#at least in terms of pages spent on it

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x ex-wife!Reader

SUMMARY — James and Reader have not been on great terms since their divorce, but an emerging situation with their son forces them to put aside their differences and work together and hope that past feelings don't resurface

WARNINGS — hospitalization, chronic illness, swearing, complicated feelings (idk y'all they're divorced what more can I say)

NOTE — Okay so I have so many things to say about this fic, but if I say them all this post will be way too long it already is like this came up as 33 pages in my docs but this is a day late birthday present for @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey who also provided the James pic I hope you had such a fun day and a great year of simping ahead!

Pronounciation — Mahlet = Ma-h-let | Hennock = Hey-knock

Ever since you had become a mother, birthday parties were the bane of your existence. The sugar overload, the loud noises, the cleanup afterwards, all amounted to your own personal hell. Yet, you would move hell or high water for your son to have the most enjoyable party every single year. 

Today was no different, eight years later you were still breaking your back to ensure every small detail was perfect, from the pin the spikes on the stegosaurus to the cake you’d spent at least a month painstakingly training to make. 

A friend of yours, another parent from the school your son Julian went to, came over in the kitchen to give you a hand with some of the snacks. 

“How are you managing here?” she asked and you took a deep breath. 

“Managing is the operative word,” you chuckled. “Kids having fun out there?” 

“Yeah, loads, you’ve outdone yourself again,” she assured you. “Will James be making an appearance?” 

“I stopped asking myself that question after we got divorced,” you said while fixing the plate of vegetables and dip. “He’s supposed to, he promised Julian, but we all know how that ends.” 

There seemed to be a bit of commotion out in the backyard and you tried to assess what was happening from the window, but your suspicions that something was off was confirmed when Julian’s best friend, Hennock, came rushing inside.

“Mrs. Wilson, something’s going on with Julian,” he said and you frowned while your friend followed you outside to see the kids circling around Julian who seemed to be gripping onto his chest. 

“Jay, what’s going on? Are you okay?” you bent down to be closer to his eye-level, trying to understand what was happening to your son. 

“Can’t…” he pointed to his mouth. “Can’t…breathe,” he wheezed. 

Your eyes went wide, but before you could grab him and run for the car he began to cough and you hoped and prayed there was just something caught in his throat that would make its way out, but with the coughing came spatters of red all over your white shirt.

“Mahi,” you looked over at your friend quickly while picking Julian up. You didn’t have to say a word, she already knew what she needed to do. 

Living close to the hospital, it was worth it to drive yourself, that way you didn’t have to wait for an ambulance to get to you. You had made the mental calculations many times before, just in case there was an emergency and now it was finally coming in handy. 

When you got Julian in the car, you checked in on his breathing, it was still laboured, but at least at this point he was getting in the air, even if he was coughing up blood. 

You turned on the car and began driving while calling your ex-husband with one hand. The line rang until you reached voicemail so you called again, expecting at least this time for him to pick up, only to hear the tone once more. 

“Dammit James!” you threw your phone down on the seat next to you knowing you’d deal with him later, now you needed to focus on getting to the hospital without killing either of you. 

Barely paying attention to how your car was parked, you grabbed Julian out of the back seat and ran into the ER with him. 

“Ma’am, what’s going on?” a nurse came and asked you as you put Julian down. 

“My son, he-he’s having trouble breathing and he’s coughing up blood I-I-I don’t know what’s happening.” 

Before you could say a word they had whisked Julian away and another nurse came to ask you some questions about his medical history and any information that may be important to the doctors treating him. 

“Where’s my son?” you asked, “I want to see my son.” 

“Ma’am I’m sorry, but the doctors are working on getting his airway cleared, you can’t be with him right now.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line and bit back your tongue. There were a million and one things you wanted to say to the nurse, but none of them would help your situation. On the other hand, finding your ex might. 

So instead of finding the waiting room you went over to the elevator and made your way up to the oncology department, briskly walking through the halls until you reached his office. At this point, you didn’t bother knocking, opening the door to see him sitting down over a file and talking with House. 

“Hey Greg,” you said in a fake cheery voice. “Mind giving us the room?” 

“Oh, this is the wife with the kid, did you forget to pay child support?” House asked James. 

“Get out, Greg,” you said warningly and he listened, instead opting to steal the rest of James’ sandwich and slipping past you, while wishing James good luck and letting you slam the door shut behind you. 

“What’s going on?” James asked, clearly confused by your demeanour and appearance. “If this is about the party I didn’t forget I was-wait is that blood,” he stood up from his chair and came over to you. 

“What’s going on is you didn’t pick up your fucking phone,” you said angrily. 

“Hey,” James looked at you sternly. “What is going on?” he repeated his question, this time more pointedly. 

You could feel your lips begin to tremble and your vision became blurred while you shook your head. 

“Who’s blood is on your shirt?” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “It’s Julian’s.” 

“Julian-I-what happened?” his demeanour changed from frustrated with your attitude towards him to worrying for his son. 

“I-I don’t know he said he couldn’t breathe and then he started coughing up blood and I just picked him up and drove him here a-and now they won’t let me see him.” 

“You drove him?” he asked incredulously. “You didn’t think to maybe call an ambulance?” 

“That’s what you’re hung up on? That I decided to drive because it was faster than getting him an ambulance?” 

“That’s not what I-,” 

“Yes it is,” you stepped back. “I wouldn’t have needed an ambulance if you were there.” 

James sighed and chose to ignore your comment, 

“Where is he?” he asked. 

“Emergency room,” you muttered. “They won’t let me see him, you need to talk to them, say something, anything.” 

James nodded his head, at least you could agree on that. He walked with you out of the office and to the elevator so you could go to the ER together and figure out what the hell was happening to your son. 

When you got down there and James began speaking to the nurses, they informed him that Julian had been moved to the ICU and his respiration was being closely monitored while they ran a few tests to see what had caused the arrest. 

You had to fight to hold yourself upright when they pulled back the curtain and you could see Julian hooked up to all the machines and with a ventilator tube stuck down his throat. You covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head again. This couldn’t be happening, now you were supposed to be cutting into cake and opening presents, not sitting in the ICU. 

You stepped inside with James and he closed the curtain to give you a bit of privacy and decided to look over his chart and see if they had given any relevant information there. Seeing none, he turned his attention over to you, seeing your eyes filled with tears, unable to tear your gaze away from your son. 

James walked over to you and cautiously put a hand on your shoulder, eventually encouraging you to turn around so he could pull you into his arms. You allowed your tears to soak his white coat, gripping onto him so tightly because there was nowhere else to hold. 

You could hear his breathing change, accompanied by the small sniffles and you knew he was doing just as bad as you were right now, wiping the tears from his own eyes as he finally allowed himself to see his son as he was, sick, helpless, vulnerable, and only moments ago, without his dad’s help when he needed him most. 

Your moment was interrupted when you heard the curtain being pulled back and you saw two doctors standing there. You pulled away from James and wiped whatever remaining tears were in your eyes so you could properly address them.

It seemed as though one of the doctors recognized James and when he looked down at the file and saw the name he made the connection internally. 

“Can we talk to you guys out in the waiting room for a moment?” he asked. 

“I don’t want to leave my son,” you shook your head. 

“Ma’am, this is the ICU and the visiting hours are very strictly adhered to, I think your husband maybe got lucky and pulled a few strings so you could see your son, but we need to leave now.” 

“He’s not my husband,” you muttered and reluctantly followed them out of the makeshift room and towards the waiting area. 

“Did you find out what was wrong?” James asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I looked at his chart. You took him for an emergency CT and bloodwork.” 

“We also ran a few other tests,” the doctor began explaining. “From the medical history your, um, ex wife gave I had a suspicion of something so we ran a sweat test to check for elevated chloride levels and it just came back positive.” 

“Chloride levels?” you looked up at James. “What does that mean?” 

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “It means Julian has cystic fibrosis.” 

“I-I’ve heard of that, is it curable?” you asked. 

“I’ll leave you guys with Dr. Liu, he deals with the pediatric cystic fibrosis cases and will be able to answer your questions better than I can,” he wished you a good day and left you alone with the other doctor. 

“Cystic fibrosis is manageable-,” 

“So you can’t cure it,” you reiterated. 

The doctor shook his head, “Unfortunately there is no cure for CF yet, but many people have been able to live longer and happy lives with the medical technology now available.” 

James was silent, taking in all the information that was being presented. 

“How did he get it? Is it contagious or-or was it just always there?” you asked. 

“It’s a genetic condition, so he’s always had it, the symptoms have just gotten to the point where they’re now visible,” the doctor explained.

“I-It’s genetic so one of us is a carrier?” you pointed to you and James. 

“We both are,” James said. “Both parents have to be carriers to pass it down to their child, right?” 

Dr. Liu nodded and you pressed your lips together. 

“C-Can you just tell us what this means for right now?” you asked. “I just think-I think I need a minute.” 

Dr. Liu nodded his head and explained they were giving Julian medication to help with the infection and airway damage that caused him to cough up blood, then they would get him on some bronchodilators to help with his breathing for the time being while they assessed what other issues the cystic fibrosis had potentially caused in his body. He’d have to stay at the hospital for a while, but hopefully could be moved to the pediatric ward within the next day or so.

“We can talk more about what Julian’s medical journey will look like later, I’ll give you guys some time together and if you have any questions, Wilson’s got my pager and knows where my office is.” 

You nodded your head and thanked him quietly as he left the waiting area. You finally sat down on one of the chairs. 

James took the seat next to you and you covered your face with your hands. 

“We couldn’t give him a functional family and a happy home and now we’ve given him a chronic medical condition to top it off.” 

“Blaming ourselves isn’t going to do anything for Julian,” James said. 

“And sitting around here is?” you asked and James sighed. 

“No, no it’s not.” 

You sat there in silence for a little while longer before you noticed James stand up and motion for you to follow him. As much as you didn’t want to listen to him and just sit and wait until they would let you be with Julian again, you got up and followed him to one of the OR supply closets. He used a key to unlock the door and sifted through some materials until he found what he was looking for, pulling out a scrub shirt in your size and handing it over to you. 

You looked down at your own shirt, seeing the red specks of Julian’s blood and closed the door behind your both, pulling your shirt off over your head and handing it to James. You were about to put the other shirt on when you noticed the flecks of dried blood against your chest. 

While you eyes were transfixed on that, James had grabbed an alcohol wipe package from the shelves and tore it open with his teeth, removing the wipe and reaching over to help you clean the blood off yourself. 

“James, I can do it myself,” you reached for the wipe, but he pulled it away. 

“You’ve got some on your neck too, just let me take care of it,” he insisted. 

You knew better than to cause a fight over something trivial like this right now so you put your hands down, watching as James tossed your shirt over his shoulder and carefully began wiping away the specks of your son’s blood off your chest, collarbone, and neck. 

“Have you eaten today?” he asked you while holding your face to tilt it to the side so he could get a spot he’d missed earlier. 

“No, why?” 

“Because it’s his birthday, you’d always forget to eat until dinner and even then it would be scraps from the party until I forced you to eat something better,” he recounted. “Let’s just go grab something from the cafeteria before we go back to the ICU, okay?” 

“Will it make a difference if I say I’m not hungry?” you asked. 

“You can’t take care of Julian if you’re not taking care of yourself.” 

You scoffed and pulled the shirt over your head, “And you’ve suddenly become an expert on taking care of your family?” 

“Believe it or not, we were once happy and there was a reason we got married and decided to have a child together.” 

“And there’s a reason we got divorced too,” you added and opened the door behind you.

You didn’t go to the cafeteria, instead heading back to the ICU waiting room knowing either visiting hours would have to start eventually or they’d move Julian to his own room and you could finally sit with him. 

James clearly hadn’t followed you so you ended up alone again, wringing your hands and waiting for some sort of news. 

Eventually, you felt a bag drop on your lap and you looked up and saw James standing overtop of you. You looked inside and saw a package of a sandwich, a small bag of chips, and a water bottle. 

You knew he was right, that if you didn’t take care of yourself you wouldn’t be able to take care of Julian, so you forced yourself to eat, even if you didn’t want to. 

A little while later, Dr. Liu had returned and informed you that they were moving Julian to the pediatric ward and you could stay with him there in his room. When you joined him there, James had taken off his white coat and tossed it on one of the chairs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and sitting down next to Julian’ taking one of his hands in his own. 

“Don’t you have patients you need to see?” you asked, sitting on the opposite side of the hospital bed. 

“I told Cuddy I needed the day, someone else is taking care of it for me,” he said, not removing his gaze from Julian. 

With the two of them sitting next to each other like that, you could clearly see the similarities Julian had with his father. They shared the same eyes and nose, and when they smiled they had the same little creases around their eyes. 

You wished that’s what you could have been looking at, them smiling together, instead of the frown etched onto James’ face and Julian still fast asleep while an oxygen mask now delivered the air he needed to help him breathe. 

“Do you know much about cystic fibrosis?” you asked James, brushing your thumb against Julian’s other hand. 

“Only that it mainly affects the digestive system and the respiratory tract,” he explained. “I’m not too familiar with how it's managed, just that there’s regular doctor’s visits and probably some medication and therapies involved.” 

You could feel a small stirring and you looked down and saw Julian’s hand begin to move underneath yours. 

You smiled when you saw his eyes blink open and James was quick to stand up and come closer to him so he had a familiar face to look at while he took in his surroundings. 

“Hey buddy,” James smiled and you could see Julian light up at the sight of his dad. He lifted his hand to try to remove the oxygen mask, but James gently encouraged him not to. “This is giving your lungs an extra hand right now, let’s just keep it on until the doctor tells us it's okay to take it off.” 

“But you’re a doctor,” Julian countered and James chuckled. 

“I am, but I'm not your doctor. I am, however, your dad so you have to listen to me anyways,” he teased and bent down to kiss his son’s cheek and tickle him a little bit in the process. 

“Hey, go easy on him,” you placed a gentle hand on James' arm and he laid off. 

“You know,” James said. “It’s still your birthday.” 

“It is?” Julian asked and you both nodded and James reached down to grab something he’d brought with him. 

“All the presents your friends got you are at home waiting for you to get better so you can open them, but this is what I got for you,” he said. “I was gonna come and bring it to the party, but I think you brought the party to me.” 

Julian laughed a little at that and you rolled your eyes, of course James could make himself look good by not showing up. 

He sat up with the help of his dad and pulled out the tissue paper from the bag to see the present that was hiding underneath. With a big grin on his face, he took out a dinosaur stuffed animal along with a book all about the different species of the Cretaceous period. 

“This is awesome,” Julian grinned. “Thanks dad, I love it.” 

James gave Julian another kiss and you joined them, taking a seat on the bed and glancing over at the book on Julian’s lap. 

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” you asked, fixing the twisted band of the oxygen mask on his face. 

“My throat hurts a little bit,” he admitted. “And I’m kinda hungry.” 

“Let me call a nurse and we’ll see what you can eat,” you said and pressed the button to send someone over from the nurses’ station. 

Meanwhile, James poured Julian a glass of water and helped him take a few sips of it. His throat was probably irritated from being on the ventilator, but his lungs had become stabilized from the use of the bronchodilators. 

The nurse came and you spoke to her about getting Julian something to eat and she said she’d double check with Dr. Liu and then grab him some food. 

“Hey, Jay,” you walked over to the bed and took your son’s hand in yours. “Are you okay to hang out here with dad while I go grab some stuff from home? The doctors said we might hang around here for a few days so I think I need to pack a bag.” 

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Julian nodded. “Are you okay mom?” he reached up and touched your cheek and you realized you'd let a few more tears slip.

“Yeah, I’m just really happy you’re okay,” you wiped the tears away and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. “Right, Jamie? We’re both happy he’s okay.” 

James looked over at you with softness reflecting in his eyes at the sound of the nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time and nodded his head. 

“Bring some cake back with you,” Julian whispered. “Even if dad and the doctor say no we can sneak some.” 

You laughed at his plan and gave him another kiss, assuring him you’d pack some in a container to bring for him when you came back.

When you arrived at your home, you thought you might cry at the sight in front of you. The kitchen and living room were completely clean, presents piled neatly on the coffee table along with a new card you didn’t recognize. Coming closer, you noticed the bright marker, signature of eight-year-olds across the country, with the message Get Well Soon Julian! written on it and signed by all his friends who had attended the party. 

You packed the card in your bag along with a few other things and made a mental note to grab a nice thank you gift for Mahlet to thank her for what she had done. 

As promised, you cut a big chunk of cake, enough for the three of you to share, and packed it in a tupperware to bring back to the hospital. 

You grabbed a few changes of clothes for both you and Julian and changed out of the temporary shirt you had on and into something more comfortable for the rest of the evening, making sure everything you needed was in place before heading out and going back to the hospital. 

When you got back to Julian’s room you saw James squished in next to him on the bed, the book he had bought him opened on his lap as he read its contents to Julian. Julian was resting his head against James’ arm and James was doing those big exaggerations he always would whenever he’d read bedtime stories to Julian, emphasizing all the insane details and changing the inflections of his voice in just the right way to make him laugh. 

“I brought cake,” you grinned, holding up the container as you entered the room, holding three plastic forks. “If Dr. Dad says it's okay, we can eat it.” 

“Dr. Dad desperately needs some sugar,” James nodded his head and closed the book for the time being while you took a seat by Julian’s legs and opened the container, handing each of the boys a fork. 

You helped Julian take off his oxygen mask for the time being and placed it off to the side, acutely aware of how his breathing sounded more laboured without it. 

James only snuck in a couple bites of the cake before taking the mask from your side and holding it ready in case Julian needed a bit of an extra hand. 

Just as he had predicted, after a few bites of cake Julian was noticing a bit of a difficulty to get air into his lungs and James held up the mask to his face, allowing him to take a couple deep breaths. 

“What do you think of the cake, Jay?” you asked. 

“Really good, just like everytime you make it,” he grinned. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a great birthday, buddy,” James apologized. “I mean with all your friends and classmates.” 

“What do you mean?” Julian asked. “I think I had a good birthday.” 

“You do?” you frowned curiously, wondering what kind of light he’d seen in the day that you and James as worried parents had somehow missed. “What made it good?”

“We’re sitting eating cake. Together. Just like when I was little,” he said simply and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, looking over at James whose gaze hadn’t left Julian. He almost looked disappointed, at what, you couldn’t place, but at least for the moment Julian was happy and that was all either of you really wanted. 

—

You grabbed your purse from the ground and thanked Dr. Liu for all of the information he had given you and assured you’d be there with Julian at the allocated follow-up time you had arranged. You were just about to leave when James came rushing into the room, apologies spewing out of his mouth for being late. 

“Late? You missed the whole appointment.”

“I-I did?” he said, looking down at his watch and cursing when he saw the time. 

“Jay, sweetheart, why don’t you sit down here,” you moved out of Dr. Liu’s office and set him up on a chair in one of the general waiting areas and handed him his dinosaur book from your purse. “I just need to go have a chat with your dad real quick.” 

Julian nodded and opened up the book, flipping through the pages while you grabbed James’ arm and pulled him into a dead-end hallway so you could speak in private. 

“What the hell took you so long?” you asked firmly. “We waited for twenty minutes before even starting the appointment!” 

“I’m sorry,” James apologized, “I was in the OR with a patient and something went haywire and it took longer than expected to fix it.” 

“Still, you couldn’t have told someone to at least pass on a message?” 

“I was in the middle of saving a patient’s life! What did you want me to do?” 

“I wanted you to be there for your son,” you whispered harshly. “You make promises you can’t keep and I have to watch him get disappointed over and over again. He does not deserve that, especially now.” 

James placed his hands on his hips and said, 

“I am trying to be there, it’s not for lack of effort-,” 

“Well try harder!” you threw your hands up in the air. “You’re an ex-husband James, not an ex-father. You don’t have to show up for me anymore, but you damn well better show up for him.” 

When he said nothing you continued. 

“Believe it or not, you don’t have to work as much as you do James. You chose to do that and right now that’s coming at your son’s expense and he is scared and vulnerable and neither of us know half of what Dr. Liu is talking to us about. Do you know what he said to me when I was confused about the management plan? He said Dad would know what this means. Dad can help us. And he’s right, you would have known and you can help so stop acting like your fucking schedule controls you and get your schedule under control.” 

James was quiet for a moment before he nodded his head, 

“Okay,” he said simply. 

You knew better than to get your hopes up with him and you didn’t have any more energy to argue, so you told him you could talk more later, but right now you were going to take Julian home so he could rest in his own bed and finally open his birthday presents. 

“Is dad coming with us?” Julian asked when you picked him up and began walking away to leave the hospital. 

“No, not this time,” you shook your head. 

“Did you fight with him again?” Julian asked and you pressed your lips together. 

“We just had a disagreement,” you settled on. “You can call him later when he’s done work if you want to talk to him, sounds good?” 

Julian was content with your answer and left it at that. 

Over the next few days, aside from Julian’s call, you didn’t hear much for James and you assumed things were right on track to going back to the way they had always been. You loved your son to pieces, but this was one time you wished his dad would be here to support, working and caring for Julian on top of trying to figure out how to be his at home doctor was already taking its toll and you didn’t know how you’d be able to keep it up. 

One night, you were sitting in the living room reading a book Dr. Liu had recommended. It was detailing strategies for parents with children who had cystic fibrosis. In the middle of your chapter you were interrupted by a knock to your door and you put in your bookmark, wondering who was stopping by this far into the evening. 

Unlocking the door and opening it, you found it hard to hide the surprise in your face when you saw James on the other end. 

“James?” you tilted your head. “I haven’t heard from you at all this week, what’s going on?” 

“I reduced my patient load,” he said, “and I talked to Cuddy about reducing my clinic hours. I still have to do some administrative stuff for the department, but it can be done from home for the most part.” 

“Oh,” you were surprised to say the least. You didn’t realize your outburst the other day had worked. 

“You were right,” he said. “I need to be here for Julian and I can’t do that if my work always comes first.” 

You nodded your head, following along with what he was saying. 

“C-Can I come in and see him?” James asked. “I know our custody agreement has always been all over the place-,” 

You didn’t say anything, simply opening the door wider for him to come inside. 

“He’s asleep in his room,” you said. “When you’re done we can talk some more.” 

James nodded and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and taking off his jacket, making his way to Julian’s room to sit with him for a moment before joining you in the kitchen. 

“Want something to drink?” you asked and he said some water would be nice. You poured him a glass while waiting for the water to boil for your tea. 

“I saw the book you were reading over there,” he pointed to the couch. “Dr. Liu recommended it to me too, I just finished it the other night.” 

“Show off,” you rolled your eyes and handed him the glass. 

“What I was trying to say is I think something that stood out to me is having consistency and a routine is good, especially when things are new,” James explained. “I don’t think it makes sense for him to be moving back and forth from here to my place.” 

“So you think we should have a home base here?” you confirmed and he nodded. 

“I can come by more often, if there’s days where you need to be at work I can be doing the administrative stuff here after school and take care of Julian until you get back.” 

You pursed your lips and as you heard the kettle click, moved to pour your hot water into the mug you were holding. 

“These are all good ideas,” you started. 

“I’m assuming there’s a but coming?” 

“But I don’t want to give Julian the wrong impression is all.” 

James shook his head. 

“You really need to pick whatever it is you want,” James crossed his arms over his chest. “First I’m not here enough, I don’t put my family first. Now I’m putting my family first and you’re worried Julian’s going to think this means we’re getting back together.” 

“He doesn’t need to get his hopes up for something that’s never going to happen,” you said flatly. 

“Have you ever considered having a conversation with him instead of shielding him from every little thing that might hurt him?” James asked and you rolled your eyes. 

“Clearly every little thing can hurt him!” you pointed over to his room. “He can’t even breathe without help, James. Maybe he needs to be protected.” 

“Stop, just stop,” James ran a hand over his face. “I can’t get into a fight with you every single time we see each other. Julian is just as much my son as he is yours, if this is going to work we need to be able to have a conversation with each other.” 

You took a sip of your tea and said,

“Okay, I’m worried Julian might take the fact that you’re around more the wrong way.” 

James nodded his head, “I hear you, so maybe we should talk to him about it and say I’m coming around more to lend a hand around the house and help take care of him.” 

“Dad? What are you doing here?” as if on cue, Julian had walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes awake and adjusting to the light. 

“Julian, where’s your oxygen mask?” 

“I don’t wanna wear it mom,” he whined. “I don’t like the way it feels on my face.” 

You sighed, having had this conversation at least five times before, you didn’t know what else you could say to convince him. 

“Hey buddy, maybe we should listen to mom on this one,” James suggested. “You know that feeling you’ve got right here,” he pointed to his chest. “That’s only gonna get worse if you don’t wear it and we don’t want to have to go to the hospital again, right?” 

Julian shook his head and sighed, stomping back over to his room to grab the portable machine and place the tube under his nose and around his ears, allowing him to get the right amount of oxygen. 

You looked over at James gratefully and he reached his hand out to yours and gave it a squeeze. It was nice being on the same team even if you had just been arguing. 

When Julian came back he repeated his question to his dad who explained that he was here to talk to you about a few things that would be changing soon and that he’d be around more to help look after him. 

“If you’re going to be here to help look after me can you stay tonight?” Julian asked. “Mom still has some of your clothes in those boxes in her closet.” 

“She does, does she,” James looked over at you. 

“It was the stuff you wanted to give away and I never got around to it,” you said. “There’s probably a hoodie and some pyjama pants in there if you want to stay.” 

James pressed his lips together and sighed, 

“You know buddy as much as I would love to have a sleepover with you I don’t think it’s a good idea if I spend the night here,” James said. “But I can tuck you in again and wait until you fall asleep to go back home.” 

“Mom, can you come too?” Julian asked and you nodded your head. 

James stood up and helped Julian carry his portable oxygen machine back to his bedroom and you trailed behind them, watching as James carefully tucked Julian back under the covers while peppering his face with small kisses, like he would do when Julian was younger and just learning to sleep in his own room. 

“Dad that tickles,” Julian giggled and James simply smiled and continued littering his face with kisses. 

“Too bad. I love you too much; I just can’t get enough of you.” 

“Alright, move it,” you nudged James from the opposite side of the bed and took your turn. “It must tickle having two parents who love you so damn much.” 

“It does,” Julian’s laughter died out as you both finally left him alone, sitting on either side of his mattress. 

You both wished him a good night and waited as he slowly fell back asleep. When his breathing was steady and his grip loosened on yours and James’ hands you took it as your cue to leave the room. 

James placed a hand on your shoulder as you stepped out of the room, prompting you to turn around and face him. 

“I’ll come by tomorrow and we can work out a schedule or something, does that sound good?”

You nodded your head, 

“Yeah, I have a work thing tomorrow in the evening, I was gonna ask Mahlet, Hennock’s mom, if she could come look after Julian, but if you’re around…” 

“I’ll come for dinner and then do the bedtime routine,” he said and you smiled. 

“James I’m begging you-,” 

“I won’t be late,” he assured. “No surgeries planned and I’m ending my shift with clinic duty.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded your head. 

“I’ll see you then,” you patted his arm and he showed himself out. 

You walked back to the kitchen grabbing your now lukewarm cup of tea and sitting back on the couch picking up your book and opening it, reading until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, falling asleep right there on the couch. 

—

Over the next few months, you, James, and Julian had developed some sort of routine around school, work, and doctor’s appointments. A part of you thought you were spending more time together as a family than when you were married. 

Today you had to go in for work, also having reduced your hours, but in a way that you were working in tandem with James. When you arrived back home the house smelled like warm spices and big plates of home-cooked food. 

You dropped your keys on the entryway table, next to James’ keys and wallet and took off your jacket, hanging it up before coming to the kitchen and seeing Julian and Hennock doing their homework at the island. 

“Mr. Wilson, what is the difference between these two words?” Hennock asked, holding up his paper so James could see while cutting some vegetables for a salad. 

“I think the first one is the kind of principal in your school that looks after all the students and the other one is… man, that’s hard to describe. Hey, how do you describe what principle is to an eight-year-old?” James asked you. 

“I think that kind of principle is something that guides the way people behave or act,” you sat next to Julian and Hennock. “Like a principle is the foundation for something that people believe in.” 

Hennock and Julian still looked a little confused by your explanation so you tried to give an example. 

“So a principle could be to be kind to everyone we meet and so people who believe in that principle will try to follow it.” 

That put it in better terms for them to understand and there was a chorus of oh’s before they looked back down at their papers and scribbled down a few things to answer the questions they were asked. 

“They learning about homonyms?” you asked James and he nodded.

“I talked to Mahlet,” James said, changing the topic. “Hennock’s gonna stay for dinner and she’ll come pick him up around seven.” 

“Sounds good, it’s always nice to have you, Henny,” you smiled and ruffled your hand through his coarse curly hair in an endearing way. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Wilson,” Hennock smiled. 

James was now over the stove, stirring what looked like a soup before giving it a taste and figuring something might be missing.

“Can you taste this?” James asked. “I don’t know why, but every time I make it there’s something off.” 

You took a spoon and tried a little bit of the broth, looking down to see that he was making matzah ball soup and immediately when you tasted it you knew what was missing. 

“I know what it is,” you said. “But you can’t tell your mom I told you. She swore me to secrecy.” 

“My mother told you this?” James asked and you nodded. 

“When we were getting married she wanted me to know how to make it the way she would for you when you were sick.” 

“And she didn’t think to tell her own son how to do this?” he seemed thoroughly offended, but all you could do was laugh. 

“It’s tarragon. I don’t think it’s something everyone adds, it was just something special she’d put in hers to make it a little different. Here,” you reached into the spice cupboard and took out a jar of dried tarragon and took a bit of the herb out of the container and crushed it in your hands before sprinkling it into the soup. James mixed it in and gave the broth a minute to soak in the flavour before trying it again and shaking his head. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me!” 

“I’ll let you finish having your little meltdown,” you patted his back. “I’m gonna hop in the shower quickly and we can eat when I get out.” 

“Did Dad forget the tarragon?” Julian asked and you nodded your head. 

“Wow, so everyone knew, but me?” James asked and you nodded your head with a shrug. 

“Sorry, I guess your mom has favourites, or something.” 

“Figures,” James teasingly rolled his eyes and you chuckled, waving him off and going to take a shower and change into something a little more comfortable. 

When you came back outside they had migrated to the dining room table, each with a bowl of soup in front of them and a plate of salad. You sat on the same side as James since Julian and Hennock were already sitting next to each other and the boys happily recounted the details of their school day and playdate with you while everyone ate their soup and salad. 

“What did you do at work, Dad?” James asked. 

“Oh, nothing interesting,” he shook his head. “I think your mom was doing bigger things than me.” 

“Bigger than treating people with cancer? You flatter me,” you drank some of your soup’s broth. “I had a meeting with a big company about a building they’re making.” 

“Did you go do a site visit?” James asked and you nodded. 

“Engineers are being a pain in the butt, keep making me adjust the design, but we’ll see who gets the last laugh.” 

“Mom always does,” Julian told Hennock and they chuckled along with James. 

After dinner James helped you clear up some of the dishes before heading out and leaving you with the boys. When Mahlet came by to pick Hennock up you invited her in for tea and a little visit. 

“Thanks for coming to stay with Julian the other night,” you said after handing her a mug. “For once, I was the late one and James had an emergency come up so it was a huge help.” 

“And how are things now, with the co-parenting?” 

You took a sip of your tea, “Weirdly good,” you admitted. “We don’t argue as much which is nice and Julian gets to see his dad more.” 

“Do you think maybe you’re not fighting because he’s changing?” she asked. 

“I don’t wanna go down that path,” you shook your head. “If Jay hadn’t been diagnosed things would still be the same as they always were.” 

“But they’re not. More often than not people show their true colours during times of difficulty.” 

You took a deep breath and sighed, “If that was the case I would have seen something worth keeping when my marriage was falling apart.” 

Mahlet nodded, seeing as you had a point and your conversation was halted as they boys came out of Julian’s room. 

Mahlet and Hennock left shortly afterwards and you quickly got Julian ready for bed, tucking him in and then going to get settled yourself. You looked through a few client papers for work before calling it a night and turning off your bedside lamp, curling into bed and falling asleep. 

Your sleep was interrupted in the middle of the night by a tapping on your shoulder and when you blinked your eyes open you saw Julian standing next to your bed. 

“Jay, sweetheart, is something wrong?” you asked. 

“My stomach really hurts,” he told you and you sat up, motioning for him to come sit with you on the bed. 

“Where?” you asked, turning on the light and he pointed to the upper right corner of his abdomen. If you remembered correctly that wasn’t exactly where his stomach was and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the yellowing whites of his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I think we have to go to the hospital.” 

“The hospital? What happened?” Julian looked worried and you assured him everything would be alright. 

“We’re just being safe,” you told him. “I’m gonna call your dad, maybe he can tell us a little bit more of what’s going on. Do you feel good enough to get your jacket and shoes and your hospital bag?” 

Julian nodded his head and you gave him a kiss and he went off to grab his things while you did the same, but also taking your cell phone and calling James. 

It took a few rings, but he eventually picked up. 

“Hey, did something happen?” he asked and you could still hear the sleep thick in his voice. 

“I think something’s wrong with Julian. I’m gonna take him to the hospital, can you meet us there?” 

“Yeah, of course, I’m on my way.” 

“James…the whites of his eyes were yellow. Does he have jaundice?” you asked.

“It’s possible, was there anything else?” 

“Yeah, he mentioned stomach pain, but he pointed to like his upper right abdomen, I think,” you explained while grabbing your bag and putting on some socks. 

“Makes sense as a liver issue,” you could hear his car starting in the background. “If he’s presenting symptoms now I would call an ambulance.” 

“James-,” 

“Just trust me,” he said. “Call 911.” 

“Okay,” you nodded your head and hung up, calling the emergency services and explaining the situation to them and then to Julian while you waited for them to arrive. 

James made the right call, seeing as while you were in the ambulance Julian began to throw up and the paramedics obviously handled it better than you could have if you had driven him. 

When you arrived at the ER they wheeled Julian away and you began getting flashbacks to when you first brought him in. 

“Where are you taking him?” you called after them, but no one answered you. “What the hell kind of hospital is this?! Where are you taking my son?!” 

“Ma’am they're taking your son to do a liver biopsy,” one of the nurses came back and informed you. “We need you to sign this consent form.” 

You nodded your head and took the pen from her hand, signing it, but just as you were about to ask her a question she ran off to give them the okay. 

You could feel your anger and worry bubbling inside your throat and you wanted to let it out in a scream and you were about to go running after her, but before you could you felt someone grab your wrist and pull you back. 

“James let me go,” you said warningly, looking back at your ex-husband. 

“No,” he stated just as firmly. 

“James-,” 

“I am not going to let you do something you’re going to regret,” he said and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, even when you pushed to get away. 

“James, let me go.”

“No,” he repeated and simply held onto you tighter. 

“Let me-,” your voice broke and you stopped pushing away. “Please, Jamie, please I just want to see him,” you cried into his shirt and he squeezed you so tight you thought you might get bruises in your arm from the way he was holding you. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You brought him here and he’s going to be fine.” 

“I can’t do this anymore, James. I can't be his mom and his doctor and they can’t expect me to wait out here while they drag him away and ask me to consent to God knows what.” 

James didn’t know what to tell you, instead he just continued to hold you close, rubbing his hands up and down your back, and pressed a soft kiss against your temple. 

You wrapped your arms around him and finally let yourself fully sink into his embrace, hating yourself for how much you liked it and how good it made you feel while your son was in some back corner of the ER getting a piece of his liver biopsied.

Eventually James pulled away from you, helping you dry your tears on the sleeve of his sweater and walking with his arm wrapped around you to the waiting area. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there, but it was possible that you had dozed off once or twice against James’ arm, waiting to hear some sort of news from the ER doctor. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson?” 

Your eyes blinked open when James gently shook you awake. 

“That’s us,” he said. “Is Julian okay?” 

“Your son has a mild case of cirrhosis,” the doctor explained. “Due to his cystic fibrosis diagnosis we believe this is due to clogging and inflammation in his bile ducts.” 

“What does that mean for him? Does he need surgery to fix it?” you asked, fighting back a tired yawn. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” the doctor nodded. “It’s good you caught it early, there’s minimal damage to his liver so far and he’s still growing which means his liver is too. We can get him into an OR tomorrow if you consent to the surgery.” 

You looked over at James and he nodded his head. You trusted him and told the doctor you would sign the papers as soon as you could see Julian. 

“He’s been moved to the pediatric ward for now and Dr. Liu has been informed of the development. He should be in touch with you tomorrow.” 

“Thank you,” James said and when the doctor left, he helped you up and you began the walk up to the pediatric ward. 

When you arrived a nurse pointed you in the direction of his room and after each pressing a kiss to Julain’s forehead you sat on the seat bench together. 

“We should sleep,” James said, but you had a hard time imagining how that would be possible. 

“I’m having a hard time working out the logistics,” you admitted. 

“Come on, it’ll be just like on the way back from our honeymoon,” he insisted, recalling your extremely delayed flight on the way back from France, causing you to sleep with your head on James’ lap, stretched out along the airport chairs. 

You were too tired to argue or try and find another way, so you leaned down and rested your head against his legs, closing your eyes and sighing when you felt his hand rub up and down in long motions along the side of your body. Sleep could not have come quicker.

—

“Mom…Mom, Dad?” 

Julian rolled his eyes when he received no answer and grabbed the stuffed animal you had placed next to him when he’d come into the room and threw it at his sleeping parents, nailing his dad in the face. 

“Oh, God, mhm, wake up,” James shook you while he raised his hands to rub his face.

“Huh?” you opened your eyes and pushed yourself off of James’ lap. “Oh crap, my back. Remind me not to listen to you when you talk about doing something I did ten years ago.” 

“Julian, did you throw Steggy at my face?” James asked, picking up the stuffed animal from where it had fallen on you. 

“You weren’t getting up,” Julian shrugged his shoulders. 

“Julian,” you chastised and took the dinosaur from James’ hand. “You could have hurt your dad’s important doctor-face,” you joked and rubbed your hand all over James’ face making Julian laugh. 

“Okay, okay,” James moved your hand away and gave you a look. 

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” you yawned and moved from the bench to the side of his bed. 

“A little better,” he said. “Did the doctors fix what was wrong?” 

“Not yet,” James shook his head and came to sit next to you and placed a hand on Julian’s. “You’re gonna have to go in for surgery today.” 

“A surgery?” Julian looked a little nervous. “Like cut me open?” 

“It’ll be just a line right here,” James drew it with his finger along Julian’s abdomen. “They’re going to fix a part of you called your bile duct and then sew you right back up and you’ll be good as new.” 

“Is it dangerous?” he asked. 

You looked over at James, a small note telling him to lie to make him feel better. He didn’t need to know all the details. 

“No,” James shook his head. “You’re gonna be fine and your mom and I will be here the whole time.” 

“Promise?” Julian whispered. 

“Swear on it,” James leaned in towards his son and snuck a kiss to his cheek. “We love you, buddy.” 

“I love you guys too.” 

Dr. Liu came by a little while later to inform you what time the surgery was scheduled for and he helped make Julian feel a lot better about the procedure. When it was finally time for him to go, you were a nervous wreck, but tried not to let it show for Julian’s sake, instead just pressing a big kiss to his forehead and telling him you’d be waiting for him once he got out. 

It only took about fifteen minutes of your pacing to get James to grab onto your arm and make you stop. 

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the ground,” he said. 

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” you admitted. “If I sit I’m gonna fidget, if I stand I’m going to pace.” 

“Then come on, let’s go to my office for a second, grab a coffee and a snack and then we can come back out and wait,” he suggested. 

You agreed to his idea so he stood up and you walked side by side to his office, passing House who had some comment about your dishevelled appearance together. 

“You’re an interesting man, Greg,” you shook your head at him. “You can’t think of any other reason we might be here?” 

House was silent so James explained, 

“Julian’s in surgery right now. He’s got cirrhosis.” 

“Ah so not a late night ex-wife rendez-vous. Can’t get ‘em right all the time,” he shrugged and you chuckled. “I hope the kid’s alright.” 

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you admitted. 

He raised his brows and lifted his cane to say goodbye, letting you and James continue your walk to his office. 

“House mind that you’re not spending as much time here?” you asked. 

“No, he just bothers me more when I am around,” James said while opening the door and letting you inside. 

He went towards his desk and pulled out a few packages of snacks tossing you one and you shook your head when you saw the label. 

“You still eat these? I thought the FDA recalled them?” you asked sarcastically. 

“I’m sorry I have better taste in food than you do,” he said right back. 

“Right, this is food,” you chuckled. “And if you have such good taste why didn’t your mom tell you about her secret ingredient?” 

“That’s cold,” he pointed to you with a bag of chips in his hand. 

“No, it’s true. Just like your dad telling me I was his favourite wife of yours,” you opened the bag James had tossed you. 

“Just shut up and eat your snack,” James chuckled and you listened to him, beginning to eat a little something, not realizing how hungry you were until the food made its way to your stomach. 

“You got another one of these?” you asked and he nodded, passing it to you when you were finished with the first one. 

“Feeling a little better?” James asked and you nodded your head. 

“Hey James?” you said, unsure of how you’d gotten to this point, but you were too exhausted to stop yourself from saying it. “I want you to move back in.” 

“You want me to do what?” he raised his brows and looked at you stunned. 

“I want you to move back in with me and Julian,” you said. “It’s becoming pretty clear to me that it’s safer to have two people around when possible than not and you’re already around all the time now.” 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “I mean you didn’t want to give Julian the wrong idea about us.” 

“Our lives changed the second we got that diagnosis. I think we need to change along with everything else.” 

You couldn’t believe that just barely twelve hours ago you were telling your friend there was no chance James had changed, but here you were saying things that had proved you had changed. Things you wouldn’t have dreamt of saying a year ago. 

“Okay,” James nodded. “I’ll move back in.” 

You just silently hoped you wouldn’t regret asking. 

Waiting for Julian to get out of surgery was a little easier now that you had some food in your stomach and you decided to wait on coffee until you got the note from the surgeon that everything had gone well. 

As James had continued to assure you almost a hundred times, the surgery went fine and before you knew it you were back in Julian’s room watching him sleep off the anaesthetic. 

“You know he looks like you when he sleeps,” James said from the bench while you sat on the bed next to Julian. 

“He does?” 

“Yeah, his nose does that same scrunchy thing when he sniffles and when he snores-,” 

“Hey, I only snore when I’m congested,” you said defensively. 

“I never minded,” James smiled. “I thought it was cute when you sounded like an old man.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not fond of all my old man characteristics,” you turned around to face him, still holding Julian’s hand in yours. 

“All your old man characteristics?” James furrowed his brows in confusion. 

“You told me I argued like an old man. Stubborn and could only see my own way. And I fought dirty.” 

“You sure did,” James nodded. “If you brandishing my mother’s clear favouritism shows anything, it’s definitely that you fight dirty, but I never said I disliked that about you.” 

“Really? Near the end I thought there was a lot you disliked about me.” 

James shook his head, “No, I was just upset and you were passionate. It wasn’t like my other marriages where things just…fizzled.” 

“We did go out with a bang,” you inhaled deeply. 

“If it weren’t for Julian… do you think we’d…” 

You shook your head. 

“No, we probably never would have seen each other again. Another old man trait, I hold a pretty mean grudge.” 

James pressed his lips together and looked over at his sleeping son. 

“I’m happy we had him,” he said quietly. “Even if we didn’t work out.” 

“Me too,” you agreed, looking over at Julian quietly snoring, just like his dad had said. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Julian’s nose watching him scrunch it up, making you smile. It was a miracle that two such flawed individuals could make a child so perfect. 

—

“Alright, he is asleep, but I do warn you it took some bribery so you’ll have to buy him another dinosaur book to read to him at night,” you walked out of Julian’s room, dusting your hands off like you’d just finished a heavy labour job. 

“I’ll run to the bookstore tomorrow,” James nodded and you fell onto the couch next to him and sighing as you sunk into the plush fabric before noticing what he was doing. 

“Where did you pull these out of?” you asked with a soft chuckle. 

“I was just clearing up the closet in the guest bedroom and I found a box of these,” he picked up the albums. “Look at this one.” 

He placed the book of photos on your lap and you smiled seeing as it was Julian’s baby album, filled with small mementos and little notes you and James had made in the margins. 

“Oh my God, Mom’s first day home, she looks like an angel,” you read from the side. “And my response: I look like I just got hit by a bus, cut it out.” 

“You can still read my chicken scratch writing?” James asked. 

“My most useless talent as I like to call it,” you nodded. “You wrote a lot in here.” 

“I used to bring it with me to work cause I missed you guys so much,” he admitted. “Made me feel closer to you.” 

You read through some of the notes in the book, chuckling a little at some of the written back and forth you had. Eventually you got to the family portraits you’d had taken a few months after Julian was born, smiling softly to yourself. 

You remembered the day well, you felt like you hadn’t slept in weeks, James was just getting off of a twelve-hour shift and you were almost late to your appointment with the photographer. You were worried everything was going to look terrible and you’d barely had enough time to do your hair or makeup, but James had silenced your worries with a kiss and assured you the pictures would be fine. 

In the end most of them were terrible, but the photographer managed to get two shots, one of you and James smiling down at Julian in your arms and another immediately after where you were looking up and smiling at each other. 

“That session was a shitshow,” you recalled and James agreed. “We did get a few nice things out of it though.” 

You looked back down at the pile of albums in front of you and noticed a large white one, tucked under a few things and even though nothing good could come of it, you pulled it out from the bottom of the pile, carefully blowing off the dust and turning the first page. 

Centerfold, just like you remembered it, was a picture of you and James on your wedding day. You leaned further back into the couch and James scooched in closer to get a look. 

You both looked younger in the picture, with that spark of je ne sais quoi in your eyes. 

“I told you there was a reason we got married,” he said quietly, his hand brushing the corner of the photo. 

“Yeah, we loved each other,” you said. “That was the reason.” 

“Same reason we decided to have Julian,” he added. 

You could feel your breathing become a little more shallow and a tightness in your chest as James spoke about Julian. You remembered the conversations so clearly, like you’d had them yesterday, caught between happy and passionate kisses while James made some dirty jokes about getting you pregnant. 

That was back when he still couldn’t get enough of you. Before things changed and he slowly distanced himself until it felt like it was just you and Julian against the rest of the world, and not the three of you like he had promised all those nights throughout your pregnancy. 

You wondered quietly to yourself what had changed? What had become so unbearable that there was distance in the first place? There was never a lack of love on your end which is why this was dangerous. 

At least when there was distance you could be angry with him, you could go to bed at night and not remember all the little things that made you love him in the first place. He wasn’t there as a constant  reminder that you loved his cooking, or even just your banter together. More importantly, it was giving you new reasons to feel that fluttering feeling in your stomach. 

You’d always loved how he’d interact with Julian, but now that you got to see it day in and day out, it made it harder to weigh that against the cons of everything. Most notably, this was the beginning of the end. If you let yourself fall you would both crash and Julian would be caught in the middle once again. 

You tried to distract yourself by flipping through the album photos to find some funny old picture of a relative or maybe even an embarrassing moment to tone down whatever it was that looking at that picture was making you feel. 

All you could focus on was how in every picture, almost without fail, James was looking over at you. Rarely into the camera along with everyone else. He was enamoured, that was the only word to describe it, and oh how much you missed that look. 

You made the mistake of tearing away your gaze from the pictures, looking up at James instead, and for a moment you thought just maybe you saw that same look in his eyes. But no. It couldn’t have been. The dim light of the lamp must have been playing tricks on you. 

Finally you closed the album and put it back down, unsure of what feelings might resurface if you opened another one. Your honeymoon, family dinners and pictures were all just reminders of the happy times, not what came after.

James did what you didn’t want to, grabbing another album and sifting through the pages until he found what he was looking for, taking a picture out of its protective sleeve and showing it to you. 

“Can I keep this one?” he asked. 

You took it from his hands, examining it while your fingers precariously held the edges of the photograph. 

It was a silly picture, something you had taken while you were travelling. James got someone to take the camera, but along with snapping a few shots while you were posed with smiles they caught a few candids, most notably, James kissing your cheek while you laughed and tried to squirm out of his grasp. 

Your finger gently brushed over the spot on the photo where James’ lips were against your cheek before nodding your head. 

“Sure, you can have it,” you handed him back the picture and patted your hands against your legs, preparing to stand up. “I should get to bed.”

“I’ll be out here for a while longer if you need anything.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile and stood up, walking towards your bedroom. When you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you had been holding and ran a hand across your face. 

Maybe Julian was never the one at risk of getting the wrong idea.

—

Waking up in the middle of the night always made you feel uneasy. Especially if Julian was the one waking you up. The chance that you’d have to drive to the hospital or call an ambulance was high and you hated the fear and worry that came along with any possible complications. 

Tonight, you woke up on your own accord. Your heart was beating inside your throat and your stomach felt like it was housing a group of persistent butterflies. 

You glanced over at the clock and saw the time, flashing in red. 

3:07

You took a deep breath trying to steady your heart rate and breathing before peeling away your blanket and kicking your feet over the side of the bed. You grabbed a different pair of pyjamas from your dresser and walked into the washroom, tossing them on the far end of the floor while you stripped down and turned on the water for the shower. 

When you stepped inside you hissed initially at the cold, but forced yourself to become fully submerged under the water, closing the curtain behind you. Your muscles clenched as your body adjusted to the temperature, and when the time finally came you let your thoughts and dreams become washed away by the water coming out of the shower head. 

You were simply standing there, letting the water fall on your face when you heard the click of the door opening. 

“Julian, sweetie,” you sighed, turning around so you could speak. “Maybe you should go to your dad if something’s wrong, I’ll come out in a sec.” 

“No need,” you heard a voice that did not belong to your son. 

“James? I’m in the shower. What are you doing?” you asked incredulously, feeling the need to cover yourself up even though there was a curtain blocking his view. You felt exposed nonetheless. 

“It’s three in the morning, I thought something was wrong, I came to check on you,” he explained. 

“And what were you doing up?” you asked. 

“Got in late. There was an emergency at the hospital after you guys went to sleep, I dealt with it and just came back.”

You stepped under the running water again, washing the water over your face with your hands. 

“So, is everything okay?” 

“Peachy,” you said sarcastically, leaning against the wall of the shower. 

“Nobody ever says peachy when things are okay,” James pushed further and you sighed, moving to sit down on the floor of the shower, still positioned under the water. 

“I just had a dream, that’s all,” you said, watching as the water hit your toes and the ground around you. 

“A bad dream?” he asked. 

“No, it was more like… déjà vu.”

James sighed, and rubbed his hands on his legs. 

“Was it about us?” 

He took your silence as a yes. 

James didn’t really know what to say, his hands were clasped together as he leaned  forward sitting on the bathroom counter. 

“You’re not gonna ask what it’s about?” you hugged your knees close to your chest. 

“Would you tell me?” 

“Maybe…I don’t know,” you mumbled. 

There was another moment of silence before James spoke up again, 

“What was it about?” 

You turned to face the water with your eyes closed again, gathering the courage to speak. 

“It started when I told you I was pregnant,” you said softly. “Like the memory replayed in my head, exactly how it happened.” 

“I remember that day,” you heard the soft smile in his voice as he spoke. “You took the test at work and when it came back positive you came straight to the hospital to tell me.” 

“I was barely two steps inside your office when I blurted it out, you were eating lunch and had that stupid look on your face with a mouth full of sandwich,” you chuckled to yourself.

“I almost choked on that,” James shook his head. “And I just remember running up to you and freaking out.”

“And then when you were done freaking out and everything sunk in you kissed me, and you told me you loved me, and we cried because we made a child. Our love did that.” 

You reached forward and turned the shower off, pushing yourself up on your feet and taking a deep breath before pulling back the curtain. You had told him what you were thinking. You couldn’t get any more exposed than that.

James looked stunned for a moment and it didn’t go unnoticed how his eyes raked up and down your figure. 

“Get me the robe, would you?” you motioned to the back of the door and he jumped down grabbing the robe and holding it out for you so you could place your arms into the sleeves and wrap the towelled fabric around you, trying it off with the belt. 

When you turned your head to look back at James, you could tell at least you’d succeeded in raising his heart rate, much like he was doing for you recently. 

You moved to go sit on the closed toilet while James retook his spot on the counter. 

“Do you remember when Julian was born?” he whispered. 

“I like it was yesterday. I can’t believe it’s been eight years,” you nodded your head. 

He was having trouble holding your gaze and you wondered what he was about to say. 

“I-I screwed up,” his voice was soft, almost hurt, like it pained him to think about what he had done. “When you were resting afterwards the nurse asked me if we were going to do a newborn screening. We hadn’t talked about it, but you were so tired and it was such a hard labour…” he swallowed thickly, his voice wavering slightly, remembering the birth. It wasn’t easy by any means and James had often thought that the hardest thing he’d ever had to watch was you in that much pain. “I told her we weren’t going to do it. I just didn’t want Julian to leave and h-he looked so perfect I never thought anything could have been wrong with him.” 

James took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, “I am a doctor and I didn’t get a newborn screening for my son, what the hell kind of father does that make me?” 

“Oddly enough, I think it makes you a good one,” you admitted. 

“Even though we could have known about this years before? We could have gotten him treatment, medication, therapies, all sooner?” he looked back at you confused. 

“You said it yourself, Jamie. He was perfect for us. Still is.” 

James nodded his head and looked forward at the opposite wall. You stood up and walked over towards him, reaching out a hand to gently hold his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek while he looked at you. 

“I don’t blame you for this,” you whispered. “I don’t blame you and I don’t think you’re a bad father.” 

“I know,” he murmured, “but I do.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, not knowing what other comfort you could offer. 

James leaned in a little to your touch, sitting up straighter when it was gone, trying to play it off like he hadn’t been missing it and craving it as much as you. 

You were about to say something when you heard a knock on the washroom door, and this time it had to be Julian. 

“Mom? Dad, are you in here too?” you could hear his small sounding voice, a little strained and worried so you quickly assured him you were both inside and opened the door. 

“Sweetheart, what happened?” you asked, noticing his tear-stained face. 

“I just had a bad dream,” he sniffed and wiped his eyes. 

You kissed away his tears first before assuring him everything would be fine, you and James were there to take care of him. 

“Why don’t you go and lay down on my bed with your Dad?” you suggested. “I’ll get dressed and come join you.” 

Julian nodded and made his way over to your bed while you went to quickly speak to James. 

“It’ll be good for you. Both of you,” you told him. 

“You don’t mind?” 

“Just this once.” 

James thanked you with a kiss to your cheek and left the adjoining washroom, closing the door behind him and giving you a minute to get changed and deal with anything you needed to before going back to bed. 

When you opened the door and came back into your room, you saw James under the covers with Julian pressed close to him, their foreheads resting together while James told him everything was going to be alright and he could go back to sleep. 

You slipped in under the covers, sandwiching Julian between you both, letting his back rest against your chest while you pressed a kiss to his hair. 

One hand was tucked under your pillow and another was draped over Julian, and your fingers carefully placed over top of James’. 

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Julian asked his dad. 

“Right next to you,” he kissed his nose. “Now try to get some sleep, okay?” 

Julian nodded his head and yawned and you whispered a quiet goodnight to bed him and his dad before letting your eyes close, silently smiling when you could feel James’ hand finally hold your own. 

—

“You guys, relax, he’s going to be fine,” Mahlet placed a hand on both yours and James’ shoulders while you spewed out your worries. “It’s one night, I have the whole list of things he needs and I’ve taken care of him before, right? It’s just at my house this time so the boys can have a sleepover and you two can have a bit of a break.” 

“She’s right,” James sighed. “I’m still worried out of my mind, but she’s right.” 

“Mahi, are you sure you don’t want us to come even for a little bit?” you asked. 

“Absolutely, if something happens I’ll call an ambulance and then you, but Julian’s been good for months now, he can survive one night away from home,” she assured you. 

“Thank you, Mahlet. I’m sure Julian and Hennock will have a great time tonight. Just call us when he’s ready to be picked up tomorrow morning,” James said. 

James wrapped his arm around you, giving you a squeeze knowing you were still uneasy about this, but deep down you knew Mahlet was right. The chances of something going wrong at this point were small and you’d had enough time since your last hospital visit to even consider doing something like this. 

“You boys ready?” James called and Julian came rushing out of the room with his bag in hand, Hennock following close behind him. 

“You have fun tonight, okay?” you bent down and gave Julian a kiss. “And if anything happens or you feel sick, or are having trouble breathing, tell Mahlet, okay?” 

“I know, Mom. Dad already told me this like fifteen times,” Julian chuckled. 

You looked up at James and he shrugged. 

“Alright, well you guys better go before I change my mind,” you crossed your arms over your chest and that was all the permission the boys needed to run off, leaving Mahlet to say goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind her. 

You sighed and turned around, looking at James who had his hands shoved into his pockets. 

“You hungry?” he asked. 

“I could eat,” you nodded your head. 

“Why don’t we make something for dinner together?” he suggested. 

You looked at the clock and smiled, “I think we’ve got enough time for pizza, what do you think?” 

“I think that’s a great plan,” James agreed. “I can start on the dough and you get the sauce and toppings?” 

You gave him a thumbs up before putting your hand out to high-five him, noticing how your fingers so easily intertwined before you walked apart and let go. 

James rolled up his sleeves and took off his watch, placing it on the small jewelry tray you kept by the sink for when you were washing dishes, while you went to the fridge and began pulling out all the things that could make good pizza toppings. 

Moving to the sink to wash some vegetables, you noticed James’ watch resting there. You didn’t pay much attention when he was wearing it, but now you realized why it looked extra familiar. It was one you had gotten him as an anniversary present after your first year married. 

“You still wear that?” you pointed with your eyes to the watch. 

“It’s my favourite watch, of course I wear it,” he nodded while portioning the flour into a large bowl.

“Even with that engraving?” you raised a questioning brow. 

“Dearest Jamie, Here’s to the first of many happy anniversaries. Love forever, Your Wife,” he recited the engraving back to you. 

“I don’t know why you do that to yourself,” you chuckled a little, looking down into the sink. 

“Yeah, well why do you still go by Mrs. Wilson?” 

“Easier to keep the name than change it again,” you partially lied, it wasn’t the full truth, but it was what you had been telling yourself ever since the divorce was finalized. 

James could sense you were lying, but he knew the only way to get you to open up would be to let himself be open with you. 

“The watch is my favourite because you gave it to me. Functionally it sucks and it's uncomfortable, but you went out of your way to get me something that looked nice and that’s why I love it.” 

You smiled a little to yourself, but kept your head facing the sink and continued to wash the vegetables. 

“You’re not going to say anything?” he inquired. 

“Do I have to?” you asked. 

“That’s normally how a conversation works,” he remarked and you chuckled. 

“What do you want me to say?” you asked. 

“Honestly, the real reason why you kept your married name,” he said plainly. 

You sighed, “It wasn’t a full lie. If I went back to my maiden name Julian and I wouldn’t have the same last name it just makes things complicated and confusing and I didn’t want to deal with it, but,” you added, “I always kind of liked the sound of Mrs. Wilson and even though I was pissed at you all the time I still liked that there was one thing aside from Julian connecting us. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t want to end up like Sam or Bonnie just…detached, like there was barely a trace that you were even there.” 

“It’s a fingerprint,” James said. “Mine.” 

“Yeah, even though it's small for who we were to each other, it's the fingerprint you left on my life.” 

James pressed his lips together and opened his mouth to say something before shutting it and evaluated how he was going to speak, 

“Can I ask you something?” he settled on. 

“Sure,” you nodded, moving over to the cutting board and placing yourself on the opposite side of the kitchen island. 

“Did…Did you ever stop loving me?” 

Your smile faltered and James noticed the change in your demeanor, quickly retracting his question. 

“You know what, forget I asked,” he shook his head and continued to knead the dough. 

There was a moment of silence before you spoke again. 

“I didn’t, but I got tired of not being loved back.” 

James stopped what he was doing and looked up at you with concern. 

“You thought I stopped loving you?” he asked.

“James, I was wife number three. Didn’t take much to connect the dots and see you got tired of me,” you said bluntly. “I wanted to know if I could count on you, and it was starting to feel like maybe I couldn’t. Then the divorce happened and everything after that just made me feel like I was right.” 

James chewed on the inside of his cheek and remained silent. 

“You didn’t fight for me,” you said quietly. “You fought for joint custody, but you didn’t fight for me. You just…accepted it.” 

“I…I didn’t know you wanted me to fight for you.” 

“Are you saying you would have?” you asked, unsure of whether or not you wanted to hear his answer. 

“I’m saying I thought I didn’t even have a chance,” he admitted. 

“So you wouldn’t have,” you clarified for him, beginning to chop the toppings into pieces and separate them into bowls. 

He chuckled humourlessly, “I have dated one person since the divorce. I hated it.” 

“Why do you have to talk in puzzles, James? Why can’t you just come out and say what you really mean?” 

“And then what?” he asked. “We go back to living in the same house. Sleep in separate rooms. Move on now that we know the truth?”

“Say it,” you put the knife down and looked him right in the eyes. 

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, cleaning the dough off his hand. “I’m going to say it and you’re just going to stand there and I have to live with that?” 

You walked around the counter and came right up in front of him. 

“If you were listening to anything I was saying, you would stop making excuses and say it.” 

“Fine!” he threw his hands up in the air. “I still love you. I never stopped loving you. These past few months, even though stressful, have been the happiest I’ve been in so long because I feel like myself again when I’m with you and Julian. Because I feel like your husband, and I feel like a father and I keep kicking myself wondering how I could have been so stupid to lose that.” 

“Say it one more time,” you whispered, lifting your hands to hold onto his face. “Please.” 

“I love you,” his voice was softer, relieved like after being underwater he could finally breathe again. 

You finally pulled him into you, your lips hesitantly resting on his at first, before you found your rhythm again after so long. It was muscle memory, his hands finding the spot they always rested against on your hips, his lips moving in synch with yours, eventually trailing off and finding their favourite spot against your jaw and behind your ear. 

“James,” you breathed. 

“Jamie,” he mumbled against your skin. “Call me Jamie.” 

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” you repeated the nickname until he silenced you with another kiss, muffling your voice. 

“God, I missed you,” he whispered when you pulled apart, breathing heavily due to your fast beating heart. 

You closed your eyes while your forehead rested against his, feeling his nose touch yours, his hands still firmly planted on your hips when your thumbs brushed against his cheeks. 

“Jamie?” 

James snuck another small kiss at the sound of the nickname. 

“Yes, my love.” 

“Can I count on you?” 

You could feel him nod his head and confirm with a verbal ‘yes’. And even if it turned out to be a lie, at that moment you didn’t care. He had proved to you that it was possible, you could work with that. 

“I love you,” you said and kissed his nose and then you said it and kissed him again for good measure. “You told me twice; I tell you twice.” 

James moved his hands up from your hips and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek, a warm smile coming to his face. 

And there was that look, the one you thought had vanished over time. His eyes fully transfixed on you with nothing but love and admiration. It didn’t take much to convince yourself you could get used to seeing that look for a long, long time. 

TAGLIST —

@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter

[lambtotheslaughterr]

One Way Or Another

A Rafe Cameron Oneshot

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 16.5k (just for a second, holy fuck. spent all day writing this. from 10 am to 8pm. i am feeling good & feel like i'm on a writer's high. thank you to all of you who made this happen: 62 pages of pure dark fiction)

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

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Summary: Reader's life couldn't be any better. She's working her dream job, living with her best friend, & may have met the one... but none of those things matter when her bestfriend/roommate begins seeing a volatile man from reader's past...

            It was Coyote Ugly night at your work, & you made sure to request the night off weeks in advance. There would be nothing to stop you from singing your heart out to the soundtrack of the movie as it played in the bar or dancing on the bar with your friends, not even having your coworkers & boss witnessing it all unfold. Ever since you were a little girl, you wanted to be a bartender all because of the film. It inspired your fashion choices, your music tastes, & most importantly, your attitude.

            As soon as you turned 21, you applied to every single bar in your area. And before that, you practiced your cocktail making, just enough to at least get hired. You knew without experience, it was difficult to land a job as a bartender. If you had to accept a position working at a hotel bar or fine dining bar, you’d take it, anything to get the experience, but your long-term goal was to find a bar with the same energy & vibes as your favorite movie. Your wish came true a year later.

            The Garage was just that. It was inside an old auto-shop with three large garage doors. During summer nights, those doors would be raised & they led out into the enclosed patio area where a stage had been built for nights when live music would be happening. The owner, as much as you wanted it to be a tough-as-nails woman like Lil in Coyote, was an older man in his 50’s named Rosie. Yes, Rosie. His full name Roosevelt but he had been going by Rosie since he entered the bar business. It was your first favorite thing about him.

            Rosie ran a tight-knit crew at The Garage. He was a no-bullshit haver but knew how to have a good time. It was him who trained you behind the bar, switching you up from making prissy, fancy shit & teaching you how to make a real drink, as he said. You loved him. And you loved your family there. Everyone accepted you & welcomed you with open arms & cold beer. It was all you could have ever dreamed for. And now, you were going to live out your ultimate fantasy.

            It thankfully didn’t take a whole lot of convincing on your part to get Rosie to agree to a Coyote Ugly night. You advocated for how it would bring in a good crowd, good money, & good times. Moreover, you promised to do all the leg work. You would take it upon yourself to work alongside the social media handler, Rosie’s daughter Angie who worked in the office alongside her father, to get word out & generate interest. A week before the event was supposed to happen, you had a guaranteed 100+ people wanting to attend. There was no RSVP, but just an event page on Facebook, & your work had paid off. The night was happening, & you would be at the center of it all.

            At your apartment that night, you got ready for the night. You admired your look in the mirror, scenes from the bar film playing through your mind. You smiled proudly at yourself. You look damn good.

            But your night would only be complete if you convinced your best friend, & roommate, to come with. As far as that morning, she was still on the fence. But the time was now. She was either coming or not, & if you had anything to say about it, she would be forced along.

            Leaving your room, you skipped down the hallway before turning a corner & entering the living room. Jules’ room was just off the living room, kitty corner from your room on the other side of the apartment. You were grateful for the distance, but only because you both were sexually active women & didn’t need to hear each other get your kicks in.

            Jules’ door was open & you swung around the frame, poking your head in.

            “Tell me you’re coming!” You hollered, noticing the door to her en suite bathroom was open & the light on, but she was out of sight.

            “Uhhh.” Jules laughed awkwardly, “No?”

            No? N O ?Well. You wouldn’t be having that.

            Entering her room, you marched up to her bathroom entryway, prepared to bribe her into coming, but before you could get a word out, you felt your jaw drop onto the floor.

            Jules stood in the center of her bathroom, posing with her hand on her hips & hiding her coy smile behind a lifted shoulder.

            “Wow.” You grinned, impressed, “You look fucking hot.”

            She was wearing a torn cropped lack crop top, the sleeves & hem shredded, & a mini, mini black leather skirt. To bring the whole look together, she wore a pair of black cowgirl boots & a black cowgirl hat. You giggled at the bolo tie around her neck.

            “Do I look like someone not to be fucked with?”

            “Hundred percent.”

            Jules scrunched her nose cutely, turning to look at herself in the mirror, “Good.”

            You joined her in the mirror, double checking your own look. You definitely didn’t look as man-eater as she did but you were still happy with what you wore. The two of you would undoubtedly be some of the hottest women there tonight.

            “Ready?” You questioned as you applied some of her lipstick to your mouth.

            Jules winked at herself in the mirror, “As I’ll ever be.”

            The night was in full swing as you danced among people. Dirrty by Christina Aguilera vibrated the room as you swung your hips & ran your hands along the length of your torso. Never before have you felt more like yourself than you did in that moment. Everywhere you looked there was women in backless tops, leather pants or denim skirts, a plethora of country rock fashion choices, & plenty of good-looking men. The only thing that would make this night better was bringing a stranger home for the night.

            Sweat coated your skin as you moved off the dance floor between songs. You had curated the playlist for the night. There was over 150 songs on the queue, all of which were either from the soundtrack or had a similar, fitting feel for the night. You knew that any moment Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard would come on & you were determined to drag Jules onto the bartop with you.

            Sliding between the sea of people, you eventually spotted Jules standing at a tall table near the patio entrance. She was facing you but hadn’t noticed you yet as she spoke flirtatiously with the man standing across from her. He had his back to you & was leaning over the table to hear what your roommate was saying. Jules laughed, smacking him gently on his arm. You knew that you wouldn’t be the only one bringing a man home tonight.

            As apologetic as you were to break up their conversation though, you had a goal in mind, & no potential suitor for your roommate was going to stop you.

            “Jules!” You greeted happily as you jumped towards her, “It’s almost time.”

            “Oh, hey, _____.” Jules smiled at you, “_____, this is Rafe.”

            But before she had even said his name, you were already looking him over & felt your world slow down at the familiar face standing before you.

            It had been a couple years since you last saw Rafe Cameron. You two were in the same grade in high school & attended a lot of the same parties, but you two never spoke to one another. He had a reputation in the halls as a cokehead & was known to snap at a moment’s notice & get into a brawl over the smallest of things. Definitely wasn’t the kind of person you wanted to hangout with. But you had to admit he knew how to throw good parties.

            “Rafe, this is my roommate _____.”

            Rafe smirked at you before offering his hand, “Nice to meet you.”

            You took his hand, ignoring the static shock you received when touching your palms together, “Likewise.”

            Jules was about to say more but the opening instrumentals to your most-anticipated song of the night began playing over the speakers.

            “Sorry, Rafe. I gotta steal her for a couple minutes.” Before Jules could resist, you began dragging her towards the bar.

            “Hey! I was talking to him!”

            “Talk to him later, this is way more important.”

            Jules then realized what was happening & started shaking her head knowingly, “You’re lucky I fucking adore you.”

            “The luckiest.” You smiled back.

            The two of you were quick to climb onto the bar where a few other women were already dancing to Pour Some Sugar On Me. Jules & you were naturals at dancing, having many dance nights in your living room. You danced sensually to the song as it blared over the speakers. Your cheeks hurt from smiling as hard as you were, enjoying the ooh’s & awe’s of men & women alike as they cheered all the women on. You spotted a few of your coworkers behind the bar filming you on their phones. You’d be sure to get those videos sent to you before the night was out.

            Jules slowly fell to her knees to whip her hair around her as she bumped & grinded the air to the music. You reached behind the bar to grab a pitcher of water & did the honors of pouring water on her as the first chorus blasted. Jules’ dancing & your pouring elicited an eruption of cheers. When the first chorus was over, Jules returned to her feet & the two of you danced seductively against one another. All eyes were on the two of you as you stole the show. Your lifelong dream of being a Coyote was coming true before your own eyes.

The song continued & by the time the final chorus came it was your turn to have everyone cheer for you. Jules’ was handed another pitcher of water & as the famous Pour Some Sugar On Me chorus began, you modeled yourself atop the bar. Your butt was down & your legs extended out the length of the bar. You were facing up, your arms holding you up behind your back, your legs bent at the knees. Then as the titular moment of the song happened, Jules poured the ice cold water over you.

A wave of cheers & enthusiasm erupted throughout the bar. When Jules finished pouring the water, you repositioned yourself to crawl along the length of the bar, catching eyes & stealing hearts. You spotted one man sitting at the bar, his eyes never leaving your own. He was cute, more than cute, he was Kevin O’Donnell cute. Your Coyote Ugly dreams were demanding you to end your performance in his lap.

The man grinned to himself as you swung your legs around to dangle off the bar on either side of him. He leaned back in his seat to stare up at you, a closed smirk across his handsome features. As the song closed, you slid off the bar & into his lap. With no introductions needed, you tangled your fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck & brought his mouth to yours, sealing the night with a kiss from a perfect stranger.

            His name was Jack. He was new to town. You were happy to be his welcoming committee.

            “What you did up there was…” He laughed, raising his brows in knowing.

            “I know.” You giggled, nursing your drink.

            After your kiss, Jack insisted on buying you a drink & you couldn’t say no. Jules’ hugged you once before returning to her object of desire. You were too distracted by your own man to question her own.

            “So, you work here?” Jack asked, looking around the place.

            You nodded proudly, taking in the environment, “It’s my second home.”

            “I like the energy. Seems fun.”

            “It is.” You confirmed, “Couldn’t have asked for a better place to work.”

            The two of you talked for a bit longer before you were interrupted. Jules slid in beside you at the table you & Jack were sat at, & her man for the night, the reputable bad boy from your high school, took the spot opposite her. You didn’t miss how his eyes lingered on your face for some time. You frowned internally but ultimately ignored it as you turned to your best friend.

            “Are you drunk?” You asked incredulously. It took a lot to get Jules drunk, she was a prime time heavy weight, & she was fine when you saw her only ten minutes ago.

            Jules pressed her lips together, smiling knowingly up at you, “Maybe.”

            “What the hell did you drink?” You chuckled as she rested her head on your shoulders.

            “We took a couple shots at the bar.” Rafe added to the conversation. You flashed your eyes towards him, taking in his appearance.

            “You look fine.” You pointed out, yet your heavy weight best friend was growing more drunk by the second.

            “I just hide it better.” Rafe smirked. His face was flushed. And after working in the bar industry for the last two years, you did know men’s bodies handled liquor better than women’s. So, you let it go.

            “Do you wanna head home?” You shook Jules.

            She shrugged but her eyes were fluttering closed.

            You felt disappointed but didn’t show it. The night was still young, you had yet to even partake in the karaoke aspect of the night, but Jules wasn’t going to last much longer, chugging water be damned.

            “Jack,” you glanced across to him, “I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to get her home.”

            “I understand.” He nodded, pulling out his phone, “Let me at least get your number. Maybe you can give me a tour of town.”

            You smiled at that, sharing your number to him out loud. Once he entered it into his phone, you told him you looked forward to his call & began to get out of your seat. But as you did, your world began to spin.

            “Whoa.” You mumbled, catching yourself on the table. You must’ve had more to drink than you thought.

            “You alright?” Jack asked, rising to his full height to help stabilize you.

            You nodded but you weren’t, “I’m a lightweight. Guess I drank more than I thought I had.”

            Jack grabbed your jacket, “Do I need to order you a Lyft?”

            You shook the offer away. But you couldn’t drive. Jules didn’t have a car so it was you who got the two of you there tonight. You glanced over your shoulder at the bar, wondering if maybe you could convince one of your coworkers to give you a ride but they were still slammed. The bar wouldn’t die down for a couple more hours.

            “I’m sorry, Jack. Would it be shitty of me to ask you to drive my drunk ass & my roommate’s drunk ass home?”

            Jack chuckled at that but ultimately shook his head no, “I don’t have a car. Don’t really need one here, ya know.”

            You nodded at that. It was true.

            “Fuck.” You moaned. Your head was growing dizzier by the second.

            Most times you would bite the bullet & cough up the money to pay for an expensive Lyft, but with rent due in two days, you didn’t have the funds. And you didn’t work tonight so no tips would help.

            “I can drive you.” A voice sounded from the other end of the table. Both you & Jack looked towards Rafe as he pulled out his keys.

            “I thought you had a lot to drink, too?” Jack questioned. You were relieved he wasn’t too trusting of Rafe immediately either.

            “Not really.” Rafe returned, his eyes on you though, “You want the ride or not? She looks like she’s gonna be sick any minute.”

            At that statement, you bent over to look at Jules. He was right. Her skin was looking ashen & she was frowning in her sleep. The last you wanted to worry about was her puking before you got her to her bed with a bowl on the floor.

            “Okay.” You nodded, accepting your jacket from Jack’s hands. “Thanks.”

            Jack helped you gather the rest of yours & Jules’ things. He attempted to help you carry her outside but your legs were beginning to grow weaker, your strength quickly dissipating.

            “I got it.” Jack reassured you as he lifted Jules into his arms cradle style.

            “Hey, uh.” Jack looked towards Rafe.

            “Rafe.” He shared his name. Jack nodded then gestured to where you stood leaning against the wall, “Wanna help her?”

            You raised your head at that. Rafe approached you, offering his hand.

            “I got it.” You faked, forcing yourself to stand up. Rafe made an unimpressed face but you ignored it. Just outside the door to the parking lot though you felt your knees buckle. Before you could hit the ground, you felt a strong & firm arm catch you around the waist.

            “Just lean on me. My truck’s right there.”

            As much as you didn’t want Rafe’s help, still unsure why you were feeling hostile towards him, you knew you needed to. Accepting his help, you leaned into his side as he kept you on your feet. A truck a few feet away beeped & the headlights flashed. Jack was ahead the two of you, waiting for Rafe to help him get Jules’ into the back seat.

            Rafe first brought you to the passenger side, helping you up into the cab. Your movements were slow & languid, like you were already half asleep. You shook your head, trying to clear your mind enough to fasten your belt, but before you could, Rafe reached across your front to secure the protective strap.

            “Thanks.” You mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

            “No problem.” He shut your door gently before joining Jack on the other side. You vaguely listened as the two men got Jules into the backseat before the door shut.

            By the time they finished, Rafe was quick to hop into the driver’s seat. You were holding your head in your hands, trying to keep your vision from swimming. Fuck, you really needed to keep better track of your drinking, but you were just having too much fun.

            The door to your side opened & Jack was there, “You gonna be okay?”

            You hummed in response, not trusting yourself to speak, worried that your speech would be slurred.

            “Okay. Text me when you make it home safely. I’ll text you right now.”

            All you could manage was to give him a thumbs up.

            “Alright.” Jack nodded then he looked towards Rafe, “Make sure they get home safe, man.”

            “Yup.” The engine roared to life as he pressed a button on the dashboard.

            “I’ll see you later, _____.”

            You wanted to return the parting but Jack closed the door. The truck jostled beneath you as Rafe drove through the gravel lot.

            “What’s your address?” Rafe asked.

            Pulling out your phone, you languidly types in your address into the maps app. You hit ‘start’ & handed your phone to Rafe.

            The ride was mostly silent until the final couple minutes of it.

            “I remember you, ya know.” Rafe commented. You forced your eyes open at that. It wasn’t that you thought he would remember you or not, but you didn’t want to have one of those walk-down-memory-lane conversations with someone you knew was problematic in high school. Times changed everyone, you supposed. You weren’t always the confident & extroverted woman you were today. Perhaps Rafe had changed, too.

            “Yeah?” You responded. Thankfully, you didn’t sound as drunk as you felt.

            “Yeah, you dated that Junior kid for a while.”

            “Mm.” You had forgotten about Junior. You weren’t one of those people that considered high school boyfriends as real relationships. After all, the two of you only dated for two months your senior year.

            “What I remember most is your guys’ dramatic breakup at Phil’s prom after-party.”

            You frowned at that. That whole night was a messy blur in your memory. You remembered prom fine but the after-party was another story. You had always been a lightweight, but as you thought on it, you vaguely remembered catching Junior dancing with another girl that night.

            The memory resulted in a light chuckle from you, “Oh, yeah. Well…he was an asshole.”

            Rafe shared in your chuckle, nodding in agreement, “Yeah, he was.”

            “So, Jack, huh?”

            His sudden change in conversation made you finally look at him in the dark. The streetlights you passed under were doing little to light his face.

            “Jack?”

            “Think he’ll be any better than Junior?” Rafe questioned.

            What did that even matter?

            Searching for the right words through your addled brain proved difficult, but you eventually found them, “I don’t know… not like I’m going to date him seriously.”

            “No?” Rafe flicked his eyes to yours, “Why not?”

            Okay, you were not going to have this conversation with Rafe of all people.

            Ignoring his question, you were relieved when Rafe pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex. But the night wasn’t quite over. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get Jules upstairs & into your apartment on your own.

            But as if he was reading your mind, Rafe switched the truck off & unbuckled his belt. He hopped out & you watched through the windshield as he rounded to your side. When he opened the door, you moved to get out but was stopped by the belt you still wore. Oh, right.

            Rafe beat you to it though, reaching around your front for a second time to release the buckle. You felt a chill riddle up your spine when his thumb grazed against your front, just above the top of your shorts. Rafe then placed a hand on your hip & guided you out of the truck. Even though it wasn’t a lifted truck, it sure felt like it as Rafe helped you climb out & down.

            “Good?”

            You nodded in response, wanting to keep your words few & far between.

            Next, you followed him around to the other side of the truck. You noticed that you weren’t as drunk as you were when you left. Your head was still pounding & your vision was still swimming, but at least you could hold yourself up now.

            Rafe swung open the door to the back & began gently pulling out Jules. She mumbled in her drunken sleep as he slung her over his shoulder.

            “If you want to lead the way, I can carry her.”

            “Thanks.” You sighed, desperate to get inside & crash into your bed.

            Inside the secure building, you used your key fob to alert the elevator of your presence. When the three of you loaded on, you pressed the lit up button for 5.

            “Thank god for elevators, right.” Rafe joked as he shifted Jules to piggyback him. Fortunately, she hung on.

            Once you reached your floor, you sped walked ahead to your door & swung it open. Rafe passed you by.

            “Take a right at the corner & her bedroom is at the end, off the living room.”

            Rafe followed your directions in the dark. You turned on the lights behind him as he went, hoping he didn’t bump into anything or accidentally drop Jules because of it. He managed to swing her door open & enter her room, you were right behind them.

            Rafe turned to face you before bending his knees to lower Jules closer to the bed. Once she was close enough, Rafe let her go. Jules groaned again at the sudden drop, her eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again. You entered her bathroom to dampen one of her hand towels.

            When you re-entered her room, you paused, watching silently as Rafe tucked Jules’ legs under the covers of her bed. He glanced up, likely having feeling you watching him, & shrugged.

            “I can’t sleep without a blanket of some sort when I’m drunk.”

            You nodded, mustering a smile. Approaching Jules, Rafe moved out of the way. You placed the damp rag on her forehead, hoping it’d help her feel less sick if she did end up throwing up in the middle of the night.

            “Would you mind doing me a favor?” You asked Rafe, glancing at him over your shoulder.

            “Sure, what’s up?”

            “Above the fridge in the kitchen are big bowls. Can you bring one?”

            Rafe nodded & left the room. You listened intently until you heard him in the kitchen.

            “Grab a glass of water, too, please!” You hollered.

            The faucet began running in the distance, so you took the time to lift Jules’ sheets. You overlooked her body, ensuring that Rafe didn’t do any weird shit when you were in the bathroom. But nothing looked out of place. Even her cowgirl boots were still on. Chuckling lightly to yourself, you quickly removed them from her feet before tucking her legs back under the covers.

            It wasn’t that you were a man-hater, you loved men. But recalling all the rumors surrounding Rafe in high school, & how even despite that he was a stranger, you didn’t want to take any chances. So far he had been helpful & friendly enough so you didn’t want to be quick to stuff him into a box labeled ‘creep’, but you’d certainly keep your eye on him.

            You heard his footfalls coming nearer so you stood up. When he entered the room again, he carried a large bowl in one hand & a glass of water in the other.

            “Thank you.” You offered him a small smile when taking the objects from him.

            Once you got Jules settled, you turned to face him, gesturing for the two of you to leave the room. You closed the door quietly behind you. In the living room, you eyed the kitchen on the opposite end of the space.

            “Did you want anything to drink? It’s the least I can do for helping.”

            Rafe sighed, contemplating your offer, “An energy drink if you got it. Feel like I’m gonna fall asleep behind the wheel if I keep going like this.”

            “I don’t have any of that, but I can make you a coffee?”

            “Yeah, sure, thanks.”

            You nodded, walking towards your kitchen. Rafe followed behind you, taking a seat at your small two person table in the corner. You felt him watching you as you pulled out the coffee grounds & began putting them into the coffee maker.

            “Thank you again.” You repeated, tossing him a look over your shoulder, “For helping.”

            “No problem.” He repeated, “Again.”

            You laughed quietly & softly at that. Once the coffee began brewing, you pulled out two mugs & left them by the pot. Then you turned back to face him.

            “How are you feeling?” He asked.

            You felt your brows crease, “What do you mean?”

            “Well, you couldn’t walk at the bar, but now you seem totally fine.”

            “Oh.” You straightened up that, also then realizing how much better you were beginning to feel, “Better, yeah. Must’ve just been a wave.”

            Rafe nodded at that but said nothing.

            “So.” you began, shrugging your shoulders. Small talk wasn’t your forte. It made you feel awkward.

            “So…” Rafe repeated.

            The two of you shared an uncomfortable laugh.

            “You looked really hot on the bar tonight.” His sudden & unsolicited comment surprised you. There was no hiding the shock on your face.

            “What?” You laughed, really believing you misheard him.

            “You heard me.” He smirked at you, his eyes trailing the length of you. You shifted under his gaze, shaking your head, “Thanks? I guess.”

            Fortunately, the coffee pot finished & you were able to distract yourself with pouring the two of you a mug of coffee. You brought Rafe’s his before returning to the fridge to pull out some French vanilla creamer.

            “Want some?” You shook the carton. Rafe waved his hand in dismissal.

            After flavoring your coffee, you joined him at the table.

            “So, what have you been up to since high school?” You finally asked, forcing yourself to partake in a dreaded topic of conversation.

            “Not a whole lot.” Rafe blew out air, “Working for my dad mostly.”

            “And what’s that?” You blew on your coffee before taking a sip.

            “Business. Real estate development. That sorta shit.”

            You nodded, “That’s good money though, right? You rolling in dough?”

            “Why? Want me to take you out on a date?”

            He was teasing but you still laughed uncomfortably, “Not exactly.”

            “No? Not the dating type?”

            Shrugging, you made a face that confirmed his suspicions, “Not really, no.”

            “Why’s that?”

            You sighed, leaning back in your chair, “No reason, really. Just haven’t met the right person, I guess.”

            “Having too much fun stealing & breaking hearts at the bar?” Rafe smirked.

            You rolled your eyes, “Something like that.”

            “You stole mine. Watching you up there…”

            The way he looked at you made your skin erupt with goosebumps. You bit your lip & Rafe’s eyes flicked to the movement. You shook your head, unable to hide your embarrassed smile, “You’ve always been a flirt, ya know?”

            Rafe’s eyes widened at that, “What does that mean?”

            You shook your finger at him, “We may not have talked in high school but you had a reputation. You were ‘the bad boy’. Breaking hearts and faces.”

            Rafe scoffed at that but chuckled nonetheless, “I won’t confirm nor deny.”

            A silly giggle left you but you immediately reeled it in the second you heard it. Were you…flirting with Rafe Cameron? Jesus. If someone had told you earlier that day that you’d end your night flirting with Rafe Cameron in your own apartment you’d say bullshit. It was funny though sometimes how the world brought people in & out of your life.

            “Oh, c’mon.” You shook your head, “All the girls wanted to date you & all the guys wanted to either be you or beat you.”

            Rafe laughed at that, nodding in agreement, “Maybe.”

            You lowered your eyes, memories of high school passing you by.

            “What about you?”

            You raised your eyes to meet his, “What about me, what?”

            “Did you want to date me?”

            There was no helping the sudden burst of laughter at his question. You bit your lip again, shaking your head, “Actually, no. If anything, I was scared of you.”

            Rafe’s eyes glinted playfully, leaning across the table, “That so?”

            “Mm.” You nodded, “I saw a few of your fights. You’re pretty hot-headed, ya know. All I wanted to do was not piss you off.”

            “You couldn’t even if you tried.” Rafe eyes lingered to your lips.

            A part of you was undeniably enjoying his apparent attraction to you. You didn’t care if it was the alcohol or whatever it was that was sexually charging the energy in the room. After all, you did want to take a man home tonight. Rafe isn’t who you had in mind, especially since he started out as Jules’, but Jules’ was lax. If you did end up sleeping with Rafe, she wouldn’t care. All she’d be interested in was how he was in bed. And now, you couldn’t help but wonder yourself.

            Inhaling sharply, you pushed your coffee to the side so you could place your elbows on the table, leaning forward so there was only a few inches between you.

            “But I’m sure I can make you happy.” You flirted suggestively.

            “I think you can, too.” Rafe stared at you through hooded eyes. Yeah. He wanted you, too.

            That being the only confirmation you needed, you rose from your seat, offering your hand to Rafe, “C’mon then. Let’s go to bed.”

            Rafe grinned up at you with that. Then he rose to his full height, but he ignored your hand. He towered over you, your head only reaching his shoulders. Before you could say or do anything, Rafe suddenly had his arms around your butt, lifting you until you were forced to wrap your legs around his middle.

            “Let’s.”

            A week passed before you saw Rafe again. And you honestly never expected to see him again. After the night you two spent together rolling around in your sheets, you passed out. When you woke the next morning, Rafe was gone. It wasn’t the first time, & likely wouldn’t be the last, that one of your hook-ups escaped into the night, but you’d be lying if you thought Rafe would be different since you two went to high school. But alas, Rafe only proved to be like most men. You weren’t miffed though. You moved on fast.

            As far Jules, her reaction to learning about you two hooking up wasn’t what you quite expected. She laughed it off at first but you could see that she felt something about it. You eventually got it out of her. She said that she actually liked Rafe. Unlike most of her conquests, she felt a natural draw to him & had thought that perhaps Rafe could be someone she’d date. It all surprised you.

            Jules, of course, didn’t blame you whatsoever since she had only met Rafe that night, & after you explained your history, or lack thereof, with him, she understood. But you could tell that she was disheartened to not get to know him more. But as the week passed, she got back into her usual good spirits.

            As for you, you heard from Jack a day after you met him. He started out giving you a hard time for not letting him know you made it back home safely that night, & you thought it best to lie & say that you passed out as soon as you got into bed rather than telling me the truth. The two of you texted for the whole day & before you knew it you had scheduled a date.

            The date itself was fun. You took Jack to some blacklight mini golf then the two of you had a couple beers at one of your favorite bars. The night ended with a hot make-out session in your car. After that, you two saw each other practically every day. Tonight would be no different. In fact, Jules was going out to the bars & you were staying in, wanting Jack to come spend the night with you. It wasn’t like you to wait to have sex with someone you were interested, so Jack was a rare case.

            But with Jules being out of the apartment for most of the night, you thought it an opportune time to have him over & you two could be as loud as you wanted.

            It was almost nine at night when Jules finally left. Jack was supposed to be there around that time, as well. But before she left, she poked her head into your room. You did a little spin for her as she tried to pick her jaw off the floor.

            “Damn, _____. Jack isn’t gonna know what hit him.”

            You smiled happily at that, admiring your lingerie in your full length mirror.

            “I hope so.” Jack was quickly becoming your Rafe. By that, you meant that you enjoyed his company beyond more than just the sexual tension. He made you laugh, carried a conversation, showed interest in your life but also wasn’t afraid to share details of his own. Plus, he was hot as fuck. The more you hung out with him the more he reminded you of a young James Franco. And Franco was always cute to you.

            “So, I wanted to talk to you about something really quick.” Jules revealed, stepping further into your room.

            You tossed her a confused but wary look, “…Okay. Everything alright?”

            “Yeah, at least, I hope so.” She laughed sheepishly, “I’m going to bars tonight, as you know, but…I’m not going alone.”

            You reeled back at that, but were smiling nonetheless, “Okay, babe, if it’s a date you know we trade info incase the guys are creeps.”

            “Yeah, I know.” She sighed, avoiding your eyes, “That’s kind of why I didn’t say anything to begin with. You already know him…”

            Done admiring yourself in the mirror, you sat on your bed, staring up at her in waiting.

            Jules moved forward to join you on your bed, “It’s with Rafe.”

            Oh.

            The revelation wasn’t what you expected but you nodded hesitantly, “Okay… that’s okay?”

            “I don’t know, is it? We’ve never really navigated these waters before.”

            You rolled your eyes at that, “Oh, my god, Jules, it’s okay! I have no claims to him. If you want to see him then see him.”

            She frowned at that, not entirely buying what you were selling, “Are you sure? I know we have a pretty lax friendship, but it’s not weird. I’ll admit, I did feel weird after you told me you guys hooked up last weekend.”

            A pang of guilt hit your chest, but you dismissed it with a forced smile. You had no interest in Rafe. He was a decent fuck, but that’s all he was. If Jules was serious about him, the last you wanted to do was have her thinking you were standing in her way.

            “God, I’m sorry. I’m such a slut sometimes.”

            Jules giggled at that but shook her head, “That’s not what I’m saying. I just want to make sure that you & I will be okay. And, obviously, if it gets weird or messy having Rafe around then I won’t mind kicking him to the curb.”

            You laughed at that, “It won’t come to that. Besides, I have my own man coming over tonight. Rafe…feels like it was ages ago at this point.”

            “Okay.” Jules grinned, her dimples appearing. You could tell she was really excited about this date. You only hoped that Rafe didn’t disappear in the middle of the night on her like he did you.

            “Okay!” You exclaimed, standing up. Jules stood with you. You hugged her, “Thank you for telling me. I’ll make sure Jack & I are all finished by the time you get home.”

            “No worries.” Jules pulled away, grinning at you, “If we do end up wanting to hook-up I’m going to try to get it done at his place, that way you two can be alone all night.”

            “Well, thanks, I appreciate it.” You smiled, letting her go, “But if you do go there, you know to text me where the address is.”

            “Yes, mom.” Jules rolled her eyes.

            With that, you exited your room & walked with her to the door. Jack would be there any minute & you still wanted light some incense & candles.

            You were unlatching the door & swinging it open, preparing to wave Jules off but a yelp escaped you at the tall, looming presence just on the other side.

            “Rafe!” Jules shrieked. The both of you were not expecting him on the other side, let alone anyone.

            Rafe’s eyes danced amusingly between the two of you as you both recovered from the jump scare but when his eyes stopped on you, staring at your chest, you glanced down. It was then that you realized you were still only wearing your lingerie.

            “Oh, fuck.” You muttered, quickly standing just behind the door out of sight as you tied the thigh length silk robe around your body. Jules realized what was happening by the time you finished & glanced up.

            “Sorry ‘bout that.” You laughed sheepishly as Jules stepped out.

            Rafe said nothing but was staring at you like he was trying not to respond.

            “Oh, jesus, let’s just get this over with.” Jules finally spit out, “You guys fucked. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. Right?” She looked at you to which you nodded quickly.

            “Right?” She focused on Rafe. He only mustered an awkward smirk.

            “Great. Now that that’s over with, _____...” Jules eyed you, “Have fun with Jack. I’ll see you either tonight or tomorrow.”

            At the mention of Jack’s name, you felt Rafe’s eyes flash to yours in curiosity. You blatantly ignored his wonderous gaze & waved at Jules, “Bye, have fuuun!”

            Then you hurriedly slammed the door. As much as you loved Jules for her direct nature, you sorely wished she hadn’t mentioned the two of you hooking up while you were standing there in practically nothing. But, fortunately the moment was over & you could focus on the task at hand: Jack.

            It was nearly three in the morning when you tip-toed into the kitchen to heat yourself up some leftovers. Jack had passed out. You had tired him out. You had always considered your endurance your best quality in the bedroom. It wasn’t often when a man could keep up with you. Jack was no exception, but he was fun, nonetheless. The sex was rushed at first. The second he saw you he couldn’t keep his hands off you. The after having sex that lasted for roughly fifteen minutes, you two relaxed & laughed about it.

            Then you ordered the two of you some food & while waiting for the food to come the two of you hung out on the couch watching an episode of The Boys. After eating & another episode, Jack gathered you in his arms & carried you into your room for second round. The second round was a lot more sensual. Now that the two of you had had sex in a hurry, you two were able to slow down & really learn each other’s bodies. You were winded by the time that session ended. You fell asleep as he scratched your back & when you woke up an hour later, he was still awake watching videos on his phone. You knocked his phone out of the way & straddled his lap. The third time was even more mind-blowing than the first two—being the perfect mixture of animalistic & intimate.

            After that, it was Jack’s turn to pass out. He had commented on your skills in bed & you kicked your feet about it. It wasn’t that you felt validated by hearing a man’s thoughts about what you could do but you also wouldn’t deny how good it still felt to hear.

            You tried sleeping yourself, getting only ten or so minutes when your stomach growled you awake. There would be no good night’s rest until you ate. So, that’s when you decided to go heat up some leftovers from yours & Jack’s order.

            Your apartment was quiet save for the metallic hum of the microwave. You stared at Jules’ closed bedroom door, & it was only then that you realized you hadn’t checked your phone whatsoever since Jack arrived. There was still a minute left on the microwave. You decided you’d go snatch your phone from your room really quickly then give Jules a call while you ate. But just as you entered the hallway, you heard the familiar sound of her keys in the door.

            As quietly as you possibly could, you backed up back into the living room then raced across the room to the kitchen, trying to look as natural as possible. But as you listened for Jules’ footsteps, you picked up on another.

            She wasn’t alone.

            You glanced down. You were in your robe but only your robe. Jack made quick work of discarding your matching bra & underwear. There was a throw blanket on the back of the couch. You made to move towards it, hoping to get it wrapped around you since the robe did little to really cover you, but just as you did, two figures appeared on the other end of the room.

            “Jules?” You frowned. She was slumped against Rafe.

            Your eyes flashed to his, your state of dress forgotten, “What the hell happened?”

            “Yeah, I don’t think she’s much of a heavyweight anymore. She was falling asleep at the bar.”

            Shaking your head, you approached the two of them. Rafe still held her up as you patted her cheeks, “Jules, babe, wake up.”

            But she only moaned & swatted your hand away, “Sleepy.”

            “Okay, okay.” You couldn’t help the glare you threw at Rafe. Whether or not it was his fault, she had only gotten this drunk in the last week while in his presence. You hoped it was just a coincidence but you wouldn’t settle on it quite yet.

            “Can you get some water, I got it from here.” You told Rafe before slipping her into your arms. Jules managed to use her feet to assist you in assisting her as you brought her back to her bed. Jules sighed happily at the sight of her bed before throwing herself down on it.

            You knelt beside the bed, tucking her hair behind her ear, “Did you drink a lot again?”

            “Mmm. Probably.”

            You sucked on your lip, “Jules, you can’t be drinking like that. You gotta be safe.”

            “Safe…very safe.” She mumbled, turning her head away from you as she curled into herself.

            The air in the room shifted as Rafe entered behind you. You stood up, taking the glass of water from him none-too-gently & putting it on her nightstand.

            “You can leave.” You told him without looking at him, “Thanks for getting her home.”

            Rafe scoffed behind you but said nothing. You listened as you heard his steps leave the room. Releasing a breath of air, you stared at your best friend as she slept soundlessly.

            “Jules…” You whispered to no one. Taking her shoes off, you threw one of her loose blankets over her & switched her light off. You’d be talking with her in the morning. You had to make sure that her getting so drunk was her doing & not Rafe’s.

            A muffled gasp escaped you as you closed her door, not expecting to see Rafe leaning against the wall just on the other side.

            You had your hand over your mouth to keep from waking Jules or Jack, but you glared hotly at Rafe over your hand.

            Closing Jules door, you stepped closer to him, hissing, “I told you to leave.”

            Rafe frowned, “Okay, sorry. I thought you just meant the room.”

            “You knew exactly what I meant.”

            You turned away from him, quietly stomping towards the kitchen. Rafe followed behind you.

            “What’s your problem? I thought you’d thank me.”

            “And I did.” You bit back. You were struggling to contain your anger. You had no proof that Rafe actually did anything, after all, he was helpful just last weekend & brought Jules back home tonight, but it still didn’t sit well with you. And your mom always taught you to trust your gut.

            “So why the hostile attitude? Did I do something wrong?”

            Inhaling sharply, you yanked open the microwave door. The food was steaming. But you had lost your appetite.

            “No.” You replied shortly, uncaring if you sounded convincing or not.

            You touched the plate but as you did, you hissed in pain. You were too caught up in your frustrations to remember to grab the plate of food with a hand towel.

            “You okay?” Rafe moved closer, peering down at you as you stuck your thumb in your mouth, sucking on it.

            You grunted in response. But Rafe just stared at you in disbelief.

            “If you run it under cold water it’ll help better.” He told you, his voice flat.

            “I know that.”

            Instead of approaching you, he backed up to the sink, flicking the faucet handle. Then he gestured to the sink, “Well.”

            Biting your lip in mild irritation, you neared the sink & stuck your thumb under the water. It wouldn’t burn, not visibly anyway, but it still hurt like a bitch. The cool water helped though.

            As the water cooled the sensation of your pulsing thumb, so did your anger. Shaking your head, you finally looked at Rafe over your shoulder, “I’m sorry. Thank you for helping her home.”

            “You’re welcome.” He returned, but the nicety has left his voice. He was as irritated as you had been.

            “It’s just, she doesn’t get drunk like this.” You told him, “I mean, she does! But it takes a lot. Like a lot, a lot. So, seeing her get this drunk twice in one week, just has me concerned.”

            “Well, I was there, & I’m telling you, she didn’t drink a lot. I don’t know, obviously, what her ‘a lot’ is, but it wasn’t a lot to me. A beer, three cocktails, & two shots.”

            You thought on it. That was still excessive, at least in your opinion. Jules could normally handle a bit more than that but perhaps Rafe was right. Maybe her tolerance was just changing for some reason all of a sudden.

            “Guess it makes sense.” You mumbled. Your thumb felt better at that point so you turned the faucet off.

            “So, what’s a lot to you?” You asked him, wanting to shift the negative energy between the two of you.

            Rafe glanced at you in momentary confusion before shrugging, “More than that.”

            “Guess that makes sense, too.” You chuckled softly, “You were a big partier in high school.”

            Finally, Rafe’s stone expression cracked as a smirk tugged on the corner of his lips, “Yeah, true.”

            The room was silent for a beat until your stomach growled. Your appetite had returned. Turning your back on Rafe, you went to the microwave & tapped the plate, testing the heat. It was grabbable now. You removed your food from the appliance then took your plate to the table. Rafe watched you silently before slowly approaching you.

            “So, you & Jack, huh?”

            “Hmm?” You flicked your eyes to his, before realizing what he had asked, “Oh, uh, yeah.”

            Rafe nodded, slowly dragging out the chair opposite you before sitting down.

            “And you & Jules.” You added, not wanting you or Jack to be the focus at that point in time.

            “Mhmm.” Rafe pursed his lips, cocking his head as he peered at you, “And you & me.”

            You scrunched your nose in discomfort, but offered an awkward smile nonetheless, “Yup.”

            “Does Jack know?” His question surprised you.

            You glanced away to cut into your enchilada, blowing on it, then placing it in your mouth. You chewed, staring back at Rafe. Then you shrugged.

            “I take that as a ‘no’.”

            “Well, it’s not like we’re together, him & I. He doesn’t need to know about my hook-ups. I don’t ask about his.”

            “But you want to date him.” It wasn’t a question but you still treated it as such.

            “Um, no? I don’t know. Why do you ask?” You took another bite, a lump forming in your throat at Rafe’s invasive questions.

            “Ah, well, Jules was saying that she thought you really liked this Jack guy, more than normal. Said you guys have been seeing each other pretty much everyday since last weekend.” For some odd reason, you felt like you were being interrogated, like a parent trying to get to know their teen daughter’s boyfriend before ultimately deciding that they weren’t good enough for her.

            You shrugged, “Yeah, I guess. But, same could be said about you & Jules.”

            Rafe raised his brows at that, “Yeah?”

            You nodded, “She almost lied to me tonight. Didn’t tell me who she was seeing. She’s never done that before. Plus, she admitted as much that she liked you more than just for hooking up.”

            “Hmm.” He looked away, deep in thought.

            “How does that make you feel?” It was your turn to interrogate him.

            “Not a lot.” Rafe returned quickly. His cold response had your earlier anger become lightly reignited.

            “And that means…?”

            Rafe leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he gazed at you, “She’s nice, hot, fun. But…she’s not you.”

            The sound of your fork clattering against the plate as it slipped from your fingers made you jump slightly. Your body felt tense at Rafe’s confession. But you had to play it off. Quickly snatching the fork back up, you brushed off his comment with a sheepish chuckle, “Funny.”

            But Rafe didn’t share in your amusement. His unwavering stare was only evidence of his seriousness.

            “What are you trying to say, Rafe?”

            He sighed, his eyes dropping to the opening of your robe. You glanced down & quickly snatched the fabric closer to your chest. He smirked at that.

            “I’m saying that I know you’re wearing nothing under that & I want to see what you’re trying to hide from me.”

            You sputtered in shock, staring at him wide-eyed, “Are you fucking serious?”

            Rafe raised his eyes to yours, “Deadly.”

            “Alright, okay.” You stood up, your half-eaten food forgotten on the table, “I don’t know what the hell you think—’

            But Rafe stood too, quickly invading your space as you stood there attempting to talk him down. He pressed his chest against you & you didn’t have time to create space before he gripped one of your hips. A surprised hiss escaped your lips at his abrupt manhandling.

            “I think that dumbass in there can’t please you like I can.” Rafe spoke lowly, his voice even but firm.

            You swallowed, putting your hands on his chest in an attempt to push yourself away from him, but Rafe was quick to snatch both your wrists in his other hand.

            “What are you doing?” Panic flooded you. If Rafe was fucking with you, you weren’t finding it very funny.

            “I told you.” Rafe then quickly yanked on the ties of your robe & your robe fell open.

            You gasped as cool air suddenly brushed over your exposed front. You instinctively made to cover yourself help but Rafe still held your wrists in his hand. You were breathing heavily, watching in a daze as Rafe’s eyes darkened, staring at your body.

            Then, just as quickly as it happened, Rafe looked back up at you & smirked. Then he let you go.

            “Have a good night.”

            Like whiplash, Rafe was there one second then gone the next. You stood there in the center of your kitchen staring into the direction of the hallway where Rafe disappeared to. The front door to your apartment closed in the distance & you finally released a breath of air you had been holding.

            Then everything that just occurred finally hit you.

            “What. The. Fuck.”

            The next couple months were weird, to say the least. After Rafe revealed yourself to him he was around way too much. He & Jules began spending a lot of time together & before you knew it, they were dating. DATING.

            You sat on what he had done for a couple days before you finally told her about it. Or least, a little bit about it.

            First, you started by asking her if she was really serious about Rafe, like had real feelings for him. When she admitted that she did, you felt torn on telling her the whole truth or just a version of the truth. You eventually settled on just telling her variation of it.

            What you ended up telling her was that he came onto you again but you had rejected him & then he left. That was basically what happened, but you didn’t mention him undoing your robe, & you weren’t sure why. Rafe was no friend to you so you had no need to protect him, but Jules was your friend, & you had never seen her hung up on someone the way she was about Rafe.

            You had seen Rafe multiple times in the window between his harassment of you in the kitchen to telling Jules about it, & in that time he never said or tried anything again. He hardly even looked at you. You reminded yourself that he was an asshole in high school & that he likely viewed what he did as just a humiliating prank. But it wasn’t. Had you not already hooked-up with him you likely would’ve told Jules the whole truth, but since Rafe had already seen you naked & was just pulling one of those idiotic Alpha moves on you in the kitchen, you figured as long as it never happened again you could deal with seeing him & Jules together all the time.

            But it still ate away at you. It bothered you that he had the audacity to not only do that but then move forward & decide to date your best friend. But Jules was happy, more so, she was drinking less. It was the least you could ask for in her questionable relationship with Rafe Cameron.

            On the bright side, Jules wasn’t the only one to enter into an official relationship. After a few weeks of hanging out with Jack & having some of the best sex of your life, you & Jack progressed into a relationship. It felt like ages since you last had a boyfriend, but it felt nice. He was quickly becoming one of your favorite people. Even better, he & Jules got along great. She’d often join you guys on the couch when you watched a movie or show or even help out in the kitchen as the two of you made dinner. They were all good times, but they were often soured by the presence of Rafe.

            Now that you & Jules were in relationships, there was an ungodly amount of times when all four of you would hangout. It was like double dating all the time. If Jules & Rafe wanted to go out to the bars, they’d always convinces Jack to convince you. And then on nights when you worked, Jack would sometimes come in to see you, & right behind him would be Jules & Rafe. Your apartment with Jules was quickly becoming a home to your respective boyfriends.

            Your relationship with Rafe was interesting, too. Though he never made comments or did anything like he did that night in the kitchen, he still always found a reason to talk to you. It was never about anything especially important or engaging, but always just enough to have you two at least carry a conversation for some time.

            Jack still never knew about you & Rafe hooking up the night you all met & you wanted to keep it that way. In fact, you made Jules promise that she would tell Rafe to keep his mouth shut because if ever said anything, even eluded to it, you would make sure he’d regret it. And so far, Rafe never peeped a word about it. The only downside to Jack never knowing about your tryst with Rafe was that they too became good friends.

            Oftentimes, you’d see them laughing loudly with one another, like slapping each other laughing, & always having each other’s back on nights out if for some reason they came across a belligerent asshole. A small part of you was relieved that everything was seemingly working out, but a majority of you knew everything was too good to be true. It’d only be so long before the other shoe dropped. And what kind of shoe it would be had you constantly on the edge…

            But that was the least of your worries as you rushed to get ready. That morning, your mom called you to remind of the charity gala that was being hosted in her name & how you promised to be there. The event had completely slipped your mind. So, all day you were frazzled with that now being your mission. You were forced to call Rosie & explain everything to him, apologizing that it slipped your mind & you would be able to come into work. Fortunately, Rosie said he’d take care of it & that he would see the following night.

            After that, you drove to the shopping district hoping you’d find a dress that would be appropriate enough for the gala. These gala’s your mom attended were high class. No ball gowns or anything extravagant like that (though some people did wear stuff like that), but it was definitely an excuse for those in attendance to show off some of the nicer items in their closet. You had none.

            You got lucky when you found a dress that you could keep & wear again. It was equally elegant as it was just the right amount of sex appeal. Unfortunately, due to the short notice, Jack would not be able to come with you. You learned early on in your relationship that Jack moved to town to open his own café. It had a rough start but once the warmer months came it became a huge hit so he was spending a lot of his time there to help out. And tonight they were having an open mic night for comedians, poets, musicians. It was their first one so he couldn’t miss it.

            You were going to ask Jules next if she wanted to be your date but when you went to her room earlier that day, you could hear her throwing up in the bathroom. She had come down with the flu. So, she was a no go. It bummed you out that you wouldn’t have a date but it was your own fault for completely forgetting about it.

            It was thirty minutes before the gala started & you had just finished getting ready. You still had to drive 20 minutes to the venue so you would be cutting it close but at least you’d be on time. Before you left, you sped-walk to Jules’ room to check on her. She was sound asleep in her bed, a humidifier next to her bed billowing warm, wet air. You quicky stepped into the room & kissed your fingers before placing them on her forehead. You couldn’t afford getting sick after bailing on Rosie tonight.

            Then, you were out the door.

            You recognized the address as being somewhere in the industrial district on the north side of town. That thought made you groan, you hoped they had valet parking.

Traffic was a bitch but you made it with two minutes to spare. Thank you, Valet.

            Once you were inside, you sought out your mom. You found her in the middle of greeting guests as they entered the building.

            “Oh, honey!” She exclaimed, “I’m so happy you could make it.”

            “Of course, Mom. Is there an open bar?” You asked once she pulled away.

            Your mom rolled her eyes knowingly, “So much of your father in you. Yes, yes. The venue is up those stairs there, the bar portion is in a separate room across from it.”           

            “Great, thank you.” You kissed her on the cheek, antsy to at least get a glass of wine in your system.

            She waved you off to continue welcoming guests while you went to go retrieve a drink. After you succeeded in getting your wine, you entered the gala. You nodded impressively. There were a few faces you recognized as close friends of your mom’s & forced yourself to make small talk as you mingled your way over to a table by the windows. Once you made it through, you took a moment to yourself to relax. Your whole day had felt rushed & chaotic so you were happy to finally be off your feet with some sort of alcohol before you to keep you going.

            The charity event started soon thereafter, & before you knew it, you were enjoying your drink, watching as a couple hundred middle aged rich folk raised their hands for the auction portion. Once the auction was through, the host announced that dinner was served & to help yourselves & to enjoy the night while it was still young. You checked the time on your phone, noting it was only 8 in the evening. Your mom begged you to stay at least until 9 that way she can finish making her rounds then she could focus her time on you. You begrudgingly promised you would.

            When she disappeared, you decided to get your glass refilled. You were snaking your way between bodies, aiming for the doors that would lead you to the bar when you abruptly ran into another person.

            “Sorry!” You exclaimed, feeling embarrassed for not watching where you were going. But when the person you ran into turned around, the apologetic expression on your face fell.

            “Well, well. Fancy seeing you here, huh?” Rafe grinned, clearly not expecting to see you either.

            “Fancy.” You deadpanned, turning away to continue on your way. What the hell was he doing there?

            Once you made it to the edge of the room though, you felt a slight tug on your elbow, deterring you from your destination. A curse died on your tongue as you glared at Rafe dragging you through a set of glass doors & onto a patio. You didn’t even know there was a patio. Had you, you would’ve hidden out there all night to avoid Rafe,

            “What are you doing here?” He asked, admiring your outfit.

            “You first.” You battled.

            Rafe chuckled but answered, “Networking.”

            “For?”

            Rafe rolled his eyes, sighing, “My dad’s business?”

            You pursed your lips. You supposed it made sense. But Jules hadn’t mentioned it.

            “Why isn’t Jules here then?” You knew well enough that she was sick & resting at home, but since she had never mentioned it, you wondered if Rafe had even bothered to mention it to her.

            “Because I didn’t ask her.” Rafe responded like it was the most obvious answer in the whole world. But you wouldn’t accept.

            “God, you are such an asshole. She’s crazy about you, ya know. And you treat her like crap.”

            Rafe bit his lip in though, narrowing his eyes at you, “You sure about that? Pretty sure I actually spoil her. More than she’s worth.”

            “Oh, you—” All the possible offensive terms you could think of threatened to spill out but this wasn’t the time or the place, “That’s it. When I get back home, I’m telling her everything.”

            You spun on your heel then, prepared to go find your mom & apologize but you had to leave early. You couldn’t stand to be here for a second longer knowing Rafe asshole Cameron was present.

            But when you left the patio & entered the hall, where there was conveniently no one was around, Rafe snagged you by the waist before shoving you into a bathroom.

            “Rafe, goddamnit!” But Rafe shook you to your core when he pressed your back against the wall & covered your mouth. His hand going to the handle on the door & locking it.

            “I’m gonna take my hand off now, think you can shut the fuck up for two seconds?”

            You glared at him but nodded once. Rafe removed his hand but only stared at you.

            You slapped your hands together, waiting for him to get it over with.

            “I don’t know what the fuck you want, _____. You’re so annoyingly confusing. More than most women.”

            You frowned at that. What was he talking about?

            “You come onto me the night we meet then you suddenly want nothing to do with me. I never asked you out on a date because you said you weren’t interested in dating. I was fine with that, though. I could live with just hooking up. But then come to find out you’re dating Jack, fucking him, too. So, now I look like an idiot because you told me you don’t date. And that’s a lie. So, when I found out & tried coming onto you again that night in your apartment, you rejected me. All for that dumbass in your bed. I mean, what is a guy supposed to think? I’ve been very patient, waiting for you & Jack to get through whatever it is you guys think you’re doing but nope, nope, Jack’s here to stay, Jack’s such a good guy, Jack’s the one.”

            All of his words were becoming jumbled together in your brain. You could do nothing but stare at him wide-eyed & in shock.

            Rafe was huffing, his lips in an upside down smile as he stared through you, “What do you have to say, huh? Because now, all this time, pretending to be into Jules, I’ve just been trying to get close to you. To show you that I’m who you want. That you regret rejecting me. And you can’t say I haven’t been good because I have been. I don’t touch you, flirt with you, make it obvious that I want to fuck your brains out, that I want to beat Jack to a pulp every single time I see him put his hands on you. It should be me, _____. You know that.”

            A surprised but unamused sigh left you. Everything you thought about Rafe was true, but just much worse. He was only dating Jules because of you. Only hanging around because of you. You needed to snuff this man out.

            “Rafe…” You licked your lips, struggling to find the words, “I don’t know where, at any point, you got into your head that we were something more than just a spontaneous, convenient hook-up but that’s all it was. Okay? That’s it. There was sexual tension & I acted on it. Simple as that. I mean, you were gone the next morning! We had nothing more than just casual, one-time sex.”

            Rafe’s eyes narrowed as you spoke.

            “And as far as Jack goes, that’s none of your damn business. I meant what I said when I told you I don’t date but things change, & I don’t care how fast they change, I don’t owe you anything. I’m not some fucking prize that you are competing against Jack for, & even if I was, let me tell you, he is by far a better man you will ever be. A real man doesn’t use a woman to get closer to her roommate, to try & make her roommate, I don’t know, fall for him? That’s some psycho sociopathic shit, right there. Okay?! So, what you’re gonna do now, is you’re gonna call Jules & you’re gonna break up with her. I don’t care how you do it, but you’re gonna get it done. I would love nothing more than to tell her myself about how much of a piece of shit you are, but she’s my friend. My best friend. And I don’t want to hurt her. So, the least you can do is soften the blow.”

            It looked as if he wasn’t listening anymore, his eyes glazing over, but you knew he was. He was hearing every single world.

            “Man up.” You stepped forward, “And give her what she deserves.”

            His eyes finally shifted back to yours, “Careful what you wish for.”

            The look in his eyes sparked a bout of fear within you.

            But then Rafe was unlocking the bathroom door & next thing you knew he was gone. Your heart was racing, the interaction an explosion of emotions. But with him gone, you were finally able to relax against the wall. You placed your hand on your chest, willing your heart to slow down. Jesus. This day just wouldn’t give you a break, would it?

            Unfortunately, your night never improved. When you got home later that night, you could hear Jules crying in her room. As relieved as you were that Rafe called her, you were still disheartened to hear her sobs from the front door. Stopping by your room first, you kicked off your heels & tossed your keys on the bed. Then you hesitantly walked towards her room. Her door was cracked open.

            You were about to enter her room but another’s voice stopped you.

            “I’m sorry, Jules.” Rafe.

            What the fuck was he doing here?!

            Not waiting to get answers from Jules, you slapped her door open, standing angrily in her doorway. Jules & Rafe were on her bed & Rafe was holding her as she cried into his chest.

            “What the hell’s going on here?”

            Jules looked up then but her solemn face quickly turned to one of anger as she set her eyes on you. She stood up, looking you directly in the eye, “I should be asking you that! I trusted you!”

            You stared at her in confusion before glancing at Rafe who sat smugly on the edge of her bed.

            “Jules, look, I don’t know what that fuck told you but he’s ly—”

            “Lying?!” Jules questioned, her voice growing louder, “Yeah, he said you’d say that. But he told me everything!”

            You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at the unapologetic look on Rafe’s face, “And what was that?”

            “That you’ve been coming onto him for months!” Jules screeched, “I knew bringing him around was going to be weird but if you still had feelings for him then you should have told me! Now you’re telling him to break up with me so you can have him. I can’t believe you would do that!”

            “What?!” You raised your voice, “No, no, that is not what’s happening. He’s the asshole, the creep!”

            “Oh, shut up, _____!” Jules glared at you through her angry tears, “He has proof of you saying so!”

            You stumbled at that, “Proof? What? What proof, Jules?”

            She spun around, snatching a phone that wasn’t hers off the bed before raising it up between the two of you. She clacked on it & then turned the volume up. It was your voice that came out.

            So, what you’re gonna do now, is you’re gonna call Jules & you’re gonna break up with her. I don’t care how you do it, but you’re gonna get it done.

            “Motherfucker…” You whispered in disbelief. But then the recording stopped. Jules played it again.

            You shot your eyes between the two of them before settling on Jules, “That’s all he recorded? You don’t think that’s weird, Jules? There’s nothing before, nothing after, it’s all out of context. Yes, I told him to break up with you but so I could have him! He’s a fucking psycho!”

            Jules shook her head, chuckling darkly as she tossed the phone back on her bed, “I want you out of this apartment. Tonight. And then I never want to see you again.”

            “Jules! No, what? Wait!” But she was shoving you out of her room & before you could get another word out, she slammed her door in your face.

            “Rafe, you fucking asshole! Tell her the truth!” You beat against the door but all you could make out on the other side was Jules bitching about you before her room started blaring music.

            You couldn’t believe this was happening. Rafe had gotten to her. Turned your closest friend against you. Well. Fuck him. He wasn’t going to win. Not that easily. Jules wanted to never see you again, that’s too damn bad. Because you weren’t going anywhere, not as long as Rafe was in her ear feeding her lies.

            You walked into work angrily the following night. Your coworkers greeted you but you could only manage a grunt. Jules was far from happy to see you when you came out of your room that morning but you needed to show her that you weren’t going anywhere.

            “My name’s on the lease. I pay rent. I’m staying.” You told her to which she sneered at you before grabbing her coffee & disappearing in her room.

            Her door was closed but you told her through the door that you would never betray her like that. That the person who was lying to her was Rafe. She never responded, & you never saw her again before you left for work. But you wouldn’t give up.

            You threw on your outfit for your shift then left in poor spirits. Working helped you distract yourself from the bullshit of your disastrous home life & potential friend break-up. It was busy & your regulars listened to you as you told a few of them about few details of your dilemma. They all held hope for you & Jules to figure things out. That left you feeling slightly better. But around midnight, an unexpected guest appeared at the far end of the bar. You smiled for the first time in 24 hours but your smile quickly fell at the furious expression on Jack’s face.

            “Hey.” You said warily, flipping over a 16oz to pour his usual beer.

            “I’m not staying.” Jack told you, his voice hard.

            That wasn’t a good sign.

            “I just came to tell you that Jules told me everything. The recording, everything.”

            “Jack.” You sighed exhaustedly. After last night’s intense fallout, you didn’t think to call Jack & tell him what happened. But you never thought Jules would reach out to him herself.

            “Save it.” He held up his hand, “I just wanted to tell you in person.”

            Before you could try to defend yourself or even explain a little bit, Jack was out the door. You watched tiredly through the windows as he sped off.

            Jack didn’t understand either. He would, but not yet. First, you had to get Jules to know the truth, get Rafe out of the picture, then after all that, you & Jules would tell Jack the truth together. You just had to be strong.

            “You alright, kid?” Rosie’s voice sounded behind you.

            You pressed your lips together, feeling them shake. You felt like crying but you forced yourself not to. Rafe couldn’t get away with this.

            Turning around, your head hung low, you simply nodded to Rosie.

            “Why don’t you take a ten. I can man the bar, start closing duties.”

            You didn’t have the energy to debate it. You exited the bar & went to sit at the far end. Pulling out your phone, you hoped to see any messages from Jules but there was nothing. You tried calling her but your call went straight to voicemail. She likely blocked you. Good thing you lived down the hallway from her.

    ��       Holding your head in your hands, you thought about how you got here. How the fuck did you get here? Everything was fine & then suddenly it wasn’t. You realized you should’ve told Jules about Rafe from the beginning. Told her about how he came onto you in the kitchen that night. If you had, Rafe wouldn’t be in the picture, you & Jules would still be friends, & Jack would be drinking a beer less than 10 feet from you.

            “Fucking Rafe…” You muttered out loud.

            Could this night get any worse?

            Unfortunately yes, yes it could.

            You kicked at the tire of your car, frustrated that it suddenly wouldn’t start. Rosie had already left. He closed up The Garage with you & walked with you to your vehicles. But while he started his up & pulled out of the parking lot, you sat behind your wheel staring mindlessly out the windshield. You so desperately just wanted to talk to Jules, to just tell her everything. It had only been 24 hours & all you wanted was your best friend back.

            So, when you finally broke out of your thoughts & went to start your car, it only added to your shitty night that the engine sputtered then died.

            “Fuuuuuuck!” You screamed, beating your hands against the dashboard. Your hands were throbbing afterwards but you could barely feel it. And if you thought it still couldn’t get any worse, pulling out your phone & finding it dead only proved you wrong.

            “’Course.” Tossing your phone back into your bag, you glared at the bar across from you. There was chargers inside, but Rosie had the keys to get in & you had no phone to call him.

            Getting out, you locked up your car before rounding to the front. There was no point in checking under the hood, you would have no idea where to look first. You had always said that one day you’d learn car stuff for shit exactly like this, but you had yet to do it. It would be next on your agenda. After getting Jules back.

            You glared into the darkness of the road. The Garage was on a long stretch of a two-lane highway. During the day it was used regularly, but as soon as night came, the only reason people were on it was to come to your place of work. There would be no one. It was then that you decided you were going to be forced to walk back home. It was only a mile or so walk, most of it being spent on the highway, but you weren’t stoked about walking down a dark, desolate highway in the middle of the night.

            But what choice did you have?

            Facing your car once more, you kicked at her tire, “See you in the morning, princess.”

            You were only about ten minutes into your walk, your jacket wrapped securely around you as you stomped along the pavement, when you heard an engine in the distance. Now, you weren’t one of those girls who thought to yourself ‘oh, kidnapping wouldn’t happen to me, that’s only in the news’. So, you had no plans to put your thumb out & hitching a ride. Even if it was a nice elderly woman. You had seen too many true crime documentaries. It was better to be distrusting then it was to trust the wrong person.

            Unlike Jules, you thought bitterly. But it wasn’t her fault. It was all Rafe’s.

            When the engine grew closer, you moved off the highway. There were no streetlights on this stretch of the highway, so the driver wouldn’t spot you until they passed you. It also helped you were wearing darker clothes. Otherwise whoever it was might get some sort of idea. And if they did spot you whether before or after they passed you, you were mentally preparing yourself to launch yourself into the woods & make a run for it.

            You glanced over your shoulder as you walked, spotting two headlights in the distance. You hoped they would hurry & pass you by so you could walk freely again without worrying about getting snatched off the road. You already had enough stress on your plate.

            The engine grew closer but as it did you could hear begin to slow down.

            Great.

            Still walking, not wanting to let whoever it was get closer, you spun around expecting to see a middle-aged man giving you a toothy smile. But the lights were so bright you couldn’t make out anything. All you could see was the silhouette of someone sitting in the drivers seat. They didn’t move closer, they didn’t signal for you, they didn’t do anything. Just idled there in the middle of the highway.

            “Alright…” You could feel panic begin to grip you. “That’s not a red flag.”

            But it didn’t stop you. You just kept walking. And as you did, you heard the truck begin to roll closer. As it did, you moved further off the highway until you were forced to walk on the dirt along the tree line.

            You breathing fast at that point. As subtly as you could, you reached into your bag, looking for your taser. You had never had to use it before but you always kept it charged in the off chance you’d need to. And now seemed like it would potentially be that time.

            “_____.”

            The sound of your name horrified you, but more than that, it was the voice that carried it.

            You spun around on your heel, staring wide-eyed as Rafe hung an arm outside his window, his eyes dead set on you.

            “What the fuck do you want?”

            “Need a ride?” He asked, ignoring your question, but there was no sense of wanting to help you in his tone.

            “Fuck no.” You spit, glaring hotly at him, “I am walking home. Carry on.”

            “I’m heading there anyway.” Rafe smirked, “Booty call. You know how it goes.”

            You made a face of disgust. He still had the audacity to talk poorly about Jules even after convincing her that you were the bad guy. But were you surprised? No, no you weren’t.

            “Just fuck off, Rafe.” You dismissed him with a flick of your hand before marching ahead. Much to your chagrin, Rafe only followed alongside you in his truck. You made sure to keep a good distance between where you walked & where his door was. If he decided to jump you again like he had at the charity gala the previous night, you wanted a head start into the woods.

            “We can talk.” He stated, “Work something out. I can get Jules to forgive you.”

            You shook your head in disbelief, running your tongue along your teeth in annoyance. He was just egging you on, wanting to get a rise out of you. Like always.

            “C’mon, you know you’re tempted.” His voice grew lower.

            “The only thing I’m tempted to do is rip your fucking throat out & shove it up your ass so you can taste your own shit.”

            “Well,” Rafe chuckled darkly, “I’d need my throat to taste it, wouldn’t I?”

            Stamping your foot against the pavement, you finally stopped to face him again, “God, can you just leave me the fuck alone?! You got Jules, you won, she fucking hates my guts. I’m the bad guy in this story, I get it. Your narrative is working out great for you, Rafe. So if you’re done boasting, please! Leave. Me. Alone.”

            He peered at you through heavily hooded eyes, an unimpressed smirk appearing on his face, “I didn’t win, _____. Jules isn’t who I want. You know that.”

            His words chilled you to your core. It was then that you were reminded of where you were, or weren’t, which was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Just you & Rafe.

            “I just want to walk home, okay?” You felt your voice shake with fear. Rafe smiled then. He heard it, too.

            “Ad I’m offering you a ride.”

            You felt your eyes begin to water as you stared past him into the cab. If you got in the cab, there was no saying what he would do to you. Your chances were better outside of the truck.

            “Rafe—”

            “I’m not gonna ask again. Get in the truck, or I’ll fucking make you get in the truck.”

            You shook your head, taking a step back. His eyes flashed to the movement before flickering back up to yours. His gaze hardened, “Fine. My way it is.”

            Before he could shift his truck into park, you were already diving into the trees & running at a full sprint. It wasn’t a second or two later when you heard Rafe’s door slam shut before the sound of foliage being crushed sounded behind you.

            “_____!” Rafe yelled, “Get back here!”

            His voice, full of anger & determination, bounced off the trees as you ran past them & further into the woods. You couldn’t see shit in the dark & you could feel your ankles stumbling & whining in discomfort as you tried to keep your feet ahead of you on the uneven earth. Scared tears coated your cheeks as you pumped your legs, begging to any god anywhere to please get you out of there. But no divine intervention intervened.

            It was the worst feeling you could imagine when you felt a hand grip the fabric of your jacket & yank you backwards. The wind was knocked out of you when Rafe threw you to the forest floor.

            “We coulda worked this out.” Rafe huffed as he stood over you.

            You rolled onto your side, desperate for your lungs to open so you could breathe. But Rafe circled around you like a vulture getting ready for the kill. You weren’t sure you’d even get another breath of air before he stole whatever you had left.

            “We coulda talked, came to some sort of agreement!” He yelled in frustration, “But you’re just so fucking stubborn, so fucking defiant. You like that with Jack?”

            Rafe laughed darkly to himself, “Something tells me you’re not. You’re probably the most perfect woman with him.”

            You gasped sharply, painfully, when your lungs finally opened. Then you were coughing. But as you were coughing, you were searching for your bag in the dark. The taser. If you got your hands on that, you may have a chance.

            “Looking for this.” Rafe questioned.

            In the dark, you peered over at him as he held your purse by a single finger. He shook his head knowingly before gathering it in the palm of his hand & chucking it into the forest. You heard it thud somewhere in the distance. Fresh tears escaped you as Rafe used his shoe to roll you over onto your back.

            “Please, Rafe, don’t. I’m sorry for running.” You weren’t, but it was survival now to kiss up to him.

            But Rafe just stared down at you, “It’s too late for your apologies.”

            He bent at the knees then before grabbing a fistful of your hair & forcing you upwards into a sitting position. A pained whimper parted your lips, forcing you to bite your lip to stifle them.

            “What do you want then?” You cried out, your hands clinging to the grip he held on your hair.

            “Same thing as before.” Rafe responded, his voice flat & emotionless. You stopped crying to stare at him. He only gazed at you unfeelingly.

            “No.” You shook in his hold. “No!”

            You screamed & thrashed, trying to kick at him but Rafe easily overpowered you, forcing you back on your back as he climbed on top of you.

            “No! No! No!” You screamed, cried, begged over & over again. But all of your fight was falling on deaf ears. You beat your fists against his chest & back as he wrestled with you to get your jeans off. The chill of the forest erupted your skin with goosebumps & you felt like your heart was going to burst outside of your chest.

            Rafe was quick to remove his own jeans, shoving them down his thighs. Once he did, he focused on your upper half, yanking your arms out the sleeves of your jacket before pulling the top of your tube top down. You were practically fully naked in the middle of nowhere with Rafe Cameron on top of you.

            But that didn’t matter. You never stopped resisting him, never stopped trying to get him off you or hurt him. Everything you did though, it was like it didn’t register to him. Like he didn’t feel any of it. You knew Rafe was scary but this was a new level. He was a fucking monster.

            His fingers hooked around the fabric of your underwear & tugged on it until you heard the seams snap & tear. You desperately reached for the back of his hand, grabbing two handfuls of his hair before yanking as hard as you could.

            It was the first reaction Rafe gave. He hissed in response, ripping his head out from under your grasp. It was a short-lived win before you saw him raise the back of his hand & whip it across your face. A sharp gasp left you at the assault, & you tasted blood on your tongue as your lower lip burned.

            “This is what you said, _____.” Rafe snarled as he finished tearing your underwear from your body, “’Man up & give her what she deserves’. Those are your words.”

            Sobs racked your body as he repeated back to you your own demand of him.

            “That’s exactly,” He snatched you by the throat & raised you up enough until his face was only an inch away from your own, “what I’m doing. I’m giving you exactly what you deserve. What I should’ve done from the beginning.”

            He released you, & your head smacked against the soft earth but it did little to comfort the blow.

            You whimpered like a beaten & abused dog as Rafe wrestled your legs apart to fit himself snugly in between them. You placed your hands on his chest, using all your strength to prevent him from crushing you with his body but your strength was nothing compared to his. He forced your elbows to bend as he lowered himself on top of you until your chest were pressed against one another.

            “Don’t cry.” He kissed you on the side of your mouth, forcing you to whip your face away from him, “It’s nothing we haven’t done already.”

            A sharp pain shot up your spine as Rafe forced himself inside you. He chuckled darkly to himself as one of his hands caught you by your chin, forcing you to look at him. You desperately searched for anywhere else to look that wasn’t him but he was all you could see. That smug & evil smirk, the glint & prideful glow in his eyes. It only grew worse when he began to groan as he snapped his hips against yours.

            Your fingers dug themselves into the earth as Rafe raped you on the forest floor. You were hyperventilating beneath him, unfeeling from the waist down, but it was a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. You wished you could do what some women had reported happening when they were raped & how they were able to shut off their mind & go anywhere else, but yours wasn’t doing that. It was happening & you couldn’t stop it.

            Rafe tucked his face into your neck as he moaned loudly & freely, like a predator having caught his unwilling prey in the world of beasts. No one was coming. No one could hear your cries. This was Darwinism at it’s finest. Only the strong survived.

            Your tears had stopped but you were still panting, staring past Rafe’s head at the tops of the trees. You couldn’t make out the night sky beyond them. Everywhere you looked was pitch darkness, & you saw it most whenever Rafe forced you to look at him while he fucked you to his hearts content.

            It felt like hours before he finally came. He growled like the beast he was as he thrusted himself inside you as deep as he could go. You groaned in pain as your hips flared at the stretch of them. Your body shook beneath him as he stilled completely above you. But you could still feel his cock spitting his seed inside of you. The fact of that made bile rise in your throat.

            Rafe rolled off you a second later, hissing as his own body shook with the aftershocks of his orgasm. An ungodly burning & stinging pain originated from between your legs & you were terrified to see what he did to you.

            Then he started laughing. It wasn’t the loud, jovial kind you often heard in your bar, but the snarky, cocky kind that reminded you exactly of who he was in high school. You had heard it plenty of times.

            “God, that was good.” Rafe breathed out, “My imagination whenever I fuck Jules doesn’t even come close to that.”

            Jules’ face flashed through your mind & you rushed upwards. You turned to the side, holding your stomach as you bent over & vomited. Tears returned to your eyes, blurring your already dizzying vision as you emptied what little contents were in your stomach. As you continued to only throw up stomach acid & a few bites of food, you felt a hand on your back.

            A fit of fury came over you & you lashed out at Rafe as he attempting to comfort you. After he just raped you! It was a joke.

            But Rafe yowled as you swung your arm at him. This stole your attention & you peered through your dirtied hair as Rafe held his face. When he removed his hand to inspect his hand, you marveled at the three scratch marks going from his forehead down over his right eye & ending on his cheek.

            All you could do was start laughing. And then you couldn’t stop. You were laughing hysterically, pointing at Rafe like he was a kid on the playground who just got humiliated in front of everyone. He snarled at you, knocking your hand away & catching you by the throat.

            “You think that’s funny?” He sneered.

            You grinned, still laughing despite your air being restricted. Rafe growled before throwing you back to the forest floor.

            “I’ll tell you what’s funny, _____.” He yanked on your shoulder, turning you over to face him, “Here’s the deal. And its your only two options so I’d listen real fucking close.”

            You glared up at him, wanting nothing more than to finished what claws did & tear his skin completely from his face.

            “You’re gonna get in my fucking truck, we’re going to the apartment, & you’re going to go to your room. I’m going into Jules & I’m either going to A. break up with her & tell her we’re together or B. do to her what I just did to you. And I’ll do far worse to her.”

            The threat forced your panic riddled body to leap upwards, “Don’t!”

            “I won’t, unless you make me. That’s your choice, _____. I either stay with her & hurt her every fucking day, or I get you & I’ll never lay a finger on her.”

            You shook your head, staring up at him, “Please, Rafe, you got what you wanted. Just leave us alone.”

            He sighed, kneeling down to be eye level with you, “I want you. All of you. All the time. And for everyday I go without that, Jules will suffer.”

            Imagining Rafe doing to Jules what he just did to you forced fresh sobs from you. You covered your mouth to stifle the cries. You couldn’t let him do that to her. You didn’t care if it meant she’d hate you forever. You just couldn’t let him hurt her. No one deserved that. Not even you. But were strong. You may have been Rafe’s prey that night, but you were a survivor. But if you knew what Rafe was doing to Jules every day in & night out, you’d never be able to live with yourself. One way or another, someone was getting hurt. You knew it had to be you.

            “So?” Rafe tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, “We have a deal?”

            You leaned away from his touch, but peered up at him through your wet lashed.

            Rafe saw the resolve in your eyes. He grinned devilishly.

            Only the strong survive, you repeated to yourself.

            Only the strong survive.

i'm fuckin' whipped, babes. like whhhhhiiiipped. i cannot believe i cranked this out in less than 12 hours but fuck. i. did. it.

this is 3/10 requests from my 500 followers celebration request opening!

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thank you for reading! & thank you for the anon who requested, i hope they are happy!

oona<3

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[loveindefinitely]

— ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ THREE OF HEARTS | könig x ghost x reader

✩ PART ONE / ACE OF SPADES

// read on ao3. fic playlist. series masterlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You can still taste the smoke on your lips.

The flavour of tobacco against your tongue, the spiralling smoke brushing your cheek. A hand in your hair, another between your thighs. One strong chest pressed against your own, the other laid onto the sheets between your legs.

A name spoken against your ear, another whisper muffled by your thighs.

Torture, in its rawest of forms – malicious and cruel and perfect. An agonising taunt of what could be, if not for regulations, rules; decorum and practicality. Right and wrong.

It had been two years since you’d seen the men that starred in your darkest of fantasies. Or, more precisely, six-hundred and thirty-eight days since you’d tasted them, breathed in the strong scent of their cologne.

But you weren’t counting.

You wouldn’t dare.

…Still.

Six-hundred and thirty-eight days, you’d spent, longing and hoping and dreaming of another moment. A possibility to be embraced, once more, by them. Even just a minute of their time, to speak, to ask if they felt the same instant connection you had.

Six-hundred and thirty-eight days of waiting for this very moment.

“Sergeant, I’m sure you’re at least aware of Colonel König and Lieutenant Ghost,” your Commander speaks, elbows resting on his desk, hands folded underneath his chin as he studies you.

Your mouth is barren of moisture, all of it draining straight to where your clasped hands grow clammy in your lap. Without a word, you nod. Your Commander doesn’t comment, but his eyes narrow, and he releases a short exhale.

The room feels so small, now, his office like your own personal prison cell. Walls a fading beige, the seat beneath you a cracking leather – the stench of old paperwork. It’s a challenge not to cough from the dust.

“And I know that you’re well aware of your upcoming mission. Tomorrow, correct?” He asks, flipping through the stapled stack of paper before him, tongue peaking out to lick over his thumb as he skims over the fineprint. 

You nod once more, eyes nervously darting around the enclosed space. No windows? Seriously?

“You’re a smart woman,” he observes, with a small shrug of his shoulders, eyeing you curiously. “I think you know what I’m implying.”

The contracted mission, which had once been an infiltration, targeted approach, has turned into a long-term undercover one overnight. In fact, you hadn’t been informed of the drastic change until ten minutes ago.

Neither had you been informed of the two soldiers you’d be working with.

You didn’t know if you’d ever regretted something this deeply.

Ever.

“I don’t even know the details, let alone my cover,” you begin, fidgeting with the hem of your civvies tank, “Isn’t this CIA shit, anyways? Why are we –”

“You know damn well why we need you three on this, and not just any agent,” Your Commander raises an unimpressed brow, and you slump further into your chair. He’s right, of course, but it doesn’t mean that it makes you feel any better.

The layers within this mission were nearly impossible to decipher.

A foreign terrorist – one growing a steady following within political groups and extremists – was pulling the strings of one of the most exclusive and profitable trafficking rings in the world. And he was doing it right underneath the public’s noses.

What the cover was hadn’t been known – until this morning.

“Read it yourself,” your Commander breathes exasperatedly, and with that tone, you know it’s not going to be pretty.

Tossing the paper over to your side of the desk, it skids to a soft stop right at the edge.

Flitting your gaze to the front page, your stomach sinks.

There, in printed, full colour – is them. They look unbelievably imposing, with their uniforms, and their masked faces.

You knew what was hidden beneath that black fabric.

The images aren’t the only thing to catch your abrupt attention, however, your focus instantly snatching on the cover stories. The… 

Oh. Fuck.

“Commander –”

He instantly raises a palm, and you bite your tongue, hesitantly reading the text from start to end. It doesn’t make the situation any better; somehow, it makes it worse – tenfold.

You speak before you can stop yourself.

“BDSM?” 

If all the blood has drained from your face, you’d be lucky to die on the spot. Because, truly, you can’t think of a better option. A bullet to the head, maybe? Arsenic in the water sat next to the contract?

Yeah. Anything is better than whatever the fuck you’re supposed to be doing tomorrow.

And for the indefinite future.

“I know that it’s impractical,” he tries to amend, obviously seeing the pure distraught written all over your features, “But it’s our safest bet. There’s thousands – millions of lives on the line here. And I’m sure you’re not alone in your… hesitation, either.”

Chewing at your inner cheek, you nervously skim over the rest of the information, before skidding it back over to your Commander, running a hand down your face.

“I have to pretend,” you inhale, deep, “To be in a kinky throuple.” 

With the men who you’d done ‘kinky throuple’ shit with, went unsaid.

The man across from you winces. But he doesn’t deny it.

“That’s…” He seems to search for words, but comes out empty. He clears his throat. “Yeah. That’s… That’s pretty much. The cover story.”

He sounds highly uncomfortable with the topic at hand, but with sweat beading at the nape of your neck, and your mind reeling, you can’t find it in yourself to have any empathy. At least he didn’t have to infiltrate a fucking sex club.

Flashes of bare skin, scarred jaws, calloused hands –

“When’s the briefing?” 

The words fall from your lips in a breath, your subconscious need for information being set to default while the rest of your brain tries to play catch-up.

Looking down at the bulky, gluttonously gold watch adorning his wrist, your Commander grimaces, before looking back up to you with an apologetic frown. “It’s in five minutes. This morning’s been a rush, sorry, kid.”

Rising from your seat on unsteady legs, you accept your own copy of the papers with shaky hands. If your Commander notices the trembling, he doesn’t comment on it.

They feel heavier than any weight, the words in your hands – the words bearing down on your soul.

Attempting to make sense of it all is a fruitless effort, and trying to reason with it is just as impossible. How could you? When this undercover mission was likely going to be the most difficult one of your life? Was this the universe’s form of a taunt, a punishment?

Your Commander opens the door for you, the soft draft of the hallway allowing you to breathe. 

The stifled, stale air of his office gives way, and your shoulders loosen slightly from the tight posture they were in. Maybe everything will be fine. You won’t be in a fake relationship with the men who you had a relationship with, however short-lived, to stop a world-class terrorist.

…Totally.

Following your Commander tightly behind him, your mind a hurricane of emotions and anxiety, you chew at the inside of your cheek as you rack your thoughts for any sense of direction.

You, inevitably, come up empty.

Boots hitting the linoleum floor swiftly, the sound echoing around the empty space, you release short, calming breaths. Realistically speaking, this wasn’t going to be the cause of your death – you were a professional. You were one of the most skilled coveted ops agents for-hire, and what was this but just another aspect of your job?

Maybe this was exactly what you’d been hoping for – a real, substantial opportunity.

Maybe they’ve both forgotten you.

Your breath hitches at that thought.

It takes root in your mind instantly. What’s making you believe that they care, in the slightest, for you? What makes you think that one night of lustful desires could hold a flame to a proper relationship?

What if you were just that – one night? Nothing more of importance, or worth, to them?

“C’mon, kid,” Your Commander claps a comforting hand onto your shoulder, near dragging you into the briefing room. 

You’re just grateful that he takes your hesitation as an uneasiness about the cover story, and not the men you’ll have to execute it with. …Although, the cover story isn’t exactly a breeze, either, König and Ghost aside.

The air-conditioned meeting room feels like ice against your heated skin, the door closing behind both you and your Commander as he goes to take a seat at the head of the table, beside a woman of whom you haven’t seen before. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a short ponytail, a classic button-up adorning her torso as she flips through the files in front of her. 

When she looks up, she greets your Commander with a short nod, before giving one to you, too.

Other than her, the room is empty – and checking the decade-old clock on the wall, it seems like there’s only a minute until the official starting time.

Choosing the safest bet, a chair to the left of the elongated, wooden table, you sit in the middle. It feels like the best choice – not too close to the Commanders or any Chiefs.

You aren’t new to the concept of briefings; in fact, you’d likely been involved in more than any of the Sergeants you knew. 

Being an expert in the field of undercover and intelligence-based operations means that you attended more meetings than, say, an explosives expert. You have to know the smallest details; discuss them and pick them apart, add your own two cents.

Intelligence is something you pride yourself on – you break most stereotypes about the military, all in one go, and you aren’t ashamed of that. Book smart, progressive; a woman. 

It never fails to make you smile internally, the second-glances from the withering old men that held authority within your ranks. While you deal with the drawbacks every second you work, there are some benefits, you suppose.

The cushioned meeting chair is comfortable where you’re seated, hands folded dutifully in your lap as you await everyone else’s arrival.

Their arrival.

Door creaking open, your heart skips a beat in your chest as you instantly dart your gaze up.

You most definitely do not deflate when you see one of your Lieutenants walk in, instead of a specific one from the Task Force. …Or a six-foot-ten Colonel.

The logistics of this mission must’ve been insane to sort out. While KorTac and SpecGru are formally enemies, and actively enemies, too, there are under-the-table deals and trades made between the two behind closed doors.

This must be a prime example of such a decision.

König and Ghost – from those few hours you’d spent with them – had been amicable. That was putting it lightly; they definitely shared a few secretive, heated looks, even a kiss and a few strokes, too.

Maybe the whole forbidden thing was even more intense, for them? Being so explicitly enemies?

You weren’t exactly sure – still aren’t.

None of it makes any sense, which is a debilitating feeling, for someone who needs to know everything at all times. As best as you can, anyways.

Taking the spot directly in front of you, your Lieutenant gives you a kind smile. You easily reciprocate, even with your anxiety heightened, your thighs squeezing together underneath the shadows of the table.

The overhead lights are a harsh, grating white, and you feel a pounding headache incoming.

Your Commander and the woman seem to be engaging in a quick, near-silent conversation at the head of the table. They swap some papers around, narrow their gazes, raise brows. They’re… hostile, but not unbearably so – amicable enough not to cause a fight.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The world doesn’t stop, time doesn’t freeze, but it’s a close thing with the way your heart stutters in your chest, your breath cutting off with your last inhale.

At the door, fist still raised, deep blue eyes and a sniper hood meet your startled gaze. The man’s eyes soften immediately when they catch onto yours, the greasepaint smeared around them doing nothing to hide the instant spark that lights within them.

He is, you distantly think, as breathtaking as you remembered him to be.

The top of his head is hidden behind the door frame, his height palpable even within the excessively tall roof of the building. His posture allows him to curl into himself, even with his fist still raised.

“We late?”

And –

Oh.

Oh.

König’s unbelievably large frame had taken the spotlight – but that wasn’t to say that the other man was any dimmer in your eyes.

Ghost. True to his name, his voice is a rough drawl, muscle-corded arms folded over his chest as his eyes dart around the room, before landing on…

You.

He doesn’t flinch; his expression doesn’t change in the slightest, actually, not even a hint of recognition in his dusky brown eyes. Just cold indifference, this side of disgruntled.

As if you’ve been frozen in time, you struggle to think, let alone breathe – like your life has been suddenly set to manual. With a quick jerk of a movement, you let your eyes zone out onto the mahogany in front of you.

“Colonel, Lieutenant – just in time,” the woman speaks succinctly, folding one leg over the other as she finally looks away from your Commander to gesture the two in.

Oh, what you wouldn’t give for a moment to process. To figure out the battlefield that is your head, and decide on your next actions – your feelings, too, the emotions of it all.

“Good to see you two haven’t killed each other yet!” Your Commander laughs, jovial, and you want to bang your head onto the table.

“...We are professionals.”

That Austrian accent – the thick, headiness of it, the lilt, the gentle tone – it’s one as familiar as your own. One that’s played in your mind, a constant, the memory of it spoken against your heated skin both a blessing and a curse.

Six-hundred and thirty-eight days, it had been.

“At killing.”

You can hear the side-eye, the bored tone, the guttural raspiness reminiscent of his hometown. The sarcasm, too, a core part of the very man’s existence.

Six-hundred and thirty-eight days.

Your Commander is the only person in the room who laughs, clasping his hands together before waving the two over to join at the table. Looking up, for a split second, you nearly deflate when his eyes catch onto yours. The glint in them says everything you need to know.

“Colonel, Lieutenant – let me introduce you to Sergeant Star,” your Commander gestures towards you, and really, would melting into the floor be so bad?

Ghost raises a single brow, and your Lieutenant runs with it.

“Funny story, that,” he starts, and you barely restrain yourself from burying your head in your hands, “First mission. She somehow figures out who was sending the false intel for a case, and dismantled the whole bloody plan, made a new one. She was spot on, too.”

His smile turns shiteating as he leans further back into his chair, folding his hands over his chest. 

“When we got back onto base, Commander over there gave her a gold star for her troubles. Pretty good tradeoff, aye?”

“Leo,” you mutter under your breath, delivering your superior a vicious glare. 

Your Lieutenant – Leo – was more of an annoying older brother than anything else. Since that mission, he’d taken you under his wing; protected you like his own, too. He was a dickhead, but a solid one that you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Even when he pulls shit like this.

“That’s…” König folds into himself further, if that’s at all possible, as he looks to Leo. “Impressive. Very good.”

Ghost doesn’t say a word, instead, moving to sit in the chair next to your Lieutenant, and opposite you. König quickly follows his lead, sitting to your left with rough movements. A man of his size – to be graceful with anything was something of a miracle.

He’d been graceful when his hand had wrapped around your neck –

“Now that everyone’s here,” the woman cuts in, moving to stand and turn on the TV sat between her and your Commander, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The show is multiple images of the targets, some of the women that have been kidnapped, reports, and other important information. You catalogue it all, playing close attention to the names and circumstances of both the victims and the targets.

It’s going smoothly, until –

“The rules,” the woman whose name you’ve learnt is Laswell speaks, flicking to the next slide. Your stomach drops for a reason other than the two men sat at the table when you read its contents.

Rule One: Explicit consent must be given between pre-established partners, or any new partners if a scene is wished to be done.

Rule Two: Masks must be worn at all times, with safe alternatives if oral play is wish to be done.

Rule Three: A person’s inclination [Dominant, Verse, Submissive] must be displayed on a corresponding armband, which will be supplied at entry.

Rule Four: Access to the basement level may not be granted to anyone, unless a verification and acceptance process has been executed. No exclusions apply.

Rule Five: Submissives with a Dominant(s) must stay within eyesight at all times, unless a collar has been placed onto the Submissive marking ownership.

It feels as though someone’s scrambled the contents of your brain in an attempt to destroy your very essence – and your stomach feels as hollow as your heart as Laswell reads off the words on screen. She doesn’t falter once, unlike you, knuckles whitening against the tight fists forming in your lap.

König, nor Ghost, react outwardly. No hint of hesitance or uneasiness, just taking their professionalism in stride.

You feel like a fool.

“Ghost will be acting as the Dominant, König the Verse, and Star the Submissive,” Laswell states, matter-of-fact, as if your world didn’t start crumbling around you the moment you’d been called into your Commander’s office.

If you were at all in a state to laugh, you’d probably giggle at how suitable the roles are. They all aligned to That Night, and a distant part of you wonders if the three of you were just obvious with your tastes.

“We’ve rented an apartment four blocks away. When you start to inquire about the basement,” she flicks to the next slide once more, “They will follow you. Expect to have a shadow everywhere you go – and one that you don’t know is there, obvious or not.”

“You guys aren’t good people, as of tomorrow,” Your Commander chimes in, leaning forward on the table, looking between both König and Ghost. “You are interested in their side business, and Star,” he looks to you, “Is none the wiser. This only works if you follow through with that – and offer up her services as collateral.”

“You want us to pretend,” König shakes his head, looking dismayed, “To give the Sergeant to the ring?”

Silence.

And, then, “Yes.”

You were made aware, earlier, of course, that your role was going to be slightly different to that of the other two men. But you hadn’t actually expected something so… fucked.

“If this goes sideways –” Ghost speaks up, voice deep and raspy as his eyes narrow, ever so slightly, visible even with his mask, “ –We’re risking ‘er life.”

“I know what I signed up for,” you respond, finding your voice, however weak. “This is no different to a warzone. Just with less explosions, and more…” You struggle to find the words, “Mind games. Tactics are changing from bullets to rumours.”

He doesn’t try to debate it, just merely shrugs indifferently and slides his smooth gaze back over to the two at the front.

As if he hadn’t felt you cum around his cock; heard you moan his name while he left bites over your neck.

Bastard.

The meeting goes on much the same, with more information on the plan as a whole. It makes sense, to you, and you know that you’ll be able to get it done.

König and Ghost, however, that haunting spectre that was them, feel like a road block.

Ghost, from what you had gathered, was either ignoring your existence for some selfish reason, or had completely forgotten about That Night.

You simultaneously find it hard to believe that your time together was that forgettable, and that it was truly something special. It has, after all, been six-hundred and thirty-eight days. Maybe he was used to such intimacy, although you find it hard to believe, it is a possibility.

Then, there’s König – his eyes, the way he almost reeled back at the sight of you, told you enough.

He remembered. Clear as day.

But whether or not he cares at all, or wants to discuss your past at all, is a whole other story. Maybe he just wants to brush it under the rug, forget it ever happened, and move on.

As much as one could move on when pretending to be in a relationship, that is.

“You will head to your apartment by eighteen-hundred, tomorrow night, and get yourselves situated. The club opens at nineteen-hundred, so an hour or so after that is reasonable,” Laswell says, finishing off on the debrief.

Her eyes find all of you.

“There’s a lot riding on this. This isn’t like any mission any of you have executed before – but we have faith that you will execute this with precision and care.”

The words sit in your soul like a reminder; a way of steering you the right direction.

A few words are exchanged after that, some questions, some answers. Leo will be serving as your operator, in charge of communications and resources for the mission. At the back of your mind, you’re grateful for the distant support of your Lieutenant.

It’s when everything’s wrapped up, and you’re falling back as everyone files out of the room, that a presence behind you has you freezing up.

Ghost.

“If you’re not up for the mission, just say so instead of draggin’ us down,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear the grain of his low, impatient voice. “This is important, Sergeant, and if your head is elsewhere –”

“You don’t remember?” Your voice comes out tight, impatient, upset. 

His shoulder checks yours as he passes.

“What’s there to remember?”

taglist. @thegreyjoyed @hayleybarnesx

[creativeashproductions]

Constellations // Wally Clark

IN WHICH: reader is a secret ghost at Split River High School attached to the roof where Wally stumbles onto for solitude. With the new arrival of Maddie Nears a year later a secret comes out.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of a undisclosed medical condition, divorce, angst, and fluff

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Of course it’s a ghost show that revives this blog of writing. Am I surprised? No. Is Julie? Definitely not.

Masterlist

You’d have never anticipated the sound of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl being an okay soundtrack to watching the stars. But you’d also never expected discovering the afterlife so soon. Occasionally, you would hear a mixture of the living and the dead on the ground or through an open window, but you typically stayed on the roof.

It had been the hangout spot for the volleyball team when you were alive. The championship game had been the last time a living foot, other than maintenance, had stepped on this roof.

Most of the team had graduated, and the broken doors that couldn’t hold up against the wind were changed. So now it was only you. Reliving the excitement and stupid teenage decisions. And avoiding Mr. Martin and his afterlife support group because he was unsettling, to say the least.

 “This spot taken?” Your head lolled to the side, finding a fellow dead jock standing above you.

Wally Clark had discovered you on the fifteenth anniversary of his father’s not coming to the Homecoming game. He’d wanted a quiet place and one where Janet wouldn’t follow.

2022 Day After Homecoming Game

The door slammed from the stairwell slammed open, and the muffled sound of sniffling could be heard. Then, the shuffling of sneakers came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Your eyes left the book in your hands to the tall teen towering over you. One of the longer-term ghosts residing at Split River High School.

 “I-I didn’t know anyone used the roof. Are you new?” 

“Nope. Been residing in the afterlife awhile now.” You responded, leaning against the roof’s edge, “Proceed for whatever you were here for.”

Whatever emotional breakdown he was about to have ceased in favour of plopping right down beside you. His head shifting more in your peripheral. He froze when your fingers stopped moving in page-turning.

“Oh, sorry.” He leaned away sheepishly, “Am I annoying you?”

Your brows furrowed, “I’ve read the book a few times. So what brings you to my humble death place.”

“You died up here? Wouldn’t we have heard about-?”

“I didn’t die up here.” You interrupted him to shift to face him fully, “You’re the guy the stadium is named after, right?”

“Wally Clark.” The ghost said, holding his hand out. You exchanged your name in response. Wally slowly repeated your name as if savouring it.

“So seriously, are you okay? You were crying-“

“I died on the football field in 1984. Last night was the first time my dad wasn’t there.” Wally breathed, tilting his head to stare at the sky, “It really hits home that time is going by, and I’m standing still.”

You nudged his knee with your own, “I’m sorry about that. You’re welcome to hang out here to get away.”

“That’d be nice. I feel like all the ghosts expect me to be the outgoing, always happy guy.”

“How was the dance?” You asked as Wally settled on the ground beside you. The ends of his white bowtie hung loosely, and his suit jacket draped across his lap.

“It’s alright. Could have been better.” He spoke, dropping his arm around your shoulders to tug you into his side, “Simon persuaded the DJ to play a couple real hits. One day I’m gonna convince you to go with me.”

Your lips twitched. It was a pastime of Wally’s trying to get you to join in with everyone, especially with the whole drama with the new girl. Thankfully he understood and respected your decision to keep away.

You hadn’t spent years in secret from the support group for no reason. Instead, you existed peacefully in their obliviousness on the roof.

“Nah, I much prefer spending time up here.” You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Maddie settling in?”

“She’s adjusting as well as she can. Rhonda’s warming up to her. The whole thing she had with Simon is nuts still.”

Maddie Nears, aka the newbie, had shown up suddenly in the afterlife with no memory of her death. Or the events leading up. The pool of suspects is deep, and the desperation to be found alive is strong. 

As he relayed the new development, you tried to think of anything but what you had done today. How do you tell your dead boyfriend something that makes Maddie and Simon’s communication seems like child’s play?

“-What about your day?” Wally questioned, moving so you’re leaning your back against his chest. 

You sighed happily when his arms came to wrap around your shoulders and press his lips to your head. 

“I snuck down to the lost and found for a new book. Mina left a couple things for me too.” 

The friendship you had with the ghost of the stagehand mind boggled Wally. Mina hadn’t left the theatre since the stage light fell on her in the late ’80s. She was eccentric, to say the least, but the only ghost other than Wally that knew about you.

“How? She always screams at us.” Wally chuckled, “Maddie’s the first that cracked through.”

“I got her a script for a production she loves and let her direct me on her birthday.” You hummed, crossing your ankles. Your eyes flinched open in perfect sync with Wally’s tensing up.

“How did you get a script-“Wally trailed off, staring at the stars twinkling under the night sky, “Whoa, wait.”

Wally’s mind flickered to the conversation with Maddie after talking with Mina.

“There’s another ghost. Mina mentioned something about me not being the first ghost outlier. That me talking to Simon isn’t earth shattering.”

Wally’s eyes swept from Ursa Major to your e/c eyes, refusing to lock with his dark brown.

“Can you talk to the living?” Wally demanded, shifting away. The space he created cracks your heart more.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Maddie’s the only one. I can just…sorta leave the school grounds?” You trailed off with a wince. The betrayal is a wicked shattering force to your bubble with the former football player.

“…you can leave the school? And not be slammed back to where you died?!” Wally’s fists went straight into his dark strands. The hair being tugged under his stress.

“Because I didn’t technically die here. I had a health condition and was declared clinically dead a few times. So, wherever my heart stopped, and I escaped, that death destination is a place where I could go. It hurts.”

Wally scoffed, blinking, “We spent the last year, and you kept that a secret. You never told me anything about how you died or this huge thing for over a year. I’ve told you everything.”

Your lips parted to respond, but the door was already slamming behind Wally on his descent back into the building. His long legs eating up half the stairwell by the time you’d opened the door.

“Wally! Wally, wait!” You shouted, sprinting down the stairs, “I swear I was going to tell you!”

The expression on his face was enough to freeze you on the last step, “Don’t you have another place to haunt.”

Your mouth dropped open, watching him disappear in the sea of living students still on school grounds. Your eyes find the blue irises of Maddie Nears. Surprise lighting up in her gaze. Your expression twisted before turning on your heel to flee the area.

The last thing you wanted was to talk with the girl you were assigned to show around on her first day. Stupid school tradition pairing a senior with a freshman.

“Hey!”

Maddie popped around the corner to a dead end where you were nowhere to be found. Instead, you’d slipped into a space where you popped up in a different area of Split River with a sheer scream at the pain.

The fight with Wally kept you from returning to the school grounds. You didn’t know a particular ghost was spending hours on the roof anxiously waiting for you. Instead, you were watching your half-sister playing with her Barbie doll in the backyard of your childhood home.

Your arms tugged your legs to your chest. You rarely visited your family home since you watched the paramedics had arrived at 3am four years ago to remove your corpse from the house. 

“Ava!” 

Your head watched the little girl with piggy tails perk up, hearing your shared father’s voice. Your eyes take in the person you miss most in the world. It always hurt seeing the dimness your death had caused in his eyes.

The streaks of grey in his hair and beard showed the grief of losing you had caused. The guilt he barely masked from your sister. 

“Daddy!” Ava beamed, diving into his arms, “Are we taking Sissy flowers?”

Your lip quivered, hearing the adoration coating each word Ava spoke with that lisp. Speech therapy and growing up making the lisp less pronounced. Ava had barely been two when you died. 

The product of your father finding love again with a wonderful person who loved you and happily stepped into a parent role. You’d lucked out with getting a really great step-parent and a half-sister but a shitty hand for health.

“Absolutely. Do you think Sissy would like daisies this time?” Your grin grew, listening to Ava burst into excitement. 

You watched as the car disappeared around the corner before entering the house. Your room barely had any dust from Riley’s insistence on keeping it clean. Sometimes Ava would toddle in with a toy and curl in your bed to sleep.

Your clothing is still hung in the closet, your computer on your desk and all your pictures on the corkboard. Your phone was already safely tucked in your pocket with the charging cord in your backpack from the first visit back to the house.

The last time you visited your home was Ava’s birthday a few months ago. Long enough, the air freshener in your room had changed to the scent you loved during springtime. So it was time to rotate out a few items of clothing you wore. 

Your eyes lingered on the picture of your volleyball team wearing matching homemade t-shirts. A year after you died, they got together for a volleyball charity event in your name. Last you heard, two of them had become nurses, and one was on the career path to research your condition.

The following photo was of your mom holding you in her arms with a beaming grin matching yours. You hoped the move to Hawaii brought that smile back. You hoped Matthew was everything she deserved. You hoped she learnt how to live life again. 

“I miss you.” You murmured, pressing your fingers against her smiling face. 

The tears obscured your vision and the pacing form of your boyfriend when you opened the rooftop door. Your breathing gasping when his arms wrapped tight around your body.

“I am so sorry.” Wally mumbled in the crook of your neck, “Where were you? I’ve been up here for the last three days.”

“I went home.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his chest, “I-I don’t leave often. It hurts when I leave a place I died, like the universe or some bullshit forgets this isn’t the only place I died. So it’s like I’m gonna be spit out back in my death place here before I’m in my destination.”

You barely noticed when Wally tugged you to sit in the same spot he first met and talked to you. The roof’s gravel gives the feeling of digging in your jeans; you gave up trying to explain the metaphysical world a year after your death. Instead, Wally listened as you opened up the pieces of yourself you had kept to yourself.

“I was born healthy and lived healthily for a few years before I started getting sick. It broke my parents’ hearts. By the time I was sixteen, I had spent half my life in hospitals and doctors’ offices. Promises of working treatments and possibly experimental trials.” Your gaze stared off into the distance, “It was just noise by the time I graduated. I knew my body had a couple more miles before it would give out.”

“How are you….”

“I collapsed in the gym. I was clinically dead for a minute, but it was enough for this school to be a death destination. The mall once, the hospital twice, and the talk of transplants came around. Finally, I died in my backyard. It was late, and I was alone outside.”

You vividly remembered screaming beside your corpse. Sobbing when you heard your dad break down, cradling you in his arms. Him calling you your childhood nickname and the one you heard in home videos of ‘baby girl’.

“That’s why you love the roof so much. You died watching the stars.” Wally whispered, tilting his head to kiss your temple. His fingers toying with the sweater with the volleyball team logo.

“I did.” You chuckled, “I have a little sister named Ava. She’s five now. She has minimal memories of me, but her favourite thing is bringing flowers to my grave. This past visit was daisies. My dad remarried when I was in middle school, and my mom a couple years before I died.”

“Your parents still live in Split River?”

“My dad and Riley live in my childhood home with Ava. I think they’re talking about maybe having another baby. My mom took my death the worst. Her older brother died in 1995 with his band members. My mom moved to Hawaii with her husband. Split River had too many memories for her. So when Matt was offered a job there, they left.”

“Ava.” Wally hummed, “I like that name.”

“Maddie knew me.” You offered after laying with Wally for a while in comfortable silence. His fingers draw shapes on your bare back under the sweater. His fingers briefly halted before moving again, “When you were alive, did Split River do this thing where a senior was paired with a freshman?”

“Oh yeah. I got paired up with this insanely smart guy. He went on to found this hugely popular website like that Facebook you showed me.”

“Myspace? You got paired with one of the founders?” You spoke, blinking at his grin, “Well, when I was a senior, I got paired with Maddie. Before her dad died, he worked with mine. So, I knew her at work BBQs.”

“Speaking about Maddie…do you want to re-meet her and meet my friends?”

Your eyes narrowed, “This is dues for keeping the secret.”

“Oh, 100%. Secret stays between us, but yeah, you’re definitely meeting my friends. You should check out the support group, Mr. M isn't too bad.”

Tag List:

@websterssrss

[luvkyu]

and i ( zhang hao )

zhang hao x male reader

hao is slightly obsessed with another violinist

content : 1.7k words, fluff, violinist!hao x violinist!reader, music terms, v shy hao, mention of vom!t ( just used as exaggeration )

"make sure you go into a heavier crescendo here, okay? this is the biggest climax of the song."

zhang hao nodded sheepishly. it was hard to stay focused on his violin when his mentor was so attractive. especially while sitting right beside him.

"i think a little more vibrato here would be good too, but you can worry more about the actual notes for now if you like," y/n said with a soft smile as he pointed to the sheet music. he could tell hao was nervous, so he was trying his best to keep a light hearted atmosphere.

"it's okay, i can do the vibrato," hao assured.

y/n smiled and nodded. he liked how determined hao was.

"alright, let's run through it one more time and then we'll be done for the day," y/n said.

hao raised his violin back up, straight posture and impeccable bow hold. y/n smiled in approval before doing the same, the sounds of their strings soon filling the practice room.

hao was a second year in their performing arts college. y/n was a fourth year and a first chair violinist in the school's competitive chamber orchestra. the pair had met during hao's first year, but never exchanged more than a few words.

y/n spent a lot of his time helping struggling first and second years with adjusting to their harder music pieces, so when hao spoke up, y/n was happy to help. now they met about three times a week to practice, and hao just received new sheet music that was a complete eyesore.

"good, that was really good," y/n praised happily. "how're you feeling with this piece so far?"

"it's fun, it's just a lot.." hao replied while loosening his bow. y/n nodded.

"yeah, i know. at least we got through the whole first page today! we'll work on the second one next time."

hao nodded as he began putting his things away. y/n gazed at him for a second, admiring how soft his personality seemed.

"y'know, you're a really good violinist, hao."

hao looked up at him with wide eyes. y/n was standing up now, violin hanging from his fingers and a gentle smile resting on his lips. hao could feel his cheeks turning red.

"..thank you. i really like playing, so that means a lot."

y/n nodded in return. "are you gonna try out for the chamber orchestra next year? they let some third years in."

hao thought about it for a moment. he carefully closed his violin case and latched the locks.

"mm.. i'm not sure."

"well," y/n began, "i think you should. if you want to, of course."

hao blushed and nodded in response. he wasn't really sure how to talk to y/n. not when he had the biggest crush on him known to mankind. he could feel y/n's eyes still on him, and for just a second, he wondered if y/n possibly liked him back.

"anyway, i'll see you back here monday?" y/n asked brightly. hao nodded, trying to give his best smile.

y/n hung his violin case over his shoulder and gathered his sheet music before waving goodbye. hao followed his exit, beginning to walk the opposite way to his dorm.

after finally getting back home, zhang hao threw his bags aside with a sigh. he gave more care to his violin case, setting it down gently. taerae stood in the small corner kitchen with a bowl of food in his hands.

"hey, hao. you good?"

"mm," hao mumbled. he went into the kitchen with the other and took a water from their fridge.

"y/n again?" taerae asked with a small chuckle.

hao nodded, "i'm so into him. i hate it."

"i don't know why you won't just ask him out."

hao shrugged. taerae set his bowl down as he gazed at his roommate. hao was so down bad, and taerae hated that he refused to do anything about it. he rolled his eyes and lightly slapped his hand on the counter.

"alright," taerae declared, "you're coming with me tonight. i'm going to his concert to write a review piece for the school paper, so i can get you a ticket too."

"there's a concert tonight??" hao asked with wide eyes.

"yeah, with the chamber orchestra. how did you not know that?"

"i have no idea. i guess i've been too preoccupied."

"sure, preoccupied with y/n."

"..shut up."

zhang hao was shivering. not because it was cold, but because he was nervous. more nervous than he'd ever been, even on his first day of college. he had a small bouquet of flowers in one hand, and his phone in the other with a deathly tight grip. he stood frozen for a moment as he stared at the large theater in front of him.

"hey, relax," taerae's voice cut through his anxiety, "it'll be okay."

hao nodded, trying to let a smile curve on his lips. he could barely see y/n on the stage, as he and taerae were still by the entrance. the orchestra was tuning and warming up, but he could make out y/n's styled hair and pretty smile from far away. he seemed to be talking to the violinist beside him about the sheet music. hao felt his heart swell. seeing y/n in his formal concert attire was almost too much for him.

"c'mon, let's get to our seats," taerae said eagerly. hao nodded again and followed his friend to a pair of seats that were much closer to the stage than he thought.

"oh, he's right in front!" taerae exclaimed quietly, pointing to y/n.

"mhm, he's first chair."

taerae looked over at hao as he looked at y/n.

"taerae?"

"hm?"

"he looks so good i'm gonna throw up," hao muttered. taerae rolled his eyes with a small snicker.

zhang hao took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. he laid the flowers in his lap before rubbing his palms together.

"wait, i think he sees us!" taerae enthused.

hao's head shot back up to find his crush's eyes resting on him. a smile quickly sprouted on y/n's face, keeping his gaze set on hao.

"oh, i hate him.. why is he staring at me like that.."

"cause he likes you, dumb fuck."

hao looked over at taerae with wide eyes before going back to y/n.

"maybe he's just surprised to see me. he didn't know i was coming so.."

taerae rolled his eyes. he watched hao muster up the courage to wave at y/n, the male sending a tiny wave back with his violin bow.

the lights soon died down as the audience began clapping and the conductor made his way out to join the orchestra. hao loved watching y/n become all serious as he lifted his violin to his chin in sync with the others.

throughout the pieces of music, taerae took notes for the school paper, while hao simply sat in awe. he'd seen them perform before, but it was like a new experience every time. the group was so professional and well put together. hao hoped he could be at such a level soon.

by the time it was over, zhang hao was even more of a nervous wreck. he waited with taerae by their seats, pretending to talk until y/n made his way over to them. he was currently traveling through the theater to talk with different people. hao assumed he was thanking people for coming and receiving congratulatory words in return - the usual etiquette that hao found quite tiresome if he was honest.

"hey guys," hao felt his heart quicken as he recognized y/n's voice, "thanks for coming. i didn't expect to see you, but i'm happy you're here."

taerae could tell that was directed more at zhang hao, but he didn't mind a bit. he and y/n were more like acquaintances than friends anyways.

"of course! you guys did really great. the review in the paper will be nothing but good things, i promise," taerae assured.

"thank you, i'm really glad you liked it!"

taerae smiled before turning to hao, "i'm gonna go wait in the car, okay?"

hao nodded in response. he could feel a chill run down his spine as he now faced y/n alone. he felt like melting on the spot. seeing y/n up close in his suit and tie made him feel weak.

"i've never seen you so dressed up. you look really amazing," y/n complimented, as if reading hao's mind.

"thank you," hao blushed, "you do too. i like your suit a lot."

y/n smiled and looked down at the clean black fabric.

"yeah? i always feel kinda weird when i dress up this nicely, but i'm glad someone else enjoys it."

hao nodded. oh, how he really did enjoy it.

"ah- these are for you," hao spoke up as he reached to the seat behind him where he'd left the flowers. y/n's jaw fell open just a bit, blushing a little himself now.

"really? you got me flowers?"

hao smiled and nodded. "you deserve them. i knew you'd be great tonight."

y/n couldn't help but chuckle at how cute the other was. he took the bouquet happily, looking at the flowers before turning his attention back to zhang hao.

"hey, are you doing anything else tonight?" y/n asked. hao's heart picked up once again. he shook his head while trying to hide his growing smile.

"then can i take you to dinner?"

hao almost couldn't believe it.

"really? you mean now?"

y/n nodded confidently, "we're already dressed up, i'm hungry, and i have the prettiest boy in the room to come with me. it's perfect."

hao looked down at his shoes, his smile too much for himself now.

"sure, i'd love to. let me just tell taerae?"

y/n nodded again, "of course. let's go." he offered his hand out, which hao took a bit shyly before he was led out of the theater.

[mswyrr]

They spent the entire season showing the collapse of everything Alicent had invested meaning in and earning her final choice.

Things that came apart over the season:

-her father's role in all this; his approval (and fear of his disapproval) has driven her for her entire life! (bad move on multiple fronts, Aegon)

-her belief that she could do what this patriarchy promises and "influence" her sons toward a good direction (Aegon dismisses her but Aemond really drove the nail in with flagrantly slaughtering smallfolk and making his intent to force his sister to do it too clear)

-her belief that she had any allies and her skills in leadership and her track record of hard work actually meant anything to *anyone* (this was a cooperative effort by Aemond, Larys, and Criston - good work, fellas!)

-her belief that she could, if nothing else, at least protect her daughter (huge emotional pillar for her)

And if we look at her prior actions putting Aegon on the throne and protecting him with her life - both fit within those structures she had mentally and emotionally which this season ripped down.

I think the final one was the thing that took it over the edge, though -- the prospect of Helaena being used and hurt and destroyed as a person -- kind of like how degrading Aemond and his connection to his long-term sex worker was his final straw that made him want to kill and supplant his brother Aegon.

People keep pushing each other too far this season. Taking out the last thing that stands between them and a radical change. Pushing people until they're willing to lose things just to break the current dynamic.

Dae/mon pushes Rhaenyra too far, then the entire war does and she "breaks bad" in 2x07 (see my meta linked below for more on my pov on that); Aegon pushes Aemond too far; and the entire group of "green men" systematically pushes Alicent too far.

All the while, she had that offer from earlier in the season, when Rhaenyra risked everything to come speak to Alicent in her mind. She was mulling over it and thinking of what she could have said, should have said. At the same time, however, Rhaenyra was moving away from being that person [my meta argument on that here]. So the person she finally comes to make peace with isn't the same as she was in the Sept. And once again they tragically can't get on the same page. It does all fit together, even with issues in the writing.

And writing on Alicent's arc simply isn't as uneven as people are saying - the theme of people pushing each other too far and how they showed the pillars of Alicent's support crumbling were both clearly done.

And, yes - Alicent still has feelings for Rhaenyra and as all of this has been happening she's been having a midlife crisis and wishing she had just run away with her first love when they were girls. But that isn't her sole motivation!! It's just what comes spilling out of her because of the state she's in. It creates an appealing alternative to the hell she's living in at the Red Keep. But it wasn't THE single motivating factor.

On a show where fathers have behaved truly monstrously--up to and including their selfishness setting this civil war in motion to begin with--it's fascinating that people refuse to believe a mother can be pushed too far. That kinslaying and slaughtering whole cities and rejecting and humiliating her and threatening to mentally torture her daughter until she breaks wouldn't change her mind about her priorities.

The "green" side becomes owned by Aemond, a wilful (as far as she knows; I'm speaking of her pov here) kinslayer moral reprobate who is violent to his sister and wants to force her to do things that will break her mind. Alicent cannot expect that Aegon will be able to stop him. That's what the side is now, as far as she knows. And she thinks he's a monster who must be stopped, at any cost. That's why she told Rhaenyra "we both know what he is" about Aemond in the Sept. WHAT not who. Things like kinslaying and slaughtering smallfolk mean something to her. And her daughter is everything to her.

Team Green overall took her for granted and thought she'd always be their doormat, and Helaena too. And Alicent finally had enough. Again, given how monstrously the fathers on this show behave, I think they "showed their work" on her radical change of heart well. It's just some people believe nothing can ever justify a mother betraying her sons and I think that makes total sense, given everything.

Honestly, once Helaena was on the chopping block, it would have been out of character for Alicent *not* to do everything--destroy anything--to protect her daughter. She feels like protecting Helaena is the only good thing she's ever done in her life.

People can dislike the ending. It's always valid to dislike something in a story, it's fine. But disliking it doesn't mean it wasn't built up solidly, narratively speaking. The writers put a lot of work and narrative space into it, actually--this was one of the most developed parts of s2!--and weaving it into the season's larger theme of characters pushing each other to the breaking point.

[ironskyfinder]

Taking Dictation

The ad was simple, running in such a nondescript fashion that she almost missed it, down at the bottom of the screen - plain black text on a gray background, so bland it was almost painful.

Help Wanted: Skilled Secretary. Seeking an experienced secretary proficient in dictation and transcription. Must adhere to a strict dress code based on long-term function; excellent communication skills required. Submit a resume online or text ‘SUBMIT’ to 67678.

She thought about it for a moment. 

Everyone at Hamilton & Greene was amazing - except, of course, for Ms Hamilton and Mr Greene - and she liked the fact that it was a short ten minute drive from her apartment. 

But….

The pay was terrible, the transition to the new ‘paperless’ system was a nightmare, and Eric still stunk so bad it was hard to go past his cubicle, even after Linda had a private conference with him. Everyone was overstressed and overworked, and with the lease coming due in two months there’d still been no word on whether they were moving offices, again.

Maybe it was time for a change, or at least time to scare everyone into thinking they’d have to go without her. She glanced back, but the ad and the link were gone - so, she picked up her phone, and texted 

“Submit”

to 67678, just like the ad said, and in seconds a reply popped up - a link, and she tapped it.

The page was similarly subdued, but it had all the information she wanted. The posting was as thorough and painstakingly specific as the job was straightforward - a freelance IT professional and technical writer needed a secretary that could help him run both his businesses. The only item that wasn’t extensively clarified was the dress code, but if it meant she’d be expected to be professional in front of clients, she wasn’t worried. 

She opened her resume, and skimmed it to make sure that it was current before she uploaded it; the next page simply read, “Thank you for your application”, and she stared at the phone for a moment in disbelief that it’d been that easy. 

By Tuesday, she'd forgotten about it, not least because of the fight that Mr Greene and Ms Hamilton were in over the Friemann case, and hearing that it meant bonuses were delayed had her trying not to cry in her car on her lunch break

The phone dinged - a text, from 67678, letting her know that her resume had been accepted.

And, seconds later, a text from a number she didn’t recognize. For an interview: 10AM or 11AM Thursday, or 10AM Friday?

She took a deep breath and steadied her hands. 10 on Friday would be perfect! she texted back, and got ready to head back into the office. 

The interview, and everything leading up to it, was a blur in her mind.

She had taken Friday off, calling in sick late the night before, and had spent a good hour longer than usual getting ready so that she looked sharp for her interview. 

It was at his residence, about a half hour’s drive away; she was on her way with plenty of time, and as much as she’d hate the commute, it was a nice upscale neighborhood, and on the map it looked like it was next to a park that she could walk to on breaks. 

When she arrived, though, all she could focus on was him. She didn’t remember walking in, taking off her jacket, or even what his name was - she was lost in those eyes, and in the sound of his voice. 

He was busy, he explained, too busy to keep up without assistance. He was employed and was about to be over-employed twice over, and there was just no time - his hands were too full. His previous assistant had gotten pregnant, and was looking for a change. She had all the right qualifications to replace her, and to perform even better in her role; she was an expert in taking dictation.

The pay he was offering was almost double what she was making - and, she would be free to use one of the bedroom suites downstairs, whenever she wanted - and she was so excited that she almost forgot to ask about the uniform requirement. 

Almost. 

She’d asked, and he’d chuckled, and she felt herself get wet. He’d said something - she couldn’t remember exactly what - and she’d flushed further. She’d followed him downstairs to one of the bedrooms - to her bedroom - and showed her the corset and stockings that were carefully laid out. 

The mix of arousal and astonishment and disbelief must’ve shown on her face. She didn’t have time to protest or ask questions before he was talking again, and she couldn’t help but melt into his voice. 

He wasn’t just a technical writer, he explained. He also wrote erotica, very successfully, and it was crucial to his process to have inspiration on hand, and reference material available. He was sure that she’d be a perfect fit for her role, all she needed to do was embrace it…

Six weeks in, and she was adapting extremely well to her role.

She rolled lazily out of bed - out of his bed - and quietly made her way downstairs to her room, where she stripped out of yesterday’s uniform and got ready for a quick shower. After last week’s shopping trip, she had everything here that she needed. 

That was another reason she hadn’t been to her apartment since last month. Drying her hair, she emerged from her on-suite bathroom in a cloud of steam and immediately set to getting ready.  

By the time he was coming downstairs to the office, she was dressed - in black today, the set she’d decided she liked the most - she was already there, their coffees in hand, ready to start the day. 

Today he had meetings all through the morning - so she sat at her desk and started working through the notes from the previous day. He was midway through a support call when he hit a button and his desk raised up so he could stand. As soon as he was comfortably standing, she knelt on the cushion in front of him and unzipped his fly, pulling out his cock.

She loved his cock. She got lost in his eyes, and his voice made her melt, but after the first time she saw his cock - on her fifth day, the first time he’d fingered her for reference, while dictating to her. She’d been dizzy, between the sensations of him ruthlessly stimulating her g-spot and  trying to keep up with the rapid pace of his words, and didn’t notice he was jacking off until he grunted softly.

She’d looked back, then - into his eyes, first, those hypnotic pools of gray, and only when he glanced down had her haze followed and - it was perfect, long, thick, throbbing, a drop of precum dripping from the tip as he gently stroked it. She’d begged him to fuck her, that later that afternoon, and that was the first night she’d spent at the office, working late. 

 And the best part - or the worst part, or the hardest part - was that he did expect her to work, despite it all. The uniform, she found, not only kept her on display and accessible, but she felt sexier in it, and even the heels were comfortable too, somehow - but it didn’t make it any easier to be bent over his desk, cockwarming him while he rattled off erotica to her to transcribe. She had to make sure his notes and files got organized, even if she was asked to bounce on a dildo for reference. She had to balance his schedules and make sure his emails were dealt with, even if she chose to spend the morning on her knees trying to distract him while he was on a call. 

Four months in, and she was starting to put a few things together. 

Sir kept assigning her more hypnosis to review, and no matter how good it felt to spend hours on his desk, fulfilling her role, she was only barely keeping up with the notes, and the scheduling, and taking his dick-tation - she giggled, now, whenever she thought of it like that - was even more intense now that he’d started writing a lot of breeding stories. 

She also barely ever slept in her own bed anymore. He liked having her close - for inspiration, he said - but he also liked picking a hole to use to satisfy himself in the middle of the night, and filling her up with another load.

She wasn’t complaining, of course - she would do it even if she wasn’t getting paid - but her birth control pills had vanished from the cabinet, and she couldn’t help but notice that over the next few months the scheduled titles were starting to shift from breeding into pregnancy stories.

A year into her employment and six months into her pregnancy, deskpet was starting to worry. 

She was falling behind now, everything was taking more and more time. The hypnos had made deskpet much, much happier, and now she barely had thoughts at all besides the ones that Sir put in her brain for her to use - but it meant that typing was harder, and now when she was cockwarming or taking dick-tation - she giggled - all she wanted to do was go blank and fulfill her role of serving his cock. 

But he worked so hard, and he deserved help - more help than she could give. 

She thought about it for a while, and set about posting an ad. 

‘Help Wanted: Skilled Secretary’ the ad began….

[amerricanartwork]

Since I've drawn Gourmand quite a few times as of recently, I realized I wanted to get a bit clearer on his volumes. Specifically, I wanted to know each of the separate parts of his body and a clearer reference for the flow of it all. So, since I'm realizing I quite enjoy making visual note pages working out the particularities of characters' designs, I spent some time yesterday making this ref for him! Feel free to use it as well, if you'd like!

Also, since it's been on my mind recently, there are some longer thoughts of mine on character design down below!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After doing the iterator silhouettes, I'm realizing that, in addition to shape language, there's another element I find important which I'm going to call "shape rhythm" for now. Rather than the basic shapes a character is made of, the rhythm refers to how those shapes flow into each other to guide the viewer's eye along the character. I've said before that I enjoy pleasing shapes, so by extent I enjoy when a character has a nice, pleasing rhythm where all of their features flow into each other really neatly!

There's also this other term I use called "weight distribution", that I think is useful too! It's basically where the mass of a character is focused and what it might show or symbolize. I also wanna specify it doesn't necessarily have to be actual, heavy mass too; I'm more so using "weight" to describe the size of things and how much volume they appear to have. For example, if a character wore a big, baggy jacket and had thinner legs, I'd say the "weight" is focused in their upper body, even if the jacket itself isn't literally heavy and their actual upper body underneath is also thin.

Even characters with more extreme body mass, like Gourmand (or Five Pebbles, as I imagine him), could still have the majority of their weight centered at a specific point. This could show what feature that character uses most often, what they think is their most valuable asset (both literally and in terms of what that feature may represent), or perhaps what the people around them notice about them first. Alternatively, you could also hint at a character's internal traits through what parts of their body don't have a lot of mass or emphasis, and perhaps show what they use very little or what is ignored about them. I think what isn't very prominent in a character design could show just as much about who they are as what is very obvious and noticeable about them.

Playing with the distribution of weight and combining it with how each feature guides the viewer's eye to another I believe can be used to make more pleasing character designs, since these elements together can imply a natural flow of energy from one point to another that can be pretty cool to look at, if you ask me! And then again, I just love how it can be used symbolically too, showing what's significant both through what is and isn't given lots of emphasis!

Now, technically, both of these could be considered sub-categories or elements of shape language. Regardless, I wanted to talk about them because I've recently come to the discovery that they can be quite influential in-and-of themselves, and I think they go beyond the general explanations of shape language I've heard so far, to the point they deserve their own terms. I at least am definitely gonna be using them going forward!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

If you read all of this, thank you for checking out these ideas! What are your thoughts on these concepts?

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 5 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

//

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: language, depictions of depression and depressive episodes, mentions of doctors' offices and medication, angst, mentions of attending therapy, recreational drinking, kissing

wc: 6.9k

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

Now - Fall

Vernon’s watching his ceiling fan when his phone chimes - a noise he isn’t fond of: incoming email.

For the last few months, his emails have all been from recruiting directors and head-hunters - either thanking him for his interest but regretfully informing him they’ve gone in a different direction, or head-hunters pretending they found him a great opportunity when it was really an underpaid, short-term position where he’d spend more on his commute into the city than he’d ever earn.

It’s been real fun. He sucked it up and finished grad school, threw his diploma behind a cheap frame, added the degree to his resume. Quit going to classes (because there weren’t any), quit spending whole nights on assignments (none of those anymore either), and still - he finds himself no happier than he’d been before, even with all the free time in the world. So maybe, he considers, grad school wasn’t the problem, and he’d done the right thing to just push through and finish.

On top of this - on top of the fact that he was still bored with life, still unenthused to be here - the break-up has sucked, just to make things even bleaker for him.

Can he even call it a break-up? You were never together. But it’s been nine days since he made you cry in his car - not that he’s counting - and all nine of them have fucking sucked. He’s wrestled with indecision for all of them - did he make a mistake? Should he try to undo the damage? Wasn’t what he had with you still better than being alone?

But he knows this will be better for him in the end. He knows that what you two were doing together wasn’t real, wasn’t a relationship. It couldn’t grow with him - it was stagnant by nature. So, even though something in his bones screams at him to take it back, in the end he doesn’t regret the decision to try and do something better.

He does regret that he can’t do something better with you. He regrets that he lost his temper and yelled, regrets that he was cold in his last moments with you.

Regrets that he spent two years walking towards a dead end.

Still misses you, despite this.

He picks up his phone and scrolls to his email, already feeling the frown take over his face in anticipation of another rejection. As expected, the email is from a company he’d interviewed with last week - he’d even gotten to a second in-person round, which was rare. Still, he hadn’t wanted to get excited about it. He knows how unlikely it is that they’ll want him.

Dear Mr. Chwe,

Our team was delighted to meet with you last week. We found your background impressive, especially your internship experience with -

Vernon’s eyes skim the page, so fast the words are a blur. 

…Would like to formally offer you the position of… annual salary of… additional opportunities within the company including traveling to… working with… reporting to… expected start date of… we are looking forward to having you on our team!

Vernon’s heart thuds and he turns the screen off and stares at his ceiling again. He’ll answer it later, accept it graciously, call his eomma, probably shop online for some button-downs and maybe some ties. Later, though. Later. For now, he reaches for his lighter.

He kind of wishes he could tell you - hey, I got a job offer. hey, guess who gets to wear a suit five days a week now? hey, all that bullshit paid off in the end.

Would he have texted you any of that if he hadn’t ended things? You’d never talked about this kind of thing - that had been part of the problem.

Still. As illogical as it is, you’re the one Vernon wants to tell first. It aches a little, like sore muscles but somewhere inside him, behind his brittle ribs.

He wonders if you’re doing okay. He wonders if you care at all, or if you’re fine. He turns his lighter over and over in his fingers, and then realizes he’s just read the words contingent on... drug test…

“Fuck,” he grumbles, then picks up his phone again. Maybe he’ll call his mother first, after all.

—

You were never a big fan of autumn. A lot of your friends are - the season shifts and everyone starts posting about sweater weather and PSLs, the aesthetics suddenly revolving around pumpkins and ghosts.

You have plenty of ghosts, but not the right kind.

Your phantoms haunt your phone, mostly. You feel it buzz in your pocket, hear it vibrate on the table from the other room. Sometimes you even wake up from a dead sleep, sure you’ve heard it going off, reaching for it frantically, only to turn on the screen and see nothing. 

No missed calls, no new texts.

You dream about him, too. In some of them, you’re still fighting, yelling at the top of your lungs in a way you never had in real life. In some, he isn’t even present - you just know he’s missing. In some, you’re trying to get to him, but never can - stopped by nonsense laws of dream physics.

In one of them, you tell him you love him, and he staggers backwards, breaths starting to rasp the way they had when you’d talked him through a panic attack, like he was just as scared of the admission as you had been.

Maybe he had been just as scared about it, back when it had mattered. Maybe he was just better at handling it than you are.

You never see his whole face in your dreams - only glimpses, fragments. You don’t want to examine if that means anything.

You fucking hate your brain.

You’re starting to hate your phone, too.

—

You lose November to grey - the whole month, a wash. You miss three days of work, unable to do anything - unable to cook, unable to get dressed. You feed the cat because you have to, and it’s the only reason you leave your bed except to pee.

When the grey days break as December dawns, you follow an impulse and schedule an appointment with your primary physician through their app. As you click the button to confirm the appointment, you burst into tears, loud and embarrassing. You cry with abandon, pulling your hoodie up to cover your face, to muffle the noise that you can’t stop.

You should have gone to a doctor years ago, and you know it. It feels like a big deal. It feels like a potential mistake - like opening a can of worms and now you have to deal with them. It feels like admitting something is wrong when you’ve worked so hard to look like nothing is. It feels like a farce, like nothing that bad is wrong with you, and you’re wasting everyone’s time.

But you keep the appointment anyway. You make yourself small in the chair on the other side of your doctor’s little table, and you admit, eyes on your hands, “I want to talk about my mental health. I think I’ve been dealing with depressive episodes. For… a long time, now.”

It’s so damn scary. As scary as loving and losing someone - like, yes, Vernon - had seemed. And you’re somehow surviving both.

Something to think about.

You buy yourself good job you did the scary thing ice cream on the way home. You go inside, put it away, and then scoop Nana off the couch, burying your face in his belly and cooing, “How is my favorite boy today?” He tolerates your nonsense with aplomb, as always.

Chan has never forgiven you for naming a cat “Banana Bread”, and you think that’s why Nana has never warmed up to him.

Nana loved Vernon, but you don’t want to think about that.

You kind of want to text him. You think he’d be proud of you for what you did today. You think he’d tell you good job.

(Chan would tell you good job, too, and will, when you call him later. But it doesn’t feel the same.)

You wonder if he’d answer if you told him. You wonder if he wouldn’t answer, but be proud of you anyway.

You fill the prescription, you leave your contact info with a therapist as advised by your primary physician. You don’t text Vernon.

You take your pride and your sadness, your fear and your hope and you channel them into greens and yellows. As late autumn grips the leafless trees outside, you paint something that looks like spring.

Now - Winter

Winter howls through your life like you personally pissed it off. You and Nana huddle under thick blankets with your tablet night after night.

Sometimes you close your eyes and remember Vernon’s hands slipping underneath his own hoodie on your skin; it helps you feel warmer.

Sometimes you think about the way he’d said the word wasted about the time he’d spent with you; it makes you feel cold all over again.

You click through all the tabs you’ve had open for days - different universities with decent visual arts programs, all advertising admission for the spring semester.

None of them are big name schools, not like the one you’d turned down all those years ago. But they aren’t nothing.

You’d brought it up to your therapist last week and she’d encouraged the idea - accepting that you can’t unstitch the mistakes in your tapestry, but you can control what new patterns emerge.

This was the plan: start classes. Open social media accounts to showcase your work. Network through school, look for job opportunities at galleries or for collectors. Open commissions, maybe.

On your best days, this seems like a list of goals to shoot for. On your worst days, this seems like a list of things you’ve already failed at before you’ve even started.

You text options to Chan, ask him, which school colors can you see me in?

Your best friend sends back, all of them. any of them. look at you go!!

You sit in your living room and watch snow fall lazily outside the window. You daydream about what classes might be like, if you get in. You take pictures of the snow in the park, then try to paint something similar once you’re home again.

You wonder if Vernon’s doing okay. You worry that he’s going through his hard days alone. You worry that maybe he’s not - maybe he found someone who helps him better than you did, maybe he’s so happy with them that he doesn’t have hard days at all.

(You know life doesn’t work like that.)

You paint Nana, just for shits, and post it on instagram. It gets the most engagement you’ve had so far. Someone messages you asking if you do commissions for pet portraits. You frown, looking at the message.

Maybe I do, you think.

Your apartment is cold. You burrow under blankets, rub your legs together like a cricket to warm them up, and think maybe after I’m a cicada, I could be a cricket next.

There’s no one to share the joke with who’d get it. Just another of the thousand ways you feel Vernon’s absence in your life. You hadn’t realized how much space he took up until he was gone.

—

Everywhere Vernon looks, all he sees are circles. The hands on his kitchen clock circle each other, align, move on again. They tell him he has two minutes to get out the door before he’s late.

He checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror, straightens his tie, smooths back his hair, then grabs his crossbody bag and heads for the bus.

The hands of the clock in his office mark his passage through his schedule: one circle until his 10:00 meeting will end. Two more after that and he can take a lunch break. A circle and a half until his one-on-one with his boss, to discuss his first few months here.

On his lunch break, Vernon rides with two of the guys he works with to some nature trails nearby, as they usually do. They swap suits for joggers and zip-ups, pop in airpods, and head out. Vernon didn’t run before this job - didn’t exercise much at all, really. He’d gone along with the guys the first time there had been an unseasonably warm day, just to be out, and he’d found it felt good to get fresh air and some endorphins before returning to his desk. 

It’s cold today, the air brittle as he inhales, but the rest of his body feels warm as he works to keep up with the other guys. It’s not as hard as it used to be, keeping up. 

The trail is a circle, too, passing a small, man-made lake before looping around back to the changing facilities. On his wrist, a fitness app closes circles to quantify his steps, his speed, his progress.

At home again, he runs his thumb around the edge of the circular joystick as he waits for Seungkwan and Wonwoo to sign in and join him for a round or two before he figures out dinner.

“Some of us were going to the bar tonight, you in?” 

“Shouldn’t,” Vernon says. “But maybe this weekend?” Unfortunately, his new nine-to-five forces him to make decisions like this - better decisions. He kind of likes his job. He kind of doesn’t want to feel like shit in the morning. 

His mind, a circle - always coming around back to you when it gets too quiet.

He opens his messages.

how have you been? … are you doing okay? … hey, i’m - … I think I’m sorry … what if we did it differently …

Of course he doesn’t send any of them. Instead, he searches for your instagram. You’d never followed each other in the first place, and he considers it a win that you didn’t block him when it was over. But you haven't posted anything that he can see in the last eight months.

Except - one post. It looks like your cat.

He clicks it and realizes that it’s not a photograph, but a painting, and the caption links to another account. He clicks that, too, and finds himself on a page that seems dedicated to posting paintings only.

Yours, apparently. He scrolls through slowly, rolling to his stomach so he can look more closely. He never knew you painted, let alone that you were good - great, even, to his untrained and certainly unbiased eyes.

Part of the problem, his mind chimes in.

Somehow, despite understanding each other better than anyone else in your lives, at the end of the day you hadn’t known each other at all. 

Now - Spring

happy hour after lecture???

plsss can we

bestie YES!!!

The sender of the original invite - a girl close to your age called Juri - eyes you from two rows up, expectantly. Normally, you’d go straight home after class. But you’d been talking to your therapist about almost this exact situation - the way you closed people out, squandered friendships to the point that only Chan managed to hang onto you for more than a year. (Vernon had made it about two years, a sick voice in your head says, and then answers itself with, but you weren’t friends, anyway.)

So, you send the group chat, sure!

(You’d also been talking to your therapist about that last fight with Vernon. I can’t get that conversation out of my head, you told her.

I’ve been caring about you way more than I should, he’d said.

You’d been talking to her about how your brain had skipped like a flat stone right over that detail and had sunk deep on I don’t want to do this anymore.

“What did you think he meant?” she’d asked you, watching you carefully. “When he said do this, what did you think this was?”

Me, you’d whispered. Anything with me - hook up, sleep, spend time together, talk, anything.

She’d helped you see the context of the fight - that maybe by “I don’t want to do this” he’d meant “be with you but not with you”.

“Sounds fake, but okay,” you’d joked. She hadn’t laughed. Negative ten points at Therapy.

You were still working on trying to believe it.

You still weren’t sure if it fucking mattered what he meant, because instead of asking him, “what do you want, then?” you’d gone defensive, had greedily grabbed at the excuse to push him away, hard and careless. He wouldn’t want you back now, even if that’s what he’d wanted at the time. You were sure of it.)

Happy that you’ve agreed to go out, Juri flashes you a grin and then turns around in her seat to watch the board again.

The bar Juri chooses is cute, not crowded or noisy yet this early in the evening. You sip at a beer and talk with the girls about upcoming projects, about the professor you all can’t stand, about the term paper you all feel you shouldn’t have to do.

It’s nice, and honestly when you glance at the time and decide you’d better get home to feed Nana, you regret that you have to. Still, you make your way to the bar to pay for your portion.

You don’t even notice the lean, handsome man who sidles up next to you while you wait for your check until he speaks.

“What’s your drink?”

You look over at him, surprised. “Oh,” you say, which isn’t really an answer. “I’m leaving, actually.”

He gives an exaggerated frown. “It’s so early!”

You shrug. “Sorry. Places to be.”

He’s cute, you consider, as you pay your bill and head for the door. Two years ago, you probably would have picked up what he was putting down.

At home, you feed Nana, then collapse on the couch, pulling a throw blanket all the way over your head. Your stomach churns with discomfort.

You open your phone, find Vernon in your contacts.

You sit on his contact page, thumbs hovering over his number, for so long that your screen goes black twice while you stay locked in indecision.

Don’t call him don’t call him don’t call him.

But you’re lonely, and you miss him, and going out made you think of him, and you wonder what would happen if you did it, if you called. Would he even answer?

Eventually, you let reason win this time, and get up from the couch, the blanket falling from you like you’d shed a skin.

In your spare room, you eye the last painting you’d finished - mostly black but with a fractured, fragmented view of a tabletop littered with empty glasses and half-finished drinks, all the liquids a toxic, piercing neon pink. You hadn’t posted that one; it felt too much like an admission.

You stare down the empty canvas, tapping your mouth with the wooden end of a brush, deciding how to begin. You close your eyes and see the beast that’s followed you these last few years - even before Vernon. The embodiment of your shame, your regrets, your failures. It’s never left your side for long.

When you finally begin to paint it, you start with the claws.

—

you up for a 1v1?

arent you on a date???

obviously not.

you didn’t go? bro.

i went. it was just. idk.

it was just what?

idk dude.

you didn’t like her?

she was fine?? she was funny, and hot, and it was fine

so why are you home alone at 8:30 asking me to come online

Vernon rubs at his face in irritation. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain to Seungkwan why the date had felt flat.

What could he say? It was fine. It just wasn’t… enough.

He could still remember how he’d felt the first night he met you. He wanted to feel that.

idk, he told Seungkwan. lack of chemistry, ig.

Now - Summer

You think you’ve learned a lot over the past few months - between starting classes again and beginning therapy, you’re just bursting with new knowledge.

Something you’re working on is appreciating the shadows.

In class, you work on shading, on adding darks even when you think an area should all be light. Sometimes, somehow, shadows are exactly what you need to make it right on the canvas.

You think about this concept for your whole drive home from therapy - how the shadows under trees change the way you see them, how the darks affect the lights, how the shadows in your own life are natural and maybe, in the end, not so catastrophic.

At home, you duck your head into the shadows under your bed and drag Nana out by the middle.

“Come be social,” you scold him, plopping him on the couch.

After dinner, you go back to work on what you were painting. You’d been stuck for a few days, not happy with any change you made, but today you have an idea.

You create a palette of black, grey, navy, and deep purple. For two hours, you work meticulously, adding the midnights, the bruises, the shadows. They belong here, too.

—

Chan tells you he’s proud of you, the next time he’s over, and it makes you cry even though you’re only one your second sip of wine.

“Stop it,” you scold, avoiding his gaze, burning up under the attention.

“I mean it,” he says seriously. “I’m so happy that you’re painting again, I could throw up. And going back to school? And therapy? Damn. The glow-up.”

“Ew,” you frown at him, because this feels safer than acknowledging that you have been working hard on yourself, on your life. “What year is it, 2017?”

He gives you a look to make sure you know that he sees through your bullshit.

“It’s not all perfect,” you admit quietly. You feel like it should - like you’ve done the work, and now you should get the happy ending. But it hasn’t worked that way. You’re still working at a job that feels like a waste of time, painting on the side. You’re accumulating some debt for the classes you’re taking. The grey days still come and go, though admittedly their grip is less intense.

And you still think of Vernon, near daily.

Chan shrugs. “That’s normal. Perfect isn’t real. It’s unattainable. If your therapist hasn’t told you that, then you’re wasting your money.”

You laugh. She had told you that. Another thing that was easier to say than to put into practice.

You recork the bottle after a second glass, put it in your fridge for another day. Returning to your spot by Chan’s side, you tell him, “I keep thinking about him.”

Chan cocks his head, probably unsure if you’re talking about who he thinks you are.

“The guy I was hooking up with.”

“Ah.” He inclines his head knowingly.

You recount what he already knows - that you’d been whatever you were for about two years, that it had ended. That it was your fault.

“I think,” you say, taking a deep breath mid-sentence to steel yourself for the truth, “I think I could have loved him. I don’t know… maybe I did.”

“Either you did or you didn’t,” Chan points out, which is fair.

“It’s just…” you say, thinking about it. “We kept our boundaries so tight. We didn’t talk during the day, didn’t meet each others’ friends or families… barely got to know anything about each other. But it was like… even so, I think we just understood each other. It was like a lot of it just went without saying.”

Chan considers this, face serious. “Sounds like the potential was there, at least. If nothing else.”

“Yeah,” you said sadly, tracing the bottom of your wine glass with your finger. “Potential.”

Wasted potential. You’d heard that plenty before, just not usually about your love life.

Chan reaches out and shakes your knee playfully. “It’ll happen again,” he promises.

You don’t know what would be worse - if it never did, or it did, but it wasn’t Vernon. You’d never believed in there only being one right person for you - like soulmates or shit like that. But looking back at your time together, you’re not sure anyone will ever have a hold over you the way Vernon did. The grip he had on your life was unshakable.

Before he leaves for the night, Chan hesitates by the door.

“Hey,” he says, “this weekend? A bunch of the guys are driving down to the beach for the day. Wanna join?”

Something else you would have said no to, before. You’re trying to say yes more, plus you can’t deny that the sea air and sunshine sound like heaven.

“Sure,” you say, shifting to block Nana from slipping out the front door as Chan opens it. “Text me the details.”

Later, you ask what you should have asked first. who all is coming?

Chan sends back the list - six of his friends, ending with, seungcheol-hyung and his friend hansol. i think you’ve met him once or twice at the bars? he’s a good guy.

Something in you knew this was going to be the answer. You counted your breaths, tried to talk yourself down from immediately bailing on the plan.

Sleep on it, you told yourself. See how you feel in a few days.

You followed your own directions, but for days your mind spun around the question, buzzing and frantic.

Are you ready to see Vernon? To be around him, and act normal? Is it a good idea? Will you fight? Will you fall back into old habits? Will he bring out the worst in you?

Actually, you consider, that isn’t fair. Vernon never brought out your bad habits - he just coexisted peacefully with them, never tried to kick them out.

You’re scared that seeing him will undo the work of getting over him. But that isn’t true, either - because you don’t think you moved on from him at all.

In the end, you do slip into old habits - you let yourself make a potentially bad decision. You decide to go.

A twisted, quiet part of you is kind of excited.

The louder part is scared to death.

—

The day is perfect - blue sky, barely any clouds, hot and bright. Chan drives you and two of his friends; a second car with the others is somewhere en route, will meet your group once you’re there.

Chan’s car arrives first, and you help the guys unpack the trunk. Loaded down with beach bags, chairs, and coolers, you make your way unsteadily through the sand, pausing at one point to take off your flip-flops, tired of how they slow you down in the dry, loose sand.

You pick a spot and lay the towels out, unfold the chairs, get the umbrella anchored down in the sand so it doesn’t fly away.

The whole time, you can’t stop watching the parking lot, waiting for the other group to arrive - waiting for the moment of truth. What will happen when Vernon sees you?

Once everything is set up, you lay out, trying to enjoy what is admittedly beautiful weather. It’s so bright that when you lay on your back, you want to throw an arm over your eyes to block out the light, to really relax.

It feels like forever when you hear a distant shout and sit up, blinking against the glare of the sun, returning your sunglasses to your face as you get your bearings. A group of Chan’s friends approaches, one of them - Mingyu, you think - shouting hello and waving like a fool.

You stand to greet them, waving hi when they get close enough. You bite your lip nervously and glance at Vernon. He’s near the back of the group - their car had brought four people, just like yours - and his face is absolutely unreadable as he looks at you. It reminds you of the beginning, when you noticed how hard he works to keep his expression blank.

He’d stopped doing that with you, near the end. You’d almost forgotten.

Meeting and holding his gaze, you give him a solemn nod. I can be normal if you can, you try to promise, silently.

The moment is tense; you aren’t sure how he’ll react. Then, he gives you his own tiny nod back.

Relief melts through you like butter. Seeing him aches, but it isn’t unmanageable. You can do this - you’ll both be okay. You’ll both get through the day.

You help set up a second umbrella while a few of the guys move a few yards away to set up a volleyball net.

For a few hours they play volleyball. You sit on your towel with airpods in and watch, trying not to notice Vernon, trying to keep that part of your brain locked tight in its little box. But the sunlight streams down, not half as blinding as his smile as he jokes and laughs with Chan and Seungcheol, nowhere near as glittering as his laugh when he doubles over, elbows on his knees.

The sun is almost directly overhead when you get warm enough to brave the ocean.

“I’m gonna swim for a few,” you announce, standing and brushing some loose sand from your thighs.

Chan collapses on his towel, next to yours, pushing his hair back and heaving a deep breath, exhausted from volleyball.

“Maybe in a few,” he wheezes. “I need a minute.”

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung says, tossing his sunglasses onto his towel so he doesn’t lose them in the ocean.

You head down to where the waves are breaking onto the wet sand, foamy water dancing up to your ankles before retreating into the deep sea again. It’s cold, but under the midday sun the cold is welcome. You wade until you hit the awkward point where it’s hard to stand without being constantly battered by breaking waves, and then you duck underneath the surface and swim past the breaking point.

Treading water, you turn to see if Soonyoung made it out with you. He’s still back a bit, jumping each time a wave comes through. Beside him, Mingyu splutters, having taken a wave to his face. A few feet back, the water only at their knees, Vernon and Chan laugh maniacally.

You missed those goose honks.

The guys take their time catching up to you until all five of you are treading.

“Do you think there are jellyfish?” Soonyoung asks, peering into the water behind you.

“Probably,” Vernon deadpans, and you laugh, then immediately wonder if you shouldn’t. Luckily, he grins at you appreciatively as, behind him, Chan points out that there could be sharks, too.

“I’ll probably go back in soon,” Soonyoung says, trying to sound cavalier, but his unease shines through.

“We’re fine,” you promise. “You don’t have to out-swim the shark. You just have to out-swim Chan.”

Chan curses and splashes water at you as the others laugh.

You talk and float for a little longer until you consider the goosebumps on your limbs, the growl in your stomach.

“Anyone interested in lunch?” you ask.

Mingyu raises his arm and squints at his watch. “It is one,” he says. “I could eat. What did you guys bring?”

Chan starts rattling off what’s in your coolers as you start to make your way back to shore. You reach the point where your feet touch the sand, only to get slammed in the back by an incoming wave. You stumble a little, and someone holds your elbow steady, helping you stagger through it without completely tripping.

You give Vernon a grateful smile as he retracts his hand, but your stomach is swooping and your arm is burning where he’d held you.

Rejoining the others, you plop down on your towel, suddenly exhausted. The ocean water drying on your skin under the sun makes you shiver as you dig through the cooler. You pass out drinks to the guys closest to you, toss a bag of chips at Seungkwan when he asks for them, then settle back on your own towel to eat.

After, full and happy, you flop backwards and put airpods back in. Seungkwan and Soonyoung head back to the volleyball net. Mingyu and Chan seem content to bake in the sun, like you, and beyond them the others have circled up and are playing a card game, open cans of beer in the sand beside them.

You feel truly at peace, and you take a moment to ask the universe - can I hold onto this? Can I remember, when things go grey, that these moments exist?

Once you’re warm again, you pull your shorts back on and whack Chan on the arm. He startles awake, pushing his sunglasses up to glare at you.

“I’m going to walk up the beach for a little,” you tell him, pointing, just so somewhere will know where you are. He nods, his head sinking back down to his towel, eyes closing again.

You walk where the waves flood over your feet every few minutes, never getting higher than your ankles. You search for shells as you go, carrying one or two, but mostly stopping to take pictures of them and leaving them where they are, wanting to paint them later.

There are four shells in your hand when you hear someone call your name. You turn, surprised, and your stomach swoops again; Vernon approaches, hat twisted backwards and sunglasses perched over the top of it, one hand reaching out to show you a shell he’d found.

You hold still, you let him come to you. When he’s close enough, you hold open your hand and let him drop the shell there. It’s a mostly-white spiral top.

“Thanks,” you say, looking away from the shell to meet Vernon’s eyes.

He looks down at the other four in your hands. “You gonna paint them?”

You feel yourself physically take a step back in shock. “What?”

Embarrassment darkens his face just slightly. “I’ve been following your art page,” he admits, shoving his hands into his shorts pockets. “I didn’t know.” Then, “I feel bad that I didn’t know. You’re really good.”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t painting when we… I used to. I stopped for a long time. Just started again, after…” You trail off. After you left me. After I pushed you away.

He nods, licks his lips. “Does it help?” he asks, and you know exactly what he’s asking - does it make the rocks weigh less, does it make the grey lighter?

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “In general. It’s been… kind of cathartic.”

You both stand there, the shells on your palms between you, a decision teetering between you.

You should be the one to mend it, you think, since you were the one who’d ruined it before.

“Do you want to walk with me?” you ask, a little tentatively. “You don’t have to - I’m fine on my own -”

“I’d like to,” he says, voice quiet, and something about it makes you want to well up - that he’s willing to give you his time, that he doesn’t hate you as much as you deserve.

You walk quietly together as the sun starts to sink a little, casting everything a bit orange.

“What’s new with you?” you ask, finally.

And he tells you - new job that he actually likes despite how stuffy the nine-to-five thing sounds in theory, new mile time on his daily run, new friends through work.

“And you?”

You fill him in, telling him about taking classes part-time around your job, the commissions that aren’t enough to sustain you but aren’t nothing - you even shyly admit that you’ve been seeing a therapist.

It was the most either of you had ever talked about your real lives, you thought. It struck you how normal it felt, like it wasn’t something new or novel.

“Sounds like things are coming together for you,” he says.

“You, too,” you return.

Everything between you sits heavy, weighing the moment down, pulling towards the ocean’s depths like an anchor.

Then, at the same time, you break.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Vernon, I’m really sorry.”

He stops walking, turns to face you, aglow as the golden hour inches closer. The sun is warm on your skin, the sand is warm beneath your feet, and you are dying to make it right with him.

“It’s good to see you, too,” you whisper. You’re scared of this moment - scared it will burst, like a bubble, like waking up from a dream that you can’t get back.

“Don’t be sorry,” he counters. “We both screwed up.”

You shake your head, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “No,” you say emphatically. “You had every right to be mad. You were right that you were wasting time.”

He glances down, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m sorry I said that to you. It wasn’t a waste.”

“Maybe not entirely,” you allow. “But you were right. I was never going to give you what you wanted - not back then, not with… how I was. That last fight we had… it would have been so easy for me to just let you in, and everything would have been fine. And I just… couldn’t.”

He listens seriously, watching your face carefully. You look at your feet in the sand, feeling the beginning trickles of shame down your spine. But you remember that the beast can’t get you - you’d locked him on a canvas. You don’t succumb to him in these moments anymore - you take a breath and remember that you’ve grown since then.

“And -” you swallow, take a breath, “- and I’m sorry. You deserve so much better than that.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes suddenly on the ocean. You watch his throat work, and your stomach clenches in regret. Then, he says, “I should have been clearer with you - way sooner than I was.”

“I’m not sure it would have changed anything,” you admit sadly.

He nods again, agreeing. “Still,” he says.

Still.

“I really like your paintings,” he says, and then laughs at himself before you can respond. “Sorry, that sounded so lame. I don’t know the art terms or anything. I just… like them.”

You smile despite how serious the conversation had felt only seconds ago. “Thanks,” you say shyly.

“What’s the best thing you’ve learned in your classes?” he asks, stepping a little closer.

You don’t even have to think about it. “Shadows,” you say simply, looking up at him. “Even the brightest painting is nothing without the shadows.”

His smile grows slowly, and you know he gets it. Of course he does. He’s been in the trenches right alongside you.

“I thought about you a lot,” he admits, and you realize how close you’re standing. Had you been standing this close the whole time?

“I did, too,” you murmur, heart hammering.

His fingers brush up your sun-warmed arm, and you shiver despite the heat.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low, a little unsure.

He’d never asked before.

You nod, unable to speak, lifting up to meet him halfway. He kisses you like he never had before - featherlight, gentle, like you’re the most fragile thing.

Neither of you say anything after, but as you start walking back towards the guys, you slip your hand into his, and he gives it a squeeze.

You’re still hand in hand when you reach the towels, and you watch Chan clock it out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t call you out, and you promise yourself that you’ll give him the conversation you owe him - later. When you’re alone.

You stay a few more hours; the guys play a little more volleyball, you sit on the towels and fill pages in your sketchbook. You draw Vernon - all angles, so sharp, so beautiful.

When the sun sinks low enough, the guys start packing things up, and you help haul everything back towards the cars.

As you slam the trunk of Chan’s car shut, you turn to find Vernon waiting.

“What about now?” he asks.

“What?”

“You said not back then,” he explains. “You said back then you couldn’t give me what I wanted. What about now?”

The question lands like a mine. “I don’t know,” you say, as honest as you can be. “Vernon, I don’t know. I’m scared - I’m scared I’ll hurt you again, mess it up again. I don’t know what I can promise you.”

He considers this. “Okay,” he says finally, in that easy way of his. “What if I don’t want a promise? What if I just want to know… what’re you doing next Saturday?”

You and him, you’d existed only at night. You’d never done this before - considered dating, considered giving him more than just the hours between midnight and three am. You’d never considered letting him be him and not just one of your many vices, one of your distractions, one of the things you used to hide from how broken you felt. But here, now, with the summer sun beating down on your shoulders, you take in his whole, unfragmented face and see how open it is, how willing he is to meet you where you are.

You’ve been missing out on so much, you think. It’s about time to stand in the light - with him. With him, you could try.

“Nothing,” you say, smiling up at him. “You got a suggestion?”

“Yeah,” he says, sending you a wink as he starts to back away, the car keys jingling in his hand. “I know a place.”

<- Prev

thank you so much for reading my veyr first svt fic!! i hope to write many more in the future :)

[augustjustice]

Pretty in Pink

AO3 Link

I am still firmly on my Stevie Harrington agenda this week, so please enjoy below Eddie's thirsty-turned-sappy thoughts about his favorite girl, inspired by @getlost0p's absolutely delightful art as well @cherrycolasteve's very cute tags.

Eddie taps the pen against his front teeth absently, eyes flitting uncomprehendingly over the various multiple choice options of his practice test. With his brain already feeling fuzzy and unfocused, it’s easy to let his gaze drift away from the page over to the girl currently sprawled out beside him–Stevie Harrington, curled up reading the X-Men comic Dustin had strong-armed her into picking up. 

And, look–who could really blame him for getting a little distracted? There's a hot girl in his bed which is, admittedly, a rare enough occurrence–until shit went sideways last spring, at least–to still feel a little notable. Even if she is only there for moral support while he studies, his GED test date circling ever closer.

Stevie's wearing a striped white and pink polo with the buttons undone all the way to the bottom of the neckline and tight stonewash jeans. The absolute preppiest of prep attire, completed by the cherry-flavored chapstick shining red on her lips.

Eddie wants to kiss her stupid.

The jeans are high waisted, pulled up snug over the curve of her ass, and with Stevie rolled onto her stomach reading the comic, Eddie's getting quite the view.

Then she shifts, flopping over onto her back beside him, the movement followed by the sound of pages turning. The new position offers a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage, a further hint of what her clingy polo is doing such a great job of highlighting. 

Eddie looks. Of course he looks.

Estrogen has taken to Stevie’s figure like a duck to water. In the plush spread of her hips, making her pert ass even rounder, which Eddie would have thought was damn near impossible. And in the plumpness steadily gathering at her chest, her once defined pecs softening, giving way to the gentle swell of her breasts, which grow fuller by the day. 

It’s become something of a problem for him lately–the staring. 

That was true, to some extent, even before she started to transition. Stevie's always been gorgeous, and Eddie's always been aware of that fact, harboring a hopeless, from afar crush on her since they landed in the same impossible English class his first senior year and Eddie had become painfully aware of what all the Hawkins High girls were on about. Not that he would have admitted that, at the time, not even under threat of painful, agonizing death–no, the coming terms with it came later, during his spring break from hell spent realizing that Stevie Harrington was not only surprisingly sweet but a totally badass, bonafide hero.

…The whole ripping that bat apart with her teeth thing certainly didn't hurt, either.

The point is, he's always looked at Stevie, flirted with her. Probably been too obvious about it, too. 

It's just that since she started to transition, it feels like he's gotten so much worse, like any subtlety he was holding on to by his fingernails has been ripped from his hands. Eddie can’t stop staring at her, the heat of embarrassment prickling his face, tongue-tied like a school boy with a crush each and every time he gets caught. 

And that's the worst part of it–he does get caught, far more often than he'd like.

It’d been months, now, since the first time Stevie explicitly called him out for it–a warm Saturday in the summer when they had dragged the kids down to the arcade, trying to beat the heat with the dark, air-conditioned interior of the local nerd haunt. 

Stevie had been watching Erica beat her own high score at Duck Hunt, leaned over the machine in her Daisy Duke cutoff shorts and a cropped pink jersey, ponytail swinging against her back and the scars littering her sides unashamedly on display. That’s something they had both been working themselves up to, together–not hiding their war wounds, fighting off the anxiety that came from people’s stares.

But Eddie had been staring for an entirely different reason when Stevie caught him. 

As Erica ran off to ‘pummel’ Dustin after his latest Dig Dug win, Stevie propped an elbow on the abandoned game, shooting Eddie a knowing look.

“Like what you see, Munson?” she asked coyly.

Eddie’s entire face flamed with heat. 

“I was just–your top!” he blurted. “I was just admiring your top, my lady. It’s…it’s cute. The pink–think that might be your color, Harrington.”

Stevie’s cheeks burned her own pretty pink to match it, then, which Eddie couldn’t help but preen about. 

And if he noticed she started wearing a lot more pink around him after that, well…he tried not to read too much into it.

Just like the pretty pale pink she’s wearing today, attracting his eye and forcing Eddie to hold back a twitterpated sigh as he watches her, wrapped up in the bright primary colored pages of the X-Men

…This bullshit of his is definitely gonna get his ass kicked by Robin or Nancy, one of these days, he’s sure of it. Possibly both of them at once–Buck may just hold him down while Wheeler does what she does best.

But the truth is, it's not just about how Stevie’s figure has steadily filled out. He's not gonna lie, that's definitely part of it–but also…she just has this glow about her, now, like she's settling so happily into herself. It’s like that contentment beams out of her, radiant, in every little gesture, every giddy smile. He's drawn in by it, like Icarus with the sun, like a moth to a flame–too entranced to turn away, even if it might end up burning him in the long run.

The thing is, Stevie's beautiful, and she takes his breath away.

She’s become such an intrinsic part of his life, since everything that happened, he’s not entirely sure what he would do without her. Hell, they still share a bed, some nights–fighting back the nightmares together is always easier. And in the intervening months since that started, she's grown steadily softer beside him, curves pressing against his body where there were once hard planes and sharper angles. Her presence is no less warm and comforting than it had been from the beginning, though, her weight and smell familiar, the steady rhythm of her breathing when it finally evens out the same.

Eddie wonders if they were supposed to have stopped doing that, somewhere along the way–the sleeping together part, even though they're only doing it in the most platonic, just-friends sort of way possible. Then again, he's never put all that much stock in it, what he is and isn't supposed to be doing. Besides, how much difference could stopping really have made? Not a whole hell of a lot, in his opinion, considering they've both been bi as fuck the whole damn time.

Sharing a bed all the time doesn't really help his other problem–the staring, the thinking about Stevie's plush curves and soft skin–but that's his own shit to deal with and work out. Stevie shouldn't have to suffer through the nights alone just because Eddie can't keep his hard on for her in check.

So, yeah. He thinks she’s a knockout–of course he does–but the truth is, that’s all secondary to the way he feels about her. She’s steadily grown into one of his best friends, in the time since he’s finally gotten to actually know her. And if all he ever gets to do is look–and better yet, talk to her, bicker and joke and tease, share popcorn at movie nights crammed too close together on the Harrington’s couch and laugh at all the same stupid inside jokes–well, he considers himself honored for the privilege of it. 

“What, Munson?” Stevie laughs suddenly, drawing him out of his reverie–during which he had, of course, still been staring–by smacking him lightly on the arm with her comic book. 

That had been another secret, shared between them–Stevie liked the X-Men, she’d confessed, even if she couldn’t resist pretending otherwise to Dustin. She said the Mutants made her feel…seen, in a way she really hadn’t ever before. 

"I know exactly what you mean, sweetheart," Eddie had agreed easily when she told him. 

"Kinda figured you might, Eds,” she had shot him a soft smile, which he returned in kind.

That feeling of being seen–understood–stretched out beyond the pages of the comic book to encompass them both, the way they just fundamentally got each other.

"Mystique's got nothing on you, though," he had added with a wink, falling back on his old routine of borderline flirtation just for the pleasure of seeing her blush yet again, ducking her head as she gave his shoulder an exasperated nudge.

He blinks back to reality, finds himself looking into those same mesmerizing eyes now, big and brown and staring back at him expectantly. A smile plays at the corners of Stevie’s mouth as she puts her comic aside. Scooting closer, she reaches to give one of his test booklet pages a quick shake. 

"You're supposed to be studying, you know. Believe me, I get how hard that can be, and I wasn't exactly the best in school…but I'm still like 99% sure you at least have to look at the page before you get it,” she teases. “And I haven’t got the answers to this question secretly penciled somewhere up my sleeve, promise. So, not really sure how staring at me is gonna help you here."

Eddie studies her face–the amused pink curve of her mouth, the cute little moles that dot her cheeks and throat. 

That wistful sigh finally escapes him.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologies on autopilot, and then, the confession rolls off his tongue before he can stop it, “you’re just so…fucking pretty.”

As soon as the words have left his mouth, he cringes, preparing to blurt out yet another apology–and then Stevie’s finger presses against his lips. When he glances at her, he finds that her whole face has lit up. 

Well, fuck. If she’s gonna look at him like that, he can’t even be sorry for his big mouth.

Then, surprise of all surprises–he feels a jolt as she leans in and pecks him once on the cheek, lips smooth from her cherry chapstick. 

“Thanks. You’re sweet, Eddie,” Stevie murmurs, quietly, as she pulls back. Then, her smile turns mischievous, pretty eyes giving one of her patented, exasperated eyerolls. “And good of you to finally say something about it.”

Eddie barks out a disbelieving laugh before he can help it, hiding his face for a moment between his fingers.

“Seriously, Harrington, you know you’re a total babe.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stevie agrees, a glimmer of that overconfidence she’d carried herself with in school shining out. Eddie can’t even lie–he loves it. “But a girl still likes to hear it, now and again.”

“Shit, Stevie.” Head still ducked, Eddie reaches out slowly and takes her hand, twiddling with her fingers as he looks up from beneath the fringe of his bangs. “Now that I know you want me, too–I’ll tell you anytime you want.”

Reaching forward, Stevie tucks a tuft of hair behind Eddie’s ear, not letting him hide behind the curtain of it. Then, she leans in, and this time she presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

Eddie sucks in another sharp, surprised breath, finally tasting that cherry flavor for himself. 

“I’m totally gonna hold you to that one, Eds,” she says, leaving their foreheads pressed gently together even once she pulls back, “so just get ready for it.”  

But, then, a mere moment later, Stevie is bouncing backwards on the bed, giggling when Eddie leans in, trying to chase after her lips again. He groans as she picks up his booklet and presses it against his chest. 

“You can check me out all you want later, stud,” Stevie shoots him a wink, flipping open to the page he had left off on. “But, for now…you’ve gotta get back to work.”

When she settles down beside him this time, though, she stays close, hooking her chin over his shoulder. 

“And, I’ve got an idea. A tried and true method for studying. Works every time.” 

“That right?” Eddie tilts his head to face her, cocking an eyebrow. “Well, lay it on me, then, sweetheart. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

He taps a finger lightly against her temple. The playful twinkle in Stevie’s eyes as she grins at him makes Eddie’s heart skip a bit.

“How about…I give you a kiss for every question you get right?” she murmurs, close enough her warm breath ghosts over his skin. 

Eddie lets his eyes drop down to the red shine of her lips, and feels giddy, for once, knowing he can look his fill. After a long, loaded pause, he gives a sharp nod, clapping his hands together.

“You know what, Stevie? Studying never sounded so good.” Snatching up his pen again, he settles back with the test now spread across both their laps. “I’m in.” 

And, this time, whenever Stevie distracts Eddie from his studies–well. At least he can tell himself it’s all in the name of a good cause.

[theemporium]

Hya! Dunno if you’re comfortable with it but can I request professor! Remus Lupin x college student! fem reader? like a super smutty smut where they both want each other badly but have to pretend they don’t and then they fuck

also, can I be 🍰 anon?

of course you can be, baby, the 🍰 is yours! and thank you for requesting!🖤

.

Everyone had their crushes. 

It wasn’t wrong to have feelings for someone, especially if you never acted on them. It was just a simple admiration of the person. From the way they looked to the way they acted to the way they spoke, it was just a simple admiration that made your stomach feel like it was bursting with butterflies and nothing more.

It just so happened that your crush was your professor of a class you didn’t even want to take. 

You needed to fill out your credit requirement for the term and you were grasping at straws when you realised your choices lied between a class with your old friend group, a class with your shitty ex-boyfriend and a class you couldn’t care less about. 

So obviously you chose the third one. 

However, what you weren’t expecting was a handsome man to walk through the door, briefcase in hand and blazer thrown over his other arm, and announce himself as your professor for the term. He didn’t look much older than you, maybe only five years at most if you were guessing (you would later realise it was a bit more than that). But all it took was one glance from the man and you were a flustered mess. 

It didn’t help that his class was difficult and you spent the few moments where you weren’t admiring Remus Lupin, being absolutely fucking confused. 

Your confusion led to many nights like such, huddled in the depths of the library at a late, ungodly hour. You were tucked away near the back, piles of books around you and not a single other human in sight.

You stared at the pages in front of you, the letters and numbers were starting to blur together and you weren’t any closer to figuring the assignment out. At least not tonight, but you were far too stubborn to give up. 

“If you stare any harder, you might set the textbook on fire.” 

You almost jumped out of your seat, your knee knocking against the table as you spun around to find Professor Lupin leaning against the bookshelves, looking at you with a mixed expression of curiosity and amusement. 

“Professor Lupin,” you murmured and cleared your throat, almost painfully aware of the messy state you were in. “What are you doing here?” 

“Is a library not open to everyone?” he asked, his brows raised.

Your cheeks heated up. “Well, yes—”

“Maybe I should be asking you what you are doing here,” Remus continued as he took a few steps towards the table you were sitting at. “It’s a Saturday night. Surely a young student like you has more interesting things to do than spend her time in the library.”

“I wanted a headstart on the assignment,” you mumbled out, almost embarrassed. 

Remus paused beside your chair and you were almost too aware of his presence. He glanced over your shoulder, reading over the textbook page and then the notes you had scribbled down, though most of it was incoherent. 

“You never told me you were struggling with the content,” he said, his brows furrowed together like the mere fact annoyed him.

“I…uh, I didn’t wanna bother you,” you admitedd, though you realised how stupid your excuse was before he even gave you a pointed look.

“I want to help my students,” Remus said, looking down at you with such intensity in his eyes that it made you squirm in your seat. “I don’t like seeing you struggle.” 

“Right,” you breathed out, blinking slowly. 

Neither one of you broke away from the eye contact, just staying locked in that moment. And then just when you thought he was going to look away—to turn away—his gaze dropped down to your slightly parted lips.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he whispered, his voice a little huskier now.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?” 

“Tell me you don’t feel whatever this is,” he said again, a little more determined this time. “Tell me you don’t feel it and I’ll walk away. I’ll leave you alone and stop convincing myself that maybe there is something.” 

You waited a beat, watching the way his shoulders tensed as he impatiently awaited your answer.

“I could say I don’t feel it,” you whispered and you could have sworn something in his expression broke. “But I would be lying.” 

Remus looked at you, he really fucking looked at you. There were a million different voices in his head screaming for him to just walk away. To just tell you his office hours and tell you to pop in if you had any questions about the course. He should just turn on his heel and walk out of the library before he did something he regretted. 

But what was one more regret in his life?

“Fuck it,” he grumbled under his breath as he took your face in his hands and kissed you.

It was fast-paced, messy and passionate but you wanted nothing more. You didn’t even realise he swiped your belongings off the table until his hands were gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you onto the table and standing between your legs.

“This is wrong,” he murmured against your lips, trailing down the expanse of your neck.

“I know,” you breathed out, your head falling back as his teeth light scraped against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he groaned as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. 

“Fuck me, sir,” you whined, your glossy eyes meeting his darkened gaze and whatever self-restraint he had quickly disappeared.

“Shit, baby,” Remus moaned as his fingers worked fast, pushing the fabric of your skirt until it pooled at your waist. His fingers tugged your panties down, pocketing them before his hands softly squeezed your inner thighs.

“Touch me, please,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his before your fingers tangled themselves into his messy brown hair and pulled him into a kiss. 

“Gotta stay quiet for me, darling,” he warned you, still acutely aware of the other people loitering around the library at this time. You both could get caught and get into so much trouble. He could lose his job and you could lose your place at the university, but neither one of you seemed to care all that much as your fingers nimbly undid the button of his trousers and slipped past the waistband to cup his cock. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, almost a little dazed like you hadn’t mean to speak aloud. “You’re big.” 

The smirk on his face was smug. “You can take it,” he told you, his hand cupping your face as your eyes met his once again. “Gonna take it like a good girl, aren’t you?” 

You nodded dumbly. 

“Atta girl,” he groaned before he pushed his trousers down to his knees, his boxers quickly following as he fisted his hard cock, giving himself a few strokes before he stepped further before your legs. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping them locked around him as he slowly slid inside you. Your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, a pathetic whimper leaving your lips as he bottomed out inside you. 

“Sir,” you gasped out as he slid out before his hips roughly thrusted back into you. 

“Shh, baby, you can take it,” his whispered praises washed over you, settling a warmth in the pit of your stomach. “You’re doing so well for me.” 

His lips were on yours again when your moans and whimpers became too loud and he feared somebody would hear you. His hands gripped your waist, your body jolting with every thrust as your nails clawed at any inch of him you could get your hands on. Your walls squeezed around him, tight and warm and so fucking welcoming that he never wanted to leave. 

And he couldn’t bring himself to do so even after you finally came, following himself seconds later as you both stayed there, propped on the edge of the table with Remus still deep inside you. 

“Sir—”

“Remus,” he corrected as he pressed a bruising kiss to your lips. “Call me Remus when I’m inside you, baby.”

.

[joydemorra]

Do you ever start something as a joke and lose complete control over your life?

In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more... [read the full blurb here]

What is Hunger Pangs?

Hunger Pangs, often shortened to “Phangs” by the self-proclaimed phangdom, is my debut romance novel, published in Nov 2020, featuring a deaf, disabled werewolf, a neurodivergent, mad scientist vampire, and an all-powerful enchantress who is the last of her kind.

It is the first book in a slow-burn, polyamorous gaslamp fantasy romance series focusing on the relationship(s) and antics of the three main characters, Nathan Northland, Vlad Blutstein, and Lady Ursula, as they work to save the world they love from imminent magical and ecological disaster.

The first book primarily focuses on the relationship between Nathan and Vlad, with Ursula heavily alluded to in the next book (Pride and Folly) via some shameless flirting and stolen, impulsive kisses.

No love triangles here. Just three highly competent, world-saving bisexuals sharing the same brain cell the closer they get to each other.

There are two editions of the novel. The Flirting with Fangs edition depicts on-page sexual acts, and the Fluff and Fangs edition which uses alternative scenes/fade-to-black scenes for those who prefer not to read depictions of sex. You can read more about why I decided to do this here.

How Did Phangs come to be?

Like most things on my blog, the original concept began as a joke. My friend and enabler, @jeneelestrange, and I were talking about our least favorite tropes in romance/erotica, including but not limited to toxic “alpha” werewolves, brooding stalker vampire boyfriends, and the absolute profound bullshit that is the Conflicted Love Triangle and Bury Your Gays.

Eventually, it culminated in this post:

(source)

It was meant to be a joke. I really cannot emphasize this enough. It was meant to be a shitpost between friends.

A throwaway ADHD impulse.

Tumblr, however, wanted more of these posts, and like a swarming mass of drift-compatible rats in a trench coat, grabbed hold of my lack of impulse control and Ratatouille'd me into becoming an international bestselling author, and, well, here we are.

I also started writing the series while dying, which I highly do not recommend as a functional creative process.

Absolutely do not start a 500k five-part novel series about love and hope while dying from an undiagnosed genetic disorder. Or if you do, make sure you actually die so you don't have to edit the damn thing. (I am mostly kidding.)

What are the themes/tropes/character dynamics of the book?

In the simplest of terms, Phangs is a queer-polyamorous-paranormal-satirical-romance series featuring vampires, werewolves, and all other manner of creatures that go bump in the night.

It is set in a pseudo-regency meets fake-Victorian Gaslamp Fantasy world, complete with gothic castles, enchanted forests, and just a smidge of industrial coal dust.

Style-wise, Phangs has been described by readers as "like reading the queer, goth love child of Terry Pratchett meets Jane Austen," and I've never been more proud of anything in my life.

If Game of Thrones ascribes to the idea that the night is dark and full of terrors, Phangs is the monster-fucker politely sidling up to them at the bar and asking if they can buy them a drink.

It is also primarily a love letter to fandom, which has led some people to believe it’s fanfiction with the serial labels filed off. But as the person who spent five years agonizing over the world-building, I can assure you this is all very much the product of my weird little ADHD brain picking up tropes, shaking them upside down, and running off with whatever fun and interesting things shake loose.

As already stated, the first book, True Love Bites, focuses primarily on the relationship between Captain Nathaniel J. Northland and Viscount Vlad Blutstein.

The first part of the book primarily focuses on Nathan coming home injured from war and trying to find his place in the world as newly deaf and disabled -- something which alienates him from his werewolf family, who don't know what to do with an injury that can't be mended by a full moon.

While working on the island of Eyrie, he encounters Viscount Blutstein -- Vlad-- a neurodivergent, mad scientist dandy vampire with an enthusiasm for demonic botany and a streak of unfailing kindness as broad and expansive as the sky.

It's not so much love at first sight for the pair as instantaneous lust hampered by the restrictions of polite 1880 society and old ingrained prejudices that make them think the other couldn't possibly be interested in them that way. They're just misreading all those heartfelt stares and sexually charged chess games.

(The love is requited, your honor, they're just idiots.)

Both characters are explicitly queer/mspec, as is Ursula, who drops into their world like a magical atom bomb going off, but not before she spends her own parts of the book desperately trying to figure out what manner of dark entity is killing the magical shrines around the world that keep the world alive.

Thematically, the series touches on many things, but the book’s overriding theme is love. Romantically, of course, and love between families, both found or otherwise. But also love as an act of courage. As a choice. An act of defiance in dark and troubling times, and what it means to be loved and belong even though you’re different.

Especially when you’re different.

And I really fucking hope you enjoy it.

To read the full synopsis and check out the heat ratings, buy links and content tags, go to www.joydemorra.com

[olderthannetfic]

You recently mentioned that you've been out since your teens. As a person who managed to overlook a shitton of signs and only realized she was bi in her early 20s, I am wondering how you realized you were bi and also how you found out bisexuality exists?

Sorry if the phrasing sounds weird, I only noticed I was bi because I stumbled over the term on tumblr in 2016 and was like "oh, that's possible??" and then my earlier identity crises during my teens due to feeling attracted to multiple genders and being like "I'm crushing on [female person]. Am I lesbian? Nah, I've also felt attracted to [male person]. But I can't be straight either because this attraction feels the exact same. Am I broken?" were suddenly resolved with the realization that bi is also an option and that I'm not broken due to zigzagging between heterosexuality and homosexuality, but rather just bisexual. In retrospect, it's absolutely ridiculous that it took me so long, considering that as a kid I had crushes on Anna and Carter and Doctor from Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town, and Vitani from Lion King 2, and back in primary school, I used to go to the kids' section in the library and look at the first pages of a sci-fi comic which had one or two women get out of a lab or space station thingy and go bathe in the nude in the first few pages. I don't remember what it was called or what it was about, but tbh I'd love to find it and actually read it properly this time lol.

--

Horniness. The hornier you are, the easier it is to notice.

But also... well...

The 80s were all about combating the AIDS crisis and trying to get basic recognition of the humanity of gay people (at least in the US circles I was familiar with). The 90s saw the rise of a much more organized bi rights movement.

And then we backslid.

In the 2000s and 2010s, interest in bisexuality as a distinct thing fell off a cliff as far as I can tell. The "hey, it's not just cis gays and lesbians" energy moved first to trans topics and then to asexuality but without bisexuality joining the stodgy old guard.

The 90s were different. I was hitting my teens just as Anything That Moves hit its stride. I bought that shit at the bookstore. Yeah, this was the Bay Area, but they carried it at all the regular bookstores, not just the gay ones.

On Usenet where I spent a lot of my tween years, one of the big groups was soc.bi. I even spotted them having an in-person meetup in a restaurant in Berkeley where I happened to be having dinner with my parents. I didn't go say hi because I was like 14.

My big eureka moment, though, was on alt.tv.x-files when two groups were having a satirical argument about who enjoyed The X-Files more: people who got to lust over David Duchovny or people who got to lust over Gillian Anderson. Someone showed up and was like "Hah! I get to enjoy it twice as much as all of you! I'm bi!"

I was like "That's a thing????" I'd grown up with very liberal parents and lesbian neighbors, but like a lot of boomers, my mom was pro-gay and deeply clueless about all other queerness.

--

So the answer is unsupervised internet access in an age with no algorithms plus things like bisexual magazines actually existing.

RIP Anything That Moves.

[television-overload]

fate is the handspike

(an X-Files ficlet)

[Read on AO3]

Summary:

Starting on February 23, 1964, Teena Mulder begins to worry about her young son. At first, she thinks maybe he's wishing for a little sister, a wish that will be granted very soon. But he insists the little girl he talks to is called Dana, and she's too little to play, but she likes when he reads his books to her.

(fic below the cut)

i.

At first, Teena thinks it's cute.

"She's just a baby, mommy, she can't play yet," he'd say.

"Oh, is that right?" she'd reply, indulging him in his childish fantasies. Perhaps this was his way of asking for a sister. The other moms in the neighborhood often urged her to give Fox a sibling, citing a child's need for company and social engagement, but Fox had always seemed so happy to play alone. She's not on the best of terms with her husband at the moment, either, which complicates things.

But then there's times when she sees Fox on the floor, legs splayed out before him as he recites his favorite picture books to his imaginary friend, and she wonders if she ought to be worried. Just a little.

Dr. Seuss, Curious George, Clifford the Big Red Dog... The boy has a photographic memory. Though he's too young to properly read, he has a grasp on the basic plots and recounts them in great detail, turning the pages as he goes.

"This one is called 'Where the Wild Things Are,' Dana," he says, because his friend's name—he insists—is Dana. He turns the book in his hand and shows the colorful illustration on the cover to a patch of carpet on the living room floor. "Don't worry, it's not scary," he assures her. Her. It. Whatever it is he's spent his days talking to since late February.

When he tells the story, he uses his own name, instead of 'Max.' That's how she'd always read it to him, and that's the only way he knows.

"And Fox told the monsters to be still!" he narrates with enthusiasm. "He used a magic trick and looked right in their BIG yellow eyes, and they were all scared. They said Fox is the most wild thing of all, and they made him king!"

ii.

There was one night when she'd woken to find Fox standing in the corner of his room, speaking softly to the wall.

"Shh, it's okay, Dana," he soothed in his little voice. "Here, I'll sing you a song. Twinkle twinkle little star...."

She never tells Bill what she's seen. He's always too busy to notice himself. But others know.

"He's quite an imaginative young fellow," Spender notes, taking a draw from his cigarette as Fox rolls around in the grass outside the house in Quonochontaug. Since "Dana" learned to crawl, he's been even more preoccupied than usual. He shows her all his toys, tells her the names of all his action figures. He announces to his mother one day that he's going to teach Dana how to walk. That she can only stand on her own for a little bit right now, but she doesn't cry anymore when she falls down.

Bill, if he ever catches wind of this, must think he's talking about one of the other kids from Teena's ladies' group. But there's no "Dana" in this neighborhood. Not on the Vineyard, either. She's checked.

iii.

The day she finds out she's pregnant, a part of her wonders. Though her knowledge of her husband's work is small, she knows enough to gather that things she might have thought impossible, could in fact be possible. Perhaps her son had been having visions of his baby sister, long before she was even conceived. Maybe it had simply been a sign that he would one day be a big brother. Soon.

She'd long since dispelled thoughts of ghosts and hauntings and exorcisms.

He tells Dana all about the baby in mommy's tummy. He giggles and makes silly faces, pausing in between sentences, which she gathers must mean his friend has developed the ability to speak.

"Mommy, she said my name! That's right! Fox! Fox!"

iv.

When Samantha is born, "Dana" seems to disappear overnight. This, at least, supports her theory that he had simply been preparing himself for a new sibling, and after a few years, she's completely dismissed the issue. Fox shows no other signs of strange or unusual behavior. He is nothing but a doting big brother, who occasionally gets annoyed by his freckle-faced kid sister, as any brother is wont to do. He reads to her, plays games with her, watches the television with her. They're two peas in a pod, and not once does the name "Dana" escape his lips. She is all but forgotten.

Until he's twelve years old. Samantha is gone, and Teena lacks the patience to deal with his questioning.

"Mom? Does the name 'Dana' mean anything to you?" he asks.

"What? Of course not, Fox, why would you ask such a thing?"

He looks down at his feet, shoulders slumping. "No reason. Forget I asked."

v.

When Fox lays awake at night, the bedroom next to his now dull and empty, he thinks he can hear a voice. It isn't Samantha's—though he'd thought so at first.

"By heaven, man," she reads, "we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded sea!"

What does this girl know about fate? What does she know of this upside-down world?

"Read the next chapter, Dana!" he hears another girl's voice speak. The words are faint—muffled—like he's underwater. But her voice is clear.

He falls asleep, like most nights, listening to the tales of Ahab and Starbuck, and a great white whale.

-.-.-

Tag List ♡: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @numinousmysteries @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf @thursdayinspace

[stevelieber]

Thoughts on giving critiques to comics artists.

Seeing lots of discussion from students about sour experiences with an unhelpful art teacher, so here's a long, long post about giving critiques.

NB: I have no formal training as a teacher, but I was a student, and I've spent decades giving artists feedback on their work.

When someone brings me a portfolio, I like to establish my limitations & clarify my perspective. My work is firmly rooted in traditional US comics storytelling (i.e., not manga or art-comics.) I can give feedback on other approaches but they should know where I’m coming from.

“We've only got a little time for this, so I'm going to spend that time focusing on things to correct. That doesn't mean you're doing everything wrong, or that there’s nothing good here, but it’ll be more helpful if I identify some problems and show you how to fix them.”

Why? Because for many young artists their entire sense of self worth is wrapped up in being good at what they do. (It was for me!) In school they were probably the best artist in their peer group. But now if they're hoping to turn pro, they’re at the bottom.

Sometimes you know what’s up when you see page 1, but try to keep an open mind. Some build their portfolios by sticking new pages at the back & don’t weed out the old stuff up front, so the work gets better as you go. When it’s like that I ask: “Show me your best 8 pages.”

I ask questions: "What's the goal? Do you want to be hired to work on someone else's project, or to get the story you're showing me here published?"

If 1, I steer towards a portfolio that'll showcase hirable skills. If 2, I look for what tweaks will make that particular story more effective.

"Do you have teachers giving you regular feedback? What are they telling you?" Sometimes a student is getting bad advice. In cases like that, I'll do my best to be extra clear WHY I'm giving them advice that's 180 degrees from what they've been hearing.

“What artists are you looking at? Is there someone you admire or try to emulate?” This often helps me understand choices they're making, and I can sometimes incorporate things those artists do into my suggestions.

I ask myself questions about what I’m seeing. First: Is there a narrative? If not, I make it 100% clear I'm not speaking as any sort of expert. I'm good at critiquing storytelling, but don't have anywhere near as much to offer illustrators or designers.

Can I follow the story? Or am I confused about what's going on? Are the characters and settings drawn consistently? If not, is the artist at least making use of tags (distinctive clothing, hair etc.) to keep the characters recognizable?

Does the artist demonstrate a good command of basic academic drawing? If not, Do I think they need it? Do I focus on "how to draw" or on "what to do when you can't draw?" Is the artist putting the viewer’s eye where it needs to be to tell the story effectively?

(At this point I’m usually doing little doodles to go with my instructions. I scribble out ugly little 5 second diagrams that I hope will clarify what I’m talking about. Or they might make me seem demented. Hard to say!)

Is the artist making choices that are creating more work than necessary? Is there a particular weakness? I once spoke to an artist with a portfolio full of great work when he was drawing animals and monsters, but his humans were amateurish in comparison. I spent that critique talking about drawing people.

A crit can be a grab bag. In addition to big-picture advice, I'll point out tangencies, violations of the 180-degree rule, wonky anatomy, weird perspective, places where the artist neglected to do important research, odd choices in how they spotted black, whatever catches my eye.

I also try to make a point of defining the terms, so that jargon like “tangency,” “180-degree rule,” and “spotting black” don't go over their heads. Find simple, concrete ways to talk about these things, & clarify why it's a problem when they aren't done correctly. Draw diagrams!

Recognize that even a perfectly phrased explanation might not sink in. Some lessons can only be learned when a student is ready, and it might take a year or two of work before they can understand what you were saying. It's good to plant seeds.

Are there other artists who are particularly good at solving the problems the student is trying to solve? I steer them towards that artist's work. And I always recommend life drawing & the use of reference to give work specificity, variety, and authority.

Despite what I said earlier about focusing on what's wrong, I try at the end to find something encouraging to say. And if I’ve really piled on the criticism, I emphasize that I only spent the time and energy to do so because I take their efforts seriously.

If I've done my job right, they'll leave my table with tools to make their work better. And maybe in a few years they'll be looking at some younger artist's work, surprised to discover just how much you can learn when you're asked to teach.

[maplegracefour]

You - Schlatt song fic

* ˚ ✦ Song: You - dodie

Summary: A summer fling. Or was it?

Warnings: Alcohol (minor mention)

Word Count: ~1200 words

Author’s Note: This is very much a vomit on a page moment, I missed the old school 2014 ukulele music I would listen to as a teenager and this came to mind as I was listening. It’s quite choppy and maybe a bit confusing. I’m not really happy with it but enjoy it regardless if you’d like :)

I told you I was looking for some empathy

Well you fooled me

Just, a touch and a thought and I was gone

May 4th 2024, 22:46

Parties weren’t your thing. But alas, if you were going to live in LA, if only temporarily, you had to live the LA lifestyle. At least that’s what your friends said in an attempt to sell you the idea of attending. Funny how as soon as you got there, none of them were anywhere to be seen.

Working on a long-term project that had shifted your life trajectory had seemed worth it at the time, but standing on your own in the corner of some sort of ass-kissing festival seemed like hell on earth. You hadn’t even noticed a figure standing beside you until he spoke.

“You don’t look like you’re having a good time.” He murmurs, nursing a plastic cup of some mysterious liquid.

Your head turned, spinning to greet the smug smirk of JSchlatt himself. You leant back against the wall, gripping your drink a little tighter. “I’m not.” You responded, nonchalantly.

He paused, as though thinking of the exact right thing to say. “Anything I can do to change that?”

“You can answer a question.” You turned to face him, one shoulder against the wall. You two were way closer than you’d expect two people to stand and why did no one tell you that this man is so much more attractive in person? “Why does this place just feel like a massive dick measuring contest? Does anyone here have just an ounce of empathy?”

He laughed, a large belly laugh. The sound was like music to your ears, much to your dismay. 

And now someone’s gonna get to know the better you

When I was supposed to

Why did it have to be you?

September 8th 2024, 15:22

It had hurt much more to leave than you ever had expected it to. Staring out the window of the long-haul flight, your mind was preoccupied. It was hard to even look back at what happened.

How could he just say nothing? How could he pretend that nothing had happened between you? Was it really all just a bit of fun?

I guess

Now the next time there’s an opportunity

I’ll tread more carefully

My heart’s running out of cellotape

October 13th 2024, 19:24

You tried dating, you tried every single app that suggested being able to build any sort of connection. Anything to fill the void inside you that he had left there.

Even if you got on with them, it just wasn’t right. You couldn’t let yourself open up, many of them fizzled away after dry texts. The ones that you had a date with, you can’t remember a single one that called you again afterwards. But you didn’t care.

After him, no one ever made you feel the same.

You know

How is it I’ve never felt that way before?

I was so sure

It wasn’t going to be you

July 2nd 2024, 10:41am

There had been no apprehension. You two slotted in together like you had known each other for years. You spent almost all your time together. Schlatt postponed his flight, telling Ted that it was to work on the podcast, or he wanted to host a couple meeting in person. But Ted knew it was to spend more time with you. 

“Hey man, where’ve you been?” Ted asked, looking up from the couch when Schlatt walked into his apartment. Schlatt waves him off, grumbling something about needing to sleep.

“It’s the middle of the day, the fuck you been doing?” Ted continued his questioning to no avail as Schlatt ignored him and walked into the spare room.

Days of hanging out, cooking you dinner and absolutely thrashing your ass at Mariokart turned into late nights, whispering about your goals and dreams. And then those whispers became sweet nothings, heavy breathing, gasps for more.

Neither of you intended it to be this way, you had insisted that you were just friends. But, that’s not the way it was, was it?

Why do all the red flags,

Just look like so much fun?

I have a habit of

Searching for the damage

To share my love

August 19th 2024, 21:59

You had started to feel more. You couldn’t help it. How could you not?

You knew it was a bad idea, confessing. You’d be gone in a couple of weeks. You had been psyching yourself up for the past few hours whilst curled up on the couch with him, limbs tangled together and a throw blanket draped over you both.

“Jay, can we talk?” You asked, pulling yourself up from his grip to sit opposite him.

He frowned, arms reached out as if you were still in them. “Uh, yeah. What’s going on?”

“I wanted to know where we stand.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I just thought we were kinda just messin’ around.” He said, scratching the back of his head. His eyes were darting around, avoiding yours. “Nothing serious.”

“Yeah, cool.” You shook your head, a weak laugh escaping your lips.

“You sure? You seemed pretty serious for a sec there.” He said, looking you up and down.

You laughed again, a nervous habit you had as you shook your head again. “Nah, I’m okay. I just wanted to check that we were on the same page.”

I promised to be numb

But somehow you were the one

Now to unwind

Months of a good time

September 8th 2024, 14:41

You noticed the distance immediately. Schlatt went from being at your AirBnB everyday to every other day. Then it was once a week. For a couple hours a time, you would do your business and he would be out, sometimes before you had even made it out of the bed.

He didn’t even say goodbye in person when you had to fly home. 

When that flight took off, you knew that this was the end. A single summer in your life that meant everything turned into a couple months that you just wish you could forget. But he was always in the background of your mind.

People will tell me that I messed up

And it wasn’t love

And I’m secretly hoping they are right

September 16th 2024, 17:22

Confessing to your friends from home seemed like a good idea at the time but they immediately were sceptical.

Of course, it was just a classic case of a fuck-boy. It was a fling. It should have meant nothing. The next best thing will come along soon.

But something in your mind told you that it couldn’t have been. There was something more there, there had to be. You had been checking your phone almost obsessively.

Just one text. But there’s just radio silence.

Because

Whatever it was, it was wonderful

But non functional

November 22nd 2024, 02:37

Your phone was buzzing. Who the fuck would be calling you at this hour?

The screen read ‘unknown’, making you frown. It could be anyone. But you knew who you were hoping it would be. You reached over your bed, picking up the phone and clicking that little green button.

“Hello?” Your voice was raspy, throat dry.

“Did I wake you up?” Oh fuck. Oh shit fuck shit. It was him.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.” There was silence for a moment, like he was unsure of what to say. “Could I just talk to you for a few minutes?”

I really hope I don’t love you