#it’s almost two in the morning which means my brain is making connections that are probably really obvious to a rested mind

[shydroid3000]

#i keep thinking about this & cartesian dualism #like light. your body is YOU. #every part of it is YOU. your body is not just a cage for your mind#death note

@dancing-lex Your tags are making me think about something: So yeah, super yes with the Cartesian dualism connection. And in that vein.... Descartes framed non-human animals as automata who were not thinking/feeling but mechanistic. This view he used to justify vivisection on live animals, which he practiced/advocated for. (Now, vivisection was a common scientific practice then, but Descartes was notable for arguing that non-human animals did not actually feel pain or anything else, and thus something like vivisection was akin to taking apart a machine). Which..... I mean, can't help but remind me of the King of Justification, Light Yagami, ya know?? I mean, Descartes justifying vivisection as an act that was like totally fine and not something to feel bad about *at all*... is not that unlike Light going to great lengths to justify murdering (initially) two people, and then tens of thousands more. 'Cause murder is bad, but... the world is rotten and *his* specific kind of murder of a specific *kind* of person will actually make the world a better place. And he's the only one who could do it, so really it's his responsibility to. And I mean, vivisection did bring advancements and benefits for human society (and animal testing continues). And Kira brought certain ostensible benefits too. But in both cases, they rely on a fundamental devaluation of certain kinds of life. And with Descartes, a devaluation that involved reducing non-human life to nothing more than mechanical, things that experienced no more of an inner life than a clock. And while that's obviously not what Light thinks, it does feel like there's a sort of undercurrent of something similar there for him. I mean, the way he uses certain people around him as though, to him, they were simply tools (Misa, Takada, Mikami...). And the people he kills... the way they're engaged with mostly as just a category to him, rather than full individuals each with their own inner lives. I mean, in a way, he takes this sort of mechanistic view of the whole of human society. Something for Kira to take apart and reform so that it operates more smoothly. And like Descartes cutting into a living being, it really is okay for Light/Kira to slice into human society, remove an eye (for an eye), even stop its heart. And it's okay to not feel bad about the screams, really, because... well, he's God of the New World, and this is what a god does, and he's still *good* deep down, because it's all for a greater good. After all, humans are to a God kind of like what other animals are to a human, right? So he doesn't have to hurt inside when he hears whispers of screams on the wind, sees life fading from eyes in each sunset... right? Anyway, the framework of Cartesian dualism is really interesting to think about. It almost seems like to Light, he and L are the only two people he truly, truly conceives of as thinking beings in a way that really 'counts'. (Putting aside perhaps his family who I do think he values in his certain way). Like, other people walk around in their bodies having thoughts and feelings. But Light and L are minds, rational minds, in a way that transcends the more embodied existence of other humans. Anyway this feels so rambly and messy haha. It's very late (/early in the morning haha) where I am, so it may not entirely be coherent and I don't have the mental power to re-read and edit it haha. But your tags got my brain spinning, because the Cartesian dualism framework is an interesting lens to view Light through..!

Light is someone who perceives a very strong separation between the body and the mind, and is very disconnected from his own body. And I do wonder if, by nature of them being so similar, this is something he projects onto L as well; & helps him divorce the thought of the death of L's body (ie. his shell) from the death of L's mind (ie. his true self). So Light kills the body, the part of L that isn't really him, to incapacitate his mind, not kill it. He's compartmentalized it in such a way where he doesn't have to think of death as being true death.

It isn't until Light is about to die himself that he is able to mentally bridge the connection between his body & his own conscious existence, and realize what it really means to die.

[the-acer-scientist]

something about ostensibly nonhuman characters that get really intense humanization arcs is so fundamentally important to me. especially how they express their humanity. spoilers ahead for Wolf 359 episode 41: Memoria and Malevolent episode 20: The King

Hera. An AI, who ostensibly is driven entirely by ones and zeros and whose personality is supposed to be preordained and unflappable. Has not only an anxiety/panic attack, but learns, with help, that it’s her “own” self-doubt that holds her back, and she learns how to grow with and out of it.

John Doe. A piece of a malevolent eldritch god who kills for fun and cannot fathom the idea of interacting with mortals he cannot use to his advantage, who learns, with help, that sometimes mortals are worth spending time with, that not everyone is expendable, and even learns to care without expecting anything back. Who learns how to depend on mortals, even. To trust, and maybe even to (platonically) love.

neither of them have a corporeal form, but hera’s anxiety manifests as a glitch and the ship itself falling apart, and John has to request that Arthur repeat his last words to Lily. despite their circumstances, they make do to experience the human emotions they’re experiencing.

and I’m specifically going to reference the line “Is it an odd feeling? My tears?” because yes, a good chunk of Arthur’s grief over Lily is because he sees her as an extension of Faroe (helpless being he feels responsible for that he ‘failed’- see his mistranslation of John’s very last words to Lily which I will DIE mad about because damn you Arthur he’s been your eyes faithfully for this long be his voice this ONCE), but for the voice inside his head to be so overcome with emotion that John himself is able to cry with tear ducts that he does not have- the shared experience between Arthur and John of mourning and literally sharing each others grief because there’s only one set of eyes to cry from-

[tlou-reid]

!smut, mdni!

thinking about spencer reid who has had a crush on the pretty BAU agent at the desk across from him ever since she started. she has been so swamped with work and paperwork and life recently and spencer notices the small changes in her behaviors because he notices every little thing about her. he sees the tighter grip she holds on her pens, making the ink bleed through the paper just slightly. he notices the way she starts to slam her coffee cup on the desk as opposed to gently sitting it down. he notices the heavy uptick of the amount of cups she’s having.

and it’s worse when they’re given a case. naturally, since they get along so well and since they’re probably the two smartest people in the world, hotch pairs spencer and his crush up throughout their time in phoenix, arizona. spencer sees the way she’s always cracking her knuckles and rubbing at the small of her back. he hear the tone in which she talks to the officers.

so, when they’ve finally caught their unsub just 6 days later, spencer makes sure to pick up her case files before she can even make it from her hotel room. he tucks them neatly under him as he sits down on the jet, carefully hiding them from her. he holds them hostage, knowing if she doesn’t see them, she won’t worry about them. out of sight, out of mind, as they say. she falls asleep quickly in the seat across from spencer. he can’t help but ogle at her beautiful sleeping form, knowing she really needs the rest.

and, once they returned to the musty bullpen that belongs to the BAU, spencer stays with her. he watches as she starts the paperwork he’d sneakily put on her desk, not letting her catch on to the fact that he’d taken it. he tries his best to focus on his own work, but the way she keeps groaning as she rolls her head back has him completely distracted. he’s barely three pages in when hotch emerges from his office, bidding both of them a goodbye and complimenting their work on the case

that just leaves spencer and the pretty agent across from him in the space.

time moves slower now, spencer thinks, which makes it even more agonizing to listen to her try to work out her over-exhausted muscles by herself. he can’t help himself as he breaks the comfortable silence that had been established.

“hey, y/n,” he inquires, knowing she probably doesn’t want to be disturbed right now. his suspicions prove to be true when she doesn’t look up, letting out a less than enthusiastic “hm?”.

“do you know the benefits of getting a massage?” this piques her interest, wondering where spencer was going to take this. sure, the recent stress in her life had her muscles aching at every hour of the day, but she didn’t think anyone had picked up on it. “i know the basics, spence.” she giggles, finally looking over at him.

he can’t dwell on the fact that this is the first time she’s smiled in about two weeks because his brain starts moving too fast for his mouth to keep up, “yeah, most people know they helps with muscle aches but they actually have a lot of benefits. massages help improve circulation and joint mobility. there’s also research that connects them to cosmetic effects, like improved and more even skin tones.”

he doesn’t expect her to still be paying attention to him, but he’s pleasantly surprised at the small smile spreading across her face. “hm, that sounds amazing. if only i wasn’t trapped here doing paperwork at almost three in the morning.” she answers sarcastically, turning back to her work. “i could give you a massage.” spencer stumbles out.

her cheeks start to heat up as she makes eye contact with him, wondering where he would take this. “i mean,” he backtracks, “i’ve read books on how to do shoulder and back massages. my eidetic memory means i could probably do an almost perfect one, if you’re interested. i’ve noticed the way you’ve been struggling with muscle aches.”

her face feels like it’s on fire with the way he’s making her blush. “um, sure, spencer, if you don’t mind.” she stutters and stumbles as she tries to accept his offer. he excitedly pushes himself of his hair, pulling up a closer one behind her.

his large hands start to knead at the knots at the base of her neck. he can feel the tension she’s built up over the past couple of weeks and tries to recall the techniques he’d read about so long ago.

this quickly becomes a challenging feat, as he moves his hands along the expanse of her back. she lets out light moans when he massages a particularly tight part of her muscle. the moans and grunts she’s making are going right to spencer’s cock. he’s so glad he’s behind her, because the tent in his pants continues to grow as he reaches the base of her back, where most of her pain had been.

her light moans have now increased in volume, and spencer is sure he should stop. he was not expecting to have this reaction from her, or react this way to her. his mind is cloudy and beginning to fill with filthy images that match the sounds she’s making now.

and god, he should stop. he knows he should pull his hands away from her, especially as he feels his stomach tighten and his dick throb in his pants. but he can’t. he needs to reach his release so bad, so he presses his fingers harder into her back, listening to the joyful sounds she’s letting out.

he doesn’t pull his hands away until he finally cums in his pants, too embarrassed to keep going. “thank you, spence. i feel a lot better. a lot less tense now.” she thanks him as he turns away from her, pushing in the chair he’d pulled over. he makes a few exclamations, saying it was no problem at all, before dashing off to the bathroom to try and get himself cleaned up.

[writingsbychlo]

WHAT HAPPENS IN VELARIS | azriel

summary; what happens in vegas? what happens in velaris. or, what happens the morning after two blind-in-love best friends get married while black-out drunk at a starfall party?

word count; 6733

notes; okay, I know starfall week is technically over, but the end of my week got real busy unexpectedly, so there are another few fics to come which we'll technically count. shhh.

You awoke with a startle, the familiar feeling of a shadow stroking over your cheek, but unfamiliar for the morning. Your eyes snapped open, sunlight pouring in and burning your eyes at the brightness, a hoarse groan leaving you. As you dragged yourself up in bed, darkness exploded around you, a dizzying kaleidoscope of shadows whipping around the room in a flurry that made your stomach twist. 

“Az, make it stop.” You groaned, and he stirred a little, groaning himself. At your words, though, whether you or him, the shadows began to calm, gracefully blocking out the light coming from the window and setting the room back into peaceful semi-darkness. Propping yourself up a little further, the man snoozing at your side huffed, wings tucking in a little tighter as he began to rise. 

“Why are you in my bed?” He groaned, twisting to grab a pillow and slam it over his face, and you rubbed at your eyes, before turning to face him properly. 

“You’re in my bed.” Scanning your eyes greedily along his bare arms, a thing you could later blame on this raging hangover if you were caught, your breath stuttered when you properly took him in. Not just bare arms, but bare chest. Rippling muscles peeking out from here the covers had slid down to his waist, swirling tattoos and dark chest hair. Your gaze roamed a little further, a squeak leaving your lips before your hand slammed over your eyes. Bare legs, one hanging out from the edge of the covers now, draped over the side of the bed like his wings. “You’re in my bed naked! Why are you in my bed naked?”

“I’m what?” That caught his attention, the man sitting up almost ramrod straight, back stiff and crumpled, lazy wings flaring a little too late to catch himself in the sudden movement. His hand flew out, both of you taking a loud gasp when that hand, sliding under the covers to grasp at anything, connecting with your thigh, gripping tightly for balance. A look of sickness crossed over his face as his head presumably spun, much like yours, in an equally awful hangover. “That’s your thigh. Naked thigh. Bare skin. Please tell me you have clothes on?”

His voice rose higher and higher in pitch, eyes fixed determinedly forwards as you glanced down at yourself, lifting the covers to check. “Yes…” His shoulders sagged a little, head daring to turn to you. “Sort of?”

“Sort of, what-” His jaw dropped, eyes visibly widening a little as he stared at your chest, and you smacked his shoulder. His cheeks reddened, but he didn’t look away. His voice was much raspier when he spoke next; “Cute bra.”

“Azriel!” You yanked the covers up, covering yourself from the neck down, and that blush spread to his ears as he finally met your gaze. He only shrugged. Reaching a hand under the covers himself towards his crotch, you were ready to chew his head off, before he was letting out a relieved sigh. 

“I have my boxers on still.”

“Oh, okay. So, we didn’t…” You waggled a finger between your bodies, and that blush that had started to fade gained colour on his cheeks again. You were sure your own face was just as warm. 

“No, I mean, surely we’d remember if we did… that.”

“It’d be pretty hard to forget,” You mumbled, hangover clouding your brain enough that you didn’t quite realise your eyes were roaming down his chest again until he cleared his throat, the muscles of his chest flexing a little as he did. You’d pretend until your dying breath that the sight didn’t make your mouth dry a little. 

It didn’t change the fact, however, that you could get used to waking up like this. Sure, you’d seen Azriel shirtless before, many times. Just like he’d seen you in bikinis in Summer, or scandalous dresses that arguably revealed more than this when you visited Hewn City, but that didn’t make it any less domestic. This wasn’t causal beachwear, or training, or a mission. This was home, this was comfy mornings when he should be smiling and kissing your forehead and asking what you want for breakfast. It all made your throat pinch a little.

Azriel’s lips were moving, he’d been saying something and you’d trailed off into daydreams. Snapping away the small smile from your lips, your attention moved to him. “What?”

“I said, maybe we should get dressed, and I can try to sneak out before anyone notices us in the halls.” Normally, this wouldn't be such a challenge, because you only had Nesta and Cassian to deal with, and they’d likely sleep in late today. The problem, was that following last night’s Starfall party, Rhys and Feyre were here with Nyx, Mor and Emerie, Elain and Lucien, Amren and Varian, and probably a couple of party-goers just now rousing themselves enough to leave. So many people to hide from, and your head pounded at the mere thought.

“Good idea.” You rubbed at your temples, even the sound of the sheets rustling around him was grating on your eardrums. But, you couldn't pass up the opportunity for just one more look at him, before he was gone, and would doubtless avoid you for days to come as the awkwardness settled. As he stood, he flexed his arms up and over his head, wings fluttering in a loose stretch, and your eyes widened. The garbled sound, something between a gasp and laugh, that fell from your lips was beyond your control. “Your wings!”

“What? What about them?” From the tone of your voice, he tried to look over his shoulder, unable to see what you were seeing. You discarded the blanket, crawling on your hands and knees over the mattress until you could kneel up behind him, one hand cupped over your mouth. The shock had effectively eliminated any remaining headache or sensitivity, his wide eyes finding yours. “What?”

“Flare them all the way out.” He did as told, the white paint smeared across the leathery membrane was clear words to you now, and you let out a shaky breath, tracing one letter with the pads of your fingers. 

“Please don’t do that unless you want me to embarrass myself further.” His words came on a groan as you touched the flesh, and you snatched your hand back, cheeks burning hot now as you realised what you’d done. Squeaking out an apology, you stood, guiding him over to the large mirror in your bedroom and turning him around so he could see what was written there.

Painted in thick capitals across his wings in white paste, were the stark words ‘just married’. A little chipped, somewhat faded as you were sure you’d find paint in your bed for weeks now, but there was no mistaking it. “Oh my God, Az…”

He looked down at his left hand, finding a beautiful silver band there, adorning his finger and catching in the rays of sun that occasionally flickered in from between his shadows at the window. As he glanced at you, the thought lingered in the back of your mind that you were still in only your underwear, as was he, and perhaps you should care about that, but the fact he was married was pinging around the inside of your head like a pebble.

“Who the hell did you marry?” You forced a laugh out, like everything in your body hadn't gone numb at the idea.

He only cleared his throat, picking up your left hand, and lifting it up to show off the matching silver band there. “You, apparently.”

You took a moment to admire the ring on your hand, the worry inside of you at having gotten married quashed momentarily by both relief and the sheer beauty of the gem on your finger. It was a blue colour, the same as his siphons, ridiculously cheesy but somehow perfect, and exactly what you’d have picked while drunk. Dotted around it were bands of silver leaves from metal, making it look like a flower nestled amongst nature, wrapped delicately around your finger. 

The silence dragged on between you both, each of you taking a second to come to terms with what had happened. 

“Okay, I mean, this is fine. It's fine, right?” His focus snapped back to you, lowering his hand, and furrowed brows raised a little. “This is totally casual. Let’s just act normal and get some breakfast. I bet nobody knows.”

“Okay, good call…” He cleared his throat, shoulders rolling back the way he did when calculating his next move in a sparring match against Cassian, or a battle of wits with Nesta. “We eat, get rid of these hangovers, and figure out a plan later.”

“Yes!” Your voice was a little too loud, both of you wincing. “Yes. Good.”

Darting around the room, you left him there, gathering some clothes from your drawers and tugging on a pair of simple leggings and a hoodie, feet shoved into a pair of comfortable slippers, the most causal outfit you could think of for the day after a Starfall rager. He only stood, idling in the room and alternating between staring at the ring on his finger, the words in the mirror, and you.

“What?”

“I… only have that. It’s a little walk-of-shame-y, don’t you think?” He pointed to his suit, still lying in a crumpled heap on the floor near your dress, and your cheeks flooded with heat once again. 

“Right… you should go get some clothes. Do your little shadow-hop thingy.” Your hands settled on your hips, waiting.

“I can’t Rhys hasn’t removed the protection wards from the party yet.” He shifted, face that of pure concentration, and the shadows in the room pulled just slightly towards him, but quickly sputtered back to their own devices. Stupid protection wards against snooping guests. “You’ll have to go get some.”

“You want me to sneak across the palace, into your bedroom, and rifle through your draws to find your clothes?” His scowl formed.

“Yes, I want you to go across the hall, into my bedroom, a place you’ve been before, and go into my first dresser, top two drawers, and bring me some fresh clothes.”

“Snarky.” You muttered, making your way across the room. He stuck his tongue out at you childishly, before turning his attention back to the mirror. On the other side of your bedroom door, as it clicked shut behind you, the air was colder. Refreshing, clearing your head. The smell of food was already wafting through the halls, chatter in every direction but none too close, if you were quick. 

Sneaking along, around two corners and one small set of stairs - across the hall, snarky bastard - you found his room. The door was mercifully unlocked for you, and you were quick to close it behind you. It was calmer than your own, the curtains open and golden light spilling in far softer than your own as his bedroom faced away from the rising sun. It smelled like him, that perfect mix that you always found so enticing, and the pathetic hope that it lingered in your sheets for a while made your eyes roll to only yourself. 

First dresser, top two drawers. Pulling out the first, rows and rows of neatly folded sweatpants were presented to you, and you tugged out a pair of muted green ones, unsure you’d be able to handle seeing him swagger around in those sinful grey ones today. The second drawer was t-shirts, a black one to match, and you tucked them under one arm, before backing away.

The journey back to your room was just as quick and stressful, barely taking a breath until you were sealed inside of your just-married bubble with Azriel once again. 

“See? You survived the big scary trip and my big scary room. I’m so proud.” You only scoffed, launching the clothes at him. 

“You know, it’s adorable that you colour-organise your sweatpants.” His laughter stopped abruptly, scowl shot in your direction. As you gained the upper-hand once again, you took a look at him. He had a sponge in one hand, still standing by the mirror and trying to reach around himself. Water was dotted along the carpet, some of the paste smeared into grey on his back now, but he could barely reach it. You softened upon looking at him, holding out your hand. “C’mere. Come sit on the bed.”

He did as told, after tugging on his sweatpants, and yesterday’s socks with a grimace, settling on the edge of the bed. Kneeling behind him once again, he flexed out his wings, bowing his head forwards for you to start work. Carefully, you wiped down his wings, giving extra caution to the paces that made him shiver or his breath catch, until the words were gone entirely. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you, when you leaned forwards, pressing a kiss to the back of his head. “All done.”

He only turned, his face close to yours as he looked over his shoulder, and he bumped his forehead against yours once. “Thank you.” His whisper was as low as your own, and your smile only grew. Letting yourself bask for only a second longer, you peeled away, headed to the bathroom to discard of the sponge and at least give your face a cursory wash, a splash of cold water to wake you up. 

When you returned, Azriel was just buttoning his shirt up behind himself, both of you looking far fresher and feeling much more composed than you had twenty minutes ago. 

“Ready to go deal with this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, husband.” He grinned a little, opening the door and peering out into the corridor. Nobody was present to see him slipping out of your room, and so he turned back to you. 

“Now or never, wife.”

“I’d prefer never, to be honest.” Your stomach rumbled in disagreement as you stepped up beside him, both of you leaving your room behind, and his shadows darted along behind, swirling around you both like a cloak as you began your walk toward the voices you could already hear and the tempting smell of food.

Nerves were eating you alive, Azriel’s presence beside you doing little to calm the erratic racing of your heart or the beading of sweat along your spine, and so you found yourself twisting anxiously at the ring on your finger, spinning it around and around and around-

It went utterly silent as the two of you stepped into the doorway, all eyes moving to you both, scanning every footstep and breath as you moved across the room to take the only two seats still available. Pulling out the chair beside Mor, Azriel motioned for you to sit down, and you offered the best smile you could muster in response as you sank into the seat. He took the one next to you, Lucien on his other side buttering a piece of toast, and the only sound in the room was the loud crunch it made as he bit into it. 

Nobody spoke, until Cassian did; “So, how’s life as a married couple going so far?”

“So you all know?”  

“Well, you invited us all to watch,” Rhys smirked, a loud groan left you, your head falling down to burying your hands, and as laughter broke out around the table, you wanted to curl up into a ball. Better yet, you wanted to disappear entirely. Jokes quickly followed the laughter, only spurring on everyone’s amusement, and the burning of your blush was so high you were sure you were going to catch fire at any moment. You couldn't bare to even look up. 

That was, until a finger was tapping under your chin lightly. The rough feel of a scarred- fingertip telling you exactly who it was, who was guiding your face back up from the sanctity of your palms. Before you, was a plate of all your favourites that he’d gathered, and he placed a tall glass of orange juice down to match it, giving a sweet smile when your stare shifted thankfully to him. 

He nodded in acknowledgement, his smile lingering as he began to gather his food, but the moment was ruined by Feyre’s cooing as she elbowed her mate. “Oh, look, such a good husband you make, Az.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get it all out.” He sighed, fixing his usual terrifying stare around the guests at the table. “This is your chance to make jokes, while I’m distracted with food and a hangover.”

“Fuck that, I want to know the story,” Cassian spoke right over the top of any jokes that were coming, ignoring Feyre’s stare for his curse in front of her son, various sounds of shock and agreement sounding out. Once again it was quiet, all attention still hanging on your both, expectantly. 

“What story?” You raised your brows, shovelling some of the food into your mouth, hoping it would quell the rising nausea within you at the spotlight that had been thrust onto you now. 

“The story. How in the name of the Mother did you two end up getting married last night? That story.” The warrior clarified, and your jaw tightened as you tried to think. All that came up was a blur, half the night was clear and half of it was gone, right up until this morning. Unfortunately, the half you needed was the blurry part. 

Azriel, though, stiffened beside you, pausing with food halfway to his mouth. It was only a minute stutter, picking up action again hardly a second later, but you weren’t the only one to notice. Rhysand’s smile widened. “Az, looks like you might remember something. Care to share?”

He looked like he absolutely didn’t want to share, not even a speck of it, until his eyes moved to you. You wanted to know, and you were sure your face conveyed that, because he slumped a little in defeat.

“I had plans to tell you something last night.” He paused, leaving everyone at the table, including yourself, in suspense, as he poked at some of the food on his plate, and ate a little more. “I was nervous.”

“You, nervous? Must have been something important.” The look on Nesta’s face was like that of a predator hunting its prey, she was delighting in this, and Cassian chuckled by her side. You shot them both a glare, but Az never looked away from you. He looked nervous now as your attention moved back to him, the look on his face sparking something in your memory, and it was like a part of that blur uncocked just a little bit to release a memory. 

“Well, don’t you just look dashing tonight, shadowsinger?” You smirked a little, raising your glass to tip towards his as he chuckled, smoothing one hand down the front of his suit. He’d really gone all out tonight, a dark grey button-up shirt under a smart black waistcoat, tight suit pants and his best pair of boots, all shined up and ready for the party. He looked practically edible, with his hair styled for once, a single curl flicked down across his forehead. He was all but glowing under the lights, like glitter was painting along his skin, a glow in those golden eyes. 

“Well, I had to make sure I’d look alright standing next to you.” He was bold, this line you’d been dancing along in these last few months was still exhilarating, new enough that your breath rushed from your lungs in a sudden burst when he raked his gaze along you, purposefully slowly. “You look… there are no words for how you look tonight. I could list a few; stunning, beautiful, breathtaking, but I don’t think any of them do you justice.”

Your blush was so warm you wanted to press your glass against your skin just to cool it down, a smile stretching your lips as you stared up at him, even in heels. You stepped a fraction closer, his hand coming out gently, to find your one, fingers brushing your free palm lightly enough that you shuddered. Then, his smile was gone, he was nervous, a look you rarely ever saw in him. 

“I wanted to talk to you tonight. I have to tell you something.”

“Well, you have my full attention.” You hoped your tone was soft enough to melt away that panic, linking your fingers with his firmly, and his gaze dropped for a second to your joined hands. A smile flickered on his lips, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. 

A new song played on the drums, the live band filled the room with music, and so many loud voices cheered and sang along, faelights flashing in all different colours to mimic the fall of the stars outside that would start soon. You could all but feel it like a temperature drop in the room when Azriel’s fear got the best of him. He locked up, body going rigid, eyes hard and smile turning sour.

“Maybe some liquid courage, first, hm?”

He let out a relieved breath, nodding his head, body loosening once again as he took the lead, guiding you away towards the bar.

“I remember that. You were nervous, you said we had something to talk about. I suggested we get some liquid courage.”

Azriel’s eyes glazed over a little, as though he was remembering too, reliving the moment the way you had. His jaw dropped a little, a puffed-out laugh leaving it on a breath. “Yeah… well, I think we might’ve had enough liquid courage for an entire army the night before battle.” 

Your laugh was the first one this morning that felt truly genuine, a light sparking in Azriel’s eyes at the sound. He stared, watching you giggle over the entire situation, and you’d feel self-conscious about it in front of everyone, if it didn’t make you feel so adored. That was the thing about Azriel, one of the many things that had made you fall for him so hard all those years ago, only getting worse since. 

The way he gave you his attention, the way he could make you feel like the only person in the room with a single look, the way he could make you feel special. It warmed your heart like nothing else ever had. His attention, his devotion, it was something you dreamed about, and longed for at night when you lay in bed alone, knowing he was only a few doors away. 

“So, you drank, a lot.” Feyre interrupted, Nyx giggling loudly at the way his mother had cupped her hands over his ears, as though he understood any of it. “Then what happened?”

“Another?” The bartend offered, you and Azriel already a giggling mess. You were leaning against one another, a row of sticky shot glasses lined up in front of yourselves, surrounded by bitten lime slices and split salt. The feel of his hand on your waist was like a brand through your dress, one you loved enough to place a hand over his, squeezing to keep it there. 

He didn’t, only sliding it further around your waist to yank you into his body, and your laughter stopped for a second in shock, staring up at him as he stared down, awaiting your reaction. You both melted into laughter once again. 

You could feel each deep breath he took, the brush of his chest against yours, and that laughter slowly fizzled out the closer he leaned. The bartend was long gone, the atmosphere around you both melting away into nothing more than a haze. His nose was bumping your own, dragging over your cheek, kisses without ever kissing as you shared space, shared breath. 

“We should- we should go sit down. Before I fall over in these heels.” You mumbled, and he hummed in acknowledgement. 

“I’d catch you.”

That only brought more giggles. “I think we both know, that’s not possible anymore. We’d both more likely end up sprawled out on the floor.”

He laughed too, head raising again and arm tightening at your waist. “Fine, sitting it is, but only because the floor is so dirty. Where’s our table again?”

You were mortified, fingers tracing over the tip of your nose in a feather-light touch, nothing like the way it had felt to be so close to him, to be touched by him, and the new wash of colour on his face suggested he was thinking the same thing. 

“We had some drinks, and then we came over to the table with you all.”

“Some drinks? You two drank the rest of us under the table.” Nesta scoffed, everyone laughing in agreement. Your body was already regretting everything after that first shot. “It was impressive!”

“But, also kinda’ nice.” Elain chipped in, the first thing she’d said this whole time, and she was now tucked happily under Lucien’s arm, grinning at the pair of you. “Seeing Az let go, loosen up like that. It was funny, but also sweet. I mean, I’d never seen him like that before, you bring out that side of him.”

You ducked from her stare, poking at the remnants of your food on your plate. “Pretty sure that was the tequila.”

“No, it was you,” Azriel muttered, shocking you enough that your head snapped towards him, but he was just staring at his plate, a soft upwards-twist of his lips showing his feelings.

“You challenged me to an arm wrestling competition.” Cassian cut in, a smirk on his face as you turned to look at him. 

“Did I win?”

He almost instantly regretted that question, because his smirk dropped, shifting to Nesta’s face instead as she sipped her tea. “Yeah, you did. Made all us Valkyries real proud, you can boast about it at the next training session.”

“You only won because Azriel cheated and helped you.” The General grumbled, crossing his arms and slumping in his chair. The male beside you shrugged, leaning back in his own with a cocky expression, and the two began bickering. 

A phantom feeling raced along your back as you tried to remember it. Flashes of the night, your hand clasped in Cassian’s, pushing with everything you had, another hand sitting over your own. Heat at your back as Azriel pressed himself up behind you, one arm around your waist, the other hand wrapped with yours as you both pushed at Cassian’s. His hand slammed into the table, the two of you celebrating as Cass took his loss like a sore loser.

“You also did a lot of dancing,” Mor chipped in next to your ear, practically a whisper as the men all now fought over what constituted cheating in ‘arm wrestling’. Images behind your eyes again, you and Azriel twirling across the dance floor, chest to chest again, so close you could practically taste him, laughing and giggling your way all around the room in laps for what felt like hours, until your legs were shaking and feet aching, both of you panting. “And then, the two of you were sneaking off between the pillars, laughing so much. It was adorable, you were never apart.”

Hands on your waist, pulling you away from the dance floor, like you wouldn't have followed him just about anywhere. If Azriel had asked you to, you’d have walked straight into one of the lakes in Oorid, just to see that smile on his face. He dragged you away, your back pressing against the cold stone of one of the pillars. It was a relief, your whole body hot and flushed, the cold stone cooling you a little.

It was quieter here, darker, and so much more peaceful as you were hidden away from the rest of the party. He leaned in, enough that his forehead was sat on your own, eyes closed as you both giggled hysterically. 

“Wait- what were we laughing at?” Your mind had emptied as he invaded your space, the smell of him emptying your thoughts out like scattered sand. 

“I don’t know.” More laughter took over, his body all but falling against your own as he sagged, shadows leaping in happy twirls and jumps like they were laughing too, pretty shapes around you that your eyes followed. “You know what would be funny, though? If someone spilt red wine on Eris’ suit. Who wears all white to a party?”

Azriel’s words draw loud laughter from you, bounding off of the walls between gasping breaths as you pictured it. 

“Or, if someone pranked Cassian like last year.”

You could barely breathe, arms wrapped around Azriel, clinging to him just to stay stood, and he twisted around, arms looped at your waist until it was his back pressed to the column, wings drooping either side, and you were slumped against his chest. “No, wait, I have the best one.” You pushed yourself up, one hand on his chest so you could meet his eye. “It would be so funny if Helion actually managed to convince Feyre and Rhys into that threesome.”

“What about when Mor found out, and that Helion was just moving his way through the family?”

“If they did fuck, would Lucien have to start calling Rhys ‘daddy’? Or is that only if they got married?” That seemed to be it, the two o you laughing so hard you slid down to the pillar, collapsing into a heap on the floor. You were half strewn across Azriel’s lap, face buried into his neck, his head tipped back to let the sounds of amusement flow free. 

His hair was messy now, yours the same, his cheeks pink and lips shining and he’d never looked better than he did at that moment. He lifted a hand, smoothing it across your cheek, one thumb running over your smile gently, “You know what would be the funniest, though…”

Your hand slapped over your mouth, darting to Azriel who dropped his fork, mouth dropping in shock and cheeks going the darkest shade of red yet. 

“Then, suddenly, the two of you are inviting us all down to one of the temples, and telling us you’re getting married!” Mor had no idea the moment she’d chosen to speak on, the key memory flashing through your mind of what had led to it all. “Poor Gwyn’s face, when you bombarded her with questions, asking her if priestesses held a high enough status to marry someone, and whether she’d do it right there, right now!”

“Gwyn married us?” Was all Azriel was finally able to choke out, still steadfastly ignoring your burning stare, and refusing to even let his eyes move sideways in your direction. 

“Yep.”

“Would you like to see your spectacular wedding?” Rhys offered, and it was enough to finally pull your focus from Az, moving to watch the High Lord tap at his temple in offer. He wasn’t looking at you, though, his eyes shifting to the middle distance, a look Azriel had too, upon closer inspection, and they were obviously talking. A conversation the rest of you weren’t a part of. Rhys’ brows rose, a silent question, and Azriel sighed. 

His face moved from shock, to embarrassment, to resignation, shrugging a little as his eyes came back into focus. Finally, he turned to look at you. He was nervous again. 

Taking his hand from the table, you squeezed it in both of yours, and he squeezed back, letting you settle your joint hands in your lap, never breaking eye contact. “S’okay, Rhys. Might as well get everything out in the open at once. I can’t get any more embarrassed, anyway.”

You squeezed his hand again.

There was a tapping at your mental shields, polite as ever, Rhysand made his presence known, first, A request, never a demand. You were proud of yourself for even still having them up, actually, dropping them for him to enter your mind. He grabbed onto your consciousness, dragging you into his head, to show you the scene playing through his eyes.

The giggles you’d been encased in had long since stopped, but that didn’t make the two of you any less clingy. Instead of holding hands, Rhys watched his friends cling to one another, foreheads pressed together and smiles on their faces. They looked a mess, wind ruffled from the flight here, as they all did, and eyes bright. Gwyn, slightly tipsy and utterly elated, was chanting her way through a text passage from the tome in her hands. 

Nyx was bored, tugging on his lapels as Feyre tickled at his stomach, trying to keep him quiet as they watched from the front row of the pews. He couldn't tear his eyes away, couldn't bear to leave, not when he was finally watching his brother smile like that. Not when he was finally watching his best friend get the girl he was always meant to have. Centuries of sadness and pain and suffering, and finally, they’d all get to be truly happy. 

“Azriel, uh, I don’t suppose you have any vows?” Gwyn offered, the book making a mighty slam as it snapped closed, a cloud of dust leaving it and she gripped it to her chest, teal eyes bouncing happily between the two at the altar. 

“Sure, yeah. I have… something.” The speech, Rhys felt excitement bubble within himself at the speech he’d heard Azriel practising for days to tell her. “I have been trying to tell you this all night. All month. For years, actually, so, I’m glad I can finally say it.”

Chuckles sounded around him, and Cassian hooted in encouragement somewhere to his left. “Get her, Az!”

“I’m in love with you. Plain and simple. I’m so fucking in love with you, that I can’t think straight. I can’t act right. I can barely breathe when you smile at me, and when you look at me, it makes me feel worth it. Like everything I had to endure to get to this point was nothing, because you make it all right. Everything, from the scars on my heart to the ones on my hands, you make it all feel okay. You’re beautiful, you’re special, and I hope you feel even a tiny bit of what I feel for you, because if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you with everything that I have to give. And when we die one day, my soul will forever be bound to yours, following you across the winds, to wherever you want to go. Life or death, sickness or health, happiness or sadness, I’m yours.”

It was so much more than the speech they’d had planned, something truly poured from his heart, and he rubbed a hand over his chest as he watched. He watched you cry, watched tears stream slowly down your face as you gaped, and watched Azriel wipe them away patiently. 

You were overwhelmed, clearly so, and yet you reached up, cupping Azriel’s cheeks in both of your hands. 

“Some spymaster you are, huh? How did you not know I love you too? So much, Az, for years. There are so many things about you, everything about you, I just-” You cut yourself off with a sniff, lip wobbling as you stared at him, and with your confession too, Azriel was grinning. 

“It’s okay, don’t cry, my love.”

“When I stop crying, I’ll give you a real good speech too, I promise.” That drew laughter from them all, and he could feel Feyre practically buzzing with excitement against his side, could feel the overwhelm of both Cassian and Azriel’s emotions from their bond. 

“Are you sure you want to-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish that tickle of doubt, before you were pulling his face down, body flush to his as you leaned into the kiss. Your lips melded together, Azriel wasted no time in responding, and Rhysand let out his own loud cheer of approval to join everyone else’s as the deal was all but sealed. 

“Well, kiss your bride… I guess?” Gwyn teased, stepping down from the altar as the two remained locked in their tear-filled, happy embrace. With a wink of magic, Rhys was holding out his hand, a set of pretty bands sat in the centre. With another flick, the pair was sitting snugly around each finger, and at the sudden coldness, the pair snapped apart. 

Glancing down at your hands, you were busy admiring yours while Azriel’s head turned to Rhys, mouthing his thanks, before taking your hand and throwing them up in the air. 

“I got the girl! I got the girl, Cass!”

“Yeah, you did, buddy!” His friend hollered, all of them making their way up to the altar now in a stream to offer their congratulations. 

The memory fizzled out, you felt yourself being slowly deposited back into your own body, until you were blinking your eyes and taking a gasping breath. The room was silent, waiting for any kind of response, and Azriel was pushing the last of his foot around his plate aimlessly, an anxious frown sitting on his lips. Your hands squeezed, coming up empty, and finding his hand was now sitting on his lap, clenched into a tight fist so hard his knuckles were white.

“I had imagined something better for our first kiss. Preferably, something I’d consciously remember.” He still wasn’t looking at you, even as he spoke. Out of everything about this situation that made it crazy, somehow, marrying Azriel, it all seemed to make sense. Nothing about it felt wrong, or crazy, and you only wished you’d remember the beautiful moment through your own eyes instead of someone else. It was your turn to direct his attention now. 

“Yeah?” Your hand settled behind his head, sitting on the nape of his neck and rubbing lightly, until he looked up at you. Hope. Hope shone in those pretty eyes. “Something more like this?”

The moment your lips met his, gasps sounded and cutlery dropped to hit plates sharply. But, you didn’t care. Moving slowly, Azriel barely paused, before letting out a quiet moan against your lips, relief and love mixed into the sound, as he kissed back. One hand found your cheek, the other spreading along the back of your chair until his arm wrapped around you to tug you in closer. His lips were shy against your own, growing in confidence with every drag, your noses bumping, promises and affection and need shining through. 

He pulled back, for a quick breath, your lungs burning in a heady way that made you dizzy, before he was stealing more, prolonging the kiss. Vaguely, you could hear Cassian cheering, Feyre aww-ing, and Lucien chuckling. Nyx was clapping his little hands excitedly, obviously picking up on the joy in the atmosphere. Azriel’s thumb swiped over your cheek as he pulled back, a final kiss left on your still-puckered lips. 

His pupils were blown wide as he licked over his own. You smiled, hoping to maintain at least a little of your dignity and all of your innocence, before you jumped your new husband right at the table now that all of the confusion was cleared. His nose was still bumping your own lightly, lips barely brushing, and he placed another chaste kiss on your lips, need burning hot between you both. “Yeah, just like that.”

Finally, he pulled away, sparing you both any embarrassment if he’d stayed longer and you’d lost all your self-control. He was grinning stupidly as everyone stared at you both, his arm still spread along the back of your chair, fingers brushing your shoulder in aimless patterns. 

“So, what are you going to do now?” Lucien raised a good question, you hadn't really thought that far. And yet, still, as you glanced from your wedding band to your husband, you felt nothing but bliss. 

“Well, I think Azriel should take his wife on their first date, for starters.”

Azriel only nodded, turning to look at you and you swore hearts were visible in his eyes as he did. He leaned in, lips brushing your own again, a tease of a kiss that had you leaning forwards for more, and before he gave in, he simply whispered, “I’ll pick you up at six, my love.”

[ifortom]

WINTER AHEAD (1/2) T.H.

Summary: An unexpected pregnancy at 21 completely changes the lives of two young people. Over time, their paths diverge, and their hearts bear the pain of separation. Yet, the life born from their love keeps them unbreakably connected, showing that some bonds transcend time and differences. Also, it’s Christmas time!

A/N: I wrote this suddenly and couldn’t stop, but it will be divided into two parts because it took a different turn than I expected. Oh, and I know Christmas is already over, but my brain only started working after the festivities ended. I brought up some topics in this text that might be sensitive and cause some discomfort, but in the next chapter, some things will be explained.

The sound of the door opening, along with soft footsteps on the carpet, woke you up on yet another winter morning. Shortly after, you could feel the new weight on the blanket covering you, preventing the cold from reaching you.

"Mummy, are you awake?" The sleepy, drowsy voice reached your ears, and small fingers gently touched your face.

Delicate fingers gently trace imaginary lines on your face, attempting to wake you up.

"Mummy, come on. Daddy will be here soon."

It’s possible to detect the faint hint of desperation beginning to emerge in the little one's voice, as he spares no tactic to wake you up.

Stretching your arms without opening your eyes, you wrap Ethan in the blanket, eliciting a loud laugh from him.

"Oh no, help!" he shouts amid his laughter.

"This is an attack from the blanket monster!" you say, deepening your voice as you join in the game Ethan invented a few years ago.

As he tries to escape from the blanket you’ve wrapped him in, you attack with tickles, making him squirm uncontrollably on the bed.

"Mummy, please!" he says, laughing.

"Mummy? There’s no Mummy here, only the blanket monster."

"But I need my mum."

"Then do you surrender?"

"Yes, yes, please!" he says, and you release him, throwing your own body onto the bed and closing your eyes. When you feel Ethan stretch out over you, you open your eyes and smile at him.

"Oh, good morning, E."

"Good morning, Mummy! I was attacked by the blanket monster."

"Really? And did you defeat him?"

"Hm, not this time."

"Ah, that's okay. I bet the blanket monster had all his meals today, that's why he was so strong this time," you say, sitting up and pulling his little body close to yours. Ethan sits on your lap, his legs wrapped around your waist and his head resting on your chest as you lean back against the headboard of the bed.

Your hand gently pats his back, soothing him even more. No matter how much he grows, his mother's lap will always be his favourite place.

You bring your face closer to the top of his head and inhale the scent of baby shampoo coming from his soft hair.

Ethan may be just a few months away from turning 6 and becoming more independent in his routine, but to you, little E will always be the baby who cried loudly the first time you held him in your arms at 21.

From the moment you discovered you were pregnant, you knew life would never be the same, but the feeling of holding a newborn in your arms just minutes after he took his first breath of air was almost like a cold shower.

Since that moment, life took a new direction. There was no longer just Y/N. Now it would be Y/N and Ethan.

And Tom.

And as always, life spins in unexpected ways, and suddenly everything changes. Some things no longer seem to be enough.

After a few minutes in the same position, Ethan starts to move, and you release him to look at him.

"Can we have hot chocolate today?" he asks.

"Wasn't that our breakfast yesterday?"

"I know, but..." He turns his face, staring at the window. "I'm going to miss it."

He doesn't specify, but you understand what he means. It's the weekend, which means Ethan will spend the next few days away from home. Your home.

"I'm sure Daddy can make hot chocolate for you if you ask him."

"He makes it, but it's not like yours," he says, pouting.

"Ah, boy, stop trying to convince me with that face, you know it just makes me want to squeeze you!" you say, excited, wrapping him in your arms and hugging him tightly, covering his cheeks with kisses. "Go put on a sweater and let's have our breakfast, okay? Daddy will be here soon."

He nods and wriggles out of your arms, jumping off the bed and running toward his room. You get up and head to the bathroom, tying your hair back and washing your face to shake off the sleepiness.

When you reach the kitchen of the small apartment, Ethan is already trying to climb onto one of the stools at the counter—a thing you've already scolded him for trying to do on his own.

"What have I told you about asking for help?" you ask, approaching him and helping him sit on the stool.

"Sorry," he mumbles, then starts watching your movements as you gather the ingredients needed.

"Are you excited?" you ask, distracted.

"I am! Daddy said we're going to see the snow and the big Christmas tree. And then we're going to see Grandpa and Grandma."

This is a tradition of Ethan's that has been kept since his first Christmas, even though he was too young to understand. The photo on the wall serves as a constant reminder. Every Christmas, you would take him to the city center, where the Christmas tree was set up and the decorations lit up everything around.

However, the tradition of strolling through the city center during the festive season began long before Ethan ever thought about being born.

At 16, Tom took you for the first time to see the Christmas lights. According to him, it was just a walk among friends, but both of you knew that day meant so much more than that. After all, it was the day of your first kiss.

"This isn't a date," he said, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"Tom, I believe what we're doing qualifies as a date," you laugh.

"No, you deserve something better and bigger. You can consider this a date, fine, but we'll do more things and I'll take you to other places. I promise. A more exclusive place, too! There are too many people here," he says, looking around, and you laugh, pulling him closer and wrapping one of your arms that wasn't holding his around his neck.

"Any place with you is exclusive."

It’s been two years since you and Tom decided to go separate ways. For some reason, the relationship began to fade. It wasn’t for lack of love or affection for each other. But the heavy workload and raising a baby while still so young interfered with the future you had envisioned at 20, before Ethan became a matter that needed to be discussed.

Ethan was never considered a burden by either of you, but everything had to be reconsidered the moment you held the positive pregnancy test in your hands. Studies had to be put on hold for a while, and Tom had to find a full-time job that paid more than the part-time one he had at the time. In addition, he still needed to make time for his college studies. You also helped as much as you could during the pregnancy, taking online design courses that provided you with some work during that time.

Your parents were shocked, as were his, but they never denied their help. They were the support both of you needed in those first years. They helped with the payment of the first rent for the small apartment you found, and Tom made sure to pay them back as soon as he was able.

But their shock was even greater when they received the news that you and Tom were separating, instead of the engagement they had hoped would happen. Your mother, who had been so in love with Tom back then, cursed him with every name possible for neglecting the family he was starting to build. She demanded that he take responsibility for the consequences of his actions.

As you cried from the pain reflected in her words, you explained that it was a mutual decision. There was nothing more to be done. Tom also made it clear that he wasn’t abandoning anyone, he was just going to move out, and you two would no longer be a couple. But Ethan would remain the main reason for your relationship after the breakup.

He kept his promise and never let anything be lacking for his son. He is present and raises Ethan as a father should. But Ethan is still a child, one who learns everything with increasing ease. This means he has already questioned why mommy and daddy don’t live together.

Despite him enjoying having two different homes.

After Ethan finishes breakfast, he asks for permission to watch a cartoon on the living room TV, and you take the opportunity to change clothes and freshen up. Then, you go to Ethan's room, select his outfit for going out, and check the bag he packed the night before. Although he has his own things at his father's house, Ethan still spends most of his time with you, so there are always more things at your place. You add a few jumpers and socks to his backpack and call him to change clothes.

"Let me smell your breath," you say after helping him put on his socks. Ethan opens his mouth, and you bring your face closer to his. "Oh my god!" you exaggerate, acting shocked. "What on earth do you have living in that mouth?" Ethan laughs. "Go brush your teeth now, young man."

He quickly gets up, runs to the bathroom, adjusts the little stool so he can reach the sink, and closes the door. Privacy. The doorbell rings, and Ethan lets out a little squeal.

"It's Daddy!" he says, opening the bathroom door, his mouth covered in toothpaste.

"Hey, finish brushing your teeth, little monster. I'll open the door." He nods and returns to the task, doing it even faster, eager to see his dad.

You take a deep breath and walk toward the door, already knowing what you'll find when you open it. Tom hasn't changed much. Despite the marks on his face being more visible, he still carries the same boyish expression. The same one you once fell hopelessly in love with.

"Hey, I know I arrived a bit too early, but everyone’s excited to see him," he says, one hand going behind his head, scratching his neck. He’s wearing a heavy coat, which shows just how cold it is outside the apartment and building.

"Hi, no problem. You know he's also dying of anticipation," you laugh awkwardly. "Come on in, he's just finishing getting ready."

Tom steps through the door, and nostalgia hits him hard. When he moved out, he thought you’d probably look for another place too—maybe somewhere a little bigger, with three bedrooms and an office so you could work from home. At least, that’s what you both had planned while you were still together. He knows he wouldn’t have been able to stay in a place filled with so many memories if it had been you moving out instead of him.

He notices some changes in the place—the photos that used to feature three people have been taken down from the walls and shelves. Most of them now only show Ethan, with just a few including you. He spots one photo, though, showing your family and his, probably from Ethan's birthday.

This isn’t the first time he’s been inside your home since the breakup. He’s picked up and dropped off Ethan numerous times, including a few occasions when Ethan had a stomach ache and wanted to sleep in your bed. But he had never taken the time to look around. The strange, awkward air between you both always prevented him from examining how you chose to change things after he left.

But he seized the opportunity when you turned your back after saying you’d quickly check something in the laundry area. Unsure of what to do, Tom sat down on the sofa, while you hid near the washing machine, taking deep breaths to prevent the tears from escaping without permission.

No matter how much time passes, Tom holds a piece of your heart that you still haven’t been able to fill. Not with anyone else, nor with yourself. When everything ended, you truly believed that having Ethan would be enough. And he is more than enough. But Tom is unforgettable. Having him so close and still sharing something so precious with him sends shivers down your spine.

Because he’s right there. Just a few steps away. And he’s no longer yours.

The sharp sound of Ethan’s excited voice pulls you back, and you take a deep breath about three times, trying to slow your heart. You swipe your thumb under your eyes, drying any trace of tears.

"E, did you change your shirt?” you ask as you return to the living room, seeing Ethan sitting on the floor, showing Tom a new puzzle he got.

“Yes, I accidentally spilled water while brushing my teeth, Mom,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no problem, my love.” You move closer, crouch down, and kiss the top of his head. “Well done for changing it all by yourself.” He smiles and shifts his attention back to his dad, who keeps his eyes fixed on him.

You let Ethan and Tom talk on their own for a while and take the opportunity to wash the breakfast dishes.

It’s clear that Ethan prefers having this moment at home, without the rush and hurry of needing to leave right away. That’s why Tom always tries to arrive a little earlier than planned, as if to ease the transition between locations for the coming days.

A few minutes later, Tom's voice catches your attention.

"Y/N, can you come here?" You dry your hands and walk into the living room.

Ethan is sitting with his back to Tom, leaning on the coffee table, playing with a plastic robot.

"What's wrong?" you ask. Tom stands up from the sofa and takes your hand, pulling you a little away from the scene.

"He doesn’t want to go."

"What do you mean, he doesn’t want to go? A few hours ago, he was all excited."

"I noticed, but it’s been almost an hour since I arrived, and when I mentioned that we needed to go, he just turned his back and said he didn’t want to go." Tom’s unfocused, disoriented look tightens your chest.

The duration of Ethan's stays with each of you was never decided. One of the things you both agreed on was that the courts wouldn’t be involved at this stage—you both believed you could communicate and decide how Ethan’s custody would work. Tom spends a lot of time at his father’s beverage company, which makes it harder for him to connect with Ethan during the week. Your job is more flexible, allowing you to work from home and have more free time. However, Tom still asks to spend time with Ethan during the week on occasion and also picks him up from school when needed.

This is a new moment, one that neither of you may know how to handle. It’s never happened before. You gently touch Tom’s arm and walk around him to approach Ethan, sitting down beside him on the floor. The moment you do, he turns his head, resting it on the table.

"Bubba?" You use his favourite nickname. "Can you look at mommy?" Your hand strokes his back, but he stays in the same position, unresponsive. "Can we talk? Daddy said you were upset." With that, Tom moves closer and sits on the sofa behind you.

"Come on, bean. We’re here with you."

Ethan’s accumulated a series of nicknames throughout his life, even during pregnancy. Bean being one of them. And the fact that Tom used it now feels like a low blow, especially to you. After all, it was the way you both referred to him throughout the entire pregnancy.

"What’s bothering you?" No response. "Do you remember what you told me earlier? Daddy’s going to take you to see the snow and the Christmas tree. Grandma and Grandpa will be there too."

"Uncle Harry, Sam, and Paddy too. They’re all waiting for you," Tom adds.

Ethan's small shoulders begin to tremble, causing even more panic in both of you, who exchange a glance before turning your attention back to the little one. Slowly, Ethan starts to sob quietly, and your instinct is to pick him up and comfort him right away. But Tom places his hand on your arm, stopping you, and you look at him in disbelief.

"E, you need to tell us what’s going on."

"I don't want to go," he finally replies.

"Ethan, I need you to tell me why," Tom says.

"I don't want to go," he repeats.

"Right, we get it. But this was our agreement, remember? We have a lot to do at home."

"Mummy," Ethan says, sitting up and turning towards you.

"Bubba, why don’t you want to go with Daddy?" you ask gently. He moves closer to you and throws himself into your lap, wrapping his legs around your body and his arms around your neck, burying his face against you. Tom runs a hand over his face, unsure of what to do as the sound of Ethan’s crying grows louder, filling the room.

You look at Tom without knowing what to say, and he seems just as uneasy about the situation. Ethan has never refused to go out with him before. Could it be that the time he spends with Ethan isn’t enough? Tom looks like he’s ready to start an argument that won’t end anytime soon, judging by the expression on his face. You stand up, holding Ethan even closer to your body.

"I need to calm him down. Can you wait or come back later?" you ask.

"What? Y/N, no. You know I always come early just to avoid situations like this. Everyone is waiting for us at home. I need to go, and I need to take him with me." With that, Ethan clings even tighter to you. Tom notices, and rejection washes over his face.

"I'm sure everyone will understand. Do as you wish, but right now, my priority is him," you say, looking at him before turning away and walking to Ethan's little room. The bed, which he had tried to make himself, is cozy enough for you to lie down with him.

Ethan has always shown preferences and behaviours different from other children his age. This concerned you and led you to seek professional help. The paediatrician conducted some tests and recommended starting psychological treatment. A few sessions have already taken place, and Mia, the child psychologist, has had several conversations with you.

Throughout the entire separation period, what concerned you the most was Ethan's reaction and how all these changes would affect him.

Even though he was only three years old when it all happened, he witnessed small arguments between you and Tom, which, despite your best efforts to avoid, could not be entirely prevented. After that, the constant moving from one place to another undoubtedly made it difficult for him to identify with a single place.

Mum’s house, Dad’s house.

Where is Ethan’s home?

This was a question raised by the psychologist, and it has never left your mind since.

Ethan’s tiny fingers wrapped around your neck found the chain you rarely take off. He traced its path to the front, touching the small letter 'E' pendant. A gift from Tom when you both decided on the baby’s name. Some things are hard to leave behind.

You waited until his breathing steadied, making sure he had fallen asleep, before getting up.

The plan was to head to the living room and call Tom to let him know that Ethan had fallen asleep and it would probably be better to come back later. But as you stepped into the hallway, you found Tom sitting on the sofa, his head resting against the back, legs spread, shoulders slumped. Tired. That’s the word that best describes Tom Holland’s body language at that moment.

He slowly lifted his head as he heard you approach. You sat down next to him, your legs touching.

"He’s asleep."

"I figured that would happen."

"The psychologist said he might have issues related to this change in routine." Tom sighed.

Of course, he knows about the psychotherapy sessions Ethan has been attending. His consent is required, after all. But he has never attended a single parental guidance session, something that fills you with frustration.

"Do you think we’re doing something wrong?" you ask.

"I don’t know. Maybe?"

"He wasn’t supposed to be caught in the middle of all this mess."

"What do you want to do now, Y/N? We can’t change the past," he replies sharply.

"Hey, what’s going on with you? Where’s all this harshness coming from?" Tom takes a deep breath and leans his head back on the sofa again, staring at the ceiling.

"My son doesn’t want to go home with me. That’s all. He was fine, and then, out of nowhere, he turned his back on me. When I ask him something, he doesn’t respond." He looks at you now. "I didn’t tell you before because it was resolved, but two weeks ago, that Wednesday when you were stuck at work and asked me to pick him up from school… When he saw me—when he realised it wasn’t you—he didn’t want to leave. It was horrible for me because people were watching, and I’ve never seen Ethan cry as much as he did that day." He lets out a bitter laugh.

"Tom…"

"The teachers tried to talk to him, but it was like I was a stranger taking him away. In the end, he agreed to come with me when I said we were going home, but he misunderstood. When he realised we were going to my house, he started crying again." He looks down at the floor. "It took ages for him to stop. That’s why, when you came to pick him up, he was asleep—because he was exhausted from crying so much." Finally, he looks at you, tears in his eyes.

"Tommy."

"I did everything wrong. I tried to give my best, always, but it’s never enough. I wasn’t the best for you, and look what happened." He looks away. "And now my son doesn’t even want to stay with me."

"Hey, hey. Look at me." You gently place a hand on his arm. "Tom, this isn’t your fault. This is all new for both of us, just as it is for him."

"I should have fought harder for us," he murmured.

Gently, you place a hand on his face, pulling him closer. The two of you adjust on the sofa, settling into a position that feels both comfortable and familiar. Tom nestled in your arms, his head resting against your chest, just the way Ethan often does. One of his arms wraps tightly around your waist, holding you close, while your hand soothingly traces along his back.

As the two of you remain wrapped up in each other for an indeterminate amount of time, you try not to dwell on Tom’s words.

How different would things be if he hadn’t given up on trying? It’s not fair to place all the blame on him, but reflecting on past events, he was the first to show that he no longer had an interest in keeping the relationship alive.

During your time apart, you heard about Tom being involved with other women. But none of them were serious enough to be introduced to Ethan—or to you.

The sound of Tom’s phone ringing on the coffee table pulls you back to reality. When Tom doesn’t move to answer it, you lean forward, trying to see who’s calling. But as you do, Tom tightens his arms around you.

"It’s your mum."

"Let it ring."

"Aren’t they expecting you?" you ask, settling back into the sofa.

"I don’t think I have good news," he mutters.

Your hands find their way to his hair, gently massaging, offering comfort in the only way you know how at that moment.

The phone rings a few more times before the call drops, only to start again 20 seconds later.

"I think you should answer," you say, and he mutters something unintelligible. "I can talk to her if you want." Tom simply lets go of you, slumping back onto the sofa. You get up, pick up his phone, and walk into the kitchen before answering.

"Hi, Nikki."

"What? Who is this? Y/N?" she says, startled.

"Yes, it’s me."

"Did something happen, dear? Where’s Tom?"

"Um, we had a situation here, but don’t worry—it’s all fine now."

"Are you sure? How’s Ethan?" she asks nervously.

"He… well, he didn’t want to leave. We tried talking to him, but it didn’t help much. He eventually fell asleep."

"Oh, poor little thing," she says, sighing. "And you, my dear? How are you?"

"I…" Hearing the concern in her voice, your eyes well up with tears. "I don’t know what to do. Tom is heartbroken. Seeing them both like this hurts me so much, Nikki."

"Oh, sweetheart, I know it does. But you need to take care of yourself too, Y/N. Stop thinking you have to handle all of this on your own. I know what it’s like to raise a child, and I know Tom tries so hard to be part of it all, but after everything that happened… he’s distant."

"It’s been two years, Nikki. Why can’t we move past this?"

"Because there’s still love," she responds quickly. "I’ll never fully understand what happened between you two. Maybe the responsibility became too much, maybe you lost yourselves along the way. Focusing solely on the child became your priority, and you forgot to nurture that love. I don’t know."

"I don’t know either." "And you were so young when Ethan came along, Y/N. You both had to rewrite an entire life you had planned together, remember?" You sigh deeply at her words. "You wanted to graduate college together, start working, save enough to take a trip, just the two of you… there were so many plans, I can’t even list them all. If it wasn’t you telling me about them, it was Tom."

More tears streamed uncontrollably down your face, and you covered your mouth to stifle any sound, not wanting to alarm Tom in the living room. "I heard so much about you two…" She sighed as well. "And the truth is, you’re still young, learning something new every day. And now, you’re also teaching someone else—someone loving, intelligent, and full of so much heart. Ethan is made of both of you, my dear."

"I’m so afraid something will happen to him, Nikki. He’s so little, and I just… I can’t hurt him like this." "Y/N, you’re doing your best. Every time I see that boy, he shows me something new about his personality that surprises me so much. You’ve done an amazing job. But you also need to take care of yourself. And I’d be so happy if you allowed my son to help you in that process."

"Thank you, Nikki. That means a lot." "I’ll always be here for you. I’ll talk to everyone here about it and wait for Tom to let me know what we’re doing today, alright?"

"Alright. Thank you again."

"You’re welcome, dear." And with that, she hung up.

Without a second thought, you walk back into the living room. Tom is still in the same position, only lifting his head when he notices you standing in front of him. His gaze lands on your tear-streaked face and red eyes.

"What happened?" he asks, standing up and gently holding your face in his hands.

"Can you carry Ethan without waking him and take him to my room?" you ask, holding his wrists. He nods and lets his hands drop from your face before moving towards Ethan.

You make your way to your bedroom while Tom goes to fetch Ethan from his room. You pull down the blinds, dimming the light filtering into the space. Tom enters, carefully carrying Ethan, and places him in the centre of the bed.

Gently, you settle on the right side, straightening up before resting your head on the pillow. Tom stands there, unsure of what to do, watching you without reaction. Finally, you extend a hand toward him. He gets the message, takes off his shoes, and lies down on the side that used to be his when you shared this bed. You don’t let go of his hand for a second. Instead, you pull it closer, guiding it to wrap around Ethan’s small body nestled between you.

"I miss you so much," Tom whispered. A small smile appeared on your face.

"We’ll talk later, okay? For now, let’s just enjoy our little Bean."

[thenighthekate]

could you do an angst to fluff with tom based off the way i loved you by taylor swift? if your comfortable with it or have time!! <3.

The way I loved you ( t.k. )

And my heart does not beat. It is still inside my chest. My tears keep on falling and my head will not rest.

There were many ways to love someone. Stolen kisses, morning hugs, late night dinner. The bond between two people only growing stronger with every conversation they had, but ours only seemed to crumble. With every forceful peck, strained embrace, silent meal, the bond in between us quietly disappeared.

He wasn't bad, wasn't the best, but neither was I. We had our problems and once we got out of our honeymoon phase they only seemed to worsen. With every day our arguments grew stronger, louder, the fire in our eyes glowing brighter as our voices raised. It was our new life, we loved each other, just not the same way we used to.

In all honesty I was getting so used to our new reality that when it all flipped I could only cry.

I missed our contact, even when all of it resulted in screaming and crying. Driving down the highway with music blasting just to avoid each other, toxic, but we atleast saw one another. Now it was like we didn't exist, just two separate people living together in what felt like far too small of a house.

The moon was shining that night, rays of silver breaking through the heavy rain that hit the cars windows. It was silent, no obnoxiously loud music that could cover our thoughts, only our breathing filling the empty spaces.

I was staring straight ahead and with a few stolen glances I figured that Tom was too, his brows scrunched, hands tightly gripping the wheel as he looked down the road. He was deep in thought, whatever clouding his mind making him softly shake his head. I didn't pay any attention to it until the car slowed down, drifting to the side of the street and rolling to a stop.

Silence indulged us two as I looked around for any clues, anything that would tell me if something was wrong. " Did something happen to the car-"

" We need to talk." His hands let go of the wheel slightly, his gaze still fixated in front of him. I knew what those words meant, I knew that he wanted to go deep on anything that was bothering us, anything that made us be where we are. " We can't keep going like this. I'm tired of living in this hole, I mean we don't talk, we live two separate lives. We sleep in the same fucking bed, but yet we're different." His rant was pretty short, half of which he looked me in the eye. I could see the sadness behind them, the clear desperation to make things work, fix whatever was broken.

" I don't know what happened to us." There was no cheating, no huge arguments, the lust between us jost slowly seemed to burn out. My fingers played with each other, anxiety filling my brain as it poured out into my words. " I love you, but we can't fix anything if we don't even know what started it."

We stared at one another silently, our eyes in a way almost communicating. " It's either this or we break up."

I knew it, he knew it, but yet something was tugging on both of our hearts, not letting us go with the latter.

In a moment of what felt like a spell was put over us we leaned in, our lips connecting and fighting against each other. This was the first real kiss in a while, no small peck or a smooch presented in front of family to make them know of our so called love. Minutes were shared as our hands traveled bodies, skin blushing and heat rising, I missed this. I missed moments like these, our love for one another just spilling past our edges making us swim in the softly sweet feeling. I missed our dancing in the rain, laughter coming straight from our throats as we got drenched from the water above. I missed us.

We separated with deep breaths trying to catch air back into our lungs, his hands holding mine as we stared into each other's eyes. His palm while clenched around mine raised up, his soft lips planting a sweet kiss on top of my knuckles. " I love you. I promise that whatever was fucked up will be fixed." And for the first time in months I could actually see a light for our future.

[mexicangela]

okay. so. about tedbecca.

this is long and i apologize i just have thoughts. first, the fakeout in the beginning was cruel. BUT i was willing to forgive because tbh it was kinda funny and i’m not convinced that the “morning after” tension between ted and rebecca didn’t make everyone, everyone, think for just a second that they had slept together. y’know, like, if there was never any chemistry there, why the fakeout to get tedbeccas excited/cut them down and antis worried? did the reason for ted, beard, and jane being there really make a ton of sense? no. therefore, it really does feel like it was just something they wrote in to be mean and, like. come on, guys. why be mean? second, their talk in the stands??? you gotta be fucking kidding me. rebecca welton poured her fucking soul out to ted and he didn’t have a thing to say about it other than that “i’ve already made my decision” bullshit? didn’t even offer her a hand or hug of comfort? how out of character was that? he seemed so stoic through the whole episode, like he was stunted. which, maybe has to do with his being sad about leaving but still it threw me off. jesus, talk about “subverting expectations” or whatever. also, the things rebecca was saying? “you go, i go”? the ultimatum of “either we both stay or we both leave” and then her saying they’d both go only to take it back in the end? be so fucking for real right now. the offer to pay him insane amounts of money then telling him there was really no kind of monetary compensation that could represent how much he meant to the club (and her), the proposed solution to bring his child and his child’s mother over to london for him to stay (it is one thing to offer to get henry over, but to extend the offer to michelle is something else)? those aren’t things regular old friends say/do for each other, i’m sorry. listen, i love my friends but that’s a lot to offer anyone. you really have to love someone to be willing to do all that and cry real tears while begging them to stay, to choose you, to choose the home you’ve made for yourself. third, the airport scene gutted me but AGAIN i was kind of at peace with it. it would have at least left it super open ended and allowed the fanbase to imagine what could have happened afterward, y’know. like the whole “rom-com leave-cute” thing was another mean thing to do because where was the rom or the com about that?? why do that? but like i said, i would have been at peace with it because, dear god, the way rebecca was looking at him (again, ted gave us almost nothing but whatever. not even a tear? ugh.). i mean, she was looking at him like she wanted to say “stay. choose me. choose your own happiness.” also i know she’s loaded but WHO BUYS A FIRST CLASS TICKET JUST TO GET PAST SECURITY ONLY TO SAY GOODBYE TO A GOOD PAL? doesn’t make sense to my little pea brain!!! sudeikis, make it make sense (unfortunately for me and everyone around me i still love him)! there really should have been an “i love you” and not even necessarily in a romantic way. these two are supposed to be soulmates, cosmically connected, there’s not supposed to be one without the other and all we got was…”thank you” and a head nod? like, yes, thank you. thank you for showing me warmth and kindness and grace. thank you for reminding me what my strength looks like. thank you for being there for me. yes, yes, yes, thank you! but an “i love you” really would have been wonderful and i’m actually sad they didn’t get to hear it from each other. fourth, the way nameless boat dude came back in like a fucking generic ass early disney prince was just lame. i thought it was lazy. here we have a rebecca who is devastated that this weird, funny, kindhearted american football coach who shoved himself into her life and her heart has just left to go back to kansas and this little dutch girl trips and suddenly rebecca’s found happiness? it’s frustrating. really, it is. like i’m happy rebecca has a shot at happiness and a family, but she just as well could have had it with ted, who is admittedly very similar to this dutch man. i don’t get it. this is where it well and truly lost me. fifth (this one’s a three parter, sorry), where’s ted’s happy ending? because i don’t think it’s a life of volunteering to coach children’s soccer. i know people have been implying/worrying that ted and michelle reconcile but i don’t see that happening. ted, at his core, is still the man michelle left. he’s still overly optimistic (although we didn’t see that in the finale, like what?), he’s still punny, and let’s be real, he’s still a mess. i didn’t see the resolution to his arc. in fact, returning to kansas feels like a regression. he literally ran from kansas. that’s the whole reason he went to richmond in the first place. what changed? why is he going back now? for henry, yes, of course, that’s understandable. and at the same time, within the show we’ve been shown that the bond of a father and child is not always enough to get dad to stay/be a good and decent father (i.e. ted’s father, i.e. james tartt sr., i.e. rebecca’s father). this isn’t, of course, true for ted and henry, but i think it’s a point to make concerning everyone saying things about the child-parent bond being end-all, be-all. for some people, that’s true. for others, it isn’t. it isn’t a jab at anyone or the parent-child relationship in general, it’s just the truth. this is a coin that has two sides, y’know. got off course there but anyway, henry also could have gone to london, which i think might have been the best thing for him anyway, he seemed to have a good time there and he would have had a whole band of new brothers with all the himbos. michelle isn’t a bad mother by any means, but she’s got her own shit to work through if the whole doctor jacob thing was anything to go by. i also don’t think the show did all that great of a job showing us that henry had this super deep connection with his dad, but maybe that was just me lol. regardless, i still understood the bond and its importance and of course ted wanted to be there for his child. that part does make sense. the way it was gone about felt like a disservice though. ted’s expression at the end there doesn’t scream happy. he looked rather sad to me, like something was weighing on him still. and i’m sure there was. i don’t think he’s at peace with himself yet, or happy. maybe he’ll get happy in kansas. i hope he does. but getting to see rebecca’s “happily ever after” and not ted’s hurt my heart. guess i was hoping they would actually subvert the expectations and have him stay in the home he’d made for himself instead of going back to the place where he lost so much. why did he have to give up his found family and the job he loved (and was still actively learning about!! offsides!!) and the best friend he made and the support system he found (which, no matter your age or your progress, you always need a support system) and the community that had come to love him andandand- all ted did was sacrifice to make other people happy and better and this feels like another sacrifice because his mom guilt tripped him by saying something he already fucking knew (sorry i’m not a fan of dottie). i just don’t get it. how is his happy ending going back to the root of all his problems and staying there? just sucks, really, even if it was always the obvious outcome. sixth, i’m just mad all the signs lead to nowhere. the matchboxes, the army man, the bantr fakeout (will never, ever be over this one), the hotel room fakeout where they cut from rebecca to ted in the room and then he opens the door and it’s sassy, the romcommunism, the soulmatism. it wasn’t all for nothing, of course. their friendship is so important and i love it, but this ending felt like a big fuck you to it too because ted was so…distant. it almost felt like he didn’t care that much that he was leaving rebecca and it makes me super upset. all of this is based on the one-time watch from last night but tbh i don’t know if i can handle watching the episode again right now. it really did hurt, especially the way rebecca looked at him at the airport. tbh nothing can convince me she wasn’t at least a little bit in love with him. and, yes, i know. henry is ted’s everything and that’s so admirable and it’s not all about romance, and it’s not. but just let me believe what i want to believe. let me find the joys in the media i consume and if it’s the hope that two attractive, single, middle aged leads could have gotten with each other in the end and figured out how to be happy together, then so be it. i just hate seeing the hate from all sides, honestly, and a lot of people are legitimately really mean about it when this show is all about being kind. ted lasso is a beautiful series and, at the end of the day, it’s just another piece of media that the audience is free to interpret and pick apart however they want to. me, personally? i will continue to live in my delusional little world where ted and rebecca figure out that they belong together/i will pretend the last 10 minutes of the finale didn’t happen. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[arsonmurderandjaywalking]

Thinking about my magical girl ocs again. Imagine you're Helena Lichtenberg and you're fourteen and you don't have any friends and your parents don't really care that much about you or your life or what you're doing and you're pretty miserable and pretty mean and every day you're just going through the motions, until— boom, like a lightning strike (ugh, you're really spending too much time around Arin), suddenly you're magic and powerful and important and special and suddenly it feels like you're alive and here and present for the first time in ages. You want to run across rooftops, with electric arcs following you and propelling you forward and so you do, and it's instinctual and right and so much damn fun. You haven't been this giddy in forever. But then you run into two others— girls, your age, and in the exact same situation as you. It stops you in your tracks a bit. Kicks your brain back into gear, and makes you realize, fully, that this is insane and fucking weird. The girl in the red, with the fire and the bad nicknames and enough piercings to set off a metal detector, doesn't seem to realize this yet and is almost more psyched than you were. (the mirror to your own foolhardy emotions makes you uncomfortable.) The girl in the blue, with the ice and who looks like she wants to sink into the ground whenever someone looks at her, seems to have realized how fucking bizarre this all is, and is the one to connect it to the Old Gods and their Champions. The Champion bit, the expectations, is what seems to make her the most uncomfortable. You want to say that that's impossible, but this entire thing is impossible, and it makes the most sense. That revelation brings with it a boatload of questions (why now, why them, why did this stop in the first place, etc.) but none of them you have answers to, so the three of you drop it and leave because it's late and you have school in the morning and you can feel your magic kind of... flicker, just a bit, which makes you nervous, and you don't want to be caught unaware with these strangers who you're cosmically entwined with but still don't know the first thing about. The three of you agree to meet up at the same place the next night, and you try not to think about what's on the horizon and try not to dread having to interact with these strangers.

[headgoaround]

Sleep comes as relief, like a downpour in the heat, tearing apart

the stuffiness and lies. Whirlpools of seething streams carry away the past.

From under the thick veil of alienation, the light of

consciousness flares up like weak lightning, beckoning unity to life, and when it takes shape, the darkness melts, giving way to light.

Suddenly, leaving no doubt, a sense of peace is born! I am not there, - and here I am in it.

I live, I wake up!

    The colorless August morning ate the roofs like cotton wool of fog, as if they were floating houses.

In the silent sky, the reviving day melted like shaggy mirages…

 “If you don’t look out the window,” the thought flashed,

“you can force yourself to believe that the ball doesn’t exist.”

The ball hung, sadly rolling with its dull sides

In the milk of fog, its whole appearance causing melancholy.

It seemed that the satellite was very close, between the window

and the parallelepiped house.   "The form of perspective

visual spectral changes in spatial

layers of unstable volumes..." - the informant of the universal memory block screeched in the itchy ears.   "So, this

"saucepan" has been here for no more than an hour, otherwise it would have eaten up the block field, -

surfaced in the brain, - now the most important thing is to strengthen the logical connections of the control

of the damn iron." Cursing all the machine arenas in the world,

trying not to make rash movements, he began to pull on the jumpsuit beating with modulated discharges. The memory block began to abstract, blurring with deformed

names of previously familiar objects, stretching them in verbal rapid-fire.

I had to rush about, catching my gaze on the hummocks and islands of "materiality"

around, which retained the visual-verbal meaning in the "compote", which spread like a quagmire

jelly from the objective world in the "zone".

"Well, the infection," he thought with hatred, "will this continue, will it rain or snow."

The dull appearance of the ball was becoming more and more irritating. "It will end with having to switch the logic of machine thinking to speculative modeling," he thought. "Then, it's all over, the ball will get out of control."

"And it will start, cooking "manna from heaven"! What will happen to the air currents

It's hard to imagine, because the program will go according to the lunar calendar, damn it..." - he did not have time to hiss, shuddering from an unexpected call.

" - Hello, old man, what are you..."?

Stunned by the call, he only now noticed that he was unsuccessfully trying to close the hatch of the station, which had turned into an ordinary door before his eyes. Someone was standing on the threshold, like two peas in a pod, similar to himself - only it was a woman... The ball, swaying, dived to the side and sank into "oblivion".

  "- Uh... - the unfortunate one drawled, - uh... a woman in the "zone"! - almost sobbing,

he groaned. The damned ball duplicated Eve from him!

The worst thing was that if they did not find a way out, they would have to play out the biblical story from beginning to end!

[nathank77]

11/5/25

11:07 a.m

Sleep was unexpectedly wonderful last night. I fell asleep fast on my normal dosage. Maybe it's cause I worked out.... I mean but I was at the gym at like 9:30 in the morning until around 11 a.m. I'm just glad I slept well..

I'm doing laundry which is annoying... I cleaned the dryer. I have my towels in. I got about 3 loads... but I want to do my bedding.. I don't think it's possible... imma see what i can accomplish. I hope it is.

As I usually do, I'd do the laundry today, my normal clothing and then I'd do the bedding the day after... but I got to go to the gym tomorrow before my testosterone shot. I want to go to the gym now but I'm actually sore from the gym. Mostly my legs. A little in my arms and shoulders. I'm targeting my arms, shoulders, pecs, and that's it right now. Hopefully my stomach fat falls off and then I'll work on abs.... if not that's cool I'll be adorable no matter how my body looks in a couple months. I wish I could go today but I can't lose the time bc I got to stay on the laundry machines...

Riley peed in the house after going outside.... Idk why it's not like her at this point. And she peed in the kitchen... also not like her. She does it in the living room. I wish my mother would rehome her. Her aid is here now and all she's doing is barking and whining. It makes my at home situation stressful. I love going to the gym, I don't have to be at my house. But I hate running and unfortunately it's important.

I'm still thinking about chlorestoral medication... idk what to do... I don't want gout. It's caused by a build up of uric acid.... Certian chlorestoral medications cause it. And my cardiologist isn't a bloodwork guy... maybe i could ask for a drug to lower uric acid... but then I have two drugs that cause side effects lol

Also I was thinking muscle pain is a side effect of most medications like dry mouth... but the statins are scary bc they can cause myopathy... and just the idea of it triggers anxiety.

I've had a few muscle spasms the last couple days. I'd blame the statin but as of tomorrow it's been a week since I took it. From my research it could be a couple things causing the spasms and muscle related issues from statins. Coq10... which is why I went to 30mg... also ca+ leaks... I have a feeling I'm a ca+ leaker... my Dr is urging me to try something else. They believe I'm statin intolerant.

Unfortunately I don't really know bc my anxiety is so high that it doesn't stand a chance. I can almost make my muscles spasms if I think too hard about it. It sucks.

My wrist still hurts. My scan still isnt covered. I have to try to get assistance.... I might call my dad today or tomorrow not for money just to talk bc our conversation went so well last time. I want to connect with someone.

I still want to share my brain scan with someone. I also wish I had a disc drive for my Mac... it sucks.... I had to go out to a place to view my brain scan. Also it seems like they missed one side of my head but idk it could just be position... bc they were looking at my ears.. and they got the top, back, side, all kinds of pictures. I've been having fun identifying anatomy parts on my scan but I really wish I could use the program on my Mac. I just don't have the money to get a disc drive and then when I think what else could I use it for?

1) nothing. No one uses cds anymore. I'd never watch a movie on my Mac unless my electric was out but then I wouldn't watch a movie on my Mac bc it would be a power source to charge my phone.......... I mean disc drives are getting phased out. I have apple music and even if I didn't.... id use YouTube or Spotify........ so if I got a disc drive it would only be for my brain scan...

I had bad anxiety last night. I always have bad anxiety. It was like once all my daily stuff was done and I ate and started to relax I was stuck in my barricade with my shitty mother. And yea

[wiktorianala]

Ma yapping about a game I just finished if anyone would care (and probably at some point getting out of topic, so just starting to talk about other stuffs)\/

Ok, so I just finished dsaf3 "good ending" and... what the fuck. Just to make things straight I accually replayed it 2nd time now, because 1st time was few hours ago, in the morning with no sleep so my brain was almost turned off, so ending seemed, not really interesting, nor emotional, at least not as much as innternet maked it seem, so that's why I just replayed it from last save (I just woke up so brain working just finey) and OH MY GOD WHO LET THIS MAN COOK? Like I've gotta say, I thought that I was "crying" hard over "evil route" (because honestly it not really made me cry but rather left me sad as fuck and not knowing what to do with myself), but holy shit after this thing I genuelly was in front of screen crying like a little fuckin baby (and stil left not knowing what to do with myself). I don't really think any game ever made me cry this hard, nah I bet I could say any piece of media. Gosh even now I want to cry again. Anyway I honestly was suprised that part that mostly break me was not the after battle with henry on flipside, but rather, at the end just thos tumbstones and all. Maybe because it all just cumulated at the end, I dunno. Honestly it's surelly gotta be for me one of thos games, for which I wish I could erase my memory, just to expirience them once more for first time. Closest to this might be when I'll finally get out of phase for it, for a longer time, just to replay entire serie again. Gotta say that arter palying all mayor routes from all 3 games (+ quite a few smaller ones) this serie surelly jumps into "fave games" category, right under portal2 (which is hightest place a game for me can go, because srry, but I hold very nostalgic connection for portal, and even if I'll find a game that I'll like more, thare's just like, I dunno a part of me saying "nostalgia at first place" so I can do shit about it), and that means I really fckn enjoyed it, because for now my faves only had "tier one (AKA. portal2)", and "tier two" wich was rest of my fave games, and now it has tier one (still the same), tier two which now include dsaf and tier three which is rest of faves (and if someone's interested "how much games are then here rn in total", answear would be... lemme check, It's five games in total on my fave list or more like "tha ultimate fave ones", and it's not because I play not many games, but rather that I rarelly find games that strike me in the way that, I don't know how to put it into words. I guess I just rarelly find "that one" type of stuff). Wait... didn't I get off topic? Hard to say. Ok, so anyway I really enjoyed it despite all of the cryies that occured ( and by this I mean not only 3rd game but honestly entire franchise because on "good ending" in 2nd game I broke too, and on just as I said somewhere before on "evil route" in 3rd too (on first one not thought, but it doesn't make me like it less) ( but no matter what 3rd is surelly my fave out of all)). And when I'll put my mind together , I'll think about concept for fanart (just like with evil route, a fanart directly of an specific ending) and maybe in spare time will make some doodles ( I'll have to think about in which art style it'll be(or wich one will fit it the best)). I know- I know I tend to make quite a lot (at least for my standards) arts from dsaf, BUT IT'S MY CURRENT FIXATION SO, I'M SORRRRRY. I guess next game I'll be playing will be dialtown, but for that to happen i want it to get on sale (just, so I could buy base game with dlc in price of just base (I know it don't work that way but I don't care))Yeah so ummm, that's all? I guess yes. Just like last time I bet noones reading that(and I don't mind it, after all I'm the one who decides to don't add tags to any just txt type of post, just so it won't pop up at any random person page, god it would feel awkward, especially looking at the point that I'm just writing the way that I would talk to someone so "first thing that comes to mind get noted" so after some amount of time, stuffs that I write feel really stupid/cringey. Shit I'm off topic again) Anyway, Byee~*

[skyofalienstars]

Ramblings of a mentally ill woman part 1

Do you ever want to die? No, not die exactly. Hmm, how to put it? That empty space between the reality and your being. Does it hold you sometimes? Make things seem less impactful or real. Make it feel cold and heavy yet almost like nothing at all. I feel dying means having been present somehow in the first-place. It doesn’t feel like that though. That I’ve lived I mean. It feels more like I’ve existed in a space that was never quite meant for me. My brain too distant and my heart too full for my being to comprehend. See feeling nothing sometimes feels like feeling everything all at once. There’s a space of awareness where my mind should be but it is not. It is like somewhere above me is a piece of my mind but it cannot be grounded to the earth as gravity does not effect it. It traps me somewhere between here and somewhere that holds no pain or longing. No sorrow or happiness can reach this place. I want to be one place or another. Be in my body or passed on to someplace only my soul knows.

This in-between of two extremes is hallow and chest breaking. It is like a hole is craved where my heart should be and my brain is scrambled with static. I don’t feel connected to this body a lot of the time. It feels like it weighs me down into a place that is forcing me to see it. I look at people and feel nothing sometimes. This space in-between has numbed all connections to those around me. Like looking through a window on a winter morning. Seeing the snow on the outside but only feeling dull coolness from the glass. Dull, distant, and hallow. I think I fell warmth for people sometimes. I may not get their jokes or their sarcasm a lot but I think I feel differently than people normally do. Like I’m wired some weird way that others aren’t. Emotions are physical things or rather that is how I experience them.

My chest feels heavy and warm sometimes when I know I care for someone. My stomach turns and I feel sick when I am anxious. My chest feels hallow when I am hurting, which seems to be the most common feeling I have. My stomach drops when I’m startled or fearful. My hands seem to sweat when I’m nervous. My head aches when I’m annoyed. My throat hurts when I’m upset. I feel these things so distantly which makes my ears red and hot. I want to feel connected to this being that I am in. I want to feel things like others feel. This space I’m stuck in makes me feel like I’m stuck in a vast emptiness that is never ending. Dramatic as this all might sound it is hard to put words to the feeling of void, of lack of. Because how can you feel something but nothing at the same time? Maybe next time will hold an answer

To be continued…

[seem0reglass]

In a couple of weeks, my tumblr account will be 10 years old.....

I feel so old. I don't even know if anyone who I went to high school with is still on here. Maybe 1.

And I'm turning 26 in a couple of weeks, too. I have been thinking a lot about the past. My past specifically I mean. Every iteration of my life and my self, from the past 8 years since graduating high school. So much has changed. It all seems a lifetime ago.

I used to have so much more energy and zest for life, confidence, whimsy, exuberance for experience. And I think on the past six months, eight months, a year, and how much has changed even in that time. And how fucking sad I've been for so much of that time.

I've been sick for a while now. In the head, I mean. My physical health has been fine. I often forget how sick I was from fall 2015 thru early 2017 with my ulcerative colitis until i started humira, and it started working for me. Being so sick seems like a distant memory. And I hope that a couple of years from now, this bipolar depression that keeps coming back and back after brief reprieves of hypomania will smooth out and become a distant memory too once I'm stable.

Ten fucking years ago I was at a little party with my high school friends, summer before 11th grade, and I made a tumblr account. Almost none of those people are in my life now. It hurts so bad, for me at least, to become cognizant of the tides of friendships that have come and gone throughout my life from high school to the present. It's now been as long that I've been out of college as the length of time I was in college. I'm going to be 26 very soon. And I'm very scared. I don't want to keep growing up. I don't have my shit together enough.

And I feel like in the past year, or at least eight months, I have barely noticed the time going by. Because I've been so fucked up in my brain.

I want to become more aware of the present. Because lately I've been focusing my energy on being scared for the future and missing the past. But neither of those are very helpful I think. Thinking back on good times is one thing. But wishing I could go back, or change something, I don't know, I don't think it's very good.

I just got 4 disposable cameras of photos developed. Ranging from early 2019 thru fall of 2021. And fucking hell. It makes me cry. All the memories.

I even got back onto instagram. I deleted my instagram and fb accounts March 2022. But yesterday morning I was just feeling so nostalgic, and missing the connections, however vague, to the people who've come and gone in my life...so I got back on it.

I journal every day. If I wanted, and had the time, I could read every day's entry from circa July 2018 thru the present. I have all of those journals with me here in lansing. The previous ones are at my childhood home with my mom and sister.

I'm just feeling sad and missing the past. Which I think is ok in doses, but I need to not dwell. And I need to put more energy into being centered in the present. Because every day goes by and I write pages and pages in my journal but I barely remember that day one week out, or two, or even a couple days later. I need to be aware of time going by, because even if I feel shit fucking awful, life is still happening, and I don't want to keep missing it go by.

[lexivass]

I see what you're doing, Alice: you're trying to distract us with cute and sexy moments, then when we THINK we're finally figuring out the mystery you throw us down the rabbit hole again. Wicked wicked woman! Just kidding, I'm loving the crime plot line, and the dialogs between the team are just the coolest! 😍 It's like watching a Criminal Minds episode (back when it was still good, lol).

Ok, so there is a connection between Julia and the second victim after all, but I'm still holding on to my "escape goat" opinion regarding the doctor. The line about him being safer in prison made me insane. People said he was acting weird that week. What if he was acting weird because he knows who's behind the murder of Julia's sister and her child and the disappearances? And he got scared when he heard about the second body, so MAYBE he knew who it was already.

Me thinks, which might be the product of the voices in my head speaking and it probably sounds really stupid bc I don't know anything about Julia's sister but ME thinks, Julia's sister and her child's death were not random or just "another death" to this killer. While Julia may have been killed in a crime of passion, I don't see how this could apply to her sister unless the doctor was having an affair with both of them and did it, but that goes against what Lloyd observed so far. Also, it's just too much coincidence that two sisters who (probably) never knew each other being killed around the same time and found in near sites. Unless they knew each other? Did someone wanted to hurt her sister and the doctor just cleared the way for them bc of his abuse? 🧐 This is frying my brain

"He tucked the sheet under your chin and watched the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Seeing you look so serene in his bed gave him a curious sort of satisfaction. The feeling turned his heart warm and soft, as if a ray of sunshine had shone directly into his chest, and melted it."

Alexa, play "You are in love" by Taylor Swift 💕💕

"(...) and collected the luggage. Unless he threw in a load of laundry tonight, you’d have to go home and change in the morning. He unpacked and sorted your laundry with his, making sure to inspect the tags for special instructions."

Domestic caring (future) boyfriend 🥰🥰

"If you’d like, I can contact your siblings and-”

Lloyd has siblings????

"Lloyd’s eyes turned to the mirror in the dining room. He had his father’s bone structure and his thick, dark hair. They stood at exactly the same height and shared a powerful, athletic build. Most days he hated their resemblance, but he was eternally grateful for the last two traits. After puberty his body easily developed and retained muscle, giving him a priceless advantage on the football field. He’d turned it into a ticket to the Ivy Leagues, then to freedom. There were other differences between them, but only on a superficial level. Where Joe Hansen’s eyes were jet black, Lloyd’s were cobalt blue. Joe’s skin was a medium olive that browned quickly in the sun. His own skin repelled sunlight and what little melanin he could develop in the summer vanished before Labor Day. The contrast in coloring was the starkest difference between him and his old man. Except for that, they were almost clones. The fair skin and blue eyes were gifts from his mother. Those recessive Norwegian genes that caused the divergence seemed most readily passed from mother to son. Without them, he’d begin each morning staring at the face of a monster as he shaved. Thank God for small favors."

These descriptions were so fucking good, Alice! Truly a delight to read 👏👏👏

“You don’t want to come keep me safe? What if I get mugged?” So cute ksksksk 🥰🥰

“Why were Julia’s remains so easily found? If Nguyen had the means to dispose of numerous other victims before her without leaving a trace, why wasn’t he as careful getting rid of his own girlfriend? (...) He showed guilty knowledge of Julia’s death. That’s one point we can wholeheartedly agree on. The problem is that they distorted his domestic violence into a generalized violence towards women. When the two separate concepts are blended into one, it’s easy to jump to conclusions.”

I agree with everything 👆👆

“They ask me stupid questions, I’ll give them stupid answers,” Lloyd talking to a journalist must be the funniest thing ever ksksksk

“It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a father.” Also agreed.

“Angry. Cheated. Full of regret. Confused. Which is stupid. There’s nothing to be confused about. The bastard finally drank himself to death, and the world is a better place.”

Thank for writing Lloyd being bitter about this. I think it's very realistic (and rightful in my eyes bc I don't think children of abusive parents ever need to forgive them) him not giving a fuck about his father but still feeling something.

Part XII of “The Princess & the Lawyer”

Summary: Lloyd notices Princess’ rising stress but he’s distracted by some unexpected news. Lloyd gives Mr. Bishop his impressions of Nguyen and Princess meets Detective Roth, who reveals a shocking development in the case.

Masterlist

Word Count: 8,481

Warnings: Smut. Sexually explicit writing, erotica level heat. Mention of domestic violence, murder, legal proceedings, stalking, violence, and discussion of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

The Princess and the Lawyer - Part 12

“Careful!”

Lloyd caught your elbow and steadied you. After traveling for twenty hours straight, waves of exhaustion were crashing down. First, the weariness had made your head swim. Now it was disturbing your usually good sense of balance.

“Mmmmhhh.”

“You’re asleep on your feet,” Lloyd said.

You leaned into him and blinked, trying to focus.

“Uh-huh…”

You felt drunk. Even navigating the familiar layout of Lloyd’s front hall was a challenge. He guided you around the corner, to the stairs leading to his bedroom.

As you climbed them, his hand never left your waist. When the bed came into view, the sight of it turned your knees weak. Excitement and relief propelled you the last few feet before you dropped face first onto the mattress. Lloyd chuckled as you buried yourself in the green jacquard duvet, savoring the feeling of the cool fabric. With effort, you dragged yourself up the bed and then sorted through pillows until you’d found the right combination.

The moment your eyes shut, you were asleep.

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

Lloyd smiled at the sound of the deep, rhythmic breathing that signaled your unconscious. He slipped off your shoes and socks, and when that didn’t rouse you, he unbuttoned your pants and tugged them down. Trusting the effects of jet lag, he removed your shirt and bra, then dressed you in one of his button-ups. You didn’t stir during the entire process.

He tucked the sheet under your chin and watched the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Seeing you look so serene in his bed gave him a curious sort of satisfaction. The feeling turned his heart warm and soft, as if a ray of sunshine had shone directly into his chest, and melted it.

You were stressed out about something.

He’d felt you tossing and turning all night yesterday, and knew your sudden collapse wasn’t strictly due to jet lag. The emotion had become visible in the same moment you’d learned the bad weather had cleared. He watched it build and was mildly put off that you hadn’t shared the cause of your feelings with him. Not yet, at least.

Comforting you was impossible when he didn’t understand the problem. He’d held you last night, but it hadn’t settled your racing pulse. Your heart had pumped so hard and fast, he could feel the beat of it vibrate through you and invade his own body. All night he’d felt it thundering, like drums shaking the walls of a concert venue. This morning at the airport he’d asked if you were feeling okay. Your denial was unconvincing, but he’d marked it down to the public setting. He knew something had gotten your tail in a twist. It was only a matter of time before he found out what it was.

Since this was hardly an appropriate time for that conversation, Lloyd headed downstairs. He reset the alarm system and collected the luggage. Unless he threw in a load of laundry tonight, you’d have to go home and change in the morning.

He unpacked and sorted your laundry with his, making sure to inspect the tags for special instructions. Then he put a load on quick cycle and went to check the mail. He was standing in the kitchen sorting it when his phone buzzed.

The screen showed a 208 area code. He didn’t recognize the rest of the number, but picked up the call anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hello. I’d like to speak with Lloyd Hansen, if he’s available?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Abigail Essex. I’m calling from St. Benedict’s Hospital in Ketchum. Before we continue, can you please confirm the nature of your relationship to Joe Hansen?”

Ice formed in his chest and slid down to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Joe Hansen is my father.”

“Thank you. I’m a nurse in the medical ICU. Your father was admitted a few days ago for generalized weakness and nausea. His condition took a turn for the worse today.”

She paused. Lloyd stared at the glossy white wall. The message was straightforward, but his typically agile brain struggled to comprehend it.

“I’m sorry to be blunt, Mr. Hansen, but your father’s condition is quite serious. He’s suffering from viral influenza which is complicated by his existing liver failure. From the medical records, it looks like his general physician diagnosed him six years ago. The illness was already so advanced that his treatment options were limited.”

Limited treatment options. That meant terminal, didn’t it?

Abigail cleared her throat. “Mr. Hansen? Lloyd?”

“I’m here. How long?”

“Hours, maybe days. His condition is deteriorating. There’s a note in his file that Joe is estranged from his children. However, during end-of-life care we always try to reach out to the family. Social work searched for next of kin, but only found your records. If you’d like, I can contact your siblings and-”

He cut her off. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Okay. We have his POLST on file, so there’s no need for you to make decisions.”

“POLST?”

“I’m sorry. A POLST is short for physician’s orders of life-sustaining treatment. It’s a form filed with the state to express final wishes. Joe already documented his refusal of invasive life support, which is what our next steps would be. You don’t need to decide. Like I said, it’s standard practice to contact family members when we initiate palliative care, in case they’d like to pay their final respects. This call is strictly a notification.”

His lip curled, and rage tightened his belly. Final respects.

“As far as I’m concerned, you can unplug him.”

Shocked silence filled the line.

Lloyd’s eyes turned to the mirror in the dining room. He had his father’s bone structure and his thick, dark hair. They stood at exactly the same height and shared a powerful, athletic build. Most days he hated their resemblance, but he was eternally grateful for the last two traits. After puberty his body easily developed and retained muscle, giving him a priceless advantage on the football field. He’d turned it into a ticket to the Ivy Leagues, then to freedom.

There were other differences between them, but only on a superficial level. Where Joe Hansen’s eyes were jet black, Lloyd’s were cobalt blue. Joe’s skin was a medium olive that browned quickly in the sun. His own skin repelled sunlight and what little melanin he could develop in the summer vanished before Labor Day. The contrast in coloring was the starkest difference between him and his old man. Except for that, they were almost clones.

The fair skin and blue eyes were gifts from his mother. Those recessive Norwegian genes that caused the divergence seemed most readily passed from mother to son. Without them, he’d begin each morning staring at the face of a monster as he shaved. Thank God for small favors.

“Is there anything further?” Lloyd asked.

“Would you like to be notified when he passes?”

“Call if you want, I don’t care. He’s been dead to me for years.”

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

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.

Lloyd hit snooze with enough force to send the clock skittering across the nightstand. You curled into your pillow and groaned. He stretched and climbed out the bed to open the curtains.

On Mondays, he usually jogged the five-mile loop from Old Town to Belle Haven. He shoved back the drapes and saw the sky was ink black and the sky was spitting rain. The humidity would be a bitch and even the light rain would soak him to the bone in minutes. Blankets rustled faintly behind him as you rolled over. He glanced back and smiled. There were other forms of cardio, which were just as effective, and he’d stay warm and dry doing them.

Lloyd sat down by the cocoon of blankets you’d coiled into during the night. He ran his hand over your back and lightly scratched between your shoulders. You made a noise, something halfway between a hiss and a moan, like a cranky kitten.

“It’s Monday morning, Princess. Time to rise and shine.”

“No…”

“C’mere,” Lloyd purred.

You whined as he dragged you into his arms, trying to grab for the pillow. Because you hadn’t opened your eyes, you missed it by a mile and flailed in protest as he hauled you into his lap. He kissed your cheek and rubbed the bridge of his nose against your jaw. Instantly, you softened. He took advantage and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Lloyd. I’m tired.”

“You’ve slept ten hours, you need to stretch your muscles.”

“Go away! I’m not going jogging! Self-respecting humans don’t run at this hour of morning.”

He pretended to be hurt. “You don’t want to come keep me safe? What if I get mugged?”

“Muggers don’t get up at this hour.”

Lloyd chuckled. “Because they’re such nice, polite, self-respecting humans?”

“Yes. You have a screw loose, Hansen.”

“Several,” he agreed. “What if I did my cardio here? Would that repair your impression of my respectability?”

“Mmmmhhh. Okay.”

You were falling asleep again. He could hear it in your voice and feel you relaxing in his arms. Lloyd pushed off the remaining blankets and undid the dress shirt’s buttons. You stirred as he drew apart the sides of the garment to expose your chest. Kissing a feather-light pathway from your ear, down your neck, to the swell of your breast, he took his time.

You arched and lifted your arms over your head, an offer he couldn’t refuse. The rise and fall of your chest quickened as he explored the sides of each breast and nibbled on the delicate swells of their undersides. He kissed your sternum, making sure his mustache tickled your skin.

You squirmed and giggled.

The sound made him smile, even as heat throbbed in his groin. He returned to your lips for another taste. You kissed him with feverish demand, your fingers delving into his hair as you tilted your head back. The innate submission of the movement cracked his control. He growled and his tongue flicked into your mouth as he teased your nipples with his fingertips. You moaned when he cupped the soft flesh and stroked the tender buds. They were rock hard, biting into his hand like pebbles. Every little whimper you made inflamed his desire.

Your nails raked the back of his neck, sending a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. When your hands moved from his shoulders, down to stroke his chest, he inhaled sharply. The caressing exploration made him groan. Your touch felt almost innocent, as if you were still fascinated by his body, despite your increased experience. You traced the swirl of a cowlick in his chest hair. Then your nails scraped, and he hissed at the flash of pleasure.

He lunged, attacking your neck with his lips and teeth, eager to retake the upper hand. Lloyd pinned you to the bed, easily countering your half-hearted attempts to squirm away. Then he bit your neck, and the startled cry it elicited from you went straight to his groin. He licked the mark he’d left and savored the taste of your sweat. When he took a deep breath, and scented the tang of your arousal, hanging thick in the air, it shattered the last of his control.

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

All the pleasure you’d experienced at Lloyd’s hands paled compared to this. It was like he was everywhere at once. Your lips, neck, and cheeks buzzed with heat. A bead of sweat rolled between your breasts - Lloyd licked it up. His eyes flashed to yours and he purred, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

During the week in Qatar, you’d done nothing more than cuddle. His experiences there haunted him and you understood the lack of desire was nothing personal. It seemed this morning he’d shaken off the ghosts and was making up for lost time.

His kisses were dominating, and his touch was tinged with a new sense of property. He was focused on your physical reactions and the caution he’d shown with you in the past was nowhere to be found. His tongue drove into your mouth and your teeth clashed against his. He restrained your wrists above your head without a second of hesitation. Excitement bubbled up at the realization that the flash of dominance he’d shown in Qatar had come out to play again. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you threw yourself into the kiss, matching his feverish assault with equal heat.

He broke the kiss to return his attention to your breasts, and you whined at the loss. Lloyd chuckled, low and warm. His teeth scraped over the pounding pulse in your throat. He nipped at your collarbone and across the mound of your breast. The brush of his mustache as he nuzzled the side, a spot you’d never known could be so sensitive, made you shiver. When his lips finally closed around an aching nipple, the sensation made your back bow.

Fire licked over your skin and raced to your core. The sensitive walls of your sex convulsed, frustrated by unmet need. You felt the wetness soaking your panties as desire built and your body prepared to be filled. Lloyd took his time, lavishing attention on your breasts. He seemed to take pleasure in foiling your attempts to gain control and drew out the foreplay as long as possible. When he finally eased back, you were sobbing and quivering at each brush of his lips against your hyper-sensitive nipples.

Tears glazed your eyes. The pulsating heat in your core was nearly painful. The intense desire rippling through your muscles had turned them weak. Hunger throbbed in your blood and sweat soaked your skin. It was unclear what portion of it was yours and what amount Lloyd had contributed. His body was feverishly hot against yours and his eyes burned with the same hunger that had you writhing helplessly against him.

Finally, he settled over you, peeling off the damp lace covering your sex and shoving it down your legs. He lifted the panties to his face and breathed in the scent. His eyes flashed to yours and their cobalt depths radiated victorious heat.

He growled. The authenticity of the sound stole your breath. It rumbled from his chest, raising the hair on the back of your neck at the barely restrained violence it contained. His fingers delved into your pussy and he groaned, flexing his digits and stretching your inner walls. The searing heat building in your channel turned molten as his fingers expertly stroked and teased. You cried out, sensation rippling from your womb, down your thighs, up your spine, until it crested and you bucked against his hand.

“Lloyd!”

He grunted, then his thumb swiped over your clit, eliciting a scream. The ecstasy made your whole body shudder.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go.”

His fingers kept moving, plunging in and out, teasing your sweet spot, and caressing your pulsing clit. You trembled on the cusp of orgasm, wanting the release, but not quite able to reach it. Lloyd captured the peak of your breast between his lips. You screamed and shattered. Your body surged, hips canting off the bed as you convulsed. Lloyd continued to draw the pleasure out of you, moving steadily even as your powerful inner muscles seized on wave after wave of climax. His thumb teased your clit, even when you tried to jerk away and twisted, trying to dislodge the tormenting stimulation.

“No, no, keep going. Come on, Princess. Give me one more.”

Your shoulder blades pulled together, clenching, as his coaxing words triggered fresh spasms of climax. Right on the heels of the first orgasm, a second wave dragged you into mindless rapture and knocked everything out of your head. Lloyd sucked your nipples, using the strength of his arm to increase the roughness of his ministrations. The change pushed your orgasm to new heights. You keened, thrashing, clutching the sheets for purchase, and wailing as the pleasure refused to let up.

Several minutes later he eased his drenched fingers from your channel. You could only hear the blood pounding in your head and the ragged sound of your breath. Every muscle was shaking. There was no way to count how many orgasms he’d taken from you, or if they’d been separate, because after the second, they’d all blended together. The final tremors of climax lingered in the shaking muscles of your thighs and clenching sex. It felt endless and overwhelming. Despite that, a deep ache inside of you demanded something more. It needed a more complete pleasure to be slaked than his hands alone could give.

He settled between your legs, stretching over you. Lloyd tilted your face up and when your lips met, his kiss was surprisingly gentle. He gently teased your swollen lips before his tongue darted into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed him with fervor.

“Good girl,” Lloyd praised. “Slide down for me.”

He guided you lower, tugging your hips, pulling you away from the headboard. His hands went under your legs and he pushed your knees up, then widened your thighs as far as possible. A tremor ran through you as he dipped his fingers into your sticky folds. He explored around your clit without touching it directly. Just that was enough to make you shake. Lloyd groaned.

“Such a responsive little thing. You’re so fucking tight, Princess.”

The head of his cock rubbed your slit, teasing you with the promise of relief. You whimpered at the slow, cautious breach of his cock sliding into your sex. Lloyd’s eyes fastened on your face. His girth burned, but the discomfort only made your sex flutter harder. The delicate channel beat with a welcome pulse as it struggled to draw him deeper. You groaned at the delightful stretch as he worked himself into you inch by inch. When he was halfway there, he drew back, and with a powerful thrust, drove home. You shrieked when the throbbing spot, deep in your body, that inferno that had demanded relief, was struck hard by the crown of his cock. A blinding surge of pleasure made you thrash, toss your head and claw at his back.

Lloyd snarled. His hips pistoned forward, triggering another blinding surge of pleasure. He rocked again, then set a brutal pace that electrified your spine, making your pliant muscles undulate with a new intensity. Your hands were weak as they grasped his biceps, clinging to him for security.

“Look at me.”

His rough command made your eyes open.

“Say it…”

Your hormone addled brain stuttered, unable to process the demand. He pounded into you harder at your speechlessness, eyes flashing.

“Princess, I wanna hear you.”

He jerked his hips, impaling you deeper than you’d ever felt him. The devastating flood of pleasure made your toes curl, eliciting a scream as tremors became convulsions and you unraveled.

“Say it!”

“Lloyd! Aaaahhh…”

His fingers found your clit and rubbed, quick and hard. You jackknifed at the unexpected pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, Lloyd!”

“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name!”

The pace of the thrusts increased as his control slipped. You recognized the signs of his orgasm and whined in anticipation. His hands tightened on your hips and he lifted you slightly to pound into you at a deeper angle. It brought on another orgasm. This one was fast, sharper than the first. He put his weight behind the thrusts, driving impossibly deep. You screamed.

“Lloyd! Uuhhh…”

The climax felt unending. A groan rose in your throat, low and reverberating, as an entirely different kind of pleasure sent you reeling. The depth of his penetration caused the waves of climax to spread, up into the muscles of your belly, and down your quivering thighs. He teased your clit mercilessly, even as you sobbed. Ripples of pleasure caused your legs to jerk, seizing around Lloyd’s hips as they stripped you of your senses. You shuddered helplessly, crying, whimpering, consumed by a delirium of passion.

His thrusts grew quicker, turning harder and shorter, before his seed flooded you. Lloyd gasped, moaned and then collapsed. In your post-orgasm stupor, all you could manage was to curl one arm around his back. The other was limp, along with the rest of your body. You felt disconnected, so much so that even the pressure of Lloyd’s crushing weight was a distant echo.

This couldn’t be normal. How could so much emotion pour out during something so profoundly physical? You weren’t built to handle this kind of intensity. It had been like the first time, when the sheer excitement of being with him had short-circuited your brain. Except today there had been more. More power. More raw, unbridled passion.

Was it because of the foreplay? Or the brief period of abstinence last week in Qatar? Or was it just the especially potent chemistry between you and Lloyd?

He moved first, rising to his elbows. His eyes were glassy and the emotions in them mirrored exactly what you felt. Recognizing it calmed your racing thoughts. You brushed back his hair and kissed him. His arms flexed around your waist and you felt another pulse of release splash against your womb. Then you realized your bodies were still joined, and you were sticky with more than just sweat.

“I need a shower. We both do, actually.”

He grunted. “Can you move?”

“Probably not. I feel boneless.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

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

Lloyd’s eyes skimmed your figure appreciatively as you walked ahead of him, entering the lobby of Bishop & Howard.

“No ogling before 10:30, Counselor.”

“If you don’t want to be ogled, don’t wear skirts that make your legs look so tasty.”

“When did I say that I didn’t want to be ogled? I only said it had to be after 10:30.”

“10:30 p.m. came and went nine hours ago.”

“I hate lawyers.”

He followed you to the elevator car and leaned against the wall, his eyes still tracing your curves.

“You look good enough to eat.”

“And you look like a troll that woke up on the wrong side of the bridge. Are you jet lagged?”

“Maybe. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

The car arrived with a chime and you stepped in. Lloyd tapped the button for the fifth floor.

“All that cardio this morning probably didn’t help. Why don’t you take a catnap on your sofa? I can cover for you.”

“No. I need to see Bishop.”

Your humor faded. “You’re going to tell him?”

“There’s no point in waiting.”

“Alright. Just make sure he’s caffeinated.”

Lloyd snorted. “I do have some sense of self-preservation.”

The elevator doors opened to the unexpected sight of Bishop, waiting for you. He had a take-away carrier of coffees balanced in his left hand.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. I already had two cups.”

You assembled in Lloyd’s office, and everyone fell into the same places you’d taken on the day the case was introduced. Bishop settled into one of the armchairs while you and Lloyd shared the couch.

“How was Singapore?”

“The interrogation went smoothly. Nguyen wasn’t forthright, but he wasn’t as hostile as he could’ve been,” Lloyd said.

Bishop considered. “Age could do that, but so could twenty years of living with a guilty conscience.”

“I wouldn’t say the good doctor has an overdeveloped conscience,” Lloyd said.

“I’d concur. Did you learn anything new?”

Lloyd leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together loosely and met Bishop’s gaze.

“I don’t think he did it.”

“That’s ridiculous. I know my prosecution didn’t have the strongest evidence, but I stand by that verdict.”

“There are significant inconsistencies in the case.”

“Nguyen’s history, and his obvious motive, were evidence enough.”

“He had a motive for Julia’s murder. But there’s no solid connection between him and the missing women. In the best cases all there was is circumstantial evidence and in the worst cases, it’s pure conjecture.”

Bishop waved his hand as if wiping away the claim.

“He had opportunities and he’s the only person directly connected to all the victims. When his girlfriend turned up dead, we knew. But the real nail in his coffin is that when he was prosecuted, the disappearances stopped.”

“Roth sent us the files on the other suspects. I’d hardly call those ‘investigations’ thorough,” Lloyd said.

“When your list of suspects is the whole town, it’s hard to be thorough,” Bishop fired back.

“Fine. But this is an instance where the simplest explanation was molded to fit the public’s theory and calm the community.”

“Don’t chase zebras, Lloyd. You spoke with the man, you’re an astute judge of character. It takes all of five minutes to know what he is.”

“Emotionally unstable. Intelligent. Manipulative enough to identify emotions but cold enough not to feel them. His sense of empathy is strictly cognitive - he can understand why people have emotions, but I suspect he doesn’t feel much more than pleasure, excitement, anger, frustration, and disgust. He’s pretty high up on the spectrum of psychopaths. But he’s not excited by violence.”

“How could you tell?”

“His reactions. He feels, or at least pretends to feel, a sense of shame for how he treated Julia. The investigation scares him. But what really made him react was hearing about the second body. He knows more than he’s saying. It’s probably why he didn’t fight the charges harder. He knew he was safer in prison.”

“Who’s your suspect?” Bishop asked.

Lloyd snorted. “Everyone in town, unfortunately.”

“The media has dragged this story through the mud, and back again, several times. They’d whipped the locals into a lather long before Dr. Nguyen’s name entered the investigation, and they’re fixing to do it again.”

“I expect it will be a challenge, but that’s why you brought me in. Roth provided the original case files. The kindest way I can phrase my opinion is to say that their investigation never really got both oars in the water.”

Bishop’s hand covered the joint of the ankle that rested on his left knee. He tilted his head back in what most people would have taken for arrogance, but knowing him, you pegged it as discomfort.

“The state police took one look at Julia’s case and immediately decided it fit the pattern of the disappearances. Nguyen wasn’t just a convenient suspect, he was their only suspect. Extrapolating from a solitary murder, one that occurred within the setting of a domestic violence situation, to a broader accusation doesn’t track.”

“What tracks is that after he went to prison, the disappearances stopped.”

“Nguyen is an emotionally unstable, deeply insecure, coward of a man with an unquenchable need for control. Beating on his woman gave it to him. Why seek other outlets for his anger, when he had a perfectly good punching bag waiting at home?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist. Why he committed his crimes isn’t my concern. My concern was that women stopped disappearing in Harmony once they locked him up.”

“Why were Julia’s remains so easily found? If Nguyen had the means to dispose of numerous other victims before her without leaving a trace, why wasn’t he as careful getting rid of his own girlfriend?” Lloyd asked.

“Dumb luck. Son of Sam was caught because of a parking ticket. Israel Keyes used a credit card from one of his victims. Anyone can get sloppy - even serial killers. When they do, it’s a lucky day for the justice system.”

“Murdering your girlfriend is one type of crazy. Serial killing is another. It’s no stretch to imagine Nguyen in the first category, but the second? He doesn’t have the patience, the emotional control, or the guts.”

“He had connections with all the missing women,” Bishop said.

“Shocking, isn’t it? Given that Harmony’s such a bustling metropolis, and considering Nguyen was a local doctor who treated hundreds of patients a year. Most of those so-called ‘connections’ were pretty thin.”

“Well, along with being connected to all the victims, he lied to investigators and showed guilty knowledge about the circumstances of Julia’s death. He also had a documented history of violence against women and no alibi.”

“He showed guilty knowledge of Julia’s death. That’s one point we can wholeheartedly agree on. The problem is that they distorted his domestic violence into a generalized violence towards women. When the two separate concepts are blended into one, it’s easy to jump to conclusions.”

“I’m not seeing the distinction,” Bishop said.

“Nguyen had a personal attachment to Julia, and he was violent toward her. However, I suspect anyone who got too close with him would be at risk. Dominating someone else, taking away their control, that’s how he relieves anxiety. It’s a feedback loop, one that only works when there’s an emotional bond between him and the victim.”

“That’s interesting. But the fact stands: locking Nguyen away precipitated the end of the abductions in Harmony. Twenty years have gone by without another case.”

“Coincidence.”

Bishop bristled at Lloyd’s dismissive tone. “No more victims equals no more offender.”

“That’s a non sequitur. No more kidnappings equals no more kidnappings; drawing any other conclusion is bending the facts to fit a theory.”

“I disagree, but common sense isn’t a flower that grows in everyone’s garden.”

Lloyd snickered. Just like that, the thick layer of tension hanging over the room evaporated.

“You asked my opinion, and went to a lot of trouble arranging the interview, because you knew I wouldn’t be anything less than candid.”

“You’re a blunt instrument, Hansen,” Bishop sighed.

“Always have been, always will be.”

“I considered sending Zach to interview Nguyen. The trouble is, my objectivity in this case took a hike long ago and whoever went to Singapore…”

He trailed off, cheeks flushing with embarrassed color.

“Whoever went to Singapore had to come back and pull the thorn out of the lion’s paw,” Lloyd said, filling in the rest of the thought.

“I needed an unfiltered perspective on Nguyen from someone I trusted. You’re the only person I respect who’d be irreverent enough to speak your mind, regardless of it pissing me off.”

“Irreverence is a speciality of mine.”

Bishop laughed, then sighed. “It’s difficult to re-investigate a cold case under the best circumstances. When the media learns there are new victims, and where they were found, they’ll descend like a plague of locusts.”

“No doubt,” Lloyd agreed.

“When I met with Roth, he mentioned reporters had already come sniffing around. Nguyen probably contacted them himself.”

“I can handle the media,” Lloyd said.

“Uh-huh.” Bishop glanced at you.

“I’ll keep him away from reporters,” you promised.

“Just try your best. Even reformed, he’s damn near ungovernable.”

“They ask me stupid questions, I’ll give them stupid answers,” Lloyd said.

“No, you won’t. If they call, you forward it to me. If you’re approached in person, the only acceptable answer- even to stupid questions - is ‘no comment.’ Under no circumstances will you say anything else.”

“She loves to cramp my style,” Lloyd said to Bishop.

“I know… my peace of mind often relies on it.”

A tap sounded on the door frame, and three sets of eyes swung to the noise.

“Visitors for you, Mr. Hansen.”

The receptionist stepped aside, revealing a uniformed police officer. Beside him was a man you’d have guessed was his partner, if he’d worn the same navy blue. Instead of a uniform the second guest was dressed in slacks and a blazer. The jacket was the most hideous shade of burnt orange you’d ever seen. It should be a crime to dye perfectly good fabric such an ugly color.

“I’m here to see Mr. Hansen,” the officer said.

“That would be me.”

“May we come in?”

Bishop moved to the couch, directing the newcomers to the matching armchairs on the far side of the conversation area. You slid to the middle seat and let him take the end.

There was a grimness in the officer’s features that suggested this wasn’t a casual visit, or a pleasant one. Bishop frowned, apparently picking up the same vibe. Lloyd, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the apprehension the guests carried into the room.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m Officer Audley, of the D.C. Metro Police. This,” he gestured to the man in the hideous jacket, “is Morgan Lopez, our community coordinator.”

Audley paused and scanned Lloyd’s face.

“I have some bad news, Mr. Hansen. Your father was admitted to the hospital in Ketchum, Idaho last week. He had chronic liver disease, which was complicated by a bout of influenza. I’m sorry to tell you he died earlier this morning.”

The statement hung in the air, wiping everything away with its finality. Lloyd’s father was dead. Your heart twisted unpleasantly. Your father was your rock, the steadiest, most reliable man you knew. In Lloyd’s position, you’d be devastated.

“Alright. Thanks for stopping by.”

Officer Audley blinked, and Mr. Lopez’s eyebrows lifted. Even knowing Lloyd like you did, his reaction was unsettling. He noted their response and gave a tight smile.

“Look, there isn’t much to say. My father and I haven’t spoken in almost 25 years.”

Audley’s expression shifted, recovering its professional mask. “I understand. The Blaine County Sheriff asked us to pass on some information.”

He waited for Lloyd to nod, then flipped open a small notebook.

“According to the sheriff, your father had downsized his cattle ranching operation but the… uh…” Audley squinted to read his writing. “Brand inspector?”

“That’s right. I take it there are cattle to be dealt with?”

“367 of them according to the Brand Inspector’s records. They’ve contacted the feed store and some local cowboys will take care of things for a couple days.”

Audley’s tone was tinged with disbelief as if he found discussing the day-to-day operations of a cattle ranch utterly bizarre.

“Was anyone available?” Lloyd asked.

“Just for the next two days. Sheriff Holbrook said he’d put out some feelers to see if anyone was available for temporary hire, but all the cowboys are employed, or busy rodeoing.”

“I’ll make some calls,” Lloyd said. He looked at Bishop.

“Go. Take care of your family matters.”

“The case-”

“Zach will take the lead and Princess can keep you in the loop. If you’d like to be in the loop, that is.”

“I do. I want regular updates.”

“Then it’s settled. Don’t spare a thought for the investigation, just take care of what you need to. Your team can handle things.”

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

You closed the door behind Officer Audley with a quiet sigh of relief.

Lloyd’s complete lack of reaction made enduring the rest of their visit hard. It was difficult not to comfort him. It was even harder to sit there quietly, aware of his pain bubbling up, as the shock wore off. Bishop had charmed the visitors and skillfully ended the visit by escorting them to the elevators. You felt like an eon had passed before he’d led them away.

Lloyd stood by the desk, his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the items lining the edge. You stood with your back to the door and braced for the crash of him shoving everything off the desk. Even with therapy his strongest displays of emotion leaned toward volcanic.

A minute passed and the crash didn’t come.

“Lloyd?”

You stepped closer and when he didn’t react, approached him. Making sure he saw it coming, you touched his shoulder.

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a father.”

You stroked his arm, observing the quick rise and fall of his chest. The increase in respirations was the only visible sign of distress.

“I didn’t come up with that,” Lloyd said.

His tone was remote, as he stared sightlessly at his desk. The vacant expression called to mind the pictures of shell-shocked soldiers from the First World War. After seeing them in your third-grade history textbook, those photos had given you nightmares for months.

“Some dead Pope came up with that saying. My father, he grew up Catholic… he repeated that phrase. Repeated it a lot. When I was a kid I thought it was nonsensical. Then one day the meaning of it hit me, and I realized he knew exactly what a shitty excuse of a father he was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His voice prickled with defensiveness, the kind that always reared up after he revealed something painful about his past. You usually eased away when he signaled discomfort, because comfort was something he despised, especially when he was the one who needed it. Today you couldn’t offer him that space. Your arms went around him and you slid between his body and the desk, cuddling into his broad chest.

Lloyd’s arms banded around your waist, loosely at first. Then they tightened into a fierce hug.

“I got a call last night. His nurse asked about end-of-life care and I told her it was fine by me if they unplugged him. But he’d already put his last wishes on file. No life saving measures. He stole the only chance I could’ve had to legally kill him. That pisses me off.”

His voice was gravelly with a hurt that ran deeper than anger ever could. You could feel the sorrow welling up in him. After a minute he lifted you to sit on the desk and buried his face in your neck. You spread your legs as far as your tight skirt allowed, drawing him close.

“I thought I’d feel relieved.”

You combed your fingers through his hair, listening to his ragged breathing. After a while, you felt dampness on your shoulder. It didn’t surprise you that his tears came, or that they fell silently.

“How do you feel?”

“Angry. Cheated. Full of regret. Confused. Which is stupid. There’s nothing to be confused about. The bastard finally drank himself to death, and the world is a better place.”

But he was still your father.

You didn’t say it, because it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t comfort him or lighten the weight of his grief. The fact was, nothing could break that primal tie between a child and a parent. That was the cruel nature of heritage - it endured, no matter how hard a person tried to break away.

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

Trying to be subtle, you glanced up and down the hall. When you were sure you were alone, you ducked into the stairwell for a secret meeting on the fifth floor landing.

Jake was already there, with Landon McAnanny.

“Have you talked to Lloyd?” Jake asked.

“I couldn’t, something came up.”

“What the hell came up?!”

“His father died!”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Lloyd’s father is alive?”

“He was until this morning.”

“Uh… he’s never mentioned his father before.”

“He’s going to Idaho to settle his affairs.”

“He’s leaving today?” Landon asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s not good.”

You cringed at the concern in his eyes. Seeing his reaction fanned the anxiety you’d been fighting back for days.

“I’ll tell him as soon as he gets back.”

Landon eased a half step closer. “Look, reaching out to Aiden’s father was a good start, but he can’t control his son for long. The anger is escalating and there’s a subtext of entitlement in the latest messages. It stinks of trouble.”

Jake nodded emphatically as Landon continued.

“You’ve already documented everything. It’s more than enough to file a complaint.”

You were shaking your head before Landon finished.

“They can’t do anything. Aiden’s texts are anonymous and he’s been careful not to be spotted.”

Landon’s right eye twitched. “I know. But reporting your suspicions-”

“Will be little more than an exercise in humiliation.”

The men exchanged a sidelong glance. You sighed, knowing they probably didn’t share your distrust of the police, especially not in a matter like this.

“Look, cops are notoriously bad at handling stalkers. A lot of it comes down to the fact that anti-stalking laws have to be balanced against the bill of rights. Using other avenues to resolve this is a much better option.”

“Mr. LeDoux is a cop, and he said he would help with that,” Jake pointed out.

You sighed. Having Mr. LeDoux’s support behind your complaint would count for a lot in a town like D.C.

“With the amount of evidence you have, they’d be completely negligent to ignore you,” Landon said.

Someone coughed. You looked up and froze at the sight of Bishop on the sixth floor landing.

“I apologize for eavesdropping, but if I can interject…”

“Please do,” Jake invited.

Bishop came down the steps and joined you on the lower level.

“From what I gathered, your ex is making a problem of himself, Lloyd doesn’t know, and the situation is escalating.”

“Yeah.”

“How bad are the messages?” Bishop asked Landon.

“Bad. He’s gone from annoying and sadistic to action-oriented threats. The past three days he’s been sending pictures of her building like he’s staking it out.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“It started when I was in Singapore. I contacted his father already, and he holds the purse strings, which should help, but so far…”

Bishop nodded. “Uh-huh. Legally speaking, it would be beneficial to start a record with the police sooner, rather than later.”

“I’m coming around to that… slowly. I’m going to tell Lloyd, just not right now. I can’t add to his stress.”

“You’re working in the field with Zach this week,” Bishop said. “Stick close to him. Outside of work, you’re going to be house-sitting for Lloyd while he’s out of town, correct?”

“Yeah.”

The thought of Lloyd’s security system brightened your mood. Your top priority was not returning to your apartment for the foreseeable future. Not when Aiden might be sulking around.

“What about telling Zach?” Jake asked.

“How do you think Lloyd would feel if I told Zach before him?”

“You told me, and I told Landon. What’s the difference?”

“It’s different. Zach is his best friend.”

Bishop frowned. “Under the circumstances, I think he’d understand.”

“Can she work from our offices?” Landon asked. “The rent-a-cops down in the lobby aren’t much more than window dressing.”

“You can work from home, Zach’s offices, even the State Police building if Detective Roth allows it. Until Lloyd can be here with you, our building has too much foot traffic for safety,” Bishop said.

“Weston might not be thrilled with that.”

Bishop sighed at the mention of your supervisor. “He’s still annoying you about time cards?”

“He called me in Singapore to inform me that my card from last week is wrong.”

“You’ve never had an issue before, so I’m sure it’s nothing. Have Jen approve your card and tell Weston it’s resolved.”

“Thanks.”

Bishop opened his phone and typed out a message. Your phone chimed, and you saw he’d shared a contact card.

“That’s the information of a detective I’m acquainted with on the Robbery-Homicide squad at Metro. He’s in the second district office. Just in case you feel the need to speak with someone, keep his number handy. You’re going over to Fairfax with Zach, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll text Lloyd and stop by to pick up the keys, learn the alarm system.”

“Stick close to Zach. Between Lloyd’s security system and him, you should be okay for a few days.”

“And file a police report. Tonight,” Landon said.

You scanned the serious faces of the three men and gave in.

“Okay. I will. Tonight.”

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

You arrived at Lloyd’s finding his luggage packed and sitting by the front door. From the back of the house, a door slammed, and you followed the sound to the kitchen where Lloyd was re-lining the trash can.

“Hey.”

“I just finished cleaning out the fridge. You might need to pick up some groceries. There’s $300 cash in the cookie jar, don’t waste your own money.”

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re already doing it.”

You hugged him and he propped his chin on top of your head as he returned the embrace.

“We hadn’t spoken in decades, so I don’t know why this feels different. But it does. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s okay to be confused. And you don’t owe me any explanations,” you said, rubbing his back.

“I can’t understand how I can hate him so much and still feel grief.”

“Feelings aren’t required to make sense. They get to be complicated, and if you don’t want to unravel them right now, that’s okay. Just don’t feel like you’re alone. Whenever you need to talk, or just be with someone, I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’ll be staying here while I’m gone.”

So were you, but for entirely different reasons.

“Call me when you land, okay?”

“I will. Text me about the meeting. Even if it won’t get through until I’ve landed, I want an update.”

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

At the state police headquarters in Fairfax, you met Zach in the parking lot.

He peppered you with questions about Lloyd’s reaction to his father’s death. You realized he knew far more about their relationship than you did and traded bits of information for the scant details he could offer about the late Mr. Hansen.

A young female officer escorted you to a conference room, where Detective Roth was waiting. Having spoken with him on the phone, you’d formed an image of how he looked, which was completely wrong. He wasn’t in his mid-thirties with sandy brown hair as you’d expected.

Instead of hair, he had a shaved head. At first glance his eyebrows appeared blond but when the sunlight caught them, you saw he was actually a redhead. Most surprising was that he wore rimless glasses, the kind Steve Jobs was famous for, though his were more oval than round. When he stood, he towered over you. Even Zach, who wasn’t short by any means, had to look up at him.

“Good afternoon,” Roth greeted.

There was a hint of a Georgia drawl in his vowels and his eyes were arctic blue. The icy gaze carefully examined both his visitors before he invited you to sit.

He opened the meeting with the usual pleasantries and you noted his manners matched the Southern drawl. His relaxed posture didn’t hide the cunning intelligence in his pale eyes and within a minute you recognized that he was every bit as dangerous as Lloyd or Zach. Questions flowed naturally into the conversation, like slippery eels, and his nonchalant mannerisms disguised the intense scrutiny behind them. Roth took his time, thoroughly analyzing you and Zach, before he addressed the elephant in the room.

“Given Bishop’s history with this case, I’m not comfortable with his people involving themselves in my investigation.”

“We’re here to help, nothing more,” Zach said.

He’d been trying to connect with Roth, using the good old boy affability he wore like a veneer when he was trying to be personable. It wasn’t working, not even a little.

“Help,” Roth repeated.

His tone was bland, despite the twinge of annoyance you caught around his eyes. He pinned Zach with a hard look.

“You’re here to help, alright. And to keep your boss informed. He’s already been down and given me his version of the charm offensive. To be honest, Mr. Hightower, I liked his style more than yours. But I didn’t answer his questions and I’m hesitant to share anything further, knowing he’d like to influence my work.”

Zach smirked. “I don’t work for Bishop.”

“Employee or not, he pays you. That’s working for him in my book.”

You jumped in before Zach could dig a deeper hole.

“Detective, we understand your concerns. Trust won’t grow overnight, but we’re here. What can we do that would be most helpful to assist your work?”

“I have a nightmarish list of records to locate, if they even exist, and organize. That’s priority number one.”

“I had a thought about that the other day,” you said.

“Creating a database of publicly available records from that time would streamline the research process significantly. With some help from the Harmony library and the courthouse, I can get started. Once we’ve logged our own copies of everything, it will save a lot of time cross-referencing later.”

“That could be useful.”

Zach cleared his throat. "Speaking of useful, can we get access to the recent labs?”

“No. But if you file a request with the front desk, they’ll get back to you.”

“File a request? Are you kidding me?”

“Does the look on my face suggest that I’m joking?”

You had to smother your laughter. Roth’s face didn’t suggest anything. He might be the most closed-book person you’d ever met. You especially appreciated the way he pushed Zach’s buttons.

“Have you had any media attention on the case lately?” you asked.

“Fortunately, no. But my luck won’t hold for long. Any help managing that shit storm would be much appreciated.”

“I’ll leave you my card.”

“And I guess I’ll go file my request with the front desk,” Zach said.

The tiniest smile curved Roth’s thin lips. He waited until Zach began to unfurl himself from the chair, then reached for a folder.

“Here’s the DNA results.”

He turned it over, so the print side was down, and slid it across the table. Zach picked it up and held it so you could both read. Your eyes scanned the page quickly. As you took in the meaning, you bent forward to check that you’d read it correctly.

“They’re sure this is accurate?” Zach asked.

“Yeah. We were surprised, too. Not by the first result, but the third comparison they did was a heck of a plot twist.”

You studied the results. “The first test established that the woman in the recently discovered slab is the mother of the child found with her. But what about the DNA sample labeled X? Who is that from?”

“A relative. We do that a lot in cases like this, trying to identify a family tree. DNA from mother and daughter matched with a known sample in CODIS.”

“50% match with the mother and a 25% match with the daughter. You found a grandparent?” Zach asked.

“We identified a full-blooded sister of the mother,” Roth said.

“Who is sample X from?” you asked.

“Julia Xiarong.”

“Holy shit,” Zach murmured, staring at the report.

“That wasn’t the strangest part. Now, I’ve confirmed this next piece of information five different ways, trying to wrap my head around it. By all records, and from interviews with people in China who knew Julia as a child… Everyone confirms the same thing. She didn’t have a sister.”

You struggled to absorb the revelation. Roth pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose where they’d rested. A disbelieving smile twisted his thin mouth.

“There’s no record of Julia Xiarong ever having a sister.”

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

Coming Soon: Part XIII

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

Masterlist

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me @patzammit

@badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess @amiets2 @seitmai

@elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers

@kaleidoscopepov

@fangirl-and-medstudent-help @terry2227

@jesevans @mjey12 @openup-yourmind

@kandierteveilchen @adoreyouusugar

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@pensieve-foryour-thoughts

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@bambamwolf87 @michalkasimp

@namelessav @yiiiikesmish

@lavenderx0 @calwitch

Masterlist

Taglist:

[carolmunson]

vacation diaries - entry four

eddie keeps a journal while at the inn with you in northern indiana. a blurb series starting from the first morning after ’before there was a before’.

entries: one,two,three read steve's journal: here.

warnings: minors dni, 18+, adult themes, mentions of sex

what a fuckin minx.

jesus, i forgot for a minute what a solid fuck she is. i know that sounds gross but i am fucking reeling right now. she's in the shower and i just got the life fucked out of me. holy shit. i thought i came hard last night but holy god almighty. i'm never gonna get over this.

we didn't mean to fuck. i didn't mean to let it go that far, i didn't want this trip to be about that. but when she gave me that face when we got back upstairs how could i not? she's such a little tease. she was a little tease all day. the cutest tease i ever met.

she wanted to go to the dunes even though it's snowy and out to the piers and the light house. she swears she packed a warm enough coat but i can guarantee you that she's gonna have a cold tomorrow and then i'm gonna get a cold two days later. i can't even be mad at her about it though, her little frost bitten nose? i don't think i've ever met anyone i want to marry more than her.

we brought some kodak cameras with us to take pictures of everything, went to some tourist spots since we haven't been getting around as much as we want. gas is cheap out here which is nice. we saw some more christmas lights and went back to the diner. the waitress knows my name now so now i feel like i have to come here every couple of months so i don't lose the friendship. her name's marge. she reminds me of my grandma. she has a friend that lives at the women's shelter by the record store named sara-lynn but i don't think i've met her. i'll have to ask around and send marge's regards. she thinks it's cool that i play in a band and her nephew wants to learn how to play guitar but doesn't want him to get any tattoos.

but anyway, we got home after seeing the sights (she called them 'the seven wonders of northern indiana' because she's annoying) and dropping the cameras off to get the film developed, we were sitting in the common area again and she starts tracing my tatts on my arm and she knows how i love that. she's all 'don't listen to marge, your tattoos are unique' and i would obviously never listen to marge because my tattoos are metal as fuck but she can't be tracing them on my arm like that in front of the nice old people we played checkers with two nights ago. so i ask if she's tired and she wants to go upstairs and she basically runs so fast that the lady who runs the inn had to come yell at us for being too loud.

we weren't too loud when we fooled around but if i had it my way, they would've been able to hear her in canada.

i haven't really had her solo in a long time. solo like, not playing a game or a roleplay. just me as eddie and her as her. she tried to slip into calling me daddy at first and any other day i would've went along with it, especially since steve wouldn't hear, but i just wanted it to be us tonight. i told her i wanted to give it to her nice. i don't even think either of us could breathe while we were going at it. i hadn't felt more connected to her in my life. i kept telling her how much i loved her and it kept making her cry so we had to keep stopping and starting which is fine because i kept almost busting way too quick for it to be okay.

we came at the same time and both had to shove our faces in the pillows so we wouldn't get in trouble again. can't believe we didn't break the bed.

she just got out of the shower and came out with my t-shirt on. i think she wants to go again and i'm gonna fuck her brains out. she already fucked my brains out.

sorry i didn't talk about anything legit today but i'm only a man, diary. i'm only a dumb fucking man who loves his girl.

-ed

[nctsworld]

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k 

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection  GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff  WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap! 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.    

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.  

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.  

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.  

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:  

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”  

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.  

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.  

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.  

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?  

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...  

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.  

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.  

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.  

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.  

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.  

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.  

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”  

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.  

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...  

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.  

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.  

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”  

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.  

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.  

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.  

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.    

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.  

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone  off to one side.  

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?  

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.  

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.  

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.  

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.  

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.  

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.  

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.  

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.” 

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.  

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.  

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.  

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.  

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.    

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.  

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.  

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.  

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.  

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.    

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.  

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.  

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.  

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.  

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.  

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.    

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.  

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.  

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.  

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.  

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.  

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.  

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.  

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.  

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.  

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.  

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly. 

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.  

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.  

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—  

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.  

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.  

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.  

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.  

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.  

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”    

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.  

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”