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[autobahnmp3]

i feel like im preparing for lockdown bc i need to get groceries for the time im working 5 12h shifts in 6 days

[reidphobic]

crashing into him tonight (he’s a paradox) - s. r.

in which your lessons continue, and you want to be more than spencer’s teacher. 4004 words. part two to the neighbor!au.

inexperienced!sub!spencer x dom!fem reader, jealousy, mommy kink, mutual masturbation, fingering, praise, very very mild degradation, brief cumplay? i guess? no use of y/n, reader is still super condescending but it’s still hot

It starts to become a routine for Spencer to knock on your door late at night, wearing a nervous smile and offering a quiet plea for another lesson. It’s not every night he’s home, but it’s enough that you start to notice his absence after a couple of days. You try not to read too far into it, remind yourself that the two of you just have fun, that Spencer is just your little plaything, and it doesn’t matter if he’s away somewhere using tricks you taught him on other women. And, besides, you’re hardly celibate yourself.

But after three nights of silence, you hear something so unfamiliar you almost don’t recognise it at first. A second voice in Spencer’s apartment — in his bedroom. You can’t quite make out any words, but you can tell exactly what’s happening, low murmurs giving way to soft moans, the shape of his name reaching your ear in a high, pitchy, voice. You scowl, huff. You know Spencer knows the walls are paper-thin. Has he even noticed that you haven’t brought anyone home when he’s there since you started sleeping together?

You lie awake, listening, until you can’t take the hurt any longer. You storm out of your apartment, drown the ugly feeling in the pit of your stomach in cheap, sour liquor. It’s not long before you’re leaving the bar again, head spinning, and back in your apartment with a willing body between your thighs. The guy — whose name you’ve already forgotten — is perfectly eager, all the right words, praises, moans as he touches you. His kiss is perfect on paper, just enough tongue and teeth and wandering hands, and you moan and stretch and purr when he fucks into you.

But it’s still all wrong. There’s too much of him; square shoulders and broad chest where you crave a slim, slight body. He praises where you want pleas, calls you baby instead of Mommy. The prospect of waking up to him in your bed makes your skin crawl, and you bundle the guy out of the door practically before he’s finished cumming. Sobered up and unpleasantly sticky, you stumble into the shower and try to scrub off the night’s sins. It doesn’t feel like it works.

Trying not to think about Spencer doesn’t work either. It doesn’t work as you toss and turn in bed, or when you’re getting ready for work, not even while your shift drags on and on and your mind is filled with a billion other things. You can half-feel the ghost of his presence, his favourite of your mugs undrank-from on the counter, one of his ties slung across a dining chair, a book he’d thought you might like resting on your coffee table.

It’s worse that he’s gone for so long — he’s been away on a case for ten days, and your lasting memory is the noise of him fucking someone else. The sound is still rattling dimly around your head as you stare aimlessly at the TV, your whole body sore after a long, late shift, when there’s a knock at your door. Unthinking, you open it, expecting your food delivery guy and instead coming face to face with Spencer.

You’re half-convinced you’ve fallen asleep, that he’s a cruel trick of your subconscious, and it must show on your face because Spencer’s face screws up in concern as he speaks. “Hi,” he murmurs. He’s disheveled in a way you’ve never seen him, bleary-eyed and shirt untucked, like he’s been sleeping in his clothes. “I, uh. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I came straight here, which sounds kind of stupid, ‘cause I live here, too, but, uh… I haven’t been inside my apartment yet.” You keep your face cool, impassive. “What… I guess what I’m trying to say is that I missed you.” Never mind that he fucked someone else the night before he left.

“Is that all?” you say, folding your arms across your chest. His face crumples, and you feel guilty all over again.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asks, innocent and forlorn, and, God, you just want to sink your teeth into him right then and there.

But if you bite too hard, he’ll bleed. “I don’t know, Spencer. Did you? Or did you have fun?” you snap. “Did you use what I taught you?” The words taste bitter as they spill free, but you can’t swallow them back down. Spencer’s mouth opens and closes, but he stays silent. “Or, what, she wasn’t happy with you? You after one last practice run before you give the real thing another shot?”

“I… What?” He pauses. “This is because I… slept with someone else?”

You roll your eyes. “Wow. That 187 IQ really works wonders for you, huh?” You move to shut the door in his face, but he blocks you deftly, steps past you into your apartment so quickly you barely realise what happened. Right. FBI agent.

Spencer crosses the room, sits down at your dining table, motions for you to do the same. Your feet carry you into the chair without your permission. “So, you’re angry with me for sleeping with another girl, despite never communicating or agreeing on any kind of exclusivity. After… this.” He gestures vaguely to the space between you. “All started because I don’t know what I’m doing and you wanted to teach me?”

You sigh, turn his words over in your head. When he puts it that way, you sound ridiculous. And his saying I don’t know what I’m doing isn’t lost on you either. “I don’t think I knew, honey. I thought, this is just fun, just friends helping friends. And then I heard you, and I got so… possessive, I guess. And I couldn’t talk to you, because you were gone, so I just got more and more bitter.”

Reaching a hand across the table, Spencer gives you a tentative glance before taking hold of yours, running his thumb soothingly across your knuckles. “So, that night, the guy you were with, that was…”

“Fucking awful,” you joke, but he just looks concerned, doesn’t pick up on it. “No, it was… retaliation. God, that’s so embarrassing. The sex was fine, but he wasn’t you, honey.” At that, he finally smiles, and you feel it warm you from the inside out.

“And that’s what you want?” He licks his lips, touches his hair. His particular brand of skittish nervousness looks so good on him that it’s almost unfair. “Me?”

The disbelieving look on his face, frankly, is criminal. “Spencer, sweetheart, I can’t think of anything I’ve ever wanted more.” Your chairs scrape against the floor as you scramble up, grab at him everywhere you can reach, crash your lips into his. It’s sweet, soft, and you fight to hold your hunger at bay, trace his lips with gentle affection.

You work your way through the room, bumping into every possible piece of furniture and giggling into Spencer’s open mouth until you land on the couch in his lap. “This is familiar,” he says, smirking a little. Grabbing his jaw, you scowl playfully, leaning in to peck him on the lips.

Experimentally, you roll your hips down, find him deliciously eager under you. “It’s so cute how hard you get just from making out, sweetheart. So needy, baby.” You lean down, kiss his neck, suck a bruise into his soft skin. “What’d you think about?”

“Huh?” he murmurs, eyes glossy and lips swollen, wearing a pretty, dazed face. He’s oh-so gorgeous when you’ve kissed all the thoughts out of his head, operating on pure impulse, uninhibited.

Your fingers creep up to loosen his tie. “You said I couldn’t stop thinking about you. What were you thinking about?” You pull his tie off, untuck his shirt, start working on his buttons. “Was it dirty? Details, honey, c’mon.”

Spencer smiles up at you, angelic. “Not all of it,” he says, tracing delicate little patterns across the small of your back. “Thought about kissing you. A lot. About you laying in my lap, and we’re supposed to be watching a movie, but I’m just looking at you.” Your chest clenches. “How you listen when I talk… I don’t— People think I can’t tell, if they just nod in the right places, but I know.”

“Spencer, honey,” you say softly, kissing and nipping gently at his chest as you unbutton his shirt, exposing inches of silken skin with each movement. “God, you’re perfect.” You sigh, resting your head in the crook of his neck. Spencer brings his hand up to pet your hair, blunt nails scratching soothingly over your scalp.

“But… I, uh. That’s not all I thought about.” He’s nervous, now, the embarrassment that always comes when he wants to voice his desires; you’ve been trying to train it out of him, but it’s achingly slow going.

You smile encouragingly, kissing at his chest and gazing up at him with your best fuck-me eyes. “S’alright, baby. Tell Mommy, okay?”

“Thought about you on top of me. Your pretty… How pretty you look up there.”

You grin wickedly. “My tits, is that what you mean to say? You love your Mommy’s tits, don’t you, honey?” Spencer nods, head falling forward to bury his face in your chest. You let him hide for a moment, collect himself, before you nudge him to speak again.

Spencer’s eyes are glossy, his mouth red and bruised. He looks so sweet, your pretty, pliant little toy, perfectly ready for you to sink your claws into. “Mhmm. Love your tits, Mommy. Thought about you touching me, n’when you’re all mean and you don’t touch me.” He pouts, just a little, and you can’t resist shifting your hips and dragging a thumb across his swollen bottom lip.

“You like it when I’m mean, sweetheart?” He nods, dazed. “You want me to be a little meaner?” Spencer freezes under you, suddenly seeming tense and afraid. Damn. And you’d just gotten him to relax. You stroke his face with the back of your hand to soothe him. “You can say no, honey, it’s okay, I won’t be mad. Just wanna find out what makes you feel good, alright, pretty?”

“No, I… I want it. But just a little. Please.”

“Yeah, honey, that’s alright. But you gotta tell me if it’s ever too much, okay?” Spencer nods, and you raise an eyebrow. “Words, baby.”

It seems to take him a minute to find the words, spit-slick lips parted as he stares at you with lust-blown eyes. “Yes, Mommy. I will. I’ll tell you.”

You grind your hips down in reward, let Spencer roll his up to meet you. Pressing your lips to his, you swallow his whimper. “Good boy,” you murmur, and he beams. “Love it when you get all dumb like this. S’good for you, honey, not to be the clever one all the time.” You pull off his shirt, slide off his lap to admire him from a distance. Before he can whine at the loss, you cut him off. “Did you touch yourself?” Spencer tilts his head. “Sweetheart, did you masturbate thinking about me?”

Spencer’s mouth drops in a soft ‘o’ of understanding, cheeks flushing ruby-woo red. “Yes,” he admits, avoiding your gaze until you force his eyes back to you.

“God, you really are just clueless, huh? C’mon, show Mommy, baby. Show me how you touch yourself.” Spencer blinks dumbly. God, he must be worse off than you thought. “Spencer, honey, I know you jerk off. I heard you every damn night. S’what made me decide I had to get you all to myself.”

At that, the corner of his lip quirks. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was smirking at you. “Is that why you had a box of lingerie delivered to my apartment?” It’s your turn to be speechless. “Profiler,” he adds with a shrug.

“Alright, smartass. It worked, didn’t it?” you scoff. “And stop distracting me.” You set to work on what’s left of his clothes, unbuttoning his pants and palming his cock through his boxers. “Do you take off all your clothes first? Or do you keep ‘em on, make a mess of yourself?”

“No, I… I take them off,” he says. You raise an eyebrow as if to say go on. “Oh, y- you want me to..? Oh, o-okay.” With shaking hands, he slips out of his pants, then his boxers, stained with precum; the evidence of his desire has you practically drooling. His pretty dick springs free, thuds sickly against his stomach with a wet smack.

You can’t help the pulse of arousal that throbs through you at the sight of him. “Good boys don’t keep Mommy waiting, Spencer,” you chide, careful to avoid touching him. It’s clear how acutely he feels the lack of a pet name, the implication of your words, and he babbles out an apology.

Eagerly, you watch Spencer curl his hand around his cock, but he doesn’t move. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s hard— Don’t,” he interrupts himself when you smirk. “It’s difficult… with you watching me like this.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you croon. “You like to think about my tits, right?” You pull off your shirt, flick it across the room. As if magnetised, Spencer’s eyes fall to your chest as you grab your tits, roll a nipple between two fingers. “There you go, honey. S’just you and your fantasy, okay? Now show me what you do when you think of me, okay?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, takes a steadying breath. He’s endlessly fascinating; he’ll stare down killers without so much as flinching, but a willing girl with her boobs out is just too much for him. Slowly, he starts to pump his cock, spreading precum down his length. You watch him speed up until he’s jacking himself furiously, hand flying along his dick so hard and fast he must be giving himself friction burn. He bites down on his lower lip, whimpers through his teeth, the sound familiar and erotic. “Mommy,” he whines, high and breathy, hips jerking up into his hand. You can’t watch this much longer.

Placing a palm on his thigh to still him, you slowly cover his hand with your free one. “Honey, is that how you get yourself off?” Brow scrunched in confusion, he nods. God, the poor boy is hopeless. “And that feels good?”

“It makes me orgasm quickly,” Spencer answers, as if that’s remotely the same thing. “I- I have trouble sleeping, and an orgasm releases endorphins that relax both the mind and the body. It helps,” he says placidly.

You nod slowly. “And when you make yourself come like that, does that feel the same as when I make you come?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t, right? It feels better when I do it?”

“So much,” he breathes. “You’re so much better.”

You smile indulgently down at him. “Oh, honey. That’s because you’re doing it all wrong,” you say, syrupy and condescending. “When you get off, it makes you feel better, right? Yeah. And you’re so focused on that, you forget to make yourself feel good. That genius mind of yours’d be blown finding out how long I could spend getting myself off.” You pat his cheek. “Maybe I’ll show you someday.

A punched-out whimper slips from his lips, the sound falling straight between your legs. “What am I doing wrong?” Spencer asks, low and feeble.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Mommy’s gonna show you, okay?” He nods eagerly. Sure, you’ve jerked him off before, but this feels different. You’re not just giving him pleasure, you’re showing him how to take it for himself. “Show me again, but slow, okay?” Obediently, Spencer curls his hand again, pumps his cock. “See, honey, feel that drag? Hurts, right? And not in the good way,” you add with a grin, and Spencer gulps. A slightly wicked idea crosses your mind. “We’re gonna go to bed now, okay?”

Like a lost little puppy, Spencer trails after you, joins you on the bed. You let him kiss you again, until his whines get too needy and his hips start to twitch. “Will you open that top drawer for me, sweetheart? Got something in there that’ll help you, okay?” Obediently, he rolls over, tugs the drawer open. You study his face carefully, watch his jaw go slack as he realises what you’re showing him. Your collection of sex toys stares up at him, and he gapes like a fucking fish. An adorable fish, but a fish all the same.

“What do you… you want me to..?” he says, still staring like he couldn’t possibly compute what you’re asking of him.

You laugh, only a little meanly. “Don’t worry, honey,” you say, padding around the bed to help him out. “You’re not ready for that stuff. Not yet, anyway. You’re such a good boy for Mommy, Spencer, such a quick learner. Pretty soon I’ll have you begging for ‘em. But not tonight, alright?” You lean down to pluck a small plastic bottle from the drawer. “This is all we need tonight. Do you know what that is, baby?”

Squinting his eyes, Spencer inspects the bottle. “Lubricant?” he says, mouth forming the word into a question.

“Such a clever boy,” you croon, settling yourself between his legs and taking his hand. You turn it palm up and squint a generous amount of lube into Spencer’s hand. “Spread that on your pretty dick for me, okay, baby?” The slick sound of it fills your ears, pulses in your cunt, and you can see on his face how much better he feels even from a scant touch. Eyes fluttering shut, he groans, but waits obediently for another instruction. “That’s it. That’s Mommy’s good boy, huh? Alright, honey. Now stroke yourself for me. You wanna start nice and slow, okay?”

You’re transfixed as he begins to touch himself, cock wet and glistening as it disappears into his fist. Lube drips out across his fingers, slick noises filling your room. “Feels so good, Mommy,” he whimpers, free hand fisting in your sheets.

“Oh, honey, I know,” you murmur, sitting up and sliding your hand into your panties. You moan as you brush your clit, collect your wetness on your fingertips. “Okay, I want you to just draw some little circles across the head, yeah? Like you do on my clit. Just try it out, see what feels good.” The sight is fucking mesmerising, and from the sounds spilling from his lips and the flush in his cheeks, it’s a miracle he hasn’t cum all over himself yet. “Alright, baby. Doing so good. You can make yourself cum now, alright? Just keep doin’ what feels good.”

Your lips part around a moan as you watch him. He speeds up, slows a little, experimenting with pace and pressure. You’re strangely proud even as you rub frantic little circles into your clit, slowly start to fuck yourself on your fingers. Desire pools at the base of your spine, and you moan his name as you speed up, cunt pulsing around your fingers. It seems like that’s what does Spencer in, a pathetic whimper of Mommy, yes spilling from his lips as ropes of cum splash up against his chest. His body convulses, gasping and moaning incoherently as his orgasm takes over.

Still panting as you finger yourself, you smile blithely over at him. “Still with me, pretty? How was that?”

Gasping, Spencer blinks helplessly at you for a moment. “Thank you.” Suddenly dismayed, he looks down at himself. “Gross,” he mutters.

Your grin widens. “All messy, aren’t you? You want Mommy to get you cleaned up?” He nods, expecting you to get up and fetch a washcloth. Instead, you press him down until he’s lying supine, lean over him so your boobs hang in his face. Like he can’t resist, Spencer licks a stripe along your chest. You giggle softly, press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, start to work your way down. Carefully, you lap up the mess dripping across his chest, and he moans brokenly. Your eyes flutter closed as his taste hits your tongue, a needy ache burning between your thighs the longer you lick him clean.

He chokes on a breath when you wrap your lips around his head, clean up the last drops of cum beaded on his tip. “I can’t-” he clears his throat. “I can’t… go again… yet,” he says, cheeks pinking up adorably.

You pull off, lick your lips exaggeratedly. “S’okay, honey. I don’t need you to. Yet,” you add with a wink. “Just wanted to get you cleaned up.” Still desperately horny, you crawl up his body, kiss him furiously. “Spencer,” you moan against his lips. “I want you to make me cum. Do you wanna make Mommy cum, baby?”

“Mhmm. Yeah, I want to. What do you…? Can I, uh… Eat you out?” he asks timidly, the final few words unfamiliar on his tongue and belying his desperation.

God above, where did you find this boy? “Another time, honey. Later tonight, if you’re lucky. But I’m planning on keeping your mouth nice and busy for now, okay?” You grab his hand, slide it around to the front of your panties, grind your clit against the heel of his palm through the lace. “Want you to fuck me with your fingers, okay, sweetheart?”

Nodding frantically, Spencer tugs your panties down just enough that he can fit his hand against your cunt. You cup his jaw, kiss him hard as he slips a finger inside you. “You’re so warm,” he breathes, rubbing delicate circles into your clit as your cunt pulses around him.

“That’s it, pretty. Such a good boy. Just like Mommy taught you, alright?” you moan, arching your back as hot pleasure twists under your skin. Spencer slides another finger in, curls then expertly, as if he’s been practicing. Then, a blinding spark of pure ecstasy flashes through you. “Oh, my fucking God! There, baby, right there. Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you babble, your kiss more spit and moans than tongue and lips. Spencer doesn’t let up, hits your g-spot over and over, still rubbing soft circles into your clit. You were already close before he started, and his glorious, frankly brutal assault on the most sensitive places in your body leaves you powerless.

You surrender to it willingly, pure pleasure wiping your mind clean. It’s so forceful you almost black out, gasping into Spencer’s mouth and writhing against him. Ecstasy floods every inch of you, pulse roaring in your ears and hammering in your chest. Spencer’s fingers are still deep inside you when you come to, and he’s staring down at the point they disappear into your cunt. “Sorry,” he murmurs, gently pulling them out. “I just really like being… inside you.”

God, you can’t wait to teach him about cockwarming. “So sweet,” you coo. He lifts his hand, sucks your arousal off his fingers, and you groan. “I think we need to have a little talk, honey,” you murmur, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of his face. He nods.

“I didn’t enjoy it,” he says quickly. “The other night. I mean, it was… It wasn’t… I don’t know. All I could think about was that she wasn’t you. I was, uh… Sort of afraid?” he says with a humorless laugh.

You make a soft, concerned noise. “What do you mean, honey?” Your fists clench at your sides, head pounding furiously all of a sudden.

“Just that… I feel so safe with you. And it wasn’t that she made me feel bad, or unsafe, or anything. But I was so worried about doing something wrong, and I never felt that with you, and all I wanted was you instead.” Spencer curls his body into yours as you hook a leg over his waist.

Brushing your thumb over his cheek softly, you gaze into his sweet, long-lashed eyes. “You have me, sweetheart. I promise.”

[foxintheferns]

I'd love to see Jacob with a single mama. I'd love it if he imprinted on her while she's playing with her little one on the beach. She could be Charlie's niece who he helped move to Forks to give her a fresh start with the little one. I'm thinkin the kiddo is about 1-2, old enough to walk/play in the sand but still young. I can see Jacob being the best papa ever and the pack just LOVING on the kid <3 Please and thank you! <3

Thank you so much for your patience with this one! Because I made you wait so long, I made it a long one <3. Loved writing such sweet lil fluffy stuff. Please enjoy :)

A/N: AU where Jacob and Bella aren’t toxic & weirdly obsessed with each other, and he has his own life and experiences outside of her! Period.

HOME

You sat on the sand with Lydia between your legs, her wispy, silky auburn hair blowing between your fingers with each soft gust of the salty breeze. You faced the ocean, La Push beach surrounding you in all of its striking glory.

Lydia babbled as she played with the sand, her back to you and her arms and legs quite literally covered in the granules. It would be her second birthday in two months, and you couldn’t understand where the time had gone. She grew so quickly, her chunky little arms and legs getting longer by the day, and you wished desperately that you could pause time.

Your ex boyfriend Noah, Lydia’s father, hadn’t wanted much to do with the raising of his child.

You looked down at the side of her sweet face, the buttery soft skin of her cheek glowing with the orange light of the afternoon. It was despicable that anyone could not want to love this tiny human, you thought, that anyone would even consider leaving her by choice. But that was exactly what Noah had done. His booze and his gambling was far too important to him to bother with the raising of a small child.

It made you angry; you felt a relentless and almost violently intense need to protect her. From everything ugly and awful and false in this world, even if that meant her own father. He had never treated you right, always gone for nights at a time doing who knows what with God knows who. The pregnancy had been an accident, but his reaction was not what you’d expected. He’d seemed to be on-board at first, but was never there for you during your difficult pregnancy. You thought back to how your muscles had ached as you were on all fours scrubbing the bathroom floor that one Saturday night, seven months pregnant and inconceivably exhausted. He had come home after being gone for two days, reeking of liquor and barely having time to slur out his angry question of what you were planning on making for dinner before he’d passed out on the living room couch.

You had been expecting Lydia’s birth to snap him back to reality, to throw things into perspective for him. But the man you had practically grown up with, together since 18, had missed her birth.

“Got caught up at work,” had been his excuse when he showed up at the hospital the next morning. Even the labor and delivery nurse had thrown him a glare.

When Lydia was 3 months old, you were forced to go part-time at the job you’d loved, the one that could actually lead somewhere. Without Noah’s help, childcare was next to impossible. Your neighbor, Jess, a stay at home mom of three, was kind enough to babysit Lydia with her own children for a few days out of the week, but you felt awful not being able to pay her much, if anything, most weeks.

After over a year of trying, of desperately hoping and yearning for the man you had once loved to be a father to your sweet girl, you’d finally thrown in the towel. Noah had made it clear that he had no interest in being a dad, and in one of his more blacked-out stupors, had even remarked that if the two of you hadn’t gotten pregnant, things would’ve been easier. Better.

Noah had been gone 11 days, his longest absence yet.

You’d packed your minimal belongings, gathering Lydia’s too and putting them into her tiny suitcase with strawberries on it.

Your mom had passed when you were 16, and your dad was very much like Noah. Oh, how patterns repeat themselves. You didn’t have much of a support system to fall back on when shit hit the fan.

The one person you knew would answer if you called was your Mom’s brother, Charlie.

“(Y/N)?,” his gruff, tired voice had come through the phone that early Tuesday morning. You knew it was probably only 4am in Forks, where he was, but he’d still answered the phone.

“Uncle Charlie…,” you’d whimpered shakily, “I-….”

You didn’t even know where to begin. Uncle Charlie had always been so good to you, checking in and asking how Lydia was frequently. He’d been one of the few people you’d called to share the exciting news of your pregnancy with, and had been ecstatic, urging that you come visit him and your cousin Bella as soon as you could.

“What’s goin’ on? You okay?”, His voice had become suddenly alarmed, and you’d heard the shuffling in the background of him getting up and out of his bed.

Leaving with Lydia was something you’d been wanting to do for a while, but you didn’t think you could actually follow through with it. Saying it out loud felt impossible.

“I need your help,” you’d whispered, your voice low and on the verge of breaking.

That was two weeks ago now.

You sat on the soft sand with Lydia, her tiny fingers gripping your leg for support as she pulled herself up, and you thought back to the fear you’d felt that day. Charlie had immediately paid for a plane ticket for you and Lydia to fly up to Port Angeles. He didn’t waste a moment in inviting you to come stay with him. He’d been clearly enraged, barely hiding his distaste for Noah’s behaviors once you’d let the floodgates open and told him everything you’d been hiding for months.

“Jesus, (y/n). I thought you guys were doing good…I thought he was different, honey. I’m so sorry, kid,” Charlie had spoken into the phone after the words pouring from your mouth had finally come to a halt once you’d gotten him caught up on the current status of your relationship with your baby’s father. You hadn’t realized it, but you’d been hiding it from practically everyone. Your cousin Bella texted you often, and she knew some of the details of how absent Noah had become, but even she didn’t know the extent of it. You were a single mother, from the moment Lydia was conceived, you’d accepted that. Noah was never a dad to her.

“Mama! San!” Lydia’s tiny voice shrieked out as she grabbed a fistful of sand and threw it in front of her, some of it spraying in the breeze and landing across your chest and arms. She tentatively waited for your reaction. Her eyes scanned your face, her pink cheeks pulled into an ecstatic smile. You laughed, shaking your head, and wiped the rough granules off of your skin as you nodded at her.

“Yes, sand!” You picked up a handful of it, holding it out to show her and letting it spill through your fingers. She shrieked again, excited by your intentional dropping of the sand, and jumped several times, her little legs barely able to lift her half an inch off the ground.

You’d been down at the beach in La Push almost every day now. You’d gotten settled in to the extra bedroom at the Swan’s house, and you couldn’t help but feel like a burden, so you went out with Lydia often. Charlie and Bella had insisted, several times, that they were grateful to have the two of you. That they didn’t feel burdened by your presence. A toddler definitely wasn’t the quietest or most polite house guest, but Lydia was truly the best thing you’d ever done, and you prided yourself that you’d managed to raise such a good tiny human all on your own.

She was kind, and gentle. She loved animals, she loved making new friends. She watched the world around her with curious and eager eyes, anxious to explore and see and feel. She laughed and laughed and laughed; she was the giggliest baby you’d ever seen.

Bella offered to watch her whenever you needed a break, and you hadn’t asked for one yet. She was practically begging to babysit Lydia at this point, which had surprised even her; she wasn’t much of a kid person.

You didn’t want a break. You were soaking up this time with your little one as much as you could. You felt free, for the first time in a long time.

The beach felt like home now, and Lydia seemed to think so too. Every time you walked with her down the dirt path toward the beach, she would screech and try her best to run towards the glistening ocean. You’d been at the beach now for an hour or two, and you reached into your bag to pull out more baby sunscreen for her.

“Lyd, come ‘ere babe.” You reached out, gently pulling her to you, and her eyes landed on the pink bottle of sunscreen. She knew the drill at this point, and gingerly leaned against you as you rubbed the cream across her tiny little shoulders and arms. She giggled and smiled as the cold sunscreen landed on her skin.

“Eeee!” She cried, slapping her small hands against your leg as she pulled her face away in protest to you trying to spread the sunscreen across her cheeks. She still stood in place though, squeezing her eyes shut and pouting as you rubbed it in.

“Thank you, baby. Such a good girl,” you cooed as you snapped the lid of the sunscreen closed and placed a kiss on the tip of her little nose. You continued to pepper her face with smooches until she was a screeching, giggling mess on the sand, her arms and legs flailing every which way. You tickled her, both of you laughing loud enough for the sound to travel over the noise of the rolling waves hitting the beach.

After the tickle attack came to an end, you grabbed some strawberries and blueberries from your bag, pulling open the Tupperware container and holding it out to Lydia. Her eyes lit up (strawberries are her all time fave) and she eagerly grabbed at the berries with both hands. After several minutes of snacking, her mouth and face was stained pink and red, and her fingers were sticky. The sand was still warm, although the breeze was starting to cool off a bit.

“Let’s walk, yeah Lyddi?,” you asked, getting up from your large towel and brushing the sand off of your legs. She bounced around beside the towel, falling a few times onto the soft sand as she lost her balance. You held your hand out and smiled down at her, waiting for her to meet your eyes. She reached out without hesitation, allowing you to envelope her tiny hand in yours, and let you lead her down towards the water.

You walked across the gentle waves, only going far enough so that the incoming swells flowed across your feet and ankles. With each wave hitting the shore, Lydia giggled and gripped your hand firmly, picking her feet up as quickly as she could to run from the water as it approached, only to run back towards it when it receded. You bent down, releasing her hand to skim the ocean water, wetting your fingers to clean the berry juice from her face.

As you were wiping your thumb across the soft skin of her chin, you saw her eyes flicker to something behind you, down the beach. Her gaze was intent and focused, and you glanced over your shoulder to see what managed to catch her constantly fleeting attention. A group of four tall men coming down the beach, kicking a soccer ball amongst their group. Their laughter was just reaching your ears now, and they were coming close enough that you were able to make out their faces.

They were quite large, and all but one of them were shirtless. The image rang a bell: they looked like they could be some of the Quileute boys you’d heard Bella mention were her close friends. You knew the beach was on the local Quileute reservation, but it’d been relatively empty in the days you and Lydia had been spending there, and you’d only seen random tourists walking along the beach occasionally. Bella had complained jokingly to you that these friends of hers were annoyingly always shirtless, impossibly large and tall, and that her boyfriend Edward wasn’t the biggest fan of them.

You smiled when one of them looked down the beach towards you and Lydia, and he seemed to return a polite smile at first, but his face melted into an odd expression when your eyes met. It was an indecipherable look. A look you didn’t understand.

He stopped walking, his body halting while his friends continued to move down the beach ahead of him. For a moment, it almost seemed like he was about to wave or come towards you, as if he recognized you like an old friend. The peculiar expression lingered for a moment before he pulled his eyes away quickly, and you saw his mouth moving as he seemed to speak swiftly to the men around him. His friends stopped walking as well, all turning to face him with bewildered expressions. The eye contact between you had been longer than a typical interaction with a stranger, but you felt oddly unalarmed. You were struck with an odd sensation that felt like you recognized him too.

He was the tallest of the group, his shoulders wide & strong. His frame was long and lean, and he happened to be the only one wearing a shirt, though it was a black cut off tank that didn’t cover much of his chiseled musculature underneath. You brushed the encounter off as random and probably explainable, trying to ignore the odd and unfamiliar sensation that prickled across your entire body like electricity.

You turned back to Lydia, but her curious eyes were still locked on the group behind you, wonder filling her face. A smile crept onto your lips as you watched her blink, her long lashes framing her wide eyes. She was beautiful. She was always so curious, so interested. Strangers made her nervous, like any two year old, though, which is why you were utterly bewildered when she broke away from your grasp and started toddling down the shore towards the group of men. You shot up from your lowered position, chasing after her.

“Lydia!” you called, your feet picking up pace.

It was amazing just how fast a two year old could be when they suddenly decided they had a destination in mind. You caught her under the armpit just as she almost fell across the wet sand in her run, and your knees hit the soft sand as you almost fell yourself. You panted, holding onto her and unable to stifle back a laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“What the heck! Lyd-,” you started, looking up from where you grasped her. She was frozen, staring up at something.

She’d managed to close the distance between the two of you and the men, quickly enough that the soccer ball they’d been passing around as they came down the beach was only feet away now. You followed her gaze, and saw two large hands come down to swiftly pick up the ball. Your eyes moved up more still, until they landed on the face of the man you’d just locked eyes with moments before.

His gentle brown eyes were wide, his jaw slack and his expression yet again incomprehensible. You still had a smile on your face, and his eyes flicked down to your grin, the corners of his own mouth lifting up slightly. He gestured toward you with the arm that held the soccer ball.

“You’re, uh, Bella’s cousin?” The sound of his voice was rough and deep. Your grin faltered to make way for the suprised expression that came across your face.

“Oh, uh, yeah! Um, you know Bella?” You asked, taking the brief moment to get back up onto your feet and readjust the flowy fabric of your sundress that had gotten ruffled up in the capturing of your tiny escapee. You still held Lydia’s hand, and she stayed unmoving by your side, watching the tall man with the same awed expression. A grin spread across his face, and his eyes maintained the same electric glow they’d had from the moment you’d looked at him.

“Bella’s one of my best friends, yeah. She’s told me a lot about you…and… uh Lydia, right?” He spoke gently, his eyes glancing down at the tiny human to your right. You looked down at her, too, and she smiled timidly up at the man, stepping slightly behind your leg shyly. You beamed back at him, nodding and running your fingers through the soft silky baby hair on the top of Lydia’s head.

“Yeah, this is Lydia,” you replied, ruffling her hair until a soft giggle fell from her lips.

“I’m Jacob Black,” he glanced beyond him briefly and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “those are my buddies Quil, Embry, and Jared. You’re (Y/N)?”

You glanced briefly over to the other three men, though they were now immersed in their own mumbled conservation several yards away; one of them was watching you with interest and flashed a warm smile back at you.

You nodded, turning back to Jacob.

“That’s me,” you answered with a shrug and a smile. When you met his gaze again, his eyes were intense, almost pained, his pupils wide. That electric feeling ran through you again. The eye contact between the two of you lingered each and every time it occurred, as if it was an inconvenience to pull away from it for both of you. Jacob knelt down on one knee, tucking the soccer ball under his arm. His eyes only broke away from yours to glance down at Lydia, who was still watching him intently from her place next to your leg.

“Hi, Lydia, it’s nice to meet you,” he murmured gently, “I’m Jacob.”

There was a hesitation, and you were just about to encourage Lydia to say hello to Jacob, but to your surprise she broke away from you once more, ambling across the sand and reaching her arms out towards the soccer ball Jacob held under his arm. In her uncoordinated stumbling over the sand, she started to fall forwards. Before you could even begin to reach to catch her, one of Jacob’s large hands came out in a flash to support her, stopping her mid fall.

“Woah, buddy, careful there!” He exclaimed, a chuckle coming from his chest.

At the sound of his laughter, your baby beamed up at him, her expression suddenly delighted, and after a moment, a giggle erupted from her own little body.

Your eyes widened, shocked as you watched her laugh, Jacob’s large hand still holding her up off the sand. His eyes flickered to you as you broke into surprised laughter as well, and soon the three of you were a giggling mess. Lydia adored making adults laugh. It was the phase she was currently in: to laugh at everything anyone deemed amusing, and it was common that she would even fake laugh to get you to laugh, which would often result in a real fit of hysterics from the both of you

You were astonished that she’d warmed to a stranger so quickly, especially such a large man - a category of human that toddlers tend to decide is terrifying for no reason.

As the afternoon started to bleed into evening, you and Lydia got to know your new friends. Lydia was very opposed to moving away from them, interested in the soccer ball and jumping around in the sand. Jacob continued to stare intently at you every moment that his eyes weren’t required to be on something else, and you didn’t mind it. His energy was warm and gentle, and even his friends seemed to find his behavior entertaining, chuckling and whispering to eachother every time Jacob’s eyes lingered on you for a few seconds too long. You couldn’t help but feel the heat rush to your face with his stares. You hadn’t really felt this noticed by someone, a man, in what felt like forever. And he was absolutely noticing you. He was doing more than notice you. He was ogling at you, drinking the sight of you in like fresh air for a suffocating man. His eyes turned gentle and soft whenever they fell upon Lydia, and he spent the time as the two of you spoke truly attending to her and her endless toddler games, showing earnest interest in the shells she had picked up and started to stack on one of his feet.

“Oooh, wow, now that one’s pretty. Definitely my favorite one yet.” He carefully examined the newest purple shell Lydia had found and handed to him for inspection. She smiled and clenched her fists in excitement, eagerly racing to find more shells in the sand to bring to him.

His eyes slowly found their way back to yours as you sat beside one another. You smiled softly, and he returned it, the smile reaching his eyes and crinkling them gently.

There it was again, that electricity.

Six Months Later

It had been a whirlwind, these past six months. Meeting Jacob Black had changed life entirely for you and your daughter. After that night on the beach, you, Charlie and Bella had visited the Blacks’ home a few times, joining them for bonfires and pizza dinners whenever a hockey game was on tv. Bella seemed adamant that you visit Jacob often, even Charlie seemed surprised with how eagerly she encouraged you to join them and hang out with the Quileute boys. You’d met Jacob’s father, who seemed to welcome you into his family without hesitation within moments of meeting you. He had peered at you with an intensely inquisitive expression, something that reminded you of the odd gut feeling you hadn’t been able to shake…that your new acquaintances were far more interesting than they let on. There was just something about them, and it felt like a secret club you were looking in on, one that caused the hushed, private conversations that seemed to happen frequently in their presence. You’d spoken to Bella about your encounter with her friend right after that first night on the beach. As the rest of that week had passed, Bella had begun acting suspiciously around you. Within days of her odd avoidant behavior, she finally sat you down to tell you things that challenged your perception of the world, forever.

Vampires and werewolves.

Insanity, right?

Bella had explained her relationship with Edward, and you hadn’t believed it at first.

Like, at all. Who would?

In fact, you thought she’d been completely off her rocker, crazy.

That was, until she’d claimed that Jacob had something to do with it, too.

“You need to go talk to Jacob,” she’d urged, “only he can explain what you need to know.”

You’d been absolutely confused, unsure what Jacob Black had to do with anything, especially with this absurd tale of vampires.

“I’ll watch Lydia. Go,” she’d insisted, practically pushing you out the front door. You were insanely curious; you’d never had any reason to question Bella’s mental competence before, and with her frantic efforts to get you to talk to Jacob, you had to know what this was all about. You still of course doubted the absurd story, but wanted to get to the root of the craziness, naturally.

When you’d arrived at the Black’s house, it seemed Jacob was expecting you, and he’d grabbed your hand gently, pulling you towards his little makeshift garage in the back.

You’d spent hours with him that night. Jacob had tried, while his eyes watered and his voice shook nervously, to explain the wildly unbelievable, and yet somehow completely sensical and validating reality of his ancestral destiny.

“I know, (y/n). Please, believe me, I know this sounds crazy,” he’d said as he anxiously paced across the garage, his eyes flashing to your face for your reaction.

You’d shaken your head, trying to connect the dots in your mind. It matched up with the absurd story Bella had told you, only this time he was speaking of wolves, wolves with the instinctual duty to protect from the supposed vampires Bella become involved with deeply. Wolves that were not wolves, but men. Men that included Jacob and his friends.

“Come with me,” he’d finally insisted sternly as you’d silently refused to accept the words he spoke, staring at him dumbfoundedly.

He’d led you outside, to the dark treeline, and placed his hands up in front of him before you could protest.

“Listen, I know this is gonna be hard to see, (y/n). I didn’t wanna have to do this but I need you to understand. There’s so much more to this world than you think there is. Please,” he’d begged, pulling you into a tight hug, his eyes wildly urging yours to listen to him, his shaky voice reducing to a whisper against your hair, “I understand if you never, ever want to be a part of this. But you deserve to know.”

You’d shaken your head, bewildered.

“What are you talking about, Jake?”

He stood back and started to pull his pants down, and your eyes widened, your eyebrow cocking up in confusion. A smile flashed across his lips.

“Remember what I just told you. I’d never hurt you, okay?”

Your mind flickered to the story he’d just spent the last hour telling you, but your brain simply wouldn’t allow you to defy logic to consider the possibility that the man was truly actually about to turn into a wolf.

And yet, you stood there with your jaw slacked open and your eyes wide, your body frozen as he stepped back several feet, his body twitching and trembling and twisting oddly before…

A ripping sound rang out, a wildly violent sound that came from deep within his body. The sound echoed against the trees, before it fell hauntingly silent across the dark backyard. Within less than a moment, a massive red brown wolf was standing before you, his huge head only inches away from your face.

Your mind didn’t comprehend the sight, the reality too unreal and too intangible to wrap around and understand. Those same brown eyes you’d come to know and feel safe in stared back at you intently from the massive wolf’s face.

It was the last image you remembered before you’d fallen to the ground, slipping into a shock driven unconsciousness.

When you’d woken, you had been in Jacob’s bed, an ice pack being gently repeatedly pressed to your forehead and neck.

It had been a rude awakening, but one that had forced open your eyes to a world that quickly became home for you, lifting the veil of reality that you’d come know.

Jacob’s next explanation was that of the concept of imprinting. That night, after you’d settled and moved out of your state of shock, started speaking real words again, Jacob expressed why he felt it was necessary to expose you to his world. He’d explained the ancient way of imprinting, what it meant for him, what it meant for you. That first day on the beach, the way he’d look at you, that electricity. It all made sense now.

“It’s you, (y/n). Now that you’re here, I will follow you anywhere. Even if you don’t want to be part of this, I’ll always protect you and Lydia from afar. Always. I can’t imagine a world anymore without you, a life without you. The moment I saw you, I felt it. My heart was yours,” he’d murmured, his arms around you as he rubbed your back to calm your tremors that had come across your body as you tried desperately to adjust to your entirely new concept of existence.

That felt so long ago, now. You’d met the Cullens soon after you were welcomed into the world of the supernatural, joining Bella in her secretive lifestyle of hiding the direct truth from Charlie, only letting him in on what he absolutely needed to know. Charlie was over the moon that you and Jacob got together; he pissed Bella off with how openly he approved of your relationship with Jacob over hers with Edward. Jacob didn’t feel right having you live in a spare bedroom at the Swan house, and had practically demanded you move into a home on the reservation with him. He’d jokingly insisted that it wasn’t his fault, that the imprint had forced him to need you in his sight at all times. You didn’t resist, elated to finally feel welcome in a home with your Lydia. And it wasn’t hard - Jacob made that incredibly simple. He so openly loved Lydia nearly as much as he loved you. Sometimes, you wondered how deeply the imprinting had impacted him. He accepted it and took it on with respect. He never pressured you to be anything but there, in his life. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest or even really notice how slowly you were allowing him into your heart. The relationship you had with Jacob had begun as a deep and true friendship, but the imprint connection was impossible to ignore, and there was undeniable attraction you felt for him, even beyond his beautifully kind heart and spirit. You held hands constantly, even before you’d established any sort of romantic connection. The first night Jacob had kissed you, you’d expressed your hesitation at pulling him into your life. You’d gotten used to men not wanting much to do with a single mom, after Noah had made it clear that you and Lydia were essentially a burden in his life. You were scared, not only for your own heart, but for Lydia’s. You couldn’t bear to bring another man into her life only for him to reject her like her father had. But Jacob? He’d adamantly refused to let your anxieties overcome you. He loved you, he’d insisted. All of you. Lydia was part of you. So, he loved her. It was that simple to him. He was often just as anxious when Lydia was out of his sight as when you were.

You remember the first time Lydia had called Jake ‘Dada’, several months after you’d been exposed to this world of fantasy. Lydia had gotten so comfortable with him, more comfortable than she’d been with any person, besides you, before. She babbled with excitement every time she heard you or Charlie or Bella mention him, and begged to see him frequently. Once you’d moved into the small red house with Jacob, she’d jump and squeal every time his truck pulled into the driveway at the end of the day.

That day she first said the word, you’d nervously glanced at his face, searching for his response.

She’d been holding his hand, walking along the shore at La Push. It was winter by this point, but Lydia needed her regular beach walk, and was bundled in her tiny red puffer jacket and white hat. She’d stooped down to pick up a shell, gripping it in her small fist, and jerked her hand out to him, dropping the shell into his hand.

“Dada!” She’d squealed as she waited for his approval of the shell.

His eyes had lit up and an expression of utter shock, which had quickly shifted into ecstatic bliss, moved across his features. His eyes had flashed to yours, and he clearly struggled, with everything in him, to hold back a massive grin. He was unsure of your reaction. Your eyes had melted back at him, and you were completely unable to resist the smile that crossed your lips. His dark eyes had turned glossy, and he’d looked back down at Lydia’s impatiently waiting face as she’d stared up at him, grasping the shell and embracing her in a massive bear hug. She’d laughed and shrieked, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

At Lydia’s 2nd birthday party, the whole pack had celebrated with you and Jacob at Billy’s house. The rest of the boys had happily taken on the role of proud uncles, practically fighting over who could hold her whenever you brought her over.

Life was peaceful, and you’d taken on a job at the La Push Farmer’s market. Childcare was a breeze now: on any given day while you were at work, either Sue & Charlie or Emily would eagerly babysit Lydia if Jacob was out on patrol or working his shift as a mechanic at the local bike shop. Lydia now had a family that was larger and more loving than you could have ever dreamed for her.

And you couldn’t ignore the fateful gift that you’d received too. Jacob Black was yours, and you were his. And you knew that, without a single doubt, he’d protect you and your daughter with relentless fervor for the rest of your lives.

You were safe. You were loved.

You were home.

[jaetyun]

your biggest fan.

04. rodrick heffley

wc: roughly 1.4k ish

"my arms hurt"

"your arms always hurt" your insistent whines only prove to make eunseoks jaw tick in annoyance, wanting nothing more than to take the luggage in his hands and throw it at your face until you fall backwards. it would really funny too, he notes. "plus, you're the one that said you'd help in any way you could."

"i know i said that but i was thinking like, hanging out with anton in his studio all day" you huff, stopping halfway through the hallway to do a small hop, an attempt to readjust the box in your hands. "why'd i get the heavier shit? you literally work out" you're met with a teasing shrug, eunseok opening the door and holding it for you in a small token of pity. rather than a thank you, you reply with scrunching your face, sticking your tongue out in childish rebellion.

the two of you have been packing up the essentials in the house that doubled as their practice and resident hangout spot. the rest would be on the way eventually, though you were sure eunseok had sent them on random errands to delay the inevitable: you seeing sohee and wonbin.

it's not like you hadn't all hung out in this very house countless times, this being your childhood home eunseok inherited once college started. you've spent most of your formative years on the same couch you could spot even from outside the house (where you currently stood, box still in hands from being lost in thought and forgetting how heavy it is), watching a movie the boys had picked purely to watch your discomfort. when you weren't watching a movie, sometimes they'd sneak into the liquor cabinet, not allowing you to leave until you had tried some with them. or maybe the fonder memories were when they weren't being mean to you, like karaoke nights or when you watched them practice with the makeshift drums and guitar they had. the practices they had now were much more professional and definitely sounded better, but it was undeniable you were far more fond of the ones before they got big, back when their biggest problem was learning how to read music.

you were startled back to reality by eunseok finally having remorse, snatching the box from your hand and placing it carefully with the other necessities you were storing on the porch for easier delivery when shotaros big ass truck got there. you mumbled a thanks, crunching and releasing your fingers in tandem now that they're finally free, watching your brother silently nod before walking back inside first. he's definitely gotten softer since middle and high school, and the terrorizing brother who used your misery as entertainment had faded with puberty.

"i'm hungry" your complaining starts up again, following into the kitchen where you make a dramatic display of your tragedy by laying down on the island table. eunseok scoffs, placing a water bottle next to you mid tantrum. "the guys will be back in like 20 minutes with food, you can survive." at the reminder, you turn around so you're now on your stomach, swaying your feet in the air with a grin. your brother stares at you for a second, a mix of judgment and disgust overtaking his face. "dont go ignoring everyone else when he gets here. especially sohee, you barely glance his direction at this point. it's honestly really depressing to watch"

your eyebrows raise at this, glancing at your brother suspiciously. "you want me to pay attention to sohee? what did he bribe you with to get you to say that" you sigh out, fidgeting with the water bottle cap while speaking.

"you've known him longer, he misses his friend." he walks over, pinching your cheeks to coo at you before you're swatting his hand away. "eugh! i dunno what's infected your brain to be asking me to hang out with sohee when normally i'm not allowed in a 10 foot radius of your friends. need me to babysit him or something?" he rolls his eyes, taking a seat in one of the chairs while you still sat stomach down, your head now resting on your crossed arms. "he's not even the youngest. i just think you shouldn't be so googoo gaga over wonbin, it's weird."

as if on queue, the door swung open, bag of greasy fast food in antons hand while he did a sing song hum to signify he's home.

"yn get off the island! you're gross germs are gonna get on the food" shotaro nags, walking toward you while you slowly shuffle off. "you'd love it if you had my cooties, it'd the first time a woman gave you anything-" eunseok covers your mouth with his hand, using the momentum to push you back so he could take a peak inside the to-go bags. he made quick work of it, taking the wrapped burgers and handing it out to the regular buyers of that item.

once you got your requested order, you glanced at sohee, the words your brother said ringing in your head. looking around, you spotted wonbin after, eyes softening and feet about to work on autopilot before you blinked yourself back to reality. sohee was in the corner of the kitchen, resting against the counter seemingly in his own world. looking back at wonbin, it was clear he was occupied talking to anton while they surveyed the drinks and messed with them inside the carrier. after pausing for a moment, your feet begun to move again, walking toward the person you'd rather talk to.

"heehee" you hum, walking over to sohee who was inspecting his burger. he gave you a nod, a smile etching on his face even if his gaze immediately returned to the burger. "is it true you miss your ex bestie?" you tease, hands under your chin to frame your face while batting your eyelashes. he snickers, deciding to dismiss the burger entirely and now focusing on you. he nods in confirmation, the cheeky smile still on his face. "we never hang out anymore, alone or in a group"

your pose drops, sticking a tongue out at him. "well that's your fault for homie hopping to my brother" wonbin walks over to where you guys stood in the kitchen, drink in one hand while the other slides onto the counter next to sohee. "why're you guys hiding from us?" although it's clear there's humor in his voice, he gives sohee an unreadable expression before sohees rolling his eyes, gesturing to you. "she came over here to pick on me." your eyes widened, scared of making a bad impression on wonbin and him viewing you as anything other than the alluring gentle girl. "not true!" there sohee goes, setting operation loverboy back 15 steps.

"oh. well then leave him alone yn" you nod dumbly, an apologetic smile on your face. he returns the smile before turning back to sohee. "we're loading the truck right now, we could use the extra hands" he gives sohee, who is now also exchanging an expression you can't quite place, a hardy pat on his forearm before swiftly exiting. sohee sighs, taking one last bite out the mostly untouched burger before looking back at you. "well i'm glad you decided to join us on tour, i dunno about anyone else know i missed your company. make sure to say hi to shotaro and anton too" he finishes, now sliding off the counter and rolling up his sleeves while walking toward the front door. watching all the boys pile out, you sat there wordlessly. this was the first time you were truly gonna be surrounded by the band and only the band, and though you were more than happy to spent most of your time with wonbin it soon sunk in how everyone else would be there too. sohee seemed more excited to see you than even hiyyih, who was the president of your fanclub. shotaro and anton were the same as ever, adding to the group what the other three lacked in high school perfectly. though you joined purely for your quest with wonbin, it soon became clear this trip was about a lot more than you trying to win over your lover boy. it wasn't until your phone dinged that you had snapped back to reality, hand automatically going to your pocket to reply.

previous - masterlist - next

since your brother formed a band with his friends in high school, you've had a massive crush on the aloof and reserved wonbin. him never paying you mind never bothered you until they became famous, and now you have to share him with every other fangirl. now that they're on tour, it's the perfect opportunity to make wonbin realize he doesn't want to share you either.

taglist @jvngw0nlvr @tocupid @seunghancore @molensworld @starwonb1n @yizhoutv @yipyipmorals @gyehyeonist @icewons @renjuneoo @soobiverse @fae-renjun @nujeskz @woonagi-lemon @miy-svz @binoyu @ricecakeslove @i03jae @meowbini @https-yeonjun @snowyseungs @p-d1ddy @saranghoeforanton @secretiny @aloverga @potatosoulp1h @dimplewonie @taroddori i @suzayaaa @brachioswrld @flaminghotyourmom @haowonbins @kyusqult

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Valentine Headcanons about (almost) every fictional character I love 💕 

happy Valentine’s Day to everyone! I hope you know you are appreciated and cared for! Here are some Headcanons on how my fictional crushes would spend Valentine’s Day 💓

featuring: Daiki aomine, Sasuke Uchiha, Takumi Fujiwara, Rindou Haitani, Jean Kirstein, Ryusui Nanami, Spike Spiegel, Hisashi Mistui, Matt Holt, Taehoon Seong, and Damian Wayne

Daiki Aomine:

He’s playing basketball 💀

You’re 100000% sure he forgot what today was because when you gave him a handmade lunch AND a net for catching bugs he just stares at it like “what is this for?”

So as you sadly sit on the bench watching him play

But then he falls��idiot

You sigh and walk over to him. “You ok Daiki?”

He groans and kneels with a bracelet in his hand blushing

“H-happy Valentine’s Day…”

You’re speechless. Only for a short moment of course, you quickly begin laughing your ass off

“W-what’s so funny?! Damn Kise telling me to do dumb shit…”

“I love it Daiki! Where’d you get it?” 

“S-satski taught me…”

This man has the largest amount of pride but will always throw it aside for you!

Sasuke Uchiha:

You both would either stay home or be somewhere private 

You both have this secret spot in the woods that you guys have been going to ever since you were kids

So it’s no surprise on your 15th valentines together that’s where the two of you would be

With the little snacks and dinner entrees the both of you made to surprise each other and the nice lighting and river it was perfect

This is also the time he’s most vulnerable with you; kissing your hands, neck, cheek, arms, and of course your lips ;)

He whispers sweet things in your ear and tells you how he’s never loved like this and won’t with anyone else 

“You’re my everything (y/n). I look at you and see a future brighter than all the stars out tonight.”

It’s safe to say he only and will only ever love you

Takumi Fujiwara:

You’ve always went on Tofu runs when you could with Takumi, and it was no different for Valentine’s Day 

When he arrives at your house he’s standing there with a small bouquet 

“Is there anything you want to do today?” He asks you as he drives to the hotel

You shake your head. “It doesn’t really matter as long as I’m with you!”

He can’t help but smile

When he’s done with the deliveries he pulls into a parking lot in front of Lake Akina 

“Can w-we just sit here for a while then? I really just want to be with you.”

You smile at him and lean your head as close as you can to his shoulder. “I’d love that Takumi.”

Rindou Haitani:

Rindou takes you dancing

You both love to dance so it was a win

But of course after that he takes you home

You both cuddle on each other and watch random movies

Rindou has the finest liquor out and the sweetest chocolate and all your other favorite sweets 

He kisses up and down your shoulder as you sit in his lap holding one of his hands

“You’re mine (y/n). And you’re gonna be for my next valentine and the one after that…”

Jean Kirstein 

He cooks for you!

He makes you sit there patiently while he scrambles around creating the perfect meal

“Jean, i don’t mind helping you. I think it’ll be a lot easier if-“

“I got this (y/n)! Just sit there and look beautiful! Tell me about your day. You know I love to hear your voice.”

After he’s FINALLY done cooking, you dine together in the not so fancy living area, but the both of you don’t care

Jean did his best to clean up and set the sweet, loving tone and that’s all that matters to you.

“I love you (y/n). Thank you for making me so happy.”

Ryusui Nanami:

This man goes all out💀

As soon as you wake up it’s the most perfect breakfast in bed

He has to leave to work but literally leaves you his black card to treat yourself and constantly has people arriving with beautiful flowers every 5 minutes

He comes back for lunch and talks to you

“Has your valentines been well? I’ll make sure that you have the best day ev-“

“I really like all the things Ryusui really i do, but…I just really want to spend time with you…”

He pauses

Then calls in like it’s nothing!

The rest of the day is the two of  you lay in bed together and act all cutesy!

“I’m glad you’re my valentines dear. It’s been one amazing day.”

Spike Spiegel:

This broke man does his best I’ll give him that

He buys you flowers and takes you to a pretty nice restaurant. Nothing too fancy but it’s nicer than you normally go to

He lets you order first and gets him something small, which is weird for this man

You both talk for hours the waitstaff is so annoyed

After you two are FINALLY done you both walk back to the Bebop

“Why did you eat so little Spike? You’re normally chowing down!”

He chuckles and keeps walking, “wasn’t that hungry.”

“Come on spike, we’re practically married, I can tell when you’re lying!”

He sighs and mumbled something 

“What?”

“I wanted to make sure I had enough money for you to eat…”

You stop in your tracks

“Spike…”

You kiss him lovingly 

“Thank you Spike. I love you so much.”

He smiles, “ditto.”

Hisashi Mitsui

You’re probably his first valentines tbh

He waits at a cafe with flowers in his hand

When you show up he’s bright red. You’re not even wearing and saying anything spectacular he’s just so nervous lol

You sit next to each other and talk snack and laugh about everything and anything 

After the cafe you head to the park

And after that you go to little stores you see along the way

Mitsui buys you a stuffed animal you were looking at and you bought him a chain necklace he glanced at

It was a really great valentines, especially since it was first

“T-thanks for being my valentine (y/n). I’m glad i get to spend it with you.”

Matt Holt:

He makes this super cool heart shaped projector thing!

He hands you this heart 

It rises shifts into being a projector that displays all of your favorite memories together

It shows the new inductee dance and how the two of you jumping around without a care in the world

Then it shows a lazy night of the both of you “studying” for an exam as the camera zooms into Matt’s face and your giggles from behind the camera

And one of your favorite memories of all, your day at the beach together. Throwing water at each other, making sand castles, resting you head in his shoulder as the sun goes down 

“Matt…this is beautiful… I-I’m speechless…!”

“It’s alright.” He begins, “I know what you’re gonna say. I love you too.”

Taehoon Seong

Mans has no idea what to do

He acts like he doesn’t care as Hansu tries to give him ideas but really he’s terrified of messing something up

So when the day comes you hear a knock on the door you’re surprised to see a nicely dressed Taehoon with a rose in his hand

“Happy Valentine’s Day idiot.”

You smile and kiss his cheek. “Thank you Tae Tae!”

You Motion for him to come in

When he does there’s a nice breakfast for two in the dining room

“I know you don’t like to go out Tae, so I thought we could stay in for the day.”

Oh my gosh that sounds perfect

“Heh, I guess so. At least I’m with you.”

Damian Wayne:

Spoils you with acts of service 

As soon as you wake up you’re greeted with the smell of a nice breakfast in the dining room 

Then you sit in bed as he feeds you chocolate cover strawberries, watching silly movies and drawing pictures for each other 

At the end of the day he prepares a bath for the both of you

You wash each other not like that weirdos and you even blow some bubbles at him

When it’s finally time to sleep he massages your back and whispers about how much he loves you 

Then of course you fall asleep on his chest as he holds you

“Goodnight beloved. I hope you understand how much I love you.”

[classicwines]

[eternalfae]

When You're Gone (pt 2/??)

When you finally got back to your flat your heart was pounding. You practically ran inside, part of you still not believing he would really be there. You tried to not show your excitement as you opened the door, still in your uniform from work. You heard the TV on and Andrew was humming along with the opening theme song of some show. You could already see him laid out across your couch, so perfectly relaxed as if nothing had happened. You stepped in and closed the door behind you a little too hard, startling him. 

“Well, don’t you look excited to see me?” He had to crane his neck to see you, a small smile resting on his face. 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes while you tossed your bag on the table near the front door. A catch-all table littered with anything someone could ever need. “A strange man broke into my home while I was at work, why wouldn’t I be delighted?”

He cocked a brow at that, face going serious. “That sounds like a big deal. You know who did it?”

You sat next to him on the small couch. “The cops are already on their way.” A moment of silence passed between both of you before you crossed your arms and turned to face him. “Why are you here, Andrew?”

“I finished, obviously.” He looked a little proud of himself, like a cat bringing you a mouse. 

You couldn’t help your attitude. While you were happy to see him, you were mad that he’d leave you alone long enough to miss him. “When?”

He frowned. “About three days ago. Quite frankly, I thought you’d be more happy to see me.” You felt trapped by the almost sad look in his eyes. You took him in for a moment, beard unkempt, hair a bit longer than what it was when he left. He definitely needed a trim… and a shower. He smelled strongly of cologne, probably to cover up the smell of the long train ride back home. You loved his cologne. 

“I’m very happy to see you. I just wish you would have told me you were coming back. I could have planned something!” You threw your hands up dramatically for effect. 

“We can still do something fun; go out to the pub,” he offered. You shook your head in response and he frowned again. 

“I don’t want to go to the pub immediately after getting home from work. Order some delivery while I shower and we can watch a movie or something. I want to relax.” His smile returned and he nodded, quickly taking his phone out to order from his favorite local place. Fifteen minutes later you were dressed in your comfiest pajamas, towel-drying your hair quickly before you made your way back out to the living room. “Do you want anything to drink? I pretty much have the entire pub in my kitchen.” You leaned over the back of the couch, resting your arms on it as you watched him.

He looked up from his phone and nodded. “Please,” he answered simply, “But surprise me.” 

You nodded and wandered back towards the kitchen, slightly distracted by the ad currently playing on your TV. You managed to peel your eyes away as you stepped into the kitchen. You contemplated your liquor cabinet for a moment before you pulled down a bottle of Midleton whiskey, something you always saved for special occasions. Warm light shone through the glass, and you filled it up with maybe a bit more than you should’ve, but you didn’t care. After dropping some ice in, you brought the drinks back to the living room. He took the offered glass silently and you sat next to him, relaxing into the plush cushions. 

You sipped your drink and let your brain go empty, desperately trying to just forget about everything and relax here with your best friend. You couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the warmth radiating off of the man next to you, a direct opposite of the chill your damp hair was sending down your spine. He wordlessly took the remote and switched it from the show to one of his favorite movies, Grand Budapest Hotel. You took a swig of your drink, craving the warmth that was teasing you from your right, and grabbed a blanket that sat on your couch to bundle up in. 

The alcohol seemed to do barely anything to warm the chill in your bones. You were utterly exhausted from work, though, and the alcohol wasn’t helping. You felt yourself dozing off within the first ten minutes of the movie. You were rudely awoken, however, by the sound of the doorbell. Oh, yeah, your food. You mumbled to yourself as you went to get up, but a hand on your leg stopped you. A warmth spread immediately from that spot that rivaled that of the alcohol in your veins.

“I’ve got it.” Andrew stood up and waved at you dismissively to stay sitting as he walked toward the door, stealing your warmth. You craned your neck a bit to watch him, but couldn’t hear their voices over the movie on the TV. You ended up relaxing and stretching out on the couch while you waited for him to return. Not long after, you smelled your food approaching. You hummed happily and sat up once again. “Your favorite.” He set the box down in front of you and opened it up, the smell causing you to practically drool.

“You’re a saint. Thank you,” you smiled up at him and he simply nodded and returned to his spot on the couch. He scooted closer to you as he reached for a slice and you were painfully aware of his knee touching yours. You willed yourself to ignore the thoughts racing through your head as you grabbed a piece for yourself. Your thoughts finally faded to the back of your mind as you ate, more or less watching the TV.

Once you had your fair share of food and liquor you could feel the exhaustion of your workday catching up with you. You pulled your legs up onto the couch and got cozy while the two of you sat in a comfortable silence watching the TV. You started to doze off again and was vaguely aware of the man next to you getting up from the couch. 

Right when you were about to open your eyes to see where he went, though, the couch sunk again and a blanket was placed over you both. One of his arms went around the back of the couch and, totally only because the couch was making you go that way, you found yourself leaning against the tall man with your head on his shoulder. As sleep took over your body now that you were adequately warm, you felt his arm come off the couch and move to around you. With one hand resting on your shoulder, you barely even heard his words. 

“I missed you so much.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Calcified Cage.

Yan Bucciarati x F Reader x Yan Fugo.

A glimpse into a "bad end" from Scarlet Ribbons.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied power imbalance. Word count: 1.5k.

Pannacotta Fugo knew on an intrinsic level that nothing good was to come from this private meeting with Bucciarati. 

For someone who prefers to make judgments on empirical merit, this odd bout of premonition felt uncharacteristic, further adding to his unease. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. Bucciarati often consulted him in private over various Passione concerns. 

In private, yes, but never in the total seclusion of his humble home along Napoli’s outskirts. 

Fugo can count the number of times he’s been here on one hand. Normally, if Bruno needed to discuss an issue with Fugo, he’d ask him to stay behind after the gang finished eating their meal at Libeccio. The mixing of business and home life is considered taboo in this profession. Although Bucciarati is a bachelor who lives by himself, Fugo figured that he adhered to this unspoken virtue on principle alone. 

When Fugo finishes reading the letter in his grasp, it’s no longer a mystery why his leader has taken these precautions. The paper trembles like a leaf in the wind, Fugo’s grasp on it weakening. 

“You understand what this means, don’t you?”

Bucciarati’s voice sounds far away, despite his position a few feet across the table. Ringing resounds in Fugo’s ears, quiet at first, yet building in an all-consuming crescendo. The melody it weaves is melancholic at its core. A tragedy cast by the indifferent divine, thrusting him into the spotlight, where he stumbles through his lines as a lead character. 

He has to tell himself to breathe. 

Inhale. 

For if what’s written crawls into reality— 

Exhale. 

—He’ll no longer have a reason to.

Fugo downs a glass of water his host generously had the forethought to provide. His fingers grip the rim tight enough that his knuckles nearly turn as white as his complexion. 

“Are you asking for my legal counsel?” he manages to get out. There’s a rasp in his voice that he can’t hide, regardless of his best efforts. He can feel his collected mask melting from his face like wax on a candle. There won’t be any welding it back into place once it’s gone. It’ll require time to mold one in its predecessor's likeness — time he most certainly doesn’t have.

“No,” Bucciarati gives an answer he somehow already expected. “I want to hear your personal opinion.” 

“My… personal opinion? Is that really necessary?”

“It is.” 

It shouldn’t be. This is about as black and white as a dilemma can get. Trying to mix the colors on a palette to form gray would be impossible; a fool’s wish. The shades are so diametrically opposed that he’d sooner find success in combining oil and water. 

His esophagus burns like he’d just drunk hard liquor instead of water. 

“This is… good,” he fights back a wince at the wooden delivery, “For— for her, I mean.” 

Something tells him that even if he had put on the performance of a lifetime, Bucciarati still wouldn’t have believed him. 

“For her,” Bucciarati echoes dryly.

Fugo inwardly curses his clumsy word choice. There’s no point in concealing his cards, he may as well have just laid them all out for Bucciarati’s viewing pleasure. He loosens his tie. The quiet intensity radiating from Bucciarati is suffocating. He’s reminded then that while he greatly cares for and respects the man sitting across from him, Bruno Bucciarati is, at his core, a mobster. 

And there’s nothing more dangerous than a mobster who feels his family is under threat. 

You are, in essence, the heart of Bucciarati’s ragtag team. 

This letter is proposing to transplant you into another body. An objectively healthier body. 

To do without you would be to live as a dead man walking. 

Fugo feels the phantom pain as if his chest cavity was being split in half by spectral hands. No anesthetic, no scalpel. Just raw, brutish force. Your nonsensical questions he pretends to find irritating are his veins. The blueberry pancakes dutifully arranged in a smiley face on his birthday, the arterioles; how you reach for his hand in crowded areas so as not to get lost, the capillaries. 

You are snowball fights and hot cocoa in the winter, beach trips and shared gelato in the summer. 

(“I can’t ever decide which flavor I want,” you’d lament, wilting all the while. It never took long for you to blossom again. “I know! Fugo, get this flavor, and I’ll get this one. That way I can try both!” 

He’d sigh and pretend to consider it as if he hadn’t made up his mind the second you smiled at him. “Fine. I’d rather not hear you complaining if you ordered something you don’t like, so… just this once.” 

“Just this once,” you repeated. 

He’s never turned down your request in the times you’ve asked since). 

Bucciarati leans back in his seat. He crosses his legs, folds his hands onto his lap, and smiles. Fugo is so put off by this shift in demeanor, the dissonance both perplexing and unsettling him. He sets the damning paper down for the temporary reprieve straightening it out provides. It points west, toward the window behind Bucciarati, where the sun’s final rays for the day crawl through. 

“You love her,” Bucciarati says it as casually as one describing the weather. 

Fugo’s entire body goes numb. 

“... I do.” 

“Do you love her enough to make her hate you?” 

He’s been on the defensive throughout this entire interaction. He’ll allow himself one retort, one provocation. 

“Do you?” 

The softening of Bucciarati’s expression says it all. 

“We shouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t.” 

Right. Fugo isn’t sure if this is a conversation so much as it is an interview, his most pivotal test since joining Passione’s ranks. For once, he didn’t need to study. Passing with flying colors isn’t the issue. It’s deciphering the purposefully cryptic manner that Bucciarati has been conducting himself that poses an obstacle. 

However, when he stares into Bucciarati’s resolute eyes, he thinks he might be starting to crack the code. 

The promise he made to himself to reprise his role of an obsequious soldato is broken as easily as it was made. 

“Forgive me for being blunt, Bucciarati,” he means it too, “But what exactly are you getting at here?” 

“I won’t be able to conceal this for long.” 

Nausea swirls inside him and bile claws its way up his throat. He swallows it down, despite how dry his mouth feels. 

“The way I see it, we have two choices,” Bucciarati takes a deep breath. Pausing like this must mean he doesn’t savor the flavor of what he’ll say next. “Her happiness or ours.” 

It’s debt that brought you into Passione and debt that’ll keep you here. Fugo considered how you were taken advantage of in such a desperate position truly unfortunate. Cruel, even. The offer of a loan that’d take considerable financial strain off your family. You didn’t know to look for jargon that’d increase the interest rate to something unholy, Passione was clever like that. 

The worst mistake of your life is what led you to be the best thing in his — and so many others would attest the same.  

However…

You are bright, but even the most radiant light is destined to flicker. 

Living under the same roof as you for two years has taught Fugo much. He sees it, how you hesitate to take the phone when he tells you your parents are on the line. He hears the telling hitch in your voice when you spin another falsehood about why you can’t come home for the holidays again this year. He feels the wetness on your pillowcase when he goes into your room to retrieve a book you borrowed from him. 

Your debt is what shackles you here and this letter is offering to break the chains. 

You've successfully won over many key individuals during your tenure. The would-be benefactor who penned this letter — Signore Conti — had deep influences and even deeper pockets. His wife had taken a particular liking to you during a bodyguard assignment. She must've caught wind of your predicament somehow and beseeched her husband to intervene.

Fugo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "There's really no other way?"

"I'm open to suggestions, Fugo."

Questioning Bucciarati's resolve is just a weak attempt to stall for time. For Fugo to still be sitting here, even entertaining the possibility of snuffing out your future for the sake of maintaining his, he must've already made up his mind. The mere implication of Bucciarati's designs would've inspired righteous anger in most — not this internal weighing of pros and cons Fugo is neatly arranging on a scale.

"... We'll need to handle this delicately," Fugo says. His stomach feels like it's turning inside out. "We can't outright reject an offer like this from such an influential figure, it'd be considered an insult. Accept it on her behalf. Then... to ensure she can't go anywhere, I'll reach out to our contact in the bank and have her account frozen."

Bucciarati steeples his fingers. "It's a start."

That night, innumerable plans are formed, with you unknowingly starring as the centerpiece.

No matter how cruel, how unfair, it is silently agreed upon that you are their lifeblood, an organ essential to their survival.

And a heart cannot remain in place without the bones that make up its cage.

[rudnitskaia]

Hi! I read your stories about Rocky and Maura on AO3 and they’re very good! Do you plan to write fics about Maura working with Rocky at Lackadaisy? Please write more! 🙏

Hi, anon ✨😭✨ I'm truly sorry for the late reply and hope you're doing well and will see my reply even after so much time passed 🥺💖

I'm very, VERY happy you like RoMaunce dynamics! 💖🥹💖 As for your question: the truth is that Maura working at Lackadaisy is a possible scenario, and a very interesting one, but it's not the only one. In any case, Rocky's and Maura's story isn't sweet and easy, but, if Mau starts to work at Lackadaisy, it triggers too many angsty outcomes not only for these two, but for many people around them.

Anyway, I wrote a ficlet about one of these personal outcomes for Rocky and Mau (though it came out to be more of a Zib & Mitzi's story). Hope you'll enjoy it. <3

A Better Life

Rocky didn't want to look, but he couldn't stop. His body felt numb, refusing to budge, and his glassy gaze was fixed on just one spot in the main hall of the Lackadaisy.

On Mau.

There she was, letting out another mischievous laugh and shifting the cue to her other hand. Even from such distance, from the backstage, he could clearly see the eyes of the bar patrons roaming over her figure as she bent over to make a hit. Their stares made him sick to the stomach.

The grip on the violin bow grew even tighter. Mozzie was finishing up to play some unassuming piano tune that meant to fill the silence before the beginning of the main concert. Soon the whole band must get on stage, but music was the last thing Rocky could think about at this moment.

“Come on, honey, spin around,” Mitzi encouraged Maura, clearly pleased with how the white, gold-embroidered dress fit her. “Isn't that nice? And it would finally stop gathering dust in the closet.”

Apparently, Miss M, who gave Maura one of her own evening dresses, really had high hopes for the girl. Rocky had already been over the moon when Miss M finally agreed to his entreaties to talk to Mau about working at Lackadaisy, and even more so when she decided to give Mau's talent a chance by bringing back gambling as an illegal activity in her establishment. And Mitzi's expectations paid off in spades. The resumption of liquor deliveries from the Arbogast Funeral Home, coupled with a new twist in the form of an “invincible female pool player”, has lured quite a few customers to Lackadaisy. For the first time since the days of Atlas May, the bar was running at some kind of profit rather than a loss. In every sense, it was a victory.

But right now, Rocky would have given anything to go back in time and knock the very idea of bringing Maura to Lackadaisy out of his own mind.

“It's a play, Rocky. Just a role. Otherwise these drunken high rollers wouldn't have the excitement, the desire to bet more and more, to keep competing with me. They like to think they can win not the game, but me, you know? Like a trophy. That's my job, to pretend it's really possible when it's not. Everything will be fine,” Mau assured him, furtively hugging him in the back room. He understood. After all, they needed money, needed desperately. Besides, how could he be upset about something so trivial? It would be ridiculous. After all, she still fell asleep beside him every morning. But the more time passed, the more unbearable he found the sight at the pool table, which he was forced to watch from the stage every damn night.

When Rocky felt a touch on his shoulder, he shuddered and hastily released the fabric of the curtain.

“Spit it out, kid,” Zib took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “Or you're gonna get hot steam coming out of your ears.”

Rocky hesitated. Then cracked a strained smile.

“I was just admiring the place, that's all… it's been a long time since we've had this much noise, hasn't it? Miss Pepper finally has someone to dance with when Freckle runs out of breath. Last time they—”

Zib hummed and leaned against the opposite wall. His grin alone made it clear that he wasn't buying this ridiculous attempt to change the subject. Pulling back the curtain a little, he stared out into the main hall for a while, listening more to the cheerful chatter of the crowd than to Rocky's continuing monologue.

“Don't tell her you're jealous. It'll make things worse.”

Zib's words caught Rocky by surprise, and it took him a lot of effort not to show his astonishment. He didn't know what had given him away, since he'd never been explicit about his relationship with Mau. Out of everyone, Freckle was the only one who knew for sure, and it seemed, according to her overly mischievous tone, that Miss Pepper had suspected something, too. And yet Zib had hit right on target — even without looking at Rocky, he knew he had. But though the poisonous feelings that had been overwhelming Rocky for a month now had eaten him almost to the core in the enforced silence, and though the opportunity to finally discuss it with someone seemed too tempting — he couldn't allow himself to open up. He just couldn't.

“Begorra, why would you even think that? To whom and who could I…”

“Zib,” Mitzi interrupted them, suddenly entering the backstage area. “One of the visitors wants to hear this,” she held out a double folded sheet of paper. “Tell the others. He paid well.”

When she left, Zib reluctantly unfolded the paper and then slipped it carelessly into his pocket. Despite the need to walk on the stage soon, he took his time, favoring an unfinished cigarette. With his fingertips he pulled the curtain aside again, revealing a thin golden strip of carefree revelry from their faded, half-empty backstage.

“You know, it's natural,” he took a puff, “To want the best for the ones you love,” the smoldering cigarette outlined the room. “But just consider it. Any of these men could give her everything that the likes of us, mired on the margins, could never give her. The freedom not to think about what to eat, where to sleep, and how to survive while the pockets are empty, not to choose between, let’s say, a new coat for the winter and a month's rent for some hellhole. And if someone can give the person you love freedom beyond your reach, it would be dirty to demand them to drop that chance for a better life, don't you think?”

Shaking the ashes to the floor, Zib again pulled out the now crumpled note that Mitzi had handed him and fell silent for a short while. He didn't open it this time, just studied the blank side of the note for a few seconds with a thoughtful, detached look. A look in which, for just a moment, flickered a glimpse of longing. His husky voice sounded almost otherworldly when he spoke:

“You're lucky if she chooses you anyway. Cherish it while you can.”

Completely stunned, Rocky remained silent. A thousand questions flashed through his mind, but he didn’t dare to voice any of them. Zib didn't just empathize with him, no — he knew. Knew like no other. The man, meanwhile, put out the cigarette butt and headed toward the back room where the band members usually had their rest.

“Get on stage. It's time to start.”