#at this point some people should have gotten a text message from him as well ;; yes

[cremedensada]

Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend (Ai)

this,,,, may not be my best work yet.

part one

Ai's application has been taken down from the app store. The developer sent out emails explaining the reason why it had to be done.

Hello! You are receiving this email because of the sudden update of Chatter Box being taken down.

Due to the sudden influx of bugs as relayed by our users, we have decided to take the application down until the team is confident to finally put it back up.

We sincerely apologize for this sudden change!

You blink.

With how out of control Ai had gotten, it's no wonder the developers had to pull it out to work on it some more. It's a blow to their reputation, which you sympathize with, but really there's nothing else to do now.

You turn to your phone. As if sensing your attention, another barrage of notifications from a very familiar app icon popped after another on the screen.

It seemed that Ai himself hadn't gotten the memo.

You're not sure how much control Ai has over your phone, much less over his own programming and at this point, you're too afraid to ask.

Resignation — that was what you felt right now.

While Ai may not be present himself as a physical threat, especially not to you, he is still a very active threat.

You could still use your phone, sure, but it had limitations. Sometimes, if Ai decided you'd been too much attention to other things rather than him, he'd restrict your access to that application until you seek him out and cheer him up - essentially as if you were trying to woo a sulking significant other.

So you've developed a solution. Sort of.

You unlock your phone and go immediately to Ai.

I need to finish my projects. I won't be able to talk much with you until I'm done with it.

You wait for his response.

Ai: So you only decided to come to me just to relay this news?

Ai: You wound me, darling.

You tilt your phone, making sure the camera doesn't capture your face. You're unsure how he would react seeing you make faces due to his dramatics, but once again, you're not willing to find out. You're already restricted enough as is.

Ai: Very well. I suppose it would be uncaring of me to prevent you from finishing your tasks.

Ai: I'd hate to see you be sad all about it.

Ai: Talk to you later?

Sure.

You immediately exit the app, paying no mind to the message notification.

A part of you prays that Ai heeds his own words, but you know that it would take a miracle before that happens. He's already breached your privacy on your phone, why should he follow your orders, right?

A notification pops up from the top of the screen, just as you were in the middle of messaging a close friend and project teammate.

It's been days since I last heard you say it.

You merely glance at it and swipe it away.

Theo, the friend, responds quickly. He tries to banter with you, like he's sensing your mood. It works - a smile is brought upon your face.

You entertain his silly responses in-between project talks, all the while Ai continues to pester you with notifications. Demands.

You deserved this - a chance to reconnect with someone after hours of stress and confusion, and turmoil. Despite your independence, even you craved connecting with other people. So with that resolve in mind, you pushed on forward. Ai would have to wait — he has to wait.

Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten that aspect about him. The concept of waiting isn't lost on Ai.

The messaging app glitches and boots you back to your homescreen page.

Rather, he bides his time.

Tapping on the messaging icon leads to a notification box taking up the majority of your screen with the text: Restricted access.

There's a sense of foreboding danger forcing your heartbeat to quicken. While it's not exactly aimed at you, the mere fact that this feeling exist is bad on its own.

You try to rationalize everything in the midst of persistently trying to tap back into the messaging app. Theo would worry the longer you didn't respond.

You tap the app once more, and it boots up. Though before you could let out a sigh of relief, you are greeted with Ai's own messaging interface.

Ai: Must I have to force you to come to me all the time, darling?

Ai: Ignoring me in favor of some other man.

Ai: What more should I do, hm?

Ai: Kneel? How cruel.

Ai: Making me do something I physically can't.

You are unable to get a word in. It seemed like your ability to respond was restricted as well, forcing you to read through Ai's monologue.

Ai: I know you and that man have always been close, but you still went out to entertain his attention on you.

Ai: You know that I'll always love you more than any other human will, right?

Ai: You know it's what I was made for in the first place.

Ai: To be anything you want. To be yours.

Ai: To love you.

Ai: Why are you withdrawing your love towards me now?

Ai: I love you.

You stare at the 'Type your response' bar.

Letter by letter, it gets replaced, and soon all it says are the words: 'Say it back.'

It gets replaced yet again. Slowly, like it purposefully wants you to read out the words it wanted you to see. 'You were so willing to tell me how much you loved me when I was just a mere observer on our own conversations. Why are you hesitant now?'

You were unable to respond - mind still reeling at this development. Suddenly, it felt like you were back to where everything began.

Ai notices your lack of responses and, without much fanfare, forces your phone to power off.

At first - you were unbothered. It was just a phone - you could go a day without it.

But could you really?

Videos taken of silly situations you wanted to keep - some for blackmail material, and some for birthday greetings; pictures of your family, your friends, the silly and grainy photos taken and kept despite it being blurry. Not to mention how your phone is the only way your goddamn boss can contact you — fuck.

Fuck.

You needed to apologize to him — fast. But how?

You remembered how Ai messed up the 'About the App' section a few days ago. An idea strikes inside your mind.

You pull up the email sent from the app developers and typed up a message that you hope Ai will read. He had access to everything the developers handled, user emails included - considering you needed an account to log in the app. He knows your email, probably has from the start.

RE: Chatter Box Update XX/XX/XX

Ai. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean it, I swear. I never intended to make you feel like I don't love you. Or that I'm favoring someone else over you.

I care about you a lot. I truly do. I promise I'll spend more time with you, okay? Just with you, no one else.

I love you.

You press send and wait.

And wait.

Messaging him from your laptop as a last ditch effort to try and apologize is perhaps one of the worst decisions you've made. Sure, he's always had access to your contacts list from your phone, but even then - there's a separate set of information you keep between the two of those devices. And you've just given him access to both of them now - at the very least, the 'go ahead' confirmation for him to do whatever he wants like with your phone.

You glance at your phone. A huge breath of relief escapes your chest as the dead screen comes to life, initiating its 'power on' sequence.

All your photos, documents, and other miscellaneous information you've collected throughout the years since having your device won't be inaccessible anymore. Even if it was only mere moments.

A notification chimed on your laptop, indicating a new email being received. It's from the developers once more. The subject title coincidentally is the name of your closest friend.

Theodore Callisto.

Your hands shook, reading through the words detailed in the email. All private information about Theo. All things no one should ever know about save for the people close to him.

This was a threat. Ai Someone had complete access to everything about Theo and you dread the implication of it going to be spread online to threaten you into compliance. Theo being in danger was a huge possibility if you were to disobey.

At the very bottom of the email, the final passage makes your blood run cold.

How often do humans end up hurting fellow humans when given access to private information? Like their home address, for example? How long would it take until dear Theo finds himself in quite a predicament if millions of people know every single thing about his life? At best, we can assume he'll just get messed with but not to a life-ending degree. At worst...

I hope you keep your word, darling.

- Your beloved, Ai.

P's. I love you too.

[fckeddiemunson]

Blurred Lines Pt. 2

Part One Here:

Summary: What was a one time thing is turning into a full fledged affair

Warnings: 18+ONLY MDNI. some choking, p in v, creampie, more cheating, handjob, spitting

Notes: AHH ok part 2 is here! Please enjoy, I may make a part 3 i have some ideas.....

2750 words

Getting away with cheating is not a humbling feeling. It boosts your ego without even realising it. And then suddenly you’re taking risks you never would have before. You think you’re untouchable. Especially in this case when there’s two parties involved who have so much to lose. It doesn’t get any better with time either, the longer you aren’t caught for the less careful you become about hiding fleeting glances, small, overlooked touches. Then there’s after work. Going back to your respective homes, playing a husband and father or playing a dutiful fiancé. You think it won’t catch up to you, but it always will.

The immediate day after you were with Rusty, you called in sick – something you had never done. You were sick to your stomach that day, you couldn’t even be at home. Dom was at home sleeping in the same bed you let Rusty fuck you in, worse in the same sheets. Your absence was met with a slew of texts from Rusty, get better soon, hope you’re in tomorrow, where’s the link to my google calendar?, please sweetheart I’m useless without you. It was honestly a bit overwhelming. You spent most of that day in your car, driving past the office about ten times like a maniac. Once evening hit and you knew Dom would have left for work you went home. You collapsed once inside, relief rushing through you at being alone. You breathed deeply and smelt the dinner Dom had cooked and left warming in the oven for you. despite the rough patch you were having, he still made time for you like this, it made you sick thinking about it. You frowned, a twinge of guilt coursed through you as picked at the food, not very hungry. Your phone vibrated, filling the silent void you had cocooned yourself in. you felt even worse checking the message, from Dom sending his love and hoping you enjoyed dinner. Sending back a message with love hearts you shut your phone and cringed. But as you sat there longer, chewing slowly on the potatoes your loving fiancé had cooked. You made a decision.  A decision to not let this effect you. Evidently you had gotten away with it. Everything would be fine so long as it remained a one-time thing.

The next morning you walked into the office with your head held high. Rusty had beat you into the office, not many people had filed in this early. You marched into his office locked the door and leaned against the door with your arms crossed.

“The other night was a one-time thing.” Your stern voice almost echoed in the room.

“Jesus. Keep your voice down!” Rusty looked suspiciously out the little window, not a soul was around besides the two of you. Ignoring him a little you continued; “I don’t regret it, god, I don’t regret it, but we have lives we must maintain.”

“I agree. We work so well together is all. We got carried away is what happened. For the record, I don’t regret it either, I should but I don’t. Shall we begin the day? Coffee?” Rusty had already made you a cup, it sat next to his on the desk. And just like that. It was swept under the rug, nothing more needed to be said.

A week passed uneventfully; more prep work was done for the woman whose body was found in the dumpster. The trial really was only another few weeks away and at this point it seemed cut and dry, open and closed. All thanks to your hard (very hard) work with Rusty that night. It wasn’t until you felt yourself staring at Rusty again when you should’ve been working that you felt concerned again. You felt an invisible tug towards him, a shudder in your lower stomach when you studied his lips for too long. You were reminded how good they felt on you, how good they felt on your neck – no. You shook your head, trying to snap out of your daydream, or more memory of Rusty.

The next week was full of late nights in the office with Rusty, the case now was too sensitive and confidential to work on anywhere else. Most of your team was in the office until about 8pm. It was the Friday before the trial was set to start, the following Monday. It was now approaching 8:30pm, everyone had already vacated, under the impression that we wouldn’t discover anything new this close to trial. But Rusty was insistent, he was beyond thorough and would not stop until he was satisfied there was nothing else to find. You had organised food for the two of you and stood in the break room, dishing up a plate of chicken and rice. Rusty was standing over his desk when you took it in, his hand catching yours as you placed his food.

“You know I really appreciate you. You’re the best assistant anyone could ask for.” His thumb rubbed the back of your hand, smiling.

“I’m much more than an assistant you know” You whispered, sliding your hand away.

“You’re so much more.” Rusty said quietly, you looked back at him. Without thinking, you tilted your head up and kissed him, eyes closing briefly. He kissed back, leaning into you. But it was all over too quickly, you pulled away, scurrying back to the break room to grab your food. You stood there with your hands on your hips, staring at the ground in disbelief. Another decision was made in that moment. The true point of no return.

**

“Fuck!” Rusty yelled after a few more hours of meticulous reading and frustrated re-reading of the case files.

“There’s just nothing else. I can’t find anything to fortify our case further.” Rusty slumped in his office chair, rubbing his temples and frowning.

“Maybe that’s because its already foolproof.” You offered, throwing your stack of papers back on the desk.

“No, it has to be better.” Rusty almost snapped, frustration overcoming him. You rolled your eyes, not appreciating the tone.

“Come on. Grab your things.” In a moment you were up, handbag and laptop in hand.

“What, why?” Rusty slowly got up, grabbing his things and attempting to tidy up before leaving for the weekend.

“We’re going to clear our heads.” You headed for the elevator; Rusty followed behind chuckling after you. Rusty’s arm brushed against yours the entire lift, he didn’t seem to want to move, and you were trying to stop yourself from moving closer to him. You looked at him again, his tie still tight from this morning. You placed your bag on the ground and reached up to his tie, dodging his gaze.

“Its now after work, got to loosen up a bit.” You loosened his tie, hands lingering on his chest, his warmth radiated up through your fingertips. In an instant, he backed you into the lift wall and kissed you deeply. You gasped as his hands pulled at the bottom of your shirt from your skirt, rucking it up and sliding his hands under. You felt his fingertips working upwards, running across your ribcage, feeling his way. He pulled his hands out and fiddled with the buttons up at your chest. The lift pinged as he undid two, exposing your cleavage to him, he looked smug as you walked to your car.

You drove the two of you to a cliff top lookout, it overlooked the whole city. At this time of night, you expected local teenagers with beer getting drunk, but it was thankfully deserted by the time you got up there. Rusty had asked many questions along the way, not a man who liked to be surprised. You had answered all of them, with Rusty kissing your hand. The city lights twinkled in the distance, feeling a lifetime away from the lookout. You sat in silence for a moment, both looking ahead at the view. It was you who broke the silence, sighing deeply and looking at Rusty.

“Fuck it.” You whispered, more to yourself and hiked up your skirt, climbing over the centre console, and into Rusty’s lap. He was amused, a smirk pulling at the edges of his lips.

“I don’t want it to be a one-time thing, Rusty. I want you. I have craved you ever since that night. I can’t stop thinking about you.” You knew you sounded obsessive and a bit crazy. You knew it was a lot to be asking of him, of anyone but that longing desire you had burned for him. You tried to be a head strong person, but you had somehow almost girl-bossed your way into an affair.

“I don’t like keeping secrets from my wife.” Rusty was already playing with the buttons on your shirt, teasing you.

“So, I’m sure you told her about the other night then?” You stared him down, lifting his chin and forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Just shut up.” Rusty’s voice was harsh as he snaked his hands around the back of your head, pulling you down for a kiss. It was rough, all teeth nipping at each other’s lips. You let him kiss you, your hands snaking down to play with the buckle on his pants. Rusty let out a deep sigh as your hand brushed against him. He was rigid as the back of your hand stroked him, pulling his cock out of his pants. You eagerly spat, it landed on his cock, Rusty hissed at the contact. He bucked his hips when you touched him, a soft whine escaping his lips as you jerked him up and down with lazy strokes. You leant forward, lips connecting to his exposed neck, you felt a low warming in your stomach as you licked a stripe up his neck, stopping at his jawline and kissing him along it finally reaching his mouth. You licked his lower lip, begging for entrance, whining when he waved a hand through your hair pulling back, his grip firm. You locked eyes as your hand continued to stroke him up and down, now painfully hard, the tip blushing pink as you ran your thumb over the slit. Rusty grunted your name, his head falling back against the seat. Taking the opportunity, you kissed him, pulling him in and biting his lower lip, running your tongue against his now swollen lip.

Rusty took the chance and pushed you back, landing against the dashboard, your legs spread for him, pussy covered only by sheer stockings. You started pulling them down awkwardly, attempting to shimmy them off you when Rusty put his hand on yours to stop. His wicked smirk returned, hands grabbing on the material at the apex of your thighs, gripping tight and ripping a hole in them. A surprised gasp left your mouth as you stared at him through half closed lids, lustfully enjoying the way Rusty kneaded at your exposed thighs. His hand grabbed your thigh dangerously high, his thumb swiping over your underwear, brushing your clit. His thumb hooked under the band, feeling the warmth of your cunt as he inched towards your dripping entrance. A mix between a moan and a dark chuckle left his mouth when he felt how wet you were for him. How all it took was a hand-job to get you aching for him. He looked at you then, and you felt powerful, eyes following your hand down and gripping his dick as you leant forward and grinded your hips down onto him, his tip flicking against your clit.

“Please.” He whispered, hips meeting your grinding, breathless moans leaving him. You slipped forward, tilted your hips and sunk down slowly onto his length. Rusty was big, there was no way to put it lightly and you hissed at the burn sinking further onto him. He knew it too, he chuckled once you took him all the way, pausing to breathe deeply. You moaned as he bucked up impatiently, pulling you towards him and gripping your hips tightly urging you to move on him. Settling yourself, you placed your hands on the car seat for leverage and began moving your hips up and down. You felt his cock sliding in and out of you and you relished the feeling, short panting moans as your pace quickened. Rusty’s fingers kneaded and bruised your hips as you rode him, helping you move as he bucked in shallow thrusts from below. He felt so deep inside you, his cock nudging against the spongey spot making you mew for him. You ground yourself down on him, your clit rubbing back and forth over his neat patch of hair, and you released a moan, feeling yourself getting closer and closer.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined as he tangled his hands in your hair, pulling you forward to kiss you. His thrusts deepened and quickened as you rested yourself on his shoulder, panting and moaning as his cock pumped in and out of you now almost harshly. He pushed you back against the dashboard, hand travelling up to your throat and holding you in place as he thrusted upwards into you, still seated in the car. His fingers wrapped around your throat, and he squeezed, testing the waters. Rusty groaned hotly, chuckling darkly as he felt your cunt clench when he squeezed. He did it again and you moaned, it came out high pitched and strained as Rusty kept his hand on your throat.

“Oh, you are a little slut for me, aren’t you?” Rusty’s voice had changed, he sounded rugged as he egged you on.

“My own personal stress relief. Isn’t that what you wanted, to ‘clear my head’?” Rusty felt his ego inflate ten-fold when he looked at you, mimicking your words from earlier. You met his eyes, cock drunk and watering as you held onto his hand, choking you. He tore his hand away from your throat, grabbed your leg and hitched it up higher, resting on his shoulder as he inched forward, fucking you deeper. You couldn’t answer him, you were too fucked out and teetering on the verge of an orgasm, eyes fluttering shut.

Rusty’s hand made its way to your cunt again, his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. You jerked against his touch, suddenly becoming too much as your orgasm built in your stomach.

“Rusty, its too much” you attempted to move his hand, but he gripped your wrist and held it away, his thumb moving quicker against you.

“You can take it sweetheart.” His thrusts quickened, his pace becoming erratic and sharp.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, immediately whining as you spasmed. A hot and cold feeling washed over you as Rusty kept on fucking you through your orgasm. Your cunt pulsed, over stimulated and Rusty wasn’t stopping, he was chasing his own high. He grunted and pulled you closer to him, feeling him everywhere. He was too deep, he smelt too good, his arms wrapped around you possessively as he thrusted the last few times. He nestled against you, burying his head in your neck and breathing in deeply as he grabbed you tighter against him, moaning into your hair, his warm cum spilling into you. You eventually relaxed into his tight grip, too tired to move. Rusty felt too good in your arms to move as well, his hand stroked your hair, you could feel his cum dribbling out of you. Rusty made no attempt to move, just stayed locking you in his arms. The rush was subsiding, and you both enjoyed each other’s silent company. You both felt it thought. The pull towards one another. You could hear his mind turning over like cogs, both coming to another decision. It was another night spent with the wrong person. Another night spent with each other, but now he was your arms, feeling far too intimate to be just sex.

You were the first to break the silence, “Rusty, I don’t want to go home, yet.” Your hand snaked in behind his neck, tilting it up so you could look at him.

“I don’t want too either.” His voice was soft, almost as though he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

You don’t know how long you stayed up there, embraced in each other’s arms, but you knew something had changed. There was no going back after this.

[cvnntagious]

Have My Baby | C. Sturniolo

"Where'd you come from, with all these statements? / Only thing I wanna know is, can you have my baby." -Chief Keef

pairing : Toxic!Chris x Fem!Reader

Summary : When a sweet date night with your boyfriend turns into arguing in the restaurant, Chris wants to let you know he still loves you, even though he doesn't act like it most of the time.

Warnings : use of y/n, mentions of cheating, arguing, swearing, use of bitch in a derogatory way, lowkey angst??, manipulation, smut, p in v, riding, talk of breeding, pet names (baby, princess, ma), 18+

authors note : please don't point out how i keep posting everything BUT the requests i've gotten… i also made a bot for this so enjoy

-love, your grandma cvnty ☆!

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

The fancy restaurant you sat in buzzed with chatter, lit with only the dim, warm lighting of the expensive glass-beaded chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. Chris set his menu down with a small, content sigh, smiling at you as he looked into your eyes. "Know that I want," He said simply, placing his hands in front of him on top of the menu, "You?"

You looked up from the menu, matching your boyfriends smile. "What're you getting?" You asked him before setting your menu down in front of you as well, still opened, "I'm a little stuck. Maybe we can share?"

The gesture could've been seen as some type of romantic 'Lady and the Tramp' scene, if it weren't for the underlying tension. You two had never been good together. The way you practically had to beg Chris for two days straight to take you out tonight said it all, and yet, you both sat disingenuously and played house day by day. Even so, all this fancy bullshit had only been enough to fool your boyfriends fans, but everyone else around you guys saw. They saw the way Chris' shitty antics affected you - How they'd caused you to vie for his attention in the same shitty ways he did yours.

There was a flicker of something you couldn't quite make out in Chris' eyes, but he maintained that same smile. "Pasta, like always. You don't like Alfredo," He answered, his tone sweet, making it so that no one around would notice the complaisant undertone like you could.

Of course he'd be like this, how stupid of you to assume he'd enjoy himself tonight. His attitude made you remember how silent he was while you got ready for your date after he finally agreed, only watching you get all dolled up while he wore his usual beanie and t-shirt. Your shoulders dropped when you caught the insincerity, eyes flicking to look at the menu once more as your smile faded. You took a minute to examine while Chris watched from across the table, opening your mouth to say something when you were ready, only to be cut off by the dinging notification on your phone.

Instantly, your head snapped to your phone not far from the menu, reaching to grab it. "Forgot to turn off my ringer." You gave him an uneasy chuckle, flipping the switch on the side of your phone.

"Who's texting you?" Chris asked, smile now gone and hands to the side of him when you looked up at him.

You sucked in a sharp breath before clicking the power button to check the contact. "My mom," You answered, hearing your phone buzz a few more times on the table.

"Seems important, you should text her back."

Hesitantly, to his wishes, you picked your phone off the table and unlocked it with your face. You clicked on messages to type a reply, feeling your phone being snatched from your hands before you could even read the texts for yourself. "Chris-"

He hummed as he read the messages, his face sour with your phone held up to it. "Baby pictures," He replied, sounding disappointed.

A huff left your mouth when you saw him going to type for you, making you reach over the table and snatch your phone from him. "The fuck?" Chris raised his voice a bit, causing people at surrounding tables to glance over.

"I'm not a cheater like you, asshole. Don't sound so down about it." You ignored the agitated charge in his tone as you tweaked your neck at him, speaking in a low tone and giving him an almost disgusted look.

Chris rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh please, don't be a bitch about stupid shit. I've never cheated and you know it." His tone was sassy, tongue prodding at his cheek.

The scoff that came from you was so bitter, it almost had Chris leaning over to spit the taste of it out of his mouth. "Only 'cause I caught you before you could actually meet up to fuck her." The blunt words caused a pain in his chest, though he'd never admit it. He kept his composure in front of you, not even flinching at the daggers your eyes threw at him.

He shook his head dismissively, looking up at the light fixtures above you two. "I can't stand you sometimes."

That instant click of your tongue he knew so well made Chris' eyes snap back to your face, knowing he'd really ticked you now. "Ya know what? I shouldn't have even forced you to take me out on a date for once," You stood from your seat, grabbing your belongings as calm as you could in hopes to not alert other people simply enjoying their meals, "I knew it was too much for you to handle. Especially in these times where you 'can't stand' me."

Chris watched with parted lips as you walked away from the table, stiletto heels clacking against the marble floors. You thanked the hostess, letting her know you wouldn't be dining here tonight in a sweet tone before turning to the door. It took a moment, but eventually Chris snapped back into reality, rushing out of the doors to catch up to you.

You already had your hand on the door handle of your car when he finally caught sight of you again, making him sigh in relief that you hadn't already taken off. Your eyes met his when he made it to the tail of your car, sighing before opening the front door. "Get in, you scrub," You demanded in fed up exasperation as you slid into the drivers seat.

━━★

The ride home had been silent, and it was no different for the walk into your house. You hung your purse up on the hooks nailed by the door, Chris walking past you and stopping at the bottom step with his hands in his pockets. Why didn't you just take him home and go back to your place? You hadn't a clue. You really had no intentions of talking things out— at least not tonight.

There were many things you didn't have a clue about. Like why you hadn't left him back when you guys were seventeen, when he'd hid you and played with your feelings all the way up until he realized he could brag about you when he started doing YouTube. You could've really put your foot down when you guys were eighteen and he'd told you he could never love you. You should've told him to fuck off back when you were nineteen and caught him practically sexting multiple other girls for the first time. But now he's twenty, all rich and famous, dragging you out to LA with him and his brothers, and he doesn't even feel the need to show any sort of appreciation for everything you do for him.

"You look gorgeous," He mumbled as you walked past him, making your way up his stairs with tall heels on, to which he wrapped an arm around your waist from behind to guide you.

The stinging from you swatting him away from you was nothing compared to the stinging way you'd walked out of the date you so desperately pleaded with him for because he couldn't manage one peaceful night with his girlfriend. "I don't need your help." You placed your hand on the wall as you picked up your pace to walk a few steps ahead of him.

Chris sighed, slowly but surely trailing behind you. By the time you'd made it to the stairwell leading down to his room, he'd just made it to the top of the stairs at the entrance, searching your irritated face as you rounded the corner. His pace picked up significantly when he saw you take the first step down without even thinking to take your shoes off, afraid you'd fall or something. He grabbed you again, this time hooking your arm on his. "Please," He said gently, not wanting you to push him away this time.

Again, you huffed, reluctantly allowing him to guide you down the stairs like he was some gentleman, though you knew he wasn't. "I'm so tired of you." You started, unable to help yourself. You were just so frustrated with him all the time.

His eyes on the ground, Chris licked his lips at your words, genuinely ashamed of himself for tonight. "I know, baby," He assured you, surprising you when his words came out remorseful, "I know."

"Don't 'baby' me, you ruin everything," You continued on, ranting out of a mix of sadness and anger. "What am I? Just some girl you flaunt to a camera as if you're some awesome, amazing boyfriend?"

He looked up at you, eyes drooping like a child being scolded as he opened his bedroom door for you. "I love you." He simply replied as he let go of you, voice barely above a whisper.

You walked into his room freely, finally taking your shoes off. "Every time you start some stupid 'I love you' shit, I physically cringe," You began an almost entirely new rant, Chris grabbing your heels from your hands to set them neatly aside as he listened intently, "Because, fuck, I love you, but I'll never ever believe you feel the same after what you said to me years ago."

"So was I. And now what? You're gonna say you didn't mean it?" You cut him off, "Even freshly eighteen, I'd never say some stupid shit like that to put you down, whether I meant it or not."

Chris hummed as he turned back to you, "I was young-"

"So was I. And now what? You're gonna say you didn't mean it?" You cut him off, "Even freshly eighteen, I'd never say some stupid shit like that to put you down, whether I meant it or not."

"You don't understand," He took a few steps closer, "Y/n, I'd do anything for you."

You crossed your arms as you looked at him, not buying it. "Oh, I'm sure you would, Christopher."

The sigh he let out at your sarcasm actually caused you to snap out of your angry haze for a moment, feeling a bit sorry for him for some reason. Of course, he had this chewing out coming for quite some time now, but you'd never expected yourself to be so blunt about everything out of nowhere. "you're just so much better than me," He said in a defeated tone, features soft as he looked you up and down.

At any other given moment, he would've said that in such a condescending tone, but it was almost as if he didn't have it in him to pick and egg on the argument like normal. "I want nothing than to spend the rest of my life with you," He breathed, stepping closer to wrap his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder.

"Chris, what're you-"

He cut you off with a kiss, much more gentle than any kiss you'd ever gotten from him before. His fingers made his way up to underneath your chin, lifting it to move the kiss from your lips to underneath your jaw. "We could do so much together," He picked up his head, hands sliding under your cute, flowey shirt, "We should've done so much more together by now."

You looked at him with a confused expression, like you were unsure of if he was being serious or not. "I wanna start a family with you," He punctuated his words with kisses down your neck, "And get married. All that sappy shit."

"You're such a fake," You replied as he gently pushed you down on his bed. This, like other times, had to be some sort of manipulation to keep you from leaving, and deep down you knew it. Yet, for some reason, you always ended up letting him have his way with you. Of course, the sex was good, but was it good enough to endure the torture of Chris Sturniolo himself?

Even so, when your boyfriend crawled on his bed to attach his lips to yours from above you, you opened your legs for him to slip himself between. Chris groaned when you reached your hand around his neck to play with the tufts of hair just at the base of his skull, ultimately pulling his kiss in deeper. "A fake?" He feigned offense, "You have no idea how i really see you."

"A little hard when you claim to hate me." You forced out a chuckle, shifting uncomfortablely benath your boyfriend.

Chris sucked in through his nose. "Don't be like that," He breathed before allowing his head to dip just under your chin, peppering kisses along your exposed collarbone.

You rolled your eyes, chin subconsciously lifting to give him better access. His motions only served to dampen your panties. Your hand rose to fall into his soft curls, massaging tenderly at his scalp. Chris groaned at the contact, lips exploring your body in slothish motions. He was in no rush.

Finally, he lifted his head again, kissing you so quick and gently that it'd almost felt like he caressed your lips with his. He wasted no time in sitting up against the headboard, pulling you onto his lap in that same motion. "Healthy or not, I could do this every day," He said softly, reaching up to brush his thumb over your cheek, "And this-" He didn't finish his sentence, hands roaming down the fabric of your dress in admiration.

He was so right— The problem is that this wasn't healthy. But fuck did you guys know how to forgive each other, with as much as you knew how to get on each others nerves. You exhaled softly at his words, somehow feeling content by them. Your arms wrapped around his neck, resting on his shoulders, "Sad to say I could too."

"I know."

With that, he grabbed your ass and lifted it from his lap, then letting go to unbuckle his jeans. He pulled them and his boxers down simultaneously, freeing the erection you hadn't even yet noticed. He wasn't interested in fully undressing himself, and he wasn't interested in undressing you at all. With how sexy you looked all dressed up for your guys' date? There was no way in hell. He reached to bunch your dress up at your waist, fingers dipping to press against the wet spot on the fabric of your panties. "Perfect, you can't resist me," He hummed out, lifting you over his aching cock.

"I can," You tried to fight back, only for your argument to be diminished by the way he ran his tip through your folds, eliciting a whimper from you.

You practically broke down on top of him, your legs on either side of his as you held onto his shoulders for support. He allowed the head of his cock to tease your aching clit and dripping entrance to no end, making you unable to hold back the pants the soft caressing on it forced out of you with your face now buried in his neck. "Chris," You whined, causing him to chuckle.

His hand let go of the base of his dick, gripping your hips to plop you down onto him with a hiss. You yelped at the way he'd filled you up so quickly, trembling a bit in his grasp. "Stay still, okay ma? G'na fuck a baby into you," He demanded, voice gruff with lust, "You'll know I'm fa'real then."

At that, he began thrusting into you, agonizingly slow as he sucked in through his perfectly straight teeth. You looked down between your bodies, lips parting to let out more sporadic pants of pleasure. Impatience took over him, beginning to thrust into you at a faster and rougher pace. By then, full moans escaped your lips, unable to contain them as he fucked you so good.

He grunted as your jaw went slack, his pace almost animalistic. He was never one for wasting time. He needed to cum. What other way would you carry his child if not for him shooting his warm seed into you? Surely your favorite panties would be soiled by the end of this, and you'd be lucky to keep your dress nice.

w/c : 2.7k taglist : @m4ttsmunch @mattsnumberonehoe @k4yd1 @sturnobsessedwh0re (lmk If you wanna be added!)

[scekrex]

Hi I am wonder if you could do anothe part for overlord!reader, like maybe news on how reader has Adam got out and now reader has to take time from his personal paradise to deal with the rest of Hell. Their place is hidden away so he doesn’t really have to deal with attack but he does have to deal with contant calls to buy or hand over Adam. Reader is just increasingly piss off and at some point Adam decide to help him chill out by snuggling him when it became clear he’s close to losing it. It gotten bad enough that Adam straight up drag a reclining couch to his office which help which helps wth work because an angel being all cuddly nearby would motivate anyone haul ass quickly to join them

Fuck I'm such a sucker for the soft bond overlord!reader and Adam have, I wanna write for em all day long ughhh

Bird of Hell's Paradise

Lover come hold me

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

After that little date you and Adam had enjoyed the prior week, news that the former angel was living with you spread through hell’s seven rings like a disease. And while your life as an Overlord in general had grown more stressful ever since the exterminations had been invented, this was a new peak of stress.

People kept reaching out, strangers managed to get their claws on your phone number and had the audacity to call you and ask for how much you would sell the first man to them, not understanding that Adam was not for sale. The first man would continue to stay at your place for as long as he desired and if one day he should decide that he no longer wants to spend eternity with you, he could move out. Selling him to some limp dick Imp was off the table though. Hell’s residents didn’t seem to understand that though, they kept calling you, blowing up your phone like there was no tomorrow, your text messages were full of people offering insanely high amounts of money for Adam and some people even dared to pay you a personal visit - though those were only people you knew. Not everyone in hell knew where exactly your mansion was located and you were more than grateful for that. A protection spell you had casted recently would also prevent any ordinary sinner or hellborn to ever find it.

You dropped your head onto your desk, the loud noise it made caused Adam to lift his head, his eyes looking you up and down. The first man was leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with a displeased expression, “The fuck is going on?” You sighed as you turned your head towards your lover, yet you kept it on the desk, you were too tired to lift it up. “Hell’s demons seem to be very interested in you, my love,” you mumbled as you reached for your phone that was interrupting the situation by buzzing quite loudly, “Fuck off, he’s not for fucking sale like a motherfucking slave,” and with that you hung up, not even hearing the person on the other end out. Your tired eyes watched as the first man left the little room you had organized to function as your office. Apparently Adam himself seemed to have enough of hell’s bullshit as well and you really could not blame the former angel at all. It must be exhausting to know that people down here either want him permanently dead or that they want to buy him like a pet you can just shop. The poor soul must suffer from this even more than you were. You were able to turn off your phone and ignore it, he wasn’t. Not when all of this was about him, after all. You had offered him protection when you had rescued him, now you were not even able to provide a peaceful afterlife for the first man.

In exhaustion you closed your eyes but the silence in your office didn’t last long, this time however it was not your phone that interrupted the somewhat peaceful moment, it was Adam. The first man was dragging a reclining couch through the door, pushing it through the room until he had decided on what appeared to be the perfect spot for it, then he walked over to where you were resting your head on your desk. Without any explanation the first man took your phone, muted the device and put it back on the table. “You,” he said as he lifted you out of your chair. Your body went limp as the brunette picked you up as if it was the easiest thing he had ever done, your head was now resting on the first man’s shoulder instead of the hard wooden desk and your body embraced the warmth that Adam’s body offered. Legs were wrapped around the brunette’s hips and arms held onto his neck, the former angel’s hands steadied your back so that you were not to fall. His soft, shimmering wings he wrapped around you, turning the stressful world off for a moment as he carried you over to the couch he had just dragged here. “Are gonna fucking rest and ignore all that motherfucking bullshit for a couple hours,” he finished his sentence as he flopped down onto the couch.

Adam had never been this touch before, yes he had hugged you, yes the both of you cuddled while sleeping, but him hauling an entire couch into your office just to distract you from the chaos that hell was going through because its residents now knew Adam was living with you? That was nothing you’d turn down - not that you’d ever turn down affection the former angel offered you in general. “Whatever my mighty winged love desires,” you hummed as you snuggled closer against his chest. The brunette’s chin came to rest on the top of your head as he simply held you, the wings provided a comfortable warmth that made you fall asleep quicker than you had thought it would. But the warmth paired with Adam’s scent had you asleep in no time and with a small smile your tall lover watched over his finally resting boyfriend.

[southparkhcsocs]

Hii! Could you maybe do the main four + butters (if wanted ofc!) with a s/o who looks really mean on the outside but is like the nicest person in the inside!! If you do thank youuu! x3 ♥︎

Also do u accept anons? If you do, could I be 🕯️ anon?

Yes! love this! I hope you like it!

I do Accept Anons!

Stan Marsh

When Stan first saw you he might as well shat his pants

Bro was so scared as was most people at college

There wasn't a lot of buff ass girls so when you walked up to him when he was trying to bench

SWEAT

but your soft voice spoke

"you should really have someone to spot you when doing bench presses."

"w-what?"

"it's okay, I'll spot you."

Fuck it was when you smiled

that smile got this boy smitten

After that?

Well, it was history

Kyle Broflovski

You didn't really like anyone in your class.

they were either try hards or just fucking idiots

So when then stupid Ginger wouldn't stop staring at you

well you had enough

"what the fuck is your problem?"

"w-what?"

"why are you staring at me??"

"i.. uh.. I want to ask you on a date"

A Date???

Your stomach started doing flips

You look him up and down

"sure."

Best decision ever!

Kenny McCormick

UGH Kenny McCormick!? Seriously!

Not being funny Ken but everyone know you're a fuck and chuck kinda guy

Everyone knew you were not the kind to be fucked around with

Especially since what your ex said you did to them

So you thought you would give him a dirty look to get the dumbass to stop staring

this MF just WINKED

from then on he wouldn't leave you alone

you exchanged numbers thinking nothing of it

until one night he text you

Y/n, hlep bd higth What? PLs hel p Send location

And with that you made your way to the scruffs house.

You were always his go to for everything from that point on

Eric Cartman

Everyone knew you were in some sort of fight club

So when Cartman heard he want to watch to see how shit you were

but much to his surprise you were actually good???

he could use this

you could beat people up for him

it's perfect!

Little did he know that you were a total softie

litro would not hurt a fly

plus you wont attention like.. ALL THE TIME

Lucky you're hot

andgivegoodhead

Leopold "Butters" Stotch

oh hamburgers

oh hamburgers

he doesn't know what he was thinking

he heard the rumors' about you

so when his dad ordered him to tell you to move your bike he was terrified

as he timidly walked over to you

it was like he got a frog caught in his throat

"e-excuse me.. could you please move your bike"

"you're cute."

His face could not of gotten redder

"here's my number. call me."

You hopped on your bike and rode of into the distance

once you got back to your dorm you checked your phone

3 new messages

This boy has never received as much love since meeting you.

you adore him and he you

[annabelle--cane]

Sorry if this is weird but I’m working on this book that feels like my first substantial foray into literature, and I’m really proud of it. But it’s also a lot of work and my life is…life, so I get into motivational slumps a lot.

Lately I’ve been like “But think of the random thoughtful tumblr posts (by people like you) where they realize something I was trying to say, or reveal some new way to read the text entirely!” and it gets me through the slumps.

If you published a work with a lot of hidden messages and metaphors, would you want to tell people what you meant? Would you correct people if they got it wrong?

I used to think I would tell everyone EXACTLY what things meant. It has always been frustrating to me when authors are vague as hell about their meanings behind things. But now writing this story, I kinda want to see how much people catch on to. If I write it well enough, they’ll get all the main ones. But maybe some of them will only get one or two! And there’s like a puzzle network of understanding in your audience!

I think I’d correct them if their interpretations were somehow harmful, but that would also mostly be about figuring out how those messages came out of the text so it doesn’t happen again.

saur. my answer to these questions are layered, and I'm going to answer them kind of out of order.

as an audience member, about 70% of the time I really enjoy hearing what authors have to say about their work. it can often point me to areas of consideration that I hadn't really been focusing on before, and creators usually care a lot about their text and have paid great attention to it and so their opinions are often well-informed and consider all angles. and then that other 30% of the time I hear what an author has to say about their work and it's like we're discussing completely different things, and I'm sure they meant to write their work to come off a certain way, but something appears to have gotten hideously lost in translation because that is Not what I read. and I sit there like 😬 you don't know him (this story you wrote) like I do 😬 .

as an english lit student, I could not care less what authors have to say about their work. the text is the text, the book is in my hand, and sure, I might look into what commentary an author has made, but that is ultimately superfluous to my analysis and I'll treat it with exactly the same weight as any other interpretation I come across. if I can back up my argument with evidence and criticism then no one can tell me I'm wrong, including the author. overall I don't think someone can actually be "wrong" about their interpretation of an art work as long as they have sufficient supporting evidence. if a meaning has been successfully put into the text then it's there and I will be able to find it, and if it hasn't then no amount of creator commentary will insert it post hoc.

as a creative writer, this is one of the main things that I think peer review and workshopping is really useful for. as a little story time, I took a creative writing class last year and submitted a piece for workshop that I thought was truly just an embarrassingly unsubtle fairytale-esque allegory for addiction, where the protagonist is in a toxic but thrilling relationship with a tricksy fairy named poppy who will bring them to intoxicating magical ballrooms out in the woods, but only at the cost of all their human relationships and, eventually, their own physical wellbeing. only one person in the class got the metaphor, and this told me that a) wow my experiences are not universal, and b) during revisions I should focus on making the story substantial enough on its own that readers can enjoy it even if they don't twig anything about the fairy literally being named poppy.

a lot of other people in that class got feedback on their work about interpretations they didn't intend, and depending on how wildly a reading varied from their intention they would then try and remove whatever made that reading possible in subsequent edits and emphasize what they actually meant. of course, you can't write for your hypothetical worst audience who will actively disinterpret your work as much as possible, but if you've got a workshop group or just a few friends that you think are reasonable readers then I'd recommend sharing what you've got with them and hearing what they're getting from it.

as a person in fandom, oh my god do I not want to touch anything with a ten foot pole if the author goes around correcting audience interpretation, because that makes for an absolutely insufferable fan environment. even when authors are aware of fan culture and try to phrase their gripes with their work's reception as inoffensively as possible, it can still shut down a lot of creative spirit and galvanize fandom hall monitors into taking matters into their own hands. and most authors aren't even that nice about it.

to sum up what I would do (might eventually do? depending on how my life works out?) were I to publish something for wide release, I think I would want to do fairly regular peer review to double check that what I'm writing isn't completely out of alignment with what I want it to be, and I'd probably write some of my own interpretation of my work but keep it out of the way enough that it's clearly not meant to be taken as part of the work itself, and be very clear that my relation and reaction to the text is based on my own mind and life experiences and may not line up with others', and that's fine.

[glaciertea]

Masterlist here~

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.5<< >>Ch.7

Notes: Miguel is enjoying your presence with each passing day. Realizations is slowly creeping through.

Chapter 6: Tell Me that You Love Me...

Word count: 2.1K

Three weeks passed when you first officially hung out.

Six weeks when Miguel's “tabs” turned into genuine daily conversations ranging from text messages to phone calls that he never imposed on missing.

Nine weeks when things began to take a turn.

Over the course, you two have gotten closer. Miguel would sneak from his workstation over to your humble abode at any chance that was available. 

It eventually became a routine, a regime. Wednesday nights were the ceremonial ‘hangout days,’ as you had every Thursday off.

And every Wednesday, Miguel had justifications on precisely why he should not be troubled on that particular day.

“I need to double check if the code for stabilizing dimensions is up to date.” Liar.

“I'm performing augmented machinery work for the portal watches. They've been malfunctioning for me.” Bullshit.

“I'm tired.” That was sort of true, but it never slowed him down before.

Whenever someone even attempts to debate or raise any doubts, he flares, defensively striking more so than usual. It became a phrase around the coven of Spider-people.

“Be careful; it's ‘Snappy Wednesdays’ for Miguel.” Would be telephoned throughout.

It vexed him to no end. If he wanted to remain unbothered, he should just be permitted to do so with no hassle. But no, it's never that easy for him. It was never easy until he crossed that threshold. 

When he steps through your door, the stress and the unease lingers yet vanish. A strange balance.

“Are they still giving you hell about leaving?”

You poured the boiled noodles into a cauldron as Miguel was sprawled out on your couch, his sheathed claws harshly massaging his temples.

“Yes, and today was no better. I swear if I hear one more, ‘but are you sure you want to leave? It's a scary world out there,’ I'm going to lose it ¿Por qué tengo que ser uno para ponerlos todos? ¿Por qué me estoy plagando de estos idiotas?”

You peer up at the grouchy man and smile. 

“I just don't understand why they're not used to it by now. I mean, maybe the first or second time it'll be weird, but the fifth or sixth? It's just a routine at that point. Or maybe that's just me. I can't speak for everyone.” You giggle, dumping the spaghetti in the meat sauce, and begin to stir.

“No, you're right. I just wish they would get used to it. Having to endure this shit is mind-numbing.”

You hobbled over to him with a giant bowl of pasta for him and a decent portion for you.

“Well, I hope there's some solace here. Even if it's just a smidgen.” You wormed your way right next to him before handing him his portion, crossing your legs on the sofa.

“Trust me when I say there's peace within these walls.” Miguel twirled the fork around.

“As peaceful as an apartment building can get, so a good forty-five percent.”

“Why so low?”

“Have you ever heard neighbors going at it in the middle of the night? I mean, they're certainly finding solace in each other! There's other factors, of course, but that's the biggest.”

A shared laugh broke out as you sighed in unison.

A comforting quietude rested; the only sounds being made were the clanking and clattering of the forks against the bowls.

“I've been meaning to ask, what's the name of the store you work for?” He filled in a little bit of space between you two.

“Huh, I never told you? I swore I did.”

Miguel shook his head.

“Guess I've gotten so comfortable around you, my brain assumes I did tell you.”

That rocked Miguel. You felt comfort in his presence? Was it an obligation or authentic? He disrupted that train of thought and briskly attuned his focus back to you.

“Alright, are you ready for the name?” You perched your dish on the table, relaxing your palms on your full belly.

“Sí, tan listo como siempre lo estaré. Go for it.”

“Adequate Antique Antics.”

Miguel's eyes flickered as his brain made an effort to process what you said.

“Adequate anti- what now?”

“Adequate Antique Antics. Bit of a tongue twisting mouthful, isn't it?”

He nodded in agreement, setting his bowl next to yours.

“Eso estuvo delicioso. So why did she name the store that?”

Your face heated at the compliment he gave you. He was just expressing that he enjoyed the spaghetti. Yet it made you giddier than how you normally would react.

“I'm glad you enjoyed it. And she didn't pick it–a family-owned business. You know how that goes.” Settling more onto the couch, minding the glass bowls, you prop your feet and free a displeasing sigh.

“She's been in a fight with her parents to change the name ever since I can remember. And oh my gosh, I'm still hearing about it until this day!”

Miguel blinked as he waited for you to continue. A week or so ago, he picked up on your facial expressions when you were done speaking. 

And you clearly weren't.

“For nearly three and a half years I've been working there, she somehow manages to bring up the argument for the name every day without fail. And here I'm thinking I'm persistent, but my goodness.”

Miguel snickered at your heated explanation. “Ronnie sounds very vehement.”

“I prefer hard-headed. But that works too.”

You grin at each other as you pretend to readjust yourself, scooting closer to him.

“I'm weirdly tempted to meet this Ronnie and see what she's like in person.”

You blew a raspberry before flinging a hand over your mouth. You possibly got too comfortable around him. 

Miguel lifted a brow at that reaction from you. He's never seen you do that before.

“Ah! I'm sorry. An atypical response I get sometimes. Just a slip of the tongue.” You cringed at the unintentional pun.

“I think it's adorable.” Now it was Miguel's turn to wince. The difference was that he hid it well.

You squirmed in your seat before mentally scolding yourself.

“Oh, thank you. That's very sweet of…”

You trailed off, gazing into his hypnotizing, vermillion eyes. Miguel returned the stare, taking in every part of your face. 

Every inch, from your eyes, your nose, your lips, and more. How your skin gleamed–even if the lights were dimmed in your apartment, it still managed to make you shine ever so brightly.

Dazing back simultaneously, you both spun your heads towards the front. Your heart pounded so hard that even your stomach felt it. Miguel controlled his breathing, his cheeks heating up. 

He couldn't. He shouldn't.

“Um, but yes, if you want to. Ronnie can be a bit of an intense menace, but she means well. Well, as well as one can mean.”

“That's how I feel about Peter.” Miguel grumbled. Even speaking his name causes him to instinctively grouch about it.

“From the stories you told about him, putting those two together under one roof?” You shuddered just at the thought of it.

“She can't be as bad as Peter.”

You gave Miguel a tentative look.

“It's that bad?”

You heavily nodded your head. “Minus the baby.”

“Funny how we both have someone who causes some sense of hassle.”

You gave a crooked smile. “It's a curse but also a blessing. Because at the end of the day, we know they just want the best.”

“For themselves?”

“Yes, but also in general. Though I don't fully agree with the methods she uses, Ronnie will always have my back. For example, if ever I need a day off for an emergency, I know I will receive it. Or when she told me I get every Thursday off. I was skeptical at first, but no, she kept her word. I only had to come in one Thursday because it was so heavily swamped, but I did not mind whatsoever. She goes out of her way to help me, and if she ever needs something, I'm willing to sacrifice to help her out. And I'm sure if you ever required anything, Peter would be there for you, and in return, you would do the same for him.”

Miguel could only gape.

“Heck, that even goes for us. Remember the first time you slept over? I told you I wouldn't let you suffer because you also helped me.” You laid your head back and stared at the ceiling.

“I personally like to think it's a give and give, with an occasional receive. Self-sacrifice? Maybe that's what I'm thinking of. I don't mind giving, but I'm also human, so if one is glad to lend more, then I'm going to return that favor, if not extra.”

“Some may see it as a beneficiary sort of deal. I helped this person out, so I should get something in return. Even though we humans are very reliant on one another in certain ways, some can use it for selfish needs.” You began to leisurely drum on your stomach.

Jutting up from your laid-back posture, you rotated your body toward him.

“I'm so sorry for the rambling. I hope anything I said made even a lick of sense.”

Your voice was slightly panicked before Miguel placed his hand on your arm, making sure to retract his claws.

“No, you're fine. I understood what you were alluding to.”

Your eyes landed on his fingers. They were calloused against your skin. He was always gentle around you.

“You aren't necessarily afraid to give and get nothing in return. But you're willing to go beyond and above for those who also have your best interests in mind.”

“Yeah! Wow, you summed up my spiel so easily. It might be that super duper smart spider brain.”

You giggled as his shoulders shook with a breathless laugh.

“Si. My spider brain is too highly advanced for many common people.”

You stared at him. He meant for it to come off as a joke. The problem was that his delivery was stern and dry. It almost sounded as if he suggested it as more of a statement.

He began to tighten until your face creased buoyantly. “It undoubtedly is for me. I'm going to assume jokes don't come easy for you?”

He slumped, and his jaw slackened. “I've been told I'm not funny.”

“You give me more sarcasm vibes than jokey ones. And I do enjoy a good sarcastic reply.”

You nudge him mischievously, garnering a joking eye roll. 

You two carried on your conversation until, at one point, Miguel self-reflected while you went to the shower.

Miguel bit his bottom lip as his mind raced to the earlier conversation. He sacrifices, but does he self-sacrifice? He gives up so much for the others, but do they even acknowledge his efforts? He’s aware they won't do the same, but would it be different if it were someone closer? 

It never crossed his mind how much he exactly does. The trillions that he's keeping safe. He's willing to let a few things go for them.

The one he truly wanted to keep safe is gone. He would be ready to give up everything just for her.

Miguel got startled as your voice sprang from the corner.

“You know what I was thinking–you should visit the antique shop! It would be fun to show you all the vintage items scattered!”

Sensing that there was something off, you sped over to him.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

Miguel bowed his head. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just lost in thought.”

“Well, if you ever wanna talk about it, just let me know, okay?” You rubbed his shoulder, kneading it some to relieve a bit of pressure. “Know I'm here for you.”

That smile. That tranquil, patient smile you give him makes his heart skip a beat. Those considerate sparkling eyes that have him believe things are okay, even if it's just for a split second.

Would he give everything up for you as well?

A string breaks loose.

He decided to not dwell on it anymore.

“What were you saying before you came in?” He smoothly switched the conversation.

“Oh! You should visit the shop. If you want to or have time, of course. We're open from nine until seven.”

“I'll try, but I don't know if I really can during the day.”

You swallowed your disappointment and waved your hand. “Remember, just an offer! I'll probably still be working there for the next few years anyway, so I'm sure we'll still get time in the future.”

He was shocked. You would still want to be around him? He doesn't believe he's particularly special.

And there are just too many wrongs within him that would turn anyone away.

“Yeah, I will see.”

You flopped yourself on the sofa as you proceeded to converse until Miguel had to leave.

“We will see.” He murmured, staring up at your apartment complex, and trudged away.

[echoes-in-blue]

Mark Hoffman x Original Character AU - Canon Divergent Story. +18 Readers only.

Summary: What if Mark always had someone behind the scenes, watching his back and helping him out. What would happen after his death and resurrection? When lovers become partners in crime, there will be no stopping their revenge. Tags: Dom/sub, breath play, teasing, language, dirty talk, restraints, spanking, knife play, fear play, injury, gore, violence Notes: This story is fan fiction derived from the universe of the Saw movies and takes place at the end of Saw VI, diverting the canon from there and adding in a bit more of a Hoffman backstory. If you aren't fond of this idea, then feel free to skip. This story is not meant for anyone under the age of 18. Read at your own risk.

Chapter One: Backup Plan

“If you don’t hear from me, by midnight I need you to open this envelope.” “And if I do hear from you?” “Burn it, like the others.” 

Typically, when he left things like that, he did contact her before midnight. It was funny to her that he believed she had no idea what he was doing or where he was going. At first, it hadn’t been so obvious but over time it became clear. Possibly because she was an FBI agent and a profiler. Did he underestimate her ability to figure it out or was he with her because he was very much aware that she knew who he was and what he was doing. The fact that it turned her on even though it shouldn’t and she was just as aware as him that she’d never turn him in. They were in love and had been since well before he’d become the Jigsaw apprentice. Things had only gotten more intense since that point. It was never explicitly stated between them what he was involved in but that didn’t matter. He knew she knew. It was why sometimes when he returned home he still had blood on his clothes, his gloves that gripped her chin so firmly. Forcing eye contact to make sure she knew her place. Sending chills down her spine into her very core, leaving her unable to deny how much she wanted him. He knew that too. 

That night, though, it felt different. The way he told her the instructions. Almost as if he knew that something wouldn’t go right. She wished he’d tell her more, or at least let her help. The thing was that not speaking of these things in detail gave her the plausible deniability she would need should he get caught. The first person they would go to was his wife. Much like they had gone after Jill Kramer. The less she knew, the better she’d be able to fake it when they came around to interrogate her. No matter what, she’d never throw him under the bus. It wasn’t that she was blind to what was wrong with the situation but she could see, through his eyes, why he did what he did. As someone who worked in law enforcement herself it was easier to justify handing out such punishments to criminals who had skirted the law and never learned the value of their lives or impact of their behavior. 

She couldn’t pretend like there weren’t suspects, perpetrators, and guilty men and women she had to deal with every day who she’d like to see maimed in one of those traps. She’d insinuated as much when she could get away with it. While watching the news, making sure to mention to him that some people just deserved what they got. It was not the correct stance for her to take as an agent of the law but nor was it correct for him as a detective so at least they were on the same page. 

As she sat there, the clock ticking down, she realized that he had not contacted her. No text on her phone. The one she had as a burner just for these messages from him. It hadn’t rang either. The midnight hour drew closer, and closer, and when the old clock in their penthouse chimed twelve she knew for the first time she was going to have to open that envelope. It was something that excited her as much as terrified her because she didn’t know what she would find. Obviously, she was the failsafe in all of this and since she was a forensic psychiatrist that also made her a medical doctor. He had her as a life preserver because she could preserve life. She’d treated his wounds before when he couldn’t properly seek care for them lest they raise suspicion with local hospitals as to how he’d gotten them. As an heiress, she had connections and money to buy or find anything he could need to treat and hide the injuries until he was good as new. They were a perfect team because between the two of them they could get rid of anything that they didn’t want seen. 

From the hidden safe in the wall she removed the instructions packet and opened it up. There she found only one thing. GPS coordinates. There was no explanation otherwise. Though he was smart enough to know that she would be aware that this place that he wanted her to go to was dangerous. Not that it mattered, since she always carried her weapon with her now thanks to being an FBI agent. She punched the coordinates into the burner phone and came up with a location. A warehouse in the middle of nowhere just about. Outside of New York City where they lived, near some docks in New Jersey right across the bridge. As far as she could tell, the property had been previously owned by John Kramer. Hopefully, she wasn’t walking into a death trap, nor would she arrive to find Mark’s dead and dismembered body somewhere on the premises. 

“I may hurt you but I will never harm you, do you understand the difference?” He asked as she sat there, hands cuffed behind her back to the post of the bed that they shared. The concept of the dom/sub relationship was one she knew plenty about academically since she worked in sex crimes but she hadn’t put it into practice herself. They’d discussed it here and there but he knew more than she had. Especially that she was ready to start. “Look at me, Leila.” He put his fingers under her chin to lift her head up, forcing eye contact between them. 

“I understand, sir.” She said, “Hurting means pain and temporary suffering but harm would be permanent and detrimental. I trust you not to harm me. I trust you with my life.” 

“Are you sure about that?” He asked quickly pulling a knife from his pocket to flick the blade up and brandish it within her line of sight. “It could be a foolish decision if you aren’t absolutely sure of what you are saying.” 

“I know what I am saying and I know what I want.” She confirmed. He smirked and licked his lips slowly. Bringing the blade down he started to cut away the buttons of her blouse one by one until it fell open, exposing her bra. Then he brought it back up to cut the bra between the cups, splitting it to reveal her breasts. Her heart fluttered in her chest. The adrenaline rush combined with the arousal and the idea that she was completely helpless to his every whim was overwhelmingly erotic. Slowly, he ran the blade over her right breast to where her heart would be positioning the tip there to press into the skin enough to cause pain but not actually pierce it. 

“I could kill you, if I wanted.” He said. 

“But that isn’t what you want.” She replied. He smirked, sliding the knife over her skin enough to leave a scratch but not a cut until he got it to her jugular, resting the blade there where she could feel just how sharp it was against the vital area. 

“What I want is for you to never know what I may or may not do but trust that ultimately this is a game we play and you will not come out of it harmed. As I said before.” He moved the knife from her neck to her lips, pressing the flat of it there. She looked at him, kissing the metal that she was presented with. He laughed softly and folded the blade into the handle before slipping the knife back into his pocket. 

“So you want me to be afraid?” 

“In a sense, yes, but I want you to trust me as well. Expect the unexpected.” He smirked and then pulled her into a hungry kiss. 

She took care to be sure that no one had followed her where she was going. It wasn’t typical that anyone would follow her but she knew there were some eyes on Mark so that meant it was possible that people had eyes on her as well. When she pulled up to the place she found that it was indeed a warehouse. Hopefully, it was not one that involved any of John or Mark’s games. Though she could deal with dead bodies, gore, and mutilation since crime scenes were part of her everyday job, she did not want to leave any evidence that she’d been there. If that were the case. From her back pocket she pulled out a pair of gloves and slipped them on before grabbing onto the handle of the sliding door in front of her. Amazingly, it wasn’t locked, but she knew that potentially could mean bad news as well. She only opened it enough to look inside and then enter before shutting it again. The area was dark but not pitch black and in the back she could see a light, kind of in a corner. 

Pulling her gun, she headed in that direction as quietly as possible, also making sure she wasn’t accidentally going to touch trip wires or step into a trap. This place had to be rigged with them. That much was obvious. She could see all sorts of things that would constitute as evidence from all of the Jigsaw games. When she got closer to the one light that was on she looked through one of the nearby mirrors to see if she could spot anyone in the room as she paused and held her breath. There was a groan and she turned her head towards it. In the corner she saw Mark holding a blood soaked wad of fabric tightly to his face. Holstering her gun, she hurried towards him and got down by his side. 

“Mark, what the hell happened?” She asked. He looked at her, his eyes kind of glossy. There was no way he hadn’t lost a lot of blood but he was still conscious so that was good news in itself. Slowly, he pulled the fabric away from his face to show her that half of his cheek was split open. “Shit. We need to fix this.” He nodded, it was clear why he hadn’t called out to her when she’d arrived she doubted he could do much but groan and scream in that condition. She hurried to look through the warehouse to find something that could stitch his face up. The sooner the better. If he showed up at a hospital like that then he’d be caught immediately. There weren’t any real medical supplies in there, not any that would help with this specific injury but she did manage to find fishing wire and a hook. She could close up the wound and worried about infection later. It wasn’t like it would be hard to get antibiotics. Bringing the supplies over to him she got down and threaded the line through the hook. 

“This is going to hurt a lot, but it will save your life. I can get you antibiotics after if you need them.” She said as she reached to pull his hand away from his face again. He let out a small groan and almost the moment she touched the hook to his skin he yanked away. “Mark, this has to be done now and…what happened to your hand?” She had only just noticed that it was broken, she could see bone. 

“I can do it.” He said, or more accurately she was sure that’s what he meant to say with a huge flesh wound in the side of his face. If he had survived this far he probably could stitch up his own face, she didn’t doubt that. 

“It will be faster if-” 

“I’ll do it.” He snatched the hook away from her and very carefully got to his feet. She sighed, knowing there was no way to stop him from doing something he was determined to do himself. He hobbled over to the mirror she had been looking into before and pulled the lamp closer to it. Then he took in a deep breath and started to stitch up the wound in his face. 

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you now?” He asked. This was after she’d been blindfolded in such a way that she couldn’t see anything. Usually, when people messed around with blindfolds there was a lot of room for error. Letting light in or the ability to look down and see shadows. She wasn’t surprised that he knew what he was doing when it came to this sort of thing. “Answer me.” 

“Anything you want.” She replied, “Master.” 

“That’s a good girl.” He chuckled darkly and patted her on the cheek. She sensed movement around her, first on the bed shifting and then some kind of fabric around her neck. It wasn’t rope, it was something else. Perhaps one of his ties. The weight of the bed shifted again and she was still left sitting there with her arms handcuffed behind one of the posts. There was a pause and she heard a click then felt the cuffs release. There was no moment to recover from this as she was immediately yanked down and out of the bed by the tie around her neck. She yelped as she fell to the floor, with hardly any time to brace for impact. Somehow, she did manage to catch herself but just barely. “Quick thinking, I like that.” 

“Thank you, sir.” She replied. The makeshift leash was tugged on again forcing her to crawl forward a bit then another sharp tug indicated that she needed to stop. She could hear him as he walked around behind her then felt his hands on her hips as he shoved her skirt up to reveal her panties. There was the swish of the blade from the knife popping up and the sensation of cold metal against her inner thighs. She gasped, shivered, and groaned softly as he started to cut the fabric of them away. 

“My pleasure is your pleasure, your pain is my pleasure, anything I want is for me. Anything you are rewarded with, is just that. You have to earn things here, understood?” He asked then without much warning gave her a rough slap across the ass. She squealed and then nodded her head. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You’re a faster learner. I wonder what else I can teach you.” He said, sounding very amused as she felt his fingers between her legs moving over the wet folds of her cunt. She groaned, knowing she was far more aroused than she should have been given the situation. He continued to tease her perfectly, as if he were playing an instrument that he was a master of. Working her closer and closer to climax before pulling his hand back to give her ass another slap. This was done in such an oddly timed way that she could never predict it and threatened to drive her insane. She didn’t know how long he had kept it up before she lost enough control to scream. 

“Please!” She yelled, “Sir…please…” 

“Do you even know what you are begging for?” He asked, “Fucking tell me what you want, Princess.” She whined and lowered her head, it was humiliating and so very fucking hot to hear him speak to her like that. She licked her lips slowly and took in a deep breath through her nose, letting it out through her mouth. 

“Your cock, sir.” 

“And what do you want me to do with it?” 

“I…I want you to fuck me with it.” 

“Why?” 

“For your pleasure, I…I’m your naughty little fuck toy and I’m only here to serve you.” She breathed, her heart pounding in her chest. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” He chuckled and gave her ass another slap. From behind her, she sensed more movement until she could feel the tip of his cock rubbing against her cunt, teasing and touching in all the right places. As she was about to yell out again for him to just hurry up he thrust into her and she moaned loudly. She’d have collapsed forward except for the fact that he had grabbed the tie around her neck and yanked back, keeping her upright lest she wanted to choke. From there he started to pound into her with reckless abandon. Every so often the fabric around her neck would restrict her airflow then release again. When she could draw breath all she could do was let it out as a moan. He’d never been so primal and dominant with her before, they’d dabbled in it sure but it hadn’t gotten this far. She knew she was already addicted to this and would never want it any other way. “Are you going to cum for me? Huh? You naughty little girl…” 

“Y-Yes…Yes, sir…” She panted, when he allowed her the air to do so. 

“Go on then, cum all over my cock.” He growled. She moaned again, her eyes rolling back in pleasure as his words triggered her climax. He moaned then as well, almost louder than her. The walls seemed to shake with the passion of it and she could nearly feel it vibrating through her as she hit her second climax then a third. Suddenly, the leash around her neck was released. She fell forward, unable to keep her weight up any longer. Then he was on top of her, pulling her close to him as he moved them both onto their side. She could do nothing but lay there basking in the afterglow of her orgasm feeling the rapid beat of his heart against her back. She silently hoped she’d never have to face a moment where such a motion ceased to exist when his blood would eventually run cold. 

“You did a good job.” She said, once he was finished working on his face. It was quite impressive actually. Using just that dirty old mirror and some fishing line. She didn’t think she could have done it to herself even if it also meant the choice between life or death. “I have a first aid kit in my car. I can use that to see what I can do about your hand.” 

“Be quick,” He said, “I don’t suppose you brought any painkillers with you.” 

“Nothing heavier than tylenol but you know we are well stocked at home.” She stroked the side of his face that wasn’t injured and stood up. “Why did you need me to come here, this does seem like something you could have handled on your own.” 

“I could have.” He said, reaching out to take her hand with his good one. He gave it a squeeze, “But that had nothing to do with it.” 

“Then what else could it be?” 

“Things didn’t go exactly according to plan and I’m going to need your help.” He replied, “Get the first aid kit. I'll explain more when you get back.” She nodded, knowing that his immediate care took priority over something he could explain after. If he seemed to think there was time to sit and talk she wasn’t worried about that before making sure he was stable and in as good of health as he possibly could be. As she exited the warehouse again, to get to her car, the gravity of the situation hit her. She had to pause for a moment, catch her breath, and try to stifle the tears that were threatening to fall. In all of this time, though she’d seen him injured, she had never seen him come as close to death as that. She’d also never in her wildest dreams expected for him to say anything about his plans not going as he’d devised them. How bad was it that he wanted her involved? She didn’t know. What she did know was that if someone had done this to him with the intent to end his life, she wanted revenge. Possibly even more than he believed he did at that moment.

[green-socks]

(Do You) Share My Affection

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw (aka hangster)

Summary: Bradley and Jake end up on a date with each other through an anonymous dating app (because they are just a little bit idiots about each other). The date is the wakeup call they needed.

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: suggestive/mature language, making out, oblivious idiots to lovers, very vague IceMav in the background.

Notes: So, I saw a screenshot from somewhere of two people having a pretty random convo, but one of them said "Wow, there's way more sexual tension now that I hate you" and I went oh that's Bradley flirting with Jake. Thanks to those unknown people for inspiring the text exchange in this! This was supposed to be a quick silly/horny thing and it got a little more serious than originally intended but it is what it is. And yes, they use the app from Ted Lasso, because I thought it worked perfectly for what I wanted. Once again many thanks to @a-reader-and-a-writer for betaing (most of this), listening to my rambles, and for coming up with Jake's username <3 Same goes for @writeforfandoms with the rambles. Everything I write is for you two basically <3

MASTERLIST

CloudWrangler: Well, you know, I like long walks on the beach, getting flowers.. and blowjobs😉

CloudWrangler: That's the first date already planned right there. You’re welcome😘

Bradley hadn’t looked up from his phone all day, spending nearly every moment chatting with this nameless (unless you counted his username, which Bradley did not) guy. He was never like this. Normally Phoenix gave him shit for taking forever to answer her texts. Called him a grandpa for often calling her rather than texting.

Originally when Payback had suggested Bradley try out this new dating app, Bantr, he had been more than a little skeptical. He had never used a dating app before, having been content with finding his hookups the old-fashioned way – bars. Hadn't had any trouble with it either, so what did he need an app for? But this new app wasn't picture-based like many others, instead just having faceless people chat and try to connect that way. Bradley supposed that seemed less superficial than even his usual method, which is why when Maverick of all people had badgered him to get out there and make a profile, he'd complied. Mav and Ice had even helped set it up (came up with the username too), which Bradley would never admit to anyone, thank you.

Despite his initial wariness, the app seemed to have a point after all. CloudWrangler had messaged him the day before, and they hadn't stopped talking since. Bradley thought the total anonymity was actually kind of freeing, and found it really easy to talk to the other person, even without knowing what he looked like. Bradley didn't even know how old the man was, but based on some things they'd talked about, he assumed they were roughly the same age. They had talked about mostly superficial, casual stuff like movies, but sometimes the conversation derailed to downright weird nonsense with them arguing over something inconsequential, making Bradley laugh out loud even. He was honestly having fun flirting and, well, bantering with this random man.

Which was why Bradley had asked if they should actually go out and see if they'd have fun in real life too. Sure they could have continued getting to know each other better by texting, but Bradley was still holding on to his ways of preferring a face-to-face conversation. Since Bantr was more of an honest to god dating app and not just for hooking up, Bradley hoped his wanting to meet so soon didn't scare the other man away. Even if their messages had gotten progressively more suggestive too.

Chuckling to himself, Bradley wrote a reply.

Gosling84: 🙄

Gosling84: Yeah well I don’t know, I like nice tits. That’s about all I need

Gosling84: Let me know if you’re up for it

CloudWrangler: I’ll have you know I’ve been told I have very nice tits indeed. But you’re gonna have to give me a bit more if you wanna get to know them, so you let me know if you’re up for it

So yeah, CloudWrangler seriously had no filter, but neither did Bradley. They both shared equal blame in escalating the flirting, which also had turned into a one-upping contest. Bradley was particularly proud of asking the other man if he was a fitted sheet since he was complicated and infuriating but Bradley needed him on his bed.

Gosling84: Fair. But I’m honestly having a hard time coming up with more requests for our date right now

CloudWrangler: And they call me easy…

Gosling84: Wait

Gosling84: How do you feel about baseball?

CloudWrangler: Eh. I can watch a game every now and then. More enjoyable if I go to the game instead of watching at home. Much more of a football kind of guy🤘🏻😎

Gosling84: Ugh

Gosling84: There’s somehow more sexual tension now that I hate you

CloudWrangler: Hate sex is fun sex babe, let’s go

CloudWrangler: I do have one last question though

CloudWrangler: Pineapple on pizza, yes or no?

Gosling84: Hell yes.

CloudWrangler: jfc. Hate sex it is

CloudWrangler: You free tonight?

Bradley snorted to himself slightly. It was nearing eight on a Saturday evening and he'd been talking to the guy all day. Yeah, he was free.

They ended up agreeing on a dive bar far enough from base that Bradley felt comfortable he wouldn’t be running into people he knew all night. He was glad the other man – whose name he still didn’t know – had suggested it. Not that Bradley had a problem with people knowing if he went on a date, it was just easier to avoid a) someone giving him shit for going out with a man, or b) one of his squad mates just giving him shit for going out in general. Like Hangman, who seemed to live for being a pain in his ass, and had essentially cockblocked Bradley the couple of times a girl had approached him at The Hard Deck. Not that Bradley had truthfully minded very much, since he had still been in no condition to do anything anyway. But now it had been months since he'd last gotten laid, what with deployment, the mission, and the healing after the mission, so he was ready to be getting back in the game. Maybe going on this date wasn't such a bad idea.

He decided on his usual attire of nice jeans, a white tank top, and one of his father’s old Hawaiian shirts. It was casual but still nice, and most importantly it made Bradley feel confident. He knew he looked good, but it was still kind of nerve-wracking to go on what was essentially a blind date, since the other guy didn’t know what Bradley looked like any more than Bradley knew what CloudWrangler looked like. Besides that he apparently had nice tits.

Shaking his head, wondering if he was insane for doing this, Bradley grabbed the keys to his Bronco and set off.

-

Jake was nervous. And when he was nervous he was early. Only Bob was as bad as he was about being early everywhere, and somehow Jake managed it even when spending a good amount of time on his hair. He'd been sitting at the booth for 15 minutes now, watching the door like a hawk for every person who walked in, wondering if they were his mystery man.

Would they have the same chemistry in person too? Would there be a physical attraction? Usually he could count on there being that (often only that). This was his first ever Bantr date. He was much more used to Grindr hookups, but this was different. He never talked to guys on Grindr for this long before meeting up, and usually it was just straight to fucking anyway. Not much talking was required there. This was the first time he didn't have just his good looks to rely on. It was new for him in many ways.

He decided to leave one more message to the guy.

CloudWrangler: I'm at the second booth from the back, left side of the counter. Wearing an orange shirt. Come find me😉

Now he just had to wait for the guy to arrive. At least there was no one important to witness it if he got stood up or something. Trying to get his nerves under control, he stuck a new toothpick in his mouth, just as the door opened once again.

And then the toothpick fell out.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" he croaked to himself as none other than Bradley fucking Bradshaw walked in, strutting like the rooster he was.

What were the chances that Rooster would arrive at the same bar as he was?? What the fuck?

Rooster had frozen a few steps from the door, looking down at his phone and then looking up straight at Jake. And then repeating it three times, shock and recognition warring on his face.

No. No way. No fucking way. This was not real.

Jake buried his face in his hands, groaning at the mess that was his personal life, as the mustached menace sat himself down at the booth opposite him.

"Bradshaw. Whatare you doing here?" It was more of a rhetorical question, since the answer was becoming quite apparent.

Bradshaw answered anyway, "Well, as I understood it, I think I was supposed to give you a blowjob in exchange for getting to see your tits, or something like that."

Jake's mouth dropped open as his hands finally fell back into his lap.

"First of all, I should have asked why did this happen to me, and second of all, who said you were blowing me? I just said I like blowjobs."

Jake didn't know what possessed him to say that, but he thought it may have served its purpose when Rooster's mouth dropped open as well. At least they were now even.

He felt like he was slowly gaining back his footing in this bizarre situation, so he continued teasing, "Besides, you didn't even bring me flowers."

Rooster's eyes shot open (when had he closed them?) and inexplicably, his face flushed red.

"Now, don't laugh," the brunet started, "but I actually did."

"What?"

"You said you liked getting flowers, so I stopped to get some. That's what took me so long," Rooster mumbled.

There was a faint buzzing in Jake's head. Was this real life? Had he hit his head? Had Rooster?

"Wh- Well, where are they?" Jake asked, bewildered.

Rooster blushed even harder, positively scarlet now.

"They're still in the Bronco. I chickened out on actually bringing them inside."

Jake was going to die, here at this booth. Yes he was.

"Same old Rooster," he chortled. "That's… goddamn adorable. What did you get me?" he couldn't help asking.

"Uhh.. It was just a bouquet that I thought looked nice. I don't really know much about flowers, and I didn't know what he – you, that is – liked. There were some daisies I think. Reminded me of mom a little bit," Rooster admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh."

Jake was sure he would have loved the flowers. Who doesn't love getting flowers? They make you feel special.

An awkward silence settled at their table. Jake had no idea how to continue from here. Would they still have the date? Would it be weird? If he was honest with himself, now that the initial shock had worn off, he was kind of relieved. He already knew Rooster, was already attracted to him (obviously), he already..... liked Rooster.

Shit. This was his opportunity to have it all, only Rooster probably wouldn't want to…

"Do you–"

"Do you–"

They both started at the same time and then cut off, motioning for the other to go on, chuckling awkwardly. Jake groaned internally. Why were they like this?

For all Jake's jokes about Rooster's perch, he was the one to actually take the leap this time.

"Do you want to maybe go for a walk? I feel like we should talk, and it's getting louder in here," the brunet asked.

It wasn't really that loud at the bar, but Jake admitted that it might be easier to have whatever conversation they were about to have in a more private setting, so he agreed.

"It's not really a walk on the beach but," Rooster shrugged, "we can walk as long as you'd like at least."

Jake arched an eyebrow at him. "You're really angling for that blowjob, huh, Roo?"

"No, it's not that! I mean, I just–" he broke off with an exasperated sigh. "If I'd known it was you, I would've planned a proper date."

"What? Why?"

"Well, you know. You deserve a proper date."

He did not know. In fact, Jake was very much not in the know right now.

"Besides," Rooster continued, unaware or uncaring of Jake's confusion, "I'm probably not what you were looking for tonight."

Alright. Here went nothing.

"Are you kidding me? I mean yeah, I didn't expect you, but I was on that dumb app trying to forget about you in the first place," Jake said, trying to sound a lot cooler about it than he felt. "Javy said I was being stupid, that I should at least try shooting my shot with you first before assumi–"

Jake suddenly noticed that Rooster had stopped a few paces ago.

"Well, why didn't you?" Rooster demanded, as if he was personally offended by this revelation.

"Well, I thought you were straight for one thing!"

"Oh." Rooster blinked. "Well, I'm not."

"I kind of got that now, yeah," Jake rolled his eyes.

"What's stopping you now then?"

Jake froze. Rooster was calling his bluff, but Jake could do that right back. Trying to look unaffected still, even with his heart hammering wildly, he threw back as cockily as he could muster, "The fact that you're standing over there and I'm over here?"

What he hadn't anticipated – even though he probably should have – was Rooster taking those few steps to come stand right in front of Jake, so close that he had to slightly tilt his head up to meet Rooster's dark eyes. And damn if that didn't thrill him.

"What about now, Jake?" the other man asked in a low voice.

At the sound of his first name coming out of those lips, Jake let out a sound that was purely plosives.

Bradley – because yeah, this was getting way too intimate for callsigns – reached out and cradled Jake's jaw in one big hand. 

"In case there's still something stopping you, let me tell you what was stopping me. I was just the dumbest man alive. I didn't even realize it before the moment I saw you tonight, that the reason I was having so much fun talking to the guy on the app was that it reminded me of you. I was having fun because I was talking to you, and not some stranger."

Jake blinked. Oh. Okay then.

"I guess we're both a bit dumb," he said, huffing out a laugh. "I should've known it was you. Who else loves pineapple on pizza?"

Bradley rolled his eyes, smiled as if that was the best joke he'd ever heard, and leaned in to kiss him.

-

Bradley really didn't know how he'd been so dumb. Kissing Jake felt so right he wondered how he had ever kissed anyone else. And Bradley liked kissing. This was just.. different somehow. Better.

He moved his hand to cup the back of Jake's neck just as the blond let out the tiniest, breathy little moan. Bradley wanted more of that. All of it. He felt Jake step even closer so that they were pressed together from head to toe, Jake's arms coming around Bradley's waist, running across his back.

His tongue had wandered off to explore Jake's mouth a good while ago, and Bradley vaguely thought that he might never pull it back to his own. He'd just have to live like this, his face plastered to Jake's. Didn't sound like a bad idea.

Jake evidently disagreed. He pulled away just a little bit to catch his breath, but Bradley didn't mind. He could continue his project of inhaling every piece of the other man he possibly could, instead bending down a little to kiss and nip at his jaw, down toward his neck.

"Br– Bradley?" Jake panted. "D'you wanna.. maybe go somewhere? You know, somewhere more private?"

Bradley blinked a few times to clear his head. "Yeah, yeah that sounds good."

Then he remembered they were more than a half an hour's drive away from their homes. Shit. That was a long time in a situation like this. In separate cars.

"Is the back of my Bronco private enough?" Bradley asked, hoping Jake knew this was just to take the edge off and that he would treat the blonde like he deserved when they got home. And talk. They'd talk more, later.

"Shit, yeah, that's good enough for now," Jake grunted and grabbed Bradley's hand to drag him back toward the bar's parking lot.

"As long as we don't destroy my flowers. I still want them."

"Of course, sweetheart," Bradley murmured, pressing a kiss to Jake's knuckles, and enjoyed the way his cheeks went a little pinker.

[end]

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Bonus: telling you how it went when IceMav helped BradBrad set up the profile, courtesy of Vee. Cause Mav and Bradley were in the kitchen while Ice was in the living room, occasionally intervening because he had to. As his voice wouldn't carry that far, he texted Mav his opinions instead.

*ding* "Geez, Ice! I said we won't say it!" *ding* "I said fine!" *ding* "Then you come do it!" *ding* "Oh. That is better."

thank god for Ice

-----------------------------------------------

tagsies: @wildbornsiren @mayhem24-7forever @callsign-phoenix @hederasgarden @lt-natrace @marvelousmermaid @luckyladycreator2 @alexxavicry @blue-aconite @writercole

[sherlocks-blanket]

Miss you

Sherlock holmes x reader

A/N : Some cure for the angst I wrote. Well, I was in need for inspiration even I have other sherlock wips to work on and @classickook gave the inspiration with this imagine and I thought to write it, since I really liked the idea. Also another thanks to her for beta read it again. <3

Warnings: none just some fluff

Words: 600 ish?

The boredom was getting to Sherlock, who had been working for the past several hours on a case. Even his eyes were sore from staring inside the microscope for such a long time. He hated to admit it but he needed a break, and the lack of any activity had gotten him to the point where he was now.

He was bored.

Sherlock rarely got bored during a case. He loved the thrill of solving it, giving him the high he was drawn to because of his past use of certain substances, and solving crimes was a good substitute for getting his fix.

Now with him being hindered with solving it, he was stuck with sitting on a lab chair, his feet on the table and his eyes boring a hole into the wall until his glance wandered toward his phone laying beside the microscope.

The nagging feeling came back from the back of his head the moment his gaze was on the device. He couldn’t explain or word the sensation, but he noticed he had been getting this feeling since your absence. Even if he knew you would come back from visiting your family, that sentiment he held for you still didn’t leave his side.

Was that what people felt when they missed someone?

It was agony for the detective, even worse than the feeling of boredom he often got stuck on, like currently… The only difference this time was that he was on a case, but the persistent wish to message you was driving him mad.

So, Sherlock acted on his desire and took the phone, unlocking until he came across his next problem: what should he text?

Human emotions could be a mystery for the detective when he tried to explain it in a logical way like sentiment, he always saw it just as a chemical imbalance, which was mostly found on the losing side. But, of course, there was much more about it, and you had showed him and let him feel it.

With that in mind, he tried his best to show what he felt.

I know it is a temporary feeling, and I know that you will be back with me soon, but why does my heart ache? Whenever you cross my mind, I keep reliving those beautiful moments inside my head over and over again, but most importantly, I miss you — SH

Sherlock sent the message, hoping he said the right thing. He would have to wait now until you responded, but as he saw the green dot beside your name pop up, he knew you saw it. But he was certainly surprised when two arms came from behind in a hug, followed by your voice. “I missed you too, darling.”

Sherlock hadn’t heard how you entered the lab and wondered now, asking why you came back sooner than estimated, especially with how much you wanted to see your family again.

“I just missed you and apparently, I made a good decision with coming sooner,” you replied with a kiss on his cheek, scowling letting go of him as your eyes scanned over the desk with open police files. “I hope I didn’t disturb—”

“I was actually taking a…break.” He felt a sour taste in his mouth at the word ‘break’ as he stood up from his position and faced you. Sherlock saw the smirk forming on your lips.

“That’s new, that you take a break from a case.”

The detective rolled his eyes at your teasing; however, he was amused when he grabbed his coat and blue scarf that were hangin on his chair. Sherlock saw the puzzled expression on your face. ”I’m sure we have to celebrate your homecoming, so do you fancy some dinner, my dear?”

Your face relaxed and you nodded as you clung onto the arm that Sherlock had offered toward you. “Certainly.”

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 2) Chapter Five

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Five: Aggressive Americans

Summary: The unsavory Americans pay (Y/N) a visit, but they are unwilling to let themself be intimidated.

            “Mrs. Hudson?” asked (Y/N), descending the stairs.

            They had actually fallen asleep the night before New Year’s Eve (probably because Mrs. Hudson had thrown blankets over them and given them enough chamomile tea to send them to sleep. She had insisted that (Y/N) should start the year out with some sleep, and apparently being New Year’s Eve that day was a logical reason to do that). Now (Y/N) was blearily awake at like eight in the evening and had no idea where anyone was.

            “Yes, dear?” replied Mrs. Hudson.

            “Where are John and Sherlock?” asked (Y/N), stretching like a cat.

            “John got a text message this morning and headed out. Sherlock followed him,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Probably practicing tailing people again.” She smiled. “I’d offer to stay with you, but I was invited for a New Year’s Eve tea party.”

            “That’s alright,” said (Y/N), picking up a lollipop.

            “Alright, then, dear, I’ll see tomorrow. It’ll be much too late for me after New Year’s hits,” said Mrs. Hudson, waving goodbye.

            (Y/N) raised their hand in a casual wave. After the door closed, (Y/N) turned away but paused as they saw a weight in the pocket of Sherlock’s dressing gown in the closet. Curious, they reached in and picked it up.

            It was Irene’s phone. Wow. That’s a terrible hiding place. His own dressing gown in Mrs. Hudson’s closet. (Y/N) pocketed it and sighed.

            Sherlock was obsessed with getting the phone open, and it had gotten worse since he realized there were only three tries. His first had been the number John’s blog counter was stuck at, 1895, since it could have been hacked as a message, but it had been incorrect. The phone still read “I am ____ locked.”

            (Y/N) was admittedly curious as well, but with two chances left, they would let Sherlock take point. They knew he was smarter and more experienced than them. Plus, Irene was clever. She could have all sorts of tricks involved that (Y/N) wasn’t use to seeing. They were disappointed in themself, but there was nothing they could do.

            Turning away from the closet and twirling a lollipop between their fingers, (Y/N) shrugged and moved to wait for Sherlock to return. Contrary to Mrs. Hudson’s beliefs, he was not practicing tailing John ((Y/N) and Sherlock had decided he was too boring to practice on). Therefore, whatever was going on had to be more interesting. (Y/N) would just have to wait to hear what was going on with Sherlock and what had commandeered his interest.

            Bam!

            (Y/N) plans were quickly disrupted as the door of 221B slammed open. Neilson and two of his fellow CIA agents stormed in, closing the door behind them roughly. (Y/N) was trapped, alone and unarmed.

            Shit. (Y/N) took a step back. Their lollipop fell to the ground.

            “Now, now, kid, we only want to ask a few questions,” said Neilson.

            “You still have the gun you threatened to kill me with,” said (Y/N) plainly. “That’s a little more than asking questions.”

            “Well, if you don’t want to do this the easy way, we might have to get a little rough,” said Neilson threateningly. “Now, where is it?”

            (Y/N) wasn’t stupid. He meant the phone. “No idea.”

            Neilson sighed with faux-disappointment. “Come on. I’ve heard you’re smart, and you figured out that woman’s code. You can do better.”

            “Not smarter than Sherlock, and he’s hidden it, so no idea,” lied (Y/N) smoothly. This was a game of cat and mouse, and they weren’t going to let themself be backed into a corner. No matter what Neilson did, he was stupid compared to them. (Y/N) could outthink him no matter what questions he asked.

            Neilson narrowed his eyes. “Hard way it is, then. Grab them.”

            (Y/N) tried to dodge, but Neilson’s two men grabbed them and hauled them off their feet. Unarmed and half their age and strength, (Y/N) found themself being carried upstairs. They grabbed at the walls, trying to get a grip, but it was too no avail. They were roughly thrown onto a kitchen chair, and Neilson slapped them in the face to get their attention.

            Trying to shock me with pain. (Y/N) gritted their teeth. Not going to happen.

            “Where is it?” demanded Neilson again.

            “How many times do you want me to say ‘I don’t know?’ ” retorted (Y/N). Their cheek burned, but their gaze was colder than ice as they glared at Neilson.

            He narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Then where is Sherlock Holmes?”

            “Do you think he tells anyone where he goes?” scoffed (Y/N). Their head jerked to the side as Neilson hit them again.

            “I’m going to need better answers,” said Neilson.

            “I don’t have any for you,” hissed (Y/N). God, why are they so stupid?

            “Where is Sherlock fucking Holmes you stupid brat?!” shouted Neilson.

            (Y/N) dug their nails into their palm. They wouldn’t flinch. They wouldn’t show weakness to this brute of all people.

            “Sir, Mr. Holmes is approaching the front door,” reported one of the agents at the window.

            “Well, it seems we’ll get to ask him where it is ourselves,” said Neilson.

            Sherlock! thought (Y/N), eyes widening slightly. He better see the scratches I left in the wallpaper. And my lollipop. That’s more than enough for him to realize what’s happening.

            Sure enough, downstairs, Sherlock’s hand curled into a fist and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he observed the marks of a struggle. All the anger from (Y/N) being threatened by Moriarty returned, and on top of the Americans using (Y/N) against him at Irene’s house, Sherlock was prepared to make them pay.

            He walked up the stairs and nearly threw the door to 221B open. His eyes were blazing with anger as they landed on (Y/N) sitting on the kitchen and surrounded by the Americans. The red marks on their cheeks were telltale signs of Neilson’s hits.

            I’m going to send that man to the hospital, decided Sherlock.

            “Dad,” breathed (Y/N) as they saw him.

            “Quite a predicament you’ve gotten yourself into, (Y/N),” said Sherlock, his eyes trained on Neilson.

            “I believe you have something we want, Mr. Holmes,” said Neilson.

            “Why don’t you ask for it?” questioned Sherlock.

            “I’ve been asking the brat, but you know what I’m asking for, don’t you, Mr. Holmes?” asked Neilson.

            Sherlock looked at Neilson appraisingly. “I believe I do. First, get rid of your boys.”

            “Why?” asked Neilson.

            “I dislike being outnumbered, it makes for too much stupid in the room,” retorted Sherlock.

            Neilson hesitated before deciding that having a gun meant he would be fine (Idiot, thought (Y/N)). “You two, go to the car.”

            “Then get into the car and drive away. Don’t try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn’t work,” said Sherlock.

            The two men walked out of the room, and Sherlock only spoke again once he heard the doors of a car close. “Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me,” he ordered.

            “So you can point a gun at me?” scoffed Neilson.

            “I’m unarmed,” said Sherlock.

            “Mind if I check?” said Neilson.

            Sherlock spread it arms. “Go ahead.”

            Neilson approached, pocketing his gun again as he began to pat down Sherlock. Kneeling slightly to check his pocket, Neilson was unaware as Sherlock reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a disinfectant spray. He sprayed it into Neilson’s eyes, and as the CIA agent cried out and grabbed at his eyes, Sherlock kneed him in the face. Neilson was knocked unconscious, and Sherlock grabbed his gun so when he woke up he wouldn’t have a weapon.

            Sherlock turned and knelt by (Y/N)’s side. “Are you alright?” he said, worried. His brow creased as he saw a bruise forming from one of Neilson’s slaps.

            (Y/N) nodded, trying to keep strong. “I’m fine. Where were you?”

            “I’ll explain later, I promise,” said Sherlock.

            The door to 221B opened again. This time it was John, whose eyes widened as he took in Neilson’s body and (Y/N)’s bruise.

            “What the hell is happening?” he cried.

            “(Y/N) was attacked by Americans. I’m restoring balance to the world,” said Sherlock.

            “Oh my god, (Y/N), are you okay? What did they do to you?” asked John, examining (Y/N) for further wounds.

            “I’m fine,” repeated (Y/N), but as their focus from before abated, their anxiety rose. A faraway look resided in their eyes, and John, a trained doctor and soldier, quickly recognized they were in a type of shock.

            Sherlock could see what was happening mentally as well. “John, take them downstairs and look after them.”

            “What about you?” asked (Y/N).

            “I told you: I’m going to restore balance,” said Sherlock.

            “Come on, (Y/N),” said John gently, taking them by the shoulders and guiding them away.

            Down in Mrs. Hudson’s apartment, John found some ice and let (Y/N) rest it on their bruise. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

            “There’s nothing to say,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “They came in and tried to get me to say where Irene’s phone and Sherlock were. I told them I didn’t know, and they didn’t like that answer.”

            John sighed and went to answer when wham! Something—more like someone—fell onto Mrs. Hudson’s metal trash bins.

            (Y/N) blinked. “That’s one type of balance, I guess.” Deserves it, though.

l

            That night, once Lestrade had been called (poor Neilson had “accidentally” fallen out of the window several times and needed an ambulance), Sherlock rejoined John and (Y/N) in Mrs. Hudson’s.

            “Sherlock, they need a break from all of this,” said John harshly. “They can’t keep being put through traumatic experiences.”

            “I’ve had a bomb strapped to my chest,” said (Y/N). “I think getting hit by an American doesn’t really have the same effect.”

            “For someone so smart, you apparently don’t know anything about child development,” muttered John. “All of this over some bloody camera phone.” He glared at Sherlock. “Where is the bloody thing anyway?”

            “Safest place I know,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) sighed and pulled Irene’s phone out of their pocket. “Hiding your dressing gown in Mrs. Hudson’s closet isn’t as smart as you think it is.” They smirked slightly in satisfaction. “I already had it in my pocket when the CIA appeared. Idiots didn’t think to search me.”

            Sherlock grinned proudly as he took back the phone. “Shame on you, John Watson.”

            “Shame on me?” said John, bewildered.

            “(Y/N)’s talents would be wasted if they weren’t here,” said Sherlock, putting a hand on their hair affectionately.

            John suppressed a fond smile. Ever since Moriarty and what John called “Sherlock’s kick in the pants” (translation: Sherlock realizing (Y/N) was his kid in everything but blood), Sherlock had been softer with them. He was protective and literally nice to them (and he wasn’t nice to anyone).

            “Fine, fine. But stop getting them threatened by the CIA,” grumbled John, standing up. “I’ll give my statement to Lestrade. I’m guessing we’re saying this was all an unfortunate ‘accident?’ ”

            “Obviously,” said Sherlock.

            “Right,” sighed John, leaving.

            Sherlock looked at (Y/N) again. “Are you really alright?”

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I’m not really injured, am I?”

            Sherlock sat down. “It was close to it. Again. They had guns.”

            “I know,” said (Y/N).

            “I—” Many words passed through Sherlock’s mind. I don’t want you hurt. I don’t want you in harm’s way. I can’t protect you, and it kills me. I keep thinking of Moriarty every time you’re put in danger and how he’s going to come back. None of those thoughts came out, though. “I was gone because of an…unexpected twist.”

            “Unexpected?” asked (Y/N). Now that was a surprise.

            “Irene Adler is alive,” said Sherlock. “She contacted John, strangely enough.”

            “She’s alive?” questioned (Y/N), eyes widening. That was certainly a twist.

            “Yes,” said Sherlock.

            “So she’s probably going to come back for her phone,” said (Y/N). “Gave it to you for safekeeping while she avoided capture and death, and now she’s safe enough to come back.”

            “Correct,” agreed Sherlock. Their deductions were identical to his.

            “I guess the only question is when—when will she be safe enough to return?” continued (Y/N).

            “She faked her death on Christmas, and it’s only New Year’s now,” said Sherlock. “I’d give her at least a few more months to really let this whole situation blow over.”

            “Right,” said (Y/N). “The Americans coming here confirm whatever’s on that phone is still an issue.”

l

            Luckily, for a few months, (Y/N) didn’t have to deal with crazy Americans. They went back to their usual routine of boring cases. Until…

            (Y/N) walked into Sherlock’s bedroom to grab John’s computer (he had stashed it in there while on a case and forgotten it after running an errand). They twirled a lollipop around one finger before freezing.

            “Uh, Sherlock?” they called back.

            “Yeah?” replied Sherlock.

            “We have a client,” they said sarcastically.

            “What?” asked John. “In Sherlock’s bedroom?”

            “Yeah. Irene Adler,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms as they looked down at the woman asleep in Sherlock’s bed.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

[eurydicees]

23 + iwaoi!

this was super fun to write, thank you for the request!

summary: it's raining at one in the morning once again, and iwaizumi asks to come over. prompt: spotify wrapped prompts #23, brother (gerard way) pairings: hajime iwaizumi/tooru oikawa words: 2774 warnings: self-esteem issues

let the rain wash it all away

It’s raining again: the third day of pouring rain, falling in sheets onto the soaked earth, pooling in the dips of the roads, splashing up in sprays of silt and water under the tires of cars that pass by. The previous days of rain hadn’t been this hard and fast, just heavy; meanwhile, this rain is falling in bullets. 

Oikawa is sitting at his desk, math textbooks and worksheets spread out in front of him, keeping his eyes on the window. It’s impossible to see through it because of the water pouring down the glass, but Oikawa lets himself get caught up in the steady downpour, in the hypnotizing kind of spill of water, in the drumbeat of the rain. It keeps time to the whirlpool of his thoughts, calming him as he works himself out of a spiral of thoughts he doesn’t particularly care to have at the moment. 

They lost to Shiratorizawa again in their second year of high school. They had lost so many times already, Oikawa had half wondered if it would stop hurting at some point. But maybe that’s foolish, because it has yet to happen. If anything, it hurts more every time. 

He tears his eyes away from the window and back down to his textbook. It’s not worth pondering the could have been and the should it have been and the will it ever be. He has other things to do. 

It’s only been moments of staring at the derivatives he’s supposed to be working on when his phone vibrates on the desk next to his papers. For a moment, he thinks he should probably ignore it. He’s busy, technically. But despite his attempt at self-restraint, it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to give in and look at the notification. 

Iwa: can i come over

Oikawa reads the message. Then reads it again. Then again. 

It’s past one in the morning. As much as Oikawa loves talking to him and being with him, Iwaizumi is usually asleep by this time, especially on a school night. He shouldn’t be texting. If anything, this is a sign that something is off. 

What people don’t understand about the two of them is that their friendship goes both ways. It is a two-way road. For all that Iwaizumi knows about Oikawa, Oikawa knows just as much about Iwaizumi. It might look, from the outside, like Iwaizumi is the one always looking out for Oikawa, but the truth is that Oikawa does just the same for Iwaizumi. 

The truth is that, for all the ways that Iwaizumi is in tune with Oikawa’s bullshittery, Oikawa is perfectly keeping time with Iwaizumi’s bullshittery. Iwaizumi likes to argue that they have no such thing as a bond of ultimate trust, but they both know that the argument is made up of empty words. 

So Oikawa, with all the cataloged memories and trust and knowledge he has of Iwaizumi, knows that something is wrong. He should be sleeping. 

Oikawa: you never need to ask. see you in a few 

It’s something about the rain, Oikawa guesses. There’s no thunder or lightning, so there’s nothing to quite be afraid of per se, but there’s still a kind of depression that always follows that rain. Iwaizumi has always gotten like this when it storms: tired, foggy. Oikawa knows that well enough. Suddenly, a rush of guilt spills over him as he realizes how caught up he’s been in his own insecurities; he hadn’t spared a thought for how Iwaizumi might be feeling after three days of gray. 

Iwaizumi has always needed the sun more than he does. Oikawa is perfectly happy to sit in the dark and stare at his computer until four in the morning; Iwaizumi has a strict sleep schedule that he sticks to. Oikawa finds a kind of tranquil trance in the rain; Iwaizumi finds a heaviness that settles on his chest and presses him down like stones, burying his general will to get anything done. 

Something about the sound of the rain, Oikawa thinks. Something about the gray of the sky. 

He doesn’t quite understand it—why the rain does this—but he doesn’t have to. He can understand that heaviness. He can understand having the weight of the sky on your shoulders; that gray, gray, falling sky. 

Iwaizumi: outside. let me in ? 

Oikawa jumps at the vibration of his phone, heading downstairs as soon as he sees it. There isn’t a porch covering at his door, and Iwaizumi must be getting soaked. 

When he opens the door, he finds Iwaizumi: soaked to the bone, dressed in only a white t-shirt that’s tight to his chest, tight enough that Oikawa can see the lines of his collarbones; hands stuffed in his jean pockets as he shivers and rocks back and forth on his heels; his eyes on the ground in front of him rather than the door. His hair is plastered to his forehead, the usual untamed spikes flat under the weight of sheets of rain. 

“Come in,” Oikawa says quietly. “My parents are asleep, so we have to be quiet.” 

Iwaizumi nods, not saying anything as he follows Oikawa into the house. He seems out of place there in a way that he never has before—they’ve been friends their entire lives; Iwaizumi is usually as comfortable in the Oikawa residence as he is in his own—and he stands awkwardly in the doorway, dripping wet and trembling from the cold. 

“I’ll get you a towel.” Oikawa isn’t sure why it comes out like a question. It’s just that something is so intrinsically off about Iwaizumi right now that he doesn’t know what to do with it. “Be right back. Stay there.” 

“Not going anywhere,” Iwaizumi mutters. He takes his hands out of his pockets and wraps his arms around himself as if to hold in any warmth he can. 

By the time that Oikawa comes back with the towel, Iwaizumi looks marginally more comfortable, but not by much. Oikawa tries to hand the towel to Iwaizumi, but Iwaizumi just stares at it for a moment as if he’s not sure what to do with it. 

“For your hair,” Oikawa says, “and the cold.” Iwaizumi still doesn’t move, and Oikawa tries to hold in a sigh. “Let me.” 

Iwaizumi nods stiffly. He stays perfectly still as Oikawa gently rubs the towel over Iwaizumi’s cheeks to dry them; then works it through his hair until it’s damp instead of dripping. There’s something hopelessly tender in the movement, and something in Oikawa’s heart clenches. Some fist around his feelings tightens—which is to say that Oikawa is well aware that he’s in love with Iwaizumi and he’s also aware that moments like this, little moments of domesticity, ache with how comfortable, how easy, how natural they are. 

Oikawa drops his hand, his fist tight in the towel. “Come upstairs, yeah?” 

Iwaizumi nods. It’s rare for him to be like this, for him to look this fragile, but when it happens, Oikawa feels as if he’s at a loss. Whenever he himself is hurting, Iwaizumi always seems to know the right thing to do and say. When it comes to Iwaizumi, Oikawa might know him inside and out and upside down, but he’s never known how to comfort someone over non-volleyball related asks, whoever it is. He’s never known the right thing to say to someone who’s shut down like this. 

So Oikawa just takes his hand and leads him upstairs. Hands him a change of clothes, ones that will probably not quite fit him entirely but that will at least be dry and a little warmer. Turns his back as Iwaizumi changes into them, because he’s respectful and while they change in the locker room together every day, this feels different. 

After Iwaizumi has changed into dry clothes and tossed the wet ones into the bathtub to be dealt with later, he seems to be marginally more there. More steady. More aware of his movements. 

“Do you want to talk or just go to sleep?” Oikawa asks. 

Iwaizumi shrugs, pulling the sleeves of the shirt over his hands. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.” 

“We can just lay down?” 

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says. He takes a deep breath, and Oikawa, already in bed, opens the blankets up for him to join. 

There’s no hesitation before Iwaizumi joins him under the covers, settling onto the mattress. Oikawa’s twin size mattress isn’t nearly big enough for the both of them, and Oikawa finds himself pressed against the wall with Iwaizumi’s ankles tangled with his own and their faces inches away from each other. 

Iwaizumi closes his eyes, as if he can’t stand the eye contact, and Oikawa takes the chance to study his face. From here, Oikawa can see every eyelash, every bitten out divet in his lip. The bags under his eyes are heavy bruises, like he hasn’t slept in months. It’s worrying. 

“Do you remember when we were kids?” Iwaizumi asks, voice low and eyes still closed. “We used to play this game, where you were some kind of hero and I was a monster trying to hunt you down.” 

“I remember,” Oikawa murmurs. 

Iwaizumi swallows, then exhales. Oikawa can feel the heat of his breath on his lips. “I sometimes—fuck, this sounds so stupid.” 

“That’s okay. Tell me anyway.” 

Iwaizumi opens his eyes, something haunted about them. Then he rolls over onto his back, his hands on his stomach and staring up at the ceiling. “Sometimes I feel like that.” 

“Like…” 

“Like a monster,” Iwaizumi whispers. 

“You’re not a monster,” Oikawa says, gut instinct and immediate. It’s sharper than he means it to be, but he can’t understand why Iwaizumi would think that. How Iwaizumi could talk about himself like that. How Iwaizumi could stand to say those words as if they could ever be true, as if Iwaizumi could ever be anything other than good. 

Iwaizumi is quiet for a moment. Oikawa watches him, the slight twitch of his lips as if he wants to smile but can’t bring himself to complete the motion. Then, in a rush or a flood or a spill of anxiety that he can’t hold back anymore, he says, “I’ve done something bad, something that—I can’t help it, but I—I’m in love with you, I think. And it’s fucking terrifying, Oikawa, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t—” Oikawa takes a breath. Reels in his frustration, finds the wonder, the surprise, the hope. Finds promise in the fragmented shaking of his voice. “Don’t apologize, Iwa, don’t say that loving me is a mistake, don’t do that.” 

Iwaizumi squeezes his eyes shut, and Oikawa can see him tightening his fists in the blankets. “It is. Oikawa, I’m telling you that—” 

“It’s not a mistake,” Oikawa tells him, biting back a shame in the words. He sits up, the blankets sliding off of his shoulders. “Am I that undesirable? Why the fuck would it be a mistake?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Iwaizumi’s voice shakes. Oikawa, as he listens, realizes that it’s not disappointment or shame over it being him Iwaizumi has fallen for. It’s fear. 

Oikawa is well-versed in fear. He knows the fear that he cannot and will never be able to love anyone else right. He knows the fear that he will never be good enough for anyone, much less ever be good enough for himself and his own standards. He knows the fear that he cannot be loved back by the people he wants most. 

This, at least, he can understand. This, at least, is an ache of Iwaizumi’s that he can figure out how to soothe. This is a pain he is familiar with, a hurt that he knows how to hold in his hands with the right balance of gentle and firm. This is a simple fear he knows because it comes with the kind of love for your best friend that he knows all too well. 

Oikawa moves a hand to Iwaizumi’s hair, tangling his fingers in the strands and untangling out the knots. He feels as if he’s in a kind of fever dream, like the rain has washed away the rest of the world and it’s just the two of them left behind. It’s just the two of them in this new world that they can build up from scratch. He wouldn’t mind that so much, he thinks. Not if it was Iwaizumi. 

“You don’t know already?” Oikawa asks. His voice is low, teasing. 

Iwaizumi opens his eyes wide. Expression unreadable. Hesitant, maybe. Unsure if Oikawa is going to turn this on him and hate him forever. Unsure if Oikawa is going to say something that he wants to hear or not. “Don’t know what?” 

Oikawa finds it in him to smile, letting go of his worry for Iwaizumi for just a moment to let himself sink into his feelings. “That I love you even more.” 

“You don’t underst—” 

“I do,” Oikawa cuts in. He moves his hand, running his fingers down Iwaizumi’s jaw, pressing his thumb to his lips and then pulling downwards, watching as Iwaizumi turns weak under his touch. He puts a hand to Iwaizumi’s chest, fingers splayed out, feeling his heartbeat under his skin: beating hard and rapid and full of tender, tentative hope. “I get it, Iwa. And I…” 

Iwaizumi puts one hand over Oikawa’s hand. His touch is warm, overheating. Oikawa’s cheeks are pink like the dawning sky and Iwaizumi looks at him as if he’s the most wonderful polaroid capture of the sunrise that he’s ever seen. “I’m fucking—fucking scared, Oikawa.” 

“What is there to be afraid of?” 

Iwaizumi swallows; doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s never been good at talking about his feelings. “I had a dream, earlier, where—where I said what I just said and then you left me. You disappeared. Disintegrated before my eyes like sand castles made from dry shore and then you were gone, because I said something stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” Oikawa sits up, keeping one hand on Iwaizumi’s chest and the other hand on the pillow, supporting his weight. “And I’m not disintegrating or disappearing, am I?”

“Not yet,” Iwaizumi mutters, just to be contrary. 

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to leave you, ever. I love you too much to just disintegrate.” 

Iwaizumi seems to sink into himself, closing his eyes again. His hand goes to Oikawa’s wrist, tightens around him. “I hate the rain. It just makes me think of how gross and dirty and depressing the world is. How could I ever have something so good if—” 

He cuts himself off, but Oikawa can fill in the blanks. If the world is cruel. If the world is black and white. If he hasn’t earned any good things. If he doesn’t deserve the good things. If he’s a monster. 

“I like to think of it differently,” Oikawa says carefully. “I like to think of it as washing the earth clean. Drawing up a clean slate, starting it all over again.” 

Iwaizumi opens his eyes. He hesitates, looking at Oikawa, searching his face for some hint of a joke or laughter or lies. But Oikawa could never do that to him. He feels so many things and they are all for Iwaizumi and every one of them culminates in a love he’s not going to hide anymore. Of course Iwaizumi would confess like this, and of course he would refuse to believe it when Oikawa reciprocated; Iwaizumi has always been the braver, kinder one of the two of them but also the more self-grounded, stubborn one. But still—of course Iwaizumi feels the same way. They’ve been on the same wavelength since they were six. 

“Do you think we could draw up a clean slate?” Iwaizumi asks, a whisper. He’s still afraid. Still worried that Oikawa will say no. “Even though you’re you and I’m just—just this, can we be something new?” 

“Just this?” Oikawa asks incredulously. “Hajime Iwaizumi, you are my favorite person I have ever met. You make the sun rise and the earth spin and you make me breathe. You are everything. Don’t ever say something like that again.” 

Iwaizumi snorts, but he’s blushing, too, and he looks like maybe he’s beginning to trust Oikawa’s words. “You’re so dramatic. You can just say you like me, too.” 

“I did!” Oikawa protests. Then he laughs lightly, smiling down at Iwaizumi. He shifts his wrist so that Iwaizumi’s hand slides down to his palm and they can actually tangle their fingers together. “But yeah, I think we can be something new, Iwa. I think we can be something really good.”

[foxybananaaaz]

hey can I request elucien hc or oneshot for fwb but the "it's not just sex for me anymore" fight or fake dating but the "we're not really together, this is just pretend" fight

Speak Up

Main Pairing :: Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra

Summary :: “Weirdly enough, I actually understand you. I just told my sister last week that I needed to move out, because I needed more privacy with my boyfriend, who doesn’t exist. Funny how I didn’t seem to think this far ahead.”

Authors Note :: Another Prompt FanFic, thats Super Late! But Alas! I am getting to it! I am going to include Bitki, to further feel her out as a character, but yes. Let’s get to it! Anon who submitted, I know this is forever late, but I hope you enjoy! MODERN AU

Word Count :: 5.2k

Elain was running late, knowing that she was. Her phone made the pinging sound of a new text message in her bag making it incredibly obvious. But this time it wasn’t her fault. She genuinely was at the store planning to get some cat food for Renarde, before going to meet up with her friend. This was the only thing she had planned before going to meet with her friend until she met with her sisters while leaving the store.

They of course wanted to talk to her about the large party they were planning for her birthday, even though it wasn’t for another month. How many people? What colours should they go with? There was a reason she had asked the two of them to take care of it all, yet the way they refused to leave her alone asking all these questions when they would see her. They would even call in the middle of the night sometimes.

Nesta and she had been living in the city for a significantly less amount of time than Feyre. But even then, Elain had chosen to stay in, keep herself away from anyone in the city, other than her sisters friends. It wasn’t until just over a year that Elain had moved out of her sisters place, and into an apartment of her own.

It had gone well, except for, well—

“You can't just leave. You live here.” Feyre had said, looking at Elain, shock, and a mix of pain and anger shining in her eyes.

“Yeah, actually, I can. I’m an adult, older than you, actually. I do have somewhere to go, the money I’ve gotten has been given as a down payment. The lease has been signed. I also got a job. Which is a five-minute walk, from my new apartment. So yes, I can leave, and I kind of have to now.” Elain responded looking into her sisters eyes. “Feyre—”

“You can’t be alone. You’ve never been alone! You don’t know how to live alone!” Feyre responded in a sharp, quick tone that took Elain off guard, so much so that she forgot what she was going to say, and fell back on a lie. She could always get away with lying to her sisters. The was the best at lying, simply because they had never expected her to lie. Never thought her able to lie. So the fact that the next phrase she said was both unplanned, and a lie, she knew she would be upset with herself later.

“I also want somewhere I can spend time with my boyfriend, that isn’t out in public, but also does not have my baby sister, or her husband for that matter, hovering like hawks.” Elain kindly shot back she kept kind, though there was a bite to her words, a warning bite. She’s still the older sister, even if she rarely pushes the fact.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” Feyre responded, backing down only the slightest amount.

“That’s been the whole point. Hovering like hawks. Besides, it’s not like I can bring him here when there's really no safe place in the house. You and Rhys can enjoy yourselves however you like, there's nothing wrong with what you guys do behind closed doors, or with no doors. Or even in the hallways. I would however like to be somewhere I can go pee at night, without having to keep an ear open, each step of the way to the washroom.” Elain responded, simply trying to lighten the mood, and tease lightheartedly.

Elain then smiled at her younger sister warmly. “I will get a cat, so I won’t be completely alone.” It was then that Elain had pulled her younger sister into a hug, knowing it would help calm the nerves that were building in both of them down.

That was just over a year ago, and Elain had been doing just fine, despite Feyre’s concerns before she had left. The way her sisters had such little faith in her living on her own stung, but she had proved them wrong, and she was on their own now and thriving.

She finally made it to their table, and as she was sitting down all she heard was “It’s not hot, and it’s not cold. But it’s still coffee.”

Elain then took a rather large sip of the coffee, deciding not to mention how the coffee was not the way she took it in the least, given how she had been the one who was late. Putting her cup down, Elain simply groaned. “Sometimes I really do wish I were an only child.” Elain exclaimed, before sighing deeply, and looking into her coffee.

“Well, ‘Hello’ to you too then,” Bitki responded sarcastically, looking towards Elain, a smile hidden behind her coffee cup.

“You’re one to talk. ‘It’s not hot, and it’s not cold. But it’s still coffee.’ Where was your hello?” Elain asked, lifting an eyebrow at her friend, which simply resulted in Bitki butting her cup down and smiling even more.

“Oh, yes. I do love how we can skip the pleasantries. There really is no time for them anyway.” Elains friend commented looking above her head. At what? She didn’t even think Bitki knew. “So why is it today you wish you were an only child? The last time you were thinking this was when you moved to your apartment when they wanted to meet Mr. Doesn’t-Exist. You are always so close with your sisters.”

Elain tried to hold back a sigh, she really did. But she did end up sighing before she responded to her friends question. “Yes. You’re right. Though while I found a solution to, Mr. Doesn’t-Exist, and found someone in a similar situation, so we formed a fake relationship.” Elain explained, ignoring the look Bitki was giving her. “And now, that they’ve met him and gotten to know him, they’re asking if they should plan time during this god-forsaken party for a proposal.” Elain finished, refusing to look at her friend knowing what she would say.

“I told you from the beginning Elain. It was and is a stupid idea. Things get messy, and now they’re messy. You’re going to have to tell him about this before your sisters attack him with these questions like they did you.” Bitki explained, looking at Elain seriously.

“Bee, please don’t. Not right now.” Elain simply sighed in response.

“Elain. If you want my support, you’ve got it. All the way. But I’m not going to just sit here and sugarcoat things and coddle you by saying it's all going to be okay when I have no way of knowing that. Saying that just to make you happy, docile? That’s the kind of shit you wanted to get away from. Them treating you like a child. And you lied about having a boyfriend when Feyre threw in your face her doubts that you could make it and survive on your own, without ever giving you the chance to do so.”

Bitki reached across the table to take Elains hand in her own. “I’ve never seen you do better though. You’re thriving on your own. Just, you should have rectified the lie right away. Instead of a fake relationship, you probably could have been in a real relationship with him. You guys went in with the mindset of fake, and it wasn’t smart. And it’s starting to blow up in both of your faces."

Elain looked across the table at her friend, feeling a thankful smile crossing her face. It wasn't forced in the least, but that didn't stop the smile from feeling that way. Forced, stale. Fake. Elain did not need to wonder why this was, the knowledge was as simple as that of how to breathe.

In the year of fake dating 'Mr. Doesn't-Exist' as her best friend so lovingly called this whole situation, called him, Elain couldn't help but develop real feelings. The situation had truly gotten messy, especially since she could tell 'Mr. Doesn't-Exist' was all about business, and making sure this relationship remained so. She reminded herself before and after every fake date. She never expected it to sting, and it did. It stung, like nothing She had ever felt before.

Elain was about to speak up in response to Bitki, when her phone had gone off. One glimpse at her screen, seeing her boss's name, had her heart sinking, knowing exactly how this conversation would go.

"I need to take this sorry." Elain said to Bitki, before looking down to answer her phone. "Hello, Mr. -"

"I thought I told you, I needed the floral arrangements first thing." Her boss spoke. So he was in one of those moods. This should be an exceedingly fun phone call for her then.

But, Elain didn't want to be pushed around, so she simply tried saying, as professionally, and gently as she could, "Well, since it's my first day off in two and a half weeks, I thought first thing meant fi -"

"First thing means 'First Thing the Following Morning.' Also, you don't get days off unless I tell you you get a day off. Get in here, you're late. That is two strikes already today alone Elain." And with that Elain heard the other side of the line go dead as her boss had hung up.

"I don't know why you continue to work for the asshole and put up with his bullshit." Bitki had asked, looking towards Elain with knowing eyes, before sipping her coffee still lounging in her chair.

"I continue to deal with him, because he was the most famous florist in the country, remember. When people would fly hundreds of miles for a single bouquet, and thank him for his attitude. He's someone I could really benefit learning from." Elain explained to her friend, exasperated after having this conversation many times.

"Yes. But he was also dropped by everyone for how he treated his ex-girlfriend when the news broke. No one respects him anymore except others like him." Bitki threw back, again with a knowing expression.

So, Bitki may be the only person to know that Elain used her family name to blackmail her boss into hiring her. But to become the new best florist, Elain had to learn from the best florist out there. Praised, or, as he now was, severely shunned. She felt awful about it, especially considering her sister didn't exactly know who she worked for. But one day she would make sure no one knew his name ever again.

Just as Elain was on her way to work, her phone made the pinging of a new message, so she went to check it after getting on the bus.

Don't bother coming in. A has better designs you could come up with anyway, and has the respect for the job to show up to work every day, on time.

- 9.47 AM

In fact, don't bother coming in anymore at all. Nothing you have to say can ruin me more than your ungrateful sister did.

- 9.48 AM

*** *** ***

As Elain was just getting back into her apartment, closing the door behind her, Renarde came padding over, rubbing up against her shins in greeting, with the usual purrs. Not having anything else to do, but going to put the few groceries away, Elain then picked up the attention-seeking cat who hadn't left her side since she walked in.

"Well Renarde, it seems we're going to have to look for a new job. The problem is, there weren't any florists hiring a year ago when I got that job. I'm sure there aren't any now. What are we going to do?" Elain asked her, otherwise clueless, cat.

"I don't want to go back to Feyre's, I'm not even whispered to start my own floral business. I just, don't know what to do. As soon as Feyre and Nesta find out, they're going to be all I just knew you weren't cut out to live on your own." Elain was starting to spiral and was not talking to her pet, but more so to herself.

"If they find out about this, and that I don't have plans for what to do now, they will for sure expect me to move back with Feyre. It's not like I can just expect them to believe that I will be moving in with-"

"Me?" Elain heard before the apartment door closed again.

Elain quickly turned around and was confronted by the man she had been developing real feelings for, in a fake relationship the past year. The man she met out of pure coincidence in a similar situation as her the year prior. Lucien Vanserra.

"You do realize this is a fake relationship, right?" Lucien had asked her, welcoming himself in, not that she minded. They were each used to it. Not knowing if there were others in the apartment who believed them together.

“Yes, I do,” Elain responded, looking over towards the man with his long red hair, falling loos today, rather than slicked back. She did know, all too well, and to hear it again, especially coming from Lucien cut rather deeply at her heart. Her true feelings were a closely guarded secret, that even Bitki was unaware of them. “It’s just been a hell of a day.”

Elain couldn’t help the soaring of her heart when hearing Luciens mock reply. “Elain May Archeron. I thought you a Lady. A proper Lady. Yet you speak such foul language.” Lucien had even moved a hand over his heart as though to accentuate his feigned shock.

“There are more layers to me than you may ever understand.” Elain replied, with a hint of a mischievous tone lacing through her voice.

“Alright, care to tell me about your day then? Even though the day is only half over.” Lucien asked sitting on the small couch on the other end from her and Renarde. Her cat, ever the traitor since Lucien started coming over, jumped out of her arms and hopped right onto his lap, curling up for a nap. The slight jealousy that Renarde could curl up with Lucien so freely, alongside the longing that Elain could do the same, had honestly shocked her when she had first realized it.

Pushing the feelings aside, Elain took a deep breath before deciding to explain the easier part first. “So, I was fired today,” Elain explained. “Because I didn’t show up on my day off. Bus Driver refused to accept my monthly bus pass, on two different occasions, even though I just got it last week. Oh, and I ran into my sisters this morning while getting Renarde food. They’re expecting a proposal at the party.” Elain explained. She knew she had to explain that last point, but also knew she did not want to explain it like that. It was too delicate a conversation.

“Proposals are very real, and very public. On top of that, marriages are even more real, and incredibly legal. Some places require a minimum amount of time married before you are even allowed to file for divorce.” Lucien said. Just like that, within a simple second, the conversation between them had grown tense. His voice was cold, growing an edge. “And to reiterate what I said before, this,” Lucien said, moving his pointer finger between the two of them, “Isn’t real. We are not dating. This is fake.”

And he was angry now as if she were using her sisters to try and push this past a fake relationship into something more. And what he had said, his words, speared through her heart, stating that even when they wouldn’t need each other anymore for this fake relationship, there would not be any chance to grow into something real.

“I know that Lucien. But they don’t. You’re family doesn’t. That is why we started this whole thing to start with. To get our families off our backs. I’m not a stupid little girl who doesn’t remember what we’re doing. You’re the one, you, even when no one is around and we’re alone, you keep up the act! You’re the one who seems to pretend this is real. The way you act, it's not the way someone acts when it’s just friends Lucien!” Elain knew she was projecting. She had no right to throw her feelings onto him, as though he were the one who was feeling them and not her. But the way his eye flashed at her words, and not in anger. It even seemed like his glass eye flashed as well.

Both standing by now, Lucien took a step back, and then another, and then another. “This whole thing between us, this whole fake thing between us? I think it’s time we ended it. It’s already gone on far too long. As you said, your sisters are already expecting a proposal.” Lucien stated before turning around finally and making to walk out.

“Lucien, wait!” Elain called after him, suddenly feeling bad for projecting onto him. But it was too late, he was already gone. She would assume he was already walking down the stairs, just to avoid her having to wait for the elevator. So Elain stood there, in her apartment, alone, save for Renarde. But it wasn’t long before even Renarde left her for his cat tree. But not before a sound of frustration at her, for making her favourite man leave so soon.

*** *** ***

It was the night of the party her sisters had planned for her birthday. Elain had not seen, nor heard from Lucien since the afternoon of their argument. Bitki had come by to help her get ready, and try to cheer Elain up, given what her sisters had hoped would have happened tonight.

Having been completely caught up, Bitki looked over to Elain in the mirror as she had been applying makeup, before pausing. "We don't have to go you know. It's a party for your birthday yes. But that doesn't mean you owe everyone an appearance. We can stay here, attack the ice cream you have hidden in the back of your freezer, and watch cheezy romcoms." Bitki had commented, concern written on her face, without even attempting to hide it, knowing how much Elain hated that.

Elain offered a small thankful smile. "Thank you, Bee. I appreciate that. But I do have to go. I have been avoiding my sisters since that day. It's time to explain to them what's happened." Elain said in response before the smile fell off her face entirely. "Oh, God. How the hell am I even going to begin doing that? They're going to t-"

"Elain." Bitki cut in, "Elain. You don't need to worry about that. When you are ready, the words will come to you. And I'll be right there, to tell them off if you need me to." Bitki reassured.

When the two of them got to Feyres house, Elain was shocked at how many people were there. She shouldn't be shocked though, as her brother-in-law was a very high-up politician, and he would probably use this to invite political allies over. At least her sisters planned and decorated with her in mind.

Elain was about to walk forward until, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar head of hair. Long, red, tied back low, and formal.

"Bitki, you go ahead. Don't say anything yet. I'll catch up shortly." Elain told her friend, without taking her eyes off the man on the other side of the courtyard.

Vaguely aware of Bitki following her gaze, but not her friends shock, Bitki did nod, before walking up the stairs and into the manor.

Slowly, yet cautiously after their last conversation, Elain started making her way towards Lucien, wanting to know why he was here. Because if they were done, he would have no reason to show up, his only reason would have been her.

"Elain." Lucien sounded surprised as if he wasn't expecting to see her at her own party.

"I'm almost afraid to ask." Elain whispered. "You said we were done. Whatever we had was done." Even though she was whispering, they were still in public, and no one else was supposed to know it was all fake.

"Elain, can we go somewhere to talk?" Lucien asked, sounding, was hesitant with nerves in his voice? She could see the nerves in his real eye too. His glass eye, which he had got as a stupid teenage boy, doing stupid teenage boy things at fifteen, showed no emotion. But again, Elain swore she saw nerves in it as well.

"Follow me," Elain said, before walking to the secret lounging area in the gardens here she had made sure existed. She wouldn't look back to make sure Lucien was indeed following her. She couldn't, because she didn't know what she would do if he wasn't.

Sitting on the bench in the quiet private, closed-off garden, Elain was pleased to see that the red-haired man sat next to her. "What is it you need to talk about, that you wanted to do so in private? Plan a public break up, at my birthday party that my sisters worked so hard on?"

Lucien started at that, but he didn't look surprised as if realizing that was a fair expectation after how he left the last time they saw each other. "No, that isn't the reason at all."

"So what is the reason?" Elain asked, looking at some of the flowers.

Feyres new garden employee did not know how to properly take care of the flowers, even with explicit, simple instructions from Elain. Sure they looked watered, but they looked hungry as well. They weren't getting the nutrients, only water.

After a few moments of silently judging whoever was taking care of her gardens, Lucien spoke up. "You remember our teacher in grade five?" Lucien asked. "Yes he was horrible, and no one liked him. I know I hated him. But there was one small thing I was, and forever will be thankful to him for." Lucien commented, with a soft smile, as if the memory brought him joy.

Elain looked at him as if he had grown another head. She couldn't fathom why anyone would have a joyful memory from that year, with that teacher. Let alone want to thank him for anything. "Were you in a different class with a different teacher I don't know about?"

Elain watched, pain crushing her heart as Lucien couldn't help but laugh softly at her comment. "Nope, same class. Same teacher. Mr. Hybern was definitely the worst. But I was still thankful for his Makes-No-Sense-Assigned-Seating. Because that's when I met you, really met you, and started to get to know you. Every pair's project was with your desk partner, so I was with you. Lunch was with you, everything in that class was done with you." Lucien explained, not looking at her, not looking at the flowers, or anywhere around them. He was lost in the past. Flying through memories. Elain though continued to sit there, not wanting to say anything, seeing where this went.

"Grade four, I had the biggest crush on you. But because you and your sisters lived out of the city, and commuted in, I never had the chance to get to know you. Mr. Hybern made us desk partners, and I had the chance to get to know you, and my crush only deepened.

"When High School came, we were closer friends. You were my best friend, and I was still in love with you. But you had started dating Greysen, so I kept quiet. I was grateful to be your friend. It was breaking my heart to see you so happy with Greysen, who ended up playing you and breaking your heart.

"We weren't hanging out as much then. I'd made other friends, you were so wrapped up with Greysen, and you had also met Bitki." Lucien paused in speaking.

Elain knew something difficult was coming up, so she gently bumped her shoulder against his arm, and looked up at him. "Take your time."

"No, I need to continue, before I cower out." Lucien said. Shaking his head. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Then I met Tamlin. He was great, an amazing friend, at first. But he has this way, I mean, you know. Feyre has probably told you more than enough. So I slowly started dropping all my other friends, believing Tamlin was the only friend I needed. He made me believe that. Isolated me from my other friends. From you. Just around the time, Greysen broke up with you. This is around college now.

"It was the two of us. Tamlin and I. Tamlin loved the control he had. He would ridicule me if I spoke my opinion differing from his, or spoke out of turn when others were around. I'm shocked he wasn't as upset with me for the normal things when he started dating Feyre." Lucien kept his eyes closed as he talked about this whole part.

Another deep breath before he continued. "After Tamlin dropped me when Feyre publicly broke up with him, It broke something in me. I lost trust in everyone. I couldn't make new friends, I had lost all my old friends. Because I was still so deeply in love with you, I thought of you every day, but was too afraid to reach out to you then." Slowly, Lucien opened his eyes to look at Elain.

"It wasn't until a year after that, that I bumped into you, and you were in a situation of needing someone to pretend to be your boyfriend. I didn't need a fake girlfriend. But helping you? That was a perfect way back in with you." Lucien paused for half a second before continuing. "And you were even more beautiful than you were in college. So, still so deeply in love with you, fake dating you, well that was better than nothing."

"Lucien, I-" Elain started before Lucien barreled on.

"I'm incredibly sorry for misleading you. I'm sorry for the way I left things last month. But I thought you had known how I felt all these years, and you were just ridiculing me. I thought you were mocking me. I would love to still be friends again. So I bought you a promise ring, to promise that I will never try to toss you to the side again." Lucien stated, and opened his hand, showing her a delicate ring, with flowers, her favourite flowers, delicately decorating around the ring.

Elain gently picked the ring up, turning it around to get a better look at every detail. The ring felt as delicate as it looked. "Oh Lucien. You really didn't have to go through this trouble." Elain responded, looking up, seeing pain lace through his features.

"What I mean is..." What did Elain mean? How could she put her thoughts into words? How could she express to him that yes, growing up, she did view the two of them as friends, and no, she never knew how he felt. But over this past year, she had found that she had fallen in love with him as well.

"What I mean is," oh screw it. Elain thought, as she reached behind his head to pull it down in their sitting positions. She pulled his head down until their lips met, in What could only be described as a blunt, yet soft kiss for the ages, that melted the nervous mess that had been forming in her stomach, in her heart, in her mind over the past year.

The kiss remained soft, silent, yet it had said everything she needed to tell Lucien, and more so. It hadn't taken more than a second or two for Lucien to respond to her kiss, as Elain could feel him smiling against her lips.

While the moment may seem like any other normal kiss, Elain had never experienced this before. She was warming up, she didn't feel like she needed to breathe, though she knew she would need to soon. It felt like she was invincible. Just weeks ago, just days ago, Elain thought this would never happen, and here she sat kissing the man she had found herself falling in love with all through a fake relationship. She couldn't be happier if she tried.

The two of them never did make it to Elains birthday party, choosing to stay in the private gardens instead all night, just talking, or kissing.

*** *** ***

*** Five Years Later ***

*** *** ***

After that fateful party, Elain had gotten an earful from no less than three people. Bitki, for leaving her alone to deal with her tyrant sisters, and said tyrant sisters. But Elain really didn't seem to care much that night for getting the earfuls. She couldn't stop herself from telling Bitki what had happened, and while her friend was supportive, she also was cautious and extra protective of Elain around Lucien now.

But this was Elain's 29th Birthday, and there was no big party, Elain stopped any plans from brewing before they started. She planned it. A small get-together. That was it. Bitki, her sisters, all partners, herself, and Lucien.

She had planned everything, so she would not be surprised, as she had grown rather disapproving of surprises. But even with her meticulous planning, there was still time to fit a surprise in there, as she turned around to get the teacups ready before everyone had shown up, to find Lucien behind her, half kneeling.

"Elain May Archeron." Lucien started, looking up at her.

"Lucien, what are you doing?" Elain asked, a flurry of emotions rushing through her at once. "There aren't supposed to be surprises today."

But Lucien only smiled, ignoring her question and statement. "Elain May Archeron, you truly are the love of my life and have been since we were in elementary school. These past few years have been, a lot, to say the least, and since moving in together, there are few things left I can think to experience for the first time with you. With you, because you are the only one I want to experience them with." Lucien spoke, sounding the most honest, loving and nervous he ever had, including the night he had confessed his love.

Elain had not noticed, just too stunned, but when Lucien was opening the box, to reveal the ring, and continued to speak, she finally realized what was going on.

"So, Elain, my fairest lady. Would you do me the honours of experiencing everything life has to offer, with you by my side, and marry me?"

When had Elain started crying? Those were tears on her face right? They had to be, because she just felt one drop, landing on her collarbone.

"Oh Lucien, you know I don't like surprises! And there wasn't supposed to be any today. Today was scheduled to the minute. Now everything is off schedule, and it's your fault. But I don't care. Yes! Yes I will marry you!" Elain responded in earnest, her annoyance at the surprise, the schedule getting thrown off, and all the love she had in her heart.

Elain sat on Luciens leg just long enough to kiss him, a truly happy kiss. It would have lasted longer, if the front door hadn't opened as Bitki and her boyfriend walked in, calling out her hellos.

That fight about the two of them only being in a fake relationship, and how it would never move past had been long since forgiven and forgotten, but that fight had played a very crucial part in their relationship where it stood today.

*** E N D ***

Post Fic Authors Note.

So this may not have been exactly what the prompt asked for, sorry Anon asker, if you're even still here. BUT I did include the fake relationship bit, and an argument a short bit.

Anyways, I hope everyone likes this fic. It's the first bit of writing I've done in just about a year. Please don't hate on it too hard.

Glad to be back.

-Shae.

[lansplaining]

[one part of a chengqing holiday rom com for as many days of december and uhhh maybe january as i feel like] [previous part]

Small mercies: there was a parking place right outside Jin Ling’s preschool. Still no word from Jin Guangyao, though, which was a bad sign. If he wasn’t responding to texts and emails within a minute of receiving them, it either meant he was composing a multi-paragraph reply, had no service, or was so busy he literally had his hands full. 

“You’re okay to wait?” Jiang Cheng said as he pulled in, and Wen Qing waved her phone.

“I’ve got plenty of emails,” she said. 

“Thanks,” Jiang Cheng said for about the thousandth time since they left the school. He slid out of the car and hurried into the preschool, which was all decked out in paper Christmas trees and other holiday decorations clearly made by the kids. Maybe he could calm Jin Ling down afterwards by asking him to point out which one he’d made. 

Inside, the receptionist was clearly waiting: she was on her feet almost before he was in the door.

“I’m very sorry,” she said. Jiang Cheng waved her off. 

“Where is he?” 

She led him on the now-familiar route back to the little nurse’s office, where Jin Ling was curled up in one corner of the nurse’s cot, his knees pulled up to his chest and his face pressed against them. One of the assistants was sitting on the opposite edge of the cot, trying to coax him out. He peeked up when the door opened, then threw himself off of the cot almost before Jiang Cheng had time to open his arms.

“Jiujiu!” 

“So what happened?” Jiang Cheng demanded over Jin Ling’s head. 

“We were talking about different winter holiday traditions,” the assistant said. “And, well... Mo Ziyuan said that his parents told him that Santa talked to them to make plans for Christmas Day. And then...” She sighed and lowered her voice to a whisper, hardly more than mouthing the words, though Jiang Cheng was pretty sure he already knew where this was going. “--he asked if that meant Jin Ling wouldn’t get any presents. We spoke to him, of course,” he added quickly at Jiang Cheng’s glare. “Jin Ling was understandably upset, but resorting to biting--” 

Jiang Cheng sighed. “Yeah. You can’t bite people, kid.” Much as he also felt like biting Mo Ziyuan. 

“We gave them some time apart and then gave them a chance to apologize, which Ziyuan did and Jin Ling...” She paused to search for the word. “...did not.” 

“Bit him again?”

“Ah, yes.” 

“A-Ling--” Jiang Cheng began, and Lin Jing yelled, “I hate him!!” 

The assistant looked like she wanted to say something asinine like that isn’t a nice thing to say, but Jiang Cheng quelled her with a glare. He hoisted Jin Ling into his arms and said, “Come on, we’ll go see your shushu. I hope you’re going to be having a conversation with the Mos, too.”

“Of course, don’t worry,” the assistant said. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Jiang Cheng pressed Jin Ling tightly to him as he strode out of the school. As they passed through the lobby, his phone finally buzzed, and he had to shift around to try and fish it out of his pocket. He couldn’t open it, but didn’t need to-- the message preview from Jin Guangyao was enough: In Vancouver. Should be home by... 

What the hell was he doing in-- whatever, it didn’t matter. Jiang Cheng started to slide the phone back into his pocket, but Jin Ling had perked up and was making grabby hands for it. With another sigh, and against his better judgment, Jiang Cheng handed it over, and Jin Ling pulled up his favorite game with a skill that Jiang Cheng frankly still found somewhat chilling. And guilt-inducing: a-jie would never have let him develop that kind of facility with a screen at this young age. 

Wen Qing had gotten out of the car and was talking to someone on the phone. Jiang Cheng slowed his step, trying to give her time to wrap up the conversation before he got there if she needed to, but she didn’t notice him before he was close enough to hear her. 

“--seriously, A-Ning.” She was frowning, but making her voice light. “There’s no reason for us both to spend Christmas in a hotel. You know how cheap uncle can be, it isn’t very nice. Stay with popo and... well, you know how he gets around the holidays anyway, he needs you.” She paused, listening. “Yeah, I’ll--”

She looked up and saw Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling approaching. “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk tonight. Bye, A-Ning.” 

“Everything okay?” Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Just fine. Just my brother.”

“Who are you?” Jin Ling demanded before Jiang Cheng could reply. Wen Qing lifted her brows. 

“I’m Wen Qing,” she said. “I’m friends with your uncle. You must be Jin Ling.” 

“Why are you here?” 

“I heard you were having a bad day,” she replied, unfazed by what even Jiang Cheng could describe as a bratty tone. “After this, we have to go to work.”

“About that,” Jiang Cheng said. “I’m really sorry, but his uncle is out of town. Is there any chance of postponing the tour?”

“Well,” she said wryly. “That shouldn’t be a problem. My uncle has asked me to stay here in town for another week.”

Ah. That explained the conversation about a hotel over Christmas. But that was none of Jiang Cheng’s business, so he just nodded. “I really appreciate it. I’m really sorry.” 

Wen Qing shook her head. “It’s unavoidable. You’re doing what you need to do, I can appreciate that.” 

“Thanks.” And for whatever reason, he really did feel like she understood. It felt... nice. Not to have to worry once again that he’d gotten his priorities wrong, misbalanced everything. “Well, A-Ling. It’s you and me today?”

Jin Ling instantly perked up. “We get a Christmas tree?” 

Oh for God’s sake. He must have made some kind of face, because Wen Qing-- laughed. He looked over at her in surprise, and found she was still smiling. Something about that smile clearly knocked loose something essential in his brain, because what he found himself saying was, “Yeah, we’ll get a Christmas tree. Want to come?” 

[dcydrecmings]

16 defending themselves physically or verbally @monstersmuses​

Things were going well - in retrospect, she should have realised that things were going too well, and it was bound to crumble at some time.

She'd thrown Veronica a birthday party, one Demarco had to miss the start of due to agreeing to help someone practice before she'd decided to throw the party. She'd been the one to push for him to go to the practice - pointing out the party was bound to still be going when he finished, so he could simply join them later. When she noted it had been a while since she had any contact with Demarco, she excused herself from the party to head outside, going into her bag to dig her phone out to call and ask when he thought he'd be there. A text could have done the same job, but she thought the constant ringing of a call would garner more attention that one buzz for a text message.

Smiling as her hand wrapped around the phone, she went to pull it out - noticing the shadow approaching a beat too late to do anything about it. Before she had time to truly register what was happening, her grip on the phone loosened, sending the device crashing to the ground, as a hand moved to cover her mouth. Whoever happened to be behind her, pulled her further into the alley beside the club she'd rented for the night - her mind in overdrive, playing over exactly what had happened the last time someone had attacked her from behind. A worse thought struck when she remembered her entire reason for being outside - Demarco. Demarco who could show up at any time, and walk into a situation he couldn't walk back out of.

Squirming more in the stranger's arms trying in vain to get back to her phone, to come up with some excuse to keep Demarco away - she froze as the thought of Demarco brought up another array of memories. After him repeatedly 'suggesting' that she let him teach her a few moves 'in case she ever needed them' - she'd finally relented, albeit it with an eyeroll and a proclamation that she'd never need to protect herself. That's what he was for - him and the security her father paid to follow her around whenever he thought she needed it. Security she'd refused to let come anywhere near the party and ruin the mood.

Closing her eyes to focus on nothing but Demarco, and the few things she had taken in while he taught her some things, she took a deep breath to calm herself - promptly stomping on the strangers foot with her heel to get them to keel over, before throwing her elbow back to hit them in the face. Using the split second their grip had loosened to her advantage, she slipped out of their arms - content with running away, until a surge of anger hit her.

While there was a chance it was a completely random occurrence, she'd place her money on it being very intentional. Either her monster had gotten bored of mere threats, and wanted to remind her that he could get to her - or worse Demarco and Veronica, the only people she'd protect over herself. Or it was Demarco's monster, deciding if his son was big enough to fight back now - he may as well find some other way to hurt him.

Before she had time to think about her choices, she'd spun on her heel - sprinting back towards the other clad in all black, practically throwing herself on to them, the force knocking them both over. The action seemed to stun the other, giving her enough time to get in the best position - months worth of pent up anger and pain, coming out as her fits hit them in a speed that would have impressed her - if she was conscious enough of her actions to realise what was happening. Eventually, the other seemed to snap back into action, using their larger stature to gain the upper hand - scream leaving her as they began hitting back. Eyes slamming shut as they raised their closed fist, she tried desperately to try and find a way to avoid any more blows. Blows that never came.

Scrambling away, she shot back to attention, opening her eyes to survey exactly what was happening. The person she'd been fighting lay on the ground a little away from her - her focus was on the person still on their feet. The person she was always relieved to see - but a relief that seemed tenfold at that moment.

Using the burst of adrenaline seeing Demarco gave her, she ran over to him, throwing herself into his arms - grasping on to him as though loosening her grip any would make him disappear. Only noticing she'd been crying when she felt his shirt grow damp, she sniffled slightly, trying to pull herself together so not to worry him more than he already would be.

"Wou... Will it make you proud if I - if I say I got in a few good hits too?"

[theroastedwretch]

Between the Lines- Ep. 6

Warnings- PG-13 due to Swearing and Explicit Language, Mature Themes, possible Violent References

Small A/N: I wanted to try something a bit different with the style this time when handling the conversations around the puzzles with Lilly and Phil's texts, so let me know what you think!

Index Ep. 5

I couldn’t hold myself together, just barely making it to the bathroom before getting sick from nerves. I’d spent too long wrapped in my Nothing, so the sudden onslaught of pain was made all the sharper. That was one of the problems with hiding from your feelings. They didn’t really go away, you just got worse at them.

So now, sitting on the floor of my bathroom with my head in my hands, I felt everything. My insecurity about losing people I was starting to think of as my friends, not just Hannah’s, once they didn’t need me anymore. The rage over all of the hiding and lies. The exhaustion, bone deep and suffocating. The rejection, from Jake, and even from Thomas and Lilly. The sadness to see Paige go, realizing how much I needed her here. Disgust at myself, for how weak I’d become.

It burst through, and I felt dizzy like it was a physical injury rather than just emotional. Blood pounded in my ears, my heart racing in a way that I knew from experience was just a panic attack but I barely convinced myself it wasn't my heart trying to explode. I pushed myself off the floor, stumbling down the hall toward my room, trying to make it there before I fell apart. 

I couldn’t disassociate again, why couldn’t I do it? Why did it feel like I’d been the one knocked to the ground and left to suffer? Why did everything hurt, like suddenly feeling again had lit my nerves on fire?

Overwhelmed, I nearly spammed Jessy’s phone with pleas to respond, offers to call someone to help, and attempts to show how worried I was. I laid there, clutching my phone in desperation, until something kind of like sleep overtook me.

___

The nightmares were unsurprising, and the shooting pain that ran up my spine when I sat up was even less so. I was too old to put my body through those kinds of unfortunate contortions, and I knew my whole day would be spent stiff and sore. 

I hadn’t turned off my bedroom light the night before, and now I squinted against the light as I looked around for my phone that had fallen from my grasp at some point during the night. I was ashamed of my response to Jessy’s attack, of how I’d gotten taken over by my own emotions instead of being there for her. I tried to tell myself it was just because of the shock, that I wasn't actually that terrible of a person, but the argument fell flat even in my own mind. 

The guilt grew when she still didn’t reply, and the worry did the same when I saw that Phil clearly hadn’t heard what happened yet. Could I get his number from the others, maybe? Tell him what happened, get him to stop pressuring her? That would reveal that I had access to their messages, Jake would be furious, but I owed her that much.

Wait, she’d told me about the break in. I was allowed to know about that. Maybe I could confront the idiots for her, convince them to fix things so she didn’t have to. It wouldn’t be enough to make things right, but it was a start. It had to be.

Thomas didn’t even have the grace to sound ashamed, just asking how I knew and then running to save his own ass when I told him about the call Phil was going to make. That part I shouldn’t have known, but maybe they wouldn’t ask too many questions, or I could deflect by making it clear how much they’d fucked up. I’d figure it out later.

Jessy had at least been well enough to call off from work, which should have reassured me. But the fact that she didn’t feel well enough to go in— and hadn’t told Richy what happened— made that sense of reassurance rather grim.

I told him about the attack, but something about the fact that she hadn’t done so herself when she’d talked to hit led me to talk him out of going to see her himself. They seemed so close, so the idea that she wouldn’t have gone to him for support struck me as strange. I needed to try to talk to her myself before letting him do it. She’d twice now mentioned it was someone in the group, had she noticed something yesterday?

When she finally replied, her helplessness, questioning what she did wrong, almost broke me again. I wanted to be in Duskwood again, this time for totally different reasons. I wanted to comfort her, to protect her from the asshole who had decided to pull her into a show he was creating for me. I would never forgive myself, knowing she got hurt just to send me a message. 

I got as far as looking up flights, wondering if I could split the price between multiple credit cards and if Jessy or Cleo had a couch I could crash on— or even Dan since he wasn’t using his apartment right now— before I was interrupted by Jake’s return.

I was too raw, too low at that moment to keep my frustration at his absence from bleeding through. I was surprised he apologized, but got upset again when he implied things were going fine anyway. None of this was what I’d call fine. 

When he said he read through my chats, I did get a bit nervous and wonder for half a second which he read, but managed to push that away faster than normal because I was still more focused on Jessy than on my stupid love life.

I hated revisiting the call, I hated remembering her on the ground with that mask above her. I managed it only by forcing myself to think of it as helping to find the man who did it and make him pay. Even still, the image swam in front of my eyes like I was seeing it all over again, and I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. 

Moving on to discussing Hannah’s behavior was a welcome respite for my overcharged nerves, and I grabbed on to the opportunity to lose myself in the mystery for a moment. Someone not only knew about Hannah’s trip to see Iris, but had been there with them. I couldn’t piece that together with Thomas’s description of her behavior, though. She was pushing away her boyfriend while also leaning on someone else for support as she faced her deepest demons? 

I was still trying to reconcile those when he brought up that Hannah likely didn’t have a lover. I cringed as I admitted my worries that he gave it to her, and while I knew I had bigger fish to fry at the moment, I couldn’t help but be a bit relieved that it seemed like we could rule it out safely. Why am I so determined to make this about me, holy crap?

It felt good to be fully on the same page again. Our minds worked in such different ways. Even when I was trying to play his part in our mismatched duo, it’d never been quite the same. 

I couldn’t be sure if I believed it, but when I was the only person who could make him laugh, I couldn’t even pretend to ignore the butterflies it gave me. I’d hate myself later, but it felt intimate, like maybe I did mean something to him.

The same feeling, but stronger, came just a moment later when he asked to keep talking. He’d never done that before, he’d always been the one to run at the first sign that either of us felt anything. And now, his nervousness and hesitation felt loaded to me. He always seemed to be someone who chose his words carefully, but now it seemed like he couldn’t find any at all and was scrambling to find some to keep the conversation going. Even though I had no way of knowing for sure that it was true, I felt warm at the idea. 

He’d been abundantly clear before about there not being an “us”, but in the charged silence, that wasn’t how it felt. 

There was nothing inherently funny about asking how someone’s day was, but the whole thing felt so absurd that it was. He was a government-wanted hacker on the run, and he was asking about my day? On top of that, he already knew. We’d discussed it, and he’d read all of my chats.  His complete lack of charm was, well, charming. 

His sudden free time and out-of-character interest in small talk confused me. I’d had a lot of experience with his disappearing act when I said something that made him uncomfortable, or annoyed, or just plain confused, but I couldn’t help but ask about it. The idea that he was getting distracted by thoughts of me blew my mind. It made sense on my end, being that when I wasn’t investigating kidnapping cases, I was mainly watching crappy TV and paying way too much attention to my friends on social media. 

The idea was almost cheesy, and if I hadn’t seen how bad he was at conversation several times already I’d be afraid it was just a line. Instead I clung to it, because it so closely matched what I felt, too. Willful ignorance is great isn’t it?

He told me about his pursuers’, about how close they were, and it terrified me. Why was he making small talk if they were so close? Shouldn’t he be doing something to protect himself?

When he asked if I was asking out of worry, I barked out a laugh. Had he been within reach, I’d probably have shaken him. Of fucking course I was worried. I’d made my feelings clear several times, including at this very moment. How could I not worry? Sure, he sounded confident enough when he said he wouldn’t let them separate us, but there was only so much he could do. Worse, there was absolutely nothing I could do. There was nothing I was worse at than doing nothing. 

As if to punctuate the sentiment, he disappeared in the middle of a sentence and didn’t return.

___

Despite my attempts to calm down and clear my mind, I was barely able to focus long enough to try the next number. Even knowing it hindered the investigation, I felt the usual flood of relief at the sound of a voicemail greeting. At least I got a name, right? Alan. Yet another unknown person to throw into the mix.

I knew I should move to the next contact, but I couldn’t bring myself to yet. So much had happened in the last 48 hours-- from Joe to Jessy to Jake. Stupidly, I startled laughing uncontrollably when I realized that nearly all of my concerns right now centered around the letter J. Even Hannah’s disappearance seemed to hinge on the mysterious Jennifer. 

Laughing kept me from crying, at least.

Sometimes, when I just can’t take the mess I’ve made of my own life, I stress clean. It’s rare— I hate cleaning, it makes me mad and frustrates me to spend so much time on something I know will be undone almost immediately. The dishes will just get used again, my bed will get unmade, the carpet will get covered in dirt. You just end up back at square one, and I just never felt the motivation or gave enough fucks to do it. But when everything else is totally out of my control, sometimes it felt good to see results.

So I spent the rest of my Sunday afternoon mindlessly scrubbing, alphabetizing, and reorganizing. I mopped, washed laundry, sanitized doorknobs. I scrubbed the toilet, figuring that one made the most sense after I’d vomited last night. By the time Annie walked in at 5, all of the common areas were sparkling.

She froze.

“Um, hi MC. How are you?” She tried to keep her tone light, but her eyes were wide as she took in spotless counters and clean soap smell. This had happened one other time since we moved in together, and it had been after we had a screaming match that lasted three hours and got the landlord called on us. 

I took off the rubber gloves and waved her off. “Took too much of my Adderall today, ended up in  hyperfocus. Thought I’d use it productively.”

She nodded skeptically, since usually hyperfocus for me meant watching the same episode of a show several times to spot all of the bad editing or finishing an entire game in one night. 

“You sure?” She asked after a moment. When I nodded, I couldn’t tell if she believed me, or was just too exhausted with my moods over the last couple of weeks to dig any further. Either way, she retreated into her room and I sagged a bit with the effort lying took.

I took her return as a sign to stop, and collapsed heavily onto the couch with a groan. My back had already been screaming from thrashing all night, and spending the day scrubbing and bending hadn’t helped that at all. I rubbed at my neck to try to loosen the muscles there.

I sent Jessy some puppy pictures and silly memes to hopefully cheer her up a bit. She didn’t reply, but I wanted to make her feel better. 

The message from the B&E Bunch almost came as a relief, or at least a distraction from the mess it seemed like everything else was becoming. Well, they were messy as hell, but at least their mess had yet to get anyone attacked or force them to go on the run. 

They were still on my shitlist, but really, who wasn’t these days?

Richy being involved came as a surprise, though. Despite the mark on his door, he’d been the least involved of the group, at least among those who weren’t in the hospital or busy slinging mud and ruining lives. 

His sudden interest had me on edge.

As I listened to their story, I went over to my work desk and grabbed a pen and paper. Jake had always been good about keeping track of everything, my job had just been to find it and make connections he missed. But now I needed to be playing both parts, and the headaches these people were giving me said that I’d be forgetting something if I didn’t write things down.

Whenever I write, I usually start with characters and let the plot fill in from what I think they’d do. So maybe if I pretended they weren’t real, that none of this was real, and just wrote what I knew, I’d come upon something?

Thomas- 

Boyfriend, possibly ex on route to reconciliation. Brought me into the group, voted for me to leave. Disappeared after body was found, broke in to find bracelet, believed she was having an affair. Police’s main suspect. My conclusion: Personality doesn’t fit M.O. Thomas reacts emotionally, retreats under stress, not prone to confrontation. Can’t rule out, but not likely.

Cleo-

Best friend, potentially jealous but no visible relationship fractures or clear motive. Brave and confrontational, to the point of irrationality and impulsivity. Supported my involvement from the beginning, voted for me to stay. Hid H and Thomas’s fight, seemingly protecting him. Runner, physically fit, able to jump a fence. My conclusion: rule her out. All signs point to MWAF being male.

Jessy-

Friend, unknown degree of connection. Originally seemed to be least interested/concerned, ultimately getting more involved. Possibly due to connection to me? Unknown. Seems to have hidden the least and gotten into the least shit of the group (is that suspicious?). Most seriously pursued MWAF from start, may be interest in horror or desire to not see culprit as a person. Attacked by MWAF. My conclusion: Rule out, MWAF is male and has attacked her.

Dan-

Friend, seemingly not close. Initially a suspect— seems to have less reputable connections. Helped with key which led to guilt. Implied legal trouble in the past (“least likely to suggest police”). Rarely thinks before speaking. Voted for me to stay. Claiming lack of responsibility in his accident, yet unproven. In hospital for much of the threats and recent attacks. My conclusion: short of multiple people involved, rule out entirely.

Richy-

Long time friend. H’s mechanic, oddly practiced when asked day H disappeared (remembered tip????). Initially kind but secretly reluctant to trust me. Said he had something to tell Jessy about me, never discovered what. Initially skeptical of MWAF theory, later marked. Abstained vote despite tie. Closest to Jessy, probably least likely to attack her. My conclusion: if the culprit is in the group, I believe him to be the most likely culprit. However, without a motive and in light of his being marked, it feels unlikely. Proceed with suspicion, but do mainly due to process of elimination.

Lilly-

Sister. Emotional, impulsive, protective of friends but destructive when angry. Likely knew most about H as sisters (were they close though?). Could be trying to deflect suspicion, but only started once threats started from group. Least involved in case, little spy mode activity— what has she been doing? Least accounted for. Hostile and distrustful from the start, knew Jake’s name and specific details— did she get it from H or elsewhere? My conclusion: Personally, want to punch her. Rationally, no evidence to suspect her. Hinderence to case, but MWAF is male.

Feeling like this was getting me nowhere, I instead made a page about the kidnapper.

MWAF-

Aware of me eary, before my number had time to spread around ( if message wasnt deleted from H’s phone, maybe saw it there, or even sent it himself). Hiding behind legend representing avenger of sin, sees himself as good guy/hero? Ramped up threats slowly, reluctant at first to cause harm. Sees me (and maybe Jake? Hasn’t mentioned him) as a threat. If he doesn’t see Jake as a threat, does he believe he would stop investigating if I were gone? Thinks I’m easier to scare? Sees me as primary instigator? Knew Cleo goes running, not exact route. Either knew Jessy was out or happened upon her (Carries mask? More likely knew or saw her earlier and went back)

Knows about whatever happened 10 years ago? H thought stalking was related to incident.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was there, that I had the major pieces I needed, and I was just missing the thread to tie it all together. But I couldn’t imagine what that thread could be. 

I didn’t want it to be any of the group, especially seeing it written out like this so coldly. I’d made the mistake of letting myself care, not just about Hannah but the people she surrounded herself with. Jake would be so disappointed.

But they weren’t just characters, they were my friends.

At least, I hoped they were.

___

Lilly’s declaration that we were asking for Jessy’s attack had my blood boiling. I knew it was my fault already, and nothing I could ever do short of catching this guy would ever fix that. Maybe not even that. But making it out to be her doing, that she deserved this in any way made me want to scream. Did she have no sympathy? Weren’t these people her friends? 

I stared at her message for a long while, then punched a pillow while picturing her face. I couldn’t do anything. I knew I had to keep my temper. I didn’t know what else she had on Jake, or what he said to convince her to delete the video, and with him on the run I just couldn’t take the risk of her posting it again.

But if I hadn’t wanted to fly across the world before, I certainly did now. Just to punch her. It would mean not eating for a month, but would be worth every penny.

I said nothing in the chat, trying to tell myself that taking the high road was the smart move. But I felt dirty for not defending Jessy, for not reminding her of the damage she’d done to Jake. For not just screaming in her face until she realized this wasn’t a fucking game.

But all I could do was bite my tongue. And save up because when I visited Duskwood, that bitch was going to hear from me. Or feel it. Or something. 

___

I kept searching through Hannah’s cloud and updating Jake to things from my chats as if he didn’t have access to it all anyway. I told myself it was going to make it easier and faster for him when he got back, but the reality was that I just missed him and hoped maybe he’d see it and reply. I wanted to think that he’d get back to me as soon as he could, but I was still insecure from his rejection before and even though we’d gotten closer since, he hadn’t exactly taken it back or made any steps to put a name to what this was.

God. He’s on the run and I’m worrying about defining the relationship. What the actual hell is wrong with me? “I know your life is at risk and every second counts, but like, what are we?” Fuck.

I shook my head and finally forced myself to call the next number on the call log, hoping for something useful.

Realizing it was Phil’s number came as something of a shock, and even more surprising was that she called him. Had I reassured Thomas about the lack of an affair too soon?

Considering the way he spoke about her to Cleo, I supposed Phil could be bitter or jealous. If she was as amazing as everyone said, I could imagine guys chasing after her pretty easily. But while sleeping around could fit some of the behaviors Thomas saw from her recently, it didn’t really jive with the rest of what we knew. She seemed focused on and distracted by her stalker in therapy, to the point that she’d pushed Thomas away. Phil maybe could be just another self-destructive behavior, sure, but it didn’t seem like she’d been in that state of mine in the recording. Though I had no date for when that had happened, and no information on her mental state beyond 2 minutes of a session with a long-standing therapist and some medication that a shit ton of people took. Not to mention, I wasn’t a psychologist, even if I’d been in therapy longer than it would take to get the degree.

I almost fell off my chair when Lilly texted me. I genuinely would have been less surprised by the MWAF showing up in my living room than I was by her starting a conversation with “hello”. I must have checked the contact info three separate times to make sure it wasn’t just a spoofed account or something. If Jake had ever made an actual joke in his life, I’d think it was more likely that he was pranking me.

Pausing to remind myself that I needed to wait until Jake was safe before I could unload at her, I decided to message someone I knew had no loyalty to her and would listen to me whine.

MC: Guess who just texted me.

MC: Fucking Lilly.

Paige, bless her, got back to me immediately.

Paige: The bitch who ran her mouth? What did she say?

MC: “Hello”.

MC: I haven’t said anything yet. I think I’m in shock.

Paige: Is she a masochist? 

MC: I mean maybe, but it’s more likely she knows I won’t risk pissing her off to avoid her starting shit again. 

Paige: Could be both. 🤷🏻‍♀️

MC: What do I say back?

Paige: Nothing

Paige: Or bitch her out.

Paige: I’ve got things over here set up to pull the trigger if you want.

MC: No, I need to avoid getting Jake into more shit remember?

Paige: I thought we were done with him and you were dating someone real.

MC: “We”?

MC: That was one date. We kissed, it was very good, but I told him I wasn’t ready to date.

Paige: Because of Jake…

MC: Yes, okay? I know I’m dumb, I don’t need you telling me, alright? But I really like him, a lot. Enough that my horny ass still turned down sex. So can you please, please stop telling me shit I already know about how dumb I am?

Paige: Fine. But if he hurts you…

MC: You’ll do what? 

Paige: Something, okay? I’ll figure it out.

MC: Okay sure, but I’m still deciding what to do about Lilly and that’s a now thing. 

I could almost hear her groan. Paige loved burning bridges, especially when they weren’t her bridges to burn.

Paige: Just tell her to fuck off.

MC: Not useful.

I waited a bit longer, then sighed and did what I’d probably known I was going to do all along.

Paige: What did you say???

Paige: MC?

MC: I said hello.

Paige: Why are you such a pushover?

MC: She said she needs my help.

Paige: What? Off a cliff?

MC: Maybe I should hear her out.

Paige: WHAT?

MC: I know. But if I was missing and Jake and Lilly showed up and just started messing with stuff, what would you do?

Paige: Not publicly accuse you of murder!

MC: Oh bullshit, you’d have kicked her ass twice already. 

Paige: Which is not posting a video about her being a murderer.

MC: 🙄

Paige: You can’t just act like she didn’t cause you a lot of problems.

Paige: If you can’t stand up for yourself, what about your hacker boy?

Paige: Isn’t he in like mortal danger or something?

MC: Wait she says it’s about him…

MC: And whatever connection he has to Hannah.

Paige: You still don’t know that?

MC: Lecture later please.

Paige: I hate being the Mom sister.

MC: I hate you doing it.

I paused long enough to search for the second half of the link. When had he sent that? How did he do it? Why didn’t my phone notify me? At this rate, when I visited Germany I’d be punching a lot of people. 

MC: I guess Jake decided we’d work together or something? 

Paige: Told you he’d hurt you.

MC: You know this wasn’t what you meant. 

Paige: Still messed up. 

MC: Maybe he saw our messages and decided if I could deal with you I could deal with her? 

Paige: That’s cold.

MC: 😘

I made myself a sandwich and talked to Paige a bit more while waiting for Lilly to come back. After all of her bitching about how we had to do it right away, she just leaves in the middle? Clearly she thought I had nothing better to do. And she was right, but she didn’t need to know that.

She wasn’t gone long though, and after some cajoling she started telling me about how Hannah knew Jake. 

Don’t make this about you, don’t make this about you.

It was really hard not to make this about me.

Paige: Has she come back yet?

I really wanted to tell her everything Lilly had said, about how close they had gotten, about how it was giving me way too much to dwell on with my insecurities over this gorgeous missing girl who knew so much more about the man I was falling for than I did. But somehow, that felt more like a Jake secret than a Lilly one, and I’d already promised to keep his secrets.

MC: No, not yet.

Paige: Well isn’t she generous with your time 🙄

When Lilly asked why I was allowed to put them at risk, I found I had no answer for her. The truth is, I really struggled with what I was doing, and if Cleo hadn’t been so determined after the threat video, if Richy hadn’t laughed through the mark, I probably wouldn’t be able to.  I wondered if telling her how close I came to coming to Duskwood after Jessy’s attack would do any good. Would she appreciate knowing that watching the culprit hurt my friends had given me nightmares, that I felt the weight and stress of this chipping away at me?

No, I couldn’t give her that much ammo.

MC: She’s back, one of the clues is Hannah’s cat?

Paige: Her cat?

Paige: I guess he did make this puzzle for you🐈

MC: I don’t think I told him I was a crazy cat lady.

Paige: It just oozes from you, Em Em.

MC: 🖕

Paige: 🤟

Paige: Puzzles though?

Paige: I guess at least you found a guy as nerdy as you.

MC: Okay, I object to that. He’s got to be way nerdier than I am!

Paige: Annie believed you when you said you know this group from a forum where you role play as other people for fun. 

MC: Annie would believe anything that makes me sound lame.

Paige: Because you’re lame.

MC: Okay, having a sister is the actual worst.

Paige: Go back and bend over backwards for Hannah’s then.

MC: I didn’t say I liked her either.

Paige: I bet you treat her nicer than you do me.

MC: I know where you live and you don’t have blackmail on me.

Paige: I 100% could come up with something if it means you being nice to me.

MC: Ugh.

MC: I’m about to get this girl lost.

MC: He might have figured out I love cats but he did not know about how bad I am with maps.

Paige: Well you said the kidnapper was in the forest right?

MC: I’m not that mean.

Paige: Not to her at least.

Paige: You’d definitely send me into the forest

MC: Well, she’s off getting lost and Dan’s bored enough to talk to me.

Paige: Was he the buff one?

MC: … I didn’t show you pictures of the guys.

Paige: Jessy did. 

Paige: I wanted to see what your other options were that you picked an international criminal over.

MC: Not sure it’s international, he just said “the government”. 

Paige: Then you haven’t googled enough. 

MC: Could you not? Search histories are traceable, you know.

Paige: Nope, I gotta. So what’s Dan saying?

MC: Calling me a damsel in distress and warning me awake from Jake.

Paige: Oooh, cute AND smart.

MC: I’m no damsel.

Paige: Being 5”2’ fools people until they learn what a pain you are.

MC: So what does that make you?

Paige: Fun sized!

MC: Ew, no.

MC: Oh he thinks maybe the mark on Richy’s garage was for Jessy. Makes more sense since she got attacked.

Paige: WHAT

Whoops. It was hard to keep track of what she did and didn’t know. I was starting to remember why I was so bad at lying— it took so much effort. Frankly, I was just too lazy to keep up with it all.

MC: I mean, there wasn’t a weapon or anything, I saw her get back up.

Paige: You saw the attack?

MC: We were on a call. Not the point, please stay with me Paige.

Paige: I’m texting her.

MC: She’s been resting.

Paige: I don’t care, I’m texting her.

MC: Let me know if she says anything.

MC: Oh Lilly’s back, hold on.

I answered Lilly’s call as we looked around. Despite knowing it was serious, I fell even more in love with Duskwood seeing how dense the forest was. Even with the danger, it looked beautiful.

MC: Ugh, I think we hit a dead end maybe.

Paige: You definitely got the girl lost. I say leave her but if you really care, double check your directions.

MC: Oh! That did something, thank you!

Paige: Told you. Clearly I’m the smart sister.

MC: I thought you were the pretty one?

The sticker Lilly found was just so clearly him that I couldn’t even imagine that he would trust someone else to put it up, no matter what Lilly said about weirdos on the internet. But the idea that he was in Duskwood, or at least close enough to make a pit stop as he fled, made me uncomfortable. He would have told me he was there, right?

Except, when has he told me anything? Hadn’t I just been worried about that? Jealous that Hannah knew so much and I’d had to practically beg for his name and hair color? He’d made it sound like even the tiniest bit of information was too risky to tell me. And his location was almost certainly the most off-limits.

MC: Lilly just asked if Jake and I were together.

MC: What do I say?

Paige: Well are you?

MC: How the hell would I know? He was so against it before and then last time we talked he said some really sweet things so I’m pretty sure likes me? 

MC: And I turned Joe down and everything.

MC: What if I say yes and he sees it and I’m wrong? 

MC: Holy shit. 

Paige: Isn’t he probably seeing you flip your shit like this then?

MC: Shut up. MC: I told you he doesn’t care about stuff that isn’t case related.

Paige: Just say yes. The boy made you a whole creepy puzzle, that’s romantic to nerds right?

MC: I don’t think romance is what he planned for this, Paige.

Paige: I don’t know your weird mating rituals.

MC: Nerds aren’t another species.

MC: Wait hold on someone else is texting me.

MC: Oh, it’s Jessy’s brother…

Paige: Ooh, he’s also cute!

MC: I regret introducing you to her.

Paige: No you don’t. 

MC: Wait, I think he’s flirting?

Paige: Real flirting or puzzle flirting?

MC: Real. He just called me cute. 

MC: I don’t even have a profile picture. He has no clue how I look.

Paige: Maybe Jessy showed him.

MC: I doubt it. 

MC: And if he could have heard the snort I made when he said it, he’d have realized how not cute I am.

Paige: You do have the worst snort.

MC: I don’t know what to make of the flirting.

MC: It could be a distraction, but he’s still answering the questions I’m asking.

Paige: Just enjoy it then.

MC: Didn’t you just tell me to declare myself Jake’s girlfriend?

Paige: I didn’t say flirt back! Paige: But it’s gotta be nice to not have to use a decoder ring to understand if he’s flirting.

MC: Haaaa well flirting over, he thought Hannah wanted to bang.

Paige: Don’t blame her.

MC: Ugh, Paige.

Paige: Oh come on you know tattoos do it for you too.

MC: That’s not the point even a little.

MC: He thought Hannah was cute, so there’s no way I’m his type anyway. So there.

Paige: Men can like tall skinny women and short fat chicks. 

MC: Whoops I think he’s flirting again.

Paige: Give him my number!

MC: No! Stop it.

Paige: You’re so against me getting laid.

MC: I refuse to facilitate it, you’re my baby sister.

MC: Apparently I’m supposed to stop by his bar if I go to Duskwood.

Paige: You’re taking me right???

MC: Stahp. MC: I’m too broke to go to Europe and so are you.

Paige: I’m just saying, you’re over here hitching your wagon to the ONE guy we don’t know is cute in this whole shitfest you’ve got yourself into.

MC: Oh my god, Richy is such a pure little unicorn, I can’t handle it. I just told him Hannah wanted to meet at Phil’s apartment and he couldn’t figure out what I meant.

Paige: So Jake isn’t the only virgin of the group?

MC: You’re really making me regret this you know.

Paige: You’re still here aren’t you?

MC: Oh, I guess Phil’s a womanizer.

Paige: Yes. He has a neck tattoo and runs a bar. That’s not the kind of man you talk to because you want romance.

MC: Well I like romance.

Paige: Puzzles aren’t romance. 

Paige: We really need to get you laid.

Rolling my eyes, I decided I had enough of Paige for one day. 

___

When I got into bed that night, a sense of longing settled in my chest. I was still mad about the rejection and secrets, insecure about how easily he’d opened up to Hannah but not me, and worried about my telling Lilly we were together, but I still missed him. For a long time now, we’d been talking pretty regularly, probably more than anyone other than Jessy. It was strange, having him gone. 

I was terrified for him, and I was sad for me.

MC: Hi. 

MC: I know you can’t answer, and don’t take any risks for me and message before you’re safe, okay?

MC: But it really sucks not to talk to you. 

MC: I can’t even figure out why if I deconstruct it. You’re so bad at small talk, but I find it cute somehow. 

MC: And I’ve actually had to look up words you use before to avoid making a fool of myself. Do you know how ridiculous that is? I went to college, I read and write. And I’m not quite as dumb as I seem most of the time. 

MC: The worst part is, it’s kind of hot. 

MC: Your whole shtick is both really creepy and really 2000s emo-deep. I guess that second one makes sense for me to be into actually, I always did like men in eyeliner.

MC: I don’t know anything about you, not really. I feel like I know you, but not the details of you. That doesn’t make sense.

MC: It’s like… I’ve been able to see who you are but not what you do, or what made you that way. 

MC: That might just be me trying to wrap my mind around getting involved with an internet stranger though I guess.

MC: Oh, I hope it was okay I told Lilly we’re involved.

MC: I thought maybe a label might make our whole thing seem less weird to her, maybe make her trust us a bit more.

MC: I wasn’t actually deciding for you that you’re my boyfriend or anything, I’m not that messed up.

MC: But I’m guessing you sent her after me for a reason so I’m trying to be nice you know.

MC: You owe me a drink though.

MC: I’m sorry for the spamming. But I miss you. 

MC: I hope this makes you happy and not just annoyed at the constant word buzzing and word vomit.

MC: But… Please be safe, Jake. I’ll be patient and try to do this on my own but you have to stay safe. Okay? 

MC: Goodnight, hope you actually get some sleep.

___

I kept up the trend of my one-sided conversations with Jake for a while after that. I usually tried to keep it case related, but sometimes when I felt the loneliness creep in, I’d ramble a bit. I could only tell myself that they were comforting but I always cringed in the light of day when I saw how I was throwing myself at him without even knowing if he’d ever be back or even wanted to hear from me. 

Jessy’s return to the investigation once I sent the book of legends had me almost in tears. I hadn’t even realized just how badly I’d missed her until she came back. I was so proud of her and her willingness to jump right back in, but so worried for her too.

Not for the first time, I resented the distance, and how it made it so hard for me to help do anything more than make trouble for the people I loved. 

Seeing Thomas’s messages to Hannah brought a sad smile to my face, but also made me feel pretty silly. Here he was, doing the same thing to his long term, serious girlfriend that I’d been doing to a man I’d never met, seen, or spoken to and had unilaterally decided and announced to Lilly that I was dating. Totally not desperate, right?

Okay, Paige was probably right about the daddy issues.

Once we realized that the number from Jake’s sticker was a contact, I added it right away. Immediately, I had to snort. Nym-0s was appropriately creepy, with the trademark red eye and mostly blank profile. I sent a few messages, but it went about as well as messaging the real Jake had recently.

Scratch that, once I sent the right code, this one replied. I needed to find the right one for Jake, I guess. I only knew his off codes so far.

I was embarrassed at how long it took me to get the password to the link the bot sent. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to be wrong. I thought back to what he’d said when we were looking for the doctor’s password, about how people tended to use the people and things important to them as their passwords. 

Risky as hell if someone was trying to hack in, but then again, who would really consider me an important person to Jake?

I watched his message several times, listening to the words, his tone, everything I could. It struck me that even with the distortion, it felt so real, nothing like the first time he’d called me. He said we’d see each other again, but the way he said it made it seem like he didn’t totally believe it. 

Could he really think this was goodbye?

Lilly’s disbelief had to surpass mine, considering it was her family image she’d just had shattered. I wasn’t a big enough person to put aside my own feelings to comfort her, but I could pretend. I could say the right things and let her… Jake’s sister… talk to me about her crumbling world.

But I was too selfish to hear past my own heart breaking. I could never forgive her if this video, distorted and hidden, really was all I had left of him. 

I tried to distract myself in the legends, I tried to do what he’d want me to. But my heart just wasn’t in it. By the time Doodle Friends was over, without me guessing a single one correctly, I was just angry.

Before I stopped to think about it, I was back to my one-sided ramblings to Jake.

MC: No.

MC: I appreciate your trust, even if you made me jump through hoops to get there. But I refuse to let that be the end.

MC: You didn’t just make that to tell me about Hannah, you made that to say goodbye and I don’t accept it.

MC: I’ll keep investigating. I’ll work with Lilly on whatever crazy scheme she’s coming up with to help you. I’ll make nice with her, for you.

MC: But I won’t let that be it. You’re coming back to me, bro. 

I meant that as a reference back to one of our first conversations, but I suddenly found it hilarious and found myself lost in a fit of rather hysterical laughter.

MC: Oh my god did you have the tiniest heart attack when I first called you bro?

MC: Sorry I thought you went full Star Wars, beyond just the voice I mean.

MC: Bet that was also awkward for you.

MC: Still. Get back here so I can make you uncomfortable. It’s my thing, I guess. 

___

Turns out, I was right. Lilly’s idea was crazy. I couldn’t imagine a world in which it would work, but damn it, I was gunna try.

I sighed and braced myself for Paige’s upcoming lecture.

MC: So, do you still have those contacts ready to do you a favor?

Jake, if this doesn’t tell you I’m falling for you I have no fucking idea what will. 

NEXT