#i was only on holiday for a month and i’ve come back and EVERYTHING has changed

[darsynia]

Forgiven: joYOUs | CEO Steve/f!Reader series Part III

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Prev Fic

Summary: You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a little over two months, and it's been wonderful. Through it all you've asked yourself if it could possibly be real--but when he finally invites you to stay over at his apartment, you realize that being 'real' has as much to do with his complicated issues at work as it does being a Hallmark movie protagonist brought to life.

WC/Warnings: 5,200 // explicit sex

As 6/7 of my Ro Roll badly-belated-birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, joYOUs is part III in my CEO Steve and f!Freader series. This story also (more lightly than intended) is written for the 'first fall of snow' prompt for @the-slumberparty's December Daze!

Can be read standalone!

Excerpt:

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs.

Joyous

You’ve tried not to read anything into the 36 hours of no-contact since Steve left on his business trip. He had warned you that he would be ‘can’t check the phone’ kind of busy, but you also know that his stress has ramped up considerably with the holidays coming up. You suspect that the café project hadn’t been enough of a respite--but you’d promised yourself not to push him too hard about his burnout, and that includes acting like it’s no big deal that you haven’t talked for a while. 

Just normal early relationship stuff, really.

That all drops away like an uncomfortable bra after a long day at work when you get a text at 10 PM Friday night.

🪴🪴🪴: We still on for tomorrow at 7? I’ve been thinking about you since the plane took off from LaGuardia.

🪴🪴🪴: Whoops i

🪴🪴🪴: was only supposed to send that first part.

🪴🪴🪴: Hit enter too e

🪴🪴🪴: Buck give me back the phone. Don’t send her anything, okay? You’re hopeless, man. You have to leave some mystery. If she had any idea how much you talked about her while we were gone, she’d probably quit her job and leave the state. What’s. Oh shit it’s recording. How do I make it. Give it back. Bucky I mean it just put it down before you screwdriver

Screwdriver?

The (thrilling) mess of words take a minute or two to detangle, and once you parse the dictated back-and-forth, you realize that Steve’s subsequent silence is probably mortification. Adorable mortification.

The phone rings on silent mode, buzzing wildly in your hand. Surprise makes you drop it on your lap like it’s alive-- which it might as well be, because the vibration sends it jittering across your indulgent silk pajamas and onto the floor.

“Shit!” you gasp out, knowing that any delay in answering will probably make everything much worse. You scramble off the bed in a move so inelegant your sister calls out asking if you’ve joined her in Broken Leg Land. “I’m fine, just an idiot!” you holler, finally grabbing the phone from your crumpled position on the bedroom floor.

“That’s not true at all!” Steve Rogers’ voice echoes from the speakers. You must have  brushed the ‘answer’ part when you picked it up, because of course that would happen.

“Oh my god, is there a deity of phones I’ve badly wronged today?” you gasp out, bringing the thing gingerly up to your ear. Thankfully, he’s chuckling, and damn, it’s sexy.

“Seems like it. Should we call this a draw?” he suggests, adding, “I evicted the phone thief, sorry about that. He just wants what’s best for me.”

“Which would be… screwdrivers?” you offer, grinning despite your rational brain screaming at you not to sound overeager. “You somehow don’t strike me as an orange juice and vodka kind of guy.”

“You’re right, and that was a nice deflect.” There’s gratitude as well as sheepishness in Steve’s voice. When paired with the ‘forbidden truths’ in the dictated texts, you may be sitting on the floor in twisted-up PJs, but your mind and heart are floating on a cloud somewhere high above Manhattan. “Should I send a car tomorrow?”

Surprise snarls the response in your throat into a twisted um-cough combo that is entirely indelicate. “Sorry, yes, that, yes,” you manage, kicking yourself. He runs a company, having a car service probably doesn’t seem impersonal to him, even though he’s always picked you up or met you somewhere before this. The Maiden Aunt in your brain tries to argue that the magic is over, but she’s drowned out by College TA, who thinks this is a step up in statistical importance.

Some girls get a devil on their shoulder, but you ended up with a pessimist and an overachiever.

“How about a do-over,” Steve says, interrupting your mental chaos. “Can I pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yes!” you say in a flood of relief. “I’m sorry, you said ‘send a car’ and all I could picture was one of those movies where someone in livery holds up a piece of paper with my name--”

He interrupts before you can gnaw past the foot in your mouth and up onto the ankle.

“I don’t mind driving, don’t worry. See you at seven, then.” With that, CEO Eye, Ear, and Heart Candy hangs up, leaving you in a flustered, anticipatory mess on the floor in your bedroom.

Jennie gives you relentless shit over that whole sequence of events, but she also gives you access to her closet. You’ve already run through your handful of fancy dresses on dates with Steve, and everything else gives you ‘someday I might go clubbing’ or ‘student on a budget’ vibes.

Your sister’s tastes run more expensive than yours, and she’s always been a fan of modular clothing-- skirts that wrap around, blouses with 3x as much fabric as necessary that end up folding and twisting into a masterpiece, etc. It’s worked out well for her while she’s laid up with a broken leg, but the unusual style might help you keep up appearances. You choose a black form-fitting pants topped with a silky wraparound blouse; hopefully they’ll look sophisticated enough for your first visit to Steve’s apartment.

True to form, Jennie makes three ‘wrapped present’ jokes about the two ribbon-tied sections of your shirt before you make it out the door.

Steve is waiting beside his car when you come outside. He’s clearly come from work, wearing tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt that looks so good you’re practically overheating in the brisk winter air. Then he smiles at you, and your body takes a detour from ‘visit to Arizona’ straight down to ‘the Brazilian Rainforest,’ all innuendo included.

Oblivious to your secretly disrespectful ogling, Steve moves to escort you to your car door, standing deliciously close by as he opens it. His aftershave smells heady and masculine, distracting enough that you turn your heel a little bit on the seam of the sidewalk. Your unbuttoned coat swings back and his hand moves to steady you, fingers tangling in the red ribbon holding your blouse together on that side.

“Oh!” you gasp, half because of his sheer strength and half because good god, if that bow comes undone on the street you’re not sure how much you’re even going to care right now. You gently grasp his hand (finding that, yep, the sizzling live wire connection on physical contact is still active), salvaging the knot for the sake of your sanity.

“Wow,” Steve breathes in a low voice that sends its resonance whizzing through your whole body. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur intelligently.

You’re never going to tell your sister how many mental seconds it’s taken you to go from 0 to head over heels for this man.

“Do you need me to adjust the buckle? You were making a face,” Steve explains.

“Oh, no, I was coming up with something suitably embarrassing to text my nagging sister so she doesn’t send me ‘romantic suggestions’ all night,” you admit. “She means well, but I think she’s been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies. Nothing I do or say will measure up!”

He chuckles. “I won’t comment on what my own nag might have to say on the outcome of the evening.”

“You mean the professional phone thief? He owes you, not the other way around! Telling secrets on dictation while your friend’s planning to bring a girl home-- and then sending it? Hung, drawn, and quartered.”

“Well, the method of delivery may have been terrible,” Steve says, looking over at you while paused at a red light, “--but none of that was a secret.”

The light changes, and just like Jennie’s favorite movies, he holds your gaze instead of driving on. You’re suddenly very aware of everywhere your clothing touches you, especially at your chest, where the fabric of your blouse clings to your curves. When you pull in a breath, Steve’s attention dips down to appreciate them, too.

“Eyes on the road, CEO Eye Candy,” you tease (not for the first time), and his expression scrunches up into easy laughter.

There’s an older, well-dressed couple in the parking garage to his building when you arrive, and the four of you ride the elevator up together until you and Steve step out. Just before the doors close, you catch the woman looking up at her husband fondly, nodding toward the two of you. No pressure! you think to yourself again, but then Steve opens the door to his apartment and smiles with such honest happiness that you forget everything else but him.

Just like he is, the main room is a charming mix of vintage and modern, with warm wood accents and high-tech amenities. There’s something both open and intimate that hits you right away; the floor is dotted with comforting rugs, the walls with bookcases, creating cozy little nooks, but the lamplight is warm and inviting throughout.

“I need to start the oven,” Steve says with a light touch to your arm, gesturing to take your coat. You nod and hand it over before you step farther in, finally letting yourself glance beyond the bookshelves of classics and the homey crochet afghan to the view. 

It’s completely captivating. The wall of windows face east, showing the lively cityscape to glorious effect (and you can’t help but picture what the sunrise would look like!). It suddenly hits you that you’re in Steve’s space. There are no phones to ring and save you from a misstep, no waitress to break the tension, no dog running past chasing its ball in the grass.

If he sees just how far gone you are on him already, will Steve think you’re a gold-digger, or will he understand that you can’t help but be dazzled and drawn in by the kind of man he is, not the things he surrounds himself with?

“Are you all right?” Steve asks. You startle, making eye contact with his reflection in the window, and something about the intimacy of that makes you tell the absolute truth.

“I’m realizing there are no flowerpots to hide behind.”

He smiles and moves closer, one hand casually in his pocket. When he’s just near enough that you can feel his warmth through the back of your blouse, Steve tips his head in a move that bleeds sincerity, still holding your gaze.

“What if you didn’t have to hide?”

You can’t look away. “What if that doesn’t make me any less shy?”

“Makes it all the more rewarding to earn that smile of yours,” Steve says, moving to face you instead of the view.

The weight of where you are, who you’re with, and how much it means to you keeps your gaze glued to the view outside the window, but the city lights blur a little with the frequency of your blinking. You want to reassure him that the shyness is good actually, that it means you really like him, that what he thinks about you is important--

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs. You can’t help but toss him the Skeptical Eyebrow, despite your heart voting on the ‘melt’ option. “I’m being serious,” he goes on. “Honesty is in rare supply for much of my day-to-day. Suppliers expect us to push for cheaper materials, manufacturers are uncomfortable with flexible deadlines, and we’ve fired multiple product designers who get upset by how much we rely on end-user feedback.” He lets out a long sigh, punctuating it with a rueful laugh. “I felt more relaxed with the construction crew than I do with my so-called ‘peers.’”

The frustrated defeat in his tone makes you step close to tuck yourself up against his side, hugging him with an arm around his back. Steve’s arm comes around you right away, and god, you wish you could bottle that feeling. The two of you have shared quite a few toe-curling kisses, but physical affection like this is exciting, despite being prompted by Steve’s ongoing business concerns.

It’s easy to believe that this part of your life isn’t real when you’re at work answering phones and giving directions. You’re never prepared for the way Steve tips your life upside down, and in a way that makes moments like this more magical. Late at night, you do sometimes worry your job at his company makes it harder for him to disconnect.

With his heartbeat thrumming under your cheek and his arm tucked around you, that concern feels as far away as the streetlights visible across the city. There’s still a thread of tenseness in his embrace that tells you he’s not as relaxed as you are. You might not have the money to take him out for a fancy dinner or attend an exclusive event, but you can show him he’s wanted.

“So what you’re saying is that we should brainstorm another building project for the lobby? Preferably within sightlines of the front desk?”

You get to feel his laugh before you hear it.

“Oh, I wish. I’ve actually started looking into Habitat For Humanity, a couple of other hands-on charities,” Steve tells you, squeezing you tighter against him for a second or two. “They’ve got experience with higher profile contributors, safety concerns, that sort of thing.”

The moment hangs. Humor isn’t enough.

“That doesn’t solve the underlying problem though, because the problem isn’t you,” you realize aloud.

“You’re right.” Steve kisses your hairline, but you can sense that his metaphorically held breath isn’t going to release like this. You’re struck by the rightness of your reflection; the two of you fit together so well visually that it’s easy to miss his job insecurities and your uncertain future. Movement beyond the surface catches your eye, and you realize it’s the perfect way to break the tension.

“Oh! It’s snowing!”

“Those are some giant snowflakes.” He hugs you to him briefly before stepping over to a small panel on the wall. “May I?”

The more time you spend with him, the braver you feel. “I’m going to say yes, even though I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Steve’s answering smile is blindingly handsome. “Watch,” he says, nodding to the view. A second later the lights in the room dim or shut off, heightening the glowing cityscape outside. There’s a beauty to the familiar hodgepodge of buildings, more so with the fairy dust of snow drifting down from above.

“It’s like a snowglobe,” you say, tearing your eyes away from the scene to look at Steve. To your surprise, he’s not looking outside, he’s looking at you.

“May I?” he asks again. Heart pounding, you nod, and he walks toward you, his features thrown into sharp relief by the dim light. When Steve finally reaches you, the anticipation has doused you with fuel set alight by the touch of his hand at your cheek. 

This kiss is nothing like the gentle exploration that was your first with Steve. Where then you were still learning each other, this is knowledge. He lifts you up against him effortlessly, his thumb tangling with the ties of your blouse in a way that pulls it taut against your breasts. You let out a gasp as he kisses his way down from your neck over to the neckline of your blouse, making a begging sound of his own.

It sounds like enough of a ‘May I?’ that you whisper, “Yes.”

In three large strides he’s at the couch, setting you onto your feet as he sweeps the afghan and pillows out of the way. When he turns to face you again, you offer him the end of the ribbon tie holding your blouse together.

The reverence with which Steve pulls it loose is sexy as hell, but you absolutely adore the way he locks eyes with you and keeps your gaze when the fabric falls away. You pull in a ragged breath, and his gaze sharpens.

“What do you want?” he asks, his own answer ringing in the undertones.

You want everything, as far into the future as fate allows, but you force yourself to focus on the here and now. “I-- God, I just want you. I want-- oh!” You press your lips together to stop yourself, shy again. There’s honesty, and then there’s honesty. In that confident but gentle way he has, Steve knows exactly what to say.

“Whatever it is, yes.”

He takes your hand and backs the few inches to the couch, sitting down and tugging gently, a clear but respectful invitation. Steve takes a few seconds to just look at you, his eyes tracing across your features and down to the structure of your blouse. He’d mentioned his sketchbook at one of your early-on dates but never elaborated; now the way he unerringly follows each ribbon with his eyes, fingertips, and then lips make you feel like a work of art.

By the time your shirt drops to the floor, you’re practically drunk on the honest arousal you can taste on his lips--and you’re still mostly dressed! One thing you’re certain of: no one will ever make you feel as much like a medieval harlot and an object of worship at the same time like Steve Rogers.

Reluctantly, you draw back from his addictive kisses, pulling his hand from your cheek to briefly kiss his palm. “I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to answer me without trying to smooth anything over, got it?”

Steve’s gaze darkens with an amused sort of interest. “I’ll see where you’re going with this, but you should know that there are two places I like to be in charge: the boardroom and the bedroom.”

His tone is gentle, but with an undercurrent of steel. You’re completely unable to stop the way your breath catches and your thighs clench. Sweet fires of hell, this man is perfect.

“It’s a deal,” you manage to squeak out.

“Go on, then.” Steve lifts a hand to brush his thumb along your hairline, down your cheek to press against your lips, dragging them open. From there, he continues to where the swell of your breast meets the lace of your bra, skirting your nipple by lifting his hand up to clasp with the other hand behind his head. Throughout, his gaze holds yours, intense and commanding.

“Sure, show me up, like I’m going to remember anything more than my own name, at this point,” you whisper-whine.

“I used it a few times on my recent trip.” His soft admission is in direct contrast to his casual, confident body language. You’re starting to realize there’s a stronger dichotomy to Steve than you thought. Will you get to have the kind, thoughtful boyfriend who saves you from an evening of elitist tedium and a fierce, possessive lover?

Will you survive, if so?

“Tell me. I’m getting a little jealous of whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Steve intones.

You stop biting your lip and grin. “I’m filing away these new pieces of information about you. Just… don’t ask me where I’m filing them.”

“Oh, I will.”

His voice is like a caress that cascades over you, pausing at your most sensitive places. You shiver, both for your own acknowledgment of the sexual tension and for him to appreciate his effect on you. After letting out a breath that’s more like a yearning sigh, you set your hands on the top button of his dress shirt. With Steve’s steady gaze on you, though, you’re questioning yourself.

“My plan sounds stupid in my head now, with you oozing all of this confidence.”

Immediately, his hand covers yours, setting off sparks with every swipe of his thumb on your skin. “At work it’s a facade, a persona, even--and not a flattering one. I didn’t think I could shake it off, the night of the gala. It’s more natural when--” He interrupts himself by pulling you in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“You’re not faking it here,” you observe minutes later. The whole concept is knocking you sideways, but-- “Okay, I need to tell you I’m picturing you in one of those tailored suits commanding a room of powerful people and that is just sexy as hell.”

He rocks his hips up into you. “I’ll let them know--but, roll back a minute. What was your plan? Better yet,” Steve interrupts himself, setting a heavy hand on your hip to hold you still as he grinds up against you again. “Show me.”

His confidence is literally rubbing off on you. “All right, but fair warning: it’s very ‘over-eager receptionist peeks at you between decorative plants.’” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his warm hand travels from your hip around and down, fingertips pushing aside your waistbands to firmly grip your ass.

“I know exactly who I’m here with.”

There’s enough of the altruistic, spend-a-week-building-with-the-bros tone in his voice to be reassuring, and you nod.

“Right, then.” Briskly, with the heat of arousal singing through you from every point of contact, you unbutton the top button of his dress shirt. “You’re kind.” Button two: “You’re moral and fair.” Your eyes are focused on your ‘work,’ but you can see Steve break into a smile. At button three, you’re almost halfway down. “You’re a hard worker.”

Steve lets out a deep ‘Mmmm’ sound. Thanks to his ass-grab leverage, he blatantly moves your hips in time with his for a cycle of thrusts that leave you breathless. You can’t look at him, so you clear your throat like a prudish schoolmarm and meticulously unbutton #4.

“You’re good at your… job.” It takes a little while to free this button, so you end up worrying your lower lip with your teeth as you try. Once you’re finished, with anticipation lifting every single hair follicle on your body, only then do you make eye contact.

He mutters ‘fuck’ and reaches between the two of you to unbuckle his belt, popping his trouser snap with an expression that challenges you to object.

There are two shirt buttons left.

You’re completely out of your depth, as desperate to come as you may have ever been in your entire existence, and you have zero idea what else to say--but you reach for button number five.

You wet your lips. Slowly.

Steve grips the couch with his free hand-- but the one he’s holding onto you with is still firm and not at all bruising (not that you’d mind. You’ll paint yourself with this man’s passion if he lets you). 

“You’re passionate.”

He makes a cut-off sort of growl in the back of his throat when you move to the last button. You can see the heavy bulge of his cock in his boxer briefs just an inch away from your palms. In a perfect world, you’d say ‘fuck it’ to coming up with another word. In a perfect world, you’d reward both of you by giving up and sliding to your knees, demonstrating exactly how much you appreciate this tall, sexy, beast of an honorable man--and then you have an idea.

Your borrowed pants have a simple clasp, and you move your hands slowly from Steve’s last remaining shirt button to release it, incidentally dragging across his straining cock as you do so. The blatant teasing gets ‘worse’ when you draw down your zipper, nudging, rubbing, and pressing until it’s fully unzipped.

Throughout, Steve’s hand on your ass remains steady, but his breathing grows more and more ragged.

Finally, you lift your hands up and away, denying him any more contact before dropping down to reach for the last button.

“You--” he rumbles, but you interrupt him with two words.

“You’re patient.”

With a practically incomprehensible oath that thoroughly refutes your last impudent compliment, Steve shoves down your loosened clothing and angles the two of you to the side on the couch, all in a single action. Then he sinks two fingers inside you roughly, both of you groaning at the desperate, glorious pleasure of it.

You cram a fist in your mouth, but he stops in the middle of his one-handed shucking of his pants and boxers to yank your fist free.

“All through that shitty conference I imagined the noises you’d make tonight,” Steve grits out, looking down at you with naked desire in his eyes. He twists his fingers mid thrust, and you can’t help but cry out, your hips chasing every movement his talented, devastating fingers perform on you.

You’re already so close. The white-hot, catastrophic release starts to cloud your vision, stayed only by your delayed understanding of what he just said.

“Wait, you’re saying during the--”

Steve kicks the last inches of his lower clothing free and swaps hands deftly, spreading your arousal on his cock with an ‘Mmmm’ of pleasure so filthy you flutter around his fingers in pre-orgasmic shock.

“Thinking about you genuinely kept me sane, and I'm going to turn those daydreams into reality,” he rasps, a modern Greek god with the morals of a saint and the body of a satyr, as if you could ever do anything but gratefully worship him.

You mouth something like the word “Yes,” too desperate for anything more coherent.

The pleasure that follows his first deep thrust is ruinous. You forget everything but Steve, the taste of praise on his lips, the delight his touch chases across your skin, and most of all, the power he arches into you, music and mayhem and meaning, all at once. By the time you’re shuddering around each other you’ve ended up on the floor in front of his couch--and you only notice because Steve’s got a hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m out of adjectives,” you whisper weakly. “All of the good ones. Most of the naughty ones. Fuck, other languages, too. Even extinct ones. You’re fluent in everything.”

Steve pulls you to his chest and does something athletic that ends with you on the couch beside him, his soft homemade afghan covering the most pertinent parts of your nakedness.

“You make me want to be fluent in everything,” he murmurs. “And, thank you.” Steve grabs his shirt and holds it in front of his crotch. “I’ll get a washcloth.”

He’s jogging farther into the apartment before you can respond, but something about his protective actions trigger a flurry of realization, something you should be--

Oh.

The fall of snow past the giant picture windows brings reality crashing into you. You just had glorious, intense, messy sex in a room that is visible from other nearby buildings!

Steve reappears with a soft-looking washcloth. He’s wearing pajama pants, with what looks like a matching long-sleeved top slung over his shoulder.

“I forgot about the windows,” you say in a small voice, taking the washcloth and using it under the afghan.

“Oh, right,” he says in a completely un-worried voice. Steve looks over at you, sees the half-scared expression on your face, and his demeanor sort of… softens. It’s both obvious and hard to quantify, and it hits you that he’s almost certainly done that before, even if you hadn’t noticed. You imagine there’s a lot of things his clothes and a carefully-crafted facial expression would cover for. He sits down beside you on the couch and offers you the shirt as he says, “The couch is recessed enough into the room that it’s not very visible, I think, but I wasn’t thinking, and I should have asked you about that. I’m sorry.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, and you ask him about that while pulling on his proffered pajama top, juggling the blanket in the process.

“Would it be strange to say I get very… goals-oriented?” he asks, rueful and amused in equal measure.

“How much different a ‘persona’ are we talking, here?”

The question is meant playfully, but Steve takes long enough to answer that you can feel the warmth of the washcloth start to fade in your hand.

“Too different for comfort, I’m coming to realize.” 

He reaches for the washcloth, but you pull it close and get up, gesturing for him to lead you to wherever you can rinse it out. On the way, you can’t help but eye the windows in a new way, perhaps as unintentional adversaries.

“I haven’t let myself be truly seen in a long time,” Steve says as you drape the rinsed washcloth on a drying rack in the dimly-lit kitchen area. “The reason is--well, it might be insulting, but it’s honest.”

You resist the urge to hug your arms around yourself. He’s given you a shirt to wear that matches his, and you were serious with those compliments earlier, despite the pleasure-wrought desperation you felt as you spoke them. “Go on?”

“You’re yourself with me. Not fawning. There’s no facade, no attempt to pretend you have more money or influence. That’s rare. Precious even.”

His statement stings, despite everything that’s happened tonight, despite the way his compliment hews off the rough edges. There’s no derision or judgment in his tone, so you smile at him, albeit stiffly. 

“I don’t really have a way to hide those things. I’m me. I figured if you were bothered by--” you wince, feeling a sense of inferiority rise up inside you (dropped out of college, pulled out of your internship, entry-level job, depleted nest-egg, caregiver for your sister, baggage, baggage, baggage) before you wrestle it all back down. “--any of that, you’d move on, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

“I don’t want to move on,” Steve says firmly, brushing his hand over your hair as if to adjust the disarray that came from putting on his shirt. “I want to move forward, even if that means you can see through some of the windows I usually cover with curtains. Will you be exclusive with me?”

“I’d really like that,” you whisper, overcome. “And not just because you fuck like a complete god.”

The words slip out before you can fucking stop them, and you gasp, the tidal wave of your social inferiority to a man like Steve coming blasting through all the tentative bridges you’ve just built. You hear buzzing in your ears, your vision is misted over with regret--but seconds later, you realize he’s laughing.

“Okay I swear on every single deity that exists, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud! I’m so sorry,” you groan, your relief over his amusement barely tempering the metallic tang of adrenaline on your tongue.

Your… your boyfriend Steve Rogers takes your hand in his and lifts it up, bowing over it before kissing it with more chivalry than a whole season of Game of Thrones. Even one of the early ones.

“Sweetheart, you’re forgiven.”

<- Previous story...

[the-casbah-way]

the epitome of the corporate attitude is “we have a new policy in place that is ten times less effective and more expensive than the old one but it looks nicer so you’re welcome”

[hobisexually]

long winded rant in the tags coming that’s partly about weight but in a very unfiltered sad way so if that triggers you do Not read on

[ciy0]

☆*:.｡. MY ANGEL .｡.:*☆

Summary- Mingyu’s heart always had and always will belong to one girl. No matter how much she pushed and kicked him away he would always come back crawling on his knees gladly, because to him she was his everything.

Word count- 9.8k 💀💀 [say sike rn]

Content Warnings- 18+ Sexual Scenes and Vulgar Language, Angst!, Romance, Some Humor, Hurt and comfort, POV changes, Y/n is a ice queen/tsundere, Implied Foreigner, Mental health, Idol au!She is also apart of Le Sserfim, Nayeon & Mingyu date, other idols appear, Cheating mentioned, Insecurities, Breakups and Makeups, Verbally Abusive Parent, Mingyu begs on his knees, Head over heels inlove with Y/n, Cutting mentioned, Soulmate type beat, Y/n has it rough pls be nice to her, Pet names [PLS BE SAFE AND INCHARGE OF THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME]

A/n BRUH i WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS TO BE SO DAMN Long. I just wanted to write one scene i swear but then i had to make it make sense so then it jus kept getting longer and longer then i got invested oml. Anyways i used to write fics for anime’s but i retired that hat a while back, i’ve been inlove with Mingyu since forever so i felt compelled to write a fic about him bc he’s my comfort space :3

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

To many people being able to win the affections from Kim Mingyu was seen as a blessing from God and it was - atleast for Nayeon- but as her rose tinted shades slowly began to dissolve around month 3 in their fresh relationship she begrudgingly noticed many things in which she had not before (curse her attentiveness).

Finally getting to proudly proclaim Mingyu as hers within their idol friend circle was a dream come true. And to her he was nothing less than perfect, always attentive to her wants, needs, and desires and constantly showering her with boundless amounts of affection. But even she couldn’t fool herself as the new relationship smell began to waft away, and despite her desperate attempts to be as wonderful to him and he was to her one thing became painfully clear; Mingyu was not inlove with her.

Well obviously he didn’t hate her, nor did he make her feel less then. She’s sure that he had some sort of love for her since they were friends before becoming lovers but it wasn’t the kind that would lead to the house and the kids and the big white picket fence she so often dreamt about. It wasn’t the kind that she held for him.

In the beginning it was hard to tell, being so blinded by finally being able to be by his side. She had finally gained the courage to confess when he walked her home after an outing with mutual friends, ever the gentleman. Maybe it was the shots of soju at the time or maybe it was time of year where everyone wanted a lover for the winter holidays. She remembered faintly hearing a corny christmas song in the distance, probably from inside a nearby store, and the snow gently pattering on her face as they walked in a comfortable silence.

“I love you,” she whispered meekly seemingly out of nowhere. Her cheeks heated despite the cold weather as she stopped walking, eyes glued to the snowy ground. She worried maybe he didn’t hear or thought she meant as a friend but she heard a long exhale of breath from her left as his footsteps also came to their own halt a few paces ahead of her own. It was quiet for a bit, the only sounds being a distant holiday tune and the wind accompanied by snow. She squeezed her eyes shut preparing for the embarrassing rejection she foolishly set her own self up for. Mingyu always treated her well but never treated her more than a friend or different than anyone else and she knew that so why did she have to go and say something so dumb, so stupid! Was it because he offered to walk her home? Well he’s always like that it’s nothing special, ugh what if she ruined-

“… Then,” Large feet suddenly appeared right in front of hers jolting her out of her spiral of thoughts and a large warm hand rested on her cheek, gently urging her head up until her eyes met with his.

“…Are you busy tomorrow?” He grinned wolfishly with a small tilt of his head.

A few weeks of courting and cute dates led to him casually introducing Nayeon as his girlfriend at a friend’s dinner party, hands held together. It was so sudden but she couldn’t help but cheese goofily as he sat her down on his lap before smoothly joining into the rooms conversation. He’d softly caress her thigh and give her chaste kisses periodically throughout the night. She was happy, very happy in fact, happy and inlove. She finally had what she thought she always wanted and wished she could’ve lived in that bliss for forever but alas life was never that simple nor accommodating.

The first thing she noticed was the zoning out. The times when he’d be aimless staring at some spot in the room completely lost in a daze. It honestly didn’t happen too too often, a soft tap of the shoulder would instantly bring him back to her but she noticed it regardless. But one time it happened during a night of passion that often plagued her thoughts more than she’d like.

Nayeon buried her head further into the pillows as Mingyu rolled his hips languidly into hers. She gasped softly as she angled her head to gaze upon the adonis behind her only to see that far away look in his eyes again.

“ Fuuuuck,” He groaned throwing his head back,” Angel - ah sh-shit!” He shook his head as she squeezed him tightly from the endearing new petname [presumably meant for her] kicking him out of his stupor. He took a second to catch his breath, blinking in quick succession before laying his body on top of hers leaving a wet smooch on her shoulder.

“ That’s new” She moaned seductively before he drew his hips back to resume his pace from before. All he gave was a breathy laugh and more kisses as he focused on pleasuring her until she couldn’t think anymore.

She quite liked that nickname honestly, and the way he said it too “Angel”. He never called her so desperately before and quite frankly it turned her on so much— too bad she never heard it again though. Well not aimed at her.

The second thing she noticed was his chest. Well moreso his heart beat or lack there of? Whenever she was with him her chest would always be a mess of butterflies, hands shaking, breath short and yet when they’d cuddle on the couch, head pressed to his toned chest there was… nothing? Well aside from a very normal beating pattern which gave signs of life of course, he was as cool as a cucumber.

The involuntary signs of love weren’t there for him like they were for her despite kissing the ground he walked on. He never struggled to stare her deeply in her eyes, his palms never sweaty when holding hands, kisses- albeit plentiful and wonderful -never starved and desperate. She knew he’d been with many girls before her and that he was use to female attention so maybe those intense signs of love weren’t appearing because he had a lot of experience, or atleast that’s what she told herself to cope until she could no longer.

Nayeon hung out back stage as Twice just finished their performance followed by Seventeen at the MAMA awards. She giggled softly as her members poked fun at her pink cheeks watching Mingyu onstage from the TV in the break room.

Soon after they finished Super the thirteen membered group filed in the break room, mingling amongst the various groups, getting snacks and cooling down. After grabbing a bottle of water Mingyu made his way over greeting Twice along the way before wrapping his arms around Nayeon and snuggling into her.

“Ewww you’re so sweaty” She teased pretending to be grossed out when it was the quite the opposite, the sweat glistening off his caramel skin doing sinful things to her.

“Hehe hi baby,” He scrunched his nose as he kissed her cheek playfully.

They bantered back and forth amongst the low chatter in the room watching as the next group went up to perform. She wasn't quite sure when his side of the conversation had quieted down but when she looked to her side he was staring intently at the live broadcasting. She too aimed her attention towards the TV to see what had him so preocuppied.

"Ohhh Le Sserafim?" She nodded knowingly, " They're your label mates now right? They are so popular these days, I'm a big fan too haha my bias is Chaewon!" She danced a little in her seat as the point choreo of Antifragile came up in the performance, " Which one's your fav?"

She leaned her head on his chest, cheerful humming coming to a quaking halt when she felt the thundering pulse of his heart beat blaring against her eardrum.

"... Y\n" he murmured mindlessly, eyes never once leaving the Tv.

" Ohh um yeah!" she sputtered quickly trying to regain her cool, "She's a really popular member, her stage presence is really solid too for only being active for about 2 years i think its been... she's very beautiful, uh she's cool with Jihyo and Somi they hang out sometimes..."

Nayeon wanted to slap herself for the needless word vomit but she couldnt help it. She was pulling for straws, not expecting the reaction she's been trying to pull out of Mingyu to happen now of all times and apparently not because of her. Perhaps he was just tired from his performance still, maybe his was just a big fanboy - men will be men even Mingyu it seemed, perhaps she was reading all too much into it. She decided not to say anything more and just stayed cuddled up to him. He smoothly brought his left hand to her arm rubbing it gently pressing her into himself chuckling softly at her frazzled manner.

" You did well today babe, go ahead and rest for a bit" He whispered as he pressed a kiss to her hairline, " I'll be right here."

Maybe she did need a nap she thought to her self but even as she yawned sleepily she couldn't help but notice the thundering in his heart rested only when their performance finished.

But what really nailed it in the coffin was what Nayeon saw later that night at Somi’s after party, and moreso heard. It’s one thing to come to the conclusion that the man she loved didn’t love back in the same caliber as she did but atleast he chose to be with her right? Atleast he only looked at her and only cared about her. Right?? She could work with that at least even if it was one sided but there’s another level of pain when the reason his palms don’t get sweaty, the reason his eyes don’t glaze over in adoration, the reason he’s never said “i love you” back is because he’s so hopelessly inlove with another that he could hardly contain himself.

The venue was crowded with so many different faces, some known and unknown coming from various groups and companies. Owe it to Somi to know everyone. Nayeon and Mingyu were together as always, a few drinks in watching as Hoshi spoke animatedly making the group of friends laugh. It was a start to a great night after the adrenaline rush of their earlier performances.

“Oh wait! Y/n” Somi suddenly shot up running over to you as you jus entered the venue before dragging you into their circle , “Everyone say hi, Y/n say hi too!”

Nayeon watched as you smiled softly at Somi’s antics before bowing and greeting the people around you. You had a naturally alluring vibe to you that made it hard to not look away. She wasn’t a hater, you were stunning. And as she followed the harsh intake of air next to her she realized she wasn’t the only one who felt the same.

Nayeon gave it to Mingyu for trying but she wasn’t a fool. She had spent so long looking at him like he was the only person in the world that she quickly surmised he was only zoned in on one thing that night, that thing being you. You were a bit harder to read but woman to woman she could tell that you skillfully avoided eye contact in their general direction. And from the lovesick face he pathetically failed to conceal and longing gaze; this went above petty attraction.

Suddenly feeling lightheaded Nayeon excused herself to the bathroom, her mind bombarded with questions. Is he cheating one me? How do you know each other? Who is she to him? Do they have history? Is she… the reason he never looks at me like that?

She felt her eyes burn as she gazed in the bathroom mirror. She felt pathetic. It takes being in love to know what it looks like and Mingyu was looking at you like how she looked at him. Like you were his world. He was trying to hide it, desperately so, often cutting his eyes away from you if he caught himself staring for too long or boisterously jumping into the conversation to distract himself from you, giving Nayeon’s hand a squeeze every now and then but she saw through it all. And she loathed you for it.

By time she calmed herself down and made it back to the table her heart fell to her stomach seeing as the two people plaguing her thoughts were both suspiciously missing. Of course no one picked up on the disappearance act of the two but a quick check in with Somi directed her to the direction Mingyu excused himself too. With a quick thank you she followed swiftly, anxiousness pooling in her gut

Following down the hall the sounds of the party quieted until she heard a pair of new voices a little further down out on the balcony. The voices she had been looking for.

“You did amazing today, Angel”

That burning sensation returned to Nayeon’s eyes as she discreetly listened from inside. Angel. That was undeniably Mingyu’s voice.

“ Mingyu, i told you to stop calling me that” you corrected with a sigh, “ and thank you.”

“Fuck- I know i’m sorry, It’s still a bad habit,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly , “ I-I miss you, you know… I know we didn’t end on good terms but-“

“Is this what you followed me out here to say? If so i’m going back to the party-”

Nayeon heard your heels swiftly clack shocking her thinking she would’ve been found out but then they suddenly stopped. She dared to peek over to properly view you both.

Mingyu grasped your wrist firmly, brows furrowing in frustration, “ Why are you being so cold to me? Do you get a kick out of hurting me like this huh? Is that it? I know you- look at me y/n” he tugged you softly yet firmly to face him again, eyes gazing into yours desperately look for anything, “ i know you wanted to ended things with us but do you really have to treat me like a stranger, did you really forget everything, do you really feel nothing for me anymore? I still-“

“Sunbaenim,” you looked up at him icily yanking your arm from his grasp ,” This is hardly appropriate, you have a girlfriend. It’s been months, let it go. It would’ve never worked between us anyways, Nayeon is good to you don’t be reckless over a little fling”

“Fling?! H-how could you- a fling doesn’t last for over year, a fling doesn’t make love like we did, a fling doesn’t meet your family, a fling doesn’t talk about moving in and getting married in the future dammit y/n i was inlove with you!, “ his voice trembled, fists shaking by his side, “You just iced me out of no where, ignoring my messages, stopped answering my calls, and then suddenly breaking up over text?! You keep playing down our relationship as if all of it never happened. You never even gave me a proper reason, I’m supposed to hate you for casting me aside like nothing by and yet why can’t I huh? Even while you’re glaring at me like that with those big beautiful eyes all i wanna do is make them roll back.”

Nayeon couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw his knees hit the floor, You pulled at his shoulders with a curt “enough of this” but he shook you off in favor of furrowing his head into your stomach .

“ Youre so cruel Y/n, how can you show a man heaven then yank it away from his grasp like this. You’re going to drive me insane. You know I can’t live without you, you’re the one who ruined me like this and you can’t even take responsibility for it…”

Nayeon wasn’t able to see your conflicted expression as Mingyu grasped at your waist sniffling onto the fabric of your dress but she didn’t need to.

She moved to the exit as she couldn’t bare to hear anymore but she wasnt quick enough to escape the last words Mingyu whispered.

“Fuck-I…I love you so much, Angel”

Heartbreak doesn’t even begin to describe Nayeons current emotional state. She dashed home without a word, cried in the shower and then curled up on her bed in a pile of misery. Mingyu didn’t stop by to sleep over like normal that night and it drove her mad. All she got was a goodnight text saying he was gonna stay with wonwoo. But is that really where he was? Maybe he was with y/n, moaning angel [she mocked in her head] and giving her all of himself forgetting he had a whole girlfriend. So when ever he got that distant look in his eye was he thinking of her? When he moaned angel, was that what he’d moan in her ear? Was he wishing to be inside her instead? When he was backstage did his heart beat out of his chest just by the sight of her? The reason Nayeon feels like shit is all because of her.

It took her a while before she decided to respond to Mingyu. She ignored his texts and inquiries for about a week before she sent him the “we need to talk” message. She didn’t know what to expect or where to start but she was hoping that their previous friendship would be enough for him to not completely run over her feelings anymore than the whole situation had.

He came over the the next evening after his gym session sporting a grey sweatshirt and pants combo. She couldn’t tell if this was on purpose but she had to stay strong to find the answers she so desperately needed. He gave her a quick kiss to the cheek that still made her heart jump after everything that she’s heard before promptly sitting on the couch.

Nayeon sat down awkwardly across from him not sure where to start. “um do you want anything to drink? i think i have-“ she started looking anywhere but at him.

“Nayeon,” he called gently making her look up hesitantly, “ Ask me anything, I won’t lie to you.”

He looked her earnestly in the eyes and it took Nayeon a second to come to the conclusion that he knows that she knows. Before she could question how he answered for her.

“ Somi told me you were looking for me that night,” He started slowly, “ You suddenly going home, not answering your phone, and then saying we need to talk… i pretty much guessed what was up… so ask me anything and i’ll tell you everything, you deserve to know”

She felt her eyes well up in tears at his honest reply not being able to stop herself from the question she wanted to know the most.

“Did you sleep with her while we were together?!”

“ No, I hadn’t talked to or seen her for months before we got together. I don’t know how much you saw the night of the party but I didn’t sleep with her then either.”

“…Did you want to?”

“N-Nayeon-“

“ Please just a-answer the question”

“…yeah”

She felt the frog in her throat at that but kept the questions searing her heart coming.

“ How did you two meet?”

“ I heard her singing in the practice rooms at Hybe before her debut, but i first saw her physically shortly after her debut at Mnet”

“ H-how did your relationship start?”

“ I think i was drawn when i first heard her voice from way back then, when we officially met I-I wanted to get close to her and the more time we spent together the more harder it got to stay away”

“ We’ve been friends this whole time, how come i’ve never met her?”

“ She didn’t want anyone to know we were dating. So we never interacted in public only wonwoo really knew. Since we live together”

Nayeon tried to think back to around the time they were supposedly dating. She’d sometimes catch hints of hickies on his neck or him smiling at his phone but she just thought he was just fooling around and not committed to anyone. She remembered feeling severely envious though, because that was the happiest she had ever seen him. And if everything he says is true it matches the depressive episode he was in months before they got together, if that’s when she cut him off from what he said that night.

She wiped her tears feeling a bit more whole to look him in the eyes again, “ But why her? Don’t get me wrong she’s pretty and all but you’re not the type of guy who only cares about that. The way she talked to you at the party—she seems like a fucking bitch”

He actually laughed out loud at that, a soft look taking over his face, “Yeah i know, she’s hardheaded, mean, and rude but that’s just one aspect to her. She’s also creative, headstrong, caring, and sensitive… Nayeon I’m sorry,” he switched suddenly, “ I might’ve not physically cheated on you but i still disrespected this relationship and our friendship. I enjoyed our time together and i really wanted it to be you, I wanted to forget about Y/n and live a nice easy love with you b-but seeing her at the party reminded jus how far gone i am. One look and i’m back where I started” He lowered his head in his hands, “You don’t have to forgive me but please know nothing is wrong with you, you are amazing I just- I’m-“

“In love with Y/n right?,” Nayeon finished tears flowing freely at some point. She wish she could yell and scream and call him names but even now she felt his apology from the bottom of his heart. It was never her, it was never gonna truly be her.

She felt the couch next to her dip and the warmth of his embrace. She couldn’t help but fall into it, her cries tumbling into hiccups, mourning of her love lost. “S-So are we done? You’re breaking up with m-me? Are you going to her now?”

He patted her back softly, “ I don’t want to hurt you anymore, knowing i can’t give you what you want and deserve… and even though i love Y/n as i’m sure you heard she’s adamant on pushing me away. We haven’t even talked since that night… plus i’m pretty sure y/n still has my number blocked lol”

“I d-didn’t know you liked emotional unavailable girls Mingyu,” she tried to joke between her gasps, “i would’ve changed my tactics” she wailed into his sweatshirt.

She felt his chest rumble in suppressed laughter before whispered apologies into her hair. It hurt so bad but she could never hate Mingyu. You on the other hand is a different story but she knew albeit not anytime soon she’d eventually have to come to terms with this and hopefully one day her and Mingyu could get back to how they were before, as friends.

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

Mingyu left Nayeon apartment guiltily feeling lighter despite breaking his friends heart. In times like these he cursed you so much for causing all this chaos in his life and at the same time he imagines you in his embrace, whispering sweet everythings into your ear.

He threw his keys in his dish tray once reaching his apartment before grabbing a beer and joining wonwoo in the living room.

“…Well you don’t have any scratches on your face,” Wonwoo analyzed, “ So i’m guessing things went well i hope?”

Mingyu scoffed sarcastically while cracking open his can, “Hyung what the hell am i doing, something must be wrong with my head…” he pouts before taking a big gulp.

“Yeah they say love is one hell of a drug,” Wonwoo offers, “But honestly are you really okay with ending things with Nayeon, it’s safe and certain unlike Y/n”

Mingyu takes a deep breath before answering, “ As long as Y/n exists I don’t think i can truly be happy with another. I don’t know what she slipped into my food when i wasn’t looking but nothing compares. Nayeon is everything right on paper but why…. i jus can’t- It’s ugh,” he gives up and ops for his drink again.

Wonwoo ponders for a moment, “ You are a bit of a masochist,”

“Ya.”

“ So when are you gonna talk to Y/n? Makes no sense breaking up with Nayeon because of her if not to work things out right?”

“ But hyung, that’s what i tried to do at the party, literally begged on my knees and she still left me there,” he laid back in the couch as if he were in a therapy session, “ I jus don’t get it, we were doing so well. As long as we were together everything was gonna be alright, the power could be out and she’d find flashlights and build a pillow fort. She’d find the coolest art pieces and trinkets and gift them to me, she’d always be my second hand in the kitchen even if it’s jus stirring and taste testing. Everyday felt like a dream, there was never a dull time. We could literally have the time of our lives trapped in a cardboard box. We’d spend nights just drinking wine and talking about our hopes and aspirations and everything under the sun, i’d do anything to make her dreams come true and she had the nerve to say it was a fucking fling??”

Upon reminiscing he couldn’t help the tightness in his chest and on top of that the resurfacing of anger because how can all of that happen and you act as if it didn’t. No matter what you tried to paint it out as he knew it was real for both of you.

Wonwoo patted his shoulder reassuringly feeling him getting worked up again. “ Didnt everything change after she came back from visiting her family after the Le Sserafim mini tour? I remember didn’t all her members go visit her family too?”

“Yeah why?” Mingyu questioned not understanding what he was getting at.

“Try asking them, maybe they know something you don’t. I’m not judging but I always thought it was weird how she never talks about her family. Whenever you’d ask to meet them she’d change the subject. Maybe it’s got something to do with that,” Wonwoo was really wracking his brain overtime trying to find some sort of lead. He’d seen Mingyu and Y/n before all this mess and he was convinced they were soulmates then so maybe they just needed some guidance now.

Mingyu drunk in silence as he thought over Wonwoo’s words more. He remembered how scared you were when you first met his family despite his adamant affirmations that they already loved you. You were so jittery and out of your element telling him later that night you’ve never seen a family so loving. He considered his family pretty average though. He remembered the fear in your eyes when he asked to meet your family only for you to pull him in for a hot kiss purposefully rendering his brain off course. He didn’t think much of it at the time but now he’s starting to see Wonwoo’s train of thought

“I’ll try contacting Yunjin”

After asking around in a couple of friend groups he finally was linked to Yunjin’s Kakao. Despite being head over heels in love with a member in her group she had little inkling about the severity of his and Y/n’s relationship until the end that is. Normally Y/n would sneak out to his place which was why Wonwoo knew her pretty well, but her members only found out when Mingyu barged into their dorms demanding to talk to Y/n after her casual “let’s break up” text those many months ago. He had no idea how the explaining went after that but Yunjin didn’t seem too surprised at his, “Hey yunjin, this is Mingyu… do you think we could meet up and talk soon. I’m sure i don’t have to tell you to keep this between us.”

A couple hours later he received his reply.

“Sunbaenim! Ofc we should be back in Korea in a week. Cafe by hybe sound good?”

A week came sooner than one would think, his mind giddy because maybe he could finally get some progress in understanding why you left him. He waited patiently at the back of the cafe with a baseball cap tapping away at his phone. He opted to swipe through his secret gallery of pics he saved of you even after the break up, thumb running softly along the pixels of your cheek.

“Sunbaenim!”

Mingyu jumped at the sudden appearance of fiery hair as Yunjin sat down. He greeted her before calling the barista over to get her drink settled along with his.

“ How were the concerts in Paris?” He made small talk.

“ It was our first time going, it’s so beautiful there and God the food was amazing,” she spoke animatedly before squinting her eyes knowingly,” but i know that’s not what you messaged me for.”

He held his hand ups in defeat with a sheepish smile, “How is she?”

“ Honestly… Y/n-ah is normally the one who brings us all together and the glue to our group but she’s been so quiet lately which is so unlike her, “ Yunjin eyes glossed a bit, “I worry about her a lot because only few know how much she cares and how much she hurts. She never lets us in and that’s why i was so shocked that she was seeing someone but i was glad because she was so happy. Her smile really reached her eyes you know, even though at the time i didn’t know who it was and i only found out cause she left her phone in the living room and i saw the name “Nose Picker🩵” and you messaging you loved her and for her to get some rest.” She giggled softly at the memory.

Mingyu’s heart squeezed at the stupid nickname he asked her to change a million times. “ D-did she tell you anything after i stormed into your dorms, sorry about that by the way,”

Yunjin looked hesitant not sure how to phrase what wasn’t in her place to say. “Um- after you left she just got so quiet b-but that night i heard her crying and so i went over to her and held her. But she jus kept saying so many negative things about herself and repeating the things her mom-“ Yunjin clasped her mouth feeling wrong for exposing your problems like this without your consent. You explicitly told her to never talk about that night but Mingyu staring at her with desperation in his eyes was breaking her resolve.

“Yunjin what is it?! Please tell me, more than anyone i want her happiness Yunjin please,” he grasped her hands tears threatening to drop,” Please”

Orbs shaking Yunjin sighed in defeat before continuing in a meek voice ,” The other members didn’t really understand because her family speaks english but I understood…. I understood e-everything…”

Yunjin followed as you led the girls into your childhood home. That morning you were on edge but since the last touring city ended up in your home town everyone insisted on meeting your family and sleeping over that night. Yunjin was excited to see a part of you you don’t normally share in hopes of getting closer to you and bragging about you to your family.

Your family were relatively normal looking and kind enough to them as everyone gathered around the dinner table. The spread of food was vast for such short notice, not having to worry about diets since you all were on break after this was a nice bonus as well. Everyone fell into a lull of conversation but something felt strange to Yunjin. You were so quiet, just poking at your food aimlessly. To liven up your spirits she was about to compliment your parents home until your mother finally directed her attention towards you.

“What why aren’t you eating, i cooked all this food for you and your little friends the least you can do is eat it.” Your mom stated quite abrasively.

With out lifting your head or taking a moment to breathe your responded, “ I’m not hungry”

Your mom laughed condescendingly at that, “You? Not hungry, ahh come on you use to be so big when you were younger you’d eat up everything. You afraid to blow up like that again? Actually maybe you shouldn’t eat, you don’t want to look like that again right. Oh my i remember I used to be so embarrassed taking you anywhere with me. All your cousins were so small and here you were taking up so much space. It’s good you finally stopped eating so much, you’re so pretty now too! You really take after me now ya know-“

Yunjin watched in complete horror as your mother rambled on stabbing knife after knife into your esteem with no care in the world as you just sat there taking the public embarrassment. You always stood up for the girls against the strict dietary guidelines and always reassured them how beautiful they were and yet here you were, eyes listless as you absorbed everything your mother spewed like a sponge.

“-You know i was so worried about you, especially when you use to cut yourself in highschool. I mean who does that do you know how bad that made me look and you missed so many days of school doing Lord knows what. You almost got me in trouble it was so humiliating when your teacher had to visit our home, you know everyone in the neighborhood saw that. And then you randomly wanted to go to korea to become a performer, Haha that one gave me a good laugh for the longest time but hey who knew there was actually something you were good at, i’ve been spending your monthly checks at the new med spa that opened down town-“

Yunjin felt her own tears welling up in her eyes, she wish you’d say something, she wish she could say something but she was in such shock. She grew up in a loving family, albeit they had their problems but she’s never witnessed a catastrophe of a dinner like this. She glanced back at you and reached for your hand under the table but you didn’t react at all. Until the next batch of words your mother had for you.

“ And why didn’t you tell me you were dating! I was worried you’d end up alone you know, you never brought a boy home, i mean i know you were a bit chubby but atleast one boy had to have liked you,”

“…How did you know i’m dating someone?,” You finally spoke breath caught in your throat.

“It was about a week or so ago, i ran out of the money you usually send so i was calling for more which after all i’ve done for you raising and keeping a roof over your head i don’t know why you have me on such a small stipend but anyways a man picked up. His english was a little choppy but he introduced himself as your boyfriend ha! can you believe that. I was curious how he looked so i googled his name and I have to hand it to you, i don’t know what he sees in you but make sure you keep that one, he’s one hell of a catch. I bet you havent told him about your little stunt in highschool or how huge you used to be, makes sure he never finds out or else he’s not gonna want you anymore, okay honey, men like that like their women with no baggage and i want grand babies before i die, all the nurses at the hospital are always bragging and showing pictures and i have nothing to show” your mother finally finished

You were shaking. Yunjin was holding your hand so tightly. Chaewon picked up on the unpleasant vibe but knew better than to say anything. Dinner concluded, you all thanked your parents for dinner and cleaned the table before all the members packed up in your childhood bedroom for the night. When she was sure everyone was asleep Yunjin turned to you.

“Y/n-ah I’m so s-sorry,” she weeped into your side. But you didn’t say anything, you jus hummed before turning over and going to sleep.

The next morning you all packed up to head for the airport. Yunjin overheard your mom asking for more money before giving you a hug after you wired it. She told you she loved you but you didn’t reply.

“A few weeks a-after that, “Yunjin hiccuped,” is when you barged in the dorm. A-and that night Y/n-ah finally cried and she-“ Yunjin was full on bawling , “ She was saying s-so many bad things about herself a-and i didn’t know what to s-say. I’ve never seen h-her like that.

She buried her face in her hands recollecting that night. And Mingyu… he was furious. Furious for entertaining that witch on the phone, furious for not seeing sooner how far your insecurities went, his face red in anger but also guilt for being so blind. So much made sense about you. You would never fully finish your meals, you always wore such baggy and covering clothes when not on stage, you hated when he took pictures of you and you hated smiling critiquing how your cheeks spread, you always were one to listen to others venting but never partook in your own, you always talked about dreams of the future cryptically as if you’d never be around to reach them, when he tried to be affectionate with you in public you’d always slink away from him and last and not least you pushed him away in fear of revealing the bits you so desperately wanted to hide; afraid it’d affect his perception of you.

But you were so so wrong. He needed you to understand, he saw you, his angel. Maybe it wasn’t as clear in the past but he saw you now and it changed nothing. He loved you with all his being and God he really fucking needed to see you-

“-Where is she?” He demanded determinedly already packing his cup and phone getting ready to go.

“I-I don’t know,” Yunjin answered honestly,” When we aren’t on schedule she leaves her phone at the dorm and just l-leaves-“

“ What! Do you know how dangerous that is, why hasn’t anyone stopped her!” He could feel himself falling apart, he needed to see you very badly, he needed to make sure you were okay with his own eyes, and if you weren’t he needed to make you okay somehow.

“ She always leaves at the most random times, she normally gets back in the e-evening?” Yunjin wiped her red eyes for the umpteenth time.

He didn’t know what to do, he wanted to run around Seoul like a chicken with its head cut off but he had no clue where to look. He felt like he was going to hyperventilate at this rate, he felt like such an idiot, he should’ve fought harder if only he had known how deep the hurt went. He couldn’t help but curse out loud.

“W-Wait Sunbae,” Yunjin spoke up with a revelation, “I’m checking our group chat, I-I think she might’ve taken her Apple Watch, look”

Yunjin turned her phone around showing your supposed location. He looked at the map on her phone, the glowing dot was resting in a building in Myeongdong. He quickly took a screenshot of your location, thanking Yunjin before sprinting to the company car he brought with him that afternoon. He was pretty sure he spilled some of his drink and stepped on some toes on the way to the vehicle but he couldn’t be bothered to even look back.

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

To say you were surprised to receive an invitation from Nayeon of all people would be a complete understatement. You never gave her your number so it was probably received from Somi. But here you sat at a fancy restaurant awkwardly staring at each other in silence. You normally just wandered around till it got dark when there wasnt any schedules but you decided to bring your watch just in case your body goes missing. You are aware her and Mingyu broke up and you are pretty sure this invitation out wasn’t to begin a beautiful friendship with the way she was glaring at you.

“ So-“

“ I-“

You both tried talking at the same time. Cringing inwardly you bowed your head for her to take the lead.

“ You know i don’t like you right.”

Oof straight for the throat but you didn’t have much to say to that, cause you didn’t like you either.

“Yeah i figured as much,” you sipped your water, “ so why the invitation?”

“ I wanted to see for myself what’s got Mingyu so wound up,” She tilted her head scrutinizing you, “ So far i’m unimpressed.”

“ Listen if you just invited me here to take jabs at me-“

“ You’re pathetic.”

Okay that one made you roll your eyes. You gathered your purse ready to get up and leave until she continued.

“ You have an amazing man so completely enamored with your very being and yet you are stomping all over his heart. At first i thought you were just a bitch-“

You put your purse back down, uncomfortably shifting as she stared you right in your eyes.

“ I’ve been watching you ya know, you walk around like a pile of self loathing on a stick, it’s so hard to watch. I don’t know your story but I can assure you right now nothing will change how that man thinks of you. And as his friend you hurting him is a me issue now. That fool is so hard headed i’m pretty sure if i told him you murdered puppies he’d still love you” she scoffed, rolling her eyes as the waiter finally came with your appetizers.

You weren’t good at conversations like this. Well was this even a conversation moreso you were being aggressively spoken at. “Stalking is a crime you know,” you mumbled stabbing a fork into your salad.

“Is that really all you have to say? Don’t play with me, we are not friends. Do you even love Kim Mingyu?” she frankly asked with a chicken wing pointed straight at you.

“Loving him has nothing to do with-“

“ I didn’t want to have to do this but you are being so difficult,” with her clean hand she opened her phone pulling up a compromising picture of Mingyu asleep in bed with Nayeon snuggled to his side. It was clear what they finished doing before it was captured “Answer my question or i’ll keep swiping”

Your nose flared at the photo, jealousy swirled in your stomach even though you had no right. You pushed him away so you had no right to be envious but nevertheless you were. You remembered how that use to be you, losing track of what time you had to sneak back to the dorms because he was so warm and safe and so- Mingyu. Your eyes darkened as she swiped to the next photo, him sucking a hickey onto her inner thigh, looking up at her with those beautiful brown eyes. Your self esteem might’ve been in the gutter but you knew how to be shameless too.

“ Delete all of those pictures right now and I’ll answer,” you challenged staring her right back down.

She picked at some stuck chicken in her teeth with her pinky acrylic, “ Wah you’re so easy, fine fine i’m deleting them. Wasn’t that many anyways- he didn’t like me taking pics,” she mumbled the last part as she clacked away on her phone.

Once you were positive they were all gone your expression finally softened, lips parting, “I love him so much that i’m scared. I’m scared because i can take when others hurt and abandon me… but if Mingyu does… if he ever gets tired of me or casts me aside i really won’t be able to survive it. That’s the one thing i won’t be able to bounce back from. When i’m with him my heart is no longer my own and that terrifies me. Trust isn’t something that comes easy but i have no control over myself because of him. I’m used to everything blowing up in my face, always being the butt of the joke, nothing ever working out in my favor so why should i believe for once that the good that is Mingyu isn’t going to turn on me one day as well?”

“ Because it’s fucking Mingyu,” she stated matter of factly , “ Gods apology to man if you will.”

You huffed at that, finding it hard to disagree with that childish logic. After that you both jus ate in silence, probably both thinking of Mingyu to some compacity. By time the entré came out Nayeon was ready to talk again.

“ I knew he never loved me,” she sighed,” but even then he tried his hardest to. Gosh i wanna jus cry, the sex was so bomb too — i hate you so much” she pouted as she cut into her steak rather aggressively.

This time you actually laughed. A real one that touched you eyes. You held your stomach finding it hard to stop, lost in your mirth. In that moment Nayeon felt like she caught a glimpse of the Y/n he described a week ago.

You both payed for your separate meals, Nayeon left with a “I would offer you a ride but i still don’t like you” so you made your way down the street, no destination in mind, shaking your head softly at the fiasco that dinner was. You didn’t make it far before a pair of large arms wrapped around you from behind. You should’ve screamed for help if it was anyone else but you knew this embrace.

“Angel,” he whispered against your neck out of breath

“Mingyu what are you doing,”. You tugged on his arms to avail, “I was about to call the police on you, you can’t just grab people like that in- hey are you listening to me”

No he wasn’t in fact. To busy burrowing his head further in the crevice of your neck, humming softly as he pulled you flush against him. You tried to atleast to turn around in his hold but was met with a stubborn whine.

“ Mingyu, people are looking.. s-stop before someone recognizes us,” You try to shrink away from the onlookers.

He intakes your scent with a deep breathe before finding the willpower to release his limbs before dragging you to what seemed to be a parking lot. You don’t fuss much at that point letting him tug you along until you were seated and buckled safety in to his passenger seat of his car. You kept your eyes forward as he ran to his side and slid in himself. Before he moved to pull off you felt him staring shamelessly at the side of your face. Your own face starting to warm at the intensity of his gaze.

“ What is up with everyone today,” you rolled your eyes before turning in your seat to face him square on, “Care to explain to me how you knew exactly where I was? Are you stalking me too??”

His eyes were still darting around every inch of you with that silly expression on his face, “You look so nice today, did you go out to eat? Are you still hungry? What do you mean too, is someone bothering you? Also I know this nice spot by-“

You move to unbuckle your seatbelt but his hands beat you there, grabbing both your wrists in one hand. “Mingyu let me-“

“Gyu.”

“What?!” you huffed failing miserable against his hold , “ This is not the time to act cute, I’ll scream I swear I-“

This time he yanked you forward by your wrists and slot his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Instantly your body like muscle memory became liquid in his grasp no longer caring to escape him. With his free hand he held your chin between his thumb and pointer finger angling you side ways so he could eagerly push his tongue past your soft lips. He didn’t mean for things to happen in that order honestly. He wanted to make sure you were safe and okay but seeing you always scrambled his thoughts and now he’s sucking on your tongue in the parking lot getting high off your breathy moans. Lost in the nasty wet tongue kiss he subconsciously loosened the grip he had on your wrists in favor holding both sides of your face as he swirled his tongue around yours.

You cursed yourself in your head for clutching onto his tshirt pathetically as you let him defile your mouth. At the rate he was going you were gonna pass out from the lack of air and intimacy of it all. You dragged your fingertips up to the juncture of his jaw line and neck before giving a firm enough pinch. Understanding you immediately he pulled back just to give you a couple more passionate smooches, eyes low as you both watched the string of saliva slowly give way between you. It’s landed on your chin which he brazenly licked off before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. Finally done with the impromptu makeout you both gazed at each other out of breathe, periodically looking back down at each others lips.

He caressed your cheeks with his thumb softly, something he’d been dreaming of doing again for months , “Hi” Those charming canines of his flashing at you.

You didn’t have it in you to play aloof with him in that moment, not after you jus swallowed an embarrassing amount of his spit. “Gyu how’d you find me?”

“Yunjin,” He answered quick leaning back in ready for round two, tongue already sticking out but you pushed him back by his forehead.

“ …Gyu you’ve been wanting to talk to me about the breakup since it happened right?,” you closed your eyes in defeat, some of Nayeons words urging to on, “I’m giving you the chance now, so are we gonna talk and i can’t guarantee if there will be later. I know you didn’t come all the way here just to make out. ”

“Shit fuck that’s-“ he rubbed the back of his neck in shame, “I’m sorry I just got so carried away, yes we need to talk please. Can i take you back to my place?”

You sighed but nodded turning your head to focus on the road. He quickly started up the car not wanting to ruin this chance but not before pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your forehead, hopefully you’d let that one slide just for him. You made no comment on it as he sped back to his place in silence.

Always the gentleman he kept your door on child lock so you wouldn’t get out without him opening the door for you once you reached. You couldn’t help the small smile at his childish mannerisms. Such a big baby. You allowed him to hold your hand as you both made your way to his place. Once inside you were hit with the nostalgia of his apartment, his heady scent was everywhere already making your heart race.

He locked the door behind you before getting you something to drink, “Wonwoo is out on a brand trip,” He offered once he’d heard you sit down on their couch.

You hmed at the information too busy looking all around the apartment you use to frequent. It brought back a lot of memories of the past from the chaotic cooking dates, snuggling on the living room floor staring up at the cheap star projector, to fucking like teenagers in your epic pillow fort till all the sheets collapsed around you both.

The sound of your cup of apple juice being placed down on the table took you out of your reverie as Mingyu sat down next to you. Ever the offender of having no sense of personal space, he situated him self directly against you despite the plentiful seats in the living area. You felt like you should’ve told him to move but you found yourself being honest for once; you didn’t want him to.

“So um,” he decided to break the tension, “C-can i hold your hand again while we talk?”

You relinquished your hand to him, both of you angling you bodies inwards to each other before you looked up at him waiting for him to ask his questions.

His heart compressed painfully at the sight of your big eyes but he forced himself to stay focused.

“ As i’m sure you know me and Nayeon broke up.” He waited for your acknowledgment before continuing, ” I won’t lie and say our meeting at the Somi’s party wasn’t the catalyst for alot of things but it made it clear especially despite trying to move on I physically can’t. I can’t move on from you and I don’t want to move on from you.” His thumb brushed your over knuckles, “When you broke up with me like that I wanted to be done with you, you hurt me Y/n… so so bad.”

Your eyes reflected the same glistened look as his as the guilt of carelessly casting Mingyu aside finally was catching up to you after all those months of dodging feelings. You bit your lip waiting for him to proceed.

“I just wanted to mean something to you, and when i finally was getting back to myself one look from you and back to begging on my knees like i was months ago.”

“G-gyu” you sniffled and went to cup his face in your palms. He probably didn’t even realize the single tear you were currently thumbing away at. “I- no amount of apologies will ever equate to how i treated you. But regardless I’m sorry for taking out my insecurities out on you. God knows you’ve been nothing but amazing and i still desperately tried to sabotage that all. I still think you deserve a better girl, don’t settle for me Gyu you deserve the world.”

He held onto your hands to keep your touch on him. “ I don’t care what you think i deserve, I want you. Even after everything I forgive you whether you want to be forgiven or not a-and Yunjin told me about seeing your parents-“

You sharply sucked in a breath before trying to yank your hands back to your lap but he held them firmly bringing them to his chest, “Don’t do that Y/n, don’t try to close up on me like that please. Not again, Don’t- shit angel don’t cry”

His heart broke at your vulnerable expression, lip quivering as you tried to lean away from but he wasn’t having it. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled your securely into his chest, caressing your spine while cooing into your crown.

You hiccuped uncontrollably into his chest, “ Sh-she promised she wouldn’t saying anything, she promised!”

“Please don’t blame Yunjin, I didn’t really give her choice, I just needed to know why you came back to me so closed off. Im sorry for picking up your mother’s call back then, I had no right to but Y/n don’t feel ashamed please. You are so strong, so beautiful, so worthy of everything despite what she says. My mom loves you ya know, you can share her if you’d like,” he peppered kisses across your face, “you’ll just have to marry me of course…”

You choked on a laugh between the ugly cries that wracked through you. Maybe it was the tears but your mind felt a bit lighter, “Gyu… I-I love you but i’m terrified. “ You admitted “after years of constantly being ridiculed and belittled as if im nothing i can’t help but believe it. I’m so embarrassed about having a mother like her and i’m ashamed with myself. But wh-whenever im with you i feel alive but she always finds a way to say the exact words to knock me all the way back down. For my own mother to think so lowly of me how am i s-supposed to stand proudly by your side. You are so blinding, so kind, so talented, so honest, so good; everything i’m not.”

“But to me you’re all those things and more. I’m only my best self when i’m with you, because of you. You really have no idea the power you hold not just on me but the people around you. Your mother doesn’t deserve you and she doesn’t define you. How someone can treat such a wonderful daughter like you like that still blows my mind. You deserve to be valued and praised just for existing simply because you are you. ”

By this point your foreheads were pressed together, your hiccups finally simmering down. He kissed your nose softly before wiping away your tears. “I know years of hurt can’t be done away in one night but can you promise me something Angel”

You sniffled cutely before looking up at him again , “Mmhm”

“Let me see the ugly, it’s okay if you cry, scream, yell but do it to me. Let me share your burdens, you don’t have to do it all alone. Please rely on me, it’s what i’m here for”

You wrapped your arms around him sighing into his chest. You felt so drained and lightheaded so tired but still you couldn’t deny the immense relief you felt off your heavy heart, “… You love me?” you whispered timidly.

“More than you’ll ever know,” He kissed your brow sweetly.

“Okay then… I’ll be in your care from now on” you unhurriedly pressed a kiss to his jaw before yawning,” I know there’s still so much more we have to talk about but can we talk more in the morning?”

He smiled fondly as you rubbed your eyes sleepily, nose still stuffy from your tears. He leaned down to press a proper kiss on your plush lips, “Of course my Angel,” You both gazed longing at each other a bit longer neither making the move to get up. He took the bait again and gave you a languid open mouthed kiss before whispering dreamily against your lips, “I love you.”

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Part 3 to Mid-day Texts

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: After your explosive homecoming where everything seemed to fall right into place, Simon begins to get cold feet about his feelings and what they could mean for the both of you. All seems bleak until a text about someone harassing you while you're on a night out makes him come to your aid and solidifies a decision he has already made.

Word Count: 8.8 k

Warnings:

Part 1 | Part 2

Simon’s gaze lingered a few more seconds at his office's door you had just left out of with a smile pressed to his lips. You were back and even though it was such a small occurrence in the grand scheme of things, it felt like a holiday to him. He settled back into his chair at the desk to dive back into his paperwork feeling as light as air, continuously checking his watch to count down until he could finally leave and give you the text to head over so you both could pick up again where you had just left off. 

Even as the elation of knowing you were back was still at the forefront of his mind through the rest of his day, there was a dark omen gathering at the edge of his thoughts that he was not fully conscious of yet. It sat there in the shadow like the distant accumulation of clouds before a storm.

It was nothing, he tried to tell himself, but still there it lay in wait for him…until he really understood why it was there at all.

Never had you experienced such an explosive homecoming than the one Simon gave you the second you returned from your mission. All those worries you had about him finding someone else to fill his bed had been for not as the way his lips were on yours the very second you two were alone was all the proof you needed, his yearning flowing into you until you were drunk upon it. 

That night, as you lay beside him in his bed with that post-coital glow radiating off the both of you, there was a strange calmness to the room that had not been there before. For a second it almost felt like…. No you couldn’t say it, not even just in your head. That elation you felt was that of someone returning to a familiar place after a long trip, that’s all, nothing more. 

Simon’s long, thick fingers drew slow circles along the curve of your hip as you lay close while he finished off the last of his cigarette. Crushing the butt into the ashtray on the table beside the bed, he pulled you against his bare chest that was still warm and pink from the rigorous activity you both had been engaged in. Your head rested on his pectoral, your ear pressed against it so you could hear the repetitious thumping of his heartbeat. 

Listening to the calming rhythm fill your head, the only sound in the room beside your collective breathing, your eyelids began to droop and your head became more heavy as it lulled forward. Amber eyes took notice and yet Simon didn’t say a word, not yet. With a gentle touch he ran his fingertips along your spine up and down as he watched a smile just barely breach the line of your lips.

If you had been more awake you would have heard that rhythmic thumping quicken in tempo as the man who swore only a short time ago that this was nothing more than a fling was caught off guard by how perfectly you fit against him as you lay there in his arms. It was more wonderful than he could have asked for.  

Quietly Simon cleared his throat. “Ya can stay the night, if ya want,” that low, gruff voice brought you back from the brink of sleep, making you stir against his bare chest. 

You rubbed your eyes, only then realizing that you had dozed off. “Guess I’m more exhausted than I thought,” you chuckled as you stretched, hoping the increased blood flow to your limbs would rouse you.

“You’ve been gone a while and left us both high an dry; I might get a hankerin’ for a midnight snack since I’ve been starvin’ for over a fuckin’ month. Just stay.”

You chuckled soft as you nuzzled back down onto his chest, throwing your arm over top of his abdomen to secure you to him. “Fine,” you agreed, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible while your stomach did backflips; in your sleepy state you couldn’t tell if you had pulled it off or not. “But it’s only because I’m already fucking comfortable and walking all the way back to my barracks would be hell right now. Promise I’ll be sure to be gone by sunrise.”

"Sure, sure," he chuckled as he hunkered down into the bed with you wrapped in his embrace.

He should have been more than content to lay there tangled together, naked bodies pressed close after how much he had missed you, but a cold sweat spread through his limbs as the minutes passed until his whole body was engulfed. As he silently watched your breathing settle into a steady pattern, your chest rising and falling lightly, his own chest grew more and more tight with the realization of what he couldn’t deny any longer; he had broken his promise to himself. This was more than emotional words conflated in the heat of the moment as he thought the confession in his office to be.

Simon had fallen in love with you…and that terrified him. 

This wasn’t like him, he wasn’t the type to be involved with someone that way; ever the stone cold sniper, dedicated to his work, living life behind a shield of anonymity that hid his face when he wanted. Attachment wasn’t something that was supposed to happen to him, that was a dangerous game that he knew well, and yet despite all that here he lay as his heart filled to the brim with an emotion he had very little experience in. 

That fear churned around in his mind as he placed a kiss to the top of your head and turned off the light before staring up at the ceiling. In the dark the shadows danced along the surface, creating patterns out of nothing as he weighed everything in his mind.  As he drifted off into sleep, unable to hold it back any longer, he was no closer to an answer then when he started. 

When you awoke Simon was passed out beside you fast asleep. Reaching down to the floor, your fingers found your watch and you brought it to your face to check the time; it was just at sunrise and you needed to go. Silently you moved out from his side and gathered your things, redressing in the attached bathroom so you wouldn’t risk waking him. Only then did you creep back over to the bed and place a soft kiss to his cheek before leaving him to sneak back to your barracks before you were caught.

As you quietly brought the door to latch and your hand released the handle, your body shivered as you were instantly hit by an overwhelming feeling of dread. There was no reason for your heart to be pounding or your hands to suddenly go clammy, but as you made your way back you just couldn’t shake this new feeling. 

It was silly, the entire time you had spent with him nothing had felt out of place. And yet that sensation persisted, rearing its ugly head completely out of thin air.

Something had shifted as you slept, something that was there to rob you of your happy homecoming, and for the rest of the day it ate at your mind so that by the time you were finished your nerves were completely frazzled. You constantly pulled your cell phone out of your pocket to check the screen, but nothing ever appeared from Simon. There could have been any number of reasons that caused him to stay silent all damn day and if you didn’t have this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you probably would have focused on that. 

Today though it only served as confirmation that something was wrong.

The moment night hit and you had a spare moment as you lay in your bunk, you finally gathered the courage to face this head on and you hurriedly wrote out a text to send.

Need some company tonight?

You sent the text and watched as it went through, but there was no quick reply, no instant confirmation that he wanted to see you as soon as you could get your ass over there. Radio silence.

Setting your phone down beside you on your bed, you tried to focus on your book to pass the time, but you could not pry your thoughts away from drifting back to your phone. It took all your will not to keep flipping the damned thing over to check the screen for what you knew would be nothing. The minutes ticked on in agonizing fashion until finally you felt your phone vibrate and you rushed to pick it up. One text glared back at you.

Bit busy tonight, maybe later alright? 

Fuck. 

It felt like you had been shot as a stinging sensation ran through your chest. Night after night you had gone over there no matter the conditions: if he was busy, if he was tired, if he was stressed. Whatever it was he still made it his mission to have you both sweating and out of breath…and now nothing. 

Days passed under the same excuse with slight variation, always that he was busy or too tired or just didn’t feel up to company. You'd repeat to yourself that this was just a dry spell and that things would pick back up soon. Then one week became two and two weeks became three and at that point you had to be honest with yourself that something had happened that caused him to back away from you. 

Had you done something in your tired state that made him push away? Came on too strong, said something out of turn? You stopped messaging him and he didn’t try to contact you outside of a few minor things here and there concerning work.

For something that was supposed to be casual, the sudden lack of it was causing you to become listless and reclusive, to the point that when off duty you would seclude yourself in your barracks. Days seemed to stretch on in endless fashion as what was once a major part of them was no longer available to you and that left you in a state of confusion. Why did it bother you so much? You knew the terms- this was just a casual thing.

And yet you knew there was more to it than that. You didn’t want to admit that you had…no, you couldn’t… but the signs were as clear as day. You had fallen for him and now you had to suffer the pain of rejection.  

Simon’s company was something you had grown accustomed to: the smell of his cigarettes at the end of the night, the weight of his hand on your bare hip as you both sat in silence coming down from that euphoric high, those random texts he’d send either asking to see you or checking in. Now all that familiarity had nowhere to go and it left you empty.

Why did you have to go and break the only rule that could ultimately destroy you? Why did you have to fall in love?

Sulking alone in your room after hours, you gave yourself a few more days to feel sorry for yourself before you had had enough. If Simon was moving on, then you needed to as well and maybe things could get back to normal. The weekend was coming up and with no new missions on the horizon you had the whole thing to yourself. So why not go out for a bit, just to clear your head?

There was a bar within a ten minute walk from the base, a small rundown hole-in-the-wall that was filled with regulars and members from the taskforce whenever they got the chance. It wasn’t much, but a change in scenery was all you needed. A little fun wouldn’t hurt, would it? Besides maybe a few drinks would help you get out of your head, at least for the night anyway. 

No sense in waiting around for a text you knew wouldn’t come.

As you walked in amidst the sound of hard rock blasting from the jukebox against the wall, you took note of a few familiar faces among the crowd. You didn’t feel up to socializing just yet, but it was nice to know that if you got the hankering for conversation later there would be someone there you sort of knew.

There were several empty seats situated around the sparsely filled bar as most were stationed in groups at the tables scattered throughout and you took your place amongst the few regulars before ordering a beer from the bartender. You’d gotten halfway through slowly sipping at your drink, messing about on your phone when a text popped up on screen and you couldn’t believe who it was from.

It was Simon.

Where are you? Went by your barracks and you weren’t there.

He was looking for you? You had not expected to hear from him at all tonight, but to see the words written out that he had come by to look for you made your heart skip a beat. It felt like being a teenager again, getting worked up for your crush to message you and you hated how quick you were to get excited to have him talk to you again after all that distance. 

You sat there with your phone in hand, debating if you even wanted to text him back yet or not. On one hand it would be nice to let him suffer for a bit, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. This was supposed to be a casual hookup relationship and you were acting like you were dating. Simon was only acting as he would in your type of situation; why punish him for that?

At the bar. Wanted to get out.

You shot the text back and instantly another followed behind.

Are you coming back soon?

Did he need another fix, is that why he was so curious? I mean, it wasn’t entirely out of the question, though you would need to take the edge off a little more before you saw him again; you had to be sure you wouldn’t let your feelings make this complicated. You still wanted to have sex with him and that was enough…you guessed. At least it was something.

Just as you were about to text him back to let him know that you’d be back soon and ask if he wanted to meet at his, you felt the presence of someone standing at your elbow. As you turned and looked up, you found yourself face to face with a strange, greasy-haired man that you had briefly caught a glimpse of earlier sitting at the other end of the bar. 

“Well hello pretty lady,” he greeted you, his speech a little slurred. He stumbled as he came to sit in the bar stool right next to you, almost spilling his drink in your lap. “Care for some company? Name’s Dylan by the way.”

“I’m good,” you instantly shot back as your nose wrinkled and your lips contorted into a frown. “Thanks anyway.”

You turned your attention back to your phone only to be met with a hand on your arm as he began to stroke it up and down. “Come on baby, don’t be like that. You can’t be having much fun over here all by your lonesome. I’ve been told I’m pretty good at making beautiful ladies laugh.”

Quickly you snapped your arm back out of his reach. “I said I’m good,” you repeated a little more forcefully this time, hoping that the hint would be taken as you’d give him one chance to walk away with his dignity still intact if he wanted. 

“No need to get heated,” he shot back, not taking anything but the time to keep harassing you. “I just want to chat. You could at least give me a chance. Maybe you’ll enjoy yourself more than you think.”

“Doubtful,” you sneered. “Do you always corner women in bars to get them to talk to you? Seems like maybe you’re not as good a conversationalist as you think you are. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Pushing the stool out a little you made to get up and leave, but as you stood so did Dylan and his hand was already around your wrist before you could step away. Your eyes flashed over to where the bartender should have been, but he must have popped into the back and those around you both acted as if they didn’t see a thing. Quickly you darted your eyes over to the table where the others from base had been and your heart sank as you didn’t know where they went; this might actually be a problem.

Just what you needed tonight.

Back at base something felt off about how you hadn’t answered yet, causing Simon’s pulse to quicken in his veins, almost as if he could sense through the phone the situation unfolding. He leaned against the outside wall of your barracks and took another long drag of his cigarette as he watched his phone screen closely. The way his stomach began to churn and his whole body felt tense forced him to hurriedly send a follow up text. If he looked dumb, at least his mind would be put at ease. 

You alright?

Your phone buzzed in your hand, but Dylan wouldn’t let go of your wrist even as you struggled in his grasp. Maneuvering the small rectangle in your free hand, you used your thumb as best you could to type out your message. You didn’t want Simon to worry; you’d be done with this douchebag soon enough.  

Sorry. Gotta creep that doesn’t understand no.

Give me a min, might have to get physical.

He quickly read the message the instant it pulled up on the screen and his cig slipped from his fingers as his blood ran cold. You were in trouble, that’s all he read and it was like a switch had been flipped. Instantly Simon perked up and began moving as fast as his strong legs could carry him off base and towards the bar with murder on his mind. 

Thank Christ it was just under a ten minute walk; his blood pressure was already so high he could hear his heartbeat pulsating in his ears as he spotted the front door just a few feet away. Finally reaching the door, he grabbed the handle and flung it open with force.

Roaming eyes instantly clocked your back as you stood facing a man who had his hands on you and as he came closer he made out the slurred speech of the man fixing to be on a slab in the morgue if he didn’t remove himself immediately.

“You don’t want to cause a scene do you?” Dylan smirked as you tried to rip your arm out of his grasp. “I promise I’m not all bad; I can treat you real good if you just give me the chance. Never been with a military girl before. I bet you could teach me a few things.”

Your mouth was open, the words already on your tongue when you watched as the man at your elbow stopped and his attention was drawn behind you. Then you felt it, another presence to add to the mix, except you already knew who it was before he spoke.

“Get the fuck away from ‘er,” Simon’s low growl sounded as he stalked up behind you, “or you’re gonna wish you fuckin’ had.”

The man before you looked behind you wide-eyed at the massive figure of Simon standing at your back, but he couldn’t back down, not when his ego was on the line. Somewhere in that alcohol riddled brain he came to the conclusion that if he could just get the big man to leave that you would eventually give in to him. 

Again he reached his hand out to grope your arm as you wrenched it out of the way. “Look pal,” the slimy bastard addressed him snidely, “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this isn’t what it looks like so why don’t you just go along. We were just having a little fun, weren’t we baby?” 

“No, we fucking weren’t,” you hissed back as you joined Simon in glaring him down.

“Ya heard ‘er,” Simon immediately jumped to your defense, “so even though I rarely like repeatin’ myself, I’ll tell you one more time. Get. The fuck. Away. From ‘er.”

The rage in his voice made you shudder with its intensity. Though you could not see it, you knew by the way he spoke through his teeth that his jaw was clenched tight, matching what you could see which were his fists tensing so tight that it was turning his knuckles white. Shit just the aura radiating off of him was so full of wrath that there was no mistaking just how angry he was. 

The man took another swig of liquid courage before he grimaced with a shake of his head. “You think you can just waltz over and steal this sweet little thing out from under me?” he challenged, stepping in closer to you to get in Simon’s face. “I saw her first, she came here alone. So, she’s gonna be coming home with me; I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

He reached out to you once more and actually got a bit of a substantial caress this time on your hip; instantly Simon saw nothing but red.

That was fucking it. Whatever modicum of decorum Simon possessed up until now completely flew out the window the moment that bastard had even brought up trying to get you to go home with him. And now he had watched him touch you?! If he didn’t back off now, they would be carrying him out in a body bag.

It didn’t matter anymore of who saw or heard what; if the guys back at base figured it out from the buzz of talk that would come from tonight or if it somehow got all the way back to Price tomorrow, Simon wasn’t about to let this fucking creep keep putting his filthy hands and lay claim to what belonged to him.

“She may ‘ave come here alone, but she’s wit me,” Simon again growled as his accent became more pronounced, this time with enough venom that it could have burnt a hole through the floor. “So I suggest you get your fuckin’ hand off my girl before you go home wit one fewer. Or test me and see what prize ya get. I’ve been itchin’ to try out my new Bowie knife. Supposed to be the sharpest on the market; maybe we should see how well it carves you up.”

As he spoke, his strong forearm snaked its way from behind you and wrapped itself securely around your waist so that as he took a step forward your back was right up against his chest. Through the shadow of his balaclava, those chestnut eyes glared daggers down into the man, daring him to make a move and give him a reason to commit murder, but lucky for him that Dylan’s brain finally reactivated in time. The intimidation had worked and the greasy piece of shit gave you both a nasty, agitated look before he grabbed his beer and walked off somewhere further into the opposite side of the bar.

Once he was out of sight, Simon quickly spun you around in his arms, his hands cupping around your cheeks as you came to face him. Those brown eyes softened as they shifted from anger to concern as he looked you over, checking down the line of your body for any signs that that bastard had done anything more to you that he hadn’t seen yet. “Ya alright?” he questioned. “He didn’t do anythin’ to hurt ya, did he?”

The question went right past you as your mind was reeling from the entire encounter the moment that you heard Simon’s voice behind you. You knew you had heard exactly what had been said, but was it all an act to get the man to leave?… you couldn’t be sure, but it was enough to put your mind into turmoil.

You were drawn out of your thoughts by more indistinct talking from Simon. “Hmm?” you asked as you met his eyes again. 

“I asked if ya were okay to go,” he repeated, the pad of his thumb rubbing gently over the hollow of your cheek to bring you back into the moment.

“Yeah,” you muttered with a nod of your head as Simon let you go so you could double check you had everything. You paid your tab and with his hand on the small of your back, he ushered you both out the front doors.

Once outside, the cool night air wrapped itself around you, easing that tension in your chest from the stifling atmosphere of the bar as you both began to walk back the short distance to the base in silence. So many questions you had, so much uncertainty about what had just happened, that you were so consumed with your thoughts that you hadn’t realized you were back at Simon’s room until he was opening the door and you were following him inside like a lost pup.    

He offered you a seat on the only thing he really had, his bed, and you took it just as you had done so many times it was almost like second nature to you now. Squatting down before you, he looked you over once more.

“Are ya really alright?” he asked the question again now in a more subdued setting where you could hopefully think more clearly.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. “Annoyed, but fine.”

Why did it feel like that wasn’t the real question he was asking?

His eyes peered deep into your face a moment as if he was searching for something behind the surface, but it passed quickly and soon he stood back up to his full height and let the silence take back over. You allowed the moment to fall away as a more pressing question lingered on the tip of your tongue, gnawing at your mind until you couldn't ignore it any longer, one that you had almost forgotten all about in the chaos. 

"So, what were you doing earlier, looking for me I mean?" you asked, genuinely curious.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his stance. "It's…complicated…" he started, but something caused him to pause.

As you waited for him to reply, everything hit you all at once as if suddenly stirred by being in his room and it felt hard to breathe. It had been going so well until that second, being here surrounded in that specific familiarity again, but fuck it brought too much baggage with it. Memories aroused by the feeling of his sheets against your hand, the scent of his room, the proximity to him after all that space was overwhelming and you could feel your shoulders begin to tense. 

You had to get out and soon before you did or said something you’d regret.

“I should really go,” you said all of a sudden, just as Simon found his voice. “You can always tell me later, it's fine. We’ll need to keep our distance for a bit in case a private or someone saw what happened. Don’t want them to misconstrue what they thought was going on.”

Still and silent, Simon watched you through the mask a moment as you stood back to your feet. “Thank you though for coming to help, I really appreciate it,” the genuine sentiment prominent in your voice as you gave him a smile. Taking a few steps you moved to leave by walking past him, but his hand shot out from his side and grabbed your wrist to keep you from moving any further. 

“Don’t,” he muttered softly.

Your heart skipped a beat, you couldn���t help it.  A thousand times you’d heard him bark orders to the new recruits and this was nothing compared to that. His tone wasn’t demanding or harsh; it was soft and almost pleading. And against your mind telling you to go, you could do nothing else except stop right where you stood.

He moved his hand down to yours and kept it locked in his grasp as he reached up to his face and slid his balaclava up the back of his head until it came off of his chin, revealing those striking features that you hadn’t seen much of these days. Idly he turned your hand over in his so that the palms were touching and he could place his fingers between the spaces. You looked down at the connection and then up into his face where you were met with him staring straight back at you with such intensity it took your breath away.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized to break the silence.

You cleared your throat, desperately trying to keep your head about all this. “About tonight?” you asked, sure that was what he was referring to. “It’s fine. I’ve dealt with many creeps over my lifetime. He won’t be the last, but I’m tough. Would have handed his ass to him in a minute, even if you hadn't come to my rescue.”

Simon shook his head as he took a step closer, nearly against you now. The air around you shifted to become thick with intentions that had not yet been spoken, but were on the horizon. “No, don’t mean ‘bout what happened tonight.”

Everything stood still, even time itself within that space that existed around just the both of you. Your pounding heartbeat pulsed hard until you could hear it in your ears as he moved in completely, taking your cheek in his free hand as he leaned his head down to rest his forehead against your own. Eyes closed, you held your breath as you waited for him to speak. 

“I know you ‘eard what I said back there. Look, I tried to keep this casual like we agreed, I really fuckin’ did, luv, but watchin’ that goddamn pig put his hands on ya solidified everything for me…” he took a breath as his heart too was nearly beating out of his chest and you could feel his pulse through his hand still wrapped in yours. “I… I don’t want casual anymore.”

“What?” It felt like a dream, this couldn’t possibly be real… could it? Was he really saying what you thought he was?

A slight chuckle at your reaction, he continued. “When ya left on that mission, I thought it’d be fine; you’d return and we’d get back to what we do best: passin’ the time by in each other's company. Maybe the separation would do us some fuckin’ good, give us time to cool off. Then I spent over a month’s worth of nights without even seein’ ya once and it was fuckin’ torture. The way I missed ya was too strong for casual.”

“Then why…?” you started the confused question.

“Avoid ya?” he finished it. “I’m not the best at this shit and I panicked. For that I'm more sorry than ya know. But ya need to understand…I know I can be rough ‘round the edges; I’m the last person that deserves somethin’ as soft and gentle as you, sweetheart. Thought if I kept my distance, we could go back to just foolin’ ‘round. But I realized I don’t wanna go back; I want to try this, us, because fuck I can’t stand not havin’ ya all to myself. I want you…really, truly, only you…”

He was close, the warmth of his body as he came down from that rush of adrenaline made the air around you both heated. Moving his head until your lips were almost touching, bodies molded into the curves of one another, his fingertips brushed against your cheek as his gaze never wavered from the lower half of your face. 

"Are…are you sure?" you asked hesitantly, as if he would take it all back in an instant.

He nodded against your head. “I want us to be together. Say you'll be mine,” he whispered, hot breath so close to your mouth you could feel it tingle across the skin of your lips. "I need ta hear ya say you'll be with me.”

Your head may have been foggy by the tension flowing between your bodies, but there was nothing you were ever more sure of than this being what you wanted. Without a moment of hesitation, you gave him his answer. “Simon, you idiot,” you chided him gently, “I was already yours. You’re the only one I want to be with.”

Moist lips were already capturing your own by the time the ending sound of the last word left your mouth as if he were trying to swallow the words down so you could not take them back. Kisses like fire peppered your lips, his entire mouth enveloping your own with nose pressed into his cheek so that you could barely breathe and yet you did not try to escape.

Everywhere his fingers went as they caressed the lines of your body left trails of sensitive nerve endings bursting to life, sending waves of delicious tingles coursing through your limbs until they reached the very top of your head. Something in the way he touched you was like he was trying to take all those feelings you both knew you had for each other and capture it to hold in the palms of his hands; he could not get enough.

Whatever lingering bit of upset that still clung to you was dissipated the longer he molded your bodies together until there was nothing left. You knew the type of man Simon was, knew that raw emotion was not something he had much experience in; for him to be so vulnerable about what he wanted, he was trying to prove that he was willing to change- for you. And that was enough to make you forgive him for everything. 

"Please," he groaned into your open mouth, his hands dancing around your waist near the bottom of your shirt."I need ta be inside ya."

Your smile was on his lips. "Then what are you waiting for? Can't leave my boyfriend suffering," you replied with just as much desperation and that was all the confirmation he required.

Simon hadn't held that title in a long, long time, but something about how it sounded in your sweet voice made him feral and he was lost to anything but how you felt against him and how he would feel in you.

Grabbing the hem of your shirt with his exploring fingers, he released your mouth only long enough to rip it off over your head and toss it somewhere onto his floor. He had seen you naked dozens of times, had learned all the parts of your anatomy by touch alone, and yet here in this moment it was like seeing you for the first time again. 

"Christ, luv, you are always such a pretty sight," he said, pupils dilating as he took a lingering moment to run those rough fingers along the side of your breast all the way to your hip. "I am one lucky bastard to have such a beauty for a girlfriend."

Fuck, you both were so drunk on the other that there was only one need that desperately had to be met and that was to feel your bodies become one and solidify this relationship. This wasn't just sex, this had become something more. You were now connected and wanted to reflect that physically just as it was emotionally. Everything went quickly after that: clothes being removed in a mess of heated breath and tangled parts, until both of you stood completely bare before the other. 

He held onto you as he moved you both together closer to the bed where he sat back, pulling you into his lap onto the mattress. "I was a goddamn fuckin' fool to push away from ya like that," he said breathlessly as he helped you to situate yourself on him where he had you lean backward so that your back was pressed against his chest. "You are the only one for me, the only one that makes all this fuckin' hell worth somethin'."

His cock throbbed wildly between your thighs and up against his stomach, that aching tip with its dribble of precum begging to be allowed inside of your silky walls, but it wasn’t time for that yet. You were his focus, the one he wanted to bear penance to, and so securing you to him with a strong arm around your waist, his other hand rubbed across the length of your thigh until he decided to slip it in the crevasse between them.

"I am neva gonna let you go again, I fuckin’ swear it," his humid breath purred at your ear as he palmed your sex, catching the damp heat in his hand. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Mine.”

You opened your legs wider, until your thighs were on the outside of his. He extended his middle finger and drug it across the slit in your petals until he split them open and plunged it deep inside. You bucked in his grasp at the shock of his touch, back arching in a jolt as he ran that one finger along the length of your cunt, mouth falling agape as he found your clit and began to rub circles around the bundle. 

“Simon,” your soft voice moaned his name as your head fell back to his shoulder and he smirked as he kissed your cheek.

“I do fuckin’ love the way ya say my name, luv,” he groaned. 

It was like your lips turned sound into gold and never had a man felt more rich than he did. 

His finger locked onto your clit continued in its steady rhythm while he risked moving his hand up to massage your breast so he could stimulate the nipple till it grew hard enough that he could lightly twist it between his fingers. A gasp escaped from your mouth into the room at the multiple points of sensitivity getting his attention that it was making your thoughts hazy. “I need ya so fuckin’ bad all the time I feel like I’m constantly burnin’,” he whispered more of his yearning words into your ear. “I should have known by how much I craved ya even from the start that it was never just gonna remain casual. You and I were meant to be.”

Your body felt like it was on a cloud, so feather light with pleasure that even his words added to the euphoria.  Placing your hands on either side of your bodies onto the mattress you used the leverage to roll your hips onto his hand, grinding down in rhythm with the stroke of his finger. The heat from your body working its hardest the closer it got to its release caused sweat to bead along your forehead. 

Not wanting to leave any part of you unloved, he switched his hand to your other breast where the nipple already stood hard and raised, waiting for him as he continued his confessions. “Even after I made ya come, ya still wanted to linger around like I was somethin’ special,” his bassy voice hummed in your head, “fuck was that addictive. Whenever ya left I’d get a knot in my stomach, cause I missed ya bein’ near. All the excuses I made to keep you hangin’ ‘round just a little longer were all bullshit. I just wanted ya to stay with me.”

Your pace quickened as he spoke, breathing heavy and labourous, spurred on by the longing in his words that made you ache. To finally hear the sheer extent of his want for you, goddamn it was like a deep inhale after holding your breath for far too long; there was no hiding anymore, no more skirting around feelings that were surfacing. You could let go and experience the full capacity of everything he had to give you without fear or confusion. 

A sharp hiss of air between his lips as he rocked along with your movements, enjoying how lost you were in the depths of your oncoming release. “Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he groaned, his fingers coated in your warm juices as it nearly dripped to his palm. “Couldn’t say it before, but I can now. I am so smitten with ya I can’t see straight.”

Christ, Simon’s cock was so hard, the tip so swollen that the slightest bump from your thigh was enough that he felt like he might blow before he even got the chance to be inside you. The adrenaline from his admissions didn’t help either as skin felt like it was on fire and the way you moved over top of him had him grasping at anything to keep him sane until he could get you off once before diving in.

Your orgasm was approaching fast and your ability to think, let alone talk, was disrupted to the point that all you could do was grind harder on his hand and focus on remembering how to breathe. That pressure gathered as you rushed towards the peak, your muscles in your abdomen tightening as Simon leaned into your ear one more time to whisper the final thing that he wanted you to know about all this. 

“Ya are my addiction,” he breathed into the skin of your neck before his lips latched on to suck and bite along all that tender meat. 

And all at once it was over. The dam broke, completely exploded as the flood could not be contained a second more and as your head flew back with eyes closed you came so hard that you nearly knocked him over, but just as he had said earlier, he had you. Those fingers milked your clit through your orgasm for all it was worth, stroking out every last bit until there was nothing more for you to give him and you sank down into a puddle in his arms. 

He held you snug in his embrace as he stippled kisses along the edge of your jawline and down your neck, delicate pecks as the ecstasy played itself out. “That’s it sweetheart, ride it out. All the way for me,” he groaned his praises. “I want ya to have your fill.”

Minutes passed with all your focus put solely on steadying your erratic breathing and racing pulse, until finally you were able to collect yourself. Only then did Simon give you a gentle nudge with his hand against your ass. “Get up,” he directed as he helped you to stand, turning you around to face him before guiding you back down to kneel over his lap, that thick cock twitching between your thighs. “I need to see those pretty eyes.”

Positioning your body over top of him, Simon held your hips tightly in his grasp as he led them down over the top of his lap. The head of his cock prodded against the folds of your cunt until he was able to slip between them, that first sensation of all that warm slick coating him making his torso shudder as he drug the length through the petals. 

“Ya want this inside ya, pretty girl? Want me to fill that tight little cunt full of me?” he grunted as he continued to slather his cock in your cum. “Come on sweetheart, let me hear ya say it. I need to hear ya say it.”

Shit, the wind was knocked from your lungs, head lolling back as you felt all that delicious girth resting between your legs so close to its goal and yet still so far. You squirmed in his grip, trying to wrestle that fucking appendage inside you, but goddammit Simon had you firmly. Quickly you nodded your reply. “Please, Simon, please,” you begged, not caring how pathetic you sounded. “I need you inside me so bad. Please.”

That was the most he could tease as he was rocking dangerously close to the fucking edge and there was no way he would allow himself to come without taking you with him. Having you sit up again he aligned the tip with your entrance and as he guided your hips back down he pressed into it and in he went. He shoved your body down until you sat against his thighs so that he was buried in you to the base.

“Fuck,” he whined as abs clenched while his body convulsed so that he had to cling to you tight, fingers drilling into the muscle at your sides that would surely leave marks tomorrow. Christ you always felt like heaven. 

Your arms locked around the back of his neck to keep you from falling off, delicate whimpers dripping from your lips as his cock nestled securely inside to stretch you good and full to the brim. It pulsed and throbbed against your walls like a heartbeat deep in your core, its rhythm making your body tremble to the cadence of a dance that only you two had perfected.

“Fuckin’ hell you feel so good,” he sighed. 

More primal instinct overtook you as your mind crumbled to the euphoria of the connection of your bodies. Being on top you were in control of the pace and set it nice and easy as you rolled your hips till he loosened his grip and you could add a bit of bounce to the movement, using your knees to push off the mattress. Simon released your hips and gave you the reins to use him as you wanted, instead opting to palm as much of your ass as he could in each hand.

Massaging each cheek as he used his strength to take some of the pressure off your legs, he groaned desperately into your face, the last bit of speech he would be able to create for the moment as your body became his paradise. “That’s it, pretty girl, fuckin’ use me.”  

You ground your hips harder into his pelvis to engage your swollen clit like you couldn’t get enough of the way it felt. Your fingertips tingled with the prickling sensation of them running over the cropped bottom of Simon’s blonde locks as you rode him, every part of you from your head down to your toes in pure bliss. It was overwhelming, intense, mind-numbing, and you did not want it to stop. 

You were consumed with the pleasure of him and nothing else.

The desire to kiss again intensified, but the ecstasy running like magma through your veins left you both unable to do little else than to moan and gasp uncontrollably into each other's slack mouths, moist air being siphoned between one mouth into the other. Damp hair clung to the sides of your face and the back of your neck as the muscles in your thighs strained and flesh stuck against sweaty flesh.

Too much, too fucking much, and yet he need even more. Simon could not stand it any longer, the need to drill into you took over him and leaning himself back slightly he held your hips in place as he thrust up into you with strong snaps of his pelvis. The pressure of his cock being forced into your dripping cunt caused wet, slapping sounds to fill the space to accentuate the squeaking now emanating from the springs in his bed.

The pace was now his and by its slowly increasing speed you knew he was getting close; he only got this desperate when he was about to finish. You were right there with him, the stimulation of your clit helping to start that warm tightening in your stomach so that now you were so sensitive it would not take much more from him to send you over the edge.

More aggressively he thrust inside all the way up until he reached the base of his phallus, nearly bottoming out in you the harder he went. It was impossible not to get lost in the feeling of something so silky, so tight, so warm, not when it belonged to someone he needed like air. Goddammit he was aching to come, the struggle about to give out at any minute.

His hand pawed at your face, holding you by the cheek to prop your head up as you bobbed with his thrusts so that those amber eyes could meet yours. “Come with me baby,” he made his grunted plea, “come on, I wanna do this togetha. Are ya close?”

You nodded exaggeratedly to convey the messages since you were still not able to form words. Thrust after thrust he continued to pound into you, each one making that knot in your stomach grow stronger and stronger until finally like the flick of a switch it was over and you cried out as you came all over his cock, shuddering as the electric spark snaked its way up your spine while you sticky juices dripped down to his pelvis.

Simon, having completed his work, finally allowed himself to let go and he came with a fury and a shaky loud groan that ripped out from his chest. His body convulsed as he drained his swollen balls dry. “That’s it, that’s it sweetheart,” he repeated over and over breathlessly as you both rode out that high through to the very end. 

You fell forward into him, exhausted and satisfied while he still clung to your body so that his warm breath wafted over your shoulder as he came back down from the ecstasy. He didn't want to let you go and you were more than content to stay nestled in his arms for as long as possible just to feel him. After a moment his sweat-speckled forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his arms never loosening one bit.

“No one ever gets me like this, save for you,” he whispered into your skin before placing a kiss to seal it in. “And no one is ever gonna get the chance now cause I ain’t ever gonna let ya go.” 

Eventually his heart rate slowed enough that he could breathe normally again and as he did he eased you both down to the mattress on your sides so that his arms could stay wrapped tight. Against his chest he held you close as his fingers ran long, gentle lines along your spine and up into your hair in a tender gesture that soothed you back down into a calm.

At least your body was, but this was uncharted territory you were dealing with now that you had both made it official to one another and that brought along with it a whole slew of new dilemmas that you would face. And of course, you being the one to always be prepared, couldn’t help but bring up a few in that comfortable post-coital silence that followed.  

"You know that we are going to have to be even more careful now," you mused aloud. "What if a recruit tries to hit on me or something? What if I slip up and tell them about us?"

“Doesn’t matter what ya tell 'em. You're taken, so just tell 'em that,” he muttered sleepily as he worked those digits over your skin. 

“I don’t think Price is gonna be happy with us if and when he finds out we’re in a relationship,” you commented, still stuck on the line of thinking currently plaguing your mind. "I don't want you to get in trouble or anything, ya kn…."

His strong hands were already wrapped around your cheeks in an instant as Simon leaned into your face to peck your lips to stop you from speaking. “Stop fuckin’ worrin’, sweetheart. I don’t care,” he reassured softly. “We can figure all that shit out later. Right now, I want to lay ‘ere with my girl; fuck the rest. I'm not runnin', not anymore, so there’s plenty of time for us to work this out.”

His girl. His. Yeah, you could get used to him calling you that.

As you snuggled back down against him, you weren’t sure what this new development would bring for you both in the coming days, if it would be a struggle or not, but you knew that nothing could be as hard as not being together. Whatever it was you had to do to preserve this, you would.

Tag list: @ashcarmine @moviefreak1205 @dragonstoneshortcake

[alparlaboratories]

Yuri Game Jam 2024 - Retrospective, thoughts and five recommendations.

As my favorite yearly pre-holidays tradition, the Yuri Game Jam has once again come and gone, giving us a staggering 110 games, comics, zines and pieces of writing to gnaw on for the remainder of the year. The timing is, as always, on point. A 2-month period where I’m given the task to make something is just what I need to keep the stress of the dying year at bay and avoid losing my mind, and I’m sure it’s the same for a lot of us.

And though the Yuri Game Jam has been going strong for nearly ten years and I’ve only been part of the last two, I’m amazed by how much it’s grown. Not just in the amount of entries, but in the scope and craft of the games themselves. I always strive to play every single entry from a jam I’m part of to the best of my ability, and though I haven’t gone back yet and played the submissions for the eight yuri jams I’ve missed (like with everything, I just gotta find the time) just comparing last year to this one gives me a lot of appreciation for the people who put so much work into it, especially those I recognized from 2023’s jam, whose craft has definitely evolved. And some others making their debut who absolutely blew my socks off with their entries. More on that soon.

Regardless, hi. My current online moniker is Inyssa; I’m an Argentinian creature who’s very new to the world of Original English Visual Novels, and someone new to VNs in general, but who’s fallen in love with the genre and wants to learn all about it. I’ve made two VNs so far (Don’t Die Digging and Blunt Soul Trauma) both for Yuri jams, though I still feel like I have a lot to learn, which is why I try to play as many OEVNs as possible, and also read/watch what inspired them.

I’m not in the habit of writing long pieces like this one, but I just had a lot of thoughts bouncing off after playing a good chunk of the entries for this year, and I had to get them out somehow. So here we are.

First off, a shoutout and big thanks to nadia nova and SabrinaTVBand, the organizers of the jam and two amazing creators in their own right.

So here’s my idea. I’ll give a small introduction to my thoughts on this year’s jam after this, and then I’ll recommend five (maybe a few more) recommendations from this jam for you to play. Except a top-5 would be, I fear, a little repetitive. I know what I like in terms of VNs, and if I just listed my five favorites there’d be a bunch of the same type of VN, which is not my intention. I want a little variety.

As such, I’ll list out five different types of games, five categories decided completely arbitrarily by me, and assign a ‘best game’ to each of them. Because while I went through these entries, there were times I saved the heavy ones for when I was in the right headspace, and some of the softer ones for when I needed a break. So hopefully there’ll be a little something here for everyone.

Yeah? Yeah.

Some barely-connected thoughts about this jam, and my impressions so far.

Again, I’m speaking as someone who’s only been here for the past two jams, so I’m not sure how much insight I can give here. It’s just my thoughts and my impressions.

What caught my attention the most about this year’s jam, what pleasantly surprised me, was the variety of submissions. And I don’t mean that in genre or themes. Though there is a very healthy mix of those, but it’s more the types of stories, the way they were told and crafted, the skill that went behind them, that was so nice to see. And not to say it wasn’t good last year. I was just as impressed in 2023, playing game after game the likes of which I didn’t know I could have access to before.

And it’s not until I had this year to compare it to, I think, that I noticed how much more diverse the jam has gotten. And less streamlined, more blurry in a good way when it comes to intent, craft and themes in a way that kind of feels like a genre’s growth into something like negative capability, though that’s maybe too much to speculate for someone so new to it.

To put it more plainly, looking back I see a lot of what seem like similar through-lines, similar family trees you could say in the way a good number of the games were made, in what they reminded me of. You could tell there were some convergent inspirations. Which is common when it comes to artists and writers who know each other, and who surely recommend other works to each other that they’re particular to. Vonnegut, Nabokov, Mishima, Joseph Heller, Dennis Cooper, Dostoevsky and a pinch and a dash of Mark L. Danielewski; those are a few of the authors I kept thinking back on in retrospect as I re-visited last year’s games. And while they are fantastic inspirations, there’s a lot of intersecting lines in between them. A cultural and geographical quirk/fascination for a type of individualistic apathy that’s to be expected in a mostly English-speaking jam, and certainly not something that made me enjoy it or those games any less, but a scope I’m very happy to see widen in 2024’s set of submissions.

It’s just nice to have variety, you know? Also a bigger pool of myth re-imaginings and re-tellings, which I’m so happy to see this year. One of my favorite parts of any game jam is to play/read something and then immediately go experience whatever it was inspired by, and that this year’s jam gave me that opportunity many more times shows its growth alone, in my opinion.

And now I’ll give some examples. Not all of the categories will be about what I wrote above; there’ll still be a good amount of that goodness reminiscent of last year that made me fall in love with the jam in the first place. But there’ll be more of it than last time for sure.

In any case, here’s my five recommendations (plus a couple more) of games to play from this jam, each with an accompanying song of my choosing, most/all from my own country. We make good music, what do you want me to say?

Without further ado:

5 - “Porque no hay tiempo de amargarse ni llorar por un pasar mejor (Because there's no time to cry and feel bitter about what might’ve been).”

(Or: Psychosexual capitalist hellscape games)

Accompanying song: Cartonero by Ataque 77

This is, I’m sure, what many know the Yuri Game Jam best for, its bread and butter. And for good reason. You go to your favorite neighborhood food joint for the sandwich that reminds you of home, and you go to this particular game jam for the sopping wet pathetic girlthings being ground into paste by the masticating gears of capitalism. 

This year’s crop didn’t disappoint on that front. It was actually hell to decide a best for this category.

But ultimately, I think the spot has to go to Heatwave by deaddeaddeath.

Content warnings: Dehumanization, self-harm, blood and violence, religious and sexual abuse, and more. Carefully look over the CWs in the game page before playing.

As I said before, this was so, so difficult. I knew that Heatwave deserved a recommendation as soon as I played it; one of the first games I played from the jam, actually. And then I played so many more that were just as good in that regard. Games that could’ve just as easily taken this spot… but none who reached this level of excellence, if only by a hair’s width.

One of those games is EasyXShot, which could’ve been the one chosen had I written this list some other day. It really was that close (if this were a straight-up top five, EasyxShot would be up there) and it’s a game that deserves to be played as long as you read the CWs beforehand. It has an immaculate dynamic between its two main characters, which is all you need to build a story really, but this one goes above and beyond. Another is No Dogs Under Heaven, which isn’t as much about capitalism, but definitely about grinding and crushing. Though it’s unfinished as of the time of me writing this, it made someone like me who has zero religious trauma deeply, deeply uncomfortable in a way I look for in these types of games, and also deserves a recommendation.

Anyway, onto Heatwave.

Catgirl suffers in capitalist hellscape

…is the main tag for the game, and it’s accurate. Angel (it/its) is a young cat hybrid who is in a not thoroughly explained and dubiously-consensual relationship with an older woman who runs a bar, living upstairs and helping her with whatever it can, whether it be its body or its skills. Unfortunately, even this isn’t enough for Angel to earn a living, and her caretaker needs money to keep it at her side. Left with no other choices, Angel applies to be a guide for the Heatwave, an impossibly vast and physics-defying space in between spots in the world where a blisteringly hot suburban landscape stretches into infinity, sapping the will and sanity of all who enter without being able to navigate it, which Angel seems to have an aptitude for. What follows is one of the best visual novels I’ve ever played.

Above, I said that I appreciate games that spark in me the curiosity to go and experience what they were based on, and Heatwave did that twice for me. Once with Roadside Picnic, and once for Not I (although that one isn’t as tied to the game per se).

But beyond that, I picked Heatwave for this spot because I genuinely think every part of it just works. 

Writing, first and foremost. The prose is raw and evocative, a gut punch through words for every one there is textually within the story, and it reads so beautifully on top of that. ‘...wait until its shrapnel thoughts caltrop picasso’, as another reviewer commented, is one hell of a descriptive phrase. It’s the kind of prose that makes the eyes stick to every word.

The sound design and the use of sound assets is perfect for the setting. The visuals and the way they’re programmed, the sharp, static-y cut-ins and the PC-98 reminiscent decorative boxes around the game and around the character portraits are beautiful, and so are the portraits themselves. The expressions, the little facial animations, everything makes me want to learn how to do it myself.

Not to mention Del and Angel’s relationship, which is like watching a train speed full-steam ahead onto a concrete wall, and being unable to do anything about it. Angel’s struggles, its quirks and triggers and everything else about it is so well-thought out, and it’s all integrated into the setting of the game itself, into the Heatwave in a way that tells a story on top of another story without words.

Heatwave is an incredible piece of art, and it’s what I hope to see every time I play one of these games.

4 - “Los viejos reyes vendrán con la tempestad (The old kings will come riding atop the storm).”

(Or: Re-imaginings of myths and folklore.)

Accompanying song: El Reino Olvidado by Rata Blanca.

I couldn’t be happier that we’re spoiled for choice here, difficult though it makes choosing a best one amongst all these games. Though it’s not specifically mythological stories I wanted more of. It’s more the subtle differences like fingerprints that you can sometimes see in works made by non primarily English-speaking teams or developers, even if I’m not sure all the ones mentioned here count for that. Still, part of the reason I’ve been toying with the idea of launching a Global South game jam is to bring a little more spotlight to these kinds of stories, and to have them for myself so I can experience them, of course.

There were four games vying for this spot. First there’s Lanú, who I almost made the winner mostly because it’s a promising demo with an ambiance and a setting that really appeals to me, also being a Spanish-speaker, and the fact it’s also available in that language is a huge bonus. 

Second is Night on the Bayou, a hilarious and very competently-made game about a Lousiana deadwoman rising from her grave as all specters do at the same time of year, and going on a quest to marry to her beloved before her time is up and she has to go back to the bayou. The art and the sprites are gorgeous, and it was also this close to winning the spot.

Third is Prisoner of the Mist, a beautiful T4T re-imagining of a few Scottish and Gaelic myths with a lot of love and originality thrown in. Very moving, very gay. I’d definitely recommend trying it out if any of that appeals to you.

But yeah, in the end it is Larut that takes the cake.

Fuck, the art of this game is gorgeous.

And not just the spritework, though that’s flawless on its own, but the whole presentation of the game, almost like reading an illustrated book of an old myth, the kind I used to read as a kid to give myself nightmares. Not to say that the game falls squarely in the horror category. It leans more psychological on that front, and there’s a good deal of intrigue and godly politicking going on that makes you want to know more.

Larut is a re-telling of the Indonesian myth of Nyi Roro Kidul, the godly Queen of the Southern Sea, a figure as enigmatic as she is regally charming, and who sees fit to take a young woman under her fins after she’s lost everything at the hand of her abusive family, making her into her lady-in-waiting. Said woman, Kandita, becomes grateful and infatuated with Nyi Noro Kidul in equal measures, to worrying degrees.

To what extent is this within the queen’s expectations, however, is not clear.

Despite being a re-telling of an already existing myth, the care and meticulous detail that went into every aspect of this game is easily on par with the best of myth adaptations. As I said before, I could see this being sold as an illustrated book in a library and I wouldn’t bat an eye. It’s clear the developers, artists and writers were not only on the same page, but knew exactly what they were doing, exactly what they wanted to make from this myth.

And they succeeded with flying colors. Do yourself a favor and give it a try; it’s not every day you get the chance to learn about mythology in such a beautiful way.

3 - “Quiero besarla hasta sentir dolor (I want to kiss her until it hurts.)”

(Or: So, how ‘bout that yuri?)

Accompanying song: Enamorada by Miranda.

Picking the best yuri out of the whole of the biggest Yuri Game Jam so far is as much of a tall order as I imagined, but at least the other four categories were able to take some games to themselves, because otherwise this would be impossible.

In terms of queer relationships, character dynamics and just the vibes of the yuri, there’s going to be a lot of room for debate. I’m not judging any of these in terms of real-life relationships. Nor am I trying to find the coolest, most interesting character dynamic; you could say this is a spot for something softer, a break from the intensity and trauma of the other categories.

It’s about girls kissing, is what I’m trying to communicate.

But it is also about vibes, about what game I enjoyed the most while being mostly invested in the main couple, if that makes sense. If not, sorry. I just want to talk about this specific handful of stories. First come the honorable mentions, though:

Gap Moe Mob Boss is exactly what it says on the tin; a harsh, commanding dog-girl mob boss comes back from prison to find another gang trying to encroach in her territory, and she must balance her role as a mafioso with her desire to spend all her time in the café where her bunny-girl crush works. It’s sweet, it’s nice to play and it has more research into organized crime than you’d think. Then there’s The Delicate Hearts of Sincerely Affectionate Girls, a hand-drawn and colored comic about someone coming to terms with her identity and the way in which she sees love, different from those around her. It’s hard to find good non-traditional romance, and this one is very realistic and sweet on top of that, so give it a try. Finally there’s Mechanical Relations, straight from the creator of my favorite entry for this year’s Menhera game jam; a short, adorable RPG about a robot girl and her girlfriend crashing into a scrap planet and having sex while waiting to be rescued. Simple, but effective.

The spot, though, ultimately goes to Signal Strength because I think it deserves the spotlight.

This is a videotome game about a small group of lesbians who work at an agricultural research station and a radio communications center in some far-off moon away from Earth, with little to do every day except talk to each other online or riding tractors. Ming, who works at the former, is bored out of her mind. With little else to do, she comes up with the idea of filming a home-made children’s show for her little sibling, using what little resources she and her friends can gather and roping them into acting and filming roles, including her ex and radio operator, who is very awkward around her.

Signal Strength might be the shortest of the games mentioned for this category, but there’s just something about it. It’s a simple game, but everything feels on point. The videotome aspect and vibes of the whole thing are immaculate; it feels as though you’re watching it all through a cheap video camera, and the ambient rural sounds are very well picked and utilized.

Though it’s the setting and how the characters react to that made me fall in love with it. It really feels like watching a group of young queer people stuck in a rural area who have to come up with their own entertainment, and there’s something so charming about it. Not to mention that the main relationship of the game is as realistically painful as these things usually are, especially when everyone knows each other where you live.

Also I thought the ending was very cute and appropriate.

It really is a nice, bite-sized gem of yuri, and that’s exactly what I wanted for this category, so go play Signal Strength. I doubt you’ll be disappointed.

2 - “I don’t actually have lyrics for this one.”

(Or: The best executed concept/well put together game).

Accompanying song: Fine, a small break from Argentinian rock. Go listen to the opening song for the 90’s anime adaptation of B’t X, it fucks.  

I wanted a category where I could talk about the games I thought worked well from front to end, the ones that had a concept and executed it perfectly or those that were really nicely crafted, though I’m not talking about production values.

Basically, the games where I didn’t have anything I would’ve personally fixed about it. The ones I looked at and thought ‘Yep, everything’s perfectly in place, what a tight narrative, it’s exactly what it needs to be’. Believe it or not, it’s hell to do that on purpose. 

And how wonderful that there were enough of these that I had trouble deciding, but also how stressful. These are the honorable mentions.

I feel bad I couldn’t give the spot to Monstrous Deep Blue, so you should go play it. The concept is simple; what if a tokusatsu episode but with sad trans girls who are terrible at expressing their emotions and being honest with each other? And it’s so well-executed. The story is exactly as long and as well-written as any of the best tokusatsu eps. and the spritework is adorable, not to mention the characters themselves. It’s a good one.

Then there’s Meat Girl! I loved this one. A short RPG about a girl who goes to the forest in search of her girlfriend who vanished months ago, but whom she couldn’t search for before because she was too numb and depressed. And in the meantime, it seems, said girlfriend has made friends with an angel who seems to want something from her. Also meat. Also mycelium networks. It’s short but quite punchy, definitely give it a try.

Anyway, I think the most impressive game of this jam is Bridgewater Deepwood Access Radio.

I would kill for Zinnia Braxton.

But anyway, this was the latest entry out of any of the ones in this list, but as soon as I finished playing I knew it deserved a mention. Even though it’s just a demo, it’s the game I enjoyed playing/reading the most, and I was really impressed all throughout by the care and polish that went into every little detail, big or insignificant.

Bridgewater Deepwood Access Radio is about a pair of lesbian coworkers who do a late-night paranormal radio show together, taking calls and listening to people’s supposed paranormal stories, injecting their own thoughts and theories in between. Reb is the romantic out of the romantic/detective dichotomy, maybe not fully buying every story but doing her best to let people be heard, while Zinnia is very much on the opposite camp, a stubborn and sometimes rude skeptic that can barely wait for people to finish telling their stories before shooting ten different holes into them.

The dynamic is really well-written, first of all. Skeptic/believer is a classic for a reason, one of my favorites, and adding Reb and Zinnia’s wildly different personalities and the way they’re both obviously into each other yet only one seems aware is very entertaining to read. Also they’re funny. This game is really funny, which is something that’s hard to do on purpose.

Then there’s the framing of the story. Though six (or more) are planned for the full release, the demo counts with four callers, each one with their own paranormal story to tell, each written and illustrated by a different person, to give the whole thing a bigger ‘anthology’ feel. And it’s hard to overstate just how much that helps the concept.

Though there were four of them, I couldn’t pick a favorite out of the callers/stories told in the demo. Each is unsettling in a very different way. Each draws you in as much as it does Reb and Zinnia, until the latter has a harder and harder time denying something weird is going on. Not to mention the music and the illustrations that every separate artist/composer provide adds to its own tale wonderfully.

Then there’s the honestly beautiful UI work. You look at the girls as though from behind a producer booth, complete with a multitude of buttons and switches and little doodads you can stim with while you experience each of the stories, each one with their own distinct and satisfying click-y sound. And it’s not just the outline. Every visual and audio touch to the UI transitions, to the main menu, even to the transitions of the scenes themselves is so polished and satisfying to experience.

I can’t imagine how much work from so many different people must’ve gone into this. A real team effort. And after playing it, I had to give it a topping spot on this list just on that alone, even if there’s many more reasons why I think it deserves it.

Not the least of which being that out of all the unfinished games on this jam, this is the one I want to see continued the most. I remain on the edge of my seat.

1 - “Pero no detendrán la primavera (But you won’t stop Spring from coming.)”

(Or: A shield of love and a spear of pure spite against the onslaught of fascism)

(Or: “You can’t all be posting on twitter, some of you fuckers gotta help your community”)

Accompanying song: Primavera by La Mancha de Rolando.

This might be the least populated, least complicated of the five categories, but it’s the one that matters to me the most. And while there are a handful of games that could fit here if I stretched the definition a little, there’s only one I feel really deserves both the mention and the spot, and I want to jump straight into it because I have a lot to say here.

She Was Swallowed by the Sun is my favorite game of this year’s Yuri Game Jam. Which doesn’t surprise me, as the people who made it, Snek (writer), Blood Machine (artist) and CØL (music) are also responsible for another one of my favorites from last year’s jam, and I am obsessed with everything they make together. 

Content Warnings: Bloody yet consensual sex scenes, state violence and sexual assault, unrelenting and suffocating fascism, gore, body horror and a lot more. Please read the game’s CWs written in the Main Menu and consider them before playing.

Previously I talked about how glad I was for the widening scope of this year’s crop of games in terms of themes and apparent inspirations, and while maybe running similar paths to some of those I mentioned, She Was Swallowed by the Sun veers in a completely different direction, in a good way. I’ll explain with a bit of a tangent before getting into the game proper:

Many of the transgressive fiction I’ve played on itch.io since developing an interest in OEVNs have done a very good job at depicting the realities of being queer, of being part of any minority while living under capitalism or fascism, probably far better than I could, and that’s part of what keeps me coming back to certain authors in the sphere. But there’s sometimes aspects of said games that fail to resonate with me fully. The… to put it unfairly, somewhat apathetic and individualistic view of one’s fate when living under these conditions does resonate, it’s true and raw and something I’m always happy to see, but there’s something about the flavor, the way it’s written that clashes with my own experiences having grown up where I have.

I guess it feels like it lacks some bite, compared to what I grew up reading? Which is no fault of the writing itself; not every story, not even this type, needs that kind of bite and I don’t want to imply that it makes those stories lesser in any way. I’m just describing the feeling of welcomed surprise that comes when you go to a restaurant in a foreign country and they make food exactly how you’re used to eating it back home. 

To put it bluntly, and not to toot my own horn but more that of those who came before me, our works of the same genre tend to skew more hopeful and defiant than the Anglo/Euro/American literature I’ve been catching up on these past few years. I guess having been the first Latin-American country to put its CIA-backed dictators to trial, and to force the man responsible for the death and disappearance of over 30.000 of our most vulnerable to die cold and alone in a cell, shitting himself to death, does give you a bit of an ego when it comes to standing up fascism. 

And right now, with those who would gladly follow in his footsteps, who would gladly throw our culture and history away and and gag on America’s cock currently in charge of our country, with our most vulnerable at risk again… Hopefully you can understand why I’d appreciate a game like She Was Swallowed by the Sun so much. A game about willing to put a bullet in your own head if it comes out the other end and goes into a fascist’s skull as well.

Anyway, enough about that. Watch Argentina 1985 if you wanna learn more, but now let’s get back to the game.

She Was Swallowed by the Sun stars One, a woman who was sent to prison for the supposed crime of trying to grow a Godseed, a dubious artifact that if fed by One’s body and the right amount of ‘shrines’ in specific locations, has the power to ‘call the sun’. To say more on that front would be spoilers. After spending a long time in prison, hiding the Godseed from the state within her own body, she returns to her old home where Anhedonia, her girlfriend and the one who’s been slipping her drugs that allowed her to halt the Godseed’s growth inside her, is waiting for her.

What follows is nearly 30k words of One and Anhedonia’s daily life as they continue their revolutionary work, using One’s body to feed the Godseed -which causes her indescribable pain- and putting in place all the necessary shrines for the day of reckoning, the only chance anyone might have to deal a fatal blow to the fascist state they live under.

And in the meantime, knowing full well that their deaths are swiftly approaching, One and Anhedonia live their lives. They cook stuff for each other, they go out on dates, they have bloody sex on multiple occasions and they hang out with their only friend now and then, being adorable gay dorks.

If that contrast sounds as interesting to you as it did to me, you might get why I love this game so much. Of course that balance can’t last forever. Of course things deteriorate. The Godseed continually feasts on One’s insides, sprouting eyes all over her that give her a near-divine cognizance that’s too much to bear, and the price she and Anhedonia have to pay in order to make it to the end is more than either of them can mentally or physically stand, and yet they do it anyway. To say more would, again, be spoilers, but the rounding third of the game is a series of scenes that feel like a knife is being twisted inside your gut continuously.

And yet One and Anhedonia never stop being cute, gay dorks in love with each other.

It’s not just the unfathomable acts of love they perform for each other, it’s not just the determination to die for their cause or the unfairness of it all. It’s the feeling that this is something that must have happened in the real world, multiple times.

She Was Swallowed by the Sun does not pull its punches. Its setting might have some fantastical elements, but the pain and oppressive hold of fascism are very real. And that, combined with the way the story itself is resolved, feels almost like a love story to those who have died maybe not for the righteous wish for a better tomorrow, but simply because they can’t live unless they push back.

The way self-sacrifice is shown in the game is refreshing. It’s often not a decision taken in the heat of the moment but a series of decisions taken deliberately over the course of months if not years. It’s sitting alongside the people you love and every day choosing to further a plan that you know will kill you, or them, or all of you, because you just have to. Those around you wouldn’t love you if you chose to do anything else.

And the way that is shown, brought to a boil and then a post-conflagration simmer deserves all the praise I can give. I love this shit. I love this game. If you can stomach the content warnings, I’d say give it a chance to make you love it too.

Closing thoughts

Hard to believe that a couple people working together to organize an event like this, plus all the support and encouragement from the other jammers in the Discord server, is all it takes to bring over a hundred yuri games into the world.

It boggles the mind to see a niche like this grow so much year after year, and it makes me very excited to see what 2025’s gonna bring on that front. Personally, I wouldn’t mind seeing some shonen yuri VNs. Nadia nova has done some good work there already, but there can always be more.

And again, big thanks to nadia and SabrinaTVBand for making this all possible and for moderating the community out of the goodness in their hearts. This jam means a lot to me, and a lot of people, and without it we wouldn’t have so many incredible games.

Until next year then, and do try to give these reccs a try. I’d bet you’re not gonna be disappointed.

[heyitsmeyourfavoritechick]

* ˚ ✦Capricorn observation* ˚ ✦

• Like any earth sign they like a timeless look or something fitting to their environment (messy environment messy look, clean environment clean look, picking up what I’m putting down?)

It also kind applies to when they’re looking for love interests.

• Very “old school” probably has a collection of some kind, maybe along the lines of retro memorabilia or collections of antiques (that they only think looks good) or they’re place looks bare because they could never spend money on “that pointless crap”

(I’ve almost met a lot of Capricorn placements who collects comic books.)

• They could never spend large amounts of money unless it’s apart of their “whole master plan” aka they will do anything to get ahead in their job or career even if it means hurting your feelings or taking your position!

That’s earths sign kinda of competitiveness.

• I personally feel like thrifting was invented by a Capricorn or the Russian mail order bride service, both ends mean business for one common thing, not love…. But money.

In some cases it means love.

• Capricorn in love is like a strong tree trunk if you appreciate it enough and have enough patience.

Can you stay all 4 seasons?

• Can you handle a Capricorn’s depression or seasonal depression because they rather get the bag than celebrate holidays including if they live far away from family.

•Free time for Capricorn means learning/ planning how to get more money when they DO have free time (which is never, they’re always busy) or tinkering around trying to make something (crafty) or fixing something that needed to be fixed 6 months ago.

They procrastinate a bit here and there.

• Just like a cancer they like they’re space and personal space but not carrying they’re home on they’re back like cancer, that’s what they lack and leads them to depression, dating a cancer can help them gain that nostalgia back for them but won’t solve there depression! (Don’t use water signs as emotional body bags.

• They do love the used, daddy issues, mommy issues people, because earlier on their life or childhood they had to grow up fast and never really shown love or proper love towards them. So they do the same.

Whata cycle Capricorn!

• They mentally think like a teenager but have a body like a 80 year old. Having back pains in highschool? And problems with they’re knees?

• Do you have crooked teeth? Deep voice? Sometimes raspy? Small face features but a long nasal cavity? Did you ever have those gold/silver caps in your teeth while growing up?

• The males are into older women, and women are into younger guys.

• Shy when it comes to love but very confident when it comes to money.

• Once when you have everything why do you feel like you gotta keep searching?

•How does it feel to chase something you don’t even know what your chasing?

[supernovafics]

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: explicit language, some mentions of alcohol, parent drama (both reader’s and steve’s parents suck)

summary: in which your parents and steve’s come over for dinner 

author's note: this has absolutely nothing to do with the harry styles song but the title of it is just very fitting so yeah<33 i’ve been rewatching a lot of gilmore girls this fall season so i feel like that's helped me get the hang of writing awkward/tense dinners with family lol so this needed to be done

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Fall 1985

When your and Steve’s parents first suggested this “early Thanksgiving dinner,” you thought that it wouldn’t actually happen. 

The initial idea sounded pretty funny to you— your parents and Steve’s parents would have a full on dinner at your apartment a week before the actual holiday. Yeah, right.

It sounded like the kind of idea that parents that really cared about spending time with their children would have, and that wasn’t how you’d necessarily describe yours or Steve’s. 

A month ago, when they told you about the ski trip the four of them were going on during the entire week of Thanksgiving, you expected to just not see them probably until Christmas— and that felt like a bit of relief to you because spending time with your parents wasn’t your favorite hobby.  

But then you remembered how, only during the holidays, your parents always had a need to show, or maybe more so “prove” to themselves, that they actually cared about you. So, of course, they wouldn’t let this stupid holiday go, and instead they thought that it would be best if you all did something early and together. 

And sadly, none of the immediate excuses that you and Steve came up with worked because your moms had solutions for everything.

When you told yours that the kitchen in the apartment was too small to cook for this kind of elaborate dinner, she simply told you that they’d buy and bring all of the food and you and Steve wouldn’t have to cook at all. She also not-so-jokingly mentioned that she would’ve never trusted either of you two cooking anyway.

And when Steve told his mom that the current dining table you two had was way too small to fit all six of you, she promptly had one ordered and delivered to your door in just a week. It was an expensive dark wood set that could comfortably fit six people, and you and Steve spent hours struggling to build it the day it showed up at your front door. It took up an obscene amount of space, but it did actually look kind of nice.

Now it was weeks later and the dreaded night was finally here, but you still tried to come up with any way to avoid it from happening. 

“And we’re sure that we really can’t get out of doing this tonight?” You asked Steve as you folded the blanket that was lying half-hazardly on the couch. “I could call my mom and say that we’ve somehow fallen tragically ill in the last hour?”

“I’m ninety-five percent sure that they’re all already on their way.”

“Shit.”

“It’ll be fine,” Steve said, and then he considered his words. “Actually, it will probably suck, but overall, we will be fine.” 

You let out a sigh and placed the now folded blanket back on the couch and then started cleaning off the coffee table, stacking the random magazines in a neat pile and then adjusting Harold’s cage so that it was nicely in the center. Your and Steve’s shared pet hamster was currently nibbling on the food that you had put in his bowl only moments ago. 

An abrupt feeling of worry shot through you as you looked around the apartment. The place was clean— probably the cleanest it had ever been— since you and Steve had spent the day doing everything to avoid either of your parents saying anything bad about the place. However, in the grand scheme of things, you knew that it didn’t matter because they’d still hate the apartment. They would hate how you two decided to furnish and decorate it, and they would passive aggressively make fun of the place for however long this dinner would have to be.

“Let’s try not to think about how bad this night is gonna be and just be glad that we’re not gonna have to suffer alone, like usual,” Steve said, practically reading your mind and the look on your face, as he started setting plates out on the new table. 

He was completely right. This was the first time that a collective Thanksgiving was happening among all of you. Usually, it was just you alone with your parents in Chicago visiting family members that you never talked to, and Steve was doing the same exact thing except he was in Indianapolis. You’d always end up calling each other at the end of the night from the hotel or family house you were staying at, and you’d tell each other stories about whatever weird family members you encountered or how boring it all was. 

It did make things feel a bit better that, for once, you didn’t have to go through this alone and neither did Steve.

“You’re right,” You said with a nod and then smiled. “We’ll be going through this shitshow together.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and since Steve was closer he went to answer it. You took one brief and final look around the apartment before heading toward the door too, so Steve didn’t have to be by himself in this greeting.

“Hi,” He said when he opened the door and saw all of your parents standing there. There was a bright smile on his face and he effortlessly turned on that “Steve Harrington charm” that people had adored in high school— you hadn’t even gone to the same high school as him, but you still heard so many of the stories.

A chorus of Hi’s and Hello’s were heard as your moms entered the apartment first since they were carrying all of the food and your dads followed in right behind them.

“I still hate that you moved into a place that doesn’t have a front doorman, or, at least, a buzzer system,” Were your dad’s first words to you; deciding against saying the simple “How are you?” that you had expected. “You two should get a better lock on your door.”

You laughed a bit. “We live in Hawkins, not New York, Dad. I don’t think anyone is really itching to rob us anytime soon.” 

“Anything can happen,” He responded, looking at you seriously. “I’ll bring you a new one when we get back from Colorado.”

You only nodded at his words instead of saying anything to rebut them; you knew that he overall meant well. “Okay.”

Your attention turned to your mom and she pulled you into a hug that felt way too forced before pulling away and giving you a quick onceover. “Oh… Is that what you’re wearing?”

You thought that your outfit was fine; a V-neck navy blue knit sweater that was a bit cropped and a simple pair of black jeans. But, your mom always managed to find something wrong with everything, so this reaction to your current outfit didn’t necessarily surprise you; it did still annoy you all the same, though.

“Oh, um, no I was just about to change,” You told her and forced a small smile.

She nodded at that. “Okay, that’s good, that’s good. You go change while Christine and I get the table set up.”

You started heading toward your room but looked back at Steve first. He was in a conversation with his parents that looked like they were doing much more of the talking than him. As if sensing your gaze on him, his eyes met yours and he gave you a hopeful look and that was enough to make you feel a little better.

It didn’t take long for you to change. You kept your sweater on but traded your jeans for the long black silk skirt that your mom had always liked on you. You hoped this slightly different outfit would be enough to satisfy her, and if not, you were willing to suffer through her inevitable look of disappointment. 

You lingered in your room, tidying up your desk for no particular reason and then deciding to remake your bed. It was clear that you were stalling, avoiding having to face your parents again, and as much as you wanted to continue doing that, you also didn’t want to leave Steve to fend for himself. You were supposed to be suffering together, after all. 

You immediately noticed the dining table when you walked out of your bedroom. The food was now nicely set out and there were even brown placemats sitting underneath the plates that Steve had already set out. It was all set up in a way that would’ve felt nice and wholesome if either of your families had ever remotely felt like the ones portrayed in most TV shows or movies. But, they weren’t anywhere close to being like that, so this all just felt weirdly forced.

Of course, you didn’t say that, though.

Instead, you sat down with everyone at the table and desperately hoped that the next few hours of your life would breeze by. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“From the brochure, the pictures of the cabin look really great. We hope it actually looks that way in person,” Steve’s mom, Christine, said. 

You took another bite of the mac and cheese on your plate as you continued to listen to your parents talk about their ski trip that was happening next week, which they had been doing for the last twenty minutes and you fully didn’t mind it. Since the conversation wasn’t centered on either you or Steve, things actually didn’t feel tense or nervewracking. If you could just make your parents talk about themselves during the entire dinner, you would probably end the night with a smile on your face. 

“Oh, and there are a lot of bedrooms too,” Your mom chimed in before taking another sip from the wine glass in her hand. “Maybe you two could take a trip up there soon and invite your friends to go too.” 

“Yeah, that would be nice,” You said with a small nod.

“Enough talking about the trip, though, that’s probably so boring for your kids to hear about,” Your dad said, and you internally sighed because you knew the exact direction the conversation was about to go in. You felt him look at you. “How’s school been going? The semester is almost over.”

“It’s been good,” You answered, keeping your response short and sweet. You decided not to mention that you really couldn’t care less about the majority of your classes because none of what you were doing in any of them felt like it really mattered. 

“Okay, and your grades and everything are fine, right?”

You only nodded in response to his question, hoping that your lack of actual words would signal to him that you wanted to bring an end to this topic of conversation. Of course, that was only wishful thinking.

“That’s good,” Your mom said. “You have to make sure your grades stay like how they were in high school, or even better, for when you transfer to the University of Chicago. We don’t want to have any reason for them not to accept you again.” 

You suddenly felt like you were right back in middle school and high school, where your conversations with your parents solely revolved around school; what your grades were, if you were doing your homework and completing assignments on time, and studying for tests. It always annoyed you that the only times they would bother to pay attention to you was when it came to that stuff. Other than that, you were always seemingly an afterthought, never a bigger priority than their jobs. 

In a way, this entire conversation should’ve been expected; it was always inevitable. Pretty much anytime you talked to your parents in recent months, the discussion always seemed to circle its way back to that school and you going there in two years instead of right now, like they had wanted you to.

“I’m still so surprised that you decided to not go to the University of Chicago now,” Christine said and you turned your attention to her. It was starting to feel a bit painful to you that the subject still hadn’t changed yet. “When Steve told me that you were going to go to the community college close by, I couldn’t believe it, honestly.”

You noticed your parents share a look upon hearing her words. The mix of disappointment and annoyance toward you that was shared between them in that moment felt palpable. 

“I didn’t think it was time to leave Indiana just yet. I’ll be going soon, though,” You said, keeping your voice light and plastering on a fake smile, even though all you wanted to do in that moment was leave the table and hideout in your bathroom for the rest of the night. 

You saw your dad smile a little and then you also noticed the look of relief wash over your mom’s face. For some stupid reason, you still felt the need to make them feel pleased with you. And somehow that made you feel even more upset with yourself than anything they had said to you so far tonight. 

The only thing that managed to make things feel remotely tolerable right then was Steve sitting across from you, giving you a look that said, “Everything will be okay.” For the time being, you chose to believe him and you simply took another bite of your food. 

You were about to say something about how good the turkey was so your moms would start talking about the restaurant they got all of the food from and why they chose it— you were sure that there was some story behind it all— and that would finally bring an end to the college conversation. But, before a word could leave your mouth, Steve’s dad began speaking. 

“Well, at least, you’re in college. We can’t say the same for Steve here.” He then looked at his son. “Do you really want to work at a video store for the rest of your life?”

 Christine let out a sigh. “Jeff.”

“What?” He shrugged as if his previous question wasn’t completely condescending. “I’m just asking a question.”

“I’m actually starting at the community college next semester,” Steve told his parents and you tried to hide your immediate confusion. “I found out I got in a few days ago.”

“Well, that’s great,” Christine said happily, and Jeff smiled approvingly as well. 

You had no idea Steve had gotten in or even applied, and you wondered if he was lying right then to just get his parents off his back, but you couldn’t tell. Something about the way he said it honestly felt pretty real. The only part that didn’t feel real was that you were finding out during this dumb dinner instead of at any other time. 

“So, I was wondering,” Your mom began and you braced yourself for the impact of whatever she was going to say. “Why did you two decide to get a hamster? I feel like it makes things smell a bit funny in here…”

A part of you was glad that the conversation finally shifted away from college. But you didn’t think that the passive aggressive comments toward the apartment would begin with Harold. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Well, this night was fucking brutal.”

You let out a sigh. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Steve was doing the dishes as you put what was left of the food into tupperwares and then put them in the fridge. Surprisingly, it was a lot of stuff leftover; your moms definitely went overboard with the amount they had ordered. You and Steve already made plans to invite Robin and Eddie over tomorrow to have some of these leftovers.

“I’m actually glad that the dessert tasted bad since it made them want to leave early.”

“It was honestly a bit bittersweet because I was kind of excited for that pie,” You said as you placed the final tupperware of food into the fridge and then went over to Steve. “Oh, and also,” You punched his arm and ignored his immediate “ouch.” “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that the stars have finally managed to align and we’ll finally be going to the same school for the first time ever?”

He smiled a little at your dramatics. “I didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it just in case I somehow didn’t end up getting in. I swear I was gonna tell you tomorrow.”

“So, you did all of that annoying application stuff by yourself?”

“Robin helped me with it.”

“I would’ve been happy to help you,” You told him, and maybe you were being a bit overdramatic, but you actually felt slightly offended that he hadn’t wanted to come to you about this. 

The possibility of you two going to the same middle or high school was a far out idea that never happened because you lived in different towns. But, it was still something that was adamantly and wistfully talked about by you and him; how much more fun both of your school lives could be if they intersected in that way like the other parts of your lives did. 

Of course, going to the same college would’ve been the most obvious way for it to finally happen, but Steve never seemed that interested in going to college, and up until the last possible second you were being pushed toward Chicago by your parents. 

But now things were finally different.

“I know that you would’ve, but I didn’t want to talk about it to anyone, honestly. Robin saw me working on the application one day and decided to help,” He explained and you only gave him a small nod in response. “I didn’t even think I’d tell my parents about it, but when I heard my dad’s dumb comment about Family Video I felt like I had to say it so he wouldn’t keep looking at me like a disappointment.” He sighed. “And it’s kinda fucked up… I really don’t wanna care what my parents think about me and what I’m doing with my life, but I think there will always be a part of me that does.”

You thought back to your dad’s approving smile and your mom’s relieved look when you reassured them that you still planned to go to the University of Chicago; how much you still wanted to make them feel at least a little proud of you even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“Me too,” You said softly. 

“I’m glad we probably won’t have to see them again until Christmas.”

You sighed. “Apparently, my dad is gonna bring us a new lock for the door when they get back from their trip.”

“Oh,” Steve said and then smiled at you when it looked like he thought of something. “Okay, what are the odds that he’ll just send someone to put the new lock on the door instead of coming himself?”

You thought about it for a second. “Honestly, I’d say there’s a pretty good chance that would happen. He’ll probably be too busy with work after the trip to actually come and do it himself.”

“Okay, let’s hope for that,” He said as he finished washing the last plate and placed it on the drying rack. “So, since the dessert was a bust tonight, do you wanna go to the diner? I’m sure Mary would never fuck up her apple pie. And then when we get back, we can finish that bottle of wine that our moms left.”

You smiled at his suggestion. “You have a brilliant mind, Harrington.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques]

An Unorthodox Fic Recommendation

Hey, everyone.

So I’d been wanting to write this post for a while, but I’d had a hard time finding the words to articulate my exact feelings for a good long while now. But in the spirit of the holidays, goodwill towards all, and so on and so forth, I’ve somehow managed to catch my breath.

I dipped pretty suddenly from fandom earlier this year for multiple reasons, most of which fell under the umbrella of a very real and very unfortunate truth: I was sick. Stupid sick. And fandom, while obviously not the only thing contributing to this by a long mile, was not conducive to me getting better.

My drinking, you see, had gotten bad in a way that is honestly humbling to think about now; it was at levels that were both physically and mentally dangerous and unsustainable. Moreover, it was beginning to affect the people I love most in this world. And, unfortunately, pounding back a glass, a bottle, two bottles of wine, hey maybe I can run to the gas station for a few mini bottles of whiskey to end the night went hand-in-hand with writing and my fandom experience in general.

I won’t go into the details of my actual rock bottom, besides that it hit in March of this year and that I’m grateful it was relatively minor compared to many of the stories I’ve heard in my recovery journey. But suffice to say, I checked into rehab and everything had to go on the back burner from that point on. I’m lucky that I had the unwavering love and support of my husband, my family, my work, and my friends (including a bunch of people I’ve met through this fandom specifically--put a pin in that) to start down that path, because all the same, it has often been a very lonely, very dark, and very isolating place to be. But so is addiction.

So here I am, hours and hours of group counseling, enough EMDR therapy to relive every childhood trauma in the book, countless tweakings of my meds, endless bottles of Coke Zero later, and I’m almost ten months sober.

And I find myself asking now what?

One of the biggest challenges in early sobriety, you learn quickly, is redefining fun for yourself in a world without your substance of choice, without the very thing that feeds your ego and silences your self-criticisms, without what feels like the only thing propelling you from one bleak day to the next. And for a long time, I worried that fandom had stopped being fun. That the joy of writing had been permanently ruined by the associations I’d made with drinking and negative related experiences.

But, back to my fandom friends. I worried so much they would lose interest in me as a person--that I’d become too boring or depressing or unfun in this next leg of life to want to stick around. I’ve found the opposite to be true--from the countless yapping sessions up and down 8th Avenue and booze-free hangouts, to the endless DMs of advice and memes, to the long heart-to-hearts over pots of tea, to… watching whatever the fuck is going on in the David Staller version and having a good long laugh. I didn’t expect this coming into 2024--I don’t know what I expected, honestly, besides maybe the hospital and divorce papers and more loneliness--and leaving this year behind me knowing I’ve got that means the world to me.

So all this is to say, one of the other things that helped me pull through this challenging period of life has been, surprisingly enough, fan fiction.

Particularly Battered Dove by BattyDings.

Modern AUs are always really hard to pull off, at least to me, in a way that feels satisfying. (This is why I am a coward and don’t write them lol.) More often than not, there’s a tendency for the story to get caught up in retrofitting the more melodramatic, antiquated elements (I say this with love) into a world where they can’t really exist with a straight face, and often at the cost of the characterizations and plot. The best modern AUs, for me, lean into the framework of what is there thematically: the ideas of loneliness, manipulation, dependency (themselves all negative aspects of addiction) balanced against the possibility of redemption, love, and making amends.

And in Battered Dove, BattyDings has rather brilliantly transposed these things into the context of substance abuse and addiction. If Phantom is a story about two lonely broken people getting caught up in a shared passion that brings out the best and worst in each other (particularly Erik lol), then Battered Dove sees our dynamic duo thrown together by a mutual past in drugs and hopefully redeemed by the music they make together.

It’s often a hard and unflinching read, and one that in other hands could easily come off as crass or edgelord-y. But in Batty’s hands, Battered Dove is a thoughtful, sensitive, tender unraveling of the Erik and Christine dynamic that keeps me coming back: that is, the only way they can “get well” is by going through something that is arguably more painful and terrifying than the present reality they live in: giving up what they think they love most.

I’ve read this story multiple times over the years and was always tremendously moved by the simple but powerful interpretation laid out in this fic; in pre-contemplation, when I’d be crawling into bed drunk every night and wondering if this was how I was going to die, bits and pieces of it would come to me. Me in bed, on the verge of blacking out, thinking about Phantom of the Opera fan fiction, wondering if I could do better (nah, no, I couldn’t. Not me.) Rereading Battered Dove for the first time after starting rehab and getting well into this journey was all the more astounding.

Phantom of the Opera, for me, is not the story of a monster who brutalizes women and we’re somehow supposed to feel bad or glean some larger, cynical message about the world from it; for me, it is a story of bittersweet hope--a slow, sad hope that the ones we love and that the ones we’ve hurt will feel peace and sunshine, without the guaranteed promise or reward we will feel it for ourselves. But that, in our selfless kindnesses born out of real love and care for others, we can at least begin to see a better version of ourselves staring back at us--no matter how broken, how lonely, how downright used and ugly we feel.

To me, that is recovery. That is what the last ten months have been. There is no guarantee who I will be in a year--what wrongs I will right, what truths I will uncover, or even if I'll have managed to maintained my sobriety (though I feel hopeful). I am promised nothing but the day in front of me and the little, powerful joy I get in doing right by the universe with each passing hour.

And Battered Dove captures that perfectly. Can’t recommend that enough.

Thank you for being a friend and source of light through this hard time, @battydings. Pls accept this humble doodle and biggest thank you for writing such a wonderful, heartfelt story.

[backtothefanfiction]

Hiii! i love your writing 😘 if your ok with writing this could i request some fluffy dad!felix catton if you have any in store?! again, totally understand if your uncomfortable writing this or just don’t want to 😊😊

It’s taken me a while to get to this because I’ve been struggling to find my way in when it comes to Felix as a Dad. I’m not sure if I do have a Dad!Felix fluff in me but I do have some thoughts/head canons on Felix as a Dad as a whole I’m slowly developing. So here are those…

Felix is all in in the newborn stage. It’s a novelty for him. The easy stage before they find their voices and start screaming the place down. When all you have to do is hold them, feed them, change them. He’s so there for that.

He’s happy to get up in the middle of the night, looking out the windows at the grounds with a baby in his arms, telling stories and recounting memories of his youth and that time running around the grounds with Farleigh and Venetia.

He loves see you with HIS child. He’s very protective. While you lie in his bed with tea and toast, feeding your child he shoos everyone else from the room, not wanting to share that sight or special time with anyone else in the family. Venetia is the only one who occasionally slips through the cracks. (She is a great aunt to your child by the way)

When the baby starts to grow older though he begins to struggle. You are a very hands on parent in comparison to him and he’s happy for you to be. After all his mother was very hands on with him and Venetia, however as a child he never saw his Dad there as much as his Mum and so has adopted a similar way of thinking that of his father and grandfather that fussing kids is a Mother problem.

Don’t get me wrong, he still loves showing up to be the fun dad. Running across the lawns with them. Enabling their hobbies and paying for anything they want. But when it comes to the hard stuff you feel completely abandoned.

As time goes on you realise you aren’t on the same wave length about parenting at all. And a lot of that has to do with Felix’s upbringing and family.

Elspeth is always there to step in and make a fuss, forcing herself on her grandchildren like she makes everything better, but often (especially if a child is already in a tantrum state it can sometimes make it worse until she just hands the child back and leaves you with a screaming child.

When Felix’s mates come knocking, asking him to go on golfing or skiing holidays with them it’s always “you’ve got this, haven’t you babe? Great. I love you. See you in a week.”

And because that’s how Felix was raised, what he observed from his family over the years, he honestly knows no better.

“If you’re struggling we can just get a Nanny.” He says when you confront him. It always has you seeing red. “I don’t want a Nanny Felix. I want US to raise our kids.”

You realise the only way things will change is if you all get out of that house and away from his family. So you give him the ultimatum: “it’s either us or your family.”

Of course it’s that honour in him, that unspoken traditional allegiance to your wife and kids that has him reluctantly agreeing, hoping in a few months you’ll see sense and see how difficult it is without all the servants and his daddy’s money. But you thrive, despite the way Felix shuffles his feet and does the bare minimum in protest.

After another argument where you tell him to show up or fuck off back to his family he finally takes you seriously and the more time he spends with you and your family and more modest hands on parenting and living styles he begins to thrive, seeing that the grass can be greener on the other side.

The more time away from his family he sees how toxic his families dynamic is. When you visit he sticks up for his kids and is protective of them when his parents begin to push their values and views on his kids.

You stand by him as he begins to put in boundaries and really analyse his life, his youth, his privilege and how it has in fact hindered him in life in so many basic ways. You support him and feel pride when he helps enforce those boundaries around his parents, his family as he ultimately gives them the same ultimatum you gave him all those years ago.

Although his father is reluctant, Elspeth is desperate to know her grandchildren and apologised to you both and promises to respect your parenting choices and swears to try and uphold those values in front of your children as much as she can.

With the new boundaries in place, summers in Saltburn become regular things for your kids. All of you playing together on the grounds. Chasing each other through the maze. Swimming in the pool and the lake.You and Felix set up scavenger hunts for your kids. And they ultimately grow up with the best of both worlds.

So yeah. Those are my more realistic Dad Felix thoughts. Tell me what you think….

[darlingshane]

Salt of the Earth ~ Part 1

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x OFC

Summary: She was Carmy's best friend growing up, and Michael never looked at her as anything other than that until years later when she comes back to Chicago to start over. In the process, she turns his sorry excuse of a life upside down.

Content/Warnings: Friends to lovers, Fluff, Angst, Family Drama, Dysfunctional relationships, Implied/referenced drug addiction, Alcohol mention, Divorce, Pets, Pet names, Dialogue heavy. Undisclosed age gap (in my mind Michael is late 30s and OC is late 20s, but it's really up to your interpretation).

Word Count: 6.8k // 4 chapters // AO3 link.

A/N: This is set in the year of the Fishes episode on season 2. It starts in summer and slowly builds up to that Christmas.

— This was an anon request that I got a few months ago, I hope you're still around. I tried to fit all the ideas you sent as best I could. There's a bit of info dump on the first chapter, but I hope it isn't too off-putting.

Chapter 1: Best thing since sliced bread

Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes elongate into long hours on slow days like this at The Beef. Especially in summer when the air conditioner stops working for the second time in the middle of August. Any living soul that crosses that door must have a dying wish or be the devil themselves to adventure themselves to what has become Michael's personal hell.

It's been a testing year, and there's so much he can do to fix this place right now. While he waits for Fak to come check the damn AC unit, Michael tends the front while Ebra takes his lunch break.

Turning the paper's pages on the counter, he comes across an article about the extensive fires eating different parts of the country. A wretched thought crosses his mind as he reads – maybe it'd be better to burn this place to the ground and start over. He entertains the idea for a second until the door swings open, inviting more heat into the boiling pot.

He lifts his eyes from the words to find a familiar face approaching the counter. It's not Fak, but a much better vision of someone he used to know.

“Mayhem Maya.”

“Magic Mikey.”

That former thought of burning down this place disappears somewhere in the midst of that beautiful aura that saunters with her big brown eyes, long raven hair, nervous smile, and firm steps.

“It's been a while, Maybird.” Almost ten years since she set foot in this establishment. “What brings you to this hole in the wall?”

“Came to collect that meatball sub you promised at uncle Teddy's funeral, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

Ever since she moved to a different state, he only had seen her a handful of times when she came back for the holidays. Last time he saw her was at the beginning of spring, when her uncle, Ted Silva, passed away.

“I also had an interview at the new vet clinic on the next block.” She places her cross-body bag on an empty stool while she perches her ass on the one next to it.

“How's that going? Did you get tired of California already?”

“No, I love California. But I needed a change of scenery. It's been rough after… you know…” the divorce. She wasn't married for long, but she still can't bring herself to say the word.

“I’ve heard some of it.” He’s pretty much aware of how everything went down. Well, he’s got grapevine’s juicy version of the story, but he never heard her side directly.

Though Michael and Maya know each other as if they were related, they were never close confidants. She always thought he was the coolest guy in Chicago. And he always thought fondly of her, given their families association, and Maya’s close friendship with his brother.

Michael places an order for her sandwich and grabs a soda for her, while she explains she has two more job interviews later.

“Does your mother know you're back?” He folds the paper and props his elbows on the counter.

“She probably does.”

“Still not talking, huh?”

“It's not my fault she made me the black sheep of the family. She’s like vitriol on steroids.”

“Yeah? What happened at the wake? You left before I could say goodbye.”

Michael recalls the tension at the funeral, particularly at the wake when Angela Silva grabbed Maya by the elbow and took her youngest daughter outside the house as if she was still a child that needed to be scolded.

“Nothing. I barely said a word that day. Guess everything I do feels like a personal attack to her. I can admit that I'm not perfect, and that sometimes I've acted up just to get a reaction out of her, but that day she just went off again…” She pauses without finishing that thought to take a refreshing sip of her coke. “And that wasn't nearly as bad as the day I told her I was getting…”

“Divorced? Why can't you say the word? It's not Voldemort.”

“What the hell do you know about Voldemort?”

“How do I… Who took you and Carmy to buy those damn books? Have you forgotten?” Maya shakes her head. “You even tried many times invoking his name, so I was haunted by eaters or something like that. You two were real potterheads.”

“And you were just a pothead,” she laughs, stirring the ice cubes in her drink with a straw. “I totally blocked that out. We were just a couple of nerds.”

“I’d say!”

“Meatball sub!” Richie calls from the pass-through window and takes a second look when catching Maya in the joint. “Maya Papaya?!”

“Please, don’t call me that.” She scoffs while Richie promptly abandons the kitchen and goes around the counter to give her a welcoming hug.

“Did you know she was coming?” He asks Michael, as he props his ass on the bar.

“Had no idea. She just showed up.”

“Did you tell her about Carmy?”

“What about him?”

“He’s in Copenhagen.”

“Oh, I knew about that.”

“You two talk often?”

“Sometimes, I guess.” Barely more likely. They don't even text anymore. She's tried but there's been nothing but crickets at his end for months.

While Richie grills her about Carmy and what she’s been up to, Michael can’t help but look around the shop to notice, from every corner and wall, memories bouncing all at once in his direction. It takes him back in time to those days when she and Carmy were as thick as thieves.

Their shared history goes back to that same street their families have lived on for over thirty years… It’s still clear in his mind, like it was yesterday, when he was forced to babysit them when they wanted to go to the movies or trick-or-treating or the bookstore. That was a little annoying back then, now he fondly remembers all those times in summer, when they’d go to the convenience store to get ice pops on their bikes. Then they’d ride back and sit in the middle of the swanky rug in their living room and watch TV for hours. More than once they were yelled at by Mama Berzatto when she would come home to find melted colorful stains in the fabric. She would lose her shit. Carmy was used to it. Maya wasn’t, but the girl never flinched once cause Donna and her own mother were cut from the same unstable piece of cloth.

Maya and Carmy were really close up until they went separate ways for college. Their bond was something to admire. They had something so special that inevitably, Carmy fell in love with her. She was his best friend and confident. They kept each other's secrets, and Carmy thought she'd feel the same in return. It wasn't a crazy notion. They spent so much time together, everyone thought it'd lead to something more, but that never happened.

Mikey and Richie used to tease the youngest cub relentlessly. They tried multiple times to encourage him to ask her out, but he never found the guts to do it. Especially if it could potentially end their friendship. Carmy didn't want to lose that. Though he never confessed his feelings, Maya always knew. Even in her teens, call it a woman’s intuition, part of her already knew. Maya wished she'd felt the same toward him, but the heart wants what it wants, and she couldn't change that.

What was really fucked up was that she had the most ridiculous crush on the older Berzatto when she was a teen. While she knew he'd never look at her as anything other than Carmy's annoying little friend, that didn't stop her from daydreaming about it for years. It was a secret that no one ever knew and that was placed in a drawer at the back of her mind after she left Chicago.

After graduating, Maya and Carmy stayed in touch for a long time, until their calls and texts became less frequent. They followed different dreams that required a lot of attention and sadly their friendship got hurt in the process.

While she attended Vet School on the west coast, he became a chef on the east.

Maya thrived at school and work. She really went out on her own, and became the woman she always wanted to be. Unsheltered, confident, outspoken. She outgrew her shell and opened herself to new experiences and people. She loved it all. It wasn’t smooth sailing, but for the most part she was pretty happy with her choices.

And now she's back in Chicago, set on a new path and awaiting to see where it takes her.

She’s living in a house in Oak Park with her dog, Coco; Richie fishes out of her. Apparently, she got some money from uncle Teddy, and she’s invested it in a home for her and her beloved staffy.

“Does Carmy know you’re here?” Richie circles back.

“No, I haven't talked to him in months.”

“Why? Did you two have a fall-out or something?”

“There's no why. We're just busy.”

“Mike, help me out here. Weren’t these two fools supposed to get married?��

“Yeah, everyone thought you'd ended up together.”

“Man, I don't know what to tell you, we just didn't,” her head sinks between her shoulders.

“Just get over yourself and hit him up. The kid has been hung up on you since forever. It looks like things didn’t go so well with your marriage and all. You should take that as a sign, you’d never find anyone better than Carmy. The boy could really use some excitement in his life. And so could you.”

“C’mon, leave her alone. Go back to work, Cousin.”

Michael throws her a lifeline, noticing how miserable she looks every time Richie opens his unfiltered mouth.

“He’s not wrong, you know? You and Carmy… it looked like you two had something special.” Michael offers once Richie is back in the kitchen.

“It’s called friendship. You should look it up.” She points out.

“I have Richie.”

“Exactly. You have Richie. Why don't you two marry the other and leave me alone? If you think about it, you were as close to Richie as I was with Carmy. Even more. Should everyone assume you are in love with him? Cause that's what you're implying.”

“Touché. I'll drop it.”

“Look, as hard as it is to believe, there was nothing else between us. I was aware he felt something for me, but I didn’t feel the same.”

“You should give him a chance sometime. He might surprise you.”

It’s not the first time these two have been trying to play matchmaker between Maya and Carmy, and it’s bizarre to see they still do at any given opportunity.

“Okay, if I give Carmy a chance, you have to give Richie a chance. Those are the rules, Berzatto.”

“Oh, I've tried. He's not into me,” he remarks, amused, and leans closer to confess something in a lower voice. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

“Uh, sure.”

“He and Tiffany are having a baby. He just told me a few days ago.”

“What? You let him reproduce? I'll pray for Tiff.”

Chapter 2: Cool as a cucumber

Everything falls slowly into place as Maya settles back in Chicago. She secures the job at the clinic near The Beef, which is a huge relief after her rushed decision of moving back to her hometown without securing a job first. It was part of the plan all along to practice what she loves but never thought this would be the year. As much as she loved California, once her divorce was finalized she felt like something was trapping her there. And the money she got from her uncle gave her some leeway to improvise, get away from all that, and start over.

Maya is spending her morning going through the stack of unpacked boxes, finding a good place for everything, making it feel more homey. It's not a big house, but spacious enough for the two of them. The big selling point was the backyard for Coco to zoom around and cool down in her wading pool, which she loves. It didn't take long for the five-year-old pup to get used to her new neighborhood. They've even made a couple of friends at the park nearby.

A moment before the doorbell rings, Coco whines from her spot by the window, where she often sits to watch passers in the street.

“Who is it?” Maya playfully asks her dog as she makes her way to the front door.

Through the peephole, she sees Michael's profile as he inspects the porch.

“Hi,” her eyes widen as she opens the door. “Didn't know you were coming.”

“Yeah, I would've called, but I didn't get your number the other day.” But he got her address from Richie's intense questioning when she visited the shop.

“I knocked on two different houses until I got the right one,” he explains as Coco curiously circles around his feet, sniffing his pants, hitting his crotch with her nose in the process.

“No, Coco. Sit. How many times have we talked about no nut-tapping?” Maya glances at her with amusement as the dog sits on her haunches.

“It’s fine,” he snorts. “All dogs do that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But she’s not any other dog. I thought I had taught her better. So what brings you here?”

“This.” He offers the paper bag hanging in his hand. “It's just a little house-warming gift.”

“You didn't have to.” As she takes the bag from his hand she ushers him inside before closing the door.

“It's nothing, really.”

He glances around as Maya takes out the box from the bag.

“Wow, a set of knives? That's not nothing.”

“Everyone needs one good set of knives. But you can exchange them for something else if you want.”

“No. I like these. But I gotta warn you that I'm not much of a cook, and I'll probably use the same one for everything.”

“That's fine I can show you sometime though. Is she friendly? ” He points at the dog that keeps staring at him. “Can I pet her?”

“Yeah, she loves everyone. Go ahead.”

Michael cautiously pets the brown coat of her head as her floppy ears lower at the passing of his hand.

“Never pictured you with a pit bull.”

“Me neither. I always thought I'd be a cat lady. But I met her at this adoption drive when she was one, and she stole my heart.”

“I can see why.” Michael crouches down, and pets Coco with both hands. “She's really sweet.”

He lets her lick his chin a couple of times before standing back on his feet. Then they go on a tour around the house.

“It's still a work in progress. I'm thinking of painting a few walls, but we like it so far.”

“Yeah, it has good bones.”

“So you don't have to work today?” Asks Maya.

“No, we've had some trouble with the gas line, and we've been shut down for a couple of days.”

“That sucks. Now where am I going to get my sandwiches and coffee on my way to work?”

“Heard Starbucks is pretty good.”

“Shut up. Don't even joke about that.” She playfully shoves his shoulder as they go back to the living room.

“Are you doing something later?”

She shakes her head. “Why?”

“I don't know, thought you were having a comeback party or something.”

“I don't really have any friends here. And I don't feel like inviting my family yet. As you can see, I still have a lot to unpack.”

“Physically or mentally speaking?”

“Both,” she scoffs.

“Let's do something then? Just you and me. We could grab some pizza, or go out for a drink for old times’ sake?”

“Old times’ sake?” It's amusing, surprising and confusing his sudden interest in her. Maybe he can see how pathetic she thinks she is, and he's taking pity on her. Although, that was never Michael style.

“Yeah, c'mon, Mayhem. You look like you could use some fun.” He picks up a book that's sitting on top from the box opened by the couch that's titled — Dating Again with Courage and Confidence: The Five-Step Plan to Revitalize Your Love Life after Heartbreak, Breakup, or Divorce. “And maybe a rebound or something. You don't need a fucking help book. You only need me to show where to get the best guys, or girls. Whatever you're into.”

“Give me that. I don't need a rebound, a help book, or you for all matter finding me a date.”

“No? Then why do you have that?”

“My friend Paige thought I should give it a try.”

“Maybe she was onto something there.”

“I'm perfectly fine. Just want to finish organizing everything, focus on work and this handful I have right here.” Her hand gestures at Coco. “What are you so interested in my love life anyway? First you try to play matchmaker with Carmy, and now you want me to do what, exactly? Hook up with the first guy I see?”

“No, I'm just asking you to go out and have some fun. I know Carmy was the only friend you had here. And if I was in your shoes, I'd feel pretty lonely.”

“I'm not lonely, Michael. Do I miss my friends in Sacramento? Sure,” she admits. “But I don't wanna force anything. I'm just taking it slow. When the time comes I'll jump right in but for now, this is all I need. Really. Stop pitying me.”

“I'm not pitying you, sweetheart.”

“No? Then what is it? Where is this coming from?”

“I don't know… I've always thought you were the salt of the earth. And though we never really hung out together, I thought you could use… But I can see now that you're different, and that you know what you need right now, so I'll just shut up and back off. Let you do your thing.”

“Thank you. I do know what I'm doing, by the way. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. But I appreciate you coming here anyway.”

“Yeah, of course. And I can help you unpack if you need.”

“Hm, if you don't have anything better to do, be my guest. We could grab a pizza later, if the offer still stands. Or just order some food.”

“Sure.”

Michael helps Maya unpack all the boxes and put everything in place in half the time it'd have taken her alone. They order some food for lunch and spend half the day talking and laughing until late in the afternoon when they decide to go out for some drinks to keep the good vibes going.

At the end of the night, she offers to drive Michael back to his apartment as a thank you for inviting her.

“Did you have fun?” Michael asks from the passenger seat as she pulls up in front of his building.

“Yeah, I did. I'm glad I changed my mind.”

“Me too. I didn't know you were this fun. You're nothing like I remember.”

“Yeah, I was kind of weird growing up. You guys probably thought there was something wrong with me. ”

“Nah, don't be so hard on yourself. We were all weird in our own way.”

“Uh-uh. No Michael Berzatto. You were the coolest guy back in the day, and you still are.”

“I don’t know about that,” he scoffs. “For the record… I never thought there was anything wrong with you.”

“You were probably the only one… Anyway, thank you for today. I know I said I didn't need this, but I guess I did.”

“You're welcome, Maybird. I'm glad you’re back.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Thanks for bringing me home,” he softly squeezes her arm before reaching for the handle to open the door.

“No problem.”

“You know you can call me if you ever miss your friends, y’know?” he throws casually.

“I uh…sure. I will.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she echoes back as he pulls the handle and the door opens.

“Have a good night, Michael,” she says as he gets one foot on the pavement.

“You, too, sweetheart.”

He closes the door and vaguely waves as she sets the car in motion and watches her drive away.

Chapter 3: Don't cry over spilled milk

In the few weeks he's been spending time with Maya, Michael has found himself enjoying her company more than he'd like to admit. Being with her grounds him. She makes him forget for a little while all that's wrong in his life. She's like a beacon in that immerse darkness that his sorry existence has become. Despite having her own set of problems, he's watched her rise above all that with poise. He wonders what it's her secret to her steadfast determination, even when her own family has disavowed her.

After closing shop, he dives into his stash to tame that brewing headache before driving to Oak Park to pay her a visit. She told him earlier via text that she was at Home Depot buying some paint to update the color of her bedroom and asked him to come over to hang out after work.

For some reason, he couldn't say no. Not even the storm in his head is strong enough to deny her request. He has a pull on him, tugging him hard like a dog tied to a leash in her hand, he can’t help but follow her lead.

When he arrives at her house, she's halfway done. Two of the walls shine bright new in a lavender tone as she starts working on the next one.

After having beer and playing a tug of war game with his new friend, Coco, Michael offers his help to finish painting the walls. He uses a brush to paint the corners, while she gracefully uses a roller like a pro with her denim overalls over a tank top, and her raven hair pulled up in a ponytail sprinkled with lavender paint beads. When she lifts one of her arms, he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on the side of her rib cage, leveled to the roundness of her chest that looks like the outline of a dog paw.

“What are you looking at?” She asks after catching him staring.

“You have paint on your chin.”

“Oh.” She wipes it with the back of her hand, but she just spreads the stain along her jaw. “I made it worse, didn't I?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugs it off and continues with the task ahead until the whole wall is covered.

“Is everything okay, Bear?” Maya puts down the paint roller. “You're quieter than usual.”

“Yeah, everything's alright.” It sounds so honest, he almost believes it. “It's just been a long day.”

“I'm sorry that I put you to work.”

“Don't be. This is relaxing.”

“Yeah?” She takes a step back and surveys how much brighter her bedroom looks already after covering most of the former downcast grey. “Is the color right? Do you think it's too girlish?”

Giving the room a once over he says, “it's a good shade. I dig it. It doesn't matter what I think or if it's too girlish, as long as you like it. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

She dips the roller on the tray to cover another section of the wall.

“You never told me what happened at the funeral with your mom,” Michael leans on the stepladder, taking a short break.

“Do you really wanna know?” She glances over her shoulder.

“Yeah. Everyone does. I’ve heard some crazy stories about it. Thought I should get it straight from the source.”

“I never pegged you for a gossip girl.”

“I’m not. I’m just making conversation.”

She mockingly narrows her eyes, drawing a lopsided smirk, “liar.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. But yeah, can’t help being a little curious about it.”

“I don’t mind telling you, but it won’t be as entertaining as those crazy stories people have made up.”

“I’m not here for entertainment. I just wanna hear your side of the story, Maybird.”

Maya lets out a heavy sigh and while keeping her focus on the wall she shares with him what really happened. She’s right to say that is not the best story she’s ever told, though when it comes to her mother, all her stories tend to have a surreal element even she can’t fathom sometimes.

That day at the funeral, she was taken outside during the wake by Angela Silva to get scolded about her imminent divorce. It wasn’t finalized by then, and her mom invoked one last Hail Mary to convince her to stay with her husband, who was also currently dating someone else. It was a messy situation that Maya couldn't wait to get out of, and the fact that her mother never offered an ounce of support wasn’t surprising, but still devastating. Somehow, Angela found that the reason for her separation from her husband was that Maya didn’t want to have kids, and that really vexed Angela. All she wanted for her three kids was to follow the same traditional path Angela was forced into, no matter how miserable she was. Her two older sisters followed her mother’s narrowed traditional values. But Maya, ever-the-nonconformist, swore she would never follow anyone’s drum beat but her own. Her husband thought she’d change her mind eventually. He was wrong. She knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which led her here, to this moment.

“Is your mom ever happy?” Michael has always wondered.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her happy, except when she’s drunk. That’s why she has to make everyone else miserable.”

“Yeah, but she’s always had a fixation on making you miserable.”

“Like I said, every family needs a black sheep, and I’m it.”

“Is that why you became a vet?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So, it's true, you don’t wanna have kids? I’m not judging. I’m just curious.”

“I honestly don't know. I just knew that when he told me he wanted to have a baby right away, it didn’t feel right. I said that maybe in six or seven years I’d be okay with it. Told him I wanted to travel and just be us for a while, and he said that was too long to wait. I don’t know… he stopped talking to me, and it was clear that he wasn’t changing his mind, and I wasn’t changing my mind, so. At some point I got tired of trying… He got a girlfriend as soon as I filed for divorce and I got a text from Paige the other day that said he got her already pregnant, like… that was never me. I guess it served me right… I married him on a whim, an impulse without really talking about what we wanted…”

“Hey, don’t feel sorry for yourself. You dodged a bullet there.”

“You really think that?.”

“Yeah, I do. You stood up for yourself and knew when to step back when it didn’t feel right. Not everyone has the balls to do that. Think how miserable you’d be by now if you had tried to please him or your mom. You seem happy now. That's what matters.” He means that with all his heart, and wishes he had the same drive to follow those same steps. As much as he loved the restaurant, he chose to run it to please people within his family. And that love turned into a nightmare he couldn't escape.

“You know… I liked you better when you were quiet,” she quips.

Michael huffs a soft laugh, picking up his brush to resume painting.

When the room is finished, she plugs a couple of fans and closes the door to keep Coco away.

Maya washes her hands and face in the bathroom sink. When she comes out, she catches the motion of Michael's arm as he shoves what looks like a pill into his mouth before taking a gulp of water from one of her glasses.

“What was that? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It's just a headache,” looking down, he runs a palm over his short growing beard.

“Is it the fumes?”

“No, I had it before coming here.”

“Michael,” she sighs softly at his name. “You should've told me. I wouldn't have let you help if I knew.”

“Would you stop that? I wanted to help.”

“Okay, c'mere. Let's sit down.”

“No, I think I should get going.”

“Nonsense. I'm not going to let you drive until you feel better.”

He yields with a long exhale, and follows Maya into the living room, where her bed is settled askew in the middle of the space.

She takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and waits for him to sit next to her.

“Give me your hand,” she shows her palm up, as his eyes narrow. “C'mon, don't be a baby, give me your hand, Berzatto.”

“When did you become so bossy?” He slowly lifts his hand and as he lays it on top of her palm, his fingers tremble upon contact with her skin. Maya then uses her opposite hand to clip the webbing between his thumb and pointer fingers with her own and begins massaging that spot.

“My friend Sierra is really into acupressure. She says this is a pressure point that helps with headaches.” She explains while slowly increasing the force. “Does it hurt?”

“Not one bit. Is that like acupuncture?” His voice comes as a whisper as he focuses on her diligent fingers.

“Kinda. I think. I’m not really sure.”

“You don't have to fix me, you know?”

“I'm not trying to fix you, Bear. I just wanna make you feel better.”

“Admit it. You just love a good wounded animal.”

She smiles softly, placing his hand down on his knee and picking up the other. “Does it feel any different?”

He’s not really sure, it wasn’t truly a headache that led them to take that pill but the annoying rambling of his thoughts. She shouldn’t have seen that. And he shouldn’t have lied. But having her hands on his like this is straight up lovely. Inside of him, it truly feels like something is broken, wounded, and missing, and this is giving him a sliver of relief as he waits for the pill to kick in. If he was a better man, he’d tell her the truth. But he’s too far gone for saving. All he can do is keep that facade up.

“Does it?” She insists after not getting an answer.

“A little.”

“Do you wanna lay down?”

Swallowing, he responds with a nod, and they both lean back on the mattress at the same time. Looking at the ceiling, she keeps kneading that pressure point, unsure if she’s even doing it right.

They stay in comfortable silence for a good five minutes and when she finally places his hand down, Maya glances to the side and sees that his eyes have closed, and his chest gently rising and falling. She calls his name softly, but she can see that behind the sharp edges of his face and the ever-growing shade of his beard, he’s truly exhausted, so she doesn’t insist. She extends her hand to turn off the lamp, and curls on the other side of the bed without disturbing his sleep.

“Good night,” she says softly and closes her eyes.

From a dusty corner of her mind comes crawling that little forgotten part that used to harbor a lot of feelings for Michael. Though a few weeks ago he seemed practically the same Michael she knew, over the past month she’s keenly noticed little changes here and there. His eyes sometimes cast a dark shade tainted in nothing but sadness, it’s barely noticeable for other people. It comes and goes, but it tells her he’s not truly as happy as he pretends to be.

Michael wakes up disoriented at the crack of dawn.

It takes him a few seconds to remember he’s still in Mayas’ bed in the middle of her living room and that the weight that has his arm pinned is her body pressed against his. She’s warmly snuggled on his side, with her arms tucked between his chest and hers, and a peaceful expression on her beautiful face. She’s so awfully close, he can smell the scent of her hair, and feel the heat of her breath every time she exhales.

It's such an odd moment for him to have her that close. He's unsure of whether it would be better to slip out of bed unnoticed before she wakes up, or just stay there and watch her sleep for a bit longer. Either option would make him look like a creep, he thinks. So he opts to gently wake her up. His free hand reaches to his forehead to move a stand of hair away. Her brow scrunches as his light-feather touch grazes her skin. His lips curve up as he traces the shell of her ear to see her stir awake. She blinks slowly a couple of times until her focus shifts onto him.

“Hey, Maybird.”

“Hey.” Her lips move, it's barely audible.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” His fingers absentmindedly massage her earlobe.

She's so stunned by waking up to that level of intimacy, she simply nods, as her mouth softly draws a smile.

“It's fine. Does your head feel better?”

“Much better. That pressure thing really worked.”

“I'm glad.”

“Listen, I gotta go open. Maybe we could do something later?”

“Okay,” she swallows nervously, hoping that waking up with him like this isn't just a dream. “Can you do me a favor first?”

“Sure.”

“Can you stay five more minutes?”

“I uh… I think I can,” against his better judgment, he decides he can stay for a few minutes more holding her.

The way her lips pull up timidly at the corners, revealing the dimples framing her mouth, completely disarms him. He’s always felt a certain affinity towards her, but being this close to her awakes a longing within that feels dangerous. He can’t bring someone new into his life. Not while everything around him is falling apart. It’s already hard enough having to pretend around other people.

He couldn’t do that to her. He won’t.

Michael will have to fight harder because when her arm tucks around his waist he can’t help but press his lips against her forehead.

Chapter 4: Hard nut to crack

Four months later…

After that initial moment of weakness when he fell asleep on her bed, he fought hard to elude that odd longing that has only grown into a big mass of love toward Maya. To anyone else in the world, a feeling as big as that would be a blessing, especially when it's reciprocated. To Michael, it's a weakness he can't afford right now.

Spending all that time with Maya has been like discovering a whole new planet Michael never thought existed. She's all vast, uncharted territory that fazes him more than it should. Despite his best efforts, he’s fallen into her alluring orbit and can’t find the way out into his own universe.

Far gone is that moody teenager that would mumble a few words here and there. And now there's this tragically stunning woman that looks you directly in the eye, says anything that crosses her mind, and laughs without a care in the world.

Though falling in love with her wouldn’t be completely wrong, it's not quite right either. It fills him with guilt to think about her in that manner. Moreover, it feels like a betrayal to Carmy, who’s far away in a different continent, prospering in his craft.

Michael tries to fool himself into believing that this is just temporary infatuation. He’s even attempted several times to convince her to get in touch with Carmy but hasn’t succeeded. It’d be easier for him if she were to put her focus on someone else instead of him. He has nothing to offer to her and has deemed himself unworthy of her, or anyone for that matter. If she only knew what’s really going on with him, she wouldn’t want Michael nearly as she believes she does.

Layer by layer, she’s tearing all his walls and defenses down. And after all the back and forth, he's absolutely sure she wants more than he can offer her. She’s been giving him the right signals. She doesn't shy away from it. Maya is direct and impulsive, and everything about her is fascinating and intimidating.

It’s time to either cut her loose, or accept that he’s madly in love with her and do something about it.

Amidst coming to terms with a final decision, he's lured into a surprise party she's organized for his birthday.

Michael is left speechless by her determination. And a little annoyed too for reasons he can't explain. To be honest, he’s never been a fan of surprise parties, but the main problem is that this would make things much harder for him to let her down easily. She’s carved herself into his life and the longer he drags this out, the worse this is going to hurt.

He’s aware that it’s selfish and obtuse of him for being that ungrateful that someone who cares that profoundly about him, that they would go all out to prove that. He feels like an asshole, but the train has already left the station.

Using the same tiring self-defense mechanism, he draws his best smile and brings out the Michael everyone seems to love. Not without help. There's always that crutch tucked in his wallet in the form of a pill. Being high numbs him enough to deal with the situation.

The cherry on top comes at the end of the night, when he walks her up to her car and asks if he's had a good time. He lies through his teeth and for the first time, he can tell Maya is not buying it. Perhaps she never did, but he's well-versed on her tells by now, and he can clearly see she's fed up with all the bullshit that comes out of his mouth.

“Look, it's not that I didn't like the party. It's just that I hate surprises, and I was exhausted today. But it was a nice thought, sweetheart. I just… I wasn't in the right mood.” It's seemingly convincing the second time around, but her face shows nothing but regret. “I love the jacket you bought me, though.”

Michael has never been interested in fashion, but he's always loved vintage jackets, and the one she picked it's a perfect addition to his collection. It's a bomber jacket, aviator style, in brown leather with a couple of patches and fur collar.

As they reach Maya's car, they come to a stop. She turns to him, “I know I can be a little too much sometimes. But I promise no more surprises from now on.”

“You and I both know, you won’t be able to keep that promise even if your life depended on it. That's part of what makes you– you, sweetheart. Don’t let my bad mood ruin that.”

“I’ll try.”

After a beat, without hesitation she leans in to leave a goodnight kiss on his bearded cheek and on a whim, she decides to press a second one on his lips.

It takes him completely aback. He wants to dive so badly into her mouth, but he freezes on the spot. And when Maya attempts to deepen the kiss, he finally reacts by placing a placating hand on her shoulder as he pulls his head back.

“I'm… I'm sorry we can't do this, Maya.”

“Wait, I thought… Did I misread something?”

“No, you didn’t misread anything. I just can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“I can't.”

“You can't or don’t want to?”

“Guess I don’t want to.”

“Can you at least tell me why? Did I do something wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.” He wants to spill out the old – it's not you, it's me – excuse, but he refrains. Every thought and action go against every good instinct he's ever had. He hates himself for making her feel insecure. And yet, he can't backtrack now.

“Stop calling me sweetheart. You see how misleading that is?”

“Sorry. I think I gave you the wrong impression.”

Her eyes narrow, and he can see the gears turning for a long moment before opening her mouth.

“I don't think you gave me the wrong impression, Michael. I think you're too chickenshit to admit that there's something between us and, for whatever reason, you're just taking the coward's way out. You've been weird the whole night, especially with me. I just threw a party just for you, the least you can do is tell me why.”

“I didn't ask you to do that. And I don't owe telling you shit! I was trying to let you go easy, but nothing is ever easy with you. So I'll just say it. This, you and me, is never going to happen.”

It sounds ridiculous as it comes out of his mouth, but he stands firm on that statement as her heart breaks in front of him.

In the end, it'd be better for her, he believes.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

All is bright

For Day 8 of @dbdaghostmas, here's a fluffy little Christmas fic set in the Undead Boy Detectives AU. For anyone who hasn't read the first fic in the series, this one works fine as a standalone. Everything you need to know is in the author's note. You can either read it below or here on AO3.

Prompt: AU

Rating: T

Word count: 3.5K

Relationships: pre-Edwin/Charles

Summary: On their first Christmas after coming back to life, Edwin and Charles try to surprise each other by making their favorite holiday dishes, with mixed results.

***

“This cannot possibly be right.” Edwin stares down at the meatballs he’s attempting to cook for Christmas dinner, which look nothing like the picture Crystal showed him on her phone. They look more like the bloody, burnt detritus left by souls trying to escape the river of boiling blood in the Violence level of Hell than anything someone should eat. “Crystal, there is something wrong with that recipe you showed me. These look abysmal.”

“What’s wrong is that the recipe isn’t for cooking meatballs on a hot plate,” Crystal says. “Whoever wrote it expected you to have a stove.”

Edwin sniffs and prods at one of the meatballs. It wobbles distressingly. “It’s hardly my fault you didn’t bother renting a room with a proper kitchen.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. When I rented this room months ago for what I thought would be a few days, I didn’t think I needed to worry about an undead teenage boy trying to make meatballs on my hot plate.”

“Don’t call me undead. It makes me sound like I’m about to start devouring brains.”

She leans over to look into the pot, grimacing. “You know, they have frozen meatballs you can just heat up in the microwave. They won’t even give us all food poisoning.”

“It’s Christmas,” Edwin snaps. “Charles’s mother always used to prepare spaghetti and meatballs on Christmas. He speaks of it often. I doubt that Mrs. Rowland purchased frozen meatballs and microwaved them.”

“Yeah, but she probably knew how to cook the meatballs, which is why it wasn’t food poisoning that killed Charles.”

“The spaghetti turned out fine.” Edwin glances over at the colander full of spaghetti in the sink, which is properly cooked and doesn’t look like it needs immediate medical attention.

“Sure. I hope Charles likes his spaghetti crunchy.”

Edwin rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “If you are such an expert, why don’t you help?”

“Oh, no.” She takes a step back. “I told you, I’ve never cooked anything more advanced than microwavable ramen. My parents hired people to do that for us. Don’t give me that look. Did you ever step foot in your kitchen back in Victorian times, or did you have servants to do that for you?”

“I’ll have you know, I heated myself up some milk once,” Edwin says primly, leaving out the part where he burnt himself and splashed milk all over the place, earning himself a lifetime ban from the kitchen from the unamused cook.

“Wow, a real man of the people,” she deadpans. “I have almond milk in the fridge if you want to serve Charles that for Christmas dinner.”

“How’s it going?” Niko asks in a sing-song voice as she swans into Crystal’s flat.

“They just need a bit more time.” Edwin glares at Crystal, daring her to contradict him.

She takes him up on the dare, the beastly girl. “What they need is a time machine so Edwin could do everything differently.”

“I’m sure they’re—oh.” Niko’s face falls when she spots the meatballs. “You want us to eat those?”

Edwin has rarely suffered such a betrayal. “The recipe Crystal gave me was clearly defective.”

“Obviously,” Crystal says.

“Every year on Christmas, Charles talks about his mother’s spaghetti and meatballs,” Edwin says. “Since we’re alive and most likely won’t be come next Christmas, I’m going to make sure that he has the best Christmas I can give him.”

In the weeks since they came back to life upon their return from Hell, Edwin has slowly readjusted to this new existence of theirs. He’s only walked into a wall while expecting to phase through it once in the past week, which is a vast improvement. He’s even getting used to having to eat and sleep on a regular basis, helped by the fact that he falls asleep listening to Charles’s lovely, familiar voice every night.

Charles, on the other hand, has thrown himself into this second life with gusto. Every good night’s sleep, every snack, every morning feeling the sun on his face (not that there’s much sunlight to be had in Port Townsend in December) is like a little victory for him. Edwin already worries what it will do to Charles, who he recently learned is far less sanguine about his untimely death than Edwin always assumed, when this brief second life is over. So while they’re alive, he’s determined to make everything as perfect as possible for him.

Hence the spaghetti and meatballs.

“Maybe if we cover it, they’ll cook more evenly?” Niko suggests helpfully.

“Or maybe we chuck the whole thing in the trash and order pizza,” Crystal suggests, less helpfully.

“Good thinking, Niko.” Edwin places the lid on the pot. “I am so glad that one of you—”

A shrill wail fills the air. Edwin flinches and slaps his hands over his ears, but it barely muffles the sound.

“The fire alarm,” Crystal shouts, turning an accusing look on Edwin.

“There is no fire!” Edwin jerks his chin at the pot of meatballs, which at least have a lack of fire to recommend them.

“Oh no.” Niko’s eyes go wide. “Charles was doing something in Jenny’s kitchen.”

“What?” Edwin and Crystal demand at the same time. Jenny has been very clear that she “doesn’t do holiday bullshit” and she’d rather face Esther Finch’s giant snake than endure any festivities. She told them all she would be spending the day holed up alone in her flat and that she didn’t want to be disturbed. But if anyone was going to finagle their way into her kitchen, it would of course be Charles.

Her kitchen, which is now apparently on fire.

“Charles!” Edwin turns and races out of Crystal’s room and up the stairs, ignoring Crystal’s shout behind him. Charles is alive and flammable, with lungs that could easily fill with smoke, choking all the air out of him. For the thousandth time in the past few weeks, Edwin curses the frailty of the human body. If Charles is hurt…

He bursts into Jenny’s flat without knocking and finds the smell of something burnt heavy in the air. “Charles!” he shouts again, rushing into the kitchen.

“Mother fucker !” Jenny is currently waving a dish towel at the wailing smoke alarm while a sheepish-looking Charles perches on the counter to pry the window over the sink open. There don’t appear to be any flames, but a cookie sheet filled with burnt, blackened lumps.

“What on earth?” Edwin demands as the smoke alarm’s infernal shrieking finally goes silent.

“Fuck.” Charles leaps down from the counter, grimacing. “Sorry, Jenny. Not sure what happened.”

“What happened,” Jenny hisses. “Is that you hit the broil button and not the bake button.”

“Oh.” Charles looks gobsmacked. “There’s a difference?”

She points to the cookie sheet. “Obviously. When I told you you could use my kitchen, I thought I didn’t have to specify that I didn’t want you to nearly set a fire!”

“I didn’t set it on fire! Just a bit of smoke, is all.”

Crystal and Niko come rushing into the kitchen. “Are you okay?” Niko demands.

“Wow, yes, everyone please come in,” Jenny says. “On this day where I specifically said I wanted to be left alone.”

Crystal ignores her. “What happened?”

“Guess there’s a difference between baking and broiling something, isn’t there?” Charles says a little helplessly.

“There is?” Crystal asks and Edwin realizes he made a grave mistake asking her for her assistance with the meatballs. Not that he knows what broiling means.

“What are these supposed to be?”Niko peers at the blackened lumps.

Charles smiles ruefully. “I was trying to roast chestnuts.”

“Why would you do that?” As far as Edwin knows, roasted chestnuts fell out of vogue long before Charles was born, which he’s always thought was a shame. They were a pleasant treat on holidays.

“Because you once said you liked them, mate,” Charles says.

Edwin blinks. He cannot ever recall discussing roasted chestnuts with Charles.

Seeing his confusion, Charles says, “First Christmas we spent together, remember? We talked about how we would have spent the day, if we were still alive. You said you’d be eating roasted chestnuts and plum pudding.”

“How did you remember that?” Edwin vaguely recalls the conversation, one of many they had about their lives during their first year together. Eventually, the conversations petered out. Perhaps foolishly, Edwin assumed it was because Charles was growing accustomed to his death. Now, he wonders if the subject became too painful as the years went on and Charles realized his life was truly lost forever.

Charles shrugs. “Try to remember things that you like, don’t I? I wanted you to have a proper Christmas, like you would have had back when you were alive before.”

Edwin’s throat suddenly feels tight. How is he supposed to not be in love with Charles Rowland when he goes around remembering a single conversation that they had over three decades ago? And all because he wanted to give Edwin the kind of Christmas he would have had when he was alive back in the 1900s? As if any of those Christmases were an improvement over the ones he’s spent with Charles in their office.

“Jenny wouldn’t let me roast a pheasant,” Charles says.

“Absolutely fucking right I’m not letting you roast a pheasant,” Jenny snaps. “You couldn’t manage roasted chestnuts and plum pudding without nearly burning my building down. Again.”

“Oi, I wasn’t even on this plane last time your building nearly burned down. I was in Hell!”

“Is that what this is?” Crystal points at a pot on the stove, face screwed up in disgust. “Plum pudding?”

Edwin takes a look and shudders. Bits of grayish sludge bob on top of the water.

“Right, I can explain,” Charles says. “The recipe called for putting the pudding into pudding tins and standing them on a trivet over a pot of boiling water. Only problem is that Jenny doesn’t have a pudding tin or a trivet—”

“No, I don’t have a pudding tin,” Jenny snaps. “I’m not Mary fucking Berry.”

“So I thought I’d just put the pudding in a bread tin and let it float in the water. Except, it didn’t float. So now it’s more like pudding-flavored water. Might still be edible, yeah?”

“No,” Crystal and Jenny say at the same time before Edwin can be convinced to eat pudding-flavored water in order to spare Charles’s feelings. 

Edwin feels his lips tugging into a hesitant smile. “Charles, you didn’t need to do all this. I know plum puddings and roasted chestnuts aren’t exactly features of a modern Christmas.”

“Yeah, but they were features of your Christmases, and you deserve to have the Christmas you want,” Charles says. “Sorry, mate. I tried.”

Jenny claps her hands, interrupting Edwin’s reply. “Okay, this has been very sweet, but could you two gaze lovingly at each other elsewhere? I’d like to get back to—”

From downstairs, another alarm starts to blare and Edwin remembers the meatballs. “Oh, blast.”

***

Edwin gazes sadly at what’s left of the meatballs, coated in film from Jenny’s fire extinguisher. Even before the fire extinguisher, he doubts there was anything edible about them.

Charles takes a fistful of cold spaghetti from the colander and shoves it in his mouth, grinning. “Cheers, mate. Just like Mum used to make.”

Edwin gives him a withering look, which just makes Charles grin harder.

“Jesus Christ.” Jenny blows out a breath. “I’m ordering Chinese. No one try to cook anything while I'm gone."

***

“This is how I spend every Christmas,” Jenny says later as they gather in her living room, eating directly from takeaway containers. “Eating Chinese food and watching whatever shitty movie is on TV.”

“Alone?” Niko gives her a sad look.

“Yes, alone.” Jenny’s tone goes snappish. “And I’m fine with that, Niko, so don’t try to pull a Hallmark Christmas movie on me. I don’t need to learn the meaning of Christmas. Christmas is about selling more ham and pot roast than I do at any other time of the year.”

“What is a Hallmark Christmas movie?” Edwin asks, which makes Crystal and Jenny groan and Niko beam at him.

After much arguing over the remote and Jenny reminding everyone that this is her apartment and she paid for dinner, they’re watching an attractive couple strolling hand and hand past a display of Christmas lights while the woman says they just don’t have lights like this in Chicago. Edwin has never been to Chicago, but given its size compared to the small town the couple appear to be in, he finds that doubtful.

The food is quite good, at least. Edwin is enjoying his orange chicken immensely while Charles declares his lo mein “almost as good as my mum’s spaghetti.” Most importantly, no one seems to be at risk of getting food poisoning. Niko makes a big deal out of everyone opening their fortune cookies, though Edwin thinks she should have learned her lesson from the cursed magic 8 ball. His fortune says, “Big changes are coming. Embrace them.”

“I hope not,” he says, showing Charles his fortune. “I just came back to life. That’s quite enough change for me.”

“What you’ve always wanted is right in front of you,” Charles reads aloud from his own fortune, before stealing a piece of Edwin’s orange chicken. Through a mouthful of chicken, he says, “Fortune was right, mate. Incredible.”

Edwin rolls his eyes and steals some of Charles’s lo mein in retribution, which just makes Charles laugh.

On the screen, the attractive couple are standing in front of yet another display of Christmas lights while a blandly good-looking man is arguing with the young woman, apparently trying to convince her to come back to “the real world” while a small crowd gathers around them to shake their heads and stare at the man disapprovingly.

“I’d still take this over the Point No Point light show.” Jenny gestures at the TV with her chopsticks. “There aren’t any crying babies and people I knew in high school who won't stop trying to catch up.”

“Point No Point has a light show?” Edwin asks, interest piqued.

“Yeah, but it’s the same stupid displays every year and the same people who want to spend their Christmas overpaying for hot chocolate and jostling with hundreds of other people to see the same displays they saw last year.”

“We could go.” Crystal sets aside her container of fried rice. “We’ve never seen the lights here. It could be fun.”

Jenny looks skeptical, but Niko squeals in delight.

“That’s how me and Edwin spend our Christmases back home. Walking around and seeing all the different lights. Right, mate?” Charles nudges Edwin. “Edwin loves Christmas lights.”

Edwin nods eagerly.

Jenny looks around at all of them with an expression of someone who already knows she’s lost this war. “ Fine. Let me get my coat.”

***

“Dagfinn must hate this,” Charles says cheerfully as they look out across the bay, where the Point No Point lighthouse is festooned with lights, the beacon at its top flashing red and green.

“I imagine so,” Edwin says, since this appears to be the opposite of the solitude the cranky ghost craves. Their little group is surrounded by other people enjoying the view of the lighthouse, with parents hoisting children on their shoulders for a better vantage point and smiling families taking pictures together in front of the lights.

Edwin, who doesn’t normally care for crowds, finds himself unbothered by the crush of people. The lights are lovely as they reflect on the waters of the peaceful bay, which seems mercifully free of sea monsters. With a cup of overpriced hot chocolate cradled in his gloved hands and his breath misting in the air in front of him, he feels something approaching contentment. It’s hard to worry about this second life and what it means when the night is glowing with colorful lights and he’s surrounded by his friends.

“You really like lights, don’t you, Edwin?” Niko asks. “You always used to stare at the cow in Jenny’s shop before Esther blew it up.”

“I liked that cow,” Jenny grumbles, though there’s little rancor in it. She’s sipping on her own overpriced hot chocolate, which seems to have improved her mood.

“I’ve always enjoyed Christmas lights,” Edwin tells Niko. “When I returned from Hell, it was almost Christmas. I remember seeing the lights everywhere and knowing that I was truly free, that I wasn’t going back.”

She smiles a little sadly at that and squeezes his arm. “You’re not going back. Not again.”

Edwin returns her smile, wishing he had her certainty. “Come along, there are more lights to see. I believe that’s a giant seagull up ahead.”

“Oh, a giant seagull!” Looking delighted, Niko grabs Crystal by the hand and drags her away. Jenny follows them, not looking half as exasperated as she seems to be trying to appear.

Charles lingers with Edwin, looking painfully adorable with his face flushed from the cold and his curls sticking out from under the red hat pulled low over his ears. He’s already drunk all his hot chocolate and has the paper cup crumpled up in his hand, tearing little bits off of it.

“You never told me that,” he says, rolling a bit of paper between his fingers. “About coming back from Hell.”

Edwin shrugs. “You’ve seen it. There’s nothing beautiful or decorative down there. You forget things like that can exist if you spend enough time there.” His gaze lingers on the curve of Charles’s lips and the glint of his earring.

Charles bumps his shoulder against Edwin’s lightly. “I’m sorry about the pudding and the chestnut, mates.”

Edwin huffs out a laugh. “Charles, you don’t need to apologize.”

“I made a right mess of things, didn’t I? Just wanted to give you a proper Christmas.”

“This is a proper Christmas.” Edwin gestures at the lights, at the hot chocolate, and at Crystal, Niko, and Jenny, who are up ahead, admiring a display of lights in the shape of a giant seagull about to swoop down on someone’s lunch.

“Not like they were back in your day,” Charles says, sounding genuinely contrite.

“No, because my day was 1916. I won’t pretend that I don’t miss things about those days, but I find the world much improved since then. There’s no world war, for one.” Edwin hesitates, then adds, “And I didn’t have you and the Agency in 1916. Those things are worth the lack of plum pudding, I think.”

That earns him a warm smile. “You saying you like me more than plum pudding, mate?”

“Undoubtedly,” Edwin says. “And I am sorry for the disastrous spaghetti and meatballs.”

“No big deal.”

“I could have poisoned us. I too wanted you to have a Christmas like you enjoyed in your youth.”

Charles lets out a laugh with little humor. “Christmases when I was a kid were mostly watching my dad and uncles drink too much eggnog and wondering what shitty comment of my granddad’s was going to set my dad off so he’d take it out on me and Mum once everyone else went home. The spaghetti was always good though.”

Edwin’s throat feels tight. He wishes he could pop through a mirror to strike fear into Paul Rowland’s shriveled, putrid heart. “And for me, Christmas was usually about wishing the rest of the year could be like those few days. Wishing my father would be home more, wishing my mother would smile more, wishing my brothers wouldn’t ignore my existence. I would take this over those Christmases any day, even if I did enjoy the food. For me, a proper Christmas is just you and me in our office.”

The smile returns to Charles’s face, as bright and beautiful as the lights surrounding them. “Same here, mate. Though this is pretty brills too.” He squeezes Edwin’s shoulder. “Next year, we’ll do Christmas properly, yeah? We can make plum pudding, roasted chestnuts, and spaghetti together.”

“Next year…” Edwin trails off. He was about to remind Charles that they’ll almost certainly not be alive next Christmas. If they’re lucky, they won’t be in Hell. But Charles doesn’t need that reminder. Tonight, neither of them do. “Sounds like a strange sort of Christmas feast.”

“Perfect for us then, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Edwin feels his own lips tugging into a smile at Charles’s enthusiasm.

“And afterwards, we can go walk around and look at the lights, like we always do.”

“If the girls are around, Niko will most likely insist we watch another of those dreadful movies.”

“That’s the kind of stuff you do for family during the holidays,” Charles says with a grin.

Edwin glances over at Niko and Crystal, who appear to be trying to coax Jenny into taking a picture with them in front of the seagull. “I suppose it is.”

Charles slings an arm around Edwin’s shoulder, hugging him against his side. “Next year, mate. Christmas will be perfect.”

Edwin almost tells him that it already is, but bites back the words, because they would give far too much away. So he lets Charles steer him in the direction of the others. And with the weight of Charles’s arm around his shoulders and Christmas lights illuminating the night around them, Edwin lets himself hope for a moment that they’ll get to keep this second life of theirs, if just for long enough that he and Charles can eat spaghetti and plum pudding together next year.

***

If you read and enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos and/or comments on AO3!

[whrthewindgoes]

This is my first fic, this will be a lengthy, slow burn kind of series if all goes well. I’ve had this story idea for quite some time and I’m very nervous to finally post it! I also don’t know what I’m doing with Tumblr, so bear with me! Please be kind ☺️ I’m looking forward to writing this series. 18+ only, minors do NOT interact.

Third Wheel

Series Summary: After a terrible break up with your boyfriend of 5 years, you plan a long visit to Cincinnati to visit your cousin Ja’Marr. This was meant to be a time to catch up and make up for lost time, but no one could predict you’d fall in love with his long time friend and teammate.

Chapter Summary: You arrive in Ohio for the first time, excited and anxious for everything to come.

Series Warnings: Angst, mentions of anxiety, mentions of cheating, fluff, smut, alcohol, weed (that’s all I can think of right now!)

Chapter Warnings: Angst and anxiety

Prologue

You could barely contain your excitement when your oversized luggage hit the ground after picking it up from the airport turnstile. You rolled your bag away in a hurry, weary of the time as your cousin had been waiting at the arrivals area for quite some time after your delayed flight. You took a deep breath, walking swiftly through the very busy airport on this cloudy Saturday morning. It was March in the midwest, and while it wasn’t the coldest— the warm, sunny weather hadn’t come to stay just yet. You were dressed in yoga pants with your cozy tan Uggs, and an olive green oversized hoodie. Your curly hair was in a messy bun, allowing your best facial features to be highlighted on display.

You stopped in your tracks to pull your phone out of your pocket, quickly opening your messaging app to text, “Just got my bag! Where are you?!” You headed to the nearest exit, stepping out of the door. You looked from left to right at all of the cars that were lined up in the arrivals area, none of the vehicles striking familiarity to you. “Hey, over here Kenz!” You jogged your way over to your cousin Ja’Marr, slightly surprised at how much he had changed since you last saw him. “Oh my god, Marr!!!” You embraced each other in a tight hug, both of you taken by surprise at how much the other has changed physically. Ja’Marr was your first cousin on your mom’s side, and you grew up extremely close, as you both were the only child. Although you both had many blatant differences, especially with you being from a mixed family, you and Ja’Marr always saw eye to eye and were two teas in a pod. Ja’Marr was a couple of years younger than you, but he always acted like a big brother to you. However, life got in the way and as you went off to college, you barely had the time to see each other anymore. Weekly visits turned into monthly visits, monthly visits turned into yearly visits around the holidays. With each of you on your own paths, it was hard not get swept away by all life had to offer. Ja’Marr grabbed your luggage and loaded it into the open trunk of his luxury car. “Wow, things sure have changed huh? You’ve come a long way from that old beat up Nissan!” You giggled and closed the trunk of the car, making your way to the passenger’s side and hopping in the front seat of the car. “Aye, that Nissan got us where we needed to go! I didn’t hear you complaining back then.” Ja’Marr said as he got into the car, closing his door and lowering the volume on the radio so he could hear you better. “I miss those days so much, we had so many good memories in that car”. You put your sunglasses on and buckled your seat belt, the anxiety creeping in on the future that was to come.

This was your first time in Ohio, so everything was fresh and new to you. You were born and raised in Louisiana, and while you had traveled somewhat, Ohio was never exactly on your radar to visit until now. You were in desperate need of a change, still processing a break up that happened 8 months prior with someone you thought was the love of your life. It felt like the 5 years you spent with your ex was thrown out of the window in a matter of a few seconds. You sighed and tucked a few stray curls behind your ear, Ja’Marr instantly noticing the tension within you. “You good, Kenz?” He briefly looked to his right at you before turning back to look at the busy road ahead. “I’m good…” you intently paused while thinking whether or not you wanted to open up the emotional baggage that you had been storing away for months. “We may not hang out as much as we used to, but I can tell when you’re lying a mile away. What’s up?” Ja’Marr hit the off button on the radio, completely encasing the car in utter silence while he waited for you to open up. “I don’t know…I had this whole idea of how life would be for me at this point. I’m almost 27, I thought I’d be married and on my way to having kids. Now I’m practically moving in with my cousin, in a completely new state. It almost feels like I’m starting over, and it’s terrifying.” Ja’Marr heard from your parents how tough the break up had been for you, and how isolated it had caused you to become from the rest of your family and friends. You had always been close to your parents, but when you shut them out, they couldn’t help but continuously recommend a change of scenery for you. They had been in constant contact with Ja’Marr for months discussing you, Ja’Marr not thinking twice when your mother recommended you come for a visit. Ja’Marr insisted that you stay for a while since it had been quite some time since you two had one on one time together. Ja’Marr was finally at a place in his career where he felt secure with little to no distractions, and you working remotely allowed you to be anywhere at any time, so it was kind of perfect.

You were lost in your thoughts, instantly triggered by the conversation and recalling your conversation with your parents. “Mackenzie, you know we love you but we are seriously worried about you. I haven’t seen you hang out with any of your friends in months. Not even Jade, you guys are usually attached to the hip.” Jade was your high school best friend, the two of you would go off to college together at Tulane University and remain inseparable, at least until recently. “I told you dad, I DON’T want to talk about Jade. Her and I are no longer friends, now please—drop it.” You shot a look at both your mom and dad, grabbing the keys to your car and slamming the door on your way out of your childhood home.

Your cousin chimed in, pulling you out of your thoughts, “Kenzie, you need to stop being so hard on yourself. You can’t predict the future and you sure as hell can’t predict some bitch ass dude betraying you. I hate that I get the feeling you blame yourself for what happened.” Ja’Marr was right, you definitely took partial blame for the betrayal. But even with you taking partial blame, it was still almost impossible to talk about. You had been working with a therapist since college, and that was the only person who knew the full scenario with you and your ex. Even then, it took you months to be able to even discuss the smallest details of what went down. “I honestly just want to put it all behind me. This is a chance for a fresh new start for me, and I want everyone to stop pressing me about what happened. I’m not going backwards here.” You shot an irritated look at him, but he took that as a clue to drop the subject, willing to do anything to make you feel comfortable on your first day in town. “I get it, anyway I’m just happy you’re here. We have a few months before I have to get back to work, so that leaves us time to do anything you want. Just let me know what you have in mind.” He grabbed his sunglasses from the center console and put them on as you gave him a slight smile. “Thanks again for inviting me to stay with you, I know I’m impeding on your bachelor pad.” You chuckled, thinking of how awkward things could get if he decided to bring a date to his house while you were there. “You know, that hadn’t even crossed my mind. I think I’m just excited to have my cousin around, you know you’ve always been like a sister to me. What’s mine is yours!” You couldn’t help but feel the excitement creep back in, as you imagined all of the opportunities this time in a new state could bring. You were also excited to reconnect with Ja’Marr and hear all of the things you’ve missed out on in his life.

He turned up the radio, both of you singing along to songs on his playlist as you made your way to his house in the quaint and gated neighborhood. After what seemed like the longest drive after all your back and forth thoughts and emotions, you pulled into the driveway, your eyes going wide at the beautiful home in front of you. “Wow…I knew things were different for you, but I didn't know you had it like that!” You said sarcastically, freeing yourself from the seatbelt and quickly hoping out of the car while Ja’Marr followed suit. “I’ve done alright for myself, if I do say so.” The trunk opened and he grabbed your luggage, grimacing and giving you a puzzling look. “What the hell did you pack in here anyway?!” You tilted your head toward him responding, “Oh that’s nothing. This is just to get me started, my parents are sending the rest of my things in the next few weeks!” You shut the trunk behind him, following behind as he led you up to the front door. “You can’t be serious, remind me what I’ve gotten myself into again” He laughed, punching in the security code to his keyless entry. You both entered the large home, you being instantly stunned by how clean it was, considering he didn’t used to be the neatest person you knew. There were pictures of him in college with his friends and teammates, scattered along the hallway wall. As you stepped further in, he rolled your bag along the hallway, stopping once reaching the back of the home. “I’ll put your bag in here. This was going to be the guest room, but I’ve never had use for it, so it’s yours now.” You quietly stepped into the spacious room, making note of the king sized bed with plenty of pillows. There was a large window which allowed for a ton of natural sunlight, and plenty of fresh plants. You noticed the suite also had it’s own bathroom, equipped with both a walk in shower and large bath tub. When you walked further in, you spotted the closet in the back corner, “Holy shit, is this JUST the closet?!” Your eyes went wide and you immediately flicked the light switch on, spotting several shelves to put your things, and plenty of space to hang your clothes. You were in utter shock, and you felt way out of your element. While you didn’t grow up poor, you weren’t exactly well off either. All you could think about was how you wouldn’t have nearly enough things to fill up all of the space on the shelves. The situation began to feel overwhelming again, and you couldn’t help but have second thoughts of whether or not you made the right choice in coming here. There was also no discussion of exactly how long you’d stay, so this lingered in your mind as you stepped out of the closet. Ja’Marr stood to the side, allowing you time to take everything in and get acquainted. He noticed you suddenly went quiet, the excitement in your face replaced by weariness. “Hey, Ja’Marr…how lon—“ He quickly cut you off before you could even finish your sentence. “You can stay as long as you want, you know that.” He gave a slight smile at the look of relief on your face when he gave you an answer. Even though you guys weren’t as close as you were when you were growing up, he could still read your mind and know when something was off. “I can’t thank you enough. If you feel like I’m overstaying my welcome or getting in your way, please just tell me and I’m on the first flight back home!” You said, sitting on the plush and comfy bed. “Please, Kenzie. I’m glad to have you, it’ll be nice to have someone here to keep me company. Seriously. I’m used to being here by myself all the time that it can get lonely.” He gave a smile of reassurance and walked toward the doorway, “I’ll give you some time to get comfortable, know you had a long night of traveling. Just yell if you need anything.” You smiled back and replied, “Thanks, I’m definitely taking a nap once I unpack.” You said as he stepped out of the room, giving you some space. You sighed deeply and laid back amongst the bed and pillows. You could not wait to see where this new adventure would take you.

Hope you all enjoyed! I’ll get the next part up within the next week hopefully 💕

[1d1195]

Zipper Extra VI

Read the rest of Zipper here

@jhughesangel for you :)

Some cavity inducing sweetness (hopefully)

P.S. Sorry I'm writing about the holiday season. Again. I'm sure that's tiring but fall/winter is my favorite time of year and it makes for the most romance in my brain.

~2.2k words

The moment she opened her eyes she was greeted with Harry’s gorgeous green eyes gazing at her. “God you’re pretty,” he murmured, and she felt a bit dizzy hearing it from his lips—Harry was pretty, too.

On the first of the month, she began baking. Harry had seen her in action at her place, but now it was their place and coming home some nights after she did to an apartment that smelled like cookies, cinnamon, and apples. It was heavenly and more than ever he wished with everything in him that he hadn’t waited so long to have this moment.

Every space of the apartment was decorated with red berries and greenery and other Christmas décor. The tree stood in the window of the living room overlooking the town. It was beautiful and magical. Harry didn’t even have a tree, the last few years which pained her to no end. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t have one prior to them dating either. The only Christmas tree he saw was the one at his mum’s house. Or at her place.

But they were living together, now. So, every holiday was warm and inviting. It felt like home when he was there. She made it make sense. “S’not our anniversary, right?” He asked, coming to stand behind her. His hands pressed onto the counter on either side of her as he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck as a gentle hello. The rest of his body was warm against her back, his body encasing her between the bowl of chocolate and Harry.

Turning her head as much as she could to get a peripheral look at him, she licked the excess frosting off her thumb, she shook her head. “No, baby. Wrong month,” she giggled.

Harry wrinkled his nose “M’sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he admitted.

“It’s okay. I’ve never really been one for anniversaries,” she shrugged. Yet she always has a present for me. He thought to himself with a frown. “I mean...” she noted the way his body deflated with a sigh. “I think I love you pretty well every day...I think there are worse things in life than forgetting a card or a day where you finally came to your senses,” she twisted in his embrace, and she brought the tip of her finger to his lips so he could have a tasted of the frosting. It was silly and romantic all at once. He gave her finger a gentle bite inciting the most beautiful, little giggle from her. “Does that make sense?” She asked.

“So I should be giving y’a gift every day because m’in love with you all the time,” he nodded with a half grin.

“No,” she laughed and rested her forehead on his chest. “No way. Your gifts? We’d be broke.”

“It would be worth it,” he murmured. “I’d spend every penny I had on you.”

“Absolutely not what I want.”

He chuckled rubbing his hand up and down her spine. “Did you have a good day?”

She nodded. “I won my case,” she murmured into his chest.

“Y’don’t sound very excited over the good news, kitten,” he kissed the top of her head.

“It didn’t feel like winning,” she mumbled. “Sometimes fighting for the top dog doesn’t feel very good.”

Her poor sweet soul. “S’never made any sense t’me that someone as sweet as you would be a corporate lawyer.”

“M’good at it,” she said defensively and pouted as she looked up at him.

“I know you’re good at it, angel,” he nodded. “S’not a question. But morally, your heart is jus’ so much nicer,” he kissed the top of her head. “M’surprised y’don’t cry in court sometimes.”

“S’really hard sometimes,” she admitted.

“Y’don’t have t’be a corporate lawyer if y’don’t want.”

“Yeah...but then I wouldn’t have an office next to yours. We wouldn’t have lunch together..." Harry felt a pang of adoration shoot through him. Like she had personally squeezed the veins of his heart just as a reminder that he adored her so much. "And you’d make way more money than me and I wouldn’t be able to afford living here.”

“Y’could live here for free,” he rolled his eyes--as if money would keep him from her. “Jus’ make y’pay me in kisses...and other things.”

She tilted her head up to look at his face while he gazed down at her. “I love you,” she smiled.

He grinned and shook his head. “Thank goodness,” he murmured and attached his lips to hers. They tasted of chocolate, love, sweetness, and happiness. Perfectly her.

*

She didn’t like having a blindfold on—especially in public and without a clue of where they were headed. It was chilly but her coat was warm, and Harry had his arm firmly around her waist. One thing she trusted was that Harry would never let her fall. “I am already surprised Harry. Please let me take it off. I must look insane, and people are probably thinking you’re going to kidnap me.”

“I would love t’see someone try and kidnap you,” he chuckled. “Watch y’step, kitten,” he hummed and squeezed her tighter as he brought her up two steps. She had no sense of where they were—not by sight of course—but he had taken her around three different blocks in order to disorient her. The smells didn’t help either because it was a Saturday night. It was Christmas time, and everywhere in the little city smelled and sounded the same. “Think y’would argue with them about how they didn’t tie the blindfold tight enough.”

“The same cannot be said for you,” she wrinkled her nose trying to get the fabric to move around her face. “Is it weird? You’re not going to embarrass me are you?” She asked.

“What on earth d’you think m’going t’do, kitten?” He laughed. “We’re almost there, just a few more steps.”

“I don’t know. Maybe me accidentally taking your towel every morning has finally done you in and you’re going to murder me and hide my body.”

“Kitten, we’re around other people. Please don’t give them ideas.”

“I don’t think you would murder me. But statistically, you’re the one most likely to.”

“M’ignoring you,” he murmured. The people around them gave sympathetic and awkward smiles. “Okay, two steps,” he pressed his hand on her lower back. The back of her calf touched something solid but she hadn’t a clue where she was. It could have been anywhere. But they were still outside. Maybe it was just a bench? Or a wall by the fountain? She had no way of knowing.

“Am I going to be in a blindfold the entire night?”

“No, m’love. M’gonna take it off as soon as y’sit,” he said gently touching her hips to guide her to sitting on the seat behind her. She was quiet as Harry reached behind her head, the palms of his hands sliding softly against her cheeks as he reached. Before he undid the knot, he gently massaged his fingertips into her hair and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead. It made her stomach flutter and she felt like she would explode from the way he made her feel.

The moment she opened her eyes she was greeted with Harry’s gorgeous green eyes gazing at her. “God you’re pretty,” he murmured, and she felt a bit dizzy hearing it from his lips—Harry was pretty, too. It took every bit of willpower to tear her eyes away from his gaze. His hand slid into her lap, and he twisted their fingers together while she took in the surroundings. There was a man directing a horse on a perched seat above them an older top hat on his head. The carriage they sat in was white, with red leather seats. Green garland with red berries and Christmas bows draped around them. A set of twinkly lights was hung around the little awning of the carriage as well. Her lips parted as the horse quietly pulled them around the park. There was a dusting of snow, Harry couldn’t have dreamed of a better day to do this. But it was perfect, exactly what he wanted.

Speechless. She was completely and totally speechless.

Harry watched her expression change about a thousand times in one minute trying to make sense of what was happening. “Y’okay, in there?” He asked cupping the side of her face and brushing his thumb on her cheek. “S’this...not what you wanted?” He asked feeling the nerves creep up.

Did she forget their anniversary? No... it wasn’t that. Did he do something wrong? Why was...how did he know?

Maybe this was just something she wanted to do with her ex-boyfriend and not Harry. Maybe this wasn’t something she wanted anymore. “Er...we can...stop, if y’want, kitten. I thought y’would want this...but...maybe I got it wrong, naturally. Thought y’would want to—”

She shook her head trying to shake some sense into her mind and get her brain cells to put together a coherent thought rather than just staring at the scene before her. “No...” she shook her head quickly. “No...this is...Harry this is perfect,” she whispered breathlessly.

He smiled and a relieved sigh left his lungs in the form of a nervous chuckle. “Oh...good,” he pressed his lips against her temple and watched her eyes scanning the park around her. They had been to the park about a thousand times on foot, but seated in a horse drawn carriage, it was as if she had never seen the trees and paths. The light displays and the children milling in front of their parents were completely new to her.

“How...how did you...did you ask my sister about this?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No...”

“Did I tell you about this?” But she was certain she didn’t. She hadn’t thought about a carriage ride in years.

“Uh...no,” he smiled awkwardly giving her hand a squeeze. “When we were studying one time...y’were all upset ‘bout your ex not planning dates or whatever. You were on the phone with your sister and y’said y’wanted a Christmas carriage ride.”

Her heart felt like it was melting. “You...heard that?” She sounded so stunned. Harry was a bit worried about her well-being. She seemed completely out of sorts. To him, this was the only thing that made sense. In fact, he should have planned this when they first started dating. In his mind, this was nearly three years too late. Lord, knew it was over a decade too late for her sweet self. “You...remember that?”

He smiled, squeezing her hand in her lap again. With his freehand he brought it to her face again and brushed his thumb across her face. “I know...I know y’have forgiven me for...how mean I was—”

“You weren’t mean.”

“Well, I wasn’t nice t’you, kitten. S’well as being mean. Y’deserve nothing but kindness. You’re the sweetest soul I know.” She wanted to respond but she felt like there was more he wanted to say, and her throat was closing around the warm emotion she felt the longer he spoke. “M’sorry, again. For all that I put you through.”

It wasn’t that bad. She couldn’t tell him enough. She knew it ate at him like nothing else, so she simply nodded. “I know you’re sorry. But really...it’s alright, baby. I know—”

“Shh,” he hushed pressing a finger to her lips. “M’not done.” She felt like the blindfold was placed around her lips at his words. It was so perfect. The right temperature, the right scene, the perfect guy.

“Okay,” she murmured.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive myself,” he admitted. “But m’so glad I figured out how I felt. M’so sorry it took me s’long. More than being mean t’you...I don’t know if I’ll forgive myself for taking s’long. Wasting all that time we could have been together. But I don’t want t’waste time ever again,” he promised.

He kept hold of her hand as he shifted from the seat to the floor of the carriage balancing on one knee and digging into his coat pocket as if he did this all the time. He pinched the small box in his grip with his free hand. She couldn’t even see inside the box, but she knew that her heart was going to explode when she did. So, it was for the best that she didn’t get to see it. “Y’make me so happy. You’re m’favorite person t’wake up to. T’come home to. Before you, I never even thought ‘bout marriage. It only makes sense when I think ‘bout you,” he was rushing his words a bit. Like when he first told her how much he liked her and how he would be a shitty boyfriend.

He was anything but.

“I don’t know if I’ll get better at remembering anniversaries and birthdays but God, kitten. I want t’try with you. Because y’deserve the best and m’not sure if s’me that’s best for you but I want to be. I want t’take you on carriage rides and make sugar cookies with our little babies that will look jus’ like you and take them t’soccer practice on weekends. I know s’not anyone half s’beautiful as you, kitten. Inside or out,” he never made sense when he was spilling all the emotions directly from his heart, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She thought she might cry if he spoke any longer.

“Please, marry me,” he said finally, slowly at last.

They stared at each other silently for several moments.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Thank you.”

--

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@sunshinextemptress94

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[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter eleven: i am always running back to you | read chapter ten

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.7k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: SO SORRY.... it was the horrors (midterms). hope this chapter makes up for it because boy it is a lot of fun

The rest of the evening passes slowly.

It does nothing for your nerves, truthfully, but you keep yourself preoccupied with Wade. He crawls now and that leaves him wanting to explore every space possible. So, while Wally runs out for dinner and Linda wraps up a meeting with her editor, you watch over him and make sure he doesn’t get into anything he shouldn’t.

Dinner is deep-dish pizza—directly from Chicago. It’s all very indulgent, the way Wally can do things like that; he spoils you in that regard and you tell him as much as you wash dishes and he puts them away.

“Nah, it’s nothing,” he says, shooting you a small smile. “Besides, it’s for me, too.”

And you can tell that’s true by the four empty boxes of pizza that he ate, with two for you and Linda. 

But still. When he leaves…

It’s not just that that you’re going to miss. With or without the speed, you’re going to miss him. Him, Linda, and little Wade.

Despite not saying that—because you don’t want to be a downer, because their home is in Keystone City, not here, and you don’t want to be selfish like that—he senses the shift in your mood.

“You know,” he starts, “me and Lin were thinking…”

“That’s never good.”

He nudges you gently, grinning. You shake your head, smiling, too. You pass him a freshly-washed plate and he dries it. 

“Well, wait until you hear what we were thinking about.”

“What?”

“We think you should visit us every now and then.”

The thought that they want you around is warming, as usual. But…

“I mean, I would love to, Wally, but I can’t really afford that… Maybe, after I see how everything adds up during the fall, I can come for the holidays or something. But…”

He shakes his head. “Come on, kiddo. You think we’d say that and leave it up to you?”

“I don’t expect—”

“I know. But you should. We want to do whatever we can to see you. You aren’t the only one that’s going to miss something when we leave, you know. That’s why we’re doing this. Besides,” he grins at you, lightening up. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I can get you to Keystone in under a minute right now.”

Considering that Linda has told you that his speed is efficient but leaves one with a horrible bout of nausea and vertigo—at least in the beginning; she’s barely affected these days—you feel some mild apprehension.

But those things are temporary. You can withstand that, if only to see them again.

“Or,” he goes on, “we can fly you out, but that would honestly be pretty cumbersome and would also take too long.”

“It’s a plane, Wally. That is the fastest form of transportation we have in this country.”

He sniffs. “I’m the fastest form of transportation we have in this country. In the world! One of them, anyway.”

“Well, that’s how we normal human beings function. Not everyone can run faster than the speed of light.” 

“Not everyone should,” he agrees. “I’d lose my appeal. That would suck.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So, is that a yes or—?”

“Alright,” you relent, smiling. “How often are we talking?”

He smiles a tad bashfully. “Once or twice a month? You can come on the weekends… Just—you know. I know you’re gonna be busy with classes but…”

“It sounds like I should be getting a nice break every month if we do that. I mean, I can’t promise I won’t have work—”

“Just as long as you’re around, kid. That’s all we want.”

Your face warms at the earnestness in his words, embarrassed, though you know you really shouldn’t be. “Wally.”

“Hey, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve been in this game too long to try and dance around feelings. Hopefully your boy will learn that, too.”

“You aren’t wrong,” you mutter, shutting off the water and drying your hands, making a mental reminder to put on some lotion before they get annoyingly dry from the hot water and dish soap. “I’m just not… used to that.”

He shrugs, tossing his dish towel over his shoulder. “Like I said. In a world like ours… it’s important.”

You don’t disagree. But you can’t rail too hard on Tim. Questionable decisions regarding his feelings aside, the both of you only came to your senses after he had a close-call today. What does that say about you, that he has to nearly die for you to realize you need to see him again? Need to clear the air? 

It’s human, you think. So very terribly human of you.

It’s not like you’re unappreciative of him in your life but… you know this dance and song. You only realize what you have when you lose it. Look at your parents. You’ve slipped right now but you’ll fix it. You’ll make sure he knows how much he means to you.

But more importantly, right now…

“You guys… mean a lot to me, too.” You turn, seeing Linda pause near the island, and meet her brown eyes and even though it makes your face hot and the words get stuck in your throat, you force them out, underpinned with what you hope they can tell is sincerity. “You do. So much.”

Your throat tightens and you duck your head as your eyes burn. 

Hard to quantify. Hard to put a label on what they mean to you.

But you know that much. That they mean the world to you. 

Warm, strong arms come around you, squeezing you tight. You sniffle when you feel Linda come up behind you, squeezing you, too.

It’s an emotional day, you decide. For all of you. 

So, you take a long shower to try and pull yourself together, then head to bed, bidding Wally and Linda goodnight.

You don’t intend to fall asleep when you crawl into your bed. It’s better to stay up, to wait for Tim to get here. But the day’s events start weighing down on you as you curl up beneath the blankets.

You try valiantly to stay awake by scrolling on your phone but it’s a Sisyphean task to do so. As your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, you know it will be a task that you fail as you stop fighting and give in to sleep.

It’s only the vibration of your phone that rouses you. 

Groping for it, the display is obscenely bright in the darkness of your room. But the text waiting for you is unmistakable, impossible to miss.

i’m here

Suddenly recalling what you and Tim had agreed upon, you shoot up in bed, ignoring the head rush the action gives you. 

The window that leads out to the fire escape is right next to your bed, covered by curtains. You toss your phone aside, rolling out of the warm cocoon of blankets; the AC in this place works well, a little too well, you think groggily as your bare feet connect with cold wood floors. 

You shove aside the curtains and though you know who is waiting for you, that it is Tim, just Tim, your best friend, the still-not-fully-awake part of you clenches up in fear, thinking it might be Batman that is moving in the shadows, only barely illuminated by the full moon. But you know better than that.

It helps that your eyes are already adjusted to the darkness, recognizing the figure crouched in your fire escape. Dressed in… oddly enough, sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a light jacket. Completed with a plain black domino mask—not the usual one he wears, more akin to Robin, save for the color—that obscures the blue eyes you know and love.

You reach for the window. Well-oiled and taken care of by the owners, it is virtually silent as it slides open. 

Muggy July heat rushes in, chasing away the cold.

Without the window and with your vision quickly clearing from bleariness, you can really take him in. The tension in his body, the way a breeze ruffles through dark hair, the twitch of his hands to you before they clench into fists. Waiting. 

For you. 

Your throat thickens painfully when your eyes snag on the white gauze taped to the left side of his neck. 

Just a graze, Steph told you. But he lost a bit of blood anyway and his neck… if it had been the right side, would he not be here right now? Maybe it doesn’t matter. It’s his neck, there are so many important arteries running through there. 

If anything else had happened, if he’d moved even a little bit, he wouldn’t be here.

That realization, coupled with the overwhelming emotions at seeing him again since everything, pushes you over the edge.

Your eyes burn with tears. You reach forward, ignoring the soreness in your belly, one hand grabbing his wrist and tugging him right into the circle of your arms. 

That breaks the stalemate. He goes quickly, arms sliding around you as the first of your tears start sliding down your cheeks.

“Tim…”

He holds you tighter, impossibly warm, letting out a shuddery breath and whispering your name, too, everything inside you shivering at the sound, at the warmth that wraps up the syllables of your name. 

“I’m okay,” he breathes. “I’m okay, I swear.”

“You were shot.”

An exhale of a laugh. It sounds shaky with emotion.

“Technically, I was grazed.”

“Tim.”

He presses his nose to your hair, hand stroking up your back.

“I’m okay,” he whispers, lips brushing your forehead. “I wasn’t going to die before I got to see you. No way.”

You sniffle. The two of you are quiet, speaking lowly, but you’re suddenly too aware of the other window on the fire escape, the one for Linda and Wally’s room. You don’t want to wake them—or god forbid, Wade—so you reluctantly extract yourself from his arms, tugging him again.

He follows easily, sliding through the window with a grace you aren’t used to. He shuts the window silently behind him, banishing the muggy air that had leaked inside. You wipe away your tears, attempting to piece yourself together. 

As he turns back to you, hesitantly now, the air conditioner clicks on, and a second later, cold air starts blowing into your room. It should help cover your voices a little bit.

For a moment, it is silent. 

Tim shifts on his feet across from you. The domino mask renders him impervious. Impossible to read without seeing his eyes.

But not totally impossible. The way he bites his lip doesn’t just draw your attention to his mouth, tempting, traitorous thoughts briefly crossing your mind, but it also clues you into his nervous state. 

“I’m sorry.”

He speaks first, blurting the words out, seeming almost surprised at the way they escaped him before he decides to go with it, doubling down on it.

Taking a deep breath, he looks at you, whispering your name. “I’m sorry. For lying to you. For coming to you as Red Robin instead of myself. For everything. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I know.”

You were in that position, too. You didn’t fuck it up this badly but… you each had your parts to play. No one is blameless here.

“I just,” he stops, looking away, hands clenching at his sides. “I want to be friends. If anything else. I want that.”

If anything else.

You understand what he is saying here.

He isn’t here under any pretenses. Isn’t expecting you to take him in with open arms. Would be fine as friends.

Well, you don’t want that.

“Tim.” 

He looks at you. You extend a hand. Waiting. Not demanding.

Slowly, he comes to you. Palm sliding against yours. Warm and a little clammy, calloused but still soft. 

A few inches of space separate you when he stops. 

This close, you can feel the heat of him. Smell his shampoo, soft and fragrant. Eucalyptus. 

You squeeze his hand once then let go. 

He and Red Robin are two sides of the same coin. There is no Tim Drake without Red Robin, you think. Not right now. 

Maybe it’ll change, down the line. One part of you selfishly hopes so.

You’ll always want him. But as Red Robin, the risk of losing him triples and you are greedy enough to want to mitigate it. The same with Steph. Even with Wally, who is considerably more durable. All of them, duty-bound, honor-bound. You cannot ask that of them. 

Right now, though, you think you can make that demand. At least temporarily.

You reach for him. Pausing when your hands near his face. But he doesn’t move. Just looks down at you and you wonder if he can hear your heart, with how hard, how loudly, it pounds in your chest.

You have to be certain.

So, when your fingers finally touch the smooth material of the mask, before trying to lift it, you ask, in a whisper, “Can I?”

“Yes,” he breathes, some emotion you don’t know underlying his voice, one that makes your face warm and your heart skip a beat.

Your fingers find the edge, slowly, gently peeling it up. It peels and peels and peels until finally, it detaches into your hands. Almost flimsy now but with a certain weight. 

That’s not what retains your attention, though.

It’s him. It’s always him.

Tim’s eyes are closed, the tiniest of wrinkles found between his brows.

You imagine what it must be like to him. Letting you do that. Peel back the final layer of him once and for all. Letting you see him. Tim. Your Tim.

Keeping the domino mask loosely grasped in one hand, your other reaches for him, your thumb finding the wrinkle between his brows. It smooths out instantly at your touch and his eyes flutter open.

There they are.

It’s a shade of blue that haunts your dreams most nights.

Usually a lighter, softer color in the light, something like cornflowers, but right now, they’re midnight sky blue, looking at you with a heavy kind of affection, warm and unbridled. 

Your hand settles on his cheek. He leans into the touch. Your thumb strokes over the sensitive skin under his eye. Where dark circles mar the skin, exhaustion finally clear in his face.

You smile sadly. “You look tired, Timmy.”

“Last couple weeks,” he swallows, “have been… rough.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiles. It’s a small thing but no less beautiful to your eyes. 

Then he sobers up, gazing at you, pained. “I am sorry.”

“I know.”

“I was an idiot.”

“I know.” You take a deep breath. “We both were.”

He opens his mouth to protest but you speak before he can. 

“It’s true. You know that. We didn’t handle this like we should but it’s… it’s in the past. We can’t change it. We just have to move forward.”

A slow nod, then his eyes flicker to your hand, still between you two, still holding onto the domino mask. He takes it from you. 

You aren’t sure what you expect, but it’s not for him to toss it away, landing somewhere in the darkness, a near silent sound. 

“Tim—“

“It’ll never come between us again,” he whispers and your breath catches at his words; his hands find yours, pulling the one on his cheek into his own, squeezing. “I promise.”

You take a second to compose yourself, letting out a slow breath.

“I believe you,” you finally say. “And… no more lies. Please. Tell me the truth. The whole truth. I want to be there for you, for all of it.”

“It’s going to hurt.” 

Not a protest. Just a statement. A warning. 

“So, it’s even more important for me to be there.”

He swallows, eyes searching yours. “Are you… are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“So… we’re okay?”

“No.”

His face falls. “Whatever it is… I’ll make it up to you. I swear. Whatever you want.”

“I want you.”

“You have me,” he promises. 

“Not like that.”

He stiffens up, breath catching as he understands what you mean. He looks down at you, shock clear. Understanding but not truly believing. That won’t do.

“I love you, Tim. Not just as a friend but…”

You’ve said it to them both. I love you. And this ‘I love you’ isn’t better than the one you tell Steph, than the one you told him for the first time, back when your feelings were still strictly platonic. It doesn’t mean something more, something deeper, something elevated just because it’s romantic. But it’s different. In what you want. In what you long for. 

He whispers your name. 

You let out a slow breath. “And if you want that, too, then…”

“Of course I do,” he breathes, letting go of your hands to cup your face, bringing you closer. “Of course I do. There’s nothing else, no one else, I want. I just… I never wanted to assume.”

“I know.”

“But if you’re on board then… then we can try it out.”

It feels more like ‘trying it out,’ though. Despite the uncertainty, the whirlwind of emotions, everything that has happened, finally talking it out, finally laying everything out on the table… you’ve found solid ground. A foundation you can build upon. 

It is no mere crush. No simple infatuation.

You are in love with Tim Drake. Plain and simple.

And he is in love with you, too.

You close your eyes, fingers curling around his wrists. After a beat, he presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you, too, you know,” he whispers. “I have for a long time.”

Your face is hot, flushed with heat, your heart pounding. You feel so light, like you might fall up, untethered by gravity and floaty from the cotton candy-sweet warmth unspooling in your chest, clogging your veins and the arteries of your heart. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go. 

But before you do…

“Tim.”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

He kisses you.

Gently at first, tenderly, lips warm, soft, tasting faintly of spearmint. You feel like you might melt into a puddle of goo at it, at knowing it’s Tim who is kissing you so sweetly, making your knees feel a little weak.

You shuffle closer. He inhales sharply at you pressing into his space, curling around you to close the final bits of distance. It turns the kiss a little fevered, a little hungry, a little desperate.

You’ve missed him so much. You can’t stop yourself from whispering that, pulling away to do so.

He shudders at your words, lips pressing to your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck, and you open yourself up to him, too willing, too happy to let him have you like this.

He keeps saying it. Whatever you want. But he can have whatever he wants from you, too. Anything. Everything.

“I love you,” he breathes against your neck and your breath catches at the reverence in his voice. “Can you—can you say it again?”

“I love you, Tim,” you whisper and it pulls another shiver from him, lips pressing to your fluttering pulse and your knees really feel like they might give out. 

Your fingers grasp the material of his jacket, tugging, and he brings his lips back to yours, giving you a mind-numbing, synapse-slowing kiss. 

You separate eventually, foreheads pressed together, trying to catch your breath.

“Will you stay?” you ask softly.

“I’ll stay,” he promises, leaning back to press a heartachingly tender kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, holding onto him.

After a moment, he pulls away, shedding his jacket, draping it over the footboard. You close the curtains over your window, then crawl into bed. When Tim comes over, he tries to push you over. Not hard. A gentle—persistent—nudge to your shoulder, keeping in mind your injury, though you should tell him that it’s healing much better at nearly three weeks since it happened. Enough so that Steph said she could see about Crystal coming over to take the stitches out, just to avoid waiting at the hospital, and the bill, too. 

“Oh, hey—”

“Let me sleep there,” he urges. “I feel better if you’re furthest from the window.”

“Hero types, I swear.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he leans down and scoops you into his arms. You yelp and he shushes you. You can’t stop your giggles as he unceremoniously drops you on the other side of the bed, the one closest to the door. He crawls in after you.

“You’re going to wake them up,” he whispers but he’s grinning, too, as he slides under the covers, laying on his side.

“Who’s fault is that?” you shoot back. “Just ‘cause you and your savior complex need to be by the window—”

He muffles his snickers into the pillow, eyes closed, lips spread in a grin. Your chest warms and you wiggle closer to him. 

Tim lifts an arm so you can settle against his side. Wary of the gauze on the hollow of his throat, you settle for tucking your head underneath his chin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

He strokes a hand down your back, a warm brand between your shoulder blades. Sleep isn’t far off your conscience, right at the edges of it, and with the warmth of his body and the reassurance of his embrace, you’re moving fast to it.

But before you do…

“Tim.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ll… you’ll be here in the morning, right?”

His arm tightens around you. You feel him press a kiss to your hair.

“I’ll be here. I promise.”

And he is. 

When you rouse an indeterminate amount of time later, awakened by the sounds of activity outside your door—Wade’s high-pitched giggles, Wally’s low murmurs to him as he feeds him breakfast, the water running in the pipes as Linda uses the bathroom—Tim is still there. With you.

Deep in sleep, still, even with the slivers of light that come in from your window and the noises coming in from outside. Probably the repercussions of his ‘rough couple weeks.’ It’s quite similar with you, if you’re being honest. Besides, you hardly mind, basking in the feel of your legs tangled together underneath the blankets, the heavy but reassuring weight of his arm around you.

You manage to pull away a little bit to look at him, blinking out the bleariness in your eyes as you rest your head on the pillow, his face a couple inches from yours. Eyes shut, dark lashes casting shadows over his cheeks, breathing soft and slow. His hair is a mess, some parts of it flat from the pillow and sticking up in other areas. You spy a few creases from the pillow on his cheek, too. But even with that, he is still so beautiful to you.

You sigh, snuggling closer to him, shifting so you can run your fingers through his hair, your eyes falling shut again. You can stand to sleep a little while longer.

He lets out a soft, contented sigh as your fingers glide through his hair, gently taking out tangles as you go. 

You pull away after a moment, feeling sleep lapping at your senses again. 

You doze for a little while, rousing again to more noise from outside. The sound of the TV. Wally and Linda murmuring to each other. Wade giggling. 

Tim shifts, groaning quietly. The sound, rough with sleep, makes something inside you clench, sparks of heat waking you up more fully so you can watch him wake up, too.

He rolls onto his back, stretching, then sagging into the mattress. You stay curled up on your side, your calf thrown over his, watching him wake up with a small smile on your lips that you know must be horribly lovesick.

Finally, he turns to look at you, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hi.”

He gives you a sleepy smile. “Hi. Watching me sleep? Weirdo.”

He still has pillow creases on his face. You reach up to trace them.

“Well, you like this weirdo.”

“I love this weirdo,” he corrects. “Guess it’s fair, considering my night job.”

“Right. Watching you sleep—which I wasn’t, by the way, I was just waiting for you to wake up—”

“Sounds an awful lot like watching me sleep—”

You grin and pinch his cheek. He grunts, halfheartedly batting your hand away and taking it in his, lacing your fingers together. 

“Anyway. That’s not that big of an offense compared to, oh, I don’t know, dressing up and fighting crime each night.”

“Think that’s part of the whole ‘we love each other thing,’” he teases.

You smile. “I guess so.”

“So, then…” His eyes stray from your face, to something else, nerves clear as day; too early in the morning for him to make a solid attempt at hiding them from you and well. You know him. For better and for worse.

“Mmhm?”

“I guess I should take you on a date.”

“You guess?”

He blushes, red settling high in his cheeks in a way that is… decidedly tempting. “I mean I should. If—if you want to, of course.”

“I didn’t kiss you just for kicks, you know.”

“I sure hope not,” he agrees, looking back at you, face softening. “Will you, then?”

“Of course, Timmy.”

“And maybe…” He turns, reaching for you. You go easily, your fingers still tracing the pillow creases on his cheek. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders as he turns onto his side. In the warm light of the morning, his eyes are a softer shade of blue, the one you know and love. 

“Maybe…?”

“Maybe… you’ll give me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

Oh, geez.

Your face flares with heat, heart skipping a beat.

“You cornball.”

“You love it.”

Your palm finally settles on his cheek—hot to the touch, too, flush still lingering behind. You lean forward to press your lips to his forehead. He lets out a shuddery breath, arm tightening around you briefly.

“Yes, Tim,” you murmur against his skin. “I would be happy to.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, but it doesn’t like he’s thanking you for agreeing to it—at least, not just that. 

Maybe for everything. 

But— “You don’t have to thank me. It’s not… I love you. That’s all there is and that’s all there ever will be.”

You pull back, thumb stroking over his cheek. He leans forward, lips pressing gently to your cheek. Your fingers find their way into his hair, sighing contentedly as he kisses down to your jaw. 

You get so caught up in that, the knock on your door scares the shit out of you both.

Wally calls out your name. “You up, kiddo? Lin’s makin’ eggs and rice.”

Tim pulls away quickly and you sit up, your face hot.

“I’ll, um, be out in a few.” Your voice is steady, thankfully, but you can’t say much about your pulse, your heart beating out of your chest. Tim is sitting up, too, looking around the room—presumably for the mask he discarded last night. 

“Okay,” Wally says. “Will Tim be joining us?”

You both freeze. 

You should’ve known better, really. Wally’s been doing this for a long time. Nothing much will slip by him. Not unless he lets it. 

Tim turns an impressive shade of red. Tempting, like it always is, but mostly, you just feel like a teenager caught red-handed with her boyfriend.

…Which isn’t too incorrect of a description.

You look at him, lost. 

He clears his throat, raising his voice to respond. “I—uh, yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine,” Wally responds cheerfully. “Hope you aren’t allergic to sesame because I don’t care and I’m not going out to get something different for you.”

“Wally!”

Tim smiles, shaking his head. “I’m not allergic.”

“Too bad,” he says. “It’ll be ready in a few.”

Footsteps leave. Wally hums to himself loudly, happily. 

You and Tim look at each other for a second before a giggle escapes you. Then another. He joins you in the next second, until you two are laughing loudly, listing into each other and flopping onto the bed.

In the kitchen, even from here, you can hear Wally and Linda laughing, too.

You grin breathlessly, looking at Tim’s smiling face, and decide the embarrassment of getting caught out is worth it, if you get to have this. All of them. 

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[lucygxybaird]

12 days of Christmas - Day Three

You nibble on your lower lip, eyebrows twitching together in concentration as you tug on the red-and-green plaid bow you’ve tied around the banister. There’s a row of them marching up the stairs, each carefully tied one just above the other, so they form a neat diagonal line. You take a step back to take in the full effect, planting your hands on your hips as you sweep a critical eye over your own work. 

“It looks lovely.” The voice, coming from behind you, makes you jump, despite how warm and gentle it is. You whip around to find Mrs. McSween standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She reaches out to touch you on the arm, her genuine concern written clearly on her face. You smile sheepishly and shake your head. “It’s alright, Mrs. McSween. I was just making sure everything looked…” 

You look over your shoulder at the bows tied to the banister, nibbling thoughtfully on your lip. When Mrs. McSween lays her hand on your shoulder, you turn back around and offer another embarrassed little smile. “It looks lovely,” she says again. “And how many times now have I asked you to call me Susan?” 

With no small amount of embarrassment, you find yourself blushing. You’ve worked for the McSweens for a few months now, and both Mrs. McSween — Susan — and Mr. McSween are without a doubt the kindest employers you’ve ever had. Not one woman you’ve worked for before has asked you to call her by her Christian name, which is part of why it’s so difficult to remember to do so. You’ve had employers who have been pleasant enough, but this feels different. Susan and her husband make you feel like you matter. 

Quite frankly, you’re afraid of getting accustomed to this feeling, because in your experience that’s the most certain way to lose it. And you don’t think you could stand it if that were to happen. 

“Susan,” you echo obediently, and she smiles at you. “Is there anything else you need from me today? These are the last of the party decorations.” 

Mrs. Mc — Susan shakes her head, looking around again. “No, dear, there’s nothing else. You did a wonderful job,” she says. “I want everyone to know how talented you are, but I’m afraid they’ll steal you away if I tell them this was all you.” 

You laugh softly. “Oh, it’s not th—!” 

Before you can demure properly, the front door swings open to admit Mr. McSween, stamping the snow from his boots on the woolen mat before the door as he unwinds a scarf from around his neck. “My goodness, look at this place!” he exclaims, a boyish smile warming his face. “It seems as though I’ve stepped into Santa’s workshop.”

“Didn’t someone decorate so beautifully?” Susan says, taking you by the shoulders and giving you a gentle push forward, so Mr. McSween’s attention is drawn to you.

He smiles at you. “I take it this is your handiwork,” he says. “Susan is right. It’s beautiful, indeed.” Pausing in the act of taking off his coat and scarf, he adds, “Are you on your way home? If you’d like, I could take you. I know you don’t live far, but there’s no reason for you to walk in such cold weather.”

Knowing full well there’s no point in demurring, since Mr. McSween will simply insist, you smile and say, “That would be very kind of you, sir, thank you.”

Mrs. McSween hugs you goodbye, turning to make her way into the kitchen. She’s only partway down the hall when Mr. McSween says, as he’s handing you your own coat and scarf, “Do you have any plans for the holiday?”

You know it’s a mistake as soon as you say it — you don’t want to impose — but the truth comes out before you can stop yourself. “Oh, no, I’ll be on my own,” you say. “It’s just me at home.”

Mr. McSween pauses, and you both turn to look as the sound of Mrs. McSween’s retreating footsteps freezes in the middle of the hall. You would swear Mr. McSween throws you a furtive apologetic look, as if to say, I’m sorry, but you’ve sealed your fate.

“Well,” Susan says, turning back around and planting her hands on her hips. “That simply will not do. No one should be alone on Christmas! You’ll simply have to stay with us, at the very least through the 26th, if not New Year’s.”

Despite feeling very sure that it’s useless, you can’t help but try. “Oh, but, Mrs. Mc—”

Her eyes narrow.

“Susan,” you amend hastily. “I don’t want to be a bother—”

You notice Susan’s eyes flick over your shoulder to Mr. McSween, a silent signal between spouses. Mr. McSween clears his throat. “You wouldn’t be a bother,” he insists. “We would love to have you. You work so hard for us, and you’re certainly a pleasure to have around.”

While you’re blushing furiously, he takes you gently by the shoulder. “Please, stay,” he adds. “Truly, it would be our honor.”

Well, there’s not much you can say to that, is there? And you can’t deny, now that the embarrassment has started to fade, that you really like the prospect. You truly do like the McSweens, not just as your employers but as people; and you’ve never been to a big Christmas party before. You’ve helped Susan with the guest list, so you know a lot of important people are coming.

It just never occurred to you that you, yourself, might be one of them.

Your cheeks are still pink, but you clear your throat and smile. “Well, then…I would love to stay,” you say. “Thank you so much.”

Moving faster than you’ve ever seen her go, Susan crosses the space between you and throws her arms around you in an exuberant hug. “Fantastic!” she says. “Now, I insist you come sit with me by the fire. You know how to knit, yes? Maybe you can help me. I only just learned, and…”

She keeps up a stream of excited shatter as she loops her arm through yours and leads you into the living room. You’re sure it’s an attempt to rid you of any lingering nerves, and by the time she’s settled you in a chair by the fire with a skein of yarn and a pair of knitting needles in your lap, you almost feel at home.

You watch as the sun sets beyond the window, and you help Susan light the candles placed in holders and candelabras around the room, placed to create a rosy Christmas glow and catch the baubles and tinsel hanging from the tree. Mr. McSween lights a fire, and you — after insisting on it for a few minutes — set out the food and drink. 

When the first knock comes at the door, instinctively you hop up to answer it, but Mr. McSween waves you aside. You hear the chatter as a few guests come in, and there’s a flurry of introductions between you as Mr. McSween leads them into the living room. A part of you is worried that their guests while wonder what on earth you’re doing here, but they appear perfectly nice.

The living room is becoming a little crowded not even a half hour later, as more people arrive, so you’re more than happy to get the door yourself when someone knocks. Brushing by partygoers as politely as you can, you open the door to find—

“Billy!” you blurt out, a very strange reaction considering you’ve never met the young man before, at least not properly.

You recognize his face from the wanted posters that used to be put up around town, but he’s also a frequent guest at the McSween house. You’ve caught glimpses of him from the kitchen as you prepare dinner, although Mrs. McSween would usually come in to bring the food to the table herself. At first you thought it was because they didn’t want you around a reformed outlaw, but the more you heard Alexander and Susan talk about him, you realized that wasn’t the case. Both McSweens think the world of Billy — he’s brave, kind, noble, even, not to mention clever with a good mind for strategy — and that more than anything has colored your view of him.

Looking up into a pair of dusk-blue eyes, you wonder if perhaps they kept you from meeting Billy because they were trying to keep a grasp on propriety. Just from his gaze alone — direct and so very, very blue — you feel as though you’ve had the air knocked out of you.

“That’s me,” he says, and smiles at you, taking off his hat. “May I come in?”

You nearly trip over your own feet in your haste to let him inside. “Oh, of course! I’m so sorry for just staring like a loon,” you say. “I’m—!”

“I know who you are,” Billy says, another warm smile appearing on his face. “The McSweens always talk real highly of you. And besides—!”

Something in his gaze changes, almost like the way the air shifts before a storm, except it makes you feel oddly…safe. Seen. “You stand out, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “It would take a man with the sense of a tree stump not to notice you when he’s in the same house.”

As badly as you blushed when Mrs. McSween invited you to stay, it’s nothing to the way your cheeks are flaming now. Billy grins at you and offers you his arm to walk you back into the party. “Shall we?” he says.

You tuck your hand into the crook of his arm, and you nod, smiling up at him shyly.

After that, you find yourself spending most of the evening with Billy. Maybe he senses that you aren’t quite comfortable socializing with the type of people you usually wait on, or maybe…well, no, you won’t let yourself think like that. Surely someone as handsome and charming as he is already has a girl. He’s probably just being nice.

The two of you have found a cozy, relatively quiet corner. After he asks you how long you’ve worked for the McSweens — coming up on a year now — how long you’ve lived in town — since you were ten years old — and other little pleasantries that vaguely sketch out a background, he leans forward, his gaze intent.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks.

You nod.

“Promise to tell me the truth?” he says. “You can’t lie on Christmas.”

Surprising yourself with your frank response, you say, “I don’t think you should lie, ever. I won’t.”

He smiles a little. “I agree with you, honey, but sometimes you just can’t help it,” he says. “But I’m as honest as I can be, I promise.”

You look up at him. “I believe you,” you say, and you think you detect a flicker of relief in his eyes. “What did you want to ask me?”

Another faint smile touches his lips. “I was wonderin’ if you’d ever seen me on a wanted poster before.”

You can’t help but wince. “I did,” you admit. “But it doesn’t matter to me.”

Billy raises an eyebrow. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” you say. “Mr. McSween has told me a lot about you, too. I know why you ended up on those posters, and it seems to me it wasn’t really your fault. When you were young, you were scared and alone, just trying to survive.” You nibble on your lower lip. “Of course, it’s not the same, but I do understand that. I’ve been on my own for a long time, too. My parents passed away when I was fifteen.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, and you can tell by his hushed tone, almost the same as one would use within a church, that he means it and it isn’t just a platitude.

You offer him a small smile of your own. “Thank you,” you say. “I was lucky in that I could find work as a maid. But it was still difficult, if not just because of the—”

“The loneliness.”

You nod. “Right,” you murmur. “And even after you grew up, you tried to make a better life for yourself. The only reason you ended up on the wrong side of the law was because the law itself was in the wrong.”

Billy smiles again. This time there’s more warmth in it. “Too true, darlin’,” he says. “And put better than I could have done it.”

A faint blush covers your cheeks once more. “Well, I just…I don’t think it’s very fair. You were only trying to do the right thing, and you were the one who was punished for it. I’m just glad you had people like the McSween’s to help you.”

“Me too,” Billy says. He offers you a soft smile and takes up your hand. “Especially because they’re the reason I got to meet you.”

The fire burning under your skin grows hotter. “Why does that matter?”

“Because you’re sweet,” he says. “And honest. You’re smart, and I can tell you have a good heart. And, well…”

He hesitates for a moment, and you can’t help but smile. “You can’t lie on Christmas,” you remind him. “A lie by omission counts.”

Billy chuckles. “Well,” he says again, “I happen to think you’re very pretty. Might just be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh—”

Before you have a chance to protest — this simply cannot be true — Billy’s glance is drawn upward by something dangling over your head. “Would’ya look at that,” he says, and lifts his chin to direct your gaze. “Mistletoe.”

You flick your eyes up to catch sigh of the dark green leaves and waxy red berries. As you glance back at Billy, you notice he’s already studying your lips as if trying to commit their shape and color to memory. “Would you mind?” he asks. “It don’t matter about tradition. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but…”

When he hesitates again, you remind him, “No lying on Christmas.”

Billy chuckles. “But I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time I laid eyes on you,” he says. “Not tonight, either. Months and months ago. Mr. McSween offered to introduce us, but I wanted to be sure the governor’s pardon was gonna come through after all. I thought you deserved better than an outlaw.” 

Months and months ago?

“Kiss me, Billy,” you murmur. 

Who can deny mistletoe, after all?

Billy leans in and presses his lips against yours, a kiss that’s soft and sweet, exceedingly gentle. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as his hands find your waist, pulling you closer. 

“We could have done that months and months ago?” you ask, once you break apart, which makes Billy grin down at you. “I had no idea that you’d even noticed me.”

“Of course I did,” he says. “I would catch sight of you every now and then when Mrs. McSween would come through with our plates. I actually chose that specific chair in hopes of seein’ you, even if it was just for a second. Seein’ you smile for a moment or two was like catching a glimpse of an angel.”

You’re tired of standing around with a cherry-red face, so you just bury your head into Billy’s shoulder, making him laugh.

“Are you busy on Boxing Day?” he asks against your hair, and now it’s your turn to giggle.

“No.”

“Can I come see you?”

You look up at him. “You better,” you say.

He grins at you. “I’ll be here,” he says. “Now that I’ve got my angel in my arms, I’m not plannin’ on letting you go.”