#I sort of want to call my aunt now…

[giggle-gaf-rescue]

*

Transcript:

Gilly: “ I wonder how Aunt Telli could afford the up-keep on this place”

She shifts the barrel of props she’s holding nervously.

Gilly: “I’m glad we have the money but…”

Gilly’s co-worker stands up fully, pants chain clinking gently

Ash: “My guess was always hush money, like from the government.”

Ash refuses to elaborate.

Gilly drops her props.

[dear-ao3]

so. as you may know it’s christmas eve. as you probably don’t know i am eastern european. and probably the only real tradition anyone holds onto is christmas eve. normally my great aunt does all the food and very begrudgingly sometimes lets everyone help make like. one thing.

well.

this year. the year of our lord two thousand and twenty four. she decided she was done cooking and it was up to everyone else.

so i got a phone call from my mom a few weeks ago being like hey so. you’re making the cake. got it? good.

the cake in question is a walnut cake. i was entrusted with my great aunts recipe about seven years ago. i’ve made it twice. the first time i fucked up the frosting quantity. the second time i fucked up the eggs. both times were passable at best and notably! my great aunt did not taste either of them.

and i have to make this cake. on christmas eve. it is dessert. for everyone. my extended family will all be eating the cake. the walnut cake. on christmas eve. even my great aunt.

so yesterday, december 23 if you are counting, i went on the annual Last Minute Christmas Food Shopping Trip with my father, watched him climb into the case to get his half and half like he does every year, and stressed about my cake as i made sure i had all of the ingredients.

then. we went to my great aunts house. where i was met with Trial Number 1: The Cognac

this cake has cognac in the frosting. not a big deal really. except for the fact that my mom hates that there is cognac in the frosting. (my mom is hell bent on making christmas eve dinner vaguely healthier. no one else agrees.) and i was to be making the cake in my moms house.

also important to note: we (as in my parents) do not own cognac. mostly because none of us drink.

so my great aunt is like oh i have to give you the cognac. cause she knows. i am baking the cake. the walnut cake. (my dad told her. he is a traitor). and i say okay. sure. this won’t be a problem at all.

so she gives me. a shot of cognac. and when i say a shot. i mean an Entirely Full Shot Glass of Three Hundred Dollar Cognac. in a jar. for the cake. the walnut cake. that i have to make.

upon bringing the cognac home my mom says no we’re not putting that in. the cognac sits on the counter in its jar. no one touches it.

then i was met with Trial Number 2: The Frosting.

this recipe requires a pound of chopped walnuts. first. i couldn’t even find the walnuts. my sister and i searched high and low and in every cabinet we could find but no nuts. i called my mom. and said mom where are the walnuts? and she said. “they’re in the nut bag behind the basement door.”

oh of course. how could i have missed the nut bag? a holiday bag full of bags of nuts that was half hidden by wrapping paper and also behind a door?

in any case. could i have used a food processor? absolutely. did i? no. half because i forgot and half because i didn’t want to accidentally grind the walnuts into a paste. so i enlisted the help of my younger sister to chop the walnuts By Hand while i embarked on the real devil: the frosting.

which remember. is supposed to have cognac.

so i cream my butter. i add my sugar. i’m careful not to over sugar. i taste it a million times. i add my coffee and my vanilla extract (instead of cognac. which is still sitting on the counter) and it was all going so well until. the butter rebelled.

now remember. one time when i made this. seven years ago. i made too little frosting. so i made more this time. and i thought i had all my conversions right but evidently i did not because suddenly there was too much liquid in my frosting and it split.

the frosting for the walnut cake that everyone was going to eat. on christmas eve. the very next day.

i felt like a contestant on great british bake-off getting smited by the tent.

so i did the logical thing and shoved the whole mess into the fridge hoping that it would sort itself out overnight.

then it was time to face Trial Number Three: The Cake Itself.

as i have said this cake is a walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake that has been at christmas eve longer than i have been alive. and it requires no less than ten egg whites. which i whipped and i added to my walnuts and shoved the whole thing into the oven in my two baking dishes.

only to discover no less than 40 minutes later that the batter in the pans was Not Even (despite my best efforts). so i cooked one longer than the other and hoped that i hadn’t monumentally fucked up the walnut cake. like i had the frosting. which was in the fridge. and i was ignoring.

which leads to Trial Number Four: The Egg Yolk Cake

see i had ten egg yolks. i didn’t know what to do with them. my mom said flush them. my dad said make a custard. i proposed making egg nog. my mom said she didn’t want it in the house cause it was too fattening (a blatantly incorrect statement. please, if you are reading this, go drink a glass of eggnog. or some other fun festive drink. food is for the soul.) so i produced a recipe for an egg yolk pound cake. i made it. i still don’t know if it came out good cause i haven’t tasted it. i hope it did. but that was not the point. the point is the walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake.

and the following morning i was met with Trial Number Five: The Frosting Part 2

first i threw my failed frosting back in the mixer and it immediately secreted a brackish combination of vanilla extract and coffee so i did the only thing i could. facetimed my dad and said “father there are problems abound.” and he gave me the fatherly advice of “make it again.”

and so i did.

with more correct measurements. still scared it would split at any second.

though it didn’t.

and i didn’t add the cognac.

maybe no one will be able to tell???

my mom said that if anyone asks the first batch of frosting failed and i had to toss it. this is technically true.

but i had frosting. i had two uneven cakes. and it was time for Trial Number Six: Decorating

decorating cakes is easily in my top ten least favorite activities. decorating the christmas eve walnut cake is easily in my top three least favorite activities. because i am terrible at decorating cakes. and also because it has a filling.

the filling is jam. and i once again made the wrong choice because i put the jam on first before the frosting. which to be fair is what the directions say. but as everyone knows, the directions in recipes you get from your eastern european great aunt are not the real directions. so now i had to smear butter cream. on top of jam. for the filling of the walnut cake. for christmas eve. that we would be eating in a few hours.

and we didn’t have a cake plate. we had a large dish.

i had to use my fingers. i had to use three spatulas. i got jam everywhere. but i did it. and as soon as i set the top cake on top of the filling i realized my monumental mistake: i was supposed to trim down the cakes.

so now they were uneven. and lopsided. and there was nothing i, a mere mortal tasked with the impossible task of making christmas eve walnut cake, could do about it.

so i continued to spread my frosting. which i had enough of. and tried and failed to not get jam everywhere.

in the end it was almost presentable. not great. slightly lopsided. and definitely not as nice as any of my great aunts cakes.

which left me with Trial Number 7: Chilling It

our fridge was being taken up by other important christmas eve things (though not as important as my cake. the walnut cake) so i had to put it in the car. which was fine because there is snow on the ground.

i covered my cake. the walnut cake. in tin foil and hoped i wouldn’t accidentally squish it. and then i went outside. i tried to steal my moms shoes to walk outside. she was not impressed.

“you know, saph,” she said. “some of the time you’re pretty great. the other half of the time you’re really weird.”

i could not agree more.

i put my cake on the trunk. prayed to the cake gods and went inside.

on the one hand if the cake is good, i will be stuck making walnut cake for christmas eve for the rest of my life. on the other hand, if it sucks i will never have to make another one.

Trial Number Eight: The Tasting still waits.

[thinkinonsense]

Bewitched

˖⋆࿐໋ james logan howlett ✦ bridgerton au series

bewitched masterlist

cw: 1800s mentality on marriage and women, pinning, bickering, enemies to lovers

pairing: viscount!logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: as of right now, i'm not sure how long this series will be but i'm so excited for it! i tried to make the reader as universal as possible but i did have to give her some sort of last name, so if that isn't your thing, you can always change it to fit. after the set up, i'll probably drop the last name.

bridgerton lore: ton (high society), debuting (when you begin dating/looking for a partner), spinster (an unmarried woman)

main masterlist

in early june, everyone returned back to england for this season and whispers of a french woman joining the ton spread around. one morning at breakfast, marie howlett was reading one of the gossip columns aloud to her family when her eldest brother, james walked into join them at the table.

"it says she's staying with her aunt, lady worthington. she is four and twenty and the only child. her passions are literature and painting. apparently, the queen has one of her paintings in her home..."

"she sounds lovely. doesn't she, james?" their mother said, hoping her boy was listening.

"she's a spinster." he says, eating some of the fruit on the table. "that's not viscountess material."

"the queen seems to find her to be diamond material." marie jabs.

james has never fallen for one of the diamonds. sure, their beauty is prominent and sometimes they can hold an intellectual conversation but for the most part they are simply shoved forward so the queen can take credit for their marriage.

"i have more important priorities this season."

"well, this season you should prioritize finding a viscountess." their mother bit at him.

during this time every year his mother gives james the same speech over and over again. the marriage speech. ever since his father died during battle, james has been plagued with not only his grief but also the weight of replacing his father and eventually having to find a replacement for his mother as well. instead of focusing on marriage, james kept himself busy either working or traveling and keeping his family afloat.

"mama, i promise i will find a wife at some point." james sighs. "i just haven't met anyone that can handle being my viscountess."

"what about the red headed girl from last season? you seemed to fancy her quite a bit."

"she married lord summers this past spring."

"and the munroe girl?"

"she's interested in mister brooks."

all his mother does is sigh in response to the news. he takes this as the perfect chance to escape the interrogation.

luckily for james, there was always an excuse to avoid marriage. in the past he's gotten close to making that walk down the aisle but something always held him back. he's never believed much in love or marriage past it's convenience. sure, he believed it was the blueprint of life, to take a wife and start a family but his marriage is seen as a much bigger deal.

all the mamas in the ton were practically throwing their daughters in his direction. at balls, he's always forcing marie to dance with him because if not, he will be forced to socialize with these young unintellectual girls who only value him for his money and title. james didn't want to have to nurture these girls. he would take care of his wife but he wanted someone who was independent from him.

ever since his father died in the war, james has always been guarded of his feelings. especially, when it came to love. when he went with his mother to identify his father's body, james swore on that day that he would never let love destroy him like it did his mother.

"remember, marie is debuting tonight at the first ball of the season." his mother called after him. "don't be late."

"i wouldn't miss it." he smiles at his little sister before dashing out the door and back to his study.

˖⋆࿐໋

a rainbow of silks are spread across your bed as you try to figure out what to wear tonight. if your mother was here, she would know exactly what would look best on you. it's only been three months since her passing yet the ache in your chest grows stronger day by day.

"what are you thinking of wearing tonight?" your aunt asks, lingering in the doorway.

"i'm not sure yet." you sigh, picking at the pretty gowns. "i like the light blue one."

arguably, it was the prettiest in the pile. so simple, you hoped to blend in among the wash of colors in the room tonight. the boning of the corset poked the left side of your ribs a little but beauty is pain.

as you got ready, the nerves started to kick in. by now you should be on your second or third child and pregnant with the next. why was love taking so long to find you?

ever since you were a little girl, you were a hopeless romantic. dreaming of your first kiss and getting married to your knight in shining armor. back home, there was a cruel joke that you were the girl before the wife. you get just close enough before they end it. afraid that the curse would travel with you.

"don't worry." you aunt hums, brushing your hair. "the queen picked you as her diamond for a reason."

"i know, i know." you nod, avoiding your reflection in the mirror. "i just wish mother was here with me."

"i do too, dear."

"she should've seen me married."

a small tear rolls down your pink painted cheeks. it feels like you let her down by not taking a husband before her illness got worse.

men have it so easy. there's no pressure from society put on them. you can marry at fifty to a nineteen year old if you so please because you know that they will marry you out of fear and desperation.

"who says she can't?" your aunts smile reflected in the mirror. "she's still looking down on you, probably working on sending you a lord or a duke for a husband as we speak."

"amusing." you giggle.

"imagine a viscount or a prince!"

both of you laugh at the possibility. viscounts and princes were usually swept up quickly in high society. all of them probably have pregnant wives by now.

"don't get too ahead of yourself."

˖⋆࿐໋

the queens ball was unlike anything you had ever seen. beautiful gardens, bright lights, and people gathered everywhere. inside the ballroom, the chandelier lights almost blind you.

like a hawk, lady chamberlain spots you two. she is an older lady and a close family friend. you haven't seen her since you were a little girl, surprised that she was able to recognize you.

"lady worthington and miss bowery, lovely to see you here!" the woman smiled, wrapping her arms around both of you.

"hello, lady chamberlain." you smile, feeling slightly at ease seeing a familiar face here.

"you look marvelous, sweetie." she smiles, taking in your appearance. at least someone appreciated all the bells and whistles that went into your dress for this evening. "truly like a diamond."

"thank you." you curtsy. a warm rose color rises to the surface of your cheeks at her compliment.

"let's go find that viscount i've told your aunt about." she says.

suddenly, she's pulling you and your aunt over to meet everyone.

quite some time has passed and yet you've only met barton's and a few lords. from one eligible bachelor to the next, it was the same process. you introduce yourself, dance, ask a bit about each other, jump into talks of marriage and children. it was all a bit overwhelming to say the least.

there's no news on a prince yet but lady chamberlain was holding out for a viscount while your aunt held out for a duke. meanwhile, you just needed someone with charm and charisma to save you from these godawful men of the ton.

"i'm going to get a drink." you announce, one the music ends.

in one of the dim corners of the room there was a refreshment table where you poured a hefty amount of wine into your glass and down as much of it –in a very unlady like manner– as you could before another person could find you.

it wasn't long until someone behind you clears their voice loudly.

"i was unaware that they taught women to drink like soldiers in france..."

you spin around quickly to face the man in front of you. he is gorgeous and... huge. dawned in white puffy shirt and a tight black vest with detailed buttons. he towered over you intimidatingly with a small smirk creeping on his lips from shocked expression.

"i-i deeply apologize, my lord. it was just grape juice." you laugh nervously, avoiding his piercing stare.

"hm..." he hums, lifting his hand up and letting his thumb swiftly glide under your lip to catch the bit of liquid there. you watch in awe as he licks the bit of wine off his thumb with a soft groan. "they must make 'grape juice' different in france."

never in your whole life have you been left so speechless. a gentleman has never done more so than touch your hand, let alone act so scandalous. with a satisfied smirk, the man walks away to join a small group of young women. thank goodness that no one seemed to have noticed.

"miss bowery!" lady chamberlain called after you. "i want you to come meet the howletts."

swiftly, you get back to her as she approach a mother and daughter. both of them were stunningly and wore expensive looking gowns with luxurious jewels. lady chamberlains wide smile only made you grow more anxious.

"meet lady howlett and her daughter, the honorable, marie howlett." lady chamberlain introduced.

"lovely to meet you." you say, bowing gracefully before them.

"where is viscount james?" lady chamberlain asks.

"oh! he should be around here somewhere..." the woman looked behind the two of you until she flagged someone down. “there he is!”

the moment that you looked up at the viscount, you feared your heart might explode right then and there. silently pray to the gods above that he won't mention your previous encounter.

"miss bowery, this is my son, viscount james logan howlett." lady howlett announces proudly.

"what a pleasure to meet you, miss bowery." james smirked, trying to get a rise out of you.

"as is it for me, my lord." you curtsy politely, feeling hot under his gaze.

a cloud of lust fogs james mind at the words, my lord fell from your pretty, slightly berry colored lips. the lower his eyes drift from your face, the tighter his trousers get. every exquisite curve is highlighted by the way that the silk fell on your frame, reminding him of the goddesses he had only seen in the finest of paintings.

"might you wish to accompany me to a dance?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

you nod, offering him your gloved hand in return.

the two of you make your way to the dance floor with everyone else. the orchestra begins and you quickly fall in sync with each other.

"how are you enjoying england?" james asks.

"it's quite lovely." you lie.

"better than france?" he questioned with a small tilt of his head.

"no." you giggle softly. "nowhere on earth is better than home."

"i suppose i cannot argue with that."

"have you journed to france?"

"once. when i was younger, i went with my father. he loved france."

"that's why my mother left england. she fell in love with my father when she visited france."

"they must be true romantics."

"oh, most definitely." you smile.

carefully, logan spins you twice. never letting you stumble over your own two feet like most men would.

"i truly am sorry for earlier, my lord. that was completely unacceptable for a–"

"it's alright, sweetheart." the viscount cut you off with a chuckle. "your secret is safe with me."

james looks down to see your big round eyes sparkle up at him with great appreciation. there's a unique feeling blooming deep in his chest that he can't quite put his finger on.

"i heard from some mamas that you are seeking to wed this season." you say, looking elsewhere as the two of you pull apart.

"seeking is such a complex word." he sighs amusingly.

"i imagine it would be difficult to find a future viscountess."

"you have no idea."

all around you, you can see the women openly fawning over the viscount. some fan themselves while other clutch their jewels with either anger at you or lust for him. any of those women would duel to be in your shoes right now.

"do you have a desire to be viscountess?" his question made your heartbeat increase, pounding in your chest.

as a young girl, you watched your family struggle in order to survive so it would be a lie to say that you don't dream of having a title. you have a father back in france to take care of in his elderly age. but love was your main desire. you would marry a sweet common man as long as he loved you.

"i desire to be loved." you tell him.

the answer caught james off guard. the women of the ton had no issue telling him to his face that they want his tittle or money. none of those women actually cared about love.

"well, my darling, you are quite the fool to be seeking out something as pure as love in a place such as this." james says, pulling you so close that you can feel his heartbeat in his chest and his eyes darken.

"don't be so cock-sure, viscount howlett. i am no fool at all." you glare angrily up at him. "i wish you well on your journey to find such a bird-witted viscountess."

the song ends and you are quick to make an exit. hot on your heels, james follows you outside. perhaps you shouldn't have insulted the viscount to his face but you didn't quite care anymore. this night has been a bust and you aren't any closer to marriage then you were before walking in here.

"miss, bowery..." a man calls, capturing your attention. "would you accompany me to a dance?"

based on the man's appearance, he seems even more important that the viscount. he was definitely the opposite of james. this man wore light grey in places where james wore black. this man had a sweet smile where james had a scowl.

"her dance card is full." the voice behind you threatened.

the gentleman's face fell a little.

"actually, i have one last spot open on my dance card." you smile, showing him the tag tied to your right wrist which had exactly one spot open. "i would love to accompany you..."

"prince harrison." he grins.

you hum, offering your hand. the prince leans down and kissed your gloved fingers before sweeping you off to the dance floor again.

james fumed as he watched you walk away with the prince. lady howlett spots her son alone and walks over to him.

“please tell me that you did not scare off this seasons diamond, james.” lady howlett asked in a low whisper.

“i’m gonna call a carriage” he growls, annoyed.

“dear!”

his mother called after him but he couldn’t care to turn around and stay here any longer.

˖⋆࿐໋

on the carriage ride alone, james is stuck with the image of you. your beauty and the pain in your eyes when james called you a fool. oddly enough, james enjoyed the way you bit back at him. he just wishes that he hadn’t offended you.

apparently you must not be that hurt if you accepted a dance from harrison of all people. not because he wanted to court you but because harrison was barely considered a prince and was a poor excuse of a man. never having to lift a finger a day in his life. never knowing a single struggle. the prince was insufferable.

perhaps it was in james best interest to forget about the beautiful woman he met this evening. she is this seasons diamond after all, desired by too many. james wasn't known to chase the things he desired.

──★

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[shrimpybbq]

you gotta believe me, baby

synopsis: when a stray bag of coke is found in rafe’s drawer, rafe’s fiancée grapples with its implications

The young woman trifled through Rafe’s desk, the pen he requested lost deep amongst his amalgamation of items. Frustratingly, she kept searching until her gaze landed on a small item strewn under a notebook, the clear bag reflecting in the light. Her heart felt as if it stopped beating. The small bag and its contents were instantly recognisable to the woman, her having seen her fiancé with it many a time. Except instead of keeping it hidden under a book, he would have the white powder diced and sorted into hefty lines on a table, a rolled up $50 set aside ready to help him snort it.

She remained still for a moment before tentatively reaching for the bag, as if it would suddenly change its contents if she waited long enough. And yet, as she picked the bag up it felt like a long forgotten truth was slapping her in the face. Of course it was coke. The woman pondered the situation for a moment for she was sure Rafe was clean - but then again, he had been under an increasing amount of stress lately. Cameron Development had been taking up all of his time, as had the move, so would it really be that far-fetched for him to start using again?

Soon, she began pacing around the room, her mind beginning to catastrophise the situation. It had been so hard to get through each day when Rafe was high, his constantly shifting mood and irritable personality making him intolerable to be around. Her mind flashed to the moments alone, trying to soothe a colicky baby that cried and cried alone in the guest room while Rafe spent his evenings getting high with Barry. She'd never felt so alone and isolated. She had no-one: Her parent's were a no-go, Ward and Rose could only help so much, and Sarah was busy being a teenager. Sometimes, it was as if Wheezie was her only friend, always loving to play with her nephew even if only for a moment. In those moments, she had wondered if any of it was worth it - maybe everyone would be better off if she left to the mainland to live with her aunt, removing her presence from Kildare completely. Rafe hadn’t wanted Charlie in the beginning, not really, and as she cried alone in tandem with her son, she felt it.

Rafe had called out his fiancée’s name three times by now, only to receive nothing in response. Initially assuming she had been sidetracked, it was only once he finally ambled over to his study did he realise the true cause of her silence. Rafe froze at the sight of the bag of white powder flung haphazardly atop his papers, his heart racing as a chill spread across his body. Shit shit shit.

Rafe’s panicked gaze met hers suddenly, each expressing a multitude of worries. Rafe watched as his sweet girl looked at him, so defeated and dejected, her shoulders slumped as she faced him. Initial words began to leave her mouth, only to be swiftly cut off by her partner,

“Baby, please, you gotta let me explain, ok?” Rafe was pleading with her, a tone he rarely utilised unless in the most dire of situations, “it’s not mine.”

Her eyes, once shifted towards the window, snapped back to his frame. “It’s in your desk Rafe! Whose else would it be?”

“Fuck, uh- fuck ok, well it is mine, but it’s not like I bought it last week. Shit, that sounds bad, I didn’t-” Rafe sputtered, his logical explanation getting muddled up as his anxiety grew. He could tell his fiancée didn’t believe it if the tears beginning to escape were any indication.

“Rafe, please, just tell me the truth. You owe me that much,” she pleaded. Rafe felt his heart shatter at the desperation she could not hold back.

“I had this desk moved from my dad’s office, ok? Whenever he used to catch me doing coke, he would lock my supply up in his desk in his attempt to get me clean - not that that ever fuckin’ worked,” he began to explain, “I never even properly cleaned out his desk, baby. I figured he would have something written down that would provide some of his infinite wisdom bullshit that would help me in the future, so I just didn’t touch anything.”

The young woman stared at the Cameron opposite her, feeling rooted to her spot as he answered her questions. Truthfully, she remembered Rafe’s occasional complaining about his dad’s attempts to control his drug habit. She could never truly comfort him properly when she silently thanked Ward, but his statement rang true in her mind. It was plausible that Rafe really hadn’t touched his dad’s things.

“Come on baby, you have to believe me! You really think I would throw all of this,” Rafe gestured, arms outstretched, “us, our family - away for a few fuckin’ ounces of coke? I got better and that’s because of you, because of you being there for me and the kids and - baby please, I’m telling the truth.”

As Rafe begged and pleaded, he had made his way to stand in front of her, taking her hands in his as his fingers gripped hers tightly. She looked up at him, tears still spilling down her cheeks. He had gotten better - ever since they arrived in Guadeloupe, she hadn’t seen him touch cocaine. Alcohol, sure, but even Topper offering him coke at a party had seemingly rolled off his back.

“You’re not lying to me? You swear it? On the kids lives?” She begged, needing to hear him say it again. She wanted to believe him so badly.

“I promise baby, I swear to god. I swear that I haven’t touched that shit in a year. Please, I’m telling the truth baby.”

With his final plea, she felt her heartbeat begin to slow, its return to normal allowing her to breathe properly once more. A large exhale left her body before she flung herself against Rafe, her arms wrapping around his torso. His arms immediately returned the gesture, comfortingly rubbing up and down her back.

“I can’t do that shit again, Rafe. Ok?” She muttered, her voice muffled against his shirt. He leaned down to gently stroke her hair before placing a tender kiss in her hair.

“You don’t need to worry about that anymore. I’m different now, for you and for our family. You can rely on me, ok? I’m always gonna be here for you,” Rafe stated firmly, his words filled with conviction. He felt a small smile tug at his lips as his fiancée nodded into his chest, her arms tightening around him further.

“I love you, Rafe. More than anything.”

“I love you too, baby. It’s you and me ‘till the end.”

As the pair stood in their embrace for a moment longer, they felt the tension seep away slowly and be replaced with tenderness. For such a rocky start to a relationship, the pair had watched each other grow and mature. Neither of them were perfect, but they would never give up on each other. Rafe didn’t believe in soulmates, but if he did, he was certain that the woman in his arms was his.

[gghostwriter]

Have Your Cake

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer notices a change in you that he tries to address Trope: Comfort; Established relationship w.c: 1.8k Trigger warnings: tackles eating disorder and body dysmorphia a/n: this is a really hard topic I personally felt the need to write about (in a way to comfort myself.) Its very personal as I used my past eating disorder here so if its something you’re not comfortable with, please go skip ahead to another fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer wrapped the front ends of his coat tighter on his slender body. It did little to no good fending off the cool seasonal air of an October night. His scuffled loafers squeaking from his shuffling feet. 

The line at your favorite bakery was unsurprisingly long on a Tuesday evening. Every night, the shop sells their remaining pastries at a discount To lure innocent commuters, tired from a long day of pushing papers. He usually wasn’t one to give in to the notion of ‘treating yourself’—unless counting out his big spendings on first editions written in its original language.

He gave the cashier a slight smile before listing off his purchase, one slice of their decadent strawberry shortcake and another of their vanilla bean sponge cake—both your favorites. And both an integral part of his perfectly thought of scheme to solve a riddle.

Your mystery.

In simple layman’s terms, they were bribery of some sort.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, side stepping his way out from the throng of customers holding their own trays of pastries and back into the cold October air.

He blamed himself for not noticing the change in patterns early on. His attention otherwise preoccupied by the trauma from his time in prison and the stares that vary from judgement to pity that come from officers outside of the BAU.

No longer was he the shining, new prodigy once hailed to be, now he was just damaged goods. His downfall from grace was an adjustment.

His mind was another matter, all together—could no longer detect subtle shifts in behavior as fast as he used to.

Yes, there was really no one else to blame but himself.

As his long strides covered the way home, the moon shining down on the empty streets, Spencer thought back to the moment when he finally noticed you eating less and less.

———

You pulled down the cuffs of Spencer’s Caltech sweater, leaving only the tips of your fingers peeking through. Everything about it made you self-conscious. How it drapes down your shoulders differently from before. How it wraps around your body, sending shivers down your spine. And how it leaves the lower half of your plush thighs exposed for anyone to see—anyone to judge. 

You hated it.

You hated how hyper aware a single comment from a distant relative made you feel.

**

A voice from a distance called out your name causing you to look around the aisles of grocery and come face to face with an aunt, twice removed from your father’s side. 

“It is you!” She leaned in to kiss your cheek. Her choice of perfume, a sickly sweet artificial scent of oranges, wafting on your nose.

It made you want to gag.

A fake smile donned your face. “Oh, hi Auntie. What a surprise to see you back in Virginia.”

“Oh, I just flew in for my husband’s sister’s birthday. You know how we are, always booked and busy with events,” she waved her hand, the ostentatious diamond ring on her finger catching the light. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated college. You look so different now—more and more like your mother.”

“Thanks, I always did look like her,” you awkwardly laughed.

Her eyes traveled down to your feet and back up again, a tight grin on her face. It made her look vicious, condescending, causing you to catch your breath as she uttered the words that would repeat in your head like a commercial slogan you can’t get away from.

“But you were much prettier when you were thinner—” her eyebrow raised, cataloguing the items in your cart. “Might want to cut down on the carbs a little bit, sweetie.”

She poked a wound inside of you that never seemed to fully heal.

You thought you were better, all those years of talking to your therapist and changing your relationship with food for the better made you believe those dark days were behind you. But those spitting phrases veiled as words of care from a family member amplified the doubts once buried in the recesses of your mind.

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was great seeing you, Auntie.”

**

The jiggling of keys brought you back to the present.

“Love, I’m home!”

You called back from the kitchen, finishing up plating tonight’s dinner—a fresh serving of Chicken Alfredo to share. “In here, Spence!”

With a saccharine smile on his tired but beautiful face, he wrapped his arms around your shoulder for a loving hug. His pillowy lips leaving trails of kisses from your temples, to your nose, to your cheeks, and finally landing on your awaiting lips. 

You giggled at his antics. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” another peck on the lips. “Dinner looks amazing. Thank you for cooking.”

“It’s no problem at all, you know how much I like to cook for you.”

He brought up a mystery package to showcase, eyes tracking every minuscule change on your face. “And I brought us some dessert! Your favorites from the bakery.” 

The smile on your face threatened to drop. “That’s—that’s great!”

———

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you all throughout dinner. One of the disadvantages of dating a man who earns his living by understanding human behavior and its changes—triggers, as he would like to call it, is never having the leisure of keeping a secret.

He means well, you‘d like to believe so, but that didn’t change the fact he knew something was bothering you. 

It made you feel like a riddle he wanted to solve. It made you want to scream and cry.

The only reprieve you could get was within the little confines of your shared bathroom, water beating down your back muffling the sobs that escaped from your tightly pressed lips.

Everything felt too much. 

The devil voices in your head listing off the calories each spoonful contains. The mathematical equation of how long you’d need to exercise to lose every unnecessary bite eaten over dinner. And the facade of keeping everything together—everything perfect.

You picked off the sides of your nails, already raw and starting to bleed. 

Maybe you shouldn’t eat breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Maybe you should walk the 15 minute commute from here to the office. It would take 30 minutes but that’s additional exerc—

“Love, is everything alright?” Spencer asked behind the locked bathroom door. 

You turned, turning off the shower, before hurriedly toweling off the droplets all over your hair and body. “Yes, I’m—I’m almost done!”

Swiveling around the dry area, you realized you forgot to bring in a change of clothes beyond a clean pair of underwear.

You sighed to yourself as you wrapped the towel around your chest. Still feeling uncomfortable and oddly naked even then. 

“Spence, there’s still some hot water left—are you okay?” You ask, having found him sitting on the edge of the bed with a distinct frown on his face. 

He stood up. Hands on your waist, shuffling both your bodies closer to one corner of bedroom.“It’s just—you know how much I deeply care for you, right?”

You slowly answered. “Yes, of course. I deeply care for you too.”

“So I have to ask, are you alright? Really alright?”

“Wha—what do you mean? Of course, I am—I’m completely fine,” you vehemently denied. The lump on your throat making you sound hysterical, even in your ears. If you couldn’t fool yourself, what chances were there that Spencer was fooled—none.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been eating smaller portions lately and you didn’t even take a bite of the cakes I brought home. You’ve also been going to the gym daily, instead of your usual five times a week. And you’ve started wearing my clothes more—not that it’s a problem. I love seeing you in my clothes but you’ve started to prefer baggy silhouettes rather than your usuals. It’s like you’re hiding your body. Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me anything, I won’t judge.” 

It was the soft tone in his voice mixed with his doe, teary eyes that caused you to break under pressure. Your shoulders shook as sobs that you’ve kept bottled up rose to the surface. It was a wave of emotions that battered through your dam of facade. 

“I hate how I look—I hate that I gained weight,” you cried out. “I hate how a relative pointed it out and how her words won’t leave my mind. I hate it, Spence. I loathe it all—the voices in my head whispering how I should keep track of every meal I eat in a notebook like I did before. Telling me to never go beyond a 800 calories per day, to workout two hours a day twice! It’s just—” you took a deep breath, vision blurring from tears. “—so exhausting and please, make it stop.”

Spencer hugged you tight to his chest, as if wanting to merge you two as one to take away all your pain and sorrow. Your hands creasing his white button down with a grip so tight. 

For a second, it felt liberating to let it all out. But the fleeting emotion had passed, leaving you with only shame from your admittance.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” he detangled himself, enough to stare into your eyes. “Love, can I show you something?”

You nodded. He slowly turned you around, back against his chest, to face the full length mirror tucked in the corner. His eyes never leaving yours as his calloused fingers reached up to the tucked ends of the towel wrapped around your body. He tilted his head, asking for your permission to which you slowly nodded.

Your naked body was in full view. Your nails digging onto your palm as you catalogued every minuscule flaw there is—the additional flesh around your stomach and sides and your hips no longer as thin as they were before.

“Do you know what I see?” He softly asked.

You bit your lip before shutting your eyes close, unable to take what was right in front of you. “Me and how I gained weight?”

He placed a kiss on your temple. “No. I see a beautiful adult woman who has curves in all the right places—”

He laid a kiss on your cheek. “I see the love of my life in her full loving glory—”

He kissed the side of your neck. “I see my future wife who loves herself and all the changes that aging and our slowing metabolism entails—”

He placed one last kiss on your shoulder. “—I see you, and I love every piece of you. And I hope you love every part as much as I do.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[what-even-is-thiss]

You seem to be a pocket of economic wisdom. Do you know anything about stocks and investment? Like what even is the point? It seems like luxury gambling to me. But lots of people do it. Got an aunt with starbucks stock and I’m like ???? I’m boycotting them but okay. If you don’t know anything that’s fine I’m just buggin people on my dash who seem to know things about money. Got like 0 financial education, truly tragic.

Mandatory caveat that I don’t have a degree in this I just do my own research and have a family that teaches this sort of stuff to kids etc etc

So the stock market is kind of like gambling much of the time but depending on where you invest the odds can be generally more predictable.

Here’s how public companies and the stock market work. Let’s say you are part of a company. Let’s say, Duolingo. You need money to run that company. Maintain servers, contain the demon owl, what have you.

If you want, you could only go for private investors. Sell a percentage of the ownership of your company to a rich person or perhaps a corporation. In exchange for all that money, that private investor would get a share of your profits and maybe a certain number of votes when it comes to decision making at the executive level. That private investor could also potentially sell their percentage of the company, either back to Duolingo or to somebody else. Duolingo wouldn’t get any money from that sale though. Just a different person in that spot now.

Private investing often keeps less fingers in the pot but it also often limits how much investment they can get.

Duolingo is currently not a privately traded company. It’s a publicly traded company, meaning that anybody can buy shares in it. Duolingo doesn’t get any money from people trading Duolingo stocks with each other but they can keep making new stocks to keep generating more investment. The other advantage of this is that the CEO and/or board of directors almost always own at least 51% of the total shares so they can make sure the majority of the decision making stays in their hands.

Stocks are also only worth as much as people are willing to pay for them though. That’s why stock prices are always going up or down. How much people are willing to pay for them changes all the time. These days many times computers are even making the decisions on whether or not something is worth a certain price. So Duolingo has to convince people that their business is worth investing in. That they’ll keep making profit. That way they can sell new shares for more money and get more investment to keep running their business.

What do stockholders get out of this though? Well for one they get votes on certain decisions. One stock usually equals one vote. If they own enough stocks they may even get a lot of influence over how the company operates, which may be important for a number of reasons besides even one’s own personal finances.

Certain companies like Coca Cola also pay out what’s called dividends meaning that every month or quarter or half year, depending on the company, they pay out a certain percentage of their profit out to their shareholders. Now each share might only pay about 2-10 cents but if you have thousands of shares you can live off of dividends. In fact, many middle to upper middle class people use this as a way to retire early. They invest a certain amount of their salary in safe and stable companies every month and then eventually they can be making enough to live off of by their 40s or 50s. This is how one of my uncles retired early. He worked as a construction manager for years investing his money every month and now he’s living out a modest retirement on dividends and has been for about 15 years. He’s not living glamorously off of dividends but he is fed and housed and not working and that’s all he wants.

Most companies don’t pay dividends but there can still be advantages to investing in them. This is partially where the gambling aspect comes in.

The biggest form of gambling that’s actually gambling is day trading. This is when you buy a stock and sell it the same day. Like as the price is going down you buy stocks and sell them minutes or hours later when the price starts to go up again. Most people lose money on this.

One level down from that in the gambling is investing a lot in one company or only a small number of companies, especially new companies. This is something that mostly really rich guys do but some regular people that are true believers in something also might partake. They see a new-ish company or older company they think is going to grow a lot soon and they invest a lot of money into it.

Most businesses fail in their first year though statistically so this is a big gamble. If you’ve got the time to wait though and the company ends up doing well then you can stand to make a lot of money from this. This is why people say stuff like “I wish I’d invested in Microsoft or Apple back in the day” because those companies became really successful. If Duolingo shares were worth $1 or something and you bought 100 shares and ten years later Duolingo shares were worth $200 then well you made $20,000 off of that. That’s the dream and that’s how a few lucky people turn from moderately rich to being stupid rich because this type of investing does require you to have some money to burn already for it to be effective.

The type of trading most people do though isn’t really gambling. I mean it kind of is, but it’s a really safe sort of gambling. It’s also how a lot of retirement groups pay their pensioners. Some non profits even do it. Long term investment.

The stock market tends to grow roughly with inflation. Maybe slightly more. So let’s say you want to save money for retirement. If you just let that money sit in a bank your interest in your savings account isn’t enough to keep up with inflation so it’s essentially gonna be worth a lot less by the time you want to dip into it.

However if you, just by yourself or through a mutual fund or asset manager, invest that money in a large variety of stable companies and keep it there until you want it, barring a huge financial crash your money will have retained its value with inflation or even grown in value a bit. This type of investment if done correctly is usually safe. Again, barring any major worldwide financial disasters. If you invest in enough companies it’s kind of like gambling on the economy as a whole instead of just the success of one company because even if one fails you’ve still got a bunch of others appreciating in value over time.

So maybe your aunt is gambling on Starbucks getting even bigger soon, maybe she sees it as a stable company, maybe it’s just one of dozens or hundreds of companies she’s invested in to protect the value of her savings over time. I don’t know her situation.

Point is, the extent to which trading stocks is gambling depends on when and why and how often you’re doing it.

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence, throwing up. Getting sick. Stomach bug.

A/N: I got nothing for you. It's been a rough couple of days...sigh, I'm ready for winter!!! 🌪🌪🌪

“Is our masonry guy actually going to be on time?” Chris asks. “He's been late to the last few jobs that we had.”

“We hired a new guy,” Elly said, informing of this new information. “He has glowing reviews. I personally called the last four companies that hired him. He is very prompt and professional.”

“What about the city permits? Have they been picked up yet?” Your dad asks, looking up from the screen of his computer at you. “Y/N?”

“Hm?” You ask, looking up at your father not hearing a word he said to you.

“Are you okay?” Elly asks, looking at you concerned.

“I asked about the city permits,” your dad said, repeating himself. “Have you picked them up yet?”

“Yeah, they came in…” you say, taking a deep breath, trying to look at your own screen and focusing on the little black words. “They came in a few days ago, and I picked them up. I filed them away in my desk.”

“You look like shit,” Chris comments as he stares at you.

“Stop it,” your dad admonishes. “You look…..green. Are you sick?”

“Oh, no,” Elly said. “Did I get you sick? We shared that glass of wine at lunch the other day. I'm so sorry!”

You look around at the faces staring back at you and swallow thickly. You try to breathe deeply through your nose and slowly exhale out your mouth, but that shit wasn't working. Your stomach turns and gurgles. Jumping up from your seat, you launch yourself to the small waste basket that sat in the corner of the conference room and drop to your knees where you empty the contents of your stomach.

“Gross,” your brother says, covering his mouth and nose with his shirt. Trying to avoid the inevitable smell that was about to fill the room.

Your dad hurries to your side and holds the garbage can up closer to your face. You groan and rub your stomach, you couldn't get sick right now. You were a parent. Parents weren't allowed to get sick.

“Nicky's practice,” you say, collapsing on your butt and taking the waste basket from your father to hug between your legs.

“Don't worry about that,” your dad says. “One of us will be there.”

“Don't be late,” you warn, wiping your forehead that was starting to feel clammy. “They don't like that. They might try and suspend you.”

You want to laugh at your own joke but this fucking sucks. Leaning over the trash, you let loose again as your stomach churns once more.

Shit!

This was going to be a long day.

The cold bathroom tile felt amazing against your overheated face. Elly had offered to stay with you after she brought your home, but you had refused. You had spent hours running back and forth from your bed to the bathroom that you finally gave up and decided to just lie down on the bathroom floor. It was uncomfortable but welcoming at the same time. It was like a little piece of heaven in your living nightmare of hell at the moment. Closing your eyes, you debate whether or not to drift off. You're not even sure what time it was, but based on the fading natural light from your bedroom, it was getting late. Nicky would be home soon.

Closing your eyes, you rub your stomach and focus on your breathing, trying to lull yourself into some sort of sleep. You thought maybe you could feel yourself start to drift away because all of a sudden, Nicky's voice is scaring the shit out of you.

“Sunshine, are you still sick?” He asks from your doorway. “Uncle Chris said you threw up all over grandpas conference room.”

You groan and turn away from his voice. A large hand comes down on your face, checking your forehead and exposed cheek. You groan once more, trying to move away from the warmth.

“You're burning up,” a deep voice comments. “Have you taken anything?”

No!

No!

Fucking, no!

Why was he here? You did not want him to see you like this. It was too soon for him to see you this ugly and gross.

“You have tile marks on your face,” Nicky says.

Great.

Perfect.

Whining, you cover your face with your hand and remind yourself that you love your nephew. You love him, and he is just a kid. You can not flip him off or swear at him because that would be inappropriate.

“Why don't you go shower in your bathroom, and then we will order you some food when you're done,” Yoongi suggests, to the young teen. “I got her.” It wasn't long before your body was jostled and you were picked up off the ground. Yoongi walks with you cradled in his arms and into your bedroom, attempting to put you in your bed, but you shake your head. “No?”

“Couch,” you say, sounding pathetic to even you. “I want the couch.”

“Okay,” he agrees, taking you to your destination of choice, depositing you on the couch. “I'll run to the store to get you some things and get Nicky some food.”

“No,” you argue weakly and sit up, but he gently pushes you back down. “That's not your job.”

“Taking care of you is my job, doll,” he said, tapping you on the nose. “I want to take care of you. What does he like to eat? I think I've only ever really seen him eat pizza and chicken.”

“Everything, anything,” you say, closing your eyes and burying your head into the pillow you had placed there earlier. Yoongi places a blanket over you and laughs a little. “Thank you,” you murmur.

“I'll be back,” he whispers, stroking your hair gently.

You don't feel him get off the sofa. You don't hear the door close. You don't even hear Nicky as you finally drift off in that blissful sleep.

“You should add just a little more salt to that,” your eyes blink open at the sound of your mothers voice. “If I were told sooner, I would have made her my homemade chicken noodle soup. She loved it growing up when she got sick. It was the only thing she would eat. That and grape popsicles.”

“I'm sure it's delicious,” Yoongi says, and you freeze from where you still lay on the couch.

“You picked a good restaurant, though,” she tells him. “The soup is bland, which is good for this situation. It shouldn't hurt her stomach. Just add a little salt.”

“You didn't have to get anything,” Yoongi tells her. “I already went to the store.”

“Of course I did,” she says. “You don't know what she likes…..yet. She prefers the oyster crackers for her soup, not the square ones. If you got her medicine that she has to drink….she won't take it. She'll act like the biggest baby and gag on it. It's best to get the pill form.”

You hear something small hit the counter and bet it's probably the medicine.

“Is she achy?” She asks.

“Umm, I don't know,” Yoongi asks, sounding nervous. “Umm…”

“A little epsom salt in a warm bath will help,” she explains. “You're an athlete, though, you know that.”

“I don't know if she….” Yoongi starts, and you hear something bigger hit the counter.

“Now she does,” she says.

You sniffle quietly, and the next thing you know, a tear falls down the tip of your nose, hitting the pillow under your cheek. This is so stupid. Why the hell are you crying? It was just epsom salt.

“Why are you crying?” Nicky asks as he suddenly stands over you.

Quickly, you wipe it away and sit up. Your mother is at your side in an instant with a glass of something in her hands. She places it down on the table and immediately feels your forehead much like Yoongi had earlier.

“Mom, I'm fine,” you say, moving your head away from her.

“I'm just trying to help,” she tells you. “I went to the store and got all your favorites. I would have been here sooner, but your father didn't bother to tell me that you were sick until he came home. That man acts like cell phones don't exist.”

Yoongi comes into the room and places a small bowl of soup in front of you, making your stomach growl loudly. You're not sure if it's out of hunger or nausea. Next to that, he places another small bowl filled with the oyster crackers that your mom bought.

She was right.

They were your favorite.

“You two don't have to fuss over me,” you grumble, picking up the bowl of soup. “It's just a stomach bug.”

“It's my job to fuss over you,” your mom says, and you snort, looking over at Yoongi sitting over in your chair.

“You two sound just alike,” you comment. “How does it feel to join forces with the dark side?”

Yoongi gives you a look, and you can see your mom visibly deflate next to you. You look at the soup in your hands and spoon a small mouthful in taking a small taste. You guess it was fine. Honestly, you didn't want to eat. The thought of eating just wasn’t appetizing at the moment.

“If I'm in the way I can go,” she offers. “I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome,”

“Mom,” you sigh.

“What?” She asks. “I was just trying to help, and it was still the wrong move with you. I even went to four damn stores looking for a box of your favorite popsicles.”

“We have popsicle’s?” Nicky asks, taking a bite of the hamburger in his hands.

You watch as a dollop of ketchup falls from the meat patty and lands on the foil that was wrapped around his burger. Clamping your hand over your mouth, Yoongi quickly takes your bowl from you as you book to the bathroom, falling to your knees once more in front of your toilet. Heaving, your little, tiny slurp of soup comes right back up, leaving your stomach empty again.

Sitting back against your bathroom vanity, you close your eyes and catch your breath. Suddenly, a cool cloth presses against your forehead before dabbing your cheeks and chin. Your mom reaches over, flushing the toilet and hands you the drink that she was holding just a little bit ago. Taking a drink, a light carbonation hits your tongue, and a lemony, lime flavor, fills your mouth. You would never admit out loud, but it was much more pleasant than the soup that Yoongi had brought you.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers. “You were right. I let you slip through the cracks.”

“I wasn't the easiest child to raise,” you admit. “The sneaking out and getting suspended. Hell, the police even had brought me home a couple of times. I was a lost cause.”

“No,” she argues. “You needed guidance, and I wasn't there. I was too busy trying to raise Nicky and trying to help….” The both of you go quiet and look down to the cloth that she was playing with in her hands. “I've been hovering over Chris and Elly too much trying to fill that emptiness and driving them crazy. Sometimes, it feels like he's my only child left because of how much you hate me, and I don't blame you.”

“Mom, “ you sigh again, feeling guilty.

“It's true. I don't blame you,” she continues. “Everything you said that night was true. I should have seen that you needed help, but I didn't, and I will never forgive myself for that. I'll never forgive myself for any of that. What kind of mother doesn't recognize that her daughter needed help?”

“That wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have said that,” you say. “I was just angry.”

“You know, sometimes I have nightmares about that night having a different outcome, and every time I wake up….I just thank god that you're still here. I just wish you would talk to us about it or at least talk to Chris about it.” She tells you. “I see him struggle around you sometimes and just don't know what to do. I don't know how to help you.”

“I don't know either,” you admit.

“Do you want me to take Nicky for the night,” she offers, changing the subject. “Give you the night to rest.”

“No,” you say. “I can do this.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a nod of her head. “I think you can.” Standing up, she brushes off the imaginary dirt off her pants and looks at you sitting down on the floor. “Yoongi seems nice. He seems like he's pretty responsible.”

“He is nice. He's been good to us,” you say softly. You watch as your mom hiccups and covers her face as she tries to stop herself from crying. “Mom, don't cry.”

“I failed you as a mother, and I'm failing Nicky by fighting with you. I just need us to figure this out. I can't lose him…or you. It's too late to fix it, right?” She asks.

“I hope not,” you say. “Just don't push, okay?”

“Well… don't push me out, okay?” she retorts, and you nod in response. “I should get home to your dad. He said he would cook for himself. He probably burned the house down.”

“Mom,” you whisper and look up at her. She looks at you patiently as you wrap your arms around yourself. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she whispers back. “Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“I will,” you promise. With a shared smile, she leaves you alone and not too long after you hear the front door open and close. Getting up to your feet, you trudge out to the couch and collapse onto the cushions. “You should go. I don't want to get you sick.”

“I have no problem staying,” Yoongi tells you. “I make my own hours at work. I can take Nicky to school and then go home. It's not that big of a deal.”

You could do what you do best and lie. Tell him to go home and try to deal with this the best you could, but you wanted him here. You wanted a partner that you could rely on. You wanted help. You wanted HIS help.

“You wouldn't be mad?” You ask.

“No,” he answers honestly. “Now, I can sleep anywhere, but where do you want to sleep?”

“Here,” you answer. “I always like the couch when I'm sick.”

“And apparently, you only like grape popsicles, oyster crackers and medicine in the pill form,” he says, ticking the checklist off on his fingers.

“My mom likes you,” you say as nonchalantly as possible. “Says you seem responsible. You two can bond over your handbooks. She loves a good policy and procedure. If you know anything about fire codes, you're in.”

“Very funny,” he says, standing. “I’m going to run home real quick and grab some things. Did you need anything else?”

“No,” you answer, unmoving from your spot as he heads for the door. Just as he’s about to walk through the door, you sit up and call out to him, stopping him. “Yoongi, thank you for staying.”

“Thank you,” he says, and you give him a look of confusion. “For letting me in.”

Winking at you, he leaves you sitting alone on the couch. You were letting him in. The old you would have thrown a fit if he tried to take care of you. The old you would have never let him be alone with your mother. You definitely wouldn't trust him with Nicky, but you do. You trust him with everything and for the first time in years. You weren't going to stop it.

“What's this?” You ask Ara as she shoves two paint cans and brushes at you.

“Paint,” Ara tells you slowly like you're an idiot. “You have seen paint before, correct?”

“Clearly,” you snap, glaring at her. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Since you missed the last two days. You can finish painting our new Bangtan Ravens banner for the team,” she informs you. “It's on the cafeteria floor. Have fun.”

“You can't just order me around,” you tell her. “I'm not one of you little mindless minions that you can boss around.”

“And you can't just sit around and not be a part of the team,” she responds back, shoving everything further against your chest hard enough to actually make you stumble back a little bit.

“Touch me again, and that will be the last thing that you will ever do,” you warn.

“Are you threatening me?” she asks.

“I don't need to threaten you. I'm telling you,” you say with certainty.

“What's going on here,” Yoongi asks, coming up to the two of you standing at the bottom of the bleachers.

“Tell her to finish painting the banner,” Ara demands.

“I can't make her paint the banner, Ara. It's your project that you wanted to do. So, you can figure it out,” Yoongi tells her. “Have a seat.”

“Of course you defend her. You've been giving her kid special treatment just like you've been giving her special treatment, and we all know it,” she hisses, still standing.

“Excuse me,” Yoongi growls before looking at Coach Jeon and signaling something to him. Soon, Coach Jeon clears the boys out of the gym, and Yoongi turns to all the parents. “Does anyone have anything they want to say?” Nothing. Quiet. “Do I play favorites?” Again, nothing. Cricks. Awkward silence. “According to Ara, I play favorites. Do I put certain kids above others?”

“Why does she get out of doing team stuff?” Ara snaps. “The other moms and I spent hours drawing that banner. Why can't she paint it?”

“Why didn't you ask me to paint it?” Mark speaks up. “Or Jinyoung, or Youngjae, or…”

“Shut up, Mark, we all know you're hard up for her….” Ara hisses, but Yoongi quickly cuts her off.

“THAT'S ENOUGH!” Yoongi yells, placing his hands on his hips. “I asked if I played favorites with the kids. If I do, I will happily walk away from my coaching position and let Jungkook take over.”

“You gave HER kid Jake's position,” Ara said. “He's been your shooting guard for the past three years, and suddenly, he's not good enough.”

“I gave him some notes to work on, and he didn't do it. He's gotten complacent and stopped working for it,” he explained. “Jungkook even offered to work with him after practice, and the two of you said no.”

“But she..”Ara tries again.

“Give it a rest, Ara,” Mark interrupts again.

“No, things went so smoothly before,” she complains. “Suddenly she shows up and….”

You couldn't take it anymore. Bending down, you snatch the supplies that she pushed against your chest and stomp out of the gym. Slamming the gym door open, you make your way over to the Bangtan Ravens banner that was laid out on the floor. You needed to get out of there. You wanted to hit her. You wanted to hit her for talking about you like that and for talking to Yoongi like that.

Fuck, man!

It was just middle school basketball. Was it really that serious? You just really don't understand.

“Need some help?” You look up and see Mark giving you a small smile.

“You don't have to,” you say, dipping your brush into some black paint to outline some letters.

“Well, I don't want to go back in there right now,” he informs you. “Yoongi, is yelling at Ara. I don't think I have ever seen him yell before.”

“What is he yelling about?” You asked, intrigued.

“Something about how she's not in charge. He doesn't want her money anymore,” he says, opening the blue can of paint and filling in some blank letters in the word Bangtan. “Which is a pretty big deal because I know she and her husband are the top sponsors.”

“Fuck,” you say, feeling guilty that you caused this. “I have to fix this. I have to move. I'm just going to pack us up and move. Poof, everythings fixed. I hear Hawaii is nice.”

“Um, don't think so,” Mark says, laughing. “Ara would win, and she would have an even bigger head.”

“Did Nicky really take Jake's position?” You ask.

“Yes, but it was the right thing to do. He almost cost us our first game,” he explains. “Nicky really got in there and saved their asses. He earned that spot.”

“So, I shouldn't pull him and avoid this place like the plague?” You ask.

“Are you serious?” He asks, giving you a quick look as you nod your head yes. “Don't do it. It might just be basketball, but for some…for some, like Nicky. Teams like this can do amazing things for him. For moms like Ara, who use their money to buy their way to get what they want. She can’t buy her son Nicky's talent, and she knows that.”

“But she said you guys are champions,” you say, recalling her words.

“We are,” he confirms her words. “We’re surrounded by small distristics with small kids. It's not hard to pull out a win most of the time. I'm not saying that we're not a good team because we are. Yoongi and Jungkook have worked hard to instill teamwork into them, but our opponents aren't…”

“Fierce,” you supply.

“Exactly,” he says. “If you pull him and leave. Nicky would do well no matter what team he would join and would actually give us a run for our money if we played against him. Don't give up on the team just yet. Don't let her win.”

After practice, the moms came and took the completed banner with a quick thank you. They couldn't make eye contact with you, and Ara just stomped past you without sparing you any sort of attention. Mark rolled his head over to look in your direction, rolling his eyes as he did so. You hide your smile by looking down at your feet, but he gives you a little shove, making you laugh. You don't stop until Yoongi clears his throat and you stand up a little straighter. Looking past his shoulder, you see Nicky runs past, waving as he goes.

“Is everything good here?” He asks, looking between you and Mark.

“Yup, banner is done,” Mark answers.

“Good, thank you,” Yoongi says pleasantly. “We will see you tomorrow, but I need to talk to her.”

“Gottach, have a good night,” he says, giving you a quick pat on the upper back, making Yoongi crack his neck.

“Seems like you made a new friend,” he comments.

“Knock it off,” you say, taking off to the front of the school with him following close behind. “He's nice. I like him.”

“From what I hear… he likes you too,” he jokes, and you give him an unimpressed look.

“Did you really tell her that you didn't want her money?” You ask, continuing to your destination of your waiting teenager.

“Yeah, it was overdue,” he says.

“I’m fucking this up for you,” you say. “I literally destroyed your funding.”

“Not true,” he says. “I have other avenues I can explore. She was just easy.”

“Oh you know all about that, huh,” you sass.

“Hilarious,” he deadpans. “Seriously, I will figure it out. It will be fine. I promise. You didn't mess anything up for me.”

“Why do I believe you?” You ask and he smiles.

“Because you trust me,” he answers.

You already knew that and now.

He knows it too.

《Chapter 11》

Tagged Readers

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[fallen-w1ngs]

'' flower shop of new feelings ,,

[ 05 : run ]

|| pairing : james "bucky" barnes x florist!reader

|| warning : nothing ! jealous bucky makes a brief entrance 🔥

|| wc : 2.1k

|| btw, if any of ya'll wanna be apart of the taglist, js comment :3 or dm idc <3

The Avengers Tower’s atmosphere was awkward. Like, a weird tense awkwardness. Clint, Wanda, Sam and Bruce got back from their mission which.. Did not go according to plan, and were already bummed out with that, despite there being a backup plan. Tony had a fight with Pepper, yet again, which let’s be real, no one’s surprised about. And last but certainly not least, Peter had seen Bucky leave your apartment the previous night.

I would love to say that Bucky did a graceful job at covering for himself and explaining it.. But that’d be a lie. The second Peter uttered the words “Mr. Barnes?” Bucky ignored him and sped walk outta there. But being an Avenger, and having Peter practically live in the Tower made it virtually impossible NOT to run into him at least once.

“It’s not that big a deal, James, I promise.” You said, your phone pressed against your ear and shoulder. Currently, you were out checking on your shop and running a few errands. That’s when Bucky called and told you the whole ordeal after you shut the door. “I really don’t see how it’s such a big deal. Just explain to Peter that we’re friends.”

But I don’t want to. He thought, I want you as my secret. As strange as it is, you were one of the only things he felt he had that wasn’t poisoned by Hydra or the Avengers. He loved the Avengers (.. sorta) but he needed to have something that was his.

“Yeah, okay. Okay. Just- the team can be.. Unbearable with gossip.” He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry for calling you ‘bout this”

“Hey, no, I get that. You don’t gotta explain why you freaked out about Peter,” Your voice was full of understanding. Oh, god, Bucky absolutely loves- no. No, no no. “Oh, and never apologize for talking to me, I love talking to you”

“Oh,” He felt his cheeks warm up. “I like talking to you too.”

A small laugh could be heard from your end of the line, god, he could melt with how warm your laugh was.

“Hey, I gotta head off, I’m meeting up with my brother and his wife for a small get together, but I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay?”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, I thought I told you ‘bout him! His name’s Silas? He’s a pretentious fuck. Love him to bits, but I don’t like him, y’know?” This made Bucky let out a small chuckle. He had remembered a past conversation of yours where you rambled on about how your older brother was the golden child in your family.

“Good luck with him, [Name]”

“Thanks, James, I’ll call you later”

“Bye” He tried to hide his disappointment in his voice before hanging up. Man, what were you doing to him? He’s a lone wolf, never likes anyone, always grumpy, and rarely smiles. But with you? Seemed like he was the jolliest guy on Earth.

Ah, but he can sort out his feelings later. Right now he needed to talk with a certain Peter Parker.

–

“D-Did you need something, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky was quick to find the spiderling, he was up in the lab with Bruce. Tinkering away at some sort of more protective type of suit, trying to replicate vibranium without using vibranium. He made up some bullshit excuse for why he needed to talk with Peter, even if Bruce knew it was a lie, he didn’t fight it.

“What you saw last night–”

“You leaving [Name]’s apartment last night?”

Bucky’s eyebrow twitched, god the way he said it felt like he was caught in an affair. “Yes. That. It was nothing.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Barnes, but if it was nothing, why’d you run away?”

“I didn’t run away,” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the teenager. “It was.. A strategic retreat.”

Peter deadpanned. “Mr. Barnes, I don’t care if you’re dating-”

“We’re not dating.”

“Oh.” Peter sighed and snapped his fingers. “I owe Aunt May 20 bucks now.”

“Maybe you deserve it.” Bucky sighed and tapped his finger against his arm. “Look, just.. Don’t tell anyone I’m friends with [Name].”

Now.. This is where Bucky lost Peter. Why? What?? It was a strange request. A doable one! But a real strange one. “W.. Why?”

“Because Sam’ll bring it up non-stop and I’ll get teased.” It wasn't a lie, but again, not the full reason he wanted to hide you away from the team.

Peter’s puzzled look turned into a more sinister one. “I won’t tell anyone.. But I want you to give me 20 bucks every week I gotta keep your secret”

“Wha- fine. Yeah sure.” Wasn’t like Bucky had anything to spend it on. “If you tell anyone, I’m ripping your arms off.” He said with a small glare before turning away and walking off.

“.. Arms plural? Wait! Mr. Barnes! Arms plural??”

–

With that small confrontation over, Bucky was able to rest easy. Sure, he’d lose a couple of bucks, but really it was Tony who was throwing his money around. I mean, let’s think about it. So many people live in one tower, with electricity running practically everything. The electricity, water and heating bill must be skyrocketed. Ah, but that wasn’t our dear Bucky’s problem.

No, Bucky had to sort through his feelings and try to label your friendship. So he did the one thing that allowed him to feel.. Better, run.

Leaving the Tower was easy enough, being the “Winter Soldier” made it so everyone was automatically scared of him. Slipping away was easy, what was a problem was where he wanted to run. He let his legs take him.

The wind in his hair, the small burn in his legs as he ran farther and farther. His heart rate beating every time he was able to run longer and faster due since there weren’t many people around or stops. Bucky loved to run. He would run all day if he could, it felt like freedom to him. Something he wouldn’t let anyone take from him.

Bucky ran around a few blocks multiple times, by the end of it his face was damp, but not as sweaty as the normal person would be. Again, Super Soldier. Barely got tired. But, he still wanted to get something to hydrate himself. He sped walked over to that one Cafe that was across from your shop, your friend Finn ran it? At least, that’s what you told him. Maybe he could visit you af–

“James?”

Or now. It seemed you were taking your lunch break or something, ‘cause you were standing at the counter. Leaning against the solid surface, talking with Finn. And for some reason, that made a pit form in Bucky’s stomach. But, like many things, he ignored it and walked over to you, giving a small wave to you and.. Finn.

“Hey man, you want anything?” Finn had a charming smile on his face, he seemed.. Boyish. Certainly younger than Bucky, I mean, he looked like he was in his mid-twenties, younger than you.

“Black coffee.”

You snorted and tilted your head up at him. “No cream or sugar? Pegged you for a sweet guy”

The corners of Bucky’s lips perked up for a moment and he just huffed. “Got used to it.” He did, as a young adult and the war happening, everyone had to ration. That meant when he had coffee, it had to be black. None of the fancy sweeteners.

“Boring,” You hit your hip against his in a playful manner.

In a matter of seconds, Finn came back with Bucky’s drink. Some shitty ass black coffee that was overpriced. Ah, love New York. Though, it was fine. What wasn’t fine was how Finn just kept smiling and practically flirting with you.

“We should definitely go together, it’d be really fun, hell I could pay for your ticket too.”

“Finn, you shouldn’t, I’d be able to!” You giggled behind your palm. “But, I’m not opposed to that”

“We could get dinner, hangout beforehand too?”

Smooth. “I’ll definitely think about it, Finn”

Stealing a quick glance at Bucky, you realized his confusion. “Ah, me and Finn were talking about watching a musical together!”

“Which one?”

“The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals!”

“That’s a thing?”

“It’s definitely a thing.” You crossed your arms with a wide smile. “It’s really good! I should show it to you, there’s a recorded version of it up on Youtube.”

He hummed in reply and gave a lazy shrug. “You’ll have to send me a link to it.”

With a small check of your watch you took in a sharp inhale. “Shit, sorry guys, my breaks almost over, Bye Finn! Bye James!”

“I’ll walk you t’your shop.”

Now this you wouldn’t pass up on. You turned back and gave a small wave to Finn as you and James walked out. The second you felt a wave of fresh air roll on you, Bucky put his arm around your shoulder. A small smile tugged on your face as our eyebrow raised. “What’cha thinkin, big guy?”

“.. There’s a lotta cars.” He muttered. The both of you were standing side by side, he was walking on the outer edge of the sidewalk while you walked on the inner. Something you didn’t even realize.

“Such a gentleman, ey, James?”

He glanced over to you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he held you close. You didn’t mind it, didn’t mind that he was warm, didn’t mind when his grip on you tightened when crossing the street, didn’t mind the momentary lingering he had before pulling away from you when you got to the shop.

“Thanks for walking me!” You pushed open the door and grabbed your apron as Bucky stood in the doorframe. He wanted to stay longer, but he didn’t want to distract you as you worked.

He nodded to your thanks and looked around the shop. It still smelled like a garden, everything still felt humid. Everything was still the same. The flowers were in neat rows but they still perfectly transitioned into one another, the small rotating seed holder was still fully stocked. You talked about how people would grab the seeds and buy them, bunches at a time, but you never let it look like that. Always wanted it to be full, just in case.

“On the house.” Shit, he didn’t even realize you were behind him. What great assassin skills guys, real good. You had a hydrangea in your hand. “It’s blue, like your eyes.”

A few beats of silence settled between you two. Bucky just stared at you as your face got increasingly hot.

“T-That was stupid! I dunno why I did that, uh- it’s just what I like to do with friends, give ‘em flowers on the house I-” He cut you off by taking the flower from your hand, all gently and he quietly examined it.

“It’s real pretty.” He muttered and held it close to his chest. “Thanks, [Name].”

“You’re welcome! I-”

Again, you were cut off, not by Bucky, but by his phone. He muttered a small curse and a “sorry” before walking a few feet away. As much as you’d love not to eavesdrop.. IT WAS SO EASY. Not like you had much to work with.

“Mhm… No, I’m out right now,went on a run.. No, I didn’t see Sam… You can tell him to suck it up. I’m not–” He groaned and stayed quiet as the other person on the line kept speaking. “I’m not- just ‘cause they screwed up shouldn’t mean-.. Ugh. Fine, you’re the captain, punk.. Yeah yeah, I’ll be back soon.”

With that he hung up the phone, glaring at it as if it just cursed everyone in his family line.

“Sorry for that, doll, it was work. Turns out next time Sam and the idiots go out, I have to go with them ‘cause they can’t do shit.” He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, calming himself before he spoke up again. “I gotta go, but I’ll text you.”

“Goodluck with uh, Sam and the idiots.” It wasn’t funny, Bucky was genuinely ticked off, but you couldn’t help but giggle. Thankfully, that seemed to ease some of his tension. His shoulders dropped as he walked over to the door, shooting a small wave to you before leaving.

Hydrangea still in hand.. It was pretty. Like you.

|| the title of this chapter makes this part seem real scary 😭😭 its not, its cutsie. also, i wanted to just show small bits of jealous bucky cz i love jealous bucky. jealous bucky WILL be getting a full part of his own later down the line.

taglist : @iyskgd , @highhopes1008

[sirfrogsworth]

I had no idea you're a professional photographer! I mostly follow your other blog for Corgis - if you posted your work there and I missed it, I apologize.

Your photography is AMAZING and thank you for sharing tips on light!

Bonus if you have time: when did you develop (haha!) interest for it and what's your favorite thing about this medium? ☆

Thank you. I have been trying to go back to my older work and edit things with my current skills and I have been posting that on occasion.

I also have an Instagram which is sort of like my current portfolio until I have the energy to create a proper website.

It's funny you mention corgis because Otis was the reason I got a proper camera. My followers helped me raise the money to get him and I felt like he belonged to everyone. So I wanted to make sure I took lots of photos of his shenanigans for people to enjoy. If they couldn't have a corgi of their own, I wanted them to live vicariously.

I never do anything halfway. I always go quite overboard. I filled my brain with everything I could possibly learn about photography so I could take the best possible photos of Otis.

In the process of doing that, I realized I loved the art form. So even though Otis isn't around anymore, I owe him for giving me this wonderful creative outlet.

I took a long hiatus from photography when my parents got sick and I had to take care of them. Even though I stopped taking photos, I would watch photography education to help me relax. And it felt a bit like that meme of the dude studying the blade. I was learning some very advanced stuff.

Once my parents both passed I found myself with a giant hole in my life. And photography called me once again. I was a bit rusty operating the camera for a day or two, but because I had continued my learning, it all came back pretty quick. And I realized I was orders of magnitude better at photography, lighting, and post processing than I used to be.

My first photoshoot after 7 years was of my aunt and uncle. I didn't have much in the way of lighting equipment (I sold it to help my family), so I bounced a little flash off one of those science fair trifold thingies.

These shots made me realize I definitely needed photography back in my life. I figured if I could do that with cardboard I found at Walmart, I would have great potential with proper equipment. So I'm in the process of building a new studio and getting some new gear so I can show off what I'm capable of now.

I ran into a little medical hiccup a few months ago which put everything on pause. While I'm recovering I'm not really able to take any photos. So I've decided to try and write some photography education and help others with their photographic journeys as best I can. And I am still continuing to learn and planning what I want to photograph when my health is in better shape.

I really want to do high quality animal portraiture. Not just cats and dogs. I want to find other exotic pets too. And I also want to do an art project where I help people take high quality photos of their parents. One of the things I was most grateful for after my folks died was the photos I took of them.

And also this one I took of my grandmother.

Having a really high quality photo of people you love is so important. And I don't think everyone realizes that. So I'm hoping I can help folks capture these important memories.

Oh, my favorite thing. I almost forgot. I would say it is the problem solving. Every photo is a new puzzle for me. Especially if I am working with artificial lighting and modifiers. I enjoy imagining a photo in my head and then going through the process, solving problems, and realizing what I imagined in real life. It's a great feeling.

This photo of my friend Ryan comes to mind. I just had this vision of someone reading in the middle of a forest. And so we dragged lights to my neighbors yard and I taped a flash inside the lampshade.

[supernovafics]

meeting steve at a bar

wc: 1k

a/n: here's something short because i can't seem to finish anything else lol

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you sat in the first open stool you saw, and the second the bartender walked over to you and asked what you wanted to drink, you laughed and smiled at him like you two were long-time friends.  

given the fact that you actually did not know this guy at all, his immediate confused look at your antics made complete sense.

“i know this will probably sound so weird, but can you pretend that we’re having the best conversation ever right now?” you asked him, the same forced smile on your lips. and when the look on his face only became even move confused, you continued. “the guy on the other end of the bar has been looking at me for the past few minutes and i really don’t want him to come up and try to talk to me.”

the bartender finally started going along with what you were doing, throwing on a smile equivalent to yours, but he still took a quick look in the direction of the random guy and then said, “i can say something to him if you want.”

“no, i don’t wanna make it a big deal,” you said and then considered your words. “but maybe me doing this right now is making it a big deal too. sorry.”

“no, it’s fine. we’re having the best conversation ever, remember?”

hearing him say those playful words made a real smile tug at your lips.

“oh, yeah, exactly,” you nodded, playing along. “we’re like old friends. first time catching up in years type of thing.”

he let out a laugh. “well, i’m a shitty old friend because i don’t remember your name.”

“and i don’t remember yours either, so i guess i’m a bad friend too,” you responded, enjoying the joking banter happening between you two right then; you liked how easy it felt. 

“steve,” he told you and you nodded and then responded with your name. “so, what do you want to drink?”

you shook your head. “i’m okay.”

steve’s head tilted a bit as he gave you an amused smile. “so you came to a bar to not drink?”

“i didn’t wanna spend my first friday night in this town alone in my apartment, so i thought i’d come here and try to make friends or something,” you said with a shrug. “which, i know probably sounds like a lie because i did just fully avoid having a conversation with that guy over there.”

“no, avoiding him makes sense. he has creepy eyes.”

“right?” you said, laughing a little. “thank you for also thinking that.”

he gave you a small smile that seemed as real as your own one felt, which was nice to see. “so, you just moved here?”

you nodded and gave him a brief “rundown” of your situation— where you moved from, why you moved to hawkins, etc. 

“is it the coffee shop on oak street?” steve asked. 

“yeah,” you answered with a quick nod. “my aunt’s had it for years and i always loved going there when i was younger and would visit town with my mom. it was kinda the only thing i liked doing here. so, my aunt also figured that i’d love to be the one to run it when she retires at the end of the year.”

“do you wanna do that?”

“i didn’t think i would, but i actually do,” you admitted. “and i wasn’t doing anything special in indianapolis anyway, so when she asked me to come here, the timing felt kinda perfect.”

you decided against going into how your first week in hawkins had sort of felt the opposite of perfect. working at maggie’s was great, but it felt like the only good thing about being here in this new town. and maybe you were getting too ahead of yourself because it had barely even been a full week, but you were already overthinking everything. 

instead of voicing any of that to this guy you barely knew, you said, “so, how long have you been bartending?” 

“oh, this is kind of a fluke,” steve answered. “i’m just helping a friend out tonight because someone called out last second.” 

he then pointed to a guy with long curly hair at the other end of the bar handing over a freshly made drink to a customer. “eddie.”

you gave steve an amused smile. “so, i guess it’s a good thing i didn’t ask for a super complicated fancy drink, then?”

“a really good thing. i barely know how to make a long island iced tea,” he told you. “most people here order the basic stuff; beer, rum and coke, just a shot. it’s that kind of town.”

“how long have you lived here?”

“my whole life.” 

“okay, so if you’ve been able to be here forever, then i’ll probably like it here too, right?” 

he was about to answer your question, but then he was getting called over by his curly haired friend. 

“sorry, i’ll be right back.”

you were about to tell him that there was no need for him to apologize because he was just doing his job, but he was gone before you could say anything. 

you watched him talk to his friend for a second and then proceed to help him make drinks for the few people that were waiting. the bar only got more crowded as time passed, which in turn made steve busier. you had enjoyed your conversation with him, as short and brief as it was, and you wondered what he was about to say to you before he got pulled away. but with how busy things were, you didn’t think you’d get that answer tonight.  

a part of you wanted to wait and find out, but after ten minutes of sitting alone— surrounded by happy groups of people who seemed so settled with one another that it felt like there was absolutely no way you could break into any conversation— it felt right to just call it a night and head home to your apartment.

before you headed out, though, you grabbed a pen that you noticed behind the counter and left your number on a napkin because you really wanted to have a friend in this new town. and maybe you were only kinda lying to yourself by inwardly saying that you simply just saw steve as a potential friend.

[itzy-bitsy-spidey]

"Pokemon collection (pt. 7)"

Or "something made a hole in my backyard pt.7"

Shadow The Hedgehog x reader (platonic)

Notes: Happy Valentine's day!! If you're feeling nice leave a comment, they are hugely appreciated!

Part 6

Fainting was a weird sensation. It´s like when you stood up really fast and you get dizzy, except instead of going away the dizzines just makes you fall to the ground and hit your head.

It was the waking up part that was higly confusing. Mainly because the first thing you saw was a yellow-orangey creature.

"AHHHHH" Yeah, probably the whole neighborhood heard you scream.

And then you heard multiple voices at the same time from which what you understod was: "Hey, there´s no need to scream" from what sounded like a child, "You´re not dead!" from an older child, "This one is weird, she is silent and then loud" that sounded like a grown ass adult. And there was also Ozzy barking.

"Okay everybody, move aside, give her some space" Now that voice you did recognize, that was your aunt Maddie.

Only when she sat next to you did you register that you were laying in the couch. How long had it been?

"Hey sweetie" She started as she gently laid her hand on your arm as though you were a scared animal that would run off at any moment. "I´m sorry this all came as a surprise to you, we didn´t mean to..."

"I´M BACK, WHO SCREAMED?" Tom interrupted her as he appeared out of nowhere, or maybe he had come from upstairs, you didn´t know, you were sooo confused.

"What happened? And why is there a blue hedghog here?"

"We were going to tell you, but then you showed up with Shadow and we didn´t want to..." Once again your aunt was interrupted.

"Hi! I´m Sonic! Your super awesome cousin you didn´t know you had" The hedgehog practically screamed on your face.

"I´m sorry, did you just say cousin?" You asked at him, but you didn´t even let him speak as you turned towards your uncle "Is this why you said kids? Are these... things..."

"Rude" Said, well, Sonic, you guessed.

"...Your kids? And you didn´t tell me?" You couldn´t quite tell if you were feeling offended or confused, there was a sort of thightness on your chest, as if you were hugely overlooking a very important detail.

"Why did you not tell me? And why are there so many of them? What, do you collect them like fucking pokemons or something?" Now you did know what you were feeling.

Angry, hot with anger. You could feel it in every vein on your body, your eyes couldn´t focus on anything, until you found a victim, still sitting right at your side.

"I asked you for help! I thought he was dying and you didn´t even think about telling me that you had seen others like him?!" you screamed at your aunt Maddie as you got up from the couch.

"I didn´t know what to do, he is dangerous!" She quipped right back.

"That´s not your call to make, I would have handled it if you had said something" that was probably one of the first times in your life you had disagreed with your aunt.

Shadow wasn´t dangerous. Sure, he was hurt and he didn´t really trust you, but that didn´t make him dangerous.

"HE TRIED TO KILL TOM!"

...

...

"What?"

Your voice had came out so low you weren´t sure the words had actually left your mouth at all.

"He did, that´s why he has a broken arm" Maddie explained as she grabbed your hands on hers.

"But he´s not bad..."

"He has the ability to be..." she stated as if it was an unmistakable truth.

"Maddie that´s enough, we talked about this" Finally Tom approached the two of you, he put his working arm in between you and stared sternly at his wife. Yet she kept looking at you in your eyes.

"But it doesn´t matter anymore, he´s gone" She tried to smile reassuringly.

"What?" Suddenly the hold on your hands felt restrictive "What do you mean? What did you do?!" you ripped your hands of of hers.

"I-I, nothing, I didn´t do nothing, he was gone when I went looking for you" She seemed shocked at your harsh reaction.

Dread filled your entire body, it had drenched you in an awful way, freezing you from head to toes. A sound left your lips, it wasn´t quite a word, more like a strained gasp.

And the you ran.

You didn´t hear your aunt calling for you as you left the house, or the little yellow fox asking "What is going on?", all you could be aware of was the blood pumping through your legs and your heart beating wildly in your chest. There was a ringing in your ears too, that damned type of ringing that appears when the world is too quiet.

The run to your house felt awfully longer than the walk you had taken that morning, and once you finally arrived your brain was working too fast, trying to focus on everything at once.

From afar the house had looked normal, but the door was open, the lock busted. Your heart had left your chest altogether and was then beating on your throat.

You walked in slowly, the speed you had taken on the run dead as you had stepped on the welcome mat. A voice came from the living room, so you went there first.

The wooden floor creaked with every step you took, and anticipation built in your chest. But there was no one there, only the TV on, broadcasting a Mexican novela.

With every second you gained speed as you ran all the way to the bedroom you were staying in, the one Shadow had taken as his own while he healed.

The bed was neatly done and everything was on place, except the window, which was wide open

"SHADOW! SHADOW WERE ARE YOU?!" you screamed through the window, looking for signs of him on the backyard.

Something warm dripped onto your hand, and, as you touched your face trying to figure out were the liquid had came from, you felt traces of tears painting your cheeks.

You kept calling out his name as you searched around the house, your voice growing weaker and more broken as you didn't find him.

Finally you reached the living room once again, and you collapsed on the couch. You tried to hold your hands together so that they wouldn't shake.

A creak sounded from the window behind you; you turned around.

There he was standing, looking straight at your eyes with his usual frown. He exchanged looks with you for a few seconds and when you finally moved he was too confused as to move.

You jumped over the couch and hugged him. The hard floor digged onto your knees and your body felt tired, but he was alright which was what mattered.

"Where where you?" You questioned him.

"A woman came by, I did what you told me, I hid". His frown looked almost concerned then, as if he was worried he had done something wrong.

"Yes, you did well" You laughed and broke the hug, choosing to keep your hands on his shoulders instead "Maybe a little too well".

"I'm..."

"The ultimate life form? Yeah, yeah, I know"

"No, I'm... Sorry, that I worried you" he stared at the ground.

You almost choked on a sob at his words.

"It's okay, I was just worried you were hurt, there's nothing to apologize for sweetie" you explained as you held his face in your hands.

What a twist your life had taken.

Taglist:@boogiemansbitch@vxllys@whoisgami@baby-bloos@sapphireravensworld@mothmanperson@4rm-the-mf-concrete@eliknowsnothing@pooplyface1423@kyouzki@moon-trash1507@shadowforlive

[wlwsoccerfics]

Secret is Out!(MeademaXTeenReader)

Warnings: school Fight, bullying, injury, homophobic comments mentioned

A/N: for the sake of this Fic, Viv never left Arsenal.

Summary: you have a Secret girlfriend. Your moms find out when school calls them cause you got into Trouble.

You were walking from your classroom to the Cafeteria ro grab some food and meet up with your girlfriend when you got cornered by a group of girls. They weren't Strangers to you. Unfortunately you were one of their favorite Targets. They called you names that were quite homophobic, they mockingly called you 'queen of football' and stuff like that. Saying you make a really big deal out of playing for Arsenal and Englands national Team at only 15 years old. Which was ironic cause you never really talked about it at school.

"why do you keep posting pictures of your Family! No one wants to see you and your mothers! We get it you all are d*kes!" One of them said. You frowned softly.

"why the hell do you feel the need to watch at what she Posts? You seem to be obsessed with her!" You heard a voice behind you say. You knew exactly who the voice belonged to. It was your girlfriends voice. You and Lenja had been secretly dating for 3 months now.

"can't little Mix(they called you that cause of you being english & dutch, thinking it was hilarious, No Idea why) fight her own battles?! She is like a rescue puppy!" One of them answered.

"leave her alone! She is too nice to be mean to you guys!" Lenja said.

"No she is weak in every way! She is only playing soccer cause her moms are playing, not like she is any good." The Queen of mean replied and everyone laughed. She then pushed you which resulted in flying fists. You ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye. Even though you weren't even fighting. No Lenja was defending you and had a busted lip now. The mean girls got suspended but somehow you and Lenja also got in trouble and now your parents would get called.

Viv's Phone rang during practice, first she ignored it but when it rang the second time, she picked up. Seeing it was your school.

"miedema." She said.

"it's y/n's english teacher calling, you need to Pick your daughter up from the principals Office. She has gotten in trouble!" Your teacher explained. "Don't worry she is okay!" She added.

" we will be there as quick as possible!" Your momma said and ended the call. Your Mom was looking at her and so were a few teammates.

"Viv what's wrong?" Your aunt Leah asked.

"is everything okay?" Your Mom wanted to know.

"that was the school. our daughter is okay, but she has gotten in some sort of trouble!" Your momma explained.

"getting in trouble so doesn't sound like our Kid!" Your Mom stated and sighed softly.

"agreed, my goddaughter doesn't do trouble! Only on the pitch!" Your aunt Steph replied.

Your moms quickly told everyone they would talk more during afternoon practice. It was the practice you always attended as well. It took them 20 minutes before walking into the school and seeing you sitting in front of the principals Office, next to Lenja. Her parents happened to be closely behind your moms.

"oh my god! What happened to your face liefje?" Your momma asked.

"the Queens of mean happened!" Lenja said.

"Lenja, i want an explaination!" Lenjas dad replied. You two explained things when the principal walked over and told you and your parents that you would be suspended for two weeks as well.

"that's bullshit!" Lenja jumped out of her seat but you pulled her back.

"Lenja." Her Mom said, wanting to make sure she calms down as well.

"those girls bully my girlfriend on daily basis! They even threw punches and now instead of just them getting in trouble it's us as well?!" Lenja frowned softly. Not realizing at first that she had just accidentally outed your relationship. All four parents did notice though. But at first they wanted to resolve the Problem because it doesn't seem fair to them either to punish the two of you for that.

"our daughter looks all banged up! It's your Job to keep our kids Safe! Does this look Safe to you?!" Your mom asked. She was upset. Pointing to both your face and Lenjas.

"i agree with my wife!" Your momma replied.

"we think it's not acceptable either! We should sue you!" Lenjas dad stated.

"i don't think that's necessary. I am sure we can figure something out." The principal let you guys know. He probably realized it wasn't so smart to get press for the school. Especially not If three Professional Football players and two doctors were involved.

This all did in fact work out and you weren't suspended but still left with your moms, Lenja and her parents for the day.

You went to grab some coffee and talked about your relationship.

"so you two are a couple." Lenjas Mom stated.

"yes. Guilty!" Lenja answered.

"why didn't you tell us?" Your momma asked.

"in all honesty...i wanted to avoid the talk." You admitted.

"Same!" Lenja admitted. Lenjas parents chuckled softly.

"Lenja you got the talk two years ago. We won't give you another talk... just be Safe!" Lenjas Mom said.

"Same goes for you! We just want you to be safe, liefje!" Your mom told you.

You talked for a little while before you had to go to practice. Your moms and Lenjas parents got along well though so your moms invited the three to your next Game.

You were on your way to practice mow, sitting in the backseat. Your momma was driving.

"lovely? Can i ask you something?" Your Mom spoke up.

"yes sure." You replied, curious what she wanted to ask.

"why didn't you tell us you were being bullied?" She asked.

"cause i was trying to ignore them for the most part! It doesn't really bother me that much anymore." You explained.

"still, you shouldn't have to go through it." Your momma answered.

You walked into the locker room with your moms for afternoon practice. All eyes were on you and your banged up face.

"okay who hurt my goddaughter? I am gonna hunt someone down!" Leah stated.

"it's all sorted out!" You quickly said.

"But someone messed up your beautiful face!" Steph answered.

You chuckled softly.

"as long as my girlfriend still likes it!" You told them.

"WAIT?! GIRLFRIEND?!" they all yelled out.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 6

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N.: Thank you guys for commenting and faving the story. I'm always happy to read all you guys tell me! I'm going to try and reply back. Anywho, let the rollercoaster begin.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5

• ··········· • ············ •

The following week, you restarted the journey to becoming a member of Piltover's society under Esther’s wing. 

The official story was: Your real mother was your aunt, and you had come back to Piltover after your fictional mother died, and because your real mother's maternal instincts were so fine-tuned, your real mother didn't mind that you or anyone else, for that matter, called you her child, and her your mother. Complicated? Yep. It would feed the gossip circles for years, and honestly, you both thrived on the drama.

Clothes were brought, space was made, introductions were done, and the process of making you an official Rainemour in the world was set in motion. 

It felt like home, back to your old Topsider self, with the added extra of waking up, kicking and screaming with the feeling of fingertips on your forehead.

It had been a flurry of new faces, new places, and new customs. You met the house staff, Jaime and Oly, and the cook, Voltaire. While the two keepers lived on the lower floors, Voltaire lived somewhere other than the Cinquefoil building. He had been your mother’s friend for a few years and was the chef at several topside restaurants.

You still hadn't met the elusive Wyllah, but you had found out who she was. She was an art merchant, away on business, but most important, she was your mother’s significant other. Your mother had told you one night, almost in fear, she had found love after your father’s passing. You had blinked and shrugged. Nobody deserved to go through life alone.

Your mother’s life has been quite interesting on this side of the dimension rift. She was a writer, penning a series of fantasy books that magic lovers drank like water. She also found herself advocating for better education in Piltover. All of Piltover, especially the undercity. Esther tried to help those who wanted a chance to change their future.

It was only a matter of time until fate brought her and a certain engineer who also had a like-minded vision together. After that meeting, Esther became a patron of the Talis Lab and the Academy, helping with funding for any projects regarding the betterment of the city. 

And that was the reason why you were now making your way towards a familiar lab in the Academy. A commission for her needed approval and had been delayed long enough with the rocket attack and you appearing out of thin air. Or, according to the gossip, like an illegitimate child. 

“You didn’t need to come along.” She mumbled while pushing the elevator button.

“I wanted to come.” You smiled confidently at her. You wanted everyone to see you and become accustomed to you. It would be beneficial if you wanted to get into the business of saving the world. 

“To check on your friends?”  

You nodded. Before the Herald and the HexAngels, between Jayce becoming a councilor and the hextech showing its true colors, most of your time was divided between the music conservatory, the orchestra, Talis' labs, and home. And from all of those, home was the one you went to less and less with time. Therefore, when allowed to have even a single second of normalcy in a familiar place, you seized it. 

When the elevator dinged, you walked inside with a conviction that was only masking a feeling of nervousness. Yes, you knew this place and the face on the other side of the lab door, but they didn't. You were just a stranger.

“Has it changed much?” Your mother whispered, and you grinned at her.

“Nah, a few artworks and garbage cans. Some names on the doors, but nothing else.” 

“Really? Fascinating.” Her face was deep in thought.

“Stop.” You chuckled, knowing that look. She was taking mental notes. “It’s not that interesting.” 

The elevator pinged and opened again. Instinctively you walked out first, knowing exactly where to go, your mother keeping up with you, scoffing. 

“Well, excuse me if I find it amazing that my child jumped through time and space to save the world.”

“I didn’t save the world.” You rolled your eyes at her.

“Viktor is still alive, isn’t he?” She noted, raising her eyebrows.  

As soon as she finished that sentence, a small thump of a dry explosion was heard inside the hextech lab. Like an empty milk carton was squished with a stomp. 

“I’m sure he’s fine.” She added. 

Another small firecracker-like explosion was heard, prompting you both to look at each other and break into a jog to reach the lab.  

As expected, the door was locked, and although you had told your mom about a lot, the magic part was still something that needed some explanation. So you resorted to the least efficient way to open a closed door: banging on it. 

“Viktor! Jayce?” Esther shouted. A few groans from behind the door warned you there was someone alive inside. Well, capable of moaning in pain was more accurate. 

“Get the enforcers.” You mumbled to your mother; she nodded and raced around the corner. 

As soon as she was out of sight, you pulled your glove off and magically unlocked the door, punching the rune you painted near the lock. The door immediately opened with the force of your hit but didn’t swing open as expected. It hit something and bounced back, slamming shut again while someone grunted in pain on the other side. 

It’s funny how you could know someone from their tiniest squeak. And you knew that groan. You'd know it had it come from the other side of Piltover. Hells, you'd know it if it had been heard through the actual space and time rift. 

Carefully this time you twisted the door handle, opening the door gently and peeking inside the lab.

 Although the curtains were open, a dusty, thick white fog lingered in the air, making the room a shade darker. The floor was littered with tools, gears, and pencils that had fallen from their places, and a pair of goggles was lying on the floor next to a welding machine.

Viktor was sprawled on the ground, leaning back into one of his hands while the other was gently massaging his face. One of his legs was twisted uncomfortably, and the other was bent at the knee in front of him. You could see as he rubbed his face that there was blood coming from somewhere. After a while, he shook his head and looked up at the door.

When he managed to focus his gaze on you, his eyebrows knotted in confusion and then realization. With a sigh, he sat, grabbed the leg that was twisted uncomfortably, and brought it forward. You heard a metallic thud. Hextech leg. Your gaze shifted to his face; you saw the blood coming from his nose, but it didn’t seem broken. Above his eyebrow was a small curved gash, a courtesy of the goggles he probably ripped off his head.

 “We do need to stop meeting like this.” he mumbled, trying to get up with the grace of a baby deer using its long limbs for the first time.

 Putting your glove back on, you took a step closer and offered him a hand, which he accepted with raised eyebrows and a head tilt.

 With more expertise than he was expecting, you grabbed his hand and forearm and pulled him up. Picking this man off the floor had become a skill both you and Jayce obtained a long time ago. His disability unfortunately made him an easy target for misfires. While you and Jayce would easily dodge anything coming your way, Viktor wouldn’t. Couldn’t. And since the fastest way to move him fast was pushing him out of the way, the three of you would end up on the floor, and either you or Jayce would shield Viktor from whatever was malfunctioning at the time. It wasn't your proudest idea, but it worked, and for better or worse, you all would escape relatively unscathed.

 “Like what?” You asked, joining him in dusting off his clothes.

 You patted his back gently, feeling the brace on his spine under his clothes. You didn't find it.

 “After an explosion.” He swished the dust off his coat sleeves. The off-white coat was a tinge darker after the mishap. 

 “Technically, this is the first time we meet after an explosion.” You emphasized the word ‘after’ and he stopped mid-swipe, turning his face back towards you.

 Shrugging, you lifted the corners of your mouth, giving him a grin that he responded to with a chuckle. You looked around the mess that was the lab at this moment and spotted his white cane and his wheeled bench.

You grabbed the cane first and gently pushed the stool so it would roll down next to him. He plopped down with a groan, using the table as leverage. You handed him the cane, and he nodded. You smile at his messy figure.

 “Thank you.” He said, placing the cane between his knees and leaning into it with a heavy sigh.

 “Do you need anything else?” You asked softly, stopping the urge to kneel next to him and take stock of his injuries.

 “There is a first-aid kit somewhere on Jayce's desk. It’s on the...”

 Before he finished the sentence, you jiggled the white box next to him, having already grabbed it when he mentioned it.

 “How did…?” He asked, looking at you questioningly, and panic set in for a second.

 “Oh, my dear boy!” Your mother burst in, followed by several Enforcers, and you sighed in relief. 

 “Is everything alright?” One of the Enforcers said, and you took a step back, leaning against the table behind where Viktor sat.

 “Yes…” Viktor stated while your mother fussed over him.

 One of the enforcers looked at you, and you recognized his eyes. He had been one of the men you had pushed out of your way at the front door of the Academy. You looked at the floor, trying to not provoke the man.

 “Funny. You always seem to appear whenever anything goes boom, don't you?” He spat towards you. 

“Not funny at all.” You replied, your tone serious, trying once more not to escalate the situation. For your sake and the people you cared about who were now looking between you and the Enforcer.

“Maybe we should call Officer Kiraman. I’m sure she would like to know that once again you’re in the vicinity of an attack.” He snarled, and you scowled at him, about to let him have it.

“You are going to call Officer Kiraman over a malfunctioning piece of equipment?” Viktor interrupted, straightening up with a wince while using his cane to get up from the stool. “Do you think she’ll get here before or after reading all the condolence letters sent to her? Or perhaps she will make time on Remembrance Day, right before the speech honoring her deceased mother."

 A pin could be heard through the silence if a pin would have dropped in the lab. The main enforcer was looking at him, mouth hanging open; you and your mother looked at each other and then at a very collected, very serious Viktor. He seemed taller, with his shoulders straight, and you knew that after that tumble he was going to hurt for at least a week, but that didn't stop him from stepping up to the Enforcers. You had forgotten how much sass that man could pack in a single line.

 “When is it going to be, officer?” The engineer shrugged, limping back towards a pile of sheets that had flown back. “I need to tidy up before she gets here.”

 It took the group of Enforcers three seconds to clear out after that, and a collective sigh was heard from the three of you.

 “You’d think being knocked around would make their synapses work faster.” Viktor waved a hand at them, still picking up papers, stopping midway to look at you, like he had just realized you were there. “Not that I agree with knocking around enforcers…or that you knocked around enforcers… I’m just saying…”

 He was flustered, talking with his free hand while his eyes looked around the room. You chuckled, and he stopped when he heard you. 

 “You’re just saying…?” You teased, rolling your hand for him to keep going.

“Nothing of importance, I suppose.” He turned back to the table.

 “I was hoping you could show me the reader.” Esther announced, grabbing a few nuts and bolts and placing them next to Viktor. “But I imagine it's not functioning.”

 Viktor turned to her, realizing finally why you were both there. He smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck.

 “Well, yes and no.” He said, tilting his head from side to side. “The explosion wasn’t it, but it was a component that I was trying to recreate to use in another experiment.”

 “And now both are fried.” You answered by crossing your arms. 

“Well…yes. But if you give me a few hours, I can make it work, at least for the reader. The other thing will wait, I guess…” he said quickly. “Better yet, give me a few minutes so I can get it, and I can at least show you what I have for now.”

“It's quite alright, dear. Take your time. We can just come back another time.” Esther said, and part of you felt disappointed. 

 Your second home was right here.

“That would hardly be fair. You’ve made it here. Give me a few minutes, an hour tops.” He was limping around waving his hand and cane.

“I suppose I do need to speak with Councilor Salo.” Your mother shrugged nonchalantly. “Do you want to—”

“No.” You cut her off. “Not really. You go ahead. I’ll get reacquainted with the Academy.”

“Reacquainted?” Viktor inquired, looking towards you.

“Last time I was here, I didn’t exactly take the scenic route.” You covered your mistake with an easy joke, and he chuckled at it.

• ············ •

You managed to walk around the Academy undisturbed. It was weird to walk around the familiar corridors, passing by people you knew and fighting the urge to say hello and strike up a conversation. It was awfully lonely, seeing everyone going about their lives, never knowing about you.

 Although it saddened you, you understood that it wasn’t because you weren’t needed in their lives but because fate found a way to replace you. Maybe you hadn’t saved Sky from falling down the stairs in this universe, because maybe her classroom was on the same floor she was at.

As you wandered, you found yourself in a corridor with very recognizable double doors. The Council Chamber was guarded by several guards, and you felt the morbid curiosity to see if the room was the same as it was in your time. 

As you searched your brain for a way to bypass the guards, a familiar whispering in your ear. The rune from the elevator flashed behind your eyes. The one you hadn’t managed to make work. You took your gloves off again and drew the symbol in a railing, disguising it as an absent movement as you looked down to the courtyard. You let it go, and nothing happened for a couple of seconds.

And then the groaning of metal grinding against another surface filled your ears. Your eyes turned upwards as you saw the metal spike that held the Academy’s banner to the stone ceiling give way and slip. The heavy banner made a swoosh noise as it fell, and your eyes widened. 

You saw the Enforcers run towards the elevator and the stairs. You turned your back to them and waited until their hurried footsteps had softened. 

Quickly you made your way to the chamber through the door you had burst open. A new door had been placed and locked, but you unlocked it with three swipes of your fingers.

 The chamber room was as spacious as you remembered, the hole in the dome a grim reminder that those who sat in this room were as vulnerable as everyone else in the city. You remembered Viktor’s diagram, looking around at the empty and cracked chairs. Most of the smaller debris had been cleaned off, leaving only the big and medium chunks. The ones that couldn't just be carried off by crewmen. The sun shone high and bright in the clear sky, illuminating the whole room, the long pieces of the damaged dome casting a shadow on the floor.

You touched parts of the smooth stone that were still intact and walked toward the edge of the room, feeling the wind on your face. It had been an awakening to these people, but not the one that Piltover needed. This whole region forgot how hard it is to break a rope and how easy it is to break a strand. Only in the end did they figure out that the many are more powerful than the few. That blood, once spilt, is equally red whether it is from Zaun or Topside.

Closing your eyes, you stood for a moment, somewhat grieving what had been the beginning of the end.

(Nemo - The Code)

Welcome to the show. Let everybody know I’m done playing the game. I’ll break out of the chains.

Until the wind started whispering in your ear and your eyes shot open. What looked to be blue dust started to float like specks of dust toward the middle of the room, and you followed the flow. There was nothing there. But there could be. 

You better buckle up; I'll pour another cup. This is my bohème, so drink it up, my friend.

 Your hand moved unconsciously, drawing the rune in the air like it was second nature. You pushed it out with a flick of your hand. Like in the graveyard, it divided itself into several wisps of light and quickly moved toward parts of the broken table and chairs. A familiar rune appeared, but so did many others. Some are more complicated, others just little flicks of light. Shining bright in the middle of the rubble or being illuminated by sunlight.

I went to hell and back. To find myself on track, I broke the code.

 You walked towards what had been the middle of the cog-like shape and watched as the wisps danced around. Looking around, you noticed the runes were surrounding you, pulsating like a heartbeat; you noticed your hand doing the same, in rhythm with the wisps. You saw a small piece of rubble that had been missing by the cleaning crew and took a deep breath. 

“Here goes nothing.”

Let me tell you a tale about life, 'Bout the good and the bad; better hold on tight.

 Starting with the rune in front of you, you carved it on the floor, the piece of rubble in your hand serving as a makeshift chalk. You kept carving the runes on the floor in front of where they appeared in the air. The world around you faded, and your vision became focused.

 See the rune, and trace the rune on the floor. 

Let me taste the lows and highs; let me feel that burning fright.

It was automatic; you didn’t think or even study the rune. At some point, you felt like it was the rune commanding you to write, rather than your desire to write them. And even though it was akin to someone using your arm and hand to do this, it never felt like you couldn’t stop. 

 It was almost cathartic.

Somewhere between the O's and ones, that's where I found my kingdom come.

 When you found yourself at the beginning of the circle of runes, you stopped and took a step back. The wisps had disappeared, but you could see a faint light throbbing under the scratched runes. 

 It looked so unbelievably perfect for something that you had scratched on the floor with a piece of cement. Every space between runes was precise, and the little ticks and dots were perfectly balanced. 

 With that amount of rigor, it was easy to see something was missing, a single wisp in the spot where the cog table opened. Familiar strokes. Ones you’ve been looking at ever since you woke up in the hospital. 

 You looked at your palm, the rune there shining so bright it almost burned. Taking a few steps towards the space, you shook your hand in the air and slammed it into the slot.

My heart beats like a drum.

The whole room shook, and for a second you got scared, but when the runes started ungluing themselves off the ground and quickly zapping around different parts of the table, you became too fascinated with the show to care.

 If the building fell, you don’t think you’d even notice.

 Every piece of wreckage, big or small, started floating above you, aided by strands of magic that pushed and pulled and moved different pieces toward different places. Their rightful places. Once a piece found its match, it was welded together by a flash of blue light, leaving them complete with a trace of metallic blue where the crack had been.

I went to hell and back. To find myself on track, I broke the code.

 You noticed the same thing happening in the chairs, and by the end of the magic show, the table and the chairs were floating around you. Slowly drifting and turning into their right position. Until they wafted back down to the floor with an incredible low thud.

 It was almost overwhelming once it was all over how the silence settled around you. The runes on the floor disappeared, your hand stopped glowing, and the table was complete, whole, pieced together by little blue veins. The only thing you heard was the birds outside, the wind through the damaged dome, your heavy breathing, and the clunk of a metal cane hitting the floor.

 Your neck snapped at the sound, and you saw a wide-eyed Viktor standing in front of the side door you had entered.

 “Your… your mother is�� She’s looking for you.” He stuttered.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty

[coucouatoi]

don't want to be alone | h.s.

Pairings: Harry Styles x Reader

Summary: Divorcing the biggest superstar on the planet is the hardest thing you've ever done. Almost as hard as marrying him was.

Warnings: Angst, couples therapy, a little bit of fluff, hopeful ending

A/N: I don't know why I'm feeling so full of angst... but, please enjoy!

Flashback are in italic and present day is normal text

Boxes are littered around the house. Some full and taped shut others still being stuffed with your items. It's a slow and torturous process, having to choose what to take, what to throw out and what things are a conversation waiting to happen "That's a wedding gift from my aunt" or "When have you ever used that?" or even better "I know it was a gift, but I paid for it so i'll keep it". It's like he knows exactly which buttons to press to get the fights started. Granted you might be doing the same thing... But it doesn't make him entitled to all the belongings you've ever shared.

You've managed to find all the picture albums, the ones you decided to make for sentimental value. The ones you gifted him in tender moments. The ones filled with so much love, so much hope and promises for a future together. The ones you're now highly considering throwing into a paper shredder and tossing into the nearest incinerator. The ones you won't be able to get rid of. The anniversary album you gave him on your one year, the wedding album, the honeymoon album, the many travel albums and, of course, your daughter's first album.

Little Anya, barely 9 months old just starting to babble her first words. Chubby legs working so hard to keep her standing and exploring. She can barely take 3 steps one after the other but she's a fighter. Your little girl that is now a cause for argument, no, fights. Custody battles. The true war between yourself and your husband, Harry Styles. Neither of you want to lose or call for a tie, it's not how either of you operate in conflict. That, most likely, is the reason for the downfall of your relationship.

Frustrated you put the albums back where you found them and you head to the kitchen.

Most kitchen items have been packed up, Harry had never really invested in worthwhile cutlery or electronics of any sort. You take some orange juice from the fridge and pour a glass for yourself. The fridge itself is barren, with only the essentials left... neither of you has gone to the groceries in weeks. Today is not going to be a good day.

From the rediscovery of your love-filled albums to the boxes you've spent most of the day doing, you still have one horrible thing to do.

Couples therapy, your first-ever session. You thought, well still think, that this is too far gone to save in therapy. There won't be anything new shared that you haven't already screamed in each other's faces and self-help talks aren't exactly going to do the trick. Anne, Harry's mother, insisted that your marriage doesn't only include two people anymore. Anya makes it worth trying, she is worthy of a stable home as she grows up. No matter how unstable having a superstar parent may be, divorced parents might just add to that an unruly amount. So, you've both agreed to try. Try your very best to reassemble your love no matter how shattered it has become. Love. Love hasn't manifested itself once since about your seventh month of pregnancy. Love has vanished from your husband's once warm and inviting eyes, it no longer lingers on his fingertips and doesn't even creep into the more tender moments you must share with your baby. Love feels like a complete joke to you now.

-

The waiting room is empty of other clients which is a blessing in disguise. This is the absolute last place you'd want to run into Harries. Even if the media has already been dragging you in the mud for "breaking their dear superstar's heart" and has been making all sorts of claims about you and your marriage. In the very beginning, Harry had spoken up about these articles and had gotten his team to shut some people up but he's been losing care for... well, you.

"Harry and Y/N?" you look up meeting the eyes of who you can only assume is your therapist. Without sparring your husband a glance you get up and follow her into her office. It's cosy and smells like vanilla. There's a yellow glow to the room, it bounces off her multiple frames and decorations. Very nonthreatening, immediately putting you a little more at ease. She gestures for you to take a seat on her velvet green couch and you sit down squeezing yourself onto the left armrest. Harry does the same to the right.

"Good afternoon to you both, I am Trinity Finch. Can I get either of you something to drink before I sit down?" She smiles politely as her eyes shift between both of you. You only shake your head as an answer not trusting your stomach at the moment.

"Water if it's not too much trouble, please" Harry's voice is strained, he had been at the studio all morning probably preparing a new album you aren't aware of.

Trinity nods and quickly grabs a water bottle from a small fridge she's got right behind her desk. Harry mumbles a thank you as she hands it to him. You don't realise that his hands are shaking as you're back to looking around the room. He takes a few big gulps before your therapist gets to sit in her chair.

"Today I would just like to start with a history lesson on your relationship. How it started, all important moments, how parenthood has changed your shared life and just how you two are as a couple" She starts getting things ready around her, notebook, pens, highlighters, some sticky notes and you swear that you spotted some bright childish stickers. Her long manicured nails tap against the glass of her desk a few times as the silence stretches. Neither of you taking the first step in this session. When she looks up again she doesn't look annoyed or surprised by the lack of an answer.

"Harry, how did you meet your wife?" Trinity asks him gently.

Harry seems caught by surprise to have been asked a question directly. He looks at you briefly before turning his eyes back to her.

"Um, we meet on the plane. For some reason, my private plane for that day was not available and they booked me on a regular flight. Premium ended up being full and I got an economy seat. I had the aisle and she had the middle we ended up bonding over our shared movie choice. Then I asked her out and um here we are?" He ends with a question. As if unsure if "here" is a good thing, it's definitely not but meeting has, unfortunately, brought you both here.

"And when was this?" she asks.

"April 2018" he answers quickly. She nods presumably writing it down.

"How was your relationship before marriage Y/N?" she looks at you now with kind eyes. They are big and dark. Staring right into your soul. It makes you slightly uncomfortable but at the same time you don't want her to look away she's your lifeline right now.

"It was very easy. I work remotely as a translator and an editor, so I've always been able to tag along on his travels and tours. He, um, he always insisted that he rather have me with him even if we couldn't see each other every single day. Just knowing I was near helped him..." you sigh. You don't want to shed tears this early into your session. You don't want Harry to see you cry any more than he already has over your lost relationship.

"I really loved following him around the globe" you add, looking down at your lap willing your wet eyes to dry.

"Any fighting? How did you deal with that?" Trinity is still talking to you maybe even sensing that you're about to cry. Is that what she wants from this?

"Well, yeah. I mean all couples fight, right? We fought over the same things all the time really. I wanted more affection I guess pressuring him to take some time away from the spotlight or he wanted me all to himself whenever it worked with him without thinking of my work. Our jobs were the main reason for fighting between us" Besides you, Harry scoffs before taking another sip of water. Your head turns to him

so quickly that a sharp pain forms in the back of your neck. Your posture immediately tightens, muscles locking and your breath gets heavier.

"What? You don't agree?" you question him in a much harsher tone than you were previously using. He meets your gaze and shrugs.

"I do but that's not all we fought over" he shrugs again not looking away. Is he trying to pick a fight right now? Here of all places?

"Then what? What am I missing?" you prepare yourself for the worst. Ready to feel like absolute shit at anything he might say.

"Your constant jealousy was a contender for the most appearances in our fights" his entire expression is accusatory but he does this thing with his posture. Gets all soft and somewhat blazé making you feel inferior and so incredibly small.

You want to storm out. Call Anne to apologise that it couldn't work out and immediately sign the divorce papers that are permanently placed right on your dining table.

Not wanting to fuel this energy taking over him right now you shrug as well before facing Trinity again. She's watching both of you like a hawk, processing the way you react to conflict with each other. Making mental notes as well as some physical ones all while hostility happens between her clients.

"We'll move on from this for now. Harry, how was the wedding? How did married life change your bond?" this seemingly calms his overgrown ego. His face is neutral again but there's a softness to it now, recalling the happy days.

"We had an Italy wedding. We, I love Italy. I flew everyone out, our families and friends, and then we stayed there for a month more for our honeymoon. The wedding itself was... amazing. We kept it small. Intimate. With my life it's always been hard to have that so, it was important to us" he sounds blissful towards the last part. Probably back there now in his mind. Ah, the good old days as they say.

"I don't think married life changed us much. We were living together before that and we'd been planning it since we got together practically" he stops talking again to take another sip of water. You look at the lady in front of you again and as she begins to open her mouth to probably question him more Harry starts talking again.

"I guess tension started about a year in. The media wasn't kind to her. They made up cheating rumours on both sides and manipulated things to make them seem like something else. Someone even showed up at our old house while I was out" he took a deep breath, cracking some of his knuckles at the same time, "We were always on edge around each other. Throwing these rumours at one another just to I don't know, get a reaction? Plus, we were stuck at home because of Covid and my tour was postponed. It was a real shit show" he laughs bitterly and you nod along to what he was saying. That was just a terrible time. For everyone.

"Then I got to go on tour, Y/N didn't follow along for all of it but she was there most of the beginning. It wasn't the same as before. There was this distance that just never got better. And then she got pregnant" he almost sounds exhausted. Maybe he is, you're not sure how much he's slept lately.

-

Shit. Fuck. This can't be happening now. Shit! The word "Pregnant" seems to be mocking you as you look down at it. Mocking the fact that you and Harry have not seriously spoken in two days and that you're flying back home tomorrow. Mockingly reminding you that this can only make things worse right now.

"Y/N, come on the car is waiting downstairs" your husband's voice is weak through the thick hotel bathroom door. He's performing in Toronto tonight. The second day, the last day before he flies to New York and you go back to London.

You walk out of the bathroom, straight past Harry, not wanting him to read your face and figure out that something is terribly wrong. You slip into your shoes for the night and take a deep breath, no scratch that, a huge breath. Willing your facial expression to cooperate before you turn to him and smile.

"Let's go superstar!" he smiles back and walks over to you. Grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his mouth so he can plant a kiss on the back of it.

"We just might have to cancel tonight if you look this good" his free hand wraps around you tightly glueing you to his body. You know he doesn't mean it but you pretend to consider it nonetheless.

"Mh what about all your adoring fans? Won't they be so utterly crushed?" you tease against his lips. He smiles wickedly before slowly nodding.

"I do have quite the engagement this evening... how about I make it up to you after?" he presses soft kisses to the sides of your face. Framing it.

"That's a pretty good offer, I just might have to tak-"

"HARRY STYLES GET YOUR ASS OUT OF YOUR HOTEL ROOM!!" Jeff's voice is full of annoyance as it cuts you off. Rude.

You laugh before getting pulled out of the room by your husband. The small plastic stick forgotten on the washroom counter for now.

You get a harsh reminder tho when you're back at the hotel after yet another amazing concert. You're laying on the bed completely stretched out and now only dressed in your underwear. Harry's currently using the washroom to try and get some of the remaining glitter off his face when he finds the secret you've kept all evening.

"Y/N, what's this?" his voice is so shaky that you barely even understood what he asked you. However, when you look up your brain catches up. He's in his boxers, left hand in his hair and right hand holding the test like it's made of glass as he looks at it as if it's going to explode. Fuck.

"No chance that you suddenly lost the ability to read?" you try and lighten the suddenly very heavy mood in the room. It fails.

"You're pregnant. How, I mean no I know how. Fuck, you're pregnant" he looks up at you panicked.

"We don't have to keep it" is the first thing out of your mouth. Probably as a panic response to his reaction. Not wanting this to turn into another fight.

"What?! Why wouldn't we, you don't want, I um" he takes a second. He's just breathing heavily while looking at you desperately. "You don't want to keep it?" he breathes out.

"You do?" is all you answer. You stand slowly, finding the clothes you just took off to put them back on. Whatever mood you were in is gone you're now filled with anxiety and a deep fear.

"You leave tomorrow... We won't see each other for what 3 months? In Mexico?" he hasn't moved an inch. Feet seemingly glued to the floor and limbs were frozen.

-

Pregnancy. One of the worst and best times of your life. Your gorgeous baby girl came out of all the pain you suffered. She gave a new meaning to the way you live, made you forget about all the physical pain you endured and...

"Why do you say it in that way? Like you still dread what the pregnancy brought" Trinity's voice almost startles you. You'd been so lost in your thoughts that you'd almost forgotten where you were.

"I don't! I love Anya" his voice is stern.

"What about your wife? What happened during the pregnancy?" she's digging. Wants to find the right buttons to push.

Harry stammers, but no answer seems to satisfy him. His hands are squeezed under his things, his right leg bouncing and his eyes avoiding either of you.

"We didn't plan her, I was right in the middle of my tour. We, um, we weren't doing very good and she was about to go home" he looks at you suddenly surprising you when he meets your eyes. You can't read him, can't understand what he's feeling. You haven't been able to read him in months.

"She- You, Y/N, she got really sick in February the seven-month mark. I was in Australia and I couldn't be there. It really strained us, we fought all the time over the phone and in person. I guess that's really when we went downhill" his jaw tenses when he looks away from you. Looks like he's not happy to have to have shared this with the room.

"Okay, thank you, Harry. I think now's a great time to take a breather. I'll meet both of you individually when we come back. So, see you both here in 20 minutes?" Trinity smiles at both of you and keeps smiling until you both walk out.

-

Harry doesn't come back. You wait 45 minutes in Trinity's office looking like an idiot. She dismisses you with a look of pity on her face before scheduling another appointment 5 days later, lots of work to do you assume. You rush out of the building humiliation creeping into every inch of your body. How could he do this on the first day? It was going fairly well, well you think so anyway... did he give up on your relationship right then and there?

As you make your way to your car you see him. Harry is pacing back and forth in front of his car as he seemingly argues on the phone. His free hand waves erratically in front of him, gesturing like mad for someone who can't even see him. So this is what he's been doing? Arguing over the phone while you sat in a therapist's office waiting to try and work on your ever-crumbling marriage. You scoff before turning away from him and to your car. But nothing seems to be on your side today as your husband hears you and immediately calls out to you.

"Y/N! Why are you leaving?" you hear him walk towards you, the clacking of his shoes getting closer to you but you ignore him and walk away faster.

You're completely focused on your black Subaru, the "You're so Golden" sticker catching your eye and making you more pissed off. Something that was put there because you loved the song, because of how beautiful your husband's voice is in the song but now all you want to do is rip it right off. So, that's what you do.

Your nails claw at the edges of it desperately. You don't want any reminders of Harry on your car, you don't want to think of him while putting the groceries away, while walking around the car after putting Anya in her car seat and you don't want to see it in your rearview mirror anymore. The top corner lifts as you're pulling at it giving you the perfect leverage to rip it right off. You throw it to the ground right before turning around to stare daggers into Harry's eyes.

"45 minutes, Harry. I sat there 45 minutes with our therapist looking at me like a beaten dog!" you hiss at him. He is now only about 2 or 3 feet away from you. His eyes are wide, in shock you guess, as he looks at the sticker. "What could you have possibly been doing for more than an hour that made you forget what we were here for?" you're sure you sound desperate right now. Your head is all over the place and your heart feels like it might explode out of your chest.

"An hour? I, no, that couldn't have been more than-"

"You can go back up and ask her if you want because I really really don't want to be around you right now" and now you're crying. Fuck. Why are you crying now? You need to leave.

While rummaging in your bag for your keys Harry grabs your arm. Well maybe not grabs, he just places his hand on you, resting it there delicately. If you weren't so aware of every single inch of your body right now you wouldn't have noticed. No matter how delicate the touch is supposed to be you flinch out of it aggressively.

"I'm, I'm so sorry Y/N. That was my mother, she, fuck" he sighs and runs a hand in his hair gripping it tightly. "She wants us to go up... she's rented a lake house or something I guess" his voice is so soft, shy even.

"Us? You mean you and Anya?" god you hope so.

"I'm so sorry" is all he answers.

-

Anne Twist is a very difficult woman to say no to. Actually, it's impossible to say no to her. In the many years you've known her, she's always been able to find a way to make you say yes. Always in a good way. She loves you, she has told you that countless times, and you love her but now that you're... the way you are with her son you don't know where you stand. Yet, she has still found a way to get you to agree to something you would have much rather not have gone to. You're in a small townhouse almost 4 hours away from your home in London with your mother-in-law, your daughter and your soon-to-be ex-husband. What has your life come to?

Anya is sitting in her high chair passionately eating banana slices as you watch her. She's already gobbled up the strawberries and pita bread slices she also had for her snack. She's such a good eater always so ready to try new things and taste whatever the adults around her eat. Especially the sweet treats her dad sneaks her.

"Do you want to go take a dip after huh? We should enjoy the water my love" you coo at her as she takes her final bite of food. She smiles at you like she understood what you asked and you chuckle wiping her chubby cheeks and hands. She'll be able to float around in the water for a little bit with you before you put her down for a nap. The steps of your morning are perfectly planned so that you can have your solo Zoom session with Trinity.

There is a small river behind the house you're staying in. The water goes up to just above your breast and it's the perfect warmth at this time of day. You've made your way down to it and are now setting up Anya's towel for when she'll be too tired to entertain you and ready for her mid-day snooze. She's currently lying right by you looking up at the sky with such curiosity, probably trying to figure out what the hell clouds are.

"You're so curious my love!" you shake her gently as you smile widely. "What do you see up there?" as you look up to join her sky-gazing you spot Harry making his way to the river as well. He's only got very short grey swimming trunks on meaning his entire chest, thighs, calves, and arms are out for the whole world to see. Maybe that's an exaggerated statement as you're the only one looking right now. You want to scold yourself for staring, you really really do but he's just so... so captivating and very enjoyable to look at no matter how much you resent him at the moment.

"Mind if I join you ladies?" his voice is more cheerful than when you heard it last. Must be because he's actually speaking to and looking at Anya.

However, when you don't answer his question he looks up at you. Expression now closed off again, how it's always been for the past few months. You smile politely and nod before turning your back to both of them so you can take your robe off. Your swimsuit isn't anything special; simple black one-piece that's high on the hips and low on your back. You think it looks pretty good on you but now you feel very aware of the amount of skin you're showing. You decide to just get in the water hoping its dark colour hides you. Hides away the skin your husband might be looking at.

"Looks like mummy is in a hurry, we should join her. What do you think sweetheart?" Harry picks your baby up and makes his way into the water. He holds her tightly to his chest as he climbs in, just in case he slips on the stones he uses as stairs. Once your daughter's chubby limbs meet the water her mouth forms into an adorable "O" shape. It's the second time Anya's been in the water now so she must still be unsure about this feeling. Harry turns her so that her front faces you and her back is against him. She smiles when she spots you reaching her arms out quickly which splashes some water around. She looks at you with a shocked expression and does it again with a giggle now.

"You little troublemaker! Trying to splash me!" you tease her sending some water her way. She answers with a sweet giggle and shakes her arms around as fast as she possibly can.

"Mh, my jokester gene is strong in her" Harry's voice is laced with pride. You playfully roll your eyes at him and hum affirmatively.

"And her love for singing too" you add remembering so many moments where she hums to any song playing. Her favourite thing to do is to harmonise with her father. His deep voice always gets her attention, always gets her to mumble and hum along with her own lyrics.

"Oh yes, she's the next big thing this one" he affirms kissing the top of her small head affectionately.

It's in moments like these that you tend to forget how bad it is between you. How many horrible things you've shouted at each other not caring how deep your words could cut. The accusations, the insults, the taunts and even the lies still weigh heavy on both of you. You like these softer moments, where you're reminded of how much love you both had for each other. Have? Had? You don't know anything about your feelings anymore, they are much too complicated to understand...

All three of you stay in the river for about an hour more before Anya starts yawning and fussing. When you exit the water you're quick to slip your robe back on still overly aware. Harry wraps the fluffy towel you had gotten ready around your baby. Her head rests in the crook of his neck, her eyelids already heavy as she blinks slowly. You all walk back to the house together silently. Might it be to keep the sleepy baby calm or to keep the peaceful aura around you and your husband, you don't know.

Harry insists that he will put the sleepy girl to bed and that you should take a shower first. After all, you have the first private sessions with your therapist. The mention of her does make the air in the townhouse tense again but Anne appears immediately to kiss Anya before she naps. You use that moment to sneak into your shared room with Harry. Luckily, it has two single beds so you don't have to share with him.

Signing deeply you rid yourself of the now damp robe you had on. Another blessing in disguise, this room has an en suite bathroom so you'll be able to jump right into the shower. Before that you do want to set up your laptop for the video call, you want to be as ready as you possibly can be. You grab your device from your backpack and make your way to the small desk in the corner of the room. There's a bunch of papers scattered around it, one glance at them and you immediately know what they are.

Lyrics. Drafts of songs and melodies written by your rockstar husband. You don't mean to read any of the words you really don't but as soon as you spot your name at the top of one of the pages you're doomed. You put your laptop down on Harry's bed which is right next to the desk and reach for that exact paper.

The words you read are full of longing, pain, sadness and fear. They mourn love, they are mourning your love. You pick up another sheet of paper, this one has no title but there are so many lines written. This one is reeks of self-hatred, of shame and guilt... it shakes the weak barriers you've built around your heart. All of the lyrics you read on different papers revolve around the same emotions. These are all about your relationship. About the death of it. About his desire to turn around. You don't realise you're crying until a tear falls onto the paper you hold. The ink bleeds into itself where it's been wet blurring the words slightly. You quickly wipe your face and put the papers down. You shouldn't be looking at these, you're invading his privacy.

"Thought you were showering" Harry's voice startles you out of the chair. You meet the floor with a loud thud. Your tear-filled eyes meet his sharp ones. Scrambling up to your feet you grab your laptop ready to explain, ready to apologise over and over again.

"At least tell me what you think" he sighs walking into the bedroom and shutting the door behind himself. This shocks you. What does he mean? He, he's not mad? Isn't disappointed that you invaded his creative space? Your mouth opens and closes a few times unsure what you should answer.

"I'm sorry" is all you're able to get out. Your brain is blank in absolute fear but tears keep falling from your eyes.

"I should be apologising... you, you weren't supposed to see those" he walks in your direction slowly, testing the waters of how close you'll let him get. He's closer than arm's reach when you flinch backwards slightly and he stops immediately.

"I was going to ask you for your permission before making any of those full songs but you know music is how I cope" he whispers now that he's so close to you. Silence takes over the room again, stretching out for too long. Your eyes somehow keep producing tears as you try and speak. Hopelessly searching for words to say.

"Do you really miss us? You miss me?" is what you come up with, your voice is so shaky that you're on the verge of sobbing uncontrollably.

This shocks Harry in place, seemingly not prepared for that kind of questioning from you. His mouth gapes and his eyes grow wide. This time you do see his hands start shaking. You're not entirely sure what this emotion is.

"Of course I do. Did you not think so?" while still whispering he reaches out to hold you but stops himself hands falling at his sides.

"Yo- Harry, you asked for the divorce. How was I supposed to know you miss me?" your voice breaks. You don't understand, why is this happening now, why is he saying these things?

-

"We should just get a divorce" Harry snaps at you as he fights back tears. Your expression immediately closes up, your body reacting before your thoughts and words do. Protecting you from what he just said, building walls around you and your heart as quickly as possible.

"Fine" you spit out as you turn away from him and walk straight out of your bedroom. If that's what he wants then so be it. You won't beg for anything now that he's made his decision.

-

"I know, okay? I know that I asked for it and that it's the reason why you don't talk to me anymore. Well, you do but not really" he sighs and sits down on his bed, damn swim trunks wetting the bed "We talk about Anya and when we're not we are yelling at each other... so when was I supposed to tell you that I missed you? That I regretted asking for the divorce..." he looks at you with a guilty expression, all his emotions are coming up at once.

"Why did you ask for it?" you ask him sitting back on the desk chair with your laptop still in your hands.

"I got in my head. You were saying we should take some time for ourselves maybe live apart... with everything that kept being said about us, I got so scared" he takes your laptop out of your grip and puts it down next to him.

"I thought you were going to fight me on it..." he adds as he grabs your hands tenderly. Like he's afraid you'll break.

You shake your head in disbelief not sure what to say. Your thoughts are all over the place, what should you make of this?

"It broke my heart" When did his face get so close to yours? You should really move away. You can't fall back into him, you can't let yourself do that. So you pull away from him roughly, your hands tugging out of his hold, face moving to the side, a sob making its way out of you as your back meets the chair-back.

When you meet Harry's eyes you can see the pain, the hurt, in them. They are brimming with tears that are so close to spilling out.

"Are we... are we too broken?" his voice has dropped to a whisper. He sounds so sad and scared.

"I'm worried" You take in a few breaths before you speak again, "What if we just end up hurting each other again? What if we can't go back?" you choke out the last few words. Tears spill endlessly out of your eyes and sobs rack your entire body.

It feels like you're running out of air and the little bits you get in are painful. Your eyes burn as you cry and your hands are shaking like crazy.

Harry might be answering or trying to communicate but nothing is making its way past your meltdown. What does make it through is the feeling of his arms around you. Him pulling you against his chest tightly, immediately rubbing your back as soothingly as he can. Your hands are grabbing his still bare skin desperately, wanting to anchor yourself in any way you can. Your face rests on his peck, right above his heart, the frantic beating bouncing around your head.

"Breathe, you have to breathe love" he speaks delicately in your ear, breaking through the barrier your body has put up.

"I'm- I'm, I can't... Harry I can't" your clawing at him almost trying to get under his skin, someplace you might be able to understand everything that's going through his mind.

He wiggles around a little before laying you both down as he keeps reassuring and encouraging you. He drags you on top of him your face now pressed up against the juncture of his neck. Your left-hand makes its way into his hair, pulling at it as softly as you can manage. Harry's hands run up and down your back, your arms, and your neck and he even pets your hair delicately. He's always known how to best calm you down... how to bring you back down to earth and out of the panic attacks you sometimes get when you're overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry" he repeats that over and over with a pained desperation. Harry's scared shitless too. He doesn't know how things will go with your relationship. He can't guarantee that you won't end up actually wanting a divorce one day... But he can love you. He has and will keep loving you. He hopes it'll be enough to save your marriage. He'll work incredibly hard every single day to prove his love for you... if you let him back in he won't ever let you go. He'll leave it all up to you. Your little family is all he needs, he'll spend the rest of his life proving that to you if that's what it takes.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Bloom 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: My sweet pathetic man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You clasp your hands in your lap as the car radio buzzes. You’re thankful for the noise as you don’t have much to say. Uncle Morris is nice, always helpful, but you just don’t know what to say. It doesn’t bode well for the day ahead. He’s just driving you to the farm, then you’ll face the real challenge. 

You watch the fields pass. Horses shake flies away with their long manes, cows chew on grass, and crops sway in the wind. It’s peaceful; pastoral as one of your books might describe it. It’s much nicer than staring at the same fading and peeling walls every minute of every day. 

Uncle Morris turns the car and slows the wheels. He squints up at the farmhouse then taps his phone, mounted on the dashboard. He grumbles. 

“Think I got your aunt’s instructions right,” he says. 

“This looks like it,” you assure him. You recognise the painted decoration hung on one of the pillars; a sheep in a crown of flowers. Adorable in an absurd sort of way. 

“Hm, alright. You got everything, kiddo?” He asks. 

He still calls you that despite your age. You suppose he still remembers that quiet little girl who used to hide behind her hands. You probably haven’t changed that much. You still feel just as terrified. 

“Yes, thank you,” you say as you undo your seat belt. 

“Anytime,” he chimes. “I’ll be back in the afternoon to get you. Your aunt’s got one of her club meetings after work.” 

“Okay,” you nod and open the door. 

You get out and step back. You wave at him as he reverses and veers around. He drives off and you take a breath. You grip the handles of your lunch bag. Aunt Beverly bought it for you; purple checkers on white. She also got you a new pair of gardening gloves with sunflowers on them. You brought those in case. 

“Hey,” Cole’s voice startles you as you stare after the rolling speck of your uncle’s car. 

You face him and give another tiny wave. He smiles. He’s always so happy. 

“You’re early,” he says. 

“I...am?” You croak. 

“No worries, better early than late,” he comes down the steps of the porch. “What’s that?” 

He points to your hand. You lift your hand slightly. “My lunch.” 

“Oh. You didn’t have to do all that. Ma left some food in the fridge for us,” he says. 

“Um, sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says.  

“Okay. I’m sorry. I mean--” you stammer, the sweat trickling down your nape.  

At the market, it was you and Cole and all those strangers. Now it’s really just you and him. You wish Aunt Beverly was here. She always knows what to say. 

“You want some coffee or something before we get started?” He offers. 

You shake your head. 

“Tea?” 

“No thank you.” 

“Well, it gets really hot so we’ll get you some water.” He gestures you closer. “Let’s go put that in the fridge.” 

You near him and he waits until you’re up the steps and next to him before he moves. He wears a short-sleeved flannel shirt, unbuttoned to show his ribbed white tank beneath. He turns and opens the door, holding it for you as you enter. You stop inside and he nearly bowls you over. He touches your hip as he slips around. 

“Oop, almost knocked you over,” he says. 

You blanch and put your hand where his had been. He’s not bothered. He didn’t mean to. You shouldn’t be. 

“Here, let me take that,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Everything okay?” He asks you give him the bag. 

You look up the staircase, “don’t wanna wake your mom or anyone.” 

“Oh, she’s gone. Out of town. Went up to see her sister. Dad too.” 

You don’t say anything even as the panic surges through you. The thought, the reality, of being out here all by yourself with just him, in the middle of nowhere... Cole hasn’t hurt you. He’s helped you. You need to stop being so... you. You need to get over it. 

You look down as he goes down to the kitchen. You stay on the mat. You rub the back of your hand where the scar is. The fridge liner sucks as it opens and closes then a drawer slides out. His footfalls thump again and he appears. 

There’s something in his hand as he approaches. He holds out the baby blue cloth. 

“Thought you could use this. Tie it around your head. For the sweat,” he explains. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

“It’s simple work,” he points you back out the door. “I’m sure you know how to plant.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“And prune?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll have to show you what to look out for. The rot and all that,” he follows out across the porch. You feel heat along your lower back, like he might touch you again. 

“Right,” you go down the steps. It comforts you when he talks about the flowers. That’s something you know about. 

Like last time, he takes you to the greenhouse. The sun gleams off the glass panels. He opens the door and you enter the stolid building. You tie the bandana around your head, knotting it tight. 

He leads you down the table near the right wall and he stops you by a table of jars. 

“These things always sell well. The novelty of it.” He reaches for a mason jar already filled with dirt and a cluster of petunias. “I try to do a little of each. The bee balm sells well since it attracts humming birds.” He turns the jar. “Tie a ribbon around the top...” he touches the little bow there. “You can use twine too.” 

You nod. You’re not sure you’ll be very good at that part.  

“People like stuff they can reuse, you know?” 

You frown as you fixate on the tidy bow. You lean forward to examine the tails, exactly the same length as each other. You can try. 

“Here, I’ll show you how,” he says. He takes an empty jar. “Jar, fill it with soil, pick your flower.” He works with certainty, “transfer.” He delicately moves the periwinkle over and packs the dirt with his fingertips. His hands are much bigger than yours but precise. “The ribbon... sometimes it’s easier to do that first.” 

He bends down and narrows his sights at the ribbon as he weaves it around and expertly loops it into itself. The bow is just as perfect as the first. You hold back another grimace. 

“Um... okay.” 

“You do one,” he dusts of his hands. “Come on, you can do it.” 

You look at the table, then him, and back to the table. You slowly drag over and empty jar. You add a little soil, like he did, then choose some marigolds. You do your best to pack down the dirt; not to tight. You focus on the work, trying not to think too much about him watching you. 

You get to the last part. The ribbon. You fumble it then manage to get it around the short neck. You struggle to loop it and when you finally do get it to catch, the bow is lopsided and twisted. You step back and throw your hands up. 

“I... I can’t--” 

“It’s okay. It takes practice,” he assures you. “You can try again.” 

You shake your head. 

“I can’t.” 

“It’s really not a big deal.” 

“Can you do it? I can plant them and... you could do the bows.” 

He gives a thoughtful hum, “that works for me.” 

You move closer to the table. You take another jar. He bends to fix the ribbon you contorted. The simple task of rehoming the flowers is easy. It makes being here a little less jarring. 

You hand off the second jar and start a third. The swear streams on your neck and the bandana dampens with your scalp. The humidity inside the greenhouse is made worse by that without. 

You keep a tempo. You pass on the jars, he decorates them with a ribbon and a tag. You wonder how he does all this by himself.  

He backs up and you glance over curiously. He unbuttons his flannel shirt and strips it off. The white tank clings to his sweaty skin. You can almost see the fabric. You avert your gaze, trying not to notice how your own tee shirt sticks.  

He comes back to the table. Your eyes stray again. This time you notice his bicep and how thick it is. He must be strong. Very strong. 

Thinking about it, your hands begin to shake. The thought is not only scary but forbidden. You shouldn’t think about what he looks like. 

A jar slips from your grasp towards the edge of the table. You try to save it but can’t, too flustered to do more but help it in its ruin. It smashes on the ground before your feet and the dirt and petals explode across the floor. 

You back up and bring your hands to your mouth. They smell like soil and pollen. You bat your lashes as Cole straightens and looks at you. You whimper. 

“I’m so sorry. So so sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, sweetie. Are you--” 

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you babble and push your shoulders up as you tuck your chin down. You put out a hand. “I didn’t mean to break it. Please.” 

“Woah, it’s alright. I’m not mad.” He says. 

You suck in a breath and let it out with a shudder. Your eyes sting but you keep the tears inside. You put your hands to your cheeks. Your heartbeat pounds behind your ears. 

“You’re-- not?” You ask. 

“No,” he half-laughs. “Accidents happen. Oh gosh, you know how many of these things I’ve broken?” 

He bends and picks up the bigger shards. “You should back up though. I don’t want you getting cut, okay?” 

“No, I can help,” you squat down and grab for the glass. The slice makes you hiss and recoil. 

“Hey,” Cole says again. “Oh my god,” he drops the glass carefully cradled in his hands. “Oh no, you’re cut.” 

You look down at your hand. There’s a gash across your palm. Your brain buzzes and your skin tingle. You’re no stranger to the sight of blood. Not your own, at least. 

He grabs your hand and reaches for his shirt. He wraps it around to stymie the flow as you whine. He’s touching you. He’s touching you and it hurts. But it’s not his fault. You cut yourself. 

“Ow,” you gasp as he squeezes. 

“I’m sorry,” he tugs you away from the table. “It’s pretty bad. We gotta get it cleaned up.” 

“Oh, uh... oh.” You sputter dumbly, dizzy as muffled voices nip in your head. 

“Are you squeamish? You gonna faint?” He asks with concern as he reaches the door and feels behind him for the handle. 

“N-no,” you wisp. 

He drags you outside and turns you toward the house. He keeps a hold of your hand and his other arm hooks over your shoulders. He marches you up toward the farmhouse. Your legs are stiff and your steps heavy. 

You blink and suddenly your inside. Your vision speckles and clears. It’s like you just lost minutes. You watch him lift the wadded dishtowel and check your hand. 

“Nothing I can’t fix,” he says. “But I’m a bit iffy with blood myself. Still, watched Ma fix me up a few times.” 

“Cole,” you garble. “I’m very sorry.” 

“Please, stop. Don't be sorry.” He says and takes your other hand. “I need you to keep pressure on this while I get the first aid kit.” He clings to you, squeezing until you do the same. “Can you do that for me?” 

You nod. He huffs. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back, alright?” 

He grips your shoulders and you flinch. You just dip your chin down again and again. Your hand barely hurts as the sensation of his touch singes across your skin. The fire spreads and consumes you even as he lets go. 

You lower your head and sink on the stool. You already messed this up. Aunt Bev is going to be so mad. Is she finally going to see what you really are? 

[muffinrecord]

Scene 0 is fun but...

Okay, now that we have an official translation and all (of course, I mean no offense to 29udon who did it before), I've got some more opinions on Scene 0.

It's fun imo. It's strength lies in Mabayu and she's a pretty funny, relatable character without being too obnoxious. I like that she's sort of a relatable sneaky lil kid who just wants to watch movies and mumble to herself. Her relationship with her aunt is super cute too and I love the dialogue between them.

However...

The weakest parts of the story have to be Mabayu sitting back and watching the PMMM girlies do their thing, mostly because:

we've already seen it all before really

it's less Mabayu content, which is the whole draw

The story really starts to drag once Mabayu hangs in the back and observes, occasionally quipping commentary. I vaguely remember that she goes through an entire loop and then finally starts interacting with the main cast for realsies later on, so hopefully we're not stuck here in recap land for too long.

But yeah, Mabayu is fun and I can't wait to see her pal around with Homura again. I never finished Scene 0 due to having trouble with my attention span and its slow release, but I did like parts of it.

Opinions on this story seem split between "worst thing invented ever" or "best creation with the amazing homobayu ship." I wonder if it depends on how much you like Mabayu as a character or not. If you read through a bit of it and find her amusing then you'll like it, if you read through it and don't find her compelling/interesting then you won't.

As for the translation, well I can't read Japanese so I can't compare. But it amused me. I like that Kyoko called Mabayu "the girl with the emo haircut." That's great. Also there is something kind of exciting about getting original Magia Record content into the game and seeing what an official translation for it would have looked like.

I dunno, I just feel really excited overall though. This made me miss Magia Record so much, especially when Mami popped up with her scene 0 outfit. God, what I wouldn't give to have an option for homescreen characters in live2d.