#who had hated jfk too

[strryhaze]

Funnily enough JFK reminds me of more of Princess DIana.....in terms of popularity with people.

in terms of popularity with people well yes!

idk if you’ve seen that one video of a lady fainting as jfk’s car passed her by 😭😭 iconic

[gilfrespecter]

Listening to coinstar by the growlers and thinking about mel so hard I get nauseous

Ridiculous stream of conscious in the tags apologies but not really

[egcdeath]

off the beaten path

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: what could go wrong with a non-refundable honeymoon and a broken engagement?

warnings: MATURE (mentions of sex but no sex scenes), exes to lovers, idiots to lovers angst, fluff, there was only one bed MULTIPLE times, jealousy!! (like a lot), slow burn, no use of y/n, so much use of the word fuck, a little toxicity, some facts about landmarks are inaccurate for the plot, lots of arguing and making up, miscommunication, seasickness, patrick & reader kinda have no social awareness, a lot of hotels and buses, alcohol, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

word count: 18.4k

author’s note: this was so much longer than i expected it to be, but i loved writing it so so much and i'm gonna be sad to see this pairing go! also, a special thank you to the tour website whose itinerary i used for their trip. i hope you enjoy!

JFK AIRPORT

You scrolled endlessly on your phone as you sat at your gate, trying your hardest to fight off the combination of sleepiness and anxiety that had been slowly creeping up on you for the past hour.  

You should be happy—excited to spend the next month of your life traveling throughout Europe on the trip that you had dreamt about since you were a child. Instead, you were filled with dread at the prospect of your quickly approaching trip, leaving your leg bouncing and your eyes flitting between the device in your hands and the entrance of the gate, anxiously anticipating the arrival of a man that you really really did not want to see. 

Once it was announced that first class was boarding, you quickly hopped out of your uncomfortable seat, hoping that if you boarded quick enough, you might be able to miss your unwanted companion. As you stood in line, you tried your best to be casual about your endlessly swiveling head and wondered if it was too late to simply call the whole thing off. 

Boarding had gone smoothly enough, and as you settled into your seat, you still hadn’t seen any sign of your former fiancé. For a second, a spark of hope lit up in you. Maybe you’d get to experience Europe without that pest in your ear after all. Maybe you could even arrange a friend to come fly out and be with you for a few days, or find someone to have a romantic summer fling with. 

But just as soon as your hope arrived, it departed with the sound of a familiar voice walking down the aisle and directly towards you.

“They wouldn’t let me switch my seat.”

You couldn’t believe that those were the choice of words the man you’d intended to spend the rest of your life with had decided to start with. After months of radio silence. No apologies, no awkward small talk, no sugar-coated words about your situation, just a complaint about the conditions the two of you would be in for the next eight hours. Classic Patrick. 

“That’s too bad,” you replied, already annoyed by his presence. You had underestimated how much of a challenge this trip was going to be, solely based on the speed at which your negative feelings had come to the surface. 

“Yeah, no shit,” he muttered under his own breath, putting some luggage into the overhead bin above your seats. 

“You’re the one who insisted we still go,” you argued, not wanting him to get the last word—even if his last words were meant to be a snarky comment to himself more than anything else. 

“The hotels, tours, and all the other tickets were non-refundable!” he argued right back to you. 

“So?” you shot back like a petulant child. 

“So I didn’t want to waste your money.”

“Oh, how considerate,” you scoffed sarcastically before beginning once more. “You’re rich! You don’t even have to be here!” 

“Just because my family is comfortable doesn’t mean I want to waste my money.”

You openly rolled your eyes at his words. Comfortable was the understatement of the century. “So you didn’t actually want to waste my money. You didn’t want to waste your own.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he asked, sounding exasperated by your line of thinking. You hated when he did that. You kind of hated most things he did now. Maybe you just hated him. 

“I never said it can’t be both, I just think you should stop trying to act like you’re so charitable for doing me a favor. As if our relationship wasn’t filled with me doing you favors.”

“Do you really want to be having this conversation right now?” he asked. 

“Sorry, you’re right. We have the next thirty-five days to talk about it.”

The two of you sighed in a synchronized breath at the mention of the amount of time you had to spend together. You hated that the two of you were still in rhythm after everything you’d been through. Or maybe you just hated Patrick. 

“Who plans a thirty-five day honeymoon anyway?” he huffed. 

“Us, apparently. I mean, you were all for it, what? A few months ago?”

“Only because you wanted it.

“Oh, how could I forget. The ever-charitable Patrick Zweig. Taking a month-long break from hitting balls to be with me. I’m forever in your debt,” you mocked with a dramatic hand to your forehead. “At this rate, you’re gonna send me a list of all of the nice things you’ve ever done for me. What do you want me to say? Thank you for doing the bare minimum as a boyfriend?”

“Fiancé,” he corrected you, earning a very nasty side eye from you in the process of doing so. 

You were beginning to get dirty looks from your fellow first class passengers, which temporarily shut the both of you up. It was never a good idea to piss off people on a plane. You didn’t want to end up on the no-fly list just because you couldn’t bite your tongue around your ex. 

“Remember when you said we could still be friends after this?” Patrick spoke once more after your moment of silence. 

“Of course I remember, but you stopped that from happening when you…” your voice trailed off as you made eye contact with a very displeased looking middle aged woman “Whatever. Let’s just… try to get through this flight. And try not to make any more of a scene.”

“Fine,” he replied, shrugging in your peripheral vision. 

“Fine,” you said back, not wanting him to have the last word.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you think you win every argument just because you said the last thing.”

“I’m not doing that,” you lied. “You think you know me so well.”

A familiar agitated smile broke out on his face, something that you unfortunately missed seeing. “I do know you well, though. I see right through you.”

“You actually don’t, though.”

“I do,” he insisted, the smirk creeping onto his face telling you that he knew you were actively proving his point. 

“Not really,” you dismissed and attempted to casually pull the headphones that were currently sitting on your neck up to cover your ears. You were always grateful to have noise-canceling headphones when you were traveling, but they were coming particularly in handy for you to win this argument. You tried to hide your self-satisfied smirk as you pressed play on your phone, but you could instantly tell that you were failing. 

When you looked back up, Patrick was clearly saying words to you that you weren’t able to hear. Knowing him, he was probably saying something along the lines of, “Real mature.” 

The truth was that he wanted the last word more than you did–which made it particularly rewarding when you gestured to your headphones before throwing your hands out in a shrug to indicate to him that you couldn’t hear him.

Your vacation was already off to a chaotic start. You couldn’t help but fear what the next thirty-five days would be like. 

BARCELONA, SPAIN

Despite the flight only being eight hours long, you were absolutely exhausted by the time that you checked into your hotel room. So exhausted that you failed to remember to request to switch rooms to one with two beds rather than one.

This predicament only came to the forefront of your mind once you and Patrick had already swiped into the room, suitcases lying on the floor and one king-sized mattress presented in front of you. 

“Should I go back down to the front desk?” he asked as he looked from you to the bed. 

“I’m too tired to get a new room,” you replied. You could handle one night next to your ex. You’d slept in a bed together for years. Granted, during those years you were also sleeping together, but this wasn’t all that different. 

“Fine. Don’t complain if I hog blankets, then.”

“Fine,” you replied. “Just stay on your side of the bed.”

You shucked your backpack from your shoulders and walked over to what was typically the side of the bed where you slept when the two of you had been a couple. Not wasting any time to get ready for bed, you began to take off your clothes and search for your pajamas. Once you glanced over your shoulder, you were quite displeased to find Patrick rather openly ogling at you. 

“Stop looking at me,” you demanded.

“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He said with a smirk. 

“You’re such a creep,” you muttered, throwing on an old shirt and crawling into bed. 

As you laid in bed and texted your friends and family that you’d arrived at your hotel safely, you took a peek of your own at your former partner as he got ready for bed. He seemed to be going with his classic bedtime attire of just boxers. Bold move. 

Your eyes were momentarily stuck on his abs and enticing happy trail. You’d planned your trip during Patrick’s off season while he was training for his upcoming season, so you were pleasantly unsurprised that he was in such good shape. Your breath caught for a second as you thought about the rest of him, and you desperately tried to repress the low, fiery feeling rising in your stomach. 

“And I’m the creep?” he asked with a laugh, pulling you away from your objectification as he got into bed next to you. 

“Yeah,” you replied, as if you hadn’t just given him the same treatment he’d given you. 

“Well… like what you see?”

You scoffed at his audacity, though you did like what you saw. “I’m not fucking you. Goodnight.”

You hit the light on your nightstand and you swore you heard a quiet sound of disappointment come from Patrick. Bastard.

You turned your back to him and closed your eyes, finding that sleep took you under surprisingly easily.

When you woke up in the morning, you were greeted by a far too familiar feeling. Despite your request for Patrick to stay on his side of the bed, the slow, steady breaths being breathed into your ear and the solid wall of body behind you indicated that he had not only traveled into your space over the course of the night, but was actively spooning you. 

You were shocked to find that you didn’t necessarily mind it. Yes, you were mad at Patrick for everything that had gone down between you, and because he was such a pain in the ass, but you also hadn’t realized just how much you missed being held. Particularly, how much you missed being held by him. 

The more alert you became, the more you realized that you couldn’t really move. Despite that, you found that you didn’t really want to move. Sure, you were beginning to get uncomfortably hot, and yes, you could feel Patrick’s morning wood pressing against your ass, but none of it was particularly unpleasant. 

Part of you wondered if your trip would go differently than you expected. Regardless of how you acted towards one another, you clearly both missed each other. 

Your shrill phone alarm suddenly went off, startling Patrick awake behind you. 

“Mmm, fuck, sorry,” he sleepily slurred as he rolled away from you. You turned over to look at his tired face, eyes still lidded and speckled face looking far softer than you remembered. 

Out of the blue, he opened his eyes, catching you in the act of looking at him with barely-concealed affection. Before he could make some sort of snarky comment, he shot out of bed, adjusted his boxers, and made an urgent beeline towards the bathroom. All of which would’ve been far funnier if his actions hadn’t been disrupted by the loud message ping of his cellphone. 

You weighed out your options. You were curious about what was waiting for him on his phone, but you weren’t sure that you’d have time to properly snoop. As if the universe was listening to your thoughts, the sound of the shower began, telling you that you had all the time that you needed to do some adequate investigation. 

You wondered who was texting Patrick so early in the morning. Knowing him, it was probably his mother, checking in to make sure he made it to his destination safely. You were sure that whatever message she left would also be inquiring about you. She’d always had a bit of a soft spot for you, especially compared to some of the other people that Patrick had brought home. That, of course, was an observation shared to you from Patrick, so you couldn’t be sure how much of it was flattery compared to truth. 

Regardless, her fondness for you had carried into the end of your relationship, with her occasionally messaging or calling you to make sure that you were still doing well, and more importantly, to check in on the status of your relationship. 

Much like you and your friends, she’d been holding out hope that your relationship may repair itself. With you and Patrick being as passionate as the two of you were, you were no strangers to seemingly serious arguments that resolved themselves in a matter of days. While calling off a wedding was far more drastic than any of your other disputes had been, after being together for years, it was hard to imagine a world where the two of you weren’t a couple. 

But his call never came. You didn’t hear an apology or explanation or even an excuse from Patrick—just a suggestion of when you should pick up the items you’d left at his place.

You hated to admit it, but there was a naïve part of you that was still holding out hope that this trip would be exactly what you needed to reconcile. And maybe that naïeve part of you was less delusional than you might’ve originally thought. Surely cuddling into the morning and Patrick’s poorly hidden morning wood were signs that this vacation was already going in the right direction. Maybe being in such close proximity was exactly the push you needed to get your relationship back on track. 

After a halfhearted internal debate, you grabbed his phone from the night stand on his side of the bed. Attempting the passcode he’d been using while you were together—the digits of your birthday—you were pleased to find that the password hadn’t changed and that you were granted access into his phone. What you weren’t expecting to see was Tinder on the homepage of his cracked device. 

You paused for a moment and attempted to reason with yourself. Your former fiancé probably didn’t even use the app. He’d likely been pressured by his rebound-obsessed friends to download it, and hadn’t even opened the app since setting up his profile. Besides, you didn’t get on his phone to see what new apps he’d downloaded, you were snooping to see what his mom had to say about you. 

When you opened his messages app, your mouth promptly fell open in shock. Patrick had always been loyal to you—at least to your knowledge—while the two of you were together. Seeing him be so openly flirtatious and suggestive with an attractive woman that you hadn’t ever heard of was more than jarring. 

Your stomach churned as you scrolled through the conversation, flirty messages and images from both sides that left little to the imagination disturbing you in a way that you hadn’t ever realized was possible. 

In the midst of your distraught state, you nearly missed the background noise of the shower coming to a halt, informing you that your time snooping had come to an end. 

You set his phone back down where you’d found it and desperately tried to push down the bile in your throat that was tasting more and more like jealousy and anger by the second. 

You knew it was irrational for you to be feeling this way, considering that the two of you had been broken up for a few months. Nothing legally or morally tied the two of you together anymore, but that didn’t make you feel any less unsettled by what you’d just seen. 

It was just that… you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to fully move on from Patrick. He’d been part of your life for so long, and the way things ended had been so abrupt that it almost didn’t feel real. Even if you did move on, it was going to take you more than three months to do so. It wasn’t fair that Patrick’s name seemed to pop up every week in your therapy sessions, while he was sending pictures of himself in gray sweatpants to random hot women. 

You wanted to shrink into the mattress and never come back up. You wanted to yell at Patrick the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. You wanted to turn on your side and wail dramatically, at least until all of your big feelings felt a little smaller. 

But you were in Europe on vacation. You were on vacation, damnit, and you weren’t going to let one mildly disturbing text thread ruin your entire experience. Better yet, if Patrick was already moving on, there was no reason that you shouldn’t do the same.

You told yourself this as you rolled out of bed and dug in your suitcase, pulling out a sundress that had driven Patrick wild in the past. While you may have packed it with less than realistic expectations, your goal was far more grounded now. 

Both of you could play this game. 

You stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed after a shower of your own and instantly registered the almost cartoonish look he was giving you. You guessed that some things never changed, even when the two of you had decided to actively pursue other people. 

“The tour guide said to meet in the lobby soon, so I’m gonna head down,” you explained, not giving him a second look as you began to search for your purse. 

“The tour doesn’t start for another half hour?” he replied, sitting up from where he was laying on the bed. 

“Well I wanna socialize with the people we’re gonna be traveling through Europe with,” you said a little snappily, still a little perturbed about what you’d found on his phone earlier. You conveniently left out the fact that you wanted to scope out any potential summer flings. 

“I’ll come with you,” he insisted.

“You really don’t have to. Remember, this isn’t actually a honeymoon,” you slipped on some comfortable shoes and headed to the door. “I’ll see you around.”

You were probably being far more rude than you really needed to be, but your anger had only intensified as you showered and put on makeup. At this point, you were fully pissed—even if you didn’t have the right to be. 

You made small talk with the people you met in the lobby as they began to filter into the room, and tried your absolute best to dispel the anger that was flowing through your veins. That proved harder than you anticipated, as Patrick was one of the last people to join you all in the lobby, and for the life of you, you couldn’t stop imagining him sitting in your shared hotel room and sexting his mystery girl. 

Luckily, you couldn’t dwell on that ugly thought for too long, as your tour began soon after. Your friendly guide took your group around the city, explaining rather riveting information about the landmarks you visited and the city itself.

After being dismissed for a quick break, you found yourself sitting on a bench and chatting with a man in your group. He wasn’t really your type, but he was extremely conventionally attractive, and from the peripheral glances you caught of Patrick, you could tell that he wasn’t exactly pleased with what was going on.

While making him jealous, or annoyed, or whatever it was that he was feeling, wasn’t your expressed goal, it did feel nice to give him a taste of his own medicine. What felt less nice was glancing over and catching him typing on his phone furiously. You could only imagine whose boobs were on the other end of the line. 

Reacting out of a bit of desperation and frustration, you began to play things up. You leaned over more to show off more cleavage, laughed a little harder at jokes that weren’t all that funny, and set a scandalous hand on his arm. You were determined to have that vacation fling now, and you were going to get it by any means necessary. 

You laid it on thick for the rest of the afternoon, sitting next to him during lunch and flirting casually with him as your group walked through Park Güell. 

You wondered if he noticed you throwing glances in Patrick’s direction after every interaction. You hoped that he didn’t. 

It felt good to be getting even with Patrick—but not as good as you expected it to feel. The realization sunk in as a portion of your group visited a bar that was apparently very popular with the locals. Or at least, that’s what a very handsome man purred into your ear after sitting down next to you at the bar.

You’d been keeping an eye on Patrick as he socialized with a couple that he’d been talking to for the majority of your day, but you almost instantly lost track of him as you became consumed with this handsome stranger. 

Everything happened in a bit of a blur—one moment you’d been nursing a Marianito, and the next you were holding the hand of a man whose name you couldn’t remember as he led you to his apartment. 

By the time you’d left his apartment, you were nothing short of a mess. You were pretty sure that the only way you could’ve been more obvious about what had just happened to you was if you had the words “JUST HAD SEX” written across your forehead—and with the way the people in your hotel elevator were looking at you, you couldn’t be completely sure that those words weren’t on your face. 

You made it back to your room safely, quietly opening the door and doing your best not to make too much noise, since at this hour, Patrick was surely asleep. 

It did feel weird to be going back to his bed less than an hour after you’d been with another man, but you couldn’t necessarily say you felt bad. Patrick had started it, and you simply finished it off. If he didn’t have any issues with seeing other people, there was no reason for you to have an issue with it either. 

Your efforts to be quiet had proved themselves to be for naught, as Patrick was very clearly wide awake, sitting up in bed and already looking at you disapprovingly. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you to speak, rather than ignoring his presence and heading straight to the shower, but your mouth was open before you could stop yourself. 

“Were you just gonna wait here until I got back, like I’m a kid who just snuck out or something?” you asked in disbelief, partially annoyed because of his action, but more ashamed to have been caught in such a state. It couldn’t have been more obvious to Patrick what you’d just done, considering that he’d seen you in a similar state hundreds of times. 

“Baby, we are on a whole different, unfamiliar continent,” his tone was condescending and cold and it made you want to crawl out of your skin. “Why wouldn’t I wait to make sure you got back safely?”

“Don’t call me pet names. And I would’ve been fine. We were just at the bar,” you lied. Going to the apartment of a random man you just met probably wasn’t your brightest idea, but you made it out alive, and that was what mattered. 

“Huh. The bar?” he smirked at you in a way that screamed that he was pissed, without really having to say a word. 

“Yes, I- what does it matter to you anyway?” you hoped that the question would be enough to get you out of the situation. If you were going to argue, you at least wanted to argue after you were showered and in pajamas.

“What does it matter to me if you fucked someone else?” he asked, sounding like he was in complete disbelief. 

“Yeah, Patrick. Why does it matter if I fucked someone else? We’re not together anymore. Did you forget? I mean, it seemed pretty obvious to you when you stopped speaking to me completely a few months ago.”

“Please, enlighten me. What did I have to speak to you about?” 

“I don’t know! Maybe an ‘are you okay?’ would’ve been nice. Or something. Anything, really. We were together for six fucking years and you just dropped me like I was dirt!”

“I…” he trailed off, catching you by surprise. He almost always had a quick clever response that managed to piss you off in a way no one else ever could, so seeing him not knowing what to say next caught you off guard. “If our relationship meant that much to you, why were you all over that guy? I mean, seriously. I’ve never seen anything so desperate. You were practically rubbing yourself on him in the park like a bitch in heat.”

Contempt dripped from his words. You had never been so enraged.

“Are you joking?” you laughed out of sheer anger. “Patrick, you started it! How many Tinder girls have you seen since we broke up? And don’t you dare fucking lie to me. I saw everything you’ve been sending to Amelia. Amelia, I’m so lonely. Amelia, I’m so horny. Amelia, I love you so much,” you mocked.

“You went through my phone?” he asked in disbelief, not even bothering to address the rest of your statement. “Fuck. You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable? How long did it even take you before we split for you to start seeing other people? I mean, knowing you, you were probably just waiting for the day we broke up to go get your dick wet.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” for a second, he looked genuinely wounded—something you were only able to recognize after years of being in a relationship with the man. You didn’t like that you were actively hurting him, but he’d been inflicting pain on you from the moment you broke up.

“Fine,” you conceded on that front, knowing that he was right. It wasn’t completely true. If you hadn’t gone through his phone, you never would’ve guessed that he had already moved on. “But you’ve still been seeing other people.”

“We’ve been broken up for months now,” he replied, as if that was supposed to make things any better or more reasonable. 

“Then why do you care so much about me having sex with someone else? It’s fine when you do it, but suddenly it’s an issue for me?” 

Patrick’s face immediately paled. “You really fucked him?”

“Well, yeah,” you paused. “Well, not who you’re thinking of.”

“You fucked someone else?!” The hurt and disbelief buried under his words made your stomach churn. “You were flirting with that other douchebag all day, I don’t-“

“You’re acting like I’m some whore for reacting to something that you did first!” you cut him off. 

“And you’re acting like I wanted to get rid of you this whole time!” he shot back out at you. 

“Clearly you fucking did,” you hissed. 

“Fuck you,” he huffed. 

“Fuck you,” you shot right back. “I’m leaving.”

“Good,” Patrick replied with a shrug as if he didn’t care, although you were very sure that he cared. “Go run back to your little fuck buddy.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” you replied as you gathered your items back into your suitcase. “He was better than you, by the way.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he said snarkily as he watched you pack up your items. Luckily, you didn’t have much to pack up and were already heading towards the door. 

“He had a bigger dick, too,” you said as you swung open the hotel room door, fully satisfied with a lie that you knew would bother Patrick. 

While leaving your hotel room seemed like a wonderful idea in the moment, as you went down the elevator, you started to realize that you really did not have many options for where you’d sleep that night. 

You figured your best bet was the hotel lobby. Maybe you could pretend to be someone who’d drank too much and passed out on the first floor before you made it up to your room. You sat down in a comfortable looking chair and grabbed your keycard—in case anyone asked you to verify who you were—then set a floppy hat on your head to cover your face from the bright hotel lobby lights while you attempted to sleep. 

Sleep was already going to be difficult to accomplish, thanks to the argument that you were certainly going to be ruminating on for days to come. That was only made more difficult by the uncomfortable seating and position you’d found yourself in. Somehow, you managed to fall asleep, being woken up by a hotel employee and a friend you’d made from your tour group.

“Long night, huh?” she asked you with a playful smirk. 

“Mm, something like that,” you mumbled sleepily. 

“Well, you can sleep on the coach. It just got here, so we’ll have the best pick of seats. C’mon,” she extended her hand out to you and you gladly took it, in desperate need of something grounding. 

You dozed off on the coach once you’d gotten settled, headphones securely on your ears and sunglasses covering your closed eyes. You were vaguely aware of people boarding the vehicle around you, but didn’t pay much mind to anything. Eventually, you heard the faint sound of someone taking attendance of the people on the bus, followed by the commotion of someone getting on the bus late. 

Something compelled you to open up your eyes, and when you did, you were displeased to find that Patrick was the source of all of the drama. Likely thing for him to be. He scrambled down the aisle, looking desperately for empty seats. To your own horror, you realized that the seat next to you was vacant, and perhaps the only vacant seat on the entire coach. 

As if your minds were connected, you watched Patrick face that very same dilemma as he eventually decided to sit down in the only empty seat, right next to you. 

Neither of you said anything at first, not addressing your blowout argument the previous night, or your awkward current situation. 

“You look like shit,” Patrick finally said as the bus took off. 

“Thanks,” you replied, mentally preparing yourself for a continuation of the argument you’d had just a few hours ago. It was only a matter of time before he brought up your promiscuity or started blatantly texting his Tinderella. 

But none of that ever came. In fact, he just looked a little sad. It was weird to see Patrick so openly defeated. He was always one to put on a smirk or a challenging smile when you argued, letting the façade fall once he was alone, or once the two of you finally discussed what the issue was like adults.

You weren’t sure that you liked it. You preferred annoying asshole Patrick to sad, moping Patrick. 

“You look like shit, too,” you added. “Which is crazy, since you had access to a shower and I didn’t.”

“And whose fault is that?” he asked, looking at you with the slightest hint of that devious smile. You had to fight the slightest inkling of a smile on your own face. 

You felt ridiculous knowing that your mood was still being influenced by your former partner. Even when he was insulting you. Even after he’d spent the night arguing with you. Even after you’d slept with someone else. Even after the two of you had a messy split. 

You still loved him. 

“Yours, mostly,” you shrugged and put your headphones back on. 

PARIS, FRANCE

Despite your brief conversation on the bus, you and Patrick didn’t speak to each other for the entirety of your commute. Although you clearly cared about him, it didn’t change the fact that he had upset and hurt you deeply. And even as upset as you were, you knew that you’d hurt him just as badly. 

You had a particular dread for what awaited you in France, knowing that this part of the tour was very couples-activity heavy. When you’d scheduled your trip, this aspect of the tour felt like a major selling point. The two of you always seemed to be falling more in love with each other, and having a candlelit dinner by the Eiffel Tower felt like an exciting way to kick off your marriage. 

Now, you just felt like an idiot.

The two of you did your absolute best to avoid getting paired up with each other for all of the activities that you could. You found yourself spending most of your time with a solo traveler who was close in age to you. She made a surprisingly fun companion to your cheese and wine taste test, popping cubes of fragrant cheese into your mouth and making a competition out of who could detect the most accurate notes in your wine. 

While you found luck in your first few activities, you weren’t so lucky when it came to an evening ride of the Roue de Paris. Whether it was fate or just bad luck, after the pair in front of you had dipped out of line for reasons unknown to you, you had the shocking realization that Patrick had been in between them the whole time. So much for meeting new people on the massive ferris wheel. 

You tried to look busy so he wouldn’t notice that you noticed, and did your best to think of some sort of game plan. Although you’d essentially been giving each other the silent treatment in the hours leading up to this moment, you’d caught Patrick looking at you multiple times throughout the day—something you only noticed because you’d been looking at him as well. 

After a moment, the two of you were let into an empty passenger car. Sitting across from one another, it was hard to ignore the very obvious elephants in the room, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try. 

At first, you simply looked out the window, not saying a single word as the ferris wheel began to move. 

“You should put that safety belt on, just in case,” Patrick commented from his side of the car, pulling his eyes away from the window to look at you. 

“I doubt anything will happen,” you shrugged. “It’s fine.”

He eyed you suspiciously for a moment, before leaning over and strapping you in anyway. Your breath caught in your throat, his simple action putting you into serious psychological pain. It wasn’t lost on you how much Patrick liked to take care of you. It was far more obvious when the two of you were dating, with him covering the bills for dates and doing your laundry for you. It had been so ironic to you at the time, how a man who could barely take care of himself always went out of his way to make sure that you were going to be okay. 

Now, his small act of kindness just made your stomach turn. But it wasn’t like you could express any of those feelings. 

“Thanks,” was all that you managed before looking out of the window once more. 

An awkward, heavy silence filled the passenger car once more as the ride began to take the two of you higher. 

“The view is so beautiful,” you commented, unable to remain silent anymore and hoping that your words were neutral enough not to stir any pots. 

“Yeah, it’s really nice,” his gaze remained fixed out the window, before he looked at you once more as if there were words on the tip of his tongue. 

“I honestly don’t know how we managed to get in line in time to see the sunset,” you continued with your boring, neutral small talk. 

“I’m glad we did. This is the perfect spot to watch it.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, continuing to look out the window instead of at the man across from you. “It’s so pretty tonight, too.”

“It is,” he agreed. 

The two of you sat in silence again, only the sound of a soft whirring filling your ears. Then suddenly, all at once, the whirring stopped—and so did your passenger car. 

“Are we stuck?” you asked, looking out nervously at the very tall height that the two of you were currently definitely stuck at. 

“We can’t be. It’ll probably start back up in a second.”

It didn’t start back up in a second. In fact, after a series of announcements in French, an announcement in English suddenly declared that it would be at least an hour before the ride could be fixed. 

At the sound of the announcement, both you and Patrick sighed aloud, still synchronized even after everything you’d been through. 

“Maybe this is a sign,” Patrick piped up. 

“What are you talking about?” you laughed at him, hoping desperately that this didn’t mean that he wanted to continue arguing with you. You genuinely did not have it in you to do so again. You also didn’t have it in you to sleep in another hotel lobby. 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day,” he confessed. 

“Is that why you were staring at me all day?” you teased, a weak, slightly hopeful smile creeping onto your face. 

“I was looking at you because I could feel you staring at me,” he clarified, as if he was setting the record straight. “I don’t want things to be like this between us anymore.”

“Yeah?” you asked, the pit of nerves in your stomach tightening at wherever he was going with his spiel. The anticipation of his words alone made you nauseous. 

“So I think that we should talk about last night,” he suggested. 

That was exactly what you didn’t want to hear him say. You had barely processed the argument yourself, let alone think about anything else that you had to say to Patrick that didn’t involve trying to hurt him as much as he hurt you. 

“We don’t have to. It’s fine. The past is in the past,” you dismissed. 

“It’s not fine, though. Not really,” he countered, all earnestness. You didn’t detect any harshness to his words or any blood in the water that indicated to you that he wanted to do anything more than have an honest conversation with you. “I was so out of line. I can’t- I don’t want you to think that I really believe the things I said about you.”

“Patrick, please…” you trailed off, hoping that he would understand that you didn’t really want to talk about this. Though, you were relieved to learn that he’d only said those things out of the heat of the moment. 

“No,” he stood his ground. “We need to talk about this if we ever want our relationship to improve.”

“Fine,” you gave in. “But you start, so I can collect my thoughts.”

“Of course,” he leaned forward so he could get a better look at you, and you were immediately drawn into some intense eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for acting like a dick yesterday. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did, and I really shouldn’t have let you leave our hotel room. That was really stupid of me. I worried about you for the rest of the night and spent the morning looking for you.”

This was surprising information to you. While you did find it to be a bit of a dick move that Patrick would just let you leave like that after lecturing you about being unsafe in a new country, you hadn’t realized that he’d been late to boarding the coach because he’d been searching for you. You could only imagine the sick feeling he had as he realized he couldn’t find you anywhere. 

“I’m sorry for what I said, too. Insulting you for trying to move on was really unfair of me. I was just… hurt, I guess. When I don’t even have the right to be.”

“You do, a little. We were together for a really long time, so it’s gonna feel weird that we’re starting to see other people,” you shrugged. “That was an excellent apology, that I accept, by the way.”

“Thank you. I really got a chance to practice my apology skills with the last woman I was with,” he explained. You tried to repress the feeling of jealousy that was already bubbling up in your stomach at the mention of another woman. 

“Yeah?” you asked, hoping that he didn’t notice the brief twitch of your eye.

“Yeah. She’s super opinionated and outspoken, so we would butt heads a lot. But that was always something I really liked about her. That, and her magnificent ass.”

Finally, it occurred to you that he was talking about you. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, despite the fact that you were secretly very flattered by the way he was speaking about you. “Ew. Shut up,” you laughed. 

“Well, if you’re done objectifying me, I would love to apologize to you too.”

“All done objectifying you. For now, at least. Go ahead.”

You were a little nervous about the words that were about to come out of your mouth. You just had so much to say, and you weren’t sure that it was all going to come out correctly. 

“I’m sorry for the things I said last night. I genuinely did not mean what I said, I just got caught up in the moment. And I’m really sorry for going through your phone, because that’s seriously none of my business. It was such an unnecessary violation of trust, and I understand if you’re still pissed at me for that. And it was really ridiculous for me to overreact the way that I did over you seeing someone else, because again, it’s really not my business. I feel like I’m kinda the worst,” you confessed. 

“You’re not the worst,” he countered. 

“Fine, I guess. Maybe you just bring the worst out in me,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood slightly. 

“That sounds more accurate. We bring out the worst in each other.”

“Right. That’s why we’re such a good pair,” you paused, then corrected yourself. “Of friends.”

“Is that what we are now?”

“I never said we were good friends.”

“Frenemies?”

“Something like that,” you said, before the familiar whirring sound of the ferris wheel began once more. 

“Huh. Who would’ve thought that the only thing the wheel needed to function was an apology to each other?”

“You’re so annoying,” you laughed and shook your head. “How are we gonna make it through the rest of this trip?”

LONDON, ENGLAND

Your final few days in France had been made far less awkward by your conversation on the ferris wheel. Deciding to fully embrace the couples activities the tour had reserved for you, the two of you were having a good time re-establishing your friendship. 

Your trip to London had gone mostly without a hitch, with your group arriving in the city in the evening and immediately checking in to your hotel. At this point, you had given up on even attempting to get separate beds. It seemed like every morning now you woke up cuddling with Patrick, but you weren’t necessarily mad at the unintentional intimacy. 

In some ways, your relationship was beginning to feel similar to how it felt before the two of you broke up. While you were sure that things wouldn’t be exactly the same—especially since you still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room that was your breakup—it was nice to return to the comfort you’d found in your relationship with Patrick. 

Like clockwork, the morning after your arrival in London, you woke up with Patrick pressed up against your back, nose buried in your hair. As he woke up, he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline out of what you were sure was just habit rather than genuine affection. 

“Morning,” he greeted you groggily, rolling away from your side. 

“Morning,” you replied, turning to face him. You ran a hand through his messy morning hair and looked at him fondly. It was taking far more self control than you had to not lean over and kiss him. “What time is it?” you asked, in part to distract yourself, but also because the digital clock was on his side of the bed. 

“It’s…” he trailed off as he went to read the time. “Oh shit, we’re gonna be late.”

“What?” you asked, shooting up from your relaxed position. 

“It’s 8:25,” he explained, already rolling out of bed. 

In a rush, the two of you got dressed in record time, making it down to the lobby in the five minutes that you had to make it on time. You shared a high-five in the lobby, and tried your best not to dwell on how the simple action felt far more domestic than it needed to. 

Your tour began not too long after that, getting your day off to a strong start. Your day of exploring London was by far your busiest. You were sure that you’d accumulated thousands of steps as you went between large museums, beautiful parks, and massive landmarks. By the time that you returned to your hotel room, you were pretty sure that your legs were mush. 

You returned earlier than Patrick, who had gone out to a gastropub with a group of tourists in your group that he got along well with. You took this as an opportunity to have some alone time, taking a long and steaming hot shower, frolicking around the room in a soft hotel robe, and watching a movie while you waited for your room service to arrive. 

After you’d thoroughly enjoyed your alone time, finishing off your room service and opting to scroll on your phone, the door cracked open and Patrick strolled in. 

“Looks like you made yourself right at home,” he observed. 

“I had to after today’s tour. So much walking,” you groaned. 

“It wasn’t all that bad,” he shrugged, sitting down next to you in bed. 

“Well, not all of us are professional athletes,” you laughed. “How was the pub?”

“Fun. It’d be better if you came.”

“I’m sorry, I was exhausted,” you sighed. “You could’ve stayed in with me and had a spa day.”

“We can have a spa day anywhere. We can have a spa day right now.”

“Mm, I’m all spa’d out. But the water pressure in the shower is excellent, so you should definitely check that out.”

“I will in a little bit,” he said. “Did you try out the actual spa here?”

“They were closed when I checked, which really sucks, since I was in desperate need of a massage.”

“Do you still want one?” Patrick asked. 

“Yeah. I’ll probably try to stop by when they’re open tomorrow and get one.”

“No, I mean, do you want a massage now?” he added. 

It had been a long time since Patrick had offered you a massage—or to put his hands on you in any capacity—but you remembered him being criminally talented at giving them. You also remembered his massages usually making for great foreplay that left your knees weak and your brain a pile of jelly, but that clearly wouldn’t be the case now, and you needed to get your head out of the gutter. 

“I mean, sure. That would be nice,” you tried not to sound too excited, though the prospect of a massage from him sounded very, very nice. 

While the prospect of a massage sounded nice, the actual massage was heavenly. You were sure that years of having personal trainers and physical therapists work knots out of his body had made him an expert at finding knots and kinks in your own, which was now leaving you sighing happily as he ran his hands over your back. 

You tried your best to ignore the dull, fiery feeling growing in your lower stomach that was surely a result of experiencing a type of intimacy that you hadn’t in quite some time. As you let out an involuntary soft sound at a particular knot being rubbed out of your shoulder, you wondered if this massage was affecting him nearly as much as it was affecting you.

You promptly received an answer to this question when something hard and phallic brushed up against your leg. You turned your head to glance back at Patrick, and his face immediately grew red. 

“Sorry. I can stop, if you want. It just happened because of the noises you’re making and- whatever. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Part of you felt a little satisfied knowing that you still had that type of impact on him. It gave you a tiny glimmer of hope to know that you were still, at the least, physically attracted to one another. 

“It’s fine. I’ll shut up.”

“You don’t have to. I want this to be as relaxing as possible for you.”

“Well you’re doing a great job, if you couldn’t tell from all of the moaning and groaning on my end.”

You both somehow made it through the rest of the massage without spilling all over the bed, but as you melted into the bed, feeling every muscle in your body relaxed from your excellent massage, you couldn’t help but note the suspiciously long time Patrick was spending in the shower. And maybe it was just your imagination, but if you listened hard enough, you swore you could hear the sound of a soft chanting of your name coming from the other side of the bathroom door. 

While part of you regretted not suggesting that the two of you help each other out with your mutual problems, you were pretty sure that it was for the best. You genuinely didn’t know where the two of you stood, as far as your relationship went. Hooking up would surely further complicate an already complicated situation, since you were pretty sure that ex-fiancés didn’t typically sleep together. But then again, ex-fiancés also didn’t usually go on a honeymoon despite not being together. Your complicated feelings on the matter only further proved to you that you made the right choice by not giving in to your baser desires. 

By the time Patrick joined you in bed, you were already half asleep. Yet, even in your delirious state, you didn’t miss the way he came up behind you, pulling you into a loving embrace. It brought warmth to your chest to know that he couldn’t even wait for your automatic sleep routine to hold you, and that he felt the need to take matters into his own hands. 

You were pretty sure that exes didn’t do that either. 

AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS 

You didn’t know what you expected from your first ferry ride, but being face deep in a barf bag while soothing circles were rubbed into your back was certainly not it. 

Given that you weren’t a frequent rider of large vessels on bodies of water, you had no clue going into the ride that things would go so sideways so quickly for you. If anything, you thought you might have the opportunity to stare peacefully out into the water, or to force Patrick to take a few cute pictures of you. Unfortunately, you were currently doing neither of those things—and it didn’t seem like you’d be doing them any time soon. 

You heaved once more, now almost totally sure that you had nothing left to give. Patrick continued to hold your hair out of your face with one hand and use his other to comfortingly rub your back, not at all fazed by your sickness. If you weren’t currently fighting off another wave of nausea and didn’t have the taste of bile lingering in your mouth, you probably could’ve kissed the man. 

Once your brain finally told you the coast was clear, you leaned your head back and took several deep, gasping breaths of air. 

“You alright, honey?” he asked you, and you didn’t even have the strength—physical or mental—to correct his use of a pet name. 

“I could be better,” you replied, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tilted your head back. “There’s medicine for this, right?”

“Yeah. Let me go see if I can find some.”

As you fought off a war of nausea and headache that was currently beating you on all fronts, you could faintly hear the sound of Patrick asking the people around you if they had any medicine for motion sickness. He eventually returned after what felt like a lifetime, but was probably more like a few minutes, carrying a bottle of Dramamine. 

He helped you take the pill, putting it in your mouth then holding a bottle of water up to your lips to help you swallow it. The action felt oddly romantic, though it was more of a matter of practicality compared to anything else. You were clearly not in a stable enough space to get the pill down on your own, so his assistance wasn’t really anything for you to be over analyzing. 

“Look at you, keeping that down,” he teased, running his hand up and down your arm. The motion was soothing, a bit of bodily comfort amongst a plethora of other awful physical pains you were experiencing. “You’re doing great.”

His soft caresses turned into a full-blown hug, with Patrick pulling you into a tight embrace. While the action itself was rather cute—especially since it seemed to be completely impulsive on his part—it instantly brought on a new wave of nausea. 

“Pat?” you squeaked. 

“Yeah?” he asked. 

“You’re sweet. But if we stay like this, I am going to be sick all over you.”

He pulled away from you with concern, careful not to move too quickly to set off another bout of sickness. While he let go of your body, he continued to hold your hand, as if he were attempting to ground you. With how anxious he was looking, he might’ve been trying to ground himself as well. 

It was cute seeing him so worried about you. You tried your best not to read too much into it, and luckily, your slowly fading nausea was the perfect distraction from doing so. 

“Thank you for the drugs. It was fun watching you scramble all around asking people for help. You’re such a good…” you paused, not really knowing what you were or what to say. “Ex.”

Now wasn’t exactly the ideal time to have the, ‘what are we?’ conversation, but Patrick didn’t seem to mind. And if he did mind, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it. 

“Only the best for my ex.” Maybe you’d just been imaging it, but you swore you sensed a bit of hesitation on his end as he called you his ex. Admittedly, it would be significantly easier for both of you to be calling each other spouses, or even partners. But alas, you weren’t either of those things to each other anymore. 

As if you’d read each other's minds, the two of you quickly moved on from that conversation. 

After you’d arrived and gotten settled into Amsterdam, you set off to explore the city. When presented with a few options of things to do, Patrick insisted that the two of you go on a bike tour, much to your own chagrin. As much as you weren’t sure your legs could handle any more strenuous physical activity, you’d known that Patrick had wanted to take this bike tour since your trip was an actual honeymoon. Who were you to deny him of that?

As the two of you toured the very beautiful city, Patrick made sure to make a show out of his biking skills. While he was no professional cyclist, he certainly had the ego of one—which translated to him going a little too hard at times and nearly falling off of his bike more than once. 

Each time he almost fell, you found yourself also almost falling, the onset of laughter at the ridiculous man riding next to you nearly being too much to handle. Without fail, every time the two of you did your almost falling, then break into a howling laughter routine, you were given dirty looks by your fellow tour mates. Unfortunately, that only made the situation funnier to you and Patrick. 

By the time the tour had wrapped, it was clear that everyone was sick and tired of you. But at least this time, the people around you were sick of the girlish giggles Patrick pulled from you, rather than the rude words he provoked you into saying, like he’d done on the plane. 

It was refreshing to be spending time with him like this. In the time that you’d been so upset about your break up, you forgot about just how good it felt to be around Patrick when your relationship was going well. 

It was also nice to be spending some alone time with him, away from the rest of your tour group. As the two of you looked at strange knick-knacks in an antique store, you realized just how much you missed being alone with him. While it was nice that the two of you had made friends within your group, your dynamic as a duo was obviously something really special. Maybe that’s why the two of you had been together for so long. 

You spent the majority of the afternoon doubled over in laughter, playfully teasing Patrick, or being on the receiving end of subtle, gentle touches. As you really began to think about it, this day of travel had been your favorite—by a long shot. It also happened to be the day that felt most like one from a honeymoon.

Although it had already been clear to you for some time that you still had feelings for Patrick, the day you had spent together had completely sealed the deal. Once Patrick had surprised you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers over dinner, you’d only been more sure that you were sick with love for your ex.

It was a small miracle that you’d rounded out the day without confessing your feelings, particularly since you ended the evening with a movie playing on the television of your hotel room that the two of you barely paid attention to, as Patrick held you and talked about some of the things you’d missed while the two of you were separated. 

In the morning, you woke up to the soft sound of chatter, rather than your loud alarm clock or the sound of deep breaths in the shell of your ear. 

From what you could faintly make out from the words and the lack of a warm body beside you, Patrick was on the phone with his mother. You wanted to feel bad for eavesdropping, especially since you’d just had an argument with Patrick over your snooping habit just over a week ago, but it was far too difficult not to listen in. 

“I’m glad you liked the picture,” you made out from the muffled words behind the doorway. You were sure he was referencing the selfie the two of you took in front of Big Ben a few days ago. You also liked the photo a lot, with the two of you looking particularly good and particularly happy. You’d also taken a more baity photo of him kissing your cheek, specifically to send to his mother who he knew would be overjoyed to see you. While Patrick had explained the idea behind the picture as his mom simply wanting to see you, you knew the more accurate statement is that his mom wanted to see the two of you together. 

After a beat, there was a soft chuckle. “No, we’re not back together. No mom, there’s no ‘yet.’ I know. I’m an idiot, I know- aren’t you supposed to take your child’s side? Well, I don’t know if you know this, but we never ended up getting married, so no, she’s not your daughter. How could she possibly be your favorite child! We just talked about this. I’m gonna hang up. I’m serious. Alright. Love you, bye.”

When Patrick returned, you were already sitting up in bed. 

“Can you tell your mom I say hi next time?” you asked with a cheeky grin on your face, still coming off of the high that was the romantic outing you’d had the day prior. 

“I’m sure she’d love to hear that,” he replied, getting back into bed beside you. “She probably wants to hear from you more than she wants to hear from me.”

You laughed and shook your head, not bothering to argue with his words since you both knew they were pretty accurate. 

“I mean, I’m sure she’ll be inviting you to Thanksgiving and Christmas long after we’ve moved on with other people and have our own families.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. You were sure of it. You thought you could genuinely feel the movement of your most vital organ slowly sinking into a pit of stomach acid. 

You tried not to let your smile falter, considering that Patrick was looking right at you with a sweet look of his own plastered on his face. You wondered if this was some sort of test, to gauge how you felt after a day of rekindling the love the two of you thought had burnt out. 

Or maybe, more realistically, he’d already come to accept the reality that you’d been stalling on accepting: your relationship was truly over. One fun day wouldn’t change the fact that your wedding had been called off, and that the two of you said things to each other that would alter the foundations of any solid relationship for years to come. 

Your heart was such a traitor. She refused to accept the simple fact that Patrick wanted to move on, and that your relationship was a thing of the past. Maybe, if you couldn’t convince your heart to accept that truth, you might be able to force your brain to. 

“And I’ll still be accepting that invitation, thank you very much,” you stated, trying to sound confident in your words. “In the meantime, let’s get ready before we miss this bus. You can tell me what your mom’s menu is gonna look like this year on our ride over.”

SOMEWHERE IN CENTRAL GERMANY

It was stupid for you to be torn up the way that you were over just a few simple words, but the more you thought about it, the worse you felt. 

In reality, it wasn’t just what Patrick had said to you in the hotel room. It was the fact that he’d been actively trying to move on with other people since who knew when, and the way he seemed to frequently verbally reiterate the fact that your relationship was over. By holding out hope that you might somehow be able to repair your relationship, you were being much more naïve than you even realized. 

You felt stupid. But you also felt confused, because as much as Patrick swore he was over you, and pursued other people, he was also far too comfortable acting like nothing had changed between you two. After all, he was the one flirting with you, and trying to attach himself at the hip to you as you traveled. He was the one who always managed to end up spooning you over the course of the night and woke up kissing whatever part of your body he was closest to. For god's sake, he’d just told you yesterday about how he’d searched high and low to find a bouquet of flowers that he thought you would genuinely like. And most damningly, you hadn’t forgotten the look of hurt on his face when he found out that you had slept with someone else. That wasn’t the behavior of someone who was over their partner.

To say you were receiving mixed messages was a complete understatement. You couldn’t understand how it was possible that the man who was currently leaning against you very affectionately, despite being on a cramped bus, was also totally over you and wanted to move on.

You didn’t know what you wanted to do about the situation, but you were sure that you couldn’t keep going like this. 

Your bus stopped somewhere in Germany for the evening, letting you all out to have dinner and do some light sightseeing before regrouping in the morning and heading to Prague. Somehow, that translated to going to a bar to try out German beer for you, Patrick, and a few of the friends you’d made while traveling. 

After a brief intermission of checking into your hotel room, your small group met up in the lobby, then set off to find a bar. 

Drinking while you were feeling a little upset probably wasn’t your brightest idea. The speed and volume at which you were consuming alcohol was a little concerning, but not nearly as concerning as how much Patrick was drinking. Eventually, even in your drunken state, you realized that you should probably slow down—if nothing else, to take care of him. 

But the two of you continued on, going from bar to bar, getting drunk at a level that probably would’ve been acceptable when you were younger, but was certainly going to take a major toll on you now. 

Forgetting about the repercussions of the future, you two were having a great time. Despite you being out with a group, it felt a little bit like the two of you were in your own little bubble. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter as the two of you took shots and danced together. Not the people around you, not the fact that you had to be up early the next morning to make it onto your coach, not even the fact that Patrick had implied that the two of you would move on and have families with other people only a few days ago. 

By the time that the rest of your group had called it quits, explaining that they wanted to be up and functional in time for your ride the next morning, you and Patrick were still in your own little world. It was only after you’d shared a few drunk cigarettes that the two of you decided that the fun should end, and that it was time to head back to your hotel. 

Unfortunately for you, midway through your trek back home, your drinking buddy had given up on walking, leaving you tasked with literally dragging him all the way back to your hotel. While a sober version of yourself would’ve been annoyed by the inconvenience, all you could really think about was how nice it was to have his body so close to yours.

After a tumultuous journey back, the two of you finally made it back to your hotel room. You had only been in the room for a matter of seconds before Patrick collapsed onto the bed and let out a loud sigh of relief, followed by an even louder yawn, as if he was the one who had just carried you down the road.

It was annoyingly endearing. 

You had half the mind to at least get somewhat ready before getting into bed, shedding your outermost layer of clothing before joining Patrick in bed. 

“Thank you,” he said to you once you laid down next to him. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, your head still pleasantly buzzing from the alcohol. “But I’m never doing that again.”

“Aww, why? We had so much fun,” he practically whined. “I always have so much fun when we’re together.”

“I had fun, but you’re so heavy. You’d never guess it. All those muscles,” in the midst of your complaining, you reached over to grab his bicep to demonstrate his point. 

He laughed, which made you laugh, though you didn’t exactly know what you were laughing at. Then, out of the blue, he randomly said your name in a very serious tone. 

“Can you help me with something?” he asked, sounding very genuine and giving you a look that you couldn’t quite place in your drunken state. 

“Anything,” you replied earnestly and meant it. You would probably do literally anything that he asked you to do at that moment. Move a mountain? You’d start pushing. Marry him? You’d wake up an officiant and come up with vows on the spot. Help him hide a body? You were sure you could find a shovel somewhere.

“Can you help me get my shoes off?” he lifted a foot as he spoke to demonstrate his point, a little pout on his lips. You were a little disappointed that he hadn’t asked you for anything else, but you also weren’t quite sure what it was that you wanted him to ask you for. 

You groaned playfully, a long and drawn out sound that you hoped would communicate that you were exhausted after dragging him through the city and comfortable where you were laying. Still, you leaned over and untied his shoes before gently slipping them off. When you looked back up at Patrick, his pants were newly half undone and halfway off, but it looked as if he had given up fully taking his pants off. 

“Need help with that too?” you asked, though you were already working on slipping the article of clothing off of his legs.

Though you tried to push the thought out of your mind, you couldn’t help but recall a similar night the two of you shared several years ago. Your relationship was still relatively new, but you were already very obviously in love. So in love that you’d gone out of your way to set up a surprise party to celebrate a particularly successful tennis match, decorating your apartment with photos of him with trophies and other tennis paraphernalia and inviting as many of his close friends that you could track down. Still riding the high of winning and his all-consuming adoration of you, Patrick had partied a little too hard, leaving you in charge of tucking him in at the end of the night. 

After bringing him a glass of water, the man snuggled into your sheets and slurred out a comment about how they smelled like you. You felt your cheeks warm as he continued on in a disjointed ramble, talking about how much he appreciated you and how no one had ever gone out of their way to make him feel like that before. He ended his monologue with a request for you to help him take his clothes off, and you happily obliged. It was tender and far more intimate than you’d expected, and ended in a drawn out kiss that left you giggling as you told Patrick that he tasted like Smirnoff Ice. 

Even as inebriated as you currently were, the nostalgia made you feel a little dizzy. 

By the time you’d finished helping him get his pants off, Patrick had clearly given up on getting his shirt off, too. Once again, you moved your hands up his body and helped him out with the piece of fabric. 

“Look at that. All ready for bed,” you commented, setting a hand on his bare chest. The small action made your heart soar, and you promptly decided that it was probably better for you to avoid touching him altogether. 

“My watch?” Patrick asked, lifting his wrist up to show you the accessory. 

“You can take your watch off yourself,” you replied, leaning back into bed and finally laying down. 

“Fine.”

“Night, Patty,” you said, reaching over to turn out the bedside lamp. 

“Wait,” he paused pensively, as if he was digging deep in the recesses of his mind to conjure up what he was about to say. “A kiss?”

“Patrick!” you gasped, sounding far more scandalized by the proposition than you actually were. Of course you would give him a kiss, you just weren’t sure you were ready to open up that can of worms, especially after you’d had a minor crisis at the realization that he genuinely wanted to move on.

“No goodnight kiss? C’mon. Fully commit to tucking me in,” Patrick insisted, as if it was the most logical thing ever. As if either of you had the self control to not let something as simple as a kiss spiral out of control. 

“Fine,” you sighed before pressing a gentle peck to his forehead, figuring that was the safest place to do so. A forehead kiss was about as platonic as it got with you.  “Sweet dreams.”

“Thank you,” he said, rather sweetly as his eyes shut. “Love you.”

Those words instantly gave you pause, causing you to suddenly feel very alert and very sober.

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“I said I love you?” Patrick repeated, looking at you with confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” though it was very much not nothing. In fact, if his confession was true, it would change everything. “Go to bed.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick grabbed your arm, looking very worried in the low light of the room. “You’re mad. You’re mad that I love you?”

You didn’t even know how you were supposed to react to that admission. While it had been exactly what you’d been dying to hear from him for months, it only further complicated your already very complicated situation.

“I’m not mad, I’m… I’m just tired. Let’s go to sleep, okay?”

Your explanation seemed to placate Patrick enough to let it go and go to sleep. He shuffled around to get comfortable behind you, before pulling you in to hold you as he’d done for the entirety of the trip. Except, tonight, it didn’t feel quite right. The mixture of his frequent rejections of you, paired with his casual confession that he still loved you made your head spin. 

The following morning, you woke up with a pounding in your head and a gross taste in your mouth—only one of which, you could fully attribute to the drinking you’d done last night. You clumsily reached for your phone, and found yourself pleasantly surprised to find an announcement about the delay of the next bus you would be getting on. 

You got out of bed with a grunt, your entire body aching with the reminder of having to drag Patrick through the city last night. Somehow, the sore muscles didn’t hurt nearly as much compared to the memory of being told that Patrick still loved you. 

You slowly paced back and forth around your hotel room, desperately trying to organize your racing thoughts. Did Patrick actually mean what he said last night? Or had been caught up in the heat of the moment? If anything, the latter seemed more likely, since he’d been very obviously trying to distance himself from you. But had he really been distancing himself from you, or just talking about distancing himself from you? If his care for you on the ferry had been any indication of how he really felt about you, it was possible that his drunken words were more honest than you were trying to convince yourself that they were. 

Finally, you decided to stop annoying the person staying in the room under you with your increasingly frantic pacing, and to go outside to walk. Some fresh air would be good for you anyway. 

“Where’re you going?” a muffled voice, heavy with sleep asked. You paused the tying of your shoes to look over at the bed, where Patrick was currently squinting at you.  

“I’m just going for a walk,” you told him. “Go back to sleep. The coach is coming late.”

“Wait for me. I’ll come with you.”

That was probably the last thing you needed or wanted. After all, the whole purpose of your walk was to help you sort out your thoughts about Patrick. To say he wasn’t a welcome addition to your trip was an understatement.

“Okay,” you said anyway, against your better judgment. It seemed like you hadn’t been using much of your judgment at all on this trip. What was one more poor decision on top of a series of poor decisions?

You watched him get ready from where you were sitting, quietly impressed with his ability to get up and be functional despite surely being just as hungover—if not more—than you. He also seemed wholly unaffected by the conversation you’d had last night, which was something that you certainly couldn’t say for yourself. 

With sunglasses perched on your nose and the weight of your entire relationship placed on your shoulders, the two of you headed out into the city, walking on the same sidewalks that you’d practically carried Patrick down the previous night. 

“Last night was fun,” Patrick commented, making small talk with you as you began to head down the street. 

“Some parts,” you agreed, hoping that he’d recall you grunting as you lugged him down the street, rather than your shock when he told you that he still loved you. 

“I honestly don’t remember most of the night,” Patrick said with a chuckle that almost sounded a little forced. You couldn’t be sure if he was being honest or searching for a cop out for the things he’d told you before you went to sleep, but you weren’t sure that it really mattered.

“Unfortunately, I do,” you replied. 

“Oh no. I hope I wasn’t too much of a pain.”

“You were like, slightly above average in terms of being a pain. Nothing I’m not used to.” You figured that maybe you could banter your way out of this situation. Perhaps if you just pretended that everything was okay, things would magically become okay.

But that didn’t feel alright. In fact, it wasn’t alright. If you ever wanted to improve your relationship with Patrick, you had to stop beating around the bush with him. You were both adults. You’d been together for years, yet you felt like you wasted far too much time not being straightforward with your thoughts and feelings. If there was going to be a next time for the two of you, you wanted things to be different. 

“You did say something kinda interesting last night, though.” While it had been easy to talk up a big game in your head, you immediately regretted the words that came out of your mouth. Regardless, it was too late for you to back out. 

Patrick laughed nervously before asking, “what?”

“You just… you kinda told me you still have feelings for me, or whatever. I just think, maybe we should talk about it. Or at least talk about us.”

The man next to you paled at your words. Your regret for bringing the topic up immediately grew exponentially. 

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” Patrick said, though he was lying through his teeth and both of you knew it. You wanted to approach this topic with civility and an open mind, but his blatant lie was making that a rather difficult task.

“Are you kidding? We’ve been tip-toeing around it this entire trip.”

“We’re broken up. You called off our wedding. I don’t think it gets any more straightforward than that,” he dismissed with a gross simplification of the state of your relationship.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. And even if it was, all I said was that I didn't think I was ready to get married. You put the final nail in the coffin when you told me you fell out of love with me. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to interpret you not being in love with me anymore when you still act the way that you act with me.”

You could tell the direction this conversation was going, your discussion quickly veering into argument territory as Patrick began to invade your space as he always did when you argued. 

“And how exactly do I act with you?” he challenged, though you were sure he knew exactly what you were talking about.  

“Do you want me to give you a list or something?” you asked, his anger becoming contagious.

“Sure, why not,” he said drily. 

“Fine. Let’s start with the cuddling, then. Please enlighten me, do you know any exes who spoon regularly? I mean, I certainly don’t. I don’t even touch my friends like that. So I don’t know what that really makes us. Or maybe how jealous you got when you saw me with someone else. I really can’t think of any sort of platonic explanation for that, and trust me, I’ve tried. And while we’re at it, I guess I should mention those showers. I respect the hell out of your faith in the thickness of these hotel walls, but I actually can hear you moaning my name while you’re in there. I’m honestly a little flattered, but I’m mostly confused.”

“Like you’re not doing the same,” Patrick scoffed. You knew him well enough to recognize that he was masking his true feelings with hostility, and though you wanted to engage in an actual conversation with him, you weren’t sure you would be able to take the high road in this conversation.

“Sure, but I’m not the one in denial of what’s going on here!”

“I’m not in denial. Have you ever considered that maybe I want to move on?”

“Do you, though?” you asked, pausing on the sidewalk.

“Clearly, I do,” he stopped right along with you, now really getting in your face.

“Clearly,” you repeated with a laugh. “Maybe you should start acting like it.”

“Maybe you should stop clinging to the past.”

His piercing gaze was unwavering as he waited to read your reaction. You knew how he liked to play this game, looking for an indication of any sort of weakness from you. You refused to give him that, though his words cut deep. 

“Okay,” you said calmly, though you were very much not feeling calm on the inside. “Well, thanks for letting me know how you really feel. Or how you think you feel. I don’t really know anymore. And I don’t think you know either.”

PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC

If you had known that telling Patrick that he drunkenly confessed to loving you would’ve broken the already very delicate relationship the two of you had built back up, you never would’ve said anything at all. As it turned out, having some of Patrick was better than not having him at all.

The contempt he now felt for you had become so strong that he didn’t even seem to be able to look at you. He sat next to a different person on the bus to Prague, not even sparing you a glance. When you arrived at the hotel, he made it a point to ask for separate rooms—something the two of you hadn’t done the entirety of your trip. As your tour began, he seemed to make a strong effort to separate himself from you, standing in the back of your group when you were in the front and vice versa. 

Usually, even after your worst arguments, you’d been able to find the time to talk out your feelings, but now it seemed like Patrick couldn’t even find it in himself to give you that.

You wanted to be mad at Patrick too. You were mad at him. But you missed him more than you were angry with him, and you yearned to be with him, no matter how crazy his constant antics drove you. 

Part of you felt frustrated that your relationship had become so cyclical since your breakup. You weren’t sure you could handle another cycle of fighting to the point of real anger, then making up with your relationship still a little more strained than it was in the past. You just wanted Patrick. Why did things have to be any more complicated than that? 

You desperately clung on to any bits of hope that your relationship might persist, coming out of this argument altered, but still existing. You snuck peeks at Patrick while you toured a beautiful castle and tried to bite your tongue until you stopped thinking of how badly you wanted to grab him and joke about his home looking like that castle. You wondered if he wanted to put your initials on a lock and put it on a bridge as much as you did. You wished you could ask him if he missed the warm body in bed beside him the way you did. 

But every time you looked at him, he was pointedly not looking at you. As your group paused on the bridge to allow couples the time to make their own locks, Patrick didn’t even spare a glance in your direction. You were sure that even if he did miss you in bed, or wherever else, he would never tell you about it. 

You didn’t want it to be over—but you couldn’t keep clinging to hope that it wasn’t. 

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND

Getting to view the breathtaking scenery of the Swiss Alps as you sat on a cable car had been a dream of yours for years. What wasn’t included in that dream was dodging the glare of your ex-fiancé as the two of you sat in silence on that very gondola. 

Unluckily for the two of you, you were stuck together for the afternoon. Private skiing lessons in the Swiss Alps sounded like a great, even romantic, idea while you were planning the trip, but it was far from romantic now. 

The two of you stood on opposite sides of your instructor, the tension between you so thick that in the midst of his safety spiel, he paused to ask if everything was okay between you. After a stilted reply of yes, your instructor looked at you both skeptically before carrying on. 

Seeing as Patrick was an athlete who spent his childhood school breaks in Aspen, he was pretty decent at skiing already. Far better than you, a novice who was moving a little bit like a giraffe standing on its feet for the first time. 

While it wasn’t your first time skiing—that had been on a family vacation you’d tagged along on with the Zweigs—you certainly were not experienced enough to be keeping up with Patrick, who had the experience and the ego to give even your instructor a run for his money. 

It was entertaining to watch him in his element, his competitive side coming out despite the fact there was no competition anywhere to be found. He was significantly faster than you wherever you went, and skied with a confidence that you doubted you would ever be able to exhibit. In the past, this behavior may have been slightly endearing to you, but right now, it was mostly a little annoying. 

You and your instructor stood above Patrick, watching him effortlessly glide down the mountain in front of you. If you weren’t so agitated, you might actually have been impressed. As if your instructor was actively reading your mind, he leaned over to say something to you. 

“I think he’s trying to impress you,” he said quietly, though the subject of your conversation was an entire slope away. 

You nearly choked on your own saliva at the observation. “No way.”

“What do you mean no way?” he laughed. “Trust me, I’ve been doing this for years, and I’ve seen it all. Couples, crushes, friends, coworkers. I know posturing when I see it.”

“Trust me, he could care less.”

He looked at you with a doubting squint.  “Why don’t we go down there and ask him?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed. The thought of asking Patrick anything after the interactions you’d had seemed absolutely ridiculous. At this point, you wouldn’t even ask him what time it was. 

“Sorry. Let me rephrase that. That was me telling you that it’s time for you to go down the slope.”

You looked downhill at where you needed to go, noting that it was far steeper than what you’d been practicing on leading up to this point. You had been looking for an excuse to stall going down it, but now that your instructor had said something about that, you couldn’t not go.

After taking a deep breath, you began to go down. Gaining a bit of speed, you also found yourself growing slightly more confident, closing your eyes and feeling the cold air press against your body. While you were enjoying your speed at first, it was quickly growing out of hand, and you began to panic as you realized just how fast you were going. Desperately trying to pull your skis into a V shape to slow down, you were horrified at the realization that you were far too late, and actively heading towards a cluster of trees. You didn’t know what to do other than to accept your fate, and everything had happened so fast anyway that you found yourself tumbling into a tree, a searing pain on your ankle and tailbone as you laid out on the rocky ground.

Everything felt like it was moving slowly and quickly at the same time. One second, you were alone in the snow, and the next, Patrick and your ski instructor were hovering over you, goggles on their foreheads as they looked at you with concern.

“Are you okay?” you were finally able to make out once the slight ringing in your ears had ceased. 

“Did you see how hard she crashed? Of course she isn’t fucking okay,” Patrick’s voice huffed, though slightly muffled from your helmet covering your ears.

“My ankle,” you said, as if that gave them enough context. You wondered if they could see the tears beginning to pool under your goggles. The pair looked at your limb, though with your snowsuit covering it, they really couldn’t see much. 

“Can you walk?” your instructor asked you. 

“I haven’t tried, but I’m gonna go with no.”

“We’re gonna have someone check you out. Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon,” your ski instructor told you. You blinked a few times and mustered all the strength you could to nod. 

The longer you sat, the more you began to realize how badly everything hurt. From your head down to your surely swollen ankle, you weren’t feeling too hot. You closed your eyes, suddenly feeling very exhausted. Maybe a quick little nap was exactly what you needed to feel a little better.

“Hey, don’t do that. You hit your head pretty hard when you fell, so you might have a concussion.”

“I don’t, I’m just tired,” you explained, though you didn’t know for a fact that it was true. In fact, with the pounding in your head, you more likely than not had a mild concussion. 

“Well, you kinda have to stay awake,” Patrick told you, though he surely knew it was easier said than done. You were surprised when you felt his gloved hand take yours and squeezed your hand softly. “Hey, why don’t you tell us a story?” he suggested, clearly just trying to keep you awake.

“Do you wanna hear the story about how he proposed to me?” you asked the instructor. You weren’t sure why that was the first thing to pop into your head, but it was a long enough story to keep you awake until help arrived. You wished your goggles were slightly less tinted, so you could at least see the scandalized expression Patrick was probably making. You loved when you made him react like that, since the roles were usually reversed. 

“Well, yeah. Of course,” your instructor responded with a hint of a laugh. “You guys are engaged?” he directed towards Patrick.

“This is our honeymoon,” you replied before Patrick had an opportunity to respond. You wished you could see the confused look that your instructor was surely making.

“So what happened?”

“When he proposed?” you asked to clarify. 

“...Sure.”

“Well, for a little context, Patrick here is a professional tennis player. He’s really good too. So given my athletic ability, as you got to see today, I never really played with him. Like, he would always ask me to just play a fun, quick little round and I would always tell him no. Mostly because I knew he would crush me. I did play a little bit back in the day, but I was nowhere near his level. I mostly preferred to be on the sideline while we dated. I mean, I came to every single one of his games. I’m pretty sure my office introduced remote work to us because of me, since I was traveling all the time to see him.

“Anyway, one day, after a day of buttering me up, and I mean, he was really laying it on thick. I don’t know how I didn’t think something was up,” you laughed as you recalled the day, how Patrick had scheduled a nail appointment for you, then wined and dined you during a very romantic midday picnic. “But he asked me to play a little bit of tennis with him. I think I just thought he spent the day buttering me up so that I would play tennis with him, not that I would agree to marry him, but I digress. 

“We get to the tennis court and Patrick’s nervous like I’ve never seen him. He was a little jittery all day, but this was a different beast. Looking back, I really don’t understand why. He should’ve known I was going to say yes. Anyway, we’re playing, and somehow I win, even though I’m extremely rusty and have absolutely awful form. Obviously I knew Patrick threw the match for me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t gonna gloat at him. 

“So I’m doing my victory spiel and I walk over to his side of the court, where he’s digging in his bag. He’s so quiet, which should’ve been a sign that something was up, and I’m thinking he’s about to pull out more tennis balls and tell me we’re doing a rematch, so he can really crush me. Instead, he pulls out a box and gets down on one knee. He gives me a speech about how he didn’t care if he never won another game of tennis in his life, because as long as we were together, he was a winner. It was really sweet. Obviously I said yes.”

You finally looked over at Patrick, though you couldn’t perfectly read his expression through the darkened lens of your goggles. You wondered if he felt any of the same feelings that were currently simmering in your own chest. Though, you didn’t get to stew too long, as help arrived just as your story came to a close. 

You were taken to an infirmary and given a series of tests, some to see the state of your head and other to see how the rest of your body was doing. Surprisingly, you made it out without too much serious damage. Your ankle was sprained, but nothing that would make it take too long to heal. You had a concussion, which surprised you, given your ability to recall so many details earlier in the day, but it was a very mild one. At least you’d made it back into your hotel in one piece. 

You really just wanted to relax for the rest of the evening, and you had plans to do exactly that, when there was suddenly a soft rapping at your door. 

You got up, and with help from the crutches you were provided, you hobbled to the door and opened it. On the other side was Patrick, who you were both surprised and unsurprised to see. 

“Hey. I got your room number from the front desk,” Patrick told you. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Sure, but I’m probably going to sleep soon,” with some effort, you sidestepped the doorway to let him in.

“Do you need anything? Want anything?” he asked as he made himself at home in your room, evaluating what you already had. 

“I’m good, I think.”

“How’re you feeling? They wouldn’t let me see you at the infirmary.”

“I’ve been better,” you shrugged, sitting down on the foot of your bed to take some pressure off of your aching ankle. 

“I bet. Are you icing that?” he asked, gesturing to your most obvious injury. 

“I haven’t been able to make it out to the ice machine,” you confessed, though the doctor had suggested ice for the inflammation. 

“Let me go grab some for you,” he said before disappearing out into the hallway. Once he left, you laid back in bed, letting out a sigh of relief at how much better being flat felt. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like being taken care of this way. It seemed like no matter how bad things got between the two of you, you would always care for one another in some capacity. You wondered what had gone through Patrick’s mind when he saw you hurt yourself. You wondered if that changed anything in the way he felt about you. 

He knocked on the door once more to tell you he was back, though the door was already unlocked. 

“If there’s anything else you need, I mean anything at all, just call me. I’m just down the hall from you,” he told you as he bagged up the ice he retrieved. 

He sat down on the foot of the bed, where you’d previously been sitting, and tenderly set the bag of ice on your ankle, clearly not wanting to hurt you any more than you were already hurt. He looked at you a little sadly before standing back up, not wanting to linger in your presence too long. 

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” he explained, already turning to head towards the door. 

“Thanks, Patrick,” you paused, looking for any other words you had for him. “Good night.”

“Night.”

SOMEWHERE IN ITALY

The next few days in Switzerland had been extremely boring. Due to doctor’s orders, you mainly stayed in bed, avoiding screens by reading books, and looking out the window to view the mountains that you were currently missing. 

Although you had to miss a lot of the fun your tour was going on, like a cheese and chocolate tour, you somehow still received an anonymous delivery of cheeses and chocolates—though, you were pretty sure you knew who was responsible for that. 

Patrick didn’t seem like he wanted to overstep any boundaries, which you respected, though you really could’ve used some company whose ear you could talk off. Hell, you’d even take another nasty argument over the resounding silence of your room. 

Luckily for you, by the time your group was traveling once again, you were starting to feel slightly better, concussion and ankle-wise. Though, your head was starting to hurt from listening to a person at the front of the bus go on about how much they needed the bus to pull over somewhere. 

After a period of incessant complaining from someone on your bus, the vehicle finally came to a stop at a small rest stop in the middle of the Italian countryside. 

Not willing to pass up an opportunity to stretch your legs, you got off at the stop, briefly stopping inside the building to look at what they had to offer before stepping behind the building, watching the wind blow through the overgrown weeds. 

Your attempt at enjoying the quiet, idyllic countryside was disturbed when you were joined by a smoking companion. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said. 

Before you could stop it, a sad smile appeared on your face. The two of you hadn’t spoken since your brief conversation in your hotel room, despite the mystery snack deliveries and the promise of coming if you called.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he said plainly.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” you dismissed. 

“You’ve spent the last few days all alone in a room with a concussion.”

“It’s mild.”

“You fucked up your ankle.”

“It’s healing. It’s not all that bad.”

“Well, I’ve been worried anyway,” he passed you his partially smoked cigarette and you took a drag from it, though you were sure that was one of the things you shouldn’t be doing with a concussion. 

“Thanks, I guess.” you said. “So is this just a wellness check, or…?”

“No, well, yes. Obviously I was worried about you physically, but I also was wondering about how you were in general.”

It was strange to see him clumsily mince his words, given how bold he usually was.

“Oh? What changed between here and Germany?”

“What changed? What changed was that I watched you almost die.”

You laughed aloud at his over dramatization of the event. “Patrick, I did not almost die.”

“How would I have known that? I just saw you flying downhill out of control and crashing and it terrified me. I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.”

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to interpret his words, especially after the wild ride you’d been on throughout the trip. You weren’t sure you could handle another emotional bait and switch. 

“Pat, maybe we should talk about this later. The bus is probably taking off soon.”

“No,” he stopped you with a hand on your arm, calling you back with a desperation you hadn’t seen in him in a long time. “I don’t want to waste another second without you.”

“Okay,” you said, though you weren’t sure that you should buy into it yet. “Go ahead, then.”

“I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want you or don’t want to be with you,” he confessed, which genuinely took you by surprise. With the way he’d been dodging your attempts at building a connection, you certainly didn’t think he’d tell you something like that. 

“Then why have you been pretending?” you asked, hoping that your somewhat harsh words didn’t betray your genuine curiosity behind his behavior. 

“I don’t know,” he said. It was a terrible, unsatisfying answer. One that didn’t explain a single reason behind his behavior. “I guess I just can’t wrap my head around the idea that anyone would want to keep me around long-term.”

You looked at him with shock in your eyes, your mouth slightly agape at the confession. You couldn’t imagine Patrick, overconfident, bold, and self-assured, who you’d been dating for years, not feeling secure in your relationship–to the point where he’d been actively trying to push you away out of anticipating how you’d feel about him.

“When you told me you weren’t ready to be with me, it just confirmed everything I’d been worried about—that one day you would wake up next to me and realize that I wasn’t the guy you wanted. I guess it just happened sooner than I anticipated.”

You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “If you felt like that, then why’d you tell me you weren’t in love with me anymore?”

“I thought if you were gonna leave me anyway, I might as well beat you to the punch.”

You were giving it your all to keep it together at this point, feeling slightly vindicated to know that Patrick was lying about no longer loving you, but mostly devastated that your whole relationship had been uprooted over an assumption that Patrick had made about you. 

“I… I don’t even know what to say,” you looked out into the grass, then back at Patrick. “I wish you’d stop assuming that you know what I want all the time.”

“Hey you two, last call for the coach,” your tour guide suddenly interrupted, looking very obviously annoyed that the two of you were holding the bus up. 

“Sorry. We’ll head back now,” you apologized to the guide. “We’ll continue this conversation later?” you directed towards Patrick. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. 

VENICE, ITALY

Putting a hold on your conversation probably wasn’t the wisest idea you’d ever had, considering that your next few days in Italy were set to be your busiest this far. 

Between gondola rides on different boats and exploring historic palaces, the two of you didn’t have much time to stop and have as serious of a talk as you wanted to have. Even if you did somehow manage to pick up where you’d left off, there were so many people around you that it didn’t even feel worth it. 

Luckily for you, your hotel had a private beach attached to it, and as you spent your evening by the beach, watching the sun go down, you were pleased to find that you were joined by familiar company. 

At first, Patrick didn’t say anything as he sat down on the same chair next to you. The two of you enjoyed the serene sunset and privacy that the beach afforded you in silence, though you were sure that things wouldn’t stay that way for long. 

“I love you, you know?” he finally piped up, breaking the silence with a very bold declaration. 

You looked at him calmly, though you weren’t feeling very calm on the inside. You’d been waiting to hear those words from him from the moment that the two of you broke up. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to react to it now, though the confession was better late than never. 

“I love you too. I never stopped,” you told him simply, as if the realization that you were stuck on him hadn’t been haunting you for months now.

“I never did, either. It was cruel of me to ever tell you that I did.”

You nodded in agreement, wondering if Patrick would ever understand the full extent of the damage his words had done to you. “It was, but I understand where you were coming from. If I had known that you didn’t think I was going to stick around, I would’ve gone about what I did differently,” you began to explain. “I think it came across as me not wanting to marry you at all. Of course I wanted to marry you. There was just so much else going on in my life then that the timing didn’t feel right.”

“But the timing might be right someday?” Patrick asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice. 

“The timing will be right someday. Maybe sooner than either of us know,” you shot him a wink, then broke into a grin as he pulled you into a firm, loving embrace. 

ATHENS, GREECE 

The rest of your time in Italy mainly consisted of making up for lost time, with the two of you partaking in far more PDA than what was ever necessary and thoroughly documenting your time abroad together as a couple. 

Thanks to your injury, you were slightly slower than the rest of your group. But that certainly didn’t stop Patrick from lagging along with you, letting you lean on him for support when you needed it and pausing to sit and take breaks with you whenever you noticed that walking was taking too much of a toll on you.

It was nice to be back with him, to not have to feel stupid for feeling what you felt or feel the pressure of knowing that you should probably be trying to move on. The only unfortunate part was how little time the two of you had left on vacation, with you heading home after spending a few days in Athens. If only the two of you had been upfront about your feelings earlier, then you could’ve been having as great of a time as you were having now during your entire trip. 

The two of you briefly floated the idea of having somewhat of a shotgun wedding, but scrapped it after realizing that you would prefer to have your family and friends there to celebrate with you. After all, many of them had been on the emotional rollercoaster that was your relationship right along with you. 

For the time being, the two of you were perfectly content with being together, and knowing that neither of you had any intentions of leaving. 

Somehow, that made your last few days of vacation feel infinitely better. 

ATHENS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

You scrolled endlessly on your phone, sending out a few messages to friends and family to let them know that you were heading back home. While you typically felt a few nerves before boarding a plane anywhere, you couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of excitement, both at the thought of being able to go back home and sleep in your own bed, and at the potential your newly reformed relationship had. 

Your scrolling was interrupted by Patrick’s presence, carrying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in his hands with a slightly goofy look on his face. 

“Sorry for taking so long. I think everyone and their mother wanted coffee today,” he explained as he sat down, passing you your items as he got comfortable next to you. 

“No worries. I’m just glad you were running late to grab us breakfast, instead of trying to switch our seats like last time.”

The two of you shared a laugh before Patrick said, “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It basically was,” you dismissed. 

Once it was announced that your group was boarding, the two of you stood up quickly, attempting to gather your bearings before getting on the plane. 

“‘Till next time, Europe,” you bid the country goodbye as the two of you made your way to the line. 

“Should we come back to Europe? I was thinking our next honeymoon should be somewhere else. Maybe Bali.”

“Oooh, Bali sounds nice. I think anywhere warm and with a beach is good,” you explained, though you really didn’t care where you went, as long as Patrick was there by your side.

[peanutbutterex]

It is kinda insane how wild the Monkees are when you look into it. They were hired for a TV show but started an internal revolution where they kicked out their music supervisor to have control of their own music. They made a movie deconstructing their image and Hollywood in general. Their music spanned several genres including some very experimental stuff that would influence later music. They met and befriended the Beatles. They wrote and/or directed some of their episodes. One of them is the son of the woman who invented liquid paper (white-out) and then he would go on to basically invent MTV before he sold the concept to those who made MTV. They have some of the first music videos. They fucked. One of them even was known for his orgies. They sometimes hated each other but still loved each other as brothers. There is an FBI file on them allegedly spreading communist and anti-american propaganda at their concerts. They had a song that had to have its lyrics changed because it was too intensely political, even alluding to JFK’s assassination not being done by Lee Harvey Oswald in 1969. Their TV show was revolutionary in structure and content. Disney stars and boy bands would not exist without them. They had Jimi Hendrix open for them. One of them was a member of the Hollywood vampires. And that isn’t even all.

And yet most people don’t take them seriously.

[velvet4510]

Why Magneto’s Storyline in X-Men: Apocalypse is The Worst (it’s not just Cherik)

Ok I just need to vent because this has been chewing away at my brain for far too long.

Cherik is far from the only reason why Erik’s family plotline in X-Men: Apocalypse is some of the stupidest, sloppiest, and most character-ruining pieces of writing I’ve ever seen. Haters may say “oh you’re just upset because he married someone who wasn’t Charles.” But, like, aside from the fact that the original timeline already established that Erik’s top priority was always the fight for mutantkind and he had no interest in settling down - whether that had anything to do with his feelings for Charles or not - the problems with the Apocalypse writing go WAY beyond just him & Charles:

Erik would never abandon his cause at this point. By the end of DOFP, Erik has just been imprisoned for a full 10 years thanks to the JFK situation. Meaning he has spent a full decade being forcibly inactive in the fight for mutants. And he just learned that all of his fears about humans and mutants came to pass in the future to the level where a time-traveler had to be sent to change the past. And he was so set on averting that future that he tried to kill his friend and the sister of the man he loved, and then made a whole speech on international TV begging for the mutants of the world to fight alongside him. This is the POLAR OPPOSITE of a man who would feel like settling down and walking away from the fight within the next decade. The Sentinels being cancelled did NOT make mutant life easy overnight; Stryker was still up to no good, and there is no way that there weren’t others like him doing the same. Yes, Raven’s actions made a very positive difference, but I think we have enough brain cells to agree that this did not mean things for mutants immediately became sunshine and rainbows to the level where Erik - the most (understandably) paranoid character in the X-Men series - would even consider taking a break, let alone giving up the fight permanently. Knowing what he did about the possibilities of the future would’ve made the Erik we know double down on his commitment to his cause and follow up on his actions in Washington.

Erik wouldn’t risk starting a young family at this moment in his life. Erik was a Holocaust prisoner, his people were massacred, his mom was shot when he couldn’t move the coin, and then Charles was shot when Erik accidentally deflected a bullet into him, and then every member of his Brotherhood save Raven were captured and killed. Not only is this more than enough grief for one character to have, but the man wouldn’t dare risk having a new family of his own when everyone he’s ever loved has gotten hurt (largely because of him), and when he’s an international fugitive. That is no time to risk being selfish, and he would know. He would’ve been the first to realize that a potential spouse and child would also end up killed, and so he’d avoid that altogether. In fact, he wouldn’t even consider it, because, as mentioned, he wouldn’t leave his cause behind. You know, if he was actually in character.

Magda is a human. At this point, Erik hates humans. Again, he has just been imprisoned by humans for 10 years for trying to save a mutant, and he just learned that in the future, humans would’ve wiped out mutants, exactly as he feared. Everything that happened in DOFP would only further inflame his already-passionate hatred of humans. He is not in the mental state to even begin to consider Charles’ philosophy and give a human a chance at a relationship, let alone marry a human.

The family lives in Poland. The country where Auschwitz is. The country where Erik and his family and people was imprisoned, tortured, and executed. The country where Erik had to watch Shaw kill his mother. Basically the LAST country in the freaking WORLD that Erik would want to ever see again, let alone spend the rest of his life in. Erik is fluent in multiple languages - he is shown to easily converse in French and Spanish in First Class - and has been all over the world thanks to his Nazi hunting, so if he really needed to flee the U.S., there were a hundred other countries he could’ve gone to and blended into (Canada, France, Mexico, anywhere in South America, heck, he even could’ve discovered Genosha during this time). But in the original timeline, he didn’t leave the U.S. at all despite being a national fugitive after escaping his plastic prison, and he never did get caught again, so….

Erik’s first meeting with Magda is completely OOC for him. Erik mentions that he told Magda who he was the first night they met and he trusted her then. EXCUSE ME??? Erik Lehnsherr does not trust strangers. Erik Lehnsherr does not tell the complete truth about himself and his past to just anyone; look at how deeply Charles had to probe before Erik opened up to him. This stupid line was obviously shoehorned in just to make their relationship seem like perfect soulmates and thus ensure it is doubly tragic when she gets thrown in the fridge 5 minutes later (more on that in a sec). Obviously the intention is for the audience to go “aww, he instantly trusted her, she instantly accepted him, this is true love…” Give me a break. You’re really telling me that Magda met this stranger one night, found out he was none other than the international fugitive who apparently killed the U.S. president and just tried to kill another president on live TV, and went “oh, no problem, honey, let’s make a baby and live the cottagecore dream!” That’s some BS if I’ve ever heard it, and I’m convinced the writers subconsciously knew it; there’s a reason that is revealed in a throwaway line rather than shown onscreen, because then nobody would’ve bought it.

Fridging. Magda and Nina exist in the movie for one reason and one reason only: To get brutally killed and give Erik even more grief and trauma so that he’ll seek revenge on the entire world, aka do what the plot demands of him, aka have the same journey as he did in First Class (more on that in a sec). That’s all. Neither of them are any more than one-dimensional plot devices. They are not characters at all. Magda isn’t even named in the actual movie (he doesn’t even say her name when she dies) - it’s so obvious they didn’t even know what her name would be when they made the movie. This is textbook fridging, and one of the worst examples of it of all time. It’s all the worse considering that Erik never met Magda in the original pre-DOFP timeline, meaning Magda originally most likely lived a long happy life and died old in bed. But now, she gets fridged just because the writers didn’t know what more to do with Erik. It’s misogyny of the highest level.

A parenthood story for Erik was already set up. DOFP already hinted at Erik being a father, with Peter’s comment about his mom. So if the writers wanted to show Erik as a father, and to include Magda, they already had a solution that would seamlessly flow from the previous film - make Erik and Peter’s relationship one of the centerpieces of the story, and let Magda be Peter’s mom! (You know, like she is in the comics!)

It doesn’t contribute anything new to Erik’s character development. From a screenwriting POV, this is unforgivable. May I remind you that Erik’s entire storyline in First Class revolved around grief and trauma for the loss of his family and people, especially his mom, and seeking revenge for it. Giving him a wife and daughter just so they can get killed too adds absolutely NOTHING to his character development. It’s merely retreading everything that already happened in his arc: he loses his family and goes on a roaring rampage of revenge. Completely superfluous, right down to Charles insisting that there’s good in him beyond the pain. The redundancy becomes apparent even in the dialogue, where Charles literally says “I told you since I first met you there’s good in you too.” The script itself can’t help but point out that all of this has happened before and literally nothing new has been added to Erik’s character arc.

See? It’s not just because of Cherik. Erik’s story in X-Men: Apocalypse is an atrocity in basic screenwriting and character development, on every level. And I will always despise it.

(Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way…)

[pickingupmymercedes]

When hating you was all I wanted 3/3 - Lewis Hamilton

A special trilogy part of 1K Jukebox Event

Longer than I care to admit (pt.1) | Even when I said I didn't (pt.2) | When hating you was all I wanted (pt.3).

song: Ruin my life - Zara Larsson (it's not on the jukebox but I heard it and I knew it was the perfect one to tie up the other two songs together)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

a/n: shout out to those who read Ways to say "I love you", there's a special nod to one of the prompts

wordcount: +2k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The overlapping announcements, rolling luggage, and hurried footsteps are chaotic on their own right.

But I can barely hear it over the frantic pounding of my heart.

I don’t know how I got here. My hands still tremble from grabbing my keys, slipping into my shoes, and bolting out of the apartment like my life depended on it.

Maybe it does.

Each step is a struggle against the tide of people flowing in every direction but mine. My lungs burn as I push forward, my mind looping the same damning mantra over and over:

You’re too late. He’s gone. You’ve lost him.

The flight notification had burned into my mind the moment I saw it, a flashing reminder of the time I don’t have.

Forty-five minutes until takeoff. Thirty-five if they’re boarding now.

The logical part of me knows this is reckless.

Security is probably already eyeing me, suspicious of the girl darting through terminals like she’s in a spy movie. I should stop.

Think. Breathe.

But logic doesn’t matter when you’re running for your heart.

My hand shakes as I clutch my phone, the unanswered calls mocking me on the screen.

“Come on, Lewis,” I whisper, desperation threading my voice. Another call, another ring that leads straight to voicemail. “Pick up. Please.”

The last word cracks like a plea, lost in the cacophony around me.

I hate airports. I hate how cold they feel, how big and impersonal they are. How easy it is to lose someone in the endless sea of faces.

But most of all, I hate how every passing second feels like one more nail in the coffin of my cowardice.

You let him leave. You let him leave because you couldn’t say what he needed to hear to stay.

My chest tightens, the weight of my own mistakes mixed with the lack of oxygen. My heart racing with something I couldn’t tell if was desperation or a panic attack

I glance at the departure board. Flight 238. LAX to JFK, already boarding.

My stomach twists into knots as the words flash on the screen.

He’s leaving. He’s really leaving.

I weave through the throngs of people, scanning every face, every figure.

None of them are his.

My chest aches with every breath, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my soul. The memory of his face before he left keeps playing in my head like a broken record.

The resignation. The quiet heartbreak. The way his shoulders sagged as if carrying the weight of every unspoken word between us.

I didn’t think it would hurt this much. I didn’t think I’d miss him before he even left.

But I do.

I miss him more than I thought I could.

“Can’t or won’t?”

The way he said it still cuts deeper than I expected, the pain raw and unyielding.

“The difference is everything, Y/n.”

He was right. The difference is everything. And I chose wrong. I chose fear. I chose safety.

But none of that feels safe now. Not when every breath feels like it’s crushing me. Not when the thought of him leaving makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

My mind is a battlefield of fear and hope, every thought slamming into me with relentless force.

You can’t let him leave like this.

The thought of him on that plane, of losing him for good.

I fumble with my phone again, my vision blurring as I type out a message.

Y/n: Lewis, please. Just call me. I need to talk to you.

Y/n: I’m sorry. For everything. Just… please don’t leave like this.

The words stare back at me, mocking in their simplicity. I hate how weak they make me feel, how small.

But I hit send anyway. It’s the only thing I can do.

Minutes pass. Still nothing.

I make it back to the main terminal, scanning frantically for the gate. The flight number blinks mockingly at me.

Final boarding.

My stomach lurches. My sneakers slap against the polished floor as I break into a run. People turning to stare, but I don’t care.

I reach the VIP gate just as they announce the last call. My chest heaves as I lean against the counter, gasping for breath.

“Did the NYC flight just close?” I manage to ask. The attendant looks up, startled by my urgency.

“Yes, ma’am,” she says.

My heart leaps into my throat. “Lewis Hamilton,” I blurt. “Is he still here?”

She hesitates, her professional mask faltering for just a moment. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t disclose that information.”

But her hesitation is enough.

I spin on my heel, my pulse roaring in my ears. My eyes scanning the hallway from the private lounge, and then I see him.

Lewis.

He’s standing off to the side, his back to me, his carry-on slung over one shoulder, his phone nowhere in sight.

He looks calm, collected, every inch the man the world knows as Lewis Hamilton.

He’s waiting. For what, I don’t know. And for whom, I can only pray.

My breath catches, my chest tightening painfully.

Say something, Y/n.

But the words stick in my throat, my legs frozen in place. He looks so composed, so untouchable, and for a moment, the fear overwhelms me.

What if he doesn’t want to hear it? What if you’ve already ruined everything?

Then he starts to move, his long strides taking him closer to the gate.

No.

The realization slams into me like a freight train, and I stumble, my momentum faltering.

“I love you!”

The words burst out of me before I can stop them, my voice cracking under the strain of desperation. Raw and desperate, cutting through the noise of the terminal.

People turning to stare, the sound echoing in the space.

My heart skips a beat as his head turns, his eyes wide and filled with confusion. For a moment, he’s frozen, his carry-on slipping from his shoulder as if the weight of my confession is too much to bear.

I don’t wait for him to process it.

I run.

Security be damned, people be damned—nothing matters except getting to him.

“I love you, Lewis!” I scream again, my voice breaking on his name.

And then his eyes meet mine.

The distance between us shrinks, my steps faltering as I finally reach him. His eyes are wide, stunned, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

And then time seems to stop.

“I have loved you for longer than I care to admit. I have not stopped loving you, even when I said I didn’t. Even when hating you was all I wanted.”

The words are spilling out now, unstoppable.

Within arm’s reach, I take a deep breath before continue, my chest heaving as I search his face. “Even when I was too scared to say it,” I whisper, my voice barely audible now. “Especially then.”

His eyes search mine, their intensity almost unbearable.

“Y/n…” he breathes, his voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

His gaze locks on mine, searching, waiting, giving me time to catch up to the enormity of what I’ve just done.

His hands hover near mine, hesitant, cautious, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too quickly.

I don’t take his hand though.

I can’t.

I need so much more.

So, I reach for the back of his neck, my fingers caressing the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

His skin warm under my touch, grounding me in a way nothing else can.

His gaze flickers between my eyes and my mouth, his expression a mix of hope and disbelief.

“I love you” I whisper, the words finally spilling out like a confession. “I’ve always loved you.”

The air between us crackles with tension, the kind that pulls you in and refuses to let go.

And then, as if on instinct, his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

The kiss is everything and nothing like I expected.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s testing the waters, but when I respond, it shifts.

It’s heat and longing and every unspoken word we never said, all wrapped up in his lips moving against mine.

His hands anchor me to him, one at the small of my back, the other on my jaw.

I can feel the stubble on his beard, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the salt of my tears.

It’s overwhelming, consuming, and I never want it to end.

When we finally pull apart, his forehead rests against mine, his breaths coming in uneven gasps that match my own.

“I can’t keep leaving you behind” he says, his voice rough with emotion.

“You won’t have to” I reply, my hands still cradling his face. “Not anymore.”

His eyes search mine, and for the first time, I see something I never thought I deserved—relief.

And love.

“I’m going to ruin your life, you know?!” I murmur against his lips, a shaky laugh escaping me.

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes soft. “As long as you’re in it, I don’t care.” he whispers, his voice full of intent.

The sound of distant murmurs pulls us back to reality. People are staring now, phones raised, whispers spreading like wildfire.

Lewis glances around, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well,” he says, his tone dry, “now we really can’t go back on this.”

I laugh softly, resting my forehead against his. “No,” I whisper. “We can’t.”

Before I can say more, security approaches, their expressions a mix of exasperation and recognition. “Mr. Hamilton, Miss…” one of them starts, clearly trying to maintain professionalism despite the chaos.

Lewis tightens his hold on me, his smile turning playful. “Looks like we’re causing a scene.”

I can’t help but laugh, my heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks as he responds. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of promise as we're scorted back to the vip lounge. “Let’s go figure this out”

And none of it matters.

But him.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not running away.

I’m running towards him.

Towards us.

"Okay, so I gotta ask," I say, glancing around the sleek but surprisingly compact space. “This is the glamorous life of an F1 WAG? I thought there’d be… I don’t know, more gold-plated chandeliers or something.”

Lewis snorts, looking up from the kitchenette where he’s fiddling with a cup of tea. “You were expecting a palace on wheels?” He saunters over, his grin equal parts amused and smug. “Sorry to disappoint, princess.”

I stretch out on the plush sofa—a truly luxurious thing to have in a motorhome, to be quite honest.

“Honestly? I thought I’d at least get a jacuzzi”

“Jacuzzi?” He raises an eyebrow, setting the tea down on the small table before climbing onto the sofa beside me. “You’ve got me. Isn’t that enough?”

I roll my eyes, but my smile betrays me. “Barely.”

“Barely, huh?” He leans over me, bracing himself on his elbows so that his body hovers just above mine.

His scent—clean, warm, and uniquely Lewis—envelops me, making the space feel small.

“You want out already?” he asks, his voice low, teasing, but with just enough vulnerability underneath to make my chest ache.

“Never,” I whisper, my fingers sliding up to tangle softly in his necklace. “You’re stuck with me now.”

His lips twitch, his eyes softening in that way that always undoes me. “Good.”

I pull him down, meeting him halfway for a kiss that’s slow and tender, the kind that feels like home.

His weight settles over me, grounding me, and for a moment, everything else fades—the race, the world outside, the chaos of the past few days.

It’s just us.

“You’re terrible at pretending you don’t want me, you know” he murmurs against my lips, his tone playful.

“I wasn’t pretending” I counter, though we both know it’s a lie. “I was… confused.”

“Confused,” he echoes, kissing the corner of my mouth. “You sure about that?”

I laugh softly, threading my fingers through his hair. “Positive. Now shut up and kiss me again, Hamilton.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His lips crash into mine, and this time, there’s nothing slow about it.

It’s all heat and need, his hands finding my waist as he presses me further into the cushions.

And in a motorhome, surrounded by the hum of a f1 paddock outside, I finally realize something.

It doesn’t matter where we are—whether it’s a cramped motorhome, a five-star hotel, or the middle of an airport.

As long as it’s with him, it’s exactly where I’m meant to be.

My decision of a lifetime, one that after that day I'd make every day, over and over.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend @unlikelystay @thesizzler

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[wheneverfeasible]

🧠🪱Wriggly Wednesday🪱🧠

Thanks for the tag @augustjustice! I was actually just thinking about how I had something for one of these.

So I’ve been reading a lot of historical fic lately, and it really got me wanting to do a royalty au. I don’t have a lot of solid details for it yet, and I don’t know if I’ll ever actually write it as I have a lot on my plate currently, but my basic idea is this:

The kingdom of Hawkins is ruled by a tyrannical king; lazy, prejudiced, and greedy. His queen is beloved by the people for the charity work she does, yet the king never hides the fact that he’s disloyal to her. He doesn’t have to, he’s the king. He doesn’t care if the woman he’s interested in is married or not herself, if he sees her and wants her then he’ll take her and the husband just has to deal with it. It’s almost an honor at this point. (Think very JFK.)

The queen hates it, however, and is just as vicious as her husband, only behind closed doors. She married for the crown, not for love, and her kindness is only a front she puts on for the public. Behind closed doors she is cold and vain and uncaring of the plight of others.

And then they have a son. The prince. He is just as rotten as his father. Lazy, greedy, thinks himself above all others. When he grows bored, he demands a plaything. That’s when the soldiers will sweep the streets and bring him beggars and street urchins and, sometimes, the prince will also demand for a petty criminal to become his plaything instead of being shipped off to slavers or executed. The playthings never seem to last for long, and they’re never seen from again.

One day, Eddie is brought forward as a criminal. It wasn’t actually him, or course, but his father. His father however skipped town and left Eddie to fall in his place. It’s known that Alan Munson was the worst sort of miscreant. A petty thief with a silver tongue that somehow managed to avoid being caught. Until one day he strove for too much and the kingdom was out for his head.

With Al having fled, however, sights turned to his son, Edward. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Of course not. At least, that’s what everyone says. So Eddie is brought to trial in his father’s stead. Eddie is certain he will be sent off as a slave or worse. Except.

Prince Steven whines that he’s bored, and he doesn’t want to sit through a whole trial. Can’t he just have the criminal as a plaything since his last one broke?

The king grants his son’s request.

Eddie has heard rumors of what sorts of things the prince gets up to with his playthings. According to some, it was a fate worse than death. At least a judgement of death was swift.

Except.

Well, Steve learned how to wear a public mask from the best of the best: his mother. His mask is more extensive, however, because he wears it inside the castle as well. Even his parents believe him to be nothing more than a spoiled, pampered brat. But in truth, it is quite the opposite. And the playthings?

Steve purposely seeks out the destitute, the needy, the ones who one more night out on the street could mean their death, and brings them in. Criminals too, if he knows they’re innocent, or only stole from necessity to survive, or if he believes the punishment far too harsh for their crimes. He takes them in too, as many as he can without his father growing suspicious.

He takes them in, acts for the public like a monster, and only when it’s just him and the “plaything” does he drop the act and let them know the truth. He’s going to get them out. He’s greedy and materialistic to the public because he gives the items away in secret, helping his playthings start a new life elsewhere. He helps them sneak out of the castle and out of the kingdom, if only they promise to leave their old life behind. It is the only way to keep them and those after them safe.

Eddie, of course, believes the worst of the prince, even when Steve’s mask drops alone in his room. He learned long ago not to trust royals. There’s a little bit of enemies-to-friends-to-lovers here then, as Eddie doesn’t trust Steve at first, and also refuses to leave the kingdom without his uncle.

So Eddie and Steve bicker about it, and Steve says fine but Eddie has to play the part of his plaything for the public and his parents, which involves a lot of being caught in compromising positions sometimes to sell it.

Except Eddie starts to grow real feelings when he realizes that Prince Steven really is a good man. Eddie soon has another reason why he doesn’t want to leave the kingdom, even if he believes a prince could never return his feelings.

Plot Possibilities:

- Steve’s last “plaything” was Jonathan. A rare volunteer to be the prince’s plaything in exchange for goods for his poor family. He initially does not trust Steve for a while, but eventually they build a kind of wary friendship.

- Steve was in talks for a betrothal with a noble lady, Nancy. She thought him a cretin as she only knew the mask he wore, while her lady-in-waiting, Barb, would mutter insults about him to her making Nancy have to cover her laughter. Steve heard them and thought they were hilarious, but pretended to be clueless.

- Jonathan sees Nancy and falls in love immediately, making Steve have to figure out a way to get the two of them together without blowing his cover. He eventually succeeds and Steve makes everyone believe Jonathan “broke” and was discarded when on reality he helped smuggle him out with Nancy’s entourage when the betrothal talks fell through and she returned to her land.

- Steve still anonymously takes care of Jonathan’s family like he promised he would, the only way Jonathan would leave with Nancy.

- Robin was originally given to Steve as a tribute, the daughter of an enemy soldier, and Steve keeps her as a plaything for a while (she attacks him the first night before he can explain the truth) and when she “breaks” he shortly thereafter obtains a new servant who looks remarkably like her, named “Rob”.

- During one of the times Steve is manhandling Eddie in public to keep up the act, Eddie gets a very ill-timed boner at the fake threat Steve growls at him, finding out the hard (pun not intended) way that maybe he might like some of the things evil Prince Steven is supposed to be doing to him.

- Eddie seduces Steve realizing the man would never force himself on Eddie. They try out some of things Prince Steven threatened him with and eventually Steve can make his mask’s threats seem far more genuine when Eddie follows him with bruises and a stiff gait afterwards. (Eddie loves every second of it.)

- A minor nobility cannot pay taxes so the king takes his young daughter for his son as payment and to humiliate the noble as a lesson for others. Her name is Chrissy.

- Robin is instantly smitten with Chrissy. The feeling is swiftly mutual once Chrissy realizes “Rob” is a woman.

- something something something

- Steve’s parents die/are murdered/are executed/idk

- Steve is made king and people are wary at first expecting him to be like his father. He can finally drop his mask and it’s revealed that all the good things people thought was his mom was actually him doing it.

- One of the first orders of business he does is grant Rob a title of nobility for loyal service and saving his life (stripping another noble of their title for their disloyalty/treason?).

- Steve tells Rob “he” can have any one wish of his granted. Rob asks for Steve’s concubine Chrissy as his wife (as per previously plotted by the three of them) and Steve grants it.

- Steve frees Eddie from his bondage, expecting Eddie to leave and never look back. He tries not to show how much that hurts.

- Eddie stays. Obviously.

- They go to bed with a bit of role reversal. Steve loves every second of it.

- Steve remains a bachelor king with a questionably close friendship with one of his advisors that the people of the kingdom knowingly smirk about but support because he’s an amazing king who always takes care of his people.

- Steve appoints his heir as this loudmouth whippersnapper with an attitude he takes under his wing for whatever reason. He questions his sanity every day after.

- Years later, King Dustin and Queen Suzie rule the land following in his predecessor’s footsteps; with care, humility, and equal justice for all.

~

(No pressure) Hostage Hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife @everywherenothere

Other no pressure tags: @steddiecameraroll @mundaneone @endlessmusings1801 @stervrucht @hotluncheddie @eddiethebrave

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Haunted

Mark Sloan x Reader

Summary: Mark Sloan finally finds where his wife had been hiding

Warnings: Angst, cheating, mild smut, Addison has poison oak, medical talk, death

Word Count: 5.7K

Masterlist

I sat in the foyer of the beautiful brownstone Mark has bought us, seething. I had arrived home after a long 30-hour shift, just wanting to relax with my husband but I had instead received a call from Derek delivering the worst news of my life.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Derek, everything okay?” I asked, concerned at his strained voice.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

My heart crawled into my throat. What could have possibly happened to warrant this much concern from him? Has Addison been hurt? Had Mark? “What? Derek, you’re scaring me.”

After a pause, he spoke again. “I just found Mark in bed with Addison.” My entire body felt like it had filled with ice. I knew Addison and Derek had been on the rocks for a while but I thought Mark and I were solid. “I’m leaving, tonight, for Seattle. I have an old friend out there who’s gonna make me the head of neurosurgery. I know it’s sudden and you’re dealing with a lot right now but I’m happy to bring you out there.”

Tears pricked in my eyes, I felt so helpless. “Derek, I’m a second year resident, I can’t just up and move to a different program.”

“Richard, the chief of surgery at Seattle Grace, will help you. You may be set back a year but what’s the alternative?”

I thought for a second. I could stay here and try to work things out with Mark but I knew I’d never be able to look at or trust him again. I could break up with him and stay here but knowing him he’d never leave me in peace. My best option would be to flee. “You’re right. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks across from JFK?”

“I’ll see you there. And Y/N? I really am sorry that this happened to you.”

“I’m sorry it happened to you too.”

I had packed only the essentials into a duffle bag that sat next to me as I waited for Mark to get back to his home. My beautiful rings sat on the coffee table between me and the door, clearly visible from the doorway.

Mark had a devastated look on his face even before he opened the door. His face dropped even further when he saw my expression along with my rings on the table. “Y/N-”

“Don’t,” I interrupted. “I want a divorce,” I asked calmly, picking up my bag to walk out.

But Mark stood his ground, continuing to stand in front of the doorway. “Can we at least talk about this?”

“Why? Nothing you could possibly say could make this better or make me not hate you. You hurt your best friend and your wife,” the tears were falling now. “You threw away our entire relationship for what? So you could hurt Derek? You just had to have Addison? You wanted to hurt me?”

“No, no,” Mark protested, his own voice cracking. “Addison wanted to hurt Derek and well… I wasn’t thinking.”

“‘I wasn’t thinking?’ That’s a pathetic excuse.” I moved to walk past him but he grabbed my arm, yanking me back in front of him, moving to further block the door.

“You promised to love me for better or worse, Y/N Sloan. Well, this is worse. You made a vow.”

“You also vowed to love and honor me,” I threw back.

His grip slackened enough for me to remove my arm from his grip so I continued towards the door. But before I could step out into the night, Mark spoke again. “At least tell me where you’re going?”

I sighed. “Derek and I are getting hotel rooms for a little while,” I lied. Not wanting him to ask me anymore, I slammed the door shut, quickly hailing a taxi.

~

I stood at the nurses’ station, filling out charts when Alex came up next to me, grabbing a chart from one of the nurses. “Your patient in 402 is demanding your presence,” I told him.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “She’s been demanding ridiculous things all day. I’ve got a surgery I need to study for.”

“Oh yeah? Tell you what, I’ll take this patient off your hands if you take my ruptured abscess.”

Alex stopped to think for a second before reaching his hand out. “Deal.” I smiled, eager to switch when suddenly a fist came out of nowhere, hitting Karev in the face. I whipped my head around, horrified to see Mark.

“What are you doing with my wife?” he yelled down at a still slightly dazed Alex.

“Mark! What the hell?” I demanded.

But before Mark could speak, Alex was up and lunging at Mark. Noticing him, I stepped between the two men, stupidly, getting myself tackled into Mark’s chest in the process. The rest of the hospital had finally realized what was going on as they pulled Alex away, Izzie trying to calm him down.

Realizing I was still in my ex-husband's arms, I pulled myself away from him. “What the fuck are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Addison told me.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know of all the ways you could’ve found me, that is the last one I would have wanted to hear.”

“Y/N, please, just hear me out,” he begged.

I sighed, “Fine. But after I listen and make a decision, I want you out of my life forever.” Mark looked like he wanted to argue but nodded nonetheless. So I led him to an on-call room for privacy. He smiled upon entering the room. “I remember these from my residency. Or when I’d have a surgery with you at New York Presbyterian,” he flirted, stepping closer to me.

I pressed my hand against his chest, pushing him away. “Don’t. Just say what you need to say.”

He looked disappointed at my rejection but spoke anyways. “First, I want to apologize. What I did was unforgivable and it was just a moment of weakness. I love you, I always have and I always will. These past few months have been hell and everyone refused to tell me where you were.” He paused, waiting for my response but I just quirked an eyebrow at him, urging him to continue. “Look, I want you back. I’ve been wanting you back ever since… well Addison and I… anyways. Please, I can’t do this without you, come home.” He then pulled out my engagement and wedding rings and I noticed for the first time he was still wearing his ring. “You’re still my wife, Y/N Sloan.”

I took a shaky breath. “My name is L/N and the only reason we’re not legally divorced is because I didn’t want you to know where I was. But I guess that doesn’t matter now.”

“Babe, please-”

“Don’t call me babe. I have work I have to do.” I went to move past him but he grabbed my arm again, just like he did all those months ago.

“No, we’re gonna makeup,” he insisted. He pulled me in front of him again, peering down at my face. “God, you’re more beautiful than I remembered.” I remembered lines like that from early on in our relationship. They used to make me melt… I shook off any feelings from the past, trying to steel myself against my husband’s charms that would make me putty in his hand in an instant. His hand slipped under my jaw, cupping my face, fitting perfectly just like back when I thought we were made for each other. And then his lips found mine and I was gone.

I felt his other arm slip around my waist and he pulled me closer to him. Feeling my resolve slip, I brought my hands to my husband’s face and neck, kissing him back. Noticing my reciprocity, Mark lifted me slightly, bringing me to the bed. He laid me down gently, careful to not put too much weight on me. With practiced hands, he went straight for my scrub pants. Neither of us were strangers to hookups in on-call rooms. Mark and Derek had their own practice back in New York but he’d have to come to my hospital for the ORs and he’d always drag me into the on-call rooms before surgery and sometimes after.

I made no moves to undress him, a quiet voice in my mind screaming for me to stop but I ignored it. Mark didn’t seem to mind though as he pulled down his own pants and moved his lips down to my neck. It took everything in me not to moan as he hit the parts of my body that made my toes curl.

He groaned when he finally sheathed himself inside of me. “Oh my god, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, gripping the sheets next to my head. “You haven’t been with anyone else?”

“No,” I answered, fighting out pleased sounds. Truthfully I was still in love with Mark and I didn’t want to hurt him, especially the way he had hurt me. Even though I had proclaimed that we were over, sleeping with someone else would still feel like cheating. “Have you?”

“No, no of course not. It’s you, it’s always been you, it will always be you,” he professed, continuing to thrust in and out of me. He was cupping my face again and trying to look deeply into my eyes but I refused to meet his gaze. Instead just looking up at the bunk above us, focusing on making it seem like I wasn’t enjoying this. Fortunately, he gave me the decency of nuzzling his face into my neck so I wouldn’t have to avoid his gaze.

He continued pumping in and out deep, and slowly, his fingers nestled against my clit, moving in the way he knew I liked. I was gone in about two minutes, embarrassment creeping up my neck and face at being at Mark’s mercy. I could feel him smirk into my throat as he chased his own release, finishing shortly after me.

The second he did, I was pushing him off of me, hiking my pants back up around my hips. “Babe,” he protested as I headed for the door.

“I have work to do,” I explained, not even sparing him a glance. “And don’t call me babe.”

I rushed out of the on-call room, intent on finding Alex’s whiny patient but I ran into Derek first. “Y/N, I heard about Mark, are you okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine. Told him to fuck off,” I rushed out.

“Why’d he punch Karev?”

“I think he thought we were flirting or something. I don’t know, didn’t bother to ask.” I tried to move past him but the sound of the door I just came through opening, stopped me.

“Mark,” I heard Derek say in shock. He looked between Mark and I and the on-call room we just came out of. Mark was wearing a proud smirk and I knew it was over for my decency. So in Derek’s surprise, I took the opportunity to slip away.

~

“Y/N Sloan, to the nurses’ station. Dr. Y/N Sloan to the nurses’ station,” the intercoms rang out across the dining quad.

“Are you the Sloan they’ve been calling all day?” Cristina asked as she approached the table along with Meredith, Izzie, and George. “I didn’t even know they still used these intercoms. Why don’t they just page you?”

I groaned, looking at Izzie, who was there to witness Mark’s outburst. “Because my ex-husband is trying to humiliate me into talking to him.”

“Wait, you’re married?” George sputtered out.

“Ex,” I clarified.

“But he called you his wife?” Izzie clarified. “Who is he? What happened? Why’d he punch Alex?”

I sighed, not wanting to tell them. But I knew they’d never stop asking and soon enough my business would be all over the hospital, might as well get control of the story. “Fine. That guy? That’s my husband, Mark Sloan. We’re not legally divorced but we will be soon.”

“Wait, you’re married to Derek’s ex-best friend?” Meredith asked.

“You’re married to plastic surgery god Mark Sloan?” Cristina asked at the same time.

“Yes, and yes. Mark and I met while I was finishing up in undergrad. We got married after two years and then three years later Derek finds him in bed with Addison. So I kind of fled New York in the middle of the night with Derek. Mark is here now because Addison finally told him where I am in order to beg for me to go back. As for the punch, I don’t know, probably thought Alex and I were flirting or something. He was always a little possessive.” George scoffed a little at that.

“So you’re married to McSteamy?” Izzie mused. “I did not see that coming.”

I set down my fork. “Did you just call my cheating husband ‘McSteamy?’”

“Yeah she did,” Cristina jumped in. “Can’t say I blame her, or Addison, or you.”

I rolled my eyes at the nickname. “So I guess I’m still just as pathetic as you?” I smiled at Meredith.

“Welcome to the club of getting screwed over by attendings.”

“He’s not an attending, he’s leaving as soon as possible,” I insisted. The rest of them stared at me. “What?”

“You know that lionitis patient? Dr. Sloan offered his services. The Chief offered him head of plastics on the spot and he took it. Said he wanted to be close to his wife, which I now realize is you,” George explained.

I stared at him with wide eyes. “No, no he is not staying here,” I seethed. Standing up, I began to storm towards the surgical floor’s nurses’ station, knowing that’s where he’d be.

I stormed up to the nurses’ station, finding Mark speaking with the Chief. “Mark, stop paging me!”

“Then don’t fuck me and immediately walk away,” he countered.

My eyes widened, shocked at his words. I glanced over at Dr. Webber, blood rushing to my face, mortified. He choked a little, excusing himself. “What the hell was that?” I demanded in a whisper yell. “First you punch one of my friends and now this?”

“What? God forbid people know that a man has sex with his wife?” I shushed him again. “And I can’t defend my wife either?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not your wife.”

“Yes you are, neither of us have signed divorce papers.”

“Okay fine, but not for long. I’m going to see a lawyer when I’m done with work so you may as well get used to not being married anymore.”

“I can’t call you my wife, or babe, or your legal name. What should I call you?”

“Nothing, leave me alone. Tell the chief you can’t stay.” I whirled around, intent to walk away when Mark called after me.

“I won’t sign them.” I stopped dead in my tracks. Turning around, I looked at him. “I won’t let one mistake end our marriage.”

“It wasn’t one mistake. Are you saying you accidentally went to the Shepherds’ house? Accidentally started taking your clothes off? Accidentally took of Addison’s? And then your only mistake was to sleep with her? No, you made a hundred choices to cheat on me. So please Mark, give me mercy and leave me with a shred of decency to sign the papers and then leave. Do you know how much you’ve humiliated me?”

“Just give me three months. Three months to win you back. If you still hate me, I’ll sign the papers and go back to New York.”

“No.”

“Come on, you wanna throw away 5 years in one night? Three months.”

I sighed. “One date.”

“Two months.”

“A week.”

“A month.”

“Fine,” I rolled my eyes. “One month.”

Mark smiled victoriously, “A month.”

~

It was about 3 am and I had just wrapped up on an emergency heart surgery. I was the last resident to leave so I had the locker room completely to myself. At least, I did until I heard the door swing open. Assuming it was just some other exhausted resident I didn’t bother to turn around until I felt familiar arms wrap around my waist. I turned my head slightly, my cheek brushing against Mark’s lips. “You were amazing in that surgery,” he murmured.

“Thanks,” I dismissed, continuing to sort through my bag.

“You really are such a gifted surgeon. You know what specialty you want yet? You’ve got the face and skill for plastics.”

“You know this is the residents’ lounge, right?” I changed the subject. “Attendings’ is down the hall.”

“I like this one better. It has you in it.” I rolled my eyes at that pickup line. “So, I was thinking you and I could get dinner together. Catch up. Get late night takeout from whatever was open like we used to.” I had to admit, I had missed those late night takeout sessions… and Mark. The worst part was that I missed my husband.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I dismissed, twisting out of his arms.

“Y/N, our deal only works if you give me a fair shot.”

I sighed again, admittedly he was right. “Fine, we can get dinner, or I guess really early breakfast.”

Mark smirked victoriously again. “One of the other residents told me about this 24 hour place that has sandwiches.”

~

Mark opened the door to his hotel room, letting me step in. It was lavish, Mark having never shied away from the finer things in life. Mark stepped towards the desk, setting down the bag of sandwiches and sitting in the chair. Leaving me to take a seat, cross-legged on the bed. He handed me my sandwich that I eagerly opened, having not eaten anything in 6 hours. “So what’ve you been up to the last few months?”

“Work,” I answered bluntly. It was an honest and complete answer. I had to restart my second year of residency when I moved so I was barely above the bottom of the surgical food chain. “And all the residents in my year were already cliquey so my only friends are interns.”

“Richard told me you run with the girl Derek fell in love with.”

“Yeah, Meredith Grey. Now I’m the other girl who got screwed over by an attending,” I teased lightly.

He chuckled embarrassedly. “Yeah, well, sorry about that.”

“You know, when I first found out, I couldn’t wait to hear you grovel. But you’ve apologized to me so many times it’s like nails on a chalk board.”

“Sor-” Mark began but he pursed his lips when he saw my expression. “So that guy I punched? What’s up with him?”

“Beyond being a sometimes decent coworker? Nothing. But you should apologize to him, for me. He wants to go into plastics and I think you punching him threw a wrench into that plan. And as long as he’s not still pissed at you, I think he’d love to learn from you.”

“You’re going awfully out of your way for the guy that is ‘sometimes a decent coworker.’”

I sent Mark a tired look. “Are you actually going there right now?”

“I guess I don’t have much of a leg to stand on when it comes to this,” he said shyly, realizing his mistake.

“Ya think?” I asked sarcastically. “So what’ve you been doing?”

“Well when you first left I stopped working for a while. I poured everything into finding you… and admittedly a bottle. I was a mess, I couldn’t eat or sleep. All I really did was drink and beg for people to tell me where you were. But after like a month I finally gave up and went back to working. I did nothing but work for 4 months. Then… Addison called, said she was in Seattle with you and Derek and I was on the next flight here. I had to fly economy because there were no first class seats available,” he said with disgust.

“Oh the horror,” I laughed.

We fell into a comfortable silence and it felt almost like back when we were still happily married. The silence was first broken by my yawn since I had now been up for 20 hours. “I miss you,” Mark admitted. “I miss your smile, your laugh, your kindness. I miss how cute you are when you’re tired. How you used to come home and collapse into bed with me. I miss your cooking and how you said it was the next best thing to surgery.” He scooted his chair closer so he could grab my hands which had been sitting limply in my lap. “I miss your hands,” he kissed them, “and your legs, and your hair, and your eyes, and your nose, and your lips,” he punctuated each body part with a kiss there. But it was finally the kiss on my lips that made me snap out of Mark’s trance.

“No,” I said, pushing away. “Earlier was a moment of weakness, a mistake.”

“Ahah, so sleeping with someone is one mistake?” he beamed. “And a moment of weakness is just that, a moment.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. He had been so sweet and apologetic, now he was trying to get off the hook? “This afternoon wasn’t like you and Addison at all. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew I’d regret it but I chose to anyway. And when I sleep with you I’m the only one getting hurt. I wasn’t cheating.” He looked dejected, realizing I was right and he couldn’t get out of this on a technicality. “I’m going,” I declared, moving to get off the bed.

“Y/N, you have work in two hours and we’re right across the street from the hospital. Sleep here.”

“You’re that eager to get me into your bed?” I scoffed.

“Look, I’ll sleep on the floor if that makes you feel better but I’m not letting you leave.”

“Fine,” I agreed, crawling up to the head of the bed to slip under the covers. Mark grabbed one of the many pillows from the bed, throwing it down onto the floor. As he laid down it dawned on me that he didn’t have a blanket. Feeling bad, I spoke. “Get up here.”

Mark didn’t have to be told twice as he quickly slipped under the sheets. But as soon as he did, I was turned the other way, refusing to acknowledge him further. “Goodnight,” he wished me as he turned off the lamp.

~

In the morning I woke up the same way I used to, the same way I had been missing for the past 5 months. My head was rested on Mark’s chest, his arms wrapped around me, and his lips murmuring against my ear that it was time to get up. Upon regaining my senses, I jumped out of bed, trying to find my shoes and jacket. Being back in his arms made me realize how much I had missed him but I couldn’t afford to slip back into those old habits.

“So am I just a bed warmer to you?” Mark asked from his spot in bed, watching me get ready. “I mean I’m fine with it if that’s all you’ll give me but I’d just like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

I sent him an eyeroll. “No, I just felt bad for you. Thanks for the wakeup, by the way,” I thanked, checking my watch to see I’d be right on time.

“Of course. What else are husbands for?”

I took a breath, not wanting to encourage him. “Bye.”

“I’m actually headed there myself, gonna operate on the lionitis kid. You wanna scrub in?”

“Are you actually trying to buy my love with surgeries?”

“It worked last time,” he laughed. “Well, you were still in school so more like homework answers but it still worked.”

I laughed, dismissively shaking my head, “I’ll see you later.”

~

Cristina, Alex, and I were waiting around the main nurses’ station, waiting for our assignments for the day. “How’s your face?” I asked Alex.

“Fine, I’ve taken worse,” he answered casually.

“Only reason he’s not mad is because he wants to kiss the plastics god’s ass,” Cristina teased.

“Shut up,” was all he said, offering no other defense for himself.

Fortunately for him Cristina couldn’t prod anymore because Derek was approaching. “You three, you’re assisting with Jake Burton today. Come with me,” he called, barely stopping to talk to us. We all scurried after him as we headed towards his room. Upon entering we found Mark drawing on the kid’s face.

“Dr. Sloan,” Derek interrupted him. “Don’t you think this is unnecessary?”

Mark gave him an annoyed look but before he could say anything, the parents spoke up. “We talked with Dr. Sloan and Jake, we’ve decided we’ll go ahead with the facial reconstruction.”

Derek pursed his lips, annoyed. I knew that about half a year ago Derek wouldn’t have hesitated to jump in on this joint surgery. It’s what their practice had been built on but now Derek was letting his feelings get in the way of patient care. “Fine, doctors,” he looked at the three of us and Mark, “come with me.”

We all shuffled out after him except for Mark who seemed to begrudgingly storm after Derek. “You have no right to undermine me in front of patients like that,” Mark immediately began.

“You’re a guest at this hospital, an unwelcome one at that. You have no right offering surgeries to patients— my patient.”

“Did you already forget that Webber made me Head of Plastics? You’re not the only surgeon with a fancy contract anymore,” Mark shot back.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Fine, Karev, you’re with Dr. Sloan.”

“Actually I’d like the other Dr. Sloan-” I sent him a glare, “Dr. L/N. The Chief gave me full authority to use whatever resources I need for this surgery.”

“She’s not some tool you get to use. Or something to play with whenever you feel like it. Is that what our marriages were to you? Something you could break when it suited you?”

“Dr. Shepherd!” I interrupted. “I appreciate that you’re trying to defend my honor but I don’t need you to. Besides you really want to do this here?” I gestured to all the people watching us. “Alex, you go with Dr. Sloan, I’ll go find something else to work on,” I dismissed, heading down to the pit.

As I was waiting for the elevator, I saw one of the last people I wanted to interact with. Addison stumbled towards me, looking like she had a squirrel in her pants. “Dr. L/N, I know we’re not exactly on the best of terms right now but I need a consult.” I looked at her, confused. We had worked on a few cases together perfectly civil. “I need a consult,” she clarified.

Catching her inflection and the fact that she was clearly uncomfortable, my mouth formed an O. “I see, c’mon, we’ll go to one of the private exam rooms.”

“Ah thank you,” she sighed in relief.

Upon having Addison in the stirrups and her explanation of her morning walk, I knew exactly what she was suffering from. “Yep, poison oak in probably the worst place you could have it,” I confirmed her suspicions.

She groaned, lying back on the table. “I guess this is karma.”

“You could say so,” I laughed gently. “I’ll get the calamine lotion and don’t worry, you have my discretion.” I grabbed the lotion from a storage closet, retuning to Addison.

“How come you don’t hate me?” she asked as I began to get to work. “Even my own husband, who chose to stay married to me, hates me.”

I sighed, “I don’t know. I did hate you, maybe I still do. But Derek can really hold a grudge so maybe that’s why I look so forgiving in comparison. But I have a hard time hating and turning my back on the people who were my family, even if they hurt me in the worst way possible.”

“I really am sorry. Mark and I, we regret everything.”

“I’m so sick of apologies. Do you know how many times Mark said he was sorry yesterday?”

“I heard he was here. And that he punched one of your friends, Karev.”

“Yeah, always been a bit possessive. Of course that’s painfully ironic now,” I laughed bitterly. “Alright, that’s as much as I can do for you right now. Apply more tonight.”

~

“Hey,” I heard Mark’s gruff voice gently coax me out of my thoughts. I turned, finding him in scrubs, his surgical gown open and flowing behind him. He always looked so good in scrubs.

“Hey,” I replied. “I heard about Jake. I’m so sorry.” Cristina had told me that the lionitis patient had died almost immediately after Derek had opened his head up. I felt bad for the kid, he had been so excited for a normal face.

He shrugged, taking a seat next to me. He sighed, pulling off his scrub cap. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t give him a sense of normalcy. But I talked to his parents, they said I could still do the surgery post mortem so he could be buried the way he wanted. Wanna help?”

I thought for a second. On one hand I didn’t want to continue to entertain the idea that Mark had a chance with me. On the other I needed to cut so desperately. “Sure, why not?”

He smiled. “Atta girl.”

We went down to the autopsy room in order to do the procedure and I had to admit it felt nice. I used to love performing surgery with Mark. It was always a comfortable silence while we worked together and when we did talk it was easy. Moments like this and memories of moments like this made it so hard to stop loving him. As we worked quietly I really thought for the first time since he came here. I had never really stopped loving him and even though I never wanted to see him again, a small part of me was relieved he tried so hard to find me and now he’s fighting for me.

By the time Jake’s parents came down to see him I was an emotional wreck. Seeing them grieve for their son made me burst. “I’m sorry,” I choked, stepping into a back room.

Mark was beside me in a second, closing the door for privacy. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, a distressed look on his face. I just crossed my arms, looking at the floor, trying to force down my emotions. I wanted to be strong enough to not tell him how I felt but I felt his finger underneath my chin. He pulled my face up to meet his concerned eyes. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”

I swallowed harshly, unwilling to tell him. “I miss you,” I relented. “I miss us. I am haunted by you. I didn’t even realize I still loved you until you showed up. But it hurts. It hurts to love and miss you because you hurt me.” I could feel the tears slipping down my face and my throat straining against the sobs. “You hurt me so bad, Mark, and now I can’t trust you. I used to say that cheating is it, I’d never be able to forgive cheating but the worst part is that I want to forgive you. And I can’t forgive you and love you and still have any self respect.”

“C’mere,” Mark sighed, pulling me into a hug. I broke down, sobbing into his chest. “Sleeping with Addison was a mistake, one I fully own up to and take responsibility for. And I’m gonna tell you this not because I want you to feel bad or I think you should have any of the blame but the reason I did it was because I wanted you to notice me. You were at the hospital all the time and I knew then, and know now, that that wasn’t your choice. I guess it was just hard for me to see you be independent because it felt like you were so dependent on me for so long and I liked that you needed me. And I’m sorry for trying to hold you back and for hurting you in order to hold you back but please, let me help you grow and succeed now. That’s all I want in the world.”

“Promise not to hurt me again,” I demanded.

“I promise. You have my full permission to cut off my testicles if I do.”

“Okay,” I laughed. “I’m in, Mark. I’m in it to make our marriage work.” I tilted my head up to look at him as I spoke.

“Thank you,” he beamed in relief. “Thank you,” he repeated in a relieved whisper.

Masterlist

[equallyshaw]

its always been you | jack hughes.

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blurb + social media edit.

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jack hughes x mid size oc.

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Warnings: self esteem issues, low confidence, guys being assholes, some sexual themes. alluding to sex.

Word count: 4.06K

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'it's always been you'

jack was a lot of things you could say, but he was most importantly blairs best friend since he moved to canton years ago. she grew up across the street from the ever chaotic hughes boys, who somehow always pulled her and her brother out of the house.

or at least he was her best friend, once he left for the show; messages and facetimes stopped. her family moved away shortly to san diego after she began her freshman year at university of southern california, double majoring in pre law and political science. she slowly but surely over the course of the years had begun to faze him out of her life, knowing full well he got rid of her too. blair recently graduated from USC with manga cum laude and decided to consider the possibility of moving to new york to start her life. her older brother joey had been out there for 6 years already, with college and now his professional career. and so here she was, two suitcases packed for two full weeks of sightseeing and potential job hunting in the city.

she strolled out of jfk, looking for her brother who stood waiting beside his car and once the two found one another they quickly jogged over to one another. "hey sis, glad you made it in safety!" he said taking the two suitcases from the girl, to put in the trunk. she hopped in the driver side, quickly connecting her phone to the Bluetooth. "couldn't wait 2 secs could you?" he joked, as he hopped in hearing olivia rodrigo blaring. "nah." she grinned, letting her parents know she was with her brother. "coffee?" he mused, and she nodded excitedly. "ya know it." she smiled.

•

she had been here 2 days already and had done some sightseeing with her brother on the first day, and then yesterday explored lower manhattan and had stopped in to see where her brother worked, in the financial district. tonight though, they were going to be going out with some of his friend group and she was nervous. she hated being in a room of people in public no less without meeting them first one on one, but he promised her they were cool and very chill. besides, they were excited to meet the young girl who kept him on his toes. and the one who always had a joke to say. she sat down at the vanity an hour before they had to leave and quickly did some natural makeup and loose waves, before picking out a black crop long sleeve, short black faux leather skirt, black ankle boots and a small green purse. she walked out to the living room greeting her brother's girlfriend who smiled widely. "ouuu yes! i love the outfit blair!" she said genuinely and blair blushed. "you look great, i love it! you are gonna rock it." mogan spoke softer so just she could hear it and blair nodded, and thanked her for the support. she had changed over the course of four years and her body changed drastically. her 5'2 figure took a hit and that in turn lowered her self esteem and confidence within herself. she had been invited over the years to visit two friends at university of michigan but felt so poorly of herself, she never went. she didn't want anybody to see how much she'd change, even went as far to make a new instagram. besides, she had a whole new life out in california and that made it easier for her to never look back. and lets be honest, she didn't want jack or his brothers to see how she looked. she had adored the middle child the three years she knew him and once things started to change, she knew she could never be enough for him.

morgan grabbed ahold of the girl's hand as they walked towards the restaurant in greenwhich village. "have you guys been here before?" blair questioned as they quickly went to their usual seats. morgan nodded, "yeah all the time!" she beamed. the three walked towards the back, their friends all jumping up to greet the sister. "hi I'm jackson, nice to meet the girl who keeps him on his toes!" the dark haired man said causing her to laugh, "ofcourse! blair nice to meet you jackson!" she said hugging him back quickly. "I'm jackie! i work with morgan, nice to finally meet you! heard so much about ya. by the way, i love the outfit!!!" jackie said hugging the girl, and blair smiled thanking her. she moved on to three other people, two girls and a guy and then she sat down next to her brother. "has he convinced you yet to move here full time?" aaron questioned and she shook her head at the tall redhead. "nah not yet, though I'm sure its coming." she giggled, and the rest laughed. the waiter came over to collect drink orders, and she ordered a cranberry vodka and water. "where do you wanna work again?" her brother asked and blair smiled, "either go to law school to become yknow a lawyer or in a government agency. not too sure yet." she said shrugging and the others nodded. "well I'm sure jackson could hook you up, he works for town hall." and jackson shrugged nodding. "yeah, its a nice gig." he said. the group fell into a comfortable conversation, and trying to get to know the girl a bit more.

two hours later, they decided to head up to upper east side to go to a club, and so they made the almost hour treck up from Greenwich village. they ended up at one that the group frequented and once they got inside, joey took blair up to the bar to get drinks. the two stood there conversing as they waited for the drinks. that's when she saw him. no, not jack but the knock off kurt russell who played in california. somehow, she'd avoided him despite her parents living in the same area as him. trevor did a double take to the siblings before clapping his hand on joey's shoulder, causing blair to look up and catch trevors eye. "hey man, whats up?" joey said turning around and bro hugging with him. "good good, playing in the best league is more than i could ask!" trevor said cheekily and joey nodded, turning back to blair. trevor looked at blair as if she was somebody he'd never met before, "is this your girl?" trevor asked somewhat crass. blair shook her head, "no this is blair!" joey said looking at trevor like he was an idiot. "oh my god blair! how are you?! i didn't even recognize you." trevor said now realizing his mistake and blair took that to heart. she swallowed hardly, trying to not cry. she cursed her damn sensitivity. "i-im alright." she said smiling weakly, before looking over and seeing the tray of drinks. "good seeing you man." joey said somewhat crass, annoyed with the hockey player. "yeah, you too! is it true your parents are in newport?" he asked and joey nodded before walking off with blair. trevor stood their for a brief few seconds before taking drink and rushing back to the group.

blair chugged her cranberry vodka, surprisingly fast. joey watched as she did so, and then went to take a shot of tequila. she coughed as it finished going down, and he clapped her back a few times. "I'm gonna get another one." she said and joey wrapped an arm around her, not allowing her too. "no you're not getting drunk..at least not yet." he winked and she rolled her eyes. "come on lets go dance, girly!" morgan said pulling the girl out to the dance floor. ofcourse dancing queen had to be on, and the girl jumped in a circle along with jackie and annabelle the other girl that was jackson's girlfriend.

as soon as trevor reached the group that consisted of quinn, luke, jack, alex, cole, pk and a few other players in their group. "yo guys you wont believe i just saw at the bar!" he said freaking out, and some of the guys laughed. "who?" alex questioned throwing an arm over his shoulder. "joey and blair anderson!" he said breathlessly. "woah calm down their bud." alex joked laughing, as the three hughes searched the crowd for the siblings. once blair left right after the draft to move with her parents to california, joey fell off the face of the planet as well. quinn and joey had been the closest due to age and playing for usndtp together, and so that had hurt him as well. "where is she? i see joey but not her." jack said looking at trevor and trevor searched the crowd too. "she looks completely different, i thought she was his girlfriend." and then he found her. trevor pointed towards the quartet of girls, and jack needed no confirmation of which one was which. the same dark hair that sometimes crept up in his dreams was the same as when they were in highschool. he took in how much she had changed physically and absolutely adored the softness of her hips that peeked out from her cropped sweater. the subtle roundness of her cheeks, with her dimples ever present.

"damn shes changed." cole said and jack could feel the judgeness of his voice, as he finished that statement. "so?" jack said feeling himself getting angry and then cole recognized his mood changing. "like it fucking matters." quinn said hitting cole in the chest, understanding what cole was trying to say. "I'm getting another drink." jack said standing up and walking towards the bar. back on the dance floor, blair craved another cranberry vodka and pulled morgan over with her. "hi, can i please have a cranberry vodka!" blair asked and they nodded, putting it on joeys tab. blair and morgan talked at the bar, not realizing that jack was on the other end of it downing two shots. "thankyou!" blair said taking the drink and shot that was put down in front of the two. the two clinked the glasses together and once on the bar before throwing them back. blair coughed again and laughed as morgan's face grimaced. as soon as jack heard the coughing, he looked down and realized that blair was inches from him. now or never he thought, as she was about to walk off. "blair!" he said but she didn't hear him, he took two big steps and called her once again and she froze, before turning around. who could possibly know me here, she asked herself. she turned around jack and her eyes went wide. "blai-" he said once more, reaching out a hand before she speed off with morgan back to the table. jack caught joey's eye and his eyes went wide as well before turning his attention back to blair. jack stood there seeing if joey would walk over, but he didn't. instead the two of them plus morgan calling it a night.

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it was the next morning and blair was staring at the ceiling of the guest bedroom. she groaned rolling over, and pushing her face into the pillow. she hadn't been able to get jacks shocked face out of her head the whole night. she had had a nightmare about the summer she left for california with her parents, and he had forgotten her birthday. she didn't realize she was crying until she heard a sob tumble out of her, as her mind with self doubts. she sat up, crying into her hands and thanked the universe her brother and his girlfriend had left for brunch awhile ago. she declined their invitation and said she just wanted to sleep. she wiped her tears, and got out of bed throwing on a sweater and a pair of black leggings and her birkenstocks on. she decided she needed some coffee and a breakfast sandwich to lift her mood just a bit. she walked out of her brothers apartment and headed down to starbucks on the corner. she took in the sights, smells and sound of saturday early afternoon. she thanked the person that opened the door for her, and headed to the line quickly. she got her usual cold brew and sausage sandwich, and sat down at the table by the window. she scrolled through tiktok, trying her very hardest to laugh like a maniac in public.

about 30 minutes into her stay, she felt somebody staring but she pushed it away. not wanting to give anybody her undivided attention. she stood up a few minutes later, and headed towards the trash to throw away her garbage. as she was about to open the door, somebody did it for her. she looked up at the blue eyes she had once adored. she sighed seeing trevor and cole accompanying the player. she walked out quickly, heading back to her brothers apartment. she was close to the door once she heard her name. she rolled her eyes knowing it was jack, and so she slowed down a bit and waited for him to catch up. "blair!" he said finally reaching her and stepped in front of her. her eyebrows creased, looking up at him. all 5'11 of him. "yes?" she questioned, crossing her arms across her chest. he knew that nervous tick she had done from the very first time they met. "uh- how are you doing?" he asked, pushing some hair out of his face. she rolled her eyes, and continued her trek towards the front door of the apartment building. "wait blair!" he said pulling her arm, and she yanked it back. "hi how are you doing? after four years jack, seriously? fuck off." she breathed, turning back. "hey you didn't reach out either, ok?" he said and she stopped looking back at him. "i congratulated you, you ass. i texted you the night you got drafted and never got a response, jack. so that's on you, not me." she seethed, and he realized that he'd been in the wrong. "i cried every night that summer, in a scary and strange new place and you- you didn't even reach out once my parents dropped the move on your parents." she said feeling tears pool her eyes. "all i wanted was my best friend and you didn't care enough about me it seems, which is on me." she said before turning back to the door. "blair please." he pleaded. she opened it and looked back at jack who stood there processing everything. "come on jack." she said holding the door for him, and he quickly took the chance.

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she set her coffee down on the kitchen counter and placed her hands on her hips, trying to figure out what she wanted to say. "i'm sorry i didn't respond, I'm sorry i never reached out to you or said happy birthday. i know that's on me, there's no excuse for it. i didn't find out you moved until august when we came back to for a michigan game, and my parents told us. they'd kept it from us because they didn't want to tell us over text, but in person. i realized that i had tested fate, thinking you'd be home waiting for me. and - and i guess i was heartbroken that you didn't tell me yourself. i was losing my best friend and somebody i - i had fallen for.. in one moment." he sighed as he paused, biting his lip. blair turned around at his confession, did he really just say that? he met her eye, as she processed it. "it doesn't matter anymore jack, im not that same girl. hell, i haven't been that same girl since i left. things changed pretty quickly for me freshman year, and i-i- im not meant to be in your life clearly." she said pinching her nose. "whats that supposed to mean? why arent you supposed to be in my life?" he asked, stepping towards her and invading her space. he grabbed ahold of her hands, and she pulled them back. she shook her head, looking at the floor. "im not the kind of girl you're supposed to be seen with." she said sadly, "look at me jack. i changed in more than one way when i moved...and have fought so many battles just to be standing here today. one's you can't fathom." she said shutting her eyes, "haven't you realized its always been you?" he whispered and she reopened her eyes to look up at him. "what?" she said barely coming out as a whisper. he smiled softly chuckling a bit, "you are your hardheadedness could never see how hard i was trying to get you to realize i liked you more than as a friend. i was trying so hard, the guys couldn't help but laugh at every attempt. calling me a fool knowing you'd never realize until i said something." he said shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the years he spent pining over her. "wait what?" she said looking into his eyes. "you thought i was just being nice? oh no..I'm not that nice to just anybody" he said laughing and she shook her head blushing. "you fool! you idiot!" she said slapping his chest, somewhat angry and somewhat sad. he grabbed ahold of her hands again and pulled them into his chest, "its always been you bean, i have never once stopped thinking about you, even if you did change your Instagram and slip off the face of the earth. i still never stopped, you can ask my brothers." he said inching closer to her face. she blinked twice before biting the inside of her cheek, "but I'm not right for you." she said frustratedly. he shook his head, "i like this version of you blair, don't sell yourself too short. i know i will absolutely adore you, bean. i promise you that." he said before placing his lips on hers. their lips felt as if they had kissed a million times before. she moved her hands up to his neck, desperate to be as close as possible. he wrapped his arms around her hips before moving to her lower back. they pulled apart, resting their foreheads against one another's, catching their breaths.

tears pooled both of their eyes as they looked at one another, "I've thought about doing that for years." he said cheekily and she grinned, "I've been waiting for that for years too." she hummed before reconnecting them.

•

one last hurrah was planned to michigan before the season started and jack invited her to his and his brother's lake house near where they grew up. she had met up with the three of them the day before they planned to leave for brunch. "i-i don't know." she said leaning back in her chair. "go have fun, ill still be here when you wanna come back." joey said from beside her, "there its been decided." quinn smiled lightly clapping his hands together.

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jack took ahold of blair's hand as they walked through detroit airport, walking towards baggage claim. "I'm nervous." she whispered to him as they waited. he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and looked at her in the eyes, "you have no idea how much they've missed you hun. everything will be great." he said kissing her temple. she nodded, resting her head against his chest. they made it out 15 minutes later and searched for ellen and jimmy's car. once they heard that blair was coming into town, they quickly volunteered to pick them up. once ellen found luke in the crowd, she saw quinn then jack and then on the girl she had always considered her daughter. jimmy found them as well and smiled at ellen once he saw that her and jack were holding hands. "blair!" ellen smiled widely, wrapping her arms around the girl. blair was transported back to one of the first hugs she had received from the queen herself and melted. "i've missed you so much babygirl!" she whispered before pulling back to inspect the 5'2 girl. "don't hound her." jimmy joked, and blair smiled before hugging him. jimmy had also considered the young girl their daughter, a testament to the amount of time she spent over at the house. blair stepped back, right to jacks side as they all put the luggage in the back. luke hopped in first, with quinn in the back and then jack and her sat in the middle seats. they drove towards the lakehouse.

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jack gave a tour to blair, and she could only imagine how much fun the three had here during the offseason. it was definitely a bachelors pad, with the amount of boyish and frat items they possessed. "this is your room." jack said opening the guest room door and she saw her luggage. she nodded softly before thanking him. "its late i should start getting ready for bed." she said and he nodded before walking out. she sat on the bed placing her head in her hands. she took in the very clean and crisp guestroom, knowing full well ellen had her hand in here at some point. blair quickly got ready for bed, and then tossed and turned for two hours not being able to fall asleep. especially knowing jack was down the hall, mere feet away from her. the summer after they moved to canton, her and his family went out to new hampshire and spent a month out there living with them. and there were many nights the two fell asleep in each others arms, one or the other not wanting to go back to their bed after talking for hours. jack down the hall was tossing and turning as well, thinking about the same thing. he was about to get up when he heard a soft knock at his door, before it opened. he heard the familiar soft feet of blairs. she had an oversized trojan t-shirt draping over her small frame, as she finally came into view. the moonlight cascading into the bedroom windows, allowing him to see all of her. "i couldn't sleep." she said and he got up, "me neither." he now stood in front of her, and she could feel the familiar warmth of him as he did so. the familiar chest of the hockey player, directly in her eyesight. "i had a feeling you'd be up, bean." he hummed smirking and she rolled her eyes. "what can i say, i missed my twin." she mused looking up at him. "its a good thing i missed you too." he said pulling her in by the cheeks and kissing her. they moved in sync towards the bed, molten with newfound freedom and feelings.

she sat back on the edge of the bed, jack coming in between her legs and then moving her further into the bed. they parted for a brief second, "are you sure?" he questioned and she nodded before she reconnected the two's lips. jack wasted no time in taking her shirt off and then her shorts, but slowly took her all in as if they'd never be in this situation again. "you are a fuckin goddess." he spoke into her neck, planting a few kisses down it. her back arched softly, wanting more of him. she pressed a kiss into his lips as things progressed into more.

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the two laid in each other's arms, the sun now rising. jack had spent time whispering sweet nothings and sweet words that made her heart swell, for the past two hours. they also spent time talking about what they had missed in the past few years, and talked about their future and what they wanted to do. together and separately. she now had her head on his chest, and was looking up at him. "i want you to come to jersey, i don't care if its fast or careless but i cant go anymore without you. i don't think my heart could handle it." he said softly and she smiled. "thankfully i planned on heading out there." she grinned now, as he smiled. he placed a kiss on her lips once more, entangling once again.

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@jackhughes: look who showed up just in time for the season.

tag: blairanderson

104k likes, 23.7k comments.

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@_quinnhughes: just like old times 🫣🥹

@lhughes_06: mom can u come pick me up pls

@jackhughes: sorry not sorry

@joeyanderson: I guess all is right in the world

@elhughes: it’s is Joey!

@blairanderson: jackyyyy

@jackhughes: blairrrr

@alexturcotte: missed you blair bear !

@blairanderson: missed u too turcs 🫶🏻

@mattboldy: holy crap it actually happened

@blairanderson: it did !!

@fanone: it’s so dry in here

@fantwo: awe she looks so sweet

@colecaufield: happy for you guys!

@jackhughes has liked comment.

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@blairanderson: i could get used to this

Tag: jackhughes

233 likes, 66 comments. (Private account)

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@joeyanderson: gross

@morgansmith: omg i love this !!!!

@joeyanderson: babe no

@blairanderson: I love u morgs!

@camyork: bean!!!!! Oh my god

@blairandersond hi cam cam!

@alexturcotte: I still bet u could still beat him at cards

@blairanderson: I reckon I could 🤝🏻

@jackhughes: it’s on babe!

@elblue: so glad to have you back in the family sweetie!

@blairanderson: me too!!

@jackhughes: I think we should hang one of these up in the condo

@lhughes_06: pls no

@blairanderson: I have so many ideas !!!

@alexvlasic: blair bear omg you posting again?!

@blairanderson: vlassy yes! Ended my hiatus (:

@brendan.brisson: awe my favs

@blairanderson: 🫶🏻

@trevorzegras: happy for you two!!

@blairanderson has liked comment

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Hope you all enjoyed— please like and reblog if you did!!

Random tags: @huggybug @slafgoalskybaby @cuttergauthier @skatesnstuff @boldysswld @makarhughes @itsnotgray

[sissytobitch10seconds]

I think it's kind of interesting that Viktor is overshadowed by his siblings both in the canon and fanon.

In season one I could understand it. Despite Viktor being the main character that literally drives the entire plot, everyone focuses on the other characters. People make fun of Luther for talking about the moon all the time. Everyone is almost creepily obsessed with Klaus and the Vietnam fling that he had. No one really talks about Allison, but her story is primarily linked with Viktor's since she's trying to heal their relationship (fandom misogyny too). I think that there's a decent amount of talk around Five since he's such a fascinating character. There's quite a lot of talking about Diego too, since he loses Eudora and spends a lot of time trying to take care of Klaus. But no one really talks about Viktor and the amount of shit that he goes through in s1. All the siblings other than Allison completely abandon him too, and Allison only wants the idea of a 'sister' that she's built up in her head since she lost her husband and daughter.

In season two, it makes even less sense to not talk about what Viktor has done. He has a queer love story with Sissy and we get to see way more development and chemistry for, Klaus and Dave had a montage and some sad lines from Klaus as opposed to an entire arc through ten episodes, but no one really does anything with it. Allison gets basically no attention for the same fandom misogyny issues as before. Five gets some attention because of the fact that he's exhausted and still dealing with the Commission (his fight scenes are amazing). Diego gets the same treatment as Luther did but a little more deserving because the plan to save JFK was stupid. Luther gets totally sidelined and ignored too, but people really hated him in S1 so I'm not surprised. Klaus gets all the attention again even though his plot outside of Ben possessing him is honestly really boring and makes me so uncomfortable.

Season three is where Viktor should have gotten the most attention. If we're considering the fact that the TUA fandom has a very queer audience, then they should be super excited and celebrating the fact that Viktor is trans. Not only that, but he's also working his ass off so that he can fix things for Allison and get her back to a timeline where her daughter exists or back to the sixties. I think a lot of people ignore that, giving Five more credit than he deserves for trying to fix the world when Viktor was doing that until Harlan showed up and he wanted to handle that first. A lot of attention during the debut went again to Klaus, which was actually warranted this time since he was plot relevant by showing us things about Reggie and discovering his powers. Diego got more attention since he was parenting Stan and fighting with Lila, which was nice. Five got some meme attention but nothing serious and Luther got a little bit of genuine love. But mostly people just posted the conversation where Viktor comes out to his family and continued to ignore him.

Now Season four is out and no one cares about Viktor. He stands up to Reginald and says all of the things that he needs to say, he fights like Hell to try and save Ben from the Durango and get him someplace stable, he owns a bar and got fucking KIDNAPPED. No one is talking about him, all people are doing is complaining about fivela and the ending.

Viktor moved to Nova Scotia probably to get better trans healthcare, but also because none of his siblings care about him. My man is a tiny trans man that got kidnapped and ransomed off the street and they couldn't care less about him when they show up, Five is taking notes about the room they're in instead of checking to make sure that his childhood best friend is okay. Luther may have made him best man at his wedding, but it was just because Viktor had only just come out and all the other siblings were non options (never been close with Five, butted heads with Diego who didn't even want the wedding to happen, not their Ben, and Klaus was officiating) which was the same reason Lila was Sloane's maid of honor. Diego and Viktor barely spare two words at each other despite their closeness in the comics. Lila and Allison say something briefly to him before they also fuck off further into the plot.

Viktor isn't liked by his family despite them trying to include him in it when it's convenient for them, and he's also disliked by the fandom. I went into the TUA tag and about half of the top twenty posts were about someone else with him tacked on as an afterthought.

[ereardon]

Snowed In || Sunday [Jake Seresin x OC]

A Jake Seresin AU miniseries

Summary: When a massive storm shutters every airport in New York, you receive an unexpected call. Jake Seresin, the ex-boyfriend of your college roommate, is stranded at JFK with nowhere to go. Somehow you find yourself hosting Jake for a long weekend in your studio apartment. What happens when you realize that maybe your long-standing hatred for him was covering up something else? 

Pairing: Jake ��Hangman” Seresin x OC [Ella Finnley]

Trope: Forced proximity; enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, references to cheating, eventual smut

Wordcount: 4.4K 

Masterlist here; Part two aka Saturday here

Jake reeled back from your slap, his face pink from the cold and the heat of your palm as it smacked his perfect tanned skin. His clear green eyes were wide with shock. 

“Ella, I—”

“No.” You shook your head, hair whipping at your cheeks. “What the fuck, Jake? You can’t run down the street like an inmate who escaped from Alcatraz and then just kiss me. You can’t spend eight years hating me and making fun of me and then turn around and say actually, no, that was all a facade, it’s because I’m a five year old boy who doesn’t know how to say he has a crush.” 

You could feel heat rising to your face despite the cold and your voice echoed off the nearby buildings. The few people who were within spitting distance turned their heads at your raised voices. 

“Are you doing this to embarrass me?” you demanded and to your horror, a small tear rolled down your cheek. You were surprised it didn’t freeze as it trailed downward. “Pretend to like me so that I fall for your charm and then when it’s over you just leave? Or maybe if I come onto you then you’ll back away and mock me. Is that it, Jake?” 

“Honey, no, absolutely not.” Jake stepped closer, holding out one hand hesitantly before pressing it to your cheek, thumb sweeping away your tears. “Ella. I meant what I said. No ulterior motives.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Jake sighed, running his hand through his hair. The rush of cold air hit your face hard as he removed his hand. You had to give it to him. He looked distraught. If Jake Seresin, golden boy, was even capable of looking that way. “I don’t blame you,” he said after a moment. His eyes searched yours. “I’m sorry, Finn. For letting you think that I spent the last decade hating you. Couldn't be further from the truth.” 

“What’s the truth, Jake?” you gasped, air freezing in your lungs on its way down. 

“I think you know,” he whispered. 

You shook your head, backing away. “No. If there’s one thing the last twenty four hours has shown me, it’s that I don’t know you at all.” 

And then you were turning around, taking off down the street, following the path you had just chased Jake down but in reverse, eyes watering from the speed and the freezing wind whipping at your face and Jake’s voice calling after you was just a whisper that got picked up and sailed away in a gust.

You burst through the double doors of your apartment building. Gerry looked up, surprise lacing his weathered face. “Miss Ella. Everything OK?” 

You shook your head, heading for the elevators. “Do you believe in timing, Gerry?” 

“Yes, I do,” he replied as you pressed the button, finger shaking. “Met my wife at a New Year’s Eve party forty-three years ago. She was there with someone else and I was too. But it didn’t matter. It was the right place and the right time and everything since then has worked out in our favor.” 

You looked up at him. “That’s not helping, Gerry.” 

He smiled. “So he loves you.” 

“Never said that.” 

“Don’t need to say it,” he replied. “I can see it in your face.” The sound of the doors flinging open turned both of your attentions. Jake stood, barely winded, cheeks pink, eyes wide. Gerry added, “I see it in his, too.” 

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Gerry held out one hand, pressing it open. 

“Goodnight you two,” he said. “Stay warm.” 

You stepped inside. “Goodnight, Gerry.” 

Jake stepped forward slowly, entering the elevator, his eyes trained on you, your eyes glued to the buttons on the far right wall. It was an agonizing ride up in silence. The heat from Jake’s gaze alone was enough to thaw you and by the time the two of you had ridden up five floors you were a melted puddle. 

After you unlocked the door and stepped inside, Jake stood, hesitating, on the threshold. 

You frowned. “What?”

He sighed. “I’ll leave, Ella. I’ll get out of your hair. But I just need to say one more thing.” 

“Where would you go?” you demanded. “It’s midnight and the city is practically shut down, Seresin.” 

Jake put his hands in his pockets. “I bought a unit in One57 last month.”

Your jaw went slack. One57 was one of the unbelievable skyscrapers on 57th Street aka Billionaires’ Row. It’s the most expensive building in the city, towering over the base of Central Park. Your eyes narrowed. “You’re fucking with me.” 

“I’m not.” 

“How could you afford that?” you demanded. “You can’t even afford a hotel.”

Jake smiled sadly. “Ella. I never said I couldn’t afford a hotel. I said you were my only option.” 

“That wasn’t true then,” you replied. “You have a fucking twenty million dollar condo sitting forty blocks north of here that’s probably filled with furniture that you’re not allowed to touch.” 

“It was partially true,” Jake said. His voice was much calmer than yours. His eyes were soft. Begging. This was Jake Seresin begging, you realized. “I spent years thinking that you were the one that got away, Ella. I had to come back and make sure of it.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. “And?” 

Jake stepped closer, crossing the threshold into the apartment. “Ella Finnley. I’ve enjoyed myself more the last two days than I have in the last five years. I came back because I thought that maybe there was a chance you’d be able to see me more as more than the douchebag that I was in college. That maybe you would be willing to look past who we were and focus on who we are now. You don’t know this, but I never stopped thinking about you.”

All you could feel was your heartbeat in your chest, the pulsing in your fingertips and neck and near your ear. Was this really happening?

“You’re intelligent and you’re so fucking sarcastic and you don’t take anyone’s bullshit and I couldn’t believe that when you opened the door on Friday that it was really you and that someone else hadn’t scooped you up years ago. And I thought maybe this was it. Maybe this was my chance to be happy.” 

“You’re rich,” you whispered, the words still sinking in. “You’re telling me that you, Jake Seresin, aren’t fulfilled?” 

He shook his head. “None of that shit matters, Ella. The money, the cars, the nice restaurants, the fancy clothes. You get sick of it after a while. I’d rather come home to this apartment every single night and sit on that uncomfortable couch with you and watch you read romance novel after romance novel and eat ramen noodles than go home to an empty apartment overlooking the park. Any fucking day.” 

“Jake.”

“It’s OK,” he whispered. “You don’t feel the same and I get that. Maybe I was stupid to try.” 

You stepped forward, closing the gap between the two of you, your chest practically grazing his as you breathed unsteadily. He was so fucking beautiful that it made you uncomfortable. “You are stupid,” you replied and Jake grinned. “That was never a question."

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he murmured, “and you’ll never have to see me again if you just answer one question.” 

“What is it, Seresin?” 

“Do you believe I changed? If not for you, just in general? Because that’s all I ever wanted, Ella. To be the kind of guy who was good enough.” 

You looked at him. How many times had you snuck sidelong glances at Jake Seresin while he and Suzannah were together? He was hot, even back then. Bronzed, muscular but not beefy, sweet Southern accent rendering anything he said charming with a side of cocky. Maybe you had only told yourself that you hated him because it was better than admitting the alternative. 

That you wanted Jake Seresin. But he hadn’t been yours to have. 

And now here he was, standing in front of you, begging for a chance. Asking if you saw his growth and change. Admitting that he had spent years of his life bettering himself so that one day he could stand in front of you a changed man and receive a simple acknowledgement. 

“Ella,” Jake whispered. “Tell me to go and I’ll go. I think this was a mistake.” 

“The mistake would be leaving before you convinced me why I should give you a chance to start with.” 

Jake smiled. “Convince you, huh?” 

You nodded. “I don’t know if you know this about me, Seresin, but I’ve been known to be stubborn.” 

“Is that so?” 

“It is,” you said slowly, reveling in the way Jake’s gaze never left yours. “So go on, Seresin. Why should I believe anything you’ve said in the last thirty minutes? How do I know it’s not some elaborate prank?” 

“You don’t,” he said. “None of us do, Finn. Life is a big cosmic joke. I’m just doing what we’re all doing. Trying to find that one person to spend your life with. Trying to find the person who makes you excited to get out of bed, the person you can’t get out of your head. The one person who sees you after everything you’ve done and still sees your potential, even when it was a bad day. The person who wants to celebrate with you on the good ones, too. The person who has more faith in you than you have in yourself.” 

“That’s a lot to put on a person, Jake,” you whispered. 

“I know it is, honey,” he murmured, raising one hand, skimming it along your cheek. “I can’t expect you to feel all those ways about me. Especially since up until yesterday I think you hated me. But tell me the truth. Do you feel differently about me right now, standing here, compared to yesterday when I showed up at this same doorstep?” 

“Yes.” It was automatic, the way the word tumbled out of your mouth.

He grinned. “Then anything is possible, Finn.” 

“You mean falling in love with you, Seresin?” 

“Maybe.” 

You shook your head, laughing. “You’re still cocky.”

“I’m working on it,” he murmured, hand sliding from your cheek, fingers wrapping slowly around your neck, thumb pressed tightly under your ear. “What do you say, Finn? Want to give me a chance?” 

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” you said softly, closing the gap between the two of you as Jake’s fingers on your neck tightened and suddenly his lips were on yours, his hand on your waist bending you backward from the force of his kiss. Jake swiveled you around, closing the door with one hand, pressing you against the wall both gently and firmly at the same time, his free hand locked behind your head, cushioning you. 

Jake slotted one thigh between your legs, pressing upwards gently until you found yourself moaning into his mouth as he grinned. “Fuck,” he murmurred, pulling back two inches, resting his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about that.” 

“Ten minutes,” you replied. 

Jake pulled back further, shaking his head, tracking one thumb pad over your swollen bottom lip. “Ella. Try ten years.” 

“Jake,” you murmured. 

He shook his head. “It’s OK if you don’t feel the same way,” he said quietly. “But if you want to stop, tell me and we stop.” 

You reached out and grabbed his collar, tugging him back in. “Don’t stop.” 

And then Jake’s mouth was on yours, his hands roaming over your chest and settling on your waist, pulling you in tightly before reaching down and hoisting you into his arms as you giggled. You didn’t even care that Jake’s shoes were tracking dirty snow into the apartment or that your jacket was brushing against the comforter as Jake sat you down gently on the edge of the bed. He stepped back, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes and you did the same, pulling your sweater overhead, locking eyes with Jake as you unbuttoned your jeans, shimmying out of them before settling back on the bed in a pair of lacy black panties and a matching bra. “Fuck,” he murmurred, closing the gap between the two of you, his mouth hot on your neck as his fingertips pressed against your side. “God, you’re gorgeous.” 

 “You going to compliment me all night, Seresin?” 

Jake pulled his lips from where they had slid down to the tops of your breasts. “Yes,” he said confidently. “And you’re going to like it.” 

You flushed. “Then at least take your pants off.” 

Jake smirked, standing up and unbuttoning his pants, sliding them off. With one hand he grabbed the back of his shirt behind his neck, tugging it overhead in a single motion. You couldn’t help it. You gasped. Jake Seresin looked like a marble carving that would sit in the Louvre. 

He was stunning. 

Jake leaned in, shifting you further onto the bed, his lips grazing your breasts before dipping lower, trailing a wet line of kisses down to your navel. “Like what you see?” 

“Shut up,” you groaned, but the words turned into a string of moans as Jake’s mouth landed on your panties, warm breath heating between your legs. He knelt on the floor next to the bed in his tight briefs, fingertips scraping along your sides, one hand squeezing your breast before he slid the silky material to the side, exposing your soaking core. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning back to admire you. 

“Jake,” you whined, and he felt his heart start to rapidly beat in his chest. 

“I got you,” he murmured, sinking down, pressing his lips to your core, tongue darting out, spreading flat against your folds, tasting you for the first time. He hummed against you and you wiggled, but his hands held your hips steady, tugging you forward, consuming you. He was everywhere: his mouth on your clit, his tongue in your folds, his fingertips dragging along your hip bone under one sank deep inside of your walls, curling at the top, beckoning you to come. 

And you did. Unraveling at his touch, your moans filling the air as Jake plunged his fingers inside of your wet cunt, tongue lapping at your folds until you cried out. “Fuck!” 

Jake stood, hands still on your thighs as your chest heaved. Finally you pushed yourself up onto your elbows. There was an obvious tent in Jake’s tight black briefs. 

You smirked. “Want some help with that?” 

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours harshly, with one arm scooting beneath you and tossing you to the top of the bed as you let out a yelp. “You’re going to be the death of me, Finn,” he murmured, lips suctioned to your neck as you lifted your hips, brushing your soaking core against his hips. He was hard and you were desperate for him, your hand reaching out and grabbing him. Jake’s head collapsed against your neck as you smoothed your fingers over his bulge. “Fuck, Ella,” he whispered, voice thick and husky. “God, I want to be inside you so badly.” 

You pulled your hand away, shimmying off your underwear. “I need you.” 

Jake sat up. His green eyes were wide. “Sweetheart. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words come out of your mouth.” 

“Don’t make me beg, Seresin,” you whispered. 

“Wouldn’t dare.” 

Jake crawled out of his boxers and you had to stifle a gasp. His cock was thick and long, practically dripping with anticipation. He pulled your legs so your hips were closer to where he was kneeling on the bed, running the tip of his cock along your folds as you whimpered. 

“Condom,” he muttered.

“Top drawer.” 

Jake leaned over, opening the box as you undid the hooks on your bra, flinging it onto the floor in the living room. He sat back, seamlessly rolling a condom over his cock, fisting himself a few times, eyes trained between your legs. Finally, Jake lifted his gaze to you, hand still sliding up and down his length as he panted. “I’ve thought about this so many times.” 

“Please,” you whispered and Jake hinged forward, sliding the head of his cock against your entrance until it hooked inside of you, pressing in slowly as you moaned. “God, yes, oh, fuck!”

“Doing so good,” he murmured as your legs spread further to accommodate him. “Almost there baby.” 

Jake pushed the final inch in, stuffing you full. Your eyes flew open. Jake had one hand pressed to your cheek, the other resting on your leg, pulling it higher over his hip. Your mouth opened as he pulled back, pushing into you again, setting a soft, delectable rhythm. It was just you and Jake and the sounds of your body slowly coming together and backing away, over and over as his cock brushed your inner walls, begging you to come against him. 

“God you feel so perfect,” he groaned, fingertips pressing your thigh back further, letting his cock slide deeper inside of you. “I could live in your pussy.” 

You cried out as Jake brushed against your g-spot. He shifted his hand to your clit, pressing down gently and your eyes widened, Jake’s hips snapping against yours as his fingertips swirled on your swollen clit. “Oh, my God,” you breathed.    

“Come for me, please,” he begged, chest glistening with sweat as he thrust harder into you. “Please, baby, need to feel you coming while I’m inside of you.” 

“Oh, oh fuck!” you screamed as Jake pressed down, hard, against your clit, your vision going white for a split second as you broke apart along his length, shuddering, cursing as Jake grabbed your hips, driving his cock against your fluttering walls. 

“Ella, oh fuck! Jesus Chris, I’m gonna come!” And then he was filling the condom inside of you, collapsing so his chest was pressed against yours, his hips stuttering as he tried to slow his rhythm. “Fucking hell,” Jake whispered, rolling off of you gently, tugging off the condom and disposing it. He turned back, running one hand up your side. “You’re perfect.” 

And even though you were two orgasms deep, it had been almost a year since you had been touched before Jake. So when you leaned in to kiss him and his cock twitched against your bare leg, you smiled, pulling away. 

“What’s that look, Finn,” he asked. 

“Lay back,” you whispered, raking your fingertips down Jake’s rock hard abdomen, his cock already hardening against his thigh. 

“Oh, shit,” Jake muttered as you leaned down, taking his length into your hand, dribbling a ball of split onto the tip, massaging it over the head of his cock with the pad of your thumb. He laid back, eyes squeezed shut as you took him into your mouth, Jake’s fingers buried in your hair as he gasped, releasing himself against your throat, filling your mouth. When you pulled back, swallowing, wiping one thumb over your lips, his eyes fluttered open and he shook his head. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” 

After showering, the two of you fell into a tangle on the bed. 

“This is so much better than the couch,” Jake whispered. 

“Go to sleep, Seresin,” you complained, his hand spread warm against your lower stomach. 

Jake pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. 

Sometime just before sunrise, you woke up and looked over. Jake looked peaceful, golden hair spread out on the white pillowcase, one arm slung over the side of the bed, slumping down toward the ground, bare back and ass cheek visible from where he had thrown the covers off. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined you’d be asleep, naked, next to Jake Seresin. That you would be able to tolerate being alone with him at all. 

But two days had changed everything. 

***

The sound of yelping woke you up a second time. The room was bright, light streaming in from the windows. You couldn’t tell yet if it was the brightness of snow or the winter sun blaring through. 

Next to you, the bed was empty. 

There was the yelp again, coming from the kitchen. Jake emerged a minute later wearing a pair of boxers but no shirt, carrying two cups of coffee. The minute he saw you sitting up, the covers pulled up around your bare chest, he grinned. “Morning Finn.” 

“What are you doing in there?” you asked. 

“Frying bacon,” Jake replied, setting down the coffee mugs on the nightstand to your right. Just as you raised your nose to sniff in the air, he grabbed your face with both hands, landing a kiss right on your lips. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Like the two of you had woken up together for a hundred weekends in a row. When he pulled away, you felt your breath catch. Was this what it was supposed to be like? “Stay there,” he commanded. “And don’t you dare get dressed.” 

You leaned back, the sheets tucked beneath your arms, and grabbed one of the coffee cups as Jake scurried back to the kitchen. A few more yelps later and he emerged with a plate of bacon, two muffins and scrambled eggs. “Where did you get this?” you asked, picking up a piece of bacon and sliding it into your mouth. “Fuck that’s good.” 

“Snuck out while you were snoring.” 

You slapped his bicep and he chuckled. Jake was so muscular it didn’t even affect him. You let your fingers linger there for a moment before pulling them away. “I don’t snore.” 

“You do,” Jake said, a piece of bacon sticking out of his mouth. “It’s cute.” 

“No snoring is cute.” 

“Anything you do, Ella Finnley, is adorable.” A blush crept up your neck toward your face. You realized for a moment you had no makeup on. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this close to a man without makeup on. 

“Wait.” You frowned. “You went out this morning?” Jake nodded. “What about the snow?” 

“It’s gone.” 

“What!” You rushed out of bed, practically tripping on a corner of the rug, smashing your hands against the window. 

Jake was right. The streets which the night before had been layered with snow, were clear. Instead, they had been replaced by the usual threads of traffic: honking taxis and black town cars and every Toyota under the sun filled with Uber drivers. The sidewalks were congested once again. 

It was like the storm had never happened. 

You looked over at Jake, eyes wide. That was it. The magic of the snow was gone, replaced by the smell of the subway steam hot on the grates and hordes of pedestrians cluttering Fifth Avenue. 

Jake got out of bed, grabbing his henley shirt from where it was folded on his suitcase and handing it to you. You blushed, realizing for the first time that you were butt ass naked, standing in the middle of the room. The shirt was soft as you pulled it overhead and smelled like Jake: coffee, cinnamon, vetiver. The sleeves were long and you balled the excess fabric into your fists. 

This was the part of the movie where the princess turned back into a pumpkin. 

“Jake, I—”

“I’m staying,” he said, his words overlapping yours. 

“What?” 

“In New York. I’m leaving San Francisco,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. I’m moving my company’s headquarters out of the Bay and into the city.” 

“Company?” 

“I own FreeTek.” 

Your head felt heavy. Congested. FreeTek was one of those Forbes 100 companies. The kind with billion-dollar valuations and IPOs that they had billboards for in Times Square. It was a tech company that also helped to build schools in Africa and Central America. 

Your eyes boggled. Jake reached out, one hand cupping your neck gently. “Ella. I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“We don’t even know each other, Jake,” you replied. “You’re just some guy that my roommate used to fuck.” 

He looked hurt, lips pressed into a line. “We know enough,” he said. “And what we don’t know, we’ll learn.” 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“It could be.” 

“Fuck, Seresin, I don’t know, OK. Two days ago I hated your guts.” You looked up at Jake and he chuckled. “One really good fuck can’t change everything.” 

“Really good, huh?” 

“Don’t be so proud,” you said. “It had been a while. I probably would have gone home with Raji, the bodega guy in about a week if you hadn’t come along.” 

“Does Raji kiss you like this?” And then Jake’s lips were on yours, his hands traveling down your back, pulling you in tight, holding your chest to his. 

When the two of you broke apart, he brushed the hair from your face before letting go, taking a step back. 

“I waited ten years, Finn,” he said softly. “What’s another week or another month?” 

“What do you think is going to happen in a week or a month?” you asked. 

Jake grinned. “You’ll realize the fairytale doesn’t end here, Ella. You and me, that’s how this story ends.” 

You shook your head, reaching out, wrapping your arms around Jake’s neck, tugging him in close. “God you’re a conceited dick, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

You rolled your eyes as Jake smirked. “Alright, prince charming. Let’s go see this palatial apartment of yours.” 

Jake slipped his arms around your waist. “Is it bad I’m hoping there’s another storm so I can trap you inside again and have you all to myself for another weekend?” 

You looked outside. The sky was perfectly clear. Blue skies and small puffy clouds as far as the eye could see beyond the buildings. It was as if the snowstorm had never happened. 

And then, so fast if you had blinked you would have missed it, a snowflake drifted in your field of vision, hovering in the air outside your fifth-story window. 

You grinned. “Be careful what you wish for, Seresin.” 

Jake kissed the top of your head.   

Tag list [using my list from The Off-Season since it's my most up-to-date Jake list but if you're not interested in these types of fics just let me know!):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse @djs8891

@blackcatdhisgf @buckysteveloki-me  @eli2447 @bellaireland1981 @seresinslady @hookslove1592 @shotclock24seconds @fanficfandomlove @ryebecca @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @t8r-tots

[purple-scrunchie]

More Heathers Headcanons bc they're rotting my brain

Heather Chandler:

absolutely dogshit at croquet. Only plays to knock other people out

mostly Heather

*slaps roof * this blondie can fit so much anger

has a deep respect for Duke but sees too much of herself in her (and therefore as a threat) and doesn't know how to deal with that healthily

Has an older stepsister she's only met twice

They write each other letters and they're quite close

refuses to let herself or any other Heather date the football team (she says "we don't date the help")

secretly likes her friends but doesn't know how to go about telling them she loves and appreciates them as people

her love language is getting people matching earrings for their birthdays

Heather Duke:

ex dance kid (iykyk)

wrote emo poetry in 7th grade (she burned it all last year though)

queen of malicious compliance

knows a shit ton of card tricks

is not allowed to shuffle the deck on poker night

she knows what she did

queen of telling scary stories (has made Heather, Heather, and Veronica sob like little babies before)

had a photography phase too

still has loads and loads of undeveloped film left over in her closet from this

her dad used to take her fishing and she secretly still loves it

Heather McNamara:

hates swimming

hates water in general

This girl only drinks milk it's a problem

Has literally everything you could ever need in her bag

once mistook her mace for her sunscreen

never again

ex theater kid (she was really good but then got busy with cheer, which took priority because her parents said so)

used to want to be an actress

now she wants to be an equine vet so she can get paid to be a horse girl all day

Not stupid at all, just has a selective attention span

broke her arm when she got thrown off a horse in 3rd grade

Veronica Sawyer:

has all 3 Heathers in her contacts as 'Heather'

she knows what's from who based on the messages

her bag is so damn disorganized she's basically Mary Poppins

we're talking everything from extra snacks to industrial-grade superglue

wanted to get a tattoo but her parents said no

she got JD to do it for her anyway (it's a really shitty rendition of her childhood cat, JFK)

lives off peanut butter & jelly sandwiches

still falls for the toothpaste in Oreos prank

bit her nails until Heather got her that nasty anti-biting polish for her birthday last year

Jason Dean:

red sox supporter

owns a tattoo gun

owns a real gun too

and a signed baseball bat (too bad he can't read the signature)

should not own any of these items

best friends with the movie theater clerk

uses this to see so many movies for free

the definition of "I know a place"

likes to walk around in the woods

just fuck around and throw rocks and shit

He told Veronica that if he ever goes missing that's the first place she should check

[tua-headedcalf]

thinking about how diego is orderly and five is chaotic, but diego craves chaos while five craves order. walk with me here...

i. diego is orderly

in season 4, diego has the white picket fence life with lila. they're the spitting image of midlife domesticity. he values hygiene and precision of details, asks his siblings to take their shoes off in his house and notices the quality of the pinata at his daughter's party. he likes to adhere to routines, as seen in the road trip & his insistence that they keep good on time (you can even argue his delivery route has trained this into him as well). but even before that, he was close to grace as a child, so some of her decorum, tidiness, and organization skills probably rubbed off on him too.

ii. five is chaotic

five, on the other hand, was raised in the apocalypse. he's got no home skills, because he had no home for 75 percent of his life. he's programmed for violence (from the academy's training and the commission's genetic alterations making him the perfect assassin); that's why he's "buzzing after this morning's slaughter" in season 2, excitable against his own will. he's a great assassin, but a messy killer. the only time i can recall him killing someone neatly was grace in season 3: a quick and clean neck snap. you know, grace, who he killed so diego didn't have to.

ok this next part is kind of silly, especially because i'm not a physicist, but hear me out: five's power is an inherently spontaneous process, or a process that occurs without any external energy to help facilitate it. the second law of thermodynamics dictates that a spontaneous process results in an increase in entropy. when removed from any serious or real scientific meaning & instead applied to number five from the umbrella academy, it means that each time he jumps through time or space with the help of nothing but his own powers, he's increasing the amount of entropy/disorder in the universe.

iii. diego craves chaos

i mean. well let's just go in chronological order. he throws himself in harm's way as a vigilante in season 1. he has a huge hero complex, leading him to try & fail to prevent JFK's assassination, which points to his desire to have a greater impact on the world (re: "everyone changes the world, luther"). and if that doesn't spell it out for you enough, he literally wants five's epic job at the CIA and hates his dull, monotonous job as a delivery truck driver. (he also just wants five, but we'll get to that.)

iv. five craves order

again, do i really have to explain this when it's been explicitly illustrated by the show multiple times? i guess i'll summarize: tells klaus he doesn't actually want an apocalypse in season 1 before destroying the glass eyeball. oh he says it so many times in season 3, like wanting to retire, tells lila he doesn't "actually like chaos", tells his old self all he wants to do is buy that damn stingray car. and lastly, he enjoys his quiet domestic life with lila in the strawberry garden. so much so that he delays returning back home to another apocalypse he has to prevent, returning back home to their family.

and i want so badly to say that all of this is why five and diego are made for each other, why they balance one another out and complete each other, how they're everything they've ever wanted, but the truth is:

v. every time they get what they want, it all leads to shit

you know how season 4 episode 1 is titled "the unbearable tragedy of getting what you want"? well that basically sums this post up. every time five obtains order or diego gets a chance at chaos, it yields disastrous results.

in season 3, five gets to retire, but quickly gets pulled out of it when he realizes their existence in that timeline created a grandfather "kugelblitz" paradox. in season 4, he gets a shot at a domestic life, but ruins his brother's marriage, his relationship with diego, and his relationship with lila all in one go.

in season 1, diego finally convinces eudora to try fighting crime his way, bypassing all the red tape of the cop life, but it leads to her murder which he gets arrested for. at the start of season 2, he successfully prevents JFK's assassination, but ends up causing nuclear warfare and killing all of the umbrellas and then some.

ultimately, while five & diego and their desires & their attributes fit together like cookie-cutter puzzle pieces, the puzzle they're a part of is a fucking bomb. and if they click together and get what they want, the world explodes. they're perfect for each other, yet doomed to be apart. they're kind of like ben and jennifer but good if you think about it.

[pedge-stuff]

it's not that kind of cold shower (pedro x gn/m!reader)

a/n: POLL RESULTS ARE IN... and this was the result! would y'all still be interested in a "pedro takes care of sick reader" fic, too?

(this story specifically comes at the request of two anons, who requested bathing/showering while sick, and emetophobia. I don't have much experience on the latter, so I apologize if it's incorrect??)

you knowwwwww it had to be the Dieter pic, tho.

as always, same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug.

summary: 2am on the bathroom floor.

——————————————————————————————————

You wake up alone.

This doesn’t register, at first. You roll over, running a hand over your face as you blearily open your eyes. You’ve gotten used to having a bed to yourself, with Pedro’s current production schedule. (Although the dogs always end up migrating from the foot of the bed in the middle of the night.)

Except, the bed beside you is still a little warm. Pedro is home— has been home, for two days now. He took a car straight from the Disney lot to LAX, and was on a flight to JFK about three hours after the voice work for Mando wrapped. Something about “needing to see his boy,” which he swore was Edgar, with a wink and a kiss blown over Facetime.

The room is dark, still, and quiet. But as you sit up, a sliver of light becomes noticeable under the crack of the bathroom door. You blink the last dredges of sleep away, waiting for him to finish his middle-of-the-night pee. It’s nice, having him here. Waking up beside him always kinda feels like a luxury; you savor it while you have it. His next job— some stupid commercial for a game on an app? He explained it twice but neither of you really understand it— doesn’t start until the end of the month. If you fall asleep before he finishes peeing, you’ll miss an opportunity to fall asleep wrapped around him. These are sacred in their scarcity, at the moment.

Except, the toilet never flushes. After a few long moments, you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

A quiet knock yields nothing. Frowning, you gently push the door open.

Knees to his chest, head propped backwards on the edge of the tub, Pedro is lying on the bathroom floor. His eyes are squeezed shut against the fluorescents.

“Baby,” you whisper, “Pedge, what’s going on?” You kneel down, rubbing a gentle thumb over his kneecap. He’s just in a t-shirt and boxers, the cold tile leaving his exposed calves littered with pinprick goosebumps.

Without opening his eyes, Pedro grimaces. “I dunno,” he says quietly, in a rasp that makes you wince. “Woke up feeling like this.”

“Nauseous?”

The muscle of his jaw twitches. “Hate throwing up.”

“I know, love, I’m sorry.” You bring your hand upwards, carding a few fingers through his hair before palming his forehead. Alarmed, you brush it with the back of your hand, as well. “You’re really burning up, Pedro, Jesus.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows reflexively, but says nothing. Then swallows again.

You reach for the closed lid of the toilet, before returning to your feet. “If you need to throw up, throw up. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

Busying yourself with filling a glass by the sink, you purposefully don’t look, attempting to give him some privacy. But he doesn’t move. Barely lifts his head up, when you offer the water. A sheen of sweat glistens on hollow of his throat, and the collar of his sleep shirt (yours, actually— some soft old 5k thing he always reaches for) is damp.  

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Thought I escaped the curse this time.”

The curse, of course, being your nickname for the way his body absolutely freaks out at the panic of having downtime. Without fail, every time he gets a break, he’s down with something— at best a cold, at worst, what was eventually dubbed the “shittiest Christmas present ever” last year. It’s like his immune system decides it’s on vacation, as well. You’ve started planning around it, blocking off the first few days he’s home just in case. After two days, though, it really seemed like he was in the clear.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the sounds of a grown man gagging. All you can do is kneel behind him, rubbing a hand softly down the length of his back. The muscles flex and tremble beneath as Pedro coughs and coughs. Any part of you that might have been grossed out, is eclipsed by concern. You can feel the heat of the fever through the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

When he finishes, you flush without looking while he reassumes his position against the tub. “M’sorry,” he says, after a sip of water. “Go back to sleep, I’m good.”

“Don’t apologize, and don’t be dumb.” You press a kiss to his shoulder before resting your cheek there for a moment. “You gonna puke again?”

His jaw clenches again. “I don’t think so?”

Abruptly, Pedro sits up, and you tense in anticipation of another round of heaving. Instead he reaches back, grabbing the collar of his shirt to tug it over his head. Lacking his usual gusto, he tosses it towards the hamper in the opposite corner of the bathroom, and misses spectacularly.

“I won’t tell the Lakers,” you tease, “if they call to offer a job.”

Pedro huffs a quiet laugh. “Snitches get stitches.”

“Real tough threat from the man on the bathroom floor.”  

He pouts. “You have to nice to me, I puked. I could be on my death bed.”

You press another kiss to his shoulder; the skin is clammy. “America’s Peepaw Pedro Pascal Found Dead at 47, In Bathroom Like Elvis But Way Less Cool. Turn to A7 for story.”

“Now who sounds old! Who reads celebrity death announcements in tabloid magazines anymore?” The joking puts you at ease, a little. He is less green in the gills than he was when you found him, although the tops of his cheeks are still flushed with fever. It seems like he has to convince himself to reopen his eyes after every blink; his eyelids rest at half-mast.

“Mm. You got me there, I guess. Do you feel okay enough to go back to bed?”

Pedro runs a hand across his chest. “Think I might need to rinse off first.”

He braces himself on the edge of the tub, and you reach out a hand to steady him as he slowly rises to his feet. If his knees audibly crack, well, you didn’t hear anything.

Pulling off your own sleep shirt (his, also stolen; some old Fleetwood Mac shirt that hangs to your fingertips), you tuck it into the towel rack, and move to turn the shower on.

“What are you doing?” The invalid has paused changing with his boxers halfway down, in a way that would be so fucking funny if it wasn’t equally, achingly endearing.

“You are leaning on the counter to stand up right now. I’m not gonna let you slip and fall to your actual death in the shower.”

He looks down at his own hand in betrayal as you adjust the water to an acceptable lukewarm— not so cold as to be unbearable, but cool enough that it might take the edge off the fever. Pedro frowns mournfully as you step out of your own boxers.

You roll your eyes. “We will do this again when you can enjoy it.”

The shower is plenty big enough for the two of you, and you position yourself behind him, legs splayed, arms wrapped around his waist. Cheek smushed between his shoulder blades, close enough to let the warmth of his skin deflect the chill of the water.

It’s not really a shower for washing. Moreso a “stand under the water until you feel human again” type of rinse. But you twist anyways for the body wash Pedro likes, when you are sure he isn’t about to faint into the glass door. He sighs as you rub the gel across his shoulders, reaching around to wash the sweat from his chest and stomach. It does something to you, having him here— within arm’s reach, pliable, soft with sleep. Comfortable beside you.

You stay there awhile, letting the water wash over you, until you feel him sway, ever so slightly.

“Love,” you say softly.

“Mm?”

“Are you falling asleep?”

Pedro reaches blindly for the handle, twisting until the spray subsides. You place a kiss to the wet center of his back. Revel, one last time, in the feeling of his body against yours, before you hand him his towel.

There is a coordinated, albeit wearily measured, return to bed. Pedro foregoes a new shirt, choosing instead to fall face-first on top of the rumpled duvet. You track down some Tylenol PM, with fingers crossed that maybe this is just a 12-hour thing. But, just in case, the bathroom waste basket is also placed beside the bed.

Finally, you slip beneath the comforter, maneuvering your patient until he is at least partially covered as well. And then, in turn, allow him to manipulate you into precisely the position he wants to be held: your face tucks into the damp, curling hair at the base of his neck, arm wrapped snug around the middle of his torso, legs entangled.

In the morning, you’ll deal with the next hurdle. Hopefully not the next hurl. But for now, you sleep.

[peawinkls]

why jfabe is NOT!!!! boring and lifeless and proving that wrong, an informational thread discussing their relationship and dynamic, because honestly im getting tired of ppl saying their boring

contains s3 spoilers!

The relationship between JFK and abe from Clone High is something alot of people within the community discussed, especially before s3, being talked about more after s2's finale. Many speculated that the two would remain friends or even become more than that.

Now with season 3 out, we have a lot more things to work out with, specifically episode 3. It's something a lot of people are too afraid to admit, but jfabe/abefk would make the show a lot more interesting, rather than its repeatable joanabe plotline.

So, I'm here to talk about the inner workings of this pair, why their so interesting, and why they work out so much, whether platonic or not. If ur not a fan of jfabe/abefk, or heavily dislike the ship, I'd recommend turning away from this post.

Introduction, the who, the when, the why, the how...and their differences n similarities

So, we all know these two characters. JFK the beloved, Abe the hated. Something that many people picked out of the 2020 clone high fandom. But what if i told you that the beloved and the hated were truly meant to be together from the start?

What we already know is that they are the complete opposite of each other in many ways. JFK is meant to be a parody on 90s jocks from highschool movies and tv shows. Abe is the weak nerd who desperately wants to be cool.

JFK is buff and shorter, Abe is tall and lanky. JFK is a douchebag, Abe is the nicer guy. The list goes on and on. And they even have stuff in common, such as the fear of abandonment and the fear of ruining things.

But one difference i can note is that Abe is way more naive than JFK, JFK is portrayed as empty-headed, but not empty-headed enough to not realize whats going on. Of course, despite the differences, both characters make a really good team.

And this was even evident in s2 ep10, aka the finale, where they both realize that they make a great "duo of bros who'll remain friends for the rest of their lives". Jfabe shippers were FEEDING on this shit back then you have no idea

So with this stuff out of the way, it's time to talk about my favorite episode out of season 3.

Bible Humpers: A Much Needed Praycation

This episode revolves around JFK getting tired of having meaningless sex with girls and partying hard, and decides to seek out a new life when he and Abe discovers the prayer pals club, hosted by Lady Godiva. And at first, Abe is happy to see that JFK is taking on new opportunities.

"Where the slut goes, the wing slut follows."

But eventually, JFK starts straying away from Abe and his friendship, to the point of even FORGETTING about the broniversary that Abe had planned for the both of them (he literally baked a giant cake for him, look at me and tell me thats straight cmon now).

Seeing how Abe had already lost Joan and Gandhi, he didn't wanna lose JFK either, and does everything he can to make him happy and thats so clear. And even at the end of the episode, it's revealed that Abe even respected his choice on ultimately choosing celibacy.

He really does care a bunch for JFK, liking him for who he truly was (compared to JFK's other dates) and respecting his choices. And despite choosing celibacy over Abe, the two still remain close, which really tells you how great their bond is.

So something HAS definitely changed throughout the years, from them hating each others guts to potentially becoming clone highs next couple...which didn't happen, and I'm still petty about it i will admit.

But even if they didn't become canon at the end, you could really tell that some people who worked on this episode wanted them to be a thing, and that's a good enough sign for me that they could hopefully become canon in the next season if we ever get one (still petty though).

Let's circle back to season 1 again. I'm not making a jfabe thread without mentioning Litter Kills: Literally, which is another episode that jfabe shippers fed on. In this episode, JFK's close friend Ponce dies, and he's left to grieve over him.

And in this episode, we see a side of JFK that we never saw before. He starts wondering why the hell he's feeling all of these emotions, because he's a Kennedy, and he's not used to them. But Abe helps him realize that emotions like this are normal.

And even if the two hated each other, Abe apologized to him in the end and finally realized his mistakes. It seemed like Abe disliked him, yet he cares about him. Abe never knew what if felt like, because he hasn't lost a friend close to him.

So he starts berating Cleo for comforting JFK and was even aggressive towards JFK as well, believing that he was only doing all of this just to take Cleo away from him. That was all because he NEVER knew what it was like. But he finally understood.

He was sorry, but he felt like he couldn't do much to help because he didn't experience the same thing. So he just hugged JFK and held him...for a really long time.

But that was just enough for JFK, all he needed was comfort, and Abe chose to do that. So even at the episode, he couldn't help but ask JFK if he was alright. And by the next episode, JFK was already feeling better. All it takes is someone to tell you that its gonna be okay.

So what I'm trying to say is despite their own anxieties, flaws, characteristics, whatever, their PERFECT for each other. I don't like how people label them as "boring", when their so much more deeper than that.

Jfabe/AbeFK is one of my comfort ships for this exact reason. Their lore, dynamic and relationship goes beyond that, i don't ship them just because i think their cute, but because their interesting, and it may seem like im going insane over a white boy ship, but i truly, truly, from the bottom of my heart, love this ship to pieces, and hopefully people can see that through me. Thank you, clone high.

[drovvninq]

ch season 2 opinions

design::

i don't like the new characters' color schemes other than frida. i think the colors work well with her and her character.

confucius' character was wasted, i wish he had more screen time with jfk other than the keyboard warriors scene, plus his bright colors make me want to scream:(

HARRIET TUBMAN'S DESIGN DRIVES ME CRAZY. i understand the whole "ohh her old design wasn't important and the only scene she had was a canceled test scene" stuff but like i wish they'd kept it. she looks like a highlighter to me and i wish they'd given her SOMETHING to make her look more like harriet, maybe the old hair design. she could be any black historical female figure and it wouldn't be surprising.

the new principal girl is fine, idrc about her that much. she isn't too out there but i also think it's really stupid they made her related to joan it just seems like a way for them to get her more screen time

*gulp* ships::

they ruined joanfk, joan didnt act anything like the sarcastic gothy teen she used to be, she was obsessed with being popular and looking cool (ex. cleocoming), and jfk only made sex jokes. no war puns, no funny magic man-esque one liners, nothing. plus he became super clingy and just not the jock he used to be. the whole reason they worked was because they felt open with each other and told each other everything, but in the reboot they hide all sorts of stuff from each other.

i hate harriet and jfk. they should've used that time to develop frida and cleo, who are

the most random ship ever. cleo gave me such homophobic vibes in the first season and to see her date another woman with NO ARC is terrible. she AT LEAST couldve had a "i can date girls?" gag. but no, nothing. it feels so cash grabby and shallow.

i have no sentimental attachment to harriet and confucius, so them dating meant nothing to me. it felt like watching two random people make out: weird, strangely random, and confusing.

it's so scudworth coded to have him in love with a woman that wants him dead.

plot::

cleo had no important points except for cleocoming where she didnt even act like herself. i assume this was to hide the fact that she got a brand new voice actor, but i think she's doing fine. the script is the issue. she's no longer manipulative. she's just mean. the old cleo would've thrown the blood pumpkin rumor right back in joan's face.

the "clone leader test" plot sucked. should've made another cloney island plotline.

booo topher i hate him