#every mistake i have ever made socially was committed as soon as i let that guard down

[anarcho-smarmyism]

genuinely my ex is all over reddit right now accusing me of doxing and suicide baiting him while I told him repeatedly someone had hacked my Google account and Tumblr and he refused to even consider he could be wrong about that, no matter what I said, just like he refused to believe that I would ever leave him for refusing to make ANY friends outside of me that he could talk to duing his constant nervous breakdowns, usually cumulating in threats of self-harm and suicide. he attempted suicide in front of me MULTIPLE TIMES and told me over and over that if I left him he would die because his wealthy, "respectable" abusive Mormon family wouldn't take him in (they did, immediately, as soon as he actually asked. Go figure). He hated everyone I introduced him to, insisted people were "glaring at him and yelling at him" whenever we went out even to the GYM, and would incessantly bother me every time I went out alone. he would accuse me of "yelling" anytime I sounded angry, even if I was speaking at regular volume. every time I said I wanted to leave him, especially if I was crying, he would give me this condescending look and remind me that I would lose my job and my housing if he stopped letting me borrow his car -the car his older, better sister gave him, BTW, because he has never (and probably WILL never) earn a single thing for himself in his entire life. when i did leave him, he was NONSTOP trying to use financial incentives and/or threats of calling the police to falsely accuse me of stealing that damn car to get me to somehow interact with him -even though I told him over and over that we shouldn't be talking at the moment because I was too stressed and angry to be civil. He didn't care; he wanted to manipulate me into staying and being his free nurse maid for the rest of my life however he could.

the last straw after roughly 5 straight years of this was when he refused to stop texting and calling me about where his fucking Playstation remote controller was, even though I told him getting notifications while I drive is dangerously distracting for me (I have severe untreated ADHD; if you're poor in the areas I live doctors straight up do not give a fuck), even though he knew I was working as a home healthcare aide and needed to focus on the needs of my physically disabled patient while I was at work he would NOT stop bothering me no matter what I said or did. Then when I finally managed to get my most important stuff out of that house and he wouldn't stop calling and texting threatening self harm again, and I called the local police telling them he needed to be committed to the psych ward again, the cops beat him up and left him there....which he CONTINUES to blame on me, as if I control the fucking police. The last couple times I talked to him he admitted he's been hearing voices for weeks but the local hospitals won't take him because he won't tell them he's suicidal. So which is it?

For years, he was literally only not accusing me of neglecting or abusing him when I was either working or at home, paying attention to him or whatever he wanted to watch on TV. He wouldn't even put noise canceling earphones on so that I could play video games while he slept (im loud when im having fun; he was raised with upper middle class Mormon suburban social mores, I wasn't). He didn't care what I needed or wanted in my life or from our relationship whatsoever; no matter what I did to improve my mental health or try to go back to school or encourage him to also take better care of himself, he always found a way to sabotage me so i ended up wasting my life sitting next to him on the couch, so he would never have to cope with a single evening of social anxiety by going anywhere at all with me or anybody else! I made the mistake of trying to help him with his mental health when no one else would, and he decided that meant taking care of him was now my life's work.

He ruined so many jobs and friendships for me this way, my family who took us both in cut me off for not leaving a man who would literally throw himself to the ground like a toddler if he was """having a panic attack""", and when I left him what does he do? Make multiple phone numbers to harass me while I was trying to stay away from him and secure housing for me and our cats (2 of which HE insisted on getting, all of which he wanted to abandon in a shelter instead of even just asking his stepdad if he could take HIS cat home with him!), multiple tumblr accounts to cyberstalk me, and go on Reddit to recruit these sexist, gullible mouth-breathers to try and ruin my life for something I didn't do but he actually did. I have proof of him ADMITTING to this, to going off his medications and not sleeping for over 7 days ("handling the breakup badly" in his words); I have proof of everything on the same device I finally blocked him on. whoever has my Google account used it to send my new email a threat that they would follow me to the ends of all worlds to make sure I'm known as a monster at the behest of this actual fucking admitted insane person who actually abused me, financially and emotionally, for years because he assumed he could trap me and I couldn't do anything about it. it got so bad he was trying to control my MEALS and insisting i was insane for not eating the way he wanted me to. Even now I'm struggling to get someone to let me borrow an actual working computer so I can secure ANY of my own stuff, and I'm being slandered as some kind of abusive criminal matermind by a bunch of idiots who armchair diagnosed me as a narcissist borderline psychopath ETC because redditors are easy to goad into an online mob against any Bad Woman, especially someone's ex. if you tell them someone's a crazy bitch, they just take you at your word.

so yeah. For the time being that's my side of the story, as loath as I am to dignify this and have an embarrassing messy public flame war with my ex, it's clear I can't just ignore it because him and his "hacker buddies" are actually guilty of what they're accusing me of.

[yoshkeii]

"𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎."

࿐ character(s): Daishou Suguru, Atsumu Miya, Sakusa Kiyoomi

࿐ genre: angst (to fluff)

࿐ type: headcanons (hcs)

࿐ requested: yes, as a continuation of  "𝚄𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍.”

⌦ male!reader (he/him)

⌦ mentions ; cheating (atsumu’s), angst to fluff (sakusa)

⌦ they all have different scenarios, so its best to check out the first post for a little more context.

A/N: never expected to make a part two, but i guess the feedback said otherwise. its been awhile since ive written anything, so i may be rusty, disregard mistakes too please-

𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴 ; this is queued. i am still on my hiatus.

𝙳𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞:

→ ever since the argument, you had left. taking majority of what was yours and what you could in the quickest of matters. you and Daishou barely talked or interact within those days. often dead silence within the shared home... or rather what was shared.

→ it was quite suffocating as well, leaving each other after a long relationship you both committed to. but you had a gut feeling it would end unfortunately.

→ Daishou had seen you leave for the last time past the front door. only exchanging a blunt “bye.” before disappearing behind the solid door. he really hoped this was all lies and games, but it wasn’t. he knew this was real, he knew this will be his reality. without you. the fading steps signaled that you were not gonna look back.

→ since then, he hasn’t heard of you since. he hasn’t seen your name around social media and only the bittersweet memories of when his friends would bring you up came into mind.

→ but it was like, you erased him from your world. and yet Daishou still held tight of the cut thread that lead to you. the other end laying flat onto the floor as the other end you had, disappeared as a whole. a huge gap between you both.

→ him being in denial, he kept mainly to himself. 

→ the old shared space felt empty. drastically different every time he would come home. he would hear your welcoming voice that made his whole body so warm and fuzzy, but now, the silence was painful and cold as he stepped inside his so called ‘home’. he didn’t know why...

→ but he really wanted you back. he wanted to see your face no matter when he came home. he missed your whole presence. he yearned for something that he could’ve kept if he would just shut up.

→ Daishou didn’t expect to see you here. at the same party he would be invited to, he watched you from the second floor that had the view of the merged rooms of the living room and kitchen. seeing you laugh and smile with two other friends who you stumbled upon, the sight made his heart sting.

→ a sharp stab straight through his chest, only thinking if he could be the reason for that smile. that laughter. oh he envied it.

→ he tried to avert his thoughts away before he heard some whistles and calling of names, to see your figure slip away with someone else from the crowd.

→ watching you both from his higher position, he noticed your hands intertwined with the other. his own hand slightly clenching the daring drink he held, the other grasping the rail tighter the longer he watched.

→ Daishou’s eyes soon looked up at your face. the expression you had made him feel conflicted.

→ the wide pure smile you had accompanied with the deep flush, made him feel that oh so familiar feeling. but knowing he wasn’t the cause of it pained him.

→ although, seeing you with someone deserving made him feel at ease. but the stabbing dagger in his heart laid there still, only reminding him that he could’ve been that better person.

𝙰𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚞:

→ after the confrontation, you and Atsumu had split ways of course. it was difficult to move on and realize the situation at hand, to the both of you.

→ seeing where your stuff would be gone in the shared space made it surprisingly empty and less... alive. the whole place felt dead and empty, like a home left abruptly without an obvious reason of why.

→ but Atsumu knew why, and it began to nag at him. it made him feel so guilty to do that to you. to him, you were so pure, kind, and oh so nice. he could go on about your looks too, he really could. but every thought of you made his mind so hazy and clouded with distraught. 

→ why did he cheat? you were loyal to him- if only he could be too.

→ its been a couple years since then, it was tough for Atsumu. he had cut ties for who he was cheating with, regretting what he did and in hopes to regain you back before- didn’t obviously work. so now he stayed alone in the home that practically mocked him of his decision. 

→ he was quite surprised Atsumu wasn’t blocked by you throughout social media etc. but he didn’t dare to strike a conversation and laid idle as he saw you occasionally appear on his feed. 

→ seeing you mention being in relationship but only giving vague hints and images, truly never revealing who to your followers. 

→ sighing as he slipped his phone into his pocket, he didn’t want to think about it all, so he decided to pay a visit to Osamu at his restaurant. to his twin’s dismay.

→ arriving there fairly quickly he waved at his brother who was behind the counter cleaning up for the night, seeing his twin wave back slightly before continuing on whatever he was doing.

→ Atsumu couldn’t help but noticed the metallic object that wrapped around Osamu’s ring finger. 

→ “..’Samu? What’s on yer’ hand?”

→ “Oh- ya noticed already. I got engaged not so long ago, or recently.”

→ curiosity jabbing at the blonde made him eagerly question again.

→ “I- What?? By who!? ‘Samu ya didn’t even tell me you were in a relationship!” Atsumu could only just whine, knowing his brother didn’t share with him about his personal life after highschool. 

→ “Shut up ‘Tsumu.. Don’t be so loud in my restaurant or I’ll kick yer ass out of here!”

→ “..but do you still wanna know?”

→ Osamu seeing his twin nod with anticipation made him sigh, knowing this wouldn’t end too well. “Well.. me and [Name] are getting married. Just got engaged with him two days ago.”

→ “..[Name]..?” Atsumu could only repeat the familiar name, his voice faint but still audible to his brother’s ears.

→ he couldn’t believe it. his brother... and.. 

→ “W-well-! That’s.. nice for both of ya, haha..” the blonde tried to played off, hoping that the wavering of his voice didn’t catch his attention but, Osamu already knew, simply playing along as the conversation continued and slowly shifted off to something else.

→ Atsumu had left the place rather quickly than he originally intended to stay- but he didn’t expect it. he didn’t expect you being engaged with his twin, eventually knowing you’ll see each other soon.

→ he didn’t know how to feel about this. he was happy for both of you- but- he wasn’t over you. although it has been more than two years, he wasn’t. he missed you, he yearned to see you again. he wanted to hear your laughter and giggles, your voice overall. he wanted to see you smile, he wanted to see your handsome face. 

→  he wanted... you back. but he knows he can’t have you. not anymore.

𝚂𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚜𝚊:

→ when you left passed the front door, you hadn’t come back after a few minutes. and it was.. raining. pretty badly.

→ having worry built up in his stomach that soon turned into a mixture of anxiety made him feel uneasy, overthinking the situation and words he said to you earlier made him choke on his actions. 

→ snapping out of the trance, he rushed to go grab a coat to slip on. retrieving his phone. hurrying out the front door hoping to find you haven’t gotten too far already, almost slipping down some steps of the apartment building on the way to find you.

→ the rushing anxiety continue to flow through him, making his movements more loose and clumsy as he ran off to find you. calling out your name aimlessly of the darkened rainy streets. not caring that his curls were getting soaked in the pounding rain, he just wanted to find you. 

→ to find you and keep you safe.

→ Sakusa’s heart kept increasing every moment he didn’t see you. he wanted to find you so bad- this anxiety he had was much worse than when around he was in crowds, this one felt more instinctual.

→ forgetting he had brought his phone, he slipped it out of his pocket quickly dialing and calling you. to find you answering on the second ring.

→ “..h-hello-?”

→ “[Name]..! T-thank god your safe.”

→ the slight mess-up Sakusa slurred with his words made you feel slightly worried, “..yes I am safe. what’s up with you??”

→ “Nothing..! But w-where are you?”

→ “I’m.. at a nearby cafe. Are you sure you-”

→ your boyfriend interrupted you quickly, “I’m on my way.”

→ “H-hey..! Don’t just-”, hearing the call end with singular beep, “aaaand.. he hung up..” you decided to look around from your position outside, grasping your phone nervously. realizing the rain was pounding down much harder than earlier.

→ the sound of the familiar voice calling your name from the distance caught your attention, gazing over to see Sakusa running over towards you. 

→ “S-saku-”

→ jumping lightly at the sudden hug he enveloped you, muttering soft rushed apologies over and over again as he hid his drenched face in the crook of your neck. he had continued his rambles of apologies as you hugged him back, rubbing his back lightly. watching the ravened hair male let it out a little longer before you could mutter reassuring words to him back.

→ the tension slowly rising from his muscles but the hold of his hug didn’t falter at all, only continuing to snake around your waist.

→ “..you scared me..” “...im really sorry, babe.”

→ you lifted your gaze to meet Sakusa’s, lifting your hands up to cup his face. brushing a few strands of hair away from his view sending a quick peck onto his lips. “you don’t need to apologize anymore Omi. you did enough already..”

→ “A-and you’re drenched! Baby, you’re gonna get sick-” you blinked, noticing how flat his hair was from the rain that couldn’t reach you both from the small roof over the entrance of the cafe. 

→ “..i-i’ll be fine..” the soft stutter Sakusa made noted he was embarrassed about the thought, “..i’m glad your the one not gonna be sick though.” he muttered before softly pecking your lips.

→ “Honey..” you sighed, taking your hands in his before heading inside the building. “..lets just get something to drink to warm us up, ‘kay? then we can head back.”

→ “I-m.. paying aren’t I-..”

→ “Yes. Yes you are. A treat after a bad tiring day!”

→ “..you just want sweets-”

→ “Shut it Kiyoomi.”

[wandsolsen]

Champagne Problems

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: In which Wanda rejected your marriage proposal, inspired by Taylor Swift's song Champagne Problems.

Warnings: pure angst, cursing.

Word Count: 1.8k

↳ Please, be aware that English isn't my first language, fell free to tell me if there are any mistakes.

You booked the midnight train for a reason, you wanted to contemplate your pain with your head against the train window.

The reason for your suffering had a name, Wanda Maximoff.

You sat down in one of the seats, feeling the hurt in your chest burning hard just for thinking about her. The train wasn't too much crowned, however, it wasn't all empty. There were people talking and people sleeping, you were not sure which was worse.

People looked at you, certainly worried about how miserable you were.

You finally rested your head on the train window, looking at the view from the outside. Unintentionally, you remembered Wanda's hand holding yours as the two of you danced on the dance floor.

Wanda smiled at you, and she looked happy. But she wasn't, at least, not complete. Not happy enough to say yes.

However, nobody could ever have thought that she would say no.

You felt the tears coming out, your mouth trembled as you remembered. Your heart was made of glass and she let it drop it.

You had prepared a speech, but when you got down on your knees, you didn't find the expression of emotion and excitement that you had imagined she would had. Instead, you saw Wanda's body tense and fear in her green eyes.

You were speechless.

She didn't even let you ask, she ran away, leaving you there, on your knees and crestfallen on the dance floor.

You were so broken that you hadn't the strength to reach out to her, Wanda's love escaped beyond your reaches.

You saw the pity look that your family and friends gave to you. You had told them that you were going to propose Wanda that night, you couldn't keep it a secret.

You had bought Dom Pérignon and one of your family members had already popped the bottle in an early celebration, it was humiliating.

"Maybe it's just one of her...What does she call? Oh, yeah," Steve remembered before anyone could answer him. "her champagne problems." Steve was trying to calm you down, but he wasn't succeeding.

Fuck Wanda, you thought, your veins filled with angry. Fuck her and her champagne problems.

But even with all the fury you were feeling, Wanda's picture was still in your wallet along with your mom's ring.

You didn't hate her for leaving, you could never hate her.

You remembered the first time you made Wanda blush, it was in November.

You both met in college, and you thought you were the luckiest person in the world for having Wanda as your roommate. She was organized, friendly and didn't ask too many questions, everything a person could want from a roommate.

"Someone said to me that this door was once a madhouse." You said to her, wanting to make small talk.

"Well, it's made for me." Wanda made a joke, and you chuckled.

"A beautiful and intelligent woman like you in a madhouse? I find it hard to believe."

"Beautiful people do have problems too." Wanda's face was getting flush.

"I know, I know." You said. "I just wanted to praise you because, well, you're definitely one of the most beautiful girls on the campus."

And there it was, Wanda's face all red and her shy smile on her lips. You felt your heart beating faster than usual at that moment.

"So do you?" You continued.

"Do what?"

"Have problems."

"Just champagne problems." She answered.

"Champagne problems?" You asked, with your furrowed eyebrows.

"Yes, nothing meaningful or worth mention," She explained. "when compared to the others issues around the world."

"Well, champagne or not, they're still problems."

She thought about your words for a moment, but didn't say anything. Wanda continued to devalue her own problems, claiming that her issues were insignificant and there were worse things in the world.

Wanda was very reserved in the beginning, it was usually you who started the conversations. It didn't take long for you to fall in love with her.

I mean, how could you not? She was gorgeous and caring. Wanda was kinder than the most people you had ever met. She was a dream girl, with her hair loose and long, her sweet smile and her funny laugh. The way she was always up to help someone in need, and how she tried to empathize with everyone.

Wanda was absolutely flawless.

You only asked her out on a date when you were sure she wouldn't reject you.

Now, seeing from afar, you could see how stupid you were. You should have waited, just kneeling after knowing for sure that she would say yes.

But that's the problem.

You had sure that Wanda would say yes with tears dropping from her eyes. Then, your song would have played, you would have kissed her and held her hand tight while dancing. Your friends would have cheered with joy, and Wanda would have hugged you with a radiant smile on her face.

You let out a breath of pain. You now lived with only wishes. Because she dropped your hand while dancing, instead of holding tight.

Just champagne problems, she would say, about this dramatic situation.

You had a black Chevy that Wanda loved, she enjoyed riding in your car, even if you never go anywhere special. And when the car stopped running and you decided that was time to buy a better one, Wanda didn't let you. Often you saw her on the passenger seat murmuring whatever song was playing on the radio.

Nevertheless, the Chevy wasn't going anywhere. Just like your relationship.

Feeling tired of sitting there in this hurt, you left the train and went to the nearest hotel that you could find, you didn't want to come back home anytime soon.

You lived in a small town, your failed marriage proposal was probably spreading in the mouth of people like a disease.

Your turn on your phone, there were many messages and missed calls from your friends, but no one of them matters to you. Except one.

There was one voicemail from Wanda. Just that. She didn't send you a dozen messages like your friends, just a voicemail.

You set down on the bed, before listening to her voice for the last time.

Hey, Y/N, it's me, Wanda. I think I owed you an apology for leaving you out there standing. I-I can't do this, I'm sorry.

Wanda's voice was trembling, it sounded like she was crying. Why was she crying? She left you, not the other way around.

You didn't know it was possible for your heart to break more, but it did. The sound of her painful voice would haunt you forever.

I really can't give you a reason, I guess I never was ready for commitment. Sometimes you just don't know the answer until someone gets on their knees and asks you, you know?

There was a long pause, so long that you thought the message was over. However, Wanda's voice filled the room again:

You deserve someone better than me, you always had. Someone who is not fucked up in the head like me, someone who will never hurt you like I did. You'll find a real thing out there, she will pick up the pieces of your broken heart and she will patch up your tapestry that I shredded. She will be so perfect that you will not remeber me, or all my champagne problems.

Your vision was blurred because of the tears that fall uncontrollably from your face.

Ours... your friends called, they all are worried about you, please contact them.

There was another long pause.

I lov...

Your heart started to race at the words she was about to say, but Wanda gave up halfway, as if realizing that the words were not true.

Goodbye, Y/N.

And that was it.

Four years of relationship saying goodbye in a voicemail of less than five minutes.

Your throat burned from holding on to crying for so long, you wanted to scream until your vocal cords burst.

You loved her more than anything, and she left as if it were nothing. As if your love meant nothing.

You took the picture of Wanda that was still on your wallet, and tore it into several pieces before throwing it in the trash.

Eventually, the sleep caught you while you were crying in the hotel bed, similar to a friendly hug in the midst of so much pain.

━━━━━━ ᗢ ━━━━━━

You heard that Wanda left town, without looking back, on the same day that she rejected your proposal.

Wanda's sweet perfume was still impregnate, along with your memories with her, in every room of the house that the two of you used to live. You didn't manage to stay there, it didn't take long for you to sell the house and buy an apartment in the city center.

You sold your black Chevy, there was no one around to stop you.

You also sold Wanda's things that she left behind, you didn't want anything to remind you of her. Because after the end of the day, you were still mad at Wanda. For leaving, for didn't give you a good reason, for making your waste four years of your life.

"She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked in the head." That was probably the last thing that someone spoke about Wanda, before another big gossip emerge in your town and they eventually forgot the humiliation that she put you through.

At first, you stayed in your new apartment with your heart broken, just watching futile reality shows and eating junk food. Steve, your best friend, was there all the time giving you emotional support, even though he didn't always know how to say the right thing.

But eventually you had to face reality, after all, you suffering or not, life still went on.

It took two years before you were ready to fall in love again. And two years since you had heard from Wanda, you didn't know about her even on social media, since she had deleted them all.

It was as if Wanda had simply disappeared, little by little, she became a myth in your life, a ghost that haunted you from time to time. Not even your friends and family mentioned her name.

Sometimes you wondered if she really existed, if you haven't invented her in your head.

It was in a bar outside the town, that you met Natasha Romanoff. She was self-confident and carried a death look in her eyes, rigid on the outside, but soft on the inside. She had short red hair and was not very fond of wearing jewellery.

Totally different from Wanda.

Natasha was fun to be around, it was easy to understand her because she was always honest with you.

You started to date her on the very first day of summer. Then, after spending all the four seasons together, you started to carry your mom's ring in your pocket and Natasha's picture in your wallet.

And when you got on your knees, she didn't leave you crestfallen on the dance floor. She said yes, and held your hand tight while dancing.

However, in the end, Wanda was wrong.

You still remeber all her champagne problems.

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter one rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peter’s greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

“Married?” You squeaked as your eyes grazed over the words on the card a hundred times without retaining any of the information. As you momentarily forgot how to even read, you had to rely on the words coming out of Andy’s mouth.

“Yes, uh, married.” He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Dani and I are getting married over the summer.”

The awkward silence filled the air, suffocating the three of you, but you didn’t care. You were still staring at that damn card. That damn card that said your ex boyfriend was getting married to another girl.

“Married.” You repeated, at a loss for words.

“You said that already, dumbass.” Venom chimed in, telepathically. You rolled your eyes and kicked the bench, signaling to her to quiet down.

“Yeah.” He said again. “I know we’re young, but I’m sure about her. She’s the love of my life.”

“Wow. Good for you.” You faked a smile as you stared at the invitation. “It’s Uh, it’s a lot to take in.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted to tell you in person. I figured it would be better than you randomly getting the card in the mail and finding out that way.” Andy explained.

“Our hero.” Venom snarled, so you pinched your leg to send her the message to be quiet.

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m glad you told me.” You lied as your eyes finally processed something on the card.

“You’re getting married on August 10?” You asked, finally tearing your eyes away from the invitation to look at him. He looked good, you had to admit. His curly brown hair was cut shorter than usual and he was still wearing his police uniform.

“Bright and early. I chose that day because-“

“Because it’s your parents anniversary. I know.” You cut him off, a little sharply.

“I’m sorry if this is awkward.” He frowned. “I understand if you’re too hurt to come.”

“It’s fine. We were together and now we’re not. Besides, I’m really happy for you and Dani. She really helped me get back on my feet when Venom and I first bonded. I like her. And if you want to marry her on that day, then go ahead.” You said, and you meant it. You did like Dani. You’d like her more if she wasnt dating the love of your life, but hey, nobody’s perfect.

“You’re lying. We want him back. He looks so juicy and delicious.” Venom said. You choked on your saliva for a moment at her words and Andy was quick to pat your back.

“You alright?” He asked. You nodded and made a mental note to have a domestic conversation about boundaries with Venom when you got home.

“I’m fine. And anyways, I’ve uh, I’ve moved on.” You lied, adverting your eyes so he wouldn’t catch on.

“What? No we haven’t?” Venom didn’t grasp the social cue.

“You have?” Andy asked, seemingly taken aback.

“No! We love you!” Venom growled in your head.

“Yep. I’m in a deeply committed and loving relationship.” You nodded as you looked anywhere but at him. It wasn’t a total lie. You were technically in a relationship with Venom, though be it a host/parasite kinda deal.

“What’s he like?” Andy wondered, looking pissed off all the sudden.

“They’re great. They’re, uh…tall. Super, super tall.” You began to describe Venom. So far, it was all true. Venom was 7’6 in her final form.

“They’re black, like yourself, and they’ve got this big, beautiful smile.” You could feel yourself cringing internally as you painted the picture for him.

“You think our smile is beautiful?” Venom teased you.

“And they just always have my back. They’re my ride or die, you know? If I didn’t have them, I’d be dead. Literally.” You finished. Also true. If you and Venom ever got separated, you would both die. Andy was looking off into the distance, sucking his teeth before nodding again.

“That’s nice.” He said, but his tone didn’t sound like he thought it was nice.

“I’d literally die.” You repeated to fill the awkward silence.

“I get it.” He deadpanned.

“Like, I’d freaking perish.”

“Alright.” He held up his hands and you stopped.

“So, do you think you can come?” He brought the conversation back to him, something he was good at.

Of course you could come. What else would you be doing? But you were just getting back on my feet after losing your job and a wedding might be too much too soon. You were at rock bottom before you found Venom. Well, before you found each other. That was nearly a year ago, but that day came back in flashes every now and then...

“You’re seriously breaking up with me? Over a job?” You asked as you followed Andy out of the police station. You were under the impression that he had just been fired because of the files you took from his computer. Classified files on local businessman Carlton Drake and the people he had killed with his experiments, of course.

“Yeah, I am.” He snapped. “I’m done with you.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” You pleaded as you followed him down the street.

“Okay.” He stopped, looking angry. “Do you want to talk about how you embarrassed me in front of my precinct? I just got yelled at in front of my all my coworkers because of you and your greed. You used me for your stupid show.”

“I wasn’t being greedy.” You insisted, ignoring that he called your job stupid. “You had the information on Carlton Drake and I needed it to make an accusation. He’s killing people! He’s a bad guy, Andy. And I write about and report bad men. That’s my job. I didn’t know that looking at your files would get you fired.”

Andy put his hands on his hips and looked around, suddenly sheepish.

“I wasn’t fired.” He mumbled.

“What?” You switched from upset to confused. “Then why are you angry?”

“I was demoted to traffic duty for two weeks because of you.” He pointed an angry finger at you and you almost laughed.

“I’m sorry, wait.” You compared yourself. “You’re breaking up with me after two years together because I got you demoted to traffic duty? Are you serious?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to wear that orange vest? It’s humiliating.” Andy shouted and you covered your mouth to keep from laughing. “Everyone in the neighborhood knows me and now they’re gonna know I’m on traffic duty.”

“People know you?” Your eyes widened at how dense he was being. “Andy, I’m a local celebrity. I had a whole show on YouTube that I was just fired from. Actually fired. You’re just a police officer who was demoted.”

“To traffic duty.” He repeated, as if it was suddenly worse.

“I know!” You snapped before calming down. “Are we really over? Just because of one mistake?”

“You used me.” He shrugged. “I can’t trust you.”

You stared at him as he walked over to you, never breaking eye contact as he took his key off your key ring.

“We’re over.” He hissed before turning around and walking away.

“Y/N?” Andy waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of it.

“Oh, right sorry. Um…” You trailed off as you mulled it over. You were happy for him, but you weren’t ready to see him marry someone else. That was gonna be you guys. Of course you wanted to be at his wedding, but you wanted to be the bride.

“Actually, I cant.” You blurted, quickly thinking of a lie. “The Daily Bugle called me and offered me a job in New York. They want me to cover a story on some serial killer. I was gonna move there part time until the story is done. I’m leaving in a few weeks.”

It was partially true. The Daily Bugle did reach out to ask you to write the story, but you had planned to write it at home. News of Andy’s impending marriage was enough to drive you out of the state.

“Oh really?” Andy raised an eyebrow. “Wow.”

He was never one to celebrate you, even when you were together, but his reaction seemed different now. He almost seemed surprised that you were still successful without him.

“Yea. I just finalized everything this morning.” You lied again as you wondered how you’d get a NYC apartment on such short notice. “But hey, maybe I’ll finish early and make it back in time for your big day. I mean, it’s only April. I have lots of time. How many people could this guy possible kill until August?” You joked, but Andy didn’t laugh. He never really got your sense of humor.

“That’s great Y/N.” He nodded, not much enthusiasm behind it. “Things are really turning around for you. I can’t believe you found a job and a boyfriend. I didn’t think it would happen.”

You narrowed your eyes at his condescending comment but decided to brush it off.

“Well, it did. I’m on to bigger and better things.” You cut into him a little as you stood up. “I better go. I told my partner I’d meet them for lunch. Bye!”

“Bye!” Andy called after you, still in a funk from what you told him.

You practically ran home and slid down your door once you got inside.

“Holy shit. I’m such a liar.” You grimaced and covered my face with my hands. Venom manifested herself in her snake-like form and looked at you.

“You’re not a liar if we move to New York and start dating.” She said, making you laugh.

“You have a point. In that case, will you be my girlfriend, Miss Venom?” You asked sarcastically and Venom grinned.

“You’re not really my type, but I’m willing to settle.” Venom matched your sarcasm.

“Then let’s make moving plans, baby.” You sighed. “We’re going to New York.”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twelve

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: this took so long bc ive been reading chain of iron and in general agonizing over things i cant control instead of being productive 🥴 that being said, absolutely none of the events in this chapter were planned in my outline, but here we are with something new!

***

December brings more snow and bone chilling weather, to the point where Cassian has to drag Nesta out of bed, either physically or by phone call, to get her to therapy appointments on time. 

She’s in the waiting room one freezing morning when, in her utter boredom, she musters up the nerve to turn to the girl sitting next to her. “What are you in here for?”

The girl blinks her large blue eyes, taking notice of Nesta for the first time. Nesta uses the opportunity to take in her freckle-painted face, a little wan but beautiful. Reddish brown hair hangs around her face and shoulders, creating a thick curtain from the rest of the world, and Nesta’s curiosity piques like she’s just found a shiny new toy.

It probably isn’t right to compare people to toys, but then the girl says, “This isn’t prison, you know.” Her voice is deep, almost sultry— completely at odds from her huddled-in posture and sickened expression. “I didn’t commit a crime to have to be here.”

Is she insulted by Nesta’s question, or is she poking a joke? Nesta decides to play it safe by murmuring, “Sorry, never mind.”

She starts to turn away when the girl says, “We’re trying a new type of trauma therapy today. I had to get here half an hour early because I couldn’t swallow my nerves.”

Nesta might lack many social skills, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask what kind of trauma the girl is being treated for. Instead, she nods casually as if she understands the struggle. “I’ve been coming here for weeks now and I’ve barely discussed shit. That’s mostly on me, but you know…” She actually doesn’t know where she’s going with her train of thought. “It sounds brave to do whatever you're doing,” she states finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open up that much about myself, ever.” 

The girl gives Nesta a weird look that she immediately recognizes. Nesta uses it every time she doesn’t know how to respond to someone who takes her by surprise.

The door to Lana’s office clicks open, and the woman herself pokes her head out with a plain smile. “Ready, Nesta?”

Nesta bites down on her frown. She has a feeling today won’t be as easy as her past sessions.

She’s about to leave without another glance at the girl beside her when that low voice speaks up. “I’m Gwyn.”

Nesta looks back at her as she gets up from her chair, and says the first reply that comes to mind: “Good to know.”

***

Nesta is contemplative hours after she gets back from her therapy session, bundled up in her bed with a coloring book. The repetitive motion of filling in the mandala drawing lets her mind wander, picking up and dropping different thoughts like she’s inspecting stones. 

She keeps her wrist light as she colors in with red. She finally said Tomas’s name in therapy today, though the action left a slimy feeling in Nesta’s stomach that lingers even now. She also spoke about her sisters, which somehow ended up leading to a discussion of her uterus. 

“How have you been dealing with the endometriosis news?”

Nesta shrugged. “I’m getting treated, and my last period was more bearable than usual—”

“I mean mentally, how are you doing? With how your condition could affect your future?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Affect me how?”

“Have you never considered the impact it could have on your ability to bear children?”

“Not everything in life is about bearing children, you know.”

“We’re humans. It’s definitely something to consider.”

“Not for me. I’ve never wanted kids.” A mistruth at best. “I don’t care what endo does or doesn’t do to me on those grounds.”

In a way, Nesta told herself, the health risks were actually for the best. If she ever did, by some stupid loss of sanity, try to have children, then her body would act as a safety net from her decisions.

Lana only said, “You’ll never know how much you care or don’t care until you talk out your feelings.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

Nesta lets the memory of that conversation drop like a stone on a shore. That’s not something she has to face for a good long while. No, right now she has to face her past. 

Her sisters, and her ex, and even her father— 

I wonder if I came off too strong with Gwyn today. 

Her hand stops drawing, and she switches out her red marker for an orange one. This thought she doesn’t mind inspecting for a little longer: she and Gwyn ended up leaving their sessions at the same time, which meant they were forced into stilted conversation on the way down to the parking lot. 

Not forced, Nesta self-corrects. She willingly initiated a conversation, and it didn’t go terribly. She wonders if making friends in therapy waiting rooms is a real thing.

Her phone vibrates beside her, breaking her hours-long mental bubble. Blinking dazedly, she answers the phone call.

“How are you?” is the first thing Cassian says to her. He makes sure to ask her that at least twice a day, like a gauging of her temperature. It makes Nesta wonder what she’s ever done in her life to call for such… attention to her well-being. 

“I’m good,” she answers honestly. “My head’s a little loud right now, but I don’t mind it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’d rather hear you talk.” She slumps back against her pillows, coloring book forgotten. “What’s up?”

“Ah...” Cassian sounds hesitant for the first time since their relationship started. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten my Christmas decorations up yet, and I was going to ask if you wanted to help.”

Nesta takes a moment to absorb his words. “It’s December fifth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You just seem like somebody who does their decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, this year is a little different, with you moving out and being busy with school…” He pauses. “I was waiting to do it with you.”

When she doesn’t reply, Cassian adds, “I don’t even know if you care about Christmas. I know you and your family sort of ignored holidays. It’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over right now,” Nesta blurts. 

Half an hour later, Cassian swings open his door with a smug grin on his face; a vast difference from the stammering hesitance he displayed over the phone earlier. Nesta’s own lips want to pull up into a smile just at the sight of him, but she holds back and narrows her eyes instead. “What’s got you so worked up?” she questions as she steps into the warmth of the cabin and out of the freezing cold.

“The way you ran over here as soon as I asked.” He looks her up and down, still amused. “You didn’t even bother to change, did you?”

It’s true: she’s in the same sweatpants and long sleeved tee she wore around home, and her socked feet are shoved into slippers. 

“Get that smirk off your face.” Nesta flicks his nose before tossing her coat off. “If this is a competition about who’s got a bigger puppy-crush for whom, you already won when you delayed putting up your Christmas decorations for me.”

“Fair enough,” he grins. The words send an unexpected pang through Nesta, because it’s partly true, isn’t it? He cares more openly for her than she does for him. 

She looks away in guilt, not knowing how to fix the imbalance. Her eyes land on the living room coffee table, where their half-finished jigsaw puzzle sits. It’s been stored under the couch for the past few weeks, forgotten by Nesta and Cassian alike as they moved on with their lives, but now it’s sitting out again.

“Have you been working on the puzzle without me?” She raises an inquisitive brow, about to feel— hurt.

“Never,” Cassian promises, saving her from that irrational hurt. “I just brought it out because I figured we should get to finishing it one day.”

She pads over to the table, picking up a puzzle piece and turning it over in her hand. “I don’t know if you remember, but we had a terrible time working on this,” she scoffs lightly.

“Oh, I remember,” he says, coming up behind her and stealing the piece from her grasp. “I think it’s safe to say those evenings were the worst fights we’ll ever have together.”

Nesta leans back against Cassian’s chest and hums. “It made us a stronger couple, don’t you think?” She turns her head up and back to meet Cassian’s eyes, finding that he’s already looking down at her.

Hypnotized, she leans into his warmth. She only manages to land the smallest kiss against his lips when his hand squeezes her ass cheek. “You’re here for a job, remember?” He taps her butt before pulling away, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area with his chin. It stands bare. “You do tinsel, I’ll do lights.”

Tinsel is harder to work with than Nesta remembers. She only manages to get half the tree done before plopping onto the Persian rug, exhausted and covered in silvery material. She doesn’t mind laying there while Cassian continues working; it’s her revenge for when he napped on her bed while she moved in.

“You know the stair railings still need to be wreathed, Archeron.”

Nesta declines to respond, tilting her head on the carpet for a better view of her boyfriend’s ass instead. “All this decorating,” she starts. “Is it just for you?”

Cassian turns to her, surprised. “Well…”

She pushes up onto her elbows, catching her mistake. “Are we doing Christmas together? Or are your friends coming over?” She hasn’t bothered to celebrate Christmas in years now, and she doesn’t care much what Cassian’s plans are either way.

“I was hoping for both?” He sounds hesitant. “Christmas Eve is all the way over in Velaris, but I was thinking we could go together, open some presents, and come back and spend Christmas here.”

Nesta purses her lips. She doesn’t actually hate that plan. Both Feyre and Elain have been pestering her with the annual texts asking her to visit for Christmas, and for once, she feels like responding to them. The invitation is more of a formality than an actual request at this point; she doubts her sisters want her there after years of rejections, but… what’s the harm?

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asks at her unreadable face.

“Yes,” she states unflinchingly. She refuses to overthink the possible consequences of this choice and chooses to focus on the broad grin overtaking Cassian’s face. “Really?” he says.

“But there has to be rules.” Nesta sits up fully now. “No one can know we’re together, no matter how much you trust or love them.”

“We already agreed to that, baby.”

Yes, but Nesta knows the secret weighs on him heavier than he shows— even if he agrees with her that it's for the best. “It’ll be different when we’re together in the same room as everyone else,” she says. Cassian wears his beating heart on his sleeve, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to hide it before.

“You’ll also be different,” she adds. “It’s a huge change of pace.”

Cassian drops the remaining strand of lights and smiles confusedly down at her. “What do you mean, I’ll be different?” He sits across from her, before the blazing fire. 

“You know how you get around your friends.” Nesta shrugs without a thought. “Like your personality readjusts to mirror the people around you. I used to find it a mix of sad and adorable, like a neglected puppy desperate for love, but now I— okay, I still feel the same way.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

By the look on Cassian’s face, he does not find her words so easily dismissed. 

Coldness curdles in the pit of Nesta’s stomach, the realization that she’s said something wrong. She can’t fix it until she knows where she fucked up, though.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cassian finally says lowly. His usually expressive mouth is drawn tight and narrow. 

“Um… What would you rather I think of you?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously, Nesta?”

Nesta’s back stiffens, refusing to cower. “I only described what I’ve observed in the past.”

“And what you observed was a desperate puppy?” His voice is cold in a way she’s never heard before.

Okay, she’s starting to see how that might be offensive. She forges onward, “Tell me what you think about yourself in the presence of your family, then.” It’s a private victory that she says family instead of clown circus. But she’s not trying to turn this into a fight.

Cassian is silent, but his stare continues to rage at her.

“Tell me,” Nesta repeats.

His hands curl into fists on the rug. “I think I’m empathetic, easy to talk to, and easier to be around. Is it a problem if I’m likable?” Unlike you are the unsaid words.

Nesta inspects the space between them like it’s a chessboard. “And what part of yourself are you giving up to be so likable, Cassian?” she says quietly.

“Nothing.”

Nesta disagrees, if only because she’s been watching him out of the corner of her eye for years. “I think you base your personality off of those you love, and you lose a little bit of your true self every time you put others’ needs before your own.” 

She shuts her mouth, not having expected such honesty to come out of it. Cassian is taken aback, too, she can tell.

“And I guess it’s natural that you’d see all of that as a bad thing, considering your history of being closed off and self-serving to a fault,” he fires back with the flatness Nesta utilizes so often.

One for one. Fair enough. “We’re both right then,” Nesta says. “You work for your best friend because you have no ambition beyond serving your family, and I have no such family because I can’t bring myself to care about those things. Are we even now?”

Cassian furrows his brows, those defensive walls melting away as he realizes she’s completely serious. “What? No, Nes—” He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you’re right about me. Maybe I agree with you a little bit, but… If we see flaws in each other, then we should be working to overcome them instead of weaponizing them.”

Now Nesta’s the one shaking her head, quickly lifting a hand to stop him. “Relax there, sweetheart. I have no expectations from you or myself to go on some self-improvement journey now that we’re together. Talking about my feelings with a professional every week is hard enough.” Yes, agreeing to go to Feyre’s Christmas party is improvement. Slow, barely there improvement, but enough to wear her out for the rest of the month. For Nesta to fully let people into her life, to treat them as lovingly as she treats Cassian— that’s a long way away. She can’t envision it, doesn’t even know if she wants it.

Cassian must understand some of what she’s thinking, because he nods and backs off. He gets back up and returns to stringing lights, tossing a handful of tinsel at Nesta as if to say Get back to work. 

She stands and obeys, thinking their not-argument is officially over when Cassian says, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

She looks up from where she threads tinsel through fir leaves. He doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he says, “You do have a family. And deep, deep down, you care about them as much as I care about mine.”

***

Nesta catches Emerie’s eye as the dark-haired beauty walks into the pub. Raising a hand and waving, she gestures Emerie over to the booth she’s sitting in. 

“Look what I found,” Nesta says with a hint of pride, pointing to the redhead sitting beside her. “A third girl for girl’s night!”

“I was kidnapped,” Gwyn speaks up. “Jumped on the way to my car.” She’s out of her usual hoodie and in a tight-fitting blouse, looking stunning even while seeming out of place in the dim bar.

“She came here consensually,” Nesta retorts. “Emerie, this is Gwyn. We met at therapy.”

Gwyn offers Emerie an awkward smile.

Emerie slides into the booth across from them with raised brows. She looks between Nesta and the new girl and back again. “You invited her here? All by yourself?” she asks.

Nesta nods firmly.

Emerie breaks into a wide grin and reaches over the table to grab Nesta’s hand. “I’m so proud of you!” If Emerie were anyone else, she’d be squealing in excitement, but Emerie does not squeal.

Nesta waves off her friend’s praise, though a part of her wants to beam at it, too.

Gwyn glances between the two of them with slight amusement. “I mean, it’s not that impressive,” she says. “She came on a bit too strong, probably a five out of ten on the asking-someone-out scale.”

“‘A bit too strong’ is all you’re gonna get with Nesta,” Emerie says, lifting her hand to order drinks. “She’s all-or-nothing, and most people would pray she doesn’t give them her nothing.”

Nesta doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but she supposes there are worse things that could be said about her.

“So, Gwyn, what do you do?” Emerie leans forward. “All our friends are law students and it’s starting to get boring.”

Gwyn goes off about her librarian job as Nesta orders their drinks, and Emerie rests her chin in her hand and listens eagerly. Christmas music plays softly in the background and snow flurries gently outside. Nesta thinks she can’t be doing that bad in life, if she’s managed to carve out this little slice of happiness for herself.

***

a/n: i promise shit actually happens next chapter! we're getting christmas with nessian and the ic in the same room for the first time

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hello! I absolutely loved the feelings for the young liaison team kids, may I request some more of those please? With Megs, Roddy and Drift? (Maybe Cyclonus, if you don't mind as well?) thank you very much!

I love how so many asks want the bots to more or less adopt children who adopt them in turn, because that kind of softness is what our bots DESERVE. Rodimus, Drift (and Rung!) have their post here, the original is here, and below I'll have dear Megs and Cyclonus getting their dad vibes.

Megatron

·When the liaison program was decided upon, his presence on the ship had required some... additional precautions be taken, in order to convince the humans that any visitors to the Lost Light would be safe. Said measures had consisted mostly of him being warned repeatedly, both in and out of official correspondence, that he was to never be alone with the humans. Doing so or taking any other actions that made the humans feel even moderately unsafe would result in swift punishment. He'd understood every bit of the security measures, annoying as they were repetitive, and endeavored to follow them. Seeing young members of a species he'd attempted to exterminate wasn't something he wanted to seek out anyway. Thus, he'd been quite purposefully unavailable when the group came onboard.

·Massive as the ship is, however, he'd been unable to elude the liaisons forever. On one fateful day he'd encountered all of them by chance, and thankfully there had been other bots around to ensure Ultra Magnus wouldn't throw him in the brig for breaking any promises. The humans had looked just as surprised as he had to see the former Decepticon leader staring down at them. To their credit though, and his shock, they hadn't fled screaming in an instant. Rather, they'd cautiously approached him as a unit. The boldness had been so unexpected he'd actually felt quite like fleeing himself once they'd started asking questions. With the other Autobots around he'd been forced to stand his ground, and thankfully the humans hadn't been nearly as aggressive as he'd been expecting, keeping most of their questions in the realm of polite but naive curiosity. Perhaps the Fools Energon was simply getting in his head, but he'd walked away from the encounter believing it to have been... pleasant.

·At the next chance meeting, made possible by everyone on the ship relaxing his restrictions, he's admittedly a little happy to see the liaisons. It happens in Swerve's bar, and they're actually able to converse with minimal oversight. The opportunity to get to know humans in depth is one he explores with caution though. Despite his current goal of righting past wrongs, he can't simply undo what he attempted to carry out on this species, as friendly as the young humans are to him. Knowing that fact is what makes him ache despite the pleasant conversation. They talk of their dreams, and ask him about innocent things in return, with particular fascination for his size and strength. Such bright and vivid souls, that he was once utterly indifferent to... How many brilliant lives like them did he snuff out without a care?

·Yet he keeps talking to the little ones whenever the opportunity presents itself. They might be some of the first beings to speak so casually to him in eons, and once they start asking about politics... Well, he can't resist sharing the beliefs he'd once thought too optimistic. As always, each liaison proves a spirited debate expert, despite being small enough to fit comfortably in his palm. Ignoring the rules, they often end up doing just that, though it's more for convenience as he doesn't want them to strain themselves shouting to be heard. Inevitably the restrictions on him loosen to the point he actually begins sitting with them gathered across his massive frame like birds on an oversized but comfortable tree, and through them he gets little samples of earth life in the form of stories and videos on their communication devices.

·It's the happiest he's ever been, and that's probably why he inevitably caves to his self loathing, the joy these little ones bring him forcing back memories of his many crimes against their kind. Even seeing them is a right he shouldn't feel so entitled to. For their sake, he decides to avoid them going forward, to protect them from himself and his legacy in addition to the weight of his conscience. Of course, the liaisons very quickly notice that they aren't seeing him around and one day decide to seek out answers. To his surprise, he fails to simply explain himself through a gentle lie when they eventually find him, as if their faces compel him to speak truthfully. He breaks and reminds them of what he is and what he's done, and that staying away is for their own good, especially considering he can hardly be trusted. As always, they surprise him.

·In total agreement, they all reassure him of a few things. First is that they're all well aware of who he is and what he's done. Second is that they knew that when they decided to approach him, and that his efforts to redeem himself have not gone unnoticed, which is why they've bonded with him as they have. They made the choice to get to know him, and while they can't speak for the many factors of the Cybertronian conflict beyond their understanding, they are allowed to decide they like who he is here and now. Had he a less hardened spark, their words would have made him weep. Instead, he quietly thanks them and promises to think on what they've said. In the end, he honors their decision by returning to the locations they expect him, and they continue as they did before. This time, however, he's more than just gentle while they clamber over him. He's protective as only a bot of his size can be to beings he truly appreciates as his found family.

Cyclonus

·The emotion he felt upon learning of the incoming liaisons was best summarized as "mild curiosity" at best. Not that he looked down upon the incoming crewmembers, but he just didn't think them worthy of much fuss, and only intended to learn enough to effectively avoid them going forward. A not so subtle warning not to intimidate them with his appearance cemented the emotion. On the day of their arrival, he met the whole group quite by chance during their introductory tour, and to his chagrin each one was fascinated by him in particular. Unable to even tell them apart at first, he'd been somewhat placated by their curiosity for things his own kind often overlooks. For the sake of cultural preservation, he decides that answering their questions won't be too much of a burden if done from time to time.

·Now reasonably well settled amongst the crew, he doesn't find it too hard to handle the socialization with multiple humans at once, though admittedly he's a little concerned when he learns of their age. Allowing what are essentially slow developing protoforms to explore on an alien vessel seems... irresponsible. Yet their youth does explain their energy, especially as they ask him many questions about topics he enjoys speaking of, starting with his accent leading to a grand recounting of Tetrahexian history. Unlike so many bots, they gladly listen to him go on about the glory days. Their little eyes go wide as he recounts technological wonders long gone. Had he less control it would have brought a smile to his face, especially when he lets slip his knowledge of the Old Cybertronian language and soon has a whole group begging to learn it.

·While he's hardly gone soft, he does allow the humans a touch more... freedom, in how they interact with him compared to others. They even enjoy the privilege of resting atop his shoulders or in his arms, though that's purely to save his back the strain of constantly bending down to their height. Any bot that says otherwise is swiftly reminded of his combat prowess. He begins to learn each human's unique personality and quirks in time, especially how some are better with history and others excelled at language. Learning bits about their own culture was surprisingly interesting as well, with pictures and videos of long gone human civilizations proving that some of Earth's occupants had decent aesthetic taste.

·Without knowing it, he more or less avoided discussing his own past with the little group, gently steering the conversation each time it ventured too close to the personal. The reason became blindly apparent when they learned of his former affiliation and the crimes he'd committed while sworn to it. Though not present for the revelation, he's certain of their reaction being one of fear and disgust, and immediately withdraws from the crew to hole himself up. Emotions too powerful to stifle force him to isolate for the sake of what remains of his pride. Not even knowing how exactly the humans found out, he's not particularly inclined to discover the manner, as the damage has been done. Admittedly, he was foolish to assume it wouldn't happen sooner.... Regardless, he knows he can never face them again.

·Unbeknownst to him, the revelation was a mistake, and one not met with any particular judgement. The liaisons were only concerned when he failed to appear at standard places of meeting, and as a unit agreed to check up on the bot they'd all come to admire. It had taken all of them knocking to get a coherent response through the door, and Cyclonus had cursed himself for being unable to simply tell them to leave, his spark indeed proving too soft at the sight of them all together. When he'd allowed the group inside, the last thing he'd been expecting was a coordinated embrace between the lot of them, but that had proven to be their tactic straight away. It had proven cunning and effective. A plurality of reasons for his shame had melted in the face of open hearted acceptance, with the entire group promising that who he had been mattered little compared to who he was now. To prevent a humiliating display of tears he'd accepted their assurance without fuss, but had indeed been convinced by the sheer strength of their conviction to continue meeting them for their little talks. Despite himself, he'd actually smiled the first time reuniting with them afterwards, his demeanor growing warmer in their presence from then on as he promised to himself no harm would ever befall them. They had accepted him, and he would do the same in return. Nothing in his past had ever compared to the treasure of simply knowing them.

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

A couple of things I loved from chapter 7:

Jace and Alec

I’m so happy Alec had someone to help him sort through the density of his emotions. Just figuring out that he is valid in how he feels but he doesn’t need to punish himself anymore, that he fucked up but knows how to fix it. To really trust himself, listen to his heart and trust in the love he and Magnus shares.

Clary (and Andrew) being thirst trap dealers

The unofficial hero’s of LRHWY. Hoe annie watch yourself.

Alec and Zara

LOL. The thing this single minded man will do for love. I know Magnus lost his mind when he saw that video from Raphael. I’m glad Magnus’ friends made him do that, showed him he needed to realise he couldn’t just have automatic access to Magnus. Reminded him that Magnus has some pretty fucking loyal friends who will always love and protect him too (so much so that they are willing to help Alec make Magnus happy again)

“Let me do this for us.”

I’m glad Malec realised they have to meet in the middle, even when shit gets tough. That they can’t give up on each other and just run away from their problems. That he hurts so much more to let the emotions fester and eventually make us sick. That reconciliation scene was so lovely, Alec taking care of Magnus, not getting jealous over his ex, booking a separate room, apologising and making Magnus admit he didn’t feel comfortable with them in the same bed. It was so important for them to have that space to slowly come back to each other. To find that trust and home within themselves again.

Arrow

I love this little cupid so much. Forcing Alec to get out there and be social, cuddling him when he’s feeling down and making him feel less lonely. We love Chairman but Arrow gets just as much love too 😻

The love triangle

Okay wtf, so many things. Like Magnus hates public proposals, would never cheat, broke up with Imasu and slept with Alec. All in one chapter? The 1 Alec simp? LOL chaotic as fuck. It’s clear there is something off with him and Imasu that he was probably trying to tell Alec but got distracted and then Alec just shutdown. I mean think about it, Alec finally felt at home again laying across Magnus only to have all that ripped away from him. His bubble being so aggressively burst when he had been avoiding that pain for more than a year. I know he was hurting but I wish he just took a moment to listen to Magnus. I just don’t ever see Magnus being that heartless to sleep with Alec when he’s committed to someone else (tho I suppose he kinda did lol). I know that they will work it out but fuck, the painnnnnnnn. Alec just can’t catch a break, I hope he doesn’t run away and do more dumb shit I swear. Magnus definitely has some explaining to do, he kinda created this mess? (Not that Alec is making it any better lol)

Such a great chapter! Hope these silly boys actually talk with voices and not with tongues and moans next chapter 😭🙈 (Although they can do that too, just clarification of feelings first please)

Hope you’re feeling better. I know you had a tough week 💖

Special place in heaven for readers who leave comments on their favourite paragraphs skshsksk that’s you btw Mia.

I know a lot of this chapter was overshadowed by the ending (which is fair cause that was some whack ass shit I wrote) but the middle parts were my favourite. I really really liked writing Malec’s reconciliation scene(s). I think they were very much needed. And also Alec stupidly asking Magnus to get married was just *incoherent screaming*

I think communication issues are something that never gets resolved. Like, I don’t think it’s something you work on for 6 months and then you’re perfect at it. It’s stuff that people have to keep on learning and trying every single day. And sometimes it can get exhausting. These little shits will talk about everything soon. Just remember that Magnus and Alec always try to do good. But sometimes even they make mistakes.

[miss-choco-chips]

Twisted Soulmate shorts.

Listen, I do plan on making a sequel eventually, but in the meantime, can I tempt you with some half assed bits of Tim’s life as Ra’s Bonded/Bride/Unwilling Sugar baby? All in the spirit of putting off studying for my finals :D

~.~

“We need some ground rules”, Tim stated plainly, staring at the fiery hell in front of them. By his side, Ra’s sipped his wine glass, as cozy in front of all the destruction as one would standing by a fireplace. He looked ready to break out the s'mores. “Some Do’s and Do not’s, with penalties for each one we break. So, you know. We don’t completely destroy each other.”

“Be honest with me, Beloved, would that actually stop you from infringing damage to my properties?”

In the spirit of good sportsmanship, Tim actually thought about it for a few minutes.

~.~

Or; Tim elopes with Ra’s and commits to his role as the world’s most unimpressed, reluctant bride ‘soulmate’. Featuring Pru (who is having entirely too much fun), four little minions (whoever catches the reference and knows which fandom I stole them from gets brownie points) and absolutely no sign of any bats to spoil Tim’s fun.

~.~

~.~

The robe was green, and that was a problem. It wasn’t itchy, it wasn’t uncomfortable, it wasn’t restrictive.

But it was green.

Pru’s eyes found his in the mirror, a scowl and a smirk facing each other. Tim crossed his arms, the exquisite silk not even creasing, and his frown deepened. One of the robe’s sleeves covered him from shoulder to wrist, the other leaving the opposite limb completely bare. The intent was obvious enough, one mark on display, the others hidden away like dirty secrets. 

So why the need for that branding color? 

“Isn’t this excessive? Putting a collar on me may be easier, for his purpose.”

“Should I forward that idea to the Master?”

“Only if you want another punch to the nose.”

A snort, and Pru took the two steps keeping her at his back. Her hand dropped to his shoulder, and the expression on the assassin’s face changed to a far more serious one.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I could help you out of the base. Still owe you a few, we can call this one even for that time in Budapest.”

Tim’s scowl went away, a contemplative look on his eyes as they lowered to the ground.

“I’m not sure of anything nowadays, Pru. Except perhaps that I don’t want to wear this color.”

Her grip tightened for a second, two, three. Then, her eyes flew to the window and back to him before her next words came out, fake smirk back on place.

“Well then, the Master expects you to join him for breakfast. We’ll be moving bases soon, and I think he wanted to give you the tour before that.”

Tim’s eyes, that had followed hers to the window, stayed there, guarded and cold like they never were. He nodded.

“I’ll be there shortly. Just need to… fix my appearance a bit.”

She nodded, her smirk more sincere now, and left his bedchambers. 

The shadows jumped into the room before the door was even halfway closed.

A little over half an hour later, Ra’s Al Ghul looked up from the reports he was revising, cup of tea still untouched on the table, pastries and fruits perfectly distributed in front of him, to watch the Detective approach.

His robe was a curious maroon.

As if sensing his question, the young man took his place across from the Demon’s head, placid smile softening his features despite ice cold eyes boring into his.

“Oh, this?”, demurely, he raised the covered arm, accepting the coffee one of his servants provided. The sleeve slipped down enough to show three names on white skin, but Ra’s eyes strayed to the clothe. He knew that shade of brownish.

“I could have sworn I sent you green robes, Detective. I do wonder, where did you find a dye?”

“As I’m sure Pru can tell you, noses bleed a lot. On the bright side, you don’t have to worry about sending a clean up crew to tidy up my bedchambers. Nice morning workout, too, thank you.”

Amused despite himself, Ra’s threw his head back and laughed.

----.---

“We need some ground rules”, Tim stated plainly, staring at the fiery hell in front of them. By his side, Ra’s sipped his wine glass, as cozy in front of all the destruction as one would standing by a fireplace. He looked ready to break out the s'mores. “Some Do’s and Do not’s, with penalties for each one we break. So, you know. We don’t completely destroy each other.”

“Be honest with me, Beloved, would that actually stop you from infringing damage to my properties?”

In the spirit of good sportsmanship, Tim actually thought about it for a few minutes. “I mean, as long as you respect my boundaries, I won’t have a reason to show my displeasure.”

“And what about my boundaries? It’s only reasonable that for each rule you decide on, I get to demand one of my own making.”

“If they don’t conflict with mine, I guess I could learn to work around them. Considering what you do for a living, it’s not like you can ask for more.”

Ra’s tilted his head, as if saying ‘yeah, fair’. They watched the flames consuming one of Ra’s favored castles in silence for a while longer. The parisian authorities would be arriving soon, though no before they were ready to leave; Ra’s wouldn’t allow any interruptions. 

They were probably making the ninja standing guard behind them uncomfortable, with the silence, veiled threats and mind games. Except for Pru. She’d be thriving in her fellows’ fear. 

“Should we go somewhere more private to decide this rules, Timothy?”

A shake, long raven locks hitting the air like small whips, and the young hero turned on his heel to go back to the plane waiting for them.

“I need some time to think them over. I’ll let you know when I decide.”

---.---

Is the Demon’s Head, instead, who demands the first one.

“You will allow a squad of my people around you at all times, Detective, and you’ll let them tend to you as it’s becoming of my bride.”

“If you ever call me your bride again”, states the young man, calmly turning a page on the book he was reading, curled up in the armchair Ra’s had specifically made his men drag into his office for the sole purpose of tempting him into staying put and in Ra’s direct line of sight, “the next base I make go boom will be the one you’re in at that moment.”

“My soulmate.”

“Still creepy, but significantly less; I’ll accept it. What were you saying about bodyguards? The answer is no, by the way, but I thought it would be fair to let you explain your reasoning before shooting you down again.”

“I have no need for explaining myself; you were the one to suggest rules. This is merely the first one. As it is, and since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you that, as my bonded, you have a price in your head so high even the purest of heart man would be tempted to hunt you down. It’s merely for your safety, as I worry so.”

The dirty look the younger gives him over his book shows him exactly what he thinks of Ra’s obvious jab at his abilities and strength.

“There’s also the matter of your lack of sleep, or the blatant underweight you’re showing.”

“I don’t need a nanny nor a bodyguard, Ra’s.”

“Maybe so, but what would my enemies think of my power if I couldn’t spare a few men to protect my bonded? You can think of it as a political tactic, if it’ll lay your worries at rest. It won’t be to spy on you, as I already have a team dedicated to that.”

Not even a blink, of course he knew, he’d be an idiot to think Ra’s was giving him wiggle room without someone hounding his steps. A hum, the flicker of something behind the man’s eyes that put Ra’s instantly on guard, but not enough to help him predict his next movement.

“You know that any rule you make, I can counter with one of my own.”

“I do, and am ready to honor, as it’s the nature of our deal. I’m a man of my word.”

“Okay then”, the detective finally conceded, sitting up straight, book closed on his lap and hands resting easily over the cover. “I’ll accept your terms, and won’t give my future clique the slip.”

Despite this small victory, Ra’s didn’t allow himself to relax; now came the detective’s countermeasure.

Calmly as still water, the slim man stood up, walking towards Ra’s desk, opening the book on its first page and softly placing in on the wood between them. One slice of paper, carefully folded, gave the Demon’s Head pause.

“Since you insist this is for show, and thus not requiring specific skills on the ninja’s part, I’m going to choose who will be part of my clique. After all, I’ll be in perpetual close quarters with these people, it’s only fair I get to decide who it’ll be.”

Ra’s eyes never left the icy blue ones staring him down. It’d be a fatal mistake to let one’s sight wander when there was a viper in the room.

“Prudence is already tasked with managing your schedule, she can’t be considered among these you selected.”

“She isn’t”, was fired back. “These aren’t fully fledged ninja, they have just begun their training. As such, I can make sure their progress aligns with my needs, something that will make them more useful in the long run if they are to be my shadows. A sniper that can socially blend in as a perfect camaleon. A prodigy, both in mind games and the technological world. A mechanic well versed in a caregiver tasks. A naturally born fighter, showed proficiency particularly on swords and hand to hand. I think those four tick every box you might want to fill, don’t you?”

A few seconds pass, while Ra’s tries to think back on every newish recruit who had the described qualities. He couldn’t come with a single one. Too many variables.

Despite himself, he nods. His bonded lifts his hand from the desk, and picks up his book on his way to the door, not looking back while Ra's unfolds the list.

He feels himself freeze. 

“Children?”

Timothy has already left the room. Ra's can't help but feel pride. As foolish as he thinks his bonded's mission to be, he has to admire his dedication to it, and Timothy had just spent the equivalent of a Genie's first wish with the purpose of freeing four young ones from the League's training and future.

-----.-----

Tim is looking down at his three 'bodyguards', knowing he made the right call but still feeling the panic creeping up on him. Like, fuck, this was clearly an evil organization, as no self respecting moral one would allow him to be responsible of four impressionable, probably traumatized children.

L, P, H and K. 9, 7, 10 and 9 respectively. All sitting down, hands on their laps, eyes down. Ready to obey any order.

Fuck, he wanted to puke.

Breathing in deeply, he crouched in front of them. Tried for a smile. Too forced. Settled for a grimace.

“My name is Tim”, he started, “and you're safe with me. I'll train you, protect you from the League as much as possible, and try my best to help you escape if I find a better place for you.”

He doesn't bother lying for appearances sake. Ra's must know Tim's reasons for choosing children (too good, would be noticed soon by their teachers, would be under Ra's thumb sooner rather than later), but it didn't matter. Even if Tim managed to get them away, it was his right. For all intents and purposes, as far as the League was concerned, he owned them. Not that he was going to tell them that: if it made him sick to think that, he can only imagine that information on the children's minds. 

They don't seem to believe him, but answer honestly when asked questions about their past. L had (bravely, stupidly) sold himself into servitude to the League to help his family. P, apparently a smart cookie, was sold away by some scientific organization back home when she started asking too many question about the disappearance of her father and brother. One of H's mothers had left the League when she married, and her son was taken away as compensation in the middle of the night, when she couldn't fight back (luckily, as she'd have died and they would have still taken the kid). K was an orphan, sucked into the League too young, but saved by an older apprentice who took him under his wing: said boy was now missing, and K's obvious short fuse wouldn't stand for it long.

He wants to save these children so bad it hurts. Has to remind himself that whatever he will do about this (and he still has to think about it), he won't be able to do for a while.

----.----

He keeps some sort of schedule. Waking up in the morning, breakfast with Ra's unless previously canceled by the other man, training his new minions, break a fight between L and K, lunch, give them numerous tasks to get them off his back (keeping one close for appearances sake; they were his bodyguards after all, or would be after some training), wander along whichever base they were at the moment, tea with Ra's, picking up his brats, wander some more and some time for them to play like actual children, dinner, bed. Rinse repeat.

Some variations, however, were inevitable.

Groaning Tim rolled on his back, silken sheets under him and around his legs, to look at the four little heads waiting by his bedside, various degrees of alarm there.

“What is it?”

H's hand gripped tighter L's, who had the other arm wrapped around P. K was standing in front of them, dagger at the ready.

“The base is under attack. We await our instructions, Master.”

“Tim”, he reminded the child, before yawning.  “Who is it again?”

This time, the youngest and only girl talked. “We are not sure. Said something about The Demon's Head being their archenemy and/”

“Then it's a Ra's problem, not a Us problem. Let the man handle it, he has enough manpower as it is, and even if he doesn’t, he's due for a swim anytime now”, dropping his head and closing his eyes once again, he vaguely waved a hand in their general direction. “You guys go back to bed, just be careful and lock the door in case some of Ra's worst people let someone wander.”

“We can't possibly leave you! What if you're attacked? We'd be too far away to protect you!” K’s tiny hand tightened around his knife. “We'd fail our mission!”

Reigning in a groan, he gave it a thought. They had a point, in that were anything to happen, he risked not being close enough to keep the children safe. 

Sighing, he waved a hand again.

“Okay, you guys can stay, but we are not getting up. It's like five am, I went to sleep less than an hour ago.”

 P jumped in place and frowned at him. “We escorted you here right after dinner.”

“That you did. Anyway, cuddle piles anyone?”

L jumped right in, as he expected, worming his way under the sheets until he could cuddle to Tim's left side, dragging H behind him. P seemed to think about it, but if the dark circles under her eyes (and his informants) were to be trusted, she'd probably slept as much as him, most assuredly looking into her family's disappearance. She finally fell on his other side, instantly groaning.

K looked at all of them in disappointment, and stubbornly sat down behind P, his back to them and facing the door. Tim wondered what it would take to get the kid to chill.

Shrugging (you can't win them all), he went back to sleep.

By the time he really woke up, it was to an amused Pru holding hauntingly a camera and smirking down at him. All four kids were now cuddled around him.

“Shut up, Pru. Like you can talk. I saw you giving L that practice gun the other day, don't think I didn't.”

[jpegjade]

Waddle waddle - Spencer

i am back with another fic after like a week of not writing i think! idk i just know it’s been a little while. this one is just a cute fluffy story that doesn’t really go anywhere, it’s just for fun as a request. it’s so cute to write these adorable fluffy pieces!!

request: Spencer’s wife, who is 6 months pregnant, walks into the office because Spencer forgot his lunch. No one knew Spencer had a girlfriend, much less a wife that’s pregnant, because he wanted to keep his family safe. 

warnings: i’m too lazy to proof reid (get it?) so probably some mistakes. other than that, it’s fluff

_______________

There wasn’t a case today. Oddly enough, it was paperwork day. So all the case files everyone let pile up were sitting on their desks and ready to be assessed. 

Spencer was talking to Hotch in his office about something important so he wasn’t sitting at his desk. They had been sitting there talking for a while so he didn’t expect a visitor. Everyone else was going through their own cases, occasionally cracking jokes with each other and getting second opinions. 

Meanwhile, Garcia was on her way to her office when she noticed a very pregnant woman sitting in Spencer’s desk chair. To Penelope, she seemed very out of place and something felt like it was wrong. 

“Hi, can I help you?” Garcia asked you, distracting you from answering a text from your best friend. 

“No, that’s okay. I’m just waiting on SSA Dr. Reid.” You said, smiling. 

You took in the sight that was Penelope Garcia. She was wearing a black dress covered in small rainbows to match the rainbows on her headband and in her hair. 

“Oh. Well Reid should be down in a second. Is there anything I can get you while we wait?” Garcia asked, trying to restrain herself from asking about the baby. 

“No, that’s okay. I can just wait here.” You said, spinning side to side in the chair. “I’m not in a rush.” 

Garcia smiled at you one more time before quickly walking up to Morgan and Spencer, who were still discussing one of Morgan's profiles outside of Hotch’s office.

“Boy wonder, there’s a very pregnant lady at your desk and-” Garcia was cut off by Spencer running past her with a worried look on his face. 

You were just scrolling Facebook when Spencer came up to you, kneeling on one knee in front of you. 

“Is everything alright? Are you okay? How’s baby Reid?” Spencer said, frantically. 

“We’re fine, sweetie.” You chuckled. “You forgot your lunch so I decided to bring it to you. I’m sure no one suspects anything since I’m a visitor and I’m sure you guys get visitors all the time about cases from what you tell me.” 

“Oh.” Spencer put a hand on your thigh to balance himself as he exhaled. “I was so worried as soon as Garcia told me there was a pregnant lady at my desk.” 

“She’s more colorful than I expected her to be.” You said, smiling. 

Spencer smiled with you. He loved to see you happy and excited. There was such a length of time when you weren’t as happy and it killed him inside to know that there was nothing he could do while you suffered. But now, everything was balanced again. 

“They’re talking about us.” Spencer said, pointing in the direction of the team upstairs. 

“Should I go? You should look gravely serious like something is wrong.” You said, whispering. 

Garcia walked by again, staring at the two of you. 

“I was thinking… It’s been 5 years of us being married. I know I said I didn’t want anyone to know, because I want to keep you safe at all times, but maybe this is the opportunity to get a couple things off my chest with the team.” Spencer said, tentatively. 

“Oh.” You said, surprised. 

You heard all about the BAU team from stories and knew they were Spencer’s family outside of you and baby Reid but you never thought you would meet them. You didn’t think you’d do more than hear about them until Spencer retired. 

At the beginning of the relationship, you didn’t really understand. You thought he was just another guy who had commitment issues and didn’t want to show you off to anyone. He was already old school and wasn’t on any social media but he didn’t mind you posting the pictures you posted of him of your social media because he didn’t understand how it worked for a while. Once he learned, he still didn’t mind because it made you happy to show him off. You gave him a chance and you began to understand he just wanted to keep you safe. 

“Is that okay?” Spencer asked, reading your body language as it shifted from happy to uncomfortable. 

“Well, they don’t even know about us so I don’t want it to be uncomfortable.” You said. 

“It won’t be. There will be some shock but it won’t be bad.” Spencer smiled. “Come on, it’s my turn to show you off.” 

Spencer grabbed both of your hands and pulled you up, chuckling as you wobbled a little bit from the motion. You walked towards the team, holding Spencer’s hand, much to the surprise of the team. 

“Garcia, can you have everyone meet us in the bullpen?” Spencer said, noticing Garcia walk past the two of you for the third time. 

“You got it.” She said, quickly walking to find the rest of the team. 

“Let’s go to the room.” Spencer walked with you to the glass room, leading you to a chair in front of a screen mounted on the wall. 

You sat down with a small groan and Spencer smiled. He loved everything about being there for your pregnancy. 

Everyone entered the room with concerned and confused faces. Spencer stood there, smiling the whole time, which confused them even more. Spencer never presented cases and even moreso, there was a nervous woman sitting in front of them. Hotch was the last to enter the room, closing the door behind him. 

“I have something to confess.” Spencer started. “But before that, I want you to meet y/n.”

Everyone looked at each other oddly. They knew this wasn’t bad, otherwise Spencer would be solemn. He was beaming right now. 

“Reid, the confession.” Hotch said, straight faced as ever. 

“Yes.” Spencer said, trying to make his face serious but he failed because he was so excited. “I’ve been hiding something for the past 5 years and I feel like it’s  time to finally be honest.” 

Everyone was still confused. They kept looking between Spencer and you. 

“I want everyone to meet my wife, y/n and baby Reid.” Spencer said, putting his hand on your shoulder. 

You looked around the room at everyone’s faces. Silence and astonishment hung in the quiet air as everything sunk in for the team. 

“Boy wonder married a very beautiful lady and has a baby wonder on the way!” Garcia was the first to move. 

You stood up with another groan as she held her arms out for a hug. Slowly, it sank in for the rest of the team. They each moved from their chairs and walked over to hug Spencer and meet you for the first time. They welcomed the distraction from their paperwork to celebrate rather than look at more photos of murder. Soon, the team was welcoming you with open arms and smiling faces. 

“And here I was thinking that pretty boy would never find himself a pretty girl. He already had one!” Morgan said, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder with a smile.

“How far along are you?” JJ asked you as she, Emily, and Garcia formed a semi circle around you. 

“Six months.” You said, rubbing your very full belly. 

After cracking a few jokes and meeting everyone, no one could believe that Spencer managed to keep you away for so long. 

“So all that extra coffee and long nights were for this pretty lady here?” Morgan asked, gesturing towards you. 

“All for her.” Spencer said, beaming at you. 

“I think we can all appreciate the sentiment behind Reid’s decision but in the future, I would appreciate it if you would disclose sensitive information like this.” Hotch said, partially smiling. 

Everyone was so happy to See Spencer happy for once. The boy had gone through so much trouble and trauma that it was a nice change of pace. They could tell he really loved you and you were still head over heels for him. From your body language to the way that you always glanced over at him, it was something special to the two of you. 

“Oh goodness.” You said, clutching your stomach. 

Spencer immediately looked concerned as soon as he heard you groan, thinking something was wrong. 

“What’s happening?” Spencer said, quickly guiding you to a chair. 

You grabbed his arm and put it on your stomach where he could feel little movements. The tears immediately pooled in his eyes as he looked at you. He was never around when the baby started shifting and kicking at the same time every day so this was his first time feeling it. The tears rolled down his cheeks and everyone on the team was so in love. 

They were in love with you, in love with the way Spencer connected with you and in love with their boy wonder’s joy. The baby was kicking for a while so everyone got to feel it while all you felt was annoyed that it took so long for the baby to finish shifting. They must have sensed all the attention on the outside. 

“Okay baby, I need a nap.” You said once everyone slowly started leaving the room to get back to paperwork. 

You and Spencer were left in the room alone at this point. 

“I love you so much. Thank you for bringing me lunch.” He said, hand on the side of your face. 

He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you up. 

He told Hotch that he would be back in a bit but he was going to make sure you got home safe. That’s all he wanted, honestly. To protect you and at the end of the day, know you’re safe.

[ultimatebethylficlist]

Veteran Author of The Month: June 2021

The featured veteran author for June is also a co-admin right here at UBFL: SquishyCool (or @im-immortal )!

SquishyCool can be found on AO3 and FFN under the same penname.

When asked what got her into Bethyl and what the fandom means to her, she said:

I’ve been a hardcore TWD fan since the show began airing, but that’s because of my love for zombies. In all honesty, I didn’t really ship anyone for the first 3-4 seasons. I kind of shipped Daryl with Carol, but then it became clear that it was a platonic relationship and in all honesty, I just wanted to see them both get some action lmao. Then the prison fell... and in those first moments of “Still,” when we see Beth and Daryl running and running and finally collapsing on the ground, breathless and exhausted... the butterflies started. Something clicked and I immediately thought, “uh oh.” The rest is history, especially considering how “Still” and “Alone” played out. I can’t explain how or why I’m still so heavily invested, especially considering my last 2 fandoms only kept my attention for about 2-3 years each, but here I am. And I love it! I am so incredibly grateful for the Bethyl fandom because not only has it helped me improve my writing so much more than I ever could have imagined, but it has also introduced me to some of the most amazing people, including someone who I now consider one of my very best friends! It’s my happy place :)

For her personal fic rec list, she recommends:

In The Maw by ronsparkyspeirs

Way Down We Go by LeathernLaces

Surfacing by lindentree

Wild Things (The Moonshine Poet) by Abelina

The Gift by Feliz

The Man Who Can't Be Moved by burningupasun

New Experiences Series by wallflow3r

Whisper Softly to Me by taylorcatherine

Interstice by leftmywingshome

To Love Like a Man by Seraphique

Death, Death (i defy thee) by alamorn

In My Blood by Courtneyshortney82

Let the Good Times Roll by gutsforgarters

Resolved by Allatariel

the weight of these wings by peachthorns

all my spaces are filled with you by annabeth_writes

A Little Jailbreak with the Little Jailbait by wandering_gypsy_feet

between the beginning and the end by sheriffandsteel

SquishyCool’s Works & Personal Thoughts:

Dirty Fingernails and Dried Blood Summary: What happened during the months between "Still" and "Alone"? Beth uses the last pages of her diary to write down every detail of surviving with Daryl. Thoughts: My first Bethyl fanfic. It holds a special place in my heart for that reason, though it is pretty rough. If I could go back, I never would’ve done it entirely in first-person. But I do plan to finish it one day. There are some scenes I’m particularly proud of, and I still have a long note full of ideas and plot points.

Most Wanted Summary: After Beth’s mother and half-brother are murdered in a drug war, the godly veil on the Greene Family operation is lifted, and law enforcement comes down hard. In an effort to protect her family, Beth commits a heinous crime that could mean life in prison alongside them. Now everyone she’s ever trusted is in police custody and her only chance at freedom is to get as far away from Atlanta as she can... Thoughts: Well, this is a must-read if you like my writing. I hope to one day convert this into an original fiction and maybe get it published, but I need to finish it first LOL. I got the idea from ONE scene of “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt,” and from there, it exploded into a huge mystery thriller (with lots of romance and smut). I’m really really proud of it, and I’m scared I’ll fuck it up tbh, so I keep putting off continuing it. But I really need to get back to it because I really want people to see what I have planned! (Also, this fic is the reason @courtneyshortney82​ started talking to me, so that alone is pretty historic lmao)

The Crow’s Song Summary: Beth and Daryl spend a few more days together in the funeral home and come to terms with all they've lost along the way. But soon, they must decide what comes next. Thoughts: This fic... this fucking fic. It took me a full year to write. I made numerous edits. I even got a little depressed while I was writing the last two chapters, and my bf didn’t know why until he read what I’d been writing lol. It’s honestly the Bethyl fic I’ve always wanted to write but just didn’t know how. I’m still really really proud of how it turned out.

Carnival Games Summary: Daryl is a traveling carnival worker and Beth is a barely legal farmer's daughter looking for a night of fun when the carnival comes to town. Thoughts: Omg this fic is so fun!! One of my first Bethyl fics, and one of my first Bethyl smut fics. Short, sweet, a little funny, and a lot hot. I am still impressed with myself on this one, especially considering how much my writing has improved since lol

Breathe. Please. Summary: Beth shows up at the Hilltop. Alive. Daryl can hardly believe his eyes. Until she's lying in his bed, an arm's reach away. And he can hear her inhaling... exhaling... inhaling... Thoughts: Another “fix-it” that I’m proud of. Tbh I didn’t think it was anything all that special, but a lot of readers have said it’s one of their favorites, and some say they reread it regularly, and nothing makes me happier than hearing that, so I am extremely proud.

picking @ scabs Summary: Sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, being with them just isn't right. But what wouldn't you give for it to be right? Can someone like Daryl learn how to swallow his pride and stop repeating the same mistakes over and over? Can someone like Beth learn to fight off her demons and allow him to get close enough to hurt her again? How can they stay away from each other when it's all too easy to fall back into one another? Picking a scab will leave a scar, but they both have so many scars already... what's a few more? Thoughts: This fic is very, very personal for me. It’s like my “therapy” fic. I have poured some of my deepest feelings and struggles into its chapters, and the whole idea that got me to start it was that I wanted to find a way to navigate and cope with ending my 3-year long relationship with my emotionally/mentally/sometimes physically abusive ex. I still have a lot of fond memories from that relationship, but even more so, I have painful memories. Not to mention, going through your early 20s as a woman in the modern day is a fuckin’ trip, so this kind of explores that. It’s really self-indulgent, I think, but I’m really proud of the smut in it. And more than that, I’m proud of the response. I’ve had a few people message me or comment to say that they’ve felt all those things, or have experienced similar things, and it’s really just... relieving. I put my heart and soul out there, and what I got back was “you’re not alone.” So yeah, this fic is special. I wanna finish it soon, but I have to be in A Mood to do so. 

In Toto Corde Summary: Despite a million reasons not to, Beth and Daryl fell in love. Then he made the ultimate sacrifice in order to keep all of his promises. Now, facing unimaginable consequences at the hands of witch hunters, Beth has no choice but to use her powers to bring Daryl back from the dead. "He won't be the same..." Thoughts: I LOVE THIS FIC. I love it so much that I had to rewrite it after like 4 or 5 years. And I already started on a sequel that I really hope I’m able to finish. Though it doesn’t have many hits, and I don’t think many people have read it at all, which I understand since it basically is entirely focused around Daryl being killed. But damn, I’m proud of this one, and it was really fucking fun to write because witch!Beth is just... the best.

risk it all (part 1 of in for a penny, in for a pound) Summary: Daryl Dixon has a pretty decent life, all things considered. He's got his own place. A good dog. A few friends. Even a girlfriend. He keeps himself out of trouble. Until he starts texting Beth Greene. And hell, if he ain't about to risk it all for this damn girl. Thoughts: This was supposed to be one short multichapter fic focused entirely on smut and social media. Then I got on a roll and it ended up being the beginning of a series! This fic is purely fun. Nothing too serious or heavy. I write it when I’m in a Good Mood because it’s my little happy place. I have plans for about 4 more fics before the series will be finished!

Don’t Make Me Haunt You Summary: So here's the thing: Merle Dixon is dead as fuck. And as it turns out, Beth Greene is the only one who can see or hear him. Which is weird considering she's never met or even heard of this guy, let alone anyone with the last name Dixon. That's her first problem... Thoughts: The reception to this fic has absolutely blown me away. I had no idea anyone would want to read about ghost!Merle haunting Beth and forcing her to solve his murder with the help of his grumpy brother. And it was all inspired by an episode of South Park lmao then I started really getting into it and now it’s just like, my super fun fic where I explore a range of emotions and all kinds of religious beliefs and different mythologies and I can build the world however I want and goddamn I just love writing this fic. Plus there’s a podfic for it! I can’t even begin to explain how much I love this fic and how proud I am of it :)

[relenafanel]

Dicks (in every definition): a fake-relationship AU

Geralt/Jaskier

Find it on Ao3:  Dicks (in every definition) by relenafanel

FOR THE MODERN AU CHALLENGE. WEEK 1: Fake-Relationships

Tag: witcherauseptember

________

“I can’t believe anyone could be such an unmitigated puss-filled dick,” Essi said, staring at her phone in disbelief. Jaskier groaned and let his head thunk on the bar.

“I can.” His sticky forehead was the least disgusting part of the evening.  He'd just come out to forget his ex, and maybe celebrate being free a little (as fucked up as that was) and quite frankly felt attacked by his social media.

“If I believed it from anyone it would be that narcissist,” she conceded, biting on her lip.

“I know,” Jaskier agreed. “That’s the worst part. I feel like it’s my fault being blindsided by this, as though I should have known something was going to happen today.”

Essi snorted. “It’s not your fault your ex is the worst.”

“No, but I was with him for almost 3 years. I don’t know. That’s my fault.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “Look at this desperate fucker. Do you actually think he’s winning? He might be in a new relationship but the look of this guy makes my vagina want to shrivel up and die.”

Jaskier took her phone from her and looked again. Yeah. Yikes. Valdo was definitely scraping the bottom of the barrel with that one. Jaskier hadn’t even tried to join any dating sites post-breakup, but he was pretty sure there were better options. It wasn’t even the guy’s looks so much as he just screamed skeevy douchebag. It was making Jaskier’s metaphorical vagina also want to die.

“You need to get drunk. Maybe laid.”

“No,” Jaskier said, an idea starting to form as he looked at the relationship status change. “No. I need to match pettiness with pettiness. I need to find someone so hot that I’d have trouble getting him - let alone Valdo with his sad, small dick - and make sure to post a picture on Facebook.”

“Would that make you feel better?”

Jaskier smiled with teeth. “I think it would.”

***

It was their third bar of the evening and Essi was definitely sick of the manhunt. She probably hadn’t realized that when Jaskier was judging men fully objectively and not looking for matching personalities (relationship goals) or a willing body (one night stand goals) he had incredibly discerning tastes.

Probably too discerning.

“How about him?” Essi asked, barely looking up from her phone. She gestured to a guy sitting at the bar trying to make eye contact with a woman across the room.

“Ehh,” Jaskier said. “Sweater vest.”

Essi rolled her eyes. “But cute.”

“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for eye-searing hot.”

“I’m having trouble remembering how you’ve ever been in any relationships with these unrealistic expectations.”

“Valdo thought I was hot.” Jaskier thought about that for a moment. “Did I stay with someone for three years out of flattery?”

“Probably. Fuck. Get therapy.”

“I am.”

“You’re going to be working on tonight for a while.”

Fucking true. “Oh god, we just saw Valdo’s taste in men. Tell me true… am I ugly.”

“You’re spiraling.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“You’re spiraling!”

“Yes,” Jaskier agreed, pulling at his hair. “I’m so aware.”

“Based on the guy in his status update I’m going to guess you’re the hottest guy he could get.”

“You’re a good friend.” Jaskier pressed his head against her shoulder.

Then, a table opened up across the room, revealing the man sitting on the other side of it. “Holy shit.”

Essi looked up. Then she looked up. “Wow.”

“I hope he’s into men,” Jaskier said. “Or at least willing to play along with pretending to be for long enough for you to get a picture.”

“You’re going to walk up to that?” Essi asked. “You have more balls than brains.”

That was probably true.

***

“Hi, I’m Jaskier,” he opened with, dropping into the seat across from the gorgeous man. Up close he was even more startlingly pretty, with a chin dimple that highlighted his strong jaw and drew attention to his mouth. “And my boyfriend broke up with me two months ago, only to post his new relationship on Facebook today. Our three year anniversary. It’s the dickest of moves, right?”

The man hummed in agreement, but otherwise didn’t stop frowning in Jaskier’s general direction. Like someone waiting for him to get to the point. Jaskier saw that frown often.

“The reason for the oversharing is that I just forced my best friend to follow me to three different bars to find someone so phenomenally hot for me to spend time with and get picture proof, and here you are. I’d do jazz hands but you don’t seem like someone who responds well to jazz hands.”

“What are jazz hands?”

Whoa.

What a voice. What a sexy, sexy voice. Jaskier knew what he was talking about. He was a connoisseur of voices.

Jaskier wiggled his fingers at him. Tada! “Jazz hands.”

“Huh.” The man took a drink of his beer. “You want to use me as a revenge plot?”

“Exactly. Can I buy you a drink?”

The man gestured to his mostly full beer. “I’m not drinking to get drunk tonight.”

That was only a no to the beer. “Nachos or some other foodstuff?”

The guy seemed possibly interested in food.  

“Fine,” he agreed.  

****

Facebook: Julian Alfred Pankratz is in a relationship with Geralt of Rivia.

“Who’s Julian Pankratz?” Geralt muttered, staring at his phone.

“What?” Jaskier groaned, coming out a shitty sleep to a few realizations:

He’d gone home with the hottest guy on earth, which he should be pleased about, AND WAS PLEASED ABOUT

He might throw up

He’d done something last night. Something he’d said “that’s up for tomorrow Jaskier to sort out” because his drunk self was apparently a fucking masochist, and now Jaskier wasn’t really sure what that was.

Only Geralt was still scowling at his phone and seemed to know his real name.

So.

“Fuck,” Jaskier groaned. His mouth tasted like nachos and the regret of doing shots too late in life. He was 28 years old, not dead, but his hangover didn’t seem to know that.  “We didn’t get married , did we?”

“...”

Jaskier risked the light filtering in through the edges of the blinds to look at Geralt. His hair was beyond mussed - Jaskier didn’t know hair could get that tangled overnight. He was still frowning at his phone.

“I’ve been calling you Jaskier.”

“I go by Jaskier,” he promised. He was too busy having his own crises to deal with Geralt’s! For fucksakes. “Now, back to the marriage thing??”

“No.”

Phew. That was probably on him. He wasn’t sure people could actually get fake married overnight. Legally. He’d seen a lot of movies, though.

Ok. Next problem.  “I might throw up.”

Geralt turned his head slowly to look at him. Yikes. Too much beautiful-man-face in his face for this early in the morning.

“It’s eleven,” Geralt told him in the dry tone that told Jaskier he’d said that all outloud.

“Eleven after getting to bed at what? Five? Eugh, boo. Do you have any food?”

***

Geralt did have food.

Well, Geralt had protein bars and electrolytes, which was basically the same thing. Jaskier could always fall on top of a burger on his way home if he had to.  He’d finally looked at his phone by the time he was halfway through his breakfast.

107 new notifications.

What the fuck?

Julian Alfred Pankratz is in a relationship with Geralt of Rivia

Geralt and I were going to wait until announcing this wasn’t an asshole move, but now that it doesn’t really matter, I just wanted everyone to know that I’m doing GREAT.

Attached to it was the picture of the two of them together that Essi had taken with the caption of “I wouldn’t feel too sorry for Jaskier tonight”

His drunk self had a lot to answer for. No wonder Geralt had been scowling at his phone.

“I can’t believe I went Facebook Official with someone I haven’t even had sex with yet,” Jaskier mourned. “What is it, 2007?”

***

It took Jaskier almost the full day to recover enough to actually look through his comments on Facebook. By the time he had, they’d almost doubled and he’d made the mistake of clicking into Instagram to find one of those quintessential happy-relationship-our-feet-are-cute-together bullshit pictures. He had a different following on Instagram, mostly using it for pictures of himself singing.

Yikes. Yikes. Yikes. This wasn’t a contained problem, if you could call their mutual friends and families on Facebook that had been gathering in the wings for 15 years a contained problem . Fucking Facebook. Jaskier friended people he’d met once. He had a database of acquaintances. It was great for - you know - being a musician looking for gigs. He’d done 15 weddings in the last year.

It was pretty shitty when he’d faked having a boyfriend so people wouldn’t feel bad for him.

But, as he read through the comments and realized that some of them weren’t for him, he realized that maybe he wasn’t the one with the biggest problem.

Jaskier: Did you just come out?

Jaskier: Are you EVEN INTO MEN?

Jaskier: I REMEMBER YOU THINKING THIS WAS FUNNY AND AGREEING TO IT

Jaskier: BUT

Jaskier: I REGRET COMMITTING TO CAPS SO SOON BECAUSE I MEAN THIS IN CAPS AND BOLDED

Jaskier: WHOEVER LAMBERT IS JUST CONGRATULATED YOU ON FINALLY GETTING DICKED DOWN BECAUSE IT MIGHT MAKE YOU LESS GRUMPY

Geralt: I see you’ve read the comments

Geralt: my brother

Jaskier: YOUR BROTHER?!

Geralt: bold and caps?

Jaskier: and italics what the fuck. Why’d you let me do this?

Jaskier: wait.

Jaskier: WAIT

Geralt: there it is

Jaskier: this was your idea

Jaskier: did you use me to tell everyone you know that you’re gay or bi or whatever you identify as?

Jaskier: what a brilliant opportunity last night was for both of us

Geralt: you went back to sleep and didn’t process any of this yet, didn’t you?

Jaskier had been seen with that, fuck. He made a face at his phone even though Geralt couldn't see it.

A few moments later a response to Lambert popped up from Geralt himself.

@Lambert who says I haven’t been getting dicked down this entire time you heteronormative asshole

Followed by someone named Yennefer posting a picture of a strap on.

Who were these people? Could you love someone based on how their friends reacted to their ill-advised fake-relationship status change? Asking for a friend.

Geralt: for context, that’s my ex-wife

Geralt: we’re ok

Geralt: especially when she’s helping me fuck with my brother

***

Jaskier was debating the merits of asking Geralt if he wanted to come up with a break-up plan or just date when another comment showed up.

Vesemir left a comment:

You’ll bring him to brunch tomorrow?

Geralt left a comment:

We’ll be there

Vesemir left a comment:

Leave the frightening device at home

Geralt left a comment:

He doesn’t need it

This was followed by a string of variations of LOL and OH SHITs from about 7 different people. Jaskier watched it all unfold feeling like he’d stepped into the middle of something he didn’t understand - yet. He was definitely in trouble, if the way his heart rate increased at Geralt’s he doesn’t need it was any indication. It wasn’t even the dick reference, though that was amazing. It was the snappy, quick response. The underlying sarcasm.

Jaskier had a type. He could end a fake relationship that was based on seeing a searing hot guy across a room, but it was a bit harder when the guy had a personality he liked. If Geralt turned out to have a heart of gold, Jaskier was screwed and would probably be proposing marriage by year’s end.

Yeah, we’ll be there , he commented.

Geralt: my dad

Geralt: thanks

Jaskier: no problem

Jaskier : gonna call

“So I’m thinking,” Jaskier said the moment Geralt’s face showed up on the video call. He was squinting at his phone like no one had ever tried to video call him before.

“Hi,” Geralt replied, looking amused.

“I’ve been debating the merits of planning a breakup for our fake relationship or just… dating? I’m thinking maybe we should date? Do you have input?”

“Dating’s fine.”

“But do you… are you even attracted to me? Would you pick me?”

Oh fuck, what was that?! Something new to bring up in therapy.

Geralt tilted his head.  “You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m capable of saying no. Overly capable, some of my family might tell you.”

“So you’re not saying no?”

“I’m pretty confident I said yes instead.”

***

“As Jaskier’s best friend and the only witness,” Essi said into the microphone, holding up a glass of champagne to salute the two of them. “Our happy couple gave me full permission to tell the story of what happened the night Geralt and Jaskier met. Like Jaskier himself, the story is partially an embarrassing tale of bad decisions, half-cocked plans, and a lot of heart.”

Jaskier grinned, and nudged his shoulder into Geralt’s.

“And,” Essi continued with glee, “dicks in every definition.”

[faraway-in-headspace]

I?? I searched Chicken Choice Judy on google out of curiosity because it sounds oddly familiar like there’s a similar-sounding name and I found 4 websites selling the shirt design. But the descriptions on these pages are BUCK WILD??

Written version of the descriptions under the cut (very long).

[Begin ID

First image states:  Long ago, when I had hair, I was an undergrad living in a house with nine other men. Near as I can tell, three of them (not sure which three) never bought food, just lived off what they stole from the Chicken Choice Judy shirt But I will love this other seven. We had several house meetings about it, but nothing changed. One day, I came in from grocery shopping. By coincidence, all 10 of us were in the kitchen. I started putting my stuff away. 1st thing I pulled out of the bag was my half-gallon of milk. I opened the carton, took a couple of drinks from the carton, then gargled some of it, and spit it back in. I opened my tub of margarine and licked the whole surface. By now, the room chatter had stopped because the other nine jaws had dropped open.) To your original question, those specific topics would take several years to build, as they depend on several layers of pre-requisites, which would require either that more advanced topics such as algebraic topology to be taught in elementary school, or that the buildup process happened blazingly fast during high school – both of which probably stretch the biological limits of what pre-teens and teenagers can reasonably be expected to accomplish. I spit on all my veggies, took the bread out of the package, and licked and spit on it, then carefully put it all back in the plastic bag. Remind teenage daughters to look through them before going on date with the boyfriend, in case they want to use one. I labeled it all and put it away. None of it was stolen. I never said a word, but I made it a point to repeat the performance anytime anyone was around to see it. Others began to emulate my approach and food theft stopped. Even I found it revolting, but it solved the problem. Works even better if you are sick or can at least make your thieving roommates think you are. While some cities are starting to reopen in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, people around the country are continuing to wear masks in public and practice social distancing. Vogue is committed to staying safe, and offering hopeful, optimistic content that highlights moments of camaraderie and exceptional acts of heroism from around the world. We are all looking for a little comfort too—be it a soothing Instagram account or a stylish creator on TikTok. It reminds us of the power of little things.

Second image states:  A couple of guests informed me my office was too minimalist and that they expected more things to be hanging on my wall the Chicken Choice Judy shirt besides I will buy this next time they visited my wife’s and my home. I kinda hope they held their breath while they were waiting for our next invitation. They both went on to backstab me and my wife pretty bad a few years later. Another set of guests tried to squat. I had driven them all the way from Florida to Massachusetts under the impression that they had jobs and a place to live lined up. They offered no money for gas, hotels on the three-day trip, or compensation for the inconvenience and effort. He even tried to weasel out of the dinner he offered as a thank you by forgetting his wallet. The dude got me off the streets years ago and I wanted to pay him back in some way, but my wife and I were in no position to have extra residents in our home. We just don’t have the room or money. I made all of this VERY clear and told my old buddy that we could only house them for a couple of days max. There are MANY other details, but the disrespectful thing my former friend said was wordless. As I was kicking them out and they were angrily loading stuff into my car to bring them anywhere but here, my buddy left his gigantic knife right in the center of my wife’s desk. Like that was supposed to make us change our minds and let them stay? In the days of dial-up, I had a family call and not be able to get through because we were online. They decided to show up unannounced. They literally caught me in my underwear as they were let into the apartment before I could even react to being rudely surprised. Some of my family members have a history of abuse, violence, and stalking, something at least one of the visitors, my mother, was quite aware of since she lived through it with me. Her tagalong friend decided to put in her two cents and tell me I should get a call waiting or a second line because they were trying to call me. That did it! I suddenly forgot I was just wearing underwear and angrily asked my mother’s friend if she was paying my phone bill. My mother-in-law, stepfather and mom’s friend beat a hasty retreat and NEVER did the pop-in ever again.

Third image states:  That was why when we did get to reality shows, Etro and then Dolce & Gabbana plus Jacquemus later in France, it was wonderful. Clothes are all about contact: As a wearer, you feel them on your skin, and as a watcher, you process them with your eye. The watching part can be done secondhand, but the Chicken Choice Judy shirt in contrast I will get this impact will always be second to the real thing. I read some commentators in the U.S. saying, “Too soon” or “Wear a damn mask!” which I always did, but these opinions while valid enough lack perspective. Milan and its surrounding region Lombardy went through what New York did but earlier. Through sagacious governmental management much more effective than that of the U.S., Italy has managed dramatically to flatten the curve across the rest of its territory. These shows just like the reopening of flights, stores, factories, and restaurants were symptomatic of recovery that, far from being taken for granted, is being tended to with vigilance and cherished with gratitude. The digital Fashion Weeks were better than no Fashion Weeks at all, but as an upgrade on the real thing? Nah. Like everyone, I missed the shows in the experiential sense this season. But for the first time since I began covering the collections several years ago, I didn’t miss a single brand or designer’s contribution to Paris Fashion Week. Which is to say, thanks to the Fédération’s online platform, I was able to watch every name on the haute couture and men’s calendars. This brand on-demand convenience not to mention being spared the logistical headaches of zigzagging across the city was pretty great. Also, everything was on time, from the films to the manner in which we filed our reviews. While efficiency can be satisfying, it’s not necessarily exciting. Ultimately, we had to accept that the focus this season wasn’t going to be the clothes but rather the brands conveying some combination of identity, process, and values. And in the absence of standardized criteria as in, showing a minimum number of looks, specifying a time range, it was interesting to observe how heterogeneous these experiments proved to be quasi–ad campaigns versus short films, conceptual or fantastical visions versus raw and documentary style. A proper kimono takes nearly an hour to put on – I’m sure most Japanese girls would much rather spend a few seconds and slip on a dress. Get survey responses from targeted consumers today.

Fourth image states:  Around a decade ago, not long after he started his own label, Massimo Alba made a great mistake. A batch of shirts and T-shirts he was working on that had already been garment-dyed one color were mistakenly exposed to another. Speaking at his showroom presentation this weekend, Alba said: “It’s very interesting to me that so many good things start out as mistakes like this.” That accident was to Alba what the Chicken Choice Judy shirt moreover I will buy this mold-infected petri dish was to Alexander Fleming: a stumbled-upon eureka that led to a career-defining course of the investigation. This collection featured a series of softly tailored jackets, corduroy pants, and shorts, plus light cashmere sweaters that were hand-overdyed two, and sometimes three colors. It’s a process that led to variations in tone that included acid-trip floods of purple on purple to subtle bleeding of magenta across mustard yellow. Like most of Alba’s garments, these dyed pieces appeared at first glance conventionally prosaic. The more attention you gave them, however, the more their exceptional qualities became evident. Take a pale blue jacket, for instance, which at that first glance seemed passingly related to a surgeon’s scrubs. To the hand it was light and almost textureless in its softness: The fabric was a cotton mousseline developed for Alba by Albini. Long-sleeved, in a delicately mottled finish of washed-out sky blue, it made for an ideal mid-summer shake in pink, sleeveless, it was an impactful shirting second skin. Other interesting developments this season included a cotton pant named the Myles with acutely kinking stitched gather at knee-level on both legs and another handsome pant, baggy in white poplin, with patch pockets. A blue tropical weight jacket named the Lenny, after Bernstein, was Alba’s interpretation of a bohemian creative’s ideal piece of workwear. Collarless shirts in ripstop linen and button-up short-sleeves in terry were further finely effective coups de théâtre. Alba is a self-deprecating yet dangerous designer: Try just one carefully chosen piece and that’s it, you’re spoiled for good because nobody else quite compares. The museum in Prague where this portrait is held describes the ring on her first finger as the ring given to her at her wedding. It’s not comfortable. Maybe a lot of girls think that a see-through blouse can attract the attention of boys or they think that it will make her look much smarter. Meghan has no dress sense: no knowledge of fabrics, fit, styles that flatter, proper tailoring, Her father raised her in L.A. Enough said. Her idea of dressing for an event is “dress up” like a little girl dressing up as a princess. Shiny! Tight! Celebrity “fashion” not elegant, just flashy.

/end ID]

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 43

Title: Revelations

Warnings: profanity, angst

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip​

He’s out the door by five thirty in the morning; leaving behind the warmth and the comfort of his home and making the five block trek to the Hudson River. With no fresh snowfall, the sidewalks and streets are remarkably clear; milder than normal temperatures slowly melting the waist high banks and turning patches of ice into puddles of muck and slush. His strides are long and purposeful. Soles of his runners crunching as they pass over neatly and tightly packed snow; following the foot tracks that earlier pedestrians have left behind. Chin tucked into his chest and his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie; anxious to get to his destination and start the day off in the right frame of mind. The headphones worn over a black beanie render him oblivious to sounds of life taking place around him ; the pounding of the music blocking out the sounds of traffic and the rattles and bangs that accompany the city garbage trucks. While he doesn’t make eye contact with those he passes, he notices the nods of greeting; meeting them with the brief turning up of the corner of the mouth and a slight head nod of acknowledgment. It’s what he enjoys most about the area and what eventually sold him on the idea of buying the brownstone; people are friendly enough to smile or offer a quick ‘good morning’, but don't possess enough curiosity to actually stop and speak.

He’s never been a social butterfly. Popular in high school, he’d blended in easily with the ‘jocks’ simply because of his athletic prowess and fairly good looks; girls wanted to date him, guys wanted to befriend him and hang out and attend beach parties. And while he’d followed the mantra ‘fake it until you make it’ and managed to stay quietly on the sidelines, he’d never been entirely comfortable with his status as one of the ‘cool kids’. The guy who’d get irritated when his buddies would make fun of the less popular kids; easily flying off the handle and calling them out on their shit if they said anything degrading towards the special needs students or dared to lob sexual comments towards females. He’d felt more in tune with the ‘loners’; the ones who’d hang out in the back of the cafeteria with their noses shoved in books or who’d eat their lunch sitting in front of their lockers.

It’s how he’d met his ex wife; a newly arrived grade nine student whose family had just moved Port Douglas from Perth. Taller than most females he’d ever encountered, she’d had a thicker build that both guys and girls consistently made fun of; broad shoulders and muscular legs and well defined arms. Shy and soft spoken and never making eye contact with anyone in the hall; thick, wavy blond hair falling over her face as she ignored the whispers and the stares and kept her books and binders clutched tightly to her chest. He’d been the first student to approach her; the last football player to leave practice and finding her sitting on a curb outside of school, waiting for a ride that was running late. And she’d seemed both stunned and terrified when he actually spoke to her; standing above her still clad in his now muddy and sweat soaked practice gear, helmet tucked under one arm and his backpack slung over a shoulder. Introducing himself and offering both a hand in greeting and a ride home; quickly discovering that she had a beautiful smile and the most stunning green eyes he’d ever seen. And she’d made him feel things that none of the other girls ever had; never experiencing that immediate and intriguing spark with any of the prom queens or the cheerleaders that he’d attempted relationships with in the past.

“I know who you are,” she’d said, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. It had shimmered in the sunlight; the lightest and most beautiful shade of blond that he’d ever laid eyes on. “Everyone talks about you. You’re like the most popular guy in school. Yet you don’t act like that. You’re not a total ass to people. You’re different.”

It had been the first time that anyone had ever told him that. Truly believing that the company he’d kept had painted him in a far different light. Guilty by association because those he hung around were boisterous and crude; convinced that being good at sports meant they ran the school and didn’t have to show respect to anyone. And it had made him feel good; being seen as kind and compassionate doing wonders for his ego in a way no touchdown or goal scored ever could.

She’d accepted his ride home that night. And the request for a date before she slipped out of the car. Two weeks later they were inseparable and considered themselves ‘exclusive’; holding hands in the hall and having lunch together every day and spending nearly every waking hours outside of school with one another. He was convinced that he met the love of his life and that she’d be the one he’d marry and have a family with. Grow old with.

It had started out well; a brief engagement and married only a week after graduation. She’d been certain she could handle the life of a soldier's wife; he was new to the military but extremely committed and determined to make a lifelong career out of it. And for the most part they’d been happy; a little house not far from his home base, a tight circle of both military and civilian friends, the honeymoon stage lasting well into the second year. Everything changed once he received his first deployment; eight weeks in Afghanistan that quickly turned into six months. When he’d returned home, he’d begun hearing the rumours; she was angry at his absence and his inability to call home on a regular basis and sought solace in the arms of not just one man, but many. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, and she’d been convincing when he’d confronted her about it; pledging her undying love for him and assuring him -with both words and her body- that he was the only man that she’d wanted.

He’d been an idiot. For years. So smitten that he hadn’t wanted to accept the truth and refused to walk away; seeing her as his ‘be all and end all’ and not wanting things to come to an end. He DID love her. Probably a lot more than she had ever loved him. He’d been so terrified of abandonment, that he’d held on even tighter; he’d lost the only other woman he’d ever loved at a very early age and couldn’t stand the thought of losing Sarah too. So he put up with it; sticking by her side no matter how many notches on the bedposts she lodged and no matter how rampant the rumours and the gossip became. Soon that love turned into resentment and sheer tolerance. Letting her live her ‘double life’; pretending to be a happy and adoring couple in public yet knowing she was off running around behind his back the second he was shipped off for a tour. His drinking became a problem; booze numbing the heartache and the loneliness and giving him an escape from the miserable reality of his life. And he’d been a week removed from filing for divorce when the pregnancy test came back; she was expecting a baby and she was adamant it was his despite all the evidence that told him there was no way he could possibly be the father. He couldn’t leave her like THAT. He’d be viewed as the bad guy; the asshole that had ended his marriage WHILE his wife was pregnant. So he’d changed his plans; vowing that he’d stay by her side no matter what and that he’d be the best father and family man he could possibly be.

He’d been in Iraq when Austin was born; informed of his son’s arrival while in Mosul and immediately sent home. And he’d known right away that the kid wasn’t his the second he’d looked at him; not a single feature that could be attributed to either father OR mother. But it hadn’t mattered. The second he’d held Austin in his arms and all of those tiny fingers had curled around just one of his, Tyler had made his decision; he’d stick around and be the boy’s daddy and love him a way he never thought it was possible to love another human being. He’d be the kind of father his kid could one day brag about; attentive and patient and compassionate. Never would he be like his old man. He would cut back on his drinking and get help with his anger management issues and his wife would never have to worry if he’d wander and find someone else; throwing himself one hundred percent into their marriage and in raising a family together. Even if it meant that he’d never be truly happy and that she’d continue her dalliances whenever he was stationed overseas. He’d stay committed to her no matter what; his son never having to grow up without both parents under the same roof or suffer from the trauma of being from a broken home.

The cancer had changed everything. The stress behind caring for a terminally ill child had brought out both his and Sarah’s true sides; they didn’t love each other and could barely stand being in the same room together and all of the pretending and the faking was just wearing them down and making things even worse. But he’d admired her; her commitment to caring for their rapidly deteriorating son, the steadfast determination to beat it ‘no matter what’, and the rock solid courage she displayed when it was evident Austin’s time on earth was coming to an end. And despite her mistakes and her failures as a wife, she HAD deserved better. She had needed a man that would support her; someone that would hold her while she cried and lift her up during the especially dark and trying times and would be by her side during funeral preparations. He’d failed her; running away when things became too painful to witness. And in the end, he’d failed his son as well. Leaving him alone and scared; his final moments on earth spent wondering what he’d ever done to make his father hate him THAT much.

It’s been seventeen years and sometimes it hurts just as much as it did the moment he got the news. The loss still painful and immense; a part of his heart forever torn out of his chest and never able to be put back into place. And it isn’t just the unexplainable and often unbearable sorrow that comes with losing a child; so powerful and pronounced it can bring even the toughest of men to their knees. It’s the guilt and the regret that continue to haunt and eat away at him; silent and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. It comes when he’s at his lowest; when the combined mental illnesses are rearing their ugly heads and threatening to drag him down. That’s when the voices come out to play; the cruel and the degrading whispers in his ears that insist he’s EXACTLY the monster that he’s made himself out to be. The kind that abandons those he loves when the going gets tough; physically brave, but an emotional coward. They remind him not only of the mistake he’d made with Austin but those he’d committed within the last twelve and a half years; the lies he told and the promises he broke and the times he raised his voice or put a fist through a wall. The moments he’d slipped and given in to his addictions; the fear of being a failure as a husband and father pushing him to not only the job, but the bottle and the pain meds as a form of coping and a means of escape.

Normally he’s able to fight those voices off; years of therapy -and an extremely patient and attentive wife- helping him develop healthy coping mechanisms. The water remains his favourite and most successful form of escape; the familiar scent of salt that hangs heavily in the air, the sounds of the waves as they roll up onto the shore, the sun's powerful and often punishing rays glistening on the rippling surface of the ocean. Sometimes it’s a couple hours spent surfing; the feel of the wind against his face and crispness of the water that seems to cleanse his very soul. There’s days where it’s as simple as a walk along the ocean line; the water lapping at his ankles, wet sand cushioning and moulding around his feet. Or a hike through the forest across from their home. Taking a well beaten path that snakes and winds through the dense gathering of trees and leads to a small clearing; a small wooden staircase he’d erected shortly after they’d moved into the house giving access to a patch of pristine, white beach. It’s a tiny piece of solitude; tucked away and unseen from even the edge of their main property. And they’ve ventured there together many times; taking along that faded and tattered plaid blanket and a picnic lunch and taking advantage of every minute of quality time granted to them. Reconnecting in many ways; playful bantering and light hearted teasing, deep and emotional chats revolving their respective childhoods and the shared loss of the only parent that had loved either of them. Even after twelve and half years there’s never a lull in conversation; always something new and long buried that’s brought to the surface and finally shared after decades of locking it away. It’s never boring when they’re together; a strong friendship and a unique and powerful bond -cemented during that difficult and terrifying time nearly thirteen years ago- serving as a stable foundation for everything else built upon it.

The riverfront is quiet. A half a dozen dog walkers and one lone jogger. The latter a middle aged woman in top of the line athletic gear that he’s encountered a handful of times over the past three years and always offers him a warm smile and a nod in greeting. He pauses at the railing; checking for any missed calls or text messages and taking his time to stretch and warm up. The body feels good today; the stiffness and the pain minimal, the warmer than usual temperatures keeping any arthritis flare ups at bay. There’s a distinct connection between his physical condition and his mental one. When his body feels healthy and he’s able to skip the daily cocktail of pain meds and exercises learned during physio, his mental condition isn’t as fragile. The burden of stress and torment that normally sits upon his shoulders suddenly seeming so much lighter; the usually bottomless and fermented wound in a long ago broken heart not seeming so gaping or festering. He feels energized and renewed; a deep and peaceful sleep and a pain free morning making him feel as if he’s prepared -mentally and physically- to take on the world. It’s still there; the black cloud of depression that hangs over him. But it doesn’t seem so ominous or menacing; those slivers of hope and positivity managing to sneak through.

He takes a moment to relish the view. The peek of the sun on the horizon, the glistening of the snow and the chunks ice that have taken up inhabitance on the surface of the Hudson, the faint glimmer that plays off the windows of the skyscrapers in the distance. There’s moments where he’s truly content here; enjoying the change of pace and admiring the vast differences between New York City and home. Today is one of those days; he feels secure in both where he is and WHO he is. A welcomed outsider as opposed to a strange and mysterious interloper. It’s a reminder that home is wherever his heart lies. His wife and his children sound asleep; warm and safe in their beds only blocks away.

SHE’S his heart; the person that came into his life and turned his world upside down and reminded him that he was still very much alive and had so much more living left to do. Showing him -for the first time in thirty five years- what it was like to be TRULY loved; wholly and completely and unconditionally. Someone so bright eyed and light in heart and spirit; managing to love life and everyone in it despite all of the pain and the suffering that they’d been put through. Giving him what he’d hadn’t even realized he needed; a normal life with everything familiar and mundane and domestic that came with it. Someone to wake up to in the morning; a sleepy smile and soft lips against his own, hands reaching for him and a warm body pressing against his. Going to bed with them every night; those remaining conversations that take place in a darkened, quiet room and the intimacy shared and the love and appreciation expressed.

Once more removing his phone from his pocket, he selects a different playlist and jacks the volume up on his headphones; drowning out the world around him and concentrating on nothing but breaking a sweat and pushing his body to its limits.

*****

It’s shortly after seven when he returns to Gramercy Park. Layers of clothing sticking to sweat soaked skin, beanie long discarded and shoved in his pocket; hair damp and sticking up in several different directions. The tips of his ears and his cheeks flushed from both the chill in the air and the effort and energy he’d put into his run; slow and steady at first, then legs and arms pumping as hard and powerfully as they possibly could. He feels invigorated; a level of energy and exuberance that he hasn’t encountered in weeks. Maybe even months. And it’s a welcome change. Feeling healthy AND content at the same time.

Before returning home he stops at the bodega at the end of the street; filling a basket with the various items Tanner had scrawled onto a post-it note he’d found attached to the fridge. The kid never fails to both surprise and amaze him; constantly finding recipes or ‘science experiments’ on the internet and always insisting on trying his hand at them. Forever curious; holding onto that innocence and that joy and wonder for far longer than any of his older siblings ever had. Phenomenally intelligent and talented; teaching himself how to play the guitar and the piano by ear, his paintings and drawings always appearing as if they’re done by someone so much older and possessing an experienced eye. Emotionally mature and wise, but socially lagging; unable to form friendships and constantly feeling awkward surrounded by groups of people and easily overwhelmed by too much activity and noise. Yet so empathetic and compassionate; easily and powerfully feeling other peoples’ emotions and his moods and behaviour dictated by the mere energies people give off when around him.

The bodega owner greets him with a broad smile and a friendly nod when he approaches the counter. A first name and very few details kind of friendship; Frank the sole proprietor and only full time employee since the store’s opening forty years ago. Short and stocky; a headful of curly salt and pepper hair and a thick moustache and a heavy Bronx accent. Both know very little about the other; talk mostly revolving around the weather and current events and Frank’s never ending curiosity about life in Australia and his overwhelming desire to visit and one day retire there.

“Alone today,” Frank comments, and moves to the small coffee bar -nothing more than a handful of machines and containers for milk and cream- behind the register. It’s an understanding between them; Tyler never needing to ask and Frank knowing his standing order. “That doesn’t happen often. Normally you’ve got at least one or two rug rats hanging off ya.”

“Gotta sneak out when I can.” He empties the contents of the basket onto the counter; the latter he stores in the rack at the end of the counter. “How’s business?”

“Quiet. Same thing every Christmas. The elite like to get away. They’re going to where you’re from, and your kind are coming here. Must be quite the culture shock, huh? Going from the sand and the sun to this crap?” It’s a typical conversation starter; the same opening question Tyler’s been asked every single visit for three years running.

“It’s a change, that’s for sure. Can’t say I wouldn’t rather be back in the sand and the sun. But…”

“But the kiddos and the sweetheart like it. I get it. When my daughter moved to Phoenix with her husband about ten years back, she insisted on coming back here every Christmas. Missed the cold and the white shit too much. Who the hell is crazy enough to miss THAT?”

“Wife says it’s the magic of the season. Wants the kids to experience it. White Christmas and all that. And they enjoy it; skating, sledding, snowball fights, all of that crap. If they’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I hear ya there. Makes a man’s life much more easy and relaxed, that’s for sure. If the littles and the wife are happy, things are a lot more pleasant, know what I’m saying?. They all doing well?”

“No complaints. Got spoiled at Christmas, Aunt’s coming to visit today, big brother’s getting married in three days…”

“Busy, busy. Not rest for the weary. How’s that cute little wife of yours?”

“Still little. Still cute.”

“How you holding up? Must be hard being away from home. From what you’re used to.”

“I miss it,” Tyler admits, and nods his appreciation for the coffee that’s set down in front of him; black, no sugar. “It’ll be nice to get back. It’s quieter there. No one really around. Just our own slice of paradise. Private. Just the way I like it.”

“You definitely are a stickler for your privacy, aren’t ya.”

“I’ve got my reasons. For keeping to myself.”

“Just not a people person, huh?”

“I like people. Some don’t like me. It’s better if they keep away. Especially from my family.”

Frank nods in understanding, then begins ringing up and bagging the purchases. “Gotta like a man that will defend and protect his own, no matter what.”

“You do what you gotta do,” Tyler reasons, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie when he feels his cellphone vibrate against him. Eyes narrowing and a frown playing on his lips when he reads the text sent by his wife; complaining about being woken up from a dead sleep by the ‘new nuisance in town’ repeatedly ringing the doorbell.

He was confident they’d seen and heard the last of Natalie. While he’d been grateful for her assistance in the American Girl store during Addie’s disappearance, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. His already agitated and guilt stricken mood made even worse but yet another attempt on her part to proposition him; boldly stating in front of other customers and his children and granddaughter that while playing hard to get only made him sexier, it was time to put an end to the games. It was obvious -in her mind- that he was attracted to her and was only holding back out of a sense of loyalty and obligation to the woman who’d given him seven offspring.

The sex would be off the charts, Natalie had whispered in his ear, and brazenly attempted a crotch grab while waiting in line at the register. Not caring about the still sobbing Addie in his arms and tightly clinging to him, or the furious glares that Brookie was shooting in her direction. He hadn’t been kind in his rejection; angrily yanking her hand away with enough force to cause her to wince in pain and for his fingers to bruise the skin around her wrist. And he’d kept his tone low yet forceful when he’d told her to back off; he wouldn’t tolerate blatant disrespect towards his wife, especially in front of two of the children she’d not only hand in creating, but had carried inside of her.

“Bad news?” Frank inquires, and pushes the plastic bags across the counter.

“Something I’d rather NOT be dealing with.” He tucks his phone back into his pocket and checks the total on the register; pulling forty from his wallet and waving off the change when Frank begins to hand it over. “But it’s probably better in my hands that my wife’s.”

“Feisty little thing, ain’t she,” Frank chuckles. “I still remember when she told that one kid off for checking out your one girl. Your oldest. She was over there looking at the magazines, minding her own business, and some fucking high school joker was checking her out and making comments to his buddies. Your wife certainly isn’t afraid to mix things up, is she.”

“You don’t mess with a mumma bear. She’s tiny, but she’ll rip you apart,”

Frank grins, “Bet that makes you toe the line, huh?”

“I long ago learned what buttons NOT to push. She looks all cute and sweet and innocent, but trust me, that girl can fuck someone up. I’ll probably see you later.” He gathers up the bags in one hand, cup of coffee in the other. “TJ and Declan will want to come by. They also do when you get the new Archie comics.”

“Already put two aside from them. Gotta treat my best customers right. And speaking of that privacy you like so much…”

Tyler pauses in the doorway.

“You ain’t gonna like what I have to tell you.”

“Not when you put it like that I won’t.” He once more approaches the register. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s been in here a few times asking about you. And your family. I meant to tell you yesterday, but you had the girls with you and I didn’t want to bring something up that might spook them or upset them.”

“Someone from the neighbourhood?”

“A newcomer. Some woman. Tall, blond, need a power washer to get all that crap off her face. Why do women do that? Why do they feel the need to smear on the war paint? Looking like damn clowns is what they look like. I don’t want to be stuck in the rain with a girl and turn around and look at her and find damn eyebrows washed away, know what I’m saying? Wake up next to them and all the makeup is gone and you no longer recognize them and you think some strange woman snuck into bed with ya in the middle of the night.”

“What did she want, Frank? What did she want to know?”

“Little questions, mostly. Mostly about you and your wife. How you met, what her name was before she met you, where she’s from originally, family life. That kind of thing. Wanted to know your last name but I told her I had no clue. First names only. That’s the way it’s always been.”

“Ask anything about my kids?”

“Just wanted to know their ages, school grades, stuff like that. I didn't have any info to give her and I told her that much. Also said even if I DID know, I wouldn’t cough it up to her or anyone else. Awful nosey, don’t you think? Trying to get up in a man’s business like that?”

“She’s definitely treading on thin ice. I appreciate it. That you wouldn’t tell her even if you did know that stuff.”

“Ain’t nobody's business what you do with your life. And it especially ain’t none of their concern when it comes to children. That’s just creepy as hell, if you ask me. Think she’s up to no good? Trying to cause trouble? With you and the missus?”

“I don’t know what she’s up to.” He moves towards the door. “I’ll find out though. One way or another. Thanks for letting me know. And for having our backs.”

“You and your family have been nothing but good to me, figure I should return the favour. Let me know how it turns out, would ya? Once you find out just what she’s up to. Inquiring minds want to know, and all.”

“I’ll let you know,” Tyler promises, and uses a forearm to push open the door.

“Hey!” Frank calls to him, and he pauses on the threshold. “What IS your last name?”

“Drummond.” The lie rolls easily off the tongue. Almost TOO easily.

“Tyler Drummond,” Frank nods as he considers it. “Got a nice ring to it. You know, you don’t look like a Tyler.”

“Yeah,” he grins, and steps out the door. “So I’ve been told.”

*****

He finds her in the kitchen. Back turned towards the doorway as she waits for the toaster to finish its cycle; repetitively tapping the end of a butter knife against the granite countertop as her body repeatedly shifts weight from one side to the other. Well known evidence of agitation and simmering anger; body always needing to be in motion, anxiety propelled nervous ‘tics’. She’s been fighting her own battle against mental illness for longer than he’s known her; the years of psychological torment inflicted by her mother -and eventually an emotionally, physically, and sexually abusive husband- leaving wounds far deeper and more punishing than anything his body has ever experienced. Medication and therapy have helped, as has finding her own ‘niche’ in the world beyond just being a wife and a mother; running her own business, a once weekly yoga and meditation class, her own strenuous workout plan that he’d helped her create. She’s always managed well considering; panic and anxiety attacks fairly uncommon and periods of deep and crippling depression far and few between.

While he always admonishes her for taking on too much and throwing herself into caring for others instead of herself, she swears that it helps; keeping her mind and her body occupied and not giving her a chance to sit still for too long and dwell on things. He’s sure there’s some PTSD in there. The incident on the Sultana Kamal Bridge still weighs heavily on her; unable to sit down and talk about it without having an emotional meltdown and suffering from the occasional night terror. But she always shrugs off the idea of additional help and supports; insisting she’s fine and just needs to keep busy and that things will pass. They always do. And even though she’s infamous for calling him the most stubborn human on the planet, he’s pretty sure that it’s HER that actually holds that title.

Per Tanner’s written instructions, he leaves the bodega purchases in their bags; carrying them into the pantry and placing them in a plastic tote box marked with his son’s name. The ten year old very particular and detail oriented; extremely neat and tidy and having his own anxiety attacks if anyone dares to upset his ebb and flow. For his seventh birthday, the only gifts he’d requested were a label maker and over two dozen food storage containers; adamant that those were the only things he wanted and didn’t care about the idea of a new bike or surfboard or the latest gaming system. Less than twenty four hours after receiving what he so desperately coveted, he’d used them to reorganize the pantry at home; everything stored in plastic containers and labelled appropriately and throwing a fit if anyone didn’t alphabetical order when putting things back on the shelves. THAT had prompted them to finally seek out a diagnosis for him. They had suspected it for years; Tanner sitting some place on the Autism spectrum. Yet it had still been hard to hear the words come out of the specialist’s mouth; fear and worry and concerns for his future flooding through them as they saw the words neatly printed out in their son’s medical chart.

“Everyone still asleep?” he inquires, as he finally approaches. Standing behind her with his hands on her hips; lips meeting the top of her head as his fingers gently knead the supple flesh. Even when -uncharacteristically- grumpy first thing in the morning, she is always at her most adorable; hair messy and face still puffy from sleep, petite frame clad in her infamous mismatched pyjamas. Today it’s a pair of scrubs with the word Columbia printed across the ass and a faded and tattered t-shirt from his side of the closet; miles too big on her yet somehow sexy at the same time.

“Thankfully. Takota woke up in a panic; the doorbell scared the ever loving shit out of him. You know how it is; things always seem a thousand times louder when you’re asleep. I cuddled with him for a bit; he’s passed out in the middle of our bed now.”

Draping an arm across her collarbone, he presses a kiss to her temple, then watches in amusement as she tends to the toasted bagel now sitting on the plate in front of her; putting enough force behind buttering it that the knife pierces the toast.

“You know…” his lips rest against the side of her head. “...you’re not supposed to stab the damn thing.”

“Better to stab this than walk down the street and stab that bitch in the fucking face,” she reasons. “I don’t think I’m in the position in my life where it would be a good idea to go to prison.”

“Definitely wouldn’t be ideal at this point and time. Not to mention you always complain about how shitty you look in orange. So how about we NOT stab anyone and try to rein in our homicidal tendencies?” Reaching around her, he wrenches the knife out of her shockingly tight and strong grip; completing the preparation of the bagel for her.

She tips her head back to look at him, smiling in appreciation. “I’m mad.”

“I can see that.”

“What is that woman’s major malfunction? Why is she so goddamn insistent on seeing you? I mean, I know you’re hot and the walking and breathing definition of masculinity and you’re enough to make even the old ladies all weak in the knees, but fuck…” she turns around to face him; plate in her hand as she leans back against the counter. “...she is WAY worse than any thirsty females on the playground or at the soccer park.”

“She’s something else alright.” He moves to the kettle boiling on the stove; snagging a clean mug from the drainboard by the sink and a tea bag from a canister on the counter.

“To show up here at all is a dumb ass thing to do. But at seven in the morning? Knowing there’s a house full of littles here? She has a kid of her own. I doubt she’d like if someone popped up on her doorstep and woke her crotch fruit up.”

“I don’t think she gives a shit, Me. About our kids OR her own.”

“She treats that kid like a goddamn accessory. Have you seen the way she dresses that little girl? Fur coats and Gucci and Chanel, a freaking bracelet and earrings from Tiffany’s. The kid even carries a bloody Birkin bag! She’s six! What the hell kind of parent buys stuff like that for ANY kid? Never mind a six year old.”

“A person with money to burn apparently.”

“WE have money to burn. And then some. Our kids wear clothes from Target. The occasional UnderArmour or Nike swag here or there. Most expensive thing on them is their shoes. And not even THOSE are over a hundred bucks.”

“Millie does have that expensive purse,” he points out, as he stands in front of the open fridge door and snags a carton of milk; dumping the preferred and required amount into the steaming mug of tea. “The pink one.”

“The Chanel. Yes, she does have that. And you know why she does? Because when Millie says ‘daddy, I really like that’, daddy goes ahead and buys it for her and doesn’t even bother to check the make or the price tag. That is SOLELY on you.”

“Daddy likes to spoil his girls,” he reasons, offering the mug as he rejoins her. “Especially the oldest one.”

“Millie always HAS been your favourite.”

“I meant YOU,” he presses a chaste peck to her lips when she turns her face up towards him. “Not Millie. I spoil you way more than I spoil any of those kids.”

“And how many times have you been told NOT to?”

“Way too many to count. How many times have I told you that I don’t give a shit what you say and that I’m going to keep on doing it?”

Smirking, she rips a piece of bagel off with her teeth. “Touche.”

“What did she want?” He stands next to her, palms resting on the edge of the counter. “The nuisance?”

“To be just that. A nuisance. I kept telling her you weren’t home. That you’d gone out for a bit. She wasn’t having any of it. Insisted that I was lying and accused me of being jealous and possessive and told me that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep you away from her. Something about 'you can’t stop what the heart AND the body want'.”

He gives a derisive snort.

“I don’t know. By that point I had already tuned out and was fantasizing about how I was going to kill her and dispose of her body. What the hell is her issue? I get that she has a raging female boner for you and in all fairness, I don’t blame her. But that woman is coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs. And I don’t use that term lightly. I save that for the REALLY crazy ones.”

“Did she say what she wanted? Why she even came over here?”

“You mean other than to jump on your dick? Or to convince me that you and her have some undeniable sexual chemistry and that you’re reluctant to leave me because I’m clingy and needy and have trapped you with half a dozen kids? Plus one.”

“She said that?”

“Every last word. Apparently you and her have really hit it off. There’s some kind of powerful and potent sexual and emotional connection between the two of you. News to me.”

“She’s fucking delusional. You realize that, yeah?”

“Big time delusional. I know what you’re like. I know how much you love me and your kids; how you’re unwaveringly faithful and loyal. I’ve never doubted any of that. I’ve never had a reason to. If you wanted out, you would have left a long time ago. You’ve had your chances.”

“I don’t want out. I’m all in. I’ve been all in for twelve and half years. I’m all in for the rest of my life. So sorry, Me. You’re stuck with me. Until the bitter end.”

“I can think of worse fates. But what the hell is her problem? Who does shit like this? Calling on another woman’s husband? Making up bullshit like that? Trying to cause problems between people?”

“A crazy person, that’s who. That’s all she wanted? To see me?”

“To give you Addie’s mitts back. I guess she left them at the American Girl store and crazy lady picked them up. Couldn’t she just leave them in the mailbox instead of showing up and ringing the doorbell at seven in the morning? Is that NOT what a normal person would do?”

“I think we’ve already established that she’s NOT normal.”

“You didn’t tell me she was there yesterday,” Esme sips at her tea. “At the American Girl place.”

“I thought I did.”

“That’s my sworn enemy. I would definitely remember if you told me something like that.”

Tyler shrugs. “Guess it just slipped my mind with everything else that was going. With Addie flipping out and me feeling like shit for losing it on her, telling you about the neighbour wasn’t the first thing on my agenda. I probably should have, but…”

“So she just happened to be there? At the American Girl lunch?”

“Yup. Showed up with her kid.”

“Kind of a coincidence, don’t you think? That she’d be there on the EXACT same day? I don’t mean to go all paranoid and possessive and jealous wife, but…”

“You’re not paranoid. And aren’t we all a little possessive? And jealous? When we love someone? I’m that way with you. I don’t like guys checking you out and making comments towards you and all that. And if that makes me possessive and jealous…” shrugging, he reaches for her tea and takes a sip.

“This woman has serious issues, Tyler. She’s nuts. Certifiably, I think. Didn’t you already tell her to leave you alone? That you’re married? Happily?”

“More than once.”

“Does she not realize some men actually DO value the sanctity of marriage? Mind you, it doesn’t seem like many these days, but still.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of married men she’s used to, Me. I don’t think I fit HER definition of a married man. And it’s not for the lack of trying to scare her off. I’ve tried. Several times. Doesn’t seem to be getting through.”

“She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. Still, I don’t like someone pissing in my front yard. Continuously. Seems awful weird; her somehow showing up nearly everywhere you go. I can see the park being a one off; she was new to the community, saw a parent there and took it upon herself to try and make friends. But everything else? When you took the kids for lunch, when you and I were on our date; we SAW her watching us from her living room window. She didn’t hide it.”

“That was a little...odd,” Tyler admits.

“And how many times has she suddenly popped into the bodega when you’ve been there with the boys?”

“I’d say nine times out of ten.”

“That’s way too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“I do think that. I also think we need to talk about it. About all of this.”

“Oh God…” she grimaces. “...you ARE leaving me for her.”

“What?” He can’t help but laugh. “No, baby. NO. I am definitely NOT leaving you for her. For ANYONE. I already told you; I’m in this right to the end. Whenever that may be. There’s no one else, Me.” Draping an arm across her shoulders, he pulls her into him; lips meeting her temple and lingering for several seconds. “There’s just you. There’s always just been just you. Always will be.”

“And we need to talk about her because…”

“Because there’s more going on than you realize. More than just her showing up places.”

Esme frowns, mug poised at her lips. “Uh oh. I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

“Believe me, I don’t like it either. What’s going. But you’re right; that woman definitely DOES have issues.”

“Other than being a stalker you mean?”

“I don’t know EXACTLY what’s going on. Or how serious it is. But I don’t like it. What she’s up to.”

“And coming from someone with your instincts and your background? That’s saying something. Do I need to worry about it? Is it something we need to really watch out for and take seriously and…?”

"I honestly don't know, babe. But she knows stuff. About us. She somehow knows our name. Called me by first AND last yesterday. I've never told her what it is. And I highly doubt you did."

“I want to stab the woman in the face with a butter knife, so I think it's safe to say I’m NOT going to be out there telling her personal things. How WOULD she find that out? It’s not like it’s advertised anywhere. Frank doesn’t know it, Desi wouldn’t say anything.”

“She tried to blame TJ. Said she talked to him when he was out shovelling snow and that he coughed up the info. I confronted him and he denied it. Said that she DID stop to talk to him and all he told her was his first name. That’s it. Told me he knows better than that; not to tell strangers much about us.”

“TJ doesn’t lie. Not since he got caught...on camera...denting your truck and trying to tell me that it wasn’t him. He learned his lesson, believe me. And out of all the kids who would be a blabber mouth? He’s the last one. He idolizes you. The last thing he wants to do is piss you off or disappoint you. So when you tell him what to do or what NOT to do, he listens.”

“So how did she know? If neither of us told her and Desi didn’t say anything and we know it’s not TJ…”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t been around any of the other kids. They’d all say something. They’d tell us if she was asking questions.”

“She had to find out from somewhere. Someone had to tell her. It’s not like that info is just out there for anyone to look up. You don’t even use a real last name on the internet. We’ve been careful. We locked everything down five years ago. Made sure people couldn’t find shit out. But somehow…”

Sighing heavily, she carries her empty mug and dirty plate to the sink, then rejoins him; standing between his legs with her hands on his hips. “Do you think it's something serious? Something we need to worry about?”

“Are you asking me if I think she’s a threat?”

Esme nods.

“I don’t get that feeling from her. I don’t think she’s the type that gets her hands dirty. More the type that aids the person that does.”

“That sounds familiar. I distinctly remember someone else who used to do exactly that.”

“Let’s not compare the two of you. You’re nothing alike.”

“I used to help people get their hands dirty. I used to ask all the questions and find out all the info and then pass it along to guys like you. Sounds like she might be into the same kind of thing. Have you looked into her? Find out anything about her?”

“Not much to find out. Couple things here and there but nothing serious. I know she used to be in a relationship with the District Attorney in Chicago. There was a write up about it; the two of them at some charity event a few years back.”

“Is he the ex husband?”

“If he is…” he tucks her hair behind her ears, then cradles her face in his palms; thumbs repeatedly brushing against her cheeks. “...she’s never gone by his last name. I checked into that, too.”

“Maybe try Nik. She’s got a real knack of finding things about people. Things they’ve long kept buried. I’m sure she’d look into it. Probably have better luck than you.”

“If it comes to that, I’ll go in that direction. But I was thinking…”

She smirks. “I don’t think I like the way you said that...”

“...that if you still had any of your old contacts….”

“My old contacts? I haven’t spoken to any of them in years. Not since the whole fuck up with Nathan and the fake papers from the Marines. I haven’t talked to any of those people since.”

“What about people in the game? That you worked for BEFORE Nik? You ever talk to any of them?”

“There’s a couple I interact once in a while but mostly about non job related stuff. Just random checking in on each other and seeing how our lives are going. You’re not serious about this, are you? About wanting ME to try and find things out? I haven’t had a finger on that particular pulse in a long time.”

“The circle’s pretty tight,” Tyler reasons. “Once you’re in it, you’re never really out of it. There’s guys I haven’t talked to in years but I know I could call if I needed a favour. Maybe you’ve got a couple of those too. People that would do you a solid if you needed them to.”

“I thought we agreed that I’d put that part of my life behind me? We talked about this. After I royally messed things up by not realizing those papers sent to me were fake. I mean, it’s practically my fault that Nathan managed to get a hold of you in the first place.”

“Okay, we’re NOT going to go there. Because none of that is true. It happened. There’s no one to blame. He knew he couldn’t take me in a fair fight. Knew he had to get me from behind. Take me down.”

“And he wouldn’t have been able to had I NOT called you. Had I realized those papers weren’t the real deal, you never would have gone there and confronted him. We would have waited for the legit documents and you would have known how unstable he was. Instead, I just sent you in there and…”

“Let’s get one thing straight. You didn’t do anything. I went in there on my own. It was my choice. I had the chance; to walk away and leave him there. And I didn’t. I went back in. You had nothing to do with it.”

“If I’d known about the papers…”

“YOU had nothing to do with it,” he repeats. “There was no way you could have known what we were dealing with. Same way I couldn’t have known. It happened. Nathan did what he did.”

“Yeah, and you almost died. Because I was careless and…”

“Stop,” he presses a kiss to her lips in order to silence. “We are NOT going to talk about him. Nothing good ever comes out of talking about that asshole. So can we not? Bring him up? Can we let this go?”

“I just…”

“Drop it,” he orders, and then pecks the tip of her nose. “Please.”

“All I’m saying is…”

“Oh my god, woman. Stop.” Placing a kiss to her forehead, he gathers her into his arms; pulling her tightly into him, hands locking together at the small of her back. “We’re not going to talk about this. Five years ago. It never leads to anything good. And I really do not feel like fighting with you. Not after the night we had last night.”

Smiling, she wraps both arms around his waist. “It was a good night.”

“A very good night.” He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “You were fucking incredible.”

“I was, was I?” She looks up at him, bottom of her chin resting on his chest. “You weren’t too shabby either. You know how to raise the bar impossibly high, I’ll tell you that much. And that whole thing in the tub? We need to do that again. ASAP.”

“Thought you didn’t enjoy it. You were practically having a temper tantrum.”

“I was frustrated. Do you know that aggravating it is? Getting that close and having someone just yank the carpet out from under you? Do you have any idea how maddening that is?”

“Actually, I do. You’ve done it to me. Many times. But if you want to do it again…”

“I do. There’s a lot of things I want to do again. And again. And again. With you.”

“Baby, I aim to please.”

“And you do. Very well, as a matter of fact. Even though I am still slightly embarrassed by my reaction. You know, when I…in the tub...when you…”

“When I made you squirt?” He chuckles when she gives an embarrassed groan and buries her face in his shirt. “Why does that make you all shy and shit? I’m the last person you should be embarrassed around. We’ve been doing some dirty shit since day one. You think you would have stopped getting embarrassed a long time ago. I’ve only been your husband for twelve and a half years.”

“It’s just so...I don’t know...gross.”

“Gross? It’s fucking hot. It’s a turn on. Knowing I can make you do THAT? It doesn’t happen often; you getting THAT worked up.”

“Well I guess you need to try harder,” she teases, and gives a yelp when he brings both palms down onto her ass in ringing slaps and then squeezes tightly. “I have to say, husband. You really are a man among men. I definitely hit the jackpot when I landed you. Smartest thing I ever did; letting you put a ring on it.”

“Even though you didn’t want to marry me at first?”

“For the record…” her hands move to his sides, softly and repeatedly moving over his ribs. “...I never said I didn’t want to marry you. I said I was scared to get married again. That I was worried we were going to fuck things up. And I loved you and I didn’t want us to fuck them up. We both had pretty bad track records when it came to marriage.”

“That’s because we both married the wrong people the first time around.”

“I was just scared. I didn’t want things to go bad between us. Not when they already seemed so good. And if that meant staying the happily unmarried couple…”

“But I wasn’t okay with that. I wanted to get married. To you. And before you ask? No. Not because you were having Millie. She had nothing to do with it. I would have wanted to marry you even if there hadn’t been a baby. But I’m glad there was. She’s pretty awesome. They all are.”

“Yeah,” she smiles up at him. “They are. We’ve done good work, Tae. We definitely make some pretty damn beautiful babies. And it’s kind of sad; that there won’t be anymore. Kind of bittersweet. But I think it’s time for us, don’t you? Time for you and I to concentrate on each other for a change. I don’t want that to be all there is to us. Two people raising kids together.”

“There’s way too much between us for it to ever be just that,” he assures her. Laying a hand on the small of her back, he once more pulls her tightly into him; fingers of his other hand biting into the cheek of her ass when he covers her mouth with his.

The kiss is long and soft and slow; her arms wrapping around his waist as she stands on the top of his feet in order to give her that little bit of extra height. Her lips moving against his in perfect unison; moulding and fitting together in ways he’d never experienced with anyone else before. Bodies so in sync with each other; always so responsive and eager.

“I have another favour to ask,” he says when he pulls away, hands settling on her hips.

“You keep kissing me like that?” Her eyes are still closed as she sighs heavily and dreamily. “ For the rest of my life? You can ask as many favours as you want.”

“I don’t want you causing issues with Riley. Over the fentanyl.”

Her eyes snap open; a frown curving her lips as she looks up at him.

“She didn’t give it to me with bad intentions. It wasn’t like she was hooking me up with a fix. That’s not what I wanted it for. It had nothing to do with being an addict and everything to do with the pain I was in. I had screwed that knee up and it was going to be months before they could do another reconstruction and I couldn’t take much more. That’s how bad it was. How bad I was suffering. And I knew the doctor wouldn’t give me anything else. That he’d think I was just drug seeking; in it to get a high.”

“So you asked her.”

“I couldn’t ask Ovi. I knew he’d tell you. And I didn’t want him getting caught and his whole career going down the toilet before it even started. So when Riley came up here that summer, I asked her for something stronger. To hook me up with something that could help. And she put up a good fight; she wasn’t going to go give in. I’m the one who convinced her to. Promised I’d only use it when necessary.”

“And did you? Use it just when necessary?”

“Only when the pain got to be too much. She gave me enough pills to last a couple months. I only took eight. In the two weeks we were here. That’s it. When we were ready to go back home, I put them in the medicine cabinet and never thought about them again.”

“Until the other night.”

Tyler nods. “It scared the fuck out of me, Esme. How easy it was to take to them. To remember they were even there. I didn’t even give it a second thought. I just grabbed them and took them. No hesitation.”

“You realize how badly that could have gone, right? You don’t play around with that stuff, Tyler. That is some heavy duty shit and you just went ahead and took six of them and…”

“Not one of my finer moments.”

“It could have killed you. That many. You know that, right? It could have killed you. Did you even stop to think about that? About what would happen? How I’d find you dead? On Christmas morning? Did that even occur to you?”

“No,” he admits. “And that’s what scared me. The fact I didn’t think of any of that. That I just took the stuff. Like I’d done it a million times before.”

“Did you WANT something bad to happen?”

“No, babe. I didn’t. I just needed to shut my brain up. I just needed to get away from it. I needed peace and fucking quiet. An escape. From what goes on in my head.”

“I’m going to ask you something and I want you to be one hundred percent honest with me. No matter how hard it will be for me to hear or how bad you think it will hurt me. I need you to tell me the truth. Can you do that? Be honest with me?”

“I can.”

“Do you want to die? Right now. Right this second. Is that what your brain is telling you? Is that what it’s BEEN telling you? That it would be better if you weren’t here? That my life and the kids’ lives would somehow be better if you weren’t around anymore? Has it been telling you that?”

“How did we get onto this? I was just asking you not to go off on Riley. That she was only trying to help and…”

“Please don’t do that. Deflect. I’m scared too. It frightens me that you found it so easy to take those pills. That you didn’t even stop to think of what could happen. How it could have killed you and what that would have done to me. And the kids. That isn’t like you; you weigh options and you analyze every scenario and you consider every possible consequence. So I need to know. Did you take those pills because your brain is telling you that you’re better off dead?”

“Esme…”

“Tyler…” her voice cracks with emotion and she valiantly fights back against a flood of threatening tears. “...I need you to tell me the truth. I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with here. I need to know just how serious this is. I need you to tell me what’s REALLY going on in your head. So we can get past this and figure shit out and work on how to help you.

“I don’t…”

“I know you’re just trying to protect me. And believe me, I love you so much for that. The fact you’ve always protected me. No matter what. But right now I need to know the truth. Or we won’t get past this. Do you want to die?”

He swallows heavily. “Sometimes.”

“When was the last time you thought of it? When you felt that way?”

“Couple days ago.”

She briefly looks away in an attempt to control her emotions. “That night you took the fentanyl? Did you want to die then?”

He nods.

“Jesus….” she rakes a hand through her hair, then places it over her mouth; tears managing to escape. “...I mean, I was pretty sure you were going to say yes. We’ve been in this place before. I’ve taken a loaded gun out of your hand, for crying out loud. But to actually hear it…”

“I’m sorry, Me. I’m sorry that my brain is the way it is. I am so fucking sorry.”

“I know you can’t help it. I know it’s an illness and I know first hand how bad it can get. But I just…” she takes a deep, quivering breath and slowly releases it. “....I need to go and get some air or something. I need to just get out and get my shit together. I need…”

“Baby….” he attempts to move his hands to her shoulders, but is foiled when she takes a step backwards.

“I need to get out of here. Just for an hour. Just to clear my head and accept this and figure out a way to deal with it. It’s not you, Tyler. You realize that, right? Please tell me you realize that.”

“I do. I do realize that.”

“I just don’t know how much more I can take,” she admits. “I am so close to breaking and if that happens, I won’t be of any use to you. Or the kids. I just need some fresh air and a chance to get myself together and come to terms with this. With just how bad it actually is. Can you give me that? Just that little bit of time?”

“Of course I can.”

“It’s not you,” she repeats, and moves closer to him. Once more perching herself on top of his feet; both arms reaching up to circle his neck. “I need you to know it’s not you.”

“I know that, Me.” He cradles her face in his palms; fingers gently brushing away the tears that glisten on her face. “Just tell me you’re coming back. That you’re not just going to walk out of here and leave me and our kids. Tell me…”

“I’m not leaving you. Or them. I just need some time. An hour, even. Just to get my shit together. Just to sort through all of this stuff in my head. I’m not going anywhere, Tyler. I’m not walking away from you. From our family. From US. That isn’t even an option.”

“I’m just worried you’re going to walk out and realize it’s just too much. That I’M too much.”

“That’s not going to happen,” she assures him. “I love you. My whole world begins and ends with you. I need to be able to help you. And right now? I don’t think I can. I feel like I'm drowning. Or like I’m walking on really thin ice and one bad step is just going to pull me under. And I need to be okay. I need to be strong. For you.”

“I need you to be strong for YOURSELF. Why haven’t you told me any of this? About how you’re feeling? Being this close to the edge? Why…?”

“Not right now, okay? I’m going to go and get dressed and get some air. And when I come back, we’ll talk. We’ll get TJ and Millie and Alannah to watch everyone and we’ll sit down and talk. Get it all out in the open. BEFORE Riley gets here. I’m coming home, you know. It’s not like I’m disappearing off the face of the earth. I WILL be back.”

“And I’ll be here. No matter long how it takes.”

“An hour,” she promises, and turns her face up to his when he leans down to kiss her. “I didn’t lose you to Dhaka,” she says, and places her hands over his; eyes closing as his lips press against her forehead. “And I sure as hell won’t lose you to your own mind.”

[ladyleahcat]

Seraphine’s Lore Rework

So.. I have to say that I was really hyped for Seraphine. I followed her in social media and I really liked her design. But, after her lore and abilities were revealed, it just felt... out of place in Runeterra. Her in-game abilities don’t make sense with her natural gift. She doesn't have a grand purpose, or breaking point in her story that motivates her to be... you know, a champion. So, I tried to fix the lore. Please be kind, and let me know what you think (English is not my native language, so there may be some redaction mistakes). 

I don't have an extensive knowledge of the LoL universe, so here goes nothing! (I took the official one and changed a little bit too much... I kinda throw away the dream of unity between Zaun and Piltover. And knowing that the Brackerns communicated through MUSIC it´s a fact too rich to ignore. I did a little reseach and took some terms and ideas from Skarner’s short story).

As a child, Seraphine always loved music, especially her father’s lullabies. The songs were beautiful, but sad. He and Seraphine’s mother—two lifelong Zaunites—always dreamt of a better life in the City of Progress. But poor as they were, they did everything they could to give their only child a decent life in Zaun.

Leaning out the window of their hexcoustics workshop, where broken sound tech was made to play again, Seraphine sang along with the dark streets. The constant sound of the leaking pipework, working machinery and wispered conversation was her companion.

Over time, Seraphine realized she could sense songs too private, too personal, for any ordinary person to hear. And as she grew, so did the intensity of her gifts. She heard every person’s soul, loving or cruel—turning the streets she’d once loved into an overwhelming cacophony of conflicting desires. How could she make sense of the voices if none of them harmonized? Some days, she hid shivering in a corner, hands over her ears, unable to hear herself above the chaos and feeling her sanity slowly escape.

Seraphine’s parents couldn’t bear seeing her struggle. Even scraping together their savings, they knew it was not enough to help her. Risking their own safety, they made a deal with powerfull mechants in Zaun´s black market to purchase a shard of a rare hextech crystal. And so, they crafted a device that dampened her magical hearing. For the first time in years, there was silence.

Within that quiet, though, Seraphine heard something—someone. The crystal had a consciousness. But it was hard to hear, and harder to comprehend. Seraphine, awed, asked for guidance. But the crystal refused communication. She made her goal to achieve understanding of this rare soul, but her attempts were interrupted by tragedy.

The debt of the crystal was greater that what her parents could pay, and the mechants, tired of waiting, decided to claim the price in their own way. On the darkest of the nights, the rumbling sound of incessant knocking on the door accompanied by violent threats awoke the family. Taking their few possessions, they intended to flee, but, Seraphine´s father knew they would be followed. Giving his wife and daugther one last kiss, he ordered them to run and never look back, while he faced their attackers. They did, and in the distance the sounds of gunshots rang out. Seraphine was ten when she saw her dad for the last time.

Full of sorrow, the broken family got to Piltover with almost nothing. There were difficult days of cold and hunger until Sera´s mother could grab a job at a hextech workshop, as she refused to sell the crystal, see her child suffer, and let her late husband´s sacrifice go to waste.

Seraphine refused to sing the first months in Piltover, as it didn´t feel like home anymore, and it hurt to much to remember, while she also felt all their disgrace were her fault. One day, through her pain, she finally heard a distant voice. The lethargic soul hidden in the crystal slowly opened up to her. It told her stories and songs of the old brackern race. About how it once was big and respected, and how the greedy softskins destroyed it to gain the power of the crystal namestones hidden within their bodies. Horrified, Seraphine realized how the city that surrounded her was powered by the brackern, and so, she asked the voice why it had decided to share all that information with her. With a kind voice, it answered that she had a unique talent to hear souls and songs, and, that she could understand the pain of loss after what she had been through, just like it had lost its kin a long time ago. Then, the soul inside the crystal proposed a way to help them both.

The brackern knew Seraphine had a gift, and he could teach her to amplify it with magic. To give her voice power, potency and purpose. She could ease, enchant and thrill the crowds, gain fame and fortune, and give her mother a better life. But she could also inflict pain, make suffer and bring death to those who took her father away. The soul only wanted something in return.

There was an old ritual that brackerns knew about. The content of their namestones was to precious to get lost, and they designed a way to bring their race back if something ever went wrong. The proccess requiered to gather a great amount of brackern crystals in a hidden temple within the deserts of old Shurima. But it demanded a great price. The same amount of souls of a single different race in exchange for the awakening of each soul of the dormant one. The brackern wanted them to be human, as it seemed as a fair exchange. The enchanting dreamsong to fulfill the process had to be sung by a representative of each of both races. And she was the perfect candidate of her kin to do so.

Seraphine felt dread all over her body and refused, at first, to cooperate with the crystal; imagining the amount of people she would be required to slay. But as the weeks passed, and she and her mother keep on struggling to survive each day, Seraphine decided to agree to the plan. The brackern teached her a melody to seal their agreement, and with it, theirs souls were bounded to commitement, while allowing their magic to flow and combine. Their practice together begun. Each night, Seraphine grabbed her crystal and escaped to the superficial sewers of Zaun to rehearse. Slowly, she learned to manage the noise. Seraphine felt the crystal´s influence as it helped her understand how to resonate with a crowd, to sing with them, using her dampener less each day. Soon, she realized her full potential, and started to develop dangerous skills as well as the brackern teached her magic enchanting melodies of old. It took them years of practice. When she felt ready, Seraphine asked her mom for help to turn her dampener into an amplifier to test her full abilities.

The first time she performed in front of an audience, testing her skills, she was sixteen, and nervous beyond words. She choose a poor street of Piltover to start. With simple clothes and just her amplifier made of old recicled hextech, she started singing. And soon, a crowd gathered enchanted with her lovely voice and bewitching melodies, as she could take all of their personal songs and hopes to turn them into heart touching harmonies. The first day she collected so many coins that her mother and her were able to buy new things for the first time. With each passing day, the crowds were getting bigger, the profit was growing, allowing her little family to slowly achieve the life they always dreamt of. Still, something was missing—in the crowds, and in herself. She knew her father’s crime was still impune and with each song, his memory was painfully revived. She wanted justice.

Using her newfound richness, Seraphine located the merchants that took her father's life and (by her crystal's indication) collected a vast amount of a very special type of mineral, native from the Shadow Isles. Taking advantage of the cloak of night and her growing abilities, she descended into Zaun to make them pay. She infiltrated their place, lured the group of men and their leader with a beautiful melody and then took their lifes with one of the most complex ancient songs the brackern had teached her. Following the elaborate instructions, she absorbed the bodies and souls of the criminals into some shards of the minerals she brought with her, trapping them forever. These were the first souls she would need for the ritual. Taking advance of her accomplishment, she took all of the remaining brackern crystals keept by the band, and then, her mission started.

Although she felt guilty about her actions, she knew that, finally, she had made justice by her own hand, and had found a purpose for her gifts. The brackern's namestones had been waiting for a long time for someone that could listen their dreamsongs and help, and that was exactly was she was about to do. She was born for it. Seraphine knew there was no way she could take all of the brackern crystals in Runeterra, and that not all human souls are aware of the horrors behind the powerfull fuel of hextech, but there were enough gilty ones that she could execute.

Armed with a platform to keep her precious brackern crystals hidden and safe, and also her trapped human victims, she has become the premier star in both Piltover and Zaun. In the public eye, she uses her playful apearance and beautiful voice to enchant the crowds and win their hearts and favor, while she listens for the brackerns old voices slowly awakening inside their cores and calling out for her, singing gladly their dreamsongs. In the shadows, it´s her duty to retrieve them to safety and trap the souls of those who are greedy enough to collect them. She knows one day, she will gather enought of them to make the journey into Shurima´s desert, looking for the one called Skarner that the ancient spirits talk about and being able to, at last, fulfill her destiny.

(I know it’s not that great, but let me know your thoughts and suggestions :3 ) Disclaimer: These characters belong to Riot Games. I don’t own them, I just did this for fun.

[viviswtings]

Sinners. (Mature).

So this is something I thought for the novel I’m actually writing (or that’s what I tell myself). The boy mentioned is completely based off Hwang Hyunjin. But I never name him so he could be whoever. Just like I never say the princesse’s name just to let you all live your dream (and by that I mean me. I wanna live my princess dream with Hyunjin). 

Words:1764.

Warnings: It’s very angsty. It takes place in an ottoman harem like setting, so some of the expressions could be politically or socially incorrect. Also there is mentions of blood, loss of family members, fratricide and prostitution.

She wasn’t meant to be there at such an hour. It was too early, to soon to be wandering around the cold stone halls of the palace. Her satin slippers clicked softly against the marble floor, the freezing feeling creeping up her heel towards her leg, making her toes numb.

But she had heard the screams, the cries of agony, the many different prayers, and the pain had gripped her heart so tight, she no longer could sleep. If she closed her eyes, those of whom she once called sister looked back, void of emotion. The blank stare judged her, pale, cracked lips called her name softly, asking her for help, a help she would never be able to deliver.

So, she walked in the shadows, the veil around her frame mimicking that of night, covering her deepest sorrows and sadness. Hiding them, and her, from the sight of those who guarded the many doors and treasures behind them. She followed any noise that reached her ears, any little stimuli that got to her. Just to get rid of that anguish that threatened to end up consuming her.

This time it had woken her up. A thud, soft and gentle, kept repeating itself, footsteps, she realised. Many of them. And with those footsteps, the drag of feet, belonging to one who did not wish to keep walking, whose step had become heavy and painful, nearly unbearable. She had heard them before, the steps of the damned.

From experience she knew not to follow them, not to search for a damned man, one who was meant to die. But weren’t them all? Weren’t they all going to die anyway? She had seen them, the rope tightening around their neck, slowly, tortuously, as if it was nothing but mocking the soul it was about to take with it.

If they were lucky, the death of warriors would be granted to them as a favour from the Emperor. The sword swiftly cutting the air with a deafening noise, and before one could even tell, the cries of the women he left behind would follow.

For those whose blood could not be spilled, a silken cord handled by the hands of the most expert medic would take them in their sleep. Yet again, only the cries of their women following the next morning. She had cried with those women, she remembered, wearing nothing but black while following a trail of dark and beautiful wooden caskets adorned in gold. The bodies of the ones she had held closest to her heart inside them, their lives, their beautiful essence, taken from them forever. Reuniting with the so-called gods above, with whom they were now feasting, even if they had left a whole that would never be filled.

A light, warm and flickering, as were those from long white candles, illuminated a small portion of the hall she was walking through. Creating a halo around the door that hadn’t been closed. From inside came voices, ones she could very easily recognise, and others she had never heard in her life. With them, soft whimpers, the cries of men. She had never seen a man cry before, so maybe they were just poor boys that had been catch sneaking around the gardens. Picking up flowers and fruits, just relishing in their youth, as she once had done. Before it was stripped from her like clothes torn away from her body.

She peaked her head, looking with her vivid eyes at what was inside the room. It was a room that was at the very limits of the harem, a room she had never even come close to. She had never known the need, nor had the curiosity to venture that far inside the eunuch’s wing. But the room wasn’t much different from those of the odalisques, with two beds and poorly decorated. A mixture between the rooms of those who served and those loved by him.

Yet, it wasn’t that insignificant detail that had her attention grabbed by the gut, keeping her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before her.

A boy, not much older than her brothers, was kneeling on the floor. His head hung low, deep dark, greasy hair covering his face. His skin was pale, the shadows around his neck and wrists a sick hue of greenish blue. His body, long and slim, seemed to her, under the distressed attempt at clothing, more like those of young women and much less like the big, ample shoulders and big round bellies of men.

When he raised his head, forced by the sun-mistreated hand of a eunuch she knew well. A man covered in ugly creases and the darkest of faces she had ever witnessed, with his head shaven and shiny. She loved him very much, but, when his thick old fingers grabbed the pale skin of the boy’s jaw, forcefully making the poor soul look him in the eye, she felt as one who was witnessing the beating of a child.

His eyes were sharp as knives, dark as his hair, and shimmered with spots of gold in the candle lit room. His face was of soft features, with a small nose and round lips, his eyebrow harmoniously framing his face together. She had never seen such a face, such a captivating gaze. With hooded eyes and stern expression, yet looking like a god-sent angel to earth.

“Let him go”. The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them, and the eunuch turned to her, his robes sizzling around him. She soon realised her mistake and took on a powerful stance she had learned from the Emperor’s very own mother. “Who is he? What are you doing with him?”

A smile grazed her beloved wooden-coloured eunuch’s face, softening his features and lightening the heavy weight pulling her down. She couldn’t help but smile back, softening also her stance.

“He is a gift from a king to the Emperor of The World, your highness”. Her friend’s words made her furrow her brows.

“To whom could he be a gift for, Gazlah? He is but a young boy. What use would we have for a young beautiful boy here?” Her genuine concern made the man flinch, not knowing what to answer. Even though he had known the young princess ever since she had been born and had been her closest companion in her darkest times. He knew of her deep thoughts and concerns; of the poetry she wrote in pieces of paper that later she would burn with the saddest look on her beautiful eyes. Yet, he did not know how to answer, he had never imagined himself in a situation where he would have to explain to a pure heart such a horrendous act that men all around her committed. The same men that later claimed to be knights in shining armour to her, bowing so low their hawk like noses nearly touched the ground beneath them.

“Do you want him, highness?” He asked softly, feeling for the boy. He had once been in his shoes, and a kind heart like that of the princess would have been for him a miracle sent from above amongst the pain and struggle he had to endure in his younger years.

She seemed taken aback by the offer, her doe like eyes opening, round like the moon above them. They turned back to the boy, who was looking at the candle on the desk, beautiful looks of hair like strokes of ink making him seem like a spirit, a ghost of a damned man. If she could take the pain away from his soul, maybe his happiness and joy would allow her to sleep again.

“Yes”. Was her short but assertive answer, her voice a soft croak. She finally stepped inside de room, kneeling beside him to help him get on his feet. He didn’t even look at her, probably fearing the worst was yet to come. Even when, by the looks of it, he had already walked through every hell imaginable to men. “You shall call a physician, Gazlah. Bath him, give him clothes and prepare a bed for him in my rooms. There he will stay until his health is restored”.

The eunuch looked at her as if another head had popped out of her neck. “You can’t have him in your room, your highness. He is a man”. His words took her by surprise, not even having given that possibility a thought, and she held the boy closer without hesitation. As if what Gazlah was doing was pulling him by the arm away from her. Like a child who just got her doll taken.

“He is a boy, Gazlah”. The princess looked at the poor soul’s face, his soft and pretty features couldn’t be those a man. Of that, at least, she was sure. “I can keep a kid in my room. It is no sin, for he poses no threat”. She wanted to believe the gold shine she had seen in his eye was that of childhood.

Before her friend could answer, a heavy weight pulled her down. She barely managed to not a let a scream that threatened to tear her throat out at the sight of the boy she was holding so close bleeding on her white gown. His eyes white orbs without pupils, without a trace of life in them. A high-pitched noise rang in her ear, and she held his body to her while the man called for a physician to come.

She did not know his name, or where he came from. She didn’t know his age, his history. She didn’t know anything about him. But those sad beautiful eyes had enchanted her. Maybe the princess had never witnessed features like his, for he came from a faraway land in the other side of the world. But she did know that after looking him in the eye, she could not let him die. She could not let him go without a fight. If she did, she would never know peace again. She would never sleep.

So she held him close, calling him even if it was without a name. Asking him to fight just a tad bit longer, so he could walk around the palace gardens, so he could go back home. Her tears stained his cheeks, and she couldn’t fathom yet why his wound felt so deep inside her chest, if it wasn’t hers. But the pain seemed to seep in her bones, and she could not bring herself to question it.

(It’ll mean the world to me if anyone wants me to turn this into an ongoing stories maybe? Just let me know if anyone wants at least a second part or I don’t even know. I’m so self conscious about sharing my more personal work here be kind please.)

[begluketostay]

don’t wanna fall in love (c.h.)

summary: you don’t want to give him your heart but he already has it

author’s note: haven’t read the entire thing yet through and edited, so there may be some mistakes. just wanted to get this out there because i’m tired of staring at it :) also, ironically, i listened to the song wicked game by chris isaak on repeat while writing this but couldn’t name it that bc i named my last oneshot after wicked game by the weeknd oops

word count: 4038

You remember the night you met Cal.

He was all smiles and chubby cheeks and drunken happy dancing as you all celebrated the birthday of a friend.

You were used to meeting famous people - living in Los Angeles had made the glamour and shininess of celebrities wear off, and while you were starstruck your first couple years there, you were used to it now. Having friends in the music business gave you the in to meet so many people, and you often found they were just like everybody else, only they had a lot more money and the freedom to do whatever the fuck they wanted.

So having a half-drunken hookup with Calum wasn’t anything significant at the time. It was just like hooking up with anyone else.

Except that he actually called you like he said he would afterwards.

And then he started inviting you to more parties and kickbacks and hangouts.

And then you actually started getting kind of… attached.

It was foolish of you. While celebrities were like everyone else to you, they were different in one way: they were undateable. You’d sworn off ever getting into a relationship with a celebrity, especially any musicians, because you knew the paparazzi and the traveling and the pressure and the fans would be too much. It just wasn’t the lifestyle you wanted to commit yourself to forever.

That’s why you can’t stop feeling a twist in your stomach as Calum gets closer and closer to you, arms nearly touching as you’re all bunched up in the corner talking at another one of Ashton’s house parties. Luke says something dumb and everyone is laughing, but your head is somewhere else, fixating on the heat of Calum’s skin barely brushing yours and hoping that no one here can read minds or else you’re screwed.

Calum presses his elbow into your side, looking at you with his brows furrowed. “You good?” he mouths over the music, concern on his face. You’re normally pretty talkative, but you haven’t said a thing during this conversation.

You nod, taking a sip out of the beer in your hand and trying your hardest to focus on the discussion at hand as Luke and Sierra argue over who got the most drunk at Ashton’s last party.

“I’ll be right back,” you say before you sneak away to the kitchen, finishing off your beer and throwing it in the trash and opening the fridge to get a new one. You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself.

You know Calum is off limits to you, that it will only end in heartbreak for the both of you, and that you can’t let that happen. But it’s so hard to focus when he’s around you, and it’s almost like you’re starting to forget what would be so bad about getting your heart broken by him. You’d have the pleasure of having him for at least a little while.

A deep breath and another sip of beer has you feeling composed enough to go back and rejoin the circle of your friends, but they’ve dispersed now and you’re left trying to track down someone you know in the packed house.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, lifting you up in the air and swinging you around. Your squeals stop as soon as they put you down, and you already know that when you turn around you’re going to find a head of bleached blonde hair and full lips turned up in laughter.

“Cal!” you swat him, rolling your eyes. “You could’ve made me spill my beer,” you pout.

“Ah, but I didn’t,” he points out with a smirk on his face. “I’m talented at what I do.”

You smile unamused, shaking your head at him.

“You alright though? You looked a little out of it earlier,” he mentions.

“Yeah, just a bit tired. Long day at work,” you shrug, “but I didn’t wanna miss the party.”

He studies you, seeing the tired lines under your eyes and wishing that he could make them disappear. He knows how hard you work and how important your job is and thinks that it’s so badass that you do what you do. He thinks it’s badass that even though you have such a hard job, you can still outdrink the rest of them and light up the room when you walk in.

“Wouldn’t be a party without you,” he nods. “That’s why I noticed ya when we first met. You were the life of the party.”

You can see the truth in his eyes as he speaks and it makes you want to melt into him. He makes it so hard to resist him.

“Oh, shut up,” you groan, bumping your shoulder against his playfully.

After a while, people are starting to leave, slowly trickling out until it’s only those who are close friends left in the living room, sitting on the couches and so deep in conversation that they don’t even notice the room emptying out.

“I’m not ready to go home,” Calum sighs, looking around. “I get a little lonely after drinking so much wine. Not totally sure I should be going home and sitting in the dark,” he admits, eyes flickering to yours to try and gauge your reaction.

You kick the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to decide if you should offer him to join you tonight, not sure if it would be a good idea. But when you look up and see those chocolate eyes, genuine hesitation and loneliness in them, you don’t care if it’s a bad idea anymore. You want to protect him from all things sad.

“You could come to mine for a bit?” you suggest, biting your lip. “We can watch a movie or something maybe,”  you shrug. His eyes light up with warmth at the offer. He nods.

“Alright.”

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

You pop open a bottle of red wine as you and Calum settle on the couch, pouring each of you a glass to sip on as he searches for something to put on the tv. His arms flex just slightly each time he clicks on the remote and you can’t peel your eyes off of him. You look up and realize he’s turned towards you, asking your opinion on a show, and you know he’s caught you staring by the way the end of his sentence just kind of fades out. His eyes are latched onto you now.

The air feels like it’s thickening around you and you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from him. It was much easier when the two of you weren’t alone in the silence of your empty apartment.

“You’re something else tonight,” Calum bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. “God, you know exactly what you do to me.”

“What do I do to you?” you ask.

“Make it feel like all the air is sucked out of the room,” he admits. “Like I can’t breathe.”

You adjust yourself in your seat, looking down at the floor. You know where this is going to go, and you’re not sure you can handle it if it does.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Ever since I met you. God, you don’t even realize how you are,” he laughs. “You light up the room when you walk in. Can’t ever keep my eyes off you.”

He’s spent weeks thinking about your drunken hookup, wishing he had been softer and sweeter and savored your lips on his body. Wishing he’d gotten you out of the dress you’d been wearing and been able to see you and feel you all the way. There were so many things he’d have done differently now.

“You don’t care that I’m famous or that I have money or any of that shit. You still call my ass out and put me in my place and drive me crazy,” he chuckles. “I’ve been trying to make moves for weeks now and you keep pulling away from me and acting like we’re just friends, but I... I can’t be just friends with you.”

You bite your lip, not sure how to answer him. You know that what you want, more than anything in this moment, is him.

But it’s not that simple.

Your last heartbreak was so hard to get over. It took months and months of tears and distractions and drunken nights out at bars and fake smiles to get you to a point where you could even live your life normally again. And you already liked Calum more than it was healthy, way more than you’d ever liked any boy this early on.

You knew if you gave in, if you let him in, that he would have the total power to absolutely wreck you. He’d be able to crumple your heart in his fist and throw it away. It was terrifying.

And you knew how much he’d be on the road, especially having just released an album. As soon as he’d get back home, he’d have to be busy in the studio. Every time the two of you would go out, there would be pictures and camera flashes and crazy fans. You’d have to put your social media on private and remember how to calculate time zone differences and become best friends with facetime and heartache.

The soft, hesitant touch of Calum’s hands against your face bring you back to the present. The calluses on his palm are rough against your cheek and you fight off a shiver as your eyes go to his. There’s a softness in them, and you’ve never seen Calum look so… afraid.

“I really like you,” he murmurs. “I know it’s scary.”

You nod in agreement. It is scary.

He hasn’t dated anyone in a long time. It wasn’t because he hadn’t wanted to or he didn’t have the opportunity - there were plenty of decent girls that he’d crushed on over the years. But he didn’t want to put them through the pain of dating him. He knew that there were a lot of unfair things that came with a relationship with him. He felt guilty and ashamed asking someone to deal with all the baggage of loving someone always on the road.

You nod.

“I know it’s not fair of me to ask you for anything. I know I’ll be gone a lot and it’s not ideal. But I really like you.”

You sigh, closing your eyes as his fingers trace patterns on the skin behind your ears comfortingly. He’s so soft and safe and cozy, even when his shirt smells like beer and his heart is racing.

“I don’t wanna fall in love,” you whisper. Your eyes are still closed at your confession, and you feel so small and vulnerable. “I know you’ll be able to break my heart and I know I won’t recover if you do.”

He shifts and pulls you closer to him until your face is in his neck and your knees are curled up in his lap. No words are exchanged as the two of you sit in the quietness of your living room, breathing in each other’s air.

“I won’t break your heart,” he murmurs against the top of your head. His hand is moving up and down your back slowly, heating your entire body with every movement. “Wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I did.”

“No one ever means to break someone’s heart,” you say.

“I know,” he kisses the top of your head.

And then he kisses the top of your ear, and your cheek, and his hand lightly grips your chin and tilts you up to face him before he kisses you right on the lips.

He’s soft and sweet and the opposite of everything he was the last time he kissed you. There’s no rush now, and you’re both filled with red wine instead of vodka, soft and sleepy as your lips meet over and over again.

He pulls you into his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lets his fingers trail up and tangle themselves in your hair. You let yourself relax into him, his tongue parting the seam of your lips and you open your mouth to him, letting him explore you. Instead of rough tongues battling for dominance like last time, it’s a timid exploration. He wants to memorize what every part of you feels like.

One of his hands lowers until it slides down into the back pocket of your jeans, cupping the curve of your backside and holding on tightly. You arch your back against him, and he moves his mouth from your lips to your neck, pulling you close until your chest is pressed flush against him and his teeth nip at your throat.

Ever so slowly, he plants kisses all the way down your throat, soft and light against your skin, until he reaches your collarbone, leaving little marks against you as he goes.

“Please,” he whispers against your skin, and you can feel every movement of his lips brush against your chest. “Tell me you want me.”

“Cal -” you start.

“No,” he whispers, cutting you off. “Don’t think about anything else. Think about right now. Do you want me?”

You grasp at the short hair on his head, pulling on it to raise his head to look at you. You nod, and that’s the only answer he needs. He reaches behind you and grabs the bottom of your top, pulling it over your head swiftly before he reattaches his mouth to your chest, suckling the skin exposed by the top of your bra as you hold him close. Warm fingers dig into the skin of your back, feeling around for the clasp of your bra and unhooking it. Slowly, gingerly, he slides the straps down your arms and drags the fabric off of you.

There’s a breeze across your chest and you feel even more exposed and vulnerable, but it feels right to open yourself up to him like this. He lips close around a nipple, tongue swirling it over and you throw your head back, mouth open as you hold back soft whimpers.

His hands are moving all over you, desperate to feel every inch of you before you change your mind. You reach down and yank his shirt off to you and press your bodies together to feel the warmth of the skin to skin contact, lips meeting once again as he reaches down to unbutton your jeans. Legs still wrapped around his waist, he stands and rushes to your bedroom, barely able to get the door open in his frenzy.

You’re laid down on the bed and he’s hovering over you, unzipping you and pulling the jeans carefully down, pressing soft kisses on the skin of your legs as it becomes exposed. Once the fabric is finally off, he makes his way back up, stopping to press his lips softly over the center of your underwear, just barely enough pressure for you to feel it, but it’s enough to send goosebumps across your body.

Lips meet again in a tangled frenzy, soft and slippery and yearning for each other, and you don’t even take the time to breathe between kisses anymore. It’s getting frantic and desperate and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep your hands off of him. Your nails scratch down his back as his mouth engulfs you and his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you as close as he can possibly get you.

“You want me?” he asks again, breathless and lust-filled. You nod again, but that’s not enough for him this time. “Say it,” he commands. “Say you want me.”

“I want you,” you breathe.

“How badly?” he continues.

Truthfully, you want him so badly it feels like you could burst. So you grab the back of his neck and try to pull him back to you, hips lifting upwards desperate for contact. He pulls away, unsatisfied.

“How badly?” he repeats, pushing your hips down against the mattress.

“So bad, Cal,” you sigh. “Please - just c’mere,” you practically beg, still trying to pull his face back to yours.

Content with that answer, he kisses you again, but his hand is snaking down and teasing you over your underwear with light, delicate touches. You moan out, and his pants get a little tighter just from hearing you.

His fingers dance over the skin of your inner thighs, leaving ghosts of traces where you want him most until you’re almost writhing beneath him.

“Please,” you whimper again, and it spurs him on enough to finally add some pressure, pushing down and rubbing on the little bundle of nerves right below the only fabric you’re wearing.

He yanks your underwear off impatiently now and lets his fingers explore the most secret part of you, feeling the wetness on your outer lips before spreading them and collecting more of the juice on his fingers. You’re moaning and he’s moaning and you’re both lost in the exploration of your body.

He reaches a hand up slowly and sucks on his fingers, tasting you for the first time. You watch as his lips pucker around his fingers and he takes them out, holding them up to your lips right after for you to do the same thing. It’s strangely arousing, tasting yourself and his mouth at the same time, and it feels so intimate.

When he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he presses his forehead against yours and kisses the tip of your nose so lightly. “So pretty,” he murmurs, and the moment is so soft and tender and it feels like time has frozen and then suddenly his fingers are back against you and moving in fast circles until you’re left unable to breathe.

“Oh my god,” you gasp when he slowly plunges his fingers into you, moving around and stretching you out. He’s slow and steady, curling his fingers and testing different methods until you grab onto his arm, nails digging into the skin, and moan loudly, mouth thrown open and back arched, and he knows he’s found the right spot.

His arms are flexing deliciously, muscles and veins popping out, as he continually hits that spot inside you with his fingers, watching eagerly as you become more and more unhinged and desperate beneath him.

You’re still holding back, and he can tell. “C’mon,” he mumbles against you. “It’s okay, I’m right here. Let go,” he encourages you, and it’s what you need, because you’re becoming undone and gasping and groaning and writhing and he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life than this.

“Good girl,” he kisses your forehead and you slump against the mattress, skin growing sticky with sweat.

“Cal,” you whisper, reaching for him until he brings his lips back to yours. You wrap your arms around him and feel his skin beneath the palms of your hands, craving his touch. His pants are still on, but you’re determined to change that as you reach to undo them, attempting to pull them off his hips, but he stands up and gets them off himself. Much faster that way.

He’s rock hard from the show you’ve put on and desperate to get inside you. He pushes away your hands and positions himself right above you, lining himself up.

“I wanna do it right this time,” he says seriously, looking you in the eyes and swallowing. “Wanna go slow. ‘S that okay?”

You close your eyes, so ridiculously turned on by the fact that he wants to go slowly and carefully with you, heart fluttering at the effect this boy has on you. You nod and moan as you feel him against you, coating himself in your juices before slowly pushing in. You feel every inch of him as he lets his hips move forward, both of your mouths hanging open as you take it in.

“Feel so fucking good,” he groans lowly, stopping once his entire length is inside you and breathing. You’ve never felt this full before. He pauses there for a moment to allow you to adjust to all the stretching before he starts to move, pulling his hips back before rolling them forward again.

He reaches for your hands and pins them above your head, fingers intertwined as he continues his movements, rocking in and out of you at a steady rhythm.

This is the opposite of the last time he had been inside you. Before it was frantic and drunk and sloppy, but this time it was calm, careful.

You feel so safe with him, engulfed in his body as he shows you how much he wants you in the best way he knows how. Your foreheads press together and your arms wrap around his back, pulling his chest up against yours as you both lose yourselves in each other, panting and crying out as you reach your highs.

He rolls off of you, pulling you to the side to curl up next to him, not wanting to break the contact between you even though you’re both covered in sweat. When you look at him, you agree that it does feel like all of the air is sucked out of the room, just like he said.

You know it’s too late to keep your heart out of it now. It’s already too late. You know that you’ll break your own heart if you try to stop what’s already started now, so you have no choice to give in.

“Don’t break me,” you whisper against him.

“Never,” he smiles softly, kissing the top of your head and closing his eyes, happy with you in his arms.

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

You smile at your phone as Calum’s face pops on the screen, your nightly FaceTime waiting.

It’s been hard with him on tour, especially with your relationship being so new, but it’s been okay so far. You miss him at night, having gotten used to him staying over each night for the few weeks before he left, and he misses waking up next to you in the morning instead of in a new hotel bed, cold and alone.

The FaceTimes were holding both of you over for now until he flew you out for one of the shows in the next few weeks.

“Hey,” Calum’s bright smile filled your screen, camera way too close to his face. “There’s my girl,” he smiles softly, proud to be able to call you that.

“Of course,” you respond, pushing the hair out of your face as you look into the camera and examine yourself. Your eyes look happier. You can tell. “What are you up to?”

He raises the camera and shows the room he’s sitting in, plopped on a couch by himself as the boys are messing around in the background. “Just got to the venue for tonight, we’re just setting some things up,” he says. You can see Luke and Michael play fighting behind Calum and laugh.

“Seems like you guys are having fun,” you chuckle as Michael falls to the ground overdramatically.

Calum nods as he looks over at his friend, but gets up off the couch and moves out of the room, walking to what looks like an empty concrete hallway. “Yeah, it’s fun,” he says, “but I miss ya. Wish you were here to make it more fun.”

“Just a couple more weeks,” you sigh.

“Thanks for putting up with me traveling and the phone calls at weird hours and the sporadic texts,” he mumbles, still feeling guilty.

“Hey,” you coo. “Don’t apologize. It’s worth it.”

You know in your heart that it is worth it, that he’s worth it and your relationship is worth it. You’ve fully accepted that he has your heart and all the power to break it, but you trust that he won’t.

And Calum knows as he looks at the sparkle in your eye and feels his heart pang in his chest that he won’t ever break your heart.

He knows that if he breaks your heart, his would break as well. So for now, you’d just have to trust each other and finally let yourselves fall in love.