#writing this at 2am instead of sleeping for work

[kivaember]

For the couples, what’s one thing they like about each other? Like a core aspect of themselves.

HMMM okay let's see:

Rusty likes a few things about 621. There's the usual shallow stuff off he thinks he looks incredibly hot and is carnally attracted to him, but what really draws him is 621's brutal efficiency and cleverness on the battlefield. Rusty is attracted to competency, which there is a worrying lack of in a corporate setting, where people aren't promoted due to merits but nepotism or brown-nosing. So, seeing an pilot who can do sinfully amazing things with a junker of an AC gets him all kinds of hot and bothered...

What 621 likes about Rusty... well, he's not quite sure LMAO he likes that Rusty listens to him when he 'talks', and asks questions and seems genuinely interested in what he has to say. 621 is used to people brushing him off as strange or socially awkward, and while Rusty does think he's strange and awkward, he isn't put off by it and actively tries to understand him. Ofc those feelings became a little complicated when 621 realised Rusty was a spy and likely was profiling him as a future enemy BUT STILL. He liked it. It was Nice.

He does wish that Rusty stops being so confusing to deal with though...

Right, time for the jupiter lads. It'd be hard to get Walter to admit to liking anything about Michigan, but he does like some things about him. He gets easily annoyed with his loud and boisterous personality, and he hates how nosy he is, but he does like how Michigan just... rolls with things and is actually very open-minded, considering. Michigan is unbothered when Walter's in an anti-social and snappish mood, and knows when to give him space and when to pester him. Walter just likes that with Michigan he doesn't have to actually tell him things for Michigan to kind of get what he needs... but he wishes he stops being so fucking nosy lmao

And what Michigan likes about Walter is that he respects and admires how driven he is and all the hardwork he puts into stuff. Like, he understands that Walter had to work himself to the bone to succeed for that scholarship to Furlong Dynamics' pilot academy, that he began from a very disadvantageous position but clawed himself into something half-way decent. Michigan respects that kind of grit! He does wish Walter stops being so stubborn and acting like he's carrying the galaxy on his shoulders though...

(also michigan likes that walter bussy ok)

BONUS ROUND: freud/rusty time. Freud likes that Rusty is seemingly on the same wavelength as him when it comes to refining their craft as AC pilots. All the other Vespers are pencil pushers, with the exception of Snail who's. well. Snail. Freud also likes that Rusty presents a very intriguing mystery for him to pick at, because quite a few things in his past don't make sense, and O'Keeffe should've picked up on those discrepencies but hasn't... so there's a mystery for him to unravel here... it seems like a fun time :)

Meanwhile, Rusty hates Freud bc he's a corporate dog, but he respects his skill as a pilot and somewhat empathises with his position (from decoding, where he realises that Freud has little to no control over his life, thanks to Arquebus micromanaging everything). I feel that if Freud was an independent merc, though, Rusty would be just as attracted to him as to 621 because... competency, brutal skill on the battlefield... Rusty finds that so hot...

[imwritesometimes]

good news, nobody! I said fuck it and started working on the stupid, really self indulgent fic I've been thinking abt and I don't hate the 650+ words I achingly extracted from my brain tonight ....

[dixons-sunshine]

So I know none of y'all asked for this, but I thought I'd give you all an update on where I am with writing requests.

This idea by @louifaith smacked me right in the face and I'm currently working on that, and then I'm moving back to I Never Lived For The Applause (a fic that I managed to combine five requests into) to finish up the last scene, and then I'm gonna work on some NSFW headcannons for Scud (somebody asked for a fic but I tried to write and rewrite it so many times and couldn't successfully write what they wanted, so I thought I'd put their ideas into a headcannon list.) Then it's over to Daryl with a Polish reader and Daryl with a Hispanic reader and then I'm done and can open requests back up!

But while we wait for that, here's a sneak peek to the fic I'm currently working on:

[echodrops]

Every time I think I've decided on what part of Endwalker most made my writer's nose wrinkle, I remember something else the story needed and didn't include.

Tonight's contender: Literally every single piece was in place to perfectly cast the WoL and Hydaelyn fight as deeply personal and relatable symbolism for a mother teaching her child to stand on his own, or for a parent letting go, trusting her young one can now walk his own path--the bittersweetness of knowing you will never again be needed in the way you were before, or even the joy of a student surpassing his teacher, the pride of watching one who once followed become one who leads... Instead the focus we got was much closer to the far more generic RPG trope of "I will test your readiness and resolve."

It was unnecessary! She knew! She knew how far we would go--across eons of time itself--to save the world!

Why not let us, let our WoL, love this person for her flaws, for her choices which made us? Why not let us love her as a kindred spirit, one Azem to another, full of unerring joy for the world and an unwillingness to accept without answers?

It was all perfectly lined up, all there waiting in the subtext, and then just left uncommented upon. There's something to be said for subtlety, sure, but this isn't a place it would be needed...

(All this just goes back to the core issue of Endwalker which is that every single element of the story hinges on the concept of legacy--Zodiark vs. Hydaelyn as the remains of the Ancients' moral disagreement, Fandaniel's refusal to accept death as a beautiful end, Amon's attempt to embrace Xande's choosing oblivion, Zenos inheriting the war machine of Garlemald and enacting its own legacy upon it, Vrtra's fear of history repeating--and yet the story never manages to properly wind all those disparate threads into one stronger weave. They all just exist, heading in the same direction but never properly tied together for the player. Venat's message to the Ancients was that they could not cling to the past--but Hydaelyn's power was stasis because she herself was the past that the WoL could no longer cling to, the mother, the mentor whom we had to reach beyond to shape a legacy of our own choosing. Whyyyyy Square, why not just do a little more of this work for the player--)

[bowithoutadaemon]

I am 1/8th done with my paper! Which is not a lot but a whole lot more than I managed in the past 2 weeks. I also found like 3 pictures I wanna use. Which isn't helping my word count but is gonna help get my point across. Also found several interesting books and a panel discussion on youtube, which I will NOT look at now but keep as a treat for when I finished my paper (I might mention them in my "where I will go from here" section that I plan to put in the last section of the paper.)

[bublp0pr]

I am yet again out of sync. Need to pull myself of out at some point. Eventually. Probably. The trouble with being unbalanced is you don't have a good foundation to rebalance yourself really and every second staying like this just makes the situation worse

[reiderwriter]

hey, i really love your writing esp fluff hehe..

I was wondering if you could maybe write a story where gf!reader has anxiety and decides to spend night at spence's but constantly keeps apologizing cause she is like afraid to be inconvenience but he keeps hugging and comforting her just some really fluffy story

Love yaaaa🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶💕💕

-🍓

A/N: FINALLY getting back to some classic requests! Thanks for this cute one 🥰 I love fluff where Spencer is so caring and considerate, so I hope you like this one, too!

Summary: After a traumatic experience, you avoid confronting new fears with your new coworkers until a late invitation lets you find comfort in Spencer's arms.

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, guns, other cases details etc.

If any other member of your team had so bluntly asked you the question ‘are you okay?’ you'd have lied to their face, convincingly, and not felt bad about it for even a second. 

It had been, after all, long enough since your kidnapping to have become comfortable with new surroundings again. You went on cases fine. You dealt with similar unsubs perfectly, and you were absolutely a professional. 

But with Spencer Reid in front of you asking you that same question, you felt like you were one slight breeze away from crumbling entirely. 

The night had grown old as you sat with Spencer looking over some case files. You weren't shipping out for this one, thankfully, but you still wanted to be sure you knew every detail of the case so you could help find your guy and get him off the streets. 

But having worked from 6 pm to 2am, your eyes were growing bleary, and you had to finally look up to the clock to see how long you'd been zoned out for. 

“Shit,” you murmured, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

“I have to go, Spence,” you scrambled for your keys, pulling your bag onto your shoulder as your heart started beating. 

It was okay. You'd be okay. It was dark outside, but you'd driven in the dark before now. The roads were clear anyway, and you weren't on a job. You could drive home, get some sleep, and forget anything happened. 

“Y/N, it's late, you’re tired,” Spencer said gently from opposite you, grabbing your bag from your hands and gently placing it down again. “It's okay, you can just… stay over tonight.” 

In the few weeks since you'd been kidnapped, you'd told everyone you knew that you were okay and doing fine and that it would take a lot more than that to get you down. And then you'd go home to an empty apartment, triple check every lock, barricade yourself into your room, and sleep with a gun on your bedside table and a knife under your pillow. 

You didn't drive in the dark. You didn't eat or drink anything you hadn't personally prepared, and you didn't dive head first into cases anymore. A few people had remarked about how you'd matured as an agent. They didn't understand that bile rose up in your throat every time you thought about being alone in a room with men. 

Being alone with Spencer was different. He was your Spencer. You'd seen him kill unsubs, but you'd more often see him peacefully trap and release spiders instead of killing them. You'd seen him fumble talking to women by pulling out magic tricks, just as often as you'd seen him be approached by every single working girl you'd interviewed on a case. 

You'd slept over before. This wasn't any different. 

“Yeah… yeah  you're right. It's probably not a good idea to drive this late.” 

He smiled at you as you abandoned your path to the door, and went to grab you some clothes to change into. You paused, and tried to breathe deeply as you assessed the situation. 

You'd been to Spencer's apartment before. If you slept in the living room, your best route out would be the front door. The kitchen didn't have any good exits. The bathroom window didn't open wide enough. The fire escape was connected to both the living room and the window in Spencer's bedroom. If anyone came through the front door, it would be safer to sleep in the bed and jump out the window before they had a chance to pursue you. 

But if they came up the fire escape, they could choose between which window to come through. Without a second thought, you crossed to Spencer's window and checked the locks. They worked, but they were old. They could easily be forced open. 

You checked, and you still had your gun on you, thinking about where the best place to store it would be. Next to the bed, under the sofa, somewhere it'd be easy to grab and shoot. 

You worked yourself up walking yourself through your plan that when Spencer came up behind you again, without thinking, you turned the gun on him.  

“Whoa, Y/N!” 

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I don't - I was just thinking about what I would do in a h-home invasion, and it seemed safer to have the gun close, but-” 

Slowly taking the gun from your hand, Spencer pulled you towards him and into his arms. 

“Are you okay?” he asked again, and though it was the 100th time you'd heard the question in the last few weeks, you finally, finally broke down and told him the truth. 

“N-No.” 

Stroking your hair, Spencer held you as you began to quietly sob, not pulling away as you clung to him for dear life, letting the fear slowly drain from your body. 

“It's okay. It's going to be okay, I'm here,” he whispered. After a few minutes, you gathered yourself and pulled away, wiping your eyes as you looked up at him again. 

“I'm sorry, I must just be really tired. I'll just crash on the couch-” 

“No, Y/N, you can't do that.”

“It's fine, I'm fine now. I've crashed on your couch before, and-” 

“And the couch is next to the door. You're going to sit there all night with your gun in your hand, waiting for the door handle to turn. You won't rest.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, but he grabbed your hand and led you to the bedroom again. 

“I know what it's like, not being able to sleep at night. Feeling anxious and alone and scared all the time.” 

He handed you a pile of clothes and let you sit on the bed as he began to untie your shoelaces. 

“Sleep in the bed. The window has a secure lock, and it's covered by the alarm system. The bedroom door locks as well." Finishing, he looked up at you from the floor, smiling weakly before standing up and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

Your heart, which had been resting comfortably with the new details of your security, flared up into a fast-paced drum beat again as he left for the bathroom. You weren't sure if you were scared still, or if somehow a small kiss and care he'd shown you were enough to have you flushed like a middle-schooler. 

You quickly slipped on the pajamas, which you recognised as old FBI training clothes, and hopped into the bed before your brain could decide to investigate any further. 

Spencer returned quickly and climbed into bed right beside you, turning off the lights beforehand. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, looking at him as you laid on your side. 

“What for?” 

“For not making this awkward.” 

“Awkward? Is it weird for us to share the bed? Should I have taken the couch? I should have taken the couch, let me go-” 

You leant over the small space between you and wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you for not letting me spiral. Thank you for letting me be not okay.” 

He relaxed into your touch as you spoke and pulled you into him for a hug quickly. His hands rested awkwardly still on your shoulders and waist, as if he were scared to touch you more, to seem inappropriate somehow. 

“Spencer?” 

“Hmm?”

“I think I'd feel safer if you just held me a bit tighter.”

With your head on his chest, you heard the short rumble of laughter that popped out of him as he relaxed into your hug, closing your eyes and falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating. 

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Headcanons of the boys while you're pregnant bc my hormones are crazy and want me to get pregnant again so I'm doing this instead.

My period hit an hour after writing this so that explains it.

Draco Malfoy

Stressed omg. Like he wants everything to be perfect

Will hire help when he's away at work just so you don't have to do anything. Cleaning? Maid. Cooking? Personal chef. Even a chauffeur

I, for some reason, feel like he'd handle your mood swings the best. Always so calm, no matter if you're crying, yelling, or stressed.

1000% helping with the nesting period. You're ready to set up the nursery, he's with you, picking out things and setting it up. Will also hire someone to do a cute mural on one wall.

Lowkey will cry by himself when you're sleeping about how happy he is that he's having a baby with you. Like will sneak off to the nursery, sit in the rocking/gliding chair with the ultrasound and smile as tears fall.

Will buy all the types of ultrasounds at one of those places that does it. Normal, 3d, video, getting a recording of the heartbeat(even putting it in a bear). Anything and everything.

Tom Riddle

I'm gonna be honest, I don't think he'd be the best. Like at least not emotionally.

I do feel like he'd get 10x more protective though.

Won't let you leave the house without him. What if something happened to you?

Will help you with everything physically. Like will help with building things for the nursery and doing anything tedious so you don't strain yourself.

Will make sure you don't eat any junk food. Always on top of your prenatals. Making sure you're eating 3 square meals a day and will make sure none of it is food you will puke, making sure if you do puke from the food, you never eat it again.

But when it comes to your mood swings, I don't see him being any more gentle with you than normal. Will probably just remind you it's pregnancy hormones and that everything's okay, but that's about it.

Mattheo Riddle

Doesn't know what to do. Panicked at every new thing happening to you.

Will go to every appointment and ask a million questions every time to the doctor.

Does find your pregnancy cravings amusing and will try them with you, even the gross combos. Will also try to get them for you, no matter the time of day.

Almost like Tom in the protective part, like not letting you leave without him or someone else.

Tries so hard with your mood swings. He doesn't understand how to calm you down. He understands it's pregnancy hormones, but doesn't understand how you're crying over a dog video and doesn't know how to calm you down.

Will not let you do anything for the nursery other than pick out items. Will bring a comfy chair in the room or set up the rocking/gliding chair first so you can sit in it and tell him how you want everything, where you want everything placed, all that.

Blaise Zabini

The best. Omg. He's already so sweet, and this will just turn him into the sweetest boy ever.

Already buying matching outfits for all of you the day you tell him you're pregnant. Also buys you the cutest maternity clothes, you're almost disappointed when they don't fit anymore after the baby.

Loves indulging in your cravings. Even if it means getting up at 2am to go get ice cream because you want this specific ice cream, not what we have in the freezer.

Will talk to the bump at night so baby will recognize his voice. Also loves feeling the kicks. Also buying a doppler so you two can hear the heartbeat whenever you'd like.

Didn't understand the nesting period at first, like why are you cleaning and stressed about getting everything ready? We still have two months. Once he learns, he is off his ass and helping with everything.

Also like Tom with the meals and prenatals, but doesn't mind junk food. Just tries to get you to eat healthier food first, but baby's in charge here, he knows if baby doesn't want it, you're not eating it and would rather have you eat cheetos and candy than nothing.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Cries when you tell him you're pregnant, partly from happiness, partly from 'holy shit we're gonna be parents'. Cries when he sees the ultrasound too.

So doting. Asking every 5 minutes if you need anything, water, a snack, a massage, cuddles?

Handles your mood swings pretty well. He just wants to find out what the problem is. How can he fix it? Hugs? Cuddles? Kisses? You wanna go get some treats or snacks or food?

Obsessed with your bump. Paying for the top top top maternity photographer so he has high quality pics forever. Buying cute maternity clothes that show off your bump.

Will let you help with small things for the nursery, like putting up decorations on the shelves and wall and rug just so you can feel like you helped without doing anything too tedious.

Will get you a pregnancy pillow but gets so jealous of it when he realizes it's pretty much impossible to cuddle you with it. 'Am I not comfortable enough?' Glares at the pillow when you're not looking like it's a real person.

Theodore Nott

Smiling like an idiot when you tell him. Hugging you so tight, he's nearly crushing you.

Already like your personal chef, but he's researching the best meals for pregnant women and making them for you. Lowkey almost feels insulted if you throw any of them up but has to remind himself it's not you or him, but the baby. Will whisper to your bump when your sleeping too about 'how dare they? that was excellent food?'

Speaking of, is big on talking to the baby, like he'll come home and lay or sit down with you and talk to the baby about his day. Not even directed at you and if you make a comment, he'll jokingly say smth like 'hey, I'm talking to the baby, not you.'

As soon as you get the furniture for the nursery, he's setting it up. You don't even have to ask and it's most likely done without you knowing. Like you'll walk into the nursery and all the furniture is ready to go, you just need to decorate and rearrange.

Will have a shelf dedicated to yours and his old baby stuff too, just so there's a little part of you two with the baby always.

Finds your mood swings funny and tries not to smile, but you can tell and it makes it worse. 'cara mia, why are you crying? it's just a commercial.' He'll say, but wrap his arms around you anyways to comfort you.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @yourenogoodforme @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff

@soaked4abby @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @motherfing-stargirl @brittney-121

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddlesbitch @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@demieyesore

Let me know if you wanna be added!

[leighsartworks216]

Happy Birthday, My Jasmine

Zayne x gn!Reader

Happy birthday to me!! I actually started writing this like a week ago, but the 2am inspiration hit and now here I am, staying up when I should be sleeping to write about Zayne being domestic (so so worth it)

Warnings: bathing, implied nudity, kissing, established relationship, very very vague reference to his myth, birthdays, domestic fluff

Word Count: 921

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You sigh softly, displacing the steam floating through the air. The hot water soaks deep into your muscles. It caresses out the tension and the stress, replacing it with pure relaxation.

Originally, you had planned on doing something while you bathed, indicated by the novel and fresh mug of tea sitting nearby, but the water drew you in too deep to even think about doing anything other than unwind. It’s not often you get a chance to take a bath; between the amount of time it takes to indulge to make the set up worthwhile and your work, you just never saw a reason to. But you didn’t have to worry about either of those things today, for one very simple reason:

Today is your birthday.

Now, you don’t make a big deal of it anymore. As a kid, of course, you’d want the whole nine yards of gifts, games and gâteau, surrounded by all your friends (or, at least, all your classmates). But as the years go on, the less weight they carry. You don’t need nine yards - just one will do. You hadn’t even asked for time off work! You’re pretty sure Tara told Jenna, or else Jenna paid close attention to the birthdays of her team. Either way, you have the whole day off.

Zayne wasn’t so lucky. He was so sweet about it, though. He got up early enough to make you breakfast and wished you a happy birthday with your good morning kiss. He asked what you wanted for dinner - whether it was takeout, a restaurant, or something cooked by him - and he called you during his lunch break. (You ended up video chatting while eating your respective meals. Yvonne and Greyson heard your voice and ran into his office to wish you a happy birthday, too.)

Your tea is lukewarm when you hear the front door open and close. Your spirits rise impossibly higher as you wait, watching the wall of the hallway through the open door for his appearance. Sure enough, he’s there in no time, smiling fondly as he crosses over the tile floor to kneel down beside the tub.

“Hello, my love,” he hums. You brush wet, pruny fingers along his cheek. He pulls away from your teasing, only to hold the back of your hand and press kisses to your palm. “How has your day been?”

You sigh contently. “It’s much better now.”

With a hand on the rim to support himself, he sits up and leans over to kiss you properly. His tie dips past the surface of the water, but he pays it no mind. His lips move slowly and purposefully with yours. It’s a languid dance, unhurried and painfully smitten.

You groan quietly against his mouth. “If you don’t stop soon, I’m going to pull you in with me.”

He chuckles, kisses you once more, and pulls away, sitting back on his knees. “Alright.” He kisses your hand again instead, before pulling it from his face to rest over his heart. “I brought dinner. Would you like to eat it now?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll go set it up.” He kisses your hand one last time before freeing it from his grasp to stand. He picks up your half-empty mug. “Do you want any more tea?”

You can’t wipe the stupid, lovestruck smile from your face. You’re not sure you ever want to. “Not gonna tell me how bad caffeine is at this hour?”

He huffs a soft laugh. “I think you deserve to be a little reckless on your birthday.”

“Can you make me hot chocolate?”

“Of course.” He moves your towel to be closer to you. “Take your time getting out.”

“Wait.” You just catch onto his sleeve before he can get too far from you.

He turns his hand over to hold onto yours again. “What is it?”

You can’t help admiring him for a second. He’s tired - you can tell even if he’s trying hard not to show it right now. You see it in the way he carries his shoulders and the slow way he blinks. Yet here he is, taking care of you, ensuring you have the best possible finish to your birthday despite his absence. He’s so beautiful in the white bathroom light. If you could, you’d marry him all over again.

“I love you.”

The tinge of worry along his brow disappears immediately. He sets the mug down beside the sink and bends at the waist to reach you, one hand cupping your cheek as the other holds onto the tub once more to support himself as he kisses you once more. And twice, and again for good measure. They’re not slow, lazy kisses like before, either. He breathes into your mouth with each kiss, slightly shaky, as if he can’t contain his love for you any longer. On the second kiss (second only because he needed to pull back briefly for air), he almost gathers his wits again. On the third, he nearly loses them when you open your mouth to him, wet fingers tangling into his hair to pull him closer and keep him there as he runs his tongue along the roof of your mouth. He has to pull away then for fear of crawling into the bath himself, but he doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours and taking in the bright, adoring look in your eyes.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, heart racing with so much adoration in his chest. “Happy birthday, my jasmine.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikacuzhc

[railingsofsorrow]

an apple doesn't fall far from the tree (until it does)

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: reader takes care of her daughter while she's sick and some memories of her childhood resurface.

pairing: s.reid x f!bau!reader

w.c: 2.2K

warnings/content: being neglected by a parent; reader has mommy issues & spencer has daddy issues; crying; discussions about a difficult childhood; insecurities; mentions of v*mit and fever (the flu symptoms); Eden Reid being everyone's source of joy; Spencer in glasses always; hurt/comfort; very brief (implied) suggestive content; spiders; I proofread this at 2am.

A/N: here's my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins kid fic challenge i was so sad that I didn't see this until after May 1 :( but here it is! absolutely love writing about dad!spencer. it's legit a source of inspiration.

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

want to read more works about this au?

→ [recharging] - [day off]

━━━━━━━━━

“No, it's the other way around.” You laugh when Eden places the egg shells inside the cake batter instead of the egg yolk.

“Oh,” she mumbles with parted lips. Then squirms away and giggles when you tickle her sides. You do manage to get most of the egg shells out of the batter. “Sorry, mamma.”

“It's okay, baby. Now what's next?”

She studies every material in the counter thoroughly, her fingers moving as she thinks it over. That's the moment you stop and stare fondly because of how much she resembles her father. Her hair had grown longer in the past few months, it's nearly past her shoulders and the honey brown curls are exactly like Spencer's.

“Sugar!” She raises her pointer finger, giving you an eager look, anxious to know if she's correct or wrong. You take a few seconds to build suspense and reveals the veredic. Eden jumps in the chair in excitement and you gasp, holding her in place so she wouldn't fall.

One of your favourite sounds in the whole word is Eden's laughter. It's contagious and childish and unforgettable. And a bit healing, if you're being honest. In case you're feeling a little down, making Eden giggle is the cure.

When you were called at the school by her teacher today because your daughter had threw up during class, you were finishing up the pile of paperwork in your desk. It took some convincing for Spencer not to immediately run to the school, but when he heard she had asked for you in the phonecall, he caved in. Giving you one condition: to send updates of Eden's wellbeing every hour so he could know how she was.

Your husband listed at least a thousand medications and natural medicine to help with the symptoms before you were able to leave the office.

Eden had the flu, that's what the doctor said. She needed rest, the strawberry flavoured syrup, the medication to avoid nausea and cuddles to heal faster.

Thankfully, she was laughing again by the afternoon, which meant she was feeling slightly better. You noticed her paleness diminished after taking the medication and having a good four-hour nap, her fever had also went down.

“Good girl,” you praise after she takes a spoon of her medication not hiding her grimace. “Now we wait for the cake to be ready so we can have a big bite.”

She nods dutifully, rubbing her eyes with her small hands. You recognise the sign of a sleepy child, so you scoop her up and take her to her bedroom.

Although, before you place her in bed with her stuffed friends, you decide to keep her in your arms for a while longer, mumbling a lullaby softly while rocking her to sleep. Almost like when she was a baby, the difference now is that she's bigger and not bald.

It doesn't take ten minutes for her soft snores to be heard. You put her to bed and leave the door ajar in case she needs you during the night. You would come check in on her every hour anyway, to make sure her fever wouldn't rise again.

There's this weird thing about being a parent: you never quit worrying. It's not exactly weird, it is, in your case, the maternal instinct that you can't avoid. It was there ever since Eden was born.

The reason why you find that odd is because you never had that. Not when you were a child, not when you were a rebel teenager, not as an adult. In fact, you were pretty convinced your mother's maternal instinct was nonexistent.

The only time you remember being held by your mom was when you cut your head when you fell down the stairs and you had to spend an entire night for observation. She held your hand as you slept the entire time, kissed your temple and then told you she loved you. She never did it again. Eden's grandmother wasn't maternal, she wasn't a fan of bedtime stories or mother and daughter times.

But she takes Eden to school and insists on staying with her on some weekends so they can bake Eden's favourite biscuits and decorate it.

She wasn't your mother when you needed, but she is a good grandmother to your daughter.

You don't understand it. You are thankful, of course. It's not like you expected that she would treat Eden bad or anything, but you can't help but wonder if that coldness and distance was just reserved for you as a child? And what did you do to deserve that. You must have done something. Still, she never told you what.

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the hallway in the dark?”

You let out a gasp, quickly covering your mouth. You take a glimpse inside Eden's room through the small space left and notice her sleeping frame tucked in with Mr. Greenie.

You had been sitting on the floor, staring at nothing in the dark in the middle of the hall, which is why Spencer is questioning you, rightfully so. But he startled you.

“I'm monitoring,” you say rather dumbly but out of excuses. “... her fever.”

He lifts his glasses up his nose — he recently went back to wearing because his eyes got too sensitive for contacts — while squinting doubtfully at you, then he turns on the light to sit down crisscrossed by your side after also taking a look inside Eden's bedroom. He would give her a goodnight kiss in a minute.

You don't even realize you're crying until his thumb travels across your cheeks to gently wipe your tearstained cheeks. His mouth tugging downwards at your puffy eyes.

“You told me her fever went down an hour ago.”

“It did.”

“Then what's wrong, angel?”

She's fine, you're not. He thinks.

You sniffle, shaking your head. You feel like a child all over again. This is so stupid. You are an adult, why are you still feeling like this? You have your family now, there is no need to dig into the past and suffer. You cannot change anything about it.

He scoots into your personal space, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him. You rest your head on his chest, hearing the thump thump of his heartbeat against your ear. For a moment, that's all you thought about. Spencer's hands drawing invisible patterns on your arms and back, muttering softly about his day as to not disturb the peaceful silence and kissing the crown of your head occasionally.

“She's perfect.”

His hands halt on their way up and down your arm. “Yes, she is.” He knows who you were talking about, he always does, like he read your mind.

“I'm scared I might ruin her.”

This sentence alone terrifies you to no end. It's so much deeper than feeling unloved as a child because it isn't about you anymore, it's about the life you created, the life you are raising and watching grow up. The life who carries your DNA, the same one you share with you mother, who is the person that made you question every single encounter with a human being and if you really deserves to be loved.

Every day, you wonder if you were cold or short with Eden at any moment. If, maybe, a comment slipped last your lips and it would define how her day would be. Or if you gave her a look of disapproval that would make her question her way of speaking or her way of being.

You are scared of ending up like her and to have your daughter regret being raised by you.

“That's just not possible.” Spencer says firmly, squeezing you as reassurance. “You're a wonderful person and a wonderful mother, there is just absolutely no way you would ruin her or do anything remotely close.”

“If I'm so wonderful, then why didn't she love me?”

Parents can impact your life in a good way or catastrophically bad. There's the line in between, the gray line. From what Spencer heard you talk about your mother, she leans a little towards the catastrophically bad. It isn't that she doesn't love you. It is about the way she didn't show it.

“It wasn't your fault.”

Spencer finds your mother a sweet woman who took care of Eden when both of you are away on cases, or just because she wants to be with her granddaughter that day. And that's fine, he likes her. She's okay. What isn't okay is how she left you to drown in doubt in your childhood as you questioned every action you did in your entire life afterwards.

That was cruel and cold and unfair. You might forgive her for how she treated you one day, but he wouldn't.

You scoff, harshly drying your tears as they kept coming. “I must have done something.”

“You were a child.” Spencer insists, caressing your cheek. He understands where the blame comes from, he used to carry that burden, sometimes he still does. Did he make his dad leave? Could he have done something to stop it? The answer is no. A child cannot blame themselves for their parents mistakes.

And that's easier said than done.

“So?”

He sighs, lifting your chin so he can look into your eyes and stick what he is about to say into your brain for good.

“Is there anything Eden could do that would make you treat her with indifference?”

Your brows raise in disbelief, “God, no. She's my everything.”

He gives you a pointed look at your quick answer. You didn't even think twice, you didn't have to. She is your everything. The best part of you. And you would do anything to put a smile on her face. Because that's what parents are supposed to do.

“You know that you're her first source of comfort?”

You tilt your head to show you're listening, focusing on playing with his calloused knuckles. “What do you mean.”

“You're the first person she wants after a nightmare, when she has a bad day at school or even when there's a bug in the room that you're also terrified of.”

You can't hold back the snort that comes out of your mouth.

“You're not talking about spiders, certainly. Remember that night you saw one in our bedroom and screamed so loud our neighbours made fun of us on the weekend?” Spencer rolls his eyes and you carry on, too amused to stop. “They thought we were going at it. like rabbits.”

“Okay,” Spencer huffs, pretending to be annoyed. He can't actually be annoyed at you. “It was huge and what if it had walked all over our bed before we found it? Where was it before? When did it get there? Did you know that the bite of the false widow spider Steatoda nobilis can develop infections that are unresponsive to antibiotics?”

“Baby.” You peck his lips until he stops rambling. You do love when he goes off on a rant but he will just spiral out of control if he thinks anymore about spiders and decide to clean-up the entire house to be convinced there is no spider lurking in the corner. “I killed it, okay? You're safe.”

He hums, leaning forward for another kiss. “My hero,” he mumbles into your lips.

Both of you check Eden's temperature and kiss the mini version of you goodnight before going back to the living room.

“So you do understand, right?” He wraps both arms around you when you sit on the couch, kissing the back of your head. “You're wonderful and kind and lovely and you. Our girl and I couldn't have been more lucky.”

“If you want to make me cry again just say the word, Spencer.” He chuckles, spreading little kisses down your neck, lips wavering closer to your ear.

“Never, but I do want to make you smile, so I got ice cream.”

That makes you turn around fast, an excitement glint on your eyes. “Which flavor?”

His lips twitches into that smug grin when he knows he is right about something. He shrugs pretending to be nonchalant. “Cotton candy, I guess.”

You shoot up from the couch before he can utter another word and run towards the fridge, whispering-yelling I love you so as to not wake up your daughter. Spencer nods with a fond smile, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch you moan over your favorite ice cream and remember the part of your childhood that you enjoyed. Cotton candy, afternoon walks in the park and friends sleepovers.

“I love you,” you confess as your mouth splits into a wide smile while you're kissing him. His tongues travelled through his lips after you split apart and he tastes the sweet flavor of cotton-candy provided by you.

Spencer presses his lips to both of your cheeks and the tip of your nose, gazing down at you lovingly. “I know, and I love you too.”

━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie ; @ninkieminjaj ; @hoeshissworld ; @r-3dlips ; @pleasantwitchgarden

[lilystyles]

when not in rome.

a @lilystyles blurb!

my masterlist & no strings attached masterlist & blurbs masterlist

authors note idk this was a random thing i wrote at 2AM because i just missed them, i am still working on style so don't worry that should be out soon. also this is set way before no strings, i love writing about them in their previous moments!

brief description harry surprises y/n at her graduation (also listen to love of my life by h whilst readinggg)

warnings! angsty? fluffy? drunk y/n and harry (2.1k)

younger!lhh!nostrings!h x reader

* * * * *

SIX YEARS BEFORE

University has a funny way of making you feel like you might never cross the finish line. Y/n like everyone else had multiple days where she would just sob and scream from the stress of it all. Exams were totally a torture device.

When Y/n graduated with her first degree before deciding to write her thesis Harry surprised her.

He’d been touring the world with One Direction for months now and she hadn’t seen him since Paris the year before, when he’d surprised her by flying her to join them in their Paris show and they’d had a wild few drunken nights that she felt blurred the lines of friendship into something more.

But after their few days, when the champagne ran out, and she came back home, she sobered and realised that nothing would ever happen between them. And if you spent a few nights with Harry in a limo drinking champagne and dealing with his wandering hands you too would fall for him. Just a bit. It's only natural.

She missed him, though, loads. He was one of her best friends after all.

Around a month ago they phoned each other, it was late for her and the morning for him, she’d been studying and they talked for hours catching up till the sky turned bright for her and her eyes drooped shut. The time between their phone calls had grown longer and longer now, and she missed him. She’d mentioned that she was graduating soon and that they were both supposed to be graduating if he’d stayed in Uni. She remembers them staying up late at parties discussing their futures and how post-graduation Harry was insistent that they’d still be roommates. She realised now that their dream definitely wasn’t a possibility anymore.

He’d told her that instead of being there graduating like they’d suspected he was going to be, he was in Rome at some fashion show gala thing, and his date was this sexy model named Rosalie who had her sex tape leaked a couple of months ago. She was happy for him, but a part of her couldn’t help but be disappointed. She felt like he was drifting away from her every day, but she couldn’t find in herself to be cross with him. He was swept up by the fame of it all, and how on earth could she be mad that he was literally a rockstar? She knew that he was still Harry and she was still Y/n but they weren’t Harry and Y/n anymore. Not like before.

And honestly, she’d probably leave everything and everyone behind, party all night, and sleep with sexy models too if she had the chance to be famous. But she couldn’t sing for shit. So instead she did what she was doing, and shoved her nose in a book rather than in lines off a bathroom sink, and she was rather content with the peacefulness of it all.

All thoughts of Harry were swept away from her mind when she walked across the stage in the grande hall. She was finally graduating! Thank god! She thought. She had a sash that showed she was an honours student, and she was blooming with pride, when they called her name her list of achievements was longer than the four painful years she’d spent studying in their grande libraries. She was so glad to shake the hand of one of her favourite professors and leave, the next year ahead she planned to travel and work overseas, she was excited about that.

But honestly, she was even more excited to get absolutely shit-faced at the graduation after-ball party. She found herself a few pints down, sitting by the edge of one of the fountains, when she nearly fell in at the absolutely shocking sight in front of her.

There was just no way it could be true. I mean he was in Rome, and she was drunk in London. She’d seen photos on her Twitter of him wrapping his tattooed arms around that Rosalie model girl, so how could he be here in London just like that? It was not real, surely. She must be hallucinating and the second-hand smoke of all the spliffs had finally got to her brain. But suddenly the man turned around and Jesus Christ it was him. It was Harry. His eyes were pinched as he searched the crowd and when he finally saw her they lit up, all green like a forest, and his mouth kicked up into that devilish grin of his.

He saw her dumb-struck expression and laughed softly walking toward his best friend. He was dressed in a suit jacket like everyone else, and since they were all drunk none of them noticed it was the Harry Styles of the One Direction AKA the biggest band in the world. To them, he was just some random twat who just graduated too.

His hair had grown all long and curly, and he just looked so much more like a man than when he’d left. Had he gotten taller? More strong? The arms of his jacket strained and Y/n sighed at the sight of him.

She didn't think she'd changed much, but Harry thought she looked even more beautiful than before, if possible.

When he stood right in front of her, her mouth was still wide in utter shock. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He laughed. “Is that all you hafta’ say? Come on, hug your best friend!”

She sprang up from her seat and the silky long dress, which was a teal blue colour. All smooth and tight on her skin was hiked up slightly. Her gown and cap were long gone, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders. He lifted her up off the floor and spun them around. 

She smelt like peaches and sweetness, and God, he could've stayed holding her for weeks.

She giggled and felt her face hurt from smiling so big. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you!”

When he placed her down, his hands did not leave the curve of her waist. “Surprise, babe.”

“What the- shit- I thought you were in Rome! How’d you even get here?” She asked 

He smiled. “I was, got a flight this afternoon. It was the only one coming home, sorry for missing the graduation part.”

She just smiled up at him. “You’re crazy.”

He shook his head landing a hand on her shoulder. “I knew how important it was to you, and I missed you. Sue me.”

She laughed, eyes welling with slight tears. Maybe he wasn’t drifting too far from her after all. “Oh, god, don’t make me cry, you know how I get after a few pints, H.”

He laughed, arms outstretched for her to cuddle him. “Aw, pet, c’mere.”

She smacked his chest playfully but cuddled him nonetheless. “Let’s go get royally fucked, mate,” She whispered and they pulled apart, hands interlocking as she lead him off to one of the pubs where everyone was buying drinks.

It was called The Ducks Nuts.

A few of her mates were inside. Ones Harry didn’t know, but she’d already spent a good portion of the night with them. So she told them her old friend had surprised her and they’d be here and there.

Harry ordered them some shots and eventually the night was just a blur of hands touching each other, as they got so drunk Y/n felt her world spinning. They’d hopped around multiple different pubs and bars and Y/n was so tired. Her heels itched her feet with pain and she ripped them off, along with her bag. As they walked with little purpose she threw her things at him and began to dance in the middle of the road.

Harry was holding her things as she danced in the street showing her best Elton John impression, and he silently decided that was what made her so perfect. She was just herself. And he loved that about her, he loved everything about her.

He laughed and told her what a realistic impression it was, and how they’d met at some award show to back up that comment. She was infinitely jealous, she loved Elton.

On her way back toward him she landed in his arms after losing her footing he shook his head at her.

“You are very drunk, Lovie. Aren't ya'?" He said, in a soft tone one that made her tummy turn in flips.

She sighed as they walked in a direction with no destination in mind. “You aren’t drunk enough, you need to get on my level.”

He noticed her shiver under his arm and quickly ripped his coat off. It swallowed her form and she smiled gratefully hugging the coat around herself. It felt like a warm embrace, and that smell filled her nose and suddenly she was home in her old flat with him, home in Holmes Chapel, home with him. Just home.

“Smells good.” She giggled as she sniffed the shoulder pad, her cheek brushing against the soft material all dog-like. “N’ soft too.”

“Why thanks, it’s Gucci.” He replied. 

She rolled her eyes. “Come on then, money-bags, let’s get you as drunk as me.”

They strolled into a tavern near her flat and drank so much tequila that they had to practically carry each other home.

As Harry looked up at the stars and moon, feeling the cool air nip her skin he sighed. He hadn’t gotten this drunk, and been this happy in such a long time. He was giggling contently, as she leaned into him and he silently wished that the night would never end.

He never wanted his time with her to end either. He loved spending time with her, whether they were on an adventure or doing nothing at all. Y/n made it worthwhile.

When they reached the shitbox of a flat she lived in Harry followed calmly behind her, and when one of her neighbours spat a comment about drunken youths he sighed, “I wish you would’ve taken up my offer,”

She looked up at him as she played with the jammy door that never seemed to open on the first try. Shoving her shoulder into it as she managed to finally wedge it open, stumbling inside ungracefully.

And with a roll of her eyes, she ushered him inside. “There is zero chance I’d let my all-of-sudden bazillionaire rockstar friend buy me a flat, just cause he can afford shoes worth more than my entire life savings. Anyway, how could I ever pay it back? I have two p to my name and a packet of noodles in my possessions, Harry.”

He laughed. “Think of it as a graduation present then,”

She sighed. “Just shut up and sit down, and I’ll get some wine.”

It was almost 4AM now, and neither cared. They were beyond drunk, but Y/n missed him and if force-feeding him wine would get him to spend a whole 24 hours with her, she totally would.

When she sat down with two mugs spilling with a cherry red wine, that was the cheapest shit she’d ever bought, Harry laughed. Her wobbly legs forced her to land awkwardly on one thigh practically on top of his. He smiled, one that showed his kind eyes. 

Green pools of emerald she wished to swim in for eternity. She laughed at the thought, she really got poetic when she was drunk, huh?

“God, remind me to get you drunk more often.” He whispered.

She sighed. “Oh shut up, and fill me in on life then. Who are you shagging?”

He looked at her pointedly. “Who are you shagging?”

A blush crept up her neck, and suddenly the only secret she had kept from him was threatening to slip past her drunken red-stained lips.

“None of your business, but there’s this hot guy in my physics who I would totally shag,”

He laughed, but underneath it, he felt a jealousy creep up his spine, he knew he had no right since he’d been balls deep in two Italian models this morning, turns out threesomes are a really good cure for hangovers by the way. But despite that, he felt an itch he couldn’t scratch that resembled something pretty close to jealousy.

“What’s he like?” Harry asked.

She shrugged. “Dunno, tall, glasses, got that whole nerdy silent thing going for him.”

“That’s what you like then, silent types?” He asked, running a hand through his long curls, and she reached out to play with one.

She shook her head, and said distractedly, “I don’t know.”

“Makes sense why you never dated me then.” 

During primary school, Harry dated every girl in their class including Daisy and Penny, except Y/n who told him she didn’t fancy him. It was an ongoing topic of discussion between them. Why wasn't he good enough? He always asked.

She laughed at that comment. “I know you too well for that, and I get the unfiltered you, and I lived with you which was basically like being married to you. We bickered too much to ever date, Haz.”

He looked at her with hooded eyes, and for some reason that stung, but trying to be light-hearted he said. “Never say never, what if we needed to repopulate the earth?”

She looked over at him and placed a hand on his and kissed his cheek, all soft and slow, and for a moment he thought she might actually kiss him for real but instead, she said. “There’ll be no hope for humanity then.”

He sighed, fake pouting before a couple of minutes of silence passed and he turned to her and said. “Come with me to Brazil.”

Her eyes widened, “What?"

“I leave tomorrow night, come with me.” He said.

She frowned. “What? Come with you? You can't be serious.”

He nodded. “Please? I miss you! And we can party for a whole week together, or sleep, or do whatever the fuck you want! Just come, pack a bikini and something sparkly, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Y/n and Harry did end up going to Brazil but that’s a story for another time.

She stood up from the couch holding her hand out to him, and he slid his into hers. Cool rings grazing the soft skin of her palm.

“Let’s just go to sleep, you're talking like a crazy person.” She said, softly pushing a lock of his hair away from his eyes.

He sighed at her, “But m’ serious, Love.”

“Alright, ask me again tomorrow. That is if you even remember...now come on, let’s listen to Fleetwood Mac and sleep until tomorrow evening.”

Y/n's room was cosy and welcoming. Harry felt his eyes droop at the sight. A tiny lamp shining over them in an orange glow, her cot-like bed covered in blankets and the scent of her likely covering those sheets.

That night they slept in Y/n’s twin bed, cuddling, with Stevie Nicks serenading them to sleep. Cheeks plump and pink from too much alcohol, hands wandering scandalously, and the love in air was thick and obvious.

Before Y/n fell asleep she pecked his lips, in a quick kiss, one that it barely even touched him and said, “Night, mate,”

His lips burned like wildfire, and from that night on, he did think humanity had a chance if it was up to them. Whether or not she believed that.

“Night, Love.”

i have been a bit slack with updates lately...second year of uni is crazy and im already soooo busy, but i missed them and i wanted to write a lil sum for y'all until my next proper update :) BIG LOVEEEE

[wqnwoos]

“i’m going to fail.”

your statement is nothing new. you’ve said every possible variation of it about 642 times in the past twenty-four hours, all charged with different emotions: distress, frustration, anger — but this time, as you sit cross-legged on the floor, amidst stacks of papers and textbooks, you only sound defeated.

you look up at jeonghan, who’s standing in the doorway, having just returned from refilling your emotional support water bottle. you look up at him, and there are unshed tears glistening in your eyes. “i’m going to fail,” you repeat, half a sob in your voice. “i don’t know — i don’t know anything, and my brain hurts, and — ” you cut yourself off with a choked sob, before burying your face into your hands.

“hey.” jeonghan wastes no time in shifting aside the maze of paperwork, crossing his legs to sit directly in front of you. “hey,” he repeats, a frown marring his features. “look at me.”

you don’t move.

he pries your fingers away. “look at me, my love.”

finally, you meet his eyes, and you’re sure you look absolutely pathetic — with tears rolling down your cheeks and your lower lip quivering uncontrollably — but jeonghan simply smiles, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “you’re not going to fail,” he whispers simply.

you shake your head immediately, opening your mouth to object, but he’s speaking already.

“you’ve worked so hard. it’s going to pay off. this is what you said last time, remember? and you did so well.”

you sniffle. “no, really, hannie, i think this time is — different — i’m really going to — ”

“even if you fail,” he interrupts. “does it matter?”

your brows crease together. of course it matters. this is the thing that matters most. it matters s—

“it doesn’t,” he murmurs, like he can hear your thoughts. “it doesn’t matter. taking a resit is not the end of the world. getting a bad grade is not the end of the world. you will be okay.”

with a trembling voice, you just say one word. “okay.”

jeonghan smiles then, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead as his thumbs wipe away your tears. “that’s my baby. remember, we’re all just people on a floating rock. it doesn’t matter.”

that elicits a giggle, albeit a watery one, as you climb into his lap, straddling his waist. “by that logic, i don’t matter either.”

“aii.” jeonghan clicks his tongue. his hands pinch just above your hips, making you squeak, wriggling, but he holds you in place, frowning at you. “don’t say things like that. you matter more than anything.”

the sudden intensity of his gaze has you speechless. so speechless that you’re grateful for the sweet kiss that follows, his lips pressing to yours as a hand runs through your hair. when he pulls back, he taps your waist with a peck on your nose. “up, baby. let’s go to sleep.”

this is entirely self-indulgent bc i have an exam in a matter of hours and it’s 2am and i’m stressing so instead of studying, my brain said write jeonghan fluff!! and so i caved.

[adimouze]

For u oomfie hand in rotten hand (it keeps growing I want more soft maxiel I will write it for all our needs)

--

He doesn't take the jet there. He thought about it. Doesn't want people - his people even, to know. To think they can stop him. He doesn't even text Daniel.

They talked before his flight, although Daniel doesn't know Max was leaving. Was landing. Max remembers saying something about sim work, words about the race half swallowed in embarrassment, in excitement. He remembers the soft smile - indulgent even, that Daniel kept throughout. You’ll win, he said and Max doesn't want to correct him.

He would. Could have. Still can – but Max does not want to. Or rather, he thinks – he wants, for himself, for the first time.

He wonders if Daniel has found peace now. Does it have Max’s name on it? Does it make a place for him? Max rubs sweaty palms into his jeans. Refuses the offer from the stewardess to have more to drink. Screws the cap on further against his brow just in case someone recognises him even when they boarded at 2am.

The gin doesn't taste as nice as in his own jet. He sweats more. Sleeps through a guy snoring even with the space between them in first class. He sleeps an hour, two. There are eighteen more to go.

Max watches the plane travel across the world on the screen instead. His heart doesn't stutter when it glances near Abu Dhabi. It flutters when they cross Hong Kong, aches as they cross the ocean and the Australian coast appears in the corner like the DVD logo of Max's childhood.

Words spill behind his tongue. Daniel’s name too. He rehearses what he wants to say. Mimes the words as the figure plane follows the dotted line. It doesn't get easier.

He turns airplane mode off when they land. It blows up with notifications. GP, Rupert – Christian emailed a schedule. He starts the sim session tomorrow. Today, in fact.

Max may already be late. He scrolls past them. Marks them muted. Crosses into Australian land and hot tarmac. It doesn't quite smell like the Melbourne track.

Daniel sent him memes in the last few hours. Before he started feeding the animals. Max has learnt and memorised their names. Even Maximilian the calf. It still makes Daniel snort when he says it - says the baby cow stares at him as much as Max does. Hence the name, Maxy.

Asks Max ten times if he gets the joke - Max, Max Emilian, Maximilian. Max nods, laughs anyway, as it makes Daniel laugh harder. Tells him his joke is silly, and Daniel replies he spent an hour thinking of the name thank you Max. Rambles about how he thought about it as baby cow not Max was being licked by his mother, calf hair sticking up everywhere just like my Max after a race.

Daniel doesn’t say anything when Max chokes on his water, when he breathes too loud. Chokes on Daniel’s name. Tries to find a joke about his hair and the baby calf. Doesn’t come up with one. Daniel smiles, pleased thing Max screenshots with clumsy fingers. It’s blurry. Max sets it as Daniel’s profile picture everywhere. Sends it to Victoria unprompted and gets a heart and a thumbs up from her.

Sends it to team redline. Mutes Luke’s dms for an hour or two after.

Max thinks he stares morethan Maximillian the baby calf anyway. Loves Daniel more than the baby cow. Wants the way Daniel smiles softly at it, the cooing in his voice making Max’s stomach tighten with need. The baby cow doesn't realise how lucky it is, to get Daniel’s affection so freely. Max will be there soon.

Max wants to beg Daniel to give it to him too.

Two more memes. He likes them all, even if Lando sent them to him two weeks ago, when they first appeared on TikTok. It’s cute. Max can't wait to watch them and hear Daniel laugh as he does so - always.

Daniel also keeps sending this guy - burly, hairy - working on a farm. Max always gnaws at his lips so he doesn't ask Daniel if he would like Max that way. Would Daniel be ok if Max burns under the sun instead, that his hair is blonde everywhere and will not be as dark as the TikTok man’s. He can get burly, he thinks — but Daniel will need to let him race with the team online, in exchange.

He knows there is a spare room, in Daniel's farmhouse. Max thinks he can fix his set up there. Can buy a new one. He already knows the ridiculous shipping fees, and has it on back order anyway. Can get Daniel to play with him maybe. He knows Daniel will say yes. Even if Daniel sucks at FIFA. Max tells him whenever he can.

--

My oomfie here writes the best fics btw!!!! This healed me!!!!!

[marchsfreakshow]

Bloodthirsty And Lustful [James Patrick March]

SMUT.

You're a stressed out writer, and came to the cortez, James has been helping you ever since you got here. Now, after a nap, he wants to ask you your deepest desires. Maybe even help you let go.

Warning; this is the most unhinged smut you will ever read from me. This just came out of a dark place in my brain cause of a c.ai chat lol. Thank you to @babygorewhore for being a beta-reader for this <3

Actual warnings!: you like blood. Like, you really like blood. (Reader is really unhinged in this, please bare with) descriptions of organs, bones, skin layers, grinding, switch!reader & switch!JPM, PnV, riding, James lets you take off his neck velvet. Crud smut writing.

18+! MINORS DNI- READ MY SFW WORKS

No one's perspective.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

James peered through the door to see you sitting on the bed, laptop on your lap, head in hands, and a pair of headphones thrown randomly across the room. You looked a mess, and James was worried you hadn't slept enough. Your novel had to be perfect! You needed to spend every moment writing! Every word needed to be up to standard. It drove you crazy and led you to fall asleep right then and there. Everything came crashing down when your headphones broke while taking them off. Instead of freaking out and crying, you just let out a sigh and threw them across the room.

The man stood there, staring at you while you slept, intently watching every unconscious move your body took. He wondered how on earth that odd device in your lap could cause you such problems. Wasn't it meant to make writing easier? Maybe so, but didn't stop the frustrations of wanting to write the next great American novel. It just worried him, and he kneeled by your side. Seeing how you breathed, how you gently gripped the pillow and your eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. A dream or nightmare of something that has stressed you out.

"James." You whimpered in your sleep. It made the man jump back slightly before he walked to the other side of the bed, sitting by your side. Worries were overtaking your wonderous dream. James wanted nothing more than to kill who was hurting you in your beautiful mind.

The night went on, and you woke up slowly at whatever time. You couldn't tell, and you also didn't care. James was sitting on one of the chairs, occasionally looking over to you. The curtains were always closed, and the door barely stayed open. Lights were on, but dim. Sitting up, you rubbed your eyes, and the figure sitting in the chair was blurry. "Love, you're awake." He mentioned when he saw you sit up. You nodded in response. The ghost motioned you to come over, which you obliged despite not understanding much around you. Leather chairs were never comfortable. You were so comfortable in the bed, thinking about how to write, what to write and the deadline.

"What is it, James? I was so comfortable." Grogginess was the undertone in your voice, and you were unable to keep your eyes open. It felt like 2am or 3am. But what a ravishing man next to you. He sat up properly, posture still incredible even after death. Then you were curling up on the cold, leathery, old chair, hugging yourself.

"Dear...I want to talk to you."

"We can do that in the morning."

"No." His voice almost snapped and was rushed. "No...we're alone at this hour." Typical. The night was his favourite time to talk. Sure some people were still awake, but he knew how silent it was at 3am.

"Fine." You groaned slightly. "What did you want to talk abou-"

"Your desires. Your true wants, and needs." Sudden eye contact intimidated you and your sleepy eyes. Cue fiddling with your necklace, your own blood vial. The small amount of liquid rushed around in the vial, caused by your own finger. You never had anyone to do it with you.

You never said it creepily! All you asked your friends was if they wanted to share a blood vial because it was pretty. No one accepted. So you cut your finger. Your pinky on your non-dominant hand. It hurt, but only for a second. Seeing the blood slowly drip out, and the skin layers opening up so quick, it was invigorating for you. Opened up a deep fantasy, and morbid desire. One no one was ever told about. It was a secret to you, and maybe your stuffed animals. Was it that James was asking you to explore those fantasies with him? Impossible unless he could read minds. A secret fantasy like this always hid itself in the back of your mind, never to be found.

James noticed your darting eyes, your fiddling and laboured breaths. "Darling.." He trailed off, feeling your free hand softly, almost too soft. You felt the ghost-like touches (ha-) and your bloodshot eyes met his.

"James, you're..a murderer."

"...Well, yes. I have indeed told you that fact before. In fact, you were not as shocked as others. Humans are fascinating creatures." He chuckled, seeing the humour in your sentence.

Ah, a sentence that put you on edge. They are. Humans, with their layers, complexity. Humans with their need to have attention on them at all times, to create for others. All of it, it was all in your obsession. "Tell me about your interest my hummingbird. Nothing can be too much for me."

"Can I? Can I really?" You asked with a whisper, a slight glint appearing in your eyes. James nodded, and you immediately let loose. A dam breaking in half to bring in a flood. "Human bodies are so, fascinating." Your instant smile was almost manic like you lost your mind when your interest was mentioned.

"Medical shows seldom get it right. Scrubs does. They do it well."

"Have you, ever seen a body in real life? Not on these shows you mention?" James interjected. He wanted to ask you for details of your sick and morbid love for the dead. To see if his erection would get any harder. The thought of seeing you killing or exploring a body, covered in blood made James want to fall harder for you. Your crazy matched his crazy. Maybe more.

"No. It's...a dream though. Whether someone else cut open the body, or I cut them open...I've always wanted to dig around and feel what the organs feel like, hold a bloody bone in my hand..." You then go to bite my nails nonchalantly like you didn't just confirm your want for a morbid and murdering mind. He stared at you, something in his eyes. A sudden need to murder, and a flame of lust for you. Knowing someone shared his deep desires and could help each other, it made him want you more, But hid it with a breath.

"It's so fucking deranged! but the body is so complex. I want to study the tiny nerves and pick out the bones or organs I'm closest to. Having a fully empty body. Maybe even just having a skin and muscle body. It's just so, interesting." A sly smile reached you and almost made you giggle like a maniac. This sudden insanity made James light up.

"Come here." He beckoned you, and you submissively stood in front of him. But not 3 seconds later did he pull you down onto his lap, holding your waist. Gripping your skin, and nails digging into your sides. One more word from you about your loves, and he would have taken you right then and there. "You are, full of surprises my love."

Feeling him under you, you bit your lip and rested your head by his ear. "I bet your ghostly body is the most interesting. I wonder if there's anything different about a ghost body compared to an alive body." You gave in to what he wanted. He wanted to know everything. Every gory detail that your horrid brain could conjure up. Adding to your warm breaths on his neck, you gently traced around his chest, fiddling with his buttons, but never undoing them. Teasing James to hell and back.

James' breathing hitched slightly, before he took a hold of your face, and brought you close, noses almost touching. "Tell me. What else do you want to explore? Please."

You gazed at his lips before meeting his dark eyes once again, "Everything. I want to explode a heart. Maybe even open up organs, and see what makes a human tick. Take out the muscles, and bend them backwards. And, I want to knock open a skull. See what makes a human live. Unravel the brains, read what goes on." While talking, you occasionally moved your fingers to where you were talking, letting your fingers trace James' head and slicked back hair.

He shuddered as you moved around. Both his imagination and yours going crazy. You felt him twitch under you, and it was only a matter of time until he gave in to his lust. This urged you to carry on talking, to dig deeper into the fantasy that you forbade yourself from thinking about. "James?"

He whined out a "hm?" Eyes closed, and hands gripping onto the chair arms.

"give me a fresh body."

"wh.. what?" He spluttered before moving his hands around your torso. The way your soft skin moved in his hands, mouldable like putty.

"cover me in someone's blood. And let me taste the sweet iron on my tongue." The way you spoke felt sensual, and you ran your hands through his hair, the slicked-back threads being thrown in any and all directions.

It simply drove the man insane.

"Your wish is always my command my sweet bird." He was hungry. He wanted to devour your words while they were being choked out of you. He wanted to hear your cries for murder while he fucked you like nothing else mattered. "What, other things do you wish to see? How much depraved insanity can one handle?" James picked you up and almost threw you onto the bed.

First your shirt went, then your trousers. His clothing came next. "I have such an urge to kill. I want to see the way a human body dies." You sighed. His vest went in one direction, your bra went the other way. "How fire burns the skins and the muscles. I want to see a fresh slash open up the layers of skin. I want it all James."

The cold man on top of you hadn't even penetrated you, yet he felt like he was close to an orgasm. Hearing your insane wants and needs so close to his own. Using your depraved thoughts as a way to get him to fuck you was nothing but insanity. Craziness you could only tell him.

"I want to kill someone whilst you're inside of me. Is that crazy to want?" You confessed in a whisper, on your knees and undoing James' belt.

"Nothing is crazy my hummingbird. I'll happily oblige." He took your chin in his hand, doe eyes meeting his. The pure, slightly innocent look on your face made him closer and closer to bending you over and making you feel heaven. You reached your hand up to his velvet, but he hissed slightly and backed away. "Bunny..." He panted.

"I know it's sensitive, but can I see..it sir?" You asked, pressing kisses closer and closer to the wound that haunted James so. He felt frozen. You wanted to see something so, forbidden. Something he never let anyone see. Something that held a memory.

He took a deep breath before pushing his control back onto you. "My... you want something so...forbidden.." and you nodded intensely. He was only left in his velvet and boxers. Something had to go first, it had to be that dear fabric he wore so closely.

"I won't touch it, I promise. I just, fuck, I want to see neck layers, I want to see what nerves you had to cut for this to happen to you." You knew it was an odd choice, but he nodded after a few minutes of silence. He stiffened up as you reached behind his neck and pulled it off slowly. The man couldn't find words to describe the way he felt. Having someone be so, interested and obsessed with the way he died, almost wanting to have sex with him because of the fantasies they denied.

Your deep breaths felt warm against the cold cut, and you spoke before James had a chance to tell you to stop. "Oh, James. Oh, this cut is magnificent. So many layers..how much blood spilt out..?"

The question threw James off a bit, but nonetheless, he was happy to answer, getting closer to fucking you at every point. "More than you could imagine." He left his fingertips resting under your chin.

The words that left his lips almost tipped you over the edge, and you forced James to lie down on the bed. You were, once again, on top of him. This time, tugging at his boxers, and moving your own underwear to the side. Everything hit you like a freight train and you couldn't hold back anymore. Degenerate, depraved, blood fuelled sex. It was what you needed. To be filled by a killer you wanted to kill with.

Two pairs of hands unable to sort and fix themselves in one place, they had to move, they had to grip, scratch and trace. Two pairs of eyes focusing on eachother, unable to look away from the bloodlust you felt for the other.

It was rough, fast and hard. He moaned out for you louder than he had ever been before. You whimpered his name, desperate for a quick release. There were no other noises other than your lewd moans, until you stopped all of a sudden.

"Darling.." James whined slightly. Eyes slightly erratic, you held his face in your soft hands.

"I need you James. I need you eternally. To see you covered in the deep red of blood." The utmost eroticness of your words almost earned you a 'fuck' escaping from your partner below you.

Almost.

Instead he groaned, slapped his hands to your waist and thrusted upwards over and over. It was careless, but hard. Every thrust hit that perfect spot inside you, letting your eyes nearly disappear up into your head. Moans were practically screams.

The thought of seeing you covered in blood, waiting for him to take you made the man desperate. Everything everyone else couldn't be. He was getting close and even more desperate for both you to come at the same time. It drove you over the edge as you finished faster than expected, and you sort of wrapped your hands around James' neck, then laid down the best you could while he was still inside you. He chuckled darkly and thrust inside of you once more, earning an almost pornagraphic moan from you.

Feeling paralyzed, you adjusted yourself so you were simply just laying ontop of James. Silence was the best sound at that moment, and he kept his hands placed on your waist. "Mine." He smiled against the crook of your neck.

"Especially because of my deranged, bloody thoughts?"

"Especially because of these beautiful thoughts you have."

You supposed James was your murdering partner now, and would help you fulfill the fantasies you desired for. A gentleman, yet a physcopath who used the bodies of those he killed. Everything about him shouldn't be so, handsome and you shouldn't want him the way you do. But a murdering gentleman is someone you couldn't refuse.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tagging;

@fear-is-truth @nahoyasboyfriend @slvt4jamesmarch @taintandviolent @tatelangdonsweater @lvxybby

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

but he doesn't know who i am

Summary: Vision learns about Wanda's 2am gym visits and the nightly meetup you'd been anticipating with the witch becomes... something else.

I really can't write summaries: basically Vision's introduction to the series and him meeting R 😭

Word Count: 1357 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: back at it again with the self-doubt Part 4 of 'Half of My Hometown' series masterlist <- previous part | next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

“Miss Maximoff, are you quite alright? You are usually not this tired from training.”

Wanda sighs, forcing a smile as she turns towards the approaching synthezoid. 

“I'm fine, Vision, thank you. I just had a late night.”

“Were you having nightmares again? They can be common for quite some time after going through traumatic events, such as what you experienced with your family and city.”

“I wasn’t,” Wanda snaps, in a tone which comes out harsher than she had intended. She presses the base of her palm to her eyes in a show of exaggerated tiredness in order to hide the growing anger in her gaze – she knows Vision is trying to help, but something about his phrasing, combined with her limited sleep, draws out her ire. Wanda is overcome by a sudden desire to be talking with you instead, you would understand. While Vision clearly pities her for her life’s tragedies, you know what it’s like – you’ve experienced it. Vision wants her to forget her nightmares, whereas you replenish her mind with the happier moments, even patching her near-forgotten memories with your own recollection of events. Vision is telling her to make a life in the present, but you help her rebuild the foundations of her past.

Wanda tries to bury the comparison; the android is trying his best to understand, and she has only had one full conversation with you since you reunited, so could she really say that all conversations would be like that? She hopes they are, since memories of the five hours of carefree talking still linger fresh in her mind, tugging the corners of her lips upwards whenever she dwells on it.

“I didn't have nightmares,” Wanda continues at last. “Not last night. I went to the gym and lost track of time” – not quite a lie – “it's nicest at 2am, I think, always quiet.”

“Ah, I see,” Vision says, seemingly oblivious to the Sokovian’s inner turmoil, “shall we focus on powers together this session then, if you’ve already exercised in the night? Overworking on the machines can lead to-”

“Yeah, Vision, that sounds good,” Wanda interrupts, not wanting another explanation, “let's work on powers.”

»»————-　★　————-««

You’re lucky that the Compound is sparse in the early hours, because you’re certain you look like an idiot having to fight a grin every time you let your memory wander back to the night before – five hours spent talking with Wanda, yet it had been so comfortable that it hadn’t felt like any time at all. And to top it all off, she had been the one to ask you to do it all over again, with her enthusiasm so explicitly shown that it had left no room for doubt in your mind; she had enjoyed the night just as much as you.

So you smile all through your patrol route that night, watching the clock tick closer and closer to the promised 2am until, eventually, you round the corner and she comes into view.

“Wanda!” you greet cheerily. She’s leaning against a pillar and looking down at her phone but her head shoots up and, upon seeing you, a beaming smile spreads across her face.

“Hi,” she says, and there's once again an awkward moment where neither of you know the right move or what to say. Do you hug her? Kiss her cheek? You'd like to, but, once again, you're interrupted before you can take action.

“Ah, Wanda, you're still here!” a voice calls out. Wanda’s gaze drifts behind you and you abruptly swivel in place to see who is interrupting your time together. Whatever you expected, it isn't this.

Despite the English accent in his voice, the man was decidedly… not English, or human for that matter. The red, humanoid figure floats his way towards you, with the yellow jewel embedded in his head glowing softly.

“Vision, what are you doing up?” Wanda asks, clearly familiar with the man as she takes a step forward, while you take a step back to the sidelines.

“My sleep cycle is only designed to replicate that of a human’s, it's not actually necessary for me.”

You consider asking if he needs to recharge, and how long his batteries last, but you think better of it, not wanting to insult anyone close to Wanda.

“You said this morning that you go to the gym at this time, so I thought I might join you. Then you won't lose track of time and be tired during training, like today,” Vision continues. The same pang of guilt as last night hits you again, since it was your fault that Wanda stayed up so late – Wanda's request to meet again had pushed the responsibility to the back of your mind, but if she's complained about the tiredness to her teammates, then perhaps she had wanted to sleep earlier, but only stayed around and asked to meet at 2am out of politeness, to fit your schedule, rather than her own.

“That's kind of you, Vision, but, uh-” she glances briefly at you, and it's like Vision only just realises you're there too.

“I'm Y/N,” you interrupt, holding a hand out for the newcomer to shake. He looks over at you somewhat indignantly, as if shocked that you would interrupt Wanda's answer, but you know her well enough to know she had been stalling for her next words. Wanda’s relieved reaction to your words is only further confirmation of that.

“Vision,” he introduces, “do you two know each other?”

You glance over to Wanda now, unsure what she wants to reveal to the robot. She takes the hint and seamlessly continues the conversation on your behalf,

“Y/N and I grew up together, back in Sokovia.”

“Oh, and you both ended up here. What a coincidence.”

“Yeah.” You laugh awkwardly. Although there's still the comfort of Wanda standing by your side, the conversation feels stilted and forced with Vision in the room. “I should probably get back to my patrol,” you say after a few more minutes of discussion – which felt more like an interview of Vision against you and Wanda.

Wanda nods her head and shuffles closer to you, but Vision speaks up before she can.

“Yes, Wanda and I should probably get started at the gym too; then you won't have to be up too late!” he says, the last part directed to Wanda only.

Her eyes flick between you and Vision again, the choice of who to go with and who to disappoint suddenly presented before her. Her head is low and she’s fiddling with her rings again, so you make the choice for her before she next speaks.

“Vision is right; I'm sure you both have to be up early for training tomorrow so don't let me keep you.”

Wanda’s head shoots up at you with a wide-eyed glare and you duck your head to avoid meeting her eyes; if she could see into them, then maybe she would see that you didn't want her to leave, that you wanted her to come around with you and talk like the night before. 

But to say that would be selfish.

Wanda and you aren’t 12 anymore, you both have responsibilities beyond each other and you can’t allow yourself to get in the way of that for her. Wanda is an Avenger now, and you have to remind yourself that the eyes of the world rest on her, constantly judging and scrutinising her performance in the field. She needs public opinion of her to stay positive – that comes from good performance, and good performance comes from properly training with her teammates. You’d kept her from the gym the night before, and caused the tiredness which had impacted her training enough that had taken note; you couldn’t let that happen again. So you pretend to want her company less than Vision, make the choice so she doesn't have to, and walk away with nothing more than a forced smile and a wave, even when you catch the disappointed look on Wanda's face as she watches you leave.

It's for her own good.

You'll always do what's best for Wanda.

next part ->

»»————-　★　————-««

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

Series Taglist: @holiday-house-of-m @emiliaisdead @wonderingnerd @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @chasethemoon

A/N: I might give up on the gifs at the start, I'm gonna run out at this rate 😭 Anywayyyy, shortish chapter and sorry for the delay! Been a busy week of avoiding my uni work. As always, reblogs and comments are amazing and keep me going, and I hope to have the next part out soon :)

[sweetpinkchampagne]

gentle love

pairing: simon riley x fem reader

synopsis: simon has been feeling guilty about his work hours and how unpredictable they are - leaving dates cancelled, and the bed cold when you go to sleep. he comes home to your sleeping figure.

warnings: noooneee :)) just toothache inducing fluff, seriously u needa call the dentist, sexual innuendo

note: hellooooo!!! omgg :) im so scared to post this u have no idea, i typically write in a different style and for stephen strange but something just came over me (you get it, i know you do) i hope you enjoy, please leave feedback or any comments you'd like i love you all so so much <33

heavy, unforgiving boots trudged through your home tracking mud before being pulled off as well as his heavy tactical vest that he dropped with a grunt.

"baby..??" simon called out to you, assuming you would be upstairs as he made his way towards your shared room. his gaze softened as he saw your sleeping figure clutching the pillow from his side of the bed that he guessed smelled of him. cute. your hair was covering your face messily and you were curled up into a ball. a moment of guilt struck him. he wished he could give you the romance you deserved, the date nights and planned holidays - but he was either on call or on deployment. it made the moments you had together even more special to him. he gently opened the door to your ensuite to run a shower, careful not to wake your sleeping figure.

hot water poured down his face as the heat fogged up the glass. memories of you sharing intimate moments in the shower together ran through his mind. not just sex, but the type of showers that unearthed the gentle love the two of you shared. it was only with you that he felt comfortable dropping his cold exterior, 'ghost' if you will. with you, he was always just 'simon' and you loved him more than anything in the world. he wrapped his torso in a freshly washed grey towel as he studied the cuts on his face he had gained ealier in the night. they would worry you. he knew that.

he slipped on his signature grey sweatpants that hung loose on his torso, exposing his chisled v-line, something he often slept in, shirtless n sweats. he was unaware you were awake, smiling at him as he tried to be as quiet as possible. it was 2am. he always mentioned the awful feeling he was used to experiencing at work, the feeling of 'being watched' and in order to combat that, he learned to be hypervigilant, but not with you. never with you.

"hi si.." you yawned sleepily smiling at him and he whipped his head around and met your smile with one just as big. he walked over to the bed abd your eyes couldn't help but wander to the sweatpants that swayed as he walked.

"oh lovie.. 'm sorry baby - tried to be quiet for ya.. know it's late." he huffed as he knelt beside you and kissed your lips gently, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"your cheek! oh my god simon.. you.." you said panicked as your gently cupped his face, tilting his head to study the cuts on his cheek. he chuckled.

"it's nothin' i promise, just glad i came home to the missus..in fact.." he smiled at your flickering eyes, you cared about him so much..simon laughed softly as you squealed in laughter as he pulled you by your legs, down lower onto the bed and spread them apart gently.

"honeyyy, what are you doing- oh.. oh." you looked down at him as he crawled onto the bed, laughing at your assumption.

"psshh, 'ts not that baby, you're half asleep.. jus' wanna get comfy thas' all" he yawned and smiled sleepily as he laid between your legs, arms wrapped around your waist and face in the plush of your tummy. you sighed in contentment at the feeling of safety that washed over you. your hands ran through his soft hair and he moved his head down and peppered kisses along your stomach, something that in a different circumstance would send butterflies to your stomach but instead, you just felt love.

"goodnight si, i love you" you smiled, looking down at the blonde curls buried into your stomach.

"night lovie, i love you too."