#but I was thinking about my bag selection in general and remembered that I got that while out back in the fall

[white-weasel]

Just realized I have a little purse that looks like a cassette tape. Guess what’s gonna be part of the Saw XI movie fit?

[madelynraemunson]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 (𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲) 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐞 ✨ — a steve harrington one shot fic

modern!sperm donor!steve x modern!pregnant!fem!reader

Summary: It’s hard to find ‘forever’ in a world that glorifies hook-up culture. After multiple failed relationships, you start to believe that your dream of having a family someday will only be just that — a DREAM. That is until you stumble across The Baby Gate Foundation, a family planning organization that helps qualifying Strangers start families with one another.

disclaimers — fluff overload, strangers to friends to lovers, some angst, reader goes by “Honey”,

NSFW — very brief smut, p in v sex (unprotected), breeding kink, cream pie, soft!dom steve

word count — 6.0k words

“So… what’s your favorite color?”

It’s the most aggravating question to ask when wading in the Dating Pool — and unfortunately the most frequent. But you figure at least asking about Steve Harrington’s favorite color is a good ‘precursor question’ when trying to get to know him. After all, you are the one carrying his child.

“Cerulean,” the handsome stranger from across the table replies.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a type of blue.”

“You could’ve just said blue.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

You issue him a touché type nod as you gently place your folded hands over your growing bump…a bump that was a byproduct of an ordeal that he wasn’t even present to participate in.

Before you knew him as Steve Harrington, he was just Stranger #021 whose sperm donation gave you the gift of life. The gift of having a little one of your own.

And it was about time you started a family. It has been a dream of yours — once you bagged your dream job and got to travel the world — to get married and have kids. But apparently the person you spent 6 years with did not share that dream, despite having told you he did in the beginning stages of your partnership.

Are you crazy? How dare you think your ex wanted a family after he explicitly told you he wanted you to marry him and have his kids? Silly lady. You actually thought he meant what he said.

And Steve Harrington’s baby daddy application seemed impossible to resist. The Baby Gate Foundation disclosed to you that Stranger #021 has no physical ailments, was a star athlete in high school, isn’t a carrier for any chronic illnesses, and passed a mental health and drug clearance.

Your baby is very likely to come out healthy and, now that you’ve gotten a good general idea of the guy, will hopefully inherit Steve’s luscious chestnut brown hair, his radiant smile, sparkling eyes, and kind nature. A healthy baby. A healthy family. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Your stomach feeling okay?” Steve inquires.

“Yeah,” you smile. “I just like touching it sometimes. It still doesn’t feel real.”

When selected, Steve jumped for joy. And you bet he started doing cartwheels when your pregnancy test came out positive. My dick still works! he remembers saying.

Having been a foster parent to many teenagers in the past, Steve also felt ready to have a kid of his own. But then his first long term girlfriend of three years cheated on him, and then his next long term girlfriend left him when she realized a family with him was not what she wanted. Steve was practically on the same boat as you. And the stars aligned…

“So I was thinking…when you’re in what’s considered a ‘safe’ point in your pregnancy, say second trimester… we can do cute pregnancy announcements,” Steve suggests.

Your eyes glimmer at the thought.

“As coparents of course!” Steve makes sure to add. “A-and then we can have a gender reveal. We can choose the theme and ideas for it later but I’m just thinking of an intimate cake cutting thing….pink frosting, obviously for girl…”

“And cerulean for boy,” you smirk at him, finishing his thought.

He chuckles at your comment. “Yes, cerulean for boy.”

You two then begin to brainstorm the minor details. Signing up for parenting classes. Check-up appointments. Your baby registry. Ironing out the details so that you both can relish in the pregnancy as much as possible.

When you’re done, Steve then pays for your lunch and you two go separate ways. But not before a long, grateful hug.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his ear. “You’ve made my dream come true.”

“I am just as indebted,” Steve insists, giving your back a loving rub. “I’ve always wanted to be a father.”

You decide to not let go until Steve breaks the hug. But little did you know that was Steve’s plan too. So you both stand there, in the middle of the mall food court swaying back and forth, waiting patiently for the other to let go because to be honest, you never know what a simple ‘I see you’ hug can do for somebody.

Finally, Steve pulls away.

“Listen, uh, Honey,” he says. “I hope this doesn’t sound weird because technically we don’t really know each other…but I already care about you so deeply. You’re the mother of my child. I want to be as involved as possible.”

“I care about you too Steve,” you beam at him. “And I feel like our healing journeys are coming to an end. I’m so excited to come together with another person who has the same goals in life.”

And that is all that’s said during that exchange. You hope that throughout your pregnancy, you and Steve can have more coparent dates to really get to know each other. You love that he feels safe and trustworthy, willing to put his all into the child that he, and many many medical experts helped you create. And you hope that as your baby grows up, you will find a lifelong partner like Steve someday.

“So how’d it go?”

You’re over at your best friend, Eddie’s apartment talking to him about your day. Eddie has been your best friend since middle school, bearing witness to every wonderful milestone — and tragedy — that has plagued your life ever since. Your decision to become a mother on your own, and coparenting with a stranger is no exception.

“I like him!” you exclaim. “He’s very sweet.”

“Do you trust him as your Baby Daddy?”

“If I didn’t, it’d be a little too late for that I’m afraid.”

Eddie would’ve been more than happy to be your donor, and without a doubt, you’d trust him in being fully present in the child’s life. However Eddie comes from a home with a turbulent family dynamic, and unfortunately is a carrier of the addiction gene along with many other illnesses. Eddie didn’t want to risk doing that to you or your family. So it works out that he and his boyfriend Henry are the ‘Fun Uncles’ or as he calls them “Funcles” instead, and Steve is the dad.

“But yeah I like Steve,” you circle back. “He’s funny, sweet, looks like he takes care of himself. Even paid for my food. Oh, and as a bonus, he uses big words.”

Eddie snorts as he strides over to the fridge. “He uses big words.”

“Yeah, like cerulean.”

Your bestie cocks an eyebrow and smirks at you. “What’s that?”

“It’s a type of blue,” you smirk back at him.

He releases a theatrical gasp. “Ground-breaking.”

Your banter is cut short when Eddie’s partner Henry walks through the door.

“Hello, hello.”

“Hey, Henry!”

You watch as the quiet, tall blonde dressed in dark-denim-tailored-to-fit struts in with a grocery bag, closing the door behind him with his foot.

“Hi, darlings.”

“Funcle Number Two,” Eddie greets his partner.

“I thought I was Number One.”

“You are,” Eddie shrugs. “In my heart. If you have an issue with your title and rank, I’d talk it up with Honey.”

“You can be Number One,” you grant him permission, eliciting a betrayed gasp from Eddie.

“Thank you, Honey,” Henry smirks, shooting a sassy look at Eddie.

Eddie issues a sour variation of that smirk to Henry, only to be met with a rough nudge to the ribcage. The two black cats then assemble to unload the groceries, all while focusing their attention back to you, their appointed ‘golden retriever’ of the bunch.

“Speaking of titles,” Henry adds. “How was your meeting with Daddy Steve?”

“It was wonderful,” you respond. “Was just telling Eddie how much I like him.”

Henry grimaces, understandably so. Your taste and judgment in men throughout the years have been nothing short of concerning. But because you didn’t willingly seek Steve out on a shady online dating app, at a dive bar at 2 AM, or on the dance floor of a sweaty small town nightclub, you figured you were in the clear.

“We’re gonna make it work no matter what,” you insist to your seemingly doubtful friends. “Even if there are discrepancies, we agreed it’s our kid before anything. And I’m ready. I told you guys myself that if I don't meet the love of my life by the time I'm 29, I'm having a baby by myself."

Aside from the two "Funcles", you have been the only consistent person in your life. And in this day and age, two people don't need to 'be together' to bring life into this world. And even if they are together, it’s not a happy home sometimes.

All that matters in this arrangement is that both of Baby Harrington’s parents are involved. That was Steve's promise to you.

Let's just hope he keeps it.

“That’s the head… and those…are your baby’s feet.”

You and Steve watch the monitor in awe as the sonographer scans your belly. You are now 20 weeks along, and doing a routine ultrasound check up.

First trimester was a nightmare. Constant nausea and vomiting so you’re not even sure that you’re stomaching those pre-natals, intense mood swings, and breast tenderness so bad you essentially begged Steve to just chop your tits off.

Regardless, you are healthy, and the baby is healthy. And now your camera roll is filled with pictures and videos of every frame of every ultrasound you get done, as well as audio recordings of Baby Harrington’s heartbeat. You and Steve even share your content amongst each other, just in case the other missed something that the other captured. It’s a wholesome exchange, really.

“Baby’s kicking a lot. Almost looks like they’re swimming in place,” the tech comments.

“I did swim and water polo in high school, could be why,” Steve explains.

You bat your eyes in adoration at your friend. He gives you a warm look back.

“Just like Daddy,” you say. And then Steve rests his palm atop your hand.

For the first time in a long time, everything feels complete.

“So, would you like to know the gender?” the sonographer inquires.

Immediately you and Steve bombard her with anxious-filled “No no no no”s. You decided to go with the cake gender reveal idea, and Henry and Eddie were in charge of having it made.

“We’d like for it to be a surprise,” Steve smiles. “But we sure would like an envelope with the gender in it. Honey’s gonna give it to her friends to give the baker.”

“Sounds like a plan to me!” the tech grins widely. “I will have it printed out for you shortly.”

She wipes your belly down so that there is no more ultrasound jelly on your stomach before leaving. Meanwhile, you and Steve are absolutely giddy. You are now halfway through your pregnancy and couldn’t wait to hold Baby Harrington in your arms.

But as exciting as everything is, it is also anxiety-inducing. No parenting book could ever prepare you for bringing a kid into the world. There was so much more that needed to be done. So much to do. And it seems like there was so very little time to do it.

Steve has another question for you. “When does the baby usually wake you up?”

“Baby’s a night owl, strangely,” you reply. “I’ll feel some moving and stuff at night.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head in thought.

“Man, I hope kid doesn’t wake you up at night too much when they’re born. That’d be god awful.”

“I know, I’ve been thinking of that too,” you groan. “And all the diaper changes I’ll probably have to do before putting them back to sleep. Ugh, I don’t even wanna think about diapers.”

You didn’t want to think about post-partum shit. So far, you’ve only been focused on pregnancy shit, and that shit is already overwhelming. While you seem well-equipped for pregnancy itself, the thought of actually being a fully-functioning parenting unit alongside Steve brings on a new set of fear.

Suddenly you and Steve look up at each other.

“Oh shit!” you shriek. “A crib! We need a crib! A stroller.”

“And a whole nursery,” he gulps. “And a baby monitor… A swaddle! A carrier!”

———

You and Steve are moved in together by the end of the month. Platonically, of course. With a capital P.

You both figured that raising the baby under one roof would be the healthiest way to approach your parenting situation. Both of you already get along really well and have similar communication styles. You two also have the same expectations from each other. And not every child is blessed with two parents living together in a happy home. It’s a luxury you both refused to take for granted.

So eventually the non-traditional-housewarming-slash-baby-shower-party rolls around, in efforts to help prepare for Baby Harrington’s arrival. It ends up being a huge success. Additionally, the party gave everyone a chance to mingle with one another, your friends meeting Steve’s friends and jokingly calling each other "in-laws". Robin and Eddie immediately grow very fond of each other, having deemed each other best friends after their third time meeting.

“How long do you give it?” Robin asks Eddie as they watch you and Steve work together to build the crib. “You know till they…”

They observe as you and Steve bicker back and forth about whether or not a section of the crib was installed the wrong way. You argue that it was, and Steve, still firm in his masculinity that he felt like was slowly chipping away (he can’t help it sometimes) insisted that it wasn’t.

“I know how to read, Honey. And besides, if it’s the wrong part, how did I screw it on perfectly?”

“I don’t know, Bob the Builder,” you fire back at him. “You didn’t have to 'screw it on perfectly' to get me pregnant.”

“Til that baby is born,” Eddie estimates.

Eddie chuckles at this. He’s been with Henry for many years, but you two have beat him at the argue-like-a-married couple thing. Slyly, he sips his beer.

“…The very latest.”

“Steve, I’m hungry. Wanna go to Rally’s?”

The cravings have officially kicked in (finally). But of course, it’s at the least convenient of times.

“Woman, it is 1 in the morning...”

“Yes, and I want Rally’s.”

You give Steve a light thunk on his fluffy head.

Now that you two live together, sleeping in the same bed was bound to happen eventually. But it is the least of your concerns. In a world where people go ‘ghost’ after getting what they want, laying your head down in the same bed as Steve is the farthest thing from intimacy. You’re also afraid of the dark, and being in his light calms your nerves.

Except for tonight. Where the only thing that’ll calm those nerves is a Wild West burger and some fries.

Steve huffs, clearly too tired to argue with your hungry ass. But also, you’re the mother of his child. You have the hardest job, and having a late night snack when you felt like it is the bare minimum of what you deserve.

“Let’s go.”

You smirk to yourself as you dance your way out of bed. Anything Baby Mama wants, Baby Mama gets.

Rally’s sure did the trick. When you and Steve return, you find yourself skipping back to the bedroom while Harrington fights to urge to plop onto the floor right by the entry way, his body’s natural response to a food coma, and the state of lethargy he was in from being stirred awake.

But as much as he valued his beauty sleep, he knows deep down he’d still do it again for you. Your little food dance was also pretty damn cute, anyways.

———

THE NEXT WEEK

You and Steve have been ordering way too much takeout. So tonight you decide to surprise him with a home-cooked meal. So while he’s at work, you’re searching Pinterest for healthy, savory dishes to cook. Chinese food it is. One can never go wrong with some chicken fried rice.

Steve comes home right when you finish.

“Oh my god,” Steve gawks as he enters the kitchen. “What smells so damn good?”

“I made dinner,” you smile gleefully, and with pride. “I have so much energy second trimester it’s insane. Hope you like Chinese.”

Steve slows down. Glancing around the chaotic kitchen, he takes in the array of sauces, the cutting board, and the multiple plates and bowls that most likely harbored the. Then he looks at you — a sweaty mess with stains on her apron from all the rice tossing. And he can tell, by your slightly labored breathing, that you’re gathering up all the energy you possibly can to powerwash all the dishes.

“You…made this for me?”

“Yeah! For us, actually. And the baby. I hope you’re okay with onions and scallions.”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine with those,” he insists. “It’s just that…I have a date tonight.”

Suddenly the pots and pans feel so much heavier. The air, hotter. The onions, stronger judging by how tears start pooling at the base of your eyes. At least you want to blame it on those.

“Oh,” you sniff.

“I’m so sorry, Honey. I should’ve told you so you didn’t have to go out of your way.”

“It’s fine.”

Why do you feel this way? It’s not like you two are together anyway. This pregnancy is a partnership… platonic with a capital P. So why are you upset? And more importantly, why are you jealous?

“I-I’m sorry…” Steve panics. “I-it’s just that we’ve been getting takeout all week and I thought it’d be the same toni-”

“It’s okay, Steve.”

“That came out so bad, I…”

“I know what you mean,” you shake your head shutting him down immediately. “Have fun tonight, okay?”

“You’re crying…”

“I was chopping onions,” you point out.

You nod to the bag of onions that were yet to be put away. There was a lot left to be put away actually, and you were kind of hoping Steve would help. But clearly he’s a busy man.

“And it’s probably just the stupid pregnancy hormones too,” you add.

“They’re NOT stupid,” Steve insists. “And you just said you have so much energy. You were bursting with light just a moment ago…before I killed it.”

“Have fun tonight, Steve,” you repeat.

You head over to the wok and scoop out a serving for two: one serving for you, and one for the baby. Dad will get the leftovers, you suppose.

Steve watches you intently. You can feel his stare even with your back turned. Suddenly, you hear the faint dial tone of his cell phone ringing a couple of times before someone answers.

“Hey…Lacey, I can’t come tonight,” Steve sighs. “I’m really sorry for being so last minute. A family emergency came up.”

You look back over at him. He makes sure to look you in the eyes as he says ‘family’.

The two of them talk some more before Steve hangs up the phone. Awkwardly now, you chew softly at the rice you made.

“Well she definitely hates me,” Steve chuckles. “But I don’t care.”

“Steve…” you speak. “You didn’t have to.”

“You’re carrying my kid,” Steve looks at you with glimmering eyes. “I can’t be running through the town in the arms of another woman. This pregnancy is a team effort.”

He glides over you and stops right where your hips meet. You timidly manage to look up at him, tear-jerked, all sweaty, and very very pregnant. And after Steve tucks a loose strand of hair behind the blushing cartilage of your ear, he presses his tender lips against your forehead.

“For the baby,” he whispers to you.

“For the baby,” you repeat after him.

The day is here.

The gender reveal, that is. You didn’t expect finding out something as simple as having a boy or girl was going to be this nerve wracking. And to think some people do this in front of a huge audience.

“Okay…” you exhale unevenly. “You ready?”

“Only if you are,” Steve nods, but his trembling hands betray him.

“Hand me a glass.”

Steve hands you one of the two wine glasses you brought for the intimate picnic you had planned for today. On the count of three, you two were to dig those very glasses into the cake and scoop out the long awaited answer.

SWEET CHILD O MINE, the cake reads. Boy or girl?

Henry and Eddie settled for a Rock-N-Roll inspired cake, with self-indulgent black and red buttercream on the outside, and the pre-determined blue or pink on the inside. You were afraid that it was going to be a little too edgy for Steve, but he assures you the aesthetic of a cake is the least of his priorities.

Drawing out an uneven breath now, you decide to start counting down.

“One…” you gulp.

“Two…” Steve joins in.

But you can't bring yourself to say ‘three’. Shutting your eyes closed in a bout of nervousness, you mutter softly,

"Two and a half..."

It earns you a chuckle from Steve. Knowing just how to calm you down, like he had been doing all pregnancy, he offers you his available hand to squeeze if you needed.

“Three!” you two finally say together.

Plunging your wine glasses into the cake, you and Steve gather one big scoop each while your eyes drift elsewhere.

“I can’t look,” you choke, sniffing back a tear or two.

“I can’t either,” Steve exhales, evidently nervous. “You can look first though.”

“No, I’ll look when you do.”

You’re met with messy dough and frosting in the glass at first. But after trailing after the inside part of the cake, you catch sight of the fluffy frosting that was buried beneath. A bright, eye-catching, pastel....

...cerulean blue. A baby boy.

“Oh…my…god,” your hand trembles in complete shock. “It’s a boy…”

“Oh my god, baby!” Steve sniffs going in to hug you. “We’re having a boy…”

And then it happens. Unable to contain himself from his joy any longer, Steve cups your face with his frosting-laced fingers, connecting his lips passionately to yours, and you with him.

It’s the best day of Steve’s life. You are the reason that he gets to live out his dream of becoming a dad. And now that you two are having a son, all he can imagine is teaching the kid how to throw a football in the backyard, signing him up for T-Ball and Boy Scouts (just like his dad once did with him), and taking him and his buddies out on silly, fun-filled rag-tag group adventures.

And knowing how strange and daunting the world can be, Steve already maps out how to raise your child morally, encouraging him to always treat others with kindness, to be a friend to all, to always lend a helping hand whenever the situation calls on it. And to respect women…because after all, everybody came from one. And Steve knows that he struck gold, considering the fact that he views you as an absolute queen.

You kiss King Steve back, humming in awe because of how natural his energy feels against yours.

It all feels very natural. Makes you feel like you’ve known him your entire life.

Your eyes widen in shock as you two look at each other, both stunned that a kiss was both of your initial, seemingly ‘platonic’, response to the news.

"Is it just me or is it just now hitting?" Steve questions. "We're having a kid together."

"It's just now hitting me too," you agree, the double meaning tugging aggressively at your heartstrings. "We're really doing this, Stevie."

“Our son.”

“Our son.”

———

“What happens when one of us finds somebody?”

It’s a talk you and Steve were due for eventually. But Steve is just as unsure, looking over at your pregnant silhouette standing at the foot of the doorway.

But with how beautiful you looked standing at the doorway, your silk, maternity night gown hugging all the beautiful curves of your body while you rubbed your belly that housed your very active kicker, Steve wasn’t even sure if he’d ever want to find somebody else.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he ends up saying.

He makes his way over to you, wrapping his gentle arms around your waistline, emitting his ever-growing love for you and the baby you two share.

“But if one thing's for sure, it's our son. Baby Harrington first. Before anything.”

“Baby before anything," you repeat the promise.

Steve’s lips graze your skin once again, an invitation and incentive to join him in bed — nuzzled up in the sheets and his warmth — so the two of you can soak in all the rest you possibly can before Baby Boy makes his entrance into the world.

Some bridges aren’t meant for crossing. Sometimes settling is the best option. And you don’t mind settling down. Because here, in Steve’s arms, it feels like home.

WEEK 38

An involuntary rush in your lower extremity stirs you awake. When you feel around to push the sheets aside and hobble to the bathroom, you’re stunned to discover your nightgown had become a raft, and that you’re laying atop your own unscented secretions. And you know it’s not piss. So if you didn’t pee…

Oh no, it’s happening.

You begin to panic.

“Steve!” you hiss, sitting up and pushing your partner awake. “HEY! Harrington!”

“Huh?” Steve mumbles, still half asleep.

“Get the hospital bag.”

“What?”

“Get the hospital bag, dingus. My water just broke.”

He shoots up. Still relatively disoriented, but now also horrified.

“W-what? Are you sure?! Does this… A-are you about to…”

“Yes! Grab the bag and start the car. He’s coming RIGHT NOW.”

While you slowly sit up to get your shoes and a robe on, Steve scurries to the car with your overnight L&D bag and purse in his arms. You reach over to grab your phone and charger, dialing up Eddie in the process.

It rings for a long time before he picks up.

“Honey, it’s 4 AM, what do you want?” Eddie grumbles.

“It’s time, Eds,” you sniff happily. “The baby is coming.”

The line is silent for a couple seconds, and for a while it’s like you can hear Eddie connecting the dots in his head. Alas, he speaks.

“HO-LY SHIT!”

*Click*. The line disconnects.

Steve holds your hand through it all. From checking into Labor and Delivery, to moving to your room, to breathing exercises with your bedside doula, check-ins with your midwife, and throughout the entire birthing process.

Not only is he nervous out of his mind, but he thinks you’re so beautiful.

"You know," Steve says in attempts to soothe you. "When I came out the womb, the nurse yelled "Oh my gosh! That's a lot of hair on a baby!"

You're too fixated on your breathing exercises to fully appreciate Steve's story. But you understand his sweet gesture, so you stroke his thumb with your thumb to let him know you're listening.

“I guess I had double the amount of hair than a usual newborn,” he continues. “And all the nurses were crowding around to get a good— OW OW OW! Watch the hand, watch the hand.”

The sudden level 9 contraction that shot through your entire stomach, causing you to scream in agony and beg for the epidural.

"JESUS, FUCK GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME!" you plead desperately.

Steve kisses you softly on the forehead before going in to stroke your, very sweaty, hair. He was not going to leave your side. Not now, not ever. This baby — and you — are the best things to ever happen to him.

Thanks to yours and Steve's mindful prep, the birthing process was a smooth one compared to others.

But still pretty painful, nonetheless. For you, for Steve, for everybody involved.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," Eddie sputters as he and Henry rush onto the unit with the baby's carseat and other miscellaneous belongings in their hands. "It's happening, it's happening. He's almost here!"

"I wonder," Henry pants, doing his best to keep up with his boyfriend. "If she experienced the Ring of Fire yet."

"What's the Ring of Fire?" Eddie questions him.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" your tumultuous screams sound down the hall directly from your room. Anyone would've thought someone was getting murdered in there, had it not been a hospital unit strictly for childbirth.

"That," Henry answers him.

---

"You're almost there, baby," Steve encourages you. "Keep pushing."

The epidural had finally kicked in and now all you had to focus on was pushing.

“I see the head, Mama,” your midwife announces, rubbing your knee as you’re struggling to push. “Keep going, keep going! Couple more for me.”

“FUCK!” you cry out doing your best to contract those muscles.

“There we go…” Steve soothes you as he strokes your hair. “Doing AMAZING, baby. That’s it…”

He strokes your thumb with his, a helpless look in his eyes as he watches you struggle. It’s clear that Steve doesn’t know what else he could possibly do for you, but he attempts to mask that belief. He couldn’t wait to spoil you afterwards. It’s what you deserve.

“Few more pushes, Honey,” your nurse says again. “He’s almost out. We got his shoulders now.”

“Oh god I’m gonna faint,” Steve says, evidently growing dizzy.

“Can someone get a wet towel for Dad?!” another nurse calls out. “And maybe some juice?”

“PUSH, PUSH!”

“PUSH, Honey!”

“ALMOST THERE, MAMA!”

“I can’t,” you cry out. “I can’t anymore.”

“You can do it, baby,” Steve encourages you, pelting the back of your hand with endearing kisses. “You’re doing such a good job, I’m so proud of you…”

Before you know it, the air of the hospital room fills with tiny belted cries, followed by relieved and adorn coos as the nurse catches your baby.

“0507, time of birth!"

“Oh my god,” Steve wails in excitement. “Oh my god, he’s here he’s out. We have a baby! You did it, Honey!”

Too exhausted to say anything you simply fall back, taking a few deep breaths in relief. It’s over, the baby is here. And he is healthy.

You feel a sloppy kiss land on your cheek. Steve ruffles your hair when you look his way.

“You did it, Honey.”

Everything happens so fast after that.

From what you hear, Steve was the one who cut the umbilical cord — and he was very adamant about having the pictures to prove it. The baby was then weighed and bathed, all the hospital data was gathered with permission granted by Steve.

And soon, after an eternity, your son is swaddled and soon returned back to you and ‘Dad’.

"Oh wow!" a nurse remarks. "This baby has a whole lotta hair!"

You and Steve immediately look to each other and burst out laughing. Just like his Daddy...

———

“How does that feel, Steve?” you ask him, eyes fixated on the absolute DILF in front of you.

“Amazing,” he coos. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

When all needs were attended to, it was finally time for ‘skin to skin’. You didn’t think it’d be possible to be both sexy and wholesome at the same time — until you saw Steve cradling your newborn, pressing him tenderly against his exposed chest so that their hearts can beat as one.

“Hi little man,” he sniffs. “I’m your daddy.”

A single tear falls from his face and splashes onto the blanket that your son was cocooned in. Steve pulls him in closer and kisses him softly on the forehead.

“I’m your daddy,” he repeats.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted. Steve’s legacy is about to begin and it’s all thanks to you. And from your hospital bed as you recover, you are able to snap some pictures of the two loves of your life, the first photos of many, of the family photo albums.

“Ugh, when did Steve get so hairy?” Lucas wonders as he sneaks a gaze into the hospital room.

“Right?” Dustin agrees, joining him beside the doorway. “I told him he needs to tame that jungle but he claims the ladies dig it.”

“I mean, look at Honey,” Lucas points out. She seems to like it and Steve knocked her up.”

“True but it wasn’t organic, you idiot,” Max mutters.

Love pours in from every wing of the unit. Soon all your family and friends start to arrive, as well as Steve’s family and friends. You’re spoiled with ‘congratulations’ signs, and postpartum care packages, and an array of foods that you couldn’t eat while pregnant (i.e. sushi, deli sandwiches).

And with your approval, Steve comes out of the hospital room, ready — and proud — to showcase your baby to the entire world.

“Everyone, there’s someone we’d like for you to meet,” Steve says, keeping his voice at a low murmur. “This is Benjamin Dean Harrington. Benny for short.”

You and Steve end up taking parental leave at the same time.

Your entire day-to-day consists of loving on and spending quality time with Benny. The diaper changes, the cuddles, the nursery rhymes, and everything in between. It’s impossible to think you’ll ever get tired of it. You and Steve have officially transitioned to Mom & Dad Mode.

Until Benny goes to sleep.

As the golden sun peaks in through the cream colored blinds, you feel Steve’s hand trail down your back and down to your ass to grab it. Releasing a soft moan, you lean into his touch, shifting your weight to one side of the mattress.

“Baby…” he moans into you.

“Should we?” your eyes twinkle. “The baby’s asleep…”

He chuckles into your neck, raspy voice sure to be the end of you if he kept teasing you any longer.

“‘m scared I’ll hurt you.”

“I’ll let you know,” you barter. “I feel ready.”

———

“Fuck, right there, Steve…”

You grip the sheets tightly as Steve rolls his hips into you, his strokes a delicious mix of pleasure and a challenging stretch. And as you bite into your pillow, your eyes rolling up towards the sky, he maintains the pace you love so much, drilling you in, simultaneously massaging your clit while his quenched lips tenderly suction themselves to the crook of you neck.

It’s your first time together, but it feels like you two have done this before. Your bodies are naturally in sync, knowing where your boundaries lie without needing any cues, and knowing exactly how far you both can take it. Daddy Steve, being the gentleman he is, has your entire body mapped out.

“God I love it,” your overstimulated self whimpers, chest to your chin, ankles dangling off of Steve’s broad shoulders as he rails you.

“Oh, I bet you do, Honey.”

His large hand encloses around your neck, thumb hovering over your lips as he fawns over your mewling, vulnerable body.

“You want my cum, baby?” Steve asks. “Want me to fill you to the brim huh? You wanna have my babies?”

“Yes, I want your babies, Steve,” you moan. “Want all of them.”

And as an orgasm spills out of you, Steve’s spills in, coating you with his warm release as you both unravel in the sheets.

“Holy shit, that felt so good,” you whisper, nuzzling your head against his chest. Steve grins from ear to ear when you kiss him on the chin. “Thank you for making me feel so safe and loved.”

“Well when you’re you Honey, you make it so easy,” he blushes.

Steve rests his hands on your ass again, giving it a faint smack. You bite your lip as he pulls you even closer to him. And as the sun sets, you know round two is on the horizon.

“Anyways, when ARE we having another one?”

———

author’s note: i’m noticing some themes with the way i write eddie smut vs steve smut. i totally write eddie as a rough dom and steve is def a soft dom. not complaining tho, those are my headcannons for them 🤭

divider creds: @silkholland , @elfbar-baby

[artsekey]

Procreate Dreams

I've been playing around in Procreate Dreams for about a week or so now, and I think I've got enough of a handle on the software to offer a fair review! If you're interested in hearing my thoughts, click the read-more below.

A little context before we get started; I have two degrees in animation, but they're both in 3D. My personal specialty is tech and articulation/rigging, but I think my background puts me in a unique position with Procreate Dreams; I know all of the theory behind animation, but I'm not going into Procreate Dreams and comparing it to a professional-grade software I generally prefer to use (like Toon Boom Harmony, for example).

So, let's get into it!

First Impressions

I hated it. I opened the software, it crashed. I couldn't figure out how to enable onion skins. I couldn't increase or decrease the exposure of my frames. I couldn't figure out how to swap to the eraser. I was confused, I was frustrated, and then I realized that I was expecting to jump in and animate without taking the time to learn the software first.

Once I stopped trying to strong-arm it and started looking up documentation, things got a little easier.

Re-Thinking My Approach

Procreate Dreams isn't comparable to any other animation software I've used before. The UI is different, there's a focus on gesture over buttons, and everything about it is meant to be minimalistic. None of this reflects poorly on the program, in my opinion. It's different. You can't go to Procreate Dreams and get mad at it for not being like the other software out there in terms of how it's used. In fact, I think one area of Dreams that should be applauded is the sheer ambition on display. It's a hybrid of traditional frame-by-frame animation and offers a slimmed down version of some of After Effects' most useful compositing & motion graphics tools. That's just plain cool.

The Good

For those of you who've used Procreate Dreams, you may find it's a little... difficult to see all the good it has to offer through the muddied waters it's launch-day bugs kicked up, but under all the grime, there's a little bit of gold.

Dreams is a one time, $20 USD purchase. That's huge in terms of affordability and accessibility in the software market right now.

The "Perform" option is great, and I think we'll see the longer that it's out, the more creative people are going to get in using it. I've already seen people create gorgeous parallax on their illustrations.

Simple compatibility with Procreate is a huge win. I'm finding my pipeline uses both software together.

The UI is a mixed bag overall, but I find the ability to move between flipnote mode and timeline mode to be great. It keeps the screen free, but I can still access the features I need while doing frame-by-frame.

The move/filters option is a great way to add a little compositing magic to your work.

The Bad

The "bad" here exclusively covers issues with the software as intended. Bugs will be covered under "The Ugly" below.

The lack of a lasso tool is a huge setback. I've seen people saying that it doesn't make sense not to have that feature at launch, especially when it's part of Procreate, but I understand why it may have been difficult to implement in conjunction with the move/perform/warp options. If you save a warp on top of an illustration, then cut and move part of the drawing, how is the warp/local translation data applied to that image? Does the pixel remember it's movement, or is it applied on top of the drawing? There's a lot to consider.

Similarly, the "reference" tool in Procreate would be an excellent tool to add color to layers beneath current layers. "Add Reference Track" would be great! That said, I think this conflicts with the move/warp tools like the above.

The timeline is a time sink. I should be able to adjust the exposure of my frames easily and consistently. As of right now, I have an 80-20 shot of selecting my layer or grabbing the handle for exposure. A small button on the edge of each frame (like a dot) would improve this considerably.

As far as I can tell, you can't mask a group onto another group.

No double-tap on the Apple Pencil 2 to swap to the eraser. This one I'm not sure about; it runs in Procreate, it seems simple to implement here... though it'd be great to see it customizable.

The Ugly

This includes bugs and other issues that are separate from the features (or lack thereof) of Procreate Dreams.

Crashes are frequent. I haven't used the software reliably during any of my sessions so far, but Dreams' autosave feature is extremely strong and very forgiving, so I have lost no work.

My pen pressure become erratic at times, necessitating a restart of the software.

Sometimes my pen will stop working, though other features in the app will continue to run.

The good news is, I think that Dreams is overall a huge win for artists and animators worldwide. Everything that's not working about Dreams will hopefully be resolved in future updates. I'd encourage anyone who wants to try animating for the first time to pick it up-- with the understanding it might take some time to get used to/master.

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 12)

Chapter 11 took me SO long to write, so I was relieved you all liked it (minus the cliffhanger).

Originally as I was writing Chapter 12, I planned to give you the entirety of this next “piece” of the story. As I started fleshing things out though, this chapter got incredibly long, and editing it has been a beast. I’m leaving to go out of town for a few days and have decided to split Chapter 12 into two or three smaller pieces. I’m hoping to feed you at least one more piece before I leave, but I can't promise anything.

Anyways, we’re super close to the end. Thank you soooo much for the comments. They FUEL me.

Although her current accommodations really are quite nice, Scully has been restless since arriving on the property. A combination of shock and sedation has made the past twelve hours a blur. She keeps remembering things in bits and pieces—seeing Skinner and the Gunmen appear at her bedside; listening as Skinner spoke to the woman in the hospital room, then the guard; leaving the hospital facility as a free woman, Byers pushing her in a wheelchair down a well-lit corridor. In fragments, she recalls a long van ride, awakening to a raging pain in her shoulder that Frohike promptly medicated with something over-the-counter.

The rest is lost to her.

When she wakes up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, she tamps down her initial panic by reminding herself that she is with trusted friends, that people who care about her have brought her here. Her shoulder aches badly but her mind is alert. There’s a plate of toast and a glass of water sitting on her bedside table, and she forces herself to sip at the water. A shopping bag sits beside the bed, and she rifles through it to find an interesting selection of generic women’s clothing and toiletries. She wonders who did the shopping and almost cracks a smile at the thought of Skinner picking out her underwear.  

A note rests beside the shopping bag, the handwriting unfamiliar.

Come downstairs when you’re ready.

She peeks out the bedroom window and sees a thick forest shrouded in twilight. It takes her a few minutes to find a bathroom and then the stairs. She quickly realizes she’s in an old house, and at the foot of the stairs is a living room where everyone has gathered. All four of the men watch as she takes the stairs and joins Frohike on the couch. They glance at her with a funny mixture of expressions: apprehension, relief, fondness, grief.  

Grief.

She doesn’t waste time on greetings or platitudes.

“Do we know anything about Mulder?” she asks, her voice weak from disuse.

Skinner shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “Not exactly,” he tells her regretfully. “My contacts at the Bureau told me that someone lunged at the cameraman, that there was a gunshot, and that Agent Mulder went down. From there, all the accounts report simply . . . chaos. When everything was said and done, Agent Mulder could not be located.”

Scully licks her lips, restraining her emotions. This is good, she thinks. They didn’t find a body.

“Who attacked the cameraman?” she asks.

“It’s not yet clear what happened,” he says enigmatically, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes flit meaningfully to the Gunmen’s. They know something that I don’t, she realizes with a sinking stomach.   

“But you should know,” Skinner continues, “that regardless of the facts, the Bureau is officially reporting that Agent Mulder died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

She closes her eyes and wills herself to breathe. There’s no proof, her logical mind argues. No one actually saw it happen.

But there was a gunshot.

“How did you know where I was being held?” she redirects, her investigative mind fighting for dominance over her emotions.  

Skinner clears his throat. “That uh, that was part of the deal,” he explains tentatively.

A pause. “The deal?”

“Mulder made plans to ensure your safety before—before committing the act,” he explains. “Part of that arrangement was releasing you freely back to your life, whatever that may look like. To live in peace.”

She scoffs. There’s no peace if Mulder is dead. “They put a gun to my head and filmed it for him to see,” she counters petulantly. “Mulder never had any real bargaining power with them. They could have killed me the minute Mulder—pulled the trigger.” She fumbles over the words.  

Skinner shrugs. “Yes, well . . . he planned for that too.”

She raises a brow in question.

“Before Mulder agreed to any sort of . . . action on his part, he asked that you be released into my protection. I got the orders to meet you at the hospital just hours after you were brought in.” Skinner’s face softens slightly as he nods towards the Gunmen. “I brought these three with me, because a long time ago, Mulder made me promise to use them to keep you safe. So that’s what I did. That’s why you’re here with us instead of back home in California.”

She takes a minute to absorb his words and feels a curious, confusing, unexplainable anger begin to rise in her body. “And where am I, exactly?”

“You’re at a safe house,” Skinner explains, “deep in the mountains of rural West Virginia.”

She cocks her head testily. “If I’m such a free woman now, why did you need to bring me to a safe house? I thought I wasn’t in danger anymore.” Her heart is beating fast, furiously.

“Truthfully, we don’t have all the facts yet. We don’t know what happened to Agent Mulder and we don’t want to risk your safety any further.” He pauses, his expression hardening. “If Agent Mulder isn’t—if he didn’t die, and if they discover that he’s still alive, your life could still be in danger.”

“And if—if the opposite is true?” She can’t even bring herself to speak that possibility aloud.  

Skinner nods tightly. “If Agent Mulder is dead, then you’re free to live your life. Mulder’s death guaranteed your continued safety.”

“There is no guarantee,” she spits as heat rises to her cheeks. It’s irrational, and she remembers the threat of a cold gun pressed against her temple, but all she knows right now is a searing pain, a heated rage, a colossal fury, at the fact that once again, Mulder thought he could save her life by leaving her. “Those people—whoever they are—they could still decide to murder me, or torture me, or kidnap me. Just because he might be—dead doesn’t mean I’m safe—”

Skinner holds up a hand and she falls quiet, her mouth open in protest. “It was a guarantee,” he says softly but firmly. “Mulder’s life for your protection. As much as they threatened to hurt you, Scully, they never actually wanted you. Sure, they used some very credible threats to scare Mulder into making moves. But now that he’s gone—”

She flashes Skinner a warning look and he murmurs an apology.

“Now that Mulder might be gone,” he corrects quietly, “they couldn’t care less about you. It was always about discrediting the X-Files, discrediting Agent Mulder. And you were always just . . .”

“A pawn,” she says softly. “But the X-Files were mine too.” A sharp pain rips through her heart, surprising her. She’s been so distracted, so busy, so scared, that she hasn’t quite begun to absorb the loss of the files, or the grief that comes with that loss. She shoves the thought aside. It will be something to deal with later.

Skinner sighs. “Yes, well. Luckily for you, all they wanted was the figurehead of the X-Files. We’re in a holding pattern right now, waiting to see if any more information comes forward about Agent Mulder. But when you return to California, your safety is guaranteed, so long as you keep your mouth shut.”

Her ears ring with the unfairness of it all. “They tried to kill us!” she spits. “They made Mulder destroy his life’s work, they villainized him for kidnapping me, they’ve made him out to be some kind of—of—of lunatic! When all he ever wanted to do was keep me safe. It’s not fair, it isn’t right. The world needs to know the truth—”

“Agent Scully!” Skinner barks exasperatedly. She falls quiet. “Agent Mulder gave his life for you. And these three men have risked everything to keep you safe. If you return to California and start spouting off the truth of what happened out there, Mulder will have died in vain.”

Something inside her snaps. “He’s not dead, dammit!” she shouts, leaping to her feet. She fixes Skinner with a furious look and he rises, catching hold of her biceps. But when he meets her incensed gaze with tenderness, her defenses fall.

“He can’t be dead,” she whispers desperately as he pulls her into his arms.

She feels a large palm cup the back of her head and her entire body trembles as grief and outrage race through her. He’s right, she tells herself, but in the back of her mind, she’s still wondering about the suspicious look he exchanged with the Gunmen earlier. They know something I don’t, her mind plays on repeat. What aren’t they telling me?

“Do you know?” she asks wetly, pulling back. “Do you know what happened to Mulder?”

Skinner shakes his head candidly. “I do not.”

She swallows hard, her vision swimming, and drops back down to the couch. She rakes her hands through her hair, tugging hard at the roots and wincing when the pain is too much.  

“Mulder spent years blaming himself for the way my life has played out. Funny,” she says with a mirthless laugh, “that I’m now the reason for his suffering.”

All four men drop their eyes to their laps and a tense, disconsolate silence fills the space. Gently, Frohike places a hand on her wrist and she notices offhandedly the way her tears pool on the back of his hand.  

“So,” she asks after a time, brushing carelessly at her wet cheeks. “This is an FBI safe house?”

Skinner’s solemn face finally ticks up into a sort of smile. He glances at the boys. “No. It’s a Lone Gunmen safehouse.”

**

It’s been twenty-four hours since she was rescued from the hospital room. She aches from head to toe and her post-surgery body is desperate for rest, but she can’t sit still.

Her mind is obsessively fixated on Mulder. Whether he’s alive, whether he’s being held somewhere, whether he’s dead and where they’ve put his body. Skinner has delicately kept her abreast of all the Bureau updates—official headlines about Mulder’s erratic behavior, his descent into madness, his visits to the psych ward. His suicide.

Yes, the X-Files have been properly besmirched.

For hours, Frohike tries to get her to eat, but her stomach refuses anything besides toast. She blames her lack of appetite on the surgery, but anyone with half a brain can tell she’s stuck in the agonizing push-and-pull of despair and hope.  

The first morning at the house dawns gloomily. Raindrops streak the windows and low, leaden clouds hang heavily across the sky. Out here in the woods, where a thick forest surrounds the house on every side, she can hardly see anything but trees.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table pushing oatmeal around in a bowl when Skinner bursts into the room.

“Get to the basement,” he demands tersely, yanking his Glock out of its holster.

She jumps up abruptly but before she can ask questions, the Gunmen are ushering her swiftly towards the house’s basement stairwell. She glances back at Skinner and watches him duck beneath the front window.

“What is it? What’s happening?” she asks as she flies down the stairs.

Langly slams shut the basement door and locks it quickly, then gestures for her to keep moving. “A car coming up the road triggered the alarm system.”  

“But it—it could be anyone,” she suggests rationally, even though her heart is racing. “A lost hiker, someone just passing through—”

Langly shakes his head knowingly. “Not out here. This is end-of-the-world territory.”

The basement is wide and spacious, lit by a single, exposed bulb with a pull-chain. Although there are places to sit against the walls, everyone remains standing, a collective anxiety thrumming between their bodies. If someone dangerous breaches the house, if Skinner can’t hold them back, Scully knows the four of them don’t stand a chance down here.

“I need a weapon,” she mutters irritably. “Why don’t I have a weapon?”

No one answers her and she swears. “I should be up there with Skinner,” she says defiantly. “Even unarmed, I can fight—”

Frohike places a firm hand on her uninjured shoulder. “Let him handle it. You’re the priority.”

When she opens her mouth to protest, he shoots her a warning look that she’s never before seen on the little man. “Agent Scully, might I remind you that we didn’t go to all this trouble for you to die.”

She glares at him for a second longer before her shoulders sag in surrender. Stuck down in the basement, though, her frustration and anxiety have nowhere to go, and she finds herself pacing restlessly. If there is danger upstairs, she would rather face it head-on. Hell, she’d give almost anything to have a chance at taking down the people who hurt her and Mulder.  

Eventually, she makes her way to the top of the stairs and presses her ear to the door, but the basement might as well be a steel trap for all that she can hear. Frustrated and on edge, she paces back down the stairs and rounds on Frohike.

“What do you and Skinner know about Mulder that I don’t?” she demands accusatorily.

His eyebrows fly to his hairline. “What do you mean—”

“I saw the look he gave you earlier when you were talking about what happened at the Hoover Building. Something—something happened and you all know—”

A knock at the basement door sends them jumping out of their skins, and all three of the boys rush to stand protectively in front of her.  

“All clear,” they hear Skinner announce loudly.

Frohike frowns, unconvinced, and starts climbing the stairs towards the door. “Prove it, FBI boss,” he shouts back.

“Open the damn door, Frohike,” comes a familiar voice.

Scully gasps, her whole body freezing. And then she lurches forward, shoving Frohike aside to take the basement stairs two at a time. Her fingers fumble agitatedly at the lock on the door and when she finally gets it, she flings it open.  

Mulder stands at the entrance, a beaming Skinner behind him. She meets her partner’s eyes, tracks the elation and devotion in his gaze. His lips quirk into a smile and she sags with relief.

“Come here, Scully,” Mulder murmurs quietly, just for her.

Without hesitation, she falls into him and he catches her, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist, pressing her body flush to his. His other hand sinks into her hair, drawing her head down into his chest. She links her uninjured arm around his neck and squeezes him fiercely, unwilling to ever let go.

“You’re alive,” she breathes, tears gathering on her lashes, “oh, thank God, you’re alive.”

“You okay?” he asks, fingertips skimming her wounded shoulder. She notices offhandedly that he is trembling.

Holding back a sob, she nods, pressing her face into his shirt, letting her tears dampen his neck.

“I love you,” she mouths into his skin, unwilling to speak the words in front of their audience.

His fingertips scratch idly at her scalp, then travel down to her neck, then her back, where his warm palm rubs up and down her spine. She wants to stand here all day wrapped in his arms, but after a few moments, his hands slip to grip her waist, and then he gently pushes her back. Off her surprised look, he gives her a soft, sad smile, then brushes his thumb across her jaw. Her hands resettle against his hips, unwilling to lose contact with him just yet.

“You, uh, you may want to say hello to the person responsible for my being alive.” His tone is a complicated mixture of gratitude and resentment, and she frowns.

He pauses, his eyes pinning her in place, and then he dips his head and breaks her gaze. When he moves aside, her mouth parts in shock.

Because standing behind Skinner is Alan.

[thepeacockshallstrut]

Henry's Video Game Collection Wishlist

I like collecting trinkets and am always looking to collect additional trinkets. I thought it would be nice to write down what all I'm looking to obtain someday.

NOW DETAILED WITHIN: MOTHER 3, Octopath Traveler/II, Persona 3 Portable (the new releases), Pokémon Legends Arceus, Sam & Max Remastered

A WIP for now... ever growing, ever changing. Prices subject to an infinite increase until the eventual heat death of the universe. Let's dig in!

MOTHER 3 Deluxe Box

MSRP: 18,000 yen, or approx. $120

Market price: Enough to be somebody's rent payment

Image provided by STARMEN.NET.

I mean, what a beaut, right? Just look at her. I've longed for this extremely small Game Boy Advance with a minor difference in faceplate since I was a wee babe. (Or a sixth grader, I think.) Anyway, I remember the price on eBay being around $600 back then, and the price has gone up surprisingly not that much given inflation.

Speaking of, here's an interesting note about this item's retail price: the page on STARMEN.NET documenting this box around release put the cost of the item at "around $155." As suggested above, the value of yen in comparison to the value of the dollar has significantly depreciated in the past two decades. Also, accounting for inflation, 18k JPY in 2006 is about 20.2k JPY today... still closer to around $135 USD. Meanwhile $120 in 2006 money has the same buying power as $185 today, while $155 would be worth around $240 today. Depressing, right?

Looking around on Japanese listings, the price is about equivalent to US eBay listings... a small mercy if you ask me. I'm not sure how consoles like these ship overseas anyway, given the battery. Oh well.

Octopath Traveler - Wayfarer's Edition

MSRP: $90

Market price: $180ish with the game, $120ish without--though prices fluctuate pretty heavily

Come on, man. Comes in a little pop-up book. Ridiculous.

The box comes encased in one of those plasticky outer shells that scratch horribly, but it usually means that the box itself is in very good condition when sold secondhand. It's also not super clear in the promotional image, but the map of Orsterra is made of cloth.

Definitely lots of pointless trinkets here. Trinkets that I would just love to display. Hoo-ah!

Octopath Traveler II Steelbook (Switch ver.)

MSRP: That's a good question. I'm under the impression that you could get the Steelbook edition for an additional $10 when purchasing the game from select retailers.

Market price: $25 (game not included)

Prices for the game with the steelbook are ridiculous enough that I would advise just buying a secondhand copy of the game separately. I got my copy from a local game store for $35 and I've seen it for even cheaper online.

For those of you who prefer the Playstation versions, the PS4/PS5 steelbook appears more expensive on resale, but the games themselves are generally cheaper. Your mileage may vary.

In any case, it does pain me to forsake the Collector's Edition of this game, but the price just isn't worth it to me. $200 MSRP is already pretty steep. I would assume the included artbook does not showcase any work that isn't already present in the sold-seperately Octopath II artbook (well, actually, it sounds more like a Champions of the Continent artbook that happens to also have OT2 art in it, but that's besides the point), and the bust standees, while beautifully sculpted, are not my typical style of figure collecting... and they're not even actually metal! The box is indeed very pretty but I have to draw the line somewhere, and that line appears to stand around $300 cardboard. (The US release doesn't even get that damn tote bag...)

In any case, I love steelbooks. They're just too handsome. I've yet to find a fanmade OT1 one that I like, but maybe when that time comes it too will join my oddly-shaped collection.

Persona 3 Portable - Grimoire Edition

MSRP: $70

Market price: Something stupid, probably

I had actually intended on preordering one of these special editions back when they were announced... I just sort of forgot. Oops! Now I am subject to the whims of Limited Run aftermarket prices. Anything for such a pretty steelbook I guess.

I have mixed feelings about the full collector's edition for this game, AKA the "S.E.E.S. Edition." I think the thing I like most about it is the box it all comes in, which is generally a bad sign. I was very excited about the Evoker proplica until I realized it's only half of the gun trapped in the box forever... maybe I should just go hunt down that water gun. Regardless I'm not too torn up about passing that one up. (Well... except for the stupid briefcase box. I don't think it's a top-opener like the Scott Pilgrim CE was though. Which is just a shame!)

I guess I might also go for the "Grimoire Edition" of P4G if my pockets are feeling too heavy, but I'm not as jazzed about that game or its steelbook design. Also, I already ordered the collector's edition of Persona 3 Reload... it's too much, Atlus... it's just too much.

Pokémon Legends Arceus - Steelbook (UK Preorder Bonus)

MSRP: I think some shops charged an extra 5 quid for the steelbook

Market price: $25

PLA got some lovely preorder bonuses across the pond. Alongside this steelbook, depending on your retailer of choice, you could also get a Hisuian Pokéball replica or an Arceus statue (reminiscent of the HGSS preorder bonuses of old). Of course, you could also get the Arceus sitting cutie from the UK Pokemon Center, just like the US one... without the steelbook though? Alright. I do wonder if the UK release had the same supply chain issues for the Arceus plush as the US did. Anyway...

Lamentations about regional differences aside, I adore this steelbook! A lot of love in this artwork. The other Pokémon steelbooks, while cool, are mostly just cover legendaries but metal, or maybe gold... (and, frankly, some very ugly patterns on the inside of the box! Shameful!) It's OK though. PLA has had mercy on my soul.

I also think it would be super cool to get my hands on one of the SuMo/USUM steelbooks someday, if only for the novelty of having a steelbook for a 3DS game. Those resale prices though! Whew! Maybe someday...

Sam & Max Remastered

MSRP: $35 (standard), $75-80 (collector's), $5 (slipcover)

Market price: $50 (standard), $150 (collector's), $15 (slipcover)

These collector's editions are extremely cool historical pieces. Recreations of decades-old merch, wow! It's a shame I've never been able to get these retail price because Limited Run aftermarket is ridiculous. Still, I'd like to get my mitts on these someday.

My goal is to own all three collector's editions and display the three games in the slipcover. (Devil's Playhouse remaster coming soon! Any day now...)

Having the Hit the Road collector's edition would be cool but I'm not as set on it. If I had my way, I would start collecting the different physical releases of HtR/the original Telltale titles too! Restraint, restraint...

That's everything I can think of for now. I'll add more as it crosses my brainstream ^^

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Angel of God, My Guardian Dear Chapter 10: Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Story Summary: While speaking at a local school for visually impaired youth, Matt runs into his childhood best friend, with whom he lost touch almost 20 years prior.

Warnings/Tags: None

Word Count: ~2,800

A/N: None.

"What a wonderful Mass," Y/N whispered to Matt as the congregation stood for the final blessing at church the next morning. "I'd forgotten just how much I've always enjoyed Father DeMaria's homilies. He always manages to tie the readings together so seamlessly."

"He's been here a while, hasn't he?" Matt asked.

"Thanks be to God -- Yeah," Y/N replied. "At least 20 years for sure, since he was already the priest here when I first moved to Miami."

"And I'm pretty sure he'd already been here for at least a few years before that," Aunt Ruth added as the recessional song began. "I'm trying to remember exactly when he took over from Father LaBauve. He's definitely the longest-serving priest in our parish, if not the whole diocese. It'll be sad to see him retire at the end of the year."

Y/N nodded. "Let me know if there's going to be some sort of retirement celebration for him. I definitely want to be there if there is one."

"Okay, I will."

Matt took Y/N's hand as Father DeMaria passed by.  "I'll try to come too, if I can."

Y/N smiled. "Yeah, that'd be great." 

They headed towards the exit, stopping briefly to greet Father DeMaria before heading to Aunt Ruth's car.

"Oh, Aunt Ruth, do you think we have time to stop by the store on the way home?" Y/N asked as they all buckled their seatbelts. "Matt and I decided to head to the beach while you're hosting pokeno this afternoon and I wanted to pick up some stuff for a picnic."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Aunt Ruth replied. "I forgot to get tortilla chips yesterday for the spinach and artichoke dip, so I needed to stop anyway."

"Oh, okay. I can grab some for you while we're there. Just 1 bag?"

"Yeah, just 1 should be enough."

"Anything else?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I've got everything else I need." Aunt Ruth turned out of the parking lot and onto the highway. "But remind me to get that little rolling cooler I got as a white elephant gift last year out of the storage closet for you when we get home. It'll be much easier for you to wheel that across the sand rather than have to haul our old picnic basket around. Oh, and you can use my car if you want, too."

"Oh that'd be great, thanks so much."

Matt nodded in agreement. "Yes, that's extremely generous of you. Thank you."

"It's no problem, really. No sense in making the two of you Uber to the beach when I'll be home all afternoon and won't be using my car anyway."

Y/N grinned and took Matt's hand. "Hopefully my driving doesn't terrify Matt."

Matt chuckled. "Hey, if I can handle riding with New York cab drivers, I can handle riding with anyone."

He gave her hand a gentle kiss. "Besides, I trust you with my life, which includes you being behind the wheel."

Y/N's heart fluttered. "That's good to know."

Aunt Ruth pulled into the parking lot and parked. "Get the scoop chips for me if they have them. If not, I'll take the regular ones."

Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt. "Okay. We'll try not to be too long."

Aunt Ruth nodded. "Okay."

Y/N got out of the car and waited for Matt to take her arm before heading inside the store.

She grabbed a shopping basket. "Okay, I was thinking we could get stuff for sandwiches, and maybe some different fruits and veggies, oh and maybe some cheese too."

Matt nodded. "Yeah, all that sounds great."

"Okay, good." Y/N led him over to the produce section and picked up a container of strawberries. "Ooh, how about some strawberries?"

"Sure." Matt gently took the carton from her before putting it back. "But not these. They're underripe."

Y/N huffed out a light laugh. "How about I leave the fruit selection to you then, sweetheart?"

Matt chuckled as he picked up another container of strawberries and set it in the basket. "Okay."

Y/N grabbed a couple of containers of different pre-cut vegetables while Matt chose a couple of apples and oranges and a bag of grapes before setting them in the basket with the strawberries.

They finished up in the produce section and moved on to the meats and cheeses, selecting a couple of different blocks of cheese to add to their purchases. 

Y/N was looking at the variety of sliced sandwich meats when she heard a familiar voice. "Y/N ?"

She turned around and smiled as she saw Mrs. Ortega, her former high school guidance counselor. "Oh my gosh, Mrs. Ortega, hi! How are you?"

"Doing good, how about you?" Mrs. Ortega replied.

"I'm good." Y/N took Matt's hand. "Matt, sweetheart, this is Mrs. Ortega, my guidance counselor from high school. She's the one who encouraged me to go into special services librarianship. Mrs. Ortega, this is Matt, the friend that I had told you I would read to when I was growing up in New York."

A broad smile spread across Mrs. Ortega's face. "Well, it's certainly nice to meet you, Matt."

Matt nodded, a smile on his own face. "It's very nice to meet you, too, ma'am."

"Are you still at St. Catherine's?" Y/N asked.

Mrs. Ortega nodded. "Yep, have a few more years left before I can retire. Are you here visiting? I think I remember your aunt saying you got a job at a library out of state the last time I ran into her."

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, I'm actually back in New York now. Matt and I just flew in for the weekend to celebrate Aunt Ruth's birthday."

"Aww, well that's wonderful."

"Actually, she's waiting on us, so we better wrap up our shopping and get going, but it was so nice to see you."

"Nice to see you too, Y/N. I'm glad to see you're doing well."

"Thank you."

"And Matt, it really was very nice to meet you."

"Same to you," Matt replied.

He picked up a container of sliced turkey and put it in the basket as Mrs. Ortega walked away. "She was nice."

Y/N nodded as they continued their shopping. "Yeah, she really is. I spent a good bit of time in her office, especially when I first moved here since the school made me do counseling sessions twice a week during study hall to 'make sure I was adjusting'."

She shook her head. "At first I refused to talk to her, but she eventually did get me to open up."

"How?"

Y/N smiled. "She asked me about you -- or rather, she asked me if I had had anyone special in my life in New York."

She huffed out a laugh. "I think she probably already knew the answer to that from talking to Aunt Ruth, but it worked. I wound up telling her all about you, how you were my best friend in the entire world and how kind and smart and amazing you were, and how much having to leave you broke my heart."

Matt grinned. "Kind and smart and amazing? I think you oversold me just a bit there, angel."

Y/N gently tapped him on the arm. "I most certainly did not and you know it, Matthew."

Matt pressed a kiss to the side of her head as they stopped to grab a loaf of bread. "Love you."

Y/N smiled. "Love you too. So anyway, I started to feel more comfortable with her after that, so I did eventually wind up telling her how I was feeling about getting uprooted from the only life I'd ever really known to go live with an aunt I had literally just met. Mrs. Ortega helped me realize that Aunt Ruth was hurting too, that I was the only part of my mom that she'd had left so I couldn't honestly be angry or upset with her for taking me in."

Matt nodded. "That makes sense."

Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, but that was when I thought I'd still have you in my life. Needless to say, I was really pissed when I found out that you weren't even getting my letters."

The ensuing argument with Aunt Ruth had left both of them hurt and in tears.

"What?" Y/N had said incredulously after Aunt Ruth had also come clean about agreeing to keep her and Matt apart. "Why would you agree to that?"

"Because Sister Bernadette told me that he was a bad influence on you," Aunt Ruth had replied.  

"And you believed her!?"

"I had no reason not to, Y/N, I -- she said he was always causing trouble and getting himself -- and more importantly, you -- into fights, and that Lord only knew what other kind of trouble he would've gotten you into, not to mention…"

She had paused. " Well, you know."

Y/N had shaken her head. "No, I don't know. First of all, Sister Bernadette is a hypocritical old hag who absolutely hates Matt. I've never known or understood why , but she's had it out for him since the day he came to St. Agnes. Secondly, neither Matt nor I ever started any fights. Matt was always defending himself from bullies who thought he was an easy target just because he's blind, and I wasn't about to stand by and let my best friend be bullied, either."

She had slumped down on the sofa and begun to cry, her heart breaking all over again. "He probably thinks that I abandoned him just like his mom did, and now it's too late to try to fix it."

Aunt Ruth had sat next to her. " I'm sorry, Y/N. I thought I was doing what was best for you."

Y/N had seen red. "By keeping me away from my best friend? By keeping me away from the one person who has ever truly understood me, the one person who made my life at St. Agnes just that -- a life rather than just an existence?" 

She had shaken her head with a scoff. "You know, I always thought it was weird how Sister Bernadette just randomly called me into her office one day and told me that surprise, my mom had a sister and I was going to go live with her in Florida. Did you even actually look for me or did Sister Bernadette track you down and pay you to take me in?"

Aunt Ruth had reeled back like she had been slapped. "Is that honestly what you think?"

Y/N hadn't really thought that but she was angry and hurt, so she had just shrugged.

Tears had filled Aunt Ruth's eyes. "I promise you, Y/N, I'd have taken you in as soon as the police told me that your mother had died if I had known then that she'd had a child. It wasn't until I needed to request her death certificate for some legal paperwork regarding your grandparents' estate last year that I discovered your birth certificate, and as soon as I did I started searching for you. I felt so guilty about you having to grow up in that orphanage for 14 years that I just agreed to whatever Sister Bernadette said, thinking that she would've known what was best for you at the time. I never even considered that she might've been wrong or even lying about your relationship with Matthew." 

She had sighed. "He wasn't your boyfriend, was he?"

Y/N had shaken her head. "No, Matt and I are -- were -- always just friends."

Aunt Ruth had nodded in understanding. "But you wanted him to be?"

"Yeah." Y/N had sniffled and looked down at the floor. "Yeah, I did, but he never showed any interest in me, not like -- not like that."

Aunt Ruth had taken her hand and given it a gentle squeeze. "I truly am sorry, sweetheart. I know this probably doesn't help, but if I could go back and change things, I would. And you never know, maybe you'll find him again one day."

At the time Y/N had thought that ever finding Matt again would be impossible, but here she was with his arm linked through hers as they shopped for groceries together.

She sucked in a slight gasp. "Oh my God, I just realized something… Sister Bernadette knew that Sister Maggie was your mom, didn't she? That's why she always had it out for you!"

A look of realization dawned on Matt's face. "You know, you're probably right. That makes so much sense now."

Y/N shook her head. "I always thought it was because of your visual impairment -- which would've been really hypocritical of her considering her oath to the Church about caring for others and all -- so I'm glad that wasn't actually the case. Still doesn't excuse the way she treated you though."

"No, but like I said, people like her just made me more determined to succeed." Matt shrugged, a wry smile on his face. "Besides, there's only one opinion of me that's ever truly mattered."

Y/N grinned. "God's?"

Matt huffed out a laugh. "Okay, two opinions."

They stopped to get a bottle of wine.

"Do we need anything else?" Matt asked.

"Just the bag of tortilla chips for Aunt Ruth, which are… here." Y/N set them in the basket. "Okay, I think that's it."

"And we only took 10 minutes," Matt remarked, "even with stopping to talk to your old guidance counselor."

Y/N huffed out a laugh. "If I'd have been in here by myself I'd probably still be picking out fruit. I'm glad you were with me."

Matt rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Um, actually, speaking of that, I was wondering if you would mind me tagging along when you do your weekly grocery shopping? Right now I do a grocery delivery service but the produce is never the freshest and it'd be nice to be able to choose my own while having someone there with me that can help me familiarize myself with the layout of the market."

Y/N nodded. "Of course, sweetheart."

She could picture them heading to the market together one Sunday after Mass, Y/N jokingly grabbing jarred pasta sauce for a planned spaghetti dinner in order to get a rise out of Matt before he caught on and redirected her towards the fresh ingredients for a homemade version.

They'd playfully argue over having garlic bread they'd bought from the bakery down the street and mixed the garlic butter for themselves vs pre-buttered garlic bread bought from the store (Y/N was sure Matt would be team homemade garlic butter) then grab a bottle of wine to go with dinner before making their purchases and heading back to their shared apartment, putting their groceries away before settling in together for a lazy Sunday afternoon at home.

A bright smile spread across Matt's face. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely. I love spending time with you, Matty, you know that. I would happily do all of my grocery shopping with you for the rest of my life."

Matt nodded, looking contemplative. "Okay. Good to know."

"Would Tuesday work for you? I took the day off to rest after our trip and was planning on doing my shopping then since I wasn't home to do it today, so I can come over wherever you get off of work and we can go then."

"Yeah, yeah that'd be great." Matt licked his lips. "But actually, I was thinking… how about you just stay at my place tomorrow night and use my washer and dryer to do your laundry so you'll have something clean to wear without having to stop by your apartment, then we can head to the market whenever we decide to get up? Just spend the day alone together before we have to go back to work on Wednesday?"

Y/N nodded, her heart fluttering. "Yeah, that sounds great." 

"Okay, great. I'll let Foggy know that I won't be in on Tuesday."

They headed towards the checkout. 

"Here," Y/N said. "We'll do self-checkout so we can be done faster. Would you hold the basket while I unload and scan?"

Matt nodded. "Sure thing, angel."

Y/N ran the barcoded items through the scanner then typed in the codes for the individual fruits and veggies before making sure she had gotten everything and pressing the checkout button. "Okay, there's that…"

She swiped her credit card then signed the electronic receipt. "...And that. All done."

She took Matt's free hand in hers and gave it a squeeze as they grabbed their grocery bags and headed towards the exit. "Alright, let's get back to Aunt Ruth's and get this stuff all cut up so we can get to the beach before it gets too crowded."

[mitigatingacademics]

{12.25.23}

Merry Christmas, friends. 🎄

This year truly reminded me why I enjoy working the holidays.

Despite baking copious cookies, offering up Party Perks full of slow cooker hot cocoa (they're not made for that...have you ever tried to clean one after it's been used for something it's not made for? 🤦🏻‍♀️🤣) and dressing like an elf for the past four Christmas Eves, it's been hit and miss.

In 2020 we only had two trains and half the crews due to Covid furloughs. Last year we were blasted by winter weather so severe that I came back from my annual December vacation (for baking) to 3 nights without trains and finally, at least, 2 on Christmas Eve.

Last year's (workplace) Christmas was even harder than 2020's, to be honest. With the Covid cuts we knew what to expect. Fav co-worker was at a down-line station and we sent each other gifts on the train. One of my favorite Conductors was furloughed -- I actually took her gift to her house and got to see her extensive Christmas village set-up and gorgeous real tree. We adjusted.

Last year's arctic blast was unanticipated (at least beyond a few days out) and we were left, more or less, with our hands tied as to options and little else to do but apologize and feel bad.

To put it into perspective -- this year's company official ugly sweater says 'Getting You Home For The Holidays' ...which is exactly what we were NOT doing last year. 😔

This year, fully staffed and 60 degrees (which I admit I also complained about a bit, but...less -- the sweet spot is, failing a dusting of our own, being able to chisel a piece of a white Christmas off the New York train and hold it in your hand -- I'm not kidding, see below from my first Christmas at this station 😂 ) spirits were festive and good times were had.

It felt right and I'm very grateful.

White Christmas 2018 be like:

Favorite and most meaningful gifts this year include:

From Mom (selected by me).

I also received two books by Rachel Maddow and a whole-ass desk situation (I've needed a desk for so long, I can't wait to get everything put together and arranged!).

When Jamie's book arrived:

Mom: Who is Jamie Raskin?

Me: He's a Congressional Representative from Maryland. ... He was on the J6 Committee.

Mom: Of course he was. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Me: He's also an incredibly intelligent and articulate professor of Constitutional Law? 🤷🏻‍♀️😂

Dad gave generously in the form of gift cards, several of which are for Amazon and will undoubtedly go towards more books.

You can never have too many books. 📚

From fav co-worker.

I'm no longer holding a (selfish and inappropriate) grudge against her for bidding off the regular that had us working together 3 nights a week. She had her reasons and, as I told her the first time she brought it up (though it took a hot second to get over myself and actually mean it 🤦🏻‍♀️😂); I hope it helps in the way she thinks it will.

Even when we're not working together multiple nights a week, she still knows me better than just about anyone these days. These items are just a few from a huge bag of individually wrapped thoughtfulness.

I love Harry Potter in Dutch more than I could possibly explain.

Once I get through the Feb. LSAT (decided we're sticking with that one, for better or worse -- last night and tonight are the first nights since my last real post that I haven't spent at least an hour with Brad Barbary 😂), I want to get back to practicing Dutch (and French) for more than just keeping my Duolingo streak alive.

Inspiring Women Fisher-Price Little People edition is equally amazing. I'd never even seen this set (and I love it!) but also, I now have a 'collection' of these items so the next time Amazon tries to sell me the Sanderson Sisters or Golden Girls I don't have to worry about starting yet another collection. ...it was done for me! 🤣

It goes without saying that Sweet Liz telling the world, in a best-selling memoir which will undoubtedly be instrumental in the way that she's remembered far into the future, that the GOP is led by morons, is one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given.

Beyond my unending appreciation for the commendable sass with which Liz so articulately expresses herself, I am truly and seriously so grateful for the time and effort she put into not only the things that she's done, but the book she wrote about it.

I was asking for a book before its existence was announced, it had a great deal to live up to in my mind, anticipation aside, and it went above and beyond. Full review to follow (I'm almost done with my notes).

I have an incredibly blessed life and I am very grateful.

[ftb-writes]

Here it is!!!

It's been a few years since I wrote the original post (it is tagged now, for easy finding). The next prompt is a fun idea:

"I've considered your offer."

Zevhel glances up from the map table where points of interest -- and potential marks -- are inventoried with various-shaped wooden totems. Two of his men flank Kas, and the bedraggled serf has a determined fire in his eyes.

Zevhel turns back to the map. "Leave us," he orders, feigning indifference, and his men nod and duck out of the small alcove. Giants most of the local men, Kas included.

Kas himself approaches the table, stooping slightly to fit. He's cautious, no doubt nervous of being left alone with the head of an assassin ring he'd tried to kill not even a fortnight ago. Kas stands almost a head-and-a-half taller than Zevhel, but it is obvious to any who might see that the smaller man is in charge.

Zevhel motions to the map. "Where are you from, Kas?"

Kas eyes the map spread across the thick oak table and swallows before pointing to an unmarked spot south of a group of totems. The map shows a road there, but nothing else. "The village is called Mudpakt."

Zevhel barely avoids pulling a face. "How quaint," he mutters. "Anything interesting in Mudpakt?"

Kas shrugs. "A few people. A few farms. More dirt and pests than anything else. There's the tax-collector's office, but it's usually locked up tight. He's by for the crops we give for taxes once a moon or so."

Zevhel selects a totem and sets it in place. It is of a little money-bag. "I take it he was the one you got the orders through?"

"No," Kas explains. "Since I was the last of my family, I was moved to the lord's main holding at Ovchark, so the hovel could be used for a new family. Lord Brond apparently saw me working the land from his manor and was impressed with my strength for being a half-starved serf."

Zevhel hums. He remembers the fight Kas put up when he'd been caught, and the feeling of those hands grabbing at him. Kas hadn't been at full health then, but with a little care and training, Zevhel could turn this man into a formidable opponent. And a wonderful opportunity for Zevhel's group.

"Lord Brond was the one who sold your sister to the knight?" Zevhel remembers.

"Yes. Or, really, she was 'payment' for the knight clearing out a few bears." Kas looks forlorn at the mention of his sister. Since his arrival, Zevhel had learned from him that the girl's name had been Ava, and that she had been two years his senior. Kas is only just barely a man now. To lose his only family, and while still just a child…

"Did you ever find out what city the knight was from," Zevhel asks, and curses quietly when Kas shakes his head. "That will put a bit of a strain on the plan."

"Do you have paper and pigments around," Kas asks.

"Yes," Zevhel admits, poking his head out to call for some to be brought. "What were his colors?"

"Blue and yellow," Kas replies, "but I can do better than just heraldry. I saw his crest when he came to take Ava." He points to the road, following it east with his finger. "He took the highway this direction from town."

Zevhel considers the map for a moment before nodding. "This information will do a lot of good in our search for him. However -- and I mean this in the nicest way -- you must have been really poor if you think that's a highway."

"Fifth generation serfdom," Kas grunts. "We were about as poor as serfs can get before outright slavery." He is tracing the lettering on the map, frowning over Zevhel's chicken-scrawl.

Zevhel chuckles at the young man's curiosity. "I doubt a serf would have been taught letters, but I prefer my people to be literate. I'll have you taught reading and writing so you will be able to help properly on this mission of yours. After all, you should be able to tell the difference between a letter telling you where someone will be and a letter to a far-off mistress." The assassin casts about for a bit of charcoal and scribbles three letters onto the edge of the map. "There we are. You can start with that. Everyone should know the shape of their name, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, I'm not important enough --" Kas starts to argue, but frowns when Zevhel snorts. "What?"

"I think you're just scared you'll be shit at it," Zevhel sniffs, and turns away to receive the pigments and paper. Kas can't see the smirk Zevhel has when he hears the charcoal start scratching.

"Gilalen and her boys found him in Estwich," the messenger is explaining as a knight is brought before Zevhel, forced to his knees and de-helmeted. Kas stands proud by Zevhel's side, an imposing figure now after several months of eating well.

"And he just… let you take him hostage?" Kas and Zevhel share a confused glance.

"He's supposedly turned to drink, according to the locals."

The knight, black hair and grungy, raises his head to solemnly regard the pair. "Assassin Zevhel. I have heard rumors of you. Many of my countrymen have found their ends on your blade. I wondered when we would meet. You… I know you." The knight fixes his hazel eyes on Kas. "You were Ava's brother."

"Before you killed her," Kas spits.

The knight flinches like Kas had struck a physical blow. "I hadn't meant for her to die," he whimpers. "Please, sir, if you believe nothing else, believe that. I meant Ava no harm. I wanted her to at least grow to accept me, even if she could not outright love me. Marrying me would have gotten both of you away from that life, and she had at least seemed interested in that. She'd been the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen when I rode through your little village, and I knew right then I had to save her from that squalor. That is why I offered Brond my services."

Zevhel leans closer, drops his voice low so only Kas would hear. "Up to you if you'll accept that version of things, but I've trained to see through lies. He believes himself to be telling the truth. And if she had given the knight a child, it would have elevated her standing as well as any family's standing with her. That much is fact."

Kas at least gives pause, turning the information over in his mind. "How did my sister die?"

The knight begins silently weeping. "She got sick. I don't know -- When I sent for the doctor, he didn't think a lowly serf was worth his time, even one who was to marry a knight. It was my fault. I should have pressed him harder, offered more. I --"

"From what I understand," the messenger cuts in, "Sir Rodrik's family had fallen on hard times. His father squandered the fortune over a gambling table. The little money he had left after taxes would have likely only barely paid for himself and your sister to eat, and maybe room at Estwich's lowest-rated tavern."

"I would have sold my armor to pay," the knight cries.

"I… I need to think about this," Kas murmurs to Zevhel. "Is there somewhere you can stick him for now? Get all the information you want from him."

"I'll have my best interrogators talk with him," Zevhel agrees. "We'll talk later."

Later ends up being well after dusk. "Are you alright?" Zevhel steps into Kas's room and eases the door shut behind him. "We've worked toward this for months now for you, but--"

"And I'm grateful," Kas interjects. "You've taught me so much, skills I can use to make a decent living for myself, when you could have just killed me and been done with it. But now that I've met him face-to-face, Sir Rodrik… isn't what I'd imagined him to be."

"We are multifaceted beings," Zevhel murmurs sagely as he leans against the desk. "Rarely is every conflict black-and-white. Ultimately, he is your prisoner, Kas, and his fate rests in your hands."

"And what about you, Zevhel," Kas challenges. "When I've made my decision, what will you want from me? Just to keep me here as an assassin? Or am I free to leave after all is said and done?"

The questions are valid ones, and Zevhel respects Kas enough to be honest. "I'd be sad to see you go, but I will not stop you if you leave. Brond may have you thrown in prison for failing to kill me, and you should know that before you decide, but your path is your own to choose. If you do stay, I would see you become a proper assassin worthy of the title, and I'd like it if you were a friend and confidant. I've enjoyed getting your input these past few months. Your personality is… calming, to me. This profession tends to attract a certain type, and you've been a welcome change from the norm. I've… grown fond of you, while you've been here."

Kas is quiet for a time, mulling this all over. "You've given me even more to think about," he finally says. "But I appreciate the honesty, and everything you've done for me, Zevhel. But what of Sir Rodrik?"

"Disgraced, from what we can gather. He turned to drinking away his sorrows when your sister passed, apparently, and is a laughing stock among the other knights around the area for going and falling in love with a serf. Why do you ask?"

"He's realized he's just as much a victim of the system as the serfs, now," Kas whispers, almost as if he's afraid that if he voices the thought, the knight locked up on the other side of the hideout will vanish. "If… I decide not to take his life, he would be a valuable asset."

Zevhel looks at Kas for a long moment before chuckling softly. "In a few short months you've learned what it takes some of us years to."

"What is that?"

Zevhel thinks back to when he first became an assassin. This lesson was one he'd taken longer to learn than he is proud of.

Zevhel sets a hand on Kas's shoulder and squeezes slightly. "The best assassins are measured by their kills. But the truly great ones know when to stay their blades. If you forget everything else you've learned here, never forget that."

The head assassin steps out into the hall and leaves Kas to think.

[piratesfromspace]

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw.  Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are. 

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

[spilledkauffie]

Shopping Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader Word count: 2.2k T/W: fluff A/N: Sherlock realises he may have met his match. . . . in Christmas shopping by his fiancé until he finds the perfect gift. (featuring John!) I know this one isn't my best, but hopefully it makes someone smile

The apartment was quiet, as it usually was when Sherlock was working, unless of course experiments were required, then everything was off the table. But for now, John sat in his usual chair as Sherlock stared at a wall filled with images, codes, scrambled words, and other miscellaneous items taped, strung, and hung together. There was only one disturbance: you.

Entering the apartment, there were several shopping bags, neatly stacked up your forearms, as you simply refused second trips, especially to a cab. There were small jingles and jangles coming from the bags as you turned to shut the door as quietly as possible, remembering he was working. Sherlock looked over his shoulder subtly, seeing you give a wince that said ‘sorry for the noise,’ a smile pulled at his lips, but the quiet didn’t last long, when you saw John.

“John!” You exclaimed brightly, while catching your breath from lugging everything upstairs, “I didn’t know you were going to be here, I thought you’d be out for the holidays?”

“No, he’s of absolute necessity here,” Sherlock answered for him.

John got up from his chair to take a few bags off your tired arms, “he forgot I was here, twice,” he whispered, making you giggle, “you should have texted, I would have helped you carry these up.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. Wait- you can’t see that one,” you held one bag away from his helping hand with a soft smile.

John smiled back at you; “you didn’t,” he tilted his head.

“John, you're practically family, of course I’m getting you a Christmas present,” you kissed his cheek.

“Well, thank you. I can’t wait to see what it is,” John set down the rest of the bags by Sherlock’s chair where you were putting the rest in a small circle, “I truly have no idea what it could be, how did you pick?”

“I’m a bit of a skilled shopper, if I don’t say so myself,” you squeezed your shoulders up, and spoke with a humble tone. Seeing John’s interest you continued, “I seriously don’t know what it is, I just have an instinct on what people want for Christmas.”

“Really-” John began, fascinated.

“You’ve learned from the best, that’s how,” Sherlock added, looking over his shoulder again.

“What?” you blankly stared at him.

“Christmas shopping, and shopping for another person in general, is really just reasoning,” he explained joining the conversation by your side, “therefore you determine what they like, you narrow down to what they have and don’t have, and make a selection from missing items. You build your own list and pick from there.”

“That is not the same as really Christmas shopping,” you objected, crossing your arms, “it’s about what makes you think of that person, what you think will make that person happy, or maybe what they need, but it’s mostly what you feel will bring a smile. That’s why I don’t even need a list, it’s from the heart. Sometimes it doesn’t even have to be a physical gift, how about that, figure that one out.”

Sherlock smiled in disbelief at you, causing you to drop your jaw and furrow your brows at his lack of faith.

“It’s true,” John spoke up, “I didn’t even make a list, and she got me something, I have no idea what,” he looked to you with an amazed smile, “I mean, really!”

“Oh please, it's those shoes you circled in the paper three weeks ago,” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Sherlock,” you dropped your arms, scolding him in disappointment, John brought his hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples as he shook his head.

“Oh good, that says I’m right,” Sherlock straightened up proudly, before looking down to you.

“It was supposed to be a surprise for him,” you groaned, looking over to John apologetically.

“Really, it’s okay,” John tried to mend the situation, “after all, there’s still stuff I don’t know. Like I don’t know what colour they are-”

“Brown with buckles, obviously,” Sherlock answered, realising quickly with your glare and John’s that it was not something he should have shared; the room was quiet again, “well, I can’t help you were ogling them and she wrote it down in her phone and I happened to connect the two obvious facts.”

Now John’s jaw dropped, “I don’t ogle shoes,” he stated, offended.

“You are the worst,” you said slowly and clearly, with a frustrated expression, turning to Sherlock.

“Actually papers say I’m the best,” Sherlock tilted his head with a smile.

Smirking yourself, you took one step closer, staring up at him, “have you ever considered that you’re the best because you’re the only one?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered quickly, “wait- what?”

“Yeah,” you nod, tongue in cheek, “if you’re the only one of course you’re the best, but if there’s a best category there has to be a worst category and with only one subject, it, in this case you, holds both titles equally. You are simultaneously the best and the worst.”

You proudly smile at Sherlock’s following quietness while he stared down at you.

“Now I remember why you two are getting married,” John chuckled, picking up the newspaper before sitting back down.

“Allegedly, we don’t even have a date yet, “ you rolled your eyes.

“Well, miss best at Christmas shopping because it’s all in the heart,” Sherlock says with a tone of sass, “maybe I will just have to knock you off your throne.”

“It’s not about competition,” you said, disheartened that he just didn’t see the holiday spirit the same, “it’s about what comes from feelings and care and LOVE.”

“She’s right, and really, Christmas shopping? You?” John laughed again, bringing the attention to him; you gave a look of agreement and Sherlock glared, “well, I just mean- honesty, like you’re going to know what to get people for Christmas? I have never seen you Christmas shopping for someone.”

With John's statement you thought back to the years you’d been dating Sherlock, and John was right, there’d never been Christmas presents from him.

Sherlock groaned, “did I not just explain how it is a process that happens to be similar to one I employ myself? I can easily find the most perfect Christmas present, better than yours, without a list, but based on my own reasoning, not emotions. Is that a deal?” He turned to you, “I find you a Christmas present, I get to be labelled the best Christmas gifter?”

“You- you don’t want to give any emotional thought to it?”you asked.

“Who needs it?” Sherlock shrugged, “so?”

You shook your head, sitting down in Sherlock’s chair, avoiding his eyes, “fine, but in the meantime try not telling everyone what I got them, and that includes Mycroft.”

Sherlock jolted, “you got Mycroft a Christmas present?”

“Yes,” you answered shortly.

“Don’t invite him to the-”

“I already did.”

“And he’s too busy?” Sherlock squinted hopefully.

“And he’s happy to attend!” you snapped around looking at Sherlock with teary eyes. John saw and felt a bit of heartbreak, when you noticed, you sniffled and reached into a bag, “here, John, have them now, I’ll find something else special, I promise.” You tried your best to put on a genuinely happy smile when you handed him the box.

“No, it’s okay, it is,” he tried to urge you, but you shook your head with a smile and a tear rolling down your cheek, before you began taking out wrapping paper.

John held the box and stared at Sherlock with more frustrated passion than before.

“Alright, I need some air. We’re going out tonight,” Sherlock announced.

“I don’t want to go out,” you replied.

“Not you. John,” Sherlock stated, headed to his bedroom. You paused your unboxing and closed your eyes for a moment.

“I am really so sorry,” John took the opportunity to crouch beside you, rubbing your back.

“It’s not your fault, and I know it’s just the way he is,” you wiped away the stray tears, “I just- what you said made me realise he’d never gotten Christmas presents before, and now that he is I wanted it to be special, and I thought, maybe he’d think of something just because,” your lip quivered and you looked to John, “just because he loved me, not out of logic. He knows I love Christmas, he knows I love him, I just want to be reminded that it goes the other way too,” you shrugged and turned back to the pretty paper tubes.

John nodded, hearing Sherlock call for him to get ready, they were leaving. With a very brief goodbye to you, they were off. Sherlock breathed in the cold air of London and made his way down the street, John, as ever, trailing beside him. The first stop was the bookstore, but then Sherlock realised you had most of the books you liked. Second up was a clothing store, nothing. Third was makeup, fourth was a tea house, fifth was a home goods store, six was a film store, and the search continued for hours.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Sherlock stated, mind racing, “if I’m about to marry her, why can’t I find a single gift for her?”

John was rubbing his hands together to keep them warm, “well, that’s probably why, she’s a complete mystery, to you at least,” Sherlock gave a questioning look, “that’s why you like her, she’s not an open book, yet she’s open. It confuses you and you like the mystery.”

John chuckled to himself.

“Well, it’s a simple Christmas present, what does she like, what does she want most of all?” Sherlock went through his head, “if I find something that even she hasn’t thought of we’ll see who’s the best then,” Sherlock announced.

“No, no, no,” John stopped in his tracks, making Sherlock have to stop and walk back to him. With hands in his pockets John raised his hands, “that’s not what it's about, she doesn’t want a title, or to be better than you. She was just saying she’s good with gifts, and then she only wanted you to actually get something from your heart not your head now that you’ve finally decided to do something.”

Sherlock paused, looking down for a good while, “you got all that from what she said?”

“Yes,” John nodded, “and, well, I asked so she told me.”

“Why wouldn’t she just tell me?” Sherlock inquired.

“She did, actually, care and love were both mentioned, but didn’t you hear her? It’s supposed to be a surprise, it’s supposed to be genuine,” John explained, “if someone tells you exactly what they want then you’re just being the middleman, if you think of them and know them enough, it shows you care and love them.”

“You should be a poet,” Sherlock sighed thoughtfully.

“Look I know you’re not good with this-” John began, receiving an offended glare, “but hear me out, she wants something special and important, that means something more because it came from you, even if you think it’s simple. Like she said, it doesn’t even have to be a physical item, just something with a little heart in it. Maybe something she won’t expect from you? So let’s see, you know she loves Christmas, you know she loves you, obviously, and-”

Suddenly it clicked, “Christmas, me, something she wouldn’t expect,” Sherlock said, and headed back to 22lB in a run.

“Right, I’ll catch a cab then,” John said, really to himself.

You had made yourself cosy at Baker Street, hot chocolate in a mug, fireplace aglow with a crackling fire, and soft Christmas soundtracks playing in the background. A chunky sweater and leggings were the outfit as you spent the day wrapping presents and writing Christmas cards you’d ask Sherlock to sign later.

It nearly made you spill your hot chocolate when Sherlock burst through the door out of breath. The rolls had swapped since this morning. Setting the mug down and standing up, you were about to address the situation that occurred in the morning, but Sherlock had something else in mind. Taking only a few steps to reach you, Sherlock took your face in his hands and dipped to kiss you. You squeaked at the sudden action and placed your hands on Sherlock’s wrists. When he pulled back you perked your eyebrows as if asking for an explanation, knowing that there had to be one.

Still holding your face in his hands, he spoke, quickly and slightly out of breath, “I was wrong,” he began, “I can’t think of a Christmas present for you, because you are a complete mystery to me, and I love that. You embody the Christmas spirit and I can’t beat or even match that,” you were about to speak, shaking your head, but he continued, “all I can ask is that this Christmas you give me the gift of getting to call you my wife sooner.”

You froze, stuttering, “w-what?”

“Marry me? Christmas Eve?” Sherlock asked.

“But- but what about the plans, and the invitations. You’re never this spontaneous-“

“With you I want to be, I'm sorry I tried to logically think of something for you,” he smiled, almost whispering as he pressed his forehead down to yours, “I know that's not what you want. Truthfully, the only thing I can give you is my heart, and you already have it, so please? Let's make it official?”

You shook your head against his, this time a wide smile across your lips, “okay,” you shrugged, “yeah, okay, Christmas Eve it is! Are- are you sure though?”

“Never been more sure,” Sherlock stated.

“And that is really saying something,” John interjected, finally coming through the door.

[pockydays]

unravel me

⤷ characters: tsukishima x gn!reader

⤷ synopsis: in which you notice tsukishima struggling to peel the tape off his fingers during study hall. what you didn’t notice, however, was how much he had the ability to find his way into every aspect of your life, until it was too late.

⤷ word count: 6.3k (longest fic to date woohoo!)

⤷ contains: fluff, slight angst, acquaintances to friends to lovers (?), mild language, my (insanely) wordy writing

⤷ a/n: i’m not even lying this took me weeks to write and it’s my baby :] most of the dialogue in this is probably hot shit but if you enjoyed please leave a like/reblog :3: mwah mwah ily all thank you for being patient with my slow ass <3 and thank you to my dear friend abby for beta reading the first chunk of this story, if you read this ily <3

You've always considered yourself as someone who wasn't especially generous. But you weren’t incredibly selfish, either. You were in some sort of grey area, too indifferent to care about what society says about people who aren't willing to go so far as to sell their souls to the devil for the common good. But you weren't heartless, either. You cared, usually out of mutual convenience. Isn't that what everyone does? Ninety-nine percent of the time, helping others (undeniably) involves genuinely good intentions, but they coexist with selfish motives as well. Then what about that one percent?

That one percent, in fact, came to you in the most inconspicuous of times: during mid-day study hall.

You found yourself going through the motions of your everyday routine: walking into the classroom, saying hi to your friend in the third row, putting your bag on the desk, pulling out your chair, sitting down, taking out your notebook and pencils, and waiting for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a (supposedly attractive, or at least according to whispers among your female classmates, which was bold of them to assume that he even liked girls in that way — you weren’t one to burst their bubbles) tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave.

And after that, if he responded with a slightly snarkier tone than usual, you knew he was having an especially bad day (more likely than not, it was because of the volleyball teammates he often complained about). But as for the real reason why, your guess was as good as anybody else's. He probably had piss in his Cheerios every morning and his trousers in a twist until the end of time for all you knew.

But today was slightly different than usual. For one, a full minute had already passed after you took out your pencils and yesterday’s chemistry notes, and there was still no sign of him. For some unknown reason, you couldn't stop the worry gnawing its way into your conscience. You rested your chin in one hand and drummed your fingers on the desk with the other, trying not to think about your classmate with a sharp tongue and a glare that could kill. Of course, trying to not think about something is a form of thinking about it, so that didn’t exactly work out.

The bell suddenly rang, jolting you out of your thoughts as well as your seat. Tsukishima Kei was now officially late, according to the school rules. Thankfully, your study hall advisor was lenient and understanding enough to not mark anybody late if they arrived within a reasonable time as to not tarnish their transcript, but you knew Tsukishima well enough to know that he wouldn’t care about a single unsavory comment that would only have the slightest potential to alarm admissions officers in those money-hungry institutions.

That was one thing you admired about your classmate. His ability to judge what things to put his effort into and selectively choose what he could get away with doing half-assed was unparalleled. As far as you could tell, volleyball was something he didn’t deem as worthy to put his all into. You weren’t usually wrong in such judgements about people, but then again, you’d only been right, let’s say, a total of three out of three times. You weren’t sure if it was considered a really good or really bad track record, so you’d always kept those sort of assumptions to yourself.

“Not going to say hi to me today? That’s awfully rude of you,” a voice said, out of the blue. You tense, wondering who had the audacity to call you rude.

“What?” you asked incredulously before you could realize where the voice came from. “Oh, it’s you,” you said, recognizing his inhumanly tall frame and the pair of white headphones around his neck. I should’ve guessed; of course only he’s brash enough to say something like that. 

You rested your chin in your hands again, the tension in your body visibly dissipating. You were glad that it was just Tsukishima and not some other person, because they would be a pain in the ass to deal with. Plus, he was just about the only person you allowed to speak without a filter; one, because it’s fun verbally sparring with him, and two, it makes his stunned silence after you counter with an especially witty phrase all the more satisfying.

This time, though, he sat down at the desk to your left without a word. Usually, he would never pass up the chance to have another round of firing tasteful insults at you. Today was indeed slightly different than usual. 

As he clicked the top of his mechanical pencil, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of white one his hands out of the corner of your eye. Did he always have that on his hands or was I just horribly unobservant before?

Leaning over to his seat at a dangerous angle, you asked, “Hey, what’s up with your fingers? You have leprosy or something?” in hopes of lightening his supposedly gloomy mood.

“Shut up,” he muttered irritably. “If I had leprosy, my fingers would’ve fallen off by now and I would’ve put one in your lunch as a keepsake,” he added. Shifting away from you in his chair, he tried as much as possible to make his (in your opinion, unconventionally lanky) body as far away as possible from your general vicinity.

“Okay, okay, geez! At least tell me, because now I’m curious and it’s all your fault.”

“If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Maaybee...?” you replied slowly, trying to find an answer when a simple “yes” or “no” didn’t suffice.

“If you’re not going to stop bothering me, then I don’t have a reason to tell you, so no,” he frowned, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Alright then, keep your secrets, mister. I don’t care whether you tell me or not.” Which wasn’t completely the truth, since some tiny part of your conscience thought that wrestling the answer from him was for the better. “But just know that I’ll continue to be my annoying self, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you turned your attention back to your chemistry notes.

A few silent minutes passed before you leaned back over to his desk on the left.

“Hey mister, do you have some pencil lead? I think I ran out,” you whispered to Tsukishima.

He heaved what you thought was the biggest sigh in the universe before responding, “Point-five or point-seven?”

“Tsukishima, you wound me! I thought you knew that I write exclusively in point-five!” you exclaimed with a hand over your chest, feigning offense. 

He rolled his eyes, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him count out three pieces of lead. Three, that’s generous, you think to yourself as you suppress a small smile.

“Thanks, mister,” you whispered as you plucked the delicate sticks of graphite from his fingers. Taking a quick glance at his hands, you noticed that his fingers were wrapped in some sort of adhesive tape. Before Tsukishima could catch you looking for too long and make some snarky remark about how absolutely positively beautiful his hands were for you to be staring, you abruptly turn back to your notes and refill your (actually already lead-filled) pencil. If he wouldn’t answer your question, it wouldn’t hurt to take things into your own hands and figure it out for yourself, right? 

You looked back to the notebook in front of you, but with your curiousity still unsatiated, you couldn’t help the thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, competing for your undivided attention.

Ask him about it! a voice yelled.

Mind your own business, you creepy fuck! another (particularly foul-mouthed) one screamed.

At this point, you’d probably read the first line of your notebook about thirty times without comprehending a single thing, so you decided to give up and resort to banging your head lightly on your desk.

Apparently, 'lightly’ was an understatement, because a voice on your left hissed, “What’s your problem?!”

Oops.

“Nothing,” you replied softly with your head still on the desk.

Tsukishima sighed in exasperation. “Well, now I’m curious and it’s all your fault,” he scoffed, using your own words from earlier.

Now it was your turn to sigh. Stubborn person number one meets equally stubborn person number two: one of life’s most aggravating experiences. 

“C’mon, let me see your hands,” you demanded, your own hand outstretched. You’ll say ‘no’ no matter what I ask.

“No.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Point proven.

You had always considered yourself to be somewhat generous when circumstances permitted, yes. But being yourself around others was something you considered yourself to be quite good at, as well.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if people’s hearts had metaphorical layers of thread surrounding them, winding, twisting, wrapping, and sometimes tangling around and around the ugliest, scariest, or most precious parts of themselves. The people you met would either unravel a bit of your heart, even if just a little bit, or they would cause you to wind the threads of your heartstrings even more tightly. 

You had strings that were (sometimes laughably) effortless to unwind, but once someone got to the last layer of thread, they refused to unravel any further. In other words, you weren’t afraid to be ninety-nine percent yourself around everybody. But that one percent? You’d keep it safely tucked away behind the impenetrable fortress of that last previous layer of thread — for both the good of yourself and everyone else.

Sometimes, you also wondered what the threads wrapping around Tsukishima’s heart was like. Not because you particularly had more of an interest in him than your other classmates, but because he was a sort of enigma to you. You had countless questions: How hard is it to unravel those threads? and What lies beyond those tightly wound strings? and What did he have to hide that is so unsightly? et cetera, et cetera. He was a puzzle you wanted to piece together, although you weren’t sure what the finished product would look like, or if there even was a finished product. 

You had a lot more questions about Tsukishima than you did answers.

You must’ve been deep in thought for a while, because it took an utterance of some rather coarse language to bring you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered, fiddling with the tape covering his fingers. It was evident, after about ten seconds of observing him, that he was getting nowhere. At this point, you were presented with two choices: to help him or to leave him to wallow in his own frustration and suffer. Admittedly, the latter option seemed rather entertaining, but for some unknown reason, you opted for the former.

“Here, let me help,” you said, hand extending in front of you as an offer. “You obviously aren’t getting anywhere, so let me put you out of your misery.”

“You better get it all off then,” he grumbled, outstretching his arm, letting it limply dangle in front of your face. Huh, I didn’t expect him to actually agree so easily.

You gently took his hand, and starting with his pinky finger, you worked your nails under the end of the tape. As the tape unraveled further, you couldn’t help but notice how elegant his hands were. They were long and slender in ways that yours weren’t — the magnum opus of all things relating to hands. If God played favorites, he certainly did when it came to Tsukishima’s hands. Geez, knock it off, you cringed inwardly. You’re literally worshipping his hands at this point.

“So, uh, why are your fingers covered in tape?” You hoped to break the awkward silence between the two of you, and asking him questions that he probably wouldn’t answer (especially to plebeians like you) seemed like the last resort.

“Volleyball practice,” he responded simply. 

Oh. I didn’t expect an actual response.

“This morning? You guys sometimes have practice early in the day, right?”

“Last evening,” he corrected.

“You had these on your hands for that long?! I see you’re finally getting serious about volleyball, my dude, but you have to be able to ask other people for help." People other than me, but if I’m your last resort, then I’d be happily obliged to help.

Tsukishima scowled, which, thankfully, you missed, busy undoing the tape around his fingers. At least you didn’t criticize him for being hypocritical regarding his attitude about volleyball, which was relieving. 

There was a substantial (and slightly awkward) pause as you peeled the white adhesive strip of cloth off of his fingers, working slowly enough so that it wouldn’t hurt, or so you hoped.

“There we go!” you exclaimed proudly as the last of the tape fell away from his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, not unlike a newly hatched butterfly would flap its fresh new pair of wings. 

“Thanks,” he responded curtly. 

As if on cue, the bell rang, marking the end of study hall. It was time for chemistry class.

Over the course of your next class, your mind with occupied with thoughts that weren’t even remotely related to chemistry. You almost had a close call with the teacher when he called on you to answer a question, but thankfully, your friend sitting next to you whispered the answer in your ear — though not before giving you a quizzical look. You were too embarrassed to say that you were actually thinking about why the hell you actually agreed to help the guy sitting the next seat over whom you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

I did not just touch his hands no no no — I did not just hold hands with Tsukishima Kei — It wasn’t really of my own volition and he looked like he really needed help and I was feeling generous and it conveniently benefited the both of us, right? He got to finally be free from his misery and I— I got to touch his hands—

Your thoughts spiraled out of control as you buried your face in your hands, and perhaps some of the threads around your heart unraveled themselves that day.

Thus, after that day, your everyday routine changed in more ways than one. You would into the classroom, say hi to your friend in the third row, put your bag on the desk, pull out your chair, sit down, take out your notebook and pencils, and wait for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave. If he still had tape around his fingers (which was quite often), you’d ask him if he needed help; he’d say yes, and you would spend the next however many minutes undoing the adhesive strips of cloth.

Today was no different. You carefully eased the tape away from Tsukishima’s fingers. When you got to the base of his ring finger, he hissed in pain. The skin there was red and raw as if it had been recently injured. Not as if, it had been.

“Sorry,” you whispered, wincing as if you were the one in pain. “How’d you get hurt?” This time, you were genuinely concerned for him, which was rare for anyone, especially him.

“The one time I put some more effort into volleyball as if it were actually worth something, it comes back to bite me,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

You looked up from his hand. 

“What?”

“I said, somehow I always give the things that I swear off from my life a second chance, it never, ever, works out,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t get better out of sheer will? You’re bound to slip and fall on your butt at least a few times. Or a lot,” you responded. 

“Nobody told me that falling would hurt this much, though,” he replied. He looked off to the side, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

“It’ll get better, trust me. You just have to get back off your ass and stand up.”

You left the conversation at that and continued undoing the tape on his other hand. 

I want to kiss his hands like I’m greeting the crown prince of a foreign kingdom, you thought, lips twitching, fighting back a small smile.

Oh my God, stop it! you mentally slapped yourself. You had to restrain yourself from actually slapping yourself in the face. Meanwhile, the uniform you wore began to feel a bit too warm — it was quite convenient that Tsukishima couldn’t see your face at that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Tsukishima's thoughts weren’t nearly as calm as his cool and collected exterior. 

After all, what was he supposed to do when he could feel your breath fanning on his hands (could he tell you were desperately trying to keep them steady?) and your meticulous fingers on his?

I must be going crazy, he thought.

He imagines holding your hand, and not because of that dumb finger tape-

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the idea from his memory. No, I’m definitely going crazy.

“So, do you like him or something?” your best friend asked out of the blue during a sleepover, the both of you laying in the darkness on your sleeping bags.

“Who?” you asked, though you had an idea of who she was referring to. 

“Tsukishima. That guy who sits to your left during study hall.”

“No, why would I like him? I mean, how can you even tell if you like someone or not. It’s not like there’s a radar that detects crushes and blasts ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE’ on speaker,“ you replied dryly.

“Do you feel different around him?” she asked.

“As in the cliché symptoms of love that you read in romance novels? Like you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you have to clutch your shirt like it’s gonna pop out onto the floor if you don’t? If that’s what you’re asking, then no.”

“I mean that could be a sign, but you don’t have to feel like that to like someone. I mean in the way that you’re willing to show them who you really are, including all the ugly parts of yourself that you wouldn’t show to other people.”

Of course not! you thought to yourself. There’s no way I would fall in love with someone that I argue with for fun, right? 

“Why do you always complain about those tryhards on your volleyball team? You can always quit, you know,” you asked after Tsukishima was in a particularly bad mood about something, presumably about volleyball (as it usually was). As per your daily schedule, you were unraveling his finger tape during study hall once again.

“Don’t they know that the more effort they put into something, the more it’ll hurt when they find out everything they believe in is a lie?” he asked.

You paused. Oh, it was an a genuine question, you realized. And he wants a genuine answer.

“Such as?” you asked, your mouth acting quicker than your mind. I probably shouldn’t have pried deeper into something that’s obviously his business.

He went ahead and responded anyway, but not before taking a deep breath.

“When I was little,” he began, “I looked up to my older brother a lot. I really respected him, you know? He was my idol; he was perfect and infallible in every way. He played volleyball in junior high, so it was only natural that I played the same sport he did. And he continued playing throughout high school, or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” you repeated.

“He lied to me.” With those four words, you heard years and years of resentment and bitterness through his shaking voice, barely above a whisper. 

“To be honest, I should’ve expected it,” he continued, laughing humorlessly at himself. “I was too enamored to realize that when he was trying to stop me from watching his games, he was also trying to stop me from finding out that he was a liar. He wasn’t even a starting player. Instead he was on the bench, cheering for the team he was supposedly on.”

As those words left his mouth, you realized how little you understood Tsukishima. No, it was honestly ridiculous how you could consider yourself his friend when all you did was unwind strips of tape from his fingers for a mere few minutes every day.

Despite that, you held his hands a little tighter.

“If you don’t mind, I had a similar experience in junior high as well. This girl that I was really close friends with apparently had a huge circle of friends outside of school, and she would tell me and my other friends about all the rich guy friends she had and how well they treated her and shit. But I found out years later that they were probably all made up so that she could have something to tell us. So that she could keep us in her friend group. I realized they were fake.”

You let go of his hands, your arms limp at the memory.

“And how are you two right now?” Tsukishima asked. “Your relationship, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, we’re still on good terms,” you said. “She still doesn’t know I found out. But despite her pretending to be someone else in front of us for all those years, I still don’t think she’s a bad person. I’m actually kinda glad she got the attention she wanted. But man, the past still hurts like a bitch,” you chuckled in an attempt to forget.

“I see,” he replied. With that, you picked up his hand once again, continuing to undo the tape around the rest of his fingers.

That day, both you and the once unyielding, stone-faced Tsukishima left the classroom knowing just a bit more about each other.

You didn’t know that day that Tsukishima had his first real conversation with his brother after ‘the incident’.

He didn’t know you gave that friend from junior high a call for the first time in two years.

And the threads around your hearts unwound themselves just a bit more.

“No, I don’t,” you finally responded after a long pause. “I don’t like him in that way. He’s just someone I can rant to about the shit that happened in junior high—”

“Say that again, but slower,” your friend interrupted.

“He’s someone that I can rant to about all the... stuff that happened in the past,” you repeated. Did she not hear me the first time?

“Exactly, that’s my point,” she responded. “You never talk about those things with anybody, and even when I bring it up, you just brush over it.”

The weight of what your friend was implying took far too long for your brain to register, but when it did—

“Oh shit, I think I might actually like Tsukishima.”

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart bit by bit through the conversations you had with him while unraveling his finger tape; it was where you opened your heart and he opened his. 

“You and Tsukishima aren’t a thing, right?” a voice asked you out of the blue in the hallway after the dismissal bell rang.

“What?” you asked, turning your head to see who it was. You recognized her, although you struggled to put a name to her face. “You sit in the back of our study hall classroom, right? And to answer your question, no, we are not a thing.” 

Such questions were becoming all the more frequent these days, and you had the same two-letter answer to all of them (although you secretly hoped you could answer yes, but how Tsukishima felt about you was a whole different story).

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure you two aren’t dating? Like you could just be going out with him and not know it,” she answered.

You held back a snort that almost escaped your lips. 

“No, I’m sure we aren’t,” you said with a sigh, trying to keep your tone remotely cordial. “Besides, I’m not sure if he even considers me as a friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure he considers you as more than that,” she replied with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. “Trust me.”

You barely knew her, so you couldn’t say how credible her statement was (though you desperately wanted it to be true). You glanced at the clock, itching to end the conversation.

“Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it. I have to get home now though, seeya.”

“Seeya around then,” she replied with a wave. Why does that sound strangely ominous?

“Bye,” you answered, too mentally drained from the conversations that began with the same question: ”Oh my God are you dating Tsukishima?” (Answer: no, no you weren’t). Nonetheless, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that you haven’t seen the last of her just yet.

She appeared the very next day, in the same spot at the hallway after school ended. That’s... strange.

You decided to ignore how off-putting it was. Maybe it was her wide smile — so much so that you could see her dimples and her blinding white teeth. Or maybe it was the way she spoke, like she was trying to get something from you. Whatever it was, you didn’t have what she wanted.

“If you’re asking whether Tsukishima and I became a thing within the past twenty-four hours, then no,” you said in exasperation. She was now walking by your side with an odd spring in her step, a bit too close for comfort despite the empty hallway.

“No, that wasn’t my question,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep denying that Tsukishima doesn’t like you, but I think he does.”

You had to scoff at that.

“In what way?” 

“In that way,” she responded with a knowing glance. “You’re already in the talking stage with him! He never talks to anyone other than that one friend he has, so I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“And that totally means that he’s in love with me.”

“Please, don’t lie to yourself. You’ve gotten farther than anybody has, even if they tried for their entire life. How did you do it?”

But I didn’t do anything, you thought. 

“I just talked to him about stuff,” you replied slowly. The look she gave you said go on, so you did. 

“I just talked to him about myself and deep stuff and shi— and such. I really didn’t do much, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. Why don’t you try and ask his friend Yamaguchi?”

“No, I think I’m good,” she said with an unreadable tone. “Well I gotta go, so see you tomorrow!”

“....Bye,” you replied halfheartedly. You tried to shake the unsettling feeling from your chest, but you couldn’t help thinking, What if he does like me back?

The volleyball made a resounding smack against the court behind the middle blocker instead of his hands. Tsukishima clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. Another ball that I couldn’t block?

“Hey, use your smartass head for once and pay attention!” Kageyama yelled across the court.

Tsukishima ignored his taunts. 

“Oh, the smart mouth finally doesn’t have any words left to say? Finally some peace and quiet,” Kageyama muttered. 

Practice continued for far too long, but the whistle finally blew, signaling everyone that it was time to go home. Finally, Tsukishima thought. I don’t have to listen to the King spew nonsense anymore.

He and Yamaguchi gathered their belongings and made their way out of the gym.

“Something’s on your mind,” Yamaguchi commented as they walked back home side by side.

“No there isn’t,” Tsukishima replied a bit too quickly to sound convincing.

“Right.”

A long silence ensued, the two of them kicking pebbles on the road and twiddling their thumbs in the cool night air. The buzz of the electric street lamps felt much too loud, feeding off the tension in the air. 

“How can you tell that you like someone?” Tsukishima was the first to break the silence, but it was the question, not the fact that he was the one that spoke first, that was more jarring.

“So I was right,” Yamaguchi responded after a slight pause. He fought back a small smile and added, “I thought something bad happened that I didn’t know about, but it turns out that you’re just in love.”

The taller one of the two sighed. 

“I’m asking you to tell me if I... like someone in that way, not for you to tell me that I am, Tadashi.”

“I can’t make a judgement if you don’t tell me anything. Tell me.” Yamaguchi lightly punched his friends arm.

“There’s this... classmate of mine. They asked if I needed help peeling off my finger tape during study hall and I said yes.”

“I figured as such.”

“What?” 

“You always come into first period with your fingers still wrapped but it’s gone by the time practice starts. I always wondered why but I never got around to asking you. But I’m even more surprised at the fact that you actually agreed.”

“Yeah, I surprise even myself sometimes,” Tsukishima deadpanned. “Especially the fact that it would become something that they would ask pretty much every day, and I would say yes every time. I just don’t know whether I have feelings for them in that way or not.”

“Well, do you look forward to talking to them everyday?” Yamaguchi asked.

Yes.

“Do you want them to know you for who you really are instead of what people think you are?”

Yes.

“Does your mind wander to them all the time?”

Yes.

“If you flipped a coin to decide whether you do like them or not, would your gut tell you the answer before you looked at whether it landed on head or tails?” 

Yes, Tsukishima answered silently, knowing he’d finally have to accept the truth: he was in love and there was nothing he could do about it.

One thing you didn’t know about having a crush on someone was that you suddenly realize how often they appear in your life. You knew where you’d cross paths with him in the hallway before and after school, where his locker was, and worst of all, every goddamn love song reminded you of him. 

Even all the little mannerisms people had circled back to him: your friend would push her glasses up her nose the same way he did. Your mother would furrow her eyebrows like him when he was thinking about a particularly annoying math problem. Your English teacher would spin a pen between his fingers, just like him (although you had to admit that you preferred watching the latter do so; his hands were prettier). 

Maybe this was just some twisted manifestation of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, but your brain couldn’t recall enough content from psychology class to be sure. Either way, you were going insane.

That is, until one rather unremarkable day; there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything came and went according to schedule — the same time spent with Tsukishima during study hall and the same boring class lectures. But as soon as the dismissal bell rang, you were surprised to find that the girl who would pester you in the hallway asking about you and Tsukishima’s relationship status (you still didn’t know her name) as if anything had changed (which it had not, of course). 

Apparently, her presence had already become routine enough for you to notice her absence. 

It was a welcome change, though; it wasn’t like you wanted her to be around. No, you absolutely didn’t need her nosy questions. So you just shrugged it off and made your way to the school’s exit like you normally did.

But a very familiar voice from a nearby classroom made your ears perk up — coincidentally, from your study hall classroom. You peered into the room from the doorway.

“Um, I think I like you, Tsukishima! I’ve felt this way for a long time and I just had to tell you!” The same boisterous girl who only had one topic of conversation with you (Tsukishima, of course) now had her hands coyly clasped behind her back, in all likelihood holding something meant for him.

As soon as you heard those words leave her mouth, the world around you seemingly ground to a halt — and so did you. As if your body stopped functioning for a moment, your heart stopped and your brain took much too long to process what she said. 

What did it matter anyway? You didn’t take your chance and look where that got you.

You turned on your heel and half-walked half-ran outside the school.

The second thing you didn’t realize about having a crush on someone, you realized as you laid in the darkness in the middle of the night, is that it physically hurts. Someone might as well have put your heart in a jar of acid and screwed the lid shut — no matter how hard you tried, it still hurt. And hurt it did.

You felt a stray tear slide down your cheek, and you angrily punched your pillow. You didn’t even have the emotional capacity to be angry at the girl who confessed to him. It was too obvious that she liked him, from the way she would stand a bit straighter when you mentioned Tsukishima’s name to the way she seemed a bit too satisfied when you said that you weren’t dating him. Were you too much of an idiot to notice? 

But most importantly, you were angry at yourself. Why were you crying over someone who you knew wouldn’t like you in the way that you liked him? Maybe you were too much of an idiot to not think things through; you’d just assumed that your feelings for him were so intense that he had to like you back. In retrospect, that was a stupid idea. But then again, in retrospect, you were the idiot all along.

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart. It was in the same classroom where you got your heart broken for the first time.

The most annoying thing about the universe was that it was ruthlessly, unrelentingly cruel. The earth kept spinning even if your world stopped mid-orbit, too traumatized by loss to continue. 

This was the brutal irony that you came to realize in the classroom where it all began and ended, supposedly. The very next morning, you had to pick your sorry self out of bed after however many hours of sleep you were able to get and go to school. And now half the school day had gone by — it was study hall time once again. 

“Are you gonna help me get this off my fingers or not?” The voice that you wanted so desperately to get out of your mind after months of replaying in your head plagued you once again. Indeed, the universe was cruel.

“No,” you replied meekly with your head on the desk. “It’s been long enough for you to know how to do it yourself by now.”

“I insist.”

You hesitated. A second passed, then two.

“Fine.”

Ever since you realized your feelings for the other boy with a cold stare and an even icier glare, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of yourself, and today was no different.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Could he? (It wasn’t that obvious, was it?)

You could feel yourself getting warmer by the second. Could he tell? (You were too busy looking at his hands; so let’s hope not.)

You knew that your heart was tugging you in his direction, urging you to do something. Was his doing the same? (You scoffed at yourself — you went over this last night and came to the conclusion that no, there was no way he could ever like you back.)

But maybe you wanted to be wrong this time. Being proven wrong wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but you would rather take the pessimistic point of view in this circumstance so you wouldn’t get hurt. And yet you still got your heart broken. 

That didn’t stop your erratic heartbeat and staggered breaths whenever your fingers brushed over his, though. While slowly unwinding the tape down his fingers, you wondered how many threads he unwound from your heart for it to hurt so much when it broke. Too many for your emotions to be left undamaged by something like this, you reckoned. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was your own for becoming so naïve and vulnerable.

But, the universe was full of irony. While you had your head down, too embarrassed and dejected to say anything else, Tsukishima was thanking whatever gods existed that you couldn’t see how flustered he was. 

Turns out, even people with hearts of stone can fall prey to the symptoms of falling in love. With a million thoughts collectively running through your minds, he was the first to blurt out:

“I think I’m in love.”

You let go of his hands, the loose end of the tape still dangling. There were too many questions raised at the utterance of a single sentence: With whom? When? How? Why?

Before you could organize your thoughts and form a coherent sentence — as if he could read your mind and peer into your soul — Tsukishima answered:

“With you.”

And as soon as the last two words fell from his lips, the last of the threads surrounding your worn, beaten hearts unraveled themselves, and fell away.

[quietmyfearswith]

obssessed ; preferences

warnings — stalking, nonconsensual location/location tracking, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, knife, mentions of killing someone (no actual murder)

characters — dark!andy barber, dark!steve rogers, dark!ransom drysdale, dark!bucky barnes, dark!clark kent, dark!syverson, dark!august walker

a/n — THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH DARK THEMES,, dni if youre not 18+,, just a thought that played around in my mind so yeah. lmk what you think!

their love language | with their little | when you’re insecure | slipping into little space | fussy | happy hoelidays | cartoons

masterlist

To celebrate the case they won they held a little party at the office; though Andy wasn’t in a celebratory mood. With his hand clasped together against his lips, his eyes were watching closely his phone screen as he was awaiting a text from his beloved girlfriend who promised to be here. “Hey Andy, we’re popping the champagne already; are you joining us?” Tearing his attention away from the device, he smiled a bit as he told them, “I will once Y/N comes over.”  Tess, the assistant who invited him, chuckled a bit before leaving him alone in his office, “Staring at the phone won’t make her come over any quicker you know?” It was something they never really confronted Andy about — almost everyone at the office noticed how he had a firm grip around the girl, but no one dared to question or comment about it because they know how the skilled lawyer would come after them once they do — but silently they understood that if you spoke, let alone looked at her, badly it wouldn’t end well for everyone.

As the door shut once Tess walked away, his intense gaze returned once again to the mobile phone as he awaits a response from his girl. “Baby! I’m here now,” Snapping his head to the source of the sound, he immediately stood up and hugged Y/N as he let out a relieved sigh. “Where were you? And most importantly why didn’t you answer my text or return my calls hm?” Rolling her eyes with how her boyfriend was grilling her as if she was one of the witnesses he had on his case she apologized, “I’m sorry, baby. I got held up at the salon because my mani took longer than expected,” Her manicured nails then raised her phone to show how even as she pressed the button it wouldn’t turn on, “And my phone ran out of battery.” Wrapping an arm around her, he removed her bag and left it by the coat hanger and guided them to where the party was. “I’m gonna buy you a portable charger, baby; that way you won’t ever run out.” Innocently, she smiled and thanked him with a kiss on the lips before saying hello to his colleagues whom she got along well. That way the tracker I put on your phone will always be turned on, he deviously thought to himself as he sipped some of his champagne.

“Another long day huh?” August asked as he peeked his head around Y/N’s cubicle. It was quite odd to say the least — a field agent of his caliber not having his own office instead opting for a cubicle beside one of CIA’s lanky desk jockey? It was one of the questions she asked the infamous Hammer as he settled on the office cubicle beside hers, “Why settle for a tiny office station?” She asked to which he chuckled at as he explained, “Half the year I’m somewhere around the world; so what’s the point of having a big office if I don’t enjoy it all year round?” It was a good, solid point — one she so easily believed without a second thought — but unfortunately it was all a lie. Ever since Walker saw her once at a meeting Sloane held, he was hooked. Initially it was just her beauty and energy, but as he got to know her more he fell for who and what she was. “Yeah, I might need to stay a bit longer than usual,” She replied as she lifted the files she held, pinning the blame on the current target that needed to be researched on. “How ‘bout some coffee then?” Ears ringing with joy at his offer, she looked at him with an appreciative look as she nodded. Chuckling at her reaction, he stood up and trodden over the pantry. Installing surveillance devices on her work computer and cameras around her desk paid off since it allowed him to know everything there is to discover about her — her favorite artists, pet peeves, how she liked her coffee, home address, mobile phone number, even her social security number!

“How’d you know how I like my coffee?” She asked after taking a sip of the hot beverage; with a smile he shrugs as he pretends to get back to the work on his computer, “Well it was just a wild guess.” In her mind however, she did find her tastes to be quite basic and didn’t doubt August which was a relief to the field agent. “I think I’ll be going home now,” She announced as she shut off her computer and began to clean up her desk. “Need a ride home?” He knew she did, since he overheard her talking to a mechanic earlier that day about a defect her car suddenly had, “Yeah I do actually, but I wouldn't want to hassle you.” Quickly putting on his brown coat, he was standing up as he fished his keys out, “Nonsense! I don’t mind helping a colleague out.” Conceding, she took up his generous offer with a smile. As they were making an easy-going conversation, Y/N gave her address; but what she didn’t know is that not only did August know by heart where she lived, but he had also paid her house a visit multiple times in the past.

With an arm draped around her shoulder, Bucky and Y/N walked around the farmer’s market; the latter whined endlessly to her boyfriend how she wanted to buy some products. And though the thought of going out in the crowds wasn’t at all appealing to him, the need to make her smile made him go anyway. Leading him up to the different stalls, the former Winter Soldier couldn’t help but chuckle at how she would coo and be all excited for the different groceries, clothes, and figurines. “Slow down, doll. The market’s not going anywhere,” Bucky told her as he tailed behind her as he carried over 10 different bags filled with her purchases. It wouldn’t normally be a problem for him to look after her, but as the path became filled with people and him being preoccupied with the bags he held made him unable to keep a grip on her. With worried, drifting eyes, he was searching for his girlfriend who seemed to have blended right up with the bustling crowds, “Y/N? Doll? Where are you?” 

Setting the bags down on a vacant table, he then spotted her standing by a stall that sold her favorite food. His relieved smile was soon being replaced with a scowl as she was talking and laughing with another man. Whipping out the knife he kept on the pocket of his jeans, he was ready to torture the man. But as Y/N turned to him with a wide smile, it had him hiding the knife out of her sight, “Bucky! Look it’s Sam, my cousin!” Upon her introducing who the man was, the knife that was hidden was being kept back into its original hiding spot before he shook hands with the man, “Oh! Nice meeting you same, I’m Y/N’s boyfriend.” As they shook hands Sam had given them both a look as he sassed, “I know who you are! This one,” He referred to Y/N by pinching her side as she smacked his hand and giggled, “Won’t stop gushing about you every time we talk.” Seeing how she was clinging to his metal arm as she nuzzled her cheek to his side was all the confirmation Bucky needed; Sam then excused himself, “Well you got to swing by one of our family gatherings, yeah Bucky?” Nodding, they all exchanged farewells before the couple headed to the table where their bags still were — thankfully not stolen. “You shouldn’t have run off like that, doll. Got me real worried for a second,” He gently scolded her with a stern look. Pouting, she defended herself, “I’m sorry, Bucky! I just saw these cute little mason jars, but they were too expensive so I walked away. Then I smelt something delicious so I followed it and it turned out it was my favorite food; but Sam was there so I chatted with him instead.” Ending her enthusiastic breakdown of events with a sweet peck on the lips, he told her, “Doll you know that I would have bought you anything your sweet heart wanted. Just don’t go anywhere without me okay?”

The soft ping on his phone made Jensen pause his movements as he was selecting  a movie that you both would watch; eyebrow raising when he noticed that a certain “Steve” was texting you. Opening the text through the software he installed on both your phones allowed him to see every activity you do on your phone — but it wasn’t the only feature it had for it also allowed him to change the texts, emails, and other settings on her phone. A frown graced his handsome features as he read the text, “ Hey Y/N I can squeeze you in on Thursday, at 3pm. Are you free by then?” Displeased, he then sent a text to the guy saying how his assistance wouldn’t be needed any more. And he edited the text Steve sent her to make it seem that it was Steve that texted how he could no longer accommodate her. “Got some chips and chocolates!”

Her excited voice brought his attention from his phone screen to her excited face as she plopped herself beside him. “Thanks, babe,” Kissing her forehead, he sneakily looked over to where she was unlocking her phone and reading the text; noticing how she pouted he inquired, “What's wrong, babe?” Snuggling up to his side after sending a reply, she explained, “Steve said he can’t meet up with me anymore.” As he was rubbing her back, he faked the symphony, “Aw that’s too bad; why did you even need to meet up with Steve anyway?” She did not pick up on the faint hints of darkness on his tone, “He was my dentist! He was going to determine whether I need to have surgery for my tooth, remember?” At the revelation of who Steve really was, the  communications and technology expert felt slightly guilty but he was quick to reassure her, “Don’t worry baby I know a dentist who can help you.” Feeling her hum appreciatively against him, she planted a kiss on his cheek as they both focused on the movie; and as her eyes were trained on the screen, he whispered lowly, “You're only gonna be around people I trust, babe.”

There was a reason Sy had chosen a house that was nearly thirty minutes away from downtown — it was so their friends and families would feel lazy or discouraged to visit them due to the distance and time it took to get there. “Where on earth do you need to be today, petal?” Sy’s morning voice huskily rasped out in her ear; they both had just woken up and as Y/N was moving to stand up from the bed, she was being trapped in his muscular arms for a hug. Giggling at how he was being, she rolled around so they would be facing each other, “‘M going out with my friends today — Sophia and Rose have been bugging me about how we don’t hang out as often anymore.” At the mention of her going out and leaving him, Sy’s mood deflated and his eyes went wide; this wasn’t how he pictured this day going. “But petal, you’re gonna leave me all alone in this big house? ‘M gonna miss you so much,” The former army captain whined as she got out of his grasp and heading to wash up in their ensuite bathroom — not before bopping his nose as she reminded him, “Well you chose this house, bear. Plus, it’s only just for a while.”

Sitting up on their bed the man could only cross his arms and grumble, which was interrupted with her phone ringing. After seeing that it was her friend, Sophia, who was calling he then answered it for her, “Hey Y/N! Can’t wait to see you; we’ll pick you up in 20 minutes okay?” Taking the opportunity, Sy then decided to fabricate a lie, “Oh hey Sophia, it’s Sy,” He paused before saying the next parts in a hushed tone, “Y/N won’t be able to make it since she hurt her foot two days ago when going down the stairs. I know she was so looking forward to seeing you. Will do, bye.” With a smirk, the man set her phone back down on the nightstand, just in time since Y/N exited the bathroom, “Who was that, bear?” Making his way over to her, he hugged her as he kissed her forehead, “Sophia, calling to say she’s gonna have to cancel because she’s sick. And Rose was called in to work.” It was clear on her face that she was disappointed because she was looking forward to catching up with her friends, but her boyfriend tried to mirror her expression when in reality he was overjoyed with getting her all to himself. “Guess that leaves just the two of us, petal. Don’t worry, we’re gonna have fun today.” 

“Fucking hell,” Ransom cursed as he was speeding to go to where your tracker said you were. He had gifted you a necklace six months into the relationship, and it was costly not just because of the intricate design it has but also because he had put a tracker on it to keep tabs of your whereabouts — not that you knew about it. You both had a fight the night before, and it didn’t end well since it led to the two of you sleeping in separate rooms and Ransom drinking away his misery. So imagine his surprise when he woke up and found how you weren’t in the house and he noticed as well how a duffel bag that was in your shared walk-in closet was gone; the writer thought of the worst possibilities. And his anger went through the roof when he saw how you were at his grandfather’s house; it was one thing that you guys fought, but to involve his family in this? That was bound to be a fucking mess. As he parked the car by the driveway, he stepped out in rushed steps that were slowed down by the two dogs barking and crowding him, “Shoo, get away, mutts!” He scared them away and entered the house, “Alright where is she?” His yell echoed through the walls as Marta who was walking from the kitchen and into the foyer was startled, “Hugh, what brings you here?” 

“Where’s Y/N?” Knowing Y/N’s secret, the nurse swallowed nervously as she reluctantly told the truth, “She’s with Harlan at the gathering area.” On his way there he noticed how there were some party decorations — some colorful streamers and balloons — on the walls before he saw his girlfriend who was looking through something on her iPad, “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice caused her to gasp out loud as she looked like a deer caught off guard by headlights; standing up she walked towards him, her hands gripping onto his forearms, “We fight and you end up here to my grandfather to what? Complain and seek refuge?” Though his words stung she chose not to feed onto his anger, “Can you promise to listen out to me first?” Seeing how she was calm and not as mad as the night before, he gulped down and nodded. “When you accused me of cheating on you, it hurt because I knew that that wasn’t the truth,” She paused briefly to monitor his reactions, and she knew that he would then ask what was up with her behavior so she addressed it before being prompted to, “And the reason why I seem to be distant or busy these past few days is because I was planning on throwing a surprise party for you — for the success of your book.” At her explanation he could feel his entire body relax at the relief of him not having to kill anyone; also it made sense to him why his grandfather’s house had some ornaments hanging. Pulling her close to him, he hugged her tight as he kissed the top of her head, “Princess, I was so close to killing someone, you have no idea.” Swatting his back, she laughed at him, “I think you owe me an apology, mister. Not only did you ruin the surprise but you also accused me of cheating on you.” Smirking at her he replied, “I’ll make it up to you for the rest of our lives, princess, don’t you worry about it.” And he meant every single word of that promise; for he knew he wanted no one else but her.

The mission went well since the new agents did their jobs well — even exceeding Steve’s expectations of how they would handle the pressure and what decisions they would make in order for the mission to be a success. As the quinjet landed and they were given the clearance to exit the aircraft, the super soldier frowned when he took note how his girlfriend wasn’t anywhere near the landing pad. She always welcomes me back, he thought. The weight of his duffle bag on his arm didn’t matter to him as the feeling of worry and anxiety about his girl was way heavier. Immediately, he headed to their shared living quarters where he hoped she would be, “Kitten? I’m home,” His voice bounced off the walls as he dropped his bag on the floor and looked through every nook of the room. Now his anger and confusion was through the roof and he then decided to consult, “Friday, where’s Y/N?”

“She’s at the common area with Sam and Pietro, Captain,” As soon as AI mentioned where she was he found himself striding briskly towards her location. If she was with Bucky, it wouldn’t have alarmed him as much. But the Captain had a hunch that Sam secretly liked his girl and had plans of stealing him away from him; while Pietro was a natural flirt and joker. Even just by standing at the doorway he heard his beloved’s giggles as Sam recalled an exaggerated story. “There you are, kitten,” He let out, relieved upon seeing his girl alive in one piece. Turning her head, she smiled widely upon seeing her boyfriend and abandoned her conversation with the two Avengers to run to Steve with open arms. “Steve! I missed you so much,” She squealed as the super soldier caught her effortlessly and wrapped his thick arms tightly around her figure. “What are you doing with these troublemakers, kitten?” He wondered out loud, completely ignoring two offended looks from the said men. “I was bored of waiting for you in our room so I went here,” She was cut off from her explanations when Sam added, “That, and we missed hanging out with Y/N!” Even though Y/N giggled, Steve was trying his best to control his rage; but Pietro wanted to push him further to his limits by saying, “You hog her all the damn time we forget how great her company is!” the only girl in the room squealed as she was being carried off by Steve, “Well I don’t want you around her that’s why I hog my girl around.” Everyone around the super soldier still thought that he was joking and decided to laugh it off; Sam’s voice called out to them once more to tell a joke before they both had fully exited the room, “Yeah? Well why don’t you just lock her up in a secluded house then?” That’s exactly my plan, Sam, Steve smirked to himself quietly.

Clark needed an escape that night; for someone who has inhumane powers the stress of his job at the Daily Planet can definitely take a toll on one person — so he decided to go flying around at night, just to take his mind off things. As he was flying, he sensed trouble and decided to check out what was happening. It was a woman who was being bothered by her ex who was clearly under the influence, “Goddamn it, Alex! I told you I don’t want to talk to you!” Y/N was trying her best to push him away, but even in his drunken state he had a  tight grip on her forearms. “Just wanna talk to you, baby,” He sing-songed as he tried to push his body closer to hers. “I think she made it clear that she doesn’t want to,” A booming voice spoke up, causing Y/N to gasp out loud when she saw Superman himself; Alex however grunted at the searing pain on his shoulder caused by the mysterious man, the pain weakening his hold on the girl to the point where he tore his hands away from Y/N to push away the weight on his shoulder. In his drunken state, he failed to piece together how it was the infamous hero in front of him — instead all he saw was a tall, muscular man and decided he didn’t want to have his face beaten up so he just walked away with his arms up in surrender. “Are you alright, miss?” Clark gently asked the woman who felt relieved she was no longer being bothered by her ass of an ex. “I am, thank you.” She nodded and before she could ask how’d she find him he offered, “Would you need help getting home? Just to make sure he won’t follow you again.” He was quick to clarify, in hopes she won’t find him creepy. “I know you have good intentions, but it’s fine. I don’t think he has the balls, let alone the energy, to bother me. At least for tonight.” With that she waved at the hero goodnight before getting into her car and driving into her apartment — but she didn’t know how up in the sky above, a certain pair of blue eyes followed her journey home.

“Hi! You must be the one who moved next door?” Y/N politely greeted the man as she was leaned by her front door. Clark smiled as he adjusted his glasses — suddenly feeling nervous upon seeing her beautiful face once more, “That is me! Though the one who moved next door is quite a mouthful; you can just call me Clark.” As she laughed at his lame joke she told her name, “And feel free to knock if you need anything, okay?” Taking his nod of agreement as a cue that their conversation ended, she entered her apartment. The son of Jor-El II went inside his own apartment that was directly next to hers  — he did so because days and nights of following her didn’t satiate his hunger for her, so he decided that perhaps this would be a clean way of easing her into a relationship — and busied himself with organizing his belongings in his apartment. Hearing Y/N’s increased heart rate and her voice raised, he opened his door to check out what was going on; and the sight of her ex bothering her once again. “Come on, Y/N! You need to take me back!” Displeased with how the imbecile failed to grasp that Alex should not reach out to his girl anymore. Letting his rage get the best of him, he walked over and pushed Alex off hard enough he landed on his bum, “When a woman says she doesn’t want to see or talk to you, then you better comply with her request.” Gulping down, he recognized the strength as the same one who grabbed onto his shoulder — and now as he was sober Alex decided to respect her wishes and hastily stood up to leave the apartment building. “Are you alright?” Seeing how Clark stood up for her, it made her reminisce about how she was reduced two weeks ago by Superman, “I’m fine, Clark,” She nodded as she grounded herself back to reality and stared into his concerned, blue eyes, “Thank you, by the way.” As he smiled at her she offered him for some snacks in her flat, which he gracefully accepted. “You know, you’re the second person who helped me get rid of Alex,” She mentioned as she handed him a snack; feigning innocence he tilted his head up as he inquired, “Oh? Who’s the other one?” Taking a small bite of the snack, she wiped her mouth free from the crumbs before  replying, “You probably won’t believe it, but it was Superman,” She laughed along with her new neighbor who didn’t find it unbelievable and instead played along as he spoke, “Who’s to say I’m not your personal superhero, beautiful?”

[royallyjoon]

nephilim (trois)

you know where the cred goes 💙

cult au, supernatural au

yandere! ot7 x f! reader

warnings: yandere themes, violent behavior

life away from the kims resumed as normal and you warily readjusted to the boys’ presence in your life. although you gained their company, you also gained a new enemy. you should take extra care not to forget your place, as internal and external forces are constantly at work. the question is: do they work in or against your favor? the hours wind on, and strange occurrences only get stranger. after all, ichabod is most awake in the dark.

-----------------------------------------—————

In your dream, you saw Jimin, but he was not the same person that you had met earlier that day. 

He stood atop Ichabod Chapel, combing through his black hair with his hand and looking down at you with brown eyes. But rather than the warm, twinkling eyes you recognized, his glistened in the moonlight, cold and hardened like topaz. 

Despite the distance, you somehow managed to see him clearly. You could see his smile, warm and affectionate, completely unlike the gaze in his eyes. He looked as though he couldn’t care less about what was happening around him--his sole focus was on you.

He was dressed in pitch black clothes from head to toe, which were soaked in some foreign substance.

 The clothes clung to him in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but he looked as though he couldn’t be bothered to change. In fact, he looked as though he relished in the substance.

Strangest of all were the magnificent black wings that rested on his back, curving their way through the shadows to reach up toward the night sky.

You eyes shot open as you woke with a start. It was still early, early enough that you could have gotten an extra hour or so of sleep, but you decided to just stay awake. Your dream had been much too unsettling...

You played around on your phone, internally debating your response to Jimin before typing something and sending it.

That’s so kind of you. I’m glad we met as well :)

You heard your mother’s knock on the door some time later. With a sigh, you lifted yourself from the warmth and safety of your sheets, getting prepared to brave the day.

--------------------------------------———————

The moment you entered the upperclassmen building, you were yanked to the side and pulled into an empty classroom. You looked up in alarm but relaxed when you saw who it was.

Mana gripped you with something akin to fear, glancing around suspiciously to make sure the coast was clear. Once they were satisfied, they closed the door and hugged you tightly. “(Y/N), you whore! You have no idea how worried I was. How dare you not text me last night? How long did you spend over there? What happened?”

You smiled at your best friend’s antics, their overprotectiveness chipping away at your lingering unease from this morning. 

You recounted your experience at the Kim household, telling them about the beautiful, secluded home in the woods, the brothers’ actions, their graceful talent of a mother, and the demanding presence of their father.

“Honestly, I was a little scared.” you recounted, sliding your bag off your shoulder. “There were so many things to be wary of, but I just spent the whole evening being as polite as possible.” 

They nodded along, engrossed in your story.

“Mayor Kim is seriously intimidating, and Mrs. Kim read my fortune—said something about power and being careful of the people around me--and the library, Mana, you would have loved it-”

“Hold on, girl! Back up.” Mana interrupted. “The mayor’s wife said what?”

“Oh,” you slowed down. “Mrs. Kim touched my palm and said I held a lot of wisdom and power, I guess within me, and that I should be wary of those around me because they may try to take it.”

They gave you a pointed look. “I knew it. The second I saw Jimin look at the empty seat next to you from the front of the classroom, I got a bad feeling. To think the warning would come from his own mother...��

“What does that mean?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

“I think you should just continue to be wary of the Kims...” Mana murmured, crossing their arms. “I know we always play it safe, but the closer to them you get, the more peril you’ll be in.”

You sat down in an empty chair. The possibilities for being hurt in this town were certainly far from rare, after all. But for them to claim the brothers would try to hurt you, even though you did nothing to provoke them...?

“Mana, do you think they might try to do something to me?”

They shrugged. “I’ve said what I felt I needed to say.”

“But steal my ‘power’?” You held up two fingers and scrunched them for air quotations. “What could the most influential people in town possibly want with me or my supposed power? What would they even do with it?”

What power do I have?

Mana looked at you concernedly while you pondered your own question.

Power? To you, it was overrated. Power was nothing but an elite show of force, all over the world but especially in this town. It was used and lorded over others, and ripped families apart. You did not consider yourself very powerful. 

You remembered your obedience toward Mr. Kim in spite of your fear and suspicion, and the way you had to rub your mother’s back as she heaved up everything she ate on the side of the road after leaving their house.

Yeah...power was currently far from your grasp.

You shrugged. You were going to follow Mrs. Kim’s warning either way; after all, nothing good came of being too expressive or open in this town.

Mana turned away from you as you both heard the bell ring for the fifteen minute warning. You picked up your bag as they led the way out the door and up the stairs toward your classroom.

When you stepped into the door, you glimpsed Jimin sitting at his desk with a disturbed frown on his face. The moment he met eyes with you, however, he was all smiles.

“(Y/N)!”

You walked down the other side of the aisle and sat in your seat, turning toward him with a smile. “Morning, Jimin.”

“Good morning! Thanks for replying to my text! How was your rest? I hope you got much more sleep than yesterday night.” His eyes wouldn’t move away from yours, all big and awestruck like a puppy’s.

You nodded. “Of course! Thanks for worrying, though. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did. I’ll always be concerned for your safety and well-being, (Y/N). If you feel like you ever need somewhere to go or someone to confide in, feel free to reach out to me, okay?” 

His tone turned strangely serious in comparison to how he greeted you moments before, you thought. Still, you gave him a small smile. 

“Sure, Jimin. I really appreciate your concern and the offer...”

He beamed and nodded, turning to give his greetings to Mana, who seemed surprise that they were being spoken to at all. As they conversed, you reached into your bag and pulled out your materials for the morning lesson.

“Did you end up choosing a mythological creature for your project yet?” Jimin asked.

Their mouth twitched upward. “My partner and I decided to research nymphs...I don’t know too much about them, he pretty much chose our project topic.”

They reached over and ruffled your hair. “You lucked out with (Y/N) here, she really knows her stuff.”

You scoffed and swatted their hand away from your head. “You mean I lucked out by not being partnered with your lazy self? You’re absolutely right.”

Jimin watched the two of you bicker back and forth, fighting the urge to smile.

The teacher entered the room, placing her materials on her desk. You and your peers silenced as you prepared yourself for the long day of classes.

Right here, surrounded by your community, your classmates, and your best friend...yes, this was the time where you felt the most normal. 

Deep down, you knew you wanted to leave Ichabod--without a doubt. But you feared the outside world all the same. 

The people outside wouldn’t be able to understand the things you had went through. They would giggle away your paranoia and reassure you of your safety, having no perception of the actual dangers you faced. 

They didn’t know the things that could set you off, the things that the people around you could understand with the simple exchange of a glance.

But you quieted the thoughts of your precarious future as the teacher began her lesson, falling into the routine once more.

----------------------------------------——————

Before the Kims even stepped foot into town, it was the Augustuses who ruled Ichabod with an iron fist. Their family came from old money. They had lived here for generations upon generations, their stature being crucial to the survival of the town. They oversaw the law enforcement of Ichabod. 

Nearly thirty years ago, when the town was still overrun with violence, miscreants, and chaos, the Augustuses did nothing to keep the peace. They sat from their high horse with other prominent families and watched the middle and lower classes struggle.

The then-head of the family, Rufus Augustus, was especially known for ignoring his duties.

Then Kim Moonsik stepped into town and established his position as mayor and, more importantly, as a servant of the divine Wylynne.

Once he saw how poorly Rufus acted, he fought to remove him from his position.

The man was too proud, too unwilling to give his position and title up to this “holy”, foreign newcomer. 

Mayor Kim had wanted to execute Rufus. It was his son, Aloysius, who had gotten down on both knees and begged for his safety. 

Two months later, both Rufus and his wife were sent to Wylynne as divine warriors, leaving the new head and his family to take his place.

The Augustus family were now the Kims’ right hand men: their enforcers and watchful guards within the walls of their kingdom.

The current head, Aloysius, was the chief of police, his wife, Domitia, a commander of her own squad.

Their daughter was Kim Namjoon’s aide, the vice president of the student body.

While the majority of the citizens of Ichabod feared the Kims, there were those select few who would cross the line between fear and respect. These subjects knew well enough to keep their distance away from that dangerous family, but revered them with an eery obsession.

Aemilia Augustus was one of those select few.

She was raised in luxury and privilege. The luxury of complete ease in her environment and the privilege of knowing that, no matter what she did, no normal citizen in this town was powerful enough to go against her or her parents. 

She grew up adhering to the law. The laws of Ichabod specifically, as they would apply to no other.

Aemilia thought of herself as town royalty. She essentially was, considering her family was only a step down the hierarchy from the Kims. 

Her parents were, in short, bootlickers. They trembled underneath their cloaks every monthly meeting, clutching the sophomore’s arms with grips strong enough to rival coconut crabs as they waited to see which poor, unfortunate soul Mayor Kim would call out next.

But when he called them in the middle of the night, ordering them to dispatch officers to “discipline” yet another citizen, they readily responded as if they were family friends carrying out an old grudge on behalf of the other.

Yet another reason why Aemilia found her parents’ subservience so utterly pathetic. They were subjugated to become nothing more than mindless, fearful followers.

She found her grandfather’s actions absolutely foolish. The opportunity for power and reform was well within his grasp, but his narrow mindedness prevented him from making the proper preparations. 

She did not want her parents’ life for herself, nor did she see it anywhere in her future. 

Aemilia wanted to rule rather than be ruled. She had no intention of leaving Ichabod--rather, she saw herself marrying one of Mayor Kim’s sons, the best son, and ruling beside him as his queen.

All of the students at Ichabod Academy knew her name and prestige. She felt that she had the entire school underneath her beck and call. 

She never had to explicitly say what she wanted, because everyone else was already prepared to grant her wish. After all, who was brave, or stupid, enough to go against her? 

Imagine her surprise when she walked into the cafeteria the next day and spotted you, seated with Kim Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Kim Jungkook, smiling up a storm.

A little nobody doing something no one, not even she, had ever gotten to--she’d never heard your name before, she thought to herself, whispering to one of her friend’s to tell her who you were.

You were driving a nail into her carefully crafted plans.

And if you thought you would get away with it, you clearly had another thing coming.

-------------------------------------———————

Your cheeks were starting to hurt.

All you had wanted to do was go get lunch with Mana and Jimin. You skipped breakfast this morning, as usual, and your stomach was growling throughout the majority of morning classes.

When you had jumped up to run off to the cafeteria, you slammed into Taehyung, who had been waiting for you by the door. He in turn backed up into Jungkook, who was standing silently behind him. 

The long, black haired boy caught his older brother with one hand and prevented you both from falling. 

Apologies spilled out of your mouth and Taehyung grinned his boxy grin, apologizing for scaring you. He pounced on Jimin soon after, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“Jimin told me about you guys going to the cafeteria for lunch! I really miss the three of us eating together, and getting to know you yesterday was so much fun, (Y/N)! Would you mind if we joined you...?”

He turned those puppy eyes on you and you found yourself with no reason to refuse. You nodded yes, despite feeling Mana’s laser vision tearing into the back of your skull.

Thus, here you are.

If entering the cafeteria with one Kim yesterday caused some whispers, you knew today would cause full on conversations.

You smiled awkwardly at the brothers with your lunch tray in front of you, suddenly having lost your appetite. Then you clapped your hands together.

“Ah! How rude of me--Taehyung, Jungkook, please meet Mana. They’ve been my best friend since childhood. Mana, this is Jungkook and Taehyung.”

Mana waved in a good natured manner at the boys. You tensed as you watched the interaction. 

Taehyung eyed them suspiciously, and you surmised that he was giving them the same “test” that you received yesterday afternoon. Thankfully, his lips split into that broad grin once more as he leapt across the table to pull them into a hug. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” He cheered.

They grunted, sending you a look of bewilderment over his shoulder. “Yeah, you too...?”

Jungkook mumbled out his greetings soon after.

After Jimin finished scolding Taehyung and he calmed down, the conversation took off. It was hard not to feel relaxed around Jimin and Taehyung together, for their exuberant natures made for fun conversations. You even felt Mana lowering their guard a bit, cracking some jokes that had the four of you disappearing underneath the tables in giggles.

Once again, you were almost able to forget what life was like in this town. You slipped into a comfortable sense of normalcy, picturing yourself as five school friends who had recently met.

Nevertheless, you never should have let your guard down. You never should have forgotten your place.

And by the time you did remember, it was far too late.

A cold substance spilling over you shocked you into reality, your vision obscured by a bubbly, brown trail dripping down your back, over your hair, and landing in your lap, staining your skirt.

The cafeteria, once boisterous, went completely silent. 

You heard a stifled snicker from behind you just as someone else began to speak.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

You turned around and spotted none other than Aemilia Augustus, standing there with her spotless uniform and lunch tray held firmly in her hands.

 Behind her were her two best friends, Brooklyn and Constance...one of whom did not have a lunch tray.

It appeared to be on the floor directly behind you, half of its contents spilled over your back and the other half over your head.

“My dear friend wasn’t watching where she was going and ended up tripping.” Aemilia continued, turning around to face one of them. “Constance, why aren’t you apologizing?”

The blonde had one hand over her mouth and another behind her back. She removed her hand from her mouth, which you presumed was meant to hide her smile, and stepped forward. 

She bowed a little. “I’m so sorry. I can get someone to pay for your laundry bill, or I could buy you lunch next time?”

You felt Mana's eyes on you, but surprisingly, the first person you looked at was not Mana or Constance, nor was it Aemilia. 

You met eyes with Jungkook across the table. His dark eyes glinted dangerously, glued onto Constance and her every action. Taehyung and Jimin shared his look, glaring at the blonde. Taehyung’s hand clenched into a fist on the table, crushing the soda can he held in his hand.

The brothers met your gaze, waiting to see what you would do next.

You blinked the brown liquid out of your eyes and turned to her with a politically polite smile. “It’s fine, everyone makes mistakes. I’m pretty clumsy myself. There’s no need to pay for anything, I can just wash my uniform when I get back home. All is forgiven.” 

How extremely like you, the brothers thought. How extremely like you to not draw attention to yourself at the behest of these hags.

The whispers picked back up in the cafeteria and Aemilia sent you a smile right back. She walked over to the table, stepping into the space between you and Jimin. 

She gently set her tray onto the table, picked up the napkins on your tray, and proceeded to wipe some of it off your face.

“I’m glad you forgave Constance for her mistake, but still, sitting in a dirty uniform all day probably won’t be comfortable.” She spoke placatingly. 

You were momentarily frozen, mystified by her treating you like a child. At least you could see clearly again.

She put the napkin down. “Why don’t you come with me to the student council office for now? We can get you a new uniform there.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go that far-”

“She’s right, you don’t want to have to sit in sticky food for the rest of the day. I’ll come with you,” Mana interrupted with a tone that left no room for permission. 

Mana stood, pulling you up with them. They picked up both your bags, kicked the tray back in the blonde’s direction, and followed Aemilia’s lead out the cafeteria and away from the callous whispers.

As you walked out, Constance smirked, squeezing the Pepsi can hidden behind her back. 

After the three of you left, Jimin slowly lifted his gaze, casting it onto Aemilia’s friends.

They scrambled to clean up the mess, bowing multiple times. 

Before Brooklyn and Constance could scurry away, however, Taehyung lifted a hand, pointing his finger at the blonde. He bent it in a “come here” gesture. She inched over, trying and failing to hide her giddy expression. 

She clutched the tray of trash in her hands, her heart pounding in her ears as the younger sophomore leaned toward her. 

He whispered something in her ear, a malicious smile creeping its way onto his face. 

Constance paled and she stilled. The tray she was holding went crashing to the floor. 

Jimin smirked as he looked at the filth, living and non-living, and picked his bag up, swinging it over his shoulder. Jungkook scoffed and glared at them, prompting them to finally leave. 

Brooklyn picked up Aemilia’s tray and pulled at Constance. The blonde managed to unfreeze herself and walked away trembling. What she was trembling from--fear or admiration--no one could tell. 

The brothers looked at each other and nodded. They stood in unison and left the cafeteria.

-----------------------------------------—————

You had thought yesterday was going to be the most eventful day of your life, but clearly, Wylynne had more in store for you than you could ever imagine.

Not only was your uniform left a mess, but your stomach was growling louder than ever, considering you had been too shocked to eat your meal.

You traipsed down the hallway, cringing as you felt the stickiness of the soda travel from your thighs to your socks.

Now that you were no longer in the heat of the moment, you re-examined your response. You seriously doubted just how clean you’d be able to get in the bathroom. You were honestly thankful for Aemilia’s offer and for Mana insisting you take it.

Of course, you could have gone the rest of the day in your soda soaked mess of a uniform out of sheer pride, but now you wouldn’t have to.

Mana kept you right beside them as Aemilia walked ahead, her strawberry blonde pony tail swinging gently with each step she took.

Aemilia Augustus reeked of luxury and privilege. She did so in a way that few could ever come after her for it, you observed.

She exuded grace like Mrs. Kim did, but hers was different. She looked as though she felt she earned everything she got. 

Rather than Mrs. Kim’s gentle elegance, Aemilia was righteous and indifferent. She knew her place, and reveled in it.

“That witch has something to do with this,” Mana harshly and quickly whispered in your ear. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve incurred the wrath of Strawberry Shortcake and her she-devils.”

“It’s fine,” you whispered back. “We know she didn’t do it, and she’s offering to give me a new uniform before class starts. It’s fine.”

You cut Mana off with a look, internally suppressing a rising negative attitude. There were too many eyes on you, too many ears around you.

Aemilia led the two of you to the third floor, walking until she reached a room at the end of the hall. 

She pulled out a key and put it in the door, unlocking it. “Usually, we aren’t supposed to be in here during school hours to ensure that we’re working diligently in classes, but as the student body vice president, I have a key.” She winked and swung open the door.

“Now about that-oh!”

Aemilia stopped short and you walked behind her, peering over her shoulder. 

Several windows lined the room, lighting it up with the midday sun. It was moderately sized, like that of a classroom. A wooden table set up in the middle with black, rolling chairs pushed up against the edge of the table. 

Kim Namjoon sat at the head of the table, several papers spread out around him and glasses perched on his nose. He looked up, peeved at the intrusion.

“Aemilia...to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The strawberry blonde smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. President. I have a student here who went through a bit of an accident at lunch. We’re just coming to get her a change of clothes.”

Namjoon made no reaction when he spotted you behind Aemilia. He nodded at her, gave his greetings to you and Mana with a small smile, and turned back to the paperwork.

Aemilia waved, implying the two of you could follow her in. The floor was made of a royal blue, lush carpet, and you winced as you dirtied it with your wet shoes. “What are your sizes, (Y/N)?” She questioned.

“I’m a (size) for the shirt and (size) for the skirt.” You quietly stated.

She nodded and walked to the back of the room and disappeared around a corner into what you presumed was an atrium of sorts. You heard a door open and the shuffling of clothes.

Mana entered, sitting on one of the seats lined up against the wall. You stood by one of the walls and peered out of the nearest window.

In the distance, you could see the dark leaves of the forest trees peeking over the tops of buildings and homes. Different students were making their way across the quad, heading back to afternoon classes. You sighed and placed a hand over your stomach.

“Here you are!” Aemilia returned with a uniform shirt and skirt in your size as well as a brand new pack of socks on a hanger. “Usually, the emergency uniforms cost students some additional funds, but you won’t have to worry about paying for it. This one’s on the house.”

You took the hanger gingerly. “Please, you’ve already done so much. The least I can do is pay. I’ll be making it out to the student council?”

Aemilia shook her head. “You really don’t have to, it was Constance’s fault. I’ll do you this favor for her.”

You smiled. “I insist. Please tell me how much is it.”

Aemilia leered at you, her eyes searching for whatever you possessed that made you think you even had the right to challenge her.

This bitch.

“If you insist! It’ll be $30. You can make it out via cash or check to the student council. It’s due by the end of the week.” 

You nodded and gave both students a bow. “I’m so sorry to have disturbed your day. I’ll be going off to class now.”

Aemilia returned your courtesy and Namjoon gave you a small wave.

You locked arms with Mana, left the student council room and headed to the bathroom. 

-----------------------------------------—————

“I’m telling you! There’s something so messed up about that girl!” Mana complained loudly as you stood in the bathroom. You unbuttoned your shirt and proceeded to clean soda residue off your chest, arms, and legs.

Ichabod Academy consisted of three types of bathrooms: men’s restrooms, women’s restrooms, and a gender neutral restroom. There was only one and it was jammed into the basement, and it was your and Mana’s safe space because hardly anyone else ever came down here.

“Even if there is, what am I going to do, call her out on it?” You muttered as you took off your socks, wiping as much of the stickiness as possible off with a warm, wet napkin.

You dried your arms and threw the rest of the napkins away, then went into a stall and took your clothes off completely, changing into the new uniform. “I don’t have the mental energy required to play her mind games today. How much time do I have left?”

“Fifteen minutes.” They said, unlocking and locking their phone. “No, but you seriously haven’t heard of her? Of what she does to people who get too close to the Kims?”

“There’s been someone else getting close to the Kims?” You questioned dryly, pulling the socks on.

“Got, as in past tense, love. Anyone who associates with the Kims excessively, according to her, in any form or fashion has died by her hand.” Mana said. “She practically worships the ground they walk on.”

“She wouldn’t be the only one,” you replied nonchalantly.

“You remember Grace Ster?”

“The girl from our freshman class who left to be homeschooled?” You frowned, buttoning up your shirt.

“Yes! The only reason why she was sent home is because Aemilia blew a fit and ended up tormenting the poor thing until she didn’t want to show up anymore!” Mana said. 

“All Grace did was hold hands with Kim Taehyung. In drama class. For a skit!” You could see them throwing their arms up in disbelief through the crack of the stall door. “That’s why I had you go along with her. If you kept being so stubborn, she might have publicly humiliated you even more in the cafeteria. I wanted to make sure she didn’t get the chance.” 

“Oh...thanks, Mana.” You smiled slightly. 

You walked out the stall and folded your dirty uniform, placing it inside your book bag. You didn’t really have a response, not necessarily shocked by Aemilia’s nature. Something had told you she was different than the persona she made an effort to display.

You washed your hands and slung your bag over your shoulder. “We should just get back before we’re late.”

Mana patted you on the back as you dejectedly walked back to class.

-----------------------------------------—————

When you stepped into the classroom, you got a number of looks and comments, people whispering under their breath about how you dared to anger the queen bee. 

Jimin had, once more, been waiting for you. “(Y/N)! Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” You said. “Aemilia gave me a new uniform to change into.”

As you sat down, your stomach growled loudly. 

Jimin’s eyes snapped back up to meet yours. “You didn’t get to eat, did you? She dragged you out before you could even touch your food.”

You shrugged. “I’ll just eat after school. It’s not the first time I’ve gone without eating and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

Jimin eyed you worriedly as Mrs. Hargrove burst into the room, full of nervous energy as usual. “Good afternoon, students!”

You and your classmates chorused greetings in return. You internally sighed at how long of a day this was turning out to be. 

Jimin continued to fret over you throughout the rest of afternoon classes. You kept reassuring him that you were fine. No, you didn’t need anything from the vending machine, yes you would tell him if you got too hungry.

You reminded yourself that he wasn’t Mana or one of your other classmates--you wouldn’t be able to tell him off, even if you kind of wanted to.

The end of the school day finally arrived and you walked out the double doors between Mana and Jimin.

Jimin pulled you toward him. His brothers stood several feet away from the rest of the student body, watching as Driver Bin pulled up to the corner.

“(Y/N).” Jimin smiled at you, but the look in his eyes was serious. “Remember, you’re much, much stronger than you think you are.” 

He reached his hand down to gently squeeze at yours, and held onto your hand for a bit more before letting it go. “Those petty people are nothing compared to you.”

He let go of your hand and walked toward his four brothers, who began climbing into the vehicle. Hoseok and Taehyung lifted their arms to wave goodbye, and you lifted yours in a half-hearted wave as they pulled away.

You stepped to the side and on one of the benches outside of the school. Mana stood next to you, leaning against a pillar.

You eyed students warily as they linked arms to walk home together in bunches or ran to the curve of the street in front of the school to hop into their parent’s cars. 

A glossy, strawberry blonde ponytail soon caught your attention as it hit the light of the afternoon sun. 

You watched Aemilia walk toward a gray car resting beside the curb, her hair perfect as usual. She waved farewell to her friends and made eye contact with you over their shoulders.

The girl glanced at you. Her eyes were teeming with disgust, but all she did was smile at you as she bent down to sit in the car.

Should I be scared? You thought to yourself as her driver closed the door. They drove away, heading toward the Augustus residence at the center of the city.

Mana popped a bubble of their chewing gum. “(Y/N), your mom’s here.”

You lifted your head and spotted your mother’s familiar car making its way down the pickup line. 

You stood up, brushing off the back of your skit and walked with Mana to the car. When Mana entered the backseat, your mother scoffed with a smile. “What’s this?”

They beamed and blinked rapidly at your mother. “Oh please, Aunty (M/N), won’t you take this poor child home?”

You giggled as your mom rolled her eyes. “Just put your seatbelt on, Manareyyn.”

Mana gasped and hushed her. “Not the full name, Aunty! Am I a complete stranger to you?”

You laughed, feeling relaxed in the presence of your loved ones.

When you got home, you had the interesting combination of leftover takeout and your mother’s cooking for a meal. 

You put both school uniforms in the wash and informed your mother of what happened at school. She prepared the funds for the council and handed the check to you. 

You went upstairs and took a shower, washed your hair, and completed some homework assignments.

Soon enough, you both turned in for the night.

-----------------------------------------—————

Later that evening at the Kim residence, Namjoon stood outside of Jimin’s room. The younger boy had summoned him and the rest of their siblings for some kind of conference, but he wasn’t keen on staying too long.

He sighed and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Jimin’s voice sounded from the other side. Namjoon twisted the doorknob and pushed it open.

The rest of the brothers were already in the room, he noted, seated on Jimin’s king sized bed.  

He shrugged in response to their irritated gazes and climbed onto the mattress.

“Now that everyone’s here,” Taehyung stated, side-eyeing Namjoon, “we can properly begin our discussion.”

“How long is this going to take?” Hoseok interrupted. “I have several assignments that need to be completed, and dances to choreograph.”

“Yes, and I have stacks of paperwork I need to finish for student council.” Namjoon sighed.

Jimin leaned back. “You don’t necessarily have to be here-”

Hoseok leapt up, walking over to the door. 

“-unless, of course, you wish to know how to help our angel.”

The senior stopped in his tracks and looked over at Jimin, gaze darkening.

“I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t help (Y/N),” Jungkook said, playing a game on his phone. “Namjoon hyung said that she needed to come to us on her own.”

“I still stand by that statement. The more we pressure her, the more she’ll back away.” Namjoon coolly replied. “She’ll come find us, of her own volition, eventually.” 

“Then what are you talking about?” Hoseok asked.

“It appears that people at school are mistaken about who deserves the most respect from them,” Taehyung said. 

“Your subordinate stepped out of line today, Namjoon hyung.” Jimin followed.

The older boy shifted his gaze onto his younger brothers. He thought back to today’s lunch period when (Y/N) and her friend entered the student council room. The girl had shifted uncomfortably where she stood, and he thought he’d heard the faint sound of a stomach growling.

Hoseok scoffed at his silence and turned to look at him. “Don’t tell me it was the Augustus bitch. I told you to throw her away ages ago.”

“No, it was one of her underlings,” Namjoon stated, recalling the girls’ conversation. “The blonde airhead in love with Taehyung, Constance. She must have ‘accidentally’ spilled her lunch all over (Y/N), no doubt directed by Aemilia herself.”

Taehyung glowered at the reminder. When he leaned over to whisper into Constance’s ear, the idiot was smiling as if it was the best day of her life. The acrid smell of her perfume made him gag. It nearly suffocated him. 

It was nothing like (Y/N)’s. Her scent caressed him from afar and washed over him when they were close, promising warmth and consolation.

Her scent was probably ruined by the stunt that scum pulled in the cafeteria.

When he saw Constance holding the soda can, he’d wanted to reach his hand around her neck and-

“Ah, I see.” Namjoon smiled, his realization coming full force. “So, you want to prepare a lesson of sorts.”

Jimin nodded. “People need to be well aware of how to treat (Y/N) before and especially after she takes her place by our side. This can a good teaching moment.”

“Okay,” Hoseok hummed. “And how are you going to go about doing that?”

“Like Namjoon hyung said, we can’t directly interfere without it being too obvious.” Taehyung said. “But-”

“-there’s no reason as to why we can’t distribute due punishment.” Jungkook finished, his lips twitching into a smile.

Namjoon grinned, nodding. “How about the three of you tell me everything you saw in the cafeteria this afternoon...spare no details.”

-----------------------------------------—————

Chance Pierre was a quiet kid. He never bothered anybody and preferred to focus on his studies.

Students often found him tutoring a classmate in between classes or reading in the library, and they nicknamed him the freshmen class’ Kim Namjoon. Not that they could say it so loudly around the guy’s younger brother, Kim Jungkook.

Chance Pierre dreamed of becoming rich and influential enough to come back to the town, save the people inside, and burn the Kims to the ground.

He wanted to find a way out of Ichabod using his intellect. He would appeal to Mayor Kim, explain how he hoped to bring excellence to the town by pursuing his academic career and spreading the word about Wylynne and all of the moon’s grace.

Surely, the mayor would let him take his intellectual influence outside. And he would be able to escape the hellish nightmare that was this town.

Thankfully, he and Jungkook were not in the same class. Even though Chance was at the top of his specific class, if he wanted to place first in the entire freshman class, he would eventually have to confront the youngest of the Kims. A conflict he’d been readily avoiding.

Still, despite his academic prestige, he was still what high schoolers would call a “nerd”. He was bullied by his peers, the same peers that he wanted to spare. They mocked him for his financial status, for his intellect. The goddess forbid he ever share his dream of leaving Ichabod, for they would mock him for that as well.

Chance entered his home and it was quiet, as usual. His parents worked late hours and he often had no one to talk to. The spirits in the walls were his friends, he liked to joke.

He took his shoes off and just as he was about to turn to go upstairs, something was thrown over his head. 

His vision went dark and he immediately began to struggle. He kicked and fought, his breaths rapidly increasing. The inside of the material was coated in what smelled like bleach and alcohol.

Chloroform.

Chance tried to hold his breath, cursing himself for struggling earlier, but he only delayed the inevitable. The boy’s movements slowed and his assailant pulled the bag around his head tighter and tighter until he blacked out.

Hours later, the police station was visited by his mother in the early morning, the woman hysterically crying and clutching onto Chance’s discarded book bag as she reported her son’s abduction.

-----------------------------------------—————

You were awoken by your mother entering your room. You looked up at her inquisitively, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. 

You both had several hours of rest left, so why...?

She wordlessly approached your bed and lifted the covers, and you scooted backward to give her space. She lay down next to you, slipping her arm under your head.

You felt her press a kiss to your forehead. She started playing with your hair and humming a little, like she used to do when you were little. You drifted back to sleep in the comfort of her arms.

Yet in the morning, she was gone again, off to work an early shift at the hospital. 

It was a gray, rainy day today. 

Mana’s dad had been the one to take you to school that morning, and both he and his child chuckled as they saw you running out the door with a clothing bag and your book bag in the rain. You had entered the car squealing from the cold water droplets.

When you walked into the building, you had almost expected another horrible, suspicious “accident”.

If only that had been the case.

You and Mana entered the lobby to find your classmates gathering around the school bulletin board, where another missing poster had been put up.

A freshman. He’d been taken sometime last night, you gathered from the horde of students in front of you. 

The boy looked slightly familiar to you; he was probably someone you were accustomed to passing in the halls.

You sighed, your heart falling in your chest. That was probably why your mother was clinging to you in your sleep this morning...

You met eyes with Mana’s, whose own flashed with sadness and anger. 

There was no telling where this kid was going to show up again. If he was lucky, he would make it back to his family in one piece. If not...

The double doors opened again, bringing in an icy breeze with them, and the halls instantly silenced. You turned away from the crowd and watched as the Kim brothers walked in. 

Jungkook strolled along with his head held high and headphones in his ears, indifferent to all the stares. 

Namjoon walked through the students, smirking as they parted for him with Hoseok, calm as can be, a couple of feet behind him. 

Contrary to yesterday’s kind and bubbly energy, Taehyung had a dangerous glower on his face. Jimin was expressionless, his eyes glued forward as the brothers made their way to their respective buildings.

If they noted the amount of students surrounding the bulletin board, they certainly did not show it. There was no sign of concern, or pain anywhere in their expression.

This was why the Kims, while so close, felt so distant from the rest of the student body. 

It’s one thing to live in a town like Ichabod and experience the horrible things that happen here. It’s another thing to refuse to look deeper and question everything around you.

It’s another thing to live here and think that these types of occurrences are alright. 

You shivered. Yes, you remind yourself. This is the atmosphere. This is the place I am in.

You were not in a normal high school or a normal town. The law of your land simply could not compare with that of anywhere else.

Never far behind them, Aemilia Augustus entered, her posse at her back. She followed the Kims, a serene, pleased smile on her face. 

No doubt she had knowledge of what had happened to that freshman, but she would never tell.

She passed by you and Mana, looking you up and down.

That one glance told you more than anything you had gathered in your conversation yesterday.

This is the difference between us, it proclaimed. I am safe on the inside, while you are disposable on the outside. 

You are nothing. 

Aemilia walked past the two of you, continuing on her way to class. Brooklyn and Constance followed behind her, staring dead ahead. 

The blonde was far from her usual picture perfect attire--her uniform was wrinkled, she was dragging her feet, and her eyes were red and puffy. She made no move to look at you or Mana, seemingly caught up in her thoughts.

Soon after they left, movement in the halls returned to normal as students walked to their classes. At some point, you finally forced yourself to move. 

The chill from the rain and wind settled in your bones and you shivered on your way to class.

The teacher had not arrived yet, as usual. Your classmates didn’t even have the heart to discuss rumors or joke around. Every movement seemed to break the silence.

You walked down the aisle and sat next to Jimin, waving at him in greeting. He gave you a small smile in return. You silently took your books out your bag, not wanting to bother him anymore after this morning’s display.

The cold couldn’t seem to leave you alone. Your shivers persisted and within a few moments, you were shaking so badly you couldn’t hold your pencil straight.

Mana sent you a concerned look but you waved them off, circling your finger to tell them to turn back around.

You put your writing utensil down and tried to hold your own hand still when you felt Jimin shift next to you.

He caught sight of your trembling fingers and he removed his school cardigan, handing it to you. 

You tried to refuse his offer, pushing the fabric back into his hold, but he spread it out, draped it over your shoulder, and lifted your hand to slip one of your arms through.

What is it with people thinking I don’t know how to take care of myself? You thought as you gently pulled your arms from his hand, slipping them into the cardigan and pulled it closed. 

He watched with a satisfied smile as it draped down your sides and shifted in his seat to resume his staring ahead.

You thought back to the other night. 

His gaze was just as caring, just as frigid as the one from your dream. 

You shivered again, hiding it by shifting in your seat. The class sat in silence until your first period teacher walked in. Without another word, she quickly began her lesson.

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

During lunch, Mana had to go to a meeting with one of the teachers, and Jimin and his brothers were nowhere to be found (not that you were dying to sit with them), so you took the opportunity to clear your debt with the student council.

You walked up to the third floor and went to the end of the hallway, fiddling with the paper and clothing bag in your hands. As you approached the door, you tentatively turned the knob and found that it was still locked.

You were contemplating sliding the envelope under the door when a voice sounded out from behind you. 

“What have we here?”

You turned and found Kim Namjoon leaning against the wall behind you. He didn’t have his glasses on today, but wore a playful and righteous look on his face. 

“(Y/N) ah, it’s wonderful to see you. I see Jiminie is still making sure to take good care of you.” He smiled in a good natured manner and you flushed, remembering the sweater your classmate practically dressed you in himself.

“Yeah...it’s been really chilly,” you muttered. You bowed slightly in greeting. “Good morning.”

“How have you been?”

“I’m alright. I didn’t want to bother, I just have the uniform I borrowed yesterday and the money I owe the council.”

Namjoon put his leg down, gently kicking off the wall and approached you. He flicked his hand toward the door. “Oh, is that so? Why didn’t you come in?”

“The door was locked-” You watched in surprise as Namjoon opened the door easily, without having pulled out a key. “...or not, I suppose.”

I must not have twisted the door hard enough because of all the stuff in my hands...

“Come on in.”

You entered the room cautiously. Namjoon took his place at the head of the table, placing his bag at his feet. “The uniforms go in the closet in the atrium, around that corner.”

You nodded and walked the same way Aemilia went yesterday. 

There didn’t appear to be much in the atrium--there were two restrooms, a vending machine, a place to hang coats and bags, and the supply closet. 

“Speaking of clothes, I apologize for not being able to assist you yesterday. I was terribly behind in some student council matters and worked all night to finish it all.” The student council president stated from behind the other section of the wall.

You hung the wardrobe up and walked back out, sliding the check in front of Namjoon on the table. “It’s completely fine, it wasn’t anything important.”

“I don’t think so,” He gestured for you to take a seat in the chair to his right. “Would you mind telling me what happened in the cafeteria?”

You hesitated, prepared to brush it all under the rug, but boy’s gaze sharpened and you found yourself taking a seat.

“It was an accident,” you began. “Someone tripped and spilled their food on me at lunch.”

Namjoon hummed. “Who was it?”

“A friend of Aemilia’s. I was sitting with Mana, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook at lunch and we were talking, and then I felt something cold run down my face and back.” You looked down at your lap, folding and unfolding your fingers.

Namjoon rested his chin in his fist as he looked at you. “I take it that it was Constance, as Aemilia said yesterday, correct?” 

You nodded.

“So, Constance managed to trip and splatter her food all over you, and only you, as you sat at your lunch table, which is fairly out of the way of the center of the cafeteria. A table that had plenty of room for people to walk around.”

“How did you know where I was sitting?” You asked.

“Jimin informed me of the basic details, but I wanted to hear the story from your perspective.” He reasoned with a smile. “This...accident...also occurred well into the meal, when everyone else was already seated.”

You frowned. “It doesn’t sound like you think it was an accident.”

“It sounds as though she were targeting you, (Y/N).” Namjoon said, removing some papers and textbooks from his bag. “I’m simply speculating off of what I know. I’d advise you to be careful of Aemilia and her ‘acquaintances’.” He said, smiling a bit worriedly. 

You looked away, thoughts racing rapidly in your head.

You were already wary of the girl because of her status and the things you’d heard from Mana, but you found something incredibly unsettling about being warned about her from Kim Namjoon himself. 

He’s one to talk.

Namjoon asked you to spend the rest of the lunch hour with him, as he felt he needed some company to complete the rest of his documents. 

He offered to purchase snacks for the two of you, and after that you could hardly refuse. You pulled out some assignments of your own and worked in tandem.

Hazel eyes peered through a crack in the doorway of the student council room. They saw you and the student council president, sitting together as though you were the best of friends, discussing certain books or classes with an intermittent joke placed every now and then into the conversation.

Hazel eyes saw nothing but a repulsive wench taking what was supposed to be her place. Speaking to her future husband, her future king. The longer she gazed upon the heinous sight, the angrier it made her. 

She made a move to swing open the door and announce her presence, but dark brown eyes met hers through the crack and Aemilia stilled. 

She was not surprised that he had managed to sense and spot her, as she had been able to tell long ago that the president was a master of perception. Yet the usual polite warmth that she so loved was gone. It was replaced by unyielding anger. 

His eyes were alight with purple fire.

He was angry because she almost interrupted him being with you.

Aemilia let go of the handle to the student council room, letting the door click closed. She shoved past the shoulders of her minions friends, raging down the hallway until she reached an empty classroom. 

Once inside, she locked herself in there and began throwing around the desks, chairs, anything within her arms’ reach.

After she quelled her rage, she pressed her nails into her palm and decided:  no, she would not be going out like this. She would not allow that pretentious shrew to chip away and what she so carefully built, what she strove for.

(Y/N) (L/N) would soon experience hell on earth. Aemilia Augustus would make that happen. She swore it on her family name.

(Y/N) (L/N) would never return to the school in one piece, of body or of mind, as long as she could help it.

-----------------------------------------—————

~taglist~

@melaninkpops​ @loserwithapen​ @hellaspookystudent​ @ecillartto​ @omgsuperstarg​ @ace-angel-judas​ @jjamsbangtan​ @lovinggalaxies​ @lovesick-heart0​ @ksxmpoison​ @girlmeetsliv3​ @thedarkwinterrose​ @purpuravm​ @oneweirdbean​ @hopelessfountainjoonie​ @mazmaz30​ @enigmaticlove-03​ @uppiespuppy​ @queenceline22​ @kokofikats​ @taeyohonic​ @creatorspalace​

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 2 | Be Careful with Clive, I Have Grown Attached to Him

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom and Molly are now married.  Surprise! These two talk about the logistics of Tom’s half-baked plan.  And Molly moves to London to face the firing squad, aka the paparazzi.  

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

–

After they signed the license along with the apostille, there had been dancing. That much Molly remembered. And drinking. Specifically drinking champagne. Tom danced with abandon, pulling Molly into the whirlwind of activity he created around him.

But now it was morning, and Molly woke up in a bed that wasn’t her own. She groaned as her head pounded, having forgotten that champagne and her have a love-hate relationship. Molly saw the faint outline of Tom asleep on the couch, his long body stretched out, still wearing his suit from last night. After glancing at the alarm clock, Molly fell back asleep.

Several hours, Molly woke up again and headed to the bathroom, not noticing the now opened curtains.

“Hey good lookin, Whatcha got cookin,” Tom’s voice twanged as he stepped out of the shower. His head pounded a bit, but not the worst hangover he had.

“AHHH!!!” Molly screamed as she stepped into the bathroom.

They both froze, which was more embarrassing for Tom, as at least Molly was still wearing her dress from last night.

“You’re naked.” Molly blinked, her head darting around the room until she focused on an interesting corner of the room.

Tom chuckled, grabbing a towel and wrapping it loosely around his waist. “I don’t normally shower in my clothes. You can look back now.”

She slowly turned back around. “Sorry.” She shuffled her feet. “I should have knocked.”

“It’s quite alright.” He moved towards the door. “Shower is yours and we should talk things over.”

Molly nodded. “We should.”

While Molly showered, Tom dressed in the other room. After finding a clean t-shirt for Molly to wear over her dress until she could change, he called the airlines and changed his single ticket for that morning to a later flight for two, fishing Molly’s ID out of her wallet.

“Thanks for the shirt.” she stepped out.

“It looks good on you.” Tom gestured to the sofa. “Sit. Would you like some breakfast?” Her stomach growled. They both laughed. “That would be a yes.” Tom shoved the room service menu. “Order what you like.”

She selected an egg white frittata while Tom got the pancakes. Tom put in the order and returned his attention to Molly.

“So let’s talk about how this will work.” Tom shifted in his seat.

“An excellent idea. You mentioned living together in London. When do we leave?”

“This afternoon.”

Molly coughed. “That quick?”

“I’m afraid so.” Tom’s hands fidgeted in his lap. She noticed he was still wearing the spider ring. “I have work obligations back home and in order for it to be believable you would need to live with me.”

“Naturally.” Molly slapped her thighs. “So after breakfast, I can head back to my apartment, pack up what little I have, say goodbye to my roommate, and change into appropriate clothing. And you need to get us some proper rings.” She waved her hot pink ring in the air. “Unless of course you intend for your bride to wear a ring from the top of a cupcake.”

“Only if I get to keep my ring. I’ve grown quite attached to Clive.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You named the spider?”

“Yes.” There was a knock on the door. “That will be the food. Allow me.” He disappeared and returned shortly with a rolling table, ladened with food. Tom poured a cup of coffee and offered one to Molly.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“I can have them bring up a teapot.”

“I’m pretty sure there are some complimentary ones in the room. Now,” She cut into her food and took a bite. “how will everything else work? Living with you, your life, the paparazzi? That is the whole point of this charade.”

“You do get down to business. So yes, I would expect you to live in my home. In a separate bedroom, I can set up another room as an office for you. We would need to attend events together and generally appear as a loving couple on the outside.”

“And my debts? That is part of the deal, right?”

“Right,” Tom gazed over at her while eating his pancakes. “I would assume the payments while we are together, and after the divorce is final, I would pay off any balance. I would also take care of your daily expenses while we are married. You are welcome to work if you want, but I will give you spending money.”

“So I would be a trophy wife?” Her brown eyes glinted.

Tom waved his hands in front of him. “Not that is not what I meant… I…”

“I am kidding, Tom. If you prefer, I can not work. I don’t mind. Give me some time to figure things out.” A thought came to her. “What about…” Molly searched for the words. “… other needs? Or if you wish to engage in a romantic relationship?” Her cheeks blushed as the words fell out of her mouth.

Tom blushed as well. “I have great self-control and I think if either of us get to that point, we can discuss it. I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“And I don’t want you to be trapped either. I guess that is as good of an answer I could expect. Anything you want to ask me?”

Tom stared at Molly. The air hung heavy. “Do you regret saying yes?”

“No. Do you regret asking?”

“No.”

Molly downed the rest of her juice. “Well then, it is all settled. I am going to take off to pack. And you have some shopping to do. My ring size is a 7.”

Tom finished up the last bite of pancakes. “Right. We need to leave here by 3 to make it to the airport.”

“I shouldn’t be more than a few hours. Do you have a key to the room I could borrow?”

Tom fished one out of his discarded jacket’s pocket. “Here I will have the front desk make me another one.”

She tapped the key against her nails. “Thanks, Tom. For the help and for being a decent guy.”

“I should be thanking you.”

“You already have.” She grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

-

Tom headed downstairs, asked the front desk for a new key to the room, and also inquired where the nearest jewelry store might be. The front clerk handed him a key and directed him to a small collection of luxury stores in the hotel. He found Tiffanys and purchased a classic platinum solitaire engagement ring and plain platinum band for Molly and a yellow gold band for himself.

Molly wasn’t back when he returned, so he set about packing up for the flight. His phone buzzed. Luke.

It appears you had a good time in Vegas. The papers say you are drowning your sorrows. Looks like the story is here to stay. Call me when you wake up from your nap at home.

Tom typed back.

I did have a good time. I have a feeling the papers will soon find another story soon. Still in Vegas, taking a later flight. Talk to you soon.

His phone rang. He clicked it off, seeing it was Luke. Rather to get all the yelling done in person. The door opened and Molly came in, dragging a suitcase behind.

“Sorry! My roommate had questions.”

“So does my publicist.”

Tom took in Molly for the first time, really. Outside of the light of a casino floor. And not in a wedding dress purchased for fifty dollars on the way to the chapel. She wore faded jeans, a pair of beat up black Converse and a boxy white tee tucked in. A large black cardigan tucked under her arm. Dark hair in a bun. Quite lovely, if Tom told the truth.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” Her brows knitted together.

“Not yet.” Tom tucked his phone into his jean pocket. “Here.” He pulled out the little blue bag.

Molly gasped. “I thought you would go buy some costume jewelry. This is too much.”

“Nonsense. This marriage may be fake, but the jewelry will be real.” Tom opened up the boxes. “May I do the honors?”

Molly held out her hand, and Tom slipped off the plastic ring before replacing it with the wedding set. “Much better. And yours?”

Tom slapped the box into her hand. “Be careful with Clive.” Molly pursed her lips as she pulled off the spider ring and replaced it with the gold band, putting the plastic ring in the Tiffanys box. “Here you go. Clive’s new home.”

Tom tucked the box into his luggage. “Ready to go?”

Molly rocked back on her heels. “Yep.”

Tom held out his arm. “Let’s go home, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

-

The flight back was uneventful, Molly and Tom dozed off, leaning against each other for support. Molly woke up first. She stared down at her rings. This was not how she expected this weekend going. Molly thought she would scrap together enough tips to make an extra payment on her credit card. Not flying to London with a Tiffany diamond ring on her finger and a famous actor as her husband.

“Life does throw you curveballs from time to time.”

“What was that, darling?” Tom muttered, stretching in his seat.

“Just commenting on the craziness of all of this to myself.” She held out her hand again. Tom laced his fingers with hers.

“I have done the same thing myself. Now when we land, there will probably be paparazzi around. Are you up for getting this whole thing off and running?”

Molly perked up. “What do I need to do?”

-

Tom tightly gripped Molly’s hand throughout the concourse and baggage claim. They eyed the doors.

“Ready?” she asked, squeezing his hand.

“I promise to be gentle.” Tom squeezed back, smiling.

As they stepped through the doors, Tom flashed a killer smile and Molly did as well, giggling as his arm wrapped around her waist. He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers. Molly melted against him, making sure her rings were visible as she cupped his cheek. She was right, Tom was an excellent kisser. After making sure any photographers had plenty of time to snap a pic, they parted.

“Think they got my good side?” Molly giggled.

“Do you have a bad side?” Tom asked.

“Just wait and see. Now take me home, darling!” She threw her arm over her eyes dramatically.

“Drama queen.” Tom pinched her side.

-

Tom’s home was cozy and clean. Definitely a bachelor’s home, as evidenced by the empty fridge except for a few bottles of beer and some questionable brown sauce.

“I can go shopping later.” Tom dragged a toe along the kitchen floor.

“I can go shopping later.” She reached up and smacked his face playfully. “What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t feed my husband?”

“Fair point. I will call the bank tomorrow and get a card in your name. Just run any big purchases past me first. And we will need to get your name changed, passport, etc. I can have someone help you.” Tom prattled on.

“Why don’t you show me the rest of the place first?”

Tom held out his arm. “This way.”

Tom’s book collection was impressive along with his collection of movies.

“I clear some space if you need it.”

“I only packed clothes. My roommate is selling the rest, including my car and wiring me the money.”

“Oh.” Tom’s face fell. “Let me show you the bedrooms.”

He showed you a small guest room. “This could be an office for you and next door is a bigger bedroom for you.” Tom hustled along the hallway to open the next door. “Here.”

It was a bigger room with a queen bed and a wardrobe. Spare and clearly used for company.

“It will do just fine. And the bathroom is across the hall which is nice. Where’s your room?”

Tom made his way to the end of the hall and opened the door to his room, decorated in tones of grey and navy. A large king sized bed taking up most of the room along with a dresser. A bathroom en suite and a small closet completed the space.

“Very nice. Do you mind if I steal the color palette to decorate my room?”

“Please do. I never got around to decorate it. My sisters and mother are the only ones who stay in there.”

Molly paled a bit. She hadn’t thought about Tom’s family. “I supposed I will meet them soon.”

“I supposed so. It would be odd for my wife not to meet them. I hadn’t thought about it.”

Molly rocked back and forth. “Now why don’t I go shopping and you unpack and relax?”

“I would feel better if I came with you. You are in a different country, a strange city. And what if you have problems with the card?”

“Then let’s go and you can point out some of your favorite foods.”

“It’s a deal.”

-

“When I said pick out your favorite foods, I didn’t expect it to be only sweets. Did I marry a seven-year-old?”

“I’m 35, thank you. and I enjoy those sweets.”

“You eat like a college frat boy.”

“Guilty.”

“That is definitely changing now that I am around. You can’t continue to eat like that. There are things called vegetables.”

Tom snapped his fingers. “I’ve heard of those.”

“Get out of here!” Molly swatted at him. “I am certain you have things to attend to, and I need to familiarize myself with the kitchen.”

“Are you kicking me out of my kitchen?”

“Our kitchen. And yes.” Molly smirked.

“I yield! I yield. I’ll be in my study if you need me.” Tom walked out of the kitchen and towards his study.

He spied his phone sitting on the desk, still off from the flight. By now, any pictures should have been posted somewhere. Tom collapsed into his desk chair and clicked the phone on. While he waited for it to start up, he could overhear Molly puttering about in the kitchen, muttering to herself as she put away the groceries.

Buzz. Ten messages and eleven missed calls. He didn’t bother to listen to them and instead dialed Luke.

“Luke, I’m back in town. Thought I wou—” Tom started in as soon as Luke picked up.

“I WASN’T FUCKING SERIOUS WHEN I SAID TO GET MARRIED??! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?!”

Tom pulled the phone away from his ear. “No, I haven’t. But I am married. To a wonderful girl. Her name is Molly. Molly Bishop. You should meet her, Luke.”

“YOU ARE FUCKING RIGHT I’LL MEET HER. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! SHE CAN HELP IDENTIFY YOUR BODY, THOMAS!” Luke continued to scream on the phone.

“Can you dial back the volume, Luke? I would like to preserve my hearing. Is there something wrong with marrying the woman I love?”

Luke cleared his throat. Tom understood Luke was doing his best to collect himself. “Apologies. There is nothing wrong with marrying the woman you love, Tom. Nothing at all. Except I don’t think you love this woman, since until a few weeks ago you were in love with—”

“Don’t say her name, it will ruin my marital bliss. I’m a hopeless romantic, Luke.”

“Hopeless, yes. Romantic, the jury is still out. And your fans don’t count, they are blinded by you. But I see the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You are not as smart as you think you are.”

“Did any of the articles mention her?” Tom inquired, spinning his wedding band on his finger.

“No.”

“Then I am exactly as smart as I think I am.”

There was a clatter from the kitchen.

“Tom!” Molly called out. “I need your help.”

“Got to go, Luke. My wife needs my help.” Tom emphasized the word “wife.”

“This isn’t over, Tom.”

“It never is. Bye.”

More clattering and another cry. “Tom!”

Tom rushed into the kitchen to find Molly perched on top of the kitchen counter, reaching high into a cabinet.

“Why is everything so high in here?”

Tom chuckled and reached around her, pressing his torso against her back. Molly jumped for a moment at the touch.

“I’m not used to sharing my space. I’m six two, I put things where I can reach them. What are you grabbing?”

“The roasting pan.”

Tom pulled it down and placed it on the counter. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it.

“Thank you. Well, I am five six, so unless you want me climbing counters for the next year, we need to rearrange some things.”

“But you’re so cute climbing around like a little monkey.”

Molly frowned. “Is that supposed to be a compliment? If so, then try again.”

Tom opened his mouth and closed it. “I’ll pull things down after dinner.”

“Thank you.” She rubbed his arm. “Now to try my hand at a roast dinner. Did you get stuff done?”

His phone buzzed again.

“I called my publicist. The pictures posted.” Tom pulled out his phone to shut it off.

“Oh good. So I take it, I had the desired effect.” Molly crunched on a carrot and offered one to Tom, who wrinkled his nose.

The two of you. My office 8 a.m. tomorrow. No excuses. I want to meet the blushing bride.

Tom frowned at the screen.

“It would appear so. I suggest you go to bed early because you are meeting Luke, my publicist tomorrow.”

Molly’s mouth fell open. “Should I be worried?”

Tom smiled at her. “No, I should be.”

[sweatersstyles]

or the one where you forget harry’s birthday and try desperately to make it up to him

just wanted to write something small to try to get back into writing after my break! thank you all for your encouragement, excitement, and patience and I apologize for it being a few days later than I wanted it to be! this is probably the closest to angst that you’ll ever get from me :)

thank you to @1980holland, @summertimestyles, @tbslenthusiast, @bigspoonstyles​, @angryinternetduck, and @iconicharry for letting me run my ideas by you and being so kind in general. more thanks to @tbslenthusiast and @bigspoonstyles for being the most wonderful beta readers and just lovely friends overall!

this is another part of my dad!harry series so as always they are linked in order if you want to re-visit them or read from the beginning if you choose to!

⭐ I Want Your Belly ⭐ Wonderful and Warm ⭐ Washed Away in You ⭐ Do You Want to Build a Snowman? ⭐ A Styles Family Christmas ⭐

word count: 3.6k

“Harry, I’m running late do you think you could drop Sterling off at the sitter’s on your way to set?”

You’re already dressed, pulling on your shoes and grabbing your bag and keys from where they were tossed next to the dresser from the evening before. You dart into the bathroom to quickly brush your teeth.

Harry pokes his head around the doorframe, a wrinkled shirt in his hand, rushing through his own morning routine, “Thought she was coming here?”

“She can’t today, remember? Today’s our day to drop him off.” You put your toothbrush away just as he joins you, taking the toothpaste from your hand to use for himself.

“Alright, yeah. Y’ll have to pick him up later though, think it’ll be a late one for me today.” 

“That’s fine. I’ll throw his bag together and leave it by the door for you to grab on the way out. He’s already been fed and changed so he should be all set. I’ll transfer his car seat to your car too, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

He still has the toothbrush in his mouth, so you stand on your tiptoes to give him a peck to the cheek, adding a “bye, love you!” on your way out the bathroom door.

“Wait..y’don’t have anything else to say to me before you leave?” His mouth now rinsed, he crosses his arms and leans against the doorway, a tired smile working its way across his lips.

“Um..be careful? Don’t drive too fast with Sterling in the car.” 

“I never drive fast,” He takes a quick peek in the mirror, running his hands through his messy curls before turning back to you, “S’that all? Nothing else to say?”

You search your brain, trying to remember anything else you may have forgotten, “Oh! Right..”

His face lights up then, thinking maybe he was gonna finally hear the words he’d been waiting all morning to hear from you.  

“Make sure you tell the sitter there’s an extra pacifier in the right side of his bag that she can leave there in his cubby in case we ever forget one..and that I’ll drop a pack of diapers and wipes off when I pick him up cause I know he’s running low.”

His brow furrows slightly with disappointment, but you’re too busy to notice, blowing him another kiss before rushing out the door of your shared bedroom and down the hall to get Sterling’s bag ready.

He’s still pouting as he opens his top drawer to select a pair of socks for the day.

He couldn’t believe you forgot it was his birthday.

In your opinion, 6 weeks was not long enough for maternity leave. You’re sure no amount of time in your happy bubble with Harry and Sterling would’ve been enough. 

You were somehow able to push those 6 weeks to 12, your boss kindly agreeing to let you do what work you could from home. Eventually, that extension had to come to an end though and there was no other way you could avoid returning to ‘normal’ life.

You’re an hour into your work day but you still can’t shake the feeling that you had truly forgotten something. Harry’s words from the morning ring through your head again and again but you still couldn’t pinpoint what was special about this particular day. It was a Monday..was there some sort of significant anniversary from your relationship over the years, something small but important to him? 

You grab your phone when you have a chance, a quick lull in your morning that allows you to scroll through your phone’s calendar to double check anything your phone may have not yet notified you about. There’s nothing saved, and it does nothing to jog your memory of what importance today’s date holds. 

A text from Anne comes through and your heart stops when you read the message: Tell the birthday boy his present from me is on the way! I was a day later than I should’ve been sending it out so hope he won’t be too upset with me. All my love to you and Sterling as well!

No. Oh no. Guilt bubbles up through your chest and you cover your mouth to stop from cursing too loudly and scaring your nearby coworkers. You have to steady your hand so you can navigate your way through your contacts to Harry’s number, trying to calculate where in his schedule for the day he may be now. It was too early for him to be taking a lunch break, but you silently prayed he would be on a break in between filming scenes that would allow him to answer.

He had told you in the past that even if he wasn’t able to have his phone with him, it was always nearby. Especially now that you had Sterling, he tried to make himself available no matter how busy his schedule would be for the day. Even if he wasn’t able to answer, he would always make time to call back. 

So when you try 2 times with no success of getting through, you stop. You had both agreed before that 3 calls was your distress signal, and you didn’t want his mind to think the worst when he did see you’d tried to get through to him. A text seems too informal, too little for the man you love and adore. He deserved better than that, better than you, a partner who forgot one of the most important days where he should be made to feel special and loved every second.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know this day was coming, you did, of course you did. Being a new parent had well and truly ruined your memory. Turns out birthing a tiny human requires learning a ton of new information to keep your little one alive, meaning that even almost 3 months later your brain hadn’t been fully restored and you weren’t sure if it ever would be. 

How could you make up for something like this? You suppose you could pretend that it was all a joke; that you’d had this elaborate plan all along to surprise him and make him think that you had forgotten his birthday. But you couldn’t lie to him like that, it would only cause you to hate yourself even more later for covering it up. Plus, Harry knew you too well and would see right through that, and then whatever hurt you’re sure he was feeling now would only grow. 

You know he would eventually forgive you, if he hadn’t already, but that didn’t stop guilt from overriding your thoughts. If anything it made you feel almost worse knowing that he would be so incredibly forgiving.

God, you could only imagine the reaction of the fans if they found out. Some of them already had some questionable opinions about you, a few even going so far as to speculate if Sterling was truly Harry’s child, claiming that you had somehow “trapped” Harry into a relationship with you and that it would eventually fail. Harry had tried to ban you from going too deep, but sometimes your curiosity got the best of you, prompting you to scroll through Twitter or Instagram occasionally. It usually ended with you getting your feelings hurt and Harry having to remind you once again to stay away.

You try to find something in your memory, anything that he may have mentioned wanting (or at this point even needing) over the past few months. Aside from the mundane, everyday things like laundry detergent and shampoo to add to the shopping list, you couldn’t recall a thing. You only had 6 hours before you had to pick up Sterling, so you had to come up with something fast, something amazing.

What do you get for the golden boy who has everything?

You couldn’t believe you didn’t think of it before. It was something you had discovered not long after Sterling’s birth, but like many other things it had gotten easily dismissed and pushed down to the bottom of your list. 

Today, it only takes a few clicks through the website, a double checking of the spelling of the name that will be on the certificate, and a quick selection of a location for where you want it to be for Harry to now be the (hopefully) proud owner of his very own star in the sky.

After all it was Harry who found the name Sterling for your child, it was him who whispered “buonanotte nostra piccola stella” each night as he helped you put Sterling to bed; a phrase he had been most pleased with himself for learning, the Italian to English translation being “goodnight our little star”. If he couldn’t be there to say it, he made sure you knew the proper enunciation of the expression so that you could pass it along from him. It was always followed by 3 kisses to the top of his son’s head.

Thankfully, you were able to use the printer at work to print out the certificate and the map, slipping them both into a manilla envelope and tucking it away in your bag before you clock out for the day. Though you wished you had time to stop and select a nice frame, you only have 30 minutes before having to pick up Sterling, so you opt for a speedy trip to the nearest bakery and grocery store to gather what other supplies you’ll need for the rest of the evening.

By the time you and Sterling make it home, you still haven’t heard anything from Harry. You send up another silent prayer, more for his safety than anything, but also selfishly for yourself and his forgiveness towards you. It wasn’t unusual for you to not hear from him most days, and you remind yourself of his words from that morning about most likely having to work late. 

You push away the guilt that threatens to invade your thoughts again, doing what you need to do for Sterling to keep him content while you start preparations for dinner. Once you have him settled in his swing nearby, you take a moment to scroll through your music selection on your phone, deciding that having something playing in the background would be better than being alone with your thoughts while you work. 

You’ve just washed the veggies to chop for the salad when your phone dings, indicating a new message. You know it’s from Harry, and you’re almost scared to look. Instant relief floods your body when you do have the courage to take a peek: Home in an hour. Love you! Give bub kisses from me xx

The “love you” fills you with overwhelming comfort; takes you back to the day you first met him and how your heart skipped a beat when you realized it was you he was trailing through the crowd of people to approach, a cozy smile plastered on his face. You’ll never forget the gentle way he had spoken and how even though you were surrounded by at least a hundred other people at the party, he didn’t take his eyes off you the whole night. You let out a huge sigh of breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in and contemplate the best way to respond, finally concluding that simple was better.

Be careful, baby. Love you more!! Bubs and I miss you

His text gives you more motivation than you already had to power through making his favorite meal for him. An hour is plenty of time to get everything done, so when Sterling gets fussy and wants to be held, you tuck him against your side, doing what you can with one hand while keeping a tight grip on your son. You know he had missed you when he almost instantly relaxes at being close to you, and your heart hurts at the thought of ever being away from him again, even for something important like your job.

It still takes you a minute to get him calm enough to rest his head on your shoulder, so you don’t hear the sound of the door, or the clink of Harry’s keys or the sound of his footsteps falling down the hallway.

“Need some help, lovie?”

His voice, which normally calms you, nearly makes you jump out of your skin. So when you turn and say, “I thought you said an hour!” it comes out more like an attack than grateful to see him again.

“S’what I thought but we rushed through so I could leave earlier. Is that a problem?” His face is unreadable, somewhere between confused and disappointed with your tone.

“No! Of course not, Harry, I just..” That’s when your voice breaks, your guilt and emotions of forgetting his birthday finally being too much to hold back.

“Hey, don’t do that,” He’s moving the rest of the way through the kitchen to you, a hand smoothing a small circle over your back as you try to wipe your tears, “Please don’t cry.”

“I just wanted to have everything ready by the time you got home, to make up for this morning. For forgetting it was your birthday in the first place. I’m so sorry, H.” 

“You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, angel. You don’t have to make anything up to me. We’ve both been crazy busy lately, I’m surprised I even remembered what day it was. Here, why don’t I put Sterling in his swing and help you finish dinner?”

“No, absolutely not. It’s your birthday and I know you’re tired. Plus, I think he missed us today. You know how much he loves his swing but I didn’t get very much done before he got upset.”

“Alright, well, I’ll take him while you get everything else done. How’s that sound?”

You nod an agreement at his plan, transferring Sterling from your shoulder to his. There’s a few whimpers of disapproval, but he lets out a small sigh of contentment once he realizes it’s Harry who holds him now. Harry turns his head to smack a few kisses to the baby’s cheek to further pacify him. Sterling’s eyes open briefly, gazing sleepily up at his father. 

“Hi, bub, missed you. Let’s go see what kind of trouble we can get into while Mummy makes dinner, huh?” 

“Not too much trouble, boys. It’s almost bedtime,” He winks at you as he turns to leave and you stop him, “Hey, wait, try this. Tell me if it needs anything.”

You stir a spoon through the pasta sauce you’ve had simmering away on the stove, bringing it to his lips with a hand underneath, careful not to drip it down the front of his white button-up or the top of Sterling’s head. He lets you feed him the spoonful, but doesn’t take his eyes off your lips.  Before you even have time to ask him how it is, he’s trapping his mouth against yours, a satisfied hum at the sauce mixing with the taste of you.

“Delicious.” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, catching a bit of sauce that ended up smudged at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?”

“Really, darling, it’s perfect.” 

At this point it’s obvious he’s not talking about the sauce, and you push yourself up to plant another kiss on his lips.

“Another,” He gently demands, and you oblige, but he doesn’t pull away yet, “C’mon, few more.”

“Looks like Sterling’s not the only needy baby in this house tonight. How many more kisses do you need?”

He smirks down at you, “It’s my 27th birthday, innit? Think I deserve 27 kisses, don’t you?”

You send him away with the promise of fulfilling his request for the rest of his kisses later, finally able to rush through finishing the last of what was needed to complete the meal and call him back to see the table full of everything you’ve prepared. 

Sterling is bright eyed in Harry’s arms again, and you hope that feeding him will lull him back to sleep for the night. With him having to stay with a sitter on the days that you and Harry were both working, you’d recently had to switch to using bottles for some of his meals. The sitter had assured you that he was adjusting to the bottle well when he was with her, but it had been a frustrating transition for you. 

“You’ve just spoiled him to the usual way, love. It’ll get easier. Want me to try?” He holds out his hand, offering to take the bottle and Sterling back, but you refuse. You know Harry’s right, it will get easier eventually, but right now you know he’s just still tired and hungry. So you give in, lifting your shirt and tossing a blanket over him while he eats. 

“Eat so you can blow out your candles and then open your present.”

He sets a plate of food in front of you and passes you a fork so you can eat with your free hand.

His mouth is full of food but his green eyes light up when he looks at you, “I have a present?” 

“Of course you do. It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” 

“Can we skip cake and do the present first?”

You giggle at his excitement, but the truth is you’re nervous. You know he will be nice enough to tell you he loves it, but you also know him well enough to read the truth on his face. 

“Sure, birthday boy, whatever you want.” Sterling’s finished eating by now so you rest him on your shoulder, tapping his back a few times until you hear a small burp. Harry’s plate is mostly empty now, as is yours, so you tuck Sterling into his swing while you go to retrieve the envelope from earlier in the day. Your heart races as you may your way back to where he sits at the table, his eyes covered dramatically as he waits.

“You can open,” You slide the envelope in front of him and prop your chin up on one of your hands as you watch his fingers work to open the clasp. The papers sit upside down on the table and you inhale a deep breath as he flips them over. His face is full of curiosity as his eyes scan the page. 

“Did you..is this real?”

“Well I’m not sure how official it is but, yes, it’s real.” You take the map from behind the certificate and point out the location, “According to this it’s..”

“Is my star right over our house?” His eyes are wide as he studies the coordinates, “Can we go see if we can see it now?”

How can you say no to that? You let him lead you out the back door of your home and out into the cool air of the night. He only lets go of your hand when he reaches the edge of the yard, pointing straight upwards.

“It’s gotta be that big one, right? That mine, right?” You look over his shoulder down at the map and then back up to where he’s pointing.

“Yep, I think that’s the one. Unless..do you have the map upside down?”

“No! Do I?” He squints his eyes, bringing it closer to his face in an attempt to read it in the dark. 

“You definitely did. It’s that one there..to the left of the big one we thought was yours.”

“S’gorgeous, baby,” He tugs your hand until your smushed against his side and he tosses his arm around you, letting out a deep sigh as he continues to stare up at the sky, “Thank you so much.”

“You really like it?” You’ve got both arms wrapped around his middle now, enjoying the feeling of his chest rising and falling.

“I really do, angel. Can’t believe you named a star after me twice.” 

“Twice?” You tilt your head upwards to look at his face.

“Yeah. Twice. That one,” He points up again, “My favorite one though, the greatest gift you will probably ever give me, is probably snoring in his swing right about now.”

As sweet as the moment is, you can’t help but snort out a laugh at that, “If he’s anything like you, he’s definitely snoring right now.”

“Hey, I don’t snore!”

“Oh yes, you do. Feel like I’m sleeping in a cave with a bear sometimes.”

That earns you a big, booming laugh from him, and he pulls you even closer to kiss the top of your head. You turn your body to face him, squeezing him once and kissing his chest through his shirt.

“Happy birthday, Harry.”

“Thank you,” He places his hands on either side of your face, thumbs rubbing along your cheeks, a slow smile sneaking its way across his face, “Can I have the rest of my kisses now?”

The next time Anne and Gemma come to visit, he’s sweeping them down to the end of the hallway leading into your living room, to where he now proudly shows them the framed certificate and map sitting side by side on the wall. Of course they had both already heard about it before. The day after his birthday he had spent 10 minutes on the phone with each of them bragging about it. He’s got Sterling in his arms as he shows it off now. He holds him up next to the two frames.

“How lucky am I, huh? Not every man can say they have two stars named after them, can they?”

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

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tag list: @1980holland, @summertimestyles, @la-cey, @tbslenthusiast​

[loneberry]

old journals, old dreams

Light.

A dream where I walk to find you.

Newly open, you no longer want to run.

I kneel down to gather the red sea anemones

that have sprouted between your toes.

.

.

What do I remember of the dream:

the workers dismantling the trusses of the burned house

I want to know: why did you burn?

The dream interpretation app says abandoned houses are about letting go of the past.

Woke up with the memory of my fierce attachment to inanimate objects, the clunky red and white van my parents sold when I was a child, how devastated I was when I had to give it up, as though the integrity of my world depended on that van. Late at night I snuck into the garage and sat alone in the van thinking about all the rides we took in it. We got a minivan. Twice I have been in a car accident when alone with my father.

.

.

It's all there, in those pages: the recursive nature of time. Notes on people, how happy the laugher of a friend made me. "Nat made us laugh with his stoner talk while JD wrote down the lingual fragments he found most amusing." A note on an early encounter: Late at night on Boulevard Barbès in the 18th arrondissement of Paris, two strangers are sitting on a green bench talking. Right as he is telling her about a breakdown he had on a beach in Montevideo, Uruguay, a man with bloody hands interrupts and starts muttering incoherently. (Later, when the stranger has become a friend, he'll tell me I can take one of his books to the river. I pick up John Wiener's selected poems. My friend Robbie made this book. [Now Robbie is editing my book.] The first page I randomly open to is a poem about a couple disappearing on Revere Beach in Massachusetts. Strange, I had once sent that poem to E, believing it was about us on the day we ate strawberries and a pomegranate on the sands of Revere Beach.)

There is a story from my time at the outpatient therapy group at Mass General Hospital, when I was in the nadir of my life. We would gather around a big table in a room inside the psychiatry section of the hospital. One day, a woman named Kimberly announced to the group: "I'm going to be a grandma." She showed us a picture of herself stroking her son's hair. We all almost cried when she spoke about this joy. Then she took out a plastic bag containing small seashells. "Every little thing is important to someone." Manic Dr. H replied: "Because these shells were someone's home!"

I remember Holly saying to me: "Find me a shell!" Holly with the beautiful soul. Though she was often quiet, she was always watching; I knew from her letters that she understood everything, the significance of everyday occurrences.

.

Here they are, the dramatis personae of the play that is my piddling life, how they enlarge it. I remember the map of the dramatis personae that Kalan drew, which appears before the title page of my Sunflower book. Every person who appears in a dream is given a blob. To me they look like teeth, each bearing a name or initial, "the friends and the friends of the mind," as the National Book Award judges wrote. On some deep level I love all of them, even the perfidious ones I no longer talk to, for all are woven into the fabric of my soul.