#Zoe writes shit

[seahorsepencils]

also can we just talk about the fact that in the Wish World, a woman can get away with calling another woman beautiful without setting off everyone's queer panic, but when a man does it to a man, it tips over the edge? so the Kates of the world are flying just under the radar, but are likely to be more emotionally repressed as a result - and yet, all the queer or queer-coded characters in this world are offered the same security and protection from doubt by the prospect of entering into an opposite-sex marriage...

[technicallyblakebelladonna]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65785159

(edit!)

Title: canines of the savior

Pairing: Zoe Foster/Mio Hudson

Summary:

"Nothing ever breaks your spirit, does it?” Mio says to Zoe fondly. ("It's not what it seems, Mio, please-" Zoe begs frantically. Mio points her katana at Zoe's neck, anger hardening the lines of her jaw as her voice gets low and dangerous. "Explain it to me, then.") Well, some things do.

Chapter ONE: the fall

Mio's subconscious is grim. Foreboding. All steel and smolder. Rough exteriors, ashen skylines and, not for the first time, Zoe feels like her very existence sticks out like a sore thumb in Mio's world. A weed that wasn't meant to find the crack in the concrete, but now blooms determinedly despite the adversity it faces.

She likes to hope that she's grown in a similar fashion within Mio's heart.

"What do you think?" Mio asks. She's gesturing towards the giant steel apocalypse-style bunker door that blocks their path forward, but Zoe is more focused on the way her hand moves, the way her index finger stretches out slightly as she points. Elegant. Graceful. Intoxicating. Everything Zoe wants. Nothing she deserves.

[celorangeine]

ur one of the og townie lovers so can u give townie headcanons pleazee

thank you... 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨 𝔶𝔬𝔲... 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾... i am so glad to have owned that title. i have SO. so so much to say about them they're my favs

- Gurney might look like the old fart but Edgar and Omar are the true grandpas of the Townies. I #know they talk about how good life was back then (like 2 years ago) and boast about how everything was better and easier (to rob) without all these technology bullshit 😒

- because they're all broke I'd like to think they all have to fit into a van together to go somewhere. and EVERYONW has to go because they're not wasting any of this gas. you wouldn't get any privacy except for Edgar (driver), Gurney (passenger princess ❤️), and Zoe (only girl)

- Edgar would listen to the oldest Spanish songs ever in the radio. and Gurney is passionate in music he'd be so confused as to why Edgar never explores any other music genre

- idk what a hideout looks like but imagine there r bedrooms n stuff. all of them are gonna have to have roommates and only Edgar and Zoe have their own rooms 😜

- Leon is the sanest person in the group. and it's such a low bar because Leon is Not that good too. I think he's too lazy to do ANYTHINH. if there's something crazy going on he wouldn't even gaf he'd continue watching tv or something. it's autism you guys

- Clint and Otto r partners in crime guys #TRUSTME. they're both patients in the asylum and they always hang out with each other there because they don't wanna be with the other losers. with the amount of time stuck together they plan on how they're gonna escape the asylum n everything. and now bc they're so used to doing stuff with each other they still plan on doing stuff together outside of the asylum

- Duncan Ohhhwww ohhh Duncan 💔💔💔😢😢😭😭😭😭😭😭 I feel like he's the baby of the group. he's the only one other than Zoe (I think( that's still under 18 so everyone is wary everytime he plans to do something

- this is pretty much canon but Duncan likes a LOT of nerdy stuff like grottos & gremlins and used to get bullied for it so he's lowkey in front of the townies. he tries to really point out how Cool these things are and that they're missing out but he doesn't need to do allthat because the Townies wouldn't gaf

- I think they'd sometimes indulge in grottos & gremlins and Duncan gets so happy. Jerry turns out to love the game too and he and Duncan do the most intense crazy sessions ever

- u know how some of the Townies had probably been made fun of in Bullworth which eventually somewhat led to them quitting the school. I think pranking the people they hate becomes like a comfort activity or something. Duncan is sad and Leon goes up to him saying, "You wanna go egg Davis? comeonnnn you know u want to 😊😜"

- I think all of them have the same mindset as Jimmy where they really Don't gaf about gender when flirting or whatever. Gurney is successful with women but guess what. he's successful with men too #YIPPEE

- Gurney is such and old ass man how is he even in here. I think Edgar and Omar formed the Townies clique but Gurney was also just there from the beginning because Idk. he looked after them. I do still think Gurney is still young but he just looks so OOLLDDDD😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔

- Zoe sometimes scares the shit out of the Townies because she's xtremely direct with the stuff she says. that fit or beard or haircut looks bad?! she's saying it. the guys would beat around the bush but she won't 😜

- I don't think Zoe is as close with the guys 😢☹️💔. they're friends that acts more like siblings but Zoe wouldn't talk about everything with them unlike the other guys do. I feel like it's because she's interested in so many other things the guys aren't that knowledgeable of and probably not looking forward to. like punk music. feminist theory (that is based on a headcanon I saw of Zoe I saw months ago I forgot from who😢). etc. also another reason y I think Zoe probably has done a lot of literary analysis essay stuff. or whatever the hell u call that. she is Lying when she says she only reads books when she's bored guys trust me guys

- I think the Townies have a pet. like at least one pet that's a cat or a dog that's been through shit. it doesn't have an official name but Zoe always calls it assface or titty or fatass or something so the other guys do too

- edit. Edgar & Gurney are childhood best friends. heh... yeahw hastag acidburn

[lyricsandpapers]

The 2 Sides (Mu Sheng, Fu Zhou)

Spoilers and Long post warning!

LETS TALK ABOUT ZIQI FOLKS. Or rather let's talk about the DIVISON of Ziqi. Let's talk about Mu Sheng and Fu Zhou. I'm not gonna use this post to talk about Ziqi and Miaomiao or Ziqi's internal battle of falling in love with her. NO THOSE WILL GET OTHER POSTS!!! (and some episode specific posts about my favorite scenes most likely)

Chasing Demons, the story Fu Zhou's First Story is the EPITOME of a middle schoolers first story. I have pages upon pages of self depreciating lines about my own existence and the trials and tribulations of living.

Mu Sheng the character, is an isolated character with no past and no future. He has little people around him and only one that he truly cares about (I would say in the original novel he merely tolerates Lu Fuyi). He is destined to hide the truth of his existence, of which even he doesn't know the full scope of, until it is inevitably revealed and he looses the one person he cares about. His love life in the original novel is nonexistent, and the 'marriage' he is in is a venting of all the pain and anger he holds inside of him. A hopeless character, but even more than that he's hopeless Twice. Why?

Mu Sheng Could have everything, his parents loved each other once, his sister loves him now. But it's all out of reach for him. (We don't know how much he learns about his past in the original Chasing Demons so I won't delve much into that).

The reason that Mu Sheng can have nothing and must live his life chasing after happiness, knowing that he will never hold more than the coattails of it in his palm for seconds. Is because Fu Zhou wrote this story at his lowest. It is the representation of all the grief and that he was currently experincing at that time.

Mu Sheng's family is torn apart (father dead, mother's heart unknowingly destroyed by him, the Mu family dealing with the fallout of his own mistakes) because all Fu Zhou knows is the crashing and burning of his own family. Happiness exists just out of reach for both Mu Sheng and Fu Zhou. Without Mu Sheng in the picture, could his parents have stayed together and in love? If he wasn't sick would Fu Zhou's parents not fight? Not scream? Not cry?

We occasionally see hints of 'The End Cannot Be Changed' scattered throughout the show, earliest with Miaomiao having to constantly redo tasks because the outcome must be certain ways. The Story itself as a concept is extremely rigid because that was the thinking of Fu Zhou when he wrote it. Rigid in the belief that his past holds nothing (no friends, no great memories) and his future is set in stone (alone, abandoned, uncared for and dead). A bleak and grim outlook from a boy who is dying.

The true First Story with a cringefail self insert OC to help cope with that young teenage depression.

It speaks great depths that when Fu Zhou found a bit of light in his life, with meeting Miaomiao for the first time, he insists that she saved him. But she is not the savior of Chasing Demons. BECAUSE FU ZHOU IS RIGID IN HIS THINKING!!! He adds Miaomiao as a Prologue. She stopped the catastrophe of heavens once before, it's possible for it to be done. But the person who had stopped it before (with her weapon that literally looks like her fountain pen from real life SCREAMING) is Gone and so Mu Sheng's end is set in stone.

Mu Sheng's story changes when he becomes Ziqi, when he meets someone who starts to change his rigid thinking and allows him to be able to grasp the happiness just out of his reach.

Fu Zhou's stories start changing, from rigid cold and unfeeling, to more hopeful and healing when he meets someone who shines in his darkness and allows him to believe that happiness can happen even if it is currently out of his reach.

This is long af already so I'll make an entierly seperate post about Ziqi and him being the combination of Mu Sheng (a younger Fu Zhou) and the older Fu Zhou later.

[einaudis]

Listen, I know I'm super anti Emilia Pérez (as one should), but this is me being 100% honest and unbiased (aka not just a hater): every single song sucks! It's unbelievable! There's not even ONE that's worth the painful experience of watching +2hrs of that thing. Holy crap!

[dont-f-with-moogles]

✍️ It’s WIP Wednesday ✍️

If you get this, please reply with a snippet of a random fic wip or art wip!

WIP It Wednesday

Instead of a snippet, would you like a whole chapter?

A Sunrise Without You Is Coming Chapter 1 - The Farthest Sea - read on AO3!

[zmwrites]

would y’all still love me if i take some time off from writing fantasy to write a cheesy modern romance 🥺

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

4 5 11 + l2c :)

4. What's your favorite line of dialogue?

It's hard to pick a single favorite, but this is one of them. (Im using the term "line of dialogue" loosely, as you can see lol)

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “Can’t we get mad at him when it’s his fault we have no way of contacting Veronica and Heather?”

“Hey!” Jared stabbed a finger at her. “You didn’t grab the stupid flares either, Shit Princess!”

“I didn’t think you’d forget something as important as our rescue signal! Forgive me for having faith in you for once!”

He groaned. “Ya know, it’s backhanded shit like that that Connor would say to you that would make him the asshole. But nooo, you say it to me and I ‘had it comin’.’” He let out a scoff. “Fuck’s sake, you really are your brother’s sister.”

Fire roared behind Zoe’s eyes. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Rich slammed a fist on the table. “Hey, moronth! Howzabout you fight to the death after we figure out how the fuck we’re gonna get outta thith hellhole!”

—Chapter 23 (Hard Rain Part 5)

5. What part was hardest to write?

Aside from uneventful traveling and hordes as I mentioned, I think getting Rich's distrust of Jeremy across was harder simply because I spent the least time in his head out of all the Survivors. Like. It's there. But I feel like I could've emphasized it more in other ways.

Rich made slow work of getting ammo and supplies together as Jake fought with a piss poor internet connection, finding his eyes following Jeremy more than normal. He found himself doing that a lot since the whole cleaver thing at Whispering Oaks, and even more since finding out Jeremy was a carrier. He just… Rich couldn’t keep his back turned to him for very long at a time. He watched his mouth whenever Michael or the Elevator Incident could’ve been brought up, not risking breaking the camel’s back and giving Jeremy a reason - an excuse - to turn on him.

—Chapter 20 (Hard Rain Part 2)

11. What do you like most about this fic?

I think a detail I really like is showing bits of dialogue that rub off on other characters, because that's bound to happen when you're living through the apocalypse with each other. I'll try to pick out as many examples as I can

—"Oh shut up." "I didn't say anything." // Chapters 4, 19, 24, and 27

Dead Center Part 3 / Hard Rain Part 1 / The Parish Part 1 / The Parish Part 3

—"If we die, we die" (specifically the actual instances when it's used as a "plan" and not just when it's referred to. Technically it's used in Hard Rain Part 5 but it's framed as "either zombies or hypothermia kills us" instead) // Chapters 13, 25, and 28

Dark Carnival Part 5 / The Parish Part 2 / The Parish Part 4

⚠️And spoilers for Chapter 25 on (The Parish Part 2–The Parish Part 5)

—"We already know this is fucking impossible, so let's just do it." // Chapters 13, 15, 20, 26 and 29

Dark Carnival Part 5 / Swamp Fever Part 2 / Hard Rain Part 2 / Cold Stream Crash Course / The Parish Part 5

[starshower1215]

Somebody confiscate this author's pen, please.

But also, what the heck. It hurts me on a strangely personal level to know that Hange died, but it's gut-wrenching when an author brings them back to life, because I know it isn't true. Perhaps they should not have died, but they did die, and I've come to very unsteady terms with that. So this was painful, but healing?? Simultaneously? Maybe to see someone write Hange's death again, but in a way that made sense to me, I don't know. I rarely find Levihan content that fits my own perspective of Levihan, but oh, this may be one of them. This one is going to feed my soul for the next century or two, so, I'm going to take this and bury it very close to my heart now if you don't mind.

[ficklefeet]

truly tragic that zolita made the dreamiest sapphic trilogy (somebody i fucked once, single in september, i fucking love you) plus the recent follow up (hypocrite) with tatiana fucking ringsby and there are like two fanfics about them on ao3.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I'm a tad concerned about the implication that Gabriel's actions would somehow be justified if Emilie was a wonderful person. Good or bad, it doesn't matter, it's always going to have an element of the bittersweet. You either get a good Emilie who is horrified by what has been done in her name or a bad Emilie who is happy and who the audience therefore dislikes. Option A is best suited to stories that take canon's ideas more seriously and focus on the nuance canon clearly wanted to include, but failed to actually write. Option B is best suited to stories that lean into the absurdity of canon, which is what Scarlet Lady does, so Zoe's choices make perfect sense. Good Emilie would make for too serious an ending, breaking the established tone.

Is Emilie's character just a joke to you, or do you just dislike kind/gentle/loving/motherly characters (like the rest of the internet)? I mean, you purposely went out of your way to portray Bustier as a terrible person and didn't even try to give her character growth. You know, actually have her BECOME a good teacher. This just makes all the Miraculous conflict over Emilie's fate (and Adrien's sadness) feel bitterly ironic, like "what was it all for" or "all of this madness, for THIS woman"?

As a matter of fact, Emilie IS a joke to me! (Literally, I'm taking shots at a character I made up and who does not exist in canon so I don't know what's got your panties in a twist) And so is Bustier! They are total jokes because it is a total farce that the show tried to portray either of these women as infallible beacons of good, motherly, perfection.

Yeah, Bustier is gentle and kind and condescending and plays favorites and ignores conflict until she literally can't. Emilie...I mean, we don't know Emilie. YOU don't know Emilie. The show does not show us Emilie. According to biased sources she was "kind/gentle/loving/motherly", but that's not supported by her actions.

How can Emilie be "motherly" AND Adrien's never had a real birthday gift? How can she be "kind" AND Adrien's only been allowed to be friend's with Chloe? How can she be "loving" AND Adrien's been trapped inside his house when he WANTS to go to school with everyone else?

As for why Bustier didn't get character growth in Scarlet Lady, it's because I didn't want to? You know, some of us HAD the "nice" teacher who actually wasn't all that great, and we just had to kinda live with it until we graduated and moved on. I'm not making time for them in my spite fic about fictional characters.

Look, it's nice you want to buy what that show is trying to sell you. If you want to believe that Bustier and Emilie are nice and wonderful and nurturing just because the characters all say that they are, be my guest. No one is stopping you. Canon is here for you.

But I'm not buying.

And in case you forgot, kind/gentle/loving/motherly people are allowed to be more than just that. They're allowed to be multi-faceted and have goals and interests outside of Being a Mom. Because moms are people to.

[amazingcreek]

rapid fire oathbound thoughts:

holy shit we got queer bree AND transfem zoe. is anyone in this book series straight? no? good.

natasia kane my beloveddddd you are such a bad parent but such a proud mom

Nick and Bree on the roof?!?!? I haven't seen anyone mention this and it's making me crazyyyyyyyy

also one bed, yes ma'am there's only one bed ty mrs. deonn

William having a crush on Lark and Lark having a crush on William and neither of them ~actually~ addressing it is so frustrating I can't even

LARK CALLING WILL SWEETHEART ugh my heart

bring. back. Alice.

sel's "got you" IS FROM THEIR FIRST INTERACTION. BUT ALSO A PREY THING. GODDAMNIT

Zoe was so real for forgiving Bree after learning all this had been less than a year. like yeah ok that's too much in too little to expect normal communication

Mariah and valec's opinions on the whole "powerhouse" and "point of our spear" thing is soooooo good. I love nuance tracy deonn take my money

nick talking about sel constantlyyyyyyy. oh my god these two are gonna kill me. "please tell sel that when we find him" "sel would draw and quarter me" UGH

NICK HOLDING EVERYONE ACCOUNTABLE. truly that moment at his council hearing when he says we must name them when Bree is here AND when she isn't is just. yeah. go him. AND THEN the perspective of William checking himself and going "oh shit I have NOT been doing as much as I thought" was so good. tracy you're a literal wizard and changing the world thank you.

valec calling the merlins cops. fuck yeah they are. tbh doing a whole analysis on merlins abuse of aether users/experimenting on Black bodies would be so good. maybe I'll write a paper who knows

valec and zoe. make them come back

bree knowing she's loved as she meets everyone, not being able to love them back in the same way because of her memories, BUT choosing to love and support them regardless is just like gorgeous. the amount of hugs she just accepts and goes, yeah I need this, even when she can't do the same in return is perfect

the ending. the ending. hooooollyyyyy shit the ending. "a king, a knight, and a prince" AHHHHHHHH. selwyn kane you can do no wrong in my eyes but oh my god. I am so scared someone hold me

ALSO after reading the ending going back through the book and seeing that there are several places where Bree and Nick are talking about sel and HE is the one calling her bloodmark. oh em gee.

this is not comprehensive and I'll probably think of more but yeah. how're we doing gang?

[meliciousmel13]

̗̀➛ boring.

i, want kiss you till my lips bleed, until i turn to bones.

warnings: smut, fingering (r receiving), also mentions of cannibalism?? but it's just an extreme way of saying how much you love someone.

wc: 3,607

SYNOPSIS: uhh, best friends?? maybe?? where 1 time you her she doesn't kiss back. 2nd time she kisses you YOU don't kiss back. theres a 3rd but i think i'll spoil.

taglist: @guysimgay164, @madisonbeerssecretwife @bandanamatt

an: IM SO SORRY for this kinda taking a whole ass week, but on friday i got such a fucking writers block, also i got a little burnt out cause i was writing a little over 500+ words a day, and that might not sound like a lot but with the shit i do everyday its A LOT. can't promise this won't happen again tho cause it probably will 😛 ALSO!! at the end it might suck cause i was in a rush to finish this, and also, it gets a little poetic at the end ngl idk what came over me

you didn’t know when it started. or when the obsession even started. you met at the met gala, being introduced by one of your close friends, she got your number, and sent you a text. by then you were attached by the hip. she wouldn’t leave your side. you didn’t want her to.

you didn’t know if you were best friends, but it’s been months and the stares in a crowded room made you think. what were you? you hang out all the time, you sleep in the same hotel bed and she hugs you from behind when sleeping. she was confusing. so confusing you didn’t know if she wanted you or just wanted to be friends.

you were at a diner now. with billie and 5 other of your friends, they were talking about anything and you were staying silent, laughing at whatever your found funny and sipping your strawberry milkshake that you didn’t pay for. somehow you always forgot your wallet. it was a scheme so billie would always pay for your shit. she got used to it though. sometimes you’d feel bad and buy her a flower or something.

billie was sitting across from you, occasionally adding to the story and laughing, loudly. you examine her eyes, lips, hair, clothes, just about everything. you weren’t deep in thought she just looked perfect in that moment. she saw you staring, and smiled. you felt your cheeks flush but you smile back, looking away and finishing your drink.

“can you buy me another?” you lean over the table, flashing you famous, ‘please please please let me get what i want’ smile, and knowing she was going to buy it for you even if you tried to deny it.

billie nodded, scooting over your friends and walking over to the counter with the singular staff and getting the milkshake, sliding it over the table to you and quickly walking—half jogging to the bathroom.

“so, you and billie,” everyone’s eyes were on you and you felt uncomfortable because no ones paid that much attention to you since you walked in the diner, “what are you?” zoe asked.

you shrug, “don’t know.” you answer, hoping that they would go back to talking to each other and leave you out of it.

“what do you mean ‘don’t know’ we know you guys are doing something.”

“we’re not.” you said, crossing your arms defensively, you desperately wanted to be ‘doing something’ with billie but you never made the first move. probably why your still single. too cooped up at home and too shy to make any resemblance of a love life.

“really?” she raised her eyebrows, as if she thinks your lying, “look in my eyes and tell me your guys aren’t fucking.” you let out a audible laugh at that, realizing she was serious.

“we aren’t fucking.” you lean over the table, and look in her eyes.

billie came back from the bathroom, and everyone pretended as if they never had that conversation. you sigh, and lean back on your chair, sipping your milkshake and putting it back down, realizing you also needed to go to the bathroom probably because of your 2 previous milkshakes. that was your third.

you get out of your seat and walk to the bathroom, wearing your usual sweats and one of billies oversized shirts. the bathroom was clean enough so entered a stall, did your business and got out. while you were washing your hands you heard the door open, seeing billie.

“hey.” she walked towards you.

“hi.” you answer, smiling awkwardly, walking towards the exit until billie stopped you, “what?” you asked, wondering why she stopped you.

“you seemed upset so i wanted to check up on you,” sweet. “did my friends make you uncomfortable or something? i can talk to them.” she said, leaning on the counter.

“no it’s fine, they didn’t do anything.” you shake your head, and she hugs you, mumbling ‘just wanted to make sure’ into your neck, and you thought she could hear your heart beating like a drum against your rib cage.

she pulled away and you couldn’t help but look in her eyes. they looked beautiful. she was beautiful. you felt your feet stumble, and briefly held her shoulders for balance. you were cautious of your proximity and breathe deeply. tilting your head and glancing at her lips. you were close. so close your could feel her breath on your face, the next thing you knew you were brave enough to kiss her.

you kissed her.

and she didn’t kiss back. one of her friends opened the door and you pushed her away, now she was the one stumbling.

“heyy, we’re leaving now, you guys have like 3 minutes before we leave.”

the ride back was normal, as normal as i-just-kissed-my-best friend-and-she-didn’t-kiss-me-back. fairly normal. billie was still touchy, hand on our thigh and your head on her shoulder. you were overthinking. completely. a whole bunch of, why didn’t i ask if i could kiss her before actually fucking kissing her. and, maybe i was too quick and that’s why she didn’t kiss back. complete bullshit, trying to make sense of whatever that was.

they dropped you off and billie took your hand before you got out the car, “should i sleep over?” she asked, and you shook your head, sleeping in the same bed as her after kissing her was awkward.

“no, i’m okay.” you answer and you saw her question you with her face, “billie, i’ll be fine, seriously.” she nodded, briefly hugging you and letting go of your hand.

you should’ve said yes. you weren’t fine. or okay. she was acting so normal about it, it consumed your mind. thoughts of your kiss. you couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning, and deciding that trying to sleep was useless and stupid.

so you watch TV all night long, binge watching a whole season of a show you couldn’t remember and trying to get your mind off of someone you see nearly everyday. you couldn’t wait to see her. and also wanted to run away. maybe if you just looked at her from afar it would be nice. but she was too nice. she invited you to hang out with her friends again the next day.

you were at a bar now. blue and red LED lights surrounded the place and there were at least 20 security guards around the bar. no one really recognized you so you never needed any people protecting you. but with billie, it was different.

it wasn’t loud, but loud enough that you kinda had to shout to hear people talking. billie was sitting beside you, talking to one of her friends, you hated going out. but billie forced you, saying “you can’t make more friends if your always at home” she was right, but still.

her friend looked at you and you tried to not draw attention to yourself, like a tiny pebble by the side of a road, she notices you though, even with your struggles to breathe as quietly as possible. you didn’t like being around people.

“—are you?”

“huh?” you question.

“how are you?” her friend asks again.

“i’m good.” you reply.

“that’s good.” she smiled.

“and you?”

“hm?” she turned back to you, not hearing what you said.

“i mean—how are you?”

“i’m good too.” she said, and you hummed. thats the longest you could hold a conversation. you don’t understand why billie hangs out with you. you were boring.

“billie.” you pat her arm, she turns to look at you, you could tell she was drunk by the way she looked at you. realizing that you had to take of her for once, “hey, we’re gonna go.” you said to her friend, not wanting to go without saying goodbye.

her friend was nice, but you didn’t know her name. too shy to ask, trying to overhear some say her name but no one did. she was sort of like you, except she had more than 3 friends.

“i don’t want to go.” billie murmured, gazing at you with bedroom eyes. she’s drunk. you remind yourself.

“we have to go, billie, your drunk.”

“i don’t want to. i wanna be with you.” you sighed. tilting your head back and seeing her friend give you a sympathetic smile.

“billie, please—”

“why are you ignoring me?” she asked, and you felt your throat tighten up. she’s drunk.

“i’m not.”

“but you are,” yes. “your ignoring me cause you kissed me,” she’s talking.“because you can’t handle being seen. you don’t like talking about your feelings—you don’t like explaining, you hate communicating. fucking hate it. how do i know? cause i know you—”

She was dragging her thumb across your lip now and you looked at her, “You’re not sober so your not allowed to touch me.” you said and moved her arm away. trying to ignore her words. the truth.

“so your saying i’m allowed to touch you when i’m sober?”

“I’m only saying yes because i doubt you’ll remember much of this conversation in the morning.” you said.

“take me home.” by home she meant your home. she was slowly moving in your apartment. leaving her shirts in your empty drawer.

“where?”

“homee, don’t you know where home is? huh?” she said snarkily.

you roll your eyes and take her hand, leading her out the door, and get bombarded with flashing cameras. you forgot to go out the backdoor. sighing you wait until billie’s bodyguard opens the door for you, letting her get in first then you get in behind her.

the ride back home was quiet, billie was tired, you looked out the window and she looked at you. you felt her hand sliding back on your thigh, where it belongs.

“billie.” you warn. turning back to face her, she had a cheeky smile on her face and you were too tired to handle a half-drunk person right now.

“your boring.” she groans, leaning back on the leather chair and leaving your thighs alone, “do you have a pen?” she asked the driver. the man nods and hands her a black pen. she wrote something on her arm and then gave it back.

you couldn’t care less, going out two days in a row made you nauseous. you needed at least a 3 day break away from people before going out again. she was changing you.

the driver finally dropped billie off at her house, and he was crazy to think you would let her be and trust her enough to just hope she gets into bed, it was too dropped. so you tell him to wait a little until you’ve put drunk-billie to sleep. more then a little because she was difficult to deal with.

she stumbled into the house and you sigh, “you know, i think i’m more sober now, can i touch you now?” she asked, and you walked to her kitchen to get her a glass of water.

“not sober enough. drink this.” she groaned childishly, but still downs the glass, burping and giggling afterwards. for now, she was being cooperative. not like you’ve ever dealed with drunk-billie, usually it’s just her taking care of drunk-you. and that’s considered a skill—a little inside joke between your 3 friends. since no ones been able to calm the storm in years! (it happened 1 time.) you get angry easily when drunk, and incredibly sassy and really hard to please. so it was sort of a surprise when billie calmed you down by literally, putting her thumb in your mouth, it shut you up, at least.

“can i touch you now?” she asked again, while slipping off her shirt, tossing it on the floor and revealing her black lacy bra, it wasn’t strange, you change in front of each other all the time.

“no.” you repeated. you helped her take off her pants while she sat down on the bed, and she repeated ‘can i touch you now?’ every few minutes.

“can i touch you now? please? please.” she said after getting fully dress for bed, and you almost gave in at her pleads but continued your game of torture.

“nope.”

“what?! i’m sober, i’m so sober you can tell right?”

you ignored her and handed her the tooth brush, “you can touch me when you wake up tomorrow.”

“why should i listen to you?” she took you by the hips and you had to remind yourself, she’s drunk.

“because.. i want you to.” you struggle to make up an excuse, she’s drunk.

she scoffs, “i’m not drunk anymore so why can’t i touch you?” she whispered in your ear. you didn’t believe her, she was still slurring her speech.

her face was so close. she’s drunk. she could kiss you. she’s drunk. what if— she’s drunk.

she still attempted to kiss you and you pushed her away when she got too close, “that’s enough billie. go to bed.” you contained yourself, luckily.

she groaned, again, and plopped down onto her large kind sized bed, “but i’m so lonely in my huge bed, alone.” she emphasized.

“i’m not sleeping with you.”

“i wish.” she mumbled, “why not?”

because i don’t trust myself. you shrugged and opened her bedroom door, ready to leave her house and go back home.

“please don’t leave.”

“i’m sorry.” you mumble, closing the door behind you and leaving her house. entering the car with the driver. he already knew where you lived, considering he’s been taking you home for weeks now.

“sorry that took a while.” you smiled softly.

“s’ alright, i understand dealing with drunk people can be problematic sometimes.” he said, patting your shoulder and driving down the familiar road where you live.

it was a short 20 minute drive, jamie even let you play the songs you wanted, it was fun. he was a cool guy.

you got home safely, opening the door to your warm apartment and for once it felt too hot. you slip off your shoes and get ready for bed. all you could think about was billie. she tried to kiss you.

billie barely remembered what happened yesterday. the moment she woke up she was hit with a massive headache. it was like her head was splitting open. she had a writing on her arm, written in black pen.

“she said i can touch her when i’m sober” it wrote.

she remembered bits and pieces of what happened the night before. she got up, went to her bathroom, and cleaned up her face. taking an Advil and eating breakfast.

you woke up feeling indifferent, just did your usual routine, having routine nothing do. sure you could hang out with your friends but they had work in the early morning and your starts at 7PM.

you contemplated calling billie and telling her all about last night but you thought i was time to stay home, you were comfortable, since going out too much it made you question your life.

you heard the door ring and groaned, having finally found a comfortable position on your couch. you get up and answer the door.

it was billie. she was wearing a top and some dark gray sweats, she looked out of breath. like she ran from her car, up 2 flights of stairs and to your apartment.

“hey.” she said, panting.

“hi?” you stand confused. billie bit her lip and hugged you tightly. what the hell? “bill—”

“you said i can touch you when i’m sober.”

oh.

“you remember that?”

she shook her head and showed you the writing on her arm.

“i wanted to talk to you about something.” she slowly entered your house, closing the door behind her and sitting you down on your couch. now you were stressed. what did she want to talk about—

“um, remember when we went to that diner?” oh fuck. “in the bathroom, you uh—kissed me.” fuck. fuck. fuck.

“yeah?” you try to control your facial expressions. as if you weren’t dying on the inside. you didn’t think she would actually talk about it.

“um—” billie was also anxious, she was massaging her fingers and playing with her top, “and you know yesterday at the bar?”

you nod.

“you know what that means?”

that you like me too?

billie leaned down and kissed you. even though you were expecting it doesn’t mean you were ready. she tilted her head, and you wanted her. you wanted her to rip out your skin and see your bones and taste you, eat you, rip you apart and consume you inside and out, make you a part of her forever. have you in a way no one else ever could.

“billie.” you breathed, the burning need was there. she could taste it and hear it and see it. you almost thought, that you’ve never seen something as beautiful as her leaning down to kiss you. how her eyes turned a darker shade of blue and how her lips turned bruised and battered from kissing you dry.

“yeah?” she was kissing your neck now. sat down next to you and touched your burning skin. held you and felt you.

“billie.” you called her name like how a child would cry for his mother. like you needed needed needed her.

“hm?” she responded, tugging your shirt and you took it off. she could see you. she could see your breasts and nipples and skin and bones. and you could see how her breathing picked up and how her lips parted. she touched you, groped you felt you. as if she didn’t think you were real. like something as perfect as you, couldn’t exist.

she gulped, grabbed you by the hips and took you to your room, your bed, your sheets, your pillows, but you wanted nothing more than for her to take you. you needed to live under her skin. have her name tatted on your back.

she laid you down, kiss you neck, collarbones and lips before kissing your breasts, burying her face in them like it was what she needed to breathe. she licked and nipped and drew figure 8’s around them with her tongue.

you whimper, bucking your hips and feeling her holding you down, “may i?” she asked, and slid her finger beneath your pants. you nod, unable to speak, “words, baby.”

“yes.” you said, yes yes yes, please.

she smirked, slid them down your legs and tossed them behind her. her tatted hand pulling your panties off and moaning, “fuck, angel.” she ran her finger through your folds and you squeezed around nothing.

she spread your thighs apart, leaned down, kissed you clit and sat up again, moving next to you and lying her head on your soft pillows, putting her hands behind her head and patting her lap.

“c’mere.” she said, holding under your thighs and sitting you down. she still had her dark gray sweats on. she was still fully clothed while you were naked.

you whine and she shushes you, sliding you higher on her body causing you to sit on her pelvis and having you clit barely brush’s on her drawstring, causing you to bite your lip.

“so quiet for what huh?” she traces your bottom lip, “don’t know what to say? hm baby?” was she trying to kill you?

you pant over nothing, grinding on her like a dog in heat and she guided you back and fourth by your hips, “fuck—” you mumble.

she hummed and stopped helping you, letting you do all the work, just putting her hands behind her head and watching you grind on her.

“good girl.” she rubbed our hips and did absolutely nothing to help. all you could do was helplessly grip at her shoulders and try to get off, “can’t cum without my help?” she abruptly slid her middle finger inside you and you gasp. she pulled your hips lower on her finger and added another, “js’ like that baby.” she hummed when you started riding her fingers.

you sigh—whining when her digits hit that spongy spot inside you. bouncing on her lap like a goddamn bunny. and she looked so entranced. like she was enjoying this more than you.

“i’m gonna cum.” you whine out. you hair framing her face, she smirked, curling her fingers and you came all over her, rolling you eyes back and feeling her kissing at your neck, still pumping slowly to help you get down from your high.

billie sat up, pulling you off her lap and placing you down next to her and jogging to your bathroom, turning on the water and waiting for it to fill up.

“you want some water?” she handed you a water bottle and you sat up to drink it,“your stupid.” you mumble and billie laughed, carrying you to the bath and putting you down into the warm water.

“how am i stupid?”

“because you took too long to confess.” you said.

“oh and that’s my fault?”

“yes, it is.” you said, and billie shook her head, undressing and getting in the bath behind you, ignoring you childish banter and peppering kisses all over your neck, causing you to giggle.

“you wanna go somewhere tomorrow?”

[sayyestoheav3nn]

Nights Like This: Part One

Roman x black!oc

Warnings: language, fluff, smut

Word count: 2.2k

a/n: this was originally planned as a one shot, but i’m indecisive as hell, so i guess we’ll see 👀. also, tiny reminder but this is my first time writing fan fiction/ smut, so please go easy on me guys 😭

Zoe acan’t fathom a better way of spending her birthday, this is truly all she could ever ask for. While she’ll never understand how she got so lucky to have Roman in her life in the first place, words can’t even begin to describe what this man means to her. Zoe in no shape or form is a materialistic person, yet somehow every year Roman manages to go all out and spoil her with shit she doesn’t need, but is still extremely grateful for.

And while this amazing day of shopping and sightseeing in Colorado is coming to an end, she’s exhausted and more than excited to get back to the hotel and gain some energy back before going out to dinner. She try’s her absolute best to ignore the fact that her feet feel worn out and in immense pain, her pride won’t allow her to show it, so she decides to keep it to herself. Especially, since Roman’s know-it-all ass told her not to wear boots with heels in the first place, but, she hates being wrong and would rather die than give him that satisfaction.

The walk to the car felt fucking eternal, Zoe couldn’t help but to sigh in relief once she was finally able to sit down. After Roman cut on the engine, he took a minute to study her, letting out a small chuckle, “I know you’re in pain baby, you don’t gotta hide it.” She immediately shot a glare at him, and rolled her eyes, “I’m not in pain, just tired.”

“You sure about that?, because when you came out of the bathroom earlier, I could’ve sworn it looked like you were limping…”, he teased. Zoe’s mouth dropped, and she playfully slapped his shoulder.

“First of all, I wasn’t limping. I was just very inspired by that Katt Williams show we watched, and decided to practice my own pimp walk…”

He couldn’t help but to let out a loud chuckle and defeatedly threw his hands in the air, “Oh so that’s what we’re doing huh?” One of the many things that Roman loves about Zoe, is her sense of humor. No matter what mood he was in, or what he was going through, she never failed to make him laugh. Roman knew her stubborn ass was lying through her teeth, but it was her birthday after all, so he decided to let it go and let her have this win.

The drive back was over an hour long, and while the beginning of the car ride was full of conversation and laughter between the two, the heater made Zoe feel extremely warm and cozy, which ended in her falling asleep.

When they finally arrived to the hotel, Roman gently ran his fingers through her hair, swiping some behind her ear, hoping he would wake her up without startling her, “We’re here, baby.”

“Shit, I don’t even remember dozing off,” she muttered. Roman smiled at her and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’m tired too, let’s go take a nap.” Damn this man knows the key to her heart, she will never deny herself an opportunity of taking a good ass nap.

They eventually make it back to their hotel room, and as they are about to unlock their door, the fucking hotel key card starts glitching again. After multiple failed attempts, and seeing red blinks over and over again, they eventually were able to get in.

The first thing Zoe does when she makes it in the suite, is kick her stupid ass boots off. There is nothing she wants more in this moment than getting out of this outfit. As she’s digging through the drawer trying to find some comfortable clothes to change into, she suddenly feels his warm chest press against her back. He slowly wraps his big arms around her waist, his tall frame now towering over her. She couldn’t help but to let out a soft moan when she felt his breath on her neck, his prickly beard making his was down her collarbone, his soft lips showering her with gentle kisses. Her knees were growing weaker by the second, but as good as this felt, she wanted to talk to him first.

“Thank you, Roman,” she says, and before he starts to tell her she doesn’t need to thank him, like he always does she rushes and cuts him off. “Even though you never listen to me when I say I don’t need anything, the effort you make truly means to the world to me. I just wish you’d let me do the same for you.”

Roman turns her around to face him, he uses his thumb and index finger to gently guide her face to look at him. “Zo, I don’t need anything , I just need you. I need you to understand that there is no me without you. As long as I have you, there ain’t shit else I’ll ever want, or need.”

Zoe knows how Roman feels about her, but it’s something about hearing him express it, that makes her tear up. She grabs his face, pulling him in by his beard and kisses him. “I love you, baby.” He puts his hand on the small of her back and presses her towards him. “I love you more, but we should go take this nap before your ass gets cranky.”

…………..

Zoe was the first to wake up, seeing he was still in a deep sleep, she decided to quietly step away and take off her makeup that she shouldn’t have slept with in the first place.

As soon as she stepped out the bathroom and glanced towards the bed, she saw he was awake. Roman looked at her and gave that mischievous ass grin he gives when he's about to be on demon time. “Come here,” he motioned her over with his fingers, his hair was now resting on his shoulders fully out of his bun. His voice was groggy as hell from just waking up, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit how extremely turned on she was.

She wasted no time and climbed on top of his hulking body, straddling him and almost immediately feeling his erection through the thin fabric of her pants. “Looks like someone is excited to me,” she chuckled. “Baby, i’m always excited to see you,” he whispered, while lightly squeezing her ass. She began to kiss his jaw and slowly made her way down to his neck, making a trail down his chest and abs. As she started to reach for the hemline of his boxers, he flipped her over so that he was now on top of her.

“Nah baby, let me take care of you,” he growled. Before she could protest, Roman got up, took off his shirt and walked towards the foot of the bed. This had her slightly confused, but before she could ask why he got up, he grabbed her by the thighs and slid her down to the edge of the bed. His fingers gripped the top of her pants and underwear, she watched him as he eagerly pulled them down. Propping herself on her elbows, she was now staring at his hair draped over his tan broad shoulders.

Roman’s warm breath over her exposed pussy, made her more soaked than she already was. He teased his finger up and down her wet lips, causing her to instantly moan. “Mmm, daddy please.” She started to grip the back of his head when he stuck two fingers in, her hips subconsciously bucking forward once he started to curl them towards her g spot.

“Please what, baby?,” he groaned and started to pick up the pace, her pussy already dripping and squelching for him. “mmm p-please eat my pussy,” she whimpered.

“Anything you want baby, doesn’t daddy always make you feel good?” Roman flattened his tongue on her needy clit, and started licking and sucking on her essence. “You taste so fucking good baby.” Her panting becomes heavier and heavier as he feasted on her, almost as if he was starving. The combination of him eating her out and fingering her while hitting that spot, had her on the edge of coming.

“f-fuck baby i’m gonna come.” Her pussy was clenching around his fingers, he could feel it. “Come for me, right on my tongue baby,” he used his free hand to grip her thigh and bring her even closer.

Zoe, felt like she was on another fucking planet. As he brung her even closer, she used her grip on his head and started to grind her pussy against his face. “Just like that baby, give it to me,” he moaned. She let out a loud scream as her orgasm took over, her body jerked as Roman kept devouring her pussy while she rode her orgasm out.

“Such a good girl, baby.” He made his way back on top of her, and gave her a sloppy sensual kiss. Tasting herself on his tongue, made her want to come all over again.

While Zoe was catching her breath, still recovering from her earth shattering orgasm, Roman got up and brung her a rag from the bathroom and helped her clean herself. She watched him, eyeing his God like physique that she’s convinced she’ll never get used to.

Roman stood up and kissed her temple, “I’m gonna be on the balcony for an hour or so baby, I’m behind some meetings, so I gotta go make some calls.”

“That’s okay, I have some emails I gotta catch up on too.” As Roman heads out the back door, Zoe goes to sit at the desk in the corner of the suite and starts to catch up on some work emails that she’s been ignoring. Not even 15 minutes in, and she’s already bored out of her mind. She closes her laptop and decides to do something productive. Other than actual work of course, because that’s obviously boring as hell.

Boom. An idea hits her. Zoe decides that she is going downstairs to talk to the hotel receptionist, and ask if they can do something about their annoying ass key card that barely fucking works. She starts by tearing the room apart looking everywhere she can think of. Roman was the last person that had it, and as much as she’d like to ask him, she knows she can’t bother him during his important meetings.

The first place she thinks to check is his wallet, when she sees it’s not there she moves on to the next spot, which was the drawers next to his side of the bed. Fail. Shits not there either, and after scrummaging around the whole suite for damn near twenty minutes, she was thinking of giving up. And that’s when her memory hits. His fucking duffle bag. Roman tends to work out twice a day, and lately he’s been making sure to put the key card in his duffle bag before he leaves, simply because his over dramatic self can’t seem to let go of that one time he forgot it, and Zoe had slept through his phone calls and loud ass knocks.

Zoe goes to grab the duffle bag from the closet and opens it, she unzips the small pouch in the inside and immediately spotted the key card, she couldn’t help but to let out a small sigh of relief. As she goes to pull it out, something falls out and she hears a small thud. Looking down, shiny gold wrappers immediately catch her eye. She bends down and examines what turns out to be, two magnum condoms that are now on the floor.

Her mind starts racing, and she immediately begins to go through his bag. As she starts to pull his clothes out, she stumbles across an empty condom wrapper that had clearly been used. What the fuck. In this exact moment Zoe felt her heart drop in her fucking stomach, her eyes instantly becoming watery. She has been with Roman for over two years, and not once have they ever used a fucking condom. And it’s in remembering this specific fact, that sends her into full panic. She starts crying uncontrollably not knowing what to do, as much as she would like to go outside and confront his lying ass, the thought of having to look at him makes her sick to her fucking stomach. Who the fuck is he using these on?

Her chest starts to feel tight, and she knows she needs to leave before he comes back inside. Zoe puts on her coat and grabs her purse, throwing her phone inside it. She runs out of the room and gets on the nearest elevator as fast as she can. Once she makes it to the main lobby, she beelines outside and manages to get a taxi within five minutes. She quickly put her phone on silent, knowing Roman would call and text her nonstop once he realized she was gone.

Zoe doesn’t even have a sliver of an idea on what the hell she was going to do. The only thing she knew in this exact moment, was the fact that she had to get the fuck out of here, and fast.

[babybluebex]

fuck em all but us pt.1 | tryst (fakes) x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: part 1 of 2! before shit got fucked with zoe and becca, tryst was your best friend. despite highs and lows, will-theys and won't-theys, you were each other's ride or dies, and it felt like nothing could jeopardize that. standing by each other's side for every little moment, you grew up together, and despite always wanting to be more, you were happy with what you got. the weird kids always find each other, y'know? wc 7.5k title stolen from watermelon by john + jane q. public 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: tryst (fakes, 2022) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR FAKES! angst out the ass here folks, underage drinking/drug use/smoking (none depicted but is discussed)(like honestly look at the source material, it's gonna come up), of-age drinking/drug use/smoking, mentions of addiction/dependency issues, discussions of mental health and manic episodes, mentions of sex (but none actually depicted— sorry! that's for part two wink wink), mentions of condom usage (and the consequences if not used)(again look at the source material tryst is canonically a father) 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: prepared for this to get like 5 notes but whatever. think of this as like the prologue to the show, showing how reader and tryst met and became friends, which then will inform part 2, which will highlight parts of the show. i had a lot of fun writing this, and what i've written of part 2 so far is a lot of fun as well eek!! also major thanks to @mustyrosewater who helped me brainstorm some finer details, and @thekid-ofsteel who answered every single canada question that i, as an ignorant american, needed answered <3 hope you enjoy, follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post a new fic!!

10 years before shit got fucked: weird kids find each other. That’s how you always described the way that you and Tryst met. You went to the same high school in West Vancouver, right after you moved there, a lowly little grade nine kid who was a hint too shy and a hint too black-sheep to have any real hope of making friends. Even before your family moved from Victoria, you knew that high school was gonna suck for you, and the new locale didn’t give you much more hope, but then you met Tryst. 

He was weird too. He was older than you, on his way out as a senior, but you had shop class together and, as it always happened, the two weird kids were made to be partners. The teacher called his name in the roll— “Smith comma Trystan”— and he halfheartedly mumbled “Just Tryst”, then added under his breath “Just like last year…” You remembered back then, he styled his hair in a sorta sideswept 5-years-too-late Justin Beiber type situation, and he always wore chipped green nail polish, but, that first day, he said he liked your Twilight t-shirt and smacked the side of his head when he forgot your name, and he endeared himself to you. 

That year went far better than you could have imagined, all thanks to Tryst. You called each other your Ride or Dies, and you fully meant it. You had never had a friend as good as him— he was goofy and silly, eccentric and loud, but when you would call him in tears, he would shush you softly and sweetly and go “Hey, it’s okay. You wanna come over? I just got the new Mortal Kombat DLC, you wanna come watch me eat shit?” And you always did, sitting on the edge of his bed and wallowing in your sadness as he played his game and made you feel better, just by being there. If watching him fail didn’t work, he’d borrow the car keys from his mom on account of “We need snacks” (you’re so certain Miss Smith thought you two were constantly smoking up in his room, which wasn’t a totally inaccurate statement— perhaps there was a side of bong rips with watching his character get their spine ripped out) and take you out. 

His favorite spot was at the top of a hill that overlooked the bay, quiet and serene, and you would sit on the roof of his car and talk. You and Tryst could talk for hours, and often did, about everything and nothing, serious and not. Some of your favorite memories with him were on that roof at night, admitting things to him that you never would have said to anyone else. You had a joke— if the thing you were about to say could possibly be met with judgement, you would say “Immunity Necklace” like from Survivor, and you’d be safe from judgement from the other. You and Tryst Immunity Necklace’d each other constantly on that car roof, even if it really didn’t warrant it: “Immunity Necklace, I’m worried about my pre-cal test tomorrow.” or "Immunity Necklace, you smell like weed."

Sometimes, though, the Immunity Necklace was completely necessary. Your high school had big three events throughout the year, Homecoming in the fall, the Winter Formal just before Christmas, and prom in the spring. Tryst had taken you to the Homecoming bonfire, but not the dance because “Dances are for nerds and lame-os, and that’s not us”, but you knew that Tryst had brought you out to the overlook that night to ask you to be his date to the Winter Formal. There was just one problem with that. “Alright, Immunity Necklace,” Tryst had chuckled, only half his heart in it. You mimed putting the necklace over your head, not a necessary part of the joke but done when the mood needed lightening, and Tryst sighed. “I, um… I need a date for the dance next week. I was gonna ask Sarah, but she already has a date, so that’s…”

The mere mention of Sarah made venom pop in your mouth; you hated her. She was perfect, an everything type of girl, pretty and sweet, and even though she was nice, she had caught Tryst’s attention instead of you. You couldn’t decide if your jealousy was crush-related or borne simply out of a different girl having your best friend’s attention, but you kept that to yourself. “But, um, I was wondering—”

You sighed, dropping your hands from around your ‘necklace’. “Tryst,” you started. “I… Agh, fuck. Someone else already asked me.” 

“Who?” Tryst was hardly ever serious, not exactly the low voice and furrowed eyebrows type of guy, but he was in that moment, and he asked, “Who asked you? You didn’t even tell me you were seeing anyone.” 

“I-I’m not,” you started, unsure why you felt like you had to clear your name. “But… It’s, um… Alex. From my pre-cal class. He’s been tutoring me, and we’ve been getting along, but we’re not dating, but, um, he asked me a few days ago.” 

“Alex?” Tryst scoffed. “Like, with the…?” He flapped his hands above his head, an obvious allusion to Alex’s fauxhawk hairstyle, and you nodded. “Dude. Ew. He smells like lobster. Are you kiddin’ me? And you said yes?” 

“He does not smell like lobster!” you laughed, shoving Tryst’s shoulder. “And yes, I said yes! I mean, if I had known you wanted to ask me, I would’ve said no, but, like… I didn’t know! I thought for sure you and Sarah were gonna—”

“Nah,” Tryst said, shaking his head. “Someone got to her first too.” He was smiling, but you could tell he was harboring a sadness, a disappointment, and it hurt your heart to know that you contributed to that.

If you were in a movie, one of the ones you and Tryst liked to rent to make fun of and throw popcorn at the TV when the inevitable love story happened, this would be where you leaned over and kissed him. You had thought about it, of course, but Tryst never gave you any indication that he liked you like that, so you clammed up. “Shit,” you whispered, opting instead to take his hand and rub your thumb along his. “Sorry, buddy. That sucks.” 

“Eh, it is what it is,” he said. “But without her, and without you, I don’t know who I’m meant to go with.”

“Can’t you go by yourself?” you asked. “Or, like, not go at all? Back at Homecoming, you said dances were for dorks or whatever.”

“Well, yeah,” Tryst said. “But I was just… I don’t know. I graduate in the spring. I wanted to maybe do the whole high school thing the right way before I leave.” 

You didn’t see Tryst at the Winter Formal the next weekend. You had texted him a picture of you in your dress, and he opened the message immediately but didn’t respond to it. In fact, he only responded to it towards the close of the night, when Alex the Lobster-Scented Wonder (Tryst was right, the dude did smell a little like shellfish) had you in the backseat of his dad’s car. It wasn’t the optimal way to lose your virginity, and you had started to hopefully imagine that you’d open your eyes and be looking at big blues as it happened, but whatever. Everyone’s cherry had to get popped at some point, and that was yours. Tryst’s text just said u look like a million bucks :)

He didn’t make the same mistake twice, though. He seemed to give up on the Sarah fantasy, because he asked you to prom the first day back from holiday break. It wasn’t a grand event, sitting at your designated lunch spot, under the bleachers at the soccer practice field, cross-legged as you stole his carrots and he ate your peanut butter crackers, and he said, “Got a date to prom yet?” 

“Um, considering it’s January and prom isn’t until April, I’d say no,” you laughed. “Why, do you?”

“Depends how you answer,” Tryst said, wiping the crumbs off his hands. “How ‘bout it?” 

You still don’t think your parents or his mom were fully convinced you weren’t dating back then. Prom night started fun, pictures at a park close to your overlook, constantly fixing his hair in the wind of an approaching thunderstorm, going to dinner; a group of kids from your school were at the same restaurant in their little prom-caravan, but you liked it far better just you and him alone. Getting to the event, though, made your palms go clammy, and you bit the inside of your lip, and thankfully, your best friend noticed. “Do you not wanna go in?” he asked. 

“I-I do,” you said. “Just… S’alot of people. B-But you’re a senior, this is the last time you’ll be able to, we should—”

“Stop that,” Tryst told you gently, taking your hand in his. You were no stranger to Tryst grabbing your hand, especially when he could tell you were on the precipice of a spiral, but this was nice, sweet; it felt different, his thumb dragging soothingly on the back of your hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve never been to this thing before; honestly, my heart won’t be broken if we skip. I mean, we skip shop together all the time, let’s just skip prom too.” 

Tears started to well in your eyes, and Tryst was quick to grab the handkerchief from his suit pocket and dab under your eyes. “Dude, you spent so long doing that, don’t fuck it up,” he chuckled softly. “I feel like I make fun of you a lot, but, really, you look fuckin’ gorgeous tonight.”

“Thanks,” you sniffled. “You clean up pretty good there yourself, T.”

“Aw, shucks,” Tryst said. “How about this? We leave this place, run back by my house, I can grab my bong and my fake, we go get some booze, head to the overlook. How does that sound?” 

You laughed. “Worst Shining spinoff ever,” you said, and Tryst smiled, his cheeks going pink. And that’s just what you did. He got you a change of clothes while he was inside, and you laid your head in his lap as you sat on top of the car, surrounded completely by him, his warmth, his smell, his adoration, him. You loved the feeling of that. You moved yourself to look up at him, his eyes fixated on the skyline on the other side of the bay, and you whispered his name. 

“I love you,” you told him softly, and he looked down at you and smiled warmly. 

“I love you too,” Tryst told you, his hand coming to caress your hair. “Fuck, this fall’s gonna suck.” 

“Why?” you asked. “I mean, you’ll be here, won’t you?” The way he bit his lip and looked away from you told you everything. “Won’t you? Tryst? Where are you going?”

Tryst swallowed thickly. “I got accepted to university,” he started. “I, uh, got the letter last week… I had applied way back in September, when I had no friends, no reason to stay in West Van, I was hoping that they, like, forgot about me…”

“Tryst?” you started, sitting up. “Where are you going?”

“—They’re offering me a scholarship, I can’t say no—” 

“Tryst!” you sobbed against your will. Your throat felt tight, your chest on fire. The fact he wasn’t coming right out with it made your stomach lurch. Somewhere in America? Further? 

“U-Toronto,” he whispered finally. You felt like you had been punched square in the chest, struggling to catch a breath. Not America, but still nearly across the country, two-thousand miles away. It sucked to live in a different neighborhood than him, you weren’t sure you’d survive with him so far away, in a different city, a different province, nearly a different country; he might as well have been going to uni on the moon. “They-They’ve got a good business school—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you cried. “When were you planning on telling me this?” 

“I…” Tryst sighed. “Soon. I promise. I was gonna tell you at my grad dinner next weekend, but… Fuck, you gave me those eyes just now, said you loved me, I-I couldn’t keep it from you a second longer.” 

“Christ, you were gonna wait another full week?” you squeaked. Your throat felt tight, and your eyes burned with tears. 

“I just couldn’t break your heart like that,” Tryst told you. “‘Cause I knew you’d be upset, I knew it would hurt you, I couldn’t do that to you.” 

“I am upset,” you gasped. “T, I don’t have any other friends! With you gone, I won’t have anyone!”

“What about the dude who took you to Winter Formal?” Tryst asked. “Alex or whatever?”

“As if I wanna hang out with him,” you sniffled. “He hasn’t spoken a word to me outside of tutoring since then.”

“You never told me that,” Tryst said carefully. “Did something happen?”

You sighed. “I mean, yes,” you started. “N-Nothing bad, don’t flip out, but, like, yeah, something did happen… We, um, we fucked in his car, the night of the formal. And he hasn’t spoken to me since, if it isn’t about math class.” 

Tryst was quiet for a minute. He picked at his green nail polish on his thumb, and he finally mumbled, “You never told me that either. Was it… Was it your first time?” 

Your lip wobbled, and you nodded slowly. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Tryst deflate with a sigh, and you added, “I-It’s not like I’m in love with him. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now, but, like... What did I do wrong?” 

In an instant, his arms were around you, pulling you into his body. You cried into his neck, clutching at the back of his shirt, and, even though you knew you’d see him throughout the summer, this hug felt like your last. You wanted to memorize the way his warm body felt against yours, his strong arms circling you and holding you tightly, his hand rubbing your back. Before you could stop it, whispers tumbled from your mouth, right into his ear: “I wish it had been you.” 

You know that he heard you, his hand pausing on your back for one imperceptible second in reaction, but he whispered “Say that again?” 

You shook your head, terrified that his reaction was going to be one of rejection. “I-I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Just say it again,” Tryst whispered. He moved away just an inch, just enough to look him in his eyes— big, blue with a ring of green closest to his pupil, the ones you had wished in that moment were the ones over you, turned hyper-blue with incoming tears— and he said, “Baby, please, just tell it to me again.” 

“I wish it had been you,” you repeated meekly. He had never called you baby before; he wasn’t really the type to do little petnames, or at least you didn't think he was. 

“No Immunity Necklace?” Tryst pressed. “No shit, seriously? You wish it was me that had taken your virginity?” 

“Y-Yes?” you mumbled. “I-I don’t know, Tryst, I’m, like, spiraling right now, I’m fucking heartbroken a-and, fuck, I don’t know. Back when it was happening, I remember thinking about you, b-but not like that! Just, like, I don’t know what I mean!” But you knew exactly what you meant: you were absolutely in love with him, and maybe you had been since the first day in shop class, when he called you the wrong name and you corrected him and he smacked the side of his head and smiled and apologized. 

Carefully, Tryst put his arm around your shoulders, tugging you in tight, and he landed a soft, barely-there, kiss on your forehead. It wasn’t even really a kiss, just nestling his mouth into your temple for a moment, and he whispered, “I meant it just now, when I said I love you too. You’re my best fucking friend in the whole world. I’d be stupid not to love you.”

You sighed. “But not like that?” you asked. You knew where the conversation was going, and a lump formed in your throat.

“Exactly like that,” Tryst whispered to you. “You remember how I was pissed when Alex asked you to formal? I was jealous. I hated the idea that you were giving any guy other than me attention.” Thunder rumbled in the dark sky above you, and Tryst squeezed your arm. “I never thought I’d get to tell you this, so I kept it to myself, but…”

You pressed your head into his shoulder and sobbed. “I don’t want you to go!” 

But go he did. He graduated, had a part-time job at the mall over the summer, but all too soon, he was helping his mom pack up a moving truck to drive 40 hours away for university. You helped him box up the necessary stuff from his room, trying to keep your sadness at bay. It seemed as if your shared confessions the night of prom were forgotten, but you knew it was out of necessity on both of your parts— you were still in school, and a long-distance relationship of that sort wasn’t bound to work out. Both of you had come to the same, independent conclusion: “friends who wished they were more” was better than “lovers who ended up losing each other”. You had hugged him in his driveway and, even though you knew you’d see him again during holiday breaks, it wouldn’t be the same. “Who am I supposed to sit with at lunch?” you whimpered with a watery chuckle, and Tryst’s arms went tighter around you. 

“You’re the best girl in the world,” Tryst told you. “You’ll find a ton of other friends now that I’m not there to stink up the place.” 

“At least you don’t smell like lobster,” you sniffled.

“I love you so much, dork.” 

You texted constantly. You were worried that the conversations would eventually peter off, until you were just some figment from his past, but that never happened. He kept you up to date on everything— people you didn’t know, parties in places you had never heard of before, presentations for his business classes, what the dining hall served for dinner, everything. You didn’t have nearly as much to report back to him, but he gobbled up every bit you gave him. It almost felt like he had never left. 

You were the first person he told when he got his first girlfriend, and your heart cracked as he talked about her. She was everything to him, and for a guy who didn’t date up until then, it was significant for him, but your conversations about her were laced with an uneasiness on both ends. You wished you were her, and he did too, and you both knew it. That relationship didn’t last very long, just from the new year into the end of term, her saying something about not wanting to be “tied down” over the summer. He didn’t seem too broken up about it over the phone, and, when you went to the airport with his mom to pick him up, he was so cheery. There were some things about him that had changed that he hadn’t expressed over the phone— he did his hair differently now, off of his face, and his nails were painted black and not green, and a burgeoning facial hair situation that you told him did not look great, but it was your same boy, his little patch of acne on the tip of his nose and those gorgeous blue eyes. You ran to each other in that airport terminal, and he scooped you up in his arms and hugged you so tight, you felt like you almost couldn’t breathe. You had seen him at Christmas (but not Spring Break; he had stayed in Toronto that week, to rest up before finals), but that was months ago. This was now, and Tryst was home for the summer.

But back at home, in the comfort of his room, he cried about that girl. It was a totally dickish thing she had done to him, and you didn’t know how else to soothe him other than letting him cry it out. “Hey, I got my driver’s last week,” you told him, smoothing his tears off of his reddened cheeks. “Fuckin’ finally. You wanna go get slushies? Maybe a good cherry will get you to forget her for a second.” That afternoon, you found yourselves on top of your car for a change, at your same outlook— you never went if he wasn’t with you. You had missed Tryst, and he missed you. But neither of you dared talk about your conversation, now a year old. It was unspoken, so unspoken that you truly weren’t sure if it still applied, if he still loved you or not. 

As the years passed, you were still firmly each other’s best friends, but you could hear a friend group forming for him, the same few names popping up every so often. It warmed your heart, even if you lied to him that the same was happening for you. He had more girlfriends after the first one, and even though he never explicitly told you that he was having sex with them, you just knew.

One night, you were upset about something (looking back, you couldn’t remember what, so obviously it wasn’t that important, or maybe the ensuing conversation overshadowed every memory of the incident) and had called him to whine about it. It took him a second to answer, and, when he did, he seemed a little out of breath. “Hey,” he said quickly. “I’m busy right now, but I do wanna talk. Gimme, like, 20 minutes?” You weren’t sure if he knew that you heard the girl on the other side telling him to get off the phone and to come back and fuck her, but your stomach curdled. You agreed to him, but didn’t call back that night, even though he tried to. The next time you talked, you lied and said you had fallen asleep and, even though his voice seemed skeptical, he took your word on it. 

You finished school right around the time Tryst dropped out of university. He was in his third year, nearly finished, but he decided it just wasn’t for him anymore. You were confused by it— he loved his classes, so where did this come from?— but he assured you, along with his family, his mom and gaggle of brothers and sisters all older than him and spread across the country, that he knew what he was doing. Within weeks, he had moved back to West Van, and you grinned every time your phone lit up with his name. Just like old times; he was outside your house, waiting to pick you up and take you to the overlook. 

When you went to a local community college that fall, he stayed by your side, and you by his. Life felt good with him around, and you almost forgot about the brief awkwardness while he was at university. But you never truly forgot, especially once Tryst started dealing. It didn’t surprise you, exactly; he was a good entrepreneur and extremely charismatic, especially as he got older. Getting into his 20s, he seemed to gain some sort of confidence that made him nearly unrecognizable to the kid you met, but he wasn’t a kid anymore— he was a man, and his newfound general attractiveness only served to make your skinny love worse. And the worst part was, Tryst knew he was hot now, and he used it to his advantage. He had consistent customers, and a steady stream of them, but your jealousy grew every time you were witness to a pretty girl flashing him a smile. No! Where were they when he was awkward and weird in high school, acne and MySpace hair and cracking voice? You loved him back then, they didn’t get to reap the benefits of him now. That wasn’t fair. 

A year and a half before shit got fucked, Sarah made her return. Tryst told you immediately that he had seen her again, sold her a little bit of molly earlier that night and got to talk to her, a sort of off-handed “ghost from the past” type thing, and he had flopped onto your couch and scooped your cat into his arms. You had lived by yourself for a little bit by then, and Tryst would come crash at yours frequently enough so that he didn’t have to technically lie and say he still lived with his mom. “She’s gotten really pretty,” Tryst said, half to your cat, whom he called Tiny Homie, and half to you. 

“Yeah, well, so have you,” you chuckled. “Who knew people get more attractive once they’re out of high school?” 

“It’s a crazy notion,” Tryst agreed. He thought for a second, scratching behind Tiny Homie’s ears, and he softly added, “You think I have a chance with her?”

“Sarah?” you asked, and you shrugged. “I mean, who knows? Does she know you had a crush on her back then?” 

“I don’t think so,” Tryst replied. “But, like… It’s been forever since I’ve had a girlfriend. And also, I just sold shit to her, it’s not like she begged me to dick her down or anything.”

“If she did, would you be game?” you asked. “Like, if she were to text you right now, like ‘Oh, Tryst, I love you, come fuck me into the ground’, what would you say?” 

“First of all, she wouldn’t confess her undying love to me in this scenario,” Tryst started, and you groaned. “But also… I don‘t know. I’d want you to be okay with it.” 

“Me?” you asked. “Why? Am I fucking her too?”

“No,” Tryst said, squeezing his eyes shut. The bell on Tiny Homie’s collar tinkled as he jumped away from Tryst, and he scooted himself to lay on your couch, feet up on your cushions, even though you had told him a million times not to do that. “Just, like… I know you have a history with her. One that’s maybe not great. I want you to like whoever I’m with, y’know?”

“I like her,” you started flatly, carefully— too much emotion, and Tryst would know you’re lying through your teeth. It was a petty vendetta to still hold against someone almost 9 years later, but that didn’t stop you.

“Not in high school, you didn’t,” Tryst countered. 

“Well, no,” you tried again. “‘Cause I thought she was stealing you from me or whatever. But I’m not an insecure 15 year old anymore, I can handle you potentially being all moony-eyed over a girl. Just like you’re fine with me dating dudes who are patently not you.”

Tryst sat up in one motion, like Dracula rising from his coffin. “Dating?” he repeated. “Who?” 

“Maybe dating’s a strong word,” you admitted. “I‘ve been on a few dates with this one guy I met at work.”

“You guys fuck?” Tryst asked, cocking an eyebrow at you. 

“What are you, the guardian of my vagina?” you scoffed. “I don’t ask where your dick has been, keep your nose outta my puss.” 

Tryst narrowed his eyes. “An oddly gatekeep-y answer,” he said liltingly, like it was a riddle. “You told me when you fucked that guy in, what turned out to be, his mom’s bed—”

“Which was disturbing.”

“And the dude who you said smelled like soup—”

“He totally did, too.” 

“You’ve got a thing for dudes who smell like food,” Tryst mused. “I mean, that fuckin’ Alex weirdo when you were in grade nine and now Soup Guy? What do I have to do, stuff my pockets with ravioli?”

“Stop it, I’ll moan,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

“Are you fucking this guy you’re seeing now?” Tryst asked again. “I won’t stop until you tell me.”

“Fine, yes!” you finally said. “We’re fucking, Jesus Christ.”

Tryst was quiet for a moment, grabbing one of your throw pillows and holding it to his chest as he laid back down, dangling his head off the sofa. “Is he any good?” he asked. 

“Why, are you jealous?” you asked. “I get to fuck a hot guy who’s good in bed, and you don’t?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tryst laughed. “Yeah, it’s definitely that. I miss the strong, warm embrace of a man— No, you dipshit! I just wanna make sure he’s treating you okay, that’s all.” 

“You gonna crack some skulls if he’s not?” you asked, and Tryst’s immediate nod sent shivers down your spine. He had always been protective over you, and you loved him for it. You just wish he was protective over you in a more serious way, in a Girlfriend-Boyfriend type way. 

“Of course I will,” Tryst said. “I’ll kill him. Don’t think I won’t.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” you mumbled under your breath. Your phone buzzed on the table next to you at that moment, and you sighed as you saw his name, Zach, light up your screen. Zach was… Fine. Met at work, went to dinner, fucked a few times. You definitely didn’t see anything long-term with him, and you knew he was on the same page, but the sudden text of what # apt r u i can’t remember made your stomach burn. “Time to go, T.”

“Agh, what?” Tryst groaned. “I just got here, I was gonna shower!” 

“You should’ve done that instead of grilling me about my love life,” you told him, tossing him his worn black messenger bag. “Zach’s on his way up.”

“Ooh, Zach!” Tryst grinned. “I receive the pleasure of meeting thine suitor, fair lady?”

“Shut up!” you laughed, shooting off a quick text to Zach with your apartment number. “Unless you wanna join in on whatever the fuck we’re about to do, get to steppin’.” 

“As much as I’d love to know what Zach’s packin’ down there,” Tryst started, and you wrinkled your nose at him. “I’d rather live in ignorant bliss. Text me when you’re done with this sin fest, I can grab a pizza on the way back.” 

“Wait,” you started, reaching for your wallet and shelling out a few 20 dollar bills to toss his way. “Pizza, and stop by the smoke shop and get me a new vape; it’s so dead, it tastes like I’m smoking an email.” 

“What flavor?” Tryst asked, taking your money and thumbing through it, counting it up. He got real serious when he was dealing with money too, intent on making sure he had a good count on it— his eyebrows, the same dark as his hair was back then, furrowed, a crease in his forehead came out. He meant business, and you liked it. You especially liked the way his hands moved with money— something about the sound of the paper against his skin made your nerves light on fire. You often found yourself fantasizing about his hands, his palms warm and soft, his fingers always a little red and dry from the perpetual cold. He didn’t wear nail polish anymore, and you missed that. “Hello? Flavor, please?”

You snapped out of staring at his hands, and the brief fantasy of how they’d feel cupping your tits. “I’m thinking,” you mumbled, trying to explain your journey to space. “Just, like, I don’t know, blue razz or whatever.”

Tryst made a fake-gagging noise. “Christ, woman, grow up,” he chuckled. “I’m getting you an adult flavor, for adults.”

“Cotton candy?” you clarified. 

“You bet your sweet ass,” Tryst nodded, shoving the money in his pocket. “Pepperoni?” 

“Sure,” you shrugged. “Oh, and get me a bottle of nail polish. Bright green.”

“For why?” Tryst asked, shoving his shoes onto his feet. “You just got your nails done.” 

“Not for me,” you said. “I’m gonna paint your nails later. Remember back when you used to do that?” 

Tryst laughed lightly. “I do,” he said. He seemed hazy for a moment, reminiscing, and he added, “Maybe not my fingers, but I’ll let you at my toes.” 

“Oh, goody,” you sighed. “Tryst’s feet, sign me up.” 

A heavy knock landed at your front door, and you rose from your seat to give Tryst a tight hug goodbye. You always hugged goodbye. Maybe it was an escape for both of you, pretending you lived in a world where it was perfectly normal to press your bodies against each other. Maybe it was an ultra-affectionate friendship thing. Either way, a hug was always in order. “Have fun,” Tryst told you. “Use a condom. And, hey—” He tugged out of the hug for just a second to look you in your eyes, the blues with a ring of green boring into your soul, and he said, “If that dickhead tries anything, call me and I’ll come take care of him. Okay?” 

“He’s not gonna…” you started, but quickly trailed off when you realized Tryst was dead serious. Always protective, your best friend was. “Sure thing. Will do.” 

Tryst landed a kiss on your forehead, and he went to the door, throwing it open. “Ah!” he smiled, and turned back to you. “Your suitor awaits, madam!”

“Get the fuck out!” you laughed. Tryst slid by Zach with a quick “Sup, bro”, some mannish greeting that girls could never get away with, and Zach furrowed his eyebrows at Tryst’s departing form before he stepped into the apartment. 

“We need to talk.”

When Tryst got back later that night, he let himself in with the key that you had made him to find you on the couch, crying. Before he could rant and rave too much about if Zach had done anything to you, you quickly calmed him down, telling him that Zach hadn’t hurt you, only broke up with you. Tryst was confused— “I didn’t think you liked him that much?”— and you lied and mumbled something about “Yeah, I was just tryin’ to downplay it”, but the truth was what hurt: Zach was convinced down to his bones that you were cheating on him with Tryst. In his mind, he couldn’t fathom why Tryst was always around, why you were so close to him if you weren’t fucking. 

But you couldn’t tell Tryst that. He would hate himself if he knew he was the root cause of that. In fact, that’s what your past few boyfriends all said to you— Tryst was more than a friend, had to be, what other explanation was there? The Mom’s Bed Guy, Soup Guy, and now Zach. Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence, three times…? Tryst would never forgive himself if he knew he was the reason for your string of failures. That night, you ate your pepperoni pizza, and Tryst let you paint his fingernails green. 

3 months later, shit started to get fucked, and it all started with Sarah. Fucking Sarah. 

Like, literally, the trouble began with fucking Sarah. Or, rather, the fact that Tryst had begun fucking Sarah. You knew it was happening, and you definitely didn’t cry about it on a regular basis, but you were happy for them. Tryst clarified to you that they were not dating, only sleeping together, some sorta FWB-type thing— “Nobody can replace my favorite girl,” he assured you with a hug. “Only that you won’t let me fuck you.” Only because you aren’t asking, you had wanted to respond, but you kept it to yourself. You knew about it the moment it started, and you were with Tryst the exact moment it ended. 

When he got the text from her, he threw up. You didn’t understand at first what was going on, what the fuck was the matter, but Tryst pushed his phone into your grip with shaking hands as he gagged over your kitchen sink. I’m pregnant. It’s yours. Can we talk? You felt sick yourself; you knew you weren’t kids anymore— hell, Tryst was nearing his 26th birthday, that’s firmly Not A Kid status— but this was a whole different level of adult that you weren’t sure he was ready for. He was happy bouncing around jobs and shitty entrepreneur deals, selling drugs and coming up with get-rich-quick schemes that never worked. Fatherhood wasn’t on the table for him, and you had known it for years. He had told you as much, during your own scare a few years ago. As you two sat together on your bathroom floor, letting the test cook, you had confessed that you didn’t want this potential life— “Immunity Necklace… I’m not meant to be a mom.” —and he agreed. “Immunity Necklace; nobody needs me as their dad,” he had said “I’d be such a shitty dad, and I also don’t wanna be responsible for something else like that… Think I’d fuck them up too bad. I’ll stick with being Tiny Homie’s adoptive, deadbeat father.” Your test had thankfully come up negative, but the picture that Sarah attached to her text message told a different story. 

To his credit, Tryst stepped up. Or, at least, he tried to. He wanted to be there for her, help her out, but Sarah wasn’t on the same page. She rejected nearly every olive branch he extended, and it tore him up. He tried to give her money, but she said her parents were helping out; he offered to drive her to doctors’ appointments, and she declined. The only thing she seemed willing to do was bring him to an ultrasound appointment, and let him have the scans of his daughter. The night that happened, he had sat on your bed, backed into the corner of the wall, just staring at the grey blob on the scan. He had tried to point things out to you that he had had pointed out to him by the doctor, alleged fingers and foreheads, and you tried to see it, but you just couldn’t. He wanted to name her Emma, and thankfully Sarah agreed to that. It was in the spring when Tryst got the call from Sarah that Emma was on her way, but she told him to stay home— it would probably be a long labor, since it was her first baby, and she didn’t want him hanging around the hospital for no reason. 

You had never seen Tryst truly snap before then. He had lashed out before, sure, said and done things that he later apologized for, but that night made you feel sick. You just couldn’t help him, and had to sit and watch as he threw his phone at the wall in anger, cursed Sarah’s name to hell and back. He grabbed his car keys, and you finally had to intervene— “Trystan, please calm down, I don’t want you to leave right now”, and his hyper-blue eyes spilled tears at his full name— but it didn’t work. He came back in the early hours of the morning, obviously drunk based on the smell of him, likely high too, based on the everything else, but now with the yellowest-blond hair you had ever seen. “Gotta be a different guy now,” he reasoned out with a slur, slumping down onto your bed. “Gotta be a man, gotta be a dad. Can’t be old me, gotta be new me.” He fell asleep next to you, his arm sloppily around your waist, and you cried silently into his chest. When he woke up hungover the next morning, bemoaning his regret for the manic hair change, he only had one text on his phone: a picture of a wrinkly little newborn and “Emma Louise, born 4:44 AM, six pounds.” He called her his angel.

The immediate next weeks were hellish. Every day felt like a time loop— Tryst waking up in your bed, hungover and sad, calling Sarah to ask to see Emma, being rejected, getting pissed, drinking because he was pissed, being pissed that he was drinking, over and over. She never let him see her, with the exception of one time. You hadn’t gone with him— it didn’t feel appropriate— but he gleefully showed you pictures. He looked good. Happy. His tiny daughter in his grip, the picture he showed you conveyed a million words, and you felt a tug in your tummy that made you land a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Look at you,” you whispered. “God, Tryst, you’re a dad. You’ve got a kid. I never thought I’d see the day…”

“And to think, I got onto your ass about using condoms,” he chuckled softly. His cheek was flushing pink right where you kissed him, and you smiled. He gazed at the picture on his phone of him and Emma, and he sniffled back tears. “Who woulda thought someone as ugly and fucked up as me could make something so fucking gorgeous? Like, look at that baby, she could be one of those Gerber models or whatever.” 

“You’re not ugly,” you told him softly. You couldn’t even focus on adding anything about the baby model thing. “And you’re not fucked up.” 

“My manic episode and the hair bleach would say otherwise,” Tryst chuckled lightly, and you furrowed your eyebrows. “I, uh… The night Emma was born, that bender I went on, it got back to my mom and she forced me to go see someone… I mean, it makes sense that I’m bipolar, my dad was too apparently, but I…” He trailed off, his eyes falling away from the picture. “Do you think I gave Emma that shit too?” 

“I don’t think so,” you told him quickly; one crisis at a time. “But, hey, don’t worry about that. You’re not fucked up, not even a little bit. And I mean it, you’re not ugly either.”

“Got a big-ass nose,” he mumbled. “I look like I’m wearing a plague mask half the time.” 

“Stop it,” you frowned. 

“My eyes are too far apart—”

“Tryst.”

“My hair looks and feels like hay—”

“Tryst, knock it off,” you sighed. “I think you’re handsome. Okay? Is that acceptable? Everyone thinks you’re chopped, except for me?” 

Tryst looked over at you affectionately, adoringly, and he put his arms around you, nuzzling his head into your shoulder. “That works,” he whispered. “Everyone except for you… You’re always my exception.”

And, God, how you wish you could have been more. 

[muffinmonsterzs]

this is honestly the hardest I’ve ever reblogged something

ouuuuuh i need to read ssgw right now . i need to know if all of the things i want will be in it (they won’t but im going to be insane about it anyway)