#divorce is such a hard thing to go through especially when you gave kids

[deoidesign]

Joked about Adam being divorced one too many times that now I'm getting anti-divorce ads

Adam think of the children... Please...

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Can I request something spicy for YanBatman with his Ex-WifeReader? 🫨

TW: Semi-NSFW, implied breeding kink, mention/implied cockwarming

(I sincerely hope you like it! It feels like forever since I’ve written something like this, let alone something spicy.)

Entrapment

A talk. That’s all this meeting was suppose to be. Just a simple and civil discussion about the upcoming court proceedings regarding the divorce and what would be happening afterwards regarding your relationship with the family (especially Damian), nothing more. So, how did it end up like this? How could it have possibly strayed so far off track?

~~~~

You weren’t too surprised when you got a call from Bruce. He often went between nonstop blowing up your phone to not reaching out to you for days at a time, you were getting more and more used to it by now. You of course didn’t answer it, your lawyer had advised you not to after your telling them of how Bruce was throughout your entire relationship with him. His tendencies and the way he behaved when it came to you. Your lawyer wasn’t exactly completely believing of it, and that was pretty understandable given some of the things you had divulged to them (if you hadn’t lived and dealt with it yourself you would have had a hard time believing it too) but they decided it was better to be safe than sorry and advised you to not interact with Bruce outside of them. And so you hadn’t and you didn’t plan to either. That was until you listened to the voicemail that he had left behind.

He had an offer. He wanted to meet in person and discuss this whole situation, one on one. He wanted to come to an equal agreement outside of having to go to court. And as much as you hated it it sounded like it might be the better option. There was no pretending that this divorce would go in your favor, there were just too many things going against you. Bruce had the money, he had the means to get the best damn lawyer in Gotham and fight this to the very end. Not to mention that this divorce would be very public in general given just who it involved. And he could very easily get the media on his side, tarnishing your image as a whole. Not that you cared too much for that, you had planned to leave Gotham behind anyway after the divorce was final but the thing that got you the most was the rest of the family.

You adored Alfred. Not only was he simply one hell of a butler but he had been so good to you throughout your marriage to Bruce. Even though you two hadn’t been married that long, Alfred was still very much a support to you and what you went through. He didn’t completely agree with what Bruce did or how he went about things, you were your own person and he tried to remind Bruce of that on many occasions, but there was only so much he could do. And it wasn’t just Alfred you cared about, you also loved all of Bruce’s kids. Once you married Bruce they didn’t just become your family, they were your babies too. And you still wanted to have them in your life and you knew Bruce would hold them over your head no matter which way this divorce went.

Sure, the rest of the family had been involved to some extent with what Bruce was doing in your relationship, especially when it came to keeping you isolated and cooped up in the manor. But as far as you saw it that was all due to Bruce’s influence, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually believe that they would willingly go along with it of their own accord. Or that they even gave Bruce ideas to begin with to keep you by his side and with them as a result. You just couldn’t possibly think of them like that, you just couldn’t. So, it of course scared you at the thought of being completely cut off from the people you had opened your heart to. You still wanted to be there for them, still be a part of their life but just at a safe arm’s length away instead of how it was before.

The more you thought about it, mulling it over and over again in your head, this offer was sounding like the more beneficial thing to do. You did still have love for Bruce of course, you just didn’t want to be in that kind of situation again and you knew the only way to prevent that and keep yourself safe was to step away from him and any form of romantic relationship with him.

~~~~

The day was finally here for the two of you to meet and you couldn’t help the anxiety that washed over you. You never truly knew what Bruce would do, what he was really thinking in the moment. He was unpredictable like that. He could come off oh so charming and inviting, it was scary how easy he could lure you into his trap. And you knew better than anyone what it was like to be caught in that snare. That was what your whole marriage had been with him after all, just one big entrapment.

Even when you were briefly on the phone with him to set up this meeting you couldn’t contain the tremor of nerves you had just hearing his voice again. You really did miss it, you missed him. But this needed to be done. For the both of you. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Seeing him face to face again was something else. He looked good, he looked like he was taking care of himself again. That was a far cry from how he was the first few months after you left. He was a mess and it showed. That alone almost had you going back to him just so he’d be alright but you knew what came with him being back to himself and you couldn’t put yourself in that position again. You just had to remind yourself that this was it and it would soon be over for good.

Bruce greets you with open arms, you’re not quick enough to back out of his reach before he’s already enveloped you in his hold. He’s warm, he’s always been so warm. And his hold is tight, longing but not as suffocating as it used to be. And just as you’re beginning to feel yourself unconsciously fall into his warmth just like you used to so many times before, welcoming his touch again, he pulls away. For a split second you want to reach out to him and feel his touch all over again but you remind yourself that this isn’t what this is anymore. It can’t be.

Once the two of you are settled you start off talking small talk and everything seems good, everything seems okay. Bruce asks how you’ve been, if you’re doing alright with everything that’s been going on. He seems caring. He seems like he genuinely wants to know how this has affected you but you remind yourself yet again that this isn’t what you think it is. He then moves on to talking about the family and how they have been holding up through out this process, everyone’s taking it hard. Dealing with it in their own way but it seems Damian is the one who is taking it the hardest. That’s what you had feared. You worried about how Damian was taking all of this, how he was being effected by it. He was such a guarded kid, so closed off. You felt terrible having to put him through this, as well as the others but it’s what needed to be done. Right?

It isn’t until you try to bring up the original topic of discussion, the entire reason for this meeting in the first place, that you see how this wasn’t remotely the meaning of this meeting. You barely caught sight of Bruce’s jaw clenching when the words left your mouth, that was enough insight for you to know that this wasn’t at all what it was meant to be.

It’s obvious that it’s the last thing he wants to do, you can tell. He’d rather talk about anything else other than that. It’s one thing to ask how you’ve been regarding it or talking about how the rest of the family’s been taking it in but he doesn’t want to actually get into it. He’s avoiding it, of course he is. You can’t blame him but this needs to be over with.

“Bruce.” He tenses. It feels like it’s been forever since you said his name, he’s missed hearing it from you. He wants to hear it over and over again, like a mantra. God, the way it hit him when that’s all you could say as he thrusted so deep into you, just his name rolling off your tongue repeatedly. Fuck he missed it. He missed you.

“Remember, we’re meeting here for a reason. I don’t want to take up much more time than we need to. So, could we get to it?” Business. That’s all this was. Bruce hated it. Of all things, this is what brought you out of hiding? This is what opened you up to seeing him once more?

No.

He wouldn’t take that as an excuse.

He just wouldn’t.

“You’re right, (Name). Let’s get to business.”

~~~~

Without a doubt in your mind this was his intention all along. Of course it was. How could you see it any other way?

Bruce was calculating. He proved that more than once since you have known him.

It showed I n how he talked, the words he said dripping off his lips one after another, the sweet nothings he filled your head with.

In how he touched you; the placement of his hands, the way his fingers brushed you, the methodic way they curled deep inside your warmth.

But more importantly he was the most calculated when it came to fucking you. He knew you better than yourself, he spent your whole entire relationship learning and memorizing your body. What you wanted, what you needed. What exactly drove you to the deepest depths of pleasure. He knew it all. And he certainly knew how to use it to his advantage.

Each thrust, deeper than the last, was all so cunningly planned out. The way he grounded his hips into yours, the way he clutched you so close, melding himself into you, opening you up even more to take him completely. Every single move was so irrevocably mapped out.

~~~~

Your warmth. Oh, how much he’s missed it. How much he’s fucking craved feeling it wrapped around, enveloping him whole again, only for him to feel. You have no idea how many times he’s touched his throbbing cock to the thought of it, to the thought of having you sprawled out under him again. You have no fucking idea.

Once he has you right where he wants you, completely lost in the ecstasy of it all, he allows himself to finally give in to his own blinding pleasure.

No more calculating.

No more cunning.

No more being methodic.

No more.

Now it was all solely his mindless self indulgence. His once slow, deep thrusts turned into rapid, savage pounding. His kisses were more aggressive, sloppy. His touch was burning hotter than ever as he gripped and grabbed every piece of you he could.

At this point, Bruce let himself get lost in it. He let himself fall into the deepest, darkest pits of his desires. All he wanted now was to chase that feeling he’s been left without for so long, over and over again.

One after another, he released everything he had deep inside you. Again, and again, and again. All of this; all of his pent up anger, hurt, passion, everything he had bottled up inside throughout this whole shitshow of a situation, he was free to let it all go.

After the haze finally let up, Bruce was left basking in the aftermath. He couldn’t have felt better than ever before. He had you again, he had you here in his arms and it wasn’t a dream this time. You were the real deal and he couldn’t have been happier.

He couldn’t help but look at you,, watching you, taking all of you in again just like the many times he used to before. You were a fucking mess after everything and he absolutely loved it. He did that to you, he made you that way. And he took great pride and pleasure in it. He left you so full, both with himself still inside you (he just couldn’t bring himself to part with your warmth again) and all his cum. This was how he wanted to stay. This was how he wanted to be.

Placing his large hand on your stomach, he caressed it tenderly. There was no way you wouldn’t fall pregnant after this, he had made sure of it with all the times he filled you with his seed. He wanted you pregnant, he wanted you filled to the brim with his baby. He needed to have you tied for life and what better way to ensure that than by bringing a new life into the world together.

You wouldn’t be able to get away from him now. This had been yet another way to entrap you, to keep you in his grasp and Bruce wasn’t going to leave any room for you to wriggle out of his reach again.

“Let’s start anew, (Name). After all, we’re going to have even more of a reason to work things out now.”

[emchante]

okay i was watching some old grill the grid videos & have u seen the one where daniel has no idea how to tie a tie??

imagine there’s a special event and he asks you to tie it for him 🫠😍 or you ask him to secure your necklace for you (those little acts of service are so hot to me)

this could absolutely work for divorced dad daniel, like imagine getting ready to go to a charity event for his kids school or something hehehehehehe

silk and stares | d. ricciardo

LIV!! i love that little clip, it lives rent free in my mind. this was originally a ramble but turned into a drabble. enjoy!!

part of the divorced dad!daniel series

warnings: post-divorce daniel, suggestive themes, age gap, unresolved sexual tension.

daniel was standing in front of the mirror in his modest bedroom, fingers fumbling uselessly with the silk tie around his neck. he let out a frustrated sigh, muttering something under his breath as he gave up and yanked the tie loose.

his kids school had a charity event running this evening, and of course he was going to attend. he had asked you to come over around an hour earlier, as an overseer as him and his kids got dressed up for the night.

now, you were leaning against the doorframe of the room, arms crossed as a smirk made its way onto your lips. “need some help there, mr. ricciardo?”

his gaze shot to yours through the mirror, his mouth quirking into a crooked grin. “i swear, i’m hopeless with these things. every time i think i have it figured out, and then..” he trails off, gesturing towards the tie that was hanging awkwardly around his neck.

pushing yourself off of the door, you step into the room and walk slowly towards him. the tension between you both was electric, unspoken, and only thickening as you got closer.

“you’d think a guy like you would’ve learned by now,” you tease, your tone light but a little suggestive as you approach him.

daniel chuckles, the deep timbre of it sends a small shiver through you. “guess i’ve always been better at taking things off than putting them on.”

the air grew heavier at his words, and you try to ignore the heat crawling up your neck. instead, you grab the tie and motion for him to turn towards you. “alright, let me fix this before you embarrass yourself in front of the PTA,” you tease, trying to move on from his previous comment. you didn’t want to, but.. you shouldn’t start anything you couldn’t finish quick enough. especially not before something important for his kids.

daniel complies, his hands placing themselves on your hips as you step close— too close. the smell of his cologne is warm and woody, something that makes it almost impossible to focus on the simple task at hand.

your fingers work deftly, slipping the silk fabric into a neat knot. as you loop it through, you couldn’t resist a little teasing. “you know, this really isn’t hard. you’ve been wearing ties for how long now?”

he huffs out a laugh, tilting his head to look down at you. “someone’s mouthy tonight, hm?” he murmurs, raising an eyebrow. when you continue to just smirk up at him, he starts talking again. “anyways, just.. not my strong suit. figured i’d just keep finding people like you to help me out.”

your lips quirk up as you tighten the knot and instead of stepping back, you pull him closer by the tie— forcing him to bend slightly toward you. his breath hitches, dark eyes locking on yours.

“you’re lucky i’m just such a good samaritan,” you tell him, voice dropping just slightly, enough to make it clear that your words carry a double meaning.

daniel swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing. his voice comes out lower than usual, “yeah? you always this nice to struggling dads, or am i just someone special?”

you tilt your head, fingers still gripping his tie as you take your time straightening it against his chest. “you? special?” you tease, allowing the moment to stretch, your voice light and playful but your eyes betraying you— betraying the obvious chemistry thrumming between you two. “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

daniel smirks, his thumbs drawing small circles onto you as his other four fingers squeeze into your skin. “right. wouldn’t want to get the wrong idea,” he murmurs, voice tinged with something heavier, something that hung in the small space between you.

for a moment, neither of you move. the air feels thick with unspoken possibilities, his lips just mere inches away from yours as he stares down into you. you feel the heat radiating off him, his presence could only be described as magnetic, and you swore the only things holding you back were his kids downstairs, and the goddamn tie that was still in your hands.

finally, you step back and release the tie with a little pat to his chest. “there,” you say, your voice feigning nonchalance though your pulse was racing. you knew you weren’t fooling anyone, especially not daniel. but you still continued on. “now you won’t embarrass your kids. you’re welcome.”

daniel exhales slowly, a hint of his signature smirk returning to his lips. “guess i owe you one.”

you raise an eyebrow, already taking a few steps towards the door. “you owe me plenty, ricciardo. don’t you forget it.”

his laughter follows you out the room, but you don’t look back. if you had, you would’ve seen the way his gaze lingered on you, and just how tight his pants had become.

fuck.

⋆˙⟡ enjoy this? come chat to me through my ask box, publicly or on anon! i’d love to talk to you and hear your thoughts about it <3

[syntheticavenger]

On My Mama - Two

Thank you to @cocobutterqwueen for the support while I was trying to map out this second chapter!

Santiago 'Pope' Garcia x Female Reader

Tyler Rake x Female Reader

Andy Barber x Female Reader

Jax Teller x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, more angst, jealousy, a lot of male posturing, persuasiveness.

Summary | Being a single mom with a complicated relationship with your ex-husband makes for an interesting summer after a school event and an unexpected errand puts you front and center with some eligible contenders for your attention.

True to Jax’s word, you’re in and out in less than fifteen minutes, happy to leave Melanie as she gave you a polite but pointed stare when you tried once more to pay him. He wouldn’t have it, slipping you his card in case you needed anything else, his cell written on the back. Not wanting to get in between Melanie’s distraction, there’s nothing left to say but to lobby another gracious thank you his way and slip into the driver’s seat. 

You found out much more than you ever wanted to in those short moments, Melanie whispering in your ear whenever he was out of earshot every detail that she had gathered about him. A single father to a son, a seven-year-old named Abel, rumored to be part of a biker gang – Vice President, Melanie had told you dramatically, her eyelashes batting when she says it like a secret – and more importantly, the best mechanic she’s ever had. 

Nevermind that her husband doesn’t particularly like that she takes her car to get repaired here, a fact she reminded you about at least three times. Melanie’s daughter tells every single bit of her mother’s business and Mia, at her young age, parrots it right back to you, laughing when you sometimes widen your eyes at the somewhat scandalous details, such as when Melanie bought store bought cookies and passed them off as her own, telling her daughter to stay quiet.

But as you had learned, there was no such thing as a secret to a five-year-old.

🌤

The late 90’s music blares through the speakers, pushing your cart down the aisle to continue your search  for marinara sauce. School nights are hard to plan for, especially with Mia’s ever changing appetite. 

This week it’s all about pasta, opting for spaghetti for dinner, even as you feel a small wave of guilt for the vegetables you will puree in the sauce. Reaching for a jar, a familiar face catches your attention, Laurie Barber giving you a wave when she approaches.

You know Laurie well enough to know that she has some gossip to share, usually between her and Melanie trading stories during field trips or snack day rotation.

“How have you been?” she asks, a hint of mischief in her smile. “I’m so happy I ran into you.”

“Oh?” you reply, noticing that she looks around before she finally speaks to make sure the coast is clear.

“You didn’t tell me your ex came to the parents’ lunch,” Laurie accuses playfully. “I had to find out from pictures?”

“Pictures?” you repeat, Laurie nodding her head, digging her phone out of her purse. 

“Of course there are pictures! I’d seen him with Mia when you had pictures of him with her as a baby but holy hell, that man is handsome,” Laurie praises, showing you a photo of Mia in Santiago’s arms, both of them looking intently at a finger painting. “Him being at the school is a good sign, right?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, Laurie slipping her phone into the pocket of her pants. “It’s a start.”

“Still not on the mend, huh?”

“We’re divorced, Laurie. There’s no going back.”

“Don’t I know it,” she agrees. “It’s been at least three years since Andy and I divorced and I never look back. We got a great kid out of it and Andy’s moving on up in the world and he’s up for pretty big promotion.”

“Andy? That’s great.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t see him. He saw you,” Laurie teases, seeing you shake your head in response.

Every single mother throws themselves at Andy Barber.

You aren’t one of them.

“I guess I must have missed him,” you reply, Laurie shrugging her shoulders.

“You know Andy. I wish he wasn’t married to his work that much so he could get out and see the world, maybe date a nice girl who understands that sense of righteousness that he can’t seem to shake.”

“It’s nice that you’re on good terms.”

“Are you and Santiago not?”

“No,” you say quickly, hating that you feel like you’re now put on the spot. “I mean, we’re good, I guess. I was surprised that he wanted to see the school, he’s pretty much been against her going to public school since before she could even talk.”

“Avon Academy isn’t close to being terrible. He’s always had impossibly high standards, hasn’t he? Didn’t he go to a boarding school in Switzerland?”

“He did. If he had his way that is probably where our daughter would be right now.”

“Alone?” Laurie says incredulously. “She’s five!”

“No, not alone. I’d most likely be in some apartment in Zurich, trying to keep myself busy.”

“Sounds like a dream.”

“It’s lonely,” you respond, Laurie nodding, realizing that you aren’t willing to give up more details.

“Well, selfishly, I’m glad you and Mia are here. I’m also thankful for Santiago for gracing us with his presence.”

You crack a smile then, Laurie trying to contain her laughter as you both laugh. It’s absurd to discuss anything regarding your ex-husband but you know that Laurie is a safe space for you and that little bit of relief is what you need.

“Speaking of hot dads, Melanie told me you got your tire fixed. Jax Teller, huh?”

“Oh, God,” you mutter, running a hand down your face. “She really tells everything, doesn’t she?”

“Your fault for giving her a ride. Come on, don’t be shy.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, I’ve seen him like once and he wasn’t even on a motorcycle. He showed up in a truck to pick up his son.”

“Abel is seven, Laurie.”

“Still disappointing,” Laurie reminds you. “Barely got to see him up close and personal.”

“He’s nice.”

Laurie lets out an inelegant snort at your response.

“Nice? Nice is my neighbor across the way who wears a cardigan and a polo shirt and offers to water my lawn. Jax Teller is not nice. He looks like he could rail you into next week and send you off with a pat on the -”

“Laurie!” you admonish, hearing her laugh.

“I’m kidding but also,” she trails off, tapping the tip of her nose. “You know it’s true.”

Laurie’s cell goes off in her purse, picking up her basket.

“Shit, it’s Andy,” she mutters. “Probably needs me to pick up Jacob. I’ll see you at Jacob’s birthday party. Can’t wait to have a slice of your homemade cake!”

With a nod, she rounds the corner, speaking quickly while you add a box of noodles to the cart when you realize what she told you.

Birthday party?

Birthday cake?

🌤

“You said what?” you ask softly, Mia chewing as she hums.

“I said you could make Jacob’s birthday cake,” Mia offers proudly.

Placing your fork down on your plate, you stare at the wrinkled birthday party invitation that you had to dig through Mia’s unicorn backpack.

“Sweetheart, remember we talked about this? You ask Mommy first.”

“I did,” Mia insists, a smear of marinara at the corner of her lips. “You made mine when I asked.”

“Yes, you asked me to make yours. You did not ask me to make Jacob’s.”

Her little face scrunches up in displeasure at your hesitation, swallowing her food before she defends herself.

“But you’re good at it! Jacob’s daddy said you make the best cake in the whole world!”

“Mia,” you warn, seeing her little shoulders slump.

“No cake?” she asks pitifully, her lower lip trembling. “Please, Mommy? It’s his birthday. He has to have cake.”

“I don’t even know what flavor he likes.”

“He likes banilla!”

“Vanilla,” you correct gently.

“Vanilla and he likes vanilla frosting,” she enunciates. “He told me so.”

With a sigh, you get up, Mia following suit, nearly on your heels when you check the pantry to make sure you have everything you need.

“You’re going to make it?!” she asks, clapping her hands together excitedly. “You’re the best mommy in the whole world!”

“I’ll make it if you promise to finish your dinner.”

Mia gasps, running back to her chair as she climbs up, ignoring your warning for her to wait for you to help her, slurping spaghetti into her mouth.

“We gotta get a gift,” Mia reminds you, as if she didn’t just tell you last minute. “He likes cars.”

“We’ll go tomorrow after school, how does that sound?”

“Okay.”

She finishes her food, watching as you pick her empty plate up from the table, remembering her manners as she wipes her sauce coated fingers with a napkin.

“May I be scused?”

“You may,” you agree, seeing her jump off the chair as it slides backward slightly, nearly giving you a heart attack when she bolts up the stairs.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth!” you call out, hearing her slam the bathroom door.

Pulling out a mixing bowl, you start adding in the ingredients, hearing Mia singing loudly at the top of her lungs.

🌤

You have to hand it to Laurie.

The woman knows how to throw a birthday party. As if directly ripped from a Pinterest page, you and Mia walk through a blue and silver balloon, Laurie’s headband green with alien googly eyes that move back and forth when she hugs Mia.

“Jacob’s out back,” she tells Mia, holding out a pair of headbands – one like hers and another that is hot pink with the same eyes but with lashes. Mia plucks the hot pink ones from her hand, handing them to Laurie so that she can place them on her head, smoothing out her hair before she does so, both of you knowing that she’ll either lose it or break it by the end of the day.

Laurie spies the cake you hold, the piping in blue with an astronaut on the left.

“God, I love your cakes,” Laurie murmurs with glee, taking it from your hands. “I was so happy that Mia said you would do it because I was at my wit’s end with him and trying to make up his mind. First it was a western themed party and then it was a dinosaur party and finally, at the very last minute, he wanted a space party. Gotta love the indecisiveness.”

She looks at your green sundress, settling on your white Mary Janes.

“Finally,” Laurie teases. “You got smart and finally wore flats.”

You were never sure of a dress code, especially with a child’s party. Every party in the city that you attended, kid or not, you were dressed up, right down to the sky high heels. After the last birthday party, you’d gotten wise once your heels had sunk into the grass, leaving a stain that you couldn’t get out.

You pass a contingent of parents, mostly fathers, talking in a huddle, beers in hand while you follow her into the kitchen.

“Andy will be so thrilled that you made a cake. I swear he kept asking. Do you know those peppermint brownies you made last Christmas? He took half the pan home and -”

“I did not,” Andy denies, his gaze settling on the cake when he steps into the kitchen. “Well, well, well. Looks like Jacob got his wish after all.”

You forgot how handsome Andy Barber is up close and personal, his mischievous smile on display when Laurie rolls her eyes.

“Jacob got his wish,” Laurie repeats to you, moving behind you after she sets the cake down. “I’m going to check on the bounce house. Make sure he doesn’t take a slice before the birthday boy, hmm?”

She’s out of your line of sight before you even have a chance to answer, Andy opening the fridge, pulling out a beer before he pauses.

“Do you drink?” he asks cautiously.

“I do.”

Still holding the beer in his hand, he glances at the pitcher on the top shelf.

“Beer or what I think may be a cosmopolitan. Laurie always has some sort of signature drink for these types of things.”

“I’ll take a beer,” you offer, Andy placing it into your hand after lobbing off the cap.

“Good choice. Last time we had a mom who downed three Tom Collins before she realized what hit her.”

You don’t dare share that you’re a lightweight, taking a swig of your beer while Andy leans back against the counter.

“I saw you at the parent luncheon, didn’t I?”

“I was there,” you confirm.

“That lunch was something else,” Andy comments, making a face. “I thought Jacob was teasing when he mentioned glue. Turns out the kid was onto something.”

“Glue?”

“You didn’t try the sandwiches?”

“No,” you say, trying to stifle your laughter at the look of pure disgust on his face. “I’m sure we’ll get a letter of an apology like we did with the dirt pudding cups last year.”

“I must have missed that.”

“You’d remember,” you point out, suddenly feeling self-conscious when you notice his eyes lingering on you. “What?”

He straightens up, looking over your shoulder, his index finger moving in a circle.

“Turn around?” he asks, your eyes narrowing suspiciously as you turn, seeing the ties of your dress float around you.

“Shoot,” you mumble, placing your beer down to try to reach behind you.

“I can help you,” he offers, keeping still when you feel his hands pick up the fabric, carefully drawing them together, the warmth of his breath on your back as he checks to make sure you’re comfortable. “Too tight?”

“No,” you respond, feeling him tie it quickly, the faint scent of his cologne lingering as he ties it slowly, your eyes looking up at the ceiling, staying still, feeling the slight tug of the bows before you feel him step back to look in approval.

“Better.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, feeling embarrassment wash over you when he waves your appreciation away.

“I was hoping I didn’t touch you with cold hands,” he answers. “Or get into your personal space.”

“I didn’t feel a thing.”

“No comment about the personal space?”

He smiles, lifting his beer to you before taking a sip. 

“Seriously though? Thanks for the cake for Jacob,” Andy thanks you, nodding toward the cake. “This kid hasn’t stopped talking about it once he found out. I gotta admit, they’re pretty damn good. I don’t know what you put in them but I can’t just have one slice.”

“I do the buttercream by hand.”

“Really? Tastes like heaven, that’s for sure. Not sure what you do for a living but if you made that career, I’m just you’d make a fortune.”

“Project manager,” you say, Andy nodding in response. “Wish I had the time. Baking relaxes me.”

“I’d be happy to eat your cake anytime,” he says, trailing off when he realizes what he’s said, laughing to himself as your eyes widen, biting down on your lips at the comment to keep from laughing yourself, when you hear Laurie coming back inside. Eyeing the cake, she looks up at you, turning to Andy.

“Cake is still intact. Guess she distracted you enough.”

🌤

Pete nudges Tyler in the side when you pass by, herding a small group of Jacob’s friends outside who were late arrivals, Laurie calling out to them outside to get their gift bags.

“You’re a married man, Pete,” Tyler reminds him.

“And I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but I have eyes, you know,” Pete counters. “Judging by the rest of us gawking, we all have eyes.”

Tyler can see Hunter running, playing tag with the other kids as they laugh and scream. He catches a glimpse of you, beer in hand as he sees Andy next you and Laurie. It’s a scene he’s still getting used to, seeing Laurie and Andy divorced but still cordial. It’s wistful thinking to believe he could have the same, knowing that the shared custody took years to be processed.

“Does Barber know that Mia’s dad is back in the picture?” another father asks, raising an eyebrow at the sight outside. “Bold move, Andy. Right next to your ex-wife.”

“He never left,” another man chimes in. “Look at her. You really think he wasn’t that far behind? Surprised he showed up, he never comes to these things.”

“Reconciliation,” Pete says with a confident nod.

“He came because it was a special occasion,” Tyler points out, the men turning to look at him.

“How do you know? She told you?”

“Hunter knows Mia through school, and she told him that her father was going to be there because it was important.”

“So, he’s still out of the picture,” one of them hints.

“I don’t hear any of you offering to step up and take care of his child so unless you’re willing to break up your marriages or take on another responsibility, you’re all creeping on a single mother who doesn’t know that you’re looking at her. Excuse me,” Tyler responds, breaking away from the group as he heads outside.

🌤

“Honey, it’s alright,” you say softly, holding onto the boy’s arms gently to keep him steady after he was dropped off unceremoniously on the door step. “It’s alright. You don’t need a gift, okay? Your gift is that you’re here. Your presence is enough, I promise.”

Tyler peers over to look at the boy who is nodding, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. 

Abel Teller.

No doubt his mother had dropped him off without a word, a far cry from his father, Jax, who would have come in to say hello. He would have most certainly provided a gift, even though it wasn’t required, seeing Abel shake his head when he’s asked a question.

“What’s your name?” Tyler hears you ask, soothing him as you dab at his tears that slide down his cheeks. 

“Abel.”

“Hi Abel,” you respond, introducing yourself. “Jacob’s outside. I’m sure he’ll be happy you’re here. Are you ready to go in and have some fun?”

He sniffles, nodding his head when Tyler clears his throat.

“Hunter’s here as well, Abel,” Tyler speaks up. “They’re playing tag, I think. You like that game, don’t you? Why don’t you come with me? They’re still in the thick of it.”

Abel’s eyes light up at the game, following Tyler to the boisterous crowd of children. A few of them recognize him, calling out to him before he leaves Tyler’s side. He can feel you standing next to him, your gaze settling on your daughter who is climbing up the ladder to the slide.

“You know him?” you ask, Tyler nodding as Abel takes off running.

“Yeah,” Tyler says after a pause. “He’s a good kid. His mother… she’s not always present. Father does what he can but when it’s her weeks to take him, it gets a little complicated.”

“I can’t imagine.”

He can hear the uncertainty in your tone, your fingers gripping your beer bottle tighter. He can tell you’re thinking about Abel and before it can go deeper, he nods at the beer in your hand.

“Need another one?”

At his question, you look at him in confusion before he smiles. You’ve been nursing that same beer since he’s seen you, absentmindedly ripping at the wrapper with your nail when no one is looking, a nervous habit that he finds adorable.

“I’m good,” you answer. “Thanks though.”

“How’s it taste?”

You look up at him, unsure of why he’s asking by the way you raise an eyebrow.

“Great,” you tell him, forcing cheerfulness into your confirmation.

He laughs then, seeing how stubborn you are. 

“Never met a woman who liked room temperature beer. You’re one of a kind.”

He sees you smile then, nodding at your lie.

“It tastes terrible,” you admit with a laugh. “But I was running around and by the time I got back to it, I didn’t want to ask for another one. It’s like coffee. I end up reheating it at least four times because I don’t have the time to finish it in one sitting.”

“I can get you another one, you know. No pressure, of course,” Tyler says, putting up his hands.

“I would like one,” you tell him, placing the bottle in his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

“Thought so. I’ll be right back.”

Mia stops mid run to wave at you, grinning wide when you wave back, taking off after Hunter and Abel when Tyler hands you a beer.

“Thank you,” you say, looking back at the kids when Laurie gives you a pleading look, motioning with her hand that the cake needs to be cut.

“Shall we?” Tyler says.

Laurie calls out to Jacob, the kids lifting their heads so quickly that it reminds Tyler of meerkats, nearly a stampede as the dads remind them to slow down as they head toward the table.

🌤

Forks clink dully on the paper plates, frosting smudging on faces and clothing, moms swooping in to wipe mouths and clean off messes. Mia sits between Hunter and Abel, picking up a buttercream star and eating it, eyes closing in bliss as she dances in her seat.

Collecting discarded plates, you nearly run into Andy, who holds out a trash bag for you to toss them in.

“They’ll sleep good tonight,” Andy assures you, seeing the trio run into the house. “And I know I said this already but the cake… you just knocked it out of the park. Amazing.”

“Thank you, Andy.”

Between the number of kids and adults moving around you both, you focus on cleaning up the leftover cups of juice and water while Andy picks up the plates, working together in unison. 

You don’t really know the ins and outs of his and Laurie’s former relationship, only that they seem to have the co-parenting thing down to a science, no ill will, just a simple partnership that works well for them. Without meaning to, your mind wanders to if they sleep together, much like you and Santiago, watching his tongue run over his lip as he focuses the tower of plates in his hand to the trash.

You blink the impending thought out of your mind. It definitely isn’t any of your business and it only makes you more embarrassed that you have no self-control with Santiago.

Which is only half-true. You’ve been cordial when he asks about Mia, sending him pictures of her at the birthday party.

And you’ve conveniently ignored his text from the picture with you and Mia under the balloon arch.

Nice dress.

“Seriously though,” Andy says, any hint left of Santiago disappearing in a flash as he smiles at you. “Thanks for coming and helping. Laurie couldn’t do this without you, and I know I couldn’t clean this up alone. Crazy how people love coming to parties but when it’s time to clean… it’s suddenly time to go home.”

“I’m still here, Barber,” Tyler interrupts, holding up a trash bag. “Did you forget about the poppers with the streamers in them? They’re everywhere.”

“When Laurie throws a party, she goes all out, I told you,” Andy informs him.

Laurie stands, rubbing her lower back with her fingers when the doorbell rings. The small clean-up crew continues on, tidying up before the vendors come and finish up. A soft whisper of your name from Laurie makes you move away from the Andy and Tyler, both of them engaged in sports talk.

Hunter and Mia are asleep on one side of the large sectional, Jacob laid out in the middle and Abel on the other side. Standing in the entryway, Jax zeroes in on his son before he engages in a hushed conversation with Laurie for a moment, both of them turning their attention on you when you approach.

“Sorry,” Laurie says, frustration in her voice as she gives you a small squeeze of your hand. “I’m going to send Abel home with a gift bag. Would you mind showing Jax where he is?”

Jax gives you a glance when you give him a smile, hearing him sigh behind you.

“Sorry to come so late,” he says in a hushed voice as he looks on at the sleeping kinds. “Got word last minute that my ex wasn’t going to pick up Abel and I was doing a double at the shop.”

“He’s been fine,” you assure him, watching as he carefully picks up his son without waking him, brushing back his hair as he focuses on his son’s face for a moment. It’s a tender moment, one that you don’t pay attention to for too long, unsure of what to say. You can feel the anger radiating off of him, muttering to himself as he places a kiss on Abel’s head.

“We’re going home, buddy,” he says, Abel’s eyes opening for a scant second before closing once more.

Laurie meets you at the door with Abel’s gift bag, Jax extending his hand to you as you shake it, Laurie giving him a hug, careful not to wake Abel.

“You know he’s welcome here anytime,” Laurie tells him, the sliding glass door closing in the distance.

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Barber.”

“Laurie is fine, Jax. Do you have my number?”

When he shakes his head, Laurie has her phone in hand, waiting for Jax to recite his number.

“I’ll make sure she has it too,” Laurie promises, referring to you as he nods, giving you a hint of smile.

“Have a good night, sorry again for being so late to pick him up.”

Laurie closes the door after you both see Abel get settled into the truck, turning around to face Tyler and Andy.

“Teller?” Andy asks Laurie.

“The one and only.”

“Pity I missed that,” Andy murmurs. “I would have liked to ask him a few questions.”

“You leave your interrogations at work,” Laurie fires back softly, keeping her voice down. “He’s a father doing his job.”

“Oh, he’s got a job, alright.”

Tyler checks his watch, heading toward the couch where he looks over the remaining sleeping kids. You follow suit, your cell phone vibrating in your purse that is on a chair.

“Need some help?” Tyler asks, Laurie and Andy still in the foyer, their hushed voices a cue that he’s not ready to let whatever he knows about Jax Teller go.

“Actually,” you pause for a moment, looking at how peaceful Mia looks. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

He’s gentle when he scoops her into his arms, cradling her to his chest as Mia doesn’t move, her breathing steady as he carries her toward the door.

“Not everything has to be investigated, Andy. Sometimes people can make mistakes and learn from them,” Laurie says, her words fading out when she sees Tyler holding Mia.

“I hope my spirited debate with Andy didn’t scare you away,” Laurie says, shooting Andy a glare. ‘We differ on justice and knowing when to pick our battles.”

Andy stays silent, his eyes locking with yours.

“Thanks again for today,” he says, Laurie nodding in agreement. “Get home safe.”

Tyler waits until you collect your purse, hug Laurie goodbye and give Andy a quick hug, inhaling the scent of his cologne once more that is intoxicating. Underneath that Henley, you realize there is a solid wall of muscle, something you weren’t expecting to feel before you head out the door and down the steps, opening the backseat for Tyler to place Mia in her car seat. Her head falls back on the headrest, still fast asleep when you close the door, checking to see if the movement woke her.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, waving to Laurie, who is standing in the doorway.

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do.”

Warmth radiates off of him, trying to get the picture of how quickly he had lifted Mia into his arms so smoothly out of your mind.

“I was thinking,” Tyler says, looking over behind you to see Mia still asleep. “If you’re interested, maybe you’d like to go to dinner with me.”

It’s finally cool now that the sun has gone down but your face is warm, nearly burning with anxiety on what to say. You haven’t been asked out on a date since your ex, let alone even entertaining the thought if you were ever asked.

But now you have been asked and you need to give an answer.

You only get one chance at this.

“Sure,” you reply. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” he says. “I can give you my number. There’s no pressure, of course, if you find that you want to cancel or that you’re not interested then let me know and -”

You recite your number, Tyler realizing almost too late as he punches in the number, sending you a text.

“Get home safe and uh, just let me know when you’re interested in going. My schedule is pretty open this week and next.”

You see Andy standing next to Laurie, both of them waiting until you get into the car, turning on the lights and the engine starting before they take a step back into the house. Easing out of the parking spot, you see Tyler heading back inside to presumably get Hunter, text messages popping up on the screen during your drive home.

Birthday party? Is that why you’re all dressed up?

Need a favor.

I’ll be there in an hour.

At the last message, you look at the timestamp when you pull over. The time is nearly ten and the message was sent almost an hour ago. With Mia still fast asleep, you take the quickest way home, unsure if he’s already beat you there.

🌤

Pulling into the garage, you see him leaning against his SUV, your resolve hanging on by a thread.

He never visits at night. Always morning, always in between meetings or a flight, or some appointment.

When the car is turned off, you hear the back door open, looking over as he studies Mia’s sleeping face.

“Out like a light,” he murmurs, smoothing back her hair. “She must have partied hard.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask quietly, his dark eyes snapping up to look at you.

“You didn’t get my texts? Got a late flight out tomorrow, Derek was able to charter it at the local airport, so I figured I’d come and see my girls.”

He unlatches Mia from her car seat, careful when he lifts her into his arms while you get out of the car. In a way, it feels like this should be a snapshot or normalcy, domestic life that you had a taste of once that had been snatched away without having properly processed what had transpired before it was too late.

The promise you had made to yourself still lingers in the depths of your thoughts, propelling you forward when you open the door, letting Santiago carry Mia across the threshold, heading up the stairs slowly while you watch him disappear.

It would be so easy to fall into the same routine. To have him share your bed, to give and give as he takes, lusty promises against your skin that he doesn’t intend to keep because he knows you well enough that you won’t hold him to it.

Placing Mia’s gift bag on the kitchen island counter, you know you could follow him, let his lips trace a line down your neck.

Picking up your phone, you send off a text, heart skipping a beat at what you’ve done. For a moment, you don’t think there will be a reply.

Your answer comes swiftly, Santiago coming down the stairs.

I’m glad you made it home safe.

🌤

Santiago follows you up the stairs, your silk robe billowing out behind you.

“I liked the pictures,” he tells you once you reach the top of the stairs. “I’ve always loved the color green on you.”

“Why are you really here?” you ask, turning around to face him. His shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing a hint of the chest tattoo.

“I told you,” Santiago reminds you. “I wanted to see my girls.”

“Since when?”

He leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest when he narrows his gaze.

“Since I saw the pictures you sent me. You’ve always held people’s attention. A child’s birthday party is no different.”

“I wasn’t sending them to you to make you jealous.”

He smirks at your passionate denial.

“And I’m not jealous. I know every inch of your body, every little nook and cranny that makes you come apart. They don’t know you the way I do so no,” Santiago says with a sigh. “I don’t think you were trying to make me jealous, but I think you’re lonely. I think the men in that picture know it too, judging the way they were staring..”

“I’m not.”

He gives you that perfect smile, looking you up and down.

“We both know how this always ends. We’re good for each other. Maybe not emotionally but physically, we’re compatible and we always have been. There’s no one else I would have wanted to have my child, to be the mother of my precious daughter. I can’t get enough of you still.”

He pushes himself off of the wall, settling his hands on either side of your face, your fingers wrapping around his wrists. It feels euphoric, his lips close to yours, body pressed against you, and it feels familiar, like you aren’t living separate lives when he kisses you.

“I can’t,” you whisper against his mouth, his forehead resting against yours.

“You can. I’ll take care of you like I always do.”

Your hand flattens on his chest, feeling his heartbeat when you close your eyes. You want to, you already know how it would end, tangled in sheets and alone when you wake.

Satisfied but alone, yet again.

“I can’t sleep with you anymore. This isn’t healthy for either of us. You can have the guest bedroom,” you answer, moving away from him as he lets you go.

“Guest bedroom,” he repeats, seeing you head toward your bedroom. “I’ll leave the door open if you need me.”

Closing the door behind you, you lean against it, squeezing your eyes shut as you ignore the ache between your thighs.

🌤

Sun shines in your eyes, startling you when you toss away the blanket, looking down to find yourself still clothed, clad in your shorts and t-shirt. The sigh of relief that flows from your lips gives you a sense of calm, nearly laughing to yourself that you had the willpower to deny the man who you’ve willingly given your body to after the divorce.

The savory scent of breakfast hangs in the air, scrambling to get up when you look at the time. It’s well past the time you had meant to wake up, running down the stairs to stop in your tracks.

Santiago cracking another egg in the bowl while Mia carefully picks out pieces of fruit to place them on a tray. Bacon, pancakes and oatmeal is on the table, something you haven’t had the time to make in at least six months with Mia’s busy school schedule.

“Oh, you’re finally up,” Santiago greets you, Mia dropping a strawberry on the counter as she hops off the step, running after you when she clings to your legs.

“Hi Mommy! Daddy and I are making breakfast!” Mia announces loudly, standing on her tiptoes to see what her father is doing. “I want an o-mel-le.”

“Omelet,” Santiago corrects gently, Mia nodding.

“Yeah, one of those!” Mia agrees.

Santiago cleans as he works, wiping off a counter before he checks on the omelet he’s making for Mia. 

A ripple of resentment goes through you at the thought of what this means. He and Mia always make breakfast together when it’s his week with her. It’s something Mia looks forward to when she’s packing her suitcase to see her father, knowing that the best you and Mia can do is a rushed breakfast of toast or instant waffles.

Father of the beginning of the day, you think, sitting at the table after Mia points to your chair, Santiago placing a glass of orange juice in front of you.

“Breakfast is almost done,” he reminds you. “Coffee?”

Before you have a chance to answer, a mug of hot coffee is placed next to the orange juice, Mia giggling when he turns back to the stove, flipping the omelet over as she claps her hands excitedly.

Mia whispers to her father, the hushed discussion reaching you. Curious, Mia covers her mouth when she sees you staring.

“Secrets don’t make friends,” you tease her gently.

“We’re going on a tour!” Mia blurts out, Santiago plating her omelet, holding it high above her head.

“A what?” you ask, Santiago placing her plate down and lifting Mia onto the chair.

“A tour,” Santiago repeats.

“I heard her,” you protest, Mia grabbing her fork as she stabs into her breakfast. “A tour where?”

Santiago sits across from you, Mia focused on shoving a piece of fruit in her mouth as he looks at the breakfast spread and back to you.

“We’re touring St. Mary’s today.”

[philtstone]

24. Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house: for shawn? :)

[emerges from writing this fic bloody and beaten and on the verge of collapse] ill explore karen vicks character in an overly complicated post-episode missing scene fic or die trying! set immediately post "right turn or left for dead". i genuinely dont know if im happy with this but i also cant figure out how to fix it. actually, it would have probably been easier to write if i was willing to rewatch the episodes its based on. which i am not, because i am a sensitive little soul. so i winged it. i think there are like 10 different ideas that crop up and theyre all equally fascinating as character threads but i have no idea if i tied them together in an even remotely coherent way. also, WOULD she say that??? i had to call my brother twice to ask. this is what yall get for sending me actually interesting prompts, huh

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Henry’s voice said on the phone. “I’ll send Shawn over with them on his way out. He's going in your direction, anyway.”

In her short tenure as the junior detective to Henry Spencer’s lieutenant, Karen Vick observed two things:

First, that he was a far more clever strategist than most people gave him credit for. Despite the ongoing wreckage of his impending divorce and a kid who was slipping through his fingers as everyone looked on, Karen didn’t agree with the other junior detectives’ impression of him as a smash-the-door-down old school hard ass with thinning hair and a worst attitude. The man played four dimensional chess right out of a bonafide Star Trek episode. When he really wanted something done, Henry Spencer could bullshit and bluff and battle plan with the pros, and half the time you’d get too caught up in the blustering misdirect to realize his game was intricately thought out three steps in advance.

It was how they caught the Shorttown Killer, and also how they got that idiot Trembley at the mayor’s office to finally replace their coffee maker. Karen went home to her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and, right before bed, pulled out an old school workbook and took notes.

The second thing was that Henry Spencer loved his son. 

Not a lot has changed since then, Karen thinks, staring down the weirdness that she now faces through her open front door.

“… Oh — Mr. Spencer,” Karen says, because it’s rude not to greet your employees when they show up at your home outside of work hours, and are also your old friend-slash-colleague’s kid. “Hello. Thanks for — bringing these over.”

“Dad said it was urgent,” Shawn says.

Urgent isn’t quite how Karen would describe it, but hearing through the grapevine that your department might be facing an audit sometime in the next quarter does light a fire under the proverbial ass. Karen would rather bend a few rules and make sure the last year’s i’s and t’s are dotted and crossed right than leave her detectives vulnerable to the whims of a mayoral stooge. 

In general, Karen prides herself on caring about the people under her command just enough that it inspires genuine friendship and loyalty. The just is important. Care needs tempering – it’s important to pull back, press pause, keep certain lines uncrossed. It’s especially important if you want to be successful as a woman in an authority position where lives are often on the line. 

What she’s saying is that she tries to make it none of her business what her employees get up to in their spare time. She really genuinely does. She’s shut O’Hara down gently midway through the twelfth sweetly-frazzled attempt to overshare about her dating life (or her efforts to befriend her next-door neighbor, or the endearing personality quirks of her last cat – rest in peace, Triscuit, you will be missed –) enough times to be well-versed in the art of I Won’t Ask, You Won’t Tell, But You’ll Probably Know I Care Anyway.

An invaluable rapport to maintain. In any situation, Karen thinks, but especially when you’re a person who regularly hires and works alongside Shawn Spencer.

She’s not sure whether what she’s looking at right now makes her want to second guess or double down on her usual policy. 

“Special delivery,” Shawn adds, like everything is super normal.

Karen narrows her eyes. She glances behind them into the quiet residential street.

“Shawn,” she says.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Ha,” he says, half rolling his eyes to accompany a weird aborted grin. “No. Even I don’t think riding a motorcycle with a concussion is a good idea. What if someone who wasn’t me got hurt? That’s — that would be no good, then you’d have to arrest me. Wouldn’t that be a huge bummer for the whole team, Chief? Gus would cry. And my dad wouldn’t let me take his truck.”

Karen stares at him. Shawn stares at the ground.

“I got a cab,” he says.

“And you are … taking another cab – home?”

Shawn looks quite suddenly like he’s going to be sick.

“Sure,” he says. 

Shawn looks terrible. Bruised face, bags under his eyes, and a weird frenetic energy twitching in his limbs that doesn’t pair well with his general air of exhaustion. He’s holding his shoulders stiffly and can barely meet her eye. His t-shirt and sweatpants are rumpled, like he slept in them, even though it’s too early in the evening for Henry to have woken him up to send him here, and when he thrusts the promised files out into the air toward her, abrupt and, admittedly, Shawn-like, he only just hides the awkward wince that immediately overtakes his left side.

The last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind, so Karen can’t say she necessarily blames herself for not looking more closely. 

Even so.

Slowly, Karen reaches forward and divests him of the case files. They slip a little bit, because Karen can’t seem to stop peering shrewdly at Shawn’s face while she does it, and on instinct he reaches forward to stop the stack from toppling. 

It does help, but the autopilot he moves on makes it harder to mask what is to Karen’s eyes a very obvious flinch. 

“Alright,” is all he says. “Well, good to see you. Time to head back to the old hay stack.”

Like a needle in a haystack and time to hit the hay, Karen supplies needlessly in her own head. Aloud, she says, in many ways against her better judgment, 

“Mr. Spencer, are you okay?”

Shawn sways on the spot for a second, one fist clenched, mouth half open. For a strange moment, Karen gets the impression that he’s trying really hard not to say the wrong thing.

“... As rain,” he finally manages, then nods to himself like he achieved some great feat. “Okay. Well –”

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” 

“What? No!” Shawn’s eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head, “I’m – fine, Chief. It’s not – I mean, I’m – normal, fine. Fine in a normal way.”

“That’s not something an individual who’s fine in a normal way would say,” Karen says. 

“Uh, is it not! It is. I would know, because I am that individual. It’s – I was – there’s just mild – pfft … stab wound – or something, who would even …”

Is Shawn broken? is the unhelpful thought that pops into Karen’s head. She’s never heard an attempt to bullshit collapse so quickly into pathetic nothingness before – certainly not from Shawn.

Perhaps even more than his father, the kid’s a pro.

And then the rest of the sentence catches up with her.

“A mild stab wound?”

Oh boy. She watches Shawn’s eyes widen with the panic that proceeds an unquestionable blunder.

“Chief –” 

“In.”

“Chief, I really, really don’t think –”

“Inside my house. Now.”

He’s certainly uncoordinated enough that he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Karen herds him  through the door as firmly as possible and leads them in a beeline past Richard’s office toward the bathroom, ignoring the reedy stream of consciousness that spills out of Shawn’s mouth as they go.

“Oh, hey, woah, it’s been like forever since I was in here. Did you redecorate? I swear that lamp wasn’t there the last time we visited. It could be the tacos I had earlier, but I’m sensing a distinct neo-modern Chinese aesthetic going on here, Chief, which calls to mind the merits of cultural appreciation in suburban home decor – hey, is that your husband’s office? Can I meet him? Is he home? That man is a true enigma to us, Chief, and it’s leading me to believe that he must possess all the facial and personality qualities of the pop superstar Mr. Pitbull Worldwide –”

Richard is home, actually, and Karen needs to alert him to the fact that they have an unexpected house guest, so, ignoring Shawn completely, she calls out,

“Honey? Shawn Spencer’s here for a couple minutes about a work thing! I’ll go up to put Iris to bed in a second!” in the finely-honed There Are Many Layers Of Complicated To This secret married tone that Richard should probably be able to catch through the closed office door. 

“Alright,” floats out her husband’s pleasant voice. “Tell him hi from me.”

Perfect. There’s about a ninety-three percent chance he understood.

They make it to the bathroom, only stumbling slightly. Shawn says,

“-- or The Rock. Does your husband look like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson? I really think that would make so many things about the Chief Vick family make sense –”

Karen closes the bathroom door with a snap and crosses her arms.

“Sit,” she says, in a voice that even he knows brooks no argument.

Shawn does. He looks – well, beyond uncomfortable, and more than a little bit miserable, and probably closer to completely dissociating than either of them are prepared for. Karen wonders belatedly if he's gotten any sleep at all in the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m assuming you have not been to the hospital.”

He gives her a baleful look, like he really expected better of her. She only just stops herself from rolling her eyes in response. And there’s that huge goose egg on his forehead, too. What, exactly, he got up to in between Carlton’s wedding reception and oh-eight-hundred hours this morning Karen has no idea, but he looks like someone’s run him through the world’s most aggressive industrial tumble dry cycle and spat him mercilessly back out. 

Or maybe over with a truck.

Sending a silent prayer to the universe that Iris never hit puberty and remains a sweet-tempered six-year-old forever, Karen gets to business.

“Well, I had to at least ask. Shawn. Does it need stitches?” He mumbles the answer the first time, and then looks beyond startled when she grabs him under the chin so he’ll look her in the eye. “Listen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re going to tell me the truth. Got it?”

Shawn grimaces so hard at her words it’s almost a flinch. 

“No,” he says finally, clearly enough that she hears him. Karen raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” he articulates, but doesn’t meet her eye.

“Hm. Alright. I have gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet. Can I … is it alright if I pull up the sleeve of your t-shirt?”

Released from her hold, he groans and presses his face into one palm. “Chief –”

“I don’t really know what you expected, coming here! It’s not like I’m any less of a hardass than your father.”

“Yeah, but I can bitch back at my dad,” Shawn says, sounding like he’s finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Karen smiles grimly.

“Tough. Now pull your shirt up while I get the first aid kit.”

While Shawn proceeds to wrestle awkwardly with his t-shirt in a muted shuffle against the toilet seat, Karen rummages efficiently through the cabinet and eyes him through the bathroom mirror. He seems oddly reluctant to expose himself. In fact, in a stark contrast to his usual insistence on making his presence and contributions as obtrusively obvious as possible, Shawn seems intent on shrinking into the aforementioned Asian-flavored floral wallpaper (which does need an update, unfortunately) with all the equanimity of an anxious chameleon. Karen feels her eyebrows crease. Taking the first aid kit in hand, she brings it over and deposits it into his arms, ignoring his small startle.

“How about you hold that,” Karen says. Shawn does, against his chest, like a pillow. She walks around him and surveys the damage, antiseptic gauze in hand.

He wasn’t lying about the severity, at least. It’s a shallow thing, already mostly congealed, and has only stained his shirt in a small smattering spot of crusty brown blood.

Karen swabs at it with the alcohol using light careful fingers.

“Ow, ow ow ah –”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s hardly a life-threatening injury.”

“Super insightful, Chief,” Shawn snaps, as genuinely sarcastic as he’s probably ever been with her, “never thought of that myself. Totally the reason why I just had to go to the hospital.”

He doesn’t pull away, but she can feel the tension radiating through his back. She blinks, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. 

Alright then. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“I’m assuming your father doesn’t know about this,” she says.

Shawn grunts, noncommittal. Huh. Maybe he does know, then, and has just been disallowed from doing anything about it right now.

She tosses the first used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Goddamn four dimensional chess.

She supposes she’s never been bad at the game. She may as well work her way backwards through the moves: Guster, the most obvious node in Shawn’s turn-to-in-a-crisis-system, would never voluntarily abandon his friend in a time of need, so Karen assumes that whatever this is has either already included his support or not been made known to Gus at all yet. Henry’s likely exhausted his own usefulness in the situation, and Detective O’Hara is …

Karen has to work very hard for her hands not to pause in a way that gives away her hard-earned mental sleuthing. A bad feeling wholly unrelated to her ill-advised hangover of the day before begins to bloom at the back of her gut.

“You have really small hands, Chief.”

Shawn’s voice is notably more subdued than before.

“Do I?” 

“They’re like … little kangaroo hands. Like the mom kangaroo from Whinnie the Pooh.”

“Didn’t you know?” Karen says, not unkindly. “They’re given out at the hospital when all first-time moms leave with their baby.”

He lets out a tired little laugh, more boyish than he probably means it to be, and in spite of herself Karen feels her heart clench. She isn’t blind. In all her last seven years as the leader of their chaotic little precinct, she has never seen Juliet O’Hara look as ill as she did yesterday morning. The usually sweet-faced young woman had all the pallor of a Victorian ghost, and stood so far away from Shawn in any given room that to an unassuming observer he might have had the plague.

There are only a handful of things, Karen thinks, that could have invited that particular evolution in their dynamic. She rips the surgical tape from its canister a little bit more harshly than is strictly necessary and fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“So,” she says conversationally, laying the tape down in neat, gentle little strips, trying not to pinch the wound too tightly. “Any fun plans for the evening?”

Shawn sniffs. She can see him gripping his hands together over his knee from where she stands above him.

“Um, yeah, uh –” he clears his throat, “you know me, Chief. We’re working our way through a Robert Guillame marathon, which means some good old fashioned Benson, running commentary on the quality of that child acting, naturally.”

“Naturally.” 

“Then Gus and I were gonna hit up the new, the new chili cheese joint up by Hermosa, you know – they’re doing sliders –”

“Chili cheese sliders?” Karen hums, contemplative.

“Buy ‘em by the pound,” Shawn agrees. “Then I was thinking of getting a tattoo, maybe a belly button piercing, I’ve been really – really needing a change – would you let Iris get one, if she asked?”

“A tattoo?” Karen clarifies, cutting off the next piece of tape. The skin around the cut is warm to her touch but Shawn’s arms have goosepimpled. The hair at the back of his head sticks up unstyled, like he slept weirdly and couldn’t be bothered to fix it come morning.

“Of a marmoset. That’s what I’m thinking. With distinctly effeminate vibes.”

“Well, Dick hates marmosets. So I’d probably encourage her toward something else. Perhaps a sea lion.”

“Like Shabby.” The nervous note has bled into his legs again, and his earlier subdued tone has gone back to sounding strained. “Yeah, that’ll – that could be it.”

“All in one night, huh?” Karen says.

“I –” Shawn doesn’t even hiss when she presses down with a cotton gauze to cover the last of the thickened blood. His legs are properly jittering again. “I was – yeah, y-you know me, Chief, total night owl.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“What about going home?”

Silence. Shawn doesn’t answer for a moment long and pregnant enough that Karen wonders if her question will be ignored entirely. 

Then,

“Chief,” he says finally, in an awful, tiny little voice, “I really, really fucked up.”

Finally, her hands do falter in their ministrations; as emotionally exuberant as Shawn often is, she doesn’t think she’s ever actually heard him close to tears. For a horrible moment she wonders if Shawn Spencer will suddenly start crying atop her toilet seat for reasons neither of them are capable of discussing honestly. Then she wonders if her horror makes her a terrible boss.

Boss – mother – person.

Oh, dear.

She sets down the surgical tape and lays a ginger palm over the newly-bandaged gouge in his shoulder. It’ll probably scar, but not at all badly. She doesn’t like to think about the far more obvious one just below, puckering in a violent yet unassuming divot. Another narrow miss for Henry’s boy. 

At this point there are so many of them to count, Karen has to question the statistical likelihood of the whole thing. Becoming a mathematical anomaly is, Karen can attest with confidence, not exactly the future the Lieutenant Spencer she knew dreamed of for his increasingly unmanageable teenager. 

Doing what he loved, on the other hand – absolutely. Being with a person he loved, even more so. Karen grits her teeth at the irritating web she’s spent the last six years constructing around herself and wonders if this evening right here is some kind of cosmic karma for leaving Iris in the care of nannies for the first three years of her life.

That sounds like the kind of thing those horrible parenting magazines and Karen’s mother-in-law would claim, anyway.

“Shawn,” she says slowly, because she has to at least knock this possibility off the list before risking her career in an attempt to mediate her detectives’ love lives, “did you … you weren’t – unfaithful, were you?”

“What?!” 

Shawn yanks his shoulder away and whirls around to face her with such a look of horrified betrayal on his face that it’s almost comical. 

“No!” 

Thank fucking God, Karen thinks. Aloud, she says,

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to at least ask!”

“No! No! What the hell, Chief!”

“Oh would you be quiet! I’m gathering my evidence here!”

“How could I – I would never – you’d even think that I could –”

“I know! Shawn, for God’s sake –” He’s scrambled to his feet in the cramped bathroom space, glaring, and has probably messed up all that surgical tape in the process. The half open first aid kit and his crumpled shirt press lopsided against his front and her garbage can is now full of oxidizing bits of cotton. Karen officially gives in to the urge to press her palms against her forehead. “I had to ask!” she repeats finally. “You and I both know you’re not gonna give me much else to work with, and you sounded so – so sad!” 

Shawn barks out a hysterical little laugh. Karen almost growls in frustration. 

“I am not going to risk all the very hard-earned rules I have in place without knowing for sure that my instincts aren’t wrong. Is that so hard to appreciate?”

Does it count as sound police work when the framework for your investigation is an unacknowledged lie? Karen doesn’t really know. Probably there’s another math metaphor to be made in there (you screwed your proof from the very beginning, maybe, Richard the professor would definitely have thoughts), or just a straight up joke. How to solve a case that’s cold before it ever has the chance to go live; a cover-up if she ever saw one. Unlikely that O’Hara will peep a word, and things will be a true mess for a few weeks, if she can’t make an educated guess about it. And no one will be explaining anything to Carlton, either …

Right before their goddamn audit, Karen thinks, aggrieved. She wonders if Henry considered this in his calculus. Send Shawn over, have her deal with him. Offer a huge unspoken you’re gonna be walking into a shitstorm tomorrow canary for her perennially chaotic mess of a coal mine. 

She can’t help but feel begrudgingly grateful, but that doesn’t mean she and he won’t be having words about this later.   

“Jesus, Karen,” Shawn mutters, pressing his face back into his free hand. Karen shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Well then! Back to the issue. You fucked up.”

“You know what? I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, I assure you I am more than well aware.”

Shawn blinks at her between his fingers, looking genuinely confused for the first time since he showed up at her door. 

Karen does not bother to clear up his confusion; it’s better this way, anyhow.

“Will you be sleeping at Gus’s place or your father’s?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I’m – I don’t –” Shawn doesn’t meet her eye. The earlier thread of anxiety is back. “I wasn’t …”

So, neither. 

“Put your shirt back on,” she says. “We’re relocating to the living room.”

“Chief –”

“That was an order, Mr. Spencer.”

The living room is as quiet and mundane as it was an hour ago. It’s past Iris’s bedtime – she’ll have to go up, and soon at that. Karen seats her guest, retrieves a mug and a bag of chamomile from the kitchen, and removes the fluffy throw blanket from the basket behind the couch on her way back in. He’s deflated completely by the time the tea and blanket are set in front of him. Small and exhausted. Caught. It’s a horrible way to think about it. But she can’t avoid the hundred yard stare – Karen has seen it one too many times in people only just realizing they’re about to go away for life.

“Shawn,” she says, firm as she can make it. “Drink the tea. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m … what?”

“Your lips are dry. You shouldn’t be dehydrated with a concussion.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Karen suddenly wonders if he’s going to get up and leave. She has experience with these things – she knows a runner when she sees one.

“I might as well have,” Shawn finally whispers.

She doesn’t catch it the first time. “What?”

“I – I might as well ha – Chief, I …” Deep shuddering breaths. He’s finally shutting down, she realizes. She can’t send him back out like this; Henry would give her the stink eye for a month.

Goddamn Spencers and their goddamn irritating overcomplicated lives.

Karen pushes the tea directly into his hands and tilts her chin so she can meet Shawn’s eye. He’s still lucid enough that she doesn’t think he’ll start hyperventilating, but now that the outrage and adrenaline has worn off, the symptoms of shock are pretty hard to miss. “Shawn,” she says again, and wills for him to understand.

“What if she – what if I never –” He can’t get the full sentence out. He looks at her, eyes wide and terrified.

Life sentence, Karen thinks again. The messy stack of files Shawn brought over sits almost unimportantly on the coffee table between them and a memory comes to her, unbidden, of words penned carefully in the corner of a modified police report that she pulled the minute the door closed on the McCallum case seven years ago. 

Date: May 4th, 1995. Reporting Officer, Spencer, Lt. H. Perpetrator a caucasian male, brown hair, five foot nine, insists on wearing those stupid earrings just to spite me. What the hell do you want me to write here, Chief? Spent two hours in the fucking principal’s office convincing them not to expel him one month off from graduation. All that effort, and I still booked the kid. It’s gonna follow him for life, and it’s gonna be me that did it to him. For life. You think he’ll ever forgive me? He’s the greatest thing in my pathetic little world and he keeps breaking my heart, and I can’t even properly accept that it’s my fault. 

How’s that for a fucking crime.

She needs to go put her daughter to bed. It’s the thought that keeps running through her head, oddly enough, like a strange antidote to the impotent anger and heartbreak and frustration she’s feeling for the people under her care.

With all the notes she took in that little workbook, she still let herself become complicit in the painstaking, convoluted resolution of Henry’s mistakes without accounting for all the variables.  

Richard’s footsteps sound muffled in the next room; he’s made his way upstairs in Karen’s absence. She needs to go. She wants to hear the soft and sleepy love you Mama that with her unpredictable hours and regular long nights isn’t nearly routine enough.

“Shawn,” she says evenly. “Do you love her?”

It’s hard to reconcile the smarmy kid who tried to barter with her for twelve hundred a day with the devastated young man sitting on the couch in front of her.

“Chief …” he starts, barely above a whisper.

“Good. Then she’ll see that. Detective O’Hara is a smart and observant woman. What she chooses to do next is her decision, but … you might be – well, comforted by the fact that she’ll know that – truth.”

Shawn stares at her. The tea steams in front of him, cooling in increments. She takes a deep breath and gets to her feet, patting his uninjured shoulder brusquely. 

“I have to go check on Iris. When I come back down, I can drive you to the Psych office.”

Iris is fast asleep when she gets there. A library book lays open face down over her stomach, and her soft brown hair fans out against the pillow, silhouetted by the soft glow of the unicorn nightlight in the wall above her. Karen turns off the bedside lamp, tucks her daughter in, and kisses her forehead. Just before she leaves, she hears it: murmured, half-awake.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Karen goes back to her living room, car keys in hand. She’s planned her next move in the driver’s seat enough times throughout her career that it shouldn’t be too hard. 

[lunion]

There's something that's been hurting me for the longest time that I want to vent about, though it can be lenghty. Also, spoilers for Mother 3.

The mother series have been for the longest time my favorite videogame franchise of all time. However, this last year I realized it was no longer the case. That wouldn't be a problem if iy weren't for the reason behind it: My best friend and the discussion we had.

Context time:

I had a sheltered, but otherwise unpleasant childhood. Bullied at school, difficulties on social circles, depressed mother and absent father getting a divorce, a complicated relationship with organized religion... life for kid-me was unfulfilling, underwhelming and gave me nothing to look forward for the future.

However, one of the things that kept me going was indeed, the Mother series. It stroke the perfect and necessary balance to give me hope. It's not a perfect comfort game where nothing goes wrong because it'd feel cheap like "of course these people are happy. These problems were conveniently removed from game", but neither it was a tragedy fest where every problem is real and we can never get a break from the suffering ever. The Mother series acknowledged a lot of problems like police corruption, parental abuse, loss and so forth, but in a palatable manner that made me believe that we could overcome these things.

Eventually, childhood and adolencence have passed and I found myself breaking away from organized religion to find my own faith. I stumbled here and there, but I was moving forward.

And then comes in my best friend.

He's still one of the most caring people i've ever met, but unfortunately, he has a flaw that can make it hard to deal with sometimes. A poorly repressed, yet never acknowledged contempt for spirituality and religion.

We've had some discussions about it before, but the gist of it is that he would try to say something like "you're free to follow whatever religion you want", but always with the undertone of "but you're fucking stupid AND coping for doing so"

Then comes these last 5 years.

These last god forsaken 5 years of my life were filled to the brim with struggle, solitude and pushing through a pervading feeling of aimlessness as I tell myself my goals are not for naught.

My friend group withered, I moved away back to the hometown I hate, had no one that shared my beliefs with me, I started dealing with family problems so bad I had to go back to therapy and the pandemic did not help.

Practicing one's faith alone during this time was also much harder, especially when I started questioning my own beliefs.

Last year, I visited my friend just to hang out. I don't even remember how we got to the topic of spirituality, but I know we did and he asked me to explain my faith to him again. TL;DR, I share many buddhist principles, believe in past lives and higher planes of existance.

The real challenge was trying to explain it to him in a way he wouldn't dismiss as an hallucination, delirium or otherwise.

I could not.

I left that conversation feeling absolutely stupid of ever believing in any semblance of religion or any faith.

Fast forward for a couple months later and I am playing Mother 3.

I've cleared the mother series about 6 times at this point and every couple of years I'd play them all over again because I always come out differently from the experience, given how I've changed and my different lens let me appreciate the games more and in differnt ways.

This time, something very different happened.

I was at the end of the game, during the Masked Man fight. As any Mother fan can tell, the most emotional point in the series. But here is the thing. Unlike every other time I played the game, when Hinawa appeared in that scene, I was not overcome with emotion, relief or even moved.

Instead, my only thought was "what the fuck is this doing here?"

This scene, which brought me to tears many times before and made me cherish the love shared between these characters and even between people in real life, was now making me cringe and feel disgusted.

At that moment. It felt cheap. It felt like it was 'coping', as thoughts swimmed through my head:

"Talk about wish fulfilment. Kid's so traumatized he's making up in his mind his mother is still alive."

"Why tf can't people accept that hinawa is fucking dead? She and everything she brought is GONE. No amount of wishing will ever change that in any meaningful way."

"This is stupid"

All of these things came to me during what was supposed to be one of the most beautiful scenes I've seen in fiction. One of the moments that gave me the most pain, but also the most strenght.

At that moment, I was also crying, but not because the usual reasons.

I was crying because I saw myself, couldn't recognize myself and I didn't like what I saw.

The next months were rough. A good therapist helped, though.

I learned I can't have everyone, especially those who are set in their own beliefs, to validate mine, even if they are family or best friends.

I know I was sensitive at the time for all the problems that I mentioned ealier in this post.

But I also realized that my diminished affection towards the mother games were not to do with me growing up, but due to a bad memory staining my feelings for the games. A memory that has nothing to do with the games themselves and more to do with how hurt and stupid I felt because of that discussion that I had.

I no longer feel like that, but the feeling of hurt still remains. I want to start healing from it. Putting all this experience in words is the first step.

[sushywritez]

Stranger Danger | Older!Eddie M. X Fem!Reader | Three

PLOT: Eddie is a loving single father and a busy man, he hires you on occasion to watch his child. Sometimes he wish he had the courage to ask you out, but one terrible weekend will prove to him he hasn't got much time.

WARNINGS: TW 18+ Guns, and gun violence mentioned, blood, slight gore, language, suggestiveness, angst, fluff, thriller, slasher, divorce, and adult humor.

Three Days.

Friday, Saturday and Sunday were all Eddie needed. The event from this Thursday still held a deep impact over you, but since Eddie gave the news it had became less pertinent. Having the assaulter locked up was definitely a relief. Especially since you'd be alone with Violet for these days.

Early that morning Eddie hit the road, making sure to leave behind his special care instructions for Violet. Who of which, at the moment was still sleeping in.

You'd let her have her rest. The poor thing was up most of the night with a couple of bad dreams. Her night–terrors usually started up on weekends like this when her father had to go out of town. Being separated from the only parent was tough on such a kind hearted kid.

As she slept in you got some cleaning done around the house, even started a batch of her laundry. Eddie insisted you didn't have to, but you always just did it anyway. As the first load was washing you started to prepare a small breakfast knowing that Violet would wake any second now.

Three days, turned into more, and later rolled into a year. At this point he'd convinced you to become a permanent resident, from babysitter to nanny. Violet sure loved having you around more and she began to even open up more towards you. That was something you always loved, learning more about the energetic bundle that was Violet Munson. Now being a part of their daily lives was all part of your job.

Working for Eddie Munson was the best job one could possibly have. He was generous, forgiving, and all around fun.

So far things were going well on the cloudy afternoon. A nice start off to a Monday and an even better week. Currently you were seated in the living-room and scrolling through one of the many media services in attempt to find a movie. Violet had promised to sit and watch it with you.

"Wow, who woulda thought it'd be so hard to pick a movie." You comment, lancing over at the small toddler curled up beside you.

"Maybe a princess one." Violet suggests, pointing to the first movie with a princess that appeared in your list. The movie in question was Tangled, which had ironically been your favorite tale. Rapunzel was willing to risk everything just to have the one thing she desired most. Freedom and longing to belong.

"Yeah, sounds good." You ultimately agree with her, "Rapunzel is such a cool princess." Violet turns to look at you giggling as the screen loaded in the content.

Meanwhile

Eddie had been deep into his workload when he received a call ushering him away from work. Said caller was Chief Hopper and he had mentioned something about an emergency. Eddie had rushed through traffic, nearly causing an accident twice. An emergency couldn't be good.

Were you okay? Did something happen to Violet?

So when he arrived at the station and stomped through the door he looked this way and that before spotting an officer chatting it up with another. He approached them until the chief rounded the corner and spotted him. Eddie froze, "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Munson. Come with me?" Despite not knowing what was going on he followed him down the hall, glancing back at the laughing pair of officers.

Deep down it bothered him. If there was an emergency why were they just standing around? What the fuck was going on around here?

The chief stops abruptly and holds open the door for him, Eddie glances at the man and rolls his eyes before walking in. Hopper follows and walks right past him and plops down into the leather rolling chair seated behind the desk. Eddie sits up in his own seat and shakes his head, "Just get to the point. I haven't got all day. I got a kid and-"

Hopper gets comfortable, before he interrupts him. Folding his hands over one another and placing them on the desk. "Steve Harrington, escaped prison early this morning." Eddie's eyes widen, but then his gaze narrows brows furrowing.

"Who?" The artist is merely confused by the name, but then it clicks suddenly. His face contorts to anger, "You mean that creep? The one who harassed my Nanny?" Eddie is throwing his hands this way and that as he speaks, anger and adrenaline coursing through him. At this point Eddie kicks his chair back as he stands. Slamming one hand down on the desk, reaching forward with his left to grab the chief's tie and yanking him forward. "How do you let someone escape a prison?!" His vocal range was extremely shocking, but then again he was one of the best.

Hopper was shocked, but having dealt with Eddie in the past he knew his anger was only temporary. "Eddie." His voice was stern and commanding. "Let go of my tie." He recognized the situation and slowly let go, lucky one of the many rings he adored, didn't tear the fabric. Eddie backs off the desk. Hopper goes to straighten his tie and sighs, "Sit." His eyes gesture to the chair and Eddie takes a seat.

"I know you're mad. Which is why I wasn't letting the situation go by unnoticed, so I called you." He reaches for his hat and places it over his head. "Because, it's not jus Harrington who got away. He took Hargrove with him."

Eddie's eyes widened, "Billy Hargrove, the one who killed those women back in the summer of 1985?"

Hopper nodded slowly, "Yeah uh, apparently they're the best of fucking buds."

"Shit." Eddie muttered. From what he remembered, Billy hadn't really liked him and Eddie hadn't exactly wronged him. Well, maybe for the fact he screwed him over on a drug deal and he got caught and arrested that night. One way to harbor a grudge. "What's your plan?"

"I'm issuing a man-hunt. I've already sent two officers over to yours, so the girls will be safe. You got my word." Hopper reached for his gun and clicked the safety on, before holstering his weapon and standing. "We'll get them."

Munson Residence 12:45 P.M.

"Okay, so do you want some macaroni and cheese or some ramen? Your choice." You turn to the wide eyed girl who's all smiles as the two items are presented to her.

"Uhm, can you make it all fancy? The noodles?" She asked you.

"Fancy?"

"Like in the cartoons!" She exclaims throwing her arms up in the air. "They got eggs, meat, and some other stuff, it always looks so yummy!" Oh. So that's what she meant.

"Yeah, of course. So the noodles then?"

"Noodles." She confirms. You tell her to run off and play while you prepare the meal for her. With her father out of the house you could offer her something better than frozen meals and Asian cuisine happened to be your specialty. Which Eddie adored about you, cause those noodles were always so, 'Yummy'. He would always declare.

As you turned the stove on and placed the pan of water over the fire the doorbell rang. It shocked both you and little Violet since there was no way her dad could be home so early. She runs up to you as you exit the kitchen. Violet reaches out to you and you oblige in scooping her into your arms, slowly making it over to the door.

When you open it the intruders are revealed, two officers bearing their full uniform are standing patiently at the porch. "Miss (L/N)?"

"Yes?" You answer cautiously and they nod.

The officer to the left speaks first, Violet hiding her face in your neck. "I'm Officer Polinski and this Hank. We've been sent by our chief to keep guard of the home."

You bounce Violet on your hip and frown, "Well, may I ask why?" "Yes. Your statement led us to capture Steve Harrington a year ago, but he has escaped and our chief along with Mr. Munson think it best for us to stay and keep watch." Polinski explained and you nodded.

Your heart was going to fall out of your chest. That horrible moment coming crashing over you again. His eyes, his voice, and everything was all so clear to you and now it could happen again. "Please." You urge them inside. "Come inside. I'll prepare lunch."

"Thank you."

In the next town over

"You ready?"

"Ready as ever, Harrington."

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes clicking the safety of the Sig Sauer he was carrying. He gives a nod towards Billy, who smirks and kicks the door open to the small off road gas station. Shocking the old couple to death and in hail marry of bullets and shouting they took what they needed and dove underground.

Taglist:

@yaspillz @dahliamae @capricornrisingsstuff @aysheashea @e0509 @off-phelia @strangerthingsstories5255 @fujiihime @puppy-coded @damon-loves-pie @seratoninsickness @k0urti @thatlonelypieceoftoast @phantomxoxo @wittlewowa @rollergirlworldwide @allithewriter @gothguitargal @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @ali-r3n @harrys-tittie @yearwalker96 @lipglossanon @thepastdied @jessevans @dullsocietyy @littlelimb @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @3rriberri @corroded-hellfire @munson-blurbs

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Perfect Paradise Ch.21 And Don't Tell Me You're Sorry 'Cause You're Not. Baby, When I Know You're Only Sorry You Got Caught

S: "The truth will set you free."

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

The nightmares began that night.

Visions of aborted timelines plagued Adrien's dreams and ripped sleep from his eyes. The very world ending and the only hope of salvation going back to prevent it from ever happening.

His nightmares were so strong that they grazed against the sleeping minds of his children. Who woke screaming about shattered moons and a brilliant, terrible light unmaking everything.

They were a bit old to sleep all together like they did during a bad storm. But Emma didn't care and Hugo gave only token protest. They slept in his arms while Louis used Adrien's stomach as a pillow.

"Papa?"

"Yes, Hugo?"

"Where's Maman?"

Adrien hoped Hugo couldn't hear how his heart accelerated. "She... She had some things to take care of."

"Hm," Hugo's head sank back down as he drifted off to sleep.

Adrien didn't sleep. Knowing that the nightmare would return if he closed his eyes and drag his children with him. So he stayed awake through the night.

Trying not to think about what these visions of futures past could mean.

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

Marinette had been crying.

She was never very good at hiding her feelings from him. It was figuring out why that usually gave Adrien trouble. Though in this case the cause of her red eyes was rather obvious.

"I..." Marinette took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

It shouldn't hit him so hard to hear those words. But still Adrien's stomach clenched. Limbs tensing as he resisted the instinct to comfort his wife.

"I'm so, so sorry I didn't-" She took another breath. "-Didn't tell you."

It'd be so easy to just walk up to her and put his arms around Marinette.

"I thought I-I was protecting you. From what your father did."

Adrien's fingernails dug into his palms as he looked away. Forcing himself not to wipe at the growing moisture in her eyes. "You let me think he was a hero, Marinette. A hero," Adrien's voice broke.

Marinette sobbed before she could swallow it down. "I know. I'm... sorry. I just wanted you to be happy. To be free of... all of this!"

His Lady looked so small then. Like they were teenagers all over again. Young, foolish, scared.

"I messed up!" Marinette wiped at her eyes.

"I can't tell you."

"I know I did!"

"It's too dangerous for us to know each other's identities."

"I should've trusted you!"

"I didn't think it mattered that Luka knew."

"I'll be better!"

"Felix always looks like he knows something you don't."

"I promise!"

"I promise."

"I promise."

Adrien forced himself to look Marinette in the eye. Opened his mouth and said the first honest thing that came into his head:

"I want a divorce."

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

Adrien still remembered when he told his kids that Maman and Papa would no longer be living together. The confusion and disbelief in their eyes. Especially Louis.

He remembered the akuma fluttering towards his son's room. Remembered crushing it's fragile body to dust. The rage as he summoned a Cataclysm untransformed for the first time.

"You think you can go after my son!?"

Adrien wasn't sure what happened in that moment but he felt the power of Destruction travel through the psychic connection the akuma had with its master. Hawkmoth's attacks stopped for a whole week.

But they were far more vicious after that. The imbalance fueling her corruptive magic. Making it stronger and her bolder.

It would still be a year before they'd manage to stop her. A year to relearn how to work together with someone that used to be Adrien's other half. Learn how to fight beside someone he no longer trusted.

And they almost failed.

Almost.

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

...

...

...

It was another year before Adrien was confident enough in his plan to execute it.

Felix threw back his head, downed another glass and slammed it back onto the small table between them. Then poured himself another. Cheeks red from the amount of alcohol in his system. "I gave her the best years of my life and this is how she repays me?"

Adrien made a noncommittal hum. He was rather surprised Kagami waited so long. Then again, Adrien didn't give her more than cryptic warnings. Felix took another long drink and Adrien poured his own into a nearby potted plant.

"Here," Felix refilled Adrien's glass. "Marriage is a fucking lie."

"True enough," Adrien watched Felix carefully. He wasn't prone to clumsiness while drunk but that wasn't what Adrien was looking for.

"Y'know, cousin... you're the only one who's ever cared about me."

Adrien smiled. "I've always cared about you Felix." Shame you can't say the same.

Felix raised his glass for a toast. "Good riddance to ungrateful bitches."

Adrien's teeth clenched but he raised his glass. "To cutting out toxic relationships."

Felix laughed. "Yeah. That." And down it went. Felix's shoulders sagged as his arms went limp. Glass rolling onto the expensive carpet of his sitting room.

"... Felix?"

His cousin sagged into the cozy armchair.

Slowly, Adrien stood and leaned over Felix's sleeping face. Carefully he moved the tie covering the brooch. The Peacock Miraculous.

A chill ran down Adrien's spine as he took the Miraculous off Felix and put it in his breast pocket. There was a flash of blue light as Duusu entered her Miraculous from wherever she was sleeping.

He glanced at Felix but the sleeping potion Adrien put in his drink held.

A hand patted the Peacock Miraculous through the fabric of his suit. It's insignificant weight like a boulder on his chest.

The thought of saying some clever quip crossed his mind but Adrien had places to be. Felix would know soon enough who took the Peacock.

Closing the door to Felix's penthouse behind him Adrien transformed. And Chat Noir raced across the night sky.

...

...

...

Adrien straightened his hair. Using gel to keep it even. He carefully applied makeup to slightly alter his complexion. Taking off his glasses Adrien put in contacts that added a slight tint to the irises. He put on his freshly pressed, custom tailored suit. Cut to make him appear slimmer on camera.

As they had grown older Adrien had gotten tanner and broader. They no longer looked identical without effort. But that never seemed to stop Felix so why should it stop Adrien?

He sat in front of the webcam just in time.

"Don't be bemused it's just the news! Today we have a very special guest. The one and only Felix Graham de Vanily, Argos!"

Adrien nodded seriously at the camera.

"Despite being one of the few Parisian heroes with a public identity catching you for an interview is much harder than that of your masked teammates. What made you decide to agree this time?"

"I have something to confess to the people of Paris."

Nadja's face shifted as she realized this wouldn't be the lighthearted hero interview she was expecting. "Go on."

"I... have lied to you. The Red Moon wasn't the only crime I committed against your city." Adrien's fists clenched out of view of the camera. His words bringing back memories he'd rather forget.

"Because... I was the one that gave Monarch the Miraculous."

Gasps of shock and outrage rolled across the live audience. Nadja's face paled as she interlaced her fingers. Knuckles white to keep from shaking.

"I knew his identity and I traded the other Miraculous for the Peacock."

The audience was shouting now. Some rising to their feet.

Nadja swallowed the anger that also rose up in her. "Who was he?" she demanded. "Who was Monarch!?"

Adrien stared unblinkingly at her accusing glare.

"G- A- ."

Adrien cut the feed as he felt the Veil riling like a stormy sea. He took a breath. Then sprinted for the bathroom. Wiping off the makeup, using hot water to dissolve the gel and taking out the contacts.

In a flash he was out of there and at a decent hotel across town. Where he'd been for the past several hours as host. Nino was waiting for him on one of the balconies.

Before he could say anything Nino's arms were around Adrien's shoulders. He squeezed tightly then let go all too soon. "C'mon, they'll be asking for you."

It wasn't hard to summon the tears of betrayal that his guests expected of him. Adrien felt that all too keenly. No one protested when he excused himself. Hardly anyone asked after him.

It was a show. A grand revenge after years of being the butt of the joke. And Adrien reveled in it. Yes he did. It was every bit the terrible truth he hoped for.

So long waiting for the perfect moment. For a weakness to exploit. Adrien was almost surprised how easy it was. Then again Felix always thought he was the smartest man in the room.

His only regret was not being there to see the look on Felix's face... At least, it used to be.

[icegirl2772]

My iPod Shuffle Challenge Response

@partiallypearl and @myloveforhergoeson Saw you guys do this, so I thought I'd (finally) do my own.

To the surprise of no one, my list is Jaelyn (James/Kaelyn - yeah, I gave them a ship name). I am cheating a bit, though, and using Spotify. Specifically, my playlist that's created from my Top Songs from 2023 (I'm more likely to get songs that won't make me go WTF). (Considering I don't have an iPod anymore.)

But down below are the rules for anyone who wants to do it:

IPod Shuffle Challenge Rules: Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle. Write a ficlet related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards! No editing! Do ten of these, and then post them.

Song One: The Thing About You by Chloe Agnew

The thing about Kaelyn was how happy she made James.

It was something he had noticed when they were kids. Even when they were five years old, he was always so excited to see her. He was excited to see all of his friends, but there was something different about Kaelyn (aside from the obvious of her being his only female friend). And it was something that only grew as they did.

Eventually, they weren't children anymore. They were teenagers. And James was able to name that thing about Kaelyn.

That thing was love.

It still took him a long time to say that thing. For so many reasons. But when he did and he walked into her arms, he decided he had come home.

--

Song Two: I Won't Let You Go by Switchfoot and Lauren Daigle

Kaelyn was one of the few who saw first hand just how much James struggled with his parents' divorce. She was one of the few he would let his guard down around. Drop the façade he had worked so hard to perfect.

Both of his parents were strong-willed. Career-driven. Never willing to back down. Many would say it was amazing his parents lasted as long as they had. But at least he could say his mother loved him in her own way. James' father seemed eager to replace his family with his quick remarriage. (He's waiting for the day his father announces his wife's pregnancy to really solidify that feeling.)

The night the divorce papers came through, James was on the phone to Kaelyn in tears. Because that was also the day his dad decided to tell him he was remarrying to a woman fifteen years younger than his mother. He was barely waiting for the ink to dry.

The next time Kaelyn saw James after that phone call, she held him. Comforted him through those fears that only she knew about. They were only 13. Too young to deal with this.

But old enough for Kaelyn to understand the gravity of the promise she was making to herself:

I won't let you go.

--

Song Three: Livin on a Prayer by Bon Jovi

When all the members of Big Time Rush got their open license, they all started taking turns taking their Big Time Rush Mobile out for a spin. Really relishing in the freedom that came with having an open license rather than a leaner's permit.

Admittedly - especially since they all embarked on romantic relationships - most of those drives involved dates.

And that was where James and Kaelyn were. They were driving through Los Angeles with the top down. Taking in the ocean breeze it afforded them. Sunglasses covering their twinkling eyes. Smiles as bright as the sun that shone down on them. Hair blowing in the wind. Kaelyn had her hands reaching up to the sky in jubilation every once in a while.

It was a beautiful piece of freedom.

But the best part of what they were doing was singing along to the radio. Between the two of them, the teens had a rather eclectic music taste. So, one of their favourite pastimes while driving was finding a radio station, turning the volume up and singing along at the top of their lungs. (Okay. Maybe exchanging a quick kiss when it was safe somewhat topped that.)

But right now, they were singing along to a classic that had to be sung at the top of their lungs.

Oh, we're halfway there! Oh! Livin' on a prayer!

--

Song Four: Gotta Be Somebody by Bucky Covington

When Big Time Rush did eventually go on hiatus (they never wanted to say parted ways - because they always knew they would come back together), it felt like the natural decision. Nobody told them it would happen.

They both just came to the natural conclusion that they wanted to take some time to pursue solo opportunities away from Big Time Rush.

It did not surprise anyone that James immediately went to work on a solo album. Kaelyn and Gustavo were right him every step of the way. Like they were with the other three when they said they wanted to release solo music.

James' solo album was a massive success. His songs were all over the radio. He was being nominated for all of these awards (even winning a few of them). It did not surprise him when Griffin immediately had him go on an international tour to really capitalize on this success.

And it was on this last night of the tour that Kaelyn - her belly rounded as she entered her fifth month of pregnancy - approached James with a big smile and a scrap of paper he had written as a child.

I'm gonna be somebody.

--

Song Five: Time of Our Life by Big Time Rush

Kaelyn laughed as she twirled the dance floor in her white dress. Her groom, her husband - it felt so natural to say - dancing alongside her in his tuxedo.

Their wedding day was beautiful. Gustavo officiated. Jennifer walked her down the aisle. Kelly was the wedding planner. The boys collectively shared the role of best men (because there was no way James was choosing between them - although, Kendall was the witness who signed the marriage license with them) while Katie served as maid of honour.

It all led to the reception. After the food and the speeches, the couple shared their first dance. And once that was over, the dance floor was open for everyone else, with James and Kaelyn opting to not have spotlight parent/child dances.

Unsurprisingly, Big Time Rush somehow made its way onto the DJ's playlist. It was something that amused everyone to no end. But nobody complained. In fact, it made the night even more perfect.

Especially as the chorus of a certain song played that highlighted a promise:

We're gonna party all night Have the time of our lives, girl

--

Song Six: Stay the Night - Zedd and Hayley Williams

It really was a bad idea. Starting out like this. They had to know.

But James and Kaelyn couldn't stop themselves. They didn't want to catch each other as they fell onto the bed. They didn't want to end the kiss that seemed endless. They didn't want to stop their hands from wandering. They didn't want to stop their bodies from acting on feeling and instinct.

And they didn't want to stop everything they did next.

That included laying there. Skin to skin. Arms wrapped around their flushed bodies. Saying everything and saying nothing.

"I probably shouldn't stay," James stated.

And deep down, Kaelyn knew he was right. He really shouldn't stay. It increased the risk of them getting caught. It complicated things.

But they had broken so many rules that it made her wonder if breaking one more would really matter.

"I know," Kaelyn sighed. "But I want you to stay."

And at the end of it, James wanted to stay too.

So he did. He stayed the night.

--

Song Seven: Rhythm of the Night by DeBarge

Mr. X was a peculiar character, but he was arguably one of the best choreographers in Hollywood. And someone who could put up with Big Time Rush's antics.

In fact, he knew how to use them in his favour and deliver great results.

But today was an off day. For all of them.

No matter how hard they all tried, the choreography did not want to sink in. Their muscles refused to commit it to memory. In fact, some would say their bodies would outright refuse to cooperate.

So, Mr. X suggested they call it a day. They were getting nowhere fast.

James may have been aching by the time he returned home after the rehearsal, but those aches seemed to be forgotten when he saw Kaelyn. She was cooking dinner, having finished her work with Gustavo early. She had the radio on in the kitchen and was dancing to whatever song came on.

Despite the aches in his body - despite the source of his frustration being dance - James found himself joining her.

He let loose. Laughing and smiling as he twirled her around the kitchen. Kissing her smile as his hands rested on her abdomen (he really couldn't wait for the twelve-week mark) before moving on to do his skincare regimen before dinner.

Sometimes, he needed to be carried away by the rhythm of the night.

--

Song Eight: How I Go by Yellowcard

It was their impending parenthood that made James and Kaelyn really reflect on their parents.

Mama Knight was the type of parent they aspired to be. She wasn't perfect, but she was the best they had.

Mrs. Diamond... she definitely loved her son. She didn't go about things the best way, but James had to admit. The love was there. And she wanted the best for him (even if she was misguided in what that best was).

Their dads weren't worth talking about, both men seem to be more interested in shirking their responsibilities in parenthood than stepping up.

The words did not need to be spoken between the couple. They both knew they were making the same promise to their unborn child. (For a brief moment, they regretted deciding to wait until the birth to find out what they're having.)

That would not be how they go. They would be as good as the best parent, and better than the bad.

--

Song Nine: We Are by Big Time Rush

When the teenagers graduated from the Palm Woods school, there were celebrations all round. Kaelyn and Logan had put in the hard yards to make sure that everyone got to pass and graduate with their friends.

And the graduation party was much better organised than the school dance they had put together at the last minute during their first year in Los Angeles. Gustavo went all out for his dogs.

Kaelyn stood amongst the sea of graduates - cap and gown and a proud smile - watching Big Time Rush perform the song that had been chosen by the cohort. Apparently, there was only one song that was perfect for graduating teenagers.

It was We Are.

And it worked perfectly for them.

--

Song Ten (the author breathes a sigh in relief at finally having made it here): Crash and Burn by Savage Garden

Kaelyn sniffled as she buried her face into the pillow. She and Neil were never meant to be. They were too different. Some would say their relationship was doomed from the start.

But that didn't ease the pain of dealing with her first heartbreak any easier.

"Bunny?"

Kaelyn lifted her tear-stained face from the pillow when she heard the nickname she loved so much. The nickname only one person used on her.

She saw James standing there.

She chose to ignore the scraped knuckles and the bruises on his body. She chose to ignore what she knew James had done to Neil. She did not want to deal with that right now.

She just needed her best friend. She needed to crash and burn.

And James sensed that. He laid down on the bed next to her (above the covers, for the sake of everyone's sanity) and opened his arms to Kaelyn. She immediately nestled herself into his chest, her tears staining the fabric.

He promised her several things. She deserved better than Neil (anybody who tried to force a woman into doing anything she didn't want to made James' blood boil). She would find better (he didn't say that better was right there waiting for her).

Instead, he stayed true to a silent promise he had made to her.

If she crashed and burned, she would never be alone.

[middleearthpixie]

Better Days ~ Chapter Thirteen

Summary: Frerin Durin had the perfect life, until he found out his wife was cheating on him. Now, he’s navigating uncharted territory as an about-to-be divorced single dad. Dating is a mess, he’s dealing with the fallout where his kids are concerned, and really, he would just love a vacation away from all of it. 

Elena Madison is new to Sidleburg, and also navigating life as a newly single parent. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to come down sick, when she hasn’t even had time to unpack the moving boxes, never mind find a pediatrician. And the last thing she ever expected was to meet a man like Dr. Frerin Durin…

Neither Elena nor Frerin were looking for anything, but fate has a way of messing up even the best laid plans. However, both have been hurt and both aren't at all sure they trust themselves, never mind trusting someone else...

Pairings:  Modern!Frerin  x ofc Elena Madison

Characters:Frerin, Elena, Alyssa, Toni, Flynn, Maura, and Jake

Warnings: Frerin and Elena get their Christmas festivities started…. 

Rating: M

Word Count: 4.9k 

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @court-jobi @masterofhounds

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Newark Liberty Airport was the last place Elena ever wanted to be, especially at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning. Yet, there she was, at security, hugging Alyssa. “Have fun, peanut. And don’t give your grandparents a hard time.”

“Make them sorry they invited me? Gotcha.”

“Lyssa.”

“Mom.”

“Lyssa.”

“Mom.” Alyssa pulled back and smiled. “You know I’ll make them want to keep me.”

She wasn't wrong. As the only grandchild, Alyssa was spoiled and adored by all four of her grandparents, which helped to make up for Dan’s shortcomings as a father. Still, Elena hugged her once more. “I love you, Peanut. Merry Christmas and I’ll see you next Saturday.”

“I love you, too, Mom. And enjoy being childfree for a week. Hopefully you and Dr. Hottie will be able to actually go out now.”

“Don’t you worry about that.” She hadn’t told Alyssa about Frerin’s invitation to dinner, just in case she was stood up again. A foolish reason, but a reason just the same. “Have fun.”

“I will, Mom.” Alyssa slung her backpack over her shoulder and moved to get into the TSA security line. She looked back just before she stepped through the X-ray machine and gave Elena a thumbs up, put her shoes back on, and disappeared around the corner. 

With a soft sigh, Elena made her way back out to where she’d parked her car and as she sat, waiting for it to warm up, her phone rang. Frerin.

“Hello?”

“Merry Christmas.”

She smiled at the warmth in his voice. “Merry Christmas to you, too. You’re up awfully early for someone with no kids to wake you this morning.”

“Nah, my ex isn’t coming until about ten, or ten-thirty if she stays true to form, so Jake got us all up about an hour ago.”

“Six thirty. I feel your pain. I’m still at Newark and looking at almost an hour drive back and I’ve been up since three.”

“If you want to reschedule—”

“No,” she broke in quickly, shaking her head although he couldn't see it. “No, it’ll be fine. But, I will need your address.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that would help, wouldn’t it? I’m at twelve-twenty-seven Longhill Road. It’s a dark gray Colonial with yellow trim in a cul-de-sac.” 

“Sixish?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back from Thorin’s by then.” He paused then said, “So, your daughter got off all right?”

“She just cleared security a few minutes ago, so she’s on her own now and I won’t rest easy until she calls me when she’s on the ground in Florida.”

“I know you don't want to hear this, but she will be fine. Just like I told you when I saw her in the ER.”

“I know, but still.”

“Yeah, I get it. Okay, I’ll let you get on the road and I have to feed this crew before Toni shows up, so I will see you tonight.”

“Yes, you will. What can I bring?”

“Just yourself. I’ve got it all covered.”

“Frerin.”

“I do. Trust me.”

She sighed softly. “What were you planning to make?”

“I have a recipe for a garlic-studded beef roast so I hope you don't mind a little garlic.”

“I don’t. Are you sure I can’t bring anything?”

“Elena, if you ask me that one more time, I’m going to make you cook dinner.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t ask.”

“Good. I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, you will.” 

“Dad,” Jake came into the kitchen, “Mom’s here.”

“Did she bring the Skeeze with her?” Maura asked, looking up from her phone as she sat at the kitchen table.

“I don't know.” Jake shrugged. “I didn’t look.”

“Well, is it her car or his?”

“It’s the Tesla.” Flynn appeared in the doorway, still in his flannel NY Giants pants and the wrinkled Ozzy Osbourne t shirt he usually slept in. 

Maura looked up and at the same time, she and Flynn said, “The Skeeze.”

“Okay, guys.” Frerin bit back a smile. “It’s Christmas. Try to get along with the Skeeze, okay? Just for one day.”

“Why do you call him the Skeeze?” Jake looked from his brother to his sister. “Is it because he’s creepy?”

“Why do you think?” Maura pushed away from the table. “Dad, do we have to go?”

“Yes, you do.” Frerin leaned back against the counter, arms folded. “Look, we’ve had this discussion more than once, Maur. You have to go because the court said so. I’m not going to go against a court orderand run the risk of that being used to take you and your brothers away from me.”

“Wait,” Jake looked up at him, eyes wide, “can Mom do that?”

Frerin sighed softly. “Maur, Flynn, go get ready, okay?”

They grumbled, but did as he asked and when he and Jake were alone, he moved to scoop him up. Jake was small for his age and at almost eleven, was often mistaken for being about five or six. “Listen to me, Jake, okay? You know your mom and I both want you to live with us, right?”

“I want to stay here, Dad. Can she make me leave?”

“She can’t, no,” he replied slowly, shaking his head. “But, if a judge thinks you and your brother and sister would be better off with her, he or she can order that your mom gets custody of you.”

Jake’s eyes went wider still and Frerin gave him a gentle squeeze. “If that happened, I’d still see you, buddy. Every other weekend, like you do with mom now.”

“But I don't want to live with her and Tim.”

“I know, but if a judge says that’s best, then we have to do it. But,” he gave Jake another squeeze, “it’s not a given, either, so try not to worry about it, little man. You concentrate on school and leave the other worrying to me, okay?”

Jake didn't look a hundred percent convinced, but he nodded and then tightened his arms about Frerin’s neck. “I want to stay with you, Dad. I don't want to live with Mom.”

“I know, buddy. And my lawyer is going to make sure the judge talks to you and Maura and Flynn as well, so you’ll be able to make that known.” He pressed a kiss into Jake’s rusty curls. “Now, you go and have a good Christmas with your mom, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

The doorbell rang and so Frerin gave him a last squeeze and set him down. “Go get your stuff.”

“Okay.” 

They left the kitchen, with Jake going upstairs while Frerin padded to the front door and opened it. “Hi, Toni.”

“Merry Christmas, Frerin.”

“Merry Christmas. I see Tim still refuses to get out of the car?” He leaned around her to wave at Tim, who sat stoically behind the steering wheel, raising his hand in a half-hearted wave. 

“Do you have to start already?”

“You’re right.” He stepped back. “It’s Christmas. Come on in.”

She stamped the snow from her boots and stepped into the foyer. “So, how was your Christmas morning?”

“It was fine, Toni. Kids gave me a tool set, and a couple of ties. You?”

“It was nice. Tim made breakfast and gave me a diamond bracelet.”

As she spoke, she held out her arm and tugged up her sleeve and the light bouncing off the stones in her new bracelet were enough to blind him. Still, he managed to smile. “He knows you pretty well.”

Toni let her sleeve fall back. “He took the time to find out.”

“Toni,” he folded his arms and offered up a long look, “you practically drool over Zales commercials. It’s not hard to guess you like sparkly things.”

“You just—” She stopped as Jake came down the stairs. “Merry Christmas, baby!”

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” Jake came over, looking less than enthused as he shrugged into his backpack. “Maur and Flynn will be down in a minute.”

“Good. Why don't you go wait out in the car? I’ll be out in just a minute.”

Jake wrinkled his nose. “With Tim?”

“What’s wrong with Tim?”

“Nothing, except he calls me Champ and Sport and I hate that. Even Dad doesn’t call me that and he’s lame as they come.”

“Thanks, Sport.” Frerin managed to hold back his smile as Jake glared at him. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, okay, Champ?”

“Dad.” Jake ducked as Frerin made to rumple his hair and clumped his way out the front door as Maura and Flynn came down the stairs together. 

“Merry Christmas!” Toni greeted them with a wide smile. 

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Maura said, giving her a brief hug.

Flynn gave her a one-armed bro hug. “Merry Christmas. Hey, can I drive to your place?”

“Uh, you don’t have a license yet,” Toni said.

He shot her a look. “I got my permit two weeks ago, remember?”

“You’ll have to ask Tim.”

Flynn sighed. “Yeah, like he’d let me touch his precious Tesla. That’s a big, fat no.” 

“He might surprise you.”

“Yeah, right.” Flynn threw this over his shoulder as he tugged open the front door. “I’ll see you day after tomorrow, Dad.”

“Yes, you will.”

Maura gave him a quick hug. “Love you, Daddy.”

Frerin pressed a kiss into the side of her head. “Love you, too, Munchkin.”

“Dad.”

“What?” He stepped back. “You are.”

“I haven’t been since I was Jake’s age.”

“Oh, like that was so long ago. As if.” He rolled his eyes the way he’d seen her do it a million times before.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Jake’s right. You are lame, Dad.”

“Yeah, I know. I know. Go. Enjoy your Christmas.”

“You coming, Mom?”

Toni looked over her shoulder at Maura. “I’ll be right there. I need to speak with your father about something.”

Maura shrugged. “Okay. Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, honey.” 

The front door banged shut and he let his smile drop. “What is it this time?”

“I’d like to keep the kids through New Year’s. Tim wants to take us all up to Stowe to go skiing.”

“Have you asked them?”

“No. I wanted to run it by you first. Besides, this way, you get some time to yourself.”

“Whoa… since when do you care if I get a day off?”

“There’s no need to be an ass about it, Frerin. I thought they could use the change of scenery and you might like some free time.”

He sighed softly. She seemed sincere enough and in all honesty, a few free days would be welcomed. “Ask them. If they want to go, I don't have a problem with it.”

“Good. I was hoping you wouldn’t. Flynn said you have had a chance to ski at all yet.”

“Well, ski season’s only a month old, but no, we haven’t gone yet.”

She leaned back to peer through the window. “I should go. I’ll let you know what we’re doing in a day or two, okay?”

“Yeah. I’m off until Saturday night and on nights until the first.”

“You should get some rest, Frerin. You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine, but thanks.”

She moved to grip the door handle. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Toni.”

The door closed behind her and he moved to the window to watch Tim roll back out of the driveway. Then they were gone and he had the house to himself. As was the case every time the kids went to their mother’s, the silence was almost deafening, pressing in on him from all corners. 

He rubbed his hand along his beard, debating about whether or not to shave it off, decided against it, and then went upstairs to the master bedroom, where he stripped off his grey sweatpants and black tee shirt, tossed both into the hamper, and padded into the bathroom to get the shower going.

****

At ten to six, Elena pulled into the wide driveway of a dark gray Colonial with yellow trim and parked behind Frerin’s silver Infiniti. The bushes out front were aglow with multicolor strings of Christmas lights, and a large wreath dotted with small ornaments, holly leaves and berries, and a red velvet bow adorned the pale yellow front door.

Her heart beat faster as she reached for the paper bag on the passenger seat before climbing out of her car. Snow began falling about a half an hour earlier and the house itself looked like it belonged on a Christmas card. Every house in his neighborhood did as well and it was easy to see it was an upscale area. BMWs, Teslas (was she one of the only people who didn't give a damn about putting more money in Elon Musk’s pockets?) Lexuses, and Infinitis sat covered in a fine dusting of white powder and each house was like the one before her—more than she could ever hope to afford on a teacher’s salary.

She climbed up the front steps and pushed the buzzer, her heart hammering even harder against her ribs now as footsteps sounded just beyond the door. Then it swung open and Frerin smiled down at her, handsome as ever in jeans and black, long-sleeved t-shirt. “Merry Christmas, Elena,” he said as he opened the storm door and held it open for her. “Come in out of the cold.”

“Merry Christmas,” she replied, brushing by him to step into the foyer, where she tried not to stare. It wasn’t easy, as it was one of the biggest houses she’d ever been in. Across from the front door was a gracefully curved staircase, decorated with a lush green garland, and dotted with red velvet bows. To her left was a formal dining room, with what looked like an antique cherrywood table, chairs, and breakfront. China and crystal sat tucked behind the breakfront’s glass doors, and the table itself bore a festive red and green runner, and a wooden bowl filled with pine cones that were scented cinnamon, judging by the hint of cinnamon that hung in the air. 

The formal living room was to her right, with elegant-looking sofas of blue and white chintz, the coffee and end tables also cherrywood, with delicate curved legs. It as dark, but she saw a crystal bowl in the middle of the coffee table, also piled with pine cones.

The kitchen was straight head and slightly to the left and it appeared to be far warmer than than the living or dining rooms, spacious, with sage green walls, the furniture all maple and sturdy, with French doors behind the table and chairs that she assumed led to a deck of some sort.  

He closed the door. “Did you have any trouble finding me?”

“Not at all. My GPS is usually spot on. It’s a beautiful neighborhood.”

“It has its selling points. My neighbors are okay. Enough kids here to keep mine busy in the summer, but they tend to hang out here more than I’d like them to.” He shrugged. “I’ve thought about selling, but I don't want to uproot my kids if I don't have to just yet. Here, let me take your coat.”

He caught her wool coat by the lapels and as the backs of his thumbs brushed her, he leaned in and caught her lips in a soft kiss. Her coat slid over her shoulders, spilled to the floor with a muffled thump of heavy wool. She melted against him, the wine bottle thunking softly against her thigh. His lips moved gently against hers, parting, his tongue easing between her lips to caress hers as he slid an arm about her waist and drew her closer. 

She draped her free arm about his neck, threading her fingers up into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck. He reached to take the bag from her, then reached back to set it on the table across from the front door, and brought that arm about her as well, sliding that hand down over her ass, cupping her cheek to pull her harder into him. Their bodies met, her breath hitching at the sudden, almost intimate contact, and when he gave a gentle thrust against her, a shiver rippled through her. 

His arms tightened about her, his kiss deepening further until her head spun from the fire, from the passion, that steadily grew hotter with each passing second. It swirled through her, sinful and sweet and in its wake, an ache unlike anything she’d ever felt took root. Her back bowed of its own, the firm pressure of his chest against her breasts a sweet caress that sent even more heat spiraling through her. 

Frerin lifted her easily and without thinking, she wrapped her legs about his waist, catching his sigh as he arched against her, tugging her tighter against him at the same time. Heat became fire, ribboning through her. She rocked against him, the sensual friction bringing a soft moan to her lips and a damp heat between her thighs. Her head spun wildly, her blood smoking through her veins, her heart racing with desire, with need.

He lowered her slowly, and smiled as he drew back, his, “I should get your coat off the floor and hang it up,” on the breathless side before he crouched to snag it up from the floor.

Elena tried to catch her breath, to calm her racing heart, and to will away the butterflies that battered her insides as he moved to the hall closet and pulled open the door. Her entire body tingled with desire, hummed with need, and part of her just wanted to jump on him right then and there.

He hung up the coat and turned back, tugging up his left shirtsleeve as he said, “Come in and let me get you a glass of something.”

“I brought wine.” She stretched to grab the bag on the table and slid the bottle of Pinot Noir from it. 

“Sounds good.” He took the bottle in one hand and caught hers in his free one. “I’ll give you the grand tour while it breathes a little.”

“Lead on.”

His fingers tightened about hers and he gave a gentle tug on her arm to draw her alongside him, leading her into the kitchen, where he slid his hand free and set the bottle on the granite island in the center of the room. “This, as you can probably see, is the kitchen.”

She smiled. “The oven sort of gave it away.”

“Yeah, it does that.” He moved to a drawer and tugged it open, then reached in and pulled out a Rabbit corkscrew. “I think we spend the bulk of our time here.”

“It’s gorgeous. I miss having a big kitchen.” She looked around at all of the space on the shiny black granite countertops, the double oven, the Viking built-in refrigerator. The cabinets were maple, with glass inserts in the doors, and along the top of them, stood three plates, each with a child’s crayon drawing and their name above it. Flynn. Maura. Jake. 

He popped the cork free and stretched to drop it into a wire bottle that was already filled two-thirds of the way with other corks, then crossed to the cabinet at the far end, near the wall-mounted landline, and took out two balloon glasses to set on the counter alongside the now-open wine bottle. 

She moved to the far doorway, where one step down led her into the family room. It was spacious, with a towering cathedral ceiling, but cozy at the same time. A ginormous flat-screen television had been mounted on the front wall, between the floor-to-ceiling windows, and across from it a comfortable-looking sectional sofa of dark brown microsuede. An enormous Douglas fir Christmas tree stood in the front corner, softly aglow with multicolored lights, and a fire crackled on the hearth in the stone fireplace on the far side of the room. 

“This is beautiful,” she murmured as she stepped down into the room alongside a wet bar with pub mirrors mounted on the wall behind the bar and alongside it. “Where did you find these?”

“My brother owns a bar, and every few years he renovates. Last go-round, I claimed a few.” He came up behind her, then slid back behind the bar. “What can I get you? It’s fully stocked.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure?”

“I am, thank you.” She smiled as she moved closer to the fireplace, where, on the mantle, were numerous photographs, all in silver frames. His kids, no doubt. Flynn and Maura were dead ringers for him, each one with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. “Where does your youngest get his red hair from?”

“Toni’s side. She’s a redhead, and so are her mother and younger brother. Jake looks just like her when she was the same age.”

Her gaze fell on a photo of Frerin with a newborn in a hospital room. His hair was a lighter, almost honey-gold, and longer than it was now. He smiled up at the camera, looking every bit like a proud new father, with just a tiny bit of fear in his pale blue eyes. He looked so young, he had to be holding Flynn. “Is this your oldest?”

“Yeah.” He reached over to take the frame. “I was barely twenty years old when he was born. Just a kid, myself, really.”

“I’m still amazed you managed medical school with a baby.”

“Toni stayed home and took care of the kids, which made it easier for me. Her family has money, so they helped us out while I was still in medical school and  covered what my resident’s salary didn’t.”

“All three of them are gorgeous, you know.” She looked up at him. “And Alyssa’s told me Maura’s very popular.”

“Yeah, come summer, I’m up to my eyes in teenagers. It’s noisy.” He set the photo down and her eyes were drawn to the one behind it. Again, a younger Frerin with Thorin, the two of them trying their best to look intimidating, dressed in jeans and Metallica tee shirts, at the old Giants Stadium at the Meadowlands. Thorin was much darker in coloring than Frerin, his hair nearly black compared to Frerin’s, which was more of a golden brown when he was younger. But they had the same eyes—pale blue with hints of gray swirled through. 

“How old are you here?” 

He took the frame from her and let out a soft chuckle. “Seventeen, maybe? We went to see Metallica and Limp Bizkit, if you can believe it.”

“Metallica, I can believe.” She offered up a look. “But Limp Bizkit?”

“Yeah, they sucked, but Metallica didn't and they were why we were there.”

“I can see that,” she said with a smile, taking in the long hair and beards both Frerin and his brother sported in the picture. “Do you ever go clean shaven?”

“Yeah, usually come springtime I shave it off.” He rubbed along his jaw with one hand. “And then when the weather gets cool, I grow it back. It usually takes my kids a few days to figure out what’s different about dad.”

She gazed up at him. “I can’t picture you without the beard, but I imagine you turn a lot of heads, Dr. Durin.”

“Yeah, I don't know about that.” He set the photograph back and turned toward her. His eyes glittered in the glow of the fire. “I’m glad you’re here, you know. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Me, too. I was almost afraid you were going to have to work again,” she admitted softly, her heart speeding up as he curved his hands against her cheeks. 

“Nope. Dr. Durin is off duty until Saturday night.” His thumbs skimmed lightly along her cheekbones, his eyes held hers. And when he bent toward her once more, and their lips met, she let her hands come to rest on his hips. 

His lips moved teasingly against hers, and when she lightly traced along the perimeter of his lips, his breath hitched, which made her smile, and he responded by tangling his tongue with hers and drawing hers back into the welcoming heat of his mouth. 

Knots began twisting her insides, her arousal swift and sharp. Heat swirled through her, wove into those knots, tightened them further. The dull ache swept along the same path, urging her to press against him, to savor the solid feel of his body against hers.

His hands slid down from her face, along her neck. Down her arms. His thumbs danced along along the outer curves of her breasts, where he paused and slid them across, to where her nipples beaded through her satin bra cups.

She sucked in a sharp breath as he slid his thumbs over those taut beads and lighting flashes through her. With each lazy pass, the heat between her thighs worsened, bringing forth the silken dampness that tingled its way along her aching, aroused flesh. 

He caught the bottom of her sweater and slipped both hands beneath it and she held her breath as he grazed along her ribs and up to cup both breasts, where he gently kneaded them through the satin. 

Her head spun with the pleasure he sent rocketing through her, sweet and teasing as it swept along those knots that now dropped lower. She gripped the bottom of his tee shirt, tugged it up just enough to slip her hands beneath it and when she touched bare male skin, he exhaled hard into her mouth, his fingers tensing about her breasts, his thumbs teasing her bare nipples to the point where they were pebbled, all-too-sensitive peaks. 

Frerin slid his hands back down, caught the bottom of her sweater once more, and drew it up. She broke their kiss long enough to let him sweep it over her head, and then tugged him down to meet her lips once more. A moment later and her bra strap gave and he tugged the shoulder straps down off her shoulders, smiling as her bra hit the floor.

He cupped both breasts once more, teasing them with those playful thumbs, plucking at her nipples, rolling them, capturing each one of her moans, her sighs, as he did. Her entire body hummed with the need to have him, her hands moving of their own accord to first his belt, then the button on his Levi’s. The buckle rattled as she unbuckled it. The fly gave. She slid one hand in.

Frerin sucked in a sharp breath as she traced only her fingertips along the hot, sleek length of his cock. He rocked against her, a soft moan at his lips as she swept those fingertips down along his shaft, underneath it. She teased him with light strokes, around him, along him, into the soft, sensitive flesh just under the wide head. And with each pass, he rocked to meet her, tangled his tongue with hers, squeezed her breast tighter still.

She slid her forefinger through the bubble of fluid at his opening, let it coat her palm to make her next pass even more silken. He was thick and proud, and as she wrapped her fingers about him, and he thrust into her hand, the dampness between her legs increased. She could almost feel him inside her, her body clenching as if he was already there.

He broke the kiss as she traced her fingernails lightly along the underside of his shaft from base to tip, breathing, “Elena…” as he reached for the snap on her jeans.

His hand slid into them, into her heat, and her head spun wildly as his fingers slid through her arousal, along her clit, to her opening, where he thrust one inside her and teased her gently. She squeezed him, her hips moving of their own as he swirled that finger inside her, as he thrust it slowly in and eased it slowly out. Then, he shifted, and fire tore through her as he hit that magical sweet spot so many men couldn't find, never mind caress. 

Her fingers tightened about his cock, her fingernails sank into his shoulder, and she shuddered against him as he stroked her ever so sensually. Fire licked along her legs, licked between them, along her stomach and over her breasts, and she clung to him, her hand going still as he worked her so carefully into the most powerful orgasm she ever felt. It took root, the tingles ripping out from where he stroked her so sweetly, and her entire body tensed with the need to come. 

He swept back along that sweet spot, and with his thumb, did a slow, teasing pass over her now-aching clit.

She exploded.

“Frerin!” Her cry echoed around them as she pulsed around him, rocking to draw out the fiery pleasure as best she could. Her entire body tingled as if a live wire pressed against her, and she came a long gush that he drew out until she sank against him, breathless and too sensitive to be touched. 

He slipped his finger free, teased her clit with one more caress, and then whispered, “Lena…” cradling her against him as she clung to him, fighting to breathe, her body limp from the powerful rush of her climax.

He kissed her then, deep and slow, and as her head slowly cleared, she smiled up at him as he whispered, “You want to go upstairs, honey?”

“I would love to.”

He smiled. “Come on, then.”

He linked his fingers with hers, bringing her hand up to brush with a kiss, and at the top of that gracefully curved staircase, she tugged him to her, smiling as his arms slid about her and his lips found hers. He swept her up into his arms then, spiriting her the rest of the way down the hallway and into his bedroom. 

[sacredwarrior88]

What's Love Got To Do With It (Spencer Reid x OC)

Summary: Zafina Cartwright meets Spencer Reid thanks to mutual friends and despite claiming to not want a relationship due to her traumatic divorce, she still desires Spencer especially physically which leads to her feelings becoming stronger than anticipated and she lets Spencer go to protect her heart and his.

Warnings: Age gap (OC is 10 years older), mention of sex (18+ only), angst, brief mention of serial murder and rape

Tagging: @reidsbtch who inspired me to write this! Thank you baby! @reiderwriter

What’s love got to do, got to do with it? What’s love but a secondhand emotion? What’s love got to do, got to do with it? Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?

Ice Queen. That is what most people called her. Ice Queen. Although the nickname was born out of derision and dislike at first, Zafina Cartwright owned it and it eventually became a term of endearment. Being in the military for so long made her develop thick skin and a hardness that made even the strongest of men fear her. Softness wasn’t in Zafina’s vocabulary nor was it in her nature.

However there was one man that changed all of that for her and was doing things to her that she never thought it possible for a man to do. Dr. Spencer Reid who was an FBI agent and major genius as well as 10 years her junior. Zafina’s ex-husband Emmett Washington was a serial killer and rapist and he absolutely ruined love and relationships for her. At first, all she wanted to focus on was her career and raising her 4 kids but they were growing up and her first 2 kids were already grown and out of the house. Her last two were teens but definitely independent enough to take care of themselves. This gave Zafina a lot of free time especially since she was getting ready to retire from the Army.

Enter Spencer Reid. She had met him thanks to her childhood friend William Lamontagne Jr who was married to Jennifer Jareau. Zafina never expected to hit it off with the BAU but she did with a quickness and the attraction between her and Spencer was obvious to everyone. Zafina was skeptical about pursuing anything with Spencer because of the age gap between them as well as not wanting to fall in love ever again. But she had needs and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t find Spencer very attractive.

Fast forward to a year later. Spencer was now laying in Zafina’s bed spooning her and kissing the back of her neck. Zafina shivered lightly as she felt a breeze against her naked body and smiled lightly as Spencer held her tighter. Every chance Spencer got, he was always at Zafina’s place and the sex between them was mind blowing to say the least. No man had ever been able to satisfy her like Spencer did! Not even her ex-husband! 

Zafina’s eyes widened as Spencer whispered those three forbidden words in her ear. The words that she told him to never say because she didn’t have the heart to love again. The words that she didn’t want to hear because she’d be forced to face her fears.

“I love you.”

“Spencer, don't do that. We’ve been through this. This is strictly casual, remember?”

“Yes I know. But let’s not pretend that we haven’t gotten closer in the past year either. I’ve been spending the night more and more and you’re even cooking for me every time I come over. I’m not going to deny my feelings anymore Zafina. I’m in love with you. And I would appreciate it if you tell me the truth. How do you really feel?”

Damn it Spencer! Why did he have to admit his feelings now? Things were going so well too! Zafina could feel her heart racing and she knew that she had to end things before someone got hurt. Deep down inside, Zafina knew that she loved Spencer too but she couldn’t risk having her heart broken again. Assuming she had one to begin with.

“I feel nothing Spencer. This whole affair has been purely physical for me. It’s been amazing don’t get me wrong but I have no love for you. I can’t give you what you’re looking for. I can only give you physical pleasure.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

If only Spencer could read minds and see that Zafina was lying. All she wanted to do was pull him into her arms and make mad, passionate love to him all over again while loudly declaring her love for him. But her fear was too strong to overcome and Zafina had powerful ice walls to protect herself. She wasn’t called the Ice Queen for nothing!

“That’s not good enough for me. I want all of you, not just a part of you. I can’t do this anymore Zafina.”

She didn’t say a word as Spencer got up and got dressed. What could she say? It wouldn’t change anything. It would just cause unnecessary confusion. Zafina had to let Spencer go for his sake as well as hers.

It was for the best. Or was it? Zafina’s heart was screaming for her to go after Spencer but her body wouldn’t obey. It was for her own protection. Or at least that’s what her mind was telling her.

“Goodbye Spencer.”

Those were the last words Zafina said to him before he walked out the door and her already fragile heart shattered into a million pieces.

I’ve been taking on a new direction And I have to say I’ve been thinking about my own protection It scares me to feel this way

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Matty Kincaid Species: Vampire Occupation: Musician Age: 76 Years Old (Looks about 33) Played By: Gray Face Claim: Sam Claflin

“I don’t live with anything, man. Technically.”

They were supposed to be a forever kind of thing, Matty and the band. That’d been more than the idea, when they started out; it was a promise, stacked up on all the promises that came before. Like I’ve got your back, dickhead, and can’t get rid of me that easy, asshole, and always - so many alwayses, which everybody knows never, ever turn out that way. But you want to believe, yeah? Matty sure as hell did. 

And he believed in the music, too. In what they could make, together. It showed, and people noticed. Fast. Matty spent his twenty-first birthday touring the country to sold out shows, and by his twenty-fifth, it had all gone global. They were legends, and he was thriving on it. And on the fiercely tight-knit family he’d found, in his bandmates. They weren’t gonna be like the rest, falling out and apart. No way. Not that there weren’t highs and lows, of various kinds. But they made it through, for love of the music. And they always would, despite all the drama, and the distractions, and… yeah, the drugs. Hey, they were rock stars. Par for the course. 

Through it all, Matty didn’t just believe - he worked for it. Blood, sweat, tears, a throat sang hoarse, apologies tugged out like cactus spines, pride choked down, a heart laid bare, guts spilled. All that musical, creative stuff. All that human, growing up, figuring yourself out crap. All that real shit that none of the there-and-gone, stone-faced people in his army brat life gave a damn about. Not like the band did. They were worth it. Even on the bad days. Especially on the bad nights. 

The worst night, though - they were there for that, too. His best friend in this life - and the next, as it turned out - was there, wide-eyed, horrified, searching from the blood-soaked hotel room he’d died in to the dingy alleyway he’d stumbled to, neck still torn wide open but working, working, as he gnawed the life out of an unfortunate cat. Which was fucked up, man. He’d always loved cats. 

It should’ve gone worse. But it didn’t. The band, they’d read their comic books growing up; they could tell a vampire when they saw one, and Matty sure looked the part. There was a certain amount of trial and error from there - but it wasn’t like Warhorse could just go on without him. They’d figure his bloodsucker shit out. They had to. Matty was one of them, no matter what. 

For a while, a good while, it seemed like they’d managed it. Actually! Sure, rocking with a vampire frontman took some tricks. But a band of their caliber could be eccentric, if they wanted. Just added to the mystique, right? Yeah, it might’ve been nice if he hadn’t got drained and dumped with no idea what might come next. He didn’t need some deadbeat old vampires hanging around, though, telling him how to live his life. Unlife? Whatever, man. Matty and the band, they had this covered. Seemed like. 

Seemed less that way, as the years ticked by. Or didn’t, for him. There were weddings, and divorces, and weddings, and kids. Laugh lines. Gray hairs. Reunions he couldn’t go to. And accidents. And addictions. And, almost, a death - too goddamn soon, way too soon. Cradling his best friend in his arms, Matty did the only thing he could think to do: what’d been done to him. At least, he tried to. Too bad he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. How hard could it be, though? His “sires” had just abandoned him, and he’d turned out… fine. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because he screwed it up, and - then what? Well, shit, he’d find a way to make it right. There had to be a way. If things like him, like them, could exist at all, then… was it so crazy to hope there was some sort of fix? Matty could believe, again. Was desperate to, in fact. How couldn’t he be? His best intentions had gone so goddamn bloody. The band, the band they’d built, was dead. Dead like his best friend could’ve been. They were both still here, though, even if it was all fucked. Which meant he could keep trying. Yeah? 

So he has. For months, then years. Then decades. Matty’s tried, and, man… the things he’s done, to keep that fucked-over friend as safe as spawn can be. He’d do it all again, too. He would. He will, in Wicked’s Rest, he’s sure - the rumours said this place was different, but how different can a place be? A vampire’s a vampire, no matter where you go. After so long spent cleaning up the ongoing, ugly consequences of his own stupid hopes, his own selfishness, his own reckless, thoughtless mistakes - whatever you want to distill it on down to - Matty’s starting to run out of all that believing he used to do so well. Now, on bad days, he wonders if his friend’s still somewhere inside the monster he made at all. And on bad nights? He’s petrified by the thought that they are, that they’ve been there, all this time, fully present, knowing, feeling, howling to escape the hell of an unlife he’s put them through. That even if he does manage to save this best friend to the end, and beyond… they’ll never really be themselves again. Never be able to survive this strange world of theirs, still shadowy and mysterious even after all the time Matty’s spent in it. Never, ever forgive him. Yeah, that - that’s unbelievable.

Character Facts:

Personality: Passionate, creative, quick-thinking, affectionate, loyal defensive, conflicted, guilty, reckless, fixated

So far as the old fans, managers, record labels, lawyers, and so on know, Matty Kincaid just… retired, back when things went wrong. Warhorse hasn’t performed since, but their music never really disappeared - like with Journey, REO Speedwagon, ELO, Fleetwood Mac, and other headliners of their time, everything that’s old is new again. There’s usually a song of theirs on your average radio mix of standard summer tunes, and since the band’s gone official on Spotify, they’ve popped up on plenty of those “Essential 80s” and “Roadtrip Classics”-style playlists. A few of their big tracks have even made their way into blockbuster soundtracks lately. One of those bands that you’ve definitely heard, even if you don’t really know them. 

Matty has mostly moved with the times, fashion-wise. But the rockstar hair has stayed, unchanged - obviously - and his sense of style absolutely skews retro. Some of it is even vintage. Like really, really vintage. He hates to throw things out, honestly. We could psychoanalyze that, but he’d rather we don’t. The only thing that’s saved him from becoming a real hoarder, frankly, is how often he’s had to move around to keep his friend as safe as feral vampire spawn can be. 

On that note. His best friend, that one, is currently hidden away in a crypt in Eluria Cemetery. Specially paid for, for the purpose. Seemed the safest spot, given the cemetery’s haunting legends; who’ll notice a few more vampiric roars? Hopefully no one. Matty would rather have his friend closer, and usually does - he’ll find somewhere they can hang. For a given definition. Honestly, they’re a hell of a roommate. Well, basementmate. But he owes them better than a mausoleum. He is well aware - maybe over-aware - of the psychic connection between him and his spawn; it does feel like a kind of closeness, even if he's not exactly sure how it works.

Matty’s acquiring his first vampiric “upgrade” - a second set of fangs, beyond the usual canine set. Gnarly. This, like much of his experience of vampirism, is not something he’s at all aware is coming or prepared for. Man, couldn’t those asshats have left a pamphlet?

Though he spent most of his time with Warhorse at the front, singing, Matty is also very capable on the piano and guitar. The rest of his artistic side shone through in the work he did designing the band’s album covers and show sets - so, for some viewers, his art has seriously nostalgic vibes. Even if they’re not sure why…

[fuckit15]

What even is emotional invalidation

In the age of the internet, I kinda wish I could just type in an exact situation and have someone else tell me what it means or what happened in their case. I guess it's some sort of wanting control for life....some sort of magical 8 ball to tell you the right choice but that's not possible.

Life feels like it's not real sometimes but at the same time, I guess you realize it is a real thing because you have family and friends around that you care about and you care about what happens in their life too. In June, I told my husband I wanted a divorce. I don't know what I expected, but I think in my brain, I would say very clearly this is what I want and I would be respected.

In my first vision of what would happen next is, we would stay together and raise our children in the same house. We might rearrange the house for separate rooms and we would tell the kids.

But, for him....it's been much different.

Initially, my therapist said to give him space despite my feelings on the matter. This is new information to him, so I have been giving him space. It felt like I had to go through the difficult process of breaking up with him numerous times over the course of the last 6 months. it's weird but there has been this thought of mine, that maybe I shouldn't file for divorce because it would be bad for him. I have great insurance with work and financially I am better off. But, that's been part of the problem. Not having any choice about my career or what's available to me, because I am the only one working.

But, he doesn't seem to be concerned with any of that. He can't color in the lines to keep the marriage on paper.

He insists that I am just in a negative space and that, essentially, all of the reasons I gave him can be fixed or non-existent. Why would someone want to force another person to stay where they don't want to, especially in a relationship. I offered friendship instead, for us to work on being friends, but he ogles at me....he suggests we should have sex, and he goes through periods where he needs to know where I am every second of the day. He insists that we struggle with communication, but when he describes what he needs, it's me walking him through all of the steps of a process or a day......basically, it's a huge mental load. But, he still struggles to see it. When I try to explain what I need and what isn't working he just gets defensive and doesn't do anything different. In his version, it's just me who needs to change but I'm not the one who wants to stay.....so I don't get it. So, what do you do? My family lives in a different state. I don't have any friends with extra space, so I am somewhat stuck here. I can visit my friend's house in a space she has for her office sometimes, but there are many steps to consider.

Even though he does have family and probably more options with friends, he insists he is no going anywhere. Money is such a hindrance for all of the next steps. In the movies, when a couple says they need to divorce, someone moves out. But, when I look around and talk to friends, it's not that simple. Who knew it was so hard to untangle your life and go through a process that feels like convincing the other person, that you're done......how do you get him to accept that it's over?

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

When You Try Your Best But You Don't Succeed

One day a fella came to my till and he asked to purchase some Apple gift cards. Though I ask basically everyone who wants a large amount in gift cards, I especially get wary when it’s older chaps like this guy. I did my usual spiel, asking if he got any weird phone calls or emails or whatnot and that a lot of scams happen with these. When I gave him a look, he said he knew it looked suspicious, to which I replied with a somewhat stressed “uh huh”. He assured me he was well aware of these scams and didn’t have a computer even so there was nothing to worry about. He had somewhat of an accent so I didn’t fully understand what he was going on about, but I did make out “boat”. I proceeded to give him his seven gift cards worth three thousand, five hundred dollars and he went on his merry way.

And then he came back the next day with another request for gift cards. I told him again that scams were a thing and sometimes emails look like they are from family members but are fake. I asked if he phoned any family that had such a request to confirm in person. He told me that he knew what he was doing and this wasn’t any family matter. He was buying an engine for his boat. He just needed to cover the shipping. Because it was coming from the States.

He was buying an engine for his boat?

From the States?

Without a computer?

with….Apple gift cards?

Oh yessir he was, but again, there was no need to worry because he had no computer. So I gave him his two thousand dollars worth of apple gift cards. 

And then he came in a second time that day. He wanted five hundred dollars worth of Apple gift cards. It was to cover the taxes, he said. He seemed a bit exasperated, like “why do these engine merchants not tell me everything I need to pay the first time round?” I wasn’t about to give him the scam rundown again because he’d already been warned twice. I just gave him his stupid cards.

He came in a third time that very same day for two hundred dollars worth of cards this time. It was for his grandkids. He told me he had four kids from, it was either two or three, previous wives and from those kids he had five grandkids. I can’t imagine why this guy would have been twice to thrice divorced, he seems awesome with his finances and brain cells. At least this reason didn’t seem like absolute bullshit.

That same week another, much older, fella came to buy Apple gift cards. He was also very hard to understand at first. But after I gave him the scam ye be warned talk, he said something about his wife just dying and needing to sort things out. So…. naturally that means buying Apple gift cards. I sold him the two hundred dollars worth that he sought. 

He showed up the next day asking for the same amount. Because of his age and the fact he said the exact same reason for needing the cards, I wondered if he had forgotten he came in the day prior. I let him know that I had helped him yesterday and he already spent two hundred on cards. He seemed lost for a moment before replying that he remembered, the cards just didn’t work at all so he needed to come back for new ones. I wanted to hide in a wall. This was so incredibly sketchy. I let him know that he could call Apple themselves and tell them his debacle but he told me they were useless with that and he simply wanted to purchase the replacement cards. I did as asked and took the two hundred dollars. Again. 

The next week he came in wanting a hundred dollars worth. He said he’s sorting out a funeral for his wife that just died and wanted to get the grandkids something nice. I gave him the card and took his money.

I didn’t run into this dude this time, but there is a third old guy who is known to basically all the cashiers for he so often buys twenty five hundred dollars worth of Apple gift cards. There is absolutely no convincing him of any possible scamming.

I did have a lady though come through wanting a hundred dollars worth of Apple cards. Gave her the warning, she paid, that was that. Until she came in again like the next day or so wanting another because the one she got was faulty. I told her about calling Apple. She said they were useless. I told her about calling our company hotline because they might also be able to help. She got annoyed that we would have our cards not locked up and free for people to tamper. I assured her that anytime we hear of anything like that, we check every single card to ensure its validity. She didn’t seem convinced and wanted me to let my manager know that our cards were being messed with. 

I think it was within two weeks that this amount of gift card bullshittery happened. I wanted to fire myself and kick everyone out of the store forever. I wanted to hide under a rock or kick a rock or perhaps throw a rock because I was so annoyed at none of these idiots listening to me. And sure, you can say, “well why didn’t you refuse to sell them the cards? Certainly that’s allowed?” It is, however, I would much rather people get scammed through me. Why? So when the day comes that they scream at me about their shortcomings, I can confidently say that I warned them and they didn’t listen. 

There was a time once before I knew about these scams. A lady, probably in her thirties, wanted to buy a bunch of Apple cards from me. It was at my old drug store and I was younger and more innocent than I am now. She came in multiple times that day in a panic whilst on the phone asking me for more cards. When I didn’t see her again that day, I told my manager about the strange encounter. That was when she explained to me the very obvious scamming of that woman. She said to always ask when people seek many a card for many a dollar if they’d gotten any weird calls or the likes. 

It’s been more than five years now I think and I’ve been trying to avenge myself for that fateful day ever since. I had so much guilt from my ignorance and have embarked on a mission to never again let someone fall victim without warning. I’ve been successful three times, each with older women. It was so satisfying knowing I prevented a bad thing from happening. I wasn’t satisfied at all with those two weeks though. I was the antithesis of that. Can’t win them all I suppose. 

I don’t know how that one guy managed to run into boat engine sellers from another country when he had no computer and only a phone (presumably not a smart phone). It is one of the great mysteries of the world. He hasn’t come back though so maybe it was truthful all around and he’s out there right now sailing on his working boat. One can dream.

[steveneveral]

A tale of two friends, Part I: Kyle

I've had a very interesting life for the most part.

I am originally from the Seattle area, but I went to school in another place. (I've already written about it and my vehement distaste for the place, That's why I'm not going to name the city.)

My life in that place through middle school and high school had its high points and low points, mostly low points especially in elementary school and parts of middle school.

It really wasn't until the later part of high school where I felt like I really came into my own for several reasons, and was able to make some real friends for the first time.

Among them, I had two friends who, after high school, took wildly different paths in life: Kyle and Ashley.

Kyle was a buddy of mine through my last year of high school, and Ashley was my girlfirend through the remainder of high school and for a little bit after as well.

I managed to run into Kyle and Ashley within a few days of each other while visiting my old high school town while on a break from college.

Let me start with the sad story. (It does end well, it just has some depressing parts.)

Kyle

Kyle was a guy I met during my senior year of high school. We were typical buddies, we'd say and do things to make the other one laugh, a lot of "You had to be there" jokes and such.

We did keep in some contact after high school, but eventually fell out of contact. Someone told me that he did go to a school to become a car mechanic, but that was the last thing I heard about him before I left that city to join the Army.

It wasn't until about 10 years after high school when I was visiting this town when I managed to run into Kyle again.

I had to take my car to the local dealership to get some work done when I was going from the garage area to the waiting room and heard a sort of familiar voice call out my name.

"Steve? Is that you, man? Hey man, it's me!"

I look around and see a guy wearing a mechanic's shirt with his name patch on it: Kyle.

"What? Kyle? How's it going, man!", I said.

We chatted for a few moments before he had to get back to work, but before he went back to work he gave me his contact info and we were able to meet at a bar and catch up afterwards.

The first thing I noticed about Kyle is that he looked like he aged over twenty years in only ten. At the bar catching up, he told me that he met a girl, got married, had a kid with her, and got divorced in the span of only 4 years. Of course that would have a stressful impact in his life, but what he told me next would shock me to my core:

Kyle then told me that because of all the chaos surrounding his failing marriage and ensuing divorce let him to using meth. The use of that drug also led him to do some crime, leading to a stint in jail and rehab.

I was speechless. I asked him why, and he still doesn't know. He said the time in jail woke him up to getting his life in order, getting his car mechanic certifications, and getting a job, as well as rebuilding his relationship with his daughter.

He survived a bad divorce and dabbling in hard drugs, but he was lucky, in that he came out the other side alive and was productive with his life.

I then told him what I was up to since high school, and he was very impressed with what I did while in the Army and in university. He said he wasn't really surprised that I was able to do all that stuff, but he always knew that I could do some amazing things with my life if I left that town.

Basically, the town that I was able to escape trapped him. Kyle even said as much to me. We all live our own lives to what we wanted, but Kyle' life got sidetracked for several reasons. It's unfortunate, but the fact that Kyle survived all that is a testament to his character, in that he messed up and was able to realize it and fix himself for the better.

Part II about Ashley will be coming soon.

[lifewiththelulus]

So I've been sitting on an idea for a bit

Maybe around the time Creek is like, 12 ish

Lily cheats on Brine frequently when she's gone partying So it was only a matter of time before she ended up pregnant again, but not with Brine's kid. Of course she doesn't tell him there's a possibility it's not his So imagine the shock when she he sees the baby the first time. A little Steam baby.

Lily: whaaaaa~ You never told me you had fire genes in your family Briney-poo 😅

PFF SHE WOULD DEFINITELY TRY TO PULL THAT

Ok but you know Lily fights him hard on that She's not gonna just hand over custody like that. Not because she cares about her newborn, but because it's something he wants.

"Oh if you care about the kids you'd stay, because they won't see you if you ever think about going through with a divorce."

Ooooof What if Brine only wins Creek, but the new baby is in custody of Lily. And that steam child ends up growing into as bitter of a person as his mom

I did think about that

But I also thought about

Her getting caught treating the kid poorly Aka not taking care of him properly due to being an irresponsible and emotionally immature person

It takes a while for anyone to realize he's being raised horribly.

She didn't do any research on caring for him so he was constantly sick and weak, and acted out horribly since it was the only way she'd pay him any attention.

She was still partying hard as ever too

I'd say she was finally caught when he did something bad to another kid in kindergarten and she basically brushed it off as not a big deal "That's how he always is just give him whatever it is he wants and he'll shut up. Problem solved."

Vapor adopts the kid?!?!?

Vapor sure has his work cut out for him

He was a misbehaved emotionally represented teen himself once

I figured since Kin has too many kids. Vapor would be a good option

Kindlin would say that's nonsense but I agree XD

She'd have 12 kids if Cirrus ever agreed lol / hj

I think vapor would be perfect though

This kid is the kinda kid that makes you wish all kids came with a warning label

Someone catch me up to speed there's much text/lh

Lily cheated on Brine and had a steam baby

And did a horrible job raising him so he's a very small and weak but full of 6 year old rage nonetheless

I think Cirrus would ask Bog to help looking after the kid while she takes care of her kids. And crashes in yelling “Hey babe, check out our new son! 🤪

Aww so maybe they ask kin and Cirrus to foster?

And that's how he meets Bog and Vapor?

I can see the kid being a little handful for them He kicks Bog in the leg the first time they meet Of course it doesn't do much since he's so small and his steam isn't very thick

Haha yep, Bog was asked to sit when Cirrus was really busy. And Bog ended falling in love with the little guy, probably reminds him of how Vapor used to be, in a way.

I think someone as chill as Bog might be what he needs

Also another angsty steam person could help him feel more understood and he'd have someone to relate to.

He's definitely got some adjusting to do

He can be a little butt head

Especially when he doesn't get his way All learned behaviors

Lily gave him what he wanted but never what he needed She was raised similarly

I'm gonna imagine him with Max’s (camp camp) voice

I'm just imagining all the bad things he would do when first living with them Cus it's how he's used to getting acknowledged

Fume looking at plume. "Your name is dumb"

He would XD

I see him throwing an absolute tantrum over everything at first.

"Dancing is stupid! Music is stupid! You're stupid!"