#and people just casually saying yeah women need to put on makeup. it's just being polite

[silent-raven13]

Jealous Miles

Miles isn't the jealous type, or so he thought. His jealousy is mostly hidden with his awkward questions, or shy attitude. Normally he tries to bring up certain things casually which always sounds odd or just plain awkward. Somehow his jealousy isn't as extreme as his boyfriend's. No, Miles is always trying to be reasonable, calm and collective. He's not like his mom who ask many questions and starts investigating... tho his distant family members did say he's a lot like her. He never knew why.

Until today...

Gwen jumps happily: Isn't this great! We're going to see Hobie's concert.

Pav shimmies: Right! I am so hype!

Miles wearing his boyfriend's band shirt with tight skinny jeans and doc martin shoes: Ye-yeah! Do you see him? I can't find him anywhere. -he looks through the busy crowd wondering where his boyfriend is at-

Peter appears in the crowd with Mayday wearing black eyeliner and a black shirt. Mayday having on silly black and white makeup on to look like a skull: Hey guys! Sorry I'm late! Had to steal a shirt... you know to be punk? Ha!

Gwen looks at Mayday: You brought Mayday with you? Peter, she's a baby!

Mayday made a scowl look: BLAH!

Peter: Don't worry we practice! See. Blah! -they did the same expression-

One random guy in his punk outfit saw the two: That's what I'm talking about! BLAH! -he throws a sign of horns with his right hand- fuck society, man and lil one!

Mayday mimics the sign: hehe!

Peter: See! We fit in just fine! -he saw Miles looking over the crowd- What's up with him?

Pav: He's looking for his bf!

Peter: Ah, he's probably in the backstage with those groupies -casually saying-

Miles' eyes widen: Groupies!

Gwen: You know, bandmates always got a few sneaky links or sides. Sometimes fangirls wanting to sleep with their favorite band. -She saw Miles staring at her almost in shock- Not that Hobie will ever do that! You know he's faithful to you!

Pav: Yeah, you two are in a serious relationship!

Miles: We never said that! We just started to date and casually call each other boyfriend. -Something in him began bubbling, like a wave of anger and need-

Gwen: Ohh... Well, Hobie would never do that! You two are-

Some girls came walking pass them with their boobs out having pasties and there was black markers written names on it. One of them being Hobie's name. Peter quickly cover Mayday, who removes his hand to see: Boobies!

Peter: Hey, don't tell your mom! -he tries not to look at the women-

Gwen made a grimacing expression: Um... he's a star so he-

Another girl came by talking to her other friend: I can't believe your ex let you touch his hair! -they saw the blond girl with Hobie's name tattoo on her lower back.-

The other girl giggles: I know! He's so cute. I should've kissed him!

Pav: Ex! See, they are not together! -He frowns seeing a dark look on Miles' face. Something they never saw-

Another guy came almost similar to Miles' height holding Hobie's vest with his guy friend: Hahaha, Hobie is a fucking arse, isn't he?

The guy puts on Hobie's vest: Hahaha, well I got his jacket now!

Peter: Man, it's not looking too good for Hobie, huh Miles? Miles? -they saw him walking to the direction those groups came from-

Mayday: Ah shit!

Peter gasps: Mayday where did you learn that?

Gwen: Come on, let's go before something bad happens!

Pav: Awe, man. I fixed my hair today. Now we gotta tussle?

Miles slid his way through the crowd, at the end he saw a group of people surrounding bands that were about to play for tonight. One of them was Hobie's band. The young Spiderman looks at a crowd of women touching Hobie's arms, hair and face which tick him off. Jealousy bubbling into his stomach that left a nasty taste in his mouth.

Hobie standing trying to endure the fans: Okay. okay, stop touching my hair! I told you many times. -he scowls-

One of the fangirls lift her tank top shirt up to reveal her breasts: Hobie! Hobie, how about an autograph, please? -she cutely pouts-

Hobie sighs: Fine, whatever. Just don't touch my hair. -he only do this to seem like a badass, he didn't see nothing bad of it. He took a marker to write his name on the woman's chest- There! Now -his eyes glances over spotting his boyfriend. All his annoyance washes away and a big smile placed on his face- SUNFLOWER!

Miles merely standing there just witnessing his boyfriend writing his name on a fangirl's boobs. Now he's mad. He said nothing.

Hobie gently pushes his fans away: Excuse me, mate. This is my darling, Miles. -he happily gets to brag about his Sunflower, his hands on his lover's shoulders- Wow, you look amazing, darling. Are you wearing my band's shirt. -his eyes practically shape into hearts- I always-

Miles cut him off: Qué estabas haciendo? -going full blown Puerto Rican Spanish-

Hobie arched his eyebrows: What? -he didn't know much Spanish only a few words like Hola or Sí or Gracias. Just enough to impress or small talk with Mrs. Morales-

Miles scowls: What were you just doing? Que estabas haciendo? -his jealousy already taken over like a virus-

Hobie: Wha-what do you mean? I'm here sign-

Miles cuts him off: No- Qué acabas de hacer, ahora mismo?

Hobies: Ahora? O'Hara? -Why is Miguel brought into this?-

Miles: NO, Pendejo! What did you just did, right now? In front of me! -he's getting so mad, almost jumping into conclusions- You think, that's fucking cute? You think I would like that shit?

Hobie blinks a couple of times being surprised with his partner: Miles, I don-

Gwen calls out: Miles! We thought we lost you!

Pav ran behind along with Peter: Yeah! Oh hey, Hobie!

Hobie turns to their friends: Oh Hey- -Miles grab Hobie's face with his left hand squishing his cheeks, forcing the guitar player to look at him. He formally made Hobie lean/hunched over to get on Miles' eye level-

Miles spoke Spanish again: Estoy hablando contigo? -His Spanish firm, more serious... more Puerto Rican accent to it- Crees estoy jugando contigo? You think this is a fucking joke? -his right hand pointing, wanting his index finger at his boyfriend-

Peter: Ohhh, there's that Puerto Rican side... -Everyone in the group knows, you never want to pissed off a Puerto Rican or any Latino for that matter especially if your in a relationship with one-

Hobie: Luv, I am a bit confused -he mutters through his squish cheeks- I don-

Miles: Puñeta, no puedes escuchar? You got no fucking problem listening to your fans, huh? Huh, I'm not fucking playing with you, Hobie! -He glares still staring at his man-

Gwen softly whispers: Guys... calm down. Everyone is looking at us -the crowd around them were quiet with loud music bashing in the room. The fangirls slowly shift away from Hobie and his boyfriend seeing how mad Miles is-

Miles: Hijo de Puta, estoy hablando! Hobie, I'm fucking talking to you! Why you're not answering me? -Hobie finally sees a lot of Rio in Miles.-

Pav whispers to Hobie: Miles is jealous... he found out you were flirting with your exs...

Miles: Pav, mama bicho. Why are you taking his side, asshole! -he glares at Pav-

Pav backs away with his hands up in defense: I'm just clearing the air, don't have to be mean!

Hobie got the gist of it: Ohhh! -he never knew his boyfriend could get jealous- Luv, I wasn't flirting. Your the only one for me!

Miles: Cabrón, estas jugando comigo? Carajo, mama culo de su putas! -he didn't believe him, he's already too pissed off-

Peter going on his phone looking up Miles' use of language: Ohh, these are not good! -he winced at the use of language-

Pav innocently: What does mama bicho mean?

Peter types it in: Yikes!

Pav looks over and gasps: MILES THATS SO MEAN!

Mayday: Mama bicho!

Peter jumps: Mayday no! That's bad! Bad word! -his daughter laughs out loud-

Hobie: Luv, honest. I just did a simple autograph. I don't care for them. I'm the singer, you gotta understand I have to sign a few tits and deal with them.

Miles scowls: You need to set boundaries! How would you like it if I did that with random people, huh?

Hobie's jealousy sparked: Heh, your not in a band, Morales.

Miles:Ah, see you don't like that. I am your boyfriend -he brought his boyfriend's face closer to him- you need to respect me and my wishes! I am your half, not these bitches! Me estás escuchando? Are you listening me? Do you understand the words I'm saying coming out of my mouth? I am, your boyfriend, tu vida, tu amor!

Hobie couldn't be anymore happier, the amount of jealousy his partner is throwing and claiming his love to him. It felt all to amazing, hearts can be seen around his head. Even his whole body turned pink with magazine words with I love you all over: Yes, luv. I hear you. -he happily listens-

Miles went on: I'm not your fucking friend that you just high five. I'm tu cielo! Tu amor! Not your fucking puta! Yo no soy tu amigo! Yo soy tu cariño, tu bombón, tu CORAZÓN- -Miles touch Hobie's chest- This right here is mine! You hear me! Esto es mío! I'm not playing with you, Hobie! Tu eres mi alma! -still fuming-

Hobie hugs him: Yes, I am. Yes, I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, luv. -he gave in. He didn't care if he was right or wrong. He's too in love with his Sunflower. He would do anything for him- I am everything for you.

Miles huffs happily: Good! Next time, I will kick your ass if you pulled that shit! -he happily got carried by his boyfriend as they make out-

Gwen saw how everyone went back to normal and she sighs: I never thought he would get that mad!

Pav: Yeah, yikes!

Peter: At least, it cool down on their own.

Mayday: MAMA BICHO!

Gwen: MJ is gonna kill you...

Peter sighs: I know, maybe I can be like Hobie and give in!

Pav: Mmm, I don't think so!

[amomentwiser]

We need to stop acting like people -- women especially -- going through painful procedures is normal.

"Beauty is pain" is such bullshit. I've been told that was something I had to get used to, what with being a little girl and all. As if "beauty" has a single definition. We decide what the definition of "beauty" is, and I've decided that body hair is included in that definition. I say this because today someone, once again, commented on the fact I don't shave at my ripe old age of 21. ("You'd look so much prettier if you did just this one little thing," they say, referring to the act of putting hot wax on one's skin and ripping it off.)

Hurting ourselves over constantly-changing beauty standards is so normalised, and I fucking hate it. It makes me so angry I want to cry, and then tell every teenager who hates themself right now to please stop. To take them in my arms, and shield them from a world hell-bent on skewing their perception of what a human looks like. I want to protect them and never let them see those toxic "how to surprise your boyfriend for Valentine's Day *wink* " or "how to prep for hot girl summer" articles.

When I first found out what a Brazilian wax was, I was horrified. I couldn't believe people voluntarily did this to themselves.

But they -- the media and the magazines and the beauty industry -- do such a good job of conditioning you to believe that your body is dirty, that thick hair is something to be ashamed of, that that horror has been replaced by a new one -- the fear that no one will ever love me, or find me attractive, if I do not conform.

We've been taught our body hair is bad since SUCH a young age. Fuck, as an Indian, I was even taught darker skin is bad. Bleaching skin is SO common in India; the fairness cream ads are utterly shameless and ubiquitous. My mother casually talks about how she went for skin bleaching before her wedding -- part of the "bridal makeup", I suppose. In a country of dark-skinned, hairy people, we look to blonde, fair-skninned Hollywood stars for guidance. And OF COURSE we fall short. Beauty standards like that were never meant for us; in idolising them we set ourselves up to fail.

Does anyone else see how insidious and sinister this plot is? To start conditioning people to hate themselves right when they are babies -- through their mothers who hate their own bodies and pass these insecurities on; through main characters in TV shows and books who are only ever one kind of pretty; via movies where the 'unattractive, unpopular teen' turns sterotypically beautiful, and only then becomes 'cool' or worthy of love; through magazines geared to audiences as young as twelve, telling them to alter their appearance in order to be deemed desirable.

What a masterstroke:

To inextricably connect beauty with lovability, so that our fear of not having good enough hair, skin or makeup turns into a fear of being unlovable.

The former they mock -- "women take so long to get ready!" "Heather cares too much about her makeup" -- while the existence of the latter is normalised or ignored: "Everyone has insecurities. Everyone hates their body." Yeah, WHY? It doesn't need to be that way.

They make people believe the pain is worth it. They give the illusion that you have a choice, that you've made this decision -- to get that brazilian wax or boob lift or nose job -- but you've been led here all your life. They make us believe that the pain is a worth it, a stepping stone to get something far more valuable -- others' love and approval. You've been influenced to believe certain things are desirable. You've been taught your natural existence, isn't. Does this count as acting under your own volition if you've been born into a world that's been pressuring you, in direct and subliminal ways, since the day you were born?

The pain is not worth it, and I will not let them make me torture myself. I do not exist for their aesthetic pleasure. I exist to experience the earth and what it is like to be a human, to eat food and watch sunsets and frolic in the grass and hug friends.

Repeat after me:

I do not exist for other people's aesthetic pleasure.

Fuck everyone. I'm so done.

No more shame.

No more hiding my legs with jeans and long skirts.

I have body hair. Not only on my hands and legs, but on my fingers and toes as well. I have an almost-unibrow. And you know what? I have decided it is beautiful. One day I will find people who agree, and goddammit, I will be loved by them.

And if I can't, fine.

I will yearn for love, and maybe I will be desperate and lonely, but I WILL NOT change myself for someone to love me. Because that wouldn't be real love in the first place. They wouldn't be loving me, not really. They would be loving the actor who is playing me. And I would still feel lonely, only this time in their company.

A boyfriend whose love I'd constantly be afraid of losing; afraid he would find out what a monster I really am. I'd hold on to my shame and keep it buried in the darkest recesses of my mind: the natural habitat of insecurity.

But the thing is: any relationship that requires you to hide parts of yourself is not real love at all.

So, I reiterate: I. Am. Done.

With the beauty standards about hair, skin colour, makeup, eyebrows, glasses, weight, boob or butt or dick size (?? Why are these even a thing? I genuinely don't get it), height, teeth, everything.

I don't fit them. It's okay.

(It's not always okay. My self-esteem swings from finding myself absolutely repulsive some days, to remembering I've been conditioned to be this way, then feeling years-old rage (how dare they brainwash me to hate myself so?) and grief (how much more confident a person could I have been if I hadn't been made to feel trapped in my own skin).

It goes from sunny skies of heartfelt gratitude (my body is healthy, it does so much for me, keeps me alive and helps me experience the world) to the dark pits of self-loathing (no one could ever love me; I shouldn't subject people to my hideous existence) -- to wishful thinking (all my problems would be solved if only I were as pretty as them; how do people look like that??)

But through it all, I will be my natural, hairy, big brown self -- and anyone who has a problem with it can go to Hell and suck Satan's dick.

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional​​ for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head. 

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you. 

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks. 

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication. 

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.  

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile. 

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed. 

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it. 

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly. 

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off. 

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically. 

He glares. 

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar. 

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, “Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks. 

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible. 

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole. 

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-” 

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye. 

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands. 

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent. 

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line. 

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water. 

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there. 

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you. 

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat. 

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be. 

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten. 

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls. 

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you. 

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers. 

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.” 

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble. 

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens. 

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.” 

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy. 

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered. 

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder. 

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

[spine-buster]

Patience is a Virtue ft. Matthew Tkachuk | 𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝑒

CONTENT WARNING: this story deals with cults, polygamous cults, escaping cults, strict adherence to religion, gender roles, abuse, miscarriage, and a character with a traumatic past. T͟h͟i͟s͟ ͟c͟h͟a͟p͟t͟e͟r͟ ͟s͟p͟e͟c͟i͟f͟i͟c͟a͟l͟l͟y͟ ͟h͟a͟s͟ ͟m͟e͟n͟t͟i͟o͟n͟s͟ ͟a͟n͟d͟ ͟d͟e͟a͟l͟s͟ ͟w͟i͟t͟h͟ ͟m͟i͟s͟c͟a͟r͟r͟i͟a͟g͟e͟ ͟a͟n͟d͟ ͟s͟e͟x͟u͟a͟l͟ ͟a͟s͟s͟a͟u͟l͟t͟.͟  Please be warned.

Word Count: 14,637

Please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page if you are able.  Link in my bio & Masterlist.

A/N:  “Courage” officially broke my record for most notes on a debut chapter, so thank you all so much for all your likes and reblogs!  This chapter is more serious in parts, but we get to see an evolving Effie and an evoling Effie/Matthew dynamic.  Enjoy!

                          ��                                *     *     *     *     *

Effie.  Her name was Effie.  And everybody knew it.  

Rachel was no more.  Rachel was a thing of the past and she was going to stay there.  Rachel was a person who had been hurt and abused.  Rachel was named by an abusive, violent, cruel, despicable tyrant who called himself Abraham and proclaimed he was a prophet.  Rachel was a girl with no voice, no agency, nothing to call her own.  Rachel was a girl who belonged to someone.

Effie was new.  Effie was her chosen name and a thing of the future.  Effie was a person learning to come to terms with her trauma after years of hurt and abuse.  Effie was name by herself, for herself, to reclaim her identity after years of it being denied to her.  Effie was a girl with a voice, agency, and even though she could only count a few things as her own, they were just that – her own.  Effie was a girl who belonged to nobody but herself.  

That was how she liked it.  

Naming herself instilled a new sense of confidence within her.  It was small, and it was gradual, but the people around her could notice it.  Matthew knew he could.  She was more assertive…in her own way.  She didn’t ask “Can I ask you a question?” before asking questions anymore.  She just asked.  She was proud of her learning and was getting used to showing it off.  Her independence increased.  She’d walk to Starbucks to get her strawberry frappucinos instead of having Jenna drive her.  She engaged in more conversation.  She made jokes.  She laughed at jokes.  She went grocery shopping with Jenna and said “I want to buy corn dogs” so she and Jenna bought corn dogs and they had them for dinner one night.  She went to Levi and said “I want to get a phone so I can text Annica” and so he gave her an old iPhone he had in the house.  She asked Annica more about makeup, even though she was still a bit apprehensive about using it.  She asked Geneviève about words she’d read and wanted to know more about.  Feminism (that was the best word she learned, Effie thought.  She was a feminist).  Socialism.  Communism.  Democracy.  Geneviève explained them all to her.  She asked Geneviève about pants.

She wore pants.

It was weird at first, wearing pants.  She’d only ever worn skirts and dresses, even in the privacy of her own home when she was in the cult.  The prophet demanded it; women were not allowed to wear pants.  So when Jenna encouraged her to try on an old pair of jeans that she had, Effie did.  They were big – Effie was still, well, small, and gaining weight every day – but Effie liked them.  “Can I buy a pair of jeans?” she asked Jenna.  Jenna promised to take her shopping at the mall on the weekend.  It would be Effie’s first time in a mall. 

Effie wanted to be fearless, but there was still a lot of fear in her.  Everything was so new, and so big, and sometimes so complicated, and she wished things were easier but she knew they couldn’t be.  But instead of before, when she would let the fear overcome her, she embraced it instead.  She worked through it.  She did things in spite of the fear.  She did things because she didn’t want the fear in her anymore.

That’s why she found herself walking now.  Walking to Starbucks.  Well, not to Starbucks exactly, but to the complex that held the Starbucks and a bunch of other stores.  Effie had noticed one particular one a few storefronts down and had taken mental note of it for when she was ready for it.  And now, walking with purpose through Aspen Woods, clutching something very important in the pocket of her jacket, she was ready.  

“Chop it all off.”

“What?!” the hairdresser shrieked as she looked at Effie through the mirror, after putting a robe around her and running her hands through her long blonde hair.  “But your hair!  It’s healthy and it’s long and luscious and—and it would be a disservice if I chopped it all off!”

“Please.  I need you to cut it.  I need you to—”

“This is the greatest head of hair I’ve ever seen—”

“You don’t understand,” Effie interrupted.  “I escaped a cult.  I escaped The People’s Dominion of Christ.  This hair was never mine; it was always someone else’s.  I need you to cut it off so that it’s mine, so that something on my body is mine for once in my life.”

The hairdresser looked at Effie through the mirror, blinking a few times as she realized what Effie was saying.  Without saying another word, she reached over to her station and grabbed her scissors.  “How much do you want off?” she asked.

Effie unfolded the picture from one of Jenna’s old magazines that she had crumpled in her hand, showing the stylist.  “Like this,” she said.  “I don’t even want it touching my shoulders.”

The hairdresser nodded, placing the picture face up at her station so Effie could look at it as the hairdresser did her magic.  She took one last look at it before tying an elastic loosely around the hair.  “Ready?” she asked, gripping it.

Effie nodded firmly.  “Ready.”

***

Effie had six numbers stored on her phone.  Levi.  Jenna.  Annica.  Geneviève.  Jacob Markstrom.  Matthew Tkachuk.  

“Hello?” he asked as he picked up his phone.  

His voice was a welcome sound to Effie, who was nervous but excited as she looked at herself in the mirror.  “Matthew?  I’m—I’m sorry to bother you, but can you come pick me up?”

“I—yeah—is everything okay?” his voice sounded immediately worried.  “Where are you?”

Effie didn’t even know.  She covered the receiver with her hand and turned towards the hairstylist.  “What’s the address?”

“225 Mercer Street, Unit 13.”

“225 Mercer Street, Unit 13,” she repeated into the phone.

Matthew was officially confused.  “The Starbucks complex?”

“Yes…but a few stores down,” Effie informed him.

“I’ll be there in like, five minutes.”

***

Matthew was nervous.  Effie hadn’t sounded nervous on the phone, but he was still nervous.  It was out of the ordinary for her to call him to pick her up from anywhere, let alone from a place where she knew how to get home from now that she took the initiative to walk most places she wanted to go.  It wasn’t like he was going to deny her – he was speeding through the streets, if he was being completely honest – but the thoughts in his mind were running a mile a minute, and he had no clue what to expect.  

When he pulled into the complex, he searched for unit 13 and parked right in front of it.  It was only when he turned off his car that he actually saw the name of the store he’d parked in front of.  Abigail’s Hair Salon.

Matthew walked in.

He stopped dead in his tracks.  In front of him, Effie stood sheepishly, her long, flowing blonde hair chopped off almost completely, and in its place, a chic blonde bob, perfectly styled and perfectly her.  She had a t-shirt, baggy skinny jeans, and old Doc Martens on – no doubt all borrowed from Jenna – and she looked like a vision.  He couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face.  “Effie,” he said her name bashfully, breathlessly, because it was so much to take in and she just looked so…cute.  

“Does it look nice?” she asked, patting it down at the sides.  

“It looks great, Effie,” Matthew said, and she could tell he meant it sincerely.  He bit his bottom lip before continuing his line of questioning, even though all he wanted to do was look at her.  “You wanted it this short?”

Effie nodded her head.  

“It suits you,” he nodded.  “Did you pay?”  Effie nodded her head.  “Did you tip?”

Effie looked scared for a moment.  “Tip?”

Matthew automatically took out his wallet and pulled a $50 from inside, giving it to the hairstylist.  He turned to Effie without another word.  “Wanna grab some lunch?”

“You—you’re not busy?  I thought you would just drive me home.”

“Let’s grab lunch,” he said casually, like it was no big deal.  “Grab your jacket.  What do you feel like eating?”

***

Matthew watched Effie for most of the meal, if he was being honest.  He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her regardless of how hard he tried.  But he kept any emotions or any feelings at bay, kicking himself for anything he was feeling that was…questionable.  He didn’t want to be that guy.  He didn’t want to make things more complicated for her when she was already learning so much, when the world was already a complicated place for her and she was trying to find her place in it.  

“What team does your brother play for?” Effie asked, picking at her plate left with all her fries.  She ate her bacon cheeseburger first and devoured it in less than ten minutes.  For Matthew, it was impressive.  He knew she was trying to gain weight.  He shuddered to think what she looked like a year ago.  

“The Ottawa Senators,” he replied.

“In the capital city,” she said, and Matthew nodded his head.  “You must be very thankful that he’s in Canada with you.  What about your sister?”

“She plays field hockey at the University of Virginia.”

Matthew watched as Effie furrowed her brows.  “She can play sports and go to university?  That’s a thing?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Matthew smiled, chuckling slightly.  “She’s a great field hockey player.  She committed to the school when she was a junior – when she was sixteen – and now she’s finally on campus.  She’s going to school too, obviously.  That’s the most important thing.  But she’s also playing Division 1 field hockey.”

Effie nodded her head, considering all the things Matthew had just said.  Women could go to university – she knew that now thanks to Jenna and Geneviève.  But…women could play sports and go to university?  Women could play sports for their university?  That was new information.  Effie thought about girls playing hockey and whether or not they could do the same thing.  She thought to Levi watching Toronto Raptors games at home and wondering if women could do the same thing with basketball.  She had not been allowed to play sports.  Anything more than running, women were not allowed to do.  Taryn had been sixteen and had committed to play field hockey for a university.  When Effie was sixteen, she was definitely not doing that.  “Your sister is very lucky,” she said softly.  “To be able to do that.  She’s very lucky.”

Matthew knew there was weight behind those words.  They weren’t to be taken lightly.  He could only imagine what Effie was up to when she was sixteen years old as opposed to Taryn.  “She knows,” Matthew said.  “Taryn’s a really smart girl.  She knows she’s really lucky.”

“It’s kind of nice how in the normal world, women can go to university, and get an education, and play sports, and do whatever they want, and wait to have their children,” Effie said.

Matthew shrugged.  “If they even want kids at all.  I know some of my friends back home don’t want them.  Nobody says women have to have them,” he said it like a throwaway comment, looking down at his plate to grab a fry and dip it in some ketchup.

Silence.  Pure silence from Effie.  He stuck his fry in his mouth and noticed how quiet it got and he looked up with half the fry in his mouth and half the fry still between his fingers, like a dumbass, only to see Effie staring at him with a blank look on her face.  When he looked closer, he saw her eyes were glossy.  He gulped.  “Wh…What do you mean that women don’t have to have children?” she asked.

Matthew chose his words carefully.  He should have known.  He should have fucking known, but he just had to go open his big mouth.  Now, he realized the words he was about to say would change Effie’s perception of things dramatically.  The last thing he intended was for the conversation to swerve in a direction like this, but they were here now, and he had to live with it.  Own up to his actions.  Be the person he promised himself he would be around her.  “So, like…women in modern society have the choice.  They can choose not to have children.  Some women don’t want to become mothers.  It’s a personal choice.  And nowadays, women don’t feel as pressured to have families.  Like, maybe they want to pursue a career instead, but it’s not even that.  You can just…not want children.”

Effie had heard the word of God her entire life.  It was the first thing she remembered; it was her earliest memory.  Some days – on bad days – it was her only memory, the thing that haunted her most at night, and she’d toss and turn in her bed to try and get the rolls and rolls of scripture out of her head.  Be fruitful and multiply.  Be fruitful and multiply.  Be fruitful and multiply.  But this – what Matthew was telling her – this was not the word of God.  This was something else.  This went against everything she knew.  This went against everything she was brought up to believe.  “Oh, okay,” she whispered.  

Matthew could tell he had just said something to Effie that rocked her foundation.  And then he thought to himself ‘Of course this would be happening.  Everything is new for her.’   The modern world was completely alien to her.  She didn’t know anything.  No women’s liberation.  No women’s rights.  No individuality.  Voting.  Elections.  Doctors.  Hospitals.  Jeans.  T-shirts.  Wearing her hair however she wanted.  Makeup.  Cell phones.  Instagram.  Twitter.  Snapchat.  Hockey – literally the most unimportant thing at this point.  She was learning, and making great progress, but things like this – these big ideas – still shook her to her core.  They went against everything she knew and everything she was brought up to believe.  It wasn’t easy for any person to have their foundation cracked; Matthew knew it would be even harder for her.

“Can you excuse me for a second?” Effie said suddenly, not bothering to hear an answer from Matthew before she pushed her chair back and stood up from the table, escaping back into the restaurant.  

Matthew felt like there was cement in his feet as he replayed the moment over and over in his mind, the sight of Effie’s glossy eyes realizing children were optional in the real world burning itself into his mind forever.  God, to find out this way – over bacon cheeseburgers at some restaurant and not in a safe space where she felt comfortable.  To have it be him, a man, that told her this instead of someone like Jenna, or Geneviève, who had been teaching her everything.  He was an idiot.  He was such an idiot.

A jolt of electricity struck through his body and finally jolted him out of his seat, his legs making him run towards the back of the restaurant near the washrooms where he knew Effie went.  “Effie?  Effie?” he called out as he opened the door to the women’s washroom.

When he stepped inside, he saw Effie huddled in a heap on the floor, her knees to her chest as tears flowed down her face.  Her skin was red and blotchy and he could see her chest heaving up and down.  “Effie—” he bent down to be at eye level with her.

“I need you to take me home.”

“Effie—” he reached out to touch her.

The second – the millisecond, the nanosecond – that Effie felt his touch for the first time, her entire body flinched so violently away from him that it scared him.  Matthew recoiled his hand quickly as his breath caught in his throat.  “I’m sorry—I’msosorry—I’m so sorry—” he stuttered out.  

She was silent as she looked at him for a moment through her tears.  There was a look of pure fear in her eyes that Matthew hadn’t seen before, not even the first time he met her at Noah’s birthday at the steakhouse.  “What if women can’t have children?” she asked, her voice so small and frail that it broke Matthew’s heart.

He struggled to find the words because it was such a simple concept for him but such a complicated one for her.  “That’s…that’s not their fault,” he said calmly, but the tone of obviousness was still apparent.  

“What do you mean it’s not their fault?” Effie’s tone was incredulous, like a seven-year-old child learning prematurely that there was no Santa Claus.

“It’s not their fault, Effie,” he reiterated, not knowing how else to explain it.  “I…it’s not their fault.  It can be a medical thing.  I mean most of the time it is, if they can’t have children.  And it’s not their fault,” he just kept repeating it.

“What if…what if women don’t want to have children, but can?  Are…are they punished?” she asked.

“Why would they be punished?  No,” he shook his head.

“Matthew…” she was apprehensive.  “Are you telling the truth?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you Effie,” he said softly, wanting so desperately to just reach out and touch her, hug her, but knowing that if he did, he’d just inflict more fear in her.  “I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s the truth.  Some women can’t have children, and some of them don’t want children, and both of those things are perfectly okay.”  He watched as the tears streamed down her face as she stared him in the eye.  Shaking.  

Then it finally hit him like a ton of bricks.  

“Effie…” he said uneasily.

“There were seven.”

The words hung in the air for an unknown amount of time.  It could have been years for all Matthew knew.  But as he stared into Effie’s eyes, he felt an incredible pain in his heart; a pain reserved only for her, that only she could give him.  He thought of how she kept all her own pain inside her constantly, how the trauma was a part of her just as her hair, her fingers, her toes were.  She carried this with her every single day.  Every.  Single.  Day.

“It’s not your fault, Effie,” he whispered.  He knew better than to try to reach out and touch her again.  So he settled on words, because words were his best option.  “It’s not your fault.”

***

“Did you really think you’d be able to come to a therapist’s office and think you’d be able to discuss a patient?”

Matthew stared at Dr. Jessica Barlow sitting across from him – her seated on her plush chair, him sitting on the couch he was sure all her patients sat on – and he didn’t really appreciate her tone of voice.  So maybe it wasn’t the most flawless plan.  Maybe there were holes.  But he was there, damnit, and there for a good reason.  The best reason.  She was the best psychotherapist that specialized in cults in Alberta – probably in western Canada, judging by how many degrees and certificates and awards she had displayed in her office.  She was the best and most qualified person to help Effie, surely, which is why Effie met with her three times a week.  That meant she was also the best and most qualified person to help Matthew.

“Maybe,” he mumbled out.  Matthew would have been intimidated, but for some reason, he wasn’t.  Even considering they were alone in her office, even considering he’d never met or been to a therapist before, he wasn’t nervous or intimidated.  He was determined.  “I need you tell me what I need to do.  Tell me.  Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“For who?”

“Effie Schaffer.”

Dr. Barlow looked incredulous, like a mix between seeing a ghost and not believing the words that were coming out of Matthew’s mouth.  But then he watched as her face softened slightly, and turn inquisitive instead of suspicious.  “You’re Matthew,” she said, framing it as a statement more than a question.

He knew what that meant.  “Effie’s told you about me?” he asked.

It was a lost cause – he knew that the second the question left his lips, because he knew Dr. Barlow wouldn’t tell him a word.  Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.  If dentists couldn’t even talk about their patients, there was no way in hell a psychotherapist who worked with cult survivors would say a peep about anything.  “Effie’s opened up to you quite a bit, hasn’t she?”

Matthew leaned in.  “Yes.  That’s why I need you to help me.  I want – I need to know how to help her.”

“Matthew,” Dr. Barlow took off her glasses.  “First you need to tell me why you want to do this,” she said matter-of-factly.  

Matthew didn’t want this to become a session.  It wasn’t about him; it was about Effie.  “I’ve just become her friend, and I’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately, and—and I just want to know what I can do to help her get even better.”

“Because you’re her friend.”

“Yes.”

“Because you care about her.”

“Well, yes.  I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about her in any capacity.”

Dr. Barlow paused.  “It’s not that simple, Mr. Tkachuk—”

“Why not?” he asked, interrupting her.  “She’s leaps and bounds better than when she escaped!  At least according to her brother!” he defended himself.  “Listen, I know it hasn’t been a long time that I’ve known her but I – damnit, I can help her.  I can help her but I don’t want to hurt her – I never want that to happen ever again, even if it’s by accident, and you need to tell me.  You need to tell me how I can do that so I can actually do it.”

Dr. Barlow stayed silent.  “You’ve already been incredibly patient with her,” she chose her words wisely.  Matthew could read between the lines.  So maybe Effie spoke about him more than he initially thought.  “We should just leave it at that.  I appreciate the effort, but—"

“She told me how there were seven,” he said, his voice steady and calm but firm and resolute.  When he looked up at Dr. Barlow, she was staring back at him with a stoic yet shocked look on her face.  “She told me there were seven, and when I tried to—to console her, to touch her, the way her body jumped away from mine…I…” he trailed off.  He rubbed his fingers against his lips nervously.

“So then you know and realize that Effie was a member of a religious cult where she was routinely raped by its leader so he could impregnate her with the son of God for almost five years.”

It was the first time the word had been said out loud.  He didn’t want to repeat it.  He wanted it burned from his memory, from Effie’s memory, from the dictionary, everywhere.  He knew it happened but he didn’t want to admit it to himself.  Saying the word out loud made it different; it made it real.  It made him acutely aware of the trauma Effie had been through, and how she didn’t deserve any of it, yet she was burdened with it for the rest of her life.  He was biting down on his bottom lip so hard he thought he’d draw blood.  “Yes,” he said curtly.  “I realize.”

“I know how close – relatively – you and Effie have gotten ever since you were introduced.  Her progress has increased dramatically since it,” Dr. Barlow began, again choosing her words wisely.  “I know everything you two talk about on your Starbucks dates.  I know you introduced her to candy and watched Little Women with her.  Matthew – I’m not telling you this because I’m making some point that Effie tattles and tells me everything about her relationship with you.  I’m telling you this because you’ve already been doing what you need to do.  You didn’t need to come here and ask me for specifics.”

“But I don’t want to hurt her,” Matthew said, his voice barely above a whisper.  “What happened that day when she told me and when—when I tried to touch her…”

“It might take a while for her body not to seize up anytime a man touches her,” Dr. Barlow said.  “That doesn’t mean she’s not making progress.  It’s the mental progress we want to see.  And it doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong, either.  Just give her time, Matthew.  Exercise patience with her.”

***

The next time Matthew saw Effie, she didn’t know he was coming.  But he called Levi and made sure it was okay, and so when he descended down the stairs into the basement and saw Effie’s bedroom door opened, he took a deep breath.  He collected himself.  And he moved forward.  He knew he didn’t have to do this – any outsider would have said that – but he knew he needed to do it.  He needed to make it right.

“Effie?” he knocked lightly on her door before stepping into the door frame, finding her sitting at her desk reading something.  

She turned her head to look at him and a smile appeared on her face.  It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders to see her smiling.  He didn’t exactly think she’d be cradled in a corner crying, but he did think that maybe she wouldn’t be happy to see him.  It was a relief.  “Hi Matthew.”

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Of course,” she nodded, pushing her desk chair out as he walked in slowly.  “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been okay…” he said, biting down on his bottom lip nervously.  “How—I mean, have you been okay since that day?”

He saw something flash behind her eyes – a memory of the tears, the feeling, the questions.  He knew he relived it every other minute since it happened because he felt so guilty about it.  He wondered if Effie relived it every moment too and whether or not it brought her constant pain.  Matthew would never forgive himself if it did.  “I’ve been good.  Learned a lot, as you can imagine,” she joked slightly.  “I read up on what we talked about.  Geneviève helped me.”

“So you know it’s a thing now.”

Effie nodded.  “It made me realize I never want children.”

Matthew should have been shocked by that statement, but he wasn’t.  Knowing what Effie had been through, he understood why she wouldn’t want them.  It was her choice to make and hers only, and nobody could or should influence her otherwise.  “That’s good.  Good that you can…you know, say that out loud.  That you’re not forced into something you don’t want anymore.”

Effie nodded her head.  “I knew it all along.  I mean, children are a blessing, but they’re not for me.  And knowing the way I was brought up, with abuse and no loving parenting from my parents or from anyone around me, I don’t want to pass that legacy on.  I’m too scared to fall back into that.  I’d have no idea how to raise a child.  I know that now,” she said, watching as Matthew walked further into the room and lean back slightly on her desk.  She looked up at him.  There was a moment of silence between them as they were just there, staring at each other in her bedroom.  Effie tried not to get lost in his blue eyes.  She wondered if he could see past her calm exterior.  “I’m sorry that I flinched away from you that day,” she said quietly.  

“I should be the one apologizing—”

“No,” she said as sternly as she could, getting him to stop.  “You don’t have to apologize for anything.  You didn’t hurt me that day, so don’t think you did.  I just…I get apprehensive about touch, because we weren’t allowed to, and because once I finally was, it wasn’t…nice,” she revealed, knowing he’d get the point.  “But I know that your touch is nice.”

“How do you know?” Matthew asked.

“Because you’re a nice person.”

She took it upon herself to look at his hands.  They were on either side of his body, gripping her desk just in case it collapsed under his weight or something – who knows.  But they were there, exposed, for her to look at.  They were big – bigger than Abraham’s – and younger, of course, rougher around the edges due to hockey but still better than the only other pair of hands she’d had experience with.

He caught her looking.  Slowly, almost painstakingly slowly, he brought his right hand up and opened it, palm facing her, fingers pointing up towards the sky.  He watched as Effie brought her hand up too, even slower than he had, opening it up and facing her palm towards his.  There were a few moments where she was stagnant, thinking about how this was the first time she was going to touch a man other than her predator fake husband or her brother.  Then she moved her hand closer.  Closer.  Closer.

When she finally touched Matthew – when she finally touched him – a million electric bolts ran through her body.  The feeling of his skin on hers, his delicate yet rough touch as she pressed her small hand into his large one so she could feel his entire hand on her hand – it was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.  The simplest action gave her the most surreal feeling.  There were no words for it.  No words, in fact, because all she could do was smile.  A big, wide smile, spanning from ear to ear as she kept her hand against his.

Matthew smiled too.  

***

“This was a very quick progression from ‘Can women get tattoos?’ to ‘I’m getting a tattoo’, you know,” Geneviève laughed as she and Annica watched Effie take a seat in the tattooist’s chair.  The tattoo artist, a young woman with sleeves of her own, was preparing everything appropriately as the women chatted.  “The turnover rate was, what, a week?”

“Less,” Annica giggled.  

“When I went to the orthodontist’s when I was ten, I saw a man there with his entire arm covered in tattoos.  I was so scared I started crying.  I asked the prophet about it when I got back to Sheerness and he said they were marks of sinners and that the devil influenced them,” Effie laughed along with them.  “But I see them on people at Starbucks all the time.  I think they look really nice.”

“And you’re absolutely sure you want what you’ve requested?  You’re not gonna regret it, right?” Annica wanted to make sure Effie was making the right decision.

Effie nodded her head emphatically.  “Definitely.  Definitely.”

“What is it?  Can we see it?” Geneviève asked.  

Effie shook her head.  “I want it to be a surprise,” she said, biting her lip.  “You guys don’t think I’m crazy, do you?  Doing this to my body?”

“Absolutely not,” Geneviève replied automatically, her tone telling Effie that the notion was absurd.  It was nice for Effie to know that the two women in front of her would never judge her.  It was nice to know a woman could be supported in her decisions, and not be told it would make God angry and that she was sinning and going against the prophet.  “It’s your body, remember?  Your body, your choice.”

Effie nodded after a moment.  “My body, my choice.”

***

“It’s still a bit red and itchy.  Annica said I need to put an elastic around my wrist and snap it whenever I want to itch it,” Effie said, her voice filled with excitement but a certain anxiousness that was characteristic to her.  

“It’s alright.  Just show me,” Matthew smiled as he watched her roll up the sleeve of her cardigan.  When she finally did, and stretched out her arm, Matthew’s mouth gaped open.  “It’s huge!” he exclaimed, definitely not expecting it to be that big.  He thought Effie would get a dainty tattoo; something small.  He didn’t exactly think she’d have a “go big or go home” attitude about a tattoo – something on her body forever.  But it was big.  It took up at least two-thirds of her forearm.  The linework and shading were impeccable; the detail exquisite.  It was made up of flowers – he didn’t know what kind – but they were big and small, all sizes really, and there were a few leaves, a few stems, and it just looked so beautiful.  He brought his hand up to touch, but stopped himself.  “Can I?” he asked.

Effie nodded.  “You can touch me,” she said, preparing herself.

Matthew brought his hand up slowly.  He touched her arm, grazing his fingertips over the linework delicately.  It was still bumpy, a testament to how new it was.  “It looks amazing, Effie,” he whispered, his fingers still grazing delicately.  

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

“The best part?” he arched his eyebrow.  What could be better than this?

She turned her arm over, palm facing up, where another large flower was tattooed on her skin.  Matthew noticed some handwriting along the flower, and he leaned his head down to read it.  ‘I am mine before I am anyone else’s’.

Matthew smiled from ear to ear.  “Effie,” he whispered bashfully, just like he had when he saw that she cut her hair short for the first time.  He was so bashful because he was so happy to be seeing her making her own decisions for once in her life.  “Do you love it?” he asked.

She nodded enthusiastically.  “I love it so much.  It’s mine.  It’s mine.”

***

“Did Jenna make these?” Matthew asked Levi once he was done with his stretches, noticing a giant Tupperware filled with some sort of cookies.  Matthew had seen some of the other guys in the locker room with them and decided to investigate.  He took a massive bite of one and his entire mouth watered.  In that short moment, he was sure he’d never had a cookie so good in his life.  “These are phenomenal,” he said with a full mouth.

“Nah, Jenna’s not a baker,” Levi shook his head.  “Effie made those.”

Matthew’s brows rose.  He gulped the bite of the cookie down.  “Effie?  Effie bakes?”

Levi smirked, side-eyeing him.  “Effie knows how to make and churn butter from scratch.  She had to learn in the cult.  She knows how to bake and cook a lot of things because she had to be a traditional wife.  But she enjoys baking the most.  Baking is what brings her the most joy, so she’s started baking again.”

Matthew nodded nonchalantly.  “She can bake all kinds of stuff then?”

“Bread, sweet stuff…yeah, pretty much,” he said.  “She actually…well, she’s trying to find a job where she can put it to good use, since she actually likes doing it.”

“Effie’s getting a job?!” Matthew exclaimed, louder than he intended.  Levi could only chuckle.  Matthew felt the need to cover.  “Where?  What—where?  What’s she gonna do?  How is she—I mean, why?”

“She’s gotta support herself, doesn’t she?  If she wants to move out, or earn her own money—”

“Effie’s moving out?!”

“She’s not moving out tomorrow, Matthew, but she’s going to be moving out soon.”

This was all news to Matthew, of course.  He tried to play it cool, calming himself down and not making a big deal out of it – well, more than he already had.  The fact that Levi, Jenna, and Effie were discussing jobs and moving out had absolutely nothing to do with him.  He was just on the outside.  He didn’t need to be part of the decision making at all…at all.  But he still got nervous.  Effie was still learning about a lot.  And ultimately, at the end of the day, he wanted her to be safe.  A safe job.  A safe apartment.  “Where’s she looking?”

“There’s a cute little hipster coffee shop in the downtown core she has an interview with,” Levi informed him.  “If she gets the job, and if she enrols in the online business certificate program Geneviève recommended to her, I promised to pay three months worth of rent until she can pay it on her own.  She’d earn enough from minimum wage and tips for sure, especially downtown.”

Hipster coffee shop.  Online business certificate.  New apartment.  There was so much new information coming at Matthew that he didn’t know how to process it all.  He was happy for Effie – he was – and he wished her only the best, but it was still a lot.  “Well…when you need help moving, call me and we could put these muscles to work,” he said, flexing his arm for dramatic effect, trying to hide the fact that he so obviously cared, and miserably failing to hide that fact to Levi.

Levi let out a haughty laugh.  “I’ll be sure to mention it.”

***

Matthew downed a shot of tequila – the good tequila – and smashed his shot glass down on the bar as the smooth liquid coated his throat and made his stomach burn.  Noah let out a loud ‘Wooooo!’ and Sean, ever the dumbass, choked on it as it went down.  Matthew almost spit up the shot out of laughter watching Sean struggle to swallow it, picking up his glass of whisky the bartender had just poured.  “You’re already wrecked, buddy,” Matthew chastised him as he got control of his coughs.  “You’re embarrassing.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sean sneered.  “We all know you’re trying to get all your alcohol in before Effie gets here.”

Matthew chuckled.  “Fat chance of that happening.  Effie’s not coming.”

Sean rolled his eyes.  “Well, either I’m high or you’re wrong, because she just walked in the door.”

Matthew’s back stiffened as he whipped his head around to look through the crowd of people.  Sure enough, he could see Effie raising her hand to chest level so the bouncer at the door could stamp her hand.  Noah made a noise that sounded like a seagull and Sean let out a chuckle and a muffled “Dude owes me a fucking drink for that one”.  Before Matthew’s legs could move him forward, he noticed Meredith approach Effie; she hugged her and Effie allowed Meredith to grab her hand so she could guide her through the crowd and into their spot at the back of the lounge.  The music was loud and the floor felt like it was vibrating but it was nothing compared to the beat of Matthew’s heart.

Fuck.

When Meredith and Effie finally made their way through, he saw that Effie was wearing Jenna’s ballet flats, skinny jeans that were still a bit big, and a sequined top that fit so big any other girls in the club would have probably worn it as a dress.  He could feel the whisky burning his stomach and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

“Effiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!!!!!” Claudia squealed once she noticed her, sauntering over to her in her high heels and bending down to hug her.  “You made it!  I’m sooooo happy!” she continued squealing.  Matthew wondered if Effie noticed that Claudia was already drunk.  “Is this your first time in a place like this?”

“Yeah,” Effie nodded her head nervously.  “I’m sorry—I—I know I wasn’t supposed to be here and I said no, but—”

“Are you kidding?  The more the merrier!  Let me take you to Andrew so you can say happy birthday!”

Matthew watched as Claudia led her to Andrew, tapping him on the shoulder to reveal Effie.  Andrew was happy to see her, and – knowing better than to go in for a hug – politely held his hand against his heart when she wished him a happy birthday.  None of the guys on the team had ever touched her – well, except Matthew.  He seemed to be the exception to a lot of things regarding Effie, and he was proud of that.  He didn’t want anyone else touching her, even if they were his teammates.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

“You came alone?” Andrew asked her.  Effie nodded.  “We’ll have to find you Matthew then.  He’d kill us if we didn’t tell him you were here.”

Matthew didn’t know what Andrew was saying – the music was too loud, and he couldn’t read lips – but the cement in his legs finally dissolved and he found himself walking over to them, wanting to make his presence known at that very moment.  When Effie saw him, he could swear her face lit up.  “Fancy seeing you here, Effie,” he smiled, holding his glass of whisky near his chest.

She went in for a hug.

Matthew was so shocked he almost didn’t hug her back.  Even Andrew was looking at them like he’d just seen a monkey perform a magic trick.  Matthew draped both arms around her and hugged her back, making sure not to spill his whisky all over her.  He tried not to let it seem like he was shocked – hugs should be a normal thing for Effie, he thought – so when she pulled away, he was already smiling down at her.  “What brought you here?”

“I wanted to see what these places are like,” she said when she pulled away.  She took a look down at his drink.  “Is that iced tea?”

“Whiskey.”

She looked around at everyone else, noticing they were all holding glasses with drinks in them too.  “Is everybody drinking alcohol?”

“Pretty much,” Matthew giggled out.

“I’ve never drunk alcohol before,” she revealed.

“Do you want to try some?”

“No,” she shook her head.  “I’m not ready.”

“That’s okay.  Do you want something to drink, then?  Some water?  I’m sure the bar can make you a virgin drink if you ask for it.”

“A virgin drink?”

“Virgin means no alcohol,” Matthew covered quickly.  “They’ll make you whatever you want.”

Matthew watched as Effie considered it, looking over to the bar before she shook her head.  “I’m not thirsty yet.  I’ll go when I’m thirsty.”

***

Effie didn’t dance.  She didn’t drink.  All she did was look.

By looking, she was learning.  She watched how people interacted with one another in this type of setting and she internalized it.  She watched girls approach the bar and get served by the bartender.  She watched as guys flirted with them and bought them drinks.  She watched people take shots and then ask for another.  She watched people get handsy, with touches on hips and lower backs and arms the most popular spots she saw men putting their hands on women.  She watched people drag one another towards the dance floor.  She watched kisses being placed on necks and shoulders and lips, tongues dragging across, shocked that people would be doing so out in the open.  She watched girls raise their drinks in the air and kick their leg up as they posed for photos with their friends.  She watched girls move their hips seductively.  She watched guys getting their bodies as close to them as possible.  

“What are they doing?” she asked Matthew as she watched them dancing like a hawk.

“Uh…it’s called grinding.”

She’d talk, and ask questions, and Matthew was beside her the entire time answering her questions and milking his whisky, not caring that he wasn’t partying with Andrew or with the other boys, because when Effie was around, he was all about Effie – nobody else mattered.  He’d stay with her until last call if she wanted to stay that late.  He’d already resolved that he’d be going home when she was going home because he needed to make sure she got back to Aspen Woods safe, and also because there was no reason to be at the club when Effie was gone.

Did he hear himself?  Did he really just say there was no reason to be at a club full of beautiful girls during his friend’s birthday?

Fuck.  

Noah, Sean, and Johnny ended up coming back to the booth for some water.  Johnny made eyes at Matthew and Matthew subtly gave him the finger; Effie didn’t notice because she was looking over at the bar.  “I’m thirsty.  I’m going to go get a drink.”

“Let me go for y—”

“No,” she said sternly as Matthew was about to get up, standing up herself and holding her hand out.  “I’ve watched.  I know what I need to do.  I can go.”

Matthew gulped.  He didn’t want to deny her independence but he didn’t want her to go alone. “Are you sure?” he asked.  She nodded, and Matthew had to let her go.  And all he did was look.

***

Effie approached the bar slowly, trying not to get shoved around by people crowding around the bar.  It was much busier actually being in the crowd than just looking at it, and Effie was almost regretting her decision.  She’s never been in a place with so many people.  Well, that was a lie, maybe – church was always busy, obviously, especially the church for the People’s Dominion.  Sundays were the worst.  But there were definitely not this many young people congregated in one place.  Effie knew this is what young people did in the normal world – Geneviève told her so.  It was one thing to know about it, to be apart from it in a different area and watch; it was something completely different, actually being in it.  

She made her way to right behind a few people at the bar – some scantily clad girls with some really pretty dresses on.  Effie admired their beauty.  They had beautiful long eyelashes and their lips were red and berry-coloured.  Their skin was flawless and tanned – weird for April in Calgary, but tanned nonetheless.  Effie wondered if they were wearing makeup, and wondered whether or not she’d ever wear makeup herself.  When they got their drinks, they began to move.  One of them noticed Effie behind them and gave her a quick up-down.  “Take our place, sweetie,” she said, letting Effie move into their place before she watched them make their way through the crowd and back onto the dance floor.

After watching, she knew now she had to get the attention of one of the bartenders.  Every single one of them was busy pouring drinks.  She watched as a couple of men on the opposite end of the bar raised their hands and the bartenders went over to them, so she decided to do the same.  After a few minutes, a bartender came.  “What can I get you?”

“Um, water please.”

“You driving tonight, darling?”

Effie shook her head.  “I don’t drive.  I just don’t drink alcohol.”

“Do you want anything more exciting?  I mean I can at least get you ginger ale or a coke.”

Effie didn’t like coke – she thought it was too sweet – but when he mentioned ginger ale, she reconsidered.  “Okay.  Ginger ale is good.”

The bartender nodded, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice before getting the drink gun.  “Do you have a tab going?”

What was a tab?  Effie shook her head.  “What’s a tab?”

The bartender looked at her skeptically.  “How are you paying, darling?  Are you with a party?”

“Oh!  I’m here for Andrew’s party!  Andrew Mangiapane.”

“Got it,” the bartender winked.  “Here you go, darling.  Enjoy.”

Effie grabbed the drink and took a sip out of the straw.  It was nice and cold, just the way she liked it.  Just as she was about to leave and go back to Matthew, a big body slipped into the empty space beside her.  A man – a very large man, it seemed, though she was so small that every man looked large to her – took up all the space.  He was looking down at her with a very, very amused expression on his face.  “Ginger ale, girl?” he mocked her.

Effie couldn’t tell.  “What’s wrong with ginger ale?”

“You’re gonna come out to a bar looking like a walking felon and order ginger ale?” he pressed, winking at her.

“A walking felon?” she repeating.  She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he said.  “A real drink.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Wanna start?”

“No,” she said firmly.

“That’s fine.  I can think of better things we can get up to than drinking, anyways,” he smiled.

Effie furrowed her brows.  “Like what?”

The guy smiled, and it was creepy, and she finally saw behind his eyes every thought and every intention he currently had.  “Let me show you,” he said, and Effie saw, out of the corner of her eye, that he was bringing his hand up to touch her.  At the same time, he was leaning his head down.

“HEY!” a loud voice boomed, and Effie immediately recognized it as Matthew’s.  Before she could even see him or realize where he was coming from, he squeezed his way in between him and the man.  Matthew’s hands were now on her body instead, the man’s hand nowhere near her.  “Get the fuck out of here, buddy.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“You touch her one more time and you’re fucking dead,” Matthew growled.

“Dead, eh?  So you get to touch her but I don’t?”

“Fuck off.”

Effie was taken aback by the anger in Matthew’s voice.  She’d never seen or heard him so angry.  She knew he was capable of it, by how he played hockey, but she didn’t think he’d be able to get this angry in a social setting.  Her body tensed up.  “Can we go back to our booth?” Effie asked loudly, placing her hand on Matthew’s, hoping to get his attention.  

Matthew looked back at her quickly, and when he saw the trepidation on her face, he immediately listened to her.  As he turned to leave, pushing Effie ahead of him with his hands still on her waist guiding her, he heard the man make one last call out to Effie.  “You don’t want to have some fun, girl?  I can show you a better time than this dick with my dick!”

Matthew had had it.  He knew he couldn’t punch out a guy in a bar.  He knew he couldn’t do much without causing a scene and the cops getting called and everything getting out of hand.  So instead, he used everything at his disposal to make his point, the most important thing being his size.  He turned around and flexed, standing up straight and making himself as physically big as possible, bumping up against the guy on the chest and backing him up against the bar.  He had only a few inches on the guy, but he was suddenly intimidated.  “You even so much as breathe in her general direction and I won’t hesitate to knock your teeth down your throat,” Matthew growled, making fists with his hands.  He didn’t even wait for the guy to say anything.  Instead, he just turned and walked away, noticing Effie waiting for him in the crowd.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” he said curtly, leading her out of the crowd and back to the booth.

“Are you sure, Matthew?”

“Positive,” he mumbled as they finally got to the booth.

Effie turned around to get a good look at him.  She knew he was lying because she could see how angry he was on his face.  She got nervous – really nervous.  “Matthew—”

“Did he touch you?  He didn’t touch you, did he?” Matthew demanded.  He needed the answer to be no so he could calm down.  

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

Everything in Matthew suddenly cleared.  All he saw – all he was able to see – was Effie’s face, and how nervous she was, and how she was looking up at him with a certain tenseness.  “Effie—no—I could never be mad at you.  I’m mad at that guy for being gross.”

He noticed Effie furrow her brows slightly.  “Was he trying to get me to have sex with him?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know what he wanted.  But he was being gross and the second I saw him wedge his way into the bar I got up.”

Effie nodded.  “But you’re not mad at me, are you?” she asked again.

“Never, Effie.  Never.”

***

Annica had never been more flabbergasted or without words than when Effie asked her to explain what Instagram was.  Geneviève had to step in, giggling as she mixed together the baked feta pasta the girls were having for lunch.  “It’s supposed to be a platform for sharing pictures,” Geneviève explained.  “You know, like the book you’re reading, or where you’re going, if you go on vacation, or if you see something cool, or let’s say you go out to eat and you want to show what you’re eating…that sort of thing.”

“People want to know that stuff?” Effie asked innocently, causing the girls to giggle.  “People want to know that about me?”

“I’d love to follow you on Instagram.  I’d love to see how you see the world,” Geneviève said.  “It would be a breath of fresh air, to be honest.”

“How would it be a breath of fresh air if everybody is doing it?” Effie asked again.

“Everybody’s not doing it.  That’s the point,” Annica said.  “Instagram has transformed into this, like…God, I don’t even know what to call it.  It’s one big advertisement now.”

Effie considered what the girls were telling her.  She trusted them both, which is why she asked.  Annica talked about it a lot, and was on it a lot, which is why Effie became interested in it in the first place.  Geneviève was on it too, of course, running her own account and also having access to the account for her literary magazine Atomic (she’d given Effie a bunch of old copies to read through, and she was going to devour them right after she finished Geneviève’s book, which was technically a collection of essays).  For a girl who just wanted to be as normal as possible, it seemed to her like Instagram was the logical next step.  “Can…can you guys help me make a profile?”

“Of course,” Annica said as all three of them sat down at the table.  “We can do it after lunch.”

“I’m not your therapist, but you should use it to chronicle your journey and what you’re doing outside of the cult now,” Geneviève offered.  “That’s what I meant when I said I’d love to see how you see the world.  You can post all the things you’ve been baking recently, or the pretty things you see in Calgary when you’re out and about on one of your walks.”

The second that Geneviève mentioned ‘chronicle your journey’, it was like a switch went off in Effie’s brain.  She nodded her head.  “That’s what I’m gonna do.  Let’s make a profile after lunch.”

***

FOLLOW REQUEST: effieschaffer7

You have accepted effieschaffer7’s friend request.

Effie?????

Hi Matthew

U made an insta?

Is it okay if I follow you? Annica helped me

Yes of course it’s okay if u follow me

I am going to post my baking I think

That’s good! I will have to try some one day

When you get back from the road trip there will be something new.  Levi requested a lemon meringue pie and you can have some too if you want.

I’m gonna make sure Levi drives us home then

***

It was Effie who swung the door open excitedly.  Matthew was excited to try the lemon meringue pie, but apparently she was excited about something else.  Her eyes were as wide as the moon and as bright as the sun.  “I got the job!” she screamed.  

Levi dropped his bag as he screamed, catching her as she jumped from the doorway into his arms.  Matthew started cheering too and started clapping; it was only then that Effie even remembered he was standing there, but he really didn’t mind.  “Congratulations, Effie!” he smiled from ear to ear.  “Look at you go!”

She let go of her brother, but still held on to his arms.  “That means I can get the apartment!  That means I can pay for the tuition for the business program!  That means…I…I’m just so excited!”  She looked over at Matthew, seeing his smile, and did the unexpected.  

She hugged him.  She jumped into his arms just like she did with her brother and wrapped her arms around him tightly.  He reciprocated easily, wrapping his own arms around her too.  “That’s amazing, Effie!”

“I just—aaaahhhhheeeeeppppp!” she half yelled-half squealed, letting go of Matthew so they could get back inside.  April in Calgary was still cold.  Both Matthew and Levi set their bags down at the front door and walked straight to the kitchen, following Effie who was practically kicking her heels up.  “I can’t even speak!  I mean, this is—this is me getting to work!  I get to work!  I get to make my own living and make my own money!”

“You should be really proud of yourself,” Matthew said as he sat down on one of the kitchen stools.  “And you get to do something you like to do!  Not a lot of people get to say that.”

She nodded enthusiastically, opening the fridge.  “Here, try this,” she said, taking out the lemon meringue pie she had promised them.  “The owner of the coffee shop said I’m going to start with cookies and brownies and small stuff like that, and then maybe I can expand,” she said.

She cut the pie, plated it for her brother and Matthew, and handing them forks.  Matthew dug in automatically, shoving a giant piece in his mouth.  The second it hit his tongue, he groaned.  “Oh…oh Effie…” he said in between chews.  “This is gonna be dangerous.”

“Is it good?”

“You may need to bake me something every day, now, Effie.  Either that or I’m gonna come visit you every day.”

***

“Piiiiiiivvvooottttt!!!!!”

“If you say that one more time, I’m gonna kill you,” Matthew screamed at Sean holding the other end of the couch at the bottom of the stairs.  

“Piiiiiiiiivvv—”

“Monahan!”

“Is everything okay, boys?” Effie’s sweet voice asked from the top of the stairs, popping her head out of her brand new apartment.  

“We’re fine!” Matthew called out, not wanting her to worry.  “Monahan is just being a jackass!”

“Am not!”

They got the couch upstairs.  They got the bedframe upstairs.  They got the mattress upstairs.  In a little one-bedroom apartment above a storefront on 8th Avenue SW in downtown Calgary, Effie Schaffer was moving in.  Well, Effie was in her apartment unpacking boxes and organizing everything.  Levi, Matthew, Sean, and Jacob were helping move in her furniture.  She was going to thank them gracefully with another pie – this time, she’d experimented with a banana cream pie with salty bourbon caramel.  It was in the fridge waiting.  Each of them would get a nice big slice.

Geneviève came over for a bit, helping Effie with organizing the kitchen.  And Jenna dropped by after work, making sure everything was in order.  Jacob and his piece of pie left with Geneviève, and Levi and his piece of pie left once he knew everything was in order, and Sean and his piece of pie left after he and Matthew had finished putting the couch together.  Matthew hadn’t left with his piece of pie yet.  Matthew stayed.  

“This apartment is so great for you, Effie,” he said as he sat down on the couch, admittedly exhausted from all the hauling but despite that, still not wanting to leave.  There was so much to do and say and admire with Effie now that people weren’t around, and though he’d never admit it out loud to them, he always wanted to be alone with her.  It was different when he was alone with her.  With other people around, he couldn’t stare at her too long without being caught, or they couldn’t talk about things from their previous conversations that only they knew about.  With people gone, they could.  He’d stay until Effie told him to go home; if she would even tell him to go home.  He was unsure if she knew she could tell people to leave because she was tired or just wanted to be alone.

“Tomorrow Levi and I are going to go to the mall to get me a laptop for school,” she said, opening her fridge.  “My course starts in June.  It’s going to be really exciting.”

“That’s great,” he said, looking at her from the couch.  “It’s business, right?”

She nodded her head enthusiastically.  “Business administration.  Are you going to come try this pie or what?”

Matthew hauled his sore body off the couch and made his way towards the kitchen, standing next to Effie as she sliced a piece of the pie for him.  He reached over her head and grabbed two plates from the cupboard, setting them down.  Their bodies were close – purposely, he had to admit selfishly, on his part – so that every time she turned the pie and made a slice, her arm and elbow would touch him.  He watched as she carefully plated the slices.

Before she moved to grab the forks, she looked up at Matthew.  “Can I try something?” she asked timidly.

He furrowed his brows slightly.  “Of course.”

Effie hesitated, looking Matthew in the eye, wondering if she should really go through with what’s been on her mind since Andrew’s birthday party.  She resolved with herself to never let fear get in the way of her making a decision in her new life, especially now that she was free to make those decisions.  So she did it.  She did what she wanted to do.

Effie Schaffer stood on her tip-toes and kissed Matthew Tkachuk.  

It was light, chaste, and pure; no tongue, no longer than three seconds, and no warning.  But she kissed him.  With her eyes closed.  And for the first time in a long, long, long time, when she closed her eyes and kissed someone her body didn’t seize up.  When she closed her eyes and kissed him, she didn’t think of the other kisses she had to endure rather than enjoy.  When she closed her eyes and kissed him, she didn’t see Abraham.  Matthew’s lips were much softer; there was nothing about him like was like Abraham, not one atom on his body.  She liked it that way.  And the fact that she didn’t remember her past life when it happened made it all the better for her.

Matthew, for his part, was shocked.  Shocked that she, Effie Schaffer, who grew up abused in a cult and didn’t start wearing pants until just a few months ago, would do something so forward.  He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to happen, because he did, against all of his better judgement and the rational side of his brain telling him not to.  “Was that okay for you?” he asked softly.

Effie nodded.  “Of course it was.  I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it would be okay for me.”

Matthew’s word vomit got the best of him.  “Do you think it—”

“Don’t talk to me like you’re my therapist please,” she said quickly.  “Talk to me like you’re a guy.”

“Sorry,” he apologized quickly.

Effie looked down, suddenly nervous.  She wasn’t second-guessing her decision to kiss him, but what she was doing now was wondering what Matthew thought of it.  He’d kissed her back.  He didn’t just stand there and take the kiss – he kissed her back.  He moved his lips too.  That meant something, right?  “Matthew?” she finally asked, her voice soft.

“Hmm?”

“Do you like me?” she asked.

“Of course I like you, Effie.”

“No, I mean do you…do you like me.  Like how boys like girls sometimes.”

Matthew looked her in the eye, his entire ego dropping to the pits of his stomach.  Having the completely inability to be able to lie to her, he gave her a quick nod of the head.  “Yeah, I do.”

Effie bit her bottom lip.  She didn’t know a lot, but she knew this was a huge moment.  But she swallowed hard, her thoughts getting the best of her.  “Even after everything that happened to me?”

Matthew’s heart broke.  It always did when he spoke with Effie.  “Of course,” he said simply.  “You’re not what happened to you.  You’re so much more than that, Effie.”

Effie nodded her head.  She knew that.  Dr. Barlow, Levi, Jenna, Geneviève – everyone important in her life had been telling her that.  She knew it was true, but she needed to hear the words from Matthew.  She couldn’t just assume them.  “I want to let you know that was the first time in my life that I’ve initiated…physical contact with a man,” she said quietly, her voice just above a whisper.  “I did it…I did it with you because I feel comfortable with you.  I wouldn’t have even thought about doing that a year ago but…but you’ve really helped me these past few months, and you make me feel so comfortable to try new things like corn dogs or kissing.  Even just…you know, touching.  I just want you to know that.”

Matthew nodded.  This was huge.  He was pretty sure he hadn’t let out a breath since her lips met his.  “I hope you always feel comfortable around me.”

“I think I will,” she said, smiling slightly.  

Matthew smiled.  “Well, in that case, can I kiss you again?”

“No.”

Matthew chuckled to himself.  Her deadpan delivery dissolved everything.  She was in total control.  “Fair enough.”

Effie moved to grab the forks from the drawer she was standing in front of.  Before she put them on the plates, she looked up at him again.  “But if I kissed you again, would you like it?”

Matthew nodded his head.  “Would you?”

Effie nodded her head.  

***

“What about this?” Matthew asked, pointing to a fake plant hanging from a little black pot.  “Everybody loves fake plants.”

Ikea had a lot of options – too many, if Effie was being honest.  But she nodded her head, and Matthew took the initiative to grab the plant and put it in the cart.  There were a bunch of frames already in there, and some decorative stuff for her new place.  “Matthew?” she looked up at him.

“Hmm?” he looked down.

She stood on her tip-toes and kissed him.

***

“I’ve got an Americano with room for milk for Matthew!” the barista called out, setting the drink down on the counter.  Matthew approached to grab his drink, bringing it to the other station where he was able to pour in his milk and two packs of brown sugar before popping the lid on.  He rejoined Effie.

“Does it feel like you’re cheating when I bring you to Starbucks?” he asked her in a light-hearted tone.

“Matthew?” she looked up at him.

“Hmm?” he was already looking down.

She stood on her tip-toes and kissed him.

***

“I think these are your best ones yet,” Matthew said through a mouth full of chocolate-dipped almond biscotti.  Effie was trying out recipes.  He was her unofficial-official taste-tester.  The whole team was, really.  And if they sold well in the coffee shop, the manager would allow her to expand.  So far, so good.  “I love the almond flavour.  It’s there but it’s not too strong, you know?”

He watched as Effie nodded her head.  “Matthew?” she asked, looking at him eye-to-eye since he was sitting down on one of the stools in her kitchen.

He knew what was coming.

She leaned forward and kissed him.  His lips tasted like almonds.

***

“Are you excited for the movie?” Matthew asked as he poured the popcorn from the steaming hot bag into the bowls Effie got for them.

“Very,” she nodded.  Tonight they’d be watching Emma, the 2020 movie version of Jane Austen’s classic.  Effie liked to see all the amazing clothes the women used to wear.  A part of her wanted to dress up like that now, but she knew she’d get stared at.  The other part of her never wanted to wear a dress again if she didn’t have to.  “Matthew?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he looked down at her.  He knew what was coming.

She stood on her tip-toes and kissed him.

***

It was always when the two of them were alone.  It never happened when she would wait for him and Levi and Jacob with Jenna and Geneviève after games.  It never happened if they were ever out with a big group, or even just with Levi and Jenna.  Matthew was sure Effie had told them she was kissing him – she probably told Dr. Barlow too, now that he thought about it – but nobody had ever approached him about it.  “I heard you’ve been kissing Effie.”  

It was always the same, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.  They were alone.  They were usually doing something mundane.  Then Effie would ask “Matthew?” in her soft, sweet voice.  He’d look down at her.  She’d go on her tip-toes, and she’d kiss him.

It was always initiated by her.  

***

“Can I take you out on a date?” Matthew asked one day when they were alone in her apartment.  

Effie looked shocked.  Surprised, even, though Matthew didn’t think the question was out of the ordinary.  “You…you want to go out on a date with me?” she asked.

“Yes, of course I do,” Matthew said, wanting there to be no doubts in her mind.  “You know that I like you, Effie.  I think it’s something that could be really fun for you…for us.”

Effie was deep in thought – Matthew could tell.  She nodded slightly.  “We have been doing a lot of kissing lately…” she mused.  He couldn’t help but smile, even though it faded slightly when she looked up at him nervously.  “Matthew, I—I’ve never been on a date before.”

“I figured as much.”

“I mean, I—even with Abraham.  He never—I mean, I was just told I was marrying him because he wanted me.  I told you that.  But even before that.  Women couldn’t date.  Nobody could—I mean most couples were just thrust together, but—but—women weren’t even allowed in the same room alone with the opposite sex because we’d tempt them.”

“I know Effie, it’s okay,” he said softly.  “Listen, if you’re scared or nervous or not ready, we don’t have to.  But you know that I like you.  And I know you like me too.  It’s what people do when they like each other.  So if you’ll let me, we could go out for dinner or something.  Nothing too big or fancy.  Just a dinner.”

If she went on a date with Matthew, Effie would be giving a giant middle finger to her past.  She would be asserting her agency in making her own choices.  She’d be doing something she wasn’t allowed to do for eighteen years of her life.  It was an action of justice at its very core – going on a date with a boy because she liked him and found him attractive.  She wasn’t even allowed to touch other men besides her husband less than two years ago because of his abusive and totalitarian “sermons”.  She remembered back to her begging to her mother not to get married at fourteen and her mother refusing to listen to her.  Here was Matthew saying “If you’re scared or nervous or not ready, we don’t have to.”  

Effie nodded her head.  “I want to go out on a date with you.”

Matthew smiled bashfully.  He was sure his cheeks were going to turn red like some sort of teenager.  “What kind of food d’you wanna eat?”

***

“How’d you get that shiner, buddy?” Sean asked.

“I’m not gonna talk about it,” Matthew mumbled.

***

“What the hell happened to you?” Johnny asked the moment he saw him in the locker room.

“I’m not gonna talk about it,” Matthew mumbled.

***

Mark Giordano was not happy to see one of his star players show up to the arena with a black eye.  But he didn’t want to confront Matthew in a full locker room, so he waited until there was only a few people around – and even then, they were far away enough that he knew they wouldn’t really pick up on the conversation.  “What the fuck happened to your eye?” Mark asked, approaching Matthew

“I’m not gonna talk about it,” Matthew mumbled, not even looking at his captain.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows.  There had to be something, a clue of some sort, to help him get to the bottom of this.  It was nobody’s birthday, so Matthew hadn’t gone out to a bar.  He didn’t get into a fight or scuffle on the ice that was too bad, so it couldn’t have been that either.  But then Mark remembered.  “I thought you spent time with Effie last ni—”

“I said I’m not gonna talk about it!” Matthew hissed as he got up abruptly, stomping away and leaving the room.

Mark took a deep breath in, putting his hands on his hips.  Kids.  He had to get to the bottom of this.  It was in his nature.  And as captain, he took his role seriously.  He needed to make sure his teammates were okay.  The media was definitely going to pick up on the black eye, and they’d need a good cover.  He left the locker room, following the path Matthew took, knowing he was probably letting off some steam in an empty trainer’s room.  Mark popped his head into two of them before finding Matthew in a third, facing away from the door and taping his stick.  Mark knew Matthew heard him walk in and shut the door behind him, but Matthew didn’t turn around.

“Sit,” Mark said sternly.

Matthew took a deep breath in but did as he was told.  He wasn’t going to defy Mark – he respected him way too much.  And he knew he had out let out the steam by telling someone, and Mark was probably the best person to tell.  

Mark sat down casually beside him, hunched over with his elbows on his knees so it looked like they were about to have a casual conversation, just in case anyone else barged in.  “Tell me what happened.”

Matthew took a deep breath.  “I took her out on a date last night.”

“Effie.”

“Yeah,” Matthew nodded slightly.  “And it was nice.  We went to a really nice Italian restaurant downtown.  She was having so much fun.  And she came back to my place and—”

“Please don’t tell me—”

“No no—it wasn’t—no,” he emphasized.  “I might be an idiot but I’m not that much of an idiot.”

“You can’t fault me for thinking it.”

Matthew shook his head.  “She came back to my place and I guess—well, I guess because the whole thing was so new for her, it was mentally exhausting.  She sorta kept saying how tired she was.  I told her she could stay over.  And it was fine.  We were just sleeping in the same bed.”

“And then?”

Matthew grumbled.  “And then I moved.”

There was a pause.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

***

“I’m so sorry,” Effie whispered through tears, looking at Matthew’s back as he sat on the edge of the bed, pressing a bag of frozen peas against his face.

The entire night had been lovely.  She’d felt so good, and so comfortable, and so normal.  The food was delicious.  The walk through the park was magical.  The thing’s they’d talked about ran through her mind the entire night.  They hadn’t stopped talking.  They’d gone back to his place.  She was tired.  He suggested she stay over, knowing Levi wouldn’t mind.  She agreed.  She borrowed an old t-shirt and shorts.  They’d fallen asleep in his bed.  And it was lovely.  

And then at some point, in the middle of the night, with Effie’s back facing Matthew as he switched positions in his sleep, all she felt was a body pressing up against her slightly.  So she did the only thing she needed to do.

She punched him.  Hard.  

She hit between his eye and nose.  A loud “FUCK!” escaped him after the sound of skin hitting skin permeated through his bedroom.  Her body seized up and, like countless times before, she jumped out of bed.  When she turned around to look down at the bed, Matthew was clutching his eye in pain.  It was then that she realized just that – it was Matthew.  It wasn’t Abraham.  

“M—M—Matthew,” she stuttered out.  

“What the fuck, Effie?!” his temper got the best of him.

“M—Matthew—I—I thought—Abraham—I thought you were Abraham—”

With his one clear eye, he looked at her.  His chest was heaving.  But he didn’t say anything.  His shoulders slumped slightly.  And without saying anything, he got up out of the bed and walked out of the room.

Effie immediately dropped to her knees on the bed.  It’s what she would have done before, to ask for forgiveness for denying her husband satisfaction whenever and wherever he wanted it.  But now, in the new world, in her new world, it wasn’t like that.  She didn’t have to repent for her sin.  It didn’t have to be that way.  Abraham wasn’t in bed with her.  It was Matthew.  Sweet, soft, rough around the edges Matthew.

She started crying.  She couldn’t believe that she’d just done that to him.  She cried so hard she didn’t even realize he’d come back into the room quietly, with a bag of peas pressed against his face where she’d punched him.  

After she apologized, and he said nothing, she crawled over to him, the last of her tears spilling over her cheeks.  She lay her hand on his back.  “Matthew—”

He flinched at her touch.  She recoiled her hand back so quickly she didn’t know she could move that fast.  Her heart tightened in her chest, knowing she’d just caused him – and was continuing to cause him – such physical pain, when all he’d given her over the last few months was patience and support.  

Matthew heard her sharp intake of breath when he flinched.  He didn’t mean to flinch – really – he just didn’t expect her to touch him after she’d just punched his face for brushing up against her.  He took a few deep breaths to control his emotions before he looked behind him, seeing her tear-stained face looking at him.  

When he saw the lingering fear in her eyes, he couldn’t be angry.

***

Matthew played his hockey game, and he managed to score a goal and record an assist, but after the game, his mind was somewhere else.  Effie hadn’t shown up to the game; she wasn’t waiting with Jenna and Geneviève, and Jenna told him she was tired from work which is why she stayed home.  He needed to talk to her.  Needed to talk to her.  But he didn’t know how, and he didn’t know what to do.  

Jacob, Geneviève, Levi, and Jenna all left early, leaving him to go home alone.  He trudged down the hallway and took the elevator to the parking garage, his feet dragging on the concrete and he walked with his head down, a storm forming in his mind about what he was going to do.

“Matthew?” he heard a soft voice.

He shot his head up.  For a second he thought he was hallucinating, or some sort of mirage, but no – Effie was in the parking garage, standing right next to his car.  He had no idea how she got in but at this point he didn’t really care.  All he cared about was that she was there.  He rushed over to her as quickly as his legs would take him.  “You’re here,” he said, once he got close to her.  Her face was red and blotchy.  He hated seeing it like that.  It reminded him of the incident in the washroom.  “What’s going on?”

“I spent the whole day crying thinking about what I did to you,” she said, her voice sounding like she was on the verge of tears again.

“Effie, I told you it was alri—”

“It’s not alright, Matthew,” she asserted.  He’d said it all last night while she was profusely apologizing, but she didn’t believe him.  He’d said it up until she was picked up by a taxi to be taken back to her place.  He’d begged her to stay.  She couldn’t see how she could when she’d just punched him in the face.  “I wish you would stop saying that.  I hit you.  I gave you a black eye.  Nothing about that is alright—”

“Effie—”

“I just—I thought you were Abraham because he’d do that a lot and—because I would always try to say no otherwise, and so he had to get me at a point where—”

“EFFIE,” he said loudly, over her frantic voice, and she stopped immediately.  They stared at each other for a few moments in pure silence before Effie could feel Matthew’s hands grab hers.  He pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her tightly, and she nestled her face into his chest and inhaled his scent.  A wave of peace flowed throughout her body.  He hadn’t asked to touch her, but at the same time, she hadn’t flinched.  His touch was so…so pure and so soft – so unlike anything else she’d felt before – that there was no reason to flinch or be scared.  His hands wouldn’t hurt her like other hands had.  She realized this, inhaling his scent one more time.  He wouldn’t hurt her.

When he released the hug, she brought her own hands up to cradle his face.  His facial hair was a bit rough against her skin, but it was still the softest she’d ever felt on a man.  Maybe it was because he always gave her butterflies.  Maybe it was something else.  “You’re so soft, Matthew…” her voice was barely above a whisper.  

“What’s that mean?” he asked, his voice equally as low.  “I’m not soft.”

“Yes, you are.  You are for me,” she clarified.  “You’re the softest man I’ve ever felt.  I don’t want that to change.”

He realized what she meant now.  It hit him like a ton of bricks, like most things did with Effie.  “It won’t,” he asserted.  “You can count on me.”

“I know I can,” she nodded her head.

Matthew couldn’t take it anymore.  They couldn’t continue this in the parking garage.  “Can I take you back to my place again and we can talk?  Properly?”

Effie nodded her head.  

***

Matthew let Effie roam in his kitchen while he changed out of his suit into some comfier clothes.  When he emerged from his room, Effie was sitting on his couch – just like she had been last night – a glass of water in her hand, sipping from it delicately.  He knew she’d end up back on his couch since she had commented last night how big and comfy it was.  Matthew didn’t even know where it was from – it came with the apartment.  But ever since she’d sat on it and made the comment, he found it comfier.

He walked over to her slowly, and she watched him, not saying a word.  Instead of taking a seat beside her, he knelt in front of her, between her legs.  He was still almost at eye level with her.  Boldly, he took the glass of water out of her hand and set it down on the coffee table.  He grabbed her hands in his and rubbed the backs of her hands with his thumb tenderly.  “Can I ask you a question?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“What happened that night?  After you punched Abraham?”

Effie was silent for a moment.  “I…I—I got pregnant.”

The words stabbed Matthew in the heart.  He squeezed her hands to let go of some pain, and she squeezed back.  “I’m so sorry for what I did, Effie—”

“You have nothing to apologize about,” she said.  “You did nothing wrong.”

“But I scared you.  And I promised I’d never do that.  And it brought up bad memories…”

Effie was shaking her head.  “You didn’t scare me.  My mind did.  My mind thought you were Abraham.  But you’re the farthest thing from him, Matthew, and you need to know that.  You don’t scare me at all.  Not even a bit.  Not like Abraham scared me.”

Matthew bit his tongue so he could feel some pain and keep himself from crying.  To think about how she was so scared for eighteen years of her life, and now she wasn’t, and part of that was because he was around, helping her feel comfortable…he couldn’t have asked for anything more.  He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty for what happened, especially since Effie was telling him what she was telling him, but he knew he would for a while.  It’d take him a while to get over it.  “When we went on the date…did you—I mean, did you just do it because you felt like you had to?  Because you had to experience a first date to be normal or whatever?  Or did you actually want to?” he asked.

“I actually wanted to,” she said without hesitation.  Matthew could feel his heart beating in his chest.  “I wanted to, and with you.  Not with another guy and not with, like, Sean or whatever,” she said, and it made Matthew break out into a smirk.  “It was you.  And even though…I mean—I mean I think we could…and we would…” she tried to formulate her thought into coherent words.  

“But I don’t know if we should,” he finished her sentence.

Effie nodded.  “At least not yet.  I’m not—I’m not mentally there yet.  I’m not ready.  And it wouldn’t be fair to bring you along so closely with something I know I’m not ready for.  There’s so much I still need to learn…about, well…everything.”

Matthew nodded his head.  He understood completely.  “You know that I never expected anything, right?” he asked.

“Oh, of course not,” she said like it was the obscenest idea in the world.  She knew Matthew would never expect that of her.  “I think what’ll be good is you going home during the summer, and me starting my course in June…and by the time you come back in September, you might even see a brand new me.”

Matthew couldn’t help but smile at that.  He rubbed the backs of her hands with his thumbs again.  “You’re already a brand new person, Effie.  When I come back you’ll just be wiser.  Do you promise to message me on Instagram about everything you learn and the stuff you experience?”

Effie nodded her head, a smile adorning her face now.  “Matthew?” she asked after a moment of silence.

This time, he looked up at her.  He knew what was coming.

This time, she didn’t need to stand on her tip-toes.  All she had to do was lean forward and kiss him.

[handsmotif]

The Queercoding of Pinky and the Brain

This originally was just me infodumping to my friends on discord, but I decided it might be interesting to some people on here, so I polished it up and made it an actual essay lmao

To start, we’re going to break this into 2 sections -- the relationship between the mice, and Pinky’s relationship with gender, because queercoding doesn’t just mean gay!

For a 90′s show, Pinky and the Brain (and its mother show, Animaniacs) was very progressive for its time! But there were still lots of things that they couldn’t slip by censors, and thus, that’s where we have to read between the lines. And that is something I wanted to clarify here before we dive in, the actual meaning of queercoding. It’s NOT the same as queerbaiting. Queerbaiting is when the people producing certain media purposefully dangle the possibility of queer representation to lure in audiences (most prominent examples are BBC Sherlock, Riverdale, and Supernatural I GUESS? who knows abt that last one anymore), but never follow through, purely for profit. Queercoding is when media producers WANT to write in queer representation, but can’t, usually because the censors won’t let them. So, they must resort to subtext. (example: the policemen from Gravity Falls) It could also be unintentional, simply assigning certain characteristics associated with the LGBT community to characters. (example: Bugs Bunny, many Disney villains) Either way, it heavily relies on the audience picking up subtext, but whether it’s malicious or not varies, depending on the media. Bugs Bunny is an example of positive accidental queercoding, while a lot of Disney villains are negative examples.

Now, to actually discuss the gay little mice! Pinky and the Brain, whether it be intentional or not (based off comments from Maurice LaMarche, Rob Paulsen, and Tom Ruegger, signs strongly point to intentional, but it’s never been explicitly confirmed), is an example of positive queercoding.

There are many moments that I could pick out to discuss here, but we’ll start with some VERY on the nose gay metaphors. 

Remember Romy? If you don’t, that’s their actual biological son! Romy came about due to a cloning accident, where their DNA got combined and spat him out. 

There’s SO many things I could say about Romy. Every appearance he makes has an overarching gay metaphor as the plot. His first appearance in the episode Brinky (yeah it’s literally titled their ship name), it deals with his dads (WHICH I ALSO WANT TO POINT OUT, he DOES call them both dad, and they do both call him their son) disapproving of the fact that he wants to leave home and not follow in their footsteps of taking over the world. Brain even goes as far as disowning him whenever he tells him, which is certainly something a lot of queer people can unfortunately relate to. Also seen a lot in this episode is Pinky and Brain arguing even more than a married couple than usual, which pushes Romy away even further. Later, when Romy eventually does leave, and Brain starts to regret chasing him away, he tries desperately to reach out to him, but Romy doesn’t want anything to do with him. They end up tracking him down to an apartment building, where Romy is now living with his human girlfriend. When questioned about their relationship, the girlfriend, named Bunny, goes off on a tangent about how people shouldn’t judge others based on labels or relationships (hello?), and that Brain needs to be more tolerant. Brain apologizes and Romy forgives him. Happy ending.

Romy’s only other appearance is in the comics. Essentially, the plot of this one is that Brain wants to become the president of the local high school’s PTA, but he needs Romy’s help to make it look like he has a normal home life. He also enlists the help of Billie, the obligatory Woman introduced to make sure Brain doesn’t look as gay as he actually is, that he has a crush on. She pretends to be his girlfriend, and Pinky pretends to be Romy’s uncle, while they make up the story that Romy’s actual mother was lost at sea. Because if the organization found out that Brain has a son with a MAN??? THINK of the controversy! Anyway, the plan works, and Brain actually manages to get elected as president. Throughout this though, Pinky gets WEIRDLY jealous that Brain keeps brushing him aside for Billie. To the point where during Brain’s inauguration, Pinky actually dresses up as the wife/mother lost at sea and storms into the room.

[ID: Comic panels of Pinky, Brain, and Romy on stage at the inauguration ceremony. Pinky busts into room wearing drag, saying, “Yoo hoo! I’m back from years lost at sea to be with my son and ungrateful husband! Narf!” He then hugs Romy, while glaring at Brain. He goes on to say, “I’ll stand by your side, even though you left me behind!” The people in the audience begin to question this, saying, “Oh great fuzzy bangs!”, “What’d she say?!”, “He deserted her to be with that other woman!”, “What kind of monster is he?!”. Brain then rips off Pinky’s wig and says, “This isn’t my wife! This isn’t even a woman! It’s my roommate, Pinky.” Pinky replies, “Well, yes... But Romy really is my son! Poit!” And Brain responds, “N-Nonsense! He’s my son!” More people in the audience angrily speak up, saying, “What’s that?”, “He lives with a guy who likes to dress up in women’s clothing and the both claim to be that kid’s father!”, “Grumble! Mutter!” /END ID]

Needless to say, this doesn’t end well for them. What we can conclude from this is that homophobia exists in the Pinky and the Brain universe, and our characters are directly affected by it.

Moving on, And-There-Was-Only-One-Bed is a pretty common occurrence with these two. Their cage is big, they have plenty of room for two beds, but? They choose to sleep together? Even in some times where this has been inconsistent and they DO have separate beds, they’re always RIGHT next to each other. (what if we put our minecraft beds together ❤😳)

I would like to mention the episode, You’ll Never Eat Food Pellets In This Town Again! This episode is interesting to say the least. Deals with a lot of the meta of the show. Anyway. In this episode, Brain has a nightmare that he’s in a loveless marriage with Billie. You know, the woman he’s supposed to have a crush on. In the end, he wakes up from the nightmare in the same bed as Pinky.

Speaking of female love interests, Pinky is seen having multiple relationships with characters of different species. Any time this is brought up by Brain, Pinky counters with Brain being too intolerant. An honorable mention with this is in Wakko’s Wish, when Pinky is with Pharfignewton, and Brain’s constant pestering about their relationship could be read as jealousy. Pinky needs a mousy date, after all!

Something else I would like to mention is in one episode (I forget what it’s called, I’ll try to look it up later and edit this), Brain is applying for a job. The employer asks Brain if he’s married, and Brain hesitates before saying he “has a roommate,” but that he’s occupied with his own things, which then cuts to a shot of Pinky applying lipstick.

Leading into part two of this essay, Pinky’s relationship with gender! Pinky has always been very gender nonconforming, and loves to wear dresses, do his makeup, and make himself look pretty. For the most part, this is played pretty straight, and not as a gag, like a lot of shows tend to do! It’s just a casual fact about him that he likes to present femininely sometimes.

This does play into their taking over the world plans pretty often, where Pinky wears drag, usually either to sneak into somewhere. Like in one of their earliest appearances on Animaniacs, Noah’s Lark, where they pose as a couple to board Noah’s, and I quote, “love boat.” After boarding, Noah says to himself, “Who am I to judge?” Okay. Yeah. Alright. Anyway.

I actually had less to say on this than I thought I did, but I wanted to make sure to emphasize that Pinky at the very least is coded as being Not Quite Cis, and that he’s played a key part in helping a lot of people watching the show figure out that they’re also Not Quite Cis. 

Wrapping this up because I’m hungry, but I want to throw in some more honorable mentions that I really do not see any type of cishet explanations for:

They literally go on a romantic date at a very fancy restaurant in Brain’s Night Off. This is played extremely casually, and the only remark from anyone that they receive is that they are “much smaller than the usual clients.”

Pinky, on at least one occasion, daydreams about him and Brain being a married couple, and wanting to be a housewife (the original malewife ❤)

There’s an issue in the comics where Pinky has a crush on another male mouse, and when Brain gets annoyed, Pinky reassures him that he thinks Brain is cute and quite the catch too

Brain attempting to kiss Pinky in the reboot??????

Brain actually did conquer the world once in the Halloween special, because Pinky made a deal with the devil for it, and thus Pinky got sent to hell! Brain actually went to hell and gave up the world to bring him back

Brain was extremely close to conquering the world once more in the Christmas special, but after reading what Pinky’s feelings for him were (nothing romantic, just Pinky basically just praising Brain for being so hardworking and an amazing mouse, and lamenting that he never gets anything for it), he gets so emotional that he sabotages himself and wishes everyone a Merry Christmas instead

TLDR; these mice are very queer and need therapy, and are probably the most heavily queercoded characters that I can think of in children’s media.

[folkreid]

what if they don’t like me

I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT IN NO WAY AM I TRYING TO MAKE JJ SEEM LIKE A BAD PERSON OR ANYTHIJG I LOVE HER

Today's the day! I'm so excited. I'll be meeting Spencer's team. We've been dating for almost eight months, the team barley found out about me. Spencer wanted our relationship to be private, he said if the team found out about me they would ask too many questions.

I'm so excited to meet them! I can not wait. I met his mother maybe four months ago. She was lovely.

I finish off my makeup with some lipstick. Okay I look good. Right amount of cleavage, right amount of makeup. My heels aren't to high which is really good, I could hardly walk in them.

Spencer comes from behind me wrapping his arms around me. "You ready my love?" he asks putting his head on my shoulder. "Yeah I am" I reply with a sigh. "What's wrong babe?" he asks noticing my dreary mood. "What if they don't like me?" I look at the mirror, looking at him. He kissed my temple. "They're going to love you" he whispered.

I nod. "Okay i'm ready". He grabs my coat handing it to me, I put it on over my dress. He holds my hand as we walk to his car together. He opens my door, I sit down and he closes it for me.

The drive is mainly silent besides the radio. I hum along to the song that was playing trying to relax my nerves. "Why are you bouncing your leg?" he puts his hand over mine that was on my thigh.

I didn't even notice I was doing that. "I don't know"

He squeezed my hand. "Are you still nervous?" he asks looking over at me for a second. "Kind of, what if they question us because of my age"

Spencer and I were 10 years apart. He is 30 and i'm 20. We've gotten a lot of negative responses about our age gap. Mainly from my family. My mom didn't approve. My sister said I was dating him because he was older and I needed male validation since my dad wasn't in my life. Why are they so terrible. I'm happy with Spencer, I don't care how old he is.

"Hey, I don't care what they think of us, i'm happy alright" I nod slowly.

We arrive to the house. Woah it's a really big house. Spencer said the house was big. I didn't think it would be a mansion though.

Spencer comes over to me and opens my door.

I get out and hold his hand. I feel myself getting nervous. I have some issues with being around people. I get social anxiety pretty badly. I don't go out anymore, last time I went out to eat in public I had a panic attack.

We walk to the front door of the house.

Spencer knocks on the door, we wait for someone to answer. An older man answers. I'm guessing the owner of this house. "Spencer you're here!" the man smiles giving him a hug. I stand there awkwardly. "Uh Rossi this is Y/n, my girlfriend" he introduced me. I wave to him. "You don't shake hands either ?" he asked. I do shake hands but I usually feel really uncomfortable being touched. "I-I um" I stutter. "She does but she gets kind of uncomfortable with people she just met" Spencer explains. Rossi nods and welcomes me in. "Come in Y/n" he smiles.

I walk in and see two other men and three women. One of them was very colorful. Penelope I presume. Spencer leads me to the group. "Guys this is my girlfriend, Y/n. Y/n this is Hotch, JJ, Derek, Emily, and Penelope" both Emily and JJ give me weird looks. Penelope runs over to me and hugs me. "Oh my god! I've been so excited to meet you" she squeals. I look over to Spencer feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Garcia, Y/n isn't really fond of touch" he tells her. Penelope pulls away looking sorry. "I am so sorry angel" she says. "No it's totally fine" I whisper, they could hardly hear me. My parents used to scream at me about not talking loud enough.

"Okay well let's eat" Rossi says. I sat down at the end of the table, Spencer to my right and no one on my left. We begin to eat, I slightly here JJ and Emily whispering. I hear them say my name. I begin shifting in my seat. Spencer noticed and holds my hand under the table doing the dumb thing. "You okay love?" he whispers. "Yeah I um, I just need to use the restroom" I tell him. He nods. "I'm going to show Y/n the restroom" he excuses us.

"Here it is babe" he says. "You want me to wait for you?" he asked me. "No it's fine Spencer" he nods and heads back to the table.

I sit on the corner of the bath tub with my face in my hands. I just need to calm down. Breathe in and out. In and out. I feel myself calm down after about three minutes. I go look into the mirror. Do I look like I cried? No okay good.

I step out, I stop at the corner when I hear my name mentioned. "How old is Y/n" I look over the wall to see JJ asking about my age. "She's twenty" he casually says. I adore him. He's never made me feel bad for being younger, or not being as smart as him. "Spencer that's a child" Derek told him.

I walk out to the table. "I'm not a child" I say. They all look over to me. I take my seat next to Spencer. "I would never take advantage of someone younger than me" Spencer says. "Spencer we know but she's so young" Emily comments.

"I'm right here you don't have to refer as me as she" I sternly say. Hotch, Penelope and Rossi just watch this unfold. JJ rolls her eyes at me. "Okay well Y/n, why are you dating such and older guy, if you aren't dating guys you're age theres a reason why" Derek said to me.

"I um- I don't care if Spencer is two years older or twenty years older, i'm happy with him the age doesn't matter" I say holding Spencer's hand. "Are you sure it's not to maybe make you feel better" the blonde said. "What are you implying" Spencer snaps.

"That she has daddy issues and you're just there to fill that whole in her heart" Emily continued off of JJ's comment. "I think if they're happy we should leave them alone" Penelope speaks for the first time since the conversation started. "Yeah but he should be happy with someone his own age" JJ said. I get up and walk outside.

I sit on the curb crying into my knees. "Y/n" I hear a voice perk. I look over my shoulder to see Penelope. "Y/n come back inside please, we don't want anything to happen to you" she says implying to the fact that it was dark outside and there were suspicious men on the news around this area.

"Maybe you don't want me to get hurt, the others hate me" I cry into my shirt. "Please just come inside". I give in and walk back into the house.

"You guys made her cry! For what?! Just because she's younger than me!" I see Spencer yell at the three who were questioning me.  Hotch and Rossi were in the back having some drinks.

"Spence" JJ starts. "No I don't want to hear it Jennifer!" he storms my way grabbing my hand and pulling me to the car. "Goodbye Y/n" Penelope called from the front of the house. I look back and give her a quick wave.

I get into the car and Spencer starts driving. He was gripping the stealing wheel hard. He was mad. "Spence?" I whisper. He hummed in response. "Are you mad at me?" he looks over to me the second those words left my mouth. He puts his hand on my thighs stroking it gently. "Of course not my love, i'm  mad at them" he gently told me. I nod. "So now what?" I ask. "Now we just ignore what they have to say. I'm never going to leave you, I love you so much" he smiles. "I love you too" I hold his hand.

"Are you okay?" he asked me. "I'm fine, I liked the way you yelled at them" I slightly giggled. He smiled. "I will yell at anyone any day to defend you" he reaches over and kisses me. We were at a red light.

—————————

THE NEXT MORNING

I hear talking in the kitchen, I wonder who it is. I go over and peek over the corner. It was Spencer and JJ. "I'm sorry for saying shit to your girlfriend Spence" she apologizes. Spencer just takes a sip of his water. "The truth is, I guess I was a little jealous" she laughs. He choked on his water. "J-Jealous?" he asked.

She nods and slightly laughed. "Spencer, I love you, like more than a friend love you" she confess. I feel my self get sick to my stomach. He told me when he was younger he had a crush on her. What if old feelings come back. I rush to the restroom and vomit into the toilet.

I hear footsteps rush to me. "Are you okay" Spencer acts. I slightly sob, i've always hated throwing up. I look up at Spencer and JJ was standing next to him with her hand on his arm. "I'm fine" I mumble. They both stand their for a moment. "Can you guys get out please!" I snap at them. They leave and I brush my teeth and go back to the kitchen.

"Do you think Y/n is pregnant?" JJ asked Spencer. "No there's no way she is" he sighs. "What if a condom ripped or something" she said touching his arm once again. I don't care if she was trying to comfort him.

"No, she can't be because we've never had sex" he mumbled. Her facial expressions changes to shock. "Oh" she simply says. I clear my throat making them notice me. "Are you okay babe?" he asked. "Yeah i'm fine, JJ weren't you saying something earlier?" I ask. She looks at me confused. "What are you talking about Y/n" she tilts her head. I cross my arms. "Spencer I love you, like more than a friend love you" I mock her voice. She clenched her jaw and looks towards Spencer. "I'm gonna leave" she grabs her things and walks out the door.

"Why did you do that!" he yells at me. "Why are you yelling at me?" I head towards our bedroom. "Talk about what she said, now it's going to be awkward around her!" he screams.

"Well you're the one who was letting her be all up on you! After she said that when you guys came to check up on me she was holding your arm! A-And you used to have feelings for her and you probably still do" I cry.

I see his face soften. "Babe" he starts. I look up at him. "I didn't even realize she was touching me, I was to focused on you" he tells me.

"Really?" I say hopefully. "Yes baby" he hugs me and kisses the top of my head. "I don't have feelings for her, you're the only person I love okay?" I nod.

[the-ghost-king]

You know how everyone has at least one minor rrverse character with no significance but they're you're favorite? Okay Mitchell from the Aphrodite Cabin is one of mine...

Make him Italian, probably Southern Italian I like to imagine his family immigrated from the Florentine area

Trans masc

At first he thinks he's just a gnc trans guy but after he starts medical transition he realizes he's nonbinary

Uses he/they pronouns generally

But when people he's close to talk about or to him and they're using nouns to describe him they use female gendered nouns (ex: daughter, lady, girl, etc), and yes these are a part of his gender expression

Also the type of person to hyphenate their deadname with their original middle name as their new middle name

They definitely are the type of person too who just invites invasive and awkward questions (as long as they're being asked in good faith) for educational purposes, and he'll give you the most derailed answer if that's what you want

Also he might be femme but he's not weak and he will beat you up if you're just being unnecessarily transphobic

His dad is a high quality fashion designer and because of this Mitchell is kind of spoiled (okay very spoiled) about clothes, always having high thread count clothes and also personally tailored pieces

They've got some casual plans to take over their dad's business but he thinks that he wants to expand it out into a more affordable fashion market for the average person (they like affordable and sustainable fashion too! The artistic pieces are nice but it's not a long-term sustainable business model!)

He personally dresses very camp, even the cishets look at him and go "oh he's you know... _/‾"

They love a good suit, very gender to him

Him, Nico, and Chiara all getting together to talk in Italian; and have culturefests or something

Watching Italian films, and TV shows, updating Nico on modern Italian culture, etc

Bi or Pan, but doesn't really feel the need to label himself, usually just says multisexual or mspec unless someone doesn't know what that means

His attraction to women is gay, his attraction to nonbinary people is gay, his attraction to men is gay... If you can't handle that you're not their target audience

Idk how old they are but Rick's timeline is fake and so are ages then, so him and Austin are dating

Very cute couple, very casual dynamic, probably have won "cutest couple award" or something at some point

Definitely went to all their high school dances together

Their favorite color... Probably green or pink... Yellow is also a good option

Mitchell probably wears glasses for the "aesthetic" but has worse vision with them on

Would not put it past him to be a social media influencer but have a secret Twitter account for BL

He definitely reads GL too

Very into anime, jdrama, and manga, likes manhwa and kdrama and any other variation of those things

Yeah probably kpop too

They probably like stuff like "My First First Love" and "Cherry Magic!" etc

First anime was probably one of the ones everyone seems to start with so maybe "Your Lie in April" or "Ouran High school Host Club"... His all time favorite is probably "Given"

First Manga... Probably "Orange" or something unexpected like "Black Butler"

He's definitely the person who introduces Nico to anime and such... The whole thing just sort of confuses Nico but he likes a couple of them, "Death Note" and some other psychological or horror type stuff

Definitely has some talent when it comes to hair styling, lots of people at camp are always going to him for haircuts and styles so he starts charging $2 or something for it and basically has a summer job at camp

He lives in the New York area year round (honestly, he probably goes home on the weekends sometimes from summer camp and goes to camp for the weekends sometimes in the school year)

Because of how close he is to camp other people in the area will often call him to do their hair and makeup for homecoming/prom/etc and he always agrees unless he's visiting family in Italy or he's touring with his dad

Likes to chill with Austin at the infirmary, partially to hang out but also probably because that's one of the few places in camp that has air conditioning

Will is always getting after him for sitting on the counters, something about it being unsanitary but they don't think it should matter as long as they're not in any of the operating rooms

Austin likes him too much to tell him no but yeah it's not sanitary, but to Austin the choice is a sanitary counter or a happy and comfortable boyfriend... He's picking happy boyfriend

Also Mitchell is very supportive of Austin's music career and always trying to convince Austin to let them use tracks of his music on the runways at their dad's shows

But Austin always says no because he wants to "make it big on his own" which Mitchell thinks is a bit silly but if it's what Austin wants he'll support it

Mitchell is super into camp's drama, they don't do anything with the information or all the secrets they just like knowing all of it

If you ask them to keep a secret they absolutely will

But that embarrassing story about you that went around camp five years ago that you lowkey wish everyone would just stop talking about, he's the one that keeps restarting the cycle

He babbles to Nico all the time about all the ongoings of camp because Nico is also good at keeping his mouth shut, but Nico doesn't care about the drama for the same reasons though (Nico: "Hold on, back up, you said Drew knows Sadie Kane? Interesting..." Mitchell:"okay Mr. Ominous, and also yeah, I did say that, so anyhow... ")

Very artistic person in general, he can probably play the piano okay, he's no professional and no Apollo kid but he can play some songs, and they have enough practice to learn new songs on their own!!

Definitely was voted by camp to have the worst taste in music though

Says his favorite movie is probably "Bring It On" or "Heathers" of something similar, but his actual favorite film is one of those cliche silent black and white ones that's only available in French

They definitely did dance for a few years growing up, has a ballet, tap, and hip hope background to work with but he left it behind when we was 13 or so but eventually they start to get back into hip hop and keep up with various types and lessons and places through their 20s

He's always the person to start groupchats

They think they're fun but they rarely take off without prompting from him

Also often times plays matchmaker for people ("they would be a cute couple wouldn't they? I don't know though, does she like girls? I think so?")

Those are just some ideas off the top of my head, hopefully you enjoy!

[twink-appreciation-posts]

Simple Victimology (Spencer Reid x Reader)

chapter one of “all bets are off”

“An agent of the BAU is exactly the unsub's type. Pretty convenient, right? Well, turns out she's exactly Dr. Spencer Reid's type as well. All it took for him to admit it was a bit of... performative seduction.”

{notes: sorry if this was is bit too dialogue heavy! i just needed to get all the groundwork/backstory laid out lmao. anyway action and NSFW content is coming up next chapter.}

"So our unsub's victimology is quite clear, right? I mean, almost to an irrational degree. All the women he's attacked have been dressed similarly, with similar body types, similar makeup." Dr. Spencer Reid mused, his eyes scanning the photographs up on the wall. "And he just doesn't seem to strike women who are alone. He enjoys the thrill of stealing his victims away from other men."

You let out a sigh. The case you and the rest BAU had been working on was fairly straight cut: psychotic sexual sadist who abducts his victim from parties, tortures them for months, then dumps the bodies in the woods.

"But it just doesn't make sense. With such a specific MO, he must rarely find a target that's suitable for him to strike." You shook your head. "It's not a trait that lends itself well to a serial killer."

"That's probably why he spends so much time with each of his victims. An attempt to keep him satisfied between hunts." Derek agreed.

Rossi piped up next. "The specificity leads me to believe he's chasing after a very certain high.. trying to recreate a specific person or moment through his delusions." He continued. "Our best chance of drawing him out is to send out the perfect victim. He's the type who can't afford to pass up the opportunity when he sees one."

Silence. Everyone on the team knew what happened last time they had sent an agent out as bait. No one was sure they were ready to take that type of chance again.

Spencer's eyes continued to scan the pictures and then, suddenly, you felt the weight of his eyes on you. "Y/N looks pretty close to the unsubs type.." He said hesitantly.

"No," Hotch began "We're not sending our own agent out into the field of a sexual sadist as bait."

You stood up quickly. "No, it's okay." You spoke firmly, your own gaze fixated on the previous victims' images. "All we need to do is draw him out, right? You guys will be with me the whole time. I'm not a risk. I can do it."

Silence befell the room again, until Hotch broke it. "Alright. Reid, Prentiss, go over the victimology one more time. Make sure we get this right. We'll send Y/N out tonight."

"That still leaves the issue of the male companion, sir." Emily piped up.

"I'll do it." Morgan volunteered. "I feel at home on the dance floor anyway. Easy cover." He chuckled.

"No..." Rossi thought out loud. " We need someone who's not threatening. Someone who has zero chance of jeopardizing this mission. Zero chance of scaring our unsub off."

Everyone almost instantly turned to Reid. It was almost comical. He blinked a few times, processing the implications of everyone's stare. "Oh. Yeah. I guess I fit that description." He smiled weakly.

"So it's settled then. Get to work agents."

And without another word, you each followed Hotch's orders. You remained in the conference room with Spencer and Emily, psyching yourself up for your first mission as bait.

"The women that our unsub target are all dressed..." Spencer trailed off.

"Provocatively." You finished for him. "They're all wearing short dresses. Lots of skin exposed. And, from what we've gathered, they all seem to be a fan of the party life. Witnesses at the sight of the abduction told us that the girls don't shy away from the taboo. Drugs, drinking, dancing, you name it."

Emily nodded. "You up for that, Y/N?" She questioned half-jokingly.

"You should be asking Spencer if he's up for dealing with that side of me." You jested, glancing up at him. He gave you a reassuring shrug, one that could've been mistaken for a wince, and you shoved him gently. "Don't worry Spence. I won't go too wild. Anyway, I should probably get home and grab a change of clothes. They'll want to have as much time as possible to wire me." You turned on your heel, walking out of the conference room.

"I'll be back!" You announced to the rest of the team.

"Y/N, wait!" Spencer jogged up behind you. "I, uh, I should probably get changed too, right? I mean, I don't want to look too out of place."

You gave him the good ol' once over and pondered for a moment.

"Do you own anything that doesn't look like a TA would wear on his first day of class?" Derick teased from his desk.

"I have some dress shirts, at least." Spencer replied seriously.

"Well I'll give you a ride, then." You offered. "Your place is pretty close to mine." Spencer nodded and followed you out the door.

"Do I really dress like a TA?" He questioned, partially to himself.

"Maybe, but like a TA that all the freshman girls would have a crush on." You patted his shoulder reassuringly.

The car ride to Spencer's place was a relatively quiet one. You discussed the case, you asked Spencer if he thought the plan would work. He seemed pretty confident it would.

"If you want you can just wait here for a second. I really just need to grab the clothes and we can head to your place." He explained once you had parked.

"Go for it." You replied.

He came back, a couple of shirts and ties in hand, and shut the car door. You began driving once again.

"So, Y/N, did you um, used to party a lot back in college?" He asked you. You smiled.

"A bit. I had some fun, that's for sure. I was always pretty focused on my academics, though. Not as much as you were though, I'm sure. A few of my friends used to call me "the fortune teller". I had a habit of making guesses on what would happen at the parties we went to. Who would hook up with who, who would black out first, stuff like that." You reminisced.

"Profiling your fellow party-goers." Reid chuckled.

"I suppose so."

You escorted Reid up to your apartment when you arrived. He commented that it seemed like a nice place. You thanked him. Casual small-talk was made. You began to dig through your closet, searching for a dress that would entice the unsub. "What color shirts did you bring?" You asked.

He quickly shuffled through his options. "Black, grey, white.. why?"

"Just wanted to make sure we wouldn't clash. Can't have a red dress with a blue shirt, right? We're supposed to be going to this party together."

"Oh, smart."

You pulled out two dresses, both of which were from your younger days. You prayed they would still fit. "Which one do you think?" You held them up to Spencer.

"Well, they're both.. they're both pretty. I like them both." He replied, analyzing them.

"Well, yeah . But I mean, which one do you think the unsub would prefer?" You chuckled.

He flushed. "Right. I'd say the dark red one. It reminds me of the dress from the first victim."

You nodded. The dress crushed velvet. Tight. Short. Exposing. But oh well, you figured, this was your job. "I'm gonna change in the bathroom. Feel free to change out here."

You exited the bedroom, leaving him alone. When you had finished slipping on the dress, which fortunately had fit perfectly, you slipped back into the bedroom. Spencer was buttoning up the last few buttons of his shirt. Your eyes followed his fingers, the way they methodically worked, and when he was done he looked up at you.

You both took a beat.

"You look great, Y/N." He coughed a bit, eyeing you up and down. "Ready to catch our unsub." He added quickly.

"You too, Doctor." You grinned. "I think we'll make quite a convincing pair." You grabbed some heels from your closet and motioned for him to follow you back out of the apartment. "Back to work we go!" You sing-songed, starting up the engine.

Almost the instant you stepped into the door of the BAU offices you were bombarded by Hotch a few additional FBI agents. Hotch began to go over the plan meticulously:

Make it appear like you've been drinking. Reid will leave to "go to the bathroom". You go outside for a "smoke break". The unsub will follow you from inside the club. The rest of the team will be staked out in a car near by. Keep the unsub talking. He'll offer to buy you a drink. Accept. He'll go back inside and bring it to you. It's drugged. Do not drink it. Keep the cup as evidence. That's when the others will come to put the guy in cuffs. Reid will be just inside if things seem like they're going to go sideways.

"Jeez, Hotch, I may not have an eidetic memory, but I can remember this. I promise."

Once you were wired up, JJ and Emily began the proccess of your hair and makeup. For a moment, it was almost cute. It was like you were getting ready for a girls night. Except, you supposed, that it was all in the name of baiting a serial killer.

When the clock hit 9pm you and Reid were shuffled off back into your car and given directions to the bar that you would be staking out.

"We didn't have much time to talk in there, what with Hotch being up our asses about the plan. How are you feeling?" You asked.

Spencer didn't reply.  Nerves, you figured. "Spence?"

He shook his head, almost as if he had snapped out of a trance. "Ah, yeah sorry. I feel pretty good. I mean, I'm confident we'll catch our unsub." A moment of hesitation. "JJ and Emily did a great job on your makeup. You look... great."

You felt your face heat up. Why was a compliment from Spencer Reid making you nervous? "Thanks."

At 10pm you were pulling into the parking lot of the bar. It was almost full. Tons of people must've been inside. Your unsub included. You took a moment of pause. "Time to get into character." You wiped your sweaty hands on the crushed velvet fabric of your dress.

"The rest of the team must be down the block." Reid nodded.

You looked towards him anxiously and stepped out of the car. He followed suit, coming around to the passenger side and grabbing your hand. You squeezed it gently, not sure if it was to calm your nerves or his, or just because you wanted to.

"Come on, babe!" You exclaimed, pulling him towards the entrance.

It must've caught him off gaurd, but he just chuckled. "I've been waiting for this night all week."

[leejungchans]

— first meetings.

juliet’s masterlist

note: obviously i don’t know what exactly happened that day at mama/award shows in general, so this is mainly based on my own imagination!!

words in bold are spoken in english!!

set on december 5, 2019

summary: juliet catches the eye of a certain someone at mama 2019, and got to meet him all thanks to one jung wooyoung.

a/n: 👀

“That ended way too soon,” Juliet sighs contentedly to Jongho, leaning into his shoulder. Though being exhausted physically from the long day and their performances, her heart has never felt this full.

If you told her a few years ago that she’d be invited to attend MAMA she’d surely laugh in disbelief, but here they are—having performed and received a award in front of one of the largest crowds she’s ever seen with eight of the most important people in her life.

If this is all a dream, Juliet never wants to wake up.

Jongho rests his head on hers. “Yeah,” he says softly, “it feels like... we really made it.”

“You didn’t feel that when we were on tour?” she teases.

“Of course I did, but you know what I mean.” Juliet nods against the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe we’d ever in be the same room as that many big names in the industry, you know?”

She hums. “We’ve come a long way.”

Despite the tender moment between the two youngest members, it’s chaos all around them as their staff hastily packs everything—props, makeup, accessories, costumes, the works—back into suitcases and boxes as they prepare to leave the venue.

“Where are you going?” Jongho asks when Juliet shifts to get up.

“Washroom,” she answers, and he nods before shooing her away jokingly.

Laughing, she slips out of ATEEZ’s waiting room and into the hallway. In her hoodie and matching sweatpants under a long coat, Juliet would’ve blended in with the staff members rushing around to wrap everything up if it weren’t for her styled hair and glittery makeup, both of which she decided to keep on until they get back to the dorms. Just to prolong the magical feeling from tonight.

Just as she’s about to go into the washroom, she hears someone—definitely Wooyoung—shout her name from behind.

“Found you!” Wooyoung, dressed as casually as she is, says gleefully as he pulls her in the opposite direction. “Thank me later, okay?”

“For what? For abducting me outside the women’s restroom?”

Wooyoung snorts. “There’s a good reason—”

“I don’t think there’s ever a good enough justification for stopping someone from going to the toilet! Besides, our managers said we have to leave soon!”

“Yes, there is! Because I’m taking you to meet your favourite seniors!”

Juliet stops in the middle of the crowded hallway. “Wait, who?” she asks suspiciously with narrowed eyes.

Wooyoung’s eyes practically shine when he answers, “SEVENTEEN-sunbaenim!”

“Huh? Why would they want to—Yow! If you keep pulling that hard my arm’s gonna fall off!” she whines as he continues to tug her down the corridor. “How do you even know them?”

“I ran into Seungkwan-sunbaenim in the washroom, and he complimented our performance before saying he’d love to meet more of our members!” Wooyoung explains, oblivious to the way Juliet’s eyes widen. “I was gonna go to our waiting room to grab all of you, but then I realised we probably have to leave soon and was about to turn back when I saw you! This is it!” he finishes excitedly, stopping in front of a door with a label saying ‘SEVENTEEN’ attached to it.

He’s about to knock on the door when her hand shoots up to catch his fist. “Wait! I can’t go in there!” she suddenly protests. “It’s going to be so awkward.”

Wooyoung frowns confusedly. “Huh? Why? We’re just gonna introduce ourselves and stay for a few minut—oh. Oh. Are you still embarrassed by what happened during the show?” he teases, giggling at the way her gaze averts. “Aigoo, it’s going to be okay! I promise you it wasn’t a big deal.”

“She’s amazing,” Juliet leans closer to Wooyoung to murmur dreamily as they watch Chungha’s performance, eyes not leaving the small screen placed in front of their seats. “Everything about this is incredible.”

“I know,” Wooyoung agrees, equally as starstruck. “Also, did you notice we’re sitting in front of SEVENTEEN-sunbaenim?” he asks in a much quieter voice. “Don’t look, though! Act natural.”

“I wasn’t even gonna look!” she complains before whispering, “but yeah, I wanted to tell you but then the show started and I didn’t want them to hear me.”

“You don’t think they can hear us now, right?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure the music and crowd are too loud for that.”

Wooyoung hums in acknowledgement before they continue to pay full attention to the performance, Juliet mouthing along to the lyrics and subtly doing the key points of the dance.

She gasps quietly when the dance break starts, fully entranced by Chungha’s performance and decides she wants a better view of the choreography, so she cranes her head to find one of the big screens located all around the dome.

The moment she turns to look behind her for said screens, her eyes meet those of SEVENTEEN’s maknae. If she weren’t so startled, she would’ve found the situation more amusing from the way both of their eyes widened before quickly looking away, and she feels the embarrassment burn hot within her as she decides to stick to watching the smaller screen in front of her instead.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung asks as Chungha’s performance ends, noticing how Juliet had stiffened up, a stark contrast to her relaxed form from when they were enjoying the other performances.

“Come closer,” she mutters, gesturing with her hand for him to lean in before whispering, “I was trying to watch the big screen just now and accidentally made eye contact with Dino-sunbaenim for a few seconds.”

Wooyoung snorts. “I swear, these things only happen to you, dummy. What happened after that?”

“I turned the frick back around, of course!” Juliet whispers back furiously. “It was so embarrassing.”

“If someone caught that on camera and puts it on YouTube or Twitter or whatever, I’m never letting you live that down.”

Juliet groans and buries her head in her hands, ignoring Wooyoung’s giggles and San’s curious whine of “What? What were you guys talking about?”

The sound of firm knocking snaps Juliet out of her thoughts.

“Jesus, Wooyoungie, you’re going to wake the dead knocking like that,” she mutters in a pitiful attempt to distract herself from the pounding in her chest. Truly, she doesn’t know how Wooyoung handles meeting new people with so much ease. She could never.

“It’s them! I got it!” A voice says from inside the room, one that unmistakably belongs to Seungkwan, calls out. There’s a few seconds of hurried footsteps before the door is thrown open, revealing the beaming main vocalist of SEVENTEEN.

“Hello,” Wooyoung and Juliet say in unison, bowing to their senior.

“Oh, there’s no need for that!” Seungkwan says kindly, inviting them into the room. Juliet sticks close to her member as various staff members crane their necks to observe the newcomers, hoping that hiding behind Wooyoung will make her less visible to everyone. Thankfully, the staff quickly turns back to their work, paying them no further attention as the trio move further into the waiting room.

Juliet feels like her ears are on fire, barely registering Wooyoung explain to Seungkwan that he didn’t have time to bring the others. Then she realises who Seungkwan is leading them to, and her heart drops.

Is it too late to run away?

Apparently not, as Wooyoung seems to have noticed her slowing footsteps and proceeds to gently pull her along by the sleeve of her oversized hoodie. She wonders where the nearest hole to bury herself in is when Seungkwan calls out to two of his members, and she’s sure her cheeks are bright red when Vernon and Chan look up at the approaching trio.

“Look who I brought,” Seungkwan sings as the two ATEEZ members murmur greetings before introducing themselves.

Juliet thinks she’s about to pass out when Chan gets up and offers his seat to her. “No, no, you don’t have to,” she says shyly, frantically waving her hands, “we won’t be staying long anyways.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “there are spare chairs right there.”

She feels a small nudge on her other side, turning her head in that direction to find Wooyoung wriggling his brows at her. Utterly mortified, she looks away from her member to thank Chan profusely instead, before hesitantly sitting in the chair he was occupying just a minute ago.

Is it just her, or is the room getting unbearably hot? Taking a deep breath, she removes her coat and drapes it over the back of the chair while Chan drags over two more chairs for him and Wooyoung.

“Are you okay?” Vernon asks worriedly from beside her, noting her red cheeks and ears. “I can turn down the heat, if you want.”

“Oh, no. I’m good, thank you,” Juliet replies sheepishly, wringing her fingers together nervously. “I just turn red really easily when embarrassed... because... this is... kinda awkward.”

He laughs good-naturedly. “We don’t bite,” he assures, “congratulations on your award, by the way.”

“Thank you, you too. We loved your performance,” she says genuinely. “We were all jamming out back there.”

“Ah, I wish we were there to see yours. We were preparing for ours during it so I only caught snippets of it. You were also the one giving the speech in English earlier, right?”

“Yeah, I’m from Australia so I usually take care of the English speeches.”

“Explains the accent.”

“I get that a lot,” Juliet says wryly, eliciting chuckles from the both of them.

“Yah, are you two excluding us because we can’t speak English?”

“Yeah!” Wooyoung chimes in in support of Seungkwan, “what were you two talking about?”

Juliet cocks a brow at him. “Are you sure you want to know?”

To her delight, Vernon plays along. “What if we tell you that we’ve been gossiping about you three the entire time?”

“What’s this about gossip I hear?” Jeonghan cheekily butts in, appearing in the space between Juliet and Wooyoung. She squeaks from surprise, and looks up to find him already grinning down at her. “Hi.”

“H-hello, Jeonghan-sunbaenim.”

Seungkwan bats him away. “Hyung! You’re scaring the poor girl. Also, this zone is for maknaes only, shoo shoo!”

Juliet smiles, the scene in front of her reminding her of ATEEZ’s sibling-like dynamic. Jeonghan’s presence lessens the awkward energy even more, and soon she can feel the tenseness dissipate from her body, starting to genuinely relax as she engages with the others. Sadly, their animated conversation only lasts for a couple more minutes when Wooyoung gets a message from Jongho asking for his whereabouts and if he’s seen Juliet.

“Oops, I think they’re looking for us,” he tells her, sounding completely unapologetic (though she can’t really blame him this time). “We should probably go.”

Juliet agrees, watching in amusement when Seungkwan asks for Wooyoung’s number because this is probably the most starstruck she’s ever seen Wooyoung look.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He rejoices on the way back to their dressing room. “I got Seungkwannie-hyung’s number, and you got to meet the others! You had fun!”

“Okay, I’ll admit that it was pretty f—”

Juliet suddenly stops cold, cutting herself off with a loud gasp as her hands fly up to cover her mouth from shock.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen in alarm as his head whips around frantically. “What? What’s wrong? What did you see?”

“I... I think I left my coat in their room. I put it on the back of the chair and... forgot to take it when we left.”

He blinks at her owlishly while her words sink in. Then he starts cackling.

“Stop! This isn’t funny!” Juliet wails. “What do I do?”

“What do you mean? Go back and grab it, of course!”

“Can’t you do it for me?” she pleads, giving him her best puppy eyes.

Wooyoung scoffs. “No way. That’d be rude. I’ll wait for you here while you go get it.”

“You’re actually the worst,” she groans, though they both know she doesn’t mean it.

He pats her on the back. “You’ll thank me sometime in the future.”

Juliet frowns at his cryptic tone before heading back to SEVENTEEN’s room with an exaggerated sigh that she made sure Wooyoung heard. The humiliation is already starting to build in her gut, creating a churning feeling in her stomach. Talk about leaving a questionable impression, she thinks dejectedly. Must she always be so forgetful?

“Juliet-ssi?”

Something within her crumbles like a tower built from toothpicks when she glances up to find herself face-to-face with none other than Lee Chan.

“I—um... you left your coat,” he says quickly, not quite meeting her eyes as he hands her the garment.

Juliet accepts it hurriedly with a bow, hugging the coat to her chest tightly for some semblance of comfort. From what, she doesn’t know. Probably the sheer embarrassment. “Thank you, I was... on my way to go get it.”

“Right, I... I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah... okay... thank you again.”

The two of them exchange one final nod before turning away and speed-walking in opposite directions.

She’s definitely changing her name and moving to Mars. Juliet Baek? Never heard of her.

“What did they say?” Wooyoung asks curiously when Juliet approaches him. His bewilderment increases tenfold when the girl strides right past him with rushed steps instead of stopping.

He jogs to catch up with her, raising a hand to poke at her cheek. “Aw, why are you blushing again? What happened?” he presses on with a coo, obviously teasing the maknae.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just never gonna show my face in this industry ever again.”

a/n: on today’s episode of the boys not letting juliet breathe 💀💀💀💀 bro if this happened to me i’d google map the nearest cliff to fling myself off of 😭 10k awkward-acquaintances-to-lovers slowburn let’s go 😼😼 please leave feedback and chat with me!! as always thank you for reading and take care 💕

[unsteadyimagines]

What She Doesn’t Know Won’t Kill Her (Spencer Reid x Reader)

SUMMARY: Y/N finds out Spencer has been in an accident and wonders why no one called her as she was understood to be his emergency contact. Turns out... his wife is, which only further exposes shocking revelations after revelations.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: N/A

NOTE:

*** Thank you everyone for being so patient!! :) 

——-

“Someone please just TELL me something! I’m looking for Spencer Reid, please!” Y/N shouts, trying to attract the attention of a doctor or nurse. Y/N’s head whips all directions, people flying by her assisting others, taking calls and checking clipboards. Her head feels dizzy, her heart beating erratically against her warm chest. Stumbling into a seat in the waiting room, she doesn’t know what to do. What to think, say, or feel. Time feels incredibly slow yet so fast.

“Excuse me, please! I’m looking for Spencer Reid! Someone help me… FUCK!” Y/N yells, gripping her hair in utter frustration. To the others around her, she must have looked completely psychotic, but she didn’t care. All Y/N wanted was to find out what happened to Spencer.

A nurse rushes to Y/N, concern spread on her face. As soon as Y/N sees that she’s coming for her, the only words she is able to shakily proclaims is Spencer’s name.

“Why wasn’t I notified earlier? I had to find out from his mother’s carer! I don’t understand, I- ”

“I’m sorry Miss Y/L/N, but the first person we informed was his emergency contact and due to the nature of his profession, we must notify them immediately so- ”

 “Wait… wait. His emergency contact? I-I thought I was his…” Y/N was so confused.

“No, I’m afraid not. I’m sorry but we’re unable to disclose Dr Reid’s personal information.”

After trying multiple times to reason with the nurse only to fail every time, Y/N eventually slumps herself in one of the waiting room chairs, emotionally drained. After a long day of work that consisted of a 12-hour shift, she wanted nothing more than to go home, have a hot, relaxing shower and go to bed. But now with Spencer, all she wants is to know if he’s okay or not.

Y/N feels gross, her hair is a mess, her makeup is oily and separated and her work outfit is crinkled and dishevelled.

Only a few minutes later Y/N hears a pair of shoes hitting the ground, the noise getting louder and louder as the person running comes closer. In walks a beautiful auburn-haired woman, dressed in a pencil skirt, white button up shirt and blazer – the heel of her shoes the reason for the sound.

She too looks just as frantic and chaotic as Y/N did when she entered the waiting room, also receiving the same look from everyone else.

“I’m looking for my husband, please! He came in a few minutes ago. Where is he?!” The woman yells, catching the attention of the same nurse that denied Y/N. The nurse walks to the woman, grabbing her clipboard out once again.

“What’s your name?” The nurse asks.

“Isabella Reid?” The woman confirms, causing Y/N’s to whip around. Her eyes are even wider than they were before, her heart starting to beat a little faster. Did she hear this right? No, surely not.

The frantic woman is taken down the hallway by another nurse, whose comforting her during the walk. As soon as the nurse is free, Y/N rushes over to her again.

“I-I’m sorry but who-who did that woman say she was?” Y/N asks, gasping.

The nurse raises her eyebrows, slight concern written on her face.

“I’m sorry but why would that concern you? Do you know her?”

“You don’t understand, please tell me! Who was that woman asking for Dr Reid? W-was that his emergency contact?” Y/N’s words are so rushed she’s not even sure she could comprehend what she just said. The nurse sighs, putting the clipboard down as if she has had enough with Y/N’s behaviour.

“Miss I am not allowed to just disclose information like that, even if it’s just her name. I’m sorry but I can’t help you.” The nurse dismisses, walking back to the reception desk.

Y/N gives up, afraid that if she were to keep trying, they would just eventually call security and get her kicked out. She walks back to sit in her seat once again, even more confused and hurt than when she first walked into the hospital.

She takes a deep breath, praying that Spencer will be ok. Not being able to have any update on his situation was killing Y/N inside. She only just saw him yesterday, so what had happened between then and now?

Y/N only hopes that whatever happened to Spencer was while he was working, that would give her a somewhat small chance of reassurance that he has been taken care of by the best people there is.

Does she leave? Stay? Y/N puts her head in her hands trying to make sense of everything, the pieces not fitting together or making any kind of sense.

Does Spencer have a wife? An actual wife? We’ve been dating for seven months… how? How is this possible?

Pulled out of her trance, she hears numerous shoes firmly hitting the ground and loud voices talking to each other, getting closer every second. A group of men and women rush into the waiting room. They all look stressed yet calm at the same time, almost as if this isn’t the first time they’ve experienced a situation like this. As Y/N’s eyes are planted to the ground beneath her, she feels like she’s being watched. Trying to appear casual, she very slowly looks up and to confirm her suspicions, she makes eye contact with a man who appeared to already be looking at her, his eyes slightly squinting as if trying to figure out where he has seen her before. Y/N quickly diverts her eyes away in hopes that she would be left alone. Her prayers go unanswered as she hears footsteps making their way towards her.

“Excuse me, miss?” A deep voice softly asked, not wanting to alarm her.

Y/N can’t do anything other than to look up again at the familiar man, suddenly remembering why she recognises him.

It was roughly three or four months ago when Y/N had spent the night at Spencer’s apartment, waking up the next morning to find that Spencer had run out to grab them both a coffee. As she had just finished getting ready to leave for work, she flinched suddenly at the intrusion of a man bursting through the apartment door. Before Y/N could even begin to try and defend herself, the man put his hands up in defence.

“Woah, I’m so sorry! I was looking for Spencer, I-I had no idea he wasn’t… alone.” The man explained, trying to normalise the situation.

“I’m Derek Morgan, Spencer’s work colleague, do you know when he’ll be back? He’s not answering his phone and we have to be on a flight in one hour.” Derek explained, still standing by the door.

Y/N, on the other hand, still frazzled, tried to put words together.

“He, uh – went to get us some coffee a-and left his phone here.”

It was no secret that both Derek and Y/N could feel the unbearable tension consuming the room. Derek’s eyes averted to Y/N’s packed bags and then back to her, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Did… did you stay the night here?” He asks Y/N, trying to seem casual.

“Yeah, I did?” Y/N answers back as more of a question, confused on why he felt the need to ask.

Once again, Derek’s face shows complete confusion, trying to come up with what to say next.

“Morgan! What are you doing here?” Derek and Y/N hear from the front door, Spencer’s face looking alarmed.

“Reid we’ve gotta go, we have a flight to Houston to catch in an hour, let’s go!”

“I’ll meet you outside.” Spencer tells Derek, giving him an awkward smile.

Derek looks from Spencer to Y/N, lighting scoffing to himself.

“It was nice to meet you…”

“Y/N.”

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” Derek makes an emphasis on her name, looking back at Reid before he begins to make his way out of Spencer’s apartment.

“Unbelievable.” He quietly mutters to himself.

Y/N now realises why Derek was acting slightly cold around her, and rightfully so.

“I know you now… know.” Derek emphasised, giving Y/N a sympathetic smile. She feels extremely awkward and cornered right now. Between worrying about Spencer and possibly finding out that he’s fucking MARRIED, she still pretends to act as if she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, hoping that somehow this has been a big misunderstanding.

“I-I don’t know what you’re t-talking about…” Y/N tries to play it off as if she’s confused by his statement, but by the look on his face, she remembers that she’s trying to lie to an FBI agent… and failing. Giving up, she sniffles and decides to come clean.

“I-I had no idea he was… m-married, I swear I wouldn’t have d-done anything.” Y/N stumbles, still in obvious shock.

“I know… I know.” Derek sighs.

“Look… I know you’re probably really angry and heartbroken right now and I don’t blame you, but do you have any idea where he could have been going or if he was meeting anyone?”

“N-no I don’t know anything. I haven’t seen him since… since yesterday morning.”

There’s a long, awkward pause. Neither of them knows what to say.

“Is it true?” Y/N asks to break the silence. In her heart she knows the answer she’s about to receive but that doesn’t make her feel any better.

“Is what true?” Derek asks, looking to her with confusion.

Letting out a scoff, Y/N just wants this conversation to be over.

“That Spencer’s married.” She whispers. She can’t look Derek in the eye, in fear that once he gives her any type of facial expression indicating that she’s right, she’d break down all over again. Actually, come to think of it, that will probably happen regardless.

Derek sighs, slowly nodding his head in confirmation.

“Yeah… he is married.”

Frowning her face in order to prevent the tears from spilling, Y/N nods and once again faces the ground and begins letting the tears fall. She’s in such disbelief that she doesn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed in front of Derek right now.

“I didn’t tell anyone about that time I saw you at his apartment, especially not Isabella… I figured that conversation should come from Spencer and only him.” Derek says, noticing Y/N flinch slightly at hearing Isabella’s name.

“Look… Y/N, right? The rest of my team as well as other law enforcement are going to be asking Spencer who he last saw before his accident happened. We both know it’s you.”

Y/N knows Derek is right. But now, not only is she worried about Spencer but also terrified of the thought of his wife knowing about her. Granted, Y/N didn’t know Spencer was married and would never have dated him if she did know, but his wife won’t care about that. All she will care about is that her husband has been cheating on her for the past seven months with some homewrecker. Oh my god, is she a homewrecker? Has she now broken up a marriage? What if this Isabella woman solely blames Y/N for her hindered marriage and stays with Spencer?!

“Hey, everything’s going to be okay.” Derek tries to comfort Y/N, reaching for her hands to hold in his. She feels a sudden warmth shoot through the entirety of her body, making her feel the slightest bit better.

“I can’t break up a marriage.” She whispers. Gently pulling her in with his arms, Derek holds Y/N as she sniffles, resting his head on top of hers which is leaning on his shoulder. He can feel small tears beginning to dampen the sleeve of his t-shirt, but he doesn’t mind.

“Derek! Come on, he’s awake.” A slim, blonde woman rushes over to Derek, waiting for him to follow. She looks from Derek to Y/N, slight confusion overtaking her face. Y/N’s head moves to the direction of the unknown woman, along with Derek’s.

“Thanks JJ, I’ll be there in a second.”

Y/N so desperately wants to follow them to his room or ask if she can go with them, but she knew that probably wouldn’t be the best of ideas. She’d have to suck it up and either wait here or just go home. But the thought of not knowing what happened to Spencer is killing her, she just wants to see with her own eyes that he’s okay.

“I don’t think they’ll allow you to come in… but if you wait here for a few minutes, I’ll come back and tell you how he’s holding up.” Derek suggests, a sad smile on his face.

Y/N understands, but it doesn’t make her feel any better. She is, however, grateful for Derek and the fact that he even wanted to help her out at all.

Sniffling, Y/N gives Derek a small, toothless smile.

“Sure, thank you.”

As Derek walks away with the woman she now knows as ‘JJ’, she can hear her quietly ask Derek who Y/N was and how he knew her.

Counting down the minutes until Y/N expects Derek’s return, she’s in a world of her own - bobbing her left leg up and down, twiddling her thumbs and biting her lip. Her thoughts quickly begin to consume her mind. Wondering if Spencer had ever accidentally let something slip out about being married but she can’t think of anything that sticks out. She had absolutely no idea or even an inkling that he was being unfaithful. How long would he have let this continue? Was he ever planning to break up with Y/N for Isabella? Or with Isabella for Y/N?!

“Y/N” A deep voice calls, causing Y/N to spin her head around to see Derek standing near the hallway, leading to all the hospital rooms. Hoping her legs don’t fail her, she shakily walks over to Derek with a palpitating heart, eager to hear what he has to say.

“Is he okay? What happened? Is he hurt? I-” Y/N doesn’t even give Derek a chance to inform her of what’s happening.

“Shh he’s okay - Spencer’s okay. He’s stable. But Y/N, the officers need to speak with you. I had to tell them you were the last person to see Spencer." Y/N's heart sank, especially at the thought of his wife potentially finding out about her and Spencer.

"D-do they know... we were dating?"

"Well, our team and the officers know. I'm sorry, I know you would have preferred no one to find out but I wouldn't be doing my job if I hadn't informed them." Derek tries to explain. Even though Y/N knows he's right, she still thinks of every possible worst-case scenario that can come from her going with him to talk to the police and now no doubt, the rest of his team too.

Y/N's just about to ask Derek another question, but he beats her to it. "Spencer doesn't know you're here, and right now it's important he doesn't, especially until after we've spoken with you."

Derek reaches his hand out for Y/N to take, helping her out of her seat to take her down the hallway he had just come from. As she notices they are walking closer to what she assumes is Spencer’s room, she immediately stops walking, causing Derek to pull back a bit.

“I-I can’t go in there with them, please I-”

“Relax it’s okay, you’re not going in there. We have to take you to the room next door, that’s where we’re going to talk to you.” Feeling a little at ease, Y/N continues to walk with Derek, looking the opposite way while they walk past Spencer’s room, fighting the urge to look through the window to check on him.

The door to the next room opens, inside is a round table with three chairs encircled, one of which is occupied by a man in a suit taking notes, his dark brown hair and eyes look intimidating making Y/N gulp at the sight. Once he sees Y/N and Derek enter the room, he stands up from his chair and reaches his hand out to shake Y/N’s hand.

“Hi, Miss Y/L/N, I’m Detective Madden.” Y/N’s hands are now shaking, Detective Madden’s hand firmly shakes Y/N’s before signalling for her to sit down, along with Derek.

She feels very out of place and scared. Having two intimidating looking men sitting across from her staring intensely isn’t what she expected to happen when all she wanted was to see Spencer.

“Now, just so you know you are not in any sort of trouble, I’m just wanting to talk to you as I understand you were the last person to see Dr Reid before his accident.” Detective Madden informs. It’s only now that Y/N realises that no one has actually told her what exactly happened to Spencer, just that he is awake and stable.

“Can you tell me what happened to Spencer? Please.” Y/N asks quietly, her face desperately looking between the two men for some answers.

“We will get to that, I promise.” The detective smiles sympathetically, before reaching for his notepad and pen. Y/N looks at Derek, who gives her a reassuring nod.

“Now, you told Agent Morgan here that the last time you saw Dr Reid was yesterday morning… and you were notified of his accident by Mrs Reid’s carer?” He asks, to which Y/N replies with a soft ‘yes’ and nodding her head.

“Where yesterday morning did you last see him?”

“At my uh- at my apartment.” She is mortified at the fact that this detective would definitely know by now that Spencer was both married and dating her at the same time.

“And are you close with Dr Reid’s mother? Would that explain why you were contacted by her carer?”

“I was planning to see his mother this afternoon actually, after work. We’re not that close but I just wanted to check in with her. Her carer, Wendy called me about an hour and a half ago before I showed up here and only told me that the hospital called her to inform Diana about Spencer.”

Detective Madden was scribbling down notes as fast as he could, nodding his head every few seconds as Y/N was explaining her recount.

“And did Dr Reid tell you where he was planning to go after he left your apartment? Anything that you remember?” The detective looks at Y/N, waiting for her answer.

Y/N’s tries to remember everything that had happened yesterday, from the second she woke up, afraid that she may miss something that could be important.

“N-No he just said that h-he’d be going back to his apartment… that’s all he said.” Tears start to run down her hot cheeks, blaming herself for not thinking that something was wrong sooner. But how could she have known?

“Now… this may be hard to hear Miss Y/L/N, but we believe that Spencer was beaten up and held for a few hours by a group known as the ‘Unswerving Faith’, a religious group who target married individuals who commit – uh… infidelity.” Detective Madden awkwardly explains, clearing his throat among the awkward silence.

Y/N doesn’t know what to say. Is she the reason this group took him? Hurt him?

“Oh my god… I- Does his wife know?” Y/N asked, fearing for the worst. Derek lets out a big sigh, leaning his arms on the table they all share.

“As of right now, all she knows is that Spencer was taken by a religious group, she doesn’t know their motive behind it. But Y/N, with all due respect, she’s his wife… we have to inform her of what’s going on, including about you.” Derek’s eyes pierce into Y/N’s, making sure she understands the magnitude of the situation.

Y/N’s knows that Isabella needs to know about this, but she selfishly doesn’t want to be stuck in the middle. Throwing her head back in distress, she nods and sighs.

“I know, I just… I don’t want to cause any stress between anyone, especially with the condition Spencer is in.” Y/N tries to explain.

By now, her face is even warmer than before and she’s exhausted. The two men stand up out of their chairs, Y/N following along. Detective Madden puts his notepad in his pocket and tucks his chair in.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Y/L/N.” Y/N smiles and watches him walk out of the room, closing the door behind him so only she and Derek are left.

“I’m going to talk to Spencer, tell him you’re here and what’s going on. Isabella has gone home to grab a few things for Spencer but if you would like to see him before she gets back you may do so.” Y/N’s relieved and grateful for how sympathetic he has been for her, but she’s also slightly scared for what is to come.

She obviously wants to see Spencer and see how he’s doing, but in a way, she feels like it might be… wrong? Now knowing he’s married – she doesn’t want to ruin a marriage. Well, by the looks of it, it didn’t seem to be going all that well if Y/N is in the picture.

Before she can try and talk herself out of it, she quickly tells Derek yes before making her way out of the room with him walking besides her. Her heart rate starts to increase again, she’s trying to plan out what she’s going to say to Spencer. Does she tell him that she knows he’s married? Does he already know that she knows?

They walk a few feet before Derek halts in his spot, looking at Y/N. He slowly nods to the left, indicating that they had reached Spencer’s room. Y/N gives Derek a small, grateful smile, taking a big deep breath in. She softly knocks on the door, slowly walking in and shutting the door behind her. She’s met with curtains but she’s now somewhat hesitant to draw them. Y/N feels her eyes already begin to water and she hasn’t even seen Spencer yet.

Quickly counting to three, she whips the pale blue plastic curtains back and sees Spencer laying in his hospital bed, reading a book in a language she wouldn’t have the slightest guess in what in. This makes her smile slightly, but when Spencer notices the other presence in the room and meets her eyes, she’s back to feeling helpless and distraught.

Spencer doesn’t look nervous to see Y/N here, which concerns her a little, considering that Isabella would probably be back very soon. If anything, his shoulders relax and his smile melts Y/N’s insides. She forgets about being mad at him, pissed off, hurt. Seeing Spencer in such a vulnerable state with a loving look in his eyes is more than enough for her to forget about the bigger issue she has to face. Spencer opens his arms out, various different coloured cords moving with his arm. Walking quickly into his arms, Y/N is careful not to move him too much, in fear of increasing his pain – how ironic.

“Spence, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She mutters, her face buried deep into his warm neck, calming down at the sounds of his heart beating. In the back of her head, she is constantly trying to remind herself of what he’s done to her and to his wife, suddenly squeezing him a bit tighter at the fact that this may be one of the last times she’s able to be held in his arms ever again.

From his bedside table, Spencer’s text tone goes off, signalling he had a text message. Leaning back, he grabs his phone for a few seconds skim reading the message before placing his phone back on the table and clearing his throat.

“Hey, you know… you don’t have to stay, it’s going to be boring for you here; besides, I’ll probably sleep the day away” Spencer chuckles, his eyes darting around the room.

Y/N’s heart drops and she immediately recognises what’s going on. She assumes that Isabella is not far away – it explains Spencer’s sudden anxious demeanour. She wants Spencer to know that she knows about him being married, but she also figures that right now probably isn’t the right time.

“Oh- um, yeah okay. I-I’ll see you soon then… right?” She asks. There is now a weird tension floating in the air. It’s turned awkward.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll see you later babe… okay.” Spencer chuckles, giving Y/N a faint smile, leaving a light kiss on her cheek that she can barely feel.

“I-I love you.” She tells him, making her way to the door, turning back to him and giving him a small smile. Her chest hurts when she realises that he’s not going to say it back, he’s just waiting for her to leave. Opening the door just enough for her to fit between, she closes it right behind her.

Derek and Detective Madden are nowhere to be seen, which works out better for Y/N, considering she couldn’t possibly be in the mood for conversing with anyone any further. She’s in too much pain. Pain she doesn’t know how it will ever subside.

As Y/N turns a corner around the hallway, she sees Isabella and a man dressed in all black, loudly whispering to each other. They both appear angry. Y/N quickly throws herself back around the corner into the wall, in fear that Isabella may have seen her.

While trying to figure out a way to leave the hospital without her seeing Y/N, although Isabella doesn’t know who Y/N is, that’s besides the point. Loud, angry whispers are coming from the other side of the wall, prompting Y/N to lean closer towards the edge, listening.

“You idiot, I didn’t pay you for this! What have you done!” Isabella yells, her eyes wide, glaring into the eyes of the man. Y/N remains frozen, scared to try and leave but also wanting to hear the rest of what she’s about to say.

“I-I’m sorry, it was a massive understanding… we didn’t mean to-” a voice stumbles yet cut off by Isabella’s raging voice once again.

“I don’t care! I asked you to take her out! Not Spencer you fucking idiots.” Y/N’s eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of her head. Isabella had people hurt Spencer?

Y/N’s breath becomes shallow and she can’t stop her chest from rapidly falling up and down, her hands begin to tremble, and it feels like her legs may give out any minute.

The man stumbling over his words looks like he has seen a ghost, so in fear of Isabella’s wrath. Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She refused to believe that Spencer’s own wife would hire people to hurt him, or by the sounds of it, they weren’t meant to hurt Spencer, but someone else. A woman.

“I-I’m sorry Issy… we will not fail you this time. We’ll get the bitch don’t you worry… we can’t let her continue to poison and destroy this sacred union.” The man declares firmly. Y/N’s body begins to heat increasingly, she has a feeling she knows what they’re talking about… and who they’re talking about. She desperately wants to run to Derek or someone who can help her but there’s no one around anymore, the quietness of the empty hallway was something she didn’t notice before.

Leaning her head against the wall, Y/N tries to form some type of plan – of how to leave, where to go, who to talk to and what she is to do. The uncertainty of the situation has never made her feel so unsafe and vulnerable. Her scattered thoughts are disrupted at the sounds of many footsteps getting louder. Peering over the corner, Y/N sees about five other men make their way to Isabella and the man, dressed in black also. All the men now have their faces covered with a hoodie, whispering to each other before looking at Isabella. Y/N tries her hardest to hear what Isabella is about to say, but as soon as she does – her heart sinks, her body goes into overdrive and she feels like she may collapse.

“Find the slut. Do with the bitch what you will.” She directs firmly. Y/N’s heard enough to realise that Isabella knows about her and has ordered these men to hurt her, presumably the same men who hurt Spencer. Y/N’s eyes are frantic, trying to decide who to turn to for help.

She’s so scared she doesn’t even want to move, fearful of them hearing her shoes against the pale tiled floor. Spotting Derek on the other side of the hallway, a significant number of metres away, Y/N can’t feel her legs move – her head is screaming at her to run and seek help from Derek but her legs physically won’t allow her. It’s as if they have been glued to the floor. The blood inside her body has turned extremely hot and her head is pounding, Y/N is in a total trance that she can’t get herself out of. The room around her is suddenly quiet, her ears are ringing in a shrieking high pitch and Derek only looks further and further away from her reach.

Y/N’s ears are now filled with the shuddering sounds of the all too familiar footsteps of the people who are in charge of her pain, getting closer and closer to the other side of the hallway where she’s hiding, it’s enough motivation for her to pull herself back to reality.

In order to calm herself down and think rationally, she leans her head against the hard wall, working out her plan of action hastily. Her eyes squint hard against their sockets, drowning in a black swirl of nothingness.

Opening her eyes with a somewhat haphazard plan in place, she eyes off Derek, remembering her plan of escape and exactly what she needs to do. Just as Y/N was about to take the first painstaking step running towards Derek, she feels a vigorous pull, a thick hand gripping onto her flimsy shirt. Retracting back into the wall with a thud, her eyes lock with those of a man – one of the men from the group talking with Isabella. The Unswerving Faith. Before she has time to scream or shout for help and thrash, a warm, grimy hand clawed its way to Y/N’s mouth, her cries now muffled and soft. Y/N’s limbs ache as she continues her attempt to thrash and kick at the man gripping her for dear life, but she can slowly start to feel herself give in to his strength.

The physical, emotional and mental exhaustion from today had finally caught up with her, only, it came at what was probably the most unfortunate time, because as Y/N looks over to Spencer’s door, Isabella is just about to open it, looking straight into Y/N’s eyes, her smile growing creepily wider as she sees the distress in Y/N increase. Giving her a spine-chilling wink and small wave, she enters his room and shuts the door.

Y/N is in such a traumatic state that she doesn’t even realise that the thick hands that were once wrapped around her, gripping her skin harshly, had disappeared. With all the strength she could muster inside of her, she screams for Derek, her eyes filling with tears blinds her. Just as Derek runs to Y/N she collapses in his arm, sobbing and muttering incomplete and incoherent words over and over. The initial shock combined with her exhaustion finally takes over her. Her heavy eyes struggle to stay open, her muscles severely weak. She sees the man, eerily staring into her rolling and blurred eyes, making his way to Spencer’s room, shutting the door and closing the blinds.

That’s the last thing she sees in her fragile state of mind before she is snapped back to reality by Derek, painfully left wondering what would happen to her… and what would happen to Spencer in that god awful room.

Tags: @emmalvei-blog​

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Half-Priced Chocolate

Words = 2.8k

Summary = You hate Valentine’s Day. Nick tries to change your mind. 

Warnings = One swear word

A/N = Reader is described as a similar height to Nick, and taller when she wears heels. Also I didn’t mean to write this, it just sort of happened so sorry if it’s not very well thought out ahaha

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

“You know, I’d pegged you as the type of girl who would do anything to ensure she had a Valentine’s date.” This observation comes casual as anything from your boss, Mayor Wasicsko, as the two of you work together to build beds in the town hall. 

A combination of a lot of snow, an early thaw, and then rain, had resulted in flooding all around the city, many having to be relocated. And so here you were, on a night that most were celebrating with their loved one across an over-priced bottle of champagne, some heart-shaped chocolate and probably something red themed, in the town hall, setting up extra accommodation with Nick. 

Who you should probably call Mayor Wasicsko in your head. 

You’d been here for hours, first building the beds with other volunteers, all of whom had melted away as the night had gone on. All, apart from you and Nick.

“Yeah? Well I pegged you as the type of mayor to sit on his ass all day.” You snipe back, not thinking for a moment, before slapping a hand to your mouth in horror. “Sorry, Mayor Wasicsko, that was really unprofessional of me-”

You stopped your rambling, because … was he laughing?

You flip your end of the sheet the two of you are attempting to fit to the bed, successfully causing his end to yank out of his hands, flying up and causing enough of a breeze to dislodge his hair enough for a strand to flop onto his forehead. 

Not that you’d noticed. 

“I told you, call me Nick. And it’s ok,” he’s still smiling, annoyingly. “I just - you don’t have some annoyed boyfriend who’s sitting at home waiting for you?” 

You shake your head. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.” You finally tuck in the corner of the sheet at the top of the bed and move to the bottom. “And anyway, I hate Valentine’s.” 

Nick throws you a pillow and a case when you hold your arms out. “So you hate love? And happiness?” 

You roll your eyes at him, busy stuffing the case, leaving him to struggle with the duvet, gathering the new sheets for the next bed as you talk. “No. I just … I hate the commercialisation of it.” 

You wait for Nick to finish with the duvet, before attempting the next bed. “It’s like … so what? If my hypothetical boyfriend doesn’t get me flowers, and chocolate and some shitty card on this one specific day of the year, he doesn’t love me?” You scoff. “No thanks.” 

Nick tucks in his corner, thinking about his response. “I think it reminds people to be thankful for the people they love.” Oh God he’s one of those. As if he hasn’t managed to drop in the fact that he’s woefully single for the last two hours whenever the opportunity arose.

“Only romantic love,” you remind him. “And,” you continue, remembering more and more reasons. “It’s all over-priced anyway, and it’s just so couples can feel smug while they walk hand in hand down the street, trying to get a table to a restaurant, where the prices have been upped for two people, and so single people, specifically women, can feel shit about themselves?” 

You harrumph again, handing Nick the other end of the sheet. “There is good about it though.” He’s looking at you differently, and you’re not sure how, but maybe it’s because you’re having the first real conversation with him tonight, despite having worked for him for the last year. 

You’d talked before, of course, but it usually had something to do with politics, Nick ducking out of his office to ask your opinion on something, before returning back to his phone and papers. It had never been a two-way conversation like this, never nothing to do with either of your jobs. 

You raise an eyebrow, tucking in your corners as you wait for him to make his point. “What about the half-priced chocolate the next day?” And … he nearly has you. Until you remember a counter-argument.  

“So it’s back to its normal price?” 

Nick looks at you like he’s never seen you before in your life. But he changes tack, which you take to mean that you’ve won that particular battle. 

“And what’s wrong with celebrating love? Even-” He anticipates your response before you do, “-if it is just romantic love?” He grabs the pillow before you can, leaving you to struggle with the duvet this time. 

You’re smiling now, unable to help yourself, as you watch the Mayor of Yonkers, of all people, pick up a pile of bedding. He looks good like this, you think, shirt rolled up to his forearms, collar open, tie left behind somewhere with his jacket. Not that he doesn’t normally look good. 

You’ve become more relaxed too, you can feel it, as though every bed that the two of you have completed has shod you of another layer, making you feel lighter. Your heels are by the door, and you are a similar height to Nick without them, which you’ve never noticed before, either being taller than him, or sitting in his presence. There’s something weird about it, but also nice, in a domestic sort of way, as your stocking feet pad around the beds, occasionally catching on the wooden floor. You hope you don’t get a hole. Or worse, a ladder. 

But you know it’s your mind which has relaxed the most. Allowing you first to smile at his jokes, then joke back, the tension in your shoulders melting away. And now this. A deep conversation. Which you suppose was bound to happen, the two of you alone after the last volunteer had called it a night at 1am and gone home. But love? Really? 

“There’s nothing wrong with celebrating love. It’s just forced, somehow. Like you’re a bad person for not doing it, just because of some long-dead guy who’s now in our calendar.” You finish your duvet, and move to help Nick. 

“I think you’re wrong.” And maybe it’s the way he says it, like it’s the most simple thing in the world. “I think it makes sure that people take a breath and appreciate what they have.” 

He looks so hopeful, you stop the scoff in your throat, instead letting yourself consider his point. “Well it doesn’t matter, it’s …” You pause and check your watch, blinking in surprise. “Fuck. It’s four in the morning. It’s not Valentine’s Day anymore.” 

And then you look up. Properly. 

There’s one bed left. You turn around, admiring all the made-up beds. Ok they could be neater, but so what? 

“Well.” You turn back to look at Nick as he speaks. “Do you want to take advantage of those sales, or not?” 

You blink at him, even as he gestures at you to take the other end of the sheet, unsure if you’re dreaming now. 

***

When you exit the town hall, the sky is the cool blue of pre-dawn. Grey clouds still hang, heavy and angry over Yonkers, a precursor of the rain to come. It’s been a cold night, a glimmer of frost on the ground, but you can already feel that it won’t last the day.

You yawn, rubbing your eyes with one hand, while your other holds your heels. Nick’s thrown his blazer over one shoulder, the tie hanging out of his trouser pocket. “C’mon.” Is all he says as he walks towards his car. 

It takes a second for your brain to engage. “What?” Your voice has become hoarse from a lack of sleep.

“Can I show you something?” And how can you say no, when he leans against the car roof with one arm, opening the door for you, and looking like that?

Inside the car it’s warm, and tiredness sinks down on you until you can hardly keep your eyes open. Nick only asks for your address, which you give him, and then you’re asleep. You wake when he stops the car on the high street, but fall back asleep when he tells you he just needs to pick up some groceries. 

You don’t wake up when he comes back, nor do you wake up when he sets off again. You open your eyes when he gently shakes your shoulder. The sky is much brighter now, the sun peeking over the horizon and you blink, looking at your watch. It’s nearly 7. Which means Nick let you sleep for 2 hours. It takes a second for your surroundings to fall into place, green and brown surrounding you.

Nick’s sitting next to you in the driver’s seat. And in the back seat are his groceries. 

You blink again. Harder this time.

Praying your makeup isn’t smudged all down your cheek, you move to sit up straighter, where you’d fallen asleep against the window. “What … where are we?” 

Nick doesn’t answer until he’s grabbed one of the bags, clambering out and opening your door for you. “We are in one of the city’s finest parks.” He announces, using his Official Mayor Voice.

As far as you can tell, it’s a pretty basic park. The only notable point is the view. You can see the full scrawl of Yonkers below you, as the sun rises to your right, still fighting the storm clouds left over from yesterday. Funny. You’d heard there was going to be more rain. 

As you step out of the car, you put your heels back on, and wince a little. Nick hands you a blanket to carry and sets off towards a clear area without too many trees, and you follow him, spreading the blanket for the two of you to sit on. Nick’s put his blazer back on and you try not to be disappointed, reminding yourself that he’s your boss. 

He places the bag between you, and … it’s stuffed with half price Valentine themed food. Chocolates, champagne, even a small teddy. You can’t help it. You let out a laugh as the two of you sit next to each other, the bag between you. 

“I never knew the Mayor would be a cheapskate.” You’re only half-serious, and you think Nick knows this, catching the glint in his eye as he replies. 

“You’d rather I bought you this full price?”

You shake your head, grinning, but confused on the inside. You must be tired. Hearing that the Mayor, your boss, wants to buy you something for Valentine’s? You must be misinterpreting this. 

“And I’ll have you know, that everything in this bag came to less than what it would be in a normal month.” He winks and you groan, theatrical and over the top. 

So instead you open the chocolate, grabbing the first one you see and popping it in your mouth. “Nice though,” you mumble, without having swallowed your mouthful, savouring the sweetness of it as it coats your tongue, eyes closing as you lean back on the blanket, missing the way Nick looks down at you. 

“Yeah? Worth every cent, aren’t they?” You smile, shaking your head. 

“Yes, Nick.” You finally sigh, giving in. “Worth every half-price cent.” You squint open an eye, waiting for his reaction, glad when he laughs, propping yourself up onto your elbows so you don't fall asleep again. And then you look down, and your eye catches on a bottle of champagne. 

You reach for it, twirling it on the ground. “So Nick, seeing as how you’re the Mayor and my boss,” you start, sure you’re going to get what you ask for, “and we worked all night long, can we have today off?”

You look at Nick to see him watching your face, amused at the long winded way you’re going about this. Finally he nods. “Yeah I think we deserve the day off.” 

You grin widely then, sitting up properly with a burst of energy, and pop the cork. You take the first sip straight from the bottle, leaving a small ring of lipstick behind. You use your thumb to wipe it off before passing it over, the bubbles still tingling on your tongue, washing away the chocolate. 

Nick takes a healthy swig as soon as his hand is wrapped around the cool bottle, and you can’t help but watch the way his throat bobs when he swallows, wiping at a drop that escapes his mouth. 

You turn to the rest of the bag to distract yourself. There’s at least 3 boxes of chocolate, a pack of strawberries, and a small bear. All of them have the tell tale yellow half-price stickers in clear view. You pull out the bear, amused. “He’s cute.” 

Nick hands the bottle back to you, running a hand through his hair. “Got a name for him?” 

You think about it for a minute, before deciding. “Arthur the Fourth.” And you place Arthur at the bottom of the blanket, so he’s looking at the two of you. 

Nick frowns, looking between the two of you. “The Fourth?” 

You laugh, biting on another chocolate. “Yeah. Throughout my childhood, I have had three other teddies, all named Arthur. He will be the fourth.” 

“And you lost them all?” 

“No, I still have Arthur the Third.”  You wash the chocolate down with another sip of champagne, and when you go to scrub away your lipstick again, Nick’s hand stops you. He shakes his head, like he’s having a secret conversation within your public one. 

“Shame to hear about the first two though.” You let him take the bottle from you, watching as he - his mouth - touches your lipstick. You can feel your heart rate raise, thumping inside your chest like a drum. You can still feel the ghost of his hand, warm where it touched yours. 

You look down on Yonkers again, unable to cope. “Yeah, well. It’s how it happens in real life, I guess.” 

The two of you fall silent as the sun climbs pathetically further and further, finally disappearing behind angry storm clouds. Conversation is quiet observations, both of you feeling wrapped up in a bubble of tiredness. 

You lie back down, ignoring how the cold of the ground is seeping through the blanket now and closing your eyes as you take a chocolate from the box which you intend to be your last, and you can hear Nick’s smirk when he talks. “Chocolate’s not too bad then?” 

You just hum, pretending to think about it. “Yeah not bad,” you finally agree, opening your eyes and turning your head to watch Nick as he leans back on his hands, “But it’s not Valentine’s day so you haven’t changed my mind …” 

And Nick’s looking at you like that again, and you could never in a million years anticipate his next question. “So you wouldn’t count this as the best Valentine’s Day date you’ve ever been on?” 

You freeze, what? You decline in that moment to mention that it’s the only Valentine’s date you’ve ever even been on, and you also choose to ignore that it’s not Valentine’s Day anymore, shaking your head. You can’t quite believe what you’re about to say, heart beating faster than normal, blood thrumming in your ears. “I would count it as the best date I’ve been on.” 

And then you’re laughing at the look of shock on his face, quickly stopping when he ducks down to kiss you. 

Nick, your boss, the mayor of Yonkers, is kissing you. 

It takes you a second to respond, shock freezing you where you lie. But then your hands are on his neck, pulling him back down over you as he deepens the kiss, tongue exploring your mouth. His forearm is resting on the blanket next to your head, supporting his bodyweight, his other hand cupping your cheek. His moustache is tickling you slightly, but you don’t care. 

He tastes sweet, from the chocolate. But then, you can taste the bubbles from the champagne, you can taste how cold it was, you can taste the birds chirping in the trees above you, and you can taste how warm the sun’s rays felt five minutes ago.

It’s perfect.

Until the clouds open above you.

It starts gently, and you don’t feel it at first, and when you do, you ignore it, more interested in snogging Nick. Your feet are becoming wet quickly and the rain falls in large drops. 

Nick’s the first one to pull away, and you follow him, chasing his lips with your own, not wanting to open your eyes. When you do, you realise your feet are wet from the bottle of champagne falling over, and Arthur’s looking to be in danger of rolling away. 

You can feel the rain on your head, and the drops are falling faster. You snatch Arthur and the now-empty bottle up, Nick scrambling to get everything back in the bag. At the last second, you ball up the blanket, ignoring how it brings half the floor with it, and the two of you run towards Nick’s car, laughing as the rain soaks the pair of you. 

***

Thanks for reading! Reblog and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

[softestziam]

Lisa, gorgeous!

I have a prompt for you, something like bucky never realising how much he in love with Steve until he sees him with kids at some kind of charity event and his heart just melts 💕💕

LOVE YOU

Love you Bec Boo. I left this open ended so maybe it’ll inspire me to write a continuation. 💕

Bucky huffed as he looked at himself in the full length mirror in his room. He felt like a damn penguin in his suit. It was a small price to pay to be Steve’s plus one for some hospital charity event. His best friend was the head nurse at Brooklyn Memorial and that came with all pomp and circumstance as well. He’d so anything for Steve, since they met back in school yard over thirty years ago. Life kept them apart for a few years due to school but they always found their way back to each other. Bucky sighed as he fixed the loose strands of his hair. He couldn’t stand around and daydream about Steve, even though that was his favorite past time nowadays. With one last look around his room, Bucky grabbed everything he needed and headed out the door and to the subway.

The ballroom was decorated immaculately. Everything was perfect and had a place. The dimmed lights that shined blue and purple, the matching streamers and balloons, too. Bucky was taken aback when he arrived and was escorted to his assigned seat. He felt out of place momentarily, everyone around him was dressed just like him. Suits on the men, ball gowns on the women. He had to keep his bubbling laugh to himself, it all felt a bit much like a high school prom, all that was missing was a DJ playing the worlds worst music for teens to dry hump each other to. A waiter came around and poured him water and placed a glass of champagne in front of him. Bucky hummed his appreciation and nodded towards the man.

His eyes skimmed through the building crowd for Steve. He was supposed to be his plus one after all. He couldn’t be that hard to find, Steve was taller than most people and his voice always echoed in a crowded room. Right on cue he heard that laugh that made his stomach turn into molten lava, make his cheeks flush without his permission. Steve effortlessly made his way around the crowd and right towards Bucky. His eyes were shinning bright in the dimly lit room, his blues eyes an ocean of emotion. The lava in Bucky’s belly got hotter and hotter the closer Steve got.

“Clean up nice, Barnes,” Steve complimented him, sitting down next to him in his assigned seat.

Bucky’s eyes raked Steve up and down and tried to soak him all in. His charcoal suit made his eyes pop, the light blue tie not helping either. “You look amazing umm , I mean, decent looking, Rogers.”

“I try,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s all for the kids, you know? These kids deserve the best.”

“The kids?” Bucky asked, eyebrows drawn together.

“Yeah. You didn’t read the invite did you?” He asked with a laugh. “Course not. This is a benefit for the new children’s cancer wing.”

“Aww fuck, Steve,” Bucky groaned. “You’re going to make me cry tonight, aren’t you?”

“As long as those tears turn into cold hard cash,” Steve joked. “Any amount would really help, Buck. And as my date I can’t have you not contributing.”

Bucky’s stomach tightened at the mention of being Steve’s date, something he immediately wrote off as hunger. Yup, that was it. He was just starving. Where was that waiter?

“Buck-“

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” Steve shook his head. “I’m going to mingle a little, I’ll be back. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”

Despite Steve disappearing for most of the night, Bucky was enjoying himself. He was sat with people he knew, luckily. Sharon, another nurse who worked alongside Steve. Sam, the hospitals social worker and his girlfriend Natasha. It was good company, occupied his time and mind most of the night. Steve would pop back in and out when he wasn’t talking to the DJ or the caterers or whoever else needed to be spoken to. Bucky knew he wasn’t going to be the center of Steve’s universe that night but it still bothered Bucky that he hadn’t seen him as often as he wanted it. Not that he wanted to spend a lot of time with Steve, nope, not at all. Just a normal size amount of time, like best friends do. Best. Friends. That was all. Okay? Okay.

“How do I look?” Steve asked when he rejoined the table. Smile wide from ear to ear.

Bucky had to grab the table to stabilize himself. Here sat Steve in front of him, in full face makeup, looking like a tiger. They had a face painter set up in the corner and of course Steve participated. He had to suck in a deep breath to get his lungs to work again. “Best I’ve ever seen from you, Stevie.”

“We should put a butterfly on you,” he said, a casual hand brushing against Bucky’s cheek. “Some pink, maybe a little purple, and glitter. Definitely glitter.”

Bucky’s face was not getting hot, absolutely not. The room was stuffy and hot, that was it, thank you very much.

“I’ve got to go,” Steve told him. “The kids have boundless energy. We’re doing a piñata later, come join.”

“I will,” he agreed with a nod. “Go. Have fun.”

Bucky tried to distract his already distracted mind by stuffing his face with all the bread on the table and the endless supply of champagne that was poured into his glass and Steve’s as well. He was making small talk with Sam, Natasha, and Sharon about everything and nothing at all. He could feel his skin tingle every time he heard Steve’s laugh from across the room. He could just picture his face as he did so, head thrown back, his hand either slapping his knee or grabbing his chest, reminiscent to when he was younger and needed to catch his breath after every giggle fit due to his asthma. The more he thought about Steve the more he stuffed his face with anything edible. The DJ announced that it was time for the piñata and Bucky froze, he knew he had promised Steve he’d make a cameo and show his support.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted him when he arrived in the middle of what once was the dance floor. He was surrounded by close to a dozen kids, all their faces painted similarly to Steve’s.

Bucky was immediately in trouble. Steve was crouched down talking to a little girl who’s face looked like Minnie Mouse. She had stars in her eyes while talking to him and Bucky definitely knew that feeling all too well.

“Having fun?” Bucky asked, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Steve’s smile was wide as he nodded up at Bucky. “Seeing them smile and enjoy themselves makes this whole thing worthwhile.”

The fire in Bucky’s belly was burning hotter the more Steve interacted with the children. The little girl he was speaking to, who was named Sophia, giggled once Steve picked her up with ease to help hit the piñata. He let her down gently and helped smooth out her dress before grabbing another kid to do the same. It was unfair how effortless Steve made everything seem. It was burning Bucky from the inside out. The genuine care Steve gave everyone and everything. This was no how Bucky wanted to realize his feelings for his best friend. Fuck.

“Buck?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, biting his bottom lip, words stuck in his throat. So many words he wanted to say. This was definitely not the place to say them. Absolutely not.

“You’re spacing out on me, bud,” Steve laughed. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Bucky clenched and unclenched his fists, he wanted to grab Steve and shake him, kiss him, and oh crap, tell him he loved him. “C-can we talk? Like later, just-just the two of us?”

Steve looked at him oddly, his brows drawn together in confusion. “Yeah. Of course. I’ve got to clean up once we’re done so we’ll talk then, yeah?”

[amanda-glassen]

Jerena honeymoon? 😏

I know you wanted smut but this is pure fluff and I apologize hahaha. Also this was supposed to be a drabble but I think it's 3000 words. Sorryyyyy.

Serena hated lingerie. She hated the complicated straps and clasps and the way the material felt against her skin. Most importantly, she hated the way she looked in it. She felt it didn’t flatter her the way it did the curvier, well-endowed women in movies and on TV. It made her feel too skinny and like she was lacking, but it was the first night of their honeymoon and Serena wanted to wear something special for her new wife. She put on a pair of cheeky white panties with a lace ruffle trim that she special-ordered with ‘Mrs. Castillo’ printed on the front in baby blue lettering. She touched up her hair and makeup, even if she knew Jamie wouldn’t mind that a few strands of hair were out of place or that her mascara was slightly smudged, but the more she fussed over her makeup, the more she realized she was stalling.

“Babe, are you okay?” She heard Jamie ask from their bed.

“I’m fine,” Serena responded although she was feeling anything but fine. “I’ll be right out.” She’s my wife and she loves me. Everything is going to be okay. This is nothing we haven’t done dozens of times before. But it was their first time as a married couple and Serena felt she had to make everything perfect for Jamie. Or maybe I should just be myself.

It was Halloween night and Serena had packed her pair of Freddy Krueger gloves that she usually wore when she took Olivia trick-or-treating. She opened the bathroom door and stuck her hand out so she could tap on the doorframe with the fake blades on her glove.

“Serena Benson!” Jamie shouted. “You scared the hell out of me. How is it that we’ve only been married 30 hours and I already want a divorce?”

Serena tapped the doorframe one more time before peeking her head out. “I’m sorry, but Serena Benson doesn’t exist anymore. You must be mistaken.”

“Babe, come here,” Jamie urged. “I wanna lie down with my wife.” Lie down. She thinks she’s slick.

Serena stood next to their bed, her hands covering her chest. “I’m ready to...lie down.”

“I’ve never been this over you,” Jamie grabbed her and pulled her onto the bed, eliciting a squeal from Serena. “Babe, take those gloves off.”

“I was going to and then you pulled me on the bed.” Serena took off the gloves and tossed them aside.

When Jamie started to kiss her, Serena felt as if her mind was elsewhere and without realizing it, she had started to pull away. “Do you want to stop?” Jamie asked. “I know it’s our honeymoon, but I’m just as happy holding you or hanging out with you.”

Serena captured her lips in a kiss. “No, no, I want to. I just feel like my mind isn’t here. I’m thinking about Ollie. This is our favorite holiday. She’s twelve and it’s her last kid Halloween, you know? I take her trick-or-treating every year with Elliot and her other friends. I even took her last year before I went over to your house. Next Halloween, she’ll be a teenager, and I feel like I missed my last shot. I’m just glad Mr. and Mrs. Cabot let Alex stay with her in LA. My heart and my mind are both here with you and over there with her. For the past twelve years, I’ve just been a mom and now I’m a mom and a wife and I have to learn how to balance the two.”

“Serena, look at me,” Jamie cupped her face in her hands. “Being my wife doesn’t mean you ever have to take time away from being Ollie’s mom. The three of us are a family. We’re a new family, but we’re going to make it work. Like with any family, there’s going to be a lot of trial and error, but I promise to never make you feel as if you have to choose between me and Ollie. Why don’t we call her right now and see how her Halloween is going?”

Serena immediately grabbed her phone from on top of the nightstand. It rang only one time before she heard her overly excited daughter on the other end. “Hi, Mom! I miss you!”

“Hi, Olliegator. I miss you too. How’s the haul this year?”

“Not as good as Alex’s neighborhood, but Lexie and Kyle helped us salvage the night,” Olivia responded. “Your candy map is a bust, Mom. Half of the houses on there don’t know the spirit of Halloween.”

The candy map in question is a map Serena created of the houses in Beverly Hills that gave out the best candy, had the scariest haunted houses, and the best decorations. “Ollie, I made that map in 1998. It’s not really relevant anymore.”

“See, that’s what I thought at first,” Olivia responded. “But Alex and I were just too taken in by the retro ‘90s charm. So, Mom, tell me about this cabin in the woods. Don’t most people honeymoon in Hawaii or Cabo or the Bahamas?”

“Too ordinary,” Serena responded. She knew Olivia would think it was because she wanted to be out in the woods on Halloween, but the real reason Serena wanted a honeymoon in a cabin away from everyone was because she wanted an entire week of being shut-in with Jamie with nobody else around them. “I’ll give you the grand tour of the cabin and the lake tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I think that would have been ordinary, too,” she could hear her daughter smiling through the phone. “Just remember if you find a creepy cellar, don’t go in. Also, if you meet an old man at a store or gas station that looks abandoned, heed his warnings and listen to his tales of forgotten lore.”

“Of course, Olliegator,” Serena laughed. “Lexie told me she’s taking you and Alex on a Haunted Hollywood tour. Remember, after coming home from those places－”

“When in doubt, sage it out,” Olivia recited the advice she had heard countless times. “We’re gonna leave now. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, Ollie Koalie.”

Serena felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders when she hung up the phone. Her Ollie was having fun with her aunt and uncle and Alex. Olivia was going to be okay, just like she was going to be okay.

“Feel better?” Jamie asked. “Is our Ollie okay?”

“She’s okay,” Serena responded. “I think I am, too.”

Serena thought back to their first time last Halloween. It was raw and animalistic, the result of six months of pent-up sexual tension between the two of them. Jamie had her against the wall, on her back, on all fours, and on her knees. But none of that felt right for their first time as a married couple.

Her wife was ready for her as was evident by the bulge in her boxer brief harness that Serena was able to feel between her legs now that Jamie was on top of her. Jamie was playfully nibbling on her neck, putting her at ease. The deeper they got into their relationship, the more loving and even playful sex had become between the two of them. The passion was there, the attraction was there, but Serena felt as if what they did was no longer performative. They could be themselves and focus on each other instead of focusing on an image.

Jamie propped herself up on her elbows, which was one of Serena’s favorite positions for her to be in so she could feel more skin-to-skin contact and nearly the full weight of Jamie’s body on her. She looked down at Serena before leaning in to kiss her. “I love you so much,” she said in a tone that Serena found reassuring. “If you ever want me to stop anything I’m doing, just tell me.” But she didn’t have to tell her. Sometimes she didn’t have the nerve to tell her and Jamie could just see it in her eyes. Her wife could read her better than anyone.

Jamie slowly kissed her way down her body, stopping when she reached her white panties with ‘Mrs. Castillo’ printed on them. “Have I ever told you that my name looks good on you?”

“Several times,” Serena responded. “And it makes me roll my eyes every time you say it.”

Serena’s legs were spread and bent at the knee, giving Jamie access to kiss her on her inner thighs. “I guess I can’t say it anymore because it’s our name now and not just mine. I’m also sorry I didn’t notice these earlier, but when your wife comes out with Freddy Krueger gloves covering her breasts, your eyes just shift to that instead.” Serena felt Jamie tug at the waistband of her undies and slide them off. “As good as they look on you, you don’t need these right now.”

When Jamie flung them to the side, Serena was reminded of an incident that happened a few weeks after their first time. “Do you remember that time you flung my underwear and we couldn’t find it?”

“And my roommate found it the next morning?” Jamie added. “Yeah, how could I forget that?”

“But it was nothing even remotely sexy like I wore the first couple of times,” Serena laughed. “They were my cotton boybriefs with Rainbow Brite and Starlite on them. In my defense, I didn’t know I was getting laid that night. When you said, ‘Serena, come hang out,’ I thought we were actually going to hang out like you hang out with the guys.”

“That explains the hoodie and jeans you wore,” Jamie quipped. “I tried to be good, kind of like I’m trying right now, but my focus is on my favorite freckle of yours.”

Serena remembered the first time Jamie discovered her favorite freckle, one located near her clit that immediately became Jamie’s favorite spot to kiss like she was in that moment. The back and forth and casual banter had eased her nervousness and, although that banter had stopped and she was open and physically vulnerable, her nervousness was still gone and she was able to enjoy every movement of her wife’s tongue.

“I bought you something,” Jamie said, picking her head up and wiping Serena’s wetness from her mouth.

“Later,” Serena insisted, feeling slightly frustrated with her wife.

“Trust me, you’ll want this now.” Her gift was a vibrator that nestled comfortably over Serena’s clit. “Just a little helper because I can’t touch you where I want to when I’m on top.” Jamie used the remote to turn it on one of the lower settings.

Serena pulled Jamie close so she could kiss her, the feeling of the vibrator on her clit and the taste of herself on Jamie’s tongue sending her into overdrive. When Jamie turned up the intensity of the vibrator, she couldn’t help moaning into her wife’s mouth.

“Spread your legs, baby,” Jamie insisted. Serena felt her wife enter her first with one finger before slowly interesting another when she felt Serena had adjusted. She was tight, she knew she was. She always clenched her muscles when Jamie first entered her, but the more she pumped her fingers in and out of her, the more relaxed she became. She could hear how wet she was and she reveled in the feeling of having Jamie inside of her －the first, last, and only woman to be so intimate with her.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Jamie told her as she increased the speed that she was pumping her fingers in and out of her. Serena knew what Jamie wanted. She wanted her cock buried deep inside her. She knew Jamie wanted to fuck her hard and rough; she wanted to claim her.

“Jay,” Serena moaned. She couldn’t get the words out but Jamie knew exactly what she needed.

Serena grabbed the warming lubricant from on top of the nightstand and rubbed it on Jamie’s clit, the feeling of Jamie’s wetness making her throb even more. The warming lubricant had been Serena’s idea the first time they went toy shopping together. It was meant to heighten the sensation for Jamie and make her feel like she was actually inside Serena when the base of the toy rubbed against her clit.

Jamie positioned herself in between Serena’s legs, teasing her entrance as she turned up the intensity of the vibrator enough to make Serena moan even louder. “Jamie, fuck…”

“Is that an order?” Jamie asked and then realized Serena was less than pleased with her question. She entered Serena with just the tip and slowly went deeper, allowing Serena to adjust to being so filled.

“Come here. I want to look into your eyes.”

When she knew Serena was ready, Jamie began to thrust deep and hard into her. She had once wanted soft and sensual but Jamie had awakened that need inside of her. “You look so hot when you’re being fucked, Ser.” She knew the deeper Jamie went, the more she could feel the base press against her clit, so Serena wrapped her legs around her wife’s waist to make her go deeper. “You feel so good.”

With Jamie now propped up on her elbows, Serena ran her fingers down her back. Her caresses were gentle until she felt her wife fuck her harder and faster. Her nails dug into the skin on Jamie’s back and she felt herself tighten around her cock. “Jamie, keep fucking me, baby. Don’t stop.”

She felt the toy rubbing against her g spot, the vibrator pulsating on her clit, and the sound of her wife moaning in her ear. One more thrust as Jamie sucked on her neck proved to be her undoing with Jamie’s orgasm following just a few seconds behind her.

“I love you,” Serena told her as Jamie nuzzled into her neck. “I’ve never felt so connected to anyone before.”

“I’m literally still inside you,” Jamie teased. “We’re very connected right now.”

Serena playfully smacked her arm. “Now it’s my turn to be done with you.”

“You can’t be,” Jamie responded. “You’re stuck with me for the next 50 or 60 years and I couldn’t be happier about that. I love you, Serena Castillo. One thing, though…”

“Hmm?”

“With the way you were clawing at my back, I’m really grateful you took off your Freddy Krueger gloves.”

[openshearts]

forever & always

m! raleigh x mc 

2.7k words

candace peforms a song she wrote about her and raleighs breakup at the vinyls and things get messy 

a/n: forever & always by taylor swift is a bop please listen to it. Funny story, the idea for this fic came to me while I was singing forever and always alone to myself but imagined I was singing it to a stadium full of fans like any normal person would 

*the words in italics are lyrics from the song 

Candace has never been shy about putting her own emotions into the songs that she releases, whether about finding herself or some kind of romantic angle. People seem to like that kind of thing, feeling like they know the artist through their music. She’s never minded, all of the speculation and her putting herself out there-until now. 

Forever and Always was a last minute addition to her second album. Last minute almost being an understatement seeing as it was ready to go onto the album about a month out from when it was set to release. Fiona had been very upset about that, but eventually she’d gotten over it due to some extenuating circumstances. It had all paid off anyway, the song ended up being the most popular one off the album, even though it wasn’t initially released as a single it started getting circulated to radio stations and ended up being more popular than the actual single they’d released before the full album. 

Which of course is the whole problem. In her haste to get the sound fully produced and put on the album as the final track, Candace had neglected to think about how she would feel about having to hear it over and over, or talk about it in interviews or perform it in front of actual people. Forever and Always is a song she started to write two days after she broke up with Raleigh Carerra and finished a week later after she’d moved out of the apartment they shared. Now she heard it almost everyday when she went out, when she was in the car, and it hurt more than she thought it would. 

And now she’s supposed to perform it at the vinyls. 

“I’m not doing that,” She tells Fiona, not even able to look the other woman in the eye. Candace shuffles around her apartment looking for a pair of her glasses that she's put in some drawer or on some table. “Can you tell them I won’t do that? I will do any other song, any other one.” 

“It’s the most popular song on the album,” Fiona reminds her, “It's higher on the charts than any other song you’ve done, it’s synonymous with you now, it’s kind of your defining song.” 

Candace finally finds the pair of glasses in a kitchen drawer and sighs, “Of course it is. Just my luck that it would be my defining song, the one I can’t listen to without tearing up.” Neither of them says anything, and Candace pulls a bag of pretzels out of the cabinet, then opens them which makes a lot of noise. “Okay,” She relents, “I will perform the song, but just know that I resent being forced to, and that I will need alcohol as soon as i'm done.” 

“Both are noted.”

The night of the show comes around and Candace can’t shake the sense of impending doom that she keeps pulling at the back of her mind. The dress she’s wearing is one of her favorites of all time, but even that can’t stop the upcoming performance. It’s all made worse by the fact that she realized after she’d already agreed to do it that Raleigh was going to be there and see the performance. She knows that he knows the song is about him, just like she assumes the rest of the world does, just because there is no other logical option. Their relationship was public knowledge, and eventually so was the breakup. 

She starts the performance and feels confident. She knows what she’s doing, it’s what she loves to do: sing for people and know that they hear it that they hear it, and like it. She catches his eye briefly during one of the verses but she looks away before any motion can come out of it. 

So here’s to everything, coming down to nothing 

Here’s to silence that cuts me to the core

Where is this going? 

That one almost gets her, not because she’s looking at him but because she can feel his eyes on her, she knows he’s watching and it she wonders if he knows what those words mean to her. How much had it blindsided her when he just casually brought it up over dinner? She doesn’t think about it too much, just keeps going until she gets to the final chorus. Just as she thinks she’s actually going to do this and make it through without anything terrible happening she reaches the last chorus. 

And it rains in your bedroom everything is wrong

It rains when your here and it rains when your gone

Cause I was there when you said forever and always 

The emotions overwhelm her so much that she doesn’t even see that she’s looking at him, and that she’s crying. Suddenly she’s very aware of the fact that she’s looking at him, and tears are flowing down her face faster than she can wipe them away. She doesn’t stop singing, but she feels trapped in the moment like she can’t pull herself away from her own humiliation happening right in front of her. 

But she finishes the song. 

She waits until the lights are down before she all but runs off the stage. She runs through the stage, through the backstage, and out into the cold air. She walks away from the building, tears flowing down her face still. A chill goes down her body as she stands out there not knowing what to do but painfully aware that she just embarrassed herself on national TV. She wraps her arms around herself, mind running with thoughts of if she’ll ever come back from this or if for the rest of her career she’ll be asked about the night she cried looking Raleigh Carrera in the eyes. 

At least if she thinks about her career she won’t think about how much she misses him. She turns towards the building just as Avery comes rushing outside, clearly she’s been looking for her in the arena. “Hey,” She says, running up to Candace even though she’s in heels, “Are you okay?” 

Candace sniffles, “Yeah.” Avery gives her a look, and she lets out a breath before saying, “Fine, No I’m not. I just ruined my entire career and embarrassed myself on national television. I am never going to live this down.” 

Avery looks sympathetic and quickly wraps her up in a hug. “It’ll be okay love,” She says, “People are going to forget eventually.” 

Candace doesn’t believe that for a second, because if it was her she would never forget that. Her mind races with the thoughts of how many buzzfeed listicles it’ll end up on, how many articles will be written in the next few days about her, how many tweets she’ll be tagged in about her very public emotional breakdown. Fiona comes out of the door next, clearly out of breath from some kind of running to find her. 

“Excuse my french,” She says when she catches up, “But what the fuck was that?” 

“The consequences of making me perform a fucking break up with my ex in the audience,” She says, tears start to from in her eyes, “God, I fucked up.” 

“This can be handled,” Fiona says suddenly, “It’s going to go away eventually.” 

“That’s being optimistic,” She rolls her eyes. 

“Well you are going to have to go back in there tonight, because if you're not there to accept your award then it’ll make this whole thing that much worse.”

Candance’s phone buzzes in her jacket pocket furiously, she doesn’t even move to get it though because she knows exactly what’s going to be there when she turns it on. She has never in her life wished she could disappear without a trace more than this moment. She looks back towards the door, knowing that Fiona’s right, but the instinct to turn and run flashes through her mind multiple times. 

She turns back to the two women standing in front of her and tucks a hair behind her ear, “They could posthumously take away the award for being a crybaby.”

“Posthumously means you have to be dead.” 

“I might as well be,” She groans loudly, “From now on I am going to be known as the girl who got her heart broken by the bad boy and then lost her shit about it on the vinyls, that’s the kind of thing that follows someone around.” 

Neither of them can quite argue with that. She knows that she has to go back in, but standing out here for as long as she possibly can allows her to convince herself that she doesn’t have to. That she can just wander off into the distance, go home and shut herself into her apartment for the next three and half days, or longer if no one comes to physically drag her out. 

“I’ll go back in,” She says, like it’s even a choice, “But I’m going to stand in the back and I want out as soon as it’s possible.” Fiona nods, and turns back to typing something on her phone. Candance walks back into the building, avoiding eye contact with every single person who passes her by. She goes back to the dressing room and takes off the glittery outfit she performed in, putting back on the gold dress she showed up in, with its ribbon sleeves tied in bows where it meets her shoulder. As she looks in the mirror she’s silently thankful she’s never been one to wear mascara, because makeup dripping down her face is the last thing she needs. 

She stands at the back of the hall, thankful that everyone’s back’s are to her. Suddenly someone stands right next to her, and when she looks to see who it is she almost throws up right then and there. “What the fuck do you want?” She angrily whispers. 

Raleigh doesn’t look at her, he looks out at the room ahead of them and the announcer giving some speech about the next award. Candace looks behind her to see if anyone is looking at the two of them, because pictures of them together would put the icing on the cake of terrible things that could happen tonight. “What happened?” He asks, his voice genuine. 

“You fucking broke my heart,” She almost growls, “And now everyone knows that I am unstable.” 

“I’m sorry,” He says. 

“You say that now.” 

“I’ve always been sorry,” He says, finally turning to look at her. 

She doesn’t move, but something comes over her and she turns to look him right in the eyes again. Again tears start to prick in her eyes, and she wipes them again, cursing herself for crying at all the wrong times. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have been such an ass.” 

He looks embarrassed, “You were better off without me,” He says, “You still are.” 

“Because I’m doing great,” She grits her teeth and tries not to raise her voice. “You love to decide what people should think of you, decide what other people should do. Maybe once in a while you could get your head out of your own ass and let someone care about you for longer than a minute at a time.” 

He opens his mouth to say something but a sound from the front of the room stops the conversation. Up in front of the stage, the announcer says, “And for female artist of the year, Candace Dorian.” Candace rolls her eyes, suddenly very uninterested in having the eyes of the entire room again. She starts walking as soon as she hears her name, suddenly cognisant to the fact that she has a long way to go to get onto the stage, which is another awkward moment that no one wants tonight. 

She gets up onto the stage without a problem, and she’s not exactly nervous, just painfully aware that everyone knows what happened but she had to pretend like it didn’t happen at all. She takes the award from the hands of the presenter, and beams at the audience, “Thank you so much to everyone who has supported me and supported both of my albums. Music is everything to me, and I’m so grateful that I get to share it with everyone.” When she thinks it’s enough she walks off the stage. 

She gets another award that night, for song of the year and when that is over she’s in the car on the way home. It’s not that she’s ungrateful for winning, if the performance had gone off without a hitch then she would be on top of the world at the after party without a care in the world. Now she stands in the bathroom of her apartment, changing her clothes into the sweatpants she knows she’ll live in for the next few days. 

It’s when she’s finally laying on the couch, the newly delivered comfort food sitting on the table in front of her that she realizes that she misses him. That she wouldn't feel half as mad if she didn’t miss him so much, if she didn’t want him back so much that just looking at him makes her want to break down into tears. She feels stupid for even thinking that, because the way that it looks, the way it looks like he broke her heart and she took him back without even thinking about what kind of harm it could bring her. The whole world knows how much she wants him, and that feels like she’s shown her entire hand. 

A couple of hours later, someone knocks on the door and she doesn’t even move. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone, she doesn’t want anyone to even look at her. When the knocking doesn’t seem to stop, she begrudgingly gets up off the couch and opens the door. Of course, the person standing there is the last one she wants to see. 

“You were right.” 

“What do you want?” She groans. 

“You’re right,” He says again. “I pushed you away because I’m fucked up, and I convinced myself that you would be better off without me, because I love you so much that I don’t want to hurt you.” He rubs the back of his neck self consciously, “But it seems like I already did.” 

“No shit,” She deadpans, she knows she should feel something about this but the events of the night have made her numb. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, reaching out and taking her hand. 

She wants to scream, she wants to somehow shake herself back to life but she’s been so sad for so long that her body has all but shut down. Instead of being happy now she’s thinking about the fact that this will have to come out eventually, but not right away because it’s tentative. She wants something permanent, she wants him to say that she’ll stay because right now it feels like the only feeling that's permanent is the one where she longs for him even when he’s technically hers. 

“I love you too,” She says, “But I can’t do this if it’s going to be the same thing. I was always so afraid that you would leave me, even when you were standing right in front of me, and then you left and I didn’t think I would ever be able to get over it.” She stops talking suddenly because she doesn’t know how to say it, she doesn’t know how to tell him that she wants him so badly but at the same time she’s scared to let him in again. 

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you,” He says, taking advantage of the lapsed into silence, “I never wanted to hurt you, but you were right I was being selfish.” He sighs, and then looks at her for a long time, “I came here to try and not do the same shit I always do. I came here to tell you that I’m not going to leave you, I’m not going to make choices that affect us without telling you and I came here to tell you that I love you. I love you so much and seeing you cry because of me was the worst thing.” 

“You really did make me cry in front of millions of people.” 

“I’m never going to be able to live that one down, am I?” 

She pulls him in for a kiss, which turns out to be everything she’s been missing and more, and then says, “No,” still smiling, “But I still love you.” 

And that’s all he needs to hear.

[hiddles-evans-hallucinations]

How Did We Get Here? - 4

Summary: After being in a secret relationship, (Y/N) and Chris are faced with sneaky fans taking pictures of them spending time together and the press went crazy. Chris had enough of hiding. 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut

Warnings: AGE GAP and seeeexxxyyy timeeeee. 

Note: I am so excited to write, writing has been my passion for so long and writing with my boo bear in it makes me more happy!! Thanks to the beautiful @joannaliceevans-fanficblog​ for reblogging and helping others to check my writings!!! love her already. Hope you like this one hehehe. Oh and a lil comedy :p just for fun 

*gifs are not mine* 

PART 5

After so many interviews before the Premiere in Chicago, me and Chris has been staying at the same hotel, we were informed that some fans asked the receptionist if we stay together in the same room or separate rooms, but the hotel know what answers to give. 

Before I was known, I already loved my life, I’m a normal girl, I enjoy life fully and I never ask for anything in return when doing things for others. I’m thankful in where I am, but I have always been known as a private person and even my family couldn’t get anything out of me. 

‘(Y/N/L/N) and Chris Evans having breakfast together at the Ritz Carlton’ 

I scroll down to the comments on Instagram, smiling of how red my cheeks are looking at Chris who talks about taking me to his date with Dodger. 

- ‘the fact that she’s bareface and her cheeks is all red looking at him kills me. They are so cute’ 

- ‘OMGGGG LOOK AT HOW HE’S SMILING AND SHE’S ALSO SMILING BACK AT HIM IM DEADD!’ 

- ‘I can’t believe they’re hiding all of they’re cuteness.’ 

- ‘she got taste, i love her, she’s one of us now.’ 

I laughed as Pammy surprised me by looking at what I’m reading behind my shoulder, startling me. “Oh my god,” I said, placing my hand over my chest, 

“Oh, so you’re creeping on Instagram for your so secret relationship?” 

“Stop it, I’m just, you know, trying to- actually I don’t know, it just came up on my explore so, don’t judge me.” 

“Judge you for what?” 

Chris came out of the room, looking rough, his hair is uh... everywhere, messy, shirtless. Pammy’s jaw dropped open, “Oh...” I lightly elbow her, shooting her a look. She put her hands up, “Chris, I got you spinach-apple smoothie.” Pammy hands him as he scratches the back of his head. 

“Thanks,” 

Chris looks at me, “Are you going somewhere?” my eyes widens at him. 

“We have a press interview today, remember?” 

“Oh... no.”

I laughed as I walk towards him and wrap my arms around him, he lifts me up and kisses me, I peck him over and over with my legs wrapped around him then squish my face with him like a little baby. “Get ready, bebe, we have work to do.” I said to him making him smile. 

“You’re so cute, I might just take you to bed for a bit.” 

I flushed. 

“Stop, I would, but... we don’t really have much time.” 

He smirks. “I can make it quick,” he leans as he said it so only I can hear him, my cheeks heats up more as I can picture myself with my cheeks way too red. 

“I get to you this much huh?”

I roll my eyes. “Oh no, it’s just hot in here all of the sudden.” 

He laughed. 

“Come, on, we gotta gooooo.” I whine. 

“Okay, but come shower with me?” 

“I already have my makeup on.” 

This time he’s the one that rolls his eyes at me. “Then, accompany me.” before I can say anything, Pammy said, “The interviewer’s here, I’m going to help them set everything up.” 

Chris said nothing but, “Perfect! Thank you, Pammy!” he shuts the door with his foot. 

“You’re coming with me, bebe.” 

I bury my face on his shoulders as he carries me to the bathroom. He sits me down on the sink counter as he look deep into my eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” the smile appears immediately as I look away shyly. 

“You’re so easy to love, (Y/N).” 

“Am I really?” 

He nodded as he tucks a hair behind my ear and smile. “Now.. where were we?” 

I arches my brow. “You, shower.” I pointed at the shower with my head. 

“No, that’s not where we left things,” 

“Oh yeah, you might take me to bed but we can’t so you’re gonna shower and we’re going to work-” 

Chris shuts me up by kissing me deeply, passionately that my hands find their way around his neck as he pulls me closer as if we’re not close enough. He moans against my lips and when he was about to went down, I stop him causing him look up to me, confused. 

I jump off the counter, moving him to lean against the counter and pulls his pants down. 

I can hear him take a breathe but I ignore him as I put him in my mouth and suck my cheeks in. “Baby..” 

I smiled, knowing that I’m the one that gets to him this much now. 

I work my tongue around him inside my mouth as he grips the counter and continuously moan. 

I tease him by slowly taking him out and lick every inch of him. I stood up just to kiss him and slowly trail my lips down to continue on sucking him and feeling his body trembles. 

“(Y/N)..” 

I fasten my speed as he grips my shoulder. 

“Baby.. I’m.. Com-” 

The same warmth enters my mouth as he looks down at me, waiting for what I’m gonna do. 

The taste of him slides down to my throat as I stood up looking at him, he’s in shock. 

“What? You’ve never seen a girl do this to you?” I joked as he wipes my mouth and pulls me close to him.

I can see my lipstick are gone but I could care less. “I have, but it’s you, I’m with you, I don’t need to remember if other women have done this to me or for me before. You’re mine, baby.” 

I smiled. 

I find it really sexy that he’s wiping my mouth after and holding me close, I love that about him. 

“Hmm..” I give him a slight kiss as he slaps my butt causing me to look at him with my mouth open jokingly. 

“Okay, shower, now, we need to go.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

I grab my pouch and walk back to the bathroom to do touch ups as he showers behind me. Chris never take his eyes off me, making me blush every now and then. 

For the past few months we’ve been together, I love that at the end of the day we’re normal people, we’re just fortunate enough to live a life like this and we never forget where we came from, maybe that’s why I’d like to keep our relationship on the down low where it’s just us and our closest people.

. . . . 

We walk into the meeting room of the hotel that was set up for the interview, Pammy looked at me with a oh-okay-glowing-what’s-up-now look, I shot her a look with my wide eyes, she respond with okay-I’ll-zip-it look with her hands slightly up in defeat. 

I changed my outfit, I was wearing a black midi casual dress, since it’s looking not so appropriate anymore, I have to iron it again but since I don’t have the time, I put on a black and white stripes long sleeved shirt and a black fitted trousers that stops in my ankle with a flat shoes. 

I redid my hair, curl it a little bit and I was done, I don’t want people to take the note, oh yeah they just did it. 

Professional on both, (Y/N)! I said to myself. 

My inner self seems to laugh at me. 

Both on what? Sexually and in career wise? She said. 

I want to roll my eyes, but Chris’ hand lands on my back as we said hi to everyone. “I thought you’re gonna be late.” the interviewer said to us laughing. 

I huffed. “Oh no, almost though, I just had to eat first.” Chris immediately turns his head to me. 

I added, “I thought you’re already here, seems like we’re soulmates.” I smiled at him, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open. 

“Well, I hope you enjoyed your meal.” the interviewer smiled at me.

“Thank you, I did, big meal to boost my endorphins just right.” 

We sat down with Seth, the interviewer talking about the movie a little bit but other than that he said he just wants to get to know us, he wants to make the interview a little bit different than others. 

Chris was thrilled when he brings up Disney movies. 

“Okay, I have questions, you two have to say your name or the other person to answer.” 

“Oh.. Okay.” I said. 

Seth asks, “Who is most likely to get a complaint because they laugh too loud?” 

“Chris.” 

“Me” 

Seth gasps, “Really?” I nodded making a face where I scrunch my nose. “I have to go to his trailer cause he was on the phone with Anthony Mackie, he laughed so hard I couldn’t sleep.” 

“So, you’re the one who complained?” 

“Oh yeah, would do it again.” 

They all laughed. 

“Who is most likely to be on a comedy tv show?” 

“Me.” 

“Me.” I look at Chris, raising my brow. “You?” I said, rolling my eyes after. 

“What is he not funny?” Seth laughs as he ask me that. “I mean,” I gesture my palm left to right, giving him the he’s-so-so response. 

Chris added (gif), “She thinks I’m funny, she just thinks she’s funnier.”

“You did admit I am funnier.” 

Seth squints his eyes suspicious. “Did you Chris?” 

“No.” 

I laughed, placing my hand on his shoulder as I bury my face on my arm. 

“Who is most likely to take the job as a stripper?” 

“CHRIS!” 

Chris stood up, arms wide open and tries to give me a lap dance. I squealed in laughter trying to get his butt out of my face. 

He hugs me after as I was still laughing with tears started to build up in my eyes from laughing too hard. “Oh my god.” I said. The whole room was filled with nothing but laughter and cameras clicking from their phones. 

“Gotta love this guy.” I said before Seth ended the interview. 

“Love this gal.” Chris added. 

[griffelkinn]

All the Transwomen I Met

I've felt the need to write this and share it, for a few years.

About 5 years ago, I moved to San Francisco. I didn't know anyone in the entire state, so I spent a lot of time and effort meeting new people, and going to social events, and accepting invitations from most everybody who invited me to anything. I met a ton of people.

When I moved out there, I didn't really know anything at all about transgender people. I was told about that idea pretty quick once I got there. I thought it was really great that people were comfortable being themselves. The idea that men who enjoyed wearing stereotypically "women's" clothes, were becoming more comfortable doing that. And the idea that men were rejecting stereotypes of men that were forced onto them from childhood, so they could be themselves without shame. And the reverse... women rejecting uncomfortable stereotypes of women so they could be happy. It was an exciting idea that if more and more people started doing this, it would become more and more obvious that none of the stereotypes about what women are like and men are like are actually real. Sexism would be almost completely done away with!

I wish that was what happened. I was really excited to see it happen.

But that isn't what happened. Something bad happened.

In San Francisco, there were a LOT of transwomen. And so while I was meeting all of those people, and doing all that socializing, I ended up meeting and becoming acquaintances with a lot of transwomen. I have written a brief description of literally every single transwoman who I became friends with or got to know at all. I left none out. There are nine. I have felt like this was very important for me to share.

The first transwoman (man who likes to be called a woman) I knew, rubbed his penis on me when he thought I was sleeping. This was shortly after I told him I didn't return his romantic feelings for me, which I had told him many times already.

That same man had previously told me that he'd spent most of his young adult life pressuring girls to have sex with him.

The second transwoman I knew, became enraged when I casually commented on sexism in commercials. I thought what I said would be met with obvious agreement. I hadn't known many transwomen yet, and I thought that they would understand sexism and feminism a little more than men on average do. I learned that I was very wrong. I'd commented on how a string of commercials we watched featured men speaking with intelligence, confidence, and authority, and they featured women speaking in forced baby voices, sounding insecure, dumb, giggly, and weak.

This man advanced on me physically to where I was sitting, with another angry transwoman, very loud and mad, and was very upset with my comment. He said women like talking like that, and also their vocal cords physically are only able to talk like that. Then he said my comment could be compared to women who really want to wear high heels to work, but people don't let them. Which is obviously ridiculous, because that is exactly the opposite of reality... women are being forced by their workplaces to wear high heels, which most women hate and which injure feet. That is still a sexist reality in many places that women are fighting to end. He was somehow saying I was like the fantasy people who don't let these fantasy women wear high heels to work, because of my comment.

This same man told me that he was really respected in China, which is where he was born, because he's a woman and in China women are dominant and considered superior to men. That is true, isn't it. Yes, very accurate. Not at all incorrect or literally opposite of reality.

The third transwoman I knew got upset with me at Halloween season, when I commented that women should be offered normal costumes just like men are, rather than only "sexy" versions of costumes in most places. There should be the same options for girls and boys, and women and men. He immediately disagreed and would only repeat that "Women like wearing sexy costumes!" I repeated that girls and boys should both be offered normal costumes, and obviously if anyone, man or woman, wanted to wear a "sexy" version of a costume they should wear whatever they want. He still disagreed. He said that "women have very little opportunity to dress femininely and sexy, and Halloween is a chance they can do it." I explained that was the opposite of reality. Women have tons of times when they are allowed, encouraged, and pushed to dress femininely and "sexy". That includes work, after work, weekends, and... all other times I would say. I'm pretty sure he was thinking of men, for whom his comment would have been accurate.

That same man got very angry when I said women were made to feel they have to wear makeup, and that is bad. He became very angry. Not just a little. Very angry. He kept saying (angrily) "Women like wearing makeup!"

That same man told me he was a pedophile, and had to keep himself away from children.

That same man told me that "sexism is good for some women".

That same man supported Gamergate. That same man told me that the separation of women's and men's sports are not at all related to people's biological sex, and that men who want to be called women should compete in women's sports.

That same man told me that sexism doesn't exist at all in America, and people are treated exactly the same their whole lives whether they're female or male. (I know, it contradicts his other statement that "sexism is good for some women"). I said that I had a lifetime of many many instances where I experienced sexism. From when I was very little until the present. He mockingly told me to name just one. I was so horrified that he honestly thought I would be unable to think of a single experience of sexism, and that he was mocking me about it, that I told him that it would demean me to answer to his demand of one example. It would obviously be lowering myself too far.

That same man told me that sexism in countries outside America don't have any effect on me.

The fourth transwoman I knew, I saw a movie with. It was good, but I noticed some very obvious sexism in the portrayal of female characters and male characters, which I later learned most everybody noticed. And while most everybody including me agreed it was a great movie, the extreme sexism was obvious. After the movie I said so, how I loved it - but it was very sexist in these examples. And this man started insulting me and being very annoyed. He said venomously that the portrayals of female and male characters was "realistic", and then just as venomously asked me "What are you, a FEMinist?" Clearly he felt the only acceptable view of feminists is to hate them. Somehow he expected me to want to insist to him that I wasn't a feminist. Obviously I loudly said "Yeah. I am a feminist. Aren't you a feminist?"

I never saw him again. We had been casual friends for a few months, but apparently that interaction made us both lose the desire to try and meet up again.

That same man, weeks previously at a fast food joint, told me ever since he started taking estrogen that he's become extremely physically weak. He was grinning while describing to me how wonderfully weak he was, and clearly that was an idea that made him very happy. A personal fantasy. He said how now his arms are so weak, he can barely throw a frisbee! I asked him to arm wrestle and he beat me with no effort in one second. I'd assumed that would happen.

The fifth transwoman I knew, was a very nice person. He was kind, and fun, and not a misogynist, and didn't get angry if anyone criticized anything sexist. He also didn't mind going into men's public bathrooms. I really liked him. We were friends.

The sixth transwoman I knew was over six feet tall, and had a fantasy that men would rape him. He would only ever dress in cartoonishly sexual stripper-style outfits. He described multiple times to me how he was worried that men would rape him when he walked around in public. In a voice and level of description that made it obvious this was his personal sexual fantasy. He suggested that he and I are both equally in danger from sexual assault. I'm 5'1 and just trying to live my life. He was over 6 feet and that was his sexual fantasy. We were very different in our experiences of the threat of sexual assault.

The seventh transwoman I knew, I went to the movies with and he put his hand in my crotch area. I said "WHOA I am not comfortable with that." And I physically took his arm and returned it to his own seat. He immediately put his arm around my neck and shoulders and said in an annoyed whiny voice "Well can I at least do this?" And I had to say no again. We barely knew each other, and were not at all romantic. I had zero romantic thought of him. He clearly didn't care or consider if I did or not. It didn't affect his feelings that he should be allowed to do things like that for his pleasure.

The eighth transwoman I knew was over six feet tall and white. He came up to me suddenly and told me that he is twice as oppressed as me, because he has sexism, as a woman, like I do, and he also has "transmisogyny". I was so shocked that he would say he experiences sexism like women that I was speechless. Obviously he was a man and so he did not. He was also gigantic. I don't really know why he wanted to come up to me and tell me that he had "twice as much oppression as me". After he said it he just kind of looked at me waiting to see what I would say. That was the first instance I learned about the "oppression olympics". I had never used the word "oppression" before and very rarely heard it used in person. But I was disgusted by his competitive declaration of victimhood. Since then, of course the word "oppression" has become extremely popularly used in conversation, and that's usually a good thing, but there is definitely this unsavory world of people like him who build their identities around having the "most" oppression, like an impressive commodity, who have no basis in reality.

That same man, after my lack of response, then told me that he also doesn't have white privilege because he grew up poor.

That same man told me that he'd spent much of his life pressuring women to have sex with him.

The ninth transwoman I knew, told me he would only ever date women who shave their bodies. I know that men have no idea the level of pain and insecurity that teenage girls go through because of the forced shaving culture, so I gave him a break and replied with a kind of friendly comment that even though shaving their bodies for women is an extremely torturous social norm, everyone has preferences about their romantic partners and that's fine. Though I felt like that particular preference is specifically a preference for women suffering an unhealthy lifelong ritual born completely out of insecurity. I figured I'd just write this guy off, and there was no point in saying so. But I couldn't help poking the misogynist bear a little. He was trying to get me to hang out with him. So I asked if he just won't have a relationship with a woman who doesn't shave her body, or if he can't even stand to see them at all in any setting. Because it was summer and I love going to the beach in shorts, and I needed to know if I shouldn't invite him to to beach. I actually thought I was being funny and that he would know that, but he answered seriously that he "would feel grossed out if he looked at me." Imagine one person feeling comfortable telling someone that they would feel grossed out to look at you. That man sure felt comfortable saying it to me.

I have also known some transmen. They are usually very kind, thoughtful people. I have known some very closely for years before they decided to be transmen. Most of them, years after that decision, still fight internally against the feeling that they have to wear makeup every day or else be ugly and worthless. Most of them still mentally fight to nurture any sense of self-confidence to speak their opinions, or take up space in a group as a full person, who deserves as much free immediate respect as any other.

Those are things that women experience.

Almost all transwomen are now saying that they are not men breaking social expectations. They are women. And women are sexist stereotypes.

Men breaking social expectations would deserve respect and props for being themselves despite social pressure. That would be a cool move. But they are instead insulting women, supporting sexist stereotypes religiously, closing down women's shelters, women's rape trauma centers, and women's festivals. They are taking women's government positions, women's scholarships, and women's awards.

**CONTENT WARNING for below **

Transwomen have made it so now any and all men are allowed to go into women's bathrooms, women's changing rooms, and women's shelters. And MANY of them have been raping and murdering children and women. They've been kidnapping, videotaping, and sexually harassing women and children.

There are many myths that transgender activists send around social networking sites. There's one that is very popularly shared that says transwomen in America are in danger of being murdered. That is a lie. White transwomen in America are less likely to be murdered than white men who don't identify as a transwomen.

Even if they were in danger, that would be a separate issue from women completely, and they would deserve their own safe places to be and escape violence. They should not take away all resources to help women, and allow all men into women's changing rooms and bathrooms and prisons.

I'm pretty sure most people know that women are not allowed to talk about this. We are not allowed to speak our discomfort. If a woman says she is uncomfortable with any of that, transwomen (men) bombard her with rape threats, very descriptive rape threats involving their own penises. They also do this to any lesbian who says lesbians don't want to have sex with penises. Any woman who is a feminist. Any woman who wouldn't even call herself a feminist because that word takes a lot of courage to use, but who still speaks of helping women and ending sexist beliefs, or describes reality without pandering to make these men feel good.

I used to think the transgender social movement would bring us all leaps and bounds into a brighter future, but I really think it has dragged us all back far in time and rolled back women's rights and safety and respect many decades into the past. I used to think all those violent women-hating transwomen were just the rare bad apple, and most are good people who don't want to hurt women. But that list of transwomen that I described is every single one I've known in person. 8 out of 9 were extreme examples of the most misogynist of men. My experiences have made me wary now, and I can barely even picture in my imagination a transwoman saying the words "It's impossible to feel like a woman", or "Women deserve to be allowed to get together and talk about women's issues".

The misogynist slur TERF means: Dyke. Feminazi. Cunt. They all know this.

It pains me to see women being caught up in this social movement, clearly just trying to be polite and "politically correct", or seeking male approval. Most of them are insecure. I understand. But I wish they would speak up and be honest about the truth, and not just do whatever these men tell them they must do and say to avoid being called a TERF.