#he helped me pick out a filter and the picture in the back is one I took about a year ago

[sxldierselfship]

He insisted on wearing the sunglasses the other day, so I wanted to do something silly and make a little vaporwave (?) edit of him 😊 I might actually re-edit this? I only threw it together on my phone but when I have access to my laptop I might redo it. I just thought he looked so cute that I had to take a photo snnsjsn

[bi-writes]

Your MOB au gives me so many butterflies 🥴 I hear the key to a long and happy marriage is to be with someone you think is funny. How do you think Simon and his wife make each other laugh? I can see them being the couple that gossips while people watching or MOB wrangles Simon in bed to show him funny cat videos on her phone.

mail-order bride

simon likes spending time with you without screens. he does love watching a movie with you, but one of his favorite ways to spend time with you is to open a little closet of board games and play one of them with you. he'll put on a little music, spread out the game, and you usually spend the evening sitting in his lap and playing either on the couch or on the floor using the coffee table or at the dining table.

"simon, what would you do if i was a worm?"

simon raises a brow, fitting a corner piece of the puzzle into place. he snorts a bit.

"wot are y'on, love?"

"i'm serious!" you laugh. "what would you do if i was a worm?"

"step on you, baby. you'd be a fuckin' worm. gross."

you pout a little, dramatically, and simon winks at you.

"olright, love. i'd put ya in a little box and cherish ya foreva. tha' wot y'wanna hear?"

you giggle, settling in his lap, picking up an edge piece and putting it in its spot.

"yeah. that's what i wanna hear."

"simon, look."

you hold out your phone in bed, shoving it in his face. he grunts a little, squinting at the bright screen, and he raises a brow as he watches a compilation of orange cat videos put together. he chuckles a little when he sees it, leaning over the bed and planting a kiss on your cheek. he rolls over onto his side, curling a big arm around your waist and pulling you back into his chest. he tucks his face over your shoulder, leaning over you, and you spend the better part of an hour giggling to yourself as you show simon the collection of videos on your feed.

the next morning, your phone pings while simon is away on base. you hurry out of the kitchen, wiping your floury hands on the apron you wear before seeing a request for a new follower.

you open the app, raising a brow when you look at the account without a profile picture asking to follow your private account.

pumpkin__eater141 wants to follow you.

you click on the profile, rolling your eyes when you see the only picture on the account a very grainy, filtered photo of two sergeants sticking their tongues out and holding up bunny ears behind each other. in the background, very blurry, you can see a glimpse of a skeleton-bone painted glove holding up a middle finger. the caption reads wankerzzz!!!!

the account has 1 follower (sudz_n_budz141), and it follows none, and you can't help but smile when you see the profile has nothing but a cherry emoji as the description.

you accept the follow request, and you follow them back. the whole day, every so often, you get a new video as a direct message. when you finish with the sourdough and leave it to rise, you start to scroll through the intermittent messages you've already gotten.

more cat videos. crazy dashcam footage with the comment "fuckin' mad." some woman who makes crockpot meals with every kind of bagged cheese you can get at the store on high for five hours.

you can't stop smiling. and when you pull out a pot to make dinner later, you and simon make eye contact before laughing.

"olright, baby, which one ya want?" simon murmurs, nuzzling his mask against your cheek. you giggle, looking up at the display. there's stuffed bears, big squishmallows, pillows. you reach a hand up behind you and caress the back of his neck, biting your lip until you point up at the big cherry squishmallow hanging by the top.

"gotta hit all the glasses to get that one, mate," the attendant says, and you look over your shoulder up at him.

"ooooo...not sure if you can hit all your targets, lieutenant riley?" you ask, and simon snorts, kissing your jaw through the mask before making his way towards the game counter. he picks up the toy rifle, adjusting it in his grip before holding the sight up and taking his stance. you bite your lip watching him. he looks incredibly sexy with that thing in his arms, even if its a fake. it's even sexier hearing the bell ring and watching your husband with terrifying precision knock every glass bottle down. one after the other, each glass falls, and you squeeze your legs together slightly as he goes for a bonus round and knocks them all over again, even quicker.

he turns around when he has your prize in his hands, a big fluffy cherry with a little smile and a little green leaf hat. you squeeze it to your chest before standing on your toes, and simon leans down to peck your lips through the mask. he wraps a big arm around your waist, and when you both pull back, you can't help your big smile, the laughter, that sweet, pretty shine in your eyes.

simon laughs, too.

it's easy when you're this happy.

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, soap x reader, unsolicited nudes, pushy behaviour, implied noncon elements - 1K words, semi-edited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Anxiously sending in an offer for a kitchen appliance you’re in dire need of via an online social media marketplace, only for the seller- JTav87, to reply instantly.

The notification comes when you’re taking a curious peep at his info. His proflile makes him seem nice enough- real 'the cool uncle’ vibes. The page's display picture is a snap of him grinning ear to ear with one of his big paw-like hands at his chest in a thumbs up gesture, the other being obscured behind the lid of an outdoor grill; a family gathering in full swing behind him.

It's all topped off with the stock photo of a beach at sunset as his header, the poorly stretched image sporting a sprawling near-unreadable quote about resilience smack-dab in the middle, gratuitous high contrast vignette filters over everything as a little banner pops up at the bottom of your screen; a message from the seller.

‘I cn do tht.’

you hastily type out a reply in fear of the purchase somehow getting delayed or cancelled.

‘You’re a lifesaver😊I've been searching high and low for one of these!’

Being too friendly was your first mistake, you just wanted to make a good impression- it seemed harmless at the time.

The pickup goes off without too much of a hitch- you meet up as requested in the well-lit parking lot of a generic chain cafe, puffing out cold breaths from behind your jacket and nursing a warm beverage you had managed to grab. Stepping out of a beat up pickup, you come to find that he’s a lot bigger than his pictures would have you assume, not shockingly tall, but his overall aura and bulk make him seem like a giant. His bare arms splay outwards, stretching the fabric of his ill-fitted tee in a gesture that almost had you worried he was going to go in for a hug- thankfully, a firm handshake seems to suffice. 

“Och! Yer’ hands’re baltic!” he exclaims with a blinding smile, rosy tips of his ears and nose being the only tell he was affected by the weather himself as he claps his other hand around yours, rubbing them together to create heat. It's an action that nearly had you spilling the drink in your free hand as you stagger a bit in response to the contact- something he seemed to either not notice, or not mind.

The real kicker was the way he refused to take your money, hemming and hawing about how you should be saving that money for stuff you need- as if the appliance you were purchasing wasn’t that exactly. “A’hm not gonna take yer’ money- a’hm t’fond of ye’.”

whatever that means. 

It's good you didnt pay, evidently. When he had loaded it into your car- having the gall to laugh after you asked if he needed help, mind you- he had forgotten the cord that made the thing work, offering you a lovely little surprise when you finally got home.

On queue, there's a muffled ding from the device in your pocket. 

‘forgt 2 brng cord. srry x’ 

your eyes could have rolled out of your head; suffice to say, you weren't impressed.

‘I really needed this tonight, had baking I needed to do for a party tomorrow 🫤weather’s too bad for me to go out again tonight.’

‘cn drop off at urs if u wnt?’

Had you been in any other situation, this would have been a hard no- sadly however, your stress and desperation leads you into letting the heavyset man worm his way in through your front door as if he owns the place, cord bunched up and hanging out of his back pocket while he kicks the snow from his boots with a saintly smile.

Surprisingly, the drop off is quick- only interrupted by him asking to use your toilet as you're distracted with pulling out baking supplies. Before you know it, he’s back on the icy roads again. You almost wish you had offered him some coffee or tea-

 Almost.

When the morning sun bleeds through your curtains, you pick up your phone to find a notification from JTav87.

‘Hve a grate day x’ 

You frown and ignore the message as you start your day, but it only seems to embolden him into sending you countless more, the tone of the messages becoming increasingly more romantic as time draws on- some of your work friends at the office party even ask you if there was a new beau in your life when you had made the mistake of leaving your phone face up atop the breakroom table while you ate.

The final straw between you, your peace of mind, and the block button comes that night with a handful of alarmingly explicit voice messages in your inbox, promptly followed by a very-much so unprompted video of him shirtless and moaning while he chokes his swollen dick in a vice grip- all done over a familiar bunched up pair of underwear that you know with certainty had been at the top of the hamper in your bathroom. 

Little is left to the imagination when he snatches up the stolen garment, bringing it to his nose, face just out of frame as his chest expands in response. His audible fist-fucking and jerking hips get more frenzied as he gives one last brutal tug all the way from his base to the head, hand flexing as he aims his shot at his phone, cum coating the counter space directly in view of the camera.

His spent cock bobs and drools, stomach muscles contracting wildly as he leans back into the wall behind him; taking a moment before reaching forward to stop the video, searing the image of his hazy, wolfish grin in your mind.

His free hand gets busy sopping up his mess in your underwear as the screen flashes back to the clip's first frame, offering you the prompt to watch again.

It would later become apparent that blocking could only do so much to seperate you from a mutt like John MacTavish- especially when he's privy to your home address.

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 2

Part two of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: social anxiety, self-doubt, drinking

A month. You didn't go back to the bar for a full month. Avoided the place like it was the birthplace of the plague. And it was to you. You didn't want to run the risk that they were there again, that the man in the mask would berate you for making eye contact with him that night despite knowing he'd probably forgotten about you 30 seconds after. Social anxiety was a bitch.

But they were there. EVERY. FUCKING. FRIDAY.

Ghost thought he was going to lose his mind. The others had started to think he'd imagined you or had a hallucination of you. So when they sat down on the fifth Friday, there wasn't a mention of you from them. Simon still kept his eye out for you.

Surely a month was long enough that they'd have moved on, gotten bored with the dark, dingy bar and the same crowd every Friday. Arriving with your friends, your heart was in your throat and there was a swirl of nausea in your stomach.

They're not here. They're not here. They're not here.

The mantra was on repeat, but you couldn't help checking the back table anyway. You froze where you were standing as your eyes landed on the four larger men, your friend bumping into your back and asking what was wrong. You shook your head and gave her a weak smile, claiming you thought you saw someone.

You took your usual seat at the bar, tucked into the far corner where you could see the table of men and watched as your own friends filtered out onto the floor again. It was so easy for them to just introduce themselves to men, flirt their way to free drinks and possibly a nice little one night stand.

Ghost clocked you the moment the bell above the door dinged pathetically against the wood door and you walked in with three of your friends including the little blonde that informed them that you would be there every Friday. His gloved hand reached out and smacked Soap center chest, incidentally grabbing everyone's attention at the table as well.

"That her, LT?" Soap asked, eyes darting between his lieutenant and you. Soap eyed you for a moment, taking in the open scoop neck long sleeve shirt and the swell of your breasts that weren't hidden very well.

"Tha's 'er. Pretty thing, hm?" Ghost replied before picking up his glass and knocking it back, mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara. You were as pretty as he remembered and the urge to have a picture of you with him at all times roared to life in his chest.

Gaz being on the end gave him the best view of you, taking in the jeans that hugged your plump hips and ass. He could also see the way you held your jacket over your stomach to hide your belly as best you could.

Price could tell you were uncomfortable, watching you watch your friends with a hint of resentment and disdain in your eyes. He hadn't missed that all of your friends were "conventionally beautiful" and he could see that it bothered you.

"Go get her," Price suggested to Gaz, nudging him a bit as he knew Gaz was the proper man to send. You'd never come over if any of the rest of them approached you. Ghost made a disgruntled noise, looking to his captain for a brief moment of silent communication before he nodded, conceding to his superior.

You ordered your whiskey, sipping on it as you flipped between checking on your friends and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You couldn't help but to let your eyes flick up from the dim screen to check on the table in the corner every once in a while.

Which was where your eyes were now, but there was one missing, the pretty one. Oh, he wasn't missing. He was settling himself against the stool next to you, looking down at you with those molten eyes of his and a friendly smile. "Come join us for a drink. Promise we won't bite. Well, I make no promises about Johnny."

Yup. I did a part two. This is really speaking to me right now for some reason.

Hope you guys liked it!

<- Part One Part Three ->

[thedensworld]

Make All Easier | H. Js

Genre: fluff, dad au!

Summary: He always picture you and him to be a parent of daughter. So when your baby daughter was born, he already knew what to do and it makes everything easier.

Author note: Hi! I'm available to tip now, send me Jeans👖 here on ko-fi🤍

Jisoo felt a tiny hand slap his face as he was peacefully sleeping. A smile crept onto his lips even before he opened his eyes, the familiar squeals of his 10-month-old daughter echoing softly in the quiet room. As he finally blinked his eyes open, he saw her sitting upright on the bed, her chubby hands patting his chest as she babbled incoherently, demanding attention. No one was ready to play at 6:30 a.m. except for little Yuri.

Chuckling, Jisoo stretched out his arms, lifting her into the air before settling her onto his stomach. She let out a delighted squeal, her laughter filling the room like music. "Good morning, princess," he murmured, brushing her fluffy hair out of her eyes as she wiggled happily.

Last night came to mind—he remembered bringing Yuri to bed after her midnight cries echoed through the house. Both you and Jisoo had stirred awake, but before you could even swing your legs off the bed, Jisoo had already sat up, saying, "I'll handle it," in a sleepy but determined voice.

"What's wrong, Yuri?" he had asked gently as he approached her crib, her tiny face scrunched up in distress. The moment her teary eyes spotted him, her cries softened to sniffles. Jisoo picked her up, her small body melting into his chest as if that was all she needed to feel safe. After changing her diaper and preparing a bottle of formula in the dimly lit kitchen, he carried her back to bed. Yuri had quickly fallen asleep in the middle of the bed, sandwiched securely between her parents.

Now, as the early morning light filtered through the curtains, you stirred beside him, your voice soft and groggy. "Who's this little troublemaker..." you mumbled, squinting at Yuri as she crawled toward you.

The moment Yuri heard your voice, her babbling turned into excited squeals, and she wriggled out of Jisoo’s arms to reach you. Giggling, you scooped her up and brought her closer. "Why are you up so early, hm?" you asked, your voice playful as you nuzzled your face into her soft, round belly. Yuri's laughter erupted, a pure, joyous sound that warmed your heart.

"Why don't we all go back to sleep, baby?" you whispered, laying her down beside you and wrapping her in a warm embrace. But being an active and curious 10-month-old, Yuri had other plans. She squirmed free almost immediately, crawling over you and Jisoo with boundless energy.

Jisoo propped himself up on one elbow, watching the scene unfold with a grin. "Yuri, are you that excited already?" he teased, leaning in to tap her nose gently. She responded with more babbles, her tiny hands flailing as if trying to explain her morning enthusiasm.

"Alright, alright," Jisoo chuckled, sitting up and scooping her into his arms. "Let’s let Mom sleep a little more while we go grab some breakfast, okay?" Yuri’s eyes sparkled, as if she understood her father’s plan.

Jisoo placed Yuri gently into her highchair, securing her in place before sliding it up beside the kitchen counter. Her tiny hands smacked the tray enthusiastically, babbling as her big eyes followed his every move. Jisoo smiled at her, responding to her every sound with a soft laugh or a playful "What’s that, princess?" as he prepared her breakfast.

He pulled out a perfectly ripe avocado and sliced it while waiting for the toast to pop up from the toaster. Humming softly, he scrambled an egg for protein, plating everything neatly for Yuri. Her small squeals of excitement filled the kitchen as she watched him work.

Moments later, you emerged from the bedroom, still a bit groggy but ready to help out with breakfast. Stretching as you entered the kitchen, you smiled at the scene before you: Jisoo fussing over Yuri, who was happily babbling away in her highchair.

"Do we have any veggies, babe?" Jisoo asked, peering into the fridge as he looked for something to add to Yuri’s meal.

You joined him at the fridge, pulling out a bunch of broccoli. "I’ll steam these for you. Avocado toast?" you asked, gesturing to the stack of avocados on the counter, too sleepy to consider a more complicated breakfast option.

Jisoo laughed, catching the subtle tiredness in your voice. "Sure, babe. That works. I'll pop some bread in the toaster for us."

Your heart softened at his thoughtful offer, and you leaned in for a quick kiss. He smiled into the kiss, but before he could say anything, Yuri squealed loudly, her little arms flailing in excitement. She loved seeing her parents share affection.

"Mama! Mama!" Yuri called out, her bright voice making both of you laugh.

Jisoo turned to her with an exaggerated look of surprise. "Papa!" he said, pointing to himself and trying once again to coax her into saying his name. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried, but Yuri seemed determined to make him wait.

Yuri stared at him with a mischievous smile, her little cheeks puffing up with glee. Jisoo sighed dramatically, leaning over to press a kiss to her temple. "I’m convinced she’s holding back on purpose," he said, turning back to you with a grin.

You chuckled, finishing up the eggs and setting them on the toast. "She definitely knows how to mess with you," you teased, sliding the toast onto a plate.

Jisoo propped his elbow on the counter, smirking. "Wonder where she got that attitude from," he mumbled playfully, his gaze flicking to you.

"Careful," you said with mock sternness, laughing as you pulled the steamed broccoli out and set some on Yuri’s tray. You grabbed her plate, placing it on the highchair tray in front of her. "Yuri! Let’s eat," you cooed, pushing her closer to the table.

Jisoo laughed as he followed you to the table, carrying the avocado toast you’d prepared for the two of you. Yuri wasted no time reaching for her food, her little fingers grabbing a piece of broccoli as she babbled happily.

"You want coffee?" Jisoo asked, setting your plate in front of you and leaning down slightly to meet your gaze.

"Sure, thanks," you said with a soft smile, sitting beside Yuri to help her with her breakfast.

As Jisoo brewed the coffee, he glanced back at the two of you. Watching Yuri munch on her broccoli, occasionally glancing at you for reassurance, filled him with warmth.

Jisoo glanced at you with a questioning look when you casually slid one of your toasts onto his plate. "What’s this?" he asked, raising a brow in mild disbelief.

"I’ve had enough," you murmured, taking a slow sip of your coffee, avoiding his gaze.

Jisoo narrowed his eyes slightly, unconvinced. In no universe could his wife, you, have possibly eaten enough already. He knew you too well—you never left food unfinished unless you physically couldn’t eat another bite.

"You sure?" he asked, picking up the toast, his tone teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.

You nodded, quickly redirecting your attention to Yuri, who was happily holding pieces of her soft toast in both hands, her cheeks puffed out as you helped her eat bits of scrambled egg in between.

Jisoo chuckled quietly, still watching you as he finished his food. The three of you remained at the dining table, savoring the cozy morning together while Yuri enjoyed her breakfast. Jisoo couldn’t help but laugh every time Yuri deliberately squished her food between her tiny fingers or smushed it against her highchair tray, giggling as though it was her way of entertaining her parents.

"No, eat it properly," you tried to warn her in your soft yet firm "mom voice," but Yuri wasn’t having it. Her giggles turned into a squeal as she continued playing with her food.

Jisoo leaned back in his chair, stealing glances at you as you sighed and relaxed against the backrest, your eyes wandering to the untouched piece of toast on your plate. He smirked knowingly. You could never leave food uneaten, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

"Eat it, babe," he said with a warm smile, his tone gentle but encouraging.

You let out another sigh, glancing at the toast before mumbling, "I think it’s time."

Jisoo raised his brows, intrigued. "Time for what?" he asked, leaning forward slightly as if to make sure he caught every word.

"Losing weight," you admitted, your tone casual yet tinged with determination. You glanced at him, waiting for his reaction.

Jisoo tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. "What’s wrong? You’re perfect," he said sincerely, his voice filled with genuine care.

You shrugged, grabbing a napkin to wipe Yuri’s messy mouth as she continued to babble and grin at both of you. "I know," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. "It’s just… I think it’s time to get back on track, you know? Focus on myself a little more."

Jisoo nodded, understanding immediately. He wasn’t one to push you, but he always supported your goals, whatever they might be.

"And since Yuri’s started taking formula now," you added, glancing at your daughter, who was happily gnawing on her toast, "it feels like the perfect time to start the drill."

Jisoo’s lips curled into a soft smile as he reached across the table, placing his hand gently over yours. "Whatever you want to do, I’m with you," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "But just so you know, you’re already amazing as you are."

You smiled back, squeezing his hand lightly. "Thanks," you whispered, feeling the familiar warmth of his support wash over you.

As you gently wiped the crumbs off Yuri’s cheeks, she squirmed in her highchair, babbling excitedly. Her breakfast was a success, as evidenced by the mess she’d created on her tray. You smiled softly, brushing the bits of scrambled egg off her little hands.

Jisoo stood beside the sink, rinsing his plate, and turned his attention to you and Yuri. "Hey," he started, his tone casual but thoughtful, "if you want to hit the gym or go for a workout, I can watch Yuri for a bit."

You glanced up at him, surprised by the offer. "Really? Are you sure?" you asked, carefully unfastening Yuri’s highchair straps and lifting her into your arms.

Jisoo dried his hands on a kitchen towel and walked over to you. "Of course. You’ve been talking about getting back into a routine, and I’ve got no problem keeping an eye on her. Right, Yuri?" He gently poked her tummy, earning a delighted giggle from her.

You chuckled, adjusting Yuri on your hip. "You do realize she’s going to keep you on your toes the whole time, right?"

Jisoo chuckled, "come on, I’m her dad. I’ve got the stamina for this."

"Well, you sound confident. I might just take you up on that."

"Good," Jisoo replied, cradling Yuri in one arm while using the other to brush her hair away from her face. "But seriously, go do something for yourself. Hit the gym, take a yoga class, or even just grab a coffee and relax. I’ve got this."

You smiled at him, the weight of his offer sinking in. "Thanks, babe. I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ve been meaning to check out that new gym a few blocks away."

"If you want to do some cardio, you know I can help, right?" he teased, a playful smirk on his face as he balanced Yuri on his hip.

You turned around, raising an eyebrow at him. "Oh, really? And what exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Hong?"

Jisoo’s wink was shameless, his confidence radiating as he adjusted Yuri in his arms. "I’m just saying, some activities burn just as many calories as running," he quipped, his tone dripping with humor.

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the grin tugging at your lips. "Smooth," you muttered, shaking your head

Yuri, oblivious to her father’s cheeky comment, clapped her hands and let out a squeal. "Mama!" she called, pointing toward you as if demanding your attention back.

You walked back over and gently poked her cheek. "See, Yuri? This is why your dad needs babysitting too."

*

Jisoo sat cross-legged on the living room floor after preparing a snack for Yuri. He placed the plate of crackers on the coffee table and handed one to Yuri, who was perched on the couch, her tiny legs swinging and her eyes glued to the TV screen. Jisoo chuckled softly as he noticed she hadn’t even glanced at the snack.

"You really love your Uncle Jun, huh, Yuri?" he said with a smile, leaning over to press a kiss to her chubby little leg. But Yuri remained entranced, captivated by the drama featuring her Jun Uncle that they had been watching since you left for your pilates session.

With an hour and a half until you’d return, Jisoo was determined to keep his promise to you—Yuri would have a great time with him, no distractions. He still felt a twinge of guilt from the last time you left him in charge when he had dozed off on the couch. Yuri, ever the independent little explorer, had ended up playing blocks alone in her room until your voice startled Jisoo awake.

"You know, I can take her to daycare for a couple of hours," you had suggested earlier, sensing Jisoo's exhaustion. But he had been adamant about being responsible. "I’ve got this," he assured you, wanting to prove that he could handle fatherhood without shortcuts.

Now, here he was, spending quality time with Yuri in front of the TV, though he couldn’t help but notice how absorbed she was in Jun’s drama.

"Yuri, what’s so special about Uncle Jun? Is he handsome?" Jisoo asked playfully, tilting his head as he observed his little girl. To his utter surprise, Yuri nodded—actually nodded—as if she completely understood the question.

Jisoo gasped in mock betrayal. "Seriously? How about Papa? I’m handsome too, you know," he teased, his tone laced with exaggerated offense.

This time, Yuri’s focus shifted from the screen to him, her wide eyes meeting his.

"Papapapa..." she babbled, her tiny voice causing Jisoo to freeze. Did she just say "Papa"?

Jisoo’s heart nearly burst with excitement as he squatted in front of her, his face lit with anticipation. "Say it again, Yuri. Come on, say Papa!" he urged, his voice filled with hope.

But Yuri, ever the mischievous one, smiled sweetly and babbled, "Mamamama…"

Jisoo groaned dramatically, flopping backward onto the floor as Yuri giggled at his reaction. "Unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head while his daughter clapped her hands, clearly enjoying her father’s antics.

"Your Mama’s going to love this," Jisoo said with a laugh, reaching over to hand Yuri another cracker. Though she still seemed more interested in the TV, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Even if she didn’t say "Papa" again just yet, moments like these made every second of fatherhood worth it.

Yuri let out a string of happy chatter as she finished the cracker in her hand. Jisoo, feeling playful and wanting to challenge her, decided to turn the snack into a game. "Get one yourself," he said with a grin, placing another cracker on the coffee table just out of her reach.

Yuri, as if she understood the command, looked at the cracker with determination. She pushed herself up onto her feet, her tiny legs wobbling as she steadied herself. She had been practicing standing and walking for a few steps, often holding onto walls or someone’s hand for support, but she wasn’t quite walking on her own yet.

Jisoo, sensing an opportunity, gently pushed the coffee table a bit further away, encouraging her to try. "Come on, Yuri. You can do it," he coaxed, his tone full of excitement.

Yuri first dropped to her knees and crawled toward the table. As soon as she reached it, she pulled herself up, gripping the edge with her small hands. Jisoo crouched beside her, smiling mischievously. "No crawling this time," he said softly as he gently lifted her back onto her feet.

"Let’s take a step," he said, holding her steady before slowly letting go.

Yuri wobbled, her balance shaky, and she plopped back down onto her diaper with a little thud. Jisoo chuckled but didn’t give up. "Come on, baby girl. Let’s try again. You’ve got this."

With his encouragement, Yuri stood up once more. She teetered as she extended one tiny foot forward, her brows furrowed in concentration. When she managed to take her first step, Jisoo’s face lit up with pure joy. "Yes! That’s my girl!" he cheered, clapping his hands enthusiastically.

Spurred on by her dad’s encouragement, Yuri took another unsteady step, then another. Her little giggles filled the room as she reached the coffee table and grabbed the cracker she had been eyeing. She squealed in triumph, holding it up like a prize.

Jisoo let out a celebratory yell, jumping to his feet. "Yuri, you did it! You walked, baby! You actually walked!" He scooped her up, twirling her around as she laughed in delight, her tiny arms flailing.

Still holding her cracker tightly, Yuri babbled happily as if sharing her victory. Jisoo kissed her chubby cheek, his heart swelling with pride. "Mama’s going to be so proud when she hears this," he said, already imagining how excited you’d be to hear about the milestone.

Jisoo was on a roll. After Yuri's triumphant first steps, he couldn’t help himself—he had to see her do it again. He gently set her down on the floor and placed another cracker a few feet away on the coffee table. "Okay, Yuri, let’s go for round two," he said, clapping his hands in encouragement.

Yuri, still riding the high of her little victory, babbled in delight and reached for him before attempting to stand again. This time, her steps were a little more confident, though still wobbly. She managed three tiny steps before plopping down again, giggling uncontrollably at Jisoo’s over-the-top cheering.

"You’re a natural!" Jisoo laughed, scooping her up for a quick cuddle before setting her down again. "One more time, baby girl. Let’s show Mama just how much you’ve improved!"

The two of them turned the living room into a mini walking practice arena. Jisoo spaced out her favorite toys along the floor, creating little "goals" for her to reach. He moved from one end of the room to the other, encouraging her every time she stumbled or hesitated.

"Come to Papa, Yuri! You can do it!" he called, crouching down with his arms open. Yuri squealed and took a few hesitant steps toward him before collapsing into his embrace. "That’s my girl!" he exclaimed, peppering kisses all over her chubby cheeks.

As the minutes turned into nearly an hour, Jisoo didn’t even notice how much time had passed. He was so focused on helping Yuri improve that he didn’t realize the living room was now strewn with toys, crackers, and a pile of pillows he’d used to soften her landing spots.

*

Jisoo entered the practice room, holding Yuri’s hand as she walked beside him. The one-year-old Yuri was a bit shy, flinching slightly as she was greeted by the chorus of excited voices from the members who were eager to see her.

"My wife will pick her up in an hour," Jisoo informed everyone, explaining why he had to bring Yuri to the practice. However, no one really seemed to pay much attention to his words; they were all too busy fawning over the tiny celebrity of the day.

"It's been so long since I've seen her. I can't believe she’s gotten this big!" Dokyeom exclaimed, lifting Yuri into his arms as she reached out with her little hands, clearly asking to be picked up.

"This is what it feels like to be her favorite," Dokyeom grinned, flexing proudly as Yuri clung to his neck, burying her face into his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Seungkwan stood off to the side, feeling wronged. Yuri had been avoiding him, and worse, she outright refused to be held by him. His pout was noticeable, but the others were too caught up in Yuri’s cuteness to notice.

"You shouldn't come to her like that, Kwan," Soonyoung teased, watching Seungkwan’s failed attempts to hold Yuri.

"Dont act like she likes you more than me," Seungkwan shot back. "We’re on the same stage here."

Just then, the door to the practice room opened, and Jun walked in. As soon as Yuri saw him, her eyes lit up, and she let out a squeal of excitement.

Jisoo sighed, a knowing smile creeping onto his face. "Yuri loves Jun. She’s watched all his dramas."

The statement caught everyone off guard, and Jun himself seemed genuinely surprised by the revelation. He quickly walked over and took Yuri from Dokyeom’s arms, and from that moment on, Yuri’s eyes never left him. Even as practice began, with music playing and choreography being rehearsed, Yuri sat on the couch, content with a snack in her tiny hands.

"Sit here while Papa works, okay?" Jisoo called gently, but Yuri didn’t even glance in his direction. Instead, she shamelessly stared up at Jun, her gaze unwavering as if she was completely captivated by him.

The room fell silent for a moment, everyone watching as Yuri refused to acknowledge Jisoo, only caring about Jun. The contrast between the two was almost too funny. Jisoo couldn't help but shake his head, a mix of amusement and exasperation on his face. "I guess I’ll never be her favorite," he muttered under his breath, earning a few chuckles from the others.

"Looks like Jun hyung is the real star of the show now," Dokyeom teased, and the rest of the members nodded in agreement, still entranced by Yuri's devotion to Jun.

The clock struck 10 PM, signaling that it was well past Yuri’s bedtime. You and Jisoo sat comfortably on the couch, unwinding after a long day. Jisoo had just come home from practice, and after you accompanied him during his late dinner, the two of you decided to share a can of beer. It had become a quiet ritual, a time to share stories about your days and simply enjoy each other's presence.

Jisoo leaned back on the couch, a soft smile playing on his lips as he recounted his day. “The members were so obsessed with Yuri during practice,” he said, chuckling at the memory. “No one could focus because she was there stealing the spotlight. Even Dokyeom was acting like her bodyguard.”

You smiled, imagining the scene. “I bet she loved the attention.”

“Oh, she did. But guess who she gave all her attention to?” Jisoo raised an eyebrow, his tone playful. “Jun. She only had eyes for him.” He laughed, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. “She wouldn’t even look at me. She was completely smitten.”

You laughed along with him, but his words sparked a thought. “You know,” you began, “I remember watching all of Jun’s dramas while I was pregnant with her. Could that be the reason?”

Jisoo’s brows furrowed in mock betrayal. “You watched all his dramas? You didn’t even watch my variety show!” His eyes widened as if he had just uncovered a great scandal.

You chuckled softly, trying to defend yourself. “Did I say all? Actually, not all of them. And for the record, I did watch your variety show!”

Jisoo raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “The full episodes?"

You cringed, guilt flashing across your face. “The clips,” you admitted, unable to meet his eyes.

Jisoo burst out laughing, pulling you into his arms. “Unbelievable. My own wife.” Jisoo burst out laughing, shaking his head at your guilty expression before pulling you into a warm embrace. "I know you like Jun," he teased.

Your cheeks flushed as you giggled, tightening the hug. "I mean… he’s so handsome. How could someone be that handsome?" you admitted, unable to suppress your grin.

Jisoo pulled back slightly, pouting like a child. "I’m handsome too, you know."

"You are," you reassured him with a smile, "but he’s, like, super handsome."

"Super handsome?!" Jisoo gasped, clutching his chest as if you had just wounded him. "That’s way too much to say about another man who isn’t your husband! You’re breaking my heart here!"

His over-the-top reaction had you bursting into laughter, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as you playfully swatted his arm. "Oh, stop being dramatic!"

But Jisoo only leaned back with a mock sigh, mumbling, "I can’t believe I’m losing to Jun in my own house…"

Shaking your head in amusement, you snuggled closer to him. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I married you, didn’t I?"

Jisoo grinned, his pout disappearing as he kissed the top of your head. "Yeah, you did. And that’s all that matters. But if Yuri starts calling Jun 'Dad,' we’re going to have a serious talk."

*

A year and a half later, your house was once again filled with excitement when you found out you were pregnant again—this time, with a boy. Jisoo was over the moon, and Yuri, though too young to fully understand, was thrilled at the idea of being a big sister. As the weeks passed, you began to experience all the ups and downs of pregnancy again, but this time, there was a twist—your cravings weren’t food-related. Instead, you had an undeniable, almost ridiculous craving to see Jun in person.

It started innocently enough. One quiet evening as Jisoo folded Yuri’s tiny clothes, you glanced at him from the couch and casually said, “I don’t know why, but I really want to see Jun. Like, just once. Is that weird?”

Jisoo froze mid-fold, turning his head slowly like he’d misheard you. His lips curled into a smirk as he placed the neatly folded onesie on the growing pile. “So now it’s not just binge-watching his dramas, huh? You want to meet him too?”

You groaned, placing a hand on your belly. “I can’t help it, okay? It’s like… I need to see him. Maybe it’s the hormones.”

“Hormones, huh?” Jisoo raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Sure it’s not your long-brewing celebrity crush finally boiling over? Because if we’re blaming hormones, then I think Yuri was just your cover-up last time”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and tossed it at him. He dodged with ease, laughing as he dropped onto the couch beside you, leaving Yuri’s clothes momentarily abandoned.

“Don’t make fun of me! I’m being serious here,” you whined, crossing your arms over your chest. “I might actually cry if I don’t see him.”

Jisoo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically like you’d just confessed something scandalous. “Cry? You’d cry over another man? A man who isn’t your husband?”

“Oh, don’t start,” you grumbled, though you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about him being… you know…”

“Handsome? Perfect? Tall? Charismatic?” Jisoo listed with a grin, ticking the traits off on his fingers like he was keeping score. “Oh, I understand, trust me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Of course I am,” he shot back, still grinning. “I get to see my wife all flustered over a guy I personally know. Do you want me to get his autograph too? Or better yet, a signed poster?”

You smacked his arm lightly, laughing despite yourself. “Stop it! You’re the worst.”

Jisoo feigned offense, gasping again. “The worst? Here I am, folding clothes for our child, and you’re plotting a meeting with another man. Unbelievable.”

“Baby,” you groaned, dragging out his name. “I’m pregnant! And it’s not like I’m asking for much. I just want to see him, like… once. It’s not a crime.”

“Alright, alright,” he relented, leaning back against the couch with a teasing glint still in his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m your husband. I’ll see what I can do.”

Your eyes lit up immediately. “Really? You’ll do that for me?”

“Of course,” he said, reaching over to pull you into a side hug. “But don’t think I’ll let you gush over him in front of me. I’ll have to establish dominance as your real favorite.”

“Oh, please. You’re lucky I married you,” you teased, earning a pillow thrown back at you this time. And as laughter filled the room, you thought to yourself how you really did marry the best man after all.

You weren’t sure if he was serious, but you knew Jisoo. When he set his mind to something, he always made it happen. And, true to his word, a week later, he came home with the biggest grin on his face.

“Guess what?” he said, walking into the living room where you were lounging with Yuri.

“What?” you asked, curious but suspicious of his tone.

“I arranged for us to visit the company tomorrow. The members are practicing, and Jun will be there,” he said, casually dropping the news as if it were no big deal.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait, really? You’re serious?”

“Of course,” he said, sitting beside you and pulling you into a side hug. “Do you think I’d let my pregnant wife cry over Jun? I’m not that heartless.”

The next day, Jisoo drove you and Yuri to the company, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. As you entered the practice room, the members greeted you warmly, all eyes lighting up when they saw Yuri and your growing belly.

But you only had eyes for one person. There he was, standing near the mirrors, his hair slightly tousled and his warm smile directed at Yuri, who had already run toward him.

“Jun,” you said softly, feeling a little starstruck despite yourself.

Jun turned to you, his smile widening. “Oh, Y/n! It’s so good to see you again.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as Jisoo, standing beside you, tried to stifle a laugh. “Go on,” he whispered, nudging you lightly.

Jun walked over and greeted you politely, his gentle demeanor putting you at ease. He crouched slightly to address your belly. “So, this is the little one who’s been making all the fuss about meeting me?”

You burst out laughing, your nerves melting away. “Apparently. It’s all his fault,” you joked, patting your bump.

As the day went on, you couldn’t stop smiling. Watching Jun play with Yuri and talk to Jisoo like old friends felt surreal. Jisoo, for his part, seemed to enjoy watching you quietly fangirl, even sneaking a picture of you and Jun talking.

Later that night, as you lay in bed, you turned to Jisoo and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for today. It really meant a lot to me.”

Jisoo grinned, pulling you close. “Anything for you. Besides, I’m just glad you didn’t run away with Jun.”

You laughed, resting your head on his chest. “Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite.”

“You better mean that,” he said playfully, kissing the top of your head.

“I do,” you murmured, your voice soft with love. And with that, you drifted off to sleep, feeling incredibly grateful for your husband who always made everything easier—because he’s Jisoo, and he always could.

[cognitiveoverload]

New Year’s Day (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: On the first morning of the new year, Aaron admits that he has a New Year’s resolution.

tags: Established relationship.

It’s barely eight when you wake up. On any other day, you would say you managed to sleep in, but today is different, today you can say it’s quite early to wake up considering you went to sleep some time after three in the morning. As you walk down the stairs, you keep stumbling upon evidence of the night before, from polaroid pictures to patches of confetti, and you can’t help but smile when you remember the best moments of the night.

This year Aaron decided to invite the team for a New Year’s Eve celebration, giving Dave the opportunity to be a guest instead of his usual role as a host. The house was crowded as everyone could bring a significant other if they had one, while JJ and Will brought Henry too, so Jack wasn’t bored to death either.

On your way to the kitchen, you pick up the photos, but you don’t have a look at them before you brew yourself a cup of coffee to fully wake up. As you wait for the espresso machine, you yawn and rub your eyes with the heel of your palm, hoping by some miracle your sleepiness would disappear. You could have stayed in bed with your boyfriend, but the thought of caffeine lured you downstairs.

With the steaming mug in your hand, you decide to sit on the floor in the living room, with your back against the couch as you finally take a look at the polaroids in your hand. Everyone was so happy, and each and every one of your guests had big, wide smiles on the pictures, sometimes making silly faces or hand gestures too. The love they all have for each other is evident, and you can’t help but smile at the sight.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

You turn your head to see Aaron approaching with a small smile on his lips. His hair is a mess from sleep, the white t-shirt wrinkled after the night, and the dark blue pajama pants are probably hanging a little lower than usual. You strangely love your boyfriend the most in the first ten minutes after waking up, when the filter between his brain and mouth doesn’t work properly, so you can usually expect some of the sweetest nonsense he can come up with.

He leans down to kiss the crown of your head, and you look up at him with a smile that matches his. “I could be asking you the same thing,” you point out.

“You weren’t next to me,” he states without hesitation. “You know I have trouble sleeping when you’re not there.”

His eyes move to the photos in your hand, but instead of asking you about them, he sits next to you and takes the mug from your hand to drink some of your coffee. You lean your head on his shoulder as you once again go through the pictures, this time holding them in a way that he can see them too. When you reach one of Jack and him, he takes it from you and watches it with a loving smile.

Sometimes he doubts himself, believing he’s not good enough for his son, but there are times like this too, when he’s reminded of how much Jack loves him. You obviously prefer these moments, and you can’t help but place a kiss on his shoulder before resting your chin on it. “He looks so happy,” you tell him quietly, to which he responds with a hum of agreement.

The two of you sit there a little longer, enjoying the quiet morning. He’s holding your hand, occasionally taking your mug to drink even more of your coffee, but you don’t mind, because these are those moments that you cherish the most. These times you can feel how much he loves you. It’s not that he never shows how he feels about you, it’s just more domestic, making you feel like you were a real family.

“You know, I have a New Year’s resolution,” he begins, turning to you with a mischievous smirk. When you give him a questioning look, he takes a deep breath. “I want to marry you this year.”

It’s quite shocking to hear him say these words so nonchalantly, as if it was a topic you have discussed several times already. But you have never talked about marriage, you didn’t think he would want to take your relationship to this level. “Where did that come from?” you wonder out loud.

Aaron raises your hand to his mouth, taking his time to answer. But then he takes the mug from you, and puts it on the floor next to himself. “It’s nothing new, I just wasn’t sure if you wanted this. I mean, we’re good together, you stay here a lot, but something was always missing. And then I realized this something was you moving in and becoming a real member of this family. Marriage… it’s just a step I want to take with you to make sure you don’t go anywhere,” he says with a smile.

You giggle before leaning closer to give him a quick kiss. “Good to know.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Ask me, then you’ll see,” you tease him.

Rolling his eyes, he wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer. “You’re mean,” he points out. Before he could say anything else, you hear the wooden steps creak, a clear sign that his son woke up as well. “Morning, Jack,” Aaron calls out, raising his hand to wave to his son, signaling him so he knows where to find the two of you.

“Good morning,” the boy says as he sits next to his father and curls up against his side.

With a loving smile, he puts his arm around his son, then you both listen to the little boy telling you about how much fun he had last night, and how you should let him stay awake this long more often. Aaron lets out a thoughtful hum as he watches the kid. “You can stay awake past midnight on your birthday. How does that sound?”

Jack furrows his brows as he considers the offer. “Can the others come over again?” The answer is a nod. “Okay.”

Your boyfriend ruffles his son’s hair briefly before he leans over to you. “He can also stay awake on the night of our engagement party,” he informs you. When you give him a displeased look that he brought it up in front of Jack, he decides to speak up again. “Hey, I’ll ask you when you least expect it.”

And you know he’s telling the truth. You definitely won’t see it coming.

[ma1dita]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVEEEE <3

🐥 luke castellan x reader in a long distance relationship & he calls her after he’s had a few drinks bc he misses her (fluff or smut, whatever u want)

MWUAH

MDNI

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

a/n: loser!luke? more like whipped!luke, very whiny.... i believe in my heart he's an ass man but that's me being self-indulgent anyways smut but he just masturbates because he's a needy fuck

wc: 914

frances made me do it blame her i'm putting my phone away in fear

At first it was a good idea.

Picking colleges an hour away from each other seemed like the right thing to do, a very mature adult thing even—especially after spending a good four years of being attached to each other at Camp Half Blood. Personal growth, you both reasoned, and college was a great way to branch out and be independent. You didn’t need to be with each other 24/7, and seeing each other on weekends wasn’t all that bad. Luke couldn’t give less of a shit now though—he’s tipsy after downing a few Heinekens and all he can think about are very R-rated adult things he did with you last weekend when he went to visit. 

Some things never change, and he reckons he’d settle for anything you give him, whether it be a picture of your ass or the sound of your voice over the phone. His hands fumble with his belt buckle as he sprawls across the couch in his apartment. The sound of the phone ringing adds to his anticipation until he hears a click and your voice filters through like music to his ears.

“Miss me, baby?”

“Like you wouldn’t imagine,” he sighs, noticing his cock stand at attention at the few words that have left your mouth. He’s convinced you’re a witch of some sort—that or he’s been pavloved to feel hot at even the idea of you. Cheeks flushing, he can’t help but stick his hand in his boxers and stroke himself as you tell him about the paper you’re writing, steady tap-taps of your keyboard in the background as he strokes himself slowly. Your voice is hushed to not wake up your roommate, but well, his dick is fully awake at the sound of your murmurs. Only you could make the Ides of March sound sexy, and you quickly notice Luke’s not paying attention when you hear a low groan through the phone.

“You’re not even listening to me, babe,” you giggle, “my boy feeling needy?”

“I’m a man,” he whines, your laughter trickling through from your end and tickling every one of his senses as he spits into his hand and gets down to business just wishing you were here to help him. He even tries to tease his balls like how you would, but thinking too hard about it makes him aggravated.

“You’re crazy, Lu…” you whisper, “can feel how desperate you are from all the way over here.”

“Crazy for you. Whatcha wearing, hot stuff?” 

He smiles when you tell him you’re in those leggings he likes and Luke closes his eyes tightly as he fists his cock. Through the stars that dance in his vision he thinks he can smell you–all sweat and sweetness just how he likes. His head lolls onto his shoulder in desperation as his hand moves up and down adding pressure as he imagines your hole fluttering around him and taking him so well, covering him in your slick instead of his own pathetic spit. Luke’s tongue sticks out the side of his mouth as he concentrates. 

Gods you’re pretty when you ride him—the curve of your waist when you bounce in his lap and the crescent-shaped marks he leaves when he grabs onto your hips, forcing you down harder so that all you can both hear is the slapping of skin. Luke moans, a broken, almost shameful sound until he remembers he’s alone in the apartment tonight. 

You’re still tapping away at your keyboard unfazed by your boyfriend’s arousal.

“Poor baby, you close? What’s on your mind?”

“Mmmph…How your back arches when you ride me…Like the way you let me pull your hair,” he grits, his hand moving faster as precum drips over the precipice of his cock, swollen and angry and he’s almost there. The veins in his forearm look like they’re about to burst and he’s dizzy with want, his heart beating faster with his movements.

“Yeah? You know I like it when you need me. Wish I could be there and do that thing you like.” 

He can hear the grin in your voice as he shakes his head, breathing harder and groaning. He can see it so clearly in his head—feel the swivel of your hips as your pussy clenches down on every ridge of his cock, and all he can do right now is rub his thumb over the sensitive area as he gasps for air. 

“Got you baby, just let go for me…”

Luke hisses, spurts of hot, milky cum hitting the chiseled muscles of his abdomen, before he takes a deep breath. He hears you shut your laptop and the sound of you shuffling in your room.

“Didn’t even make it to Facetime this time around. Sorry baby, missed you bad,” he chuckles, taking another sip of now warm beer.

“It’s been four days, Luke,” you tease, “but I was hoping you’d return the favor.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme see your pretty face.”

He presses the button to Facetime, but you don’t answer, and the sound of a car starting catches his attention.

“Babe?”

“Unlike you, I’d rather have the real thing. See you in an hour,” you laugh, pulling out of your driveway.

“It’s Thursday!”

“And it’s my turn to drive up anyway, so you better fuck me so hard I’ll have a reason to call in sick. I’m driving as fast as I can, Lu!”

And what type of rational adult would he be to deny that?

[steddieas-shegoes]

cw: discussion of past parental death due to overdose, mention of drug use

Steve stumbled upon the article when he was helping Robin collect articles for a project for her Industry Studies course.

He didn’t think much of reading about another small time musician getting caught up with the wrong crowd, and overdosing or getting in a drunk driving accident. It seemed like a pretty common theme. It was terrible, sad, horrible, but he’d seen about 30 stories like that in the last two days and he was kind of getting numb to it all.

Until he saw the name Munson.

Until a picture of a woman with long, curly hair and Eddie’s smile stared back at him next to a headline that read: “Kentucky Country Queen Dead at 27.”

He read the article with tears in his eyes.

Elizabeth “El” Munson, a hopeful country singer and guitarist, was found dead in her home by her six year old son, Edward. The boy reportedly tried calling his father at work with no luck before finally calling his uncle, Wayne Munson.

Toxicology reports show that she overdosed on multiple illegal substances. At this time, it is believed to have been accidental and no foul play is suspected.

It has now been made clear that Elizabeth was seeking a divorce from her husband, Al Munson, but had not been successful as lawyers were unable to locate him until her funeral. Their son has been put in the care of Wayne until further notice.

Robin found him 20 minutes later, staring at the page with swollen, red eyes. She took the paper, read the article, and put it back in the files wordlessly.

“I don’t think he wants us to know,” she finally said.

She was probably right.

But Steve had grown pretty close to Eddie over the last six months, had opened up to him about his parents, his fake friends, his concussions and nightmares. Eddie had started opening up to him, too.

He thought he had, anyway.

He told him about how his mom died when he was young and his dad was awful so he moved in with Wayne. He told him about how his dad appeared every couple years looking for money or a place to stay and Wayne always turned him away.

But he never really talked about his mom, always said he barely remembered her.

Did he know what happened?

——

Steve asked Wayne the next morning.

He’d come by to pick Eddie up for a day with the kids, but Eddie hadn’t set his alarm and was still asleep.

Perfect opportunity to find out more.

“So. Eddie’s mom.”

Wayne tensed over his plate of toast and scrambled eggs. He didn’t look up, just took another bite of food.

“Does he know how she died?”

“Do you?”

“Newspaper said overdose,” Steve tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Says Eddie found her.”

“Trauma messes with your memory.”

It was final, a statement that left Steve with more questions, but a certainty that he’d get no answers.

“Yeah.” He gulped. “I’ve heard.”

——

Steve doesn’t bring it up to Eddie for a while.

He figured Wayne’s reaction said a lot about what Eddie knew or would be willing to share.

But they were a little high and alone and Eddie’s hand was warm in his and his filter was broken.

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find your mom.”

The air around them was thick. The silence was deafening.

“Me too.”

Eddie’s voice was quiet, nothing like his usual playful tone.

Steve immediately wanted to put this conversation in reverse, pretend his curiosity didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie moved closer to Steve, his arm a constant pressure against Steve’s. His head leaned against Steve’s shoulder.

“Wayne doesn’t know I know how she died. He doesn’t know I know my dad gave her bad drugs, convinced her all the up and coming musicians were doing a new strain of heroin. She’d kicked him out of the house,” Eddie’s breath caught. “She shouldn’t have let him come back that day. I heard them arguing before I left for school. She told him she was finding a manager and recording an album and that she was divorcing him. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was bad.”

“Eds, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I know, Stevie. But you know everything else.” Eddie’s face turned until his nose and mouth were pressed against Steve’s arm. “I went to school. Didn’t think about it. Figured my dad would be gone when I got home and might come back in a few days once they cooled off. But when I got home, he was gone and my mom’s bedroom door was closed. And I opened it and there she was.”

Steve turned so he was face to face with Eddie, cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb along his cheek in encouragement.

“I don’t even know why I tried calling the store first. I didn’t even know if he still worked there. But then I called Wayne and it’s like he just knew.” Eddie’s eyes closed for a moment. “Don’t think he’d ever gotten to our house so quick.”

“Did he know all this?”

“He knew enough. I stayed with him and then my dad gave up his rights. Lied to the counselor about what I knew so Wayne wouldn’t freak. Kept it up for a while,” Eddie let out a small exhale that slightly resembled a laugh. “I read the article about eight years ago. A kid in my class made a joke about me being an orphan because of the drug problem in America as if he even knew what that meant and I decided to see what the newspaper reported.”

“Do you play because of her?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked back at him.

“I play for a lot of reasons. But I started because of her, yeah,” he whispers. “You’re the first person to ask me that instead of give me that look of pity.”

“I’m sad about how it happened, but giving you pity doesn’t change it. I’d rather hear how it changed you,” Steve whispered back.

They were close, legs intertwined, hands touching bare skin under shirts and on faces and necks.

“It changed everything for me. Wayne packed us up and moved us here as soon as he legally could. Probably for the best. Well,” Eddie gave a small smile. “Definitely for the best. Wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t.”

“Do you ever go back?” Steve did his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

“Her birthday every year. She’s got a nice spot near her mom.” Eddie bit his lip. “It’s actually coming up in a couple weeks. Maybe you could come with me?”

“Me? Are you sure?”

Eddie nodded. “If it doesn’t weird you out that I talk to her. I like to give her updates on my life, Wayne’s life, music. Think she’d find it quite funny that I bring the guy I’ve had a crush on for two years.”

It takes a minute for the words to sink in.

“Two years?” Steve’s lips curled up into a smile. “I hope I live up to expectations.”

“I think she’d like you. She’d definitely make fun of me for having a boyfriend who wears polos though.”

“Is that how you’d introduce me?”

“If you’re okay with it.” Eddie leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “I know we haven’t talked about what we-“

Steve pressed his lips to Eddie’s, nearly knocking their noses together painfully in the process.

After the initial shock, they both relaxed into the kiss.

“I’d love to go. As your boyfriend,” Steve said after pulling away for air. “What was her favorite flower?”

“Gardenias. Always wore perfume that smelled like it. Why?”

“Because I have to impress her, right?”

“You realize she’s not gonna actually see or hear you? She’s definitely dead.”

Steve snorted. “I know. But she can still have nice things. Maybe us bringing her nice things in death is a way to apologize for the not nice things she had in life.”

“You’re a pretty incredible boyfriend, sweetheart.” Eddie kissed the tip of his nose. “And you now know more than Wayne, so it’s time for a pinky promise.”

Steve giggled before holding up his pinky. “I swear I won’t tell Wayne anything.”

“And you’ll kiss me whenever I want…”

“That’s a guarantee.”

“And you’ll let me win at Go Fish…”

“Not a chance, Eds.”

Eddie laughed. “Worth a try.”

Steve curled his pinky against Eddie’s. “So do you think she’d like me?”

“Oh. Oh god. She’d love you. You’re exactly who she’d want for me,” Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve flipped his hair back confidently. “And she’d braid your hair every night while you gossiped and sipped tea.”

“And what would you do?”

“Probably just soak it in. Appreciate having her and you around. You’ll just have to gossip with Wayne.”

“Wayne doesn’t strike me as-“

“Oh, he’s got you fooled! He’s a worse gossip than the ladies at the hair salon. Just ask him about the mailbox at the end of the road sometime. Make sure you’ve got an hour to spare.”

“Really?” Steve’s eyes lit up. “Is he home now?”

Eddie pulled Steve forward until he was flush against his front. “No and I have much better plans than gossiping with my uncle.”

“Oh?” Steve’s brow raised.

“It involves my bed and handcuffs. You in?”

“Hopefully you’re in.”

“God, you’re ridiculous. C’mon, now I’m even harder from your stupid flirting,” Eddie sat up and tugged until Steve followed. “Can’t believe this is how my night’s going.”

“Believe it, baby.”

[beomboomboom]

Drunk with love

genre: fluff, established relationship

pairing: Seungcheol x reader

summary: Seungcheol has experienced your drunk self more than once before. He's seen everything. He's seen you dramatically confess your love to him years ago, he's seen you yell love song lyrics for him at the top of your lungs. But this was the first time you forgot that you and Seungcheol were dating altogether.

warnings: alcohol/drinking, a little bit of swearing (like very little)

note: based on the results of this poll. I hope you enjoy the fic <33

"Cheolliee~ can you pick me up?"

Seungcheol lets out a sigh at the sound of your tipsy voice. He knew it was a bad idea to let you go out drinking with your friends.

Not that your friends were bad influences or anything, but when you got drunk, you got drunk.

Meaning, you couldn't even walk three steps without either throwing up or passing out.

"Okay baby, I'm going to come get you. Just wait outside the bar okay?"

"Okiee~ the world is spinningg...," he hears your intoxicated voice say. Taking that as a sign, he grabs a few plastic bags and stuffs them in his pocket on the way out of the house, already preparing for what he knows is to come.

As Seungcheol gets into his car and sets off towards the direction of the bar where you're at, he hears your drunk self let out a whine, "Where aree you Cheolliee, I need to tell you somethingg."

Phone still pressed against his ear, Seungcheol lets out a little laugh, amused at the way you're acting.

Deciding to humor your drunk self, he replies softly, "hmm, okay. How about you tell me when I come get you, does that sound alright?"

He can already picture what you're looking like at this point. Your cheeks are probably littered in a pink hue, evidence of your drinking activities, your hair a pretty mess, and your lips in a pout. You're also probably going cling onto Seungcheol the moment he finally arrives to pick you up.

Seungcheol smiles softly at the thought.

Even though dealing with your drunk self is a pain in the ass, he still loves it nonetheless. The way you show your unfiltered love to him is something that always makes him laugh and his heart swoon.

"but cheol...what I'm going to tell you...I might regret..."

Seungcheol's heart stops at your words.

No longer humoring your intoxicated words, Seungcheol worriedly ponders what in the world you could possibly mean. Seungcheol knows that when you're drunk, your filter completely disappears, which makes him worried. What kind of secret were you keeping from him that would make you say "I might regret this"?

"What do you mean by that baby?"

"well....I'll tell you in person. It's better that way. OH! I see your car, I'm coming in."

Seungcheol watches your figure, holding your phone to your ear, as you shakily stand from the bench outside the bar and stumble closer and closer to his car.

Before crumpling to the ground unexpectedly.

"Oh shoot," Seungcheol mutters under his breath as he quickly jumps out of the car and helps you stand up.

"You okay baby? Let's get in the car hm?"

But rather than replying and letting Seungcheol lead you into the car, you simply lean against Seungcheol and begin to cry. Eyes widening, Seungcheol quickly takes your face in his hands and wipes your tears away with the pads of his fingers.

"Awww baby, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I-I-I" you start to say, and let out a small hiccup before shouting," I LOVE YOU!"

"Well, I lov-" Seungcheol starts to reply, but is quickly interrupted by your drunken rambling.

"I know this might ruin our friendship or whatever, but I can't stop my feelings for you. I just love you too much. I love you so much that i'll break the promise we made in second grade to never have a crush on one another. I love you so much that i'll risk our friendship to tell you that I love you. And I love you so much that if you don't love me back, I'll accept it."

With each word being let out of your mouth Seungcheol can feel his endearing smile grow by the second.

"Baby, I think you don't understand. We're dating right now. We were best friends before, but then you confessed to me just like how you're doing now. "

"What no way. You're lying to me. Stop joking around with me Cheollie," you say, a furrow in your brow as you try to decipher the new information.

"I'm not," Seungcheol replies, with a little laugh under his breath at the situation. The way you can't believe you're dating him makes him want to giggle and kiss you senseless at the same time.

"Then show me," you challenge, deadly serious.

Wasting no time, Seungcheol gently grabs your face with his hands and places a chaste peck on your lips. "Let's go home now hm?"

Smiling contently, you let Seungcheol take hold of your hand, and lead you towards the car.

It's after you and Seungcheol take around three steps when your eyes widen and you mutter a quiet "uh oh" and shake Seungcheol's shoulder vigorously.

Already knowing what's about to happen, Seungcheol swiftly takes out a plastic bag from his pocket and hands it to you. As you get all of the alcohol out of your system and into the plastic bag, Seungcheol holds your hair away from your face and rubs comforting circles on your back. "How about we go home and get cleaned up. Does that sound okay with you?

You manage a small nod in response and lean on Seungcheol as he helps you get into the car and buckle your seatbelt. In only a few seconds Seungcheol buckles his own seatbelt too and you and Seungcheol make the short journey home.

As Seungcheol is driving home, he gazes at your passed out figure in the passenger seat. Shaking his head, he simply smilies and lets out an endearing laugh,"you better repay me with lots of kisses and cuddles tomorrow."

[bullet-prooflove]

5500 Follower Celebration: Safehouse - Nick Torres x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @whateversomethingbruh @district447 @lovebookheart @stelacole

Companion piece to:

Casanova - You recieve an unwanted gift.

Promises - Nick makes you a promise.

Dry Land - Nick returns home.

A Little Naughty, A Little Nice - Casanova reflects on your relationship.

It’s barely dawn when you wake up to the sensation of Nick slipping out from underneath the sheets. You feel the absence of his warmth, hear the zip of his duffle bag before he starts to dress in the dark.

“Baby…” You drawl, propping your head up on your arm. “Don’t put your clothes on, come back to bed.”

Nick tilts his head towards you, his features highlighted by the orange glow that filters through the blinds of the safe house you’re currently residing in. He’s wearing that smile, the one that settles something in your chest.

“You know I would like nothing more than climb back into those sheets and fuck you into the mattress.” He tells you as he pulls on that black t-shirt over his perfectly sculpted chest. “But the sooner we catch the guy, the sooner we can go home and not worry about the agents in next room overhearing us.”

That’s the downside of the safehouse, it’s not just Nick keeping you company. It’s two members of Lisa’s team too, ones that probably heard Nick helping you relieve a little stress last night.

You sigh as you flop back onto the sheets and stare up at the ceiling. Up until now you’ve been pretending the past twelve hours were some sort of vacation, you and Nick holed up in a fancy apartment, tangled up in each other but now reality is crashing in and you remember the real reason you’re here.

“Hey.” Nick says softly and you feel the mattress depress alongside of you as he crawls back onto the bed. His thumb chases over the apple of your cheek as he lies down beside you. “This won’t be forever.”

“It feels like it.” You tells him. “It feels like I’m trapped within my own life. I can’t go home, can’t go to work, I’m just stuck here…”

“I know.” Nick says kissing the corner of your mouth. “How about I have someone bring some of your cases over, you can build a murder board in the living room, spread the pictures out across the floor the way you do in the room in the office. You can do a little good while we’re holed up here.”

“I would like that.” You mumble as his lips begin to wander lower. “You’re sure you can’t stay for thirty more minutes?”

“I wish I could.” He mutters, huffing his displeasure into the curve of your throat. “But Knight’s already downstairs waiting.”

You pout as he pulls away and he chuckles as his thumb traces over your pert lips, dipping between them. You bite down lightly and he groans at the sensation before he climbs off the bed readjusting himself in his jeans.

“I have to go to work with this now.” He whines and you give him a mischievous look as you climb out of the bed, naked in all your glory. It only serves to make him harder, his cock throbbing in the confines of the denim as you head inside the en-suite.

“I’m going to be thinking about you in the shower.” You taunt him and it takes every ounce of self-restraint Nick has not to follow you into the bathroom and fuck you in the shower.

“You’re a wicked woman Harper.” He calls out as the water turns on and he hears your laughter over it, followed by the shower door closing.

“Don’t forget those files.” You remind him as he picks up his keys, tutting at your naughtiness.

It’s half an hour later that there’s a knock on the door. You step out of the shower, winding the silk kimono around your body before you hurry towards it, pulling it open.

“Deputy Director.” You say, your damp hair falling across your features. “What are you doing here?”

He holds up the files you requested along with two cups of take out coffee.

“I’ve told you before.” He replies before stepping inside. “Call me Gabe.”

Love Nick? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won't be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[darkenedroses-world]

Protective Mode — Smii7y x Reader

f!reader, angst, protective Smii7y, found family, social media drama, request🦋

It started out so harmless.

The guys were in full chaos mode during a stream, their voices overlapping as they bantered back and forth. The noise spilled into the kitchen where you were humming to yourself, finishing up a fresh batch of cookies. “Yo, Smii7y,” Grizzy’s voice cut through, loud and teasing. “Is that you getting fed again? I swear I hear plates and shit clinking.” “Oh, it’s definitely Y/N,” Droid added, laughing. “Bro, you’re actually spoiled. Does she, like, just live in the kitchen for you?” Puffer chimed in next, snickering. “Nah, Y/N’s the real MVP. If I lived with Smii7y, I’d let that man starve.” “Fuck off,” Smii7y said, his voice muffled slightly by his mic, but there was a smile in his tone. “I didn’t ask for anything. She just does it ‘cause she’s nice.” Grizzy laughed. “I’m just saying, it’s like having a full-time mom who’s also your girlfriend. Y/N’s a saint.” You could faintly hear Smii7y huff over the sound of your oven door closing. “You guys are stupid.” The chat, of course, picked up on it instantly. Questions flooded in, waves of “WHO’S Y/N?” and “SHE COOKS FOR YOU?!!” spamming the stream. Smii7y didn’t give much more context, brushing off the teasing with his usual wit. “She’s my girlfriend, chat. Chill out.” What happened next was inevitable.

You’d been careful about keeping your life private, but it didn’t stop fans from diving deep. Within hours, they’d found your Instagram—pictures of meals, sunset views, and candid shots you’d thought nothing of. The comments started small—curious, lighthearted questions—but quickly spiraled into insults:

• “She’s not even cute. What’s Smii7y doing with her?”

• “She doesn’t deserve him.”

• “Bet she’s a clout chaser. Smii7y could do better.”

• “You’re ruining his streams. Kill yourself.”

At first, you tried to ignore it, turning off notifications and forcing yourself to scroll past the cruel words. But the messages kept coming—DMs filled with threats, accusations, and things you didn’t want to repeat aloud. A day later, Smii7y was streaming again, unaware of just how bad things had gotten. You were curled up in the corner of the couch, mindlessly scrolling your phone. The distant sound of Smii7y’s voice filtered through his mic, calm and familiar as he played. “Chat, relax, I’m focusing,” he said, chuckling softly. “I’m trying to win here.” Then, the silence stretched too long. “…What the fuck did you just say?” His voice was low, sharp, and cold. Your head shot up. Smii7y rarely sounded like that—something was wrong. “What’s wrong?” you asked, sitting up straight, but he didn’t answer right away. “Chat,” he growled, the bite in his voice making you shiver, “which one of you thought it’d be a good idea to talk shit about my girlfriend? Huh? You think I wouldn’t see it?” You froze, heart pounding as he continued. “Don’t you dare bring her into this bullshit,” he snapped, his tone getting louder. “You wanna talk shit about me? Go ahead—I don’t care. But leave her the fuck out of it.” The chat flooded with messages—some confused, others panicking—but Smii7y wasn’t done. “She doesn’t deserve this. She’s done nothing but be kind and patient with me and with life in general. And what do you do? You harass her? You send her death threats because I mentioned her name? Are you out of your fucking minds?”

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging as you watched him defend you so fiercely. Puffer’s voice suddenly cut through Discord, alarmed. “Wait, hold up—what’s going on?” “People are being assholes to Y/N,” Smii7y snapped, his tone still fiery. Puffer let out a disbelieving laugh. “No fucking way. Over what? Being a decent human?” Grizzy’s mic clicked on next, his voice dead serious. “That’s fucking wild. Y’all really mad at her because she cooks and cares about people? You need help.” “She made me the best ribs of my life,” Droid added, clearly pissed. “Y’all couldn’t even dream of someone being that nice to you.” “Exactly,” Smii7y said, his voice rising. “She doesn’t owe you anything. She’s not a streamer; she’s not part of this world. She’s just living her fucking life—and now she has to deal with this?” You buried your face in your hands, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words. “You wanna harass her? Fine,” Smii7y spat. “But just know you’ll never see my face in your chat again. You’re not a fan if this is how you act.” Puffer chimed in again, softer this time. “Seriously, y’all need to chill. She’s, like, the nicest person I’ve ever met. You’re ruining it for everyone.” Grizzy groaned. “For real. Grow up, man.” After the stream ended, Smii7y turned his chair and stood, crossing the room to pull you into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, holding you close. “I didn’t think they’d take it this far.” You clung to him, tears slipping down your cheeks. “It’s not your fault. But… thank you. For standing up for me.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression softening. “You’re my everything. I’m not letting anyone treat you like shit. Ever.” You managed a weak smile, your voice breaking. “I love you.” Smii7y kissed your forehead, his hold tightening protectively. “I love you, too. And don’t worry—next time, they won’t get off so easy.”

[miryum]

"Valentine's Day"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy's relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

The bullpen was decorated in red and pink hearts, streamers thrown around haphazardly. Multiple Cupids were stuck in the holding cell and Damian had a cup of heart-shaped lollipops on his desk. Cass wore a red sweater, a rare, colourful sighting. 

It was Valentine’s Day. 

And Y/n’s desk was filled with crap. “What’s all this?” Captain Wayne strode past, pausing at Y/n’s desk. His eyes scanned over pictures, police reports, a comic strip, a takeout menu, and a stub to a baseball match. 

“It’s a shrine dedicated to Jason,” Cass said. 

“She spent all of last night uncovering these keepsakes.” Damian outed Y/n to the entire precinct.

“Nuh-uh!” Y/n shook her head. “I had them all ready to go.” She smoothed her hands over the memorabilia, looking proud of herself.

“Oh, please.” Damian rolled his eyes. “You spent last night panicking because you couldn’t recall where you kept the bookstore photo.” He referenced a candid of Jason Y/n had taken one day. Jason had been in a bookstore, frowning intently at the summary of a book. His brows were furrowed and he was still recovering from a bruise on his jaw a perp had given him. The photo had been taken at an odd angle and the lighting was dim and washed out, save a stream of ethereal sunlight filtering through the bookstore window. It was Y/n’s favourite. “Until she realised it was on her fridge.”

“Shut up,” Y/n mumbled. 

Wayne was astonished at Y/n’s speechlessness, something he had never witnessed before. He was about to comment on it when Jason entered the precinct, gripping his coffee. He halted by Y/n’s desk, sighing heavily. “Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” Y/n grinned. “Do you like it?”

“Not one bit.” He picked up a police report. “What was this? The first case we worked together?”

“Yep,” Y/n said. She pointed to another case file. “And this was the one where we had to pretend to be married for the sake of the case. That one was the best.”

“Hm. And wasn’t this the baseball game we got to go to when a perp decided to hide in the crowd?” Jason remembered, gazing at the baseball tickets.

“And the comic strip you thought I would like,” Y/n smiled softly. She ran a thumb over the Calvin and Hobbs strip. 

“You still have this?” Jason laughed in astonishment at the takeout menu.

“Yep. Our first all-nighter meal. But this isn’t all I have planned for this wonderful day,” Y/n exclaimed. “No, no. This is only the first act. I have a whole performance planned for you, honeybear.” 

“Honeybear?” Jason’s brows knit together in confusion. That was a new one.

Y/n scrutinised him and called out, “Steph, put ‘honeybear’ at a three.” Steph yelled back in agreement which only made Jason more confused. 

“A three? L/n, what are you talking about?”

“I’m trying to find the best pet-name for you based on reaction. You didn’t seem that flustered by ‘honeybear,’ so it’s only a three. I need to find the perfect ten.”

Jason swallowed and nodded once. “Good to know.” He planned on dampening his emotions for the rest of the day.

“The second act of our performance is me serenading you.” Y/n flung open her bottom desk drawer to reveal the small electric keyboard that Jason had bought for her after solving the case with Hercules Muffin Man. She hit a button and the beginning tunes of Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love started playing. “Whyyy-se mehhhn sayyyy…. own-ly foools ru-shin in…. But eye can’t hell-p fall-in’ in love… with you….”

The Cupids in the holding cell laughed and cheered along. Jason buried his face in his hands and slumped down in his chair. “Oh my gosh I hate this.” Damian held up his phone, the flashlight turned on. “Please make this stop,” Jason groaned.

“Lie-ck a river flo-es… new-new,” Y/n vocalised along with the background music. “Sure-lee to the sea… new-new… Dar-ling so it goses…. Some thhh-ings are men-t to bee…” 

“This is absolutely terrible.”

Captain Wayne shut his door and closed his shades. Cass wished she had that kind of privilege. Dick hummed along, continuing with his work.

Y/n hummed along, slowly losing herself to the music. Jason peered at her from around his computer, noticing the shift in her attitude. This wasn’t for the sake of attention anymore. This seemed more personal. “Take my hand…” her singing became more melancholic and truthful. “Take my whole world too… For I can’t help… Falling in love with you…” She glanced timidly over to Jason who she found to be staring softly back at her with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Darling, so it goes…” Jason flushed, blood rushing to his cheeks and neck. “Some things are meant to be…” After a moment of silence, she muttered, “Steph, put ‘darling’ down as an eight.”

“For the third instalment of our little performance,” Y/n said around lunchtime. “I have prepared a lavish meal.” Out of the community fridge, she pulled out a pink cake with a slice missing. “Wait, who the hell ate Jason’s cake?!”

“I am so sorry,” Tim called from the bullpen. “But it was two A.M. and I was incredibly hungry.” 

“Fine.” Y/n rolled her eyes. “Jason, here is your partially eaten cake.” She plopped the mass of sugar in front of the man. “I hope you like it- even the part in Tim’s stomach.”

“You bought me a cake?” Jason asked in disbelief.

“Technically, no… I made it. You’re welcome.”

“You made this?! Y/n, how long is this gonna go on? I mean- oh my gosh, this cake is good. How the fuck are you a good baker?” Jason stuffed some more into his mouth before continuing. “I mean, seriously, you can’t spend the entire day coddling me.” 

“Why yes, I can, dear Jason,” Y/n said. “You know why? Because today is the marvellous day when Emperor Cladius executed a dude named Valentine ‘cause he was fine with soldiers marrying.” 

Tim frowned at her. “How do you know all that?”

“The internet.” 

“Ah.”

“Just tell me our secret ingredient,” Jason said. “And I will marry you.”

“Be careful what you promise, baby.” Y/n winked and Jason blinked and swallowed harshly. “Stephanie, ‘baby’ is a six.” 

“Got it!”

“I’m not touching that.” Jason grimaced at the piece of evidence lying in front of him. 

“I’m not touching that: Title of your sex tape,” Y/n muttered, sitting opposite him, typing away at her computer. “I’ve touched grosser shit than that,” she nodded towards the chewed-up wad of gum.

“I’ve touched grosser shit than that: Title of your sex tape,” Jason retorted. 

Y/n gaped at him. “Oh my gosh, I love you.” Jason’s lips parted and his stomach dropped. 

She’d said it before. She had said the words “I love you” to everyone in the precinct at least once. They were her family- her life. Of course she loved them. And yet, Jason desperately wished for them to be true. To be more than another common thing she said out of excitement. He rubbed the pad of his finger along another, wishing that instead of touching himself, he was touching her. Y/n watched him intently, an unconscious smile gracing her face. “I’ll wait,” she whispered. “I’ll wait…”

“L/n!” Dick called from the other side of the bullpen. Y/n bounded up from her chair to see what her sergeant wanted; Jason watched her go. 

“I swear, if you hurt her,” Damian growled. “No one will ever find your body.” 

“You work with a group of detectives,” Cass sighed a laugh. “And given that Brown and I just heard your murder threat, I’m pretty sure we would track you down.” 

“I would go off the grid.” Damian glared at Jason. “I would change my name and appearance. I already have a bag waiting for me at home.” 

“What is your life?” Steph exclaimed. “You’re a law student. Why do you have a Quick Run Bag?”

Damian shrugged. “Just in case.”

“Sometimes I worry about you,” Steph said. “And then I realise I work with an incompetent lovesick fool and I realise you’re not that bad.” 

“Are you talking about Todd or L/n?” Cass raised a brow and Steph snickered along. 

“What d’ya need, Sarge?” Y/n skipped over and leaned on Dick’s desk. 

“These cases have to go down to filing,” he handed her some stacks of paper. “And I need you to tell Davidson he’s approved for his week off. And please,” he looked up at her with tired eyes. “Stop tormenting Todd. Usually, I’d love to see it, but we’re a bit swamped today.” 

“Ah, Sarge,” Y/n pouted. “How dare you get in the way of love? Don’t you love Kori? And your kids? I thought you of all people would understand!”

“Just… don’t make him quit.” 

“No promises!” 

“The climax in my performance here today,” Y/n swooped over to Jason who was just trying to do his work in peace. “Is the one I’m most excited for. Dami, go!” Damian obediently hit a button on his phone and through the same speakers Y/n had once used to welcome Captain Wayne, she was now playing Ma Belle Evangeline from the Disney movie Princess and the Frog. “You once said you loved this movie as a kid, so I thought it was fitting,” Y/n shrugged. She knelt down on one knee and Jason groaned loudly. “My dearest Jason,” Y/n began, a shit-eating grin on her face. “Here, with this ring-pop I present to you, do I ask for you to make me the happiest woman alive and officially marry me. What’s your answer, dude?” 

Jason ran a hand through his hair and replied, “I’m assuming ‘no’ isn’t an answer?” 

“Lovely Jason,” Y/n seemed appalled. “You can always say no! But if you’re asking if I will stop asking you until you say yes, then correct, the answer is no.” 

“Fine.” The man rolled his eyes to the applause of his coworkers. Stephanie was filming everything. “I’ll marry you. But only for the candy!” He accepted the ring-pop and Y/n leapt up and hugged him tightly. 

“Mr. L/n,” she said happily. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“The final instalment of my grand declaration of love,” Y/n declared at the end of the day, standing over Jason who had yet to pack up. “Is a parting gift.” She leaned down and pressed a loud, obnoxious kiss to Jason’s cheek. Jason tried to concentrate on his work, but he knew that it would be futile with the replay of the simple, yet flamboyant kiss running rampant in his mind. 

“Goodbye, my love,” Y/n hummed in his ear.

“That-” Jason coughed, attempting to disguise his red cheeks and bright eyes. “That may be the ten.” 

Y/n whooped loudly and pumped her fist in the air. Yes! “And we have a winner, folks!”

“I am so happy for you,” Cass said monotonously as she walked by. 

Y/n gathered her things and threw an over-exaggerated wink towards Jason. “Until next time, my love,” she cried.

Jason sighed and muttered, “until next time.” He rolled the plastic ring-pop base in between his fingers.

[wheneverfeasible]

Ruin Me (part 6/Finale)

wc: 2.5k || rating: E || story summary: Steve shows up on Eddie’s doorstep with an offer he can’t refuse. || chapter summary: The boys realize what they want is more than just one night. || tags: omegaverse, alpha!Eddie Munson, omega!Steve Harrington, intersex omegas, explicit content (see ao3 for full tags) || posted in full on ao3

See bottom for commentary

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Previously…

Unthinkingly, Eddie dropped another kiss to Steve’s forehead and then he was all but escaping his room to get Steve a glass of water. Fucking tap water, nothing filtered properly because he lived in a fucking trailer and Steve…Steve was used to the nicer things in life.

Which wasn’t Eddie.

“Christ, Munson, if your old man could see you now,” he muttered to himself, picturing the Munson Doctrine just flying out the window, as he filled up a glass. Not even a proper glass at that, either, but one of those novelty promotional things Wayne had gotten at McDonald’s with the purple guy on the front.

Whatever. It wasn’t like he could impress Steve even if he tried.

Coming back into the room, Eddie took a moment to take in the sight of Steve. The boy had settled more fully into the bed, laying under the covers with his nose buried in the blanket, eyes closed.

He wasn’t asleep, that much was certain with how he was nuzzling against the material every so often, but Eddie could tell that it was a losing battle.

He tried not to feel too much pride at fucking Steve into exhaustion.

“C’mon, Stevie, drink some water and take your pill,” he coaxed, setting the glass on the bedside table to rest a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He gently helped the other boy sit back up, trying his hardest not to smile at the sleepy but content look on Steve’s face.

“I like that,” Steve murmured quietly.

Eddie let out a small hum as he got Steve situated back up to a sitting position. “Like what?”

“When you call me that. Stevie.”

Eddie froze. Steve, seemingly unaware, took the glass Eddie was now holding out and dutifully took the pill and drank down more than half the water. He made a little grimace at the taste, but didn’t make any comments about its lack of filteredness. Steve then set the glass down and reached for Eddie’s hand, tugging him down onto the bed with him.

Eddie went easily, still caught on Steve liking the nickname that, admittedly, had probably started out somewhat mockingly but now was anything but. Steve’s arm wrapped around Eddie, encouraging him to lay down with him, and then he was shoving his nose back into Eddie’s neck and inhaling his scent again as he pressed against his side.

“I like your scent too,” Steve quietly murmured, lips brushing against Eddie’s suddenly very overly sensitive skin.

“So you said,” Eddie said, voice tight. “Bitter and soggy, I remember.”

Steve just laughed, lightly slapping a hand to Eddie’s chest, before he just left it there. His fingers idly began playing along the slight muscle definition Eddie had from moving heavy band equipment around every week, before lightly playing with the chain around his neck holding his pick.

“You smell good, alpha,” Steve murmured, and Eddie felt a spark go through him at Steve calling him that again when not in the babbling throes of passion.

Swallowing whatever was lodged in his throat, Eddie carefully wrapped his arm around Steve’s back until the omega was curled tighter against his side, legs tangling up slightly. “Yeah? Well you smell absolutely sinful, omega,” he gently teased, bringing his other hand to lightly settle over Steve’s on his chest.

“What do I smell like? No one’s ever really told me before. Just that I didn’t smell like the typical omega. Not sweet enough.”

“Trust me, sweetheart. You’re plenty sweet,” Eddie said with a small snort. He considered Steve’s words, however, tried to find an answer for him to make him happy.

“You’re sweet, but not like sugar. It’s…warm. There’s something acidic there, but not…bad. More…citrusy maybe? And something spiced, not spicy.” Eddie lightly huffed. “I don’t know how you can name off specific things like you did. I can’t tell what smells are for shit. You’re lucky I could differentiate anything at all.”

Steve’s laughter at that brought that lump back into Eddie’s throat. The omega pulled his head back though to noticeably roll his eyes. “Tell me you’ve never stepped foot into a kitchen without telling me you’ve never stepped foot into a kitchen.”

“Hey!” Eddie protested, trying not to laugh at Steve’s snark that he was finding far more endearing than bitchy. “I can make a mean pot of Chef Boyardee, thank you very much.”

“I stand corrected,” Steve said with a small snort of his own. He shook his head before settling it back against Eddie’s shoulder.

“It’s my parents, honestly. Dad agreed to let me stay in sports after I presented as long as I took up ‘proper omega pastimes’ as well,” he said mockingly, and Eddie could hear the air quotes though Steve’s fingers stayed pressed against him.

“So I had to give up shop class for home economics, and had to start helping my mom with making meals and taking care of housework.” Steve let out a slight grumble. “Pretty sure he only agreed to letting me stay on the team because I was the captain, but with Hargrove gunning for the spot…”

Eddie frowned at that. It was obvious that Steve liked sports; even someone who avoided sports like the plague like Eddie did could see that much. The idea that Steve’s father would rip that away from his son just because of his secondary gender…it wasn’t fair.

“So you’re a good cook then, Stevie?” he asked, wanting to turn Steve away from more depressing thoughts.

Predictably, Steve brightened up again, burrowing closer against Eddie once more. “Yeah, I like to think so. Dustin and the others don’t really complain when I’ve cooked for them, and Joyce even complimented me on my ragù and asked for the recipe.”

Dustin again. Who the hell was this Dustin he kept hearing about? Another alpha? Then why didn’t Steve just go to Dustin for help?

“You’re starting to smell weird again,” Steve complained.

Forcing himself to let it go…mostly…Eddie tightly asked, “Who’s Dustin?”

Steve brightened even further, and it might have made Eddie’s smell even worse, if Steve’s next words didn’t immediately throw Eddie for a loop. “He’s one of my pups!” He laughed a little at that. “He hates it when I call him that, though. He’s a friend, one of these kids I…babysit sometimes.”

Steve “The Hair” Harrington was a babysitter??

“You babysit?” Eddie couldn’t help but ask, befuddled at this new development into just who exactly this boy in his arms was.

“Unofficially,” Steve said, and though he grumbled it, Eddie could feel the smile pressed into his shoulder. “I don’t get paid for it or anything. I just help watch this rabid pack of middle schoolers. They start high school in the fall and I don’t know if I’m happy or disappointed I won’t be with them when they do.”

Steve watched middle schoolers???

“You’d actually probably like them. Don’t you run that Dipshits and Dingbats game? They’re big fans of that. Well, most of them. El and Max don’t play.” Steve tensed slightly. “Max is actually Billy’s little sister,” he murmured quietly. “He’s an asshole to her too.”

Eddie’s mind was in a whirlwind with all this new information. Steve babysat. Steve babysat middle schoolers. At least one of these middle schoolers he considered an actual friend. This middle schooler friend introduced him to Star Wars. And, apparently, also played Dungeons and Dragons?? And Steve knew Eddie ran Hellfire???

Oh yeah, and one of Steve’s pseudo-pups was apparently Billy Hargrove’s little sister. Fantastic.

Lost in thought, Eddie unthinkingly brushed his lips over Steve’s forehead. “Baby boy, I feel like I don’t even know what is going on anymore,” he mumbled.

“Join the club,” Steve said with another snort. He tilted his head up to press a soft kiss to Eddie’s neck in return, causing Eddie to jolt slightly. Which then, in turn, caused Steve to flinch slightly and draw away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, moving as though to pull himself out of Eddie’s arms, prompting Eddie to hurriedly reach out and grasp the other boy’s chin, pulling him back in for a soft, gentle kiss.

Steve tensed for a brief moment before fully relaxing against Eddie with a content, happy sigh against Eddie’s lips. When Eddie released him, he snuggled back in against Eddie’s neck.

Eddie realized, with a horrifying certainty, that he wanted to keep him. Forever.

Fuck.

“Who’s Joyce?” Eddie asked in what was only a slightly strangled tone, trying to distract himself and possibly Steve from the realization that Eddie couldn’t hide from anymore.

“Hmm?” Steve asked sleepily around a yawn. “Oh, that’s Will’s mom. Will’s and Jon’s.”

Wait. Jon? As in Jonathan Byers???

“You’re friends with Zombie Bo—OOF!” Eddie wheezed out from where Steve had solidly smacked his diaphragm with the side of his fist.

“Don’t call him that,” Steve said fiercely, practically a growl, suddenly much more awake as he sat up to glare at Eddie. “He’s a good kid and what he went through was traumatic. That’s a stupid nickname and I don’t want to hear you use it ever again, understood?”

Eddie stared in awe at the fierce omega before him, all righteous fury for one of his pups, and Eddie realized with even more certainty that he didn’t just want to keep Steve Harrington; he wanted to be kept by Steve Harrington too.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t realize. I think it’s a pretty metal name, but I promise it won’t ever cross my lips again.

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, as though looking for deceit, before huffing and laying back down. He squirmed a little, still obviously aching from their activities, before settling once more. Eddie wrapped both arms around him until Steve was practically laying on top of him and pressed a kiss to his hair.

“I am sorry. I didn’t think. Sometimes I say things with no filter. Obviously it would be traumatic. I promise none of the boys will call him that either when he joins Hellfire.”

Steve shot his head up again at that, mouth slightly agape. “Really? You’d let him join? And the others?”

Eddie grinned. “Well, only if they want to. Anyone can be in Hellfire if they wanna be in Hellfire. Even you, sweetheart,” he gently teased, booping Steve lightly on the nose.

Steve scrunched up his nose before letting out a soft laugh. “I doubt I’d actually be welcomed there. Dustin would blow a gasket if I ever actually played though,” he said with a small wicked grin. “He’s been asking me for ages. Even tried to get Nancy to play again to entice me. She’s Mike’s sister.”

Wheeler? Nope. Not happening. Wait…Steve was friends with his ex’s brother and the brother of the guy his ex left him for????

“Stevie, baby, I just don’t know if I can take any more of your secret lore tonight,” he muttered, earning a confused look from the boy in his arms.

He sighed, shaking his head against the pillow slightly before drawing Steve into another soft kiss. Steve’s cheeks were pink when he pulled back. “Come to Hellfire during our next meeting. We’ll teach you how to play and then you can make this Dustin kid blow all the gaskets.”

A shy smile curled at Steve’s lips. “Yeah? You’re not just looking for an excuse to get into my pants again are you?” he teased.

Eddie, risking it all to be as brave as the omega in his arms, grinned back. “Do I need an excuse?”

Steve chewed his lower lip once more in obvious hesitation, a brief flash of vulnerability bringing uncertainty to his expression, before he dropped his gaze.

Eddie gave him time to process it all, however, gently rubbing a thumb over Steve’s shoulder, mindful of the hickeys he’d left scattered there. He wanted to lick them. Despite his own anxiety, he tried to pretend like his heart wasn’t racing a million miles a minute.

Finally, after what seemed like forever to Eddie’s poor rattled nerves, Steve glanced up again at Eddie through his lashes. “Is it just my pants you want in?” he asked quietly.

Eddie felt a surge of hope. “I would really like to meet your pups too. Get to know them. And…get to know you better. Whether or not you ever want to do this again, I’d still like to see you again after tonight. But I won’t deny that I really want a repeat performance,” he added with a gently teasing grin.

Steve lightly huffed, rolling his eyes as though that could hide how his face flamed a soft pink. “Knothead,” he mumbled.

“Only for you, sweetheart,” Eddie breathed, taking Steve’s hand in his again to lift to his lips where he brushed a kiss against Steve’s palm. He then trailed his lips down to Steve’s wrist, nuzzling at the smaller scent gland there, causing Steve to suck in a soft breath. “Didn’t I tell you earlier I was going to make you mine? Ruin you for all other alphas?”

Something almost fragile flit across Steve’s expression at that, and Eddie realized this wasn’t biology. This wasn’t his secondary gender latching on to the biological imperative of claiming Steve now that they had coupled; this wasn’t his alpha trying to take Steve’s omega because that’s what nature dictated should happen.

No, this was merely Eddie wanting to make certain Steve never has to be that desperate, scared, or alone ever again because Steve didn’t deserve to be. Whether Steve was omega, beta, or even another alpha, Eddie knew that he’d be right back here, wanting Steve by his side.

Steve, who was so much more than Eddie had ever realized a person could be.

Steve, who was staring at him now like he had never seen him before, or like…he had never dared to hope how Eddie could be.

“Yeah, Munson?” Steve quietly asked. “Whatcha gonna do? Make an honest omega outta me after all?”

“Maybe I will, sweetness. Maybe I will,” Eddie smiled, because Steve’s sweet scent was there, full of tentative hope. “That is, if you can handle my bitter and soggy scent for more than one night,” he grinned.

Steve let out the most beautiful laugh Eddie had ever heard. “Oh, you are such an asshole,” he groaned, but then Steve was leaning in and answering Eddie’s question with a smiling kiss. Which was all good and all, but…

“I need your verbal confirmation, precious,” Eddie whispered against his lips, though he couldn’t stop his own lips from smiling either.

“Take me on a date first, alpha, and maybe you’ll get it,” Steve teased, and Eddie could only let out a small whoop of happiness, Steve answering it with his own laughter, as he wrapped his arms around Steve and rolled them over in bed, kissing Steve deeply where he pressed him into the mattress.

And no, things weren’t miraculously perfect. He knew they would need to worry about Steve’s parents, and he’d have to explain to Wayne why Steve would probably have to move in with them for a bit if things soured with the Harringtons, and they were technically still in school and Eddie was probably going to have to repeat senior year again, but…

In the morning, Eddie would find the perfect first courting gift. They might have rushed into the start of things, but they could take their time now. They would get to know each other properly, would take the time to test this thing between them, because there was a thing between them after all. A real thing.

A thing that Steve wanted just as much as he did, judging by his enthusiastic, smiling, laughing kissing.

“My alpha,” Steve breathed so prettily once they parted, rolling to curl against each other after Eddie reached over to turn off the light, nuzzling under Eddie’s chin to settle in for the night.

“My omega,” Eddie whispered back, pressing another gentle kiss to Steve’s hair as he held him, safe and protected.

Eddie fell asleep to Steve’s purring, his own chest rumbling with happy adoration and contentment.

By the time the sun rose on a new day full of promise, the storm had broken.

fin

Author commentary:

And it’s complete! But the story isn’t over yet 😉

Short and hopefully sweet, there isn’t too much commentary left here that won’t be answered in the upcoming companion piece featuring Steve’s POV and the morning after.

That being said, I did want to discuss scents again. I’ve mentioned before that Eddie isn’t really able to get specific scents because he’s not familiar with them, like most people. Steve, however, is able to get more specific with his scent recognization because he’s familiar with the components.

Steve’s parents are traditionalists, as previously stated. Especially his alpha father. He would definitely force an omega child into a “traditional omega role” which is basically the role women have been expected to be in for years in our reality. General misogyny still exists in this omegaverse as well, even against alpha women, but there’s more leeway for secondary genders.

Due to this, Steve is familiar with cooking and baking and thus familiar with the scents of food items and ingredients. It’s why he can tell that Eddie smells of molasses and dark chocolate, because I wanted Eddie to smell a little sweet while also being something earthy and rich.

And then I love the smell of petrichor (thank you Doctor Who for informing so many what it is called) and generally the smell of rain in the air, and wanted to give Eddie that scent as well. Something similar to Steve, but heavier.

While Steve doesn’t smell as sweet as other omegas, Eddie also smells sweeter than other alphas. Their differences are thus what connects them in similarity. The same by being different. I just thought that that would be a little poetic, a little wink wink nudge to show that these two belong together.

Now, these two have realized that they want more than just this single night together, both realizing that they like the other more than they initially intended to, though it won’t be entirely smooth sailing from here on out. They have Steve’s parents to deal with, of course, but also their own insecurities.

I’m not certain how short or long the next part will be, or even when it will come out, but I am currently working on it, so….we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?

Thank you everyone who has read and enjoyed this little story with me, and I hope to see you again!

~

Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

@everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes

For those just hanging out for this particular story, I’ll tag you whenever I post the companion too unless otherwise asked not to!

Fic tag:

@amerikanskaya-krassavitsa @estrellami-1

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...  

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”  

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.  

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-” 

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.  

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.  

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.  

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well. 

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick. 

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him. 

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market. 

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.  

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years. 

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.  

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...” 

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”  

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.  

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.  

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret. 

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-” 

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.  

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned. 

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.  

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”  

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow. 

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.  

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.  

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.  

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-” 

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.” 

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.  

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.” 

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.  

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.  

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.  

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.  

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.  

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living. 

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.  

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.  

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.  

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.  

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world? 

No.  

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he? 

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials. 

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said. 

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.  

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.  

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.  

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.  

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.  

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake. 

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?” 

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.  

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.  

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.  

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back. 

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.  

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?  

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.  

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.  

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.  

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.  

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.  

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.  

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.  

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.  

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.  

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”  

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.  

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.  

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.  

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school. 

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.  

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.  

You wished you could live like that. 

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.  

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth. 

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?” 

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.  

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.  

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.  

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.  

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud. 

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-” 

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”  

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...” 

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing. 

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.” 

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this. 

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!” 

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!" 

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.  

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.  

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

Masterlist | Tip Jar

Tagging those who asked, and some of my mutuals who may or may not enjoy this!

If you want to be added/removed from my tag list, please let me know!

@writingjourney @portaltothevoid @anamelessfool @astro-ghoul99 @sodoswitchimage @through-thebrokenglass @ghoulette-knell @thylacourt @onlyhereforghost @mikathemushroom @jaymechaos @gardenghoul22 @mustluvecho @mlioravanfleet @tobbesdiscordkitten @the-did-i-ask @love-is-all-you-need-13 @fishwithtitz @xshadyladyx @redthefieryginger @preqvelle @arhiannababe @namelessdrool @jokerofthepack52 @popialover @alonso123 @copias-sewer-rat @kadedoesthings @popiaswife @thew0man @siouxbauhaus @copias-juicebox @ghostfangirlsweden

[the-offside-rule]

Pablo Gavi (FCBarcelona) - Coffee Date

Requested: yep

Prompt: Coffee date with Gavi

Warnings: none

Y/N sighed as she stacked her books on her dorm room desk, exhausted from a morning of back-to-back classes. College was a different beast from what she remembered, but she was determined to stay focused this semester. The knock at her door broke her thoughts. "Quién es?" She called, trying not to sound too distracted. "Gavi. I’ve got a surprise!" Pablo’s voice filtered through the door. Her heart leaped. It had been a while since she’d seen her friend, with him recovering from his injury and training to get back on the field. She quickly opened the door to find him standing there with a smile, holding two takeaway coffee cups.

"Gavito!" Y/N beamed, pulling him in for a hug. "What are you doing here?" She asked. "Te dije que te sorprendería. Thought you could use a coffee break." He winked, handing her one of the cups. "Perfect timing. I swear these exams are killing me," she groaned, grabbing the coffee eagerly. Pablo laughed. "Let’s go sit outside, you need some air." They walked to a nearby park bench, the sun casting a warm glow over the campus. "So, tell me-" She started as they sat down. "How’s it feel to be back playing?"

He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back. "Es lo mejor. No te das cuenta cuánto lo extrañas hasta que estás fuera for so lonv. But now that I’m back, I feel stronger, ready to prove myself otra vez. The team’s been really supportive too." He smiled. They started speaking Spanglish a while ago since Y/n spoke English fluently after moving to Barcelona when she was younger and Pablo needed to learn english, so their compromise? Spanglish.

"I’m sure they missed you. Everyone did. I saw your name trending so many times on Twitter." Gavi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, pero you know how it is. Fans can be... intense sometimes." They continued talking for a while, catching up on everything from football to Y/N's exams. The ease of conversation made it feel like no time had passed. But soon, she noticed some people nearby whispering and glancing their way. "Is it just me, or are we being stared at?" Y/N asked, lowering her voice. Pablo looked around, his brow furrowing slightly. "Eh, puede ser. Or maybe they recognize me." Y/N rolled her eyes. "Of course. Mr. Famous."

Just as she said it, a group of teenage fans walked by, snapping a quick photo of them. Pablo didn't seem to mind, but Y/N felt her stomach twist. She wasn’t used to this level of attention. "Qué pasa?" Pablo asked, noticing her expression. "I don’t know, I guess I'm just not comfortable with all the attention." She admitted. "I like being normal."

"Don’t worry, no es gran cosa." He said, trying to reassure her.

But within hours, the picture was all over social media. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—you name it. The photo of them sipping coffee and chatting was everywhere. Fans were speculating about their relationship, and the reactions were mixed.

They’re cute together!

Omg she's so pretty!

Ew wtf??

Gorgeous!!!

Love her style ❤️

Who even is she?

Others weren’t as kind:

Who is she? Gavi could do better....

Y/N tried to ignore it, but when she walked into campus the next day, it was clear the photo had done its damage. People whispered as she passed by, and a few even pointed her out. Some smiled, others looked jealous. It was overwhelming. Later that day, her phone buzzed with a text from Pablo.

Pablo: I’m picking you up in 10. We need to talk.

She frowned, wondering what he wanted to talk about now. True to his word, Pablo pulled up in front of her dorm ten minutes later, leaning out of his car window. "Vamos, get in." Y/N slid into the passenger seat, crossing her arms. "This isn’t helping, you know. People already think we’re together." Pablo laughed as he pulled away from the curb. "Ah, come on. Don’t be dramatic. They think we look good together." She glared at him. "I’m serious. This has ruined my chances with Pedri." At that, Pablo nearly choked on his laugh. "Qué dices? You with Pedri? That’s not happening." Y/N frowned, feeling defensive. "And why not? Pedri’s sweet, plus you introduced us." Pablo shook his head, still chuckling. "No way. I wouldn’t let you near him. He’s too... no sé, it would just be weird."

"Well, weirder than this?" She gestured between them, frustrated. Pablo didn’t answer right away, focusing on the road as they drove through the city. After a beat, he shrugged. "I like it when people think we’re together. It doesn’t bother me." Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. "Wait, cómo que te gusta? Why?" He shifted uncomfortably, his playful demeanor fading. "No sé. I just... think we look good together. That’s all." She pressed further, her voice softening. "Do you... like me, Pablo?" The question hung in the air, tension filling the space between them. Pablo glanced at her quickly, then back at the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"Yo... no." He said, almost too quickly. "No, I don’t. I mean, not like that." Y/N’s heart sank. She tried to hide her disappointment, but it was hard to miss the change in her mood. "Right." She murmured. "I get it." Pablo glanced at her, seeing the hurt in her eyes. He wanted to say more, but he was terrified of ruining things. What if she didn’t feel the same? They pulled up to his apartment, and the rest of the car ride was filled with awkward silence. Once inside, Pablo grabbed them both a drink, sitting down on the couch beside her. "Look." He said quietly. "I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just... I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you. You’re one of my best friends, and..."

"And?" Y/N prompted, her voice barely a whisper. Pablo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And maybe I like you more than I should, pero I don’t want to mess this up." She looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "So... you do like me." He hesitated, but then nodded, the weight of his confession finally sinking in. "Sí. Pero...I was scared you didn’t feel the same." Y/N blinked, the tension in her chest releasing as she smiled softly. "Idiot. Of course I like you too." Pablo let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a grin spreading across his face. "Well... that’s a relief."

"Yeah." She teased, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You'rean idiot for not telling me this sooned." He laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're a scary girl."He joked. "I'm not that scary." He scoffed. "Jeep telling yourself that, cariño."

[rrrrinmaru]

rin's side stories: 01 - where rafayel debriefs the flammula

wc: 1.2k rating: G brief: after rafayel's first meeting with mc, he decides to debrief someone he can trust. someone who can't spill his secrets to anyone who can repeat them to mc. notes: gender neutral!mc, fluff, comedy, canon-compliant

“I was rather suave, wasn’t I?”

Silence answers him. The man doesn’t seem deterred—he flips over on his couch, back lying flat on the sofa as one leg crooks at the knee and dangles off the edge. 

“See, you might not have gotten a good view of the scene, but I appeared like a knight in shining armor, okay? Exactly like all those fairytales. Picture this, the setting sun, a golden glow sinking over the city like a blanket. The light dancing off the water surface, making everything look iridescent and magical. The soft splashes of you guys, adding to the ambience of the place. It’s quiet. It’s picturesque. Am I painting a good picture for you?”

The red flammula circles around its massive tank. The tank is perched on the reinforced glass table, large enough that it practically takes up all the space. There are small underwater plants swaying with the ripples sent up by the portable water filter attached to the side of the tank. Sand and gravel sit at the bottom, with a few coral stones tossed in to add color to the place. 

Inside, the flammula spits out a string of bubbles.

“You don’t get it. So there they were, helpless and shaking, like a seal pup in front of a great white. The setting sun set their hair alight, awash with that orange hue—I really need to paint this before I forget it—and they were just standing there. Their eyes darted around, begging for help, and there I was! Right in their line of sight; tall, handsome, elegant. Offering a comment about your tragic lifespans on land so they know I’m intelligent.”

The flammula hides behind a particularly big rock. On the couch, the figure splutters, sitting upright. 

“Dropping an information snippet about the lifespan of aquatic creatures is not boring. It caught their attention. And then I took the net from their loose grip, emboldened by the hopeful gaze in their eyes, and swooped you up in one quick snap of my wrist. Really, you need to be better at running away from nets in the water. Is this how you got caught the first time?”

A long string of bubbles. The flammula swims out just to brush its underbelly against the sand before swimming back up to where the plants are swaying with the ripples. 

“After catching you, I proceeded to tell her about your historic legend—”

The flammula winds itself around a long, dark green plant. It flops over, the plant wrapped around it, and pretends to go still.

A hand reaches over, one knuckle knocking in irritation at the side of the tank, right next to where the flammula is.

“A little respect would be deserved,” Rafayel huffs, throwing his head to the side. “I didn’t have to save you, you know. I could have let you live up to your exceedingly short lifespan with the rest of your brethren in that tiny pool, at the mercy of small land children with sticky fingers and unwashed hands.”

The flammula revives long enough to flap a fin at Rafayel and breathe out bubbles before it returns to playing dead. 

Rafayel rolls his eyes. “Anyway, they then told me that Hat Island was closed off because of Wanderer sightings. Not that it would have stopped me, if I had really wanted to go, but—hey! This means they were concerned about me, weren’t they?”

The flammula doesn’t respond. 

“I mean, I picked a random pamphlet out of that booth near the place just so I had something to do with my hands, but what a stroke of luck!”

Rafayel dips a hand in the water, far enough to gently poke the flammula with the tip of his index finger. “Look alive, comrade. I’m not done here.”

The flammula twists its body, slapping Rafayel’s index finger with its tail. 

“They didn’t say it just because I’m a civilian and they were doing their job,” Rafayel shoots back, sounding miffed. “Well, whatever. Let’s move past that to the next important installation of our interaction, wherein I, very handsomely, popped you into the small container they were holding on to.”

A flurry of bubbles rise in the tank. The flammula seems to have a lot to say, reviving once more just to swim accusingly around Rafayel’s hand and bump angrily into his open palm. 

“You were not going to die from air exposure. I barely held you out for less than a minute. I wasn’t going to just let you die like that. And you are really detracting from my entire experience, here. Regardless, after you were finally allowed to breathe again, they told me to go to Whitesand Bay. How cute,” Rafayel remarks, a smile pulling at his lips.

The flammula scrapes its body against Rafayel’s fingers, nipping at his fingertips. 

“This level of aggression is seriously uncalled for,” Rafayel complains, poking the flammula’s tail. “I’m just trying to tell you about our meeting, and you’re acting like I tossed you into the middle of an oil spill. They told me to go visit Whitesand Bay, you know?”

He points outside the windows lining his wall, tempered glass from ceiling to floor, gesturing at the miles of paper white sand that stretch out before him. “How cute. Maybe I should invite them to walk with me at Whitesand Bay sometime.”

The flammula swings its tail, hitting Rafayel’s fingers. Once it gets the last word in, the flammula swims in a harried manner to the stone cave attached to the side of the tank, clearly ready to hide in there until Rafayel stops bothering it.

“You are no fun,” he tells the flammula, fishing his hand out of the water. There’s a brief flash and fire creeps up his skin, starting from his fingertips and crawling up his palms, the back of his hand, his wrist, his forearm—the flames lick at his elbow, and Rafayel shakes his arm out. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the flames disappear. Rafayel slips his dry palm into his pocket and stands, turning to eye the view from his window. The translucent curtains flutter in the seabreeze, carried in through one of the open windows, and Rafayel tilts his head back, slowly breathing it in. 

“I’ll pack the rest of them and send them to where they should be,” he says, eyes closed, face turned to soak in the moonlight filtering through the glass. “I’ll send you along with them, I suppose.”

Bubbles escape the stone cave. 

“I’m not in the business of raising dependents,” Rafayel comments, looking back to eye the tank speculatively. “If I do keep you around, historic part of Lemurian culture or not, know that I may or may not end up using you as a midnight snack if I’m feeling peckish.” 

No response. Another round of playing dead. 

“How interesting,” he murmurs, bending down to tap the glass. “Well, if I ever come up with a use for you, I’ll let you know. Maybe I can trick them into thinking we’re co-parenting you. Heaven knows you need to learn some manners, disobedient punk.”

The thought makes Rafayel smile. They wouldn’t get it; they would likely be confused at the concept of teaching a fish manners, but it’s as good an excuse as any to get them into Rafayel’s home.

==

© rrrrinmaru 2024 | no unauthorised publication or reproduction allowed