She questioned softly to the Grimm before her. He turned his head from his captain to the woman and acquired a soft smile.

“The picture frame in your dressing room. I realize that the photo is almost twenty years old, but it looked too similar to Sean not to be him. Plus, when you told me his name, I had more conformation.” Nick explained, watching as she accepted the explanation. Eventually, her tears became too great for her to keep them in, and fat droplets rolled down her face. As the water ran off her face, crystals seemed to form as if by magic mid way through the air. She tried to catch them, but was blinded by more crystals, leaving Nick to help catch them instead.

“Are you okay?” Sean’s voice rang out. His tone was concerned, as he ran back over and help to catch the crystals as well. A tissue appeared in his hand and he began to dab away the water from her face.

“I’m sorry for that. Yes, I’m okay. Just been an emotional night I guess.” She held her hands out, and Nick followed his captain’s lead as he passed back the stones. Her hands pulled a bag from her coat pocket, and the crystals disappeared from view.

“Do you always keep those stones with you?” The young Grimm asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “these used to be used for potency in different kinds of spells, and potions. If anyone got a hold of them, who knows what they could be used for.” While she dismissed the words, Nick certainly did not.

“Is it possible that someone did get a hold of these without your knowledge?” He asked, watching the young woman think hard about her answer.

“If someone did, it would have to be someone on my staff. Very few people have access to my dressing room where I keep them for that reason.” Sean wrapped his arm around his lady, and kept his eyes on her.

“Well, you two head home. I’ll let you know what I find out.” He did not need another invitation; Renard bid the detective goodnight and walked the young lady out of the precinct. She giggled as he nearly tripped over himself getting her over to the car.

The ride to Sean’s condo was spent in silence. Not because they could not find the words, but rather there were simply too many words that needed to pass between them. With his left hand on the steering wheel, and his right hand on her thigh, Sean’s self-control was tested to an unbelievable level as he tried not to speed. Meanwhile, she had her hands both on his hand and thought about how close they had been all this time, yet neither one knew it.

Parking, and walking through the front door passed in a blur. Neither one could believe that they were actually with the other as they walked up the stairs to the condo. Opening the door, Sean allowed her a moment to look around before he tugged her back to him. He pushed her against the door with a gentle shove, and slotted their bodies together as he captured her lips in his. Her hands came up to scratch through his short hair, and found purchase on the broad shoulders she once knew so very well.

There were so many thoughts running around both of their heads. Years that they have lost together and now being able to spend them together. They could never recover all those years alone, but they could certainly make up for it now. She decided to deepen their kiss, allowing her tongue to run over the seam of his lips. Sean returned in kind by picking her up and walking towards his bedroom. He did not need to be able to see where he was going, only needed to know that his siren was back in his arms.

His siren. A title she had never lost, yet it seemed like a distant memory of holding it. Renard tossed her on the bed where she landed with a giggle, but he did not waste any time in climbing back on top of her. Reconnecting their lips, he allowed his hands to trace over the familiar curves and markings that he knew so well. Muscle memory trailed his hand down the left side of her neck, where she jerked away as if she had been burned. A look of panic mauled her features, causing Sean to lean away just enough to give her some space.

“Siréne? What happened? What did I do?” He asked, quickly trying to find an answer. That used to be her favorite spot for him to caress as it caused full body shocks to course through her.

“No, darling. You did nothing. It’s just I…” her sentence trailed off as she stared into space. Renard leaned back on his haunches fully and grasped her hands to pull her up.

“Would you like to get ready for bed? You can tell me if you would like.” Sean’s offer came. She nodded, unable to form words right at that moment. He slipped off the bed and knelt down to where her feet rested. Gently, as if she was made of porcelain, he undid the buckles holding her shoes on and pressed a soft kiss to her calves when he was done.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything proper to take off your makeup.” He commented as he pulled her to the bathroom. She just shrugged in acceptance and allowed her lover to continue. Sean lathered up his face wash, and rubbed her face in gentle, circular motions. It would not be the best, but it would have to do until he could get her something’s to leave over there. Wetting a cotton ball, he took just a tad bit of cleanser and rubbed it over her eyes, dissolving and wiping away her makeup.

“When I was captured,” she finally spoke after he wiped away the cleanser, “I was captured by a Grimm.” Her admittance stopped Renard from applying the toner to the cotton pad. He turned to her in a look of concern and anger.

“After I escaped the clan, I came upon the Willamette once more and tried to change back. But I got caught in a net. When I was pulled from the water, a Grimm stared me down. He wanted to study me, study my scales, crystals. Anything, since there isn’t much known about Tödlicheslied in the Grimm or wesen world.” Soft cotton swiped across her skin, allowing the toner to sink in. Sean used the time it was going to take her skincare to sink in to do his at the sink. Always keeping an ear out for her soft words.

“He kept me in my woge state with drugs. It wasn’t fun,” Renard felt his blood boil, “one of the things he did was take my scales.” She pulled down the top of her dress enough that he could see a scar in the crook where her shoulder met her neck. Allowing herself to partially woge out, Sean saw the dull patch where the scar was amongst all of her glittering scales that had yet to breech the surface.

“He left the locks undone one night, so I tried to run,” her dress was pulled back in place as Sean placed the moisturizer on her face and neck. “I didn’t get far, but I was able to scratch his pretty good since I had yet to come out of that state. He drowned in the Willamette, unable to fight back because of his blood loss. I don’t know if they ever found his body though. Anything and everything he had on me, I destroyed. I couldn’t risk being found out, by Grimm or by wesen.” Sean kept quiet while he placed eye cream on both of them.

“When my clan caught up to me again, they disowned me. According to them, I allowed myself to be captured and studied. I allowed that man to take my scales. After that, they left me alone. It’s been difficult to even look at that spot some days, let alone have anyone else touch it.” The man pressed a kiss to her forhead, but still said nothing as he went to his closet to fetch something for them both to wear. While he was away, she turned back to the mirror and felt ashamed at the dull patch on her body. Forcing herself to return to her human state, she brushed her fingers barely over the scar.

“I don’t much mind.” Sean’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. Turning, she saw he held two sets of silk pajamas in his hands. Setting them down on the counter around the sink, his hands gently maneuvered her to stare at herself in the mirror. Strong yet soft hands slid the jacket from her shoulders, and the zipper from her dress. Curling calloused hands around her shoulder, Renard took things very slow, and allowed for her to stop him at any point.

But she did not. She just allowed him to take care of her, like he used to do all those years ago. It felt nice to have him here again, making sure she was taken care of. She had not felt like this in years, it almost felt foreign. Spending so long on her own, could she allow him to fall back into their routine they had established years ago? He placed his hands on her now exposed waist, and dropped his head onto the top of her shoulder. His head moved up and down in a comforting manner, and he trailed his nose close to the scar. Her breath hitched in her throat, feeling him so close to a spot she tried to forget about.

Sean nosed closer and closer to that spot, but kept a keen watch on her body language. While she was tense, she had not pushed him away as he narrowed in on the scar. The second he laid a gentle kiss on it, she felt like collapsing. He pressed yet another kiss, this one more prevalent in pressure, and her eyes shed crystallized tears. They landed in the sink, but neither on of them cared too much for where they ended up.

“It’s alright, mon siréne. This doesn’t make me love you any less. You had no choice,” his words brought more tears to her eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

Oh. That made her heart and head hurt. She did not realize how much she needed to hear those words come from him until just then. Another tissue was used to catch her tears, but she just stood there. Her body refused to move on its own accord, which was probably just the overwhelming emotions she had felt this evening.

Sean reached around and helped to work his lover into his pajamas. A sky blue with navy trim adorned her body, and looked so adorably oversized. His own black and gold set waited as he made sure she was taken care of first. Leading her back into the bedroom, he tucked her underneath his silk sheets and pressed a kiss to her head.

“I’ll be right back. Stay there.” She nodded, and watched him disappear back into the bathroom. It was truly only a moment before Sean returned to his lover who was still turned towards where he had left to. Crawling underneath the covers, Renard opened his arms and allowed the woman to find her place in them. She placed her head on his chest and felt the beating heart reassure her underneath her cheek. It was just like that, the couple drifted off to sleep. Hoping that they would not wake from this most amazing dream they had.

~

A shrill ringing sound awoke the man early in the morning. Blindly reaching over with one arm, he tried to find the source and got rid of it. His right arm was caught around his lover. However, the shrill sound started once more prompting him to react to the sound of his phone going off.

“Renard.” He answered unenthusiastically. The woman had yet to so much as stir though.

“Captain, it’s Burkhardt. We’ve got another body. Drowned in the Willamette with an aquamarine stone in hand.” His attention was solely focused on the phone now. Sean sat up and tried to keep the lady asleep but it did not help. She was awake the second he moved, and rested her head back on his; this time it rested on his lap.

“I’ll be right in. See you in thirty.” Without giving his detective a chance to respond, he hung up his phone and breathed out a deep sigh.

“Duty calls?” Her voice drifted into his thoughts from below him. Renard gazed down at her, and smiled as she cuddled into his thigh. His hand pet through her head as he nodded.

“Unfortunately. But, I’ll make you some breakfast and drop you off wherever you need to be before going in.” Yet again, they fell into the same routine they had years ago like no time had passed. She dressed in her outfit from last night, but allowed Sean to place her shoes back on. It was the one thing that he always insisted that she let him do when it came to dressing. As she washed her face, Renard went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, a cup of tea, and begin breakfast. But looking at the clock on his counter, he cursed lightly. Looking around the cupboards, he found some muffins that had been given to him by a very gracious neighbor a couple of days ago.

Fresh faced, and dressed, Sean felt his breath get taken out from his body once more. It reminded him of when they were young, and she would stay at home and wait for him to get back.

“We don’t have the time to make breakfast, but I do have your tea. We have to go though, I’m afraid.” He handed her a thermos, placed his coffee in another one, and grabbed a couple of muffins from the box.

The couple made their way out the door and down the stairs of the condo. Hand in hand, down to the car that awaited them in the garage. Sean opened her door, and let her get in and secured first, before rounding and doing the same for himself.

“Where do you need to be?” The man started the car and began to drive away from his home.

“There’s a club on the corner of fifth and second that I’m preforming at. There’s a hotel near that I’m staying at. I’ll need to double check my dressing room and then I’ll be going to my hotel.” Sean nodded, and draped his hand over to rest on her thigh. Lacing their hands together, she took a sip from the warm beverage container in hand and made a pleasant hum.

“This is my favorite tea. You still have some?” She questioned happily, taking another sip. Renard chuckled and squeezed her thigh.

“Of course I remembered. Whenever I am upset, I would make a cup of that and be transported back. It has never failed me in all these years.” He spared a glance before returning to the road, and loved the look she had. All too soon, the drive was over as they pulled over to the club where she was preforming.

“Would you like me to wait? I can drop you off at your hotel afterwards.” Sean offered, but she shook her head.

“I’ll be alright. It’s just right across the road and you have to get to work. I appreciate it though.” Her seatbelt was unbuckled, and she turned in her seat to face the man. Cradling his face in her hands, she laid a loving kiss on his lips, to which he returned. But before it could become anything more, she pulled away, causing Sean to groan.

“Later.” She giggled, and slipped out of the car and back into the club. The police captain strangely felt like calling out sick for work, but thought against it. He knew where she was staying. He would be getting her again. Sean watched her until he knew that she had made it safely inside before speeding off towards the crime scene that he was called in on.

~

“Our victim is a Jessie Batey. He was an accountant for a local charity organization. Same circumstances as before.” Nick explained, watching his captain step out onto the crime scene.

“Do we know how any of these victims were connected?” Sean inquired, watching the commotion around the scene.

“They all went to a Sirena show the night before their death.” Nick stated, and watched as Renard whipped his head around.

“Now we’ve already cleared her. But someone is using her shows as a hunting ground. We need to know why.” The detective explained as he watched the body closely.

“Yeah. We do. Let’s find it out and fast.” Sean walked back to the edge of the water to look closer over the scene, hoping to find something that he could use, but came up short. He did not know what he was missing, but it was really starting to bug him.

~

Stepping inside the club with her spare key, she knew that no one would be around quite yet. It was still pretty early in the day. Everything was still packed away from the night before, and her door appeared to her shortly. However when she tried the door, it was unlocked. That greatly confused her. She was sure that she had locked it last night when she left with the detective and blutbad.

Continuing inside, she took a quick surveillance of her room and rushed inside. Someone took the crystals from the bowl. No one on her staff for the staff here that would have a key to this place would do this. So why were they gone? Crouching, she looked around, hoping that she had just spilled them, but to no such avail.

There was a slight shift of fabric she heard that caught her attention. Her head shot up and her body followed as she watched a young man, no older than twenty-five stepped out from her dressing corner.

“Hello Sirena. I’ve been waiting for you.” He breathed out, apparently taken aback from being this close to the naiad. She was confused and said nothing out of shock.

“Oh,” he suddenly remembered something, “thank you for the gifts. I greatly appreciate it.” His hands dug around his pockets, and procured a small baggie that held the missing crystals in them.

“You stole my crystals?” Before she could have constructed a better response, the worlds stumbled out.

“No,” his face scrunched up, “I didn’t steal anything. You left them for me. You left them out so that I would know. It’s okay. I get it now.” He stepped closer to the young lady, but for every step he took forward, she took one back.

“I tried to get your attention before but it didn’t seem to be getting through. I thought certainly this latest attempt would get to you but that didn’t seem to do the trick.” With her back against the vanity table, she had very few places that she could go. Not even the door to the room was close enough that she could close the distance in time.

“You- you’re the one committing those murders? Why? I have never and will never want that for anyone to do on my behalf.” Her voice was raising in panic.

“But you would have never noticed me, or acknowledged our connection otherwise.” With no where to turn, she just had to accept him getting closer. Unlike with Sean, his touch made her cringe and turn away. This angered the man, which is when he grabbed her arms roughly and shook her.

“Why do you continue to deny me? I love you! I did this for you! And you act like you never tempted me, never showed me you loved me!” He screamed and yelled at her. Her cringing infuriated him further.

“You’re lucky we can’t do this yet. The moon will be full tonight, and then we can be together forever.” She could feel her heart beat out of her chest, and the fear freeze her blood. What he did not know, was that there was a phone on in her pocket. The volume was kept low so as to not alert him, but that was all she needed. She just needed someone to hear what she was hearing.

~

Sitting at his desk, with his head bowed over paper work, Sean tried to keep his mind on the cases that he had. All the press that these drownings were getting, and the media feeling to name him “The Willamette Crystal Drowner” did not help either. Hearing the shrill ring of his phone, he answered it when he saw her name pop up. He did not even know when she put her name in his phone, probably when he was getting ready for the day, but he was glad she did.

“Bonjour, Mon siréne. How are you?” Yet, there was no answer. The sound of rustling was all that greeted him.

“Siréne? Are you there?” He called yet again but no response. Sean was about to hang up and chalk it up to an accidental dial when he heard it.

“Oh, thank you for the gifts. I greatly appreciate it.” A man’s voice was heard faintly on the other end of the line.

“Darling?” But his call went unanswered.

“You stole my crystals?” Renard felt his breath speed up, but tried to calm himself down.

The more he listened, the angrier Sean got. Hearing the fear in his lover’s voice sent him into a fury that was kept underneath his calm and collected exterior. Picking up the landline in his office, he phoned the technical department.

“I need a location on a number, and I need it now.” He stated, in no mood to play any sort of games. Rattling off the number that the woman was calling him from, Sean felt the anxiety flow through him as he had to wait.

“It’s at a club on the corner of fifth and second, sir.” Mumbling a quick thank you, Renard hung up on the landline and grabbed his coat from his seat. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, he tried to listen and make sure that she was okay.

“You’ve were hanging around that police captain last night and today. Why?” The masculine voice questioned. Storming out of the office, he barely caught that Nick and Hank were saying something to him before he left.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She whimpered. Sean heard her throat tightening and hoped that he was not going to be too late.

“Yes! Yes, you do.” The man shouted. There was a clash of something being disturbed, and she let out a yelp.

“No matter. I’ll just make sure that he won’t bother us again.” Renard’s phone was pressed so hard into his cheek that he was afraid he was going to break it.

“Please, please don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him.” Her begs made the man that was with her chuckle.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not stupid enough to take out a police captain. However, I will guarantee that he won’t have you.” A sharp yell from her was broken by a thud, and then, silence. It was too quiet. Sean screamed her name, but received no reply. Footsteps got closer to the phone, some more rustling, and he heard his voice clearly.

“If you know what is good for her, you won’t contact her again captain Renard.”

The line went dead.

[svtminghaolove]

You’re having trouble sleeping - Hip hop unit (SVT)

Hello agaaaaain~ I finished this one pretty fast actually, was not expecting that but here it is (;

Triggers: Swears

S.Coups: School was freaking you the fuck out. It hadn't gone that well lately and basically your whole tuition was hanging on a test you had done a week ago, one that you was about 97% certain that you had failed. This had caused you to lay awake at night, all kinds of scenarios going through your head: What if you can't pay your rent? Would you have to drop out? Get another job? Return back home? It gave you no peace of mind and as soon as you closed your eyes you could feel the tears of stress burn behind your eyelids.

The fact that you hadn't been seeing Seungcheol for a while didn't really help either. He had been away for a few days for filming a music video and had even been hard to reach by phone. But today was the day he was coming back and he had planned to go straight to your place, but it was pretty late on a school night so he sent away a text to check first.

'Are you awake? Can I come over?'

'Yes. Please do.'

He frowned at your short answer, it wasn't rude or anything but it just sounded… weird, not like you would usually write to him.

He drove over to your place and was quick going up to your apartment door. He barely knocked two times before you opened the door, eyes red and lips dry. Your lips quivered as you set your eyes on Seungcheol and his eyes went wide.

"y/n, what happened? Are you okay?", you didn't answer him and just stepped out in the corridor, and leaned into his chest, letting silent tears fall. He almost found the silent tears more disturbing than if you had cried your heart out.

"… y/n?", he said softly as he put his arms around you and backed you into the apartment. "Hey babe, are you okay?", he closed the door behind him and you shook your head.

"I can't sleep", your voice was raspy and heavy. A voice that Seungcheol was very familiar with since he himself sounded like that from time to time.

"Want to talk about it?", you shook your head again, not even aware of the fact that Seungcheol was slowly backing you into the bedroom.

"Just… school is freaking me the fuck out", you whispered and he just hummed as an answer, the soft vibration from his chest making you close your eyes. You were by this point so out of reality and focused on him that you didn't realize that you were laying down until he pulled away.

"Where are you going?", you sat up as he stepped back.

"I'm just going to get ready for bed, I'll be quick", he said softly and kissed you on the temple before going into the bathroom for a few minutes.

You sat up in bed, listening to the water running until he came back. He gave you a soft smile when he saw you sitting on the bed, not saying anything as he climbed into bed next to you. He opened his arms and you laid down with your head resting on his chest. His heartbeat made everything around you just disappear and when he started humming it was like this was all that existed. The vibrations coated your skin and forced your muscles to relax.

"You know that I'll always be here right? If school is too much you can take a break.", he whispered but by that point you were already half way to dreamland.

Wonwoo: It had been two night without sleep, three days without sleep. You had a deadline for a writing project soon and where nowhere near done, which meant that you couldn't sleep but you needed to sleep but the work got you so stressed out so you couldn't. It was just… a mess, you were a mess all couped up in you study.

Since you didn't live with Wonwoo, he hadn't seen most of it and just thought that you were working, but when you didn't show up for a date the two of you had planned and only got a "sorry, work" as an explanation, he went to your place. He had the key so he just went inside, it was completely dark in the apartment, except from the small light coming from your study. He softly knocked on the door but when he got no response he opened.

"y/n?", you didn't answer but he saw you hunched over your desk, paper all over the floor and the laptop pushed to the side.

"y/n? Are you okay?", he went forward and put a hand on your shoulder, only to feel it shaking. "Are you crying? y/n, is everything alright?", he turned around your chair and you let out a sob as you leaned your forehead against his stomach.

"I can't write", you sobbed and he stoked your back, trying to size up the situation.

"Okay, let's take a break then.", you pulled back from him and brushed away the hair from your forehead. That was when he noticed the rings under your eyes were so dark they almost looked like bruises.

"I can't, I don't have the time.", he knelt down and pulled the chair closer when you tried to push away.

"When is the last time you slept?", you sighed.

"Don't you get it? I can't sleep! I don't have the time and if I try to sleep I just stress out of how little time I have and if I don't sleep I just sit here staring onto a empty screen waiting to be filled with ideas that I don't have!", the tears started to flow and you started to hiccup. He could barely keep up with your disarrayed thoughts and it hurt him to see you this way.

Wonwoo placed his arms around you and you laid yours around his neck, pressing your face into his shoulder.

"Come on, let's go to bed."

"I can't sleep", you hiccuped and he hummed as he carried you to the bedroom. On the way he picked up a random book laying on the shelf, and it unexpectedly turned out to be a children's book for one of your nieces or nephews.

"Alright, come here", he put you down on the bed, laying down next to you. You crawled up on his side and he turned on the reading light and opened the book.

"You're reading me a children's book?", you asked, slightly amused.

"Hush, just close your eyes and listen", he placed his free arm around you and you rested your head on his chest.

He began reading the book (mind you one that's meant for a three year old) and you closed your eyes. You listen to the combination of his heartbeat and his hushed voice and after a while your tears stopped flowing and the hiccup disappeared. You relaxed and your body molded itself to his and before you knew it, you fell asleep to your boyfriend reading a children's book to you.

Mingyu: It was the day before they were going away for a tour. Or well, the night before. He was leaving tomorrow night, when you were still asleep. It was the first time he was going on tour since the two of you got together and you just felt a bit unsettled, which made you unable to fall asleep. At first you had tried to fall asleep next to Mingyu but after about two hours you enough and quietly climbed out of bed and into the living room. You just sat down on the couch, staring out the window. There was a million thoughts going through your head at the same time as it felt like you were thinking about nothing.

"What are you doing awake?", Mingyu slumped down next to you in the couch, letting his head fall into your lap.

"Can't sleep", you were really tired to be honest.

"Why?", you went quiet for a moment at the question, just letting your fingers comb through his hair. He took your hand and pressed his lips to your palm. "y/n?"

"I don't know exactly why, I just feel… uneasy whenever I think of you going away on tour", he raised a brow and smiled.

"Because you'll miss me?", you rolled your eyes and lightly slapped his forehead.

"Yeah, I'll miss you", you sighed. "… A lot. I'll miss you a lot", you looked out the window again.

"I'll miss you too", he kissed your palm again. "We'll talk everyday, you can call me in the middle of the night if you have to", you shook your head.

"You won't forget me, right?", you joked, but even Mingyu knew that it wasn't completely meant as a joke.

"Never.", he said and sat up. "You're not really afraid of that are you?"

"… no. Yes?", you let out a dry laugh. "No. I know you won't forget me it's just… a weird thought. A what if thing that clung to me.", he placed his arms around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

"I love you, with my whole heart and if you ever leave me I would cry for ten years", you laughed and hugged him back. "I'll never forget you, I'll call you so much that you'll block my number."

"Okay", you closed your eyes, the sleepiness finally falling over you. "I love you too", you yawned and he pulled back.

"So, ready for sleep now?", you nodded and then the two of you went back to bed, limbs and all interwined.

Vernon: It was during a time that you had so much work and too few hours on the day, so you sleep was the first thing to go. At first it was only cutting back a few hours but when you realized that sleeping a few hours made you even more tired than not sleeping at all, well you stopped sleeping. And when you finally had the time to start sleeping again, your body just wouldn't let you. Every time you were about to fall asleep it was like a warning bell went off in you and you sat straight up in the bed.

Vernon, of course noticing your sudden movements happening multiple times, asked you what was going on but you had just brushed it off. But it was even more concerning when he realized that you stopped coming to bed at all.

One night he woke up in the middle of the night to what sounded like a pot hitting the floor. He figured out pretty quickly that it was you when you weren't in bed next to him, but he had no idea what you were doing in the kitchen at four in the morning.

"y/n?", he asked, voice raspy from sleep and hair all over the place as he walked into the kitchen to find you over the stove.

"Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?", you sounded completely exhausted and the smile on your face didn't hide the dark rings under your eyes.

"What you doing?", you turned back to the stove.

"Heating up some milk, you want some? It's my mom's secret recipe", you turned back to him with a smile. "It's cinnamon, the secret", he scoffed add walked over to you.

"Want to tell me?", your smiled dropped at his words.

"You noticed?", he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"Hard not to.", he softly squeezed you in his arms. "So, want to tell me?"

"… My body just jolts awake every time I'm about to sleep. It's like when you're deep asleep and the alarm rings in the morning, every time I try to sleep", you sighed and leaned back into him. You felt how everything just wanted to shut down and fall asleep but you just couldn't.

"Okay, let's watch a movie", you rolled your eyes but nodded.

You poured up two cups of the heated milk and went over to the couch where Vernon had piled up with pillows and blankets, holding out his arms to you. You sat down in his arms and he bundled up the two of you before taking his cup. You were half laying down in his arms, getting yourself comfy as he turned on the movie.

"The Grinch? Really?", you laughed and took a sip from your cup.

"You always manage to fall asleep to it on Christmas", you laughed and softly jabbed him with your elbow before getting cozy in his arms.

But Vernon was right, you always did fall asleep during The Grinch. And when he noticed your head starting to lull backwards he took the cup from your hands and placed it next to his on the small table next to the couch.

"Works like a charm", he smiled and carefully picked you up to carry you to bed.

-----

Masterlist

-----

Taglist: @foxdaisy @pearlygraysky @cixrosie @thmrdrs

[crazychaoticizzy]

hear me OUT

we have a nightmare and cant sleep and every noise startles us, so we text german!armin that we cant sleep and in not even 5 minutes later hes at our place helping us sleep (me last night fr)

armin helps you sleep

When you’re unable to go back to sleep after having a nightmare, you’re surprised that Armin comes to help you

ARMIN X READER

CONTENT: fluff, you’re unable to sleep, Armin is German, reader’s race isn’t specified but they know Spanish, I’m also fairly certain this is gender neutral? Not sure might have slipped a she or something somewhere lmk if I did, hints of insomnia if you look really really closely, this can be read as a part two to Google Translate, but it’s not necessarily

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

a/n: BCOQNPS YES OMG THIS IS SO CUTE IM LISTENING BRO

Masterlist

AOT Masterlist

You jump in your sleep, waking abruptly to find yourself still laying in your bed. You look around for a moment, assuring yourself that nothing seems amiss before exhaling and closing your eyes again.

You’re not entirely sure what you had dreamed about, but you knew it was enough to startle you. The dream disappeared almost as soon as you woke up, but it left behind a lingering feeling of somebody watching you…

The clock read 2:05 am. Too early for you to get up and start your day.

You tried falling back asleep, but you felt even more unsafe with your eyes closed. You wouldn’t be able to see if anyone came up on you…

You jumped slightly at the wind pushing a branch against your window. You let out a breath of relief when you realized it was nothing, attempting to fall back asleep.

Not even a minute later you heard scratching, which continued on for a few moments before you heard footsteps scampering away. A squirrel.

You needed to calm down. You’re getting in your own head and freaking yourself out. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest.

You decide to take a small walk around your apartment, getting out of bed and turning on the lights before pacing a few times. No more sounds were heard, and you had calmed down a bit so you decided to go back to sleep.

Upon getting comfortable, an airplane flew over your building, scaring the living daylights out of you. You let out an exasperated breath, laying on your back for a moment before grabbing your headphones.

You played an instrumental playlist you had, hoping it would calm you down and you could sleep again.

Except you kept pausing it every couple of seconds because you keep hearing noises.

You eventually decided to veto the music idea, putting your headphones back on your nightstand before checking the time.

2:57 am.

You had already been up for almost an hour worrying about nothing.

You grabbed the plastic bottle from your nightstand and drank, but that only woke you up more.

You definitely weren’t getting to sleep anytime soon.

You mindlessly began scrolling through TikTok, continuously sending your boyfriend the links to watch when he wakes up.

What completely slipped your mind was that he was the world’s lightest sleeper, and that your messages were the only ones that came through the do not disturb barrier he had on at all times.

You quickly opened his messages to apologize, forgetting what you were originally going to do as soon as the keyboard was staring at you.

Instead you went on a bit of a rant about why you were awake, adding in some lighthearted and friendly vocabulary to make it seem like it wasn’t a problem.

bro i had the wildest dream

i dont know what it was about but it was kinda scary ngl

i kinda forgot it when i woke up

anyways every sound has been scaring me for the past hour and i cant go back to sleep 🥲

it’s ok tho cause i dont have anything to do tomorrow

i think

maybe who knows

anyways i’ll leave you alone and let you sleep sorry about that

please go back to sleep dont worry about me

ily amor <3

You clicked off your phone, determined to no longer text Armin and bother the little sleep he gets.

Except not even five minutes later you heard the hinges on your front door creak, and soon after you saw Armin in your doorway.

He was still wearing his pajamas, a white T-shirt and black sweats, and he looked exhausted. You couldn’t see him well in the dim light of your room, but you could tell he was tired by his sluggish movements.

“Armin,” you said, sitting up. “I told you not to worry about it and go back to sleep.”

“No, it’s fine.” He yawned, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.”

He had a mild German accent during the day. You couldn’t hear it unless you were listening for it or he was speaking German, but now, while he was tired and delirious, it was much more prominent.

He took a couple steps to your bed, holding something out to you. “Here’s salt for your weird tradition thing.”

“It’s not weird,” you defended, taking the salt shaker from his hand. “Armin, go back home and sleep. I’m fine, I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He shook his head, humming. “Nope. I’m already here.”

“Then take my bed and sleep. I’ll go in the living room so you can rest without noise or disturbance. You sound tired.”

“I’m wide awake, mein Schatz. I’m not tired.” He yawned again, turning to walk out of your room. “I’m gonna make you tea.”

You sighed, removing the blankets from yourself and standing up to follow him into the hallway. “Armin, go to sleep. It’s obvious you’re tired, and you don’t get much sleep anyways. I don’t want to make you get less than you already do…”

He turned, suddenly wrapping his arms around you and lifting you up. He walked back to your room, ignoring your continuous protests. He laid you back down, hovering above you for a moment.

“I don’t mind not getting sleep if it’s because of you.” Looking at his face, he didn’t seem tired. His blue eyes were clear and wide open, but you could see the light circles under them from this close. “Du bist meine Liebe, und ich liebe dich mit meinen ganzen Wesen. Let me do this for you.”

Sometimes when he was tired he forgot words in English, so he spoke to you in German. You didn’t know what he was saying, and it often times didn’t matter since it was mostly babbles about how much he loved you, but you sometimes got the basic jist of it.

“I feel bad, though. You already don’t sleep great,” you said.

“And that’s okay. I want to do this for you, so let me.”

You stared at him for a moment, admiring the look he had in his eyes and the way his jaw was set.

“Fine. But promise you’ll lay down and get sleep after.”

He softly smiled at you. “I will, mein Schatz.”

He left a lingering kiss on your forehead before pushing himself up and leaving your room. You heard a few things knock together in the kitchen, and you let out an exasperated breath. You almost hated that he was always so willing to sacrifice his own well being for yours.

Armin was carrying a light blue mug when he came back. You sat up as he set it on your nightstand.

“Thank you,” you said. You grabbed his hand as he was pulling it away from the mug, leaving a soft kiss on his fingertips.

He smiled at you. “Did you eat some of your Voodoo-Zauber salt?”

“Amor, I swear to god it works and it’s normal.” You jokingly rolled your eyes, reaching for the salt shaker. “But no, not yet.”

Armin shrugged, climbing over you to lay down beside you. “I don’t know. I sounds like a quick way to get dehydrated.”

“You drink water with it, pendejo,” you joked, laughing as you poured a small amount of the fine white salt into your palm.

“How dare you call me a pendejo.” Armin laughed, moving under your blankets and wrapping an arm around your lap as you took the salt like a shot. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

You smiled as you brushed your hands together and reached for the mug on your nightstand. “You’re very pretty, too,” you replied before taking a sip of the lavender tea. You gently rubbed his arm while returning the cup to its position, readjusting yourself to lay down beside him.

He moved his arm to your waist, pulling you so you laid flush against him. He rested his head against your chest, breathing in your scent.

“Ich liebe dich.”

You smiled, kissing the top of his head. “Yo tambien te amo. Now go to sleep, okay?”

He nodded, softly kissing you. “You, too.”

You hummed, beginning to run your hands through his short blond hair to help him doze off. He did so quickly, his soft snores being the only sound filling the air.

You smiled, leaving a ghost of a kiss on his head so you didn’t wake him before allowing yourself to fall asleep as well.

this was such a cute idea thank you so much <33

also y’all, is the salt thing normal??? do other people like eat salt when they get startles or nervous to calm themselves down??? cause it’s something i do and only recently realized that no one i know does it

im also realizing my warnings for these things are getting a bit unhinged i apologize for that

anyways hope y’all enjoyed

-Izzy <3