#so past life memories and present life memories are blending even more so shes really fuckijg pissed off lmao

[toournextadventure]

If you're able to do a story based on Katy Perry's The One That Got Away where the reader is immortal or a vampire and they were connected with Goody Addams (basically had a relationship or smthng with her idk her age) but moments before she was burned to death they had a "In another life I'll look for you" type of moment and R cant do anything because they were tied and held back forcing to watch Goody die the way she did. Then to the present, R finds Wednesday amidst the crowd and they just push through the crow to get to Wednesday hugged her while Wednesday has a vision of the R and Goody's past and they have this "I found you" , "You found me" moment. THANK YOU

I am OBSESSED with this premise, you're a GENIUS

i found you

“Goody, no!”

Your eyes flew open as the dark room enveloped you. The air was cold and the sound of the fan mixed with the rain outside to form the perfect sleeping conditions. It truly was a shame you had been awakened by yet another nightmare.

No, not another one. The same one.

Slowly, you sat up and rubbed the remaining sleep from your eyes. It seemed it was going to be another early day, just like yesterday. And the day before, and the day before that. Gods, you just couldn’t manage to get Goody’s burning face out of your mind. Hundreds of years had passed and you still couldn’t force yourself to forget.

A familiar burning sensation seared down your throat once your body had finally woken up enough to comprehend it’s needs. With a sigh, your feet hit the cold ground and you dug your toes into the rug before standing up. The fridge was only a few feet away in your tiny studio apartment, but still too far when it was this early.

“Shit,” you mumbled as you slammed your fridge door closed. Seemed you had run out of blood faster than anticipated. Well, it was a rainy day; you could pick someone out pretty easily and no one would be the wiser.

You sat down on your couch and turned to the first senseless show you could find at such an early hour. Something about restaurants, you didn’t really care to pay attention. Its only purpose was to kill time until you could reasonably walk around outside without drawing too much attention.

But the wait was torture. As the show droned on in the background, your mind drifted back to that day. To that day all those years ago where you were forced to watch the most painful thing you had ever witnessed, worse even than your own turning. The memories felt like a vice grip around your unbeating heart, squeezing what little life was left out of the cold muscle.

You wiped the tears away once the clock struck seven. No more use in sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, it was time to hunt. There was no need to try and protect yourself from the rain; you simply grabbed your coat so you could blend in with the rest of the morning crowd.

The smell of rain calmed the nerves that never seemed to truly disappear. It didn’t matter how many times you had actually hunted, a small part of you remained nervous with every outing. Maybe it was the fact that you were taking a part of someone’s life, you weren’t entirely sure. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t going to stop you. If Crackstone could be celebrated for his bigotry, you could live with taking just a bit of life force from a normie.

Call it reparations.

The streets were far more crowded than you had anticipated; a bigger selection, but far riskier. Good, it always added a sense of adventure. You found a nice stoop to hang out in as you watched the crowd walk by, your eyes searching each and every face that passed in an attempt to find your target.

Until your eyes froze on a familiar face, familiar hair, familiar eyes. A face that you would have recognised even in the darkest of nights. One that you hadn’t seen outside of your nightmares in over 200 years. And there she was, walking amongst the common folk as if she had not a care in the world.

You had to get back to her.

Wednesday loved the rain; the sound it made when falling against the umbrella, the smell of it on the concrete, everything about it. So she could be forgiven for deciding to walk that morning instead of having Lurch take her to her final destination. Her umbrella kept her dry and everyone gave her a wide berth.

Even with the space everyone was giving her, Wednesday could still see that someone was parting the crowd like the red sea. There was no chance she was going to move, not for some entitled asshole that was coming directly at her and-

-she felt arms envelope her in a hug so tight she almost couldn’t breathe.

The crowd around her vanished and was replaced by a different crowd, one full of pilgrims. The moon shone down on the screaming and cheering crowd and Wednesday pushed her way through to the center. There Crackstone stood next to a wooden pyre, and someone who looked just like her was tied up; Goody Addams, her mind told her.

Across the clearing was another pyre, one with someone else tied to it. You. You were struggling against the ropes, but the pilgrims around you kept you contained. One of the pilgrims carried a torch over to Goody, prepared to drop it at the bottom of the pyre.

“Look for me,” Goody said, her eyes staring at you and you only. There was an acceptance in her eyes, though it didn’t erase the fear.

“Goody, no!” You screamed once the pilgrim dropped the torch, and the roar of the fire echoed in Wednesday’s ears as she came back to the present.

She pulled back from the arms to see you, looking down at her with tears in your eyes and a pain on your face that Wednesday had seen only once. A look so full of fear and relief and absolute desperation. Your bottom lip quivered as your eyes scoured every inch of her face, her skin, her.

“I found you,” you mumbled, your words barely audible over the sound of the rain and Wednesday’s own heart.

“You found me,” she answered just as quietly, pulling you back into a hug and hearing a heartbeat that sounded familiar.

Sounded like home.

[kitkatt0430]

Six (Or More) Sentence Sunday!!!! Remembered to do this before getting caught up doing other stuff today.

“It’s a timeline based off what I remember strongest for the through-line life that would have made it to the version of the multi-verse crises that led to this multi-verse rebooting into the next,” Barry said. “There were a lot of timelines to sort through and reject in my memories. Still an ongoing project, getting my closet in order.” Eobard rolled his eyes. Of all the inane things to turn into his mind palace… an infinitely large closet. “Next up on the ‘who’s that criminal meta’ game, should be Danton Black. He’s going to be gunning for Simon Stagg. The way this timeline would have played out if I hadn’t gotten my head crammed full of future events? I’d have stopped him, barely, but Danton commits suicide rather than let me stop him from falling out of what should have been shatterproof windows. A gunshot won’t break that glass but a handful of determined clones can? Someone committed fraud with that install,” Barry rambled and then shook his head. “Sorry. I’m a bit talky today. Anyway. You killed Stagg anyway in that timeline. I’ve never been sure why, but no great loss there. Met enough alternate versions of him that for a half decent reason I’d happily drop him off the nearest cliff and call it a hiking accident.”

No one likes Simon Stagg. Especially not 'brain full of infinite realities' Barry Allen.

This scene is from the first part of the tentatively named fic 'Networking' for the Timeless Nonsense series. Barry was getting a little more work in on sorting out the timelines and plotting his next moves when Eobard dropped in to see how it's progressing. This fic will contain Barry heading over to Starling to drop in on Oliver, Felicity, and Dig. But also... Eobard winds up visiting someone he hasn't seen since before the accelerator explosion after learning this person is essentially on Barry's hit list for easier timeline management. He doesn't realize he's having a bit of an ethics crisis, but Eobard is totally having a bit of an ethics crisis. (Don't worry, it's not Simon Stagg. He's gonna die in the fic after this one and no one is gonna feel sorry about it.)

I also finally made some progress on The Story of HR Wells as a sort of back and forth between past and present that'll end either with Cynthia arriving on Earth-1 of HR lending Cisco the original copy of his World War M historical accounting. It's part of Coffee, Drumsticks, and Social Revolutions and I'm doing some world building in here that'll mean I need to go back and do a bit of editing on the fics already posted. Mostly minor things - Earth-19 refers to it's doctorates a bit differently now and other stuff that really makes it feel a bit more like a close-but-not culture over there.

By then it’s time for lunch with Caitlin before the apartment hunt began. He keyed Caitlin into the transmogrifier so that she sees him, not the part Randolf and part HR blend that he was wearing for the rest of the world. They chat about nothing in particular really, but HR can’t help but notice she’s hiding a second patch of cut-short hair with her barrettes today. Maybe it’s time to try the whole reaching out thing. Even if she doesn’t reciprocate, at least HR would have tried to help her. And she might still reach out in return down the line. He started with a mild complaint about his shoulder. “I’m glad I’ve got you along or I might just take the first apartment I see so I can put a mattress in it that won’t cause that nerve in my shoulder to pinch. Messes up my whole arm for the day when it happens. Or more than a day sometimes.” “Oh no,” Caitlin frowned, going into doctor mode. “You’re sure it’s just a pinched nerve?”

HR is trying to help Caitlin deal with what he still currently thinks is just PTSD problems, but it turns out the things he's about to tell her about his struggles with coping with the aftermath of brain damage from a war wound - in the first conversation they have here and a few subsequent ones - help her with her fears about how different her own thoughts become whenever her powers try to become active.

Obviously, what Caitlin's going through is quite different from HR did, but she's still struggling with her brain chemistry changing on her, altering the way she thinks and feels about everything. And HR understands how upsetting and frightening that is in a way no one else on Team Flash does.

[shadamyheadcanons]

How do you think Shadow's relationship with his descendant is? Do they all know him or are some unaware of their relation to him? I imagine futher down the line Shadow would have a lot of great grand children it would be kind of difficult to keep track to all of them and dedicate bonding time to all of them. On the other side it could be a good thing so he keeps himself busy and less lonely but it could also be kind of overwhelming

I see it the same way. I imagine he’d cling pretty closely at first, but he’s not naturally a sociable guy. In the beginning, I think he’d cherish his descendants, consistently keeping in touch and making sure each generation preserved the traditions he and Amy started together.

It would get harder with each passing generation, though. Keeping up with more and more descendants would be exhausting, especially for someone like him, and it would only get worse as they gradually had less and less in common with him.

But what would really break him, I think, is seeing the last of Amy’s traits disappear.

It would start with her green eyes. Green eyes are a recessive trait in humans, so they might be for Mobians, too. Dark hair is dominant over lighter hair, too, so his black fur could override her pink. Maybe a few hedgehogs with her eyes or fur could pop up here and there down the line, but it would get rarer with each generation. Her latent psychic powers would get obscured, too. They might show themselves occasionally in different forms, but not exactly like hers. On top of that, the spark she had would be watered down until her passion disappeared from their family tree, taking away what he’d loved most about her.

By that point, he would’ve lost all of his loved ones, too, save for Omega. Exhausted from keeping track and distraught over losing the last remnants of who Amy was, I imagine he’d withdraw.

Then, hundreds of years after the present time, he reunites with one last person from the life he knew: a naive, dedicated, silver hedgehog. For reasons Shadow can’t place, spending time with Silver feels like coming home again. Silver has Shadow’s fluffy chest fur, Chaos Control, and determination, but he also reminds Shadow of Amy. Silver’s smile, compassion, and boundless optimism match hers perfectly, and his psychic powers, while not exactly like hers, somehow give off the same aura, one Shadow hasn’t felt in a very long time. Silver’s personality seems to borrow from theirs, blending Shadow’s bluntness and social awkwardness in serious situations with Amy’s friendly, open demeanor in more peaceful times.

It’s impossible to ignore. Shadow chalks it up to the two of them rubbing off on Silver during his trips to the past. With centuries of breathing room, it’s easy to forget Silver was always like that, even when they’d just met. It goes over Silver’s head, too.

Omega’s photographic memory knows better.

When Silver visits one day, Omega stealthily plucks a spare quill from each of the hedgehogs’ heads. One quick DNA test later, his suspicions are confirmed. The connection had lessened over all that time, but it’s still there.

Omega watches from across the room as Silver rants excitedly about something, happy to have the company. Shadow nods along, looking more content than he has in over a century. Omega thinks of his findings...and keeps quiet.

As much as he knows they would cherish the knowledge for now, he can’t bear the thought of Shadow knowing and losing it all over again.

...

Ahem.

Now that we’re all sad, you can check out the Shadamy-Descendant-Silver tag! It’s all happy stuff about Silver because, as you can see, other descendant ideas depress me.

I know it’s not canon. I don’t care.

Shellshock is a great place to start. It’s my favorite!

(Even though it made me sad, I do appreciate the ask! It’s interesting to think about these things.)

[frannyzooey]

BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUP, I GOT THINGS TO SAY

The way this story has gripped me, I can't even tell you --

The way you have such a fucking grip on who these characters are...it shows so clearly in your writing, and also makes every single thing they say hit so, so well.

“Lonely little housewife, ain’t you?”

The way he says it isn’t accusatory. It’s not even judgmental. It’s more observant. And you don’t know how he does that. How he just pierces right through to the heart of you. He did the same thing in your living room ten years ago.

GOD. That recall to the fight they had (which was, btw, fucking incredible and so realistic and their view points were said and described perfectly how do you DO THAT) -- the last line of this "he did the same thing in your living room ten years ago" punched me right in the gut. Going from her not seeing much of him to an interaction like this?? I would have been crawling out of my skin with adrenaline (and I was, as a reader, you fucking genius).

You really shouldn’t leer, but you find your eyes clinging to the movement of his body beneath his clothes. His flannel sleeves are rolled to the elbows with the body heat generated from his exertion. Every so often he takes a breather, perching his arm on the handle of the rake and wiping at his forehead.

This is like, peak male. This is everything. I don't even care that I am outing myself as a basic bitch housewife - this image HIT.

You remember the sound of it, even if you can’t currently hear it. His hot breath in your ear, his guttural grunts, the edge of a whine sneaking out as he com—

You are such a fucking master, weaving in the way she recalls their encounters. It always takes me by surprise? when she snaps herself out it? because the way you write her internal thoughts it literally so immersive, I feel myself just descending into those memories with her and it's so fucking visceral --

He polished off the beverage quickly, wiping his mouth on his bicep the way he used to wipe the slickness of your pussy from his mouth when he was between your legs. You’d try and stifle the yearning sigh that escapes you at the memory, but there’s no one here to judge you. So it floats in the air once you express it, swirling around your head like the smoke of a post-fuck cigarette.

Why. Just -- why. The recall this action is so...illicit, and so fucking explicit, and then you end the section with that incredible sentence. You bitch.

Close enough to smell the heated chill on his skin, the bite of the autumn wind in his cheeks, the spice of his deodorant, and the warmth of his cologne. And the latter two, they’re exactly the same. They’re just as you recall them.

Some things don’t change, regardless of time, you guess.

THE WAY I COULD SMELL THIS. This specific section was driving me insane, because again, throughout this story, you have done such an incredible job blending present with past, and the way you link his smell that's not changed is literal gold. Literal writing goals. Literal big brain.

You step closer to him. “But we’re already thinking about it. That’s practically as bad as doing it, isn’t it?”

Joel’s face contorts, a cross between pain and shame, as his shoulder rolls in silent discomfort. But he doesn’t respond.

ALSO ALSO ALSO - your actions!! I always struggle so much in my writing to not only convey what I want through the dialogue, but to also make sure the actions do the brunt of the leg work and there was something about this that just...stopped me in my tracks. This description of his physical discomfort is sublime and does SO MUCH in telling us how he feels.

Please just do it, Joel. Wreck my pussy, wreck my marriage, just fuck up my entire life, I’m begging you, please.”

^^ Literally me.

“Thanks,” you whisper, holding your palm out for him to drop it into, but instead he goes straight to your bare earlobe, finagling it back into place with a practiced ease that makes your insides flutter.

How often has he done that for Denise?

DOMESTIC INTIMACY MY WEAKNESSSSSSSS

AND THEN. AND THEN. The fucking sex scene - I could wax poetic about how much your writing and your situations seem to satisfy the same freak itch in me and how I can't even tell you how much I was holding my breath during their entire enchange and how much I, THE READER, felt ACTUAL SATISFACTION when they got together (which, by the way, is is fucking writing feat given that this is only chapter two - queen of pacing and tension, my beloved) - but there were two parts that made me fucking GAG with arousal:

Joel’s hand cups your jaw tightly, the look in his eyes shifted into pure animalistic hunger. “Sweetheart, I don’t fucking care. Do you care?”

NO I DON'T CARE, FILL ME UP DADDY

“Oh, don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growls, immediately slapping your hand away and replacing it with his own. “You know goddamn well who’s in charge of making you come. You think that’s changed?”

I'm pretty sure I died at this part, and my spirit floated out of my bedroom

AND THEN you had the FUCKING ADAUCITY TO ADD THE DADDY STUFF AND I LITERALLY DIED

I know this reblog is unhinged and I should be sorry but I'm not. This story is ruining my life, and you are just...a phenomenal writer. So polished, so confident, so clear - and I am in awe. I cannot WAIT for the next part 😍😍😍😍

Good Neighbors | (joel miller x f!reader) (18+)

Part Two of Three

✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧A fic inspired by Fortnight by Taylor Swift✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧

Part One

summary: tensions build between you and joel, but so does the tension between you and jack. that's where the similarities end. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] no outbreak!au, age gap (joel is 38/48, reader is 22/32), joel x ofc (no sexual content), reader x omc (pitiful sexual content), pining, infidelity, slowburn vibes, daddy!kink (I can’t escape my roots no matter how I try), unprotected PIV, brief oral (m and f!receiving), degradation!kink, praise!kink, unashamed sexualization of the term "kiddo", alcohol consumption, drunken assholery, food mention, unhealthy/toxic age gap marriage, reader's husband is an even BIGGER piece of shit - PLEASE READ DISCLAIMER. immersion notes: reader has hair, wears dresses/makeup, and is considered a "trophy wife" type. additionally, in this part, reader is specifically implied to be conventionally thin. apologies to anyone for whom this kills immersion for, but it felt very necessary in the context of the story. word count: ~9.8k DISCLAIMER: Please note that this chapter contains instances of unequivocal verbal domestic abuse that include slut-shaming, body-shaming, blatant criticism of reader’s weight, deflection and projection, circumstantial gaslighting, sexist insults, and aggressive undertones within a marriage with an inherent power imbalance, followed by brief lovebombing. Please read with caution if triggered by verbal abuse or domestic abuse in general. [None of the aforementioned are executed by Joel]. There is also a substantial amount of dialogue that is derogatory and harmful toward specifically American Southerners and rural folk in general. Damaging stereotypes are relayed by a character with the intent of being hostile and hurtful. This dialogue does not reflect my beliefs or opinions as a writer and is only included to enhance character development (or, rather, character deterioration). a/n: we are getting a bit intense with this one, y'all. please read with caution. but this is also a fun one :) [formerly atticrissfinch]

Available Only on AO3

[beautifullydisasterouskae]

~Present~

Kae:

*Sun shades had cooled to fall then winter. It was a new dawn. A new day. Morning birds sing-song to rouse me from slumber. The air had a welcomed December chill.

In the morning when I wake, vibrations started at the base of my spine. Tickling sensations in my inner ear. Feeling suddenly lost when I find myself draped half off the worn red floral chaise.

Awareness brings about a new discovery. A freshly painted canvas rested over the travel easel sitting just there. Smears and swirled blends of colors vibrantly depicting an odd scene.

One figure I knew immediately.

Blue with flecks of green. Tall and dark. Lean muscles. I’d been fighting the urge to be close to him.

One of the women…unfamiliar at first until realization bloomed at the new hire @LivForThem.

The other two figures were still a mystery.

Dante and this new person, Josi, were somehow tied to the future.

There was this truth hidden in my heart. I went forward slowly. This new revelation made me nervous. Everything would be different. The world and maybe myself, may not be ready for this.

I hid the panic that was clawing up to the surface.

I had extended my stay here in Montana. No one was expecting me back home. I had my bookshop apothecary in Colorado. Which I had closed up to travel here.

I’d been searching for a new place. A new home?

No one likes to be alone. Most days I bury my nose in a book trying to figure out my thoughts. Kitten had taken me by the hand and asked about my love life.

How could I share anything when there was nothing? Was there? Surely I was out of my mind.

But this new painting. A premonition of what’s to come.

Kitten and Laz were quiet during dinner.

It was a damp cold night. I tried to figure myself out by taking a walk out past the ranch and into the wild untamed lands.

@FathomlessPain and I had been playing this delicate dance around each other. When Kitten asked about any interests I didn’t want to speak about Dante. He didn’t appear interested. Had he?

I had difficulty gulping that thought down. Peeking out past the curtains I see fog creeping over the lake.

Wisps over the landscape. It was much like Colorado here. Lush greenery and hidden hiking paths.

I couldn’t really sleep at night. Insomnia taking hold. I’d taken to wandering into the forest to forage for botanical ingredients for my homeopathic remedies.

The woods were such a contrast from daylight. Where the forest colors that nature had painted over the season tinted foliage in the loveliest shades. Mist drenched branches and foliage glimmered in the low light.

I was at one among the dark rows of trees. The gloomy weather was perfect for my brooding mood. Lost in the serenity and sounds of the evening.

I tried to hide I was hanging on Dante’s every word when he would visit. Foolish of me to think I’d ever have a chance.

I was an old soul. Wanting to inhabit abandoned cottages in the fog drenched, moss coated woodland forests.

Everything I knew before was taken. The coven disbanded. The Reject likely hauled back to Hades. My memories are locked in the depths of my mind, nothing could take that away from me.

The painting comes back to the forefront of my mind. Josi had gained my curiosity. Should I get to know her? I’d gotten accustomed to her being there, in the background with Kitten. Always shadowing her.

I studied her. Frowning as Josi’s hard features never really shifted. Was she caught constantly in thought?

I was no one to judge. I’d usually found myself in the library, envisioning far off worlds or in the stables with Tula, checking on the baby goats.

Maybe if I shared more of myself to Josi, then she would be more apt to opening up? I groaned at myself. What was this so hard?

This wasn’t the end of my story. There were things far more beautiful out there waiting to be discovered.*

[shatteredfears-arch]

actual write up later whennincan think again but: basic thoughts for the post village ‘i do what i want’ thing re cassie;

She probably reforms from the crystalisis in dukes shop, bc he kept all the bodies for a reason, if a duke wants to do a thread w rhay then -fingerguns\ hit me up

Can no longer attack Ethan. At all. Circa 7 when ethan was first infected and couldnt fight elder eveline, but could fight everyone else. hes the host now, she cant do anything to him. I’m guessing it was the same for miranda, so while she was disdainful towards her, and wouldnt have fought her anyways bc momma would be disappointed, she definitely physically cant now. The Mold says no.

As with my personal canon from transferring my Faerie Halfling char into cassie, she still has fae blood which likely was a delicious treat for the good old mold. do w that what you will. but even mutated beyond belief shes still a halfling, but anything regarding that is primarily reserved for persy and owlys threads unless others want to experiment there, and she was just a witchy human in canon compliant verses.

Once she wakes up, she loses the ability to turn into a swarm. all her buggos died off. She’d need to collect an entirely new swarm before she can do it again, but the contrast point there is she can be in the cold again. But, yknow, no buggy power lol.

she’s still violent, but given her entire family is basically dead… she gets a tiny pass for now.

probably the only person shes 100% trusting is the duke (lol 100% more like 50%), and maybe hatter @ owly, but not a lot else. If threads w post village others occur (unkie, auntie, fishy, etc), its a case by case basis. she did actually like her relatives.. mostly. but her momma being gone rly puts a damper on her trusting capabilities.

her hunting skills outside of the bugging are still present please dont think shes easy to hurt now, shes angry and volatile and will stab first think later.

she didnt wake up in her hunting dress. I actually picture it more like how zoe woke up in EoZ dlc, like the crystalisis became her current outfit, and she probably hasnt gotten and doesnt care to get anything else rn. her most important bits are somehow magically covered though so whatever.

she did not have any feelings regarding rose in the first place. she did not care that ethan was looking for his daughter. she doesn’t understand that point of view. while overly empathetic pre transformation, her empathy levels dropped significantly before she even turned, and afterwards she turned almost entirely into a sadist. While her desperate desire for family returns at the loss of her sisters and mom, she had no qualms about any of that before. Her only issues with ethan were that she was told he was her prey, and she wanted to succeed in her kill. Proving herself to Alcina is always her first goal, and ethan killing Bela and making alcina pissed off and cina telling cass to take care of him set her off even further on the hunt. She does not like ethan now because he killed her family, but she can no longer touch him. Probably, considering Rose’s own reality with the mold, she’d at worst consider Rose an irritating pest.. but one her mother tolerated. At best, maybe consider her a form of family because of the mold, but.. dislike her the way the rest of the family hates each other lmao.

her head wound is still there, the tattoo (which in my canon already wasn’t fully formed, because I like how in the concept art the filter makes it look less and less visible on each daughter going down, and i like the idea of bela being the only one with the full tattoo) has faded even more. At this point, it’s mostly just a portion of a rose and the bladed stem, but nothing else.

The dark splotches under her eyes that look like crying mascara stains are still there, not super dark, but there.

her hands still look corrupted and messed up, like if the gloves are off it still looks like gloves ghosting up her arms, thats still there. But the more claw like shape has faded to more proper hand like looks.

eyes the same, one gold one silver, no vision in her right eye. her balance is off because of dyspraxia. shes evil but shes trying be nice

throw ideas at me lets write together when im free from overworked underpaid hell

[duxhess-kryzewan]

Satine gives Obi wan a haircut… 🫢😏

- Sharp Object -

"Keep still, would you?'

Satine runs her hands through his damp hair, doing her best to finger comb away any tangles she may have missed.

"Apologies." He says, "Though it is rather difficult when you're yanking every which way on my hair."

Behind him he hears Satine chuckle lightly.

"Surely the man who engaged in more battles than I could count isn't being bested by a haircut."

A life of exile required a certain amount of anonymity; meaning that despite her initial protests about his beard he was able to keep it without too much resistance. Hiding his face came in handy when trying to blend in.

His actual hair, however, was another matter entirely. While Satine understood him leaving it a bit longer than he has in the past for the sake of masking his identity, she had finally told him it was getting too long for her liking and he was due for a haircut.

"I won't make it too short, if that's what you're worried about." She says, retrieving the scissors from the table.

"I trust you," He assures, "There aren't many people these days who I would allow so close to my neck with a sharp object."

Its meant as a joke, but even he hears the slight melancholy within his teasing tone.

Satine hears it too, but doesn't comment. Instead, she leans over his shoulder and presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Having her here made it better. Navigating his grief was a daunting task, but Satine's presence takes the edge off of it. After all, she had her own losses to cope with.

"Don't move." She instructs.

He hears the scissors cutting before he feels the hair fall down his back and onto the floor. He debates asking her where she learned to cut hair, given that her royal title resulted in having a personal stylist. Then again, she had changed so much in the time between her exile from Mandalore and her arrival on Tatooine. Really, what did he know anymore? They had both changed immensely over the last year.

"Tilt your head forward a bit.”

A shiver runs down his spine when he feels her fingers graze against the nape of his neck.

For her part, Satine had also let her hair grow out longer than he had ever seen it. The entirety of the time they have known one another her hair had barely reached below her shoulders. The short hair suited her, but he would be lying if he said he didn't have an affinity for her longer hair.

And though she would never voice it aloud, he knew it was a comfort to her when he would play with her hair. She too had been plagued by her own set of nightmares and he found more often than not the action would lull her to sleep.

It was precisely for those reasons he vocalized his desire for her to keep it long.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see her shift slightly to the left as she trims carefully around his ear and then repeats the motion on the other side.

A memory flashes briefly through his mind; one of a younger Satine tugging on his Padawan braid and vocalizing her disdain for it. Had she been presented the opportunity he's certain she would have cut it off entirely.

"Okay, look straight again."

​When he does he feels her run her fingers through his hair once more and ruffles it at the roots.

"There," She says, "Now you don't look like an unruly hermit."

Obi-Wan stands and brushes the loose hair from his shoulders, "And here I thought you liked the scruffy look for me."

"Scruffy I find to be rather charming," She teases, coming to stand in front of her, "Destitute, however, is another matter entirely."

"Far be it from me to look unkempt in the presence of nobility."

Satine laughs and its a beautiful sound.

"Not much nobility left I'm afraid." She remarks.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm fond of you either way."

Satine smiles widely.

"I'd hope so." ​

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 3)

Summary: Reader earns her nickname, and Spencer sinks to a new level of sin. A/N: Here, take your first dose of smut 💊 ✨ Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Drinking, alcohol, masturbation (male) Word Count: 5.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

——————————————————

If I had to pick my favorite thing about working for Spencer Reid, it would probably be something that most people wouldn’t expect. Sure, it was nice to be able to work with a human encyclopedia, and he was definitely very nice to look at, but neither of those things contributed to my love for my job.

It was the sense of belonging. An overwhelming feeling of serenity that existed, flowing freely beneath the surface like a network of roots twined together. I never felt out of place when I was with Spencer — which couldn’t be said for basically any other time. Especially not now.

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays because it’s just absurd. You harass your neighbors while dressed in a costume and they reward you with something sweet (or, in some cases, change). As I’ve grown older, not much has changed aside from the creativity and length of the costumes.

... and the sweet treats being replaced by the bitter sting of alcohol.

“You do realize that guy was hitting on you in there, right?” my friend shouted from less than a foot to my right.

“He was just being nice.”

“Yeah... in a bar,” another girl chimed in, “On Halloween.”

I tried to remember the face of the man they were talking about, but my memory of his eyes blended into the flashing lights of the club. Even if I wasn’t drunk, I knew it would have been hard to remember him. Because the truth was that he wasn’t the person I wanted to see when I closed my eyes.  

“Leave her alone. She’s trying to stay pure for her professor,” my friend snickered.

Despite the treachery, I still caught her before she almost pushed us both straight off the curb in her drunken state. But it wasn’t her opinion I was worried about, because at that point, I was certain she would remember none of it by the time class rolled around come Monday. It was our other acquaintance that I responded to, with a very squeaky and unreliable, “I am not doing that!”

“Yeah, what she wants isn’t pure at all,” the mess on my shoulder droned. That was enough of a reason for me to drop her, although it really resulted in both of us barely staying on our feet on the somewhat crowded sidewalk.

“Stop! It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not.”

Then, something else caught her attention. Knowing her, I figured that it was either a man in a scandalous costume, or it was a two for one drink deal plastered in front of a bar. I assumed it was the latter, because as soon as she finished talking, she grabbed hold of our hands and yanked us against the brick wall of the next bar.

“So you wouldn’t mind if, theoretically, Professor Reid saw you in your costume?” she asked.

I like to think that I am a relatively smart girl. After all, I had made my way to graduate school, and Spencer seemed to think that I wasn’t a complete hopeless idiot. But in that moment, I couldn’t understand why on earth she would ever think to ask me that.

Running my hands over the fuzzy pink bodysuit I was wearing, I tried to picture his reaction. As soon as I tried to look down, however, the two floppy bunny ears affixed to the hood dropped over my eyes.

“I-I mean, I guess not…?” I mumbled, my face growing hot from something other than the alcohol, “I’m wearing it in public, so...”

But then she said it — the most terrifying two words I’d ever heard in my life.

“Okay ­– good.”

My eyes shot up immediately, trying to follow her eyes through the crowd of drunk, costumed people. By the time that I spotted him, somewhat thankfully dressed in normal clothes, I was powerless to stop it.

“Dr. Reid!” My friend’s voice rang out into the night, “Dr. Reid, come over here!”

The moment our eyes met, I knew I was fucked. Totally, completely, and utterly fucked. A clever little grin filled his cheeks as he quickly spotted me trying to hide under my hood.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I shrieked, but he was already on his way over.

“You said you didn’t mind!”

In a panicked whisper, I bit back, “I didn’t say call him over here!”

When he grew closer, though, I corrected myself. Because it was not just Spencer who was walking over. There was someone else with him. Another man, just as tall and just as beautiful as Spencer, but with a dark complexion and an even more wicked smile.

As for my company, they had already scattered into the bar behind me, leaving me with a wordless, dumbstruck look on my face that was very poorly hidden behind bunny ears.

“H-hey Prof— Dr. Reid,” I managed to get out.  

“Hey,” he answered in a tone I’d never heard before. A slightly guarded, very entertained but mostly awkward stretch of the vowel.

The man beside him, however, was quick to question.

“Who’s this?”

As I said before, I like to consider myself a relatively bright person. But the alcohol that night had been both free and strong. So, when I was asked by a handsome man who I was on the Devil’s night, I answered honestly.

“I’m a bunny!” I cried, bringing my hands together over my chest and turning to present the small pink pompom affixed to my lower back.

“I can see that,” the stranger replied through a genuine chuckle. But while the action was amusing to at least two of us in the conversation, Spencer looked mortified. It wasn’t necessarily negative, though.

I couldn’t be sure, of course, considering that I had already consumed more liquor that night than I had in the past month, but something told me that Spencer was less humiliated by me, and more worried about how blatant his response to my answer was. Because when he spoke, he did so through a smile.

“She’s uh... my teaching assistant.”

“Teaching assistant, huh?” his friend repeated, clearly amused.

There was almost a challenge to the title. Something about the way he said it setting my heart into overdrive. Unable to control my own treacherous tongue, I continued to dig myself a wonderfully sized hole to jump in to.

“I’m also very good at hopping,” I said.  

Once again, the better company of the two laughed. Spencer, however, covered his smile with a hand that brought attention to just how red his face had grown over the course of a few seconds. I was so distracted by it, lost in the way I could still see upturned lips just from his eye shape alone, that I failed to acknowledge the other man for a suspicious length of time.

“Well hey, don’t let me get in the way of you two catching up. Reid, I’ll go tell the hostess we’re here, so the others know where to go.”

With a firm pat on the shoulder, the man almost turned to walk away. But before he could, I drew him back again.

“Ooh, is there a party?”

Spencer, finally able to speak again, rushed his reply.

“No, it’s nothing.”

It was obviously not nothing, though. Judging by the toothy grin that his friend flashed, it was a very big not-nothing.

“Did he not tell you?” he asked with an incredulous, mischievous tone, “It’s his birthday.”

And it was, by far, the most insulting, scandalous news I’d heard that night. Enough to elicit a sharp gasp and hand reaching out to grab his wrist in a way I knew I shouldn’t have.

“You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday!”

My mind was racing, kicking myself for having not figured it out sooner. I was trying to recall the monthly staff newsletter, but then quickly remembered that I usually relied on Spencer to summarize them for me.

“It’s not my birthday,” he explained with a sigh, “It was a few days ago.”

His friend seemed pleased by my response, although he clearly saw it dwindling. My heels had already dropped back down with my hands that fell away, signaling a very different emotion than the excitement from seconds prior.

“We’re meeting up with some people for drinks and dinner. You want to come?” he asked, trying to convince me before it was too late.

But the moment had passed, replaced by loud, insecure ranting that insisted that Spencer wouldn’t have avoided telling me his birthday unless he didn’t want me to know. That meant he either didn’t enjoy making a fuss out of his birthday, or he didn’t want me to, specifically.

“Uhh...”

“Don’t answer that,” Spencer cut in, swiftly raising a hand to dismiss the other man whose name I finally learned. “Thanks Derek, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Suit yourself,” he mumbled back. But Derek, in all of his disappointment, didn’t fail to draw out one more flustered laugh from the two of us who remained as he gave a tiny half-wave and sang, “Goodbye, Bunny.”

Spencer’s neck craned back, never once leaving his friend until he had safely entered the restaurant. Once he was sure that he was safe from ridicule, or at least observation, his entire demeanor changed.

“I’m sorry about that,” he offered, but I couldn’t accept. If anyone had been a bother here, it was me (and my friends).

“No, I’m sorry I bothered you!” I rushed.

The silence stretched between us, an unsettling reminder that we rarely interacted outside of work. That he’d never known me to party, and I’d never thought of him doing something as routine and normal as celebrating a birthday. It shouldn’t have been strange, but it was.

Perhaps that feeling was what drove me to continue, proudly stating, “I promise that I will have all your work ready first thing in the morning.”

It wasn’t until Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth opened in a strange, lopsided grin that I’d realized I made a mistake.

“Um...” he spoke through laughter, “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“I’m very motivated?”

Thankfully, he saw the humiliation and was happy to offer me a graceful escape from my humiliation. “How about I give you until Tuesday, instead?”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best, huh?”

I gladly took it, staring down at my heels as I tried to find anything else to focus on. Anything that wasn’t his eyes that seemed even more powerful after dark. But true to the magnetism I always experienced in his vicinity, I was drawn back into golden irises full of an emotion that made my heart beat twice as hard.

“Where did your friends go?” he asked. I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I just threw my thumb over my shoulder and towards the bar behind me. I didn’t turn away from him then, too scared to acknowledge that I would be leaving him soon. That we would go our separate ways again and I would have to wait until Tuesday to drown in the honey of his eyes again.  

Sure enough, Spencer gave a solemn nod and cleared his throat before mumbling, “Right. You should probably go find them, so they don’t get worried.”

But I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with him, the rest of the world be damned. I wanted to feel his eyes on me longer, especially when they started to wander my figure that I’d secretly hoped he would see.

I could pretend to hate my friend for calling him over all I wanted, but when I slipped into the costume hours earlier, I’d wondered what he would do if he saw me like this. And now that the answer was in front of me, torn between the exposed skin of my thighs and chest, I wanted to experience it for as long as possible.

With my fingers on the zipper to try and calm my heart, the inebriation manifested in soft giggles as I replied, “I think I’m pretty safe with you, Professor.”  

Spencer didn’t need to vocalize his disagreement. I saw his contention in the form of wayward eyes falling to my hands that fiddled with the tiny piece of plastic keeping me covered. When they trailed back up the zipper teeth to meet my eyes again, they were filled with a hunger that took my breath away.

Unfortunately for us, though, our smitten haze wasn’t shared by anyone else in the vicinity. Especially not the drunk pack of men who passed, completely unaware of the amount of space they took up on the sidewalk. I don’t even remember one of them running into me, but I definitely remembered what followed in extreme, vivid detail.

Spencer caught me, quickly and more gracefully than I thought him capable of moving. His arms were locked around me, not only preventing me from face planting on the concrete but causing me to press my face directly against him.

Before he had a chance to say or do much of anything else, I placed my hands on his chest and tore myself away from the warmth of his embrace. Because I was already drunk enough on the alcohol — I didn’t need to be any more inebriated from him.

“S-See? You caught me!” I squeaked.

I didn’t miss the fact his hands stayed on my waist even with the added distance, his fingers subtly digging into and stroking the plush fabric. I didn’t try to stop them, either.

“Are you going to be okay? Should I take you home?”

I knew it wasn’t how he’d meant it, but my inner voice still pleaded, Yes, God, please, yes! My outer voice, however, clung to reason and respectability.

“No! Don’t miss your birthday dinner!” I insisted, but he didn’t look convinced. “I’m fine, seriously. I just suck at walking in heels.”

Any part of me that would have normally been offended by his insistence that I couldn’t handle myself while drinking was quelled by my desire to keep his hands on me as long as possible. Although there was enough space for my arms between our chests, I swore I felt his fluttering heartbeat against my fingers. I thought of hummingbirds.

Resigned to my stubbornness, Spencer took a moment longer to stroke patterns through the pink fabric wrapped around my waist before he sighed, “If you say so.”

“I do!” I giggled, leaning closer like I might convince him not to leave at all, “So you better listen up, mister Professor man.”

The look he gave me was sweet, honeyed bliss. But even that seemed minuscule in comparison to the way his hands slid over my sides, making their way over my shoulders and gently brushing the errant bunny ears back out of my face. He left them there, too, with a barely-there caress of my face.

“You look cute,” he said, like it wouldn’t break my heart.  

Shier than he’d ever seen me before, I somehow managed to still look him in the eye as I answered, “So do you.”

It was a good thing I’d been paying attention, too. If I hadn’t been staring into his eyes, I would have missed the flash of chaotic playfulness that appeared just as he glanced down at the space between our chests.

I wouldn’t have been prepared at all when he dropped one of his hands from my face to the zipper of my costume. Not to say that anything could have prepared me for the way it felt to have his knuckle brush against the skin just below the lace bralette that had been meant to protect my modesty.

Before I could even comprehend the delicious friction of our skin, it was gone. Spencer pulled the zipper up to my chin, releasing the plastic in favor of grabbing hold of my chin once more.

“Be careful with that zipper,” he instructed, “I don’t need you getting hypothermia this early in the semester.”

Unsure of how else to respond, my body responded on instinct as it stammered, “I-I promise.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, and my autopilot continued.

“Double promise. Promise squared.”

“Okay. You have my number so... call me if you need anything.”

I absently nodded, but Spencer accurately concluded that I hadn’t actually processed what he’d said. When he let go of me, he took the time to smooth out the bunched up fabric over my shoulders. I tried to convince myself that he was just interested in the soft fluff, but it was hard to ignore the hunger that’d only grown stronger. The darkness that rivaled the moonless hallow’s eve.

“I don’t mind giving you a ride home if it means you get back safe,” he said with a deathly seriousness strongly contrasted by the flippancy that followed. “Otherwise I’ll have more work for Tuesday.”

I was grateful for the shift, because it made the loss of his hands hurt less. My chest filled with laughter that quickly burst from me with frantic, messy words.

“Of course! The work. For Tuesday. Okay! Thank you!”

“For what?” he also said through laughter.

“I— don’t know.”

Spencer turned away from me, looking behind him at the obligations that would tear us apart. I wondered if he, too, was busy contemplating how well it suited just how different we were. How two establishments side by side could house such different things. How we were frequenting opposite ends of the spectrum.

Whatever he was thinking about, however, it didn’t break his spirits too badly. Because before he sent me on my merry way, he flashed me the goofiest little bouncing peace sign before he sang, “Hop along, little bunny.”

So I did, turning back to my life and letting him return to his. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes following me until the darkness of the bar swallowed the space between us.

Still, I didn’t need him to be there to remember how it felt for his hands to roam my body like familiar territory. I saw that look in his eyes every time that I closed my own and remembered how it made my legs shake like weak stems bending to the wind.

I decided then that it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he’d seen me in my costume. In fact, I think he quite liked it.

 ——————————————————

 There are few things more relentless than Derek Morgan. Death and taxes, perhaps. When it came to mocking me, there wasn’t a single missed opportunity. Even at the darkest hour, I trusted him to be consistent and predictable.

That was precisely why it made no sense that I had made it through an entire dinner and drinks outing with the team without him mentioning what had happened. Not even once. I almost let myself be relieved. Perhaps time spent with a child that can talk back did him some good, I thought. But when the time finally came for us to take our leave, I realized my mistake. He wasn’t holding back out of the kindness of his heart.

No, Derek wanted to wait until there was no escape route. He wanted to have me trapped in a car hurtling down a highway before he spoke the words that he’d been waiting to say all night.

“So... Bunny.”

“Her name is (y/n),” I quickly corrected. Unfortunately, Derek wasn’t in a merciful mood. Although there was a notable smirk on his face, his next words were uttered with a hefty dose of skepticism. A warning that it was a subject that ought to be approached with a critical sincerity.

“Her name is Trouble. That’s what her name is,” he said, shaking his head.  

“She’s just my teaching assistant,” I said like I might actually convince myself, though we both knew that I wasn’t going to convince him. “It’s fine.”

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

But that time, it was me who issued the warning.

“Stop,” I ordered, meeting his eyes to find him hiding his genuine concern under jokes that weren’t really jokes at all. “I respect her. She’s very bright and she earned her position.”

“I never said she didn’t. I know she’s probably smart, but I also saw the way you looked at her.”

The words felt like a blow to the stomach — yet another reminder that my affections for her were so thinly veiled they might as well be scrawled across my skin. He didn’t need to be a profiler to notice that I was fond of the girl, but it certainly made it worse.

Because he knew that I was lying when I muttered, “You don’t need to worry about it.”

He knew that I was lying, but he still asked, “Why’s that?”

“She’s...” I started, pausing while the word tried to form on my tongue. The word that had haunted me ever since those damned girls mentioned it. That short, simple little noun that had taken a cursory affection and turned it into full blown lust.

“She’s a virgin.”

Derek’s brows jumped up his face, his jaw dropping the same way mine had when I first heard the news. Then, just as I had, he put the pieces together and realized that it should have been a foregone conclusion.

“Trouble with a capital everything,” he half laughed.

But this wasn’t a joking matter, and I really wished that I could make him believe that. That definitely wouldn’t happen, though. Not when he looked up to see me hiding behind my hands, sinking into my seat like it would get me out of the conversation.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s obviously waiting.”

It was the wrong thing to say. I should have seen his response coming from a mile away. But I didn’t, and so I was forced to listen to his childish giggles that were followed with an even more lighthearted crooning.

“Yeah, waiting for the right professor to come teach her the lesson on the birds and the bees.”

“Cut it out.”

Without even looking, he astutely observed, “Kid, you’re blushing.”  

“Yeah, because you’re talking about me fuc–”

The word never made it out, getting caught between my teeth as I bit down on my tongue damn near hard enough to make it bleed. I wished it would. I wanted the iron to drown me and rid me of the sinful things it sought to do, instead. Opting for a more… distinguished explanation, I eventually stammered the rest of the thought.

“You’re talking about me... deflowering my significantly younger employee!”

“You can say fuck, Reid,” he deadpanned, “I think you’re old enough now.”

“I don’t want to. It sounds too... crude.”

I didn’t expect him to understand. How could he? He’d only seen her when she was at her most provocative… by far. Part of me envied him, to be able to sequester her innocence and view her as just another girl.

But she wasn’t like anyone else. She was an untouched bloom, a magnolia of unearthly shades. A beautiful blossom that had broken through the concrete walls I’d maintained for so many years. A tantalizing taste of the life outside that I refused to let in.

A fucking tease.

“Too crude for little miss innocent bunny?” Derek cooed, and it was so uncomfortably close to my thoughts that I couldn’t help the way I snapped back.

“Are you done?”

As we pulled into my parking lot, Derek just waved off my hostility, recognizing it as nothing but misfired shame and anguish at the thing I wanted being out of my reach.

“Yeah, I’m done. I hope you had fun, even with the teasing.”

I chose not to dignify the second half of the statement, climbing out of the car like I couldn’t step away from the conversation fast enough. But of course, I knew that only made my guilt more apparent. My culpability was clear and conclusive. There was no argument to be made.

“You know I’m right!” he shouted just before the door shut. A final reminder, one last cautionary call for the beast inside of me to keep itself hidden lest I allow myself to sink my teeth into something pure.

“Goodnight!”

Few things changed when I reached the confines of my apartment walls. Fantasies had only devolved into a vividness that was borderline frightening. How easily I could get lost in visions of her, only promising my return in exchange for my imagination agreeing to become a reality that I would get a chance to experience.

But that wasn’t fair to her. She was just a girl doing her job with an astounding amount of patience and understanding for her hopeless romantic of a boss. For a moment, the guilt became so overwhelming that I let it win. I managed to swallow my newly acquired memories well enough to navigate my nightly routine without wishing she was there every step of the way.

Wishing that she would call me. That she would grant me the excuse to return to her, to touch her as freely as I had earlier. I imagined a world where, upon arriving to her destination, she invited me in.

As I collapsed on my bed, I wondered if she would have preferred the privacy of my home. A place far enough away from other students and academics to finally see me as something more than a superior. Something attainable in a way she never seemed to be.

Just as I closed my eyes to give in to the dreams, my phone buzzed. The sound set off every nerve in my body, all of them very poorly coordinating to allow me to grab the device and turn it on to reveal her name.

“Hey Professor! I just wanted to let you know that I got home…”

I’d never opened a notification so quickly, but I should have waited. I should have paused and taken the time to notice that what I was opening wasn’t just a collection of letters and symbols.

It was a set of pictures.

Pictures of her.

“Safe and sound and zippered up. No hypothermia for this bunny tonight,” she tagged onto the end, “Sweet dreams!”

How could I ever dream of anything but her? How was I meant to turn off my phone now, knowing that she was there; her drunken, lustful stare on display? I only tore my eyes away from her face long enough to notice her surroundings. I took extensive, painstaking notes on the color of the sheets on her bed and the way the zipper I’d tugged at to control myself from taking her had fallen away again.

I could feel the softness of her skin against my knuckle again. I heard the way her breath nearly broke at the force with which she sucked in air at the feeling of me touching her. How hard she pressed herself against me, how her back arched when I held her and how she never even tried to stop my hands from finding new places to rest.

They worked diligently now, too, trying to keep her awake and with me for as long as I could, but also wanting to free myself of obligations so that she wouldn’t notice how long I’d stared at the pictures she’d sent.

“Goodnight, little bunny,” I sent before adding, “I’ll be counting rabbits instead of sheep tonight.”

As if to reward my efforts, another picture flooded my screen. Her face was scrunched up in an adorable innocence, half covered with her hand but still effortlessly beautiful.

I stopped myself from responding again. I forced myself to stop, to prevent treacherous hands from calling her and begging her to let me come to her. It wasn’t fair — it was manipulative, downright evil, even — to take advantage of her inebriated state to hoard any insight she might provide.

But she’d already sent these… So, would it be so wrong to indulge in her? By touching my own body to the thought of her, would I taint her? Did I care even if it did? Maybe it was for the best to plant the seed of impurity now, to strip her of her power over me.

But deep down, I knew that I would still want her. I would still wish that the hand that sneaked beneath the sheets belonged to her. I could almost feel it as my hand traversed familiar territory. It would be new for her, and it would be new for me to feel the delicate, unmarred skin of her palm slowly sliding down my stomach. Her fingers bashfully brushing through soft curls at the base of me, still too nervous to hold me the way I needed her to.

Her face would be buried in my shoulder, with dew from her breath wetting my neck and raising the hairs on my arms. I would take her hand in mine and guide her to wrap her trembling hand around my cock.

Just like I was doing to myself now, with my other hand still holding the phone displaying the image of innocence. My hand wasn’t as soft or inexperienced as hers would be, but as long as my eyes stayed on her half-lidded gaze staring back at me, I could pretend.

I could hear her panting my name— my real name, Spencer— in my ear, praising the feel of silky skin beneath her fingertips. She would whisper about how she wanted to feel it elsewhere, too. She would beg for me to replace a hand for her most precious place.

That damned angelic girl showing her hand on the zipper would beg me to steal away her innocence. She would unveil herself slowly, knowing that I needed the time to memorize every inch of her skin as it was seen by another for the first time. Seen by me, and only me. The vision would be for my consumption and indulgence.

I wanted it. I wanted her.

My stomach tensed as I pictured the girl staring back at me straddling my hips. I stroked myself harder, faster, letting my thumb trace down her body on my screen.

If I stole it from her, would it be mine?

Would she be trapped as I was, only able to feel anything when I was with her? Would she dream of me? Would she cherish each and every memory of my touch and play it back in her mind? When she felt the urge to break and burn, would she picture my hands lighting the match?

If I ruined her, would she be mine?

I pictured the girl on the screen with tears in her eyes, her mouth stuck open in a silent scream and her hands clutching desperately to mine. I imagined how tightly her body would grip me as I fucked her. How hard it would fight the intrusion of my sinful touch. How I would hold her down despite the resistance until she gave in to me. Until I broke her, thoroughly and irreparably.

She would be mine.

That was the thought that took me over the edge, all energy that was not delegated to my hand feverishly stroking my cock remained with my other hand to hold her picture in front of me. It never even wavered, never once shaking and risking losing any clarity. Even my eyes refused to close all the way.

She would be mine.

The warm, sticky mess of my desire coated my hand and stomach, but all I could think was how it would feel to mark her as mine. To feel the excess drip back down my cock as she collapsed against my body. To know that she would never be the same, never be wholly herself again. That she’d let me inside of her soul and that when I left, I hadn’t left empty handed.

She was already mine.

 ——————————————————

| Part Four |

[cheekygreenty]

His Queen - The Darkling x Reader

bitch, I think I outdid myself on this one. I'm shocked I wrote this

He hated the Tsar. He hated himself, but he didn't hate you. How could he of let this happen, he's never been a slave to his emotions. You were married, no, scratch that, you were the Queen for Saint's Sake. The Tsar had made it common knowledge that you didn't belong anywhere but the Grand Palace, in a glittering gown and a jeweled crown upon your always perfect hair sitting in front of a fire sipping on your tea. He wanted you nowhere near the action or actual Palace life. You were merely an accessory to him.

The young and innocent girl raised in nobility, who caught the old bastard's eye by fluttering your eyelashes at him, longing for his person.

Bullshit.

Aleksander could see your repulsion whenever you were in your husband's presence. The longing eyes as you looked at the doors, the shiver that rattled your spine as his sweaty hand gripped yours, or the increasing sadness in your eyes as the months went on. The jewels around your neck glistened, but your eyes didn't. Not anymore.

He had done some digging in the months following the wedding, and rest assured you didn't belong anywhere near the palace. You were scrappy, ready for a fight at all times. There were numerous accounts of you running around villages, fighting your way through pubs and inns. Your parents, the Duke and Duchess, were downright ashamed of you before your big day. You were itching to drop everything and join the First Army the second you had the chance. You were skilled in ways no noble was; you had street smarts.

Then the late Queen died and you were presented on a silver platter to the King, donning all the family jewels that never sit quite right. The King couldn't help himself, the public blamed the grief for his hasty marriage, 'he needed a companion.' But in reality, he saw what he could have and grasped you up the second he had the chance. And now you were stuck here, in a cage with no way out.

Aleksander didn't take a liking to you at the start. All he saw was what the King wanted him to see and for that, he feels tremendous guilt. He thought you to be proper and uptight and spoiled, so when you approached him the first time, franticly asking for advice about a simple state matter that was dropped into your lap by the General himself, he couldn't help but snigger at you and convey news of the stupid Queen to his fellow Grisha.

He didn't know the King treated you like a child or that all of this was new to you. I should've seen it he cursed himself, for the weeks to follow you were the talk of both the Palaces and news spread to camps on the front.

The stupid, young, ditsy girl who couldn't put together a luncheon for Ravka's war heroes was the Queen. Ridiculous.

He believed it too until he had seen you out one night when he couldn't sleep. You were deep in the forest, tending to your black stallion and in what looked like peasant clothing. You had mud on your boots and your hair was messily braided. There was a tatted punching bad tied up on a tree and another person sitting against a log, breathing heavily and clutching his side. Aleksander never made himself known, just blended into the darkness as he did best but continued to watch you eagerly. Only then did he faintly make out your bruised knuckles and the tears in your breeches.

'Again?'

'Saints Y/N no, I've got a way to go and the way you just bruised my ribs, I've a painful journey ahead of me' mused the sitting man.

That night, Aleksander sent out his best Grisha to collect information and asked Genya to tend to you, but you denied yet again (only after asking her to fix up your hands).

Ever since then, Aleksander has been observing you and getting to know you when he could, telling his Grisha it was to gather information since Genya was no longer garnering the Queen's secrets, but he felt drawn to you for whatever reason. You were the best part of his day; whether it was a simple smile sent his way or you rambling about the ways you avoid being followed around the palace, he listened intently and set the shared memories into his brain.

The General was a mystery to you. With his extremely handsome face and confident stances, he mesmerized you to the point of a blank mind. Whenever your eyes met his, it could be in a room of 60 people, rest assured you were right by his side in an instant. You had sought out his presence wherever you went and clung to it while you could.

But the King had made his opinion of the Darkling obvious, and his hatred ran deep. 'He likes to think he rides a horse above everyone else.' 'He's most unnatural.' You didn't care though. As long as he kept himself away from you and just used his words and not actions, you were fine.

You had gathered a particular kindness for late evening walks before bed, silently slipping onto the grounds of his palace, awaiting his companionship. It might have only been 40 minutes out of your day, but it was always better than not seeing him.

Ivan had pointed out that you had an air of hostility around you every time you were in a room with your husband and your heart tended to beat dangerously fast as if you were panicking. So Aleksander attempted to pull you away from him and distract you from the horrid man, and it seemed to work. He grew to like you and would miss your witty humor when he went back to the Little Palace.

Months had passed and he never grew sick of your presence, ironically he craved more of it. He tried to tell himself that you were just a part of his plan, nothing more, but things got even more complicated. He had accidentally mentioned seeing you that night in the forest, and instead of being hostile about it, you told him you enjoyed a fight or two and invited him to join you. That night, after multiple rounds of sparring and hard hits, he kissed you fervently. And again and again, until you both got past the point of going back.

You acknowledged the risk only after it happened and started to panic. You had an affair with the General of the Second Army. He seemed to be in the same state as you. But before you went your separate ways, he held you in his arms and promised it would all be ok. You believed him.

He got back to his chambers that night and his demeanor changed behind the closed doors. He was so mad. He always swore to take what the King loved most and destroy it before his very eyes, but this was a sick joke the Saints played on him. He needed to protect you, get you out of the Tsar's grip, and hide you away from any harm. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep you out of danger's way and he knew it. Why did he let this happen? He knew that whatever your ending may be, you would get hurt, maybe not physically, but definitely emotionally.

You had told him of all the things the King did to you, how he treated you and paraded you around. You begged Aleksander to do something about it, to help you get out of that life and back to your old one, but there was nothing he could do and it broke his heart.

'I wish I could do something Y/N, I truly do, but I am not as powerful as you may think I am. The King is still the King' he had told you, guilt building in him.

He was sitting at his desk in his chambers now, looking out the window feeling fidgety. You were late for your evening walk, like really late. Sure it happened before, but Aleksander had a weird gut feeling that something happened. Maybe the King found out? or maybe you finally realized the magnitude of the situation and came to your senses?

He knew if the King whiffed out a sliver of what was going on with his wife and Aleksander, he would rain hellfire. He was a powerful man, the most powerful man in all of Ravka and there was nothing more dangerous than an embarrassed man's actions.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise he hadn't heard in a very long time, followed by the very loud thuds of falling books. The tunnel?

'ALEKSANDER?' your panicked voice reached him and triggered something primal in him. fight or flight. He and his shadows shot up and ran to you but stopped dead in his tracks, the black matter disappearing in on itself. You stood at the entrance to the tunnel, visibly shaking with anger, but that's wasn't the cause of his shock.

'Saints Y/N' He whispered, realization flooding over him like a nasty wave of ice-cold water. Your once ivory white nightgown was drenched in crimson but you were uninjured, it wasn't yours. The huge green Lanstov emerald sitting atop your left hand was smeared in red too, giving it a brown tinge.

'I need to get out of here right now.' You sounded solid and stern, the panic was long gone. The scrappy fighter was back.

Aleksander had always known what to say. But now, he didn't have a single word come to his mind and his body refused to move, he was rendered speechless and useless. This is a nightmare, surely, he prayed.

'Y/N I-I, What happ-'

'Aleksander, unless you want to see my head on a pike by dawn, I suggest you help me' You said as you moved across the room, after closing the tunnel door firmly shut. How does she even know about these tunnels?

'I once heard a drunkard speak of tunnels beneath the palaces, I tried my luck' You said answering his question without even being asked,

Your hands moved quick, shedding yourself of the nightgown and holding it in your hands as you moved to grab his black robe off a chair. Aleksander still stood there, his head whirling with so many thoughts, it debilitated him. He needed her to say it.

'Y/N did you do what I think you did'

'You know I did'

At that moment the doors burst open to reveal Ivan with an alarmed look on his face and his hands raised, ready to jump into action, most likely alerted by the falling books. But he faltered when he saw you, The Queen, covered in blood and holding a bloody nightgown in the most secure room of the Little Palace.

'Great another witness' You huffed and dumped the gown into the fireplace.

'Moi soverenyi, what is the meaning of this?'

'Ivan I wish I could tell you.'

'I killed the King. I have approximately 3 hours before somebody notices him laying in his own blood with his neck slit open' You sighed and sat down, head in your hands. This was the first moment you'd had to process it all, and it was overwhelming, to say the least.

A silence enveloped the room as the fire roared back to life, already having burnt the evidence to a crisp. Aleksander finally came to his senses, moved and grabbed a bowl of water and a cloth.

'Did anybody see you leave?' He asked as he handed you the items to wash your hands of the sticky blood.

'No. I made sure of it. I traveled through the tunnels.'

'And the King? There is no weapon near him?' Ivan interrupted.

Slowly you bent down and pulled a small dagger out of your shoe. Small but sharp.

'Give that to me' Aleksander took it out of your hands and walked out of the room while you continued to scrub the crimson off your hands.

You momentarily looked at Ivan, he didn't look mad or upset. He looked like a soldier.

'Are you not mad your King is dead?' You mused.

'He was not my King'

'That makes two of us' You were done cleaning your hands and moved to clean the ring. Should I burn this too?

'Leave it on. If things go sideways, you can buy your freedom' Aleksander returned. 'Ivan go get 2 horses and pack essentials. Get Genya too. I trust you to keep quiet.'

'Yes Moi soverenyi, Moya tsaritsa' He bowed his head quickly and waltzed out the room.

'Aleksander I'm scared now.....what have I done' You whispered. He took hold of your hand and pulled you into him. He held you tight, not wanting to let go.

'It's going to be ok. I promise. There's a small cottage down south I want you to go to. Ivan will take you. You will be safe. I will right this. I will protect you as I should've done earlier.' He kissed you deeply, letting all of the emotions flow through without the need for words.

'And what then?' You whispered against his lips.

'You be you. Perhaps go to Ketterdam. I feel you belong there... or come back to me when the time is right' He kissed you again, it was sweet and sad. A goodbye kiss. 'I love you, and even though you don't like it, you are my Queen. Forever'

'I love you too' Your hands fisted at his beautiful black kefta as tears dripped off your face.

****

That night you fled, your hair and appearance completely changed. The peasant clothes you felt comfortable in were on your back while the heartrenderer galloped beside you. Os Alta was still asleep as you sped down south, praying to the Saints that leaving Aleksander to deal with your mess was the right decision. That he would be ok too.

Ravka was shaken by the news of their dead King and the missing Queen. Some say she was dead, kidnapped by Fjerdans, and slaughtered mercilessly, others said Kerch merchants had her thrown in the Fold as she refused to give up information.

Either way, Aleksander had made sure you weren't regarded as a murderer and kept his promise to give you a chance to return to the Little Palace, to him.

Also if u can see this fic plz interact with it!! Idk if my tumblr is fixed yet and I need to make sure!!! If u were tagged and it didn’t notify you like last time, plz tell me!!!! 💓💓

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx

[soundsfaebutokay]

Okay, so here's what I think happened in the story. A lot of this is pretty obvious, but I just wanted to put it on the record. Not any deeper meaning, just the plot as it happens "onscreen," so to speak.

First of all, I think that this song is Joey (just gonna refer to the characters as "Joey" and "Madeleine" for simplicity's sake) telling the story of the night he met a love that he eventually lost. There are two Joey voices here: Present Day Joey telling the story, and Past Joey at the party.

Second: Note that we only ever hear Madeleine as a memory. Her parts of the song stay firmly within the context of that party, ever the bright, impetuous girl that Past!Joey met, and all we know about what happens to her after that night is told in the disillusioned voice of Present!Joey. We don't know her side of the bigger story. Just something to keep in mind.

Now let's have the song, then more under the cut:

So we’re at this shindig Present!Joey launches into the tale of that one time he attended a fancy party and met a girl. The mention of auctioneers makes me think that this is a fundraising gala, one of those high society soirees where rich people pat themselves on the back for their philanthropy towards one charitable cause or another. Past!Joey, I imagine, works for the foundation that will benefit from the auction and donations at the party, because I really can't think of why he would be there, where he's so obviously out of place, otherwise. (If he'd been invited as someone's date then I don't think he would have spent the evening with the girl in the song.)

You see this girl, she looks like she crawled out of the lost and found Enter Madeleine. I posted here about how Madeleine's mismatched clothes in an event where everyone else is dressed to impressed characterized her as a rebellious rich girl, and I stand by it. There's a beautiful juxtaposition between her and Joey: she was born into this world but she presents herself as separate from it, while Joey clearly doesn't belong there but is trying to blend in, even just for the night. They hone in on each other. Madeleine sees someone who stands apart from the society she detests, and Joey sees someone who doesn't mind that he doesn't exactly fit in, and even likes him better for it. Madeleine approached him first, they banter and flirt the night away, and, as these things go, of course they fall in love.

Roundabouts and washing lines We do each other's laundry in our hearts sometimes A far cry from ballrooms full of sparkling champagne and shining chandeliers, the life they plan together is all about running away from it all and finding a home in each other. Madeleine sings about rebelling against the life expected of her (I’m no one’s wife, strife all those fellas) and swears she'd rather explore the world (I’ll cry sail to foreign lands). Joey worries about always getting left behind, and Madeleine basically says fuck off with that defeatist attitude. One of them has it right, however, and sadly it isn't Madeleine.

And I’ll watch her ruin her life and dye her hair bright colours Become someone’s wife Forget the girl that she once was And I’ll sit by Cocktail gripped in a shaking hand thinking what the hell went wrong cos we had this planned Had it all planned This is Present!Joey zooming out from the euphoria of that first night and looking back at what happened next. They didn't stay together. None of their plans came to fruition. Madeleine did end up marrying someone (not him), and Joey had to watch her change into a woman unrecognizable from the girl he met. So he loses her in the end, and he's left with nothing but memories. And the last thing we hear of her remembered voice is this:

Put up one hell of a fight 'gainst all my sins and the candlelight And don’t turn round, darling....

I’m genuinely curious, what are you guys interpretation of Pruning Shears?

[hypnomicimagines]

20 with kuko please:D!(gn preferably)

Harai Kuko: 

You’d never seen Kuko look at you like this.

There was this burning rage behind them, completely unprompted by anything you had done. He couldn’t even give you a direct reason for the hatred spewing from his mouth, the anger he was directing at you over imagined scenarios. Kuko was an honest boyfriend, he would never start a fight just for the sake of it which left your mind reeling even more. How had you not seen this coming?

“Kuko…!” You reached out to touch his shoulder but are met with a heated glare, the monk slapping your hand away from him before you could make contact. You looked at him wide-eyed, thinking the momentary regret you see flash in his eyes as just an illusion, something you wanted to see. You held your hand to your chest as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, wishing more than anything that you could hurt him in the same way he had hurt you.

But he’d already said he didn’t care about you, about your feelings, that it was over.

There was nothing left for you to say to him.

You remember sobbing when you got home that night, hastily deleting the pictures you had of him in your phone, trying to wipe all memories you had of him. Kuko had been such a positive pillar in your life, you had grown alongside him for so long, you had thought you really knew him inside and out yet this hit you like a bullet. It happened so quick yet the pain of his words still lingered, you couldn’t help but think he wasn’t acting like his usual self. You no longer had the strength to question it though, too afraid of facing his wrath again; Kuko really was a scary person when you were on the other side of his anger.

It’s been years and yet you still think of him.

You tried to rationalize that it was just because he was your first love, of course you missed what you had with him because it had been intense. Being with him was unlike any romantic encounter you had, including the relationships you attempted to get into as a fresh-faced adult. You knew you were still young but there was the lingering fear that no one would ever make you feel the way he did, that you were missing an important detail and that blocking his number had been the wrong thing to do. But you had protected your heart in the only way you knew how, trying to look toward the future rather than back at what once was.

Kuko had been the one to give you that advice…

You were happy to be starting your new job at Amaguni Law Offices, having heard great things about your boss. You were hired as an aide to the secretary but you were hoping to directly assist with cases one day, not knowing if law was exactly the right career but wanting to see change in action. You were having a relatively good day, you found you were quite good at speaking to distressed clients and scheduling their appointments was a breeze once you understood how the computer system worked. The secretary seemed relieved to have you with her as she said work tended to be fast-paced and overwhelming with just her, it left you feeling good, like you had a real purpose.

Everything was good until you had to see his face again.

You’re hidden behind the computer and don’t look up at first until you hear the sounds of footsteps walking past you, having been expressly told to not let anyone interrupt the meeting your boss was having. You jumped as quick as you could, you had been making a good impression all day and you weren’t about to let some teenage punks ruin that for you. You reached out for the shorter one, hurriedly asking him if he had an appointment before you’re stopped in your tracks.

When Kuko’s eyes met yours it felt like the world had stopped, the same way it had when he had stomped on your heart. Your mouth went dry and the expression on his face was completely unreadable but you had at least gotten him to stop walking. The taller of the two, a boy you didn’t know as it certainly wasn’t Ichiro, looked at the two of you with confused eyes. Your heart was beating rapidly and it felt like no air was reaching your lungs, you knew you couldn’t stay in the same room as him much longer. Maybe if you had been prepared to see him you could’ve taken this but this was the most unwanted surprise you could ever have on the first day of work.

Hitoya walked out of his office to see why there were people lingering at his door, eyebrow raised when he sees the staring contest occurring between you and Kuko. He hadn’t looked away from you yet, it seemed he was still processing like you were but you bet he didn’t hurt like you did. He was the one who left you in the dust, after all.

“I have to go.” Your eyes flickered to Hitoya’s briefly before you made yourself scarce, gathering your belongings and leaving the law office as quickly as you could. You kept your head ducked down as you walked through the bustling city streets, hoping to get lost in the crowd, to just blend in among the people and disappear completely. You would have to give Hitoya a proper apology later and accept that potential firing at suddenly walking out on your job, but you couldn’t stay there a second longer.

Why did he have to look at you like that?

You’re exhausted and out of breath when you’re finally home, heading straight to your room without a second thought. Your head is spinning, heart still pounding, anxiety flaring up as you think about how you’ll have to grovel to Hitoya in hopes of keeping your job. But did you really want that if there was a chance of seeing Kuko again? You had avoided this problem for so long that when it came rearing it’s ugly head you were at a total loss of what to do, the pain unfortunately fresh.

‘He looked good,’ You thought miserably, ‘His hair looks better not slicked back. I bet he’s still causing problems for his dad… I wonder if he matured anymore.’

You wished you didn’t still have this odd fondness for Kuko, the lingering feelings of love. You couldn’t just hate him despite what he had said to you because there was still a part of your brain that felt total disbelief at the turn in behavior he showed. He had always been respectful, a teasing brat for sure but he knew what was too far and what your boundaries were. Your Kuko would never…

You couldn’t think about him like that anymore.

He wasn’t your Kuko.

He was just Kuko.

Your phone began to ring and you were reluctant to pick it up, but seeing as it was your boss calling…

“…Could you come back? I think we should all talk.” Hitoya paused to allow you a chance to process his request, “I’d like for you to continue working here with me, you show promise and you’re quick but I won’t put you in an uncomfortable situation. I can recommend you to other lawyers in the area who have openings.”

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, so quiet he almost didn’t hear you, but he lets out a relieved sigh. “I’ll be on my way soon.”

You feel just as awkward as you did when Kuko first walked into the office but with Hitoya and their other friend here, it felt considerably less awkward. It’s not to say you didn’t still feel like curling up into a ball but your former boyfriend wasn’t exactly being his normal loud self, something that left you both unsettled yet entirely grateful. You don’t know if you could take the usual Kuko energy right now but it seemed like your personal shields were getting ready to leave the room to give you both a chance to talk it out.

“If you have a question then ask it.” Kuko’s gaze was steady as he looked you square in the eye, something that pissed you off just as much as the fact that he was the one to start this conversation. You had thought of countless things you wanted to say to him over the years, that you hated him too, that you didn’t deserve to be talked to or yelled at like he had, that you deserved an explanation, that you missed him.

“Why did you break up with me?” There’s hesitation in your voice, as if your brain didn’t think about the consequences of learning the answer to this question before you had posed it.

“I…don’t know.” Kuko still seemed calm but you could hear the hints of frustration in his voice, “I wanted to come see you. To talk about what happened but I couldn’t… I didn’t have an explanation for what happened. Everything I said to you…”

“You said you didn’t have feelings for me! You said you hated me and my face and that you never wanted to see me again!”

“I know what I said, damn it!” Kuko sighed, crossing his arms. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t mean it. I did in the moment but after… Whenever I think about it, it’s just a blur. I didn’t want to bother you if I couldn’t come up with a proper explanation for my actions but I don’t think there is one.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I know it doesn’t! I didn’t want to bother you without being able to offer a proper apology which would require knowing why the hell I did what I did!”

“So why are you apologizing now?”

“…Because I saw you again. At any moment life can present you a crossroads, a chance to lead you closer to your personal truth or further away from it.”

“I’m glad you still talk in tongues but I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“I’m not the same person I was back then, and I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’ve never forgotten what I’ve said to you, I could see how much it hurt you and I wanted to stop but there was this feeling inside of me… this burning rage that wanted to be taken out on anyone close. You’re not the only person I lost that day.”  

He seemed sadder now, vision clouded by past regrets, but the look is quickly wiped from his face replaced by a more confident smirk. It was the old Kuko you knew and loved, the troublemaker who had a good heart even if he was a bit brash. You could see that he truly had grown over the years, likely having much more room to do so but as a monk there was always growth to be had. To truly help people he would have to experience as many things as he could, truly understand people, so you could see how what happened to him was especially annoying from his perspective.

“I don’t. I don’t forgive you but I’m really tired of being so mad at you. I know all about you and the rap thing and Mr. Amaguni being part of your team so I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

Kuko didn’t want that, he didn’t want you to stay out of his way but he knew he had no right to request anything else. He simply nodded his head in agreement, wishing he was the type of man who could speak up for what he wants rather than watching the person he loved walk away from him once more.

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

I want to talk about mob traits and archetype au is some of it so let's gooo

Sam liked creeper, even with their explosive function, but the little patches of green growing on him every day he goes to the prison worries him, and one time he caught himself hissing to Puffy, his best hypothesis? The stress is making his genes appear, but still, the urge to hurt, kill and explode his friends isn't the best.

While building and struggling and being motivated by spite in general, Niki didn't notice the purple particles coming out of her, or the enderman not being so aggressive as before, but Jack notices when her skin started to become black, and worried both, but there isn't one legit doctor in the server to go and see what was happening, Tommy almost didn't recognize her with the point black ears and pink hair, but he still followed her to the forest to get the wood Sam nook wanted. And when she got out of her little city and gone to the north and cold, she was almost as tall as Ranboo, her sking completed black and her eyes glowing a faint blue inatural of enderman that she looked so alike now.

Bad smiled, they with help of Ant were cheking the preparations of their little... event, the cat was checking in their resources when suddenly something hit Bad.

"Ant, have you always been a cat?"

"Huh?... I think so, I don't remember being anything else... and you Bad, have you always been like that?"

Turning, Bad send a questioning look to where he could see the antropomorfic cat back.

"Like what Ant?"

"...I don't know, demon like? With horns and void skin you know?"

"...huh, I never noticed it."

"Well, you were the one to ask it!"

"Okay okay, we have to check some stuff up still"

...but still, Bad thought, why i didn't remember this?(before this, they would joke about how demonic and nether like Bad was all time, before he was taller too, just enough to fit the fostress corridors and dark enough to blend in with the withers, but now none remembers that time)

Karl had another nightmare, this time not of the past, but the grim future he saw one time and it must be already changed by the way things are going, he was again feeling disconnected, so he goes to the bathroom to wash up his face and leave the nightmare behind, and soon as water touch his hands he feels calmer already. With a towel he drys his face and looks at the mirror above the sink, not to find his usual reflection, but blocks of swirling and bright neon colors looking back at him, and at the same time it scares him, it is... nostalgic? Familiar? Why is it so familiar? And with a blink the neon colors are gone and forgotten from the time travelers memory, but the confusion still remained.(XD never liked the neon creature that appeared with Sapnap one day, so the moment he could, he twisted and changed and modified it until it looked right to him and send him back to the server, but if changing appearances is difficult, cutting ties with powers and other entities of creatures was almost impossible, so with white blocks and black roses, he made a place where the creature would be caught rest between his travelling adventures and not cause too much trouble for him... well, now he has to deal with versions getting stuck in the In between and not overcrowd the place)

Quackity was again, wiping away these dang yellow feather away from his prestigious cassino, and continues to swear that the day he gets his hand on the dang chicken or bird leaving them behind he will feast on it until he's full.(he never looked when scratching his back little feathers would fall or how when he moved much and his back was itching his shirt became more pulled)

Ghostbur hid beneath another ceiling, again somehow forgetting that rain melts him instead of... of what? He doesn't remember, and he doesn't want to walk on sun either, he will get hurt again and be more hungry with... with what? He doesn't remember. Ghostbur is becoming tired of not remembering important things but remembering unimportant things, he wants to find his family. But where...(but still, his grey sking was always itching in the bright sun and melting in the rain wasn't such a big thing, with how rapid he would recompose himself)

Phil again groaned, feeling his feet sore and again take of his boots to see what is going on but find nothing but still, the feeling of tiredness of his body was driving him nuts and with the murder screaming again about how he's old doesn't help in nothing, but at the back of his mind the feeling of wrongness did not grew, but become even more present with the tiredness of his body... maybe he should pull a Techno and hibernate for some time...(and maybe in his dreams, he will remember how with his big wings he could get such a impulse even from the ground, remember that this is his first time with complete human feet in his life and not a hybrid between a crow and a human feet)

Tubbo's horns were hurting again, but they stopped growing after he started building snowchester, so he has no clue what could be the cause, he washed and polished them but nothing was stuck in them, so most of the day he is just bumping his head against things and people, and his back is scratching all day too... whatever, he has better things to do.(than remembering that he too had wings to fly, but insect ones were always frail and easy to rip of, but they would normally grow back and he would be in the air again with his father and maybe Tommy if he really feeled like it, how he had things on his head but never fully horns, just little antenna to talk and waste time with his bee friends. Better than remembering how XD likes to tear down things and people apparently)

*cries softly at everything

Oh my god this? This is beautiful.

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi 💜💜 i got a prompt about ian x body image a while ago (my inbox is a hot mess and i may have deleted the prompt lol, but i did paste it into my phone notes)- and i was feeling some feelings today & had some spare time amidst my travels & ended up writing this!!

prompt: can you write about ian and his relationship with his body image, esp post-canon when they move to the westside

(tw for body image/eating disorder/food mentions)

--

He didn’t really even think about it the first times that he did it— skipping a few meals that went unnoticed in the morning clamor of the Gallagher kitchen. He noticed his skin growing tauter and tighter around his abdomen with every passing day, a hollow absence sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

He did it for a reason—he’d been getting more lingering looks under the flashing lights at the club, more unwelcome fingers pressed against the now-present ridges on his stomach, tracing his toned upper arms. The less there was of him, the more they wanted him.

The thing about Ian is that he was always disciplined; the middle child, the one who was overlooked and ignored and blended in until he decided that he had to make a name for himself. He and Lip and gotten into hair-tugging, jaw-smashing fights about this very reality; Ian was completely, totally, absolutely ordinary. Until he made himself extraordinary—until he burst through the storefront labeled “ARMY” at a strip mall with smudged windows and said with a tall chest: I want to enlist.

Everything had led up to this— every push-up on the creaking slanted floor of their childhood bedroom, every jog at the crack of dawn. He was going to make something of himself, he was going to be a hero.

He was going to get the fuck away from Mickey, and his wife, and whatever else kept pushing him down and holding him back.

When Ian came back from the army, when he was sleeping on exposed floorboards and working at the club all night—that was when it all actually started. When he decided that less of him meant more—when he decided that he should give people the best show he could, because everything else was fucked up anyways. This was all he was good for.

But then Mickey came through the door, pale skin flashing in the strobe lights, wearing that fucking dark button-up with sleeves folded to his forearms and smelling like nice cologne that he’d almost definitely stolen from one of his brothers’ bathroom shelves; and for a brief moment after the initial shock set in, Ian was proud— proud of how much negative space surrounded him, proud of how he could press his thighs into stretched golden spandex better than any of the other men thrumming to the beat beside him on the podium. Proud of how much other people wanted him, when Mickey didn't.

It was only later, after Mickey carried him home (easily, too easily) after he’d passed out in a snowbank, and Ian had woken and waited for Mickey to burst into his bedroom door at the Gallagher house while he leaned against the wall and scribbled on a notepad— later, when Mickey was about to curl on the floor and sleep using one of Liam’s balled-up t-shirts as a pillow— that Ian noticed Mickey’s eyes lingering on his uncovered torso, a second longer than the quick glances of admiration from the well-dressed men with greased-back hair and grubby fingers at the club. It hit Ian, then, when he saw Mickey’s gaze that was soft around the edges, the same fuzziness and confusion of Fiona’s stares when he would chatter on for too long in the mornings:

He’s worried about me.

But Mickey played along— Ian was back, and Mickey stayed beside him this time, and chuckled when he walked down the stairs to the sight of Ian cutting off the bottom half of his old ROTC pants, now multiple sizes too big and hanging baggy even at the hips. Mickey curled beside him on the twin bed, silently stroking hair back from his forehead and cradling his cheeks with a feather-light touch as Lip and Liam’s even, sleeping breaths swirled around them. And Ian kept doing pull-ups, and told Carl that he liked the way that Mickey smelled. Mickey came out for him. And for a while things were really, really fucking good, and Ian didn’t even think about the gnawing hollow feeling in his stomach at all any more.

Until a grey morning came, quick and silent, and kept him frozen under the sheets for days.

In the months afterwards, Ian trained harder, faster—he met up with Fiona as she pushed Liam in the stroller and jogged beside them, ran before and after shifts at the club, did push-ups on Mickey’s grimy floor while he was out handling Rub N’ Tug shit.

I’m not Monica. This wasn’t going to happen again. His body could do this. His body could fix his brain.

It couldn’t.

Most of what happened on the “road trip” with Yevgeny (that was the only phrasing that Ian could really mentally use to name the incident, the only semiotic filler for “kidnapping” that didn’t want to make him burrow even deeper under his tattered blankets) was a blur—Mickey feeding him fistfuls of pills and room-temperature Gatorade, luring Mickey to the dugouts where he tried to do a pull-up and felt a quivering in his limbs, a weakness rather than a familiar and fulfilling burn. Slamming Mickey in the face with a fist that was too flimsy, too weak—a fist that still left the blooming of a bruise on Mickey’s jawline, a splatter of blood caking into his eyebrow. But still weak, still not enough. Definitely not strong enough to fight off two MPs with loaded guns, tangling his hands behind his back and forcing him into the backseat of a car.

More blurry days— on the road with Monica. Breaking up with Mickey. Getting a job at Patsy’s. Withering away, purple bags sagging under his eyes. Becoming less, always less.

Then, a glimmer of light— he met Caleb. He studied to be an EMT. He got a call from Mandy, got to wrap her in his arms in less-than-ideal circumstances.

“I got tired of starving myself to fit in that golden thong.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud.

He started to run again—and he started to not miss it, the hollow feeling gnawing at his insides, the twisting lack. He met Trevor, he went to brunches, he ordered mimosas and muffins and kept himself in shape, but didn’t push himself too far.

So it surprised him, really, when once again his body and mind weren’t in sync.

That was the biggest thing he’d think about, in the idle hours of he and Mickey’s prison cell, months later—that for once in his life, years after the nights at the club or the hazy early mornings at Patsy’s or in a baggy janitor uniform, he was actually doing really, really fucking good. He had a following. He was strong. Or at least he thought he was.

But something about being near Mickey pulled him out of his head and into his body, centered him— it always did. Mickey had always liked his body; Ian remembered how Mickey’s eyed at lingered that night at the dugouts, when they were two kids doing pull-ups and Mickey watched his muscles clench in the moonlight, two sets of shining eyes and bodies warm with beer leaning closer to each other in the muggy air. But Ian never felt a need to flaunt his body, or change his body, for Mickey— and in so many ways, those first days in prison were like his body was coming home. Sometimes it was hard, and fast, and filthy words whispered into each other’s skin—and sometimes it left them grasping for breath in an entirely different way, in fingertips lazily skimming over collarbones and fisted into roots of hair, of breathed “Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful”s escaping Mickey’s parted mouth that Ian mentally stored but never brought up again, because he knew in the best case scenario Mickey would just roll his eyes and call him a “soft bitch,” and in the worst he would just flat-out deny it. But Ian felt balanced in a way he hadn't in months, with all the "Gay Jesus" bullshit pressing in. He took his meds, he did his nightly sit-ups, he counted down the days—until the hourglass was slipped out from under his fingertips and he was teleported back to the Gallagher house, back to the place where so much of this began and so much was about to end.

The hollowness, the hunger, didn’t really need to be there anymore once he was out— it was only a dull murmur. A ghost, a memory trapped in dreams of strobe lights and prying hands.

Mickey got out, and they got married—and in the moments before Ian called Mickey an “ugly motherfucker” as he let a smile crack onto his face—and he knew Mickey felt it, knew Mickey heard: I have never known anyone as beautiful as you.

And Ian’s fullness just kept blooming and compounding and radiating after the wedding; they fought, and then they didn’t, and it didn’t matter anyways because they were fucking married. Ian kept doing sit-ups before they went to bed, even though he felt like he didn’t really have to anymore. Something big had shifted; something had settled and given way, had filled in all the cracks.

So he’s surprised, when they move to the West Side, and that feeling starts to stir again; faint, fuzzy, like some sort of invasive and shapeless amoeba in the dark corners of his brain, whispering and hissing that there should be less of him. On their first morning in the new place he heads to the gym, wearing a camo t-shit that covered his torso and shoulders—and of course he ends up making a fool of himself next to some guy, some guy that he could have been, with sweaty toned abs and bronzed skin and rippling muscles. He doesn’t know why it gets to him, that small interaction—he’s so much happier now, so fucking happy he’s buzzing with it, but there’s also something churning in the faultlines of transition; that aching for hollow absence and stretched skin and interested eyes, that feeling that made him woozy and lightheaded as a kid but also sickeningly proud, like every moment of standing tall, of dancing, of staying alive was a statement, a challenge, a test of how much he could push his ability to be desired.

He immediately pushes the thought down. He doesn’t fucking need that anymore to keep his head above water; he’s stable, he’s loved, he’s fed. He’s growing organic tomatoes, and definitely developing a farmer’s tan from his days hunched over their way-too-tiny community garden plot tenderly watering and pruning the vines and brambles. He is desired. So it doesn’t make fucking sense that the hunger, the clawing in his stomach for the absence, doesn’t really stop.

**

“Okay Gallagher, spill.”

Ian felt his eyebrow raise instinctively at Mickey’s tone. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring at this fancy fucking chicken thing you made for, like, twenty minutes. Stop staring at it and eat your goddamn dinner.”

He felt a twist in his gut. I don’t want to.

“M’actually not really that hungry.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck’s up? You stressed about work shit?”

Ian huffed out a breath of relief. “Nah. It’s not that.” He fiddled with his fork on the plate, drawing lines into the sauce pooled under the tomato-basil chicken he’d made. It was healthy, it was good, he’d worked out today; he could stomach a couple bites of dinner if he fucking had to. He just had to work up to it. Even the smell was making his stomach twist— it had smelled good while he was cooking it, placing fresh-scented basil leaves into the simmering sauce, but now it just was too much.

Mickey’s boot nudged against his calf from under the kitchen island. “Ey. Is it a tired thing? Or a… sick thing?” His eyes darted to their kitchen cupboard, where Ian kept his meds on the bottom shelf by the water glasses. “Or, like, a food thing?”

Ian felt his fingers go slack around his fork. “A food thing?”

“Yeah, man, y’know. When you get all weird about food.”

A tightness in his chest. “What the fuck? I don’t get weird about food.”

Mickey’s eyes flickered to meet his—and Ian would have gotten more pissed off if he didn’t see the soft concern bleeding into Mickey’s gaze, how cautiously Mickey was trying to broach the topic. Ian blew out a breath. Of fucking course Mickey noticed this shit— he always did.

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, man. You’re usually good, especially compared to when you were fucking starving yourself when we were kids. But, uh… I don’t know.” Now it was Mickey’s turn to play with his food, scraping his fork along the remnants of sauce on his plate that was nearly clean. “You got kind of weird about working out and shit in prison. And then at the house, with all the quarantine bullshit the first few weeks. Eating fuckin’ cereal all the time, then not eating at all. You’ve been normal since then, or whatever. Lookin’ healthy.” Ian felt Mickey’s gaze drag over him. “Just don’t want you getting stressed out and not eating again or whatever.”

Ian felt a muted warmth blooming in the hollow of his stomach, filling in the cracks of where the jagged feeling continued to claw. If it was anyone else laying out this fucking analysis of his habits Ian would’ve gotten defensive—or at the very least annoyed, that someone was pinning down yet another one of his behaviors, putting them under a fucking clinical microscope.

But of course, this was Mickey— and the difference with Mickey was that he cared, he cared so much that it made Ian’s body ache every time he realized it. Those words wouldn’t have come tumbling out of Mickey’s mouth if they hadn’t been building for a while, hadn’t been gnawing away at some corner of his mind over time.

Ian raised a hand over the table to clasp into Mickey’s warm palm—reaching over the empty plate, the plate of uneaten food.

“It’s, uh. A food thing.”

Mickey’s eyes met his—open, listening.

“You’re right about all the starving myself shit from forever ago. And the not eating. And the… quarantine stuff. I guess I just thought that now that things were good, it’d go away? And I feel so fucking good right now. But sometimes I just have weird days.”

Mickey huffed out a breath. “I fucking know you do, dumbass. M’just saying that I notice that shit. And we can figure it out.”

Ian felt the corner of his mouth tick upwards. “I really thought it was gonna go away. I’m a fucking adult.”

Mickey shrugged. “Sometimes shit doesn’t work like that, Gallagher.” He chugged a sip of water from his glass, apparently glad that this heavier part of the conversation was over now that he knew what was up. “It’s like what you tell me about my shit with Terry. Trauma doesn’t just magically fucking disappear.”

Trauma. He’d never really thought about it like that before—he had plenty of childhood shit to work through, between abandonment and raging mental illness; and he’d never really thought that his body image issues made the list.

But maybe they did— maybe this was another wound, one that he could learn to heal.

Mickey kicked his shin under the table. “There’s cereal and stuff in the cabinet, I got the Fruit Loops shit you like. Want me to wrap up the chicken and shove it in the fridge?”

All he could do was nod— and once again feel that warmth on his insides that Mickey was this good, that he knew how to make shit like this easier.

And he snuggled into the couch beside his husband, a bowl of soggy cereal in his hands.

[rebelwrites]

A Fathers Love

Chibs Telford x Daughter Reader

He couldn’t believe it, today was the day his little girl got married. Sitting on the sofa he was deep in thought as the make up artist did what she needed to do.

“Da you still with us” you laughed looking at him through the mirror.

“Aye” he nodded pushing himself up to his feet “just thinking”

“You’re worried you are gonna lose me aren’t you” you said arching your eyebrow.

“Well yea kinda” he chuckled softly.

“I might be becoming a Teller today but deep down I will always be a Telford” you smiled slipping your hand into his “and I will always need my Da. That won’t change”

“I just can’t believe you are getting married today” he whispered tears filling his eyes “and who would have thought it would be to Jax”

Soon enough it was time to get your dress on so Chibs left the room to go have a smoke.

It was like the past 26 years flashed before his eyes.

After about half an hour you opened the door, creeping up behind you dad, tapping his shoulder.

His grin was wide and had tears in his eyes when he saw you.

“Lass you look so beautiful” he whispered kissing your cheek. “I am so proud of you, you managed to keep up with the club life whilst becoming an amazing women”

“Da please don’t make me cry” you smiled lighting your smoke.

“Have you got the reaper on your dress?” Chibs smirked

“Of course, got them to make one out of lace so it blends in” you grinned “the club is a big part of my life so it would be wrong not to have it. Also I want to show you something”

Reaching your hand to the neckline of you dress you rolled the top down just enough to show the black thread.

“Filip ‘Chibs’ Telford”

“You got my name stitched into your dress” he whispered.

“Yeah I did. Above my heart, I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for you dad. You some how managed to raise me as a single parent whilst dealing with the club. I’d say that’s pretty amazing” you grinned.

“God I’m so emotional today” he laughed wiping his eyes before stepping forward to place a kiss on your forehead “I love you kid”

“I love you to Da”

“Now let’s go get you married” he grinned.

———

The service was beautiful, short and sweet just what both you and Jax wanted. Mainly so you had more time to party.

Chibs had just finished his speach spilling some embarrassing memories of both you and Jax. And it was now time for the father daughter dance.

Resting your head on his chest as his arms wrapped around your shoulders, as you swayed to the music.

“I lost my breath when I saw you take your first. My whole world stopped like that and I ain’t the crying type. I just saw your eyes words just can’t describe what I see. You look just like me, yeah”

“I still remember the first time I held you in my arms, watching your Y/E/C eyes staring up at me” Chibs whispered loud enough for you to hear “I think that was the first time I had ever cried”

“Da, Don’t make me cry you old bastard” you laughed looking up at him.

“You’re gonna think I hung the moon. You’re gonna think I made the sky. That the sun rises and sets inside of my eyes And it won’t be long ‘till I hear “Daddy’s home"”

“God I used to love coming home just to hear your footsteps on the wood floor screaming ‘daddy’s home’ no made what kind of day I had you always made it so much better” he smiled with tears in his eyes.

“It was the best part of my day as well, because it meant eating dinner in front of the TV and cuddles” you giggled.

“I hope I’m still your hero ‘cause I already love you more than even I understand”

“You will always be my hero da, no matter how old I get. You taught me right from wrong, how to shoot a fucking gun, how to ride, everything I know is because of you. I mean you even taught me how to make a body disappear” you laughed.

“Yeah probally wont win dad of the year for that one” he chuckled spinning you around.

“You have in my life” you smiled.

“And one day you’ll realize I’ve lost my cape, I can’t fly. And I’m only human. And you’ll need more than me”

“I will always need my Da by my side. Yes I have Jax now but he can never replace you” you whispered resting your head back on his chest.

The song came to a end and Chibs pulled you into a tight hug. Looking up at him it was obvious he had been crying through the song. Reaching up you wiped his tears away with you thumb.

“I will always love you daddy” you whispered “no matter how old I get, my love for you will never fade”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Jax appear smiling at the two of you.

“Chibs can I dance with my wife now” Jax chuckled placing his hand on the small of your back.

“She’s all your Jackie boy” Chibs nodded before kissing your head.

He took a couple of steps before spinning back around placing his hands on Jax’s shoulders.

“Just promise me one thing Jackie Boy, promise me you will take care of my little girl. Because if you don’t I will kill you” Chibs nodded before smiling at you both and heading to the bar.

-

“Babygirl you need to slow down” Jax chuckled wrapping his arms around you, placing his hand over you stomach “we both know you get clumsy when you rush and we can’t have you hurting peanut”

“But I’m excited” you whined.

“I know you are and I am to but I don’t want you hurting yourself” he whispered kissing your head. “Now slow it down”

“Or what” you giggled.

“Girl don’t, not when we are just about to head out” Jax groaned as you wiggled out of his arms, grabbing the bag that held the secret in.

After a quick drive you pulled into the lot of the clubhouse, gaining a few weird looks to why you was in the car and not on the bikes. Ever since you told Jax you was pregnant any where you both went he refused to take his bike.

“How you are going to keep this in until after dinner I have no idea” Jax laughed as he watched you bounce on the balls of your feet waiting for him. “Come on then you dork let’s go tell Chibs the good news”

Waking into the clubhouse, you had a grin plastered on your face.

“Dadddddy” you giggled

“Oh fuck” Chibs laughed engulfing you in his arms “this sounds fuckin’ expensive”

“I got you a present” you grinned.

“Since when did you by me stuff” he questioned taking the bag off you and sitting at the table.

“Just shut up and open it” you beamed leaning into Jax’s side, watching his reaction.

As Chibs pulled the small box out of the bag, he looked up at you arching his eyebrow. “Choose wisely? Something best not jump out at me” he chuckled slowly lifting the lid off the box. As he pulled each name card out he read it out loud.

“Papa, grandad, Pa, granda, gramps” he trailed off, eyes becoming wide, tears running down his cheeks and a wide grin on his face. “Princess, what is this?” He asked already working the answer out.

“I’m pregnant Da” you grinned.

“I’m gonna be a papa” he sobbed running his hand over his face before hugging you.

“I guess we know what name he picked” Jax laughed “Papa Chibs”

“I can’t believe my baby is having a baby” he sniffles wiping his eyes, placing his hand on your stomach.

— — —

You was now 6 months pregnant, and let’s just say protective was an understatement, not only did you have an over protective husband, who if it was up to him you’d be on bed rest wrapped in bubble wrap but your dad was just as bad if not worse. You had a prospect with you every minute of the day when Jax or your dad wasn’t with you. It amazes you that you even got to piss in peace.

“You are meant to do what we tell you yes?” You snapped as you paced the floor of the club.

“Yeah” the prospect mumbled.

“They why haven’t you got me my ice cream” you huffed.

“Kiddo your gonna wear a hole in the floor” dad laughed as he kissed your head “What’s up?”

“Dickhead won’t get me ice cream” you pouted. “And peanut really wants ice cream”

“Well it’s a good job I’m the best Da in the world and stopped by the shop on the way home then” he grinned pulling a tub of bubblegum ice cream out of the plastic bag.

Tearing the lid off, you dug your finger into the cold goodness, scooping some into your mouth. “I fucking love you” you mumbled with a mouth full of ice cream.

“I love you to kiddo” dad chuckled.

— — —

You was now 5 days overdue and wasn’t allowed to even leave the house, thanks to the prospects being on strict orders from Jax and Chibs.

You knew the guys had a busy day so prayed that the baby didn’t decide today was the day they wanted to make an appearance.

But it seemed like your prayers fell on deaf ears as you started to get twinges in your stomach, and soon enough your waters broke all over the kitchen floor.

“I don’t care what they are doing, you need to get Jax and my Da here now” you snapped “and we need to go to the hospital”

The guys had just got back from a quick run when Chibs got the text to say you had gone into labour.

Standing up from the table he took two steps before screaming.

“JAAAAAAAAAAX!!!”

Within seconds he skidded into the room.

“Yeah” he breathed.

“We gotta go boy, baby Teller is making an appearance” he grinned as he pretty much ran out to his bike.

Neither of them cared about following the speed limit they just needed to get to the hospital as fast as possible. Soon enough they had arrived and Jax stumbled into the room making you laugh at his dorkiness.

“I’m here baby” he whispered instantly coming to your side.

Seconds turned into minutes which turned into hours and baby Teller was being stubborn.

“I want my Da” you cried pushing through another contraction. Jax left your side for a couple of seconds to poke his head out the door to call Chibs in.

“Daddy I’m scared” you cried as another contraction hit. All your emotions were running high and Chibs knew that even though you was excited for this baby you was scared you was going to be a bad mother.

“Princess there’s no need to be scared” Chibs whispered kissing your head. “You have Jax, you have me and the club. You aren’t going to have to do this on your own. Now come on just breath, I want to meet my grandchild”

A couple more hours had passed and you was exhausted, but all that was forgotten when the tiny human was placed in your arms. His tiny blue eyes, which were identical to his father’s, staring up at you, watching every movement.

“He looks like you” you whispered leaning your head against Jax’s shoulder.

“Unlucky bastard” Dad laughed.

“You did great baby” Jax whispered kissing your head “he’s perfect”

“So have we got a name or did you give up and the poor lad is gonna be called peanut for the rest of his life” dad smirked walking over to Jax and pulling him into a hug, tears in both of their eyes, placing his hand on the back of Jax’s head he spoke softly “welcome to fatherhood son. Beannachd Dia dhuit”

“Papa Chibs” you grinned at you dad as you passed him your son “meet your first grandson, Jackson JR Filip Teller”

“Princess” he sniffed looking down at his grandson “I’m honoured to share my name with this little one”

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 7/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

The city he had chosen to stay in was terrible.

It was noisy, it was crowdy, and the constant heat was making Levi go insane.

And while the city’s loudness and the amount of people in it made it easier for him to blend in, get lost in plain sight and all that bullshit, the heat— the fucking heat, gods, it was killing him.

Levi didn’t like cold weather, despised all the layer of clothes he had to put on just to get to the nearest supermarket and buy instant noodles, he hated the snow with passion he carried since his childhood, he thought that winter was the worst season of them all.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The heat was making his skin crawl. Even in just tank top and shorts, he felt too hot. Drinking cold water, taking cold showers, none of it helped. Levi turned the air conditioning in his room on maximum, but the motel he was staying at was shitty, his room was shitty, and, as a result, the air conditioning was shitty too.

Levi was sick of it. His skin was constantly clammy and sticky, he couldn’t sleep at night, there was never enough air around him, and walking around the city during the daytime made him seriously consider whether he was actually a vampire.

The sun… could it really burn so much? It didn’t used to be so unbearable before.

But apart from that… Levi was starting to accommodate to his new life.

Leaving his hometown behind, he decided to let go of his previous habits too. He got himself a job - not a respectable, but at least an honest one.

Being a janitor in a shitty bar after spending most of his life as a thief was almost… therapeutic.

The vomit on the walls and piss on the floors were enraging him to the point of seeing red and sometimes he wanted to break a leg of every asshole who didn’t know when they had enough and went to make a mess in the toilet, but… working there was therapeutic nevertheless. And a definite improvement too.

At least, his life wasn’t in danger anymore and he didn’t have to run away from police.

Although, he wouldn’t mind running away from a certain police officer. Perhaps, this time he would let her catch him. Perhaps, then his heart would stop clenching in pain every time he thought about Hange.

Perhaps, then he’d be able to let go.

He tried letting go, forgetting about Hange, just as he tried to put behind his life of crime. Unfortunately, putting Hange behind proved to be that much harder.

Some nights, when the heat was especially bad, he felt especially lonely and the shitty whiskey at the shitty bar he was working at didn’t do the trick, he’d snuck a look at how Hange was doing. He’d open his phone, scroll through a news feed. If he’d get lucky, there would a recording of some press conference with Hange at the center of it all.

Apparently, she was doing well. Her shoulder was almost healed, although sometimes she still winced, when gesticulating too frantically. But the paleness in her face that was present when he had visited her at the hospital was long gone, and at the few press conferences that allowed Levi to catch a glimpse of her, Hange’s cheeks were adorned by healthy, rosy blush. Her hair was just as wild, just as messy, and her voice carried the same inspiring conviction.

Whether Hange found out the truth about him or not, he didn’t know, but she had moved past Ackermans’ case and during the time Levi was getting used to his new life she alredy solved two robberies.

She was working on a new case now, something about a young girl who had mysteriously vanished. Levi didn’t bother to find out the details, the name Krista Lenz meant nothing to him, but nevertheless, he wished that Hange would succeed. She deserved that, her quick wit and determination were meant to be recognized and celebrated.

That bright, happy smile on her face, the one she was sporting during the conference that discussed one of the solved robberies, it suited Hange so much. Levi wished she’d wear it more often.

He wished he’d see it more often, but well… some things just weren’t meant to be.

Strangely so, Kenny didn’t contact him even once. No obnoxious phone call, no mysterious messages or weird gifts. There was no sign of him for almost two months, and Levi would have started worrying, would have tried to contact the man himself, if… if Kenny wasn’t Kenny.

His uncle was like a cockroach, Levi was one hundred percent sure that nothing and no one could cause him any harm. And if there was someone who actually could do this, Kenny would have harmed them back, ten times worse.

Still, the thoughts about Kenny lingered at the back of his mind, and memories about Hange did the same irritating thing. It made Levi feel awfully nostalgic sometimes, borderline melancholic. And fairly quickly he found out there was nothing he could do about it. No amount of whiskey or dirty toilets could chase that sadness away. That sadness was a new part of his new life.

Maybe, it was better than always living on the edge.

Luckily, he didn’t feel so lonely all the time, his colleagues at the bar made sure of that.

And while his boss, a bald, gross man called Shadis definitely wasn’t a joy to have around, two others – a barmaid named Sasha and waiter Connie were so much better.

They were annoying in their own right, of course. Sasha had a weird obsession with food, Connie’s sense of humor left much to be desired, and together both of them were so damn loud, but for brats who barely stepped into adulthood, they provided a fairly enjoyable company.

They let Levi take his mind off certain things, and they kept him from falling into the abyss of loneliness and depression.

They also opened up the side of him that Levi wasn’t even aware of.

Connie had once mentioned in a passing that his mother had died years ago, and whatever happened to Sasha’s family, she wasn’t living with them anymore, sharing a small flat with Connie and another guy, Jean.

In Levi’s humble, unbiased opinion, Jean was a self-centered, pompous jerk. He wasn’t working in the bar with his two friends, and instead had involved himself in some shady shit with a local gang, which apparently terrified the whole neighborhood. Levi wanted to tell the boy that he was a fucking idiot, if he thought that messing with criminals was a good idea, but he doubted that Jean would listen. Luckily, Jean wasn’t around too often and visited the bar only, when he was miserable about some girl he had a crush on, or whenever he wished to get drunk for free.

It was a good thing that Levi barely interacted with Jean. The boy was so annoying. And also – too damn tall.

He didn’t hear about any other friends of theirs, and as far as Levi was aware, there was no actual adult watching over Sasha and Connie, so… he kinda, unwillingly, of course, took that task upon himself.

Obviously, he made sure to remain discreet. He didn’t want the brats to know that he cared, because he didn’t, naturally.

He claimed that he simply cooked too much food and the leftovers would go to waste, if he didn’t give them away, when he brought them pasta or soup. He mentioned his insomnia and pretended that long walks helped him sleep better, when Sasha and Connie went home after midnight. He lied about having experience in bartending when Sasha got stomach flu. He said that he was just accidentally passing by their apartment, when later that day he visited to check on her.

The brats were too dense to notice his subtle attempts anyway, or so Levi hoped. They had never brought it up, and that had to mean something, right?

And that time when Connie tried to fix Levi’s air conditioning, or when Sasha brought a whole jar of his favorite tea, or all those evenings when he felt blue and homesick and they helped him clean the bar and took him out to dinner, surely it was nothing more than a coincidence.

The brats had their moments, Levi had to admit, and sometimes their presence was almost pleasant.

But sometimes they made him wish they shut their mouths and never opened them again.

Right now, that desire was more prevalent than ever.

“Say, Mister Levi,” Levi hated when they called him that, it made him sound even older than he actually was. He told them to stop it, many times. But the brats didn’t care. He slowly raised his eyes to show that he was listening. As soon as he did, Sasha put a fist underneath her chin, forgetting about the important task of cleaning the glasses to stare at him curiously. “Do you have someone?”

“Someone?” he had an inkling of what Sasha was asking him about, but he didn’t wish to discuss that with the damned brats. He didn’t wish to discuss that topic with no one, ever. Because… there was nothing to discuss.

“Yep, someone!” Connie chimed in. “Like, hm, a significant other?”

“A beloved!” Sasha agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

Levi felt the migraine coming. “I don’t have any kind of someone,” he gritted. “And I never did.”

“Really?” Sasha tilted her head to the side, looking so skeptical that Levi was ready to get offended. Was he not convincing enough? “I thought you do. It’s just that sometimes—”

“When you think no one is looking!” Connie swiftly added.

“Your face seems so much softer, and your scowl almost disappears, and you look—”

“Just like Jean when he thinks about Mikasa.”

Who the fuck was Mikasa? And what face was Jean making? Levi couldn’t be making the same one, could he?

“But if you say there is no one,” Sasha sighed, returning to her task of cleaning glasses. Wearing the same sad face as she did, Connie went back to gathering dishes from the tables. “Then I guess we’re wrong.”

Damn right, they were. There was no one, and whatever face they thought he was making, it couldn’t possibly be related to a certain police officer from the other side of the world.

“And if there is no one you have to think about,” Sasha winked, like she was seeing right through him. “Then let me make you a drink. It’s a new recipe I found, it involves tequila, vodka and—”

Levi raised a hand to cut her off. “Just surprise me.”

Sasha nodded and went to work. She frequently let Levi taste her new cocktails. He was the perfect man for it – he didn’t get drunk too fast, and he was the only Sasha’s friend who tasted something better than cheap whiskey or a beer from a local supermarket. He also never shied away from telling her when the drink was fucking awful.

Sasha hummed as she mixed the drink, some song Levi vaguely recognized from the radio. She was smiling too, she did that frequently, and something about her, be it the ponytail that jumped up and down when she was excited, or her easy-going, cheerful personality reminded him of Hange.

These days, lots of things reminded him about Hange. There were days when almost everything reminded him of Hange. It seemed like today was exactly a day like that.

“You’re making that same face again,” Sasha whispered, as she handed him the drink.

Levi scowled, glaring at the girl, as he put the glass up to his lips. He finished it in one go. “It tastes like shit,” he told her. “Put it on the menu.”

Sasha beamed, refilling his glass. “Knew you’d like it.”

“By the way, boss,” Levi wasn’t their boss, as far as he was aware, their actual boss was getting drunk in his office, all the while mumbling incomprehensible gibberish about some Carla. But Levi had to admit, being called boss was so much better than the godforsaken mister Levi. "Are you free tonight?"

Levi was free every day and every night, when he wasn’t working in the bar with Connie and Sasha. It wasn’t like he had any friends or even acquaintances beside two brats. However, saying it out loud would make him look even more pathetic that he actually was. So Levi shrugged, and said, as nonchalantly as possible, “Depends.”

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” Connie asked, looking at him with a smile so hopeful that Levi was ready to say yes right that instant. God, they already had him wrapped around their fingers. How embarrassing. At least, Kenny wasn’t here to witness it. He’d have a laugh of his life, if he found that Levi was adopted by two teenagers. “Jean is away on a trip, so we’d be glad to have some company.”

“He went to see his family?”

From the way Sasha bit her lip and Connie refused to meet his eye, Levi knew – their friend didn’t go on a simple trip. He sighed, taking a sip from his glass and letting the bitter liquid burn his throat. Admittedly, it was none of his business. He shouldn’t care about it, he wasn’t their father, for god’s sake. But… a friendly piece of advice wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Your friend plays with fire. And if he continues doing so—”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie crossed hands on his chest defensively. “He is smart.”

Levi couldn’t help but scoff. “Just being smart is not enough. There will always be someone smarter.”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie repeated stubbornly. “He’ll be fine.”

Maybe, he will, maybe, he won’t. At the end of the day, Levi had no say about it. He might call them brats, but they were already adults. They were allowed to do as they wished. They were bound to make some mistakes.

“Tell him to be more careful. Otherwise, you’ll suffer too.”

Levi left it at that, not wanting to antagonize Sasha and Connie any further. Besides, it was time to open the bar, or the drunkards all across the block would start banging on their doors. Worse than that, Shadis might come out of his office too. His sour face was the last thing Levi wished to see.

“Let’s get to work,” he nodded to the kids, and took his drink to the dark corner of the room, where he usually spend his shifts, waiting until the patrons start making a mess he’d have to clean.

Surprisingly, the evening came and went, but there was no mess for him to deal with. No one vomited, no one shitted all over the toilets. No one spilled their beer on the floor, or even a table. Were their patrons starting to learn how act like people, and not pigs? Or were they so well-behaved because it was just the beginning of a week? Or did the heat finally get to them and turn them just as slow and tired as Levi himself felt?

However, the weather was more merciful that day. The temperature was still high, too high for Levi’s taste, but just after the sunset the wind was starting to pick up, the storm slowly brewing. During the smoke break outside the bar, Levi could see the lightening, illuminating the far edge of the sky. The rain was in the air, and he allowed his lips to curl up in a pleased smile. Perhaps, he’d finally be able to sleep through the whole night and not toss and turn, feeling like the bed turned into a scorching pan.

When he went back inside, the bar was almost empty, just a few regulars left, nursing their half-finished drinks.

“Do you want to have pizza or sushi?” Sasha asked, as he started sweeping the floor. “We can order both if you wish.”

Levi rolled his eyes with a disgusted tsk. “Eating so much takeout is unhealthy. Let’s finish here and go to supermarket. I’ll cook you something decent.”

Connie yelled a loud yahoo, while Sasha squeezed him in a suffocating hug. The heartwarming moment was cut short, when the door to the bar was thrown open with a loud bang.

It let inside the gush of wind and drops of freezing rain. With a broom still in his hands, Levi turned sharply to the door, ready to rip the unlucky drunkard a new one, the bar had closed almost an hour ago, the sign was right there for everyone to see.

All harsh words died on the way between his throat and his tongue. Levi froze on the spot, and in the silence that followed the lightning strike was as sudden as a gunshot.

Sasha’s distressed cry and Connie’s shocked sob put him out of the stupor.

Throwing the broom away, Levi moved, catching the falling, bloodied boy into his arms.

“Jean!” Sasha was the first one of the two to snap out of it. She ran to Levi, with trembling hands lifting up her friend’s face.

“What the fuck had happened?” Connie kneeled next to them, his eyes wide and scared as he stared at Jean.

Jean looked awful, there was no way around it. His cheeks and jaw were bruised, his right eye was already swollen, and his light brown hair had too much red in it.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, too weak and injured to offer something more than a shaking whisper. “I’m sorry, I’ve fucked up, I didn’t know where to run and now they’re coming here, I didn’t mean to do this, I didn’t think, I—”

He could continue that nonessential ramble for the rest of the night. But if they, whoever those they were, were truly coming, Jean and his friends didn’t have that much time. Carefully, Levi lifted Jean’s arm, wincing when he saw that the boy’s shirt was bloodied too, and threw it over Connie’s shoulder. Then he took the key from the back pocket of his shorts and thrusted it into Sasha’s palm.

“Take him to my room in the motel.”

“And you?”

Levi pushed the hair away from his face, already hating himself for his next words. Kenny was right, he cared too much, and it was his biggest weakness, one that would probably get him killed one day. Perhaps, that day had already arrived.

“I’ll stay here and buy you some time.”

“No!” Jean protested, frantically grabbing Levi by the elbow. “It’s my fuck up, you shouldn’t get involved, you don’t know—”

“I do know. And unlike you, I can actually take care of myself.”

Perhaps, he was too harsh, but it was necessary. Jean had fucked up, and whatever he had done, he had to own that mistake and learn from it. That was the only way he would survive through another one of his mistakes.

“Hurry up,” he told Sasha and Connie. “I’ll meet you as soon as I’m finished.”

Thankfully, they didn’t try to argue. Connie wished him luck and Sasha made him promise to come back, and that was it.

As soon as they had left, Levi hopped behind the bar counter to pour himself a shot of whiskey. He lighted up a cigarette, waiting for the front door to swing open and Jean’s persecutors to arrive. Hopefully, they’d do it without guns blazing.

He was just finishing the first glass and was thinking of getting himself a second one, when the mighty kick almost as loud as the thunder outside pushed the door open. Three men tumbled inside a second later, their faces transformed by fury into caricature masks.

“Where is that son of a bitch?” roared one in the middle, their leader, Levi assumed.

Levi was in no hurry to answer. He took the last drag of the cigarette, meticulously put it down against the surface of an ashtray. Then looked at the men in front of him. “The bar is closed. There is no one here but me.”

“Stop fucking with us!” the asshole on the left shouted. “We saw him run inside!”

“If that fucker isn’t here, perhaps we should look around for his friends,” the third man offered. “I know they’re working here.”

So there was no way around it? Levi sighed, walking from beyond the counter. “Just so you know,” approaching the men, he cracked his knuckles. “I don’t condone violence.”

One of the thugs started laughing, the other two immediately followed. Levi didn’t expect any other reaction. The men were burly, large, they definitely weren’t smart.

“What are you going to do to us, midget? Do you seriously think you can beat us up?”

The insult was followed by a punch, a careless, blundering one. Levi effortlessly dodged it, delivering a vicious kick to the stomach of his attacker. The man - who upon the close inspection had yellow teeth and reeked of cheap alcohol – staggered. He caught himself at the last second, holding onto nearest table with white-knuckled desperation. Levi hit again, this time with his knee. With a gasp that turned into a groan, the man fell onto the ground.

Luckily, he stayed there, and Levi turned his attention to the other two.

The one who stood at the left attacked instantly, aiming his enormous fist at Levi’s jaw. There was an unfinished bottle of whiskey on the counter right behind him, and Levi grabbed it, smashing it against the man’s head. The resulting sound was loud, almost deafening. Levi tried to forget about the mess of spilled whiskey on the floor and let himself enjoy that pleasant sound for another moment.

That was a slight miscalculation on his part, because the last man apparently was armed with knife, and he swung it without hesitation. Levi jumped to the side, but wasn’t quick enough. The knife’s edge kissed his cheek, leaving a smear of blood behind it. A mere second later, the knife was in the air once again. Levi was ready for it this time, but as he prepared to take a swift step back, his ankle refused to budge. He looked down to see that one of the defeated men was back in the game, still laying on a floor, but holding Levi in one place. Levi quickly dealt with him, using another leg to kick the man’s head. It took him no more than a moment, but it was enough for him to lose sight of his last attacker. Whatever plan of retaliation Levi had, he lost it, when the knife embedded in his forearm, making him hiss and cuss. Irritated, he roughly grabbed the hand that held the knife, twisting the arm at the wrist.

There was a loud crack, then the even louder scream.

Not too elegant, but, at least, it did the job.

Yanking the knife out of his arm, Levi threw it away, allowing it to clutter on the ground.

“Get the fuck out of here!” he snarled at the men, who weren’t laughing anymore. On the contrary, their faces were panicked, frightened. They pathetically scrambled to their feet, pushing each other to get outside as fast as possible. “And don’t come back!” Levi shouted to their backs.

When the door fell closed, Levi slumped back against the counter. The spot on his cheek was tingling unpleasantly, his arm was hurting like a bitch, and the whole bar had turned into a mess – the shards of glass and spilled whiskey were all over the floor. The blood from his arm was creating a small puddle too.

Levi viciously cursed and grabbed a towel, making a make-shift bandage. It had to do for the time being.

One mess was dealt with, and now another was awaiting him. He’d be lucky if the dirty floor would be the biggest of his troubles tonight.

But somehow, Levi knew that it was just the beginning.

***

Levi never considered himself to be a philosophic kind of person, he never pondered on the meaning of things, never felt the desire to look at the problem at hand from all possible angles, never reflected on his feelings and emotions.

He did however notice that the small room he had rented in a shitty motel at the edge of the city never felt to him like home. It was a place to live, it had a bed to sleep, it held some of his belongings, but it wasn’t a home, it didn’t provoke in him the feeling of belonging that he found inside the walls of his and Kenny’s old apartment.

He spent a little more than two months, living in that shithole, and never once he thought – I’m home, never once he felt – I belong right here.

But something very similar was blooming in his chest, when he passed the threshold of his shitty motel room and fell right into the arms of Connie and Sasha.

Sasha started cleaning his wounds right away, while Connie rushed to get the new bandages for his bloodied arm.

“You should have been more careful,” Sasha chided, and, fuck, he really got adopted by a couple of kids just like that.

“We could have dealt with this ourselves,” Connie said, and then, after a little pause, added, “Probably.”

Levi hummed and resisted the urge to ruffle the hair on their heads. He didn’t have that much affection for the little shits. Probably.

Just as they finished, Jean appeared, unsteadily walking out of the bathroom. He stopped not long after, leaning against the doorframe. Patched up and cleaned, he still didn’t look like his usual, confident and complacent self. Now he reminded Levi of a puppy who was thoroughly and viciously kicked. His hair was now clean of blood, but the shirt was still covered in red patches. Levi would have offered him one of his own t-shirts, but… on Jean’s lanky body it’d look more like a crop top. Or a child’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Jean murmured, not meeting Levi’s eyes. “I didn’t know it’d lead to this.”

Yeah, they almost never know. Levi sighed, there was no point in scolding boy any further. He had realized his fuck up already, his buddies from the gang made sure of that.

“What the hell happened?” Levi asked, his back turned to Jean, as he went to prepare the tea for all of them. It would help to soothe some of Jean’s injuries, and it would also help to relieve Levi of the building tension in his shoulders.

“I… wasn’t quite ready for this life, I guess,” Jean sat down on a bed, covering his face with hands. “There is a guy I’ve been working with, he stole some drugs he was supposed to sell, and other gang members found out and decided to punish him, make an example out of him, but that guy… he was my friend, sort of? We hanged out a lot, and I just couldn’t see him get hurt like that…”

“Oh my god!” Sasha’s hands flew to her face and her mouth opened wide. “Did you get beat up because you tried to protect Marco?”

Connie snorted. “I see you’re getting over Mikasa pretty quickly.”

Behind his hands, Jean’s face started to gain color. “I just helped a guy out.”

“And didn’t even ask for a kiss after the heroic rescue?” Sasha teased.

“There wasn’t much time for kisses after the whole gang started running after us.”

“You poor thing,” Connie patted Jean’s head, sharing a mischievous look with Sasha. “Didn’t even get a kiss for all the trouble.”

The two boys started to bicker, and Levi watched the scene, feeling the pounding inside his head increase. It’d be a long, long night. The one he’d have to spend sleeping on a floor, because there were three brats in his room and only one queen-sized bed.

He raised a hand, putting a stop to the argument that was starting to raise in volume.

“Is the other guy alright?” he asked Jean, as he handed him a cup, filled with steaming tea.

Jean accepted the drink with a grateful nod, but didn’t answer the question right away, staring inside the cup thoughtfully. “He managed to get out of the city. The assholes that beat me up caught me just after he got on a bus.”

Well, that was certainly good news. The only one they received since the beginning of this evening.

“You have to run away too, preferably for quite some time. Those guys won’t forget about you so easily. Do you have a place where you can hide?”

“Well…” frowning, Jean rubbed his neck, “My parents have a summer house…”

“Excellent, does anyone know about it?”

“No, not even these idiots,” Jean answered, pointing at Sasha and Connie.

“Then take these idiots, because your gangster pals know, where all of you live and work,” Levi grumbled. “And get out of here first thing in the morning. Spend a few months in the countryside, wait until this shitty storm is over.”

“And what about you? Now they know about you too.”

What about him… good question. And a very easy one to answer. He’d have to change cities again, luckily, he already had some experience with that. Sure, it was an inconvenience, but… better than live his life and have to constantly look over his shoulder, or die in some dirty alleyway. Perhaps, he’d be able to return some day, when the tensions were long over.

“I’ll leave the city,” he told them. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You had to run away before?” Connie asked, awe written all over his face. “So cool!”

“And you beat up all these guys for us!” Sasha agreed, adoration shining in her gaze.

“You aren’t just a janitor, eh?” Jean stared at him with narrowed eyes.

Levi saved from answering by a loud shrill of the phone.

Everyone in the room tensed, Levi felt his heart pounding inside his chest, a relentless boom, boom, boom. He wet his lips, his throat suddenly too dry, and stood up.

“No!” Jean grabbed his arm, stopping Levi from picking up the phone. Levi understood his panic, it was the middle of the night, who in their right mind would call him at this time? Who would call him period, all the people Levi knew in this city were sitting next to him. Unless, it was Shadis who got out of his drunken stupor and decided to have a friendly chat with a janitor from his bar?

And if it wasn’t Shadis, then…

Acutely feeling his every heartbeat, Levi pulled his arm out of Jean’s grasp. Swallowing that persisting lump inside his throat down, he put his hand on a phone handle. Slowly, holding in his breath, he lifted the phone and put it to his ear.

“Is your name even Levi? Or was that another lie, you asshole?”

That voice. Her voice. Levi helplessly fell back in the armchair behind him.

“H-hange?” the crack in his voice was heard and analyzed by a bunch of kids, who now all stood beside him. Levi waved them away, drowning out the intrigued murmuring, and focused on a person on the other side of the line.

“You still remember my name, I’m flattered, Ackerman,” ah, so she found out. Not surprising in the slightest, but disappointing nevertheless. But how did she find out? And when? And why she was calling now? And how she managed to obtain the number of a motel he was staying at? So many questions, Levi wanted to ask them all at once. He didn’t even know where to start. “And just a piece of friendly advice, next time you go into hiding, don’t go around asking police officers on a date.”

Well, that was one question answered. Only one hundred remained.

“Are you going to arrest me now?”

“No, unfortunately,” Hange bitterly replied. “I need you, Ackerman. For work,” she added, before Levi could get any ideas and just before his heart started racing like crazy. “Take the first flight back to city, if you don’t want me to drag you out of there by force. I’ll be waiting for you in the airport.”

Hange was going to end the call, Levi could practically see her finger hover over the button. Before she did, he cried out, “Wait!” and then, much more calmly he added, “What do you need me for?”

“Your uncle went missing. I need you to help me find him.”

The line went dead immediately after that. It took Levi another moment to pull himself together.

Kenny was… missing? Kenny, his ruthless, unstoppable uncle? And Hange was looking for him? Too much was unknown, too much was unclear, too much was yet to be explained.

One thing for sure, he wouldn’t find the answers here. Well, one problem was solved then, he didn’t have to change cities anymore. He’d just have to return home.

“So.”

Just a short word, but so much meaning was put in it. With a feeling of dread, Levi turned to face Sasha. He shuddered at the sight of her wide, shit-eating smile.

“Hange, hm?” she asked, twirling a lock of hair.

“Hange is your someone, right?” Connie excitedly exclaimed. “Your Mikasa?”

“Hange is his Marco,” Sasha corrected, earning a vicious curse and a middle finger from Jean. “I guess it’s all over with Mikasa.”

It was all over with Hange too. There was nothing with Hange to begin with. And there would be nothing, because apparently she hated him now. For a good reason too.

Fuck. Kenny, Hange, the brats, they all caused Levi a massive headache. And there was no running away from it, they’d find him whenever he ran.

Perhaps, it meant that he had to stop running. And come back home.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he told the kids. “A long journey is ahead of you. And ahead of me too.”

“You’re leaving? To your Hange?”

“Hange is not my someone, I’m just leaving,” Levi grunted, turning off the light. “Go to sleep before I knock you all out.”

Thankfully, they listened and got on a bed without a word of complain.

“It’s good that your Hange found you,” Sasha mumbled, already sleepy. “Maybe, now you won’t be so sad anymore.”

Sasha seemed to fall asleep immediately after, not waiting for Levi’s answer. Or, perhaps, she wasn’t interested in it.

Soon Connie was out as well, and even Jean, after a few of tosses, turns and more than a dozen pained groans managed to settle in comfortably and fall into deep slumber.

Levi didn’t get so lucky, the thoughts about what tomorrow would bring swirling in his mind and keeping him awake.

But, well… at least his melancholy and homesickness wouldn’t be a problem anymore. After two months of being away, he was going home at last.

Strangely, the prospect didn’t seem that thrilling.

[forever-rogue]

Afterglow - Part 5

A/N: Thank you guys for the support on the last part, and your mutual hatred of Ch*d. He really is the worst...As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: None

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

We’ll always be together.

Everything will work out like it was supposed to.

We’re going to go away to California and we’ll start our new lives there.

Nothing will ever tear us apart.

We’ll get away from this town and they’ll never see us again.

I love you.

“Hello? Hello…” you were barely aware of the hand waving in front of your face as you stared out of the large window, watching the late night traffic of the city. You shook your head as you snapped back into reality and found Chad staring at you with an annoyed expression on his face. You set your fork down and pushed your plate away, having lost your appetite some time ago and growing tired of going through the motions of eating. Chad sighed heavily, grabbing the fine linen napkin off of his lap and tossing onto the table, “what’s going on with you lately, sugar plum?”

“Nothing,” you cringed at the nickname but tried to keep your face a true mask of neutrality as you pushed the memories of your youth with Frankie to the back of your mind. You don’t remember exactly when you’d zoned out during the conversation, but a teenage Frankie, one that had promised you the world as you laid in the back of his old beat up pickup and stargazed had occupied all of your thoughts. You sat back in your chair and sighed, dismissively crossing your arms over your chest, “it’s just been a long day and I’m tired…”

“You seem to be having a lot of days like that lately,” he shrugged with a sour expression as he reached for his glass of wine and drained the rest of the dark red liquid in one go. You didn’t want to fight, not again, as you seemed to be doing every day lately, but you also weren’t about to let yourself get walked all over.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you scoffed at him, flagging down a waiter and silently asking for the check. 

“You’ve been spacey, you’re always claiming to be tired, forgetting appointments, and you don’t seem to want to do anything with wedding planning,” he huffed at you. You were willing to coincide that much - he was right on the money. You’d been preoccupied with thoughts of your youth, your past that you’d thought you’d buried well enough, but had let them back in. They had become all consuming...and frankly, planning a wedding you were constantly arguing about wasn’t something that seemed particularly appealing, “what’s going on with you? Are you...are you pregnant?” 

You almost spit out the water you had been drinking, your mind quickly running a million miles an hour at the question. You weren’t….surely you weren’t. No, luckily you’d had your period about three weeks prior and it’d been even longer than that since you’d last sex. It wasn’t exactly a thrilling time lately. Just before you could open your mouth to say anything else and reassure him that you most definitely were not pregnant, he blathered on, “you can’t get pregnant before the wedding...you know how bad that would make us look? It’s only two more months, after that we can try and get it out of the way. But not before.”

You snorted, grabbing the little bit of wine you had left over and downed it, to prove your point that you weren’t pregnant. Get it out of the way, you could have laughed at the statement if it hadn’t been so shocking. You never thought you’d have had a child with a man who thought it was just something to get out of the way. Maybe you’d get lucky and never have a child with him...it would spare both of you. 

“I’m not pregnant,” you hissed at him, “and don’t worry, at the rate we’re having sex, I’ll never get pregnant anyways.”

“You can’t,” he lowered his voice and looked around to make sure no one had heard him, “you can’t just go around saying things like that!”

“What?” you asked as the waiter came over with the check. You took it and thanked him with a smile as sweet as honey, not even bothering to check the tab as you tossed one of your cards into the sleeve and set it back down. Chad normally always insisted that he pay, stuck in his old school thought process that men should be taking care of their wives and girlfriends, not the other way around, “I shouldn’t be saying the truth?”

“I’m not going to fight about this,” he insisted sharply, his eyes filled with nothing but malice, but his outward expression suggesting he was happy and content, “look, we have a lot to do before the wedding, and after tomorrow I’m going to be gone for three weeks-”

“For work,” you finished forward, trying to read his face to see if you could detect even the slightest flicker that he hadn’t been honest with you. He was a lot of things you weren’t a fan of, but you didn’t think he would ever cheat on you. If nothing else, the fear of getting caught and having his personal life and image blow up in his face was even to deter him. 

Sometimes though, as you laid next to him at night, unable to sleep, you wondered if he truly loved you, or he just liked the pretty picture you presented, and the name that you carried. You loved him, truly you had, at one point anyway, but now you were questioning if you still did. Rather, you loved him, and you never would wish him ill, he wasn’t a bad man in that sense, but were you in love with him? That was the question that you had been struggling with. You often wondered if you were just going through the motions to go through them, to mold yourself into the image that everyone had of you. Were you truly happy? You weren’t even sure anymore.

“Yes, for work,” he agreed, keeping his face calm. You often considered yourself a fair judge of character and you didn’t detect anything that suggested he was lying, “and there are a lot of things that need to be done and finalized while I’m gone for the wedding. How can I trust you to do that when you can’t even remember dinner with our families?”

“I’ve got everything in my calendar, with alarms and reminders,” you promised, “it’ll all be taken care of.”

“Including your dress fitting,” he reminded you, “that’s the most important thing. We can’t have you going down the aisle in an ill fitting dress.”

“It will all be done and taken care of,” you promised quietly, “there’s nothing to worry about. Whatever’s going on with me, I’ll pull myself out of it.”

“Good,” he responded, offering you the first smile you had seen that evening, “I just want everything to be perfect on our day.”

“Of course,” you signed the receipt that was dropped off, making sure to leave a generous tip, before sliding your card back in your purse. Chad stood up and waited for you, and the smallest bit of joy that had been sparked always started to disappear already. Autopilot was on and you were once again going through the motions.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“When’s the big day? You are going to make the most stunning bride,” the young girl that was assisting your dressmaker was looking at you with the softest, most awed expression you had ever seen. You couldn’t help but smile at her, remembering that when you were young you had always dreamed of a day like this. You turned back and studied your reflection in the large, golden and gilded mirror, admiring the dress. It was a beautiful gown, made just for you, of course, as no one would ever let you forget if you wore a predesigned stock dress. 

“About two months,” you said softly, watching as Imelda, the woman who had dreamed up the dress from scratch after first meeting you, came back with a veil. The veil itself was just as gorgeous as the dress, also created by hand, stitch by grueling stitch. You stepped down from the small pedestal and let her place it on the crown of your head as you blended magnificently with the dress. 

“A fall wedding,” she sighed dreamily, “if I ever meet the one and get married, that’s what I’d want too. I think it’s the perfect time of the year, and so romantic.”

“It’s...it’s something,” you found yourself at a loss for words as you turned back to your reflection, finding the look complete with the headpiece. Every single inch was stunning, highlighting all your favorite parts of yourself. It was a dress borne of love, and made you look more like a princess than a woman who wasn’t even sure anymore if she wanted to get married.  Every day that had passed since Chad had left for his work trip about two weeks ago had been agonizing as you tried to figure out what you really wanted. Did you really want to get married to him? 

“I bet it will be so magical,” the young girl sighed wistfully. It took you back for a moment how much she reminded you of yourself, “how did your fiancé propose? Your ring is gorgeous too. I bet you’re both so beautiful together!”

"He's a very handsome man," you admitted, knowing that most women would fall to their knees for a chance at a man like Chad. He wasn't the type that you had been drawn to when you were younger, but he was still easy on the eyes. He had that soft, typical all American boy sort of look to him, tall, lithe with the blonde hair and blue eyes that women often found so dreamy.  It just wasn't...what you had envisioned when you were younger, "and smart, he's an attorney, and just...yeah. A good man."

For the right person he might even have been perfect. You wondered how things would be different if you were the perfect match for him.

"You'll have gorgeous babies," the girl brought forth a tray of jewelry for you to examine and pick through to find the perfect match for your dress. Imelda softly tutted at the girl, suggesting a pair of brilliant diamond earrings for you to try.

"Maybe," you decided to dodge that bullet and grabbed the studs, popping them into your ears to see how they went with the dress and veil.

"But the proposal - what was it like? I bet it was so dreamy..."

"It was simple," you admitted. It was simple compared to others you had witnessed, but still more over the top than you had needed or had desired. He'd waited until you were at an outing that you swore consisted of everyone you had ever known. There was no doubt in your mind that he had done it to make himself look good and show off the huge ring that now sat on your hand. It was almost too big for your taste and you'd often thought about trying to get something more subtle. But you hadn't wanted to argue over it, so you just accepted it, "it was at a dinner with our family and friends. A little lowkey, but he did it over champagne and dessert."

"That's perfect," she sighed wistfully, "I hope that if I ever get engaged, my future girlfriend does something like that, or I can do if for her."

"I hope you too," you promised her with a fond smile, "you deserve the world too and the engagement and wedding you dream of."

"Hopefully I'll look as pretty as you," she smooth parts of your dress down as she looked you over, "hopefully Auntie Imelly will make me a dress just as pretty."

"You already know I've got everything planned for you," Imelda promised her niece, "you just have to wait until you find the perfect girl and the time is right. I want nothing but the best for you, and I won't see settling for just anyone."

"Never," the girl nodded at her aunt.

"But now," she turned back to you and held out a stunning tennis bracelet, "what about you? Do you like everything or should we make any more changes to the veil or dress?"

You took a long while to study the woman staring back at you in the mirror. She was beautiful, that much was easy to see, dressed in the most stunning wedding gown and jewelry. Everything about her was breathing taking, but there wasn't even a trace of a smile on her face, no light or life in her eyes. 

"No," you whispered softly, running your fingers gently over the delicate lace of your the veil. You knew it must have taken Imelda hours and hours of hard work and care to make perfect it, "everything is stunning. This is...it's beautiful, every last stitch. Its an honor to be wearing this dress right now."

"Perfect," she beamed at you, "then we'll get it all put and stored safely until your big day. I'll of course bring it to that morning and make sure its perfect for you."

"But I can't...I can't take it," you said and the room grew so quiet you could hear a pin drop, "I can't accept this beautiful dress, this veil, any of it."

"What do you mean? I created this just for you..."

"I know," you said as you stated to peel off the jewelry and placed it show back in the soft, velvet case, "and I will pay you double what you originally quoted for it. I want you to keep it and give it to someone you deem worthy. Someone that desires to wear something so beautiful, someone that is marrying the love of their lives. I'll even pay for any future alterations, but I can't...I can't do this."

"What do you mean?" Imelda's face wen through a range of various emotions as she hastily helped you to pull off the veil.

"I can't get married," you stated, finally saying out loud the words that had been plaguing you for some time now. You couldn't do it. You weren't going to subject yourself to a marriage you didn't want with a man who wasn't the love of your life, "I'm not going through with this. I can't...no. I'll never be happy with if I do."

The young girl brought your clothes back for you as you started to strip off the dress, not caring in the slightest about any propriety anymore. 

"Listen, sweet girl," you told her as she pulled the dress off of you, almost buckling under the sheer weight of it until you helped her, "never ever settle for anyone. Wait until the right person comes along...maybe it'll take ages, but you'll be happier. Don't make the mistake I almost did."

You pulled on your jeans and t-shirt, casual clothes that Chad would likely have abhorred, and turned back to Imelda, "I am so, so sorry to do this to you. All the hard work and time..."

"I'm just glad you kept yourself from making a huge mistake," she whispered as she pulled you into a hug, "that's the important thing of all. The dress will find the right home, and one day your heart will as well."

"Thank you," you said softly, feeling the wave of emotions that you'd been suppressing for so long wash over you. For a therapist, one who told her patients to express themselves however they needed to, you'd grown too comfortable with settling and being content, but not truly happy. Something was bound to break at some point and this just happened to be the straw they broke the camel's back.

"Thank you," you brushed away a few tears, finding more comfort in her touch and kind words than you had in anyone else in a long time, "truly, thank you. And please, send me the bill. Whatever you want, I'll pay it."

"Of course," she gently wiped your tears away, her niece giving you a small wave as you turned to leave the shop.

As soon as you stepped foot into the busy street, reality came crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. This was going to change everything, emotions would be all over the place, and dealing with two controlling families would be an ordeal within itself. But regardless, you felt lighter and happier than you had in a long, long time. Nothing else mattered right now. The only thing you were focused on was the little bit of light that had crawled back into your heart. It wasn't an easy decision to make, but you knew it was the best one - the right one. It had been a long, long time since you'd been able to say that about anything...

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you stepped foot into your apartment, you threw off your coat, snatched your phone out of your purse and tossed it onto the floor. Quickly searching for Chad's contact, you paused for just a moment to let out a long breath before dialing his number. 

You stormed into the bedroom and ducked into the closet, pulling out a suitcase while you listening and anticipated him picking up any moment. Your heart was beating like mad, threatening to burst out of your ribcage as you hastily tossed whatever clothes you into the large suitcase. It was a haphazard disaster, but you didn't care.

"Hello?" He finally answered after several long rings, sounding somewhere between surprised and annoyed, "what's wrong sugar plum?"

"I'm leaving," you blurted out before you could think about how to word anything or form a coherent sentence.

"What? Leaving where? What are you talking about?" he hissed under his breath, as you heard him walk to the door, shut it and work it, "what's  going on?"

"I'm leaving you," you finished throwing the clothes that were easily accessible and jammed into the bathroom to grab your things from there, "I can't do this. I'm not marrying you, Chad. We're over."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he must have heard you frantically scurrying around, as his voice had a shake to it, "what on earth are you talking about? You're not thinking clearly!"

"No," you said firmly, "I'm thinking clearly for the first time in a long time. This has been something that I've been thinking about for a long time. Chad, you and I...we're not meant to be." 

"You were supposed to finalize your wedding dress today," he hissed under his breath, clearly not realizing what you had said. Or if he had, he has pointedly chosen to ignore everything you were saying. Typical. And one of the prime reasons you were ready to be done with him and move on. You could couldn't imagine a lifetime of this - you'd never be happy again. You held the phone away from your ear for a moment and let out a long groan, "have you been drinking?"

"What?!" a look of annoyed disgust your features as you rolled your eyes at him, "no, of course I haven't. This is exactly what I mean, Chad. You just get so like...this and I'm tired of dealing with it. Are you even happy?"

"It doesn't matter if I'm happy," he huffed. Of course it didn't...that’s exactly why your relationship had been doomed for a long time. Status, money, image was everything to him. That had never been your wants and goals life - that was how you'd always been different from your family. You just wanted to be happy, nothing else mattered. That's why you had dreamed of moving to California and starting a life there with Frankie, "that's not what this is about."

"Of course it is," you insisted softly, "that's what...that's what matters in life, Chad. Life isn't about money and status and what others think of you. Its about being happy, love, being kind..."

"What are you on about? What kind of delusions have been put into your head?" his words were cruel and you couldn't deny the fact that they stung. This was everything you had rebelled against when you were younger, everything you never wanted to he. But here you were...someone you couldn't even stand, "your parents wouldn't stand to hear you talk like this."

"Yeah," you agreed quietly, "that's exactly why I need to do this. I never wanted to be like them...I don't want to be anything like this. I don't care about it. I just want to be with someone I love and to be happy."

"You're setting yourself up for failure-"

"Maybe so," you agreed quietly, "but that's a risk I'm willing to take. It's better to try than just to accept a life without happiness."

"Look," he sighed, deep, weary sound, and you could just picture him sitting there in frustration, "we can talk about all of this when I get back. Its a few more days...maybe you'll be thinking more clearly by then. Just make sure get your dress and have everything figured out. We can't afford to get behind."

"No," it was a firm, resolute statement. Part of you was shocked that he wasn't understanding or getting into his thick skull that you were being serious. Then again, part of you was not surprised.

"No?"

"You don't get it, Chad," you cradled your phone between your ear and shoulder before pulling off your over the top engagement ring and slamming it on the dresser, "when you come back, I won't be here. I'm not kidding, this isn't some sort of game. I'm done - we are done. I'm leaving and I'm not coming back."

"You can't just leave!" a little bit of panic had crept into his voice as he slowly came to the realization that you were serious - dead serious, "what are you going to do? Where will you go?"

"I can just leave and I will," you insisted, "this has been over for some time, Chad. We both know it. I'm taking my things and leaving everything else. The ring is on the dresser. The apartment is yours anyway, keep it. Keep it all. I don't want a thing. I’ll figure the rest out on my own.”

“If you walk out that door and if you’re not there when I get back, this is over forever,” it almost sounded like he was trying to give you an ultimatum, but it just caused you to laugh lightly. Everything about this situation was life changing - you were breaking away from your life’s charted trajectory, but it felt like the right thing to do. The girl you were when you were growing up would have when horrified to see what you had become. But she was slowly clawing her way out and coming back to life, just how she should have been, how she should have always been. 

“That’s the plan, Chad,” you sighed softly. You weren’t sure if he was ever going to get, or if he would only understand when he realized that you weren’t there. Maybe he had to experience the full reality of everything before he accepted it. You sat down on the edge of the bed, realizing that this was the last time you’d ever be here, “look, I’m sorry for not doing this sooner or expressing how I felt. I-I’ve tried but you always shut me down. I know this changes everything for both of us, but it’s the right thing to do. You’re not a bad man, Chad, but you’re just not the one for me. I don’t wish you anything but happiness, truly, but it’s just not with me.”

“People will talk, no one will ever have you back-”

“Yeah, and I’m okay with that,” you admitted, “those people? They never cared about me, none of them care about anything but themselves. I’m okay without them in my life. The people that matter will stay and they won’t care.”

“Sugar plum-”

“Don’t,” you cringed at the nickname, “don’t call me that, I hate it. I’ve always told you I hate it...and yet you never listened. I should have known, I should have tried harder to let you know. We should have talked more - you should have listened and I should have tried harder. This mess could have been avoided a long time ago.”

“You’re a therapist and couldn’t figure this out,” he scoffed and you could tell he was trying to go for a low blow. He was mad so he was going to try and fight dirty, “must not be a very good one then. What do they even pay you for?”

“I didn’t think you’d resort to saying something like that,” you stood back up and finished stuffing things into your suitcase, making up your mind to try and leave as quickly as possible, “but you know, I am good at my job and I try and help people. Just because I don’t always take my own advice, doesn’t mean it’s wrong. See, that’s why we would have never worked out - you’re so quick to anger and we’re never once had a rational discussion when you get like this. I mean, this wedding, everything that’s when going on has been for you and what you think people want. I’m not...I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t who I am, it never used to be. I need to be the person I truly am again.”

“You are making a huge mistake,” his declaration was enough to make you laugh as he desperately tried to do anything to make you feel small and to stay. If you believed that you needed him maybe you would stay. The sad thing was that he wasn’t even so concerned about you, or the fact that he loved you, it was all about how this would look to other people. Pathetic. 

“No,” you disagreed, “and even if I was, I guess I’ll learn my lesson the hard way. I’m okay with that. Listen...I’ll take care of cancelling everything for the wedding and telling my parents. You can tell everyone else, blame me, make yourself look good. I’ll have all the money refunded to you, I don’t care about it, I just don’t.”

“You’re really doing this, huh?” he laughed; it was a bitter, stunted sound. You finished throwing your clothes and few items from the bathroom into the suitcase and were in the process of zipping it shut. You already felt so much freer, so much lighter. 

“I am,” you acknowledged, grabbing your things and heading for the door, “this is goodbye, Chad. If it means anything at all, I am sorry for how this came about, but I’m not sorry for doing it. This is the right thing to do….even if it doesn’t feel like it now. In the future you’ll realize it too.”

A few beats of silence passed between the two of you, and just when you thought he was going to say something, the sound cut out and the call ended. You groaned lightly as pulled the phone away from your ear, tapping the corner of it against your head a few times. After all this time, this was how things were going to end? You knew he’d be mad, but you didn’t think it would be like this…

Figuring that while you were already in the middle of dealing with everything and that lovely response you had might as well call your parents and get that over with at the same time. How much else could go wrong? If you were going to be disowned, than you might as well find out now.  Scrolling through your contacts, you quickly found your parent’s house number, dialing and quietly wishing that neither of them would answer. Maybe they would be too busy running around -

“Hello?” your mother sounded cheerful as ever, and while you didn’t always see eye to eye with her on everything, you still cared deeply about her. You considered hanging up, but decided against it, figuring it was time  to get this done and over with.

“Hi Mom,” you said softly as she grew excited to hear from you. She startled rattling on, not even letting you get a word in edgewise as she went on and on about your wedding, “Mom, stop.”

“What do you mean?” she asked suddenly, taken aback by your little sharp comment, “this is your wedding we’re talking about it, honey, it’s going to be here before you know it.”

“That’s the thing...that’s why I’m calling-”

“You got your dress finalized today, right? I can’t wait to see it, I know you wanted it to be a surprise for everyone, but I wished I could have been there…” you could tell she was getting emotional, but it caused a light pang in your heart. It was never going to change your mind, of course, but still gave you a moment of pause, “tell me, honey, do you love the dress?”

“There’s no...no dress,” your voice was soft as a gasp came from the other end, “because there’s not going to be a wedding.”

“W-what?” she asked, fumbling on some words as she tried to wrap her head around what you were saying. No wedding? Surely you must have been pulling her leg. Your wedding was the talk of the town, everyone knew about it…”what do you mean there’s not going to be a wedding? Of course there...it’s in two months…”

“No,” you repeated again, “there’s not. It’s not happening. I told Chad, I’m leaving, I can’t go through with this. I don’t love him, Mom, not like that. I cannot marry a man that I do not love.”

“You already told him? You’re going to call this whole thing off?” she was getting hysterical and you immediately regretted telling her. Well...she was going to find out one way or another...at least this way she was getting it directly from you, “just like that? What’s going on with you?”

“Yes, just like that...but honestly, it’s been a long time coming,” you dragged your suitcases to the door and took one last look around the place, giving it one last look over, “it’s...I wasn’t happy, not for a long time. And it’s my fault for not dealing with it sooner, but I couldn’t go through with this. I’m not going to subject myself and him for a life of unhappiness.” 

“But what about-”

“None of that matters,” you promised, “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I just want to be happy and if I ever marry anyone, I want to be in love. Maybe that will never happen, but that’s better than a lifetime of going through the motions.”

“But Chad is...he’s perfect…” rolling your eyes, you tossed your eyes onto the counter and took off the apartment keys, laying them on the table for Chad, “the two of you…”

“Look great together? Would have 2.5 wonderful looking children? A dog with a big house and white picket fence?” you finished for her, “I know that’s what everyone says and thinks. But it’s so much more than that. Chad is not a bad man, and I know that, he’s good and he’ll be great for the right person, that person just isn’t me. I don’t care about anything else...I want to be happy, and right now, I know it will hurt him, but eventually he’ll be happy too.”

“Are you sure about this?” she sounded resigned already, knowing that it wasn’t worth it to argue with you. You always had a stubborn streak when you were young, and that had never changed.

“I am, Mom. I just...I want to be happy, truly happy, and if I had gone through with everything, it would never have happened,” you explained, “isn’t that important too? Does my happiness mean so little to everyone?”

“Your happiness is important, sweetheart,” she said softly. You could tell this was crushing her spirits and that no less than a million things were running through her mind, she always was the analytical type, stemming from her many years as an attorney. But at least she was trying; trying to understand your thoughts and respect them, even if it was hard for her, “are you positive that this is what you want?”

“I am,” you felt sure and confident in yourself as you headed for the door, propping it open and dragging your suitcases into the hallway, “this is the thing I’ve been more sure about lately than anything else.” 

“Well,” she cleared her throat, “then that’s what matters. You do deserve happiness, my love. What are you going to do now?”

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” you admitted, “I’ll figure that out as I go...which I guess is now.”

“Your father and I are here if you need us,” she promised, surprising in a way because you were sure that you would be subjected to her wrath, “we do love you, you know, despite how it may seem sometimes.”

“I know, “ you closed the door slowly, listening to it shut with a soft click, bringing about a bit of finality to the life you were leaving behind, “I appreciate that. Right now, I just need to figure a few things out.”

“Call us if you need anything,” she insisted, and you took a deep breath before nodding.

“I will,” you promised softly, ending the call and tossing your phone into your pocket. At least that was done. Now you just had to figure everything else out. 

Everything else suddenly seemed unbelievably daunting. You’d gone through periods before where everything you had known fell completely apart. You’d gotten through it then and you would again. 

You had been broken and forced to pick up each tiny piece of yourself before. You’d do again and again and again if you had to. At least this gave you a chance at happiness.

This was just the first page of a new chapter. You can do this, you kept repeating to yourself as you started to walk away, you can do this.

On the outskirts of town, in the small, quaint house he called home, Frankie startled awake, out of his midafternoon nap. He looked around to see what the cause for the sudden wake up was, but could find nothing. He sighed as he sat up and rubbed his tired eyes, his heart panging with an odd, pulling sensation. 

He wasn’t quite sure what it was...but it was something. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

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