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you-know-honey · 22 hours ago

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omggg i see you are taking viktor x reader requests and i am in desperate need of something relatively cute and fluffy after act 3 🥲

i’ve had this idea for ages where once viktor and the reader starts dating, viktor just generally starts being healthier and a little better? even though his leg is still the same he is stronger and in less pain (he really deserves this come onnn).because he is totally smitten by the reader he is spending loads of time with them which ends up to him getting more rest, eating better, etc. the reader maybe does subtle things to encourage that but in some ways it happens naturally. (although i’ve seen some scenarios where the reader helps viktor with massages/physio and that is so wholesome too)

maybe he is talking to the reader after some months of dating, sharing how he feels better in his body and how he wants to actively try to be better? like, before his work was his whole life and he had kinda given up on his health - he just wanted to make the most progress in whatever time he had. but now he wants to spend the rest of his life with the reader and is willing to fight for it (and come on that will also help him work more anyway)

thought it was a cute idea and i love your work so i’d love to see your take on this!!! ❤️

Hanging in Your Hands

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5K

2/2→→→

Viktor finds in you a love that subtly transforms him: without realizing it, he begins to take better care of himself, rest better and relieve his pain, all thanks to the peace you bring him. Finding a way to show you what he could never do with words.

N/A: English is not my native language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I will update it. Remember to share and comment if you liked it. Endnotes.

The cold of the early morning began to creep in through the window, giving your body chills from head to toe. You didn't want to wake up, you felt like you had barely slept a second after so much work.

You couldn't get anything more than a superficial sleep that ended even with the walking of an ant on your neighbor's floor. The bed felt too big for some reason and there was no pillow to hug that didn't make you feel terribly alone. You sighed, knowing it would be another long night, you went down to the kitchen to get some tea to sleep, if getting high was the only way to fall asleep so be it. While you watched the steam come out of your cup you leaned against the wall of the hallway, looking at your empty room. You couldn't help but let your imagination fly to a corner where you didn't want it to be, the darkness emulated with the shadows a sleeping figure on one side of the bed and your mind quickly gave it shape and name...Viktor.

NO.

You shook your head to get that image out of your mind, being in love with your boss was already a silly thing, you shouldn't even think about something like that. But... you couldn't help it, you liked to imagine him around the apartment, like your own homely fantasy.

The violent knocking from the other side of the front door brought you out of your little daydream. You pulled the blankets tighter around you, it wasn't time for visitors.

“Y/N!” Sky’s voice called from the other side of the door, she seemed agitated and in total panic.

You quickly rushed to open the door, finding your friend and coworker in tears and as pale as a sheet of paper.

“Sky? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You rushed to take her inside and sit her on the couch as she tried to catch her breath.

“It’s Viktor, he’s in the hospital, he fainted and… and he started bleeding! He won’t wake up!”

Sky said something else, but your mind refused to continue listening. You could feel your entire body turning into glass and shattering, your heart had stopped suddenly before beating desperately again.

That night was the worst night of your life. You don’t remember what happened exactly, you just remember dressing up in one of your long work jackets to hide your pajamas, not even bothering to put on shoes, arriving at the hospital and searching every room in desperation only to find him intubated and still unconscious on a stretcher, he looked so pale, so feverish, his hands were cold and stiff as a stone, his hair was wet with sweat and the nurses hadn’t cleaned the stain of dried blood that spread across his cheek and lips like a crimson river. You don’t know how long you cried that night. You only remember clinging to his body until the nurses basically ripped you from his side. It was the first time you truly thought you would lose him, the first time you saw what his illness could do to him.

Time passed, a lot of time indeed. Viktor had a long recovery process after such a hard relapse and was prescribed, in his opinion, the worst of medications. Rest. Instructions that he clearly hadn't intended to follow, but you didn't think the same. He didn't know when or how but you simply kicked the chained door of his heart and like a spoiled child you refused to leave. But he liked it that way. During his long stay in the hospital he hadn't stopped working and the doctors were really considering tying him to the bed, like a guardian angel there you were, reading his books for him and writing in his notebook by the side of his stretcher, making sure he took his medications and vitamins until he was ready to get back in the ring. So, gods! It would have been impossible not to fall in love with you.

You made him feel alive, seeing you filled his face with color, he couldn't help but smile and ignore everything that wasn't you, he loved being able to hold your hand, he delighted in the dropped jaws that left when they walked together through the academy. His mind was an unstoppable machine of chaos that only found peace when you were near.

How did he get to that point? He never imagined that someone like him, with his proud attitude and busy mind could attract the attention of someone like you. You... you simply shined. Everything about you seems so simple, so natural. Your laugh, your words, even the way you look at him as he always wanted to be seen, as something more than a man with a cane and too many ideas in his head.

He couldn't help but wonder what you saw in him. Is it his mind that interests you? Or did you just see something he couldn't see in the mirror? Maybe, just maybe, you've seen beyond the walls he built around himself. Beyond the weight of his ambitions.

And yet, for the first time, he feared something more than failure. He doesn't want to lose you.

When he's with you, when his hands touch yours, when you smile after one of his sarcastic comments, everything seems to fit together. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he's not a stranger in his own skin. He feels like, maybe, there's something more to him than just work.

You give him something he can't explain, something that isn't in any formula or prototype. Maybe, for once in his life, it's enough to just feel.

…Wow, he was a genius in love.

Months Later...

The sound of the lab door slamming open loudly caught Jayce's attention as he stretched out in his chair. They had been working all morning.

You walked in with a tray of breakfast and books under your arm.

“You need to grease that door,” you said, as you walked over to his desk. Jayce held the books you asked for and took one of the steaming cups on the tray.

“I'll write it down,” Jayce said, burying his face in the cup, inhaling the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He looked really exhausted. They would have a conference soon and they had to be prepared, even you and Sky had a lot of work to do.

“Have he eaten anything today?” you asked, nodding at the one you can now proudly call your partner, sitting across the lab without even noticing your presence.

“What do you think?” You sighed, it's common for your boyfriend to forget to eat, if breathing wasn't essential you're sure he would forget too.

“Viktor…” you exclaim as you walk up to his desk, his posture in front of it is terrible, a shrimp would be proud of his posture.

He doesn’t seem to hear you, he mutters things as usual while he quickly writes down in his notebook and fiddles around a bit with a design that releases sparks and steam. You can see the inner mechanism, it’s so complex that it makes your head hurt just thinking about having to fix it like he does. There’s something about that stoic concentration he has that really attracts you, you could watch him work all day. You place the tray in one of your hands, balancing it so as not to spill anything and you use the fingers of your free hand to lightly tickle Viktor’s neck, he quickly adjusts his posture, you’re sure you could hear a joint or two creak, letting out a half-gasp. Which you take advantage of by uncovering the delicious breakfast on the tray.

You know he smiles and his gaze softens when the smell of food reaches him, he stops his work and looks at you.

“Good morning” you murmur only for his ears.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, turning his chair to face you, letting go of his design so easily that even Jayce couldn’t believe it.

“Can’t I take care of my favorite genius?” You shrug, leaving the tray with breakfast on the small mound of leaves on his desk. Changing his empty cup of coffee for a cup of hot tea.

Viktor smiles barely, but there’s something warm in his gaze as he takes the first sip of tea. You’re surprised when he stands up without even making a move to look for his cane, only using his good leg for help. He rests his forehead on your shoulder, you can feel his breath so close that it makes the hairs on your neck stand up. He’s been working since before the sun came up, it’s something you can’t change about him, but seeing you is a huge relief that he doesn’t know he needs until he has you in front of him and can’t help but put everything aside for you. His hands slide under your arms until they grip your back, wrinkling your perfectly ironed shirt and you can feel him finally sigh and let his shoulders slump as if he were carrying lead on them.

That gesture is all he needs to tell you, he is not a man of words and even less so when Jayce is present because he knows that Jayce will use everything he says against him as soon as you walk out the door. He can feel you, the heat emanating from your body makes him feel warm, breathing your perfume is the breeze of fresh air he needs to keep going. If they were alone he would probably kiss you, it is the only motivation he has to make it to the end of the day.

“What? He is your favorite genius? Y/N how do you break my heart like that” Jayce dramatizes from the other side of the room with a huge smile on his face. He loves watching how Viktor basically melts for you but he can’t help but feel like a bad third between the two of you.

You can't help but giggle at the comment. “There's enough room in my heart for both of us.”

Viktor gives a small shake of his head and snorts at your shoulder, it's obvious that he doesn't like the idea.

“Will you have breakfast with me?” he asks as he pulls away from you and drops his weight back into the chair.

You've both had this habit since the hospital, when he barely had the strength to blink and refused to be fed with a g-tube. It was a hard blow to his pride that you had to feed him, but you handled the situation with a lot of respect, and at the end of the day you both always ended up eating all your meals together, it was a moment that you both could enjoy and secretly for you it was a way to make sure he gets something more than caffeine.

You sighed and shook your head. “Not this time.” The look he gave you was as painful as that of a newly abandoned puppy.

“Why not?” he asked, making a colorful gesture with his hands, quite offended.

“Sky and I are still clearing their schedules and getting everything ready for this afternoon’s conference.” You felt guilty and even more so when he gave you that look but if you lied to him it would only make his mind wander to very dark places. “I promise we’ll have dinner together. Will you forgive me this time?” you said, caressing his cheek subtly.

Schedules were something Viktor had very established, something out of that routine irritated him in ways he didn’t understand. Normally and if you were anyone else he would have pushed your hand away and ignored you for the rest of the day but… you weren’t just anyone, he couldn’t get mad at you, he couldn’t even think of a reason that was strong enough to not even look at you with annoyance.

“Just don’t miss it” He replied, enjoying your touch. Forcing you to stay on his cheek a little more for taking your wrist, when it was time for you to leave it was very difficult to let you go.

“Don't forget to take a break, Sabre, if you didn't have lunch.” You walked through the door, giving him one last look before leaving him back in the lab.

“Love is so beautiful,” Jayce mentioned, sighing like a teenager while humming the sound of the newlywed bells.

Viktor rolled his eyes and went back to his table to find his breakfast. The idea of putting it aside and continuing to work crossed his mind, it was what he used to do in the past. Before letting that idea take hold, he stuck his fork in the bacon next to the small bowl of fruit and quickly brought it to his mouth. His taste buds wept with excitement at finally receiving some food after so many hours drowned in coffee, even the breath itself with a certain guilty pleasure. “Shut up, Jayce,” was the only thing he could say before devouring the plate.

“Are you ready? We’re going to be late,” Viktor mentioned, leaning against the outside wall of the lab’s bathroom, with a hanger holding his suit in his hand.

He had been waiting for more than 45 minutes for his lab partner to finish showering and getting dressed. He used to skip all the conferences, especially if they were with the council. It irritated him how certain people with more than limited intellect could have power over his work and what he could and couldn’t do with it. The only reason he started attending was because you were there, both of them could whisper to each other continuously and have a good time being gossips about the other councilors, although of course, there were also times when Jayce called him to the front, when a more raw opinion was needed, without all the flourishes that surrounded Jayce’s speeches.

“Just a second,” Jayce said as he opened the door, in his white and gold suit he finished fixing his hair in the middle of a cloud of masculine perfume.

Viktor just rolled his eyes and made his way into the bathroom, leaving his suit on the rack behind the door, sitting on the closed toilet to wait for Jayce to leave.

“Hurry up,” he said when he saw Jayce smiling at himself in the mirror.

“Someone looks pretty excited to go…” He hummed, “I thought you said conferences were a waste of your precious time…”

“Jayce…” Viktor said in a tone that Jayce understood as a warning accompanied by a stern frown, but the shy blush that crossed his cheeks and the bridge of his nose told him he was right.

“Come on, there’s nothing wrong with saying you like going because your girlfriend is there. If Councilwoman Medarda wasn’t there I wouldn’t want to go either.” Jayce leaned back against the sink. Although it wasn’t exactly the most opportune moment to have a talk.

Girlfriend… Viktor still felt chills when that word was mentioned, he himself wasn’t able to say it yet, it always got stuck in his throat and he blushed like never before, he felt shy just knowing that the one who carried that title was you. When they started dating he was nothing more than a rigid bundle of nerves, holding your hand, hugging you, kissing you or just walking by your side were things he got used to with difficulty, as if he were walking on thin ice, looking for a single rejection reaction from you that would confirm to his anxiety that he had made a false step and should return within his fortified comfort zone. It doesn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy doing those things with you, he did, he loved them, but a part of himself always whispered to him that he didn’t deserve it, that he hadn’t been born for love and that he looked ridiculous pretending he wasn’t like that. It was hard to fight against it, but you never gave up, you knew how to read him like the back of your hand and you knew when he needed time alone and when he needed to melt into you in affection. Now it was clearer than ever that if there was someone who could love him and who he could love back, it was you. Only you.

“Y/N and I know how to separate work from our relationship, our… dating” he savored the words with pride “it doesn’t influence my work.” He couldn’t help but smile silly “Although I admit that her company is always welcome”

Jayce excitedly crossed his arms at his friend and colleague's terrible way of hiding how totally in love he was with you. "Really?" he said raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "So I guess what you've been building for her is part of the 'job'..."

Although Jayce was a little naive he wasn't stupid, of course he had noticed how revitalized Viktor was since he started dating you, he could hardly remember the irritated Viktor who lived all the time in the lab. The night of his relapse he had gone to his mother's house for his birthday, if it weren't for Sky and you he would never have found out what happened and he would never be able to finish thanking you for taking care of him with such love. Jayce knew with total certainty that Viktor was more in love with you than he could ever admit to others or to himself.

“…It’s a gift for her.” There was something of amazement in his words, as if he had never imagined himself saying it. “I read that couples usually give each other gifts sporadically, without reason… I want to do something that does justice to everything she does for me.” He answered as if it were the most logical thing in the world, trying to regain his composure.

“Tell me what it is?” Jayce asked interested, his eyes big like a little boy’s excited to receive a lollipop after the dentist.

“No.” Viktor refused flatly. “I know you, it will come out of your mouth in a some moment.” Jayce felt offended, even more so because it was not a lie.

“But! Come on Victor!” He tried to convince him but the answer was still a constant negative. “Boring.” He sighed giving up. “I’ll wait for you outside, Mr. Romantic.” Jayce managed to escape from the bathroom before Viktor’s sharpness reached him and he walked away laughing.

Viktor sighed when he finally managed to be alone in the bathroom, he put his cane aside, using the sink to support himself and stand up, his leg gave him a small cramp that was reflected on his face and it took him a second to recover and start preparing.

The conference was nothing out of the ordinary, brutally exhausting as always, you felt your feet unbearably tired, avoiding Salo's venomous comments were not for everyone. You should be given a prize for enduring such a thing, you knew that it didn't really matter much to present each project in a thorough manner before the council but according to Councilwoman Medarda, that would make Hextech more trustworthy, being transparent with the creations left no room for doubts or misunderstandings. But that only meant more work for you and Sky, emptying Jayce and Viktor's agendas, planning their speeches and even elaborating the thread of the entire conference, it was definitely the only part you hated about being an attendee.

Jayce had stayed to 'discuss' some matters with Councilwoman Medarda and Sky had taken the first opportunity that presented itself to leave as quickly as he could. That left you and Viktor alone in the hallway heading to the lab for your coats, autumn was already upon the city and the cold was more usual and stronger.

“Is something wrong?” you asked as you saw Viktor’s jaw muttering things to himself, his gaze looking a little lost as you approached the lab.

“Oh, no… I have some things to tidy up in the lab that’s all” He answered trying to lighten the mood. Clearly forgetting that you knew there was nothing to tidy up because… come on… that was your job.

“Can I help you with that?” You said with some disbelief as you reached the door, it was clear from your tone that you didn’t quite believe him.

“No, it’s not necessary. Could you wait for me outside?” Viktor asked, looking a bit nervous, even serious.

“From the door?” you asked, crossing your arms as Viktor left his hand on the door handle. You had never seen him so nervous trying to hide something, especially from you.

“From the academy…” I knew the answer, obviously you would say no.

You sighed heavily, it was late at night and your brain was tired “Viktor if this is a ruse to keep working...”

“No, it’s not that” he interrupted you quickly, his hand moved away from the door handle as if it were a hot iron just to take yours “It will be quick I promise” and there it was, that lazy smile and that sweet look that could convince you to do anything without hesitation, he using his thumb to draw soft circles on the back of your hand. He slowly leaned down to your ear to whisper “I can’t wait to go home with you, this will just be a… slight setback. I won’t take long, I promise.”

The words got stuck in your throat and in your belly millions of butterflies were released and fluttered everywhere, the blush was quick to rise to your cheeks “Fine… But... Don’t take long, okay?”

That act had taken you by complete surprise, but he seemed quite pleased with the way he had completely altered the chemistry inside your brain and he knew it, of course he knew it, behind that look you were sure he was proud of his little misdeed.

Viktor left a small kiss on your forehead before disappearing into the lab. A shiver ran down your spine to help you come back to yourself. The last thing Viktor heard from you was the clicking of your heels at the end of the hallway.

“She didn’t believe it at all,” he said to himself as he leaned back against the door, taking a minute to compose himself, running one of his hands through his hair as if that would work. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face and his brain was still fluttering with your blushing image. What he had done had been a risky act but it felt so good to do it… Viktor shook his head, getting those thoughts out of his mind.

The lab was empty, it felt cold and that didn’t help his leg at all. Holding on to his cane he walked towards his desk, in one of the drawers, the one most full of failed prototypes, the only one you never dared to clean, in the back, wrapped in a somewhat singed piece of curtain, he found what he was looking for. A velvety box, upon opening it he was greeted by the intense glow of a Hextech gem much smaller than the rest, he had worked on it for quite some time, it wasn't the gift itself, but it was the eternal battery that would keep it running, it had already been quite a challenge to get the crystals to stabilize at their original size, he had lost count of how many times he could have died while making it. He quickly closed the box and carefully put it away in his bag, losing it would be a huge disaster. He had kept the rest of your gift in a safe place at home.

Viktor took a moment to look at his desk, years ago doing what he was doing now would have seemed ridiculous and a waste of time. Now there was nothing else he wanted to spend his time on. His hand slid across his desk, feeling papers and the leather of his notebooks under his fingers. His hands wandered until they entered between the swollen pages of one of his old notebooks, opening it he felt a little embarrassed by the content.

The pages were filled with notes and sketches of designs, as the pages turned one had established itself among the others. All around it was filled with details about you, your favorite color, your favorite scent, your favorite sound. Such sweet descriptions of your laugh, your hair… of your essence, there were even small drawings of your face and your unmistakable look, motivating him to continue. There were dates and small appointments that his mind read with your voice while he smiled.

“I really hope you like it…” He sigh longingly.

You hugged your bare arms as you hopped from foot to foot to keep warm, the dress you were wearing worked inside the heated academy but now that you were outside you were freezing, every hair on your body standing on end.

“What are you doing Viktor?” You said into the air.

Since the conference had been a huge success you both had planned to go to his house to hang out. Although well, it wasn’t long before it was your house too, after all half of your closet was in his and you even had matching coffee mugs in his kitchen. Still you didn’t want to push Viktor at all. It had already been a bit difficult for you to get him to dare kiss your cheek in public without making it look like you had a gun on his back.

You panted into your hands, your breath bringing some heat to your fingers that were starting to get cold as an iceberg.

Something brushed against your back, a sudden touch that made you turn around instinctively, almost unnaturally, only to find yourself facing Viktor, who was blinking in surprise at your reaction. His hands were outstretched, holding your coat.

“What were you trying to do?” you ask, your tone more accusatory than you’d like, as you try to calm your racing heart.

“Put your coat on, maybe?” he replies, his tone matching yours, but a sly smile playing on his lips. It’s obvious that your startlement amuses him. “Here, let me put it on you. You’re going to freeze.”

You sigh to release the tension in your body and turn your back to him. You feel his cold hands touch your neck, drawing a gasp from you that you instantly suppress, determined not to give him any more reasons to mock you. There's something about his gesture, the way he gently places the coat over your shoulders and guides your wrists into the sleeves, that disarms you.

When he's done, he gently turns you around to close the buttons, fastening them one by one, while his fingers brush your hair away from the coat. It's a simple gesture, but he does it with such care that you melt a little. Crowning the moment, he puts your bag over your head and lets it rest on your shoulder with elegance.

Your eyes watch him with a tenderness that seems to stop time. Viktor notices it; his hand slides from the strap of your bag to your cheek, caressing it with cautious delicacy before removing it, leaving a cold sensation behind.

A laugh escapes your lips, soft and sweet, filling the frozen air with a warmth that seeps into his bones. He smiles with you.

You take a step closer to him, not expecting it, you see him seek support from his cane, the only thing that stands between him and you really.

His scent envelops you instantly: coffee and honey. It’s such a unique combination that you could identify it among millions.

“Your nose is red,” you comment, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

You can see how his eyes widen at the proximity and your close touch to his face makes the tip of his ears red, his gaze avoids yours nervously.

You barely finish and without waiting for an answer, he began to walk down the stairs of the academy. Leaving you upstairs with a satisfied smile, he seems quite in a hurry to get home.

The icy wind of Piltover forces you to get a little closer to Viktor when you manage to catch up with him while crossing the street. His steps are long and determined, he has barely taken a break since you started walking.

“Why are you so nervous?” you ask, breaking the silence. Normally he takes one or two breaks along the way, excusing himself by looking at the shop windows that you know he has little interest in.

“Nervous? Me?” Viktor arches an eyebrow and looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his tone has a doubtful tone.

“Yeah, even when you’re making fun of me,” you retort, remembering the coat incident earlier. “You seem to have your mind somewhere else.”

He lets out a short, almost dry laugh. “It’s not like that, just, you know… Someone has to keep the calm.”

“Someone? You mean you?”

“Of course. If you’re too busy freaking out over coats.” Viktor looks at you with a glint of amusement in his eyes, “someone has to take charge of looking professional.”

You frown, though you can’t hide the smile that threatens to appear. “If you put it that way it’s okay, I like you like that.” Is it dirty play? Yes, but it’s worth it when you see Viktor’s face.

Heat rises to his cheeks before he can stop it, but he hides it by burying his face deeper into his scarf. You’ve beaten him this time, but like any sore loser, he won’t let things go.

He stops walking abruptly, his body hunched over his knee.

Your triumphant expression leaves your face completely and you don't hesitate to approach him, worried. The weather was cold and that used to increase the pain in his leg, but you didn't expect it to be so strong as to double him over in pain.

“Does it hurt?” you asked somewhat worried, your hand on his back ready to help him stand up if necessary. “Not at all.” He turned his face only to be met with a proud and victorious smile.

The streets are empty, and the shops are beginning to close, Viktor resumes his straight posture while looking from side to side as if he wanted no one to see his next move, you follow his gaze, not quite knowing what to look at or what to look for. You feel the cold handle of his cane touch your chin gently and guide it to make you look up, towards him. He approaches cautiously and you know his pulse is shaking a little from the way the handle of his cane shakes, finally he presses his lips against yours, with an overwhelming softness that at another time would have made you draw him closer, but like all good things, it didn’t last long. The sound of a metal shutter being loudly lowered pushes him away from you like a scared cat before you can properly reciprocate. He tries to compose himself but the blush on his cheeks and the nervous movement of his eyes give him away; even someone as controlled as Viktor isn’t immune to nervousness.

You laugh, like a little child, savoring his kiss at the same time. Giving affection in public is a huge leap of faith for him and you know it, you melt every time he does it.

“Don’t look at me with that eyes.” he says avoiding your gaze, a shy smile forming on his mouth and refusing to disappear no matter how hard he tries.

“What eyes?” You ask, feigning innocence at the subject, searching for his free hand with yours to take it and not let it go.

His eyes meet yours, his pupils dilate quickly like drops of paint in water. That's one of the things you like about him, no matter when he tries to hide his feelings, you know exactly that his gaze will always give you the answer.

“Forgotten” he snorts trying to lighten the subject. This time offering you his arm to walk together.

Both of you walk in silence, just enjoying each other's company for the rest of the way, you look at the shops, some are closing, others still have warm lights on inside and a few people looking through the windows. People from Piltover don't usually go out at night, maybe because for them there isn't much interesting to see when the sun goes down. But you and Viktor are from Zaun, you reject the sun like hermit vampires and the night is the perfect time to go out and to let out certain romantic gestures as you already taste before.

Continue...

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joffyworld · 2 days ago

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DO ART FOR YOU! 🫵

FUCK EVERYONE ELSE!!!

Seriously.

I'm so sick and weary of logging on here and seeing creators I adore, and people I don't even know alike, apologising for not uploading or basically begging for a break like they're not a human with needs.

You're literally a human being, with thoughts, feelings and emotions. You're not an art factory, you're not some positivity pump, you're nothing other than a genuine human being living a genuine life experience.

SO GO LIVE IT!!!

YOU OWE THE INTERNET NOTHING!!!!

There should be, and realistically is, no shame in just fucking leaving if you want to. There's no contract you signed, there's no permit you bought or lease you hold. You're a person who decided to share their art with the world, FOR FREE, and garnered an audience of faceless people behind screens who enjoy that art because YOU wanted to make it and share it.

Let me be frank as best I can. You owe the internet nothing, you owe the world nothing and you owe yourself EVERYTHING. You are the only person who can live your life, you are the only person who can create the things you create and you are the only motherfucker that should matter to you when you create those things.

Art is supposed to be a wondrous joy that inspires the mind and indulges ideas that other creatures can't even comprehend. It's supposed to be a magical and fun fantasy land where anything is possible because you make it possible. It's not a 9-5 unless you make it one, so stop making your hobby a 9-5 unless you're getting paid for it, and even then put in limits because no job that you choose to do should end in you burnt out and wishing you'd never started in the first place.

Remember when we were all kids? When we all drew and wrote for fun simply because we could? We'd show people are shit and be like "Mama look!" and she'd clap her hands all proud. But she wasn't why you picked up that crayon, you just did it for you because you wanted to make some shit.

That's how it should be. That's how it is unless you let those fake ass numbers on a screen rule your life. It's all meaningless, the praise may be genuine but that doesn't mean you should spend your whole life running in circles and performing for an audience.

Be a human being! Be an artist! Fuck everyone else!

Just be yourself <3

#vent #rant #artist #joffyrants

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runninriot · 14 hours ago

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Four Stockings make a Pair

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 24

prompt: Stocking | rated: G | wc: 998 | tags: Eddie & Wayne Munson, single dad Steve, feelings realisation

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

"Wayne, I'm back! Brought a little surprise for you!" Eddie calls out, feeling just a bit guilty when his uncle happily pokes his head into the hallway only to stop dead in his tracks.

"How was- Oh. Hey, Robbie!"

Wayne hobbles towards them and, despite leaning heavy on one crutch, opens his free arm for the little girl that runs straight at him.

"Grandpa Wayne! Why didn't you tell us you hurt your foot? We would've visited you a lot sooner, right dad?"

Something about their interaction makes Eddie's chest feel tight, hits him with a hint of jealousy but also makes his heart grow three sizes because it's nice to know that his uncle has people here that care for him when he's not around.

"Hey, Wayne. Sorry to barge in like that. We, uh, we met Eddie at the community centre and-"

Watching Steve fumble for his words, awkwardly standing in the doorway like he's feeling caught, is almost too much to handle. But as endearing as it is to watch his pretty face turn pink, Eddie has mercy on him.

"Robbie and I were craving your famous hot chocolate, so I invited them over."

Wayne shoots him a look that feels like a silent agreement to 'talk about this later' before he turns back to the girl with one of those rare smiles he doesn't give out freely.

"Is that so? Well, we better make some then. Why don't you two get set in the living room while Robbie and I get on with it. You wanna help me, sweety?"

"Yesss! Can I, dad?"

When Steve agrees, she takes Wayne's free hand and carefully leads him in the direction of the kitchen while telling him all about her afternoon.

"We saw Santa today! He was so nice. And we took a picture with him and I told him what I want for Christmas!"

When Eddie and Steve enter the living room, Eddie's eyes immediately fall on the Christmas tree Wayne must've put up while he was gone - so much for resting his leg. Next to the tree, over the fire place, he notices four instead of only two stockings hanging from the mantelpiece and it makes him wonder if maybe Wayne was planning on sharing his little secret, had Eddie not already found out about it today.

It's hard to realise what he missed out on while being too focused on his own life. He could've visited sooner, more often - Wayne keeps telling him it's fine but Eddie still feels bad about only making his way back home twice a year.

"I'm sorry, Eddie,” Steve starts after a moment of awkward silence, “This must be so weird for you."

"Nah, you're good. I guess I was just surprised Wayne hasn't told me about it."

"Maybe he thought you wouldn't approve? I told him we haven't exactly been friends back then, because I was kind of a dick," Steve says bashfully and that startles a laugh out of Eddie.

"What? No, Harrington. You were fine. Your friends, they were assholes but your only fault was that you were too cool to hang out with someone like me."

Now it's Steve's turn to laugh and it's a beautiful sound Eddie wants to hear more of.

"Oh, shut up. You were waaay cooler than me!"

This goes back and forth for a while, with them bantering and play fighting with each other like friends, like it's never been any different between them. How it could’ve been all those years ago.

"So, uh, you and Robbie. Why did you move back to Hawkins? I always imagined you'd make it into the big city, somewhere far away from here."

It's an instant mood killer, Eddie can tell by the way Steve's smile falters and his shoulders drop. But it's too late to take it back and he really wants to know.

"Uh, you know. Sometimes life doesn’t turn out to be what you wanted it to be. Hawkins seemed like a good idea to get away from... everything. Until I realised that I had no one left here."

There's a sadness in Steve's voice that breaks Eddie's heart. He has to fight the urge to pull him into his arms, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

"Then Wayne kinda... found me. I had just moved back and everything felt wrong. I was ready to just give up but then this stranger came into my life out of nowhere, asked if I needed help and- that's how we ended up becoming fam- friends."

His little slip-up doesn't go unnoticed and it makes Eddie feel all warm inside.

"Wayne's always had a weak spot for strays,” he jokes, “Took me in when my life was falling apart, too. He's the best. I'm glad he found you."

Eddie reaches out for Steve’s hand, takes it in his. It’s not a hug but he hopes it still offers some comfort.

It should feel strange, to have Steve and his daughter invading in his home, fitting right in where it had always just been Wayne and him. Somehow making it feel... complete.

Making it hard for Eddie not to drown in the flood of emotions resurfacing from where they've been buried for a long time.

He thinks about Robbie's wish and wonders, if there's a universe in which he could be that person.

They let go of their hands when they hear Robbie and Wayne enter.

"Eddie, look! I made mine with whipped cream. Like yours!"

And, yeah. He's already too deep, he can feel it.

The rest of the day goes by in a haze and when it's time for Steve and Robbie to leave, Eddie isn't ready to let them go.

"Wanna spend Christmas with us?"

The question is out before he can think it through.

"If- if that's okay? I don't-" Steve looks at Eddie, seems unsure.

Again, it's Wayne who saves them both.

"We'd love to have you here."

#eddie munson #wayne munson #steve harrington #single dad steve #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie holiday drabbles

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multifandom-exe · 3 days ago

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Leather Jackets and Ketchup ‘Mishaps’- S.Black x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k (my longest yet :p) Request: hey there! can i get one with prompts 79, 174 and 175, with Sirius, please? thank you! Prompts: 79. No its just… I cant believe your wearing my clothes” 174. “Did you see what she was wearing?” 175. “So what if I had sex with your ex?”

A/N: this is a rewrite of an old fic from nearly 5 years ago. Find the terrible original here. Lmk if ive improved. Warnings: None rlly, swearing, kissing, marlene hate (sorry marlene your my wife but youre sacrificed to the story)

A hogsmeade weekend! Practically the only thing keeping the students of Hogwarts from pitching themselves off the astronomy tower during their 6th year. You and Lily had planned to meet up with the boys later on for some drinks an some shopping, definitely spurred on by Lilys growing affection to James (no matter how much she denies it).

You stared into the full-length mirror stuck to the wall. It felt as though something was missing in your outfit. Youd worn your favorite today, but it still didn't feel like enough. Lily sat on the bed behind you, looking as perfect as ever.

“Can you stop hogging the mirror please, i need to do my makeup!” She nudged you with her leg that was hanging off the bed as a giggle bubbled up from her throat.

“My outfit is not suffering because you want to look nice for James Potter!” You turned to her with that sly look as her face dusted rosy, pink, whilst she spewed phrases of denial.

“Well, my makeup is suffering because you want to look nice for Sirius.” Now it was your turn to gasp.

She had this idea that you were in for it with Sirius. You disagreed of course. Sure, i mean, you had feelings for him, you liked him. He was funny, attractive, and almost as smart as you. But it had been 6 years, if there was going to be any movement on that front, besides flirting that could make Casanova blush, it probably would've happened already. You were trying to let it go, but its difficult when you see him every day.

“Not true! You know he doesnt like me like that, im totally over it!” You began observing yourself in the mirror again, as she gave you that, ‘whatever you say’, look. “Speaking of, though, a nice leather jacket is just what this outfit needs, do you have one?” Lily agreed and turned to look into her trunk for a jacket.

“No, sorry sweetheart”.” You jutted your lip out and frowned a little. There goes your perfect outfit.

After a little more observing in the mirror, whilst you watched Lily apply her makeup on the floor, the obvious thought entered your head. “You know who does have a leather jacket.” That mischievous smirk littered your face. “Sirius.”

Lily then put a head in her hands, and you could see her reaction in the reflection of the mirror. “Sure you don't have a thing for him?”

“Shut up lils, your just jealous of how goooood im gonna look.” You guessed Sirius wouldn't have a problem with it. Youd shared a lot of things over the years. Blankets, books, food, tea, you name it.

She chuckled at that and finally stood up, giving herself a final glance in the mirror. “You know the boys will have a fit when they see you in that.”

You rolled your yes, laughing softly. “Yeah, because those boys are the authority of fashion.”

She giggled at that too, before picking up everything she needed for the day. “Well, whilst you commit grand larceny, im going to go get my pancakes!” She drawled sarcastically as she turned to leave.

You muttered a soft goodbye as you also grabbed everything you needed. The boys had said before that you were free to use their dorm whenever, although Remus did add ‘Not for nefarious purposes Casanova’. You slipped out of your dorm, your boots hitting the floor with purpose. A woman on a mission. A leather jacket mission.

The door to their dorm creaked open slowly, as if you were trying not to wake them. but you were surprised to see they weren't all still asleep right now, desperately savoring every extra 5 minutes.

Their dorm was an exact reflection of each of them. Vinyl records of the latest rock bands on the walls. Books and chocolate strewn about. Stubbed out cigarette butts (Don't tell Minnie). Dirty shoes and outfits from the last quidditch game. Mugs of tea forgotten about. It was so them. Everything you loved about your friends, all perfectly wrapped up in one little room. You made a mental note to spend more time here.

As your eyes glanced around the room, you finally spotted it, dangling across the back of a chair that was pushed against his desk. It was surprising that it was actually here, since Sirius was very rarely seen without it. It had S.B written on the back in big white letters, and various patches from bands. But according to Mary, ‘the back of my outfit isn't my problem because i can even see it’.

You slid it across your shoulders and instantly felt more comforted. The familiar scent that you loved enveloped you. You turned and checked yourself out in the boy's mirror. Now this was a complete outfit. Perfect for a Hogsmeade weekend.

You slipped back out of the boy's dorm and started making your way down to the great hall for breakfast.

You pushed open the heavy doors to the great hall, the smell of fresh breakfast food immediately hitting you. You skipped down to the table, going to meet up with the girls to discuss the future Hogsmeade antics.

You giggled as you jogged past the marauders. With the prettiest smile, you waved to them. “Hi boys, don't cheap out in Hogsmeade later!”. You rushed to meet with the girls, oblivious to all the eyes that were on you.

As you sat down, the boys, who were a little further up the table, all sat gawking at you. James nudged Sirius excitedly. “D’ya see what Shes wearing mate?”

He had seen, which is why, when James had asked him, he had barely been able to form a response. He had felt the wind be knocked out of him as he saw you giggling and waving, clad in his leather jacket. It was almost like he was in a trance, raking his eyes over every inch of your frame, wondering how on earth that happened. And how he could get it to happen every single day. His thoughtfulness was broken by his friend's voice belting across the table.

“Oi, (Y/N), you look absolutely astonishing in Padfoot’s jacket!” The sound of your name made you whip your head up, as you giggled with a blush coating your cheeks. Just as quickly as he had shouted, Lily had shouted back.

“Dont be jealous James, just because you don't want to share him!” This caused all your friends to burst into a fit of laughter, all except one. Marlene was holding a firm glare at you from across the table.

The boys vehemently questioned Sirius for the next 5 minutes. Questions of ‘did you know she was gonna wear that?’ or ‘did you finally make a move?’ or ‘i bet you're loving this’. The latter wasn't really a question, more a very correct observation which made him blush.

Their conversation was cut short however, when they heard a clatter of plates from a little way down the table. They all snapped their heads toward the sound and found you and Marlene glaring at each other across the table. If looks could kill, wow. It had honestly only been a few minutes since you arrived, and they were all puzzled as to what could've happened in such a short time.

And then, as if you were reading their minds. “So what if you had sex with your ex?” Came from you, as you flicked your head to the side condescendingly. The boys' jaws dropped; they probably would've hit the floor if there wasn't a table in the way. James looked as if he was watching the best soap opera of his life.

Sirius and Marlene had a fling a few weeks back. It obviously meant more to her than him. And through the pangs of jealousy, you had comforted her. But it seems that wasnt enough for her, she wanted you to drop Sirius entirely.

Sirius felt a jab into his ribs, and he quickly dragged his eyes away from the scene. “Ow!” He mouthed silently, trying not to disturb the tension. Remus rolled his eyes and mouthed back, ‘did you actually sleep with her?’. Now it was Sirius’ turn to roll his eyes as he whispers. ‘Obviously not, you know she doesn't like me back’.

‘Yeah, he wishes. Peter added quietly, which caused Sirius to blush and tut, before they all turned their attention back to the scene.

“Listen, im sorry he didn't want you, but that's no reason to treat me horribly, because he wants me now, is it?” The condescension in your voice was enough to grate on anyone who was on the receiving end.

“Not wrong on that one.” Remus whispered quietly, causing Sirius to whack his arm lightly. HIs heart rate sped up like crazy. Did you know he liked you, all this time? Or where you just trying to get under her skin. The thoughts felt overwhelming.

And then, It almost felt as if time slowed, as they watched Marlene snap. She grabbed the jug of pumpkin juice on the table and dashed it all over you. You had an utterly shocked look on your face. Not just because you were covered in pumpkin juice, but also because you were slightly impressed, she stood up for herself.

But alas, war does not stop because of bravery. Your hand quietly slid a bottle of ketchup under the table as you spoke. Marlene had missed it, but it didn't get past Sirius. “You know Marlene, I wouldn't wanna ruin that pretty fake blonde hair of yours.” You laughed cynically, lifting the ketchup bottle.

That second, Sirius jumped from his seat and ran down the table, grabbed your waist and hauled you up in his arms. He was already dragging you away as you pressed down on the bottle, squirting it all over her.

“Ugh! You Bitch!” She screamed as she desperately tried to rub the ketchup from her face, with the girls next to her trying to calm her down.

You laughed maniacally as you struggled against Sirius's grip while he carried you out of the great hall. Phrases of ‘let go Sirius!’ and ‘it wasn't my fault!’ fell from your mouth. Youd eventually stopped struggling about halfway to the common room, accepting your fate.

When you finally reached the common room, he dropped you lightly onto one of the couches, and loomed over you, like a teacher about to reprimand you.

“Sirius! Why did you drag me out of there I was winning?” The adrenaline was still clearly running through your veins as you laughed. By the look on his face, he did not find it funny.

“(Y/N). You’ve just lost your friendship with Marlene, and potentially just sacrificed your friendship with Lily and Mary.” That definitely soured your mood. Suddenly, it wasn't very funny. “Why, in Godric Gryffindors name, did you do that?”

You threw your hands down on the couch and pouted. “You wouldn't get it, Pads.” You sighed and tried to turn away from him.

He had crouched down to your level now, turning you back to him with a hand on your knee. “Oh yeah, what’s so possibly bad that it warranted staining a girl, apparently fake blonde hair, news to me by the way, red with ketchup?” You tried to hide your giggle at his comment and did your best to keep silent. “Seriously, did she insult you or something? Whatever it was couldn't have warranted that.”

You sighed again as the argument replayed through your head. You could already feel the anger building up in you again. “You should’ve heard what she was saying about you Sirius, it was all ‘he’s this, he’s that’ And then! She insinuated I slept with you, for my own personal gain, not because I liked you, not because Im in love with you, she thought I did it for bragging rights! Which is absolutely ridiculous by the way. Anyone who uses someone for bragging rights is absolutely disgusting, especially if they use you. So no, her insulting me wasn’t enough to warrant ketchup hair, but insulting you was!”

You were bordering on shouting at this point, although your anger was misdirected. You took a deep breath and tried to calm your shaking hands. After a beat, you lifted your head to look at him, worried youll still find an angry look in his eyes.

Instead, he was gaping at you. You furrowed your brows, questioning the incredulous look on his face.

“You said you loved me.” He whispered lightly, worried if he spoke too loudly the words might crack his resolve.

Your eyes widened as you studied his features. “I did not!” You tried to insist but the shock caused it to come out smaller than intended.

“Yes, you did! You love me!” A smirk spread across his face as he pointed a finger at you. There was another beat of silence, before you jumped up from the couch and tried to run away from him.

“Come here!” Unfortunately for you, his tall stature was not just for show, as he quickly caught up with you.

He caught up with you as you rounded the couch again, pushing you down onto it. He had you captured between his arms. All he did was stare at you, into your eyes.

“Im sorry your jackets covered in pumpkin juice.” You spoke softly in the space between you two.

“It's fine i just...” His eyes racked over your figure once more. “I just can't believe your actually wearing my clothes.”

You giggled in response and muttered low apologies.

“Plus, I like the taste of pumpkin juice” He smirked, capturing your gaze again. Obviously, you didn’t get the memo, as your response was…

“Taste? I know you're a dog, but you don't lick your-” but your words were soon cut off by Sirius’ voice.

“For once in your life, be quiet!” He chuckled lowly before leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss. It was slow at first, soft, almost anticipatory, but it quickly sped up, almost like it was 6 years of emotions spilling out into one kiss.

“I love you too, by the way” He breathed out as you broke apart, your foreheads laying against each other

“Well id be very upset if you kissed somebody you didn't like, like that” You giggled, lightly running your hand through his hair.

“And i love seeing you in my jacket by the way. But maybe next time tell the truth, and dont antagonize and cause a scene.” His reprimand fell short since he had the dopiest grin on his face. “But thank you for standing up for me.”

You didn't think your grin could get any wider, “Of course.” You lay another kiss on his lips. Maybe Lily was right, you are definitely in for it.

Bonus

The portrait hole swung open as James, Remus and Peter tried to search for their friend. Who was wrapped up in his own little world with his sweetheart on the couch.

They stepped through as James tried to shout up to the dorm. “Pads? We're going to Hogsmeade soon!” His shout wasnt answered, so he glanced around the room. He found you two nuzzled together on the couch, only breaking away at the sound of his voice.

“Oh, Christ alive, Pads get a room! Peter cover your eyes!” James wrapped a hand around his friend's eyes as you and Sirius burst into a fit of giggles on the couch.

“Were coming!” You both untangled from each other and shifted off the couch.

“I cant believe that was what got them to confess! A jacket! D’you think it would work the same if i wore Lilys clothes?” And with a smack of the back of his head from Remus, the group left to finally enjoy their Hogsmeade weekend.

A/N: lmk how i did, leave requests for any hp character. comment for taglist. i love u

#sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black #marauders #marauders era #remus lupin x reader #harry potter #sirius black x you

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 12 hours ago

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Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?”

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes.

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band.

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress.

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it.

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted. He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand.

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!”

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night.

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming.

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets.

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!”

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.”

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes.

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.”

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires.

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you.

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.”

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous.

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious.

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room I had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.”

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night”

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent.

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.”

You had laughed “I find her lovely”

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake”

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said.

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?”

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.”

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep.

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say.

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark.

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him.

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up.

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration.

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore.

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault.

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom.

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming.

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation.

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always.

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that.

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks.

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!”

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother.

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John.

The last person you thought you would see was him.

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?”

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective.

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome.

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all.

He seemed genuinely glad to see you.

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement.

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you.

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy.

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?”

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.”

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.”

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand.

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you.

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly.

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!"

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me."

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that.

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts.

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things.

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare.

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem.

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth.

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?”

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really”

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly.

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want?

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately.

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries.

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started.

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him.

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you.

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain.

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you.

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants.

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days.

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go.

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything.

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom.

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus.

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband.

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in.

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you.

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words.

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly.

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day.

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world.

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you.

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt.

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close.

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was.

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.”

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well.

“Your mother and John?”

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?”

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” she had encircled your waist with an arm as she walked you to the car. She had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself.

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others.

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.”

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you"

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you.

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again.

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much.

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything.

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest.

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning.

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed.

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life.

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off.

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.”

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside.

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic.

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank.

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy.

You had looked up and been stunned.

Marcus.

How was that possible?

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand.

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked.

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary.

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation.

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly.

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you.

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...”

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off.

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair.

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?”

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.”

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.”

“That's not true, I-”

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-”

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.”

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.”

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.”

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart.

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.”

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you.

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you.

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.”

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.”

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right.

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.”

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.”

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel.

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work.

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do.

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office.

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office.

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away.

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices.

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling.

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind.

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague.

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?"

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone?

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.”

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-”

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart.

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach.

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself.

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles.

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person.

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was.

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there.

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there.

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed.

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life.

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet.

________________________________________________________

2011

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country. You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her.

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country.

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name.

Marcus. Again.

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender.

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all.

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender.

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?”

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?”

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini.

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.”

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else.

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.”

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies”

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind.

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes.

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together.

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting.

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas.

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?”

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.”

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie.

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.”

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes”

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck.

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

#pedrostories #pedrostoriesgift24 #marcus pike #Marcus Pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fic #ppcu fics #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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marimayscarlett · 1 day ago

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Introduction post 🤍

Hi, I'm Maria 👋 On my blog, you'll find a concoction of all things Rammstein (especially about Richard Z. Kruspe), with a sprinkle of vampire love and other things I enjoy, and a generous dose of unapologetic nerdy joy - mostly about this bunch:

I enjoy researching and diving into band's history immensly, and like sharing my views and thoughts on various topics related to the band. I'm open to discussions, fangirling and exchanging opinions and views, but I do not tolerate hate or uninformed narrow-mindedness on my blog.

To navigate through my posts (answered asks and original posts), here's a little itinerary to lead you through the creative chaos:

asks: All the asks I've answered so far. To search for something specific, feel free to use the tags listed below.

research & rammsplaining: The corner of my blog where I dive into research of the band and occasionally, posts get a little lengthy - sorry in advance 👀

interviews & quotes: All posts containing linked interviews and/or quotes of Rammstein members can be found here 🎤

Krupse chronicles: Here you'll find snippets and information concering Richard's artistic work, his views and thoughts, life developments and anecdotes 🖤

Kruspe fashion: Be it stage outfits, hair styles, dad outfits, accessoires - the one and only RZK under the fashion magnifying glass 🔎

rammstein thoughts: My thoughts and opinions on various topics related to the band - critical, thoughtful, honest, and sometimes all over the place 💭

thirsting corner: The name says it all 😌

maria rambles: Personal stuff as well as preferences and ideas 🤲🏼

rammchaos: Memes, silly posts, one might even call it shitposting 🙃

concert stuff: Thoughts and collections about the stadium tour and concerts in general 🎸

fanfic recommendations: For enthusiasts of literary treasures 📖

Rammstein family: Everything concering family matters 👪

vampire posting: Only a vampire can love you forever 🦇

my gifs: grainy treats but done with love 🎥

Hopefully, you'll find something enjoyable on your journey around here 🤍

#finally came around to do one of these #introductory post #had to re-tag about 1000 posts. hopefully it works #rammstein #vampire posting #itinerary

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buckysgrace · 1 day ago

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Mistletoe

Closer to My Heart Roll with the Changes

Billy Hargrove x Teacher!Reader

CW: Unprotected sex, dirty talk

You and Billy go Christmas shopping for Theo. Afterwards, Billy has his own fun.

You were nervous and the busy store did nothing to help. You glanced from aisle to aisle, suddenly unaware of what Theo did and didn’t like. You knew you were overthinking it, but part of you wanted to impress him. This would be your first real Christmas with him; you wanted to make it special.

You were inspecting the sweaters in front of you currently, knowing that he wouldn’t want to get too many clothes. That wasn’t as fun as toys. But it was practical for the colder months, and it was The Muppets. He loved them.

“What do you think about this one?” You asked as you held up the sweater, teetering back and forth on it. It seemed like Theo’s interests came and went, you didn’t want to buy him something that he wouldn’t like.

“Yeah,” Billy nodded his head after examining it for a minute, “But get him the blue one if they have it in his size.” He replied as he tilted his head, wrinkling up his nose like he was unsure about the green color. You pulled it aside as you examined it again, agreeing that the blue would probably be better.

“Blue one,” You nodded your head in agreement, “Got it.” You responded as you switched the sweaters around. You thought that the blue looked better anyway, not as intense as the green.

“He needs socks too.” He commented as he came closer to you, scanning the various rows of shirts. He looked at a few of them before deciding otherwise, setting them back onto the stack.

“For Christmas?” You asked curiously, knowing for a fact that kids always complained about getting socks through the years. Clothes were already pretty lame, but socks were the worst. Right there with underwear.

“Might as well,” He said with a laugh, “If he wouldn’t kick them off and lose them, then we wouldn’t have this problem.” He said more seriously, making you nod your head along in agreement. Theo would rather be barefoot than ever wear shoes.

“Don’t know where he gets it from.” You mumbled underneath your breath, knowing that Billy did the same exact thing. Most of Theo’s habits came from Billy, in fact.

“Yeah, yeah,” He shook his head as he placed a package of them into the cart, “I know what you’re suggesting.” He pointed his finger towards you playfully, cocking his eyebrows, before he moved towards where the socks were located. Funnily enough, no one else was around. That was nice.

“I’m not suggesting,” You replied, lips curling into a grin, “I’m telling you the truth.” You added as you scanned the clothing, knowing that Theo preferred white to anything else. He wasn’t a fan of funny looking socks, even though you liked them. You decided that one package of socks was more than enough. You’d probably need another within the next month or two.

“Let’s go look at the toys,” He replied with a shake of his head, “That’s the important stuff, right?” He teased as he pulled the cart in the opposite direction, leaving you to rush to catch up to him. He was moving a lot faster than you were used to, but he was always like this in the store. He preferred to get in and out; rather than to linger within the store.

“He will be most excited about the toys,” You agreed as you walked with him, “How many are we getting for him?” You asked seriously, shuffling inside of your purse to pull free the list of various gift ideas that you two had come up with. The list was long. And expensive.

“Depends,” He shrugged his shoulders, “I try and do at least three big ones, then go from there.” He told you as he pressed his lips together, scanning the aisles thoughtfully.

“Sounds like a great plan.” You told him seriously, feeling like that was just enough for Theo. And that wouldn’t put a giant hole in your shared budget. There would certainly be enough to go around.

You looked around the aisle slowly, pacing back and forth and squeezing past the various people that were all squashed inside. You eventually fought elbow to elbow, pulling free two different sets of toys before you returned to Billy.

“Which one of these?” You asked as you struggled to hold onto both of them, trying to make up your mind for which Theo would enjoy the most. You weren’t sure if you should do a toy theme, or just give various toys of what he wanted. Probably a mixture.

“Uh,” Billy paused as he leaned against the cart, inspecting both of the items, “Dinosaurs over toy guns.” He nodded his head as he selected a different item, putting it into the cart. You paused, furrowing your brows together.

“I thought he was into cowboys now?” You questioned him out loud, recalling how Theo had been rambling about cowboys the previous few weeks. It was his new favorite thing to play.

“He is,” He nodded along, “But I’m not cleaning those toy bullets up all the time.” He spoke more serious this time, the look on your face telling you that he had already experienced this once before.

“But the dinosaur makes sounds.” You told him with a little laugh, knowing that the sounds from toys could be just as annoying. He nodded his head softly.

“Not if there are no batteries in them,” He said with a little smirk, “Plus he loves dinosaurs more than anything. Maybe not more than cars.” He added as he thought about it, picking up a Hot Wheels toy from the side and tossing it inside the basket.

“I thought about getting him this one,” You replied as you held up one of the cars, a blue one, “It’s remotely controlled.” You said unsure of yourself. He looked towards you, an encouraging look in his eyes.

“He’d love it,” He grinned as he watched you, “And you picked out the right color.” He reassured you, making you inhale deeply.

“Good.” You told him seriously as you put the item into the cart. You chewed on your bottom lip, inspecting them briefly. You hoped that it would be enough and that he would have a special day.

“You know,” He paused for a minute as you began to stress over another selection of items, “You could give him a bag of undies and he’d love it.” He admitted as he pushed a few more little toys inside, likely to be stocking stuffers.

“I am not giving him undies,” You said quickly, “Unless he needs them?” You asked as you glanced back towards the clothing section, figuring it might be nice to escape the large crowds anyways.

“No,” He shook his head, “I’m just saying you’re going overboard when you don’t need to.” He told you seriously, making your lips part in surprise. That was not what you were doing at all.

“I am not going overboard.” You defended yourself, shaking your head as he guided you out of the toy aisle again. You briefly looked back over your shoulder, then at your list to ensure that you had gotten all the items on there.

“You got a whole theme of gift wrap and wrapping paper.” He reminded you as he cocked his eyebrows, like he was proving a point. Which he wasn’t. You felt like a theme was completely normal.

“And he’s going to love it,” You nodded your head, “Special wrapping paper for Theo.” You smiled brightly as you looked down at it, feeling proud of your selections. You were sure that Billy had stressed out over his first Christmas with Theo too. Even if he had been too little to remember.

You selected a few smaller gifts after that, watching the way Billy effortlessly tossed things into the cart. But he didn’t have to overthink in the way you did. Deep down you were fearful that you would somehow manage to ruin Christmas for Theo. And for Billy. You wanted it to be special.

“What kind of candy does he like?” You asked once you reached the candy aisle, knowing that he would love this part. Theo loved sweets. You thought it was funny when he would get it all over his fingers and his cheeks.

“Anything with peanut butter,” He replied as he looked around, “Although he occasionally likes something sour. But not too much.” He confirmed with a little grin, like he was recalling a memory.

“Any chips?” You asked after you dumped your candy selection into the cart. You scanned the aisles curiously, trying to think about what he would like. Maybe just some plain chips. But he did like the ruffles better.

“How much are you wanting to get for him?” Billy asked suddenly, taking you by surprise. You wrinkled your eyebrows together, staring at the cart then at him.

“It’s Christmas.” You stated softly, failing to admit that it had been some time before you had been apart of a grand celebration.

“And it doesn’t mean we have to go broke,” He chuckled softly, biting down on his bottom lip, “Trust me. This is plenty.” He stated seriously, making you shake your head softly. You still wanted to make it special for Theo.

“I’m getting him chips,” You decided at last, “Does he still like the bbq flavored?” You asked him softly, feeling like you could stop once you had that selected.

“Yes,” He laughed, “Or Cheetos.” He said a second later, still grinning as you turned around to search for that brand next.

“Cheetos are good,” You agreed with a nod of your head, “What else do you usually get him?” You asked as you rocked back and forth on your feet, feeling like there was still a lot to do. But maybe you were wrong.

“I already got him a new toothbrush and toothpaste,” He hummed as he looked over, “There’s some bath stuff too. That’s about it.” He nodded his head as he chewed on his bottom lip. You breathed in deeply.

“You’re sure?” You questioned him, not wanting to forget one item. Maybe you’d even give Theo a few dollars to spend. Billy leaned forward, resting his elbows against the cart.

“Positive.” He told you seriously, telling you that there was no room for arguments. You nodded your head in agreement, deciding that he must be right.

You ignored the amount on the screen as the two of you checked out, knowing that it would be worth it. Theo was careful with all of his toys and played with them all the same. And even if he didn’t, that would be fine too.

You winced as the bags slammed against the walls and furniture once you arrived back at the apartment, your arms aching from how heavy they had all grown. Maybe you had gone a bit overboard, but you wouldn’t admit that to Billy. No, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“You did good.” He hummed as he kissed your neck, his fingers wrapping around your wrists softly. You grinned at the feeling, enjoying the way he continually kissed across your skin.

“We need to wrap the presents,” You said with a little laugh, closing your eyes softly as his tongue fell against your skin, “Billy, Theo will be home soon.” You reminded him, knowing that you guys couldn’t be late to pick him up.

“He doesn’t snoop,” He chuckled as he bit down on your flesh, making you gasp, “I want to feel you.” He hummed softly, sending vibrations across your skin. You breathed in the feeling, heart hammering roughly inside of your chest.

You gasped at the feeling of his hands against your hips, squeezing softly as his lips found yours. You dragged your mouth against his smoothly, kissing him deeply as he began to drag your pants down over your hips.

Your heart hammered harshly at the image of him on his knees in front of you. You were sure that you would never get used to that sight, it made your insides twist and curl with pleasure every time.

Hips lips were warm against your hip bone as he kissed your skin softly, his tongue dancing out to lick away your goosebumps. You pressed your fingers together at your side, sighing deeply as your clit throbbed with anticipation.

It was like he knew as he dipped his head lower, darting his tongue out against your slick folds. You whimpered as you moved your hips forward, whining as he brushed his tongue across your aching clit. You rocked your hips against his mouth, moaning as you linked your fingers through his dirty blonde curls.

“Tastes so good,” He groaned as his eyes turned up towards yours, his lips curling into a smirk as he gripped your hips, “You’re still wearing too many layers.” He huffed, making you squeal as he pushed you back against the bed.

You laughed as your head hit the mattress, the bed moving underneath you as he roughly pulled the remainder of your clothes away from your ankles. He sat up then, crawling over you with a devious smirk on his lips.

“Don’t look so cocky,” You replied as you pressed your fingers against his chest, grinning as he removed your shirt and bra next. He moved his hands slowly over your curves, admiring your flesh before he brought his fingertips against your hardened nipples, “We have to be quick. We’re wrapping those presents today.”

“Oh yeah,” He nodded his head, flicking his tongue out against his teeth, “We’ll certainly get right on that.” He cocked his eyebrows as he watched you, his hand slowly drifting across his abdomen. You watched as you sat up on your elbows, licking your lips as he slowly began to undo his belt.

You were sure that he knew what he was doing, which is why he took his sweet time in unfastening his belt. You breathed in deeply, heart hammering roughly inside of your chest. He seemed to loom over you as he pulled his jeans down, biting down on his bottom lip as he watched you.

“Well?” You questioned him, raising your eyebrows, “Get on with it.” You teased as you gave him a little nudge with your foot. He chuckled as he let his jeans fall to his knees, his hands rough against your hips as he pulled you towards the edge of the bed.

You stared at the way his thick cock fell against your skin, warm and heavy as you slowly rocked your hips forward. You chewed on your bottom lip, hoping that he couldn’t see how desperate you were. But he always seemed to know.

He sent you a cocky look as he pressed his thick tip against your slick hole. He groaned as he gave his balls a little squeeze, huffing underneath his breath before he slid inside of you.

You gaped, tossing your head back as you felt your walls stretching around his fat dick. The feeling made you whimper, whine as your toes curled in bliss. You reached out to grab his biceps, supporting yourself as he slid inside of you fully.

You always felt stuffed to the brim by the time he bottomed out inside of you, your cunt leaking around his girth as his calloused fingertips fell to your hips. He squeezed as a groan rolled off of his tongue, his eyebrows furrowed together as a look of pleasure became etched on his features.

“God,” You whimpered as you dug your fingernails into his skin, earning a little hiss of pleasure from him, “You feel so good.” You praised him as he slowly moved his hips, pressing into you even further. You gaped as the air left your lungs, the bliss growing deep inside of your stomach.

“Mhm,” He groaned as he began to drag his cock in and out of your slick walls, squeezing at your hips as he continued to keep you in place, “Your cunt is so greedy. Look at how well she takes me.” He smirked as he flicked his tongue out against his lips, looking rather cocky this time.

You had no way to protest, knowing that you were very greedy for him. You wanted him deeper inside of you, to move faster and slower all at the same time. Sounds of pleasure fell forth from your tongue, filling the room as your clit ached in awe.

Your back slid smoothly against the mattress as he dragged you roughly along the curve of his cock, your cunt swallowing each glorious inch of his thick girth. You reached down between your legs, rubbing at your clit as he continued to press himself deeper inside of you.

“Such a little slut,” He groaned as he leaned over you, his cheeks slightly pink as he pressed his lips against yours roughly. You savored the taste of the mint on his lips, how his mustache brushed against your skin, “You take me so well.” He groaned as you continued to cling to him, desperate to feel more of him.

His lips were hot against yours, your kiss muffling the moans that continued to slide off of your tongue. His teeth grazed against your bottom lip, biting down softly before he gave a little tug. You sighed deeply, the electricity warm between your bodies as his eyes fell towards your features.

“All for you,” You gaped as you rocked your hips forward slightly, crying out as he hit your bundle of nerves. Your legs shook, nipples hardened as you continued to rub at your sensitive bud, “Oh my God!” Whines left your mouth as you began to rut yourself against his cock, desperate to feel more of him.

Your hands fell to his shoulders, then to the back of his neck so you could link your fingers through his dirty blonde curls. He groaned louder as you gave his hair a tug, his cock twitching inside your smooth walls as he pressed more of his weight on top of you.

Pleasure burned deep inside of you, sending goosebumps across your skin. You could feel your high burning inside of you, making you shake as your cunt clenched down around his thick girth. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, becoming a dirty melody as it mixed with your sounds of pleasure.

“Billy, oh fuck,” You cursed as you tugged on his hair harder, making him moan louder. You craved that sound, wanted to hear more of it as you clung to him, “Oh God! Don’t stop!” You begged at the rough way he continued to drag you along the curve of his cock. He was shaped so perfectly, hitting all of your deepest crevices with his rough movements.

“You’re such a good whore for me,” He groaned as he gripped your chin, his movements becoming more rapid as he continually stroked that deep spot inside of you. You swore you saw stars as he forced you to continue to look at him, “Greedy little thing.” He smirked, his breath warm against your face as you felt your orgasm crashing over you.

You came with a cry, arching your chest up against his skin. He held onto you tightly, grunting as your walls clamped down around him. You felt as if you were floating while you pleasure crashed over the two of you.

“Fuck, fuck,” He grunted as he slammed into you harder, the sound of your pussy leaking around his cock growing in the room, “You feel so fucking good.” He whined out this time, his voice cracking as he pressed himself deep inside of you.

You whimpered, your fingers digging into his skin as his cum filled your weeping cunt. He groaned as his forehead fell against yours, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own. Everything felt electric, too intense. You enjoyed it all.

“You’re so bad,” You teased as you rubbed his sides, laughing as you ran your fingers across his skin, “You’re putting us behind schedule.” You reminded him, but was still unable to push him away. You could settle against him for a few minutes.

He chuckled as he brushed his lips across your face, the scent of mint strong as he turned his gaze towards you again, “You know you love it.” He hummed against your lips, leaving you with no room to agree. Even though he was right. You did love it.

And him.

Tags: @cassandracorvo @shes-an-odd-bird @kiauh @that-one-lightskin @galacticglitterglue @thejadevvitch @missingbillyhargrove

#Billy Hargrove #Billy Hargrove x reader #Billy hargrove x female reader #Billy Hargrove x fem!reader #Billy Hargrove x female!reader #Billy Hargrove fluff #Billy Hargrove smut #Billy Hargrove x reader smut #Billy Hargrove x Y/N #Billy Hargrove x Y/N smut #Billy Hargrove x you #Billy Hargrove x you smut #Billy Hargrove x teacher!reader

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nausicaamusiclover20 · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! Can I request a load era Kirk x wife!reader when he suggests (as a joke, but he’s playing it very seriously) thathe wants a “hall pass” to hook with a famous model or groupie to “spice up” their marriage cause to him, life has become boring; maybe Lars or James done it and now Kirk wants to try it too. She’s humiliated and threatens to divorce him - but he thinks she’s just joking too. He leaves for studio but then he comes back he finds that she left, but before she filled the divorce papers and called him a hooker for his “hall pass”? And he realizes that she took it seriously and feels stupid?

I hope you like it!❤

A pass too far

I didn’t know how it happened, but somewhere along the way, things started feeling... off. Our routine had become predictable, and I wasn’t blind to the way Kirk had started pulling away. He was restless, like he was missing something. And I tried, I really did, to make things exciting again. But no matter what I did, it felt like he wasn’t really here.

That night, when we sat down for dinner, I thought maybe we could have a conversation about it—maybe he’d finally open up, share what was on his mind. I didn’t expect the bomb he dropped.

“So, babe,” Kirk started, a little too casually, like he was testing the waters, “I’ve been thinking.”

My stomach fluttered a little, expecting him to say something like, "I love you," or maybe "Let’s take a vacation." Instead, what he said next made me freeze.

“I think we should spice things up a little,” he continued, his grin playful, “What if you gave me a hall pass?”

I blinked, sure I hadn’t heard him right. “A what?”

“A hall pass,” he repeated, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He leaned back in his chair, looking almost pleased with himself, “You know, like a free pass to hook up with a model or a groupie. You know, like Lars and James do. They do it, so why not me?”

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. This had to be some kind of joke. But the more I looked at his face, the more I realized he was completely serious. The smirk on his lips told me he wasn’t joking.

My chest tightened. I could feel the blood draining from my face as I tried to process what he was saying. A hall pass? To sleep with someone else? He was seriously asking me for this? Was he out of his mind?

My thoughts were racing, trying to make sense of it, but all I could manage to say was, “Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m not,” he said, almost too easily, as if this was just another idea he’d thrown out. “I just think, you know, things have gotten kind of boring. A little spice would be good for both of us, don’t you think? We could try something new.”

My hands were shaking now. I pushed my chair back and stood up, the anger rising in my chest. “So, let me get this straight,” I said, my voice trembling, “You want me to just give you permission to go fuck some random woman, and you think that’ll ‘spice things up’ for us?”

He shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, why not? It’s not like it means anything. It could be fun.”

Fun? My stomach turned. I had never felt so small in my entire life. “So I’m supposed to just let you do that, right?” I laughed bitterly, the sound of it breaking through my shock. “Like I’m just supposed to sit here while you go out and hook up with someone else because you think our marriage is boring?”

“I’m just saying, it could work,” he added, his voice too casual for the storm raging inside me.

I shook my head, backing away from the table. The words caught in my throat, but the anger in my chest was making it hard to breathe. I had no idea how we’d gotten here, how I’d ended up here, with him suggesting that I just let him have some kind of free pass to do whatever he wanted. It was humiliating, and I felt every bit of that humiliation rising in my throat.

“No,” I said, my voice trembling with fury. “No way, Kirk. If you think I’m going to just sit here and let you do that, you’re out of your mind. That’s not how this works. I’m not your fucking hooker, Kirk. And if this is what you want, then I’m done. I’m done.”

His face shifted slightly, but he didn’t seem to fully grasp how serious I was. “Come on, babe, it’s just a joke. Don’t overreact. You’re being dramatic.”

I felt my heart break. "Dramatic?" I repeated, my voice shaking with disbelief. “You seriously think I’m being dramatic? You want to sleep with someone else, and I’m the one overreacting?”

“You’re not overreacting,” he said, finally standing up. “I’m just saying it could be fun—”

“No,” I cut him off, taking a step back. “You’re serious, and I’m not sticking around for this. If you want that, go ahead. But I’m done. We’re done.”

He didn’t try to stop me. He didn’t reach for me or beg me to stay. Instead, he just looked at me with this confused, almost smug expression, like he thought I was the one being ridiculous.

I grabbed my bag, the tears threatening to spill, but I was too angry to let them fall. I didn’t want him to see me break. Not like this. Not over something so stupid.

“I’m filing the divorce papers,” I said, my voice steady but cold. “And don’t bother trying to talk me out of it. You wanted a hall pass, Kirk. You can have it. But I’m not your second choice. I won’t be your joke.”

I left, slamming the door behind me, not caring about the sound or the chaos it left in my wake.

The next morning, I filed the divorce papers. I couldn’t believe it had come to this, but how could I stay with someone who thought so little of me? The worst part was, I had a feeling he didn’t even understand what he’d just done.

I thought about leaving him a note, but the words just came out so easily, so honestly. “I’m not your hooker, Kirk. Goodbye.”

I didn’t expect it to hit me like that.

I walked into the house after a long day at the studio, the sound of guitars and drums still echoing in my mind. The band's been busy with the new album, and there's always something brewing—something new to get excited about. But today, something felt off, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The house was quieter than usual. Too quiet.

I called out for her, but no response. Maybe she’d stepped out. Maybe she was out running errands. But no, something didn’t sit right. I walked through the house, checking every room, but there was no sign of her. Nothing.

Then I saw it.

The envelope on the kitchen table. My name was scrawled across it in that familiar handwriting. My stomach twisted.

I opened it without thinking, pulling the paper out. But when my eyes scanned the words, I felt a sudden wave of nausea.

“I’m not your hooker, Kirk. Goodbye.”

I read it again, blinking hard, as if doing so would make it all make sense. Goodbye? No, she couldn’t be serious. She couldn’t. My mind raced as I looked down at the divorce papers that fell out alongside the note. The room started to feel smaller, the air thinner.

I stumbled back a step, trying to make sense of what I was holding. My heart pounded in my chest. She’d really left. It was real. She was gone, and it was my fault.

I didn’t know how long I stood there, staring at the papers in my hand, still trying to wrap my head around it. My mind kept circling back to what I’d said earlier—the joke. It was supposed to be a joke. A stupid joke. But I didn’t realize how deeply it had cut her. How it had destroyed something that should’ve been sacred to both of us.

I felt like a damn fool. But I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know if I could.

Without thinking, I grabbed the phone from the wall, dialing the number I knew all too well. My hands shook as I punched in the digits, my mind screaming for her to pick up. She had to. She had to hear me out.

The phone rang, each ring feeling like a punch in my gut. I tried to steady my breath. She’ll answer, she’ll answer, I thought, but the ringing only grew louder in my ear, more deafening.

And then... it stopped. A dial tone.

I hung up, staring at the receiver in my hand. I didn’t even know what I’d say to her. What could I even say? The words felt useless, like a pathetic excuse for what I’d done.

My chest tightened, and for the first time, the gravity of everything hit me.

I didn’t know when I had become so careless. I didn’t know when I started thinking it was okay to make jokes like that. To push her away. But now, standing in this empty house, I understood.

The tears came, unbidden, but I didn’t try to stop them. There was nothing left to say. I had everything I wanted, all the fame, the music, the tours... But I had never understood how much I needed her—how much I loved her—until it was too late.

And now? Now I was alone. A fool, sitting in a house filled with echoes of things I could never get back.

I looked back at the divorce papers, the words dancing in front of me, almost mocking me. How could I have been so stupid?

I picked up the phone again, but I didn’t dial. I couldn’t. She wasn’t going to pick up. She was gone, and I had no idea if she’d ever come back.

#metallica #metallica oneshot #metallica fanfiction #metallica angst #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett one shot #kirk hammett imagines #kirk hammett x you #kirk hammett #angst #kirk hammett angst #reqs open #nausicaamusiclover20

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stargirlie-sharon · 22 hours ago

Text

Amber

The Broomstown Rescue Team's kind and intelligent medic, filled with endurance and is incredibly empathetic. But Amber, as sweet as she can be, can become rather sinister when mad. Angering her is inadvisable.

She dislikes being underestimated and is determined to prove her worth regardless of what anyone says or believes.

Amber acts quite a lot like a maternal figure, especially toward her fellow rescuers, and is seen as a mother or a older sister by the others.

Backstory

Back in her early days, Amber was a medic trainee at the medical academy she studied in and was built in. She and the many other robovehicles there were designed to specialize in the medical field, to assist doctors, nurses, surgeons, etc.

Believe it or not, but Amber was quite the reserved individual, in contrast to her now more confident self. Although she held great potential, it was often overshadowed by her timidness and low self-esteem. This, combined with her clumsiness, lead to her being teased by her fellow trainees, which only lowered her confidence more.

Despite this, she showed promising work in her studies and medical knowledge, often reacting fast enough in practice drills and memorizing protocols and medicines. Her self-esteem gradually improved over time, but she still was fairly timid. When she graduated, she was selected to become part of the Broomstown Rescue Team, chosen for her outstanding skills. She was flattered, yes, but was she really worthy of such a title? Honorary paramedic of the Broomstown Rescue Team?

Amber felt undeserving of that role. Surely, they must've made a mistake. While she was admittedly proficient in the medical field, she was more than content with just being a doctor in a hospital. Being a rescuer was a little too much for her. She got along well with the rest of the team, and she could definitely see herself becoming close partners with them despite her shyness, but that didn't meant she was going to change her mind about being competent enough to be part of the rescue team.

However, that was until she met Jin. The human emergency dispatcher of the team. And a chronically ill one, at that. Amber had learned about taking care of patients like her back at the academy. As a medic, she felt responsible for her and made sure that she was always taken care of. The two grew close as a pair.

When Jin had wrapped that ribbon around her arm, she told her it was a welcome gift from her to the medic. That was when Amber had realised she had found her forever home.

amber's RD (rewritten destinies) reference is done! the first of many to come...

i'm super excited to show what i have in store for this AU! esp for the rescue team ^_^ i have a ton of ideas for them

thank you all for the support for this au! feel free to share your thoughts about it in the reblogs or comments :D

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lottluvs · 2 days ago

Note

Jackie Taylor x Shy! Female Reader (but Jackie brings out your confident side): Childhood best friends to lovers.

Jackie and your parents ran in the same social circles, your fathers being especially close, while your mothers did not get along beyond polite pleasantries. You attend different schools but talk on the phone daily and see each other as often as possible. You both planned your entire future together, and you start dating. Your parents tell you that you’re moving, and no matter how much you beg to stay, it’s non-negotiable. Not long after, you find out about the plane crash.

Thank you! — 🫀

Teathered By Distance, Torn By Fate . (✉️)

gripping at the sheets as my tears stain them. crying. this reminds me of the movie ghost. ( p . s : proofread by scan , apologies for spelling errors ! ) 🌿

paring : jackie taylor x reader , c / w : character death , grieving , hallucinations , heartache , overall total devastation , fluff , hurt/comfort .

summary : childhood best friends become more , growing together , planning a future , when not only does reader move away , but the news of an unfortunate plane crash tears the two completely apart from harsh reality .

words : 5k

lottluvs , feel free to translate with credit . . open to criticism 🌱

a / n : i had to use a few time skips to pair this with all my ideas , my apologies!

Your first memory of Jackie Taylor was at her family’s Fourth of July barbecue when you were five years old. She had come bounding up to you, her confidence as radiant as the sun that reflected off her blonde curls.

“I’m Jackie,” she’d declared, sticking out her hand. “We’re going to be best friends.”

And just like that, she was right.

Your fathers worked together in the same tight-knit business circles, making your families natural fixtures in each other’s lives. While your mothers barely tolerated each other behind thin veneers of polite civility, Jackie and you were inseparable. It didn’t matter that you attended different schools or that she thrived in a social world that terrified you. Jackie made you feel like you belonged wherever she was.

Jackie always had a way of filling the silence you preferred with her own brand of light. When you shrank from new people or doubted yourself, Jackie was there to pull you forward, her hand warm and firm around yours. She made you feel safe and seen.

“We’re going to do everything together when we’re older,” she said one summer, sprawled across her pristine pink comforter, flipping through a magazine. “College, apartments, double dates. Everything.”

You didn’t know what your future looked like, but Jackie’s confidence was enough for both of you.

As you grew older, your bond didn’t fade. Even with your different schools and social circles, you talked every day—on the phone, at each other’s houses, and in the few moments you managed to steal during busy weekends. She told you about soccer practices and her drama with Shauna, and you shared pieces of your life you never thought you’d say out loud.

Then, when you were both sixteen, something changed. Jackie’s touches lingered just a little too long. Her eyes stayed on you in ways they hadn’t before. It was small at first—a brush of her knee against yours under the dinner table, a hand on your lower back that made your breath hitch. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Jackie was affectionate with everyone. But deep down, you wanted it to mean everything.

It wasn’t until the night of her family’s Fourth of July party that your quiet longing turned into something real. You and Jackie had slipped away from the crowd, sitting in the backyard under the fireworks. The colorful lights reflected in her eyes as she turned to you, her voice soft but certain.

“You’ll always stay with me, right? Even if everything else changes?”

“Of course,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.

Jackie smiled, leaning in until her forehead rested against yours. “Good.” Then, without hesitation, she kissed you.

Her lips were soft, hesitant at first, but when you didn’t pull away, she pressed closer. It felt like everything you’d ever dreamed but didn’t dare to hope for. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours.

From that moment on, Jackie Taylor wasn’t just your best friend— more— she was your everything.

Dating Jackie was like standing in the sun. She made you feel braver, stronger, like the world wasn’t so scary with her by your side. But she also had an image to uphold, so your relationship remained a secret. It didn’t matter. The stolen glances, whispered promises, and late-night phone calls were enough.

“I don’t get how you don’t see it,” Jackie said one evening, her head resting on your shoulder as you lay on her bed. “You’re amazing. You just… don’t let yourself show it.”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m not like you.”

“No,” she said, sitting up and cupping your face. “You’re better.”

Jackie had a way of making you believe her, even when your doubts threatened to creep in.

But good things don’t last forever.

The announcement came one chilly autumn evening: your father’s portion of his job was transferring your family out of state. When they told you, your heart shattered. You begged them to let you stay—offered to live with relatives, promised to make it work somehow—but it was no use.

When you told Jackie, the confidence she wore like armor cracked.

“You can’t leave,” she said, her voice breaking. “You promised me.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face.

Jackie pulled you into her arms, holding you like she could keep you from slipping away. “We’ll make it work,” she said, her voice firm despite the tears in her eyes. “I’ll visit. You’ll visit. It won’t change anything.”

But you both knew it wasn’t that simple.

The days leading up to your move were a blur of heartbreak. Every moment felt heavy with the knowledge that it might be your last together. Jackie kissed you like she was trying to memorize the feel of your lips, held your hand like letting go would break her.

When the moving truck pulled away, you watched her figure disappear in the rearview mirror, and a part of you broke.

At first, you and Jackie tried to hold on. You called every night, sent letters, and made plans to see each other. But life got in the way. Jackie had soccer, her friends, and the pressure of being Jackie Taylor. You had your own struggles—trying to adjust to a new school, a new life, without her. The calls became less frequent, the letters shorter.

Then, one day, the calls diminished altogether.

You tried to tell yourself it was just life pulling you apart. That Jackie was busy, and you were busy, and this was normal. But deep down, you felt the tether between you fraying.

Then the news came.

A plane crash. Survivors unlikely.

The news came over the TV, cutting through the quiet hum of your family’s kitchen. The anchor’s voice was grave, his words slow and deliberate, as though speaking them aloud would somehow make them less horrifying.

“A private plane carrying the Wiskayok High School girls’ soccer team has gone missing. Early reports indicate that the aircraft may have crashed in a remote forest area, as it has been missing for over 48 hours. Authorities have not yet confirmed if there are any survivors.”

Your fork clattered onto your plate. The world tilted sideways as the air was sucked from your lungs.

No.

No, no, no.

Your parents turned toward you, their faces blurred through the haze of panic that had suddenly engulfed you.

“Isn’t that—”

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

Heart pounding, you sprinted to your room, slamming the door shut behind you. Jackie. Jackie was on that plane.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed the corded phone from your nightstand, punching in her number. Each ring felt like an eternity, the dial tone taunting you with its silence. Then came the voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Jackie! You know what to do. Leave a message!”

Her voice, so bright and alive, hit you like a punch to the chest.

You hung up and immediately dialed again. And again. And again. Each time, the voicemail greeted you, that same cheerful tone now cruelly mocking.

The phone slipped from your hand, hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Tears blurred your vision as you stumbled toward the shoebox tucked beneath your bed. It was filled with letters, Polaroids, and little trinkets Jackie had given you over the years. The pink friendship bracelet she’d made at summer camp when you were thirteen. The mixtape she’d handed you last Christmas, scrawled with Our Favorites in her messy handwriting.

Fumbling through the box, you found her old soccer hoodie—the one she’d let you borrow after a game when you’d complained about being cold. It still faintly smelled like her, a mix of flowery deodorant and something undeniably Jackie.

You clutched it to your chest, sinking onto your bed as your sobs tore through the silence.

“No, no, no,” you whispered, shaking your head as though you could will the reality away. “She’s okay. She’s fine. She’s Jackie.”

Your fingers fumbled to rewind the tape deck on your stereo. The mixtape clicked into place, Jackie’s familiar voice spilling into the room as she introduced the first track—“Every Breath You Take,” by The Police.

“Okay, so, this is totally a banger,” her recorded voice said, laughing. “I’m going to make you listen to it on repeat until you admit it’s your favorite, too.”

The first beat riff began, jagged and raw, and you doubled over, clutching the hoodie tighter. Jackie was alive here, in this moment. She was alive.

Desperate, you opened the drawer of your desk where you kept the birthday card she’d given you last year. It was signed in her bubbly handwriting: Happy Sweet Sixteen! To my favorite human ever. I love you more than all the Pop-Tarts in the world.

The tears blurred the words, your chest heaving as you tried to breathe.

“—every move you make, I’ll be watching you.”

When your legs finally gave out, you slid to the floor, surrounded by her things. The hoodie, the bracelet, the mixtape, the Polaroids of you laughing together at the lake. Each item was a piece of her, a piece of what you’d lost.

You grabbed the phone again, dialing her number one more time.

“Hey, it’s Jackie! You know what to do. Leave a message after the beep!”

This time, you didn’t hang up.

“Jackie,” you choked out, your voice shaking. “Please, please call me back. I don’t care when, just… please.”

You knew the plane carried a phone, in your delusional confusion, you thought by calling her, she’d pick up.

The beep cut you off, and you clutched the receiver to your chest, your sobs swallowing the quiet hum of the tape still playing in the background.

The hours blurred together as you sifted through every piece of her you could find, replaying old voicemails, and clutching her gifts like they were lifelines. The sun set outside your window, casting long shadows across your room, but you didn’t move.

You weren’t ready to face a world without Jackie Taylor.

The days after the crash passed in a haze. You barely ate. You barely slept. You existed in a liminal space between denial and despair, grappling with the crushing weight of Jackie’s absence.

Your parents tried to reach you, hovering in the doorway of your room with concerned eyes. But what could they say? How could they comfort you when Jackie—your Jackie—was gone? Their platitudes of “We’re here for you” and “You’ll feel better in time” felt hollow, like someone trying to sew up a wound without stitching the edges together.

You spent hours lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, Jackie’s hoodie clutched to your chest. The cassette mixtape played on repeat, her favorite songs filling the suffocating silence. But even the music couldn’t drown out the gnawing ache in your chest.

You told yourself you needed to keep moving—go to school, do your homework, live your life. But every time you tried, the weight of grief pulled you back under. You’d sit at your desk with a pencil in hand, only to find yourself tracing her name over and over on the margins of your notebook. Jackie Taylor. As though writing it down could bring her back.

Your phone became a lifeline, a relic of hope you couldn’t let go of. You called her number every night, even when you knew it would go to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Jackie! You know what to do…”

You’d listen to her voice until it hurt, your tears soaking into the receiver as you whispered into the void:

“Jackie, please. I don’t know how to do this without you, we— drifted apart I know, I fucking.. hate to admit it, but every ocean connects somehow, someway , right?”

As the days turned into weeks, people around you began to move on. The news cycle shifted, and the world seemed to forget the missing plane and the lives it had claimed. But you couldn’t forget.

You started carrying pieces of her with you everywhere. Her bracelet stayed on your wrist, the plastic beads pressing into your skin like a quiet reminder. The necklace she’d given you—a tiny star charm—rested against your collarbone, tucked beneath your shirt.

You wore her hoodie almost every day, its fraying cuffs a comfort against your fingertips. It didn’t matter if people stared. It didn’t matter if your parents exchanged worried glances. Jackie was gone, but these pieces of her felt like all you had left.

One evening, you found yourself alone in your room, the sun setting outside your window. The fading light cast long shadows across your walls, and for the first time in days, the stillness felt unbearable.

You pulled out the shoebox where you kept Jackie’s letters and gifts, spreading them across your bed like puzzle pieces you couldn’t fit back together. A folded note slipped from one of the Polaroids, fluttering to the floor.

You picked it up, unfolding it with trembling hands. It was from last summer, written in Jackie’s messy scrawl:

You’re my favorite person in the entire world, you know that? Even if you don’t believe it, I do. Don’t ever forget how much you mean to me.

Tears filled your eyes as you traced the words with your fingers. Jackie had always seen something in you that you struggled to see in yourself. Her confidence in you had been unshakable, like a lighthouse guiding you through the storm.

But now the lighthouse was gone, and you were left adrift in the dark.

The first time you returned to school, it felt like walking through a dream. The hallways were too bright, the chatter of your classmates too loud. You kept your head down, gripping the straps of your backpack like they might steady you.

In history class, someone whispered about the missing plane, and your chest tightened. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

At lunch, your friends tried to engage you in conversation, but the sound of their laughter grated against your raw nerves. Didn’t they understand? Jackie was gone. The world wasn’t supposed to keep spinning like nothing had happened.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, locking the stall door behind you as your knees buckled. Pulling Jackie’s bracelet from your wrist, you clutched it tightly, the beads biting into your palm.

“Jackie,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

The silence was deafening.

Eventually, the world forced you to keep moving, even when it felt impossible. You went to class. You finished assignments. You smiled when people asked if you were okay. But inside, the grief stayed with you, a constant ache that never fully faded.

You started writing letters to her, pouring out the words you could no longer say aloud.

Dear Jackie,

I miss you. I keep hoping I’ll wake up and this will all be some horrible dream. But it’s not. You’re really gone, and I don’t know how to live in a world without you. You always said I was stronger than I thought, but I don’t feel strong. I feel like I’m breaking.

The letters became a nightly ritual, a way to tether yourself to her memory. Some nights, you felt her presence so vividly it was like she was sitting beside you, her laughter ringing in your ears. Other nights, the emptiness was unbearable, and you cried until there was nothing left.

But through it all, you held on to the pieces of her that remained. Her words. Her gifts. Her love.

Because even though Jackie was gone, she had left a part of herself with you—a light that refused to go out, even in the darkest moments.

—

It had been nearly a year and a half since the crash. Time hadn’t healed the wound, but it had dulled the edges, turning the raw pain into something quieter, sharper. The grief was no longer a suffocating presence in your every waking moment, but it still lingered, hidden in the farthest corners of your mind. You’d learned to push it down, to carry it like a scar.

You had changed. You weren’t the same shy girl who clung to Jackie’s hoodie and cried herself to sleep every night. You had learned to move through the world without her, even if every step felt wrong. You wore her bracelet still, but her other things—the hoodie, the mixtape—were tucked away in a box at the back of your closet. You didn’t need to see them every day anymore. The memories of her were enough to carry you forward.

It was a quiet evening in your living room when the news broke. You weren’t even paying attention to the TV, your focus instead on a novel you’d been struggling to get through for weeks. The sound of the anchor’s voice was almost background noise until a familiar word cut through.

“…rescue efforts successful after nineteen months in the wilderness. A handful of the Wiskayok High School girls’ soccer team have been found alive…”

Your book slipped from your hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

The screen showed grainy helicopter footage of a group of girls being loaded onto a plane, their faces obscured by heavy jackets and camera angles. The anchor continued, her voice professional but tinged with emotion.

“While the survivors’ identities remain hidden to protect their privacy, sources have confirmed the rescue of Charlotte Matthews, one of the team’s midfielders. Families of the victims are being notified, and authorities are working to provide answers regarding the fate of those still unaccounted for.”

Your heart felt like it had been punched out of your chest. Jackie.

The familiar pang of grief rose to choke you, but this time, it was tangled with something else: hope.

“Mom,” you said, your voice shaky. “Turn it up.”

Your mother, seated in her armchair, grabbed the remote and increased the volume.

The camera panned to a press conference. A man you vaguely recognized as Lottie Matthews’ father stood at a podium, his face lined with exhaustion and relief.

“My daughter is alive,” he said, his voice trembling. “After nineteen months of thinking she was gone, she’s alive—“

The room spun around you. Nineteen months. Jackie had been missing for nineteen months. If Lottie had survived… Jackie could have survived too.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the phone. You didn’t even know who you were calling—your parents, someone, anyone who might have answers.

The line rang, and no one picked up. You hung up and immediately tried again, your breaths coming in short gasps.

“Jackie,” you whispered, her name slipping from your lips unbidden. “Please.”

But the hope burned out as quickly as it flared when the anchor returned, her tone somber.

“Authorities have confirmed that several team members did not survive the crash or the conditions in the wilderness. An official list of the deceased will be released in the coming days.”

Your stomach dropped.

No.

They couldn’t mean Jackie. They couldn’t.

Your mom reached out to squeeze your hand, but you flinched away, the world a blur of sound and motion.

“I need to—I need air,” you stammered, stumbling to your feet. You barely registered your mom calling after you as you slipped out the front door into the cool evening.

The street was quiet, the faint hum of crickets filling the air. You sank down onto the porch steps, burying your face in your hands.

You had spent the last year and a half convincing yourself that Jackie was gone. Trying, trying so hard to heal, but these words— the news— made you feel like blood was spilling from a slit throat. You’d told yourself over and over that she wasn’t coming back, that you had to let her go. But now, the possibility that she might be alive clawed its way to the surface, tearing open wounds you thought you’d closed.

And yet, there was that terrible, gnawing fear that she wasn’t one of the survivors. That the next announcement would confirm what you’d been running from since the day of the crash: Jackie wasn’t coming back.

You stayed there for hours, long after the sky had gone dark, replaying every memory of her in your mind. Her laughter. Her smile. The way she’d kissed you under the fireworks.

Would you ever see her again? Or was the Jackie you’d loved lost forever in the wilderness?

The days that followed were torturous. Every time you turned on the TV or opened a newspaper, there was another update, another scrap of information that sent your emotions spiraling.

The survivors had been flown to a secure hospital. Their names were still being withheld, except for Lottie’s, whose parents had chosen to go public. Speculation swirled about what had happened in the wilderness, but no one seemed to have answers.

Then, two weeks later, the announcement came.

“The identities of the deceased have been confirmed,” the anchor said, her voice heavy. “Among those who did not survive… Laura Lee, Jackie Taylor—“

It felt like the floor dropped out from beneath you.

No.

You shook your head, the word repeating over and over in your mind.

No.

Not Jackie.

But the anchor continued, listing names you barely heard through the ringing in your ears. You couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred.

Your mother’s arms were around you, pulling you close, but the warmth of her touch did nothing to thaw the icy numbness that had overtaken you.

Jackie was gone. She had been gone all along.

The days after the announcement felt like a relapse into the darkness you thought you had escaped. It wasn’t just grief anymore—it was finality. The hope you had carried, fragile and desperate, had been extinguished. Jackie was gone. Truly, irrevocably gone.

But even as the world seemed to demand you move on, something inside you refused to let her go.

One night, you found yourself sitting in the quiet of your room, Jackie’s hoodie draped over your shoulders. You had slipped back into old habits, listening to her mixtape and rereading her letters until the words blurred together. It was the only way you knew to keep her close.

You stared at the photo on your bedside table—Jackie in her soccer uniform, her smile so vibrant it felt alive. The room was dim, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the walls.

“Jackie,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

The silence was deafening.

Until it wasn’t.

A faint creak echoed through the room, and you froze. The air shifted, growing heavier, charged with something you couldn’t name.

And then you saw her.

Jackie.

She stood in the doorway, just as you remembered her. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—were fixed on you. She was wearing the same soccer jersey she’d worn the day you last saw her, the one you had teased her for calling “too jock.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Jackie?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

She smiled, that small, knowing smile that always made your heart ache.

“That’s me,” she said softly, stepping into the room.

You wanted to run to her, to throw yourself into her arms, but your body felt frozen in place.

“How—how are you here?”

Jackie tilted her head, her expression both tender and sad. “Does it matter?”

Her voice was exactly as you remembered—soft, confident, and full of that quiet assurance only she could bring.

She closed the distance between you, kneeling in front of where you sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands cupped your face, her touch impossibly— there.. warm.

“You’ve been carrying me for so long,” she whispered. “Too long.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached up to touch her face, half-expecting her to disappear. But she didn’t. Her skin was solid beneath your fingertips, her presence achingly real.

“I can’t let you go,” you said, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how.”

Jackie’s thumb brushed away your tears, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against yours. “You’ve been so strong, even when you didn’t think you could be. But it’s time, my love.”

“No,” you choked out, shaking your head. “Please. I can’t lose you again.”

She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, and for a moment, the sadness in her gaze threatened to shatter you.

“You’ll never lose me,” she said. “I’m part of you. I always will be. But you have to let go of the pain. You have to let yourself live again.”

You clung to her, your hands gripping her shoulders like she might vanish if you let go. “Just stay a little longer. Please.”

Jackie smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the outline of your jaw. “Okay. You always were a clingy one; Just a little longer.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so soft it felt like a whisper. It was bittersweet, filled with all the love and longing you’d carried for her. For a moment, the world fell away, and it was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of her presence.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with yours.

“I love you,” she murmured. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jackie’s hand slid to your chest, resting over your heart. “Then promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll let yourself move on. Not forget me—never forget me. But don’t let this pain hold you back. You deserve to be happy.”

Your chest ached, the weight of her words pressing against the fragile parts of you. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “You’ve always been stronger than you think.”

The room grew quieter, the edges of her form beginning to blur.

“Jackie—”

“It’s okay,” she said, her smile soft and bittersweet. “I’ll always be with you. Always.”

Her touch faded, the warmth of her presence slipping away like sand through your fingers.

And then she was gone.

You sat there in the silence, tears streaming down your face, your heart aching in a way that was both painful and strangely freeing. For the first time, you felt the faintest flicker of peace. Jackie was gone, but her love remained—a steady, quiet light guiding you forward.

You pressed a hand to your chest, where her hand had rested, and whispered into the stillness:

“I promise.”

—

The journey back to Wiskayok was one you had avoided for a year and a half. Every mile felt heavier than the last, the weight of grief pressing against your chest. Yet, after that night—after seeing Jackie—you knew it was time.

Your hometown hadn’t changed much. The streets still wound through familiar neighborhoods, the same local shops still dotted the corners, and the Taylor family’s perfectly manicured house still stood as a quiet reminder of the life Jackie had once led.

The memorial was in the center of town, near the high school where Jackie and the team had spent countless hours practicing on the soccer field. It was a simple but beautiful tribute: a polished stone monument etched with the names of those who had died in the crash. Flowers, candles, and small mementos surrounded it, placed there by loved ones and strangers alike.

You stepped closer, your fingers trailing across the engraved letters, Jackie Taylor.

Her name seemed to stand out among the others, though you knew that was just your heart speaking. She wasn’t just a name on a stone—she was your Jackie. The girl who had held your hand when you were scared, who had kissed you under fireworks, who had shown you how to believe in yourself.

Your hand slipped into your bag, pulling out one of the thousands of Polaroids you’d taken over the years. This one was your favorite. Jackie was in mid-laugh, her eyes crinkled and her head tilted back, a half-eaten popsicle in her hand. You’d taken it during one of those lazy summer afternoons when the world had felt so simple, so full of possibilities.

You crouched down, placing the photo at the base of the memorial. It felt like giving her a piece of yourself—a piece of the life you had shared, one she would always be a part of.

“Hi, Jackie,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ve been… trying. I’m not sure I’m doing it right, but I’m trying.”

The wind rustled the leaves of a nearby tree, and for a moment, you could almost imagine it was her response—a soft, reassuring presence.

“I miss you every day,” you continued. “And I don’t think that will ever change. But I know now that holding onto the pain isn’t what you’d want. You’d want me to live. To keep going. To be happy.”

You took a shaky breath, brushing a tear from your cheek. “It’s hard, though. Letting go is hard. But I’m going to try. For you.”

Standing up, you took one last look at the photo, now surrounded by flowers and candles. It felt right, leaving it there—a tangible reminder of Jackie’s light in a sea of grief.

As you turned to leave, the weight in your chest felt lighter, if only by a fraction. Moving on didn’t mean forgetting. It didn’t mean leaving Jackie behind. It meant carrying her with you in a different way, one that didn’t hurt as much.

In the weeks that followed, you found yourself living in small but meaningful ways. You picked up new hobbies, reconnected with friends, and even let yourself laugh again. But you also made it a point to return to Wiskayok every few months, bringing another few Polaroids, another piece of Jackie’s memory, to leave at the memorial.

It became your way of honoring her—not by clinging to the past, but by celebrating the joy she had brought into your life.

And each time you left a Polaroid, it felt like a promise: to live, to love, to keep moving forward—even when it was hard.

In some way, it made her unseen presence feel even more lively.

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