#but at least that person takes care of their baby unlike my last neighbors

[teasty]

kiss yourself (01) | h.js (m)

● pairing: han jisung x (female) reader 

● genre: angst, smut, fluff  ||  fwb to lovers au 

● warnings: consumption of alcohol | degradation + praise | reader and jisung are not in a relationship at the beginning! | choking | semi - public sex | suggestive dialogue | profanity | hair pulling |

● words: 6.9k ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

→ summary: 

It all started when you and your best friend for life, Han Jisung, got a little bit too tipsy at a party and ended up waking up naked in the same bed. After that unfortunate night, you and Jisung confirmed there be a distinguished “friends with benefits” relationship between the two of you, with a few rules. 

Number One: No one else is supposed to know about this relationship. 

Number Two: The minute one of the two of you starts a serious relationship with someone, the benefits are cut off immediately. 

Number Three: Have to respect the other’s wishes, if one doesn’t want to do it, then there’s no argument.

Number Four: No falling in love.

But, when Jisung starts crushing over your classmate, you start to break the rules. One by one.

a/n: first story here :D my dirty mind couldn’t resist smut so here we go

CHAPTER ONE | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

“Oh, fuck, baby… you feel so fucking good.”

It was a stupid way to start of a weird relationship with one of your best friends, Han Jisung. A stupid way to let yourself succumb to his stupid antics and a stupid way to let him be more than a friend, but less than a lover. 

It was a few months ago, and your second year of university was just starting up. Jisung had convinced you to go to some party the week before school would start. But, you were reluctant at first. Unlike Jisung, you were never too much of a party animal. Never too much of a social person to begin with. Jisung was another story entirely. He would always be out late and wouldn’t go back to his house or his dorm room until late, according to his roommate, Jeongin (who thankfully kept tabs on Jisung for you whenever you were suspicious that Jisung wasn’t telling the truth to you and would go out to some party, when he would tell you that he’s just going to meet up with other friends. You didn’t want to overbear him, but you worried for his health at times). 

It was your first party, too. You had never bothered going to one in high school, not wanting to be crowded by drunk teenagers, being thrown up on or spilled on, or watching two people fuck in the corner of the room. It was never your go - to, but Jisung had convinced you to go after he promised that he’d never leave your side, even if he was being dragged away by “some hot chick trying to hop on his dick”. Even if you had wanted to say no, you couldn’t get a “no” past his pleading eyes. So, you had hesitantly agreed to go, and he was beyond excited to take you to your first party. 

He even helped you pick out an outfit, and had taken hours finding the right one for the occasion. You’d never been very fashionable, unlike Jisung, who usually decked out in expensive clothes and accessories (you preferred comfortable, classic clothes like hoodies and leggings instead of skin - tight jeans and overly designed shirts). Jisung had basically tore your closet apart trying to find the “right outfit”. It was tiring, but you will admit that you had fun with trying on new clothes and hearing the praise from Jisung. He had eventually chosen an outfit for you that you felt quite uncomfortable in, but nonetheless beautiful. You had worn a tight pair of black leather pants, a maroon red tank top (that was tucked into the leather pants) and a black jacket. You will admit that it was sexy, and Jisung seemed to like it. 

A lot. 

But, he claimed that guys there would be drooling over you and trying to sleep with you, but he’d be there to keep you safe. Even so, you wondered why he’d make you wear such an outfit to a party if he was only going to keep you away from a one night stand, one you wouldn’t even remember anyways. He did claim that he wanted you to ‘keep your innocence’, which was total bullshit since he knew you weren’t a virgin (you lost it to some jock in high school who had been eyeing you during a football game) and definitely not innocent, as you both liked to constantly make dirty jokes here and there. 

The party was at some rich kid’s house, and their parents were out of town. Their house was gorgeous and big, but filled to the brim with loud university students, some you had even recognised as your classmates. Jisung had kept his hand interlocked with yours as he pulled you through the crowd at the entrance and to the living room, where there was a table full of food and drinks, and even a cliche bowl of spiked punch. You were glad not as many people crowded the table, but Jisung obviously had some friends there, since he hugged one of them before going back to you. 

“Hey, Hyunjin. Felix. Have you guys met (Y/N)?” Was the first thing he had said to them, and you were somewhat flustered by the sudden attention. But you suspected that you should have expected that kind of attention, since Jisung seemed oh - so excited that he’s taking you to a party. 

“I don’t think we have,” said one of the two. You were taken aback by how deep his voice was. It wasn’t forced either, his voice was so relaxed, you almost felt like you’d be pulled into a deep sleep if you were to listen to his voice for hours. He was handsome, too. His bleached hair was a little long, but not as long as the other man’s, with brown roots peaking through the top of his head. “The name’s Lee Felix. I didn’t know Jisung kept such pretty friends away from us.” 

“Oh, don’t be a flirt,” says the other man with long hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. You had concluded that he was Hyunjin, if the other was Felix, “And, no. I think I’ve seen you around though. But not in… those types of clothes.” 

“Yeah, and you call me a flirt?” Felix cocks a brow at Hyunjin, who only glares back. 

“It’s not flirting if it’s just stating a fact. I’ve seen her around… but in oversized hoodies and leggings,” Hyunjin counters. 

“Alright, alright, pipe down,” Jisung interferes, stopping what would have become a petty argument about who’s flirting and who’s not. “Well, since you both can’t make a decent introduction… (Y/N), this is Felix,” he points to the man with the deep voice, “and this is Hwang Hyunjin. I think you guys might be in the same chemistry class last year, am I right?” 

“Oh, yeah…!” Hyunjin claps his hands together, “You’re the one who nearly blew up the whole class! Oh, I remember, now.” Hyunjin and Felix laugh together, and Jisung gives you a weird look. 

“It’s a long story,” you sigh, chuckling along with their contagious laughter, “Let’s just say that I was too tired to function and got mixture A mixed up with mixture B and almost made a really severe chemical reaction. I don’t think it would have blown up the whole school, though.” You fold your arms, and Hyunjin shrugs his shoulder.  

“Who knows,” Hyunjin says, and you squint at him. “I’m not a chemistry genius, but it could have been bad. That’s not the point. I’m glad to meet you, (Y/N). I hope we can be closer.” 

“Ditto,” Felix smiles down at you, and you chuckle awkwardly, flustered, “You seem like an interesting person. How did you and Jisung meet?” 

“We used to be neighbors, like, a decade ago,” Jisung answers for you, leaning against the table filled with drinks and food, “Since we were the same age, we stuck together. Even after I moved again, we still talked like every day over the phone until university hit. Thankfully we got into the same school, and we both are going to live on campus, so… It’s been a lot easier.” 

“Surprised you two were able to stay close even through distance,” Felix comments, and you and Jisung share a brief look and smile, “Not a lot of people are able to hold a strong relationship when the only thing they have is a phone or computer. Take Hyun for example, he couldn’t stay friends with this one chick even if he tried.” 

“Wasn’t my fault she sucked at holding conversations. She always expected me to make up all the interesting shit. Kinda glad she ghosted me, now,” Hyunjin laughs, almost defensively, as if embarrassed by such a situation. 

“It was your fault for trying to cling to her,” Jisung intervenes.  

“Oh shut up, shortstack,” Hyunjin grumbles, and Jisung’s brows raise in challenge. 

“Say that again, pretty boy, I dare you,” Jisung threatens, and you glare over at him, but he didn’t seem to care for your glare. Hyunjin and Jisung did end up getting into a petty argument about it and you had to stop it by asking Jisung to show you around the place. But, not before trading numbers with Felix and Hyunjin, since they insisted that they wanted to get to know you better (Felix still grumbling irritably about how Jisung kept “such a pretty friend” away from them for so long). You wouldn’t deny new friends, even if they were Jisung’s party animal friends and flirtatious, it didn’t really matter to you. You could use some new friends, anyways. 

You had met a few more of Jisung’s friends (who all seemed to be so handsome that your heart would race every time they’d smile down at you or talk to you), three seniors,Seo Changbin, Lee Minho and Christopher Bang, and another, younger man named Seungmin. Out of all of them, Seungmin and Christopher seemed the most genuine. Minho, Felix, Changbin and Hyunjin just seemed pretty flirtatious. You could admit that you were intimidated by them, and by the party in general, but with Jisung next to you the whole way, you had at least some sense of security. 

Your first drink of the night wasn’t until a few hours into the party. You were a little bit more comfortable with the setting. Jisung had sat you down in one of the living rooms, as you learned there were many. Not as many people were in this room other than people talking or flirting. It felt nice to finally sit down on such a comfortable couch, since you had been standing on heels the whole night, and relax. Jisung had already had a few mixed drinks, and you could see his face getting redder and redder due to the alcohol. 

He handed you a plastic red cup filled with something orange that stunk of different kinds of liquor. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing too strong,” Jisung reassured, and you huffed softly. A bit nervous to drink it, but you did, anyway. It wasn’t terrible, but you could taste the liquor clearly through the citrusy taste. Jisung watched you as your face grew from confused to scrunched up from the bitter taste. You had alcohol before, but every time you had it, it was like the first time all over again. But, when you got used to the taste, the cup was empty in a flash. 

You didn’t know when it started kicking in, but after you had Jisung fetch more drinks and you tried to stand up, you immediately plopped back onto the couch as an instant wave of fatigue washed over you. Your head started to ache, and it was getting warmer than it should have been. Sure, it was nearly the end of summer, but it was like someone shut off the air conditioning. So, you took off your jacket while waiting for Jisung to come back. It felt like forever until he came back, and you instinctively began to miss him. He’d stayed by your side the whole night, and it was weird without him. It was lonely, too, even if there were other people in the same room. You were too nervous to talk to them, though.  

When he did, and handed the drink to you, the minute he had sat down, you clung to him. 

“Woah, you alright?” Jisung laughs it off as you take the red cup in one hand and the other latching around his strong bicep. You were never usually one for skinship, but now was a different story. Each time you looked at Jisung, you felt like he was going to magically disappear. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made you so anxious or just you being lonely, but you weren’t really going to let go anytime soon. At first, Jisung was tense, and it took him a minute to get used to you huddling so close to him. 

Like the first, the cup you had was empty sooner rather than later, even though Jisung advised you to sip on it instead of gulping it down, like you had been. After that drink, you didn’t order him to get another drink, you were too focused on the feeling of his bicep to ask for another. 

“You can’t be drunk after two mixed drinks,” Jisung said after a while. 

“Not drunk… just a bit tipsy, is all,” you responded, more of a low grunting than a talking voice. You liked how you could hear Jisung’s voice loud and clear the closer you were to him. 

“Sure. Your tolerance isn’t very high, you know,” Jisung chuckles, and your body moves along with the bounce of his for each laugh. You only grunted in response, having already known that. “And, by the way, you don’t have to cling onto me like that. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Shut up,” you snapped, but you didn’t really want him to. You just didn’t want him to talk about you letting him go, since you didn’t want to. To prove your point, you squeezed harder onto his arm, “I’m comfy. Lemme have this moment.” Jisung deeply sighs and complies. After that, there’s a comfortable silence. 

You were staring at the way your legs pressed against his as his legs relaxed in a (hot) manspread. His head leaned back, slightly tilted towards yours, which was squished against his shoulder. His hand rested delicately against your thigh, not moving much but sometimes his hand would press against your thigh. It was nice, and you could faintly hear his heartbeat. 

You and Jisung weren’t strangers to cuddling, as you both had a lot of sleepovers before (with a strict talking to from your parents about having sex, and why not to do it), but this was different. Almost intimate. You’re both adults now, so cuddling like you would years ago when you were both barely teenagers wouldn’t be so innocent. Especially with Jisung’s obvious sex drive, things wouldn’t go so well. You both had never done anything like that, either. You both have never even kissed before. Well, there were times when he’d kiss your cheek or hand and vise versa, but nothing more than a peck and nothing more than that. 

You wouldn’t deny your attraction to Jisung. You couldn’t really see yourself in a serious relationship with him, but damn is he attractive. He really matured over the years, too. His beautiful brown hair is in need of a cut, but you liked it a bit long. He might not be the tallest man alive, but his face made up for it. Even if he had the cheeks of a chipmunk, his jawline was as sharp as a knife. You could stare at him for hours, just admiring how he was built. You wondered if he felt the same about you. If he could stare at you for hours just admiring your beauty. Of course, it would probably never even cross his mind, even if Jisung would say how pretty you looked with a specific hairdo or how you looked beautiful in a certain outfit. 

You found yourself staring at him as your thoughts carried on. Your arm unhooked from around his, and you watched how his eyes were closed. He looked like he was sleeping, but you could tell he wasn’t by the way his hand gripped you just above your knee. You were staring at him, and then at his neck. The way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. 

Your mind grew hazy, void of thought as your lips parted slightly, your breath fanning his neck. His hand squeezed harder around your leg and you could faintly see his brows furrow. He doesn’t do anything nor say anything, but you watch as his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. You want more of a reaction. You don’t know why and you can’t form a reason why, but you do. You push yourself a little bit further until your lips connect just underneath his jaw. Your warm tongue pressing against his warm skin. You can feel how his hand trembles and the way his leg twitches underneath your own. Jisung emits a breathy groan, and you can feel it against your tongue. 

“(Y/N)...” Jisung musters out, but you only press wet, slow kisses along the side of his neck, “What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is deeper, raspier and darker. Almost scary. If you weren’t so blank in the mind, you would think he’s mad. But all you can think about is urging him on further. You don’t want to answer him. You don’t have an answer to begin with. 

“Just relax,” You whisper closely to his ear, nipping at the skin below his ear, and he sharply inhales. At this point, you don’t care who’s watching or why you’re doing this. The soft, breathy sounds Jisung emits makes you feel different, and the feeling of his warm skin against your tongue is addicting. “Don’t push me away.” You whisper again, one of your hands creeping up over his defined chest and along his neck. 

“You have no fucking clue what you’re getting yourself into,” Jisung groans out, and you only chuckle against him. Briefly halting your wet kisses to his neck to smile lazily. “I’m being serious, (Y/N).” You know he’s serious just by the tone of his voice. 

“Mmm…” was all you responded with as you pressed your body against the side of his. Your hand gripping his shirt as your leg creeps over his more and more. Edging yourself on top of him. “Sunggie…” you teased him by groaning his nickname into his neck. Sucking gently on his skin, giving it a blue and purple hue. You gave him multiple marks, and his hand caressed your arm gently as you breathily moan his name against his neck, “Sunggie… Jisung - ah.”

And that seemed to break him. His hand snaps up to grip your cheeks, aggressively pulling your head away from him to make you look him in the eyes. And it’s a look you’ve never seen in him before. It wasn’t anger or disgust in his half lidded eyes, but a pure sense of utter lust and desire. His hand grips your chin, his fingers pressing against your cheek as his eyes examine your face. His face is a pretty pink from the alcohol and you guessed from him blushing. Now, you’re on top of him. Straddling his lap, and you can feel his hard - on underneath you. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, (Y/N). I’m giving you one last chance before I take you back to my place and break you,” Jisung says, and you liked this side of him. Sure, you’ve seen him being aggressive, but not like this. No, this is different. You don’t have much courage to speak, so all you can do is let your tongue fall out of your mouth and guide his index finger in between your lips. His mouth parts slightly in shock as he watches your mouth engulf his finger. 

“Fine, you wanna be like that,” Jisung brows furrow, and he stands up quickly, and you let out a yelp as his hand yanks itself from your mouth as both of his hands latch around your thighs. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and your arms around his neck, “We’re going home.” 

It wasn’t easy, leaving without being spotted by one of Jisung’s friends. Felix had come over to see us when he saw Jisung’s arm wrapped around you as your head stuffed into his neck (teasingly kissing his neck). “Oi, Jisung. Everything good?” 

“Yep,” Jisung gives Felix a convincing smile, and you smile against his neck, “I’m taking (Y/N) home. She got a bit too crazy tonight.” 

“Really? She’s been pretty quiet,” Felix notes. 

“Well, she has her different sides to her,” Jisung laughs, “Uh, yeah, well, I gotta get her home, Felix. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright? Let Hyunjin and everyone else know that I’m leaving.” 

“Alright, I’ll catch you later, bud. Take care of her for me, alright?” 

“Oh, I will,” Jisung smiles, and you squeezed tighter onto him. 

After that, it was foggy. All you could remember was how Jisung treated you. Calling you dirty things all while praising you. Making sure you were alright while tearing you apart blissfully. 

It was the next morning where everything was decided. 

You were the first to wake up, having the sun shining brightly in your face. You had a blazing headache, and you could feel your head pulsing that morning. You couldn’t even open your eyes after you woke up because it hurt so bad. You hadn’t even considered where you were or why you were completely nude at first. But, when it hit you that there was only a thin, soft blanket covering you, you had the courage to open your eyes and see where you were. 

It was a familiar room, that’s for sure. The bed was much bigger than your own, and you usually had more pillows and blankets than this, so it wasn’t your room. It didn’t really hit you where you were before you looked to your side. You nearly screamed when you saw Han Jisung, your best friend laying next to you. His back turned to you, and completely shirtless. You held the blanket around your chest. You stared at him for a moment, brief memories of last night running through your mind. You wanted to cry as embarrassment and shame powered through you, but a sense of want overpowering it. A part of you didn’t want this to be just a one - time thing. 

“Jisung!” You whispered, nudging his shoulder. He didn’t budge, “Han Jisung! Han Jisung - ah, wake up!” Your voice raised as you shook him, “Jisung!” 

“What, what? Is everything okay?” Jisung bolts up after you yell his name. Sitting up straight, he hisses when the sun makes contact with the sun. His hand rubs his eye, and you try not to note the scratch marks on his back, the hickeys littering his neck and chest or how he was just as naked as you, only being covered by the comfort of the thin blanket. “Fuck, (Y/N), don’t scare me like that.” 

“Why are you acting so calm?” You didn’t raise your voice, as your head ached terribly because of it, “Look at me Jisung.” 

And, so he did. He looks up. He didn’t seem as tired, as he saw the blue and purple hickeys lining your neck and what he could see of your breasts as well as red scratch marks on your shoulders. You both don’t say anything for a while. You’re both an uncomfortable distance away from each other, and you didn’t want to admit that you wanted to cry right there. 

“I’m sorry,” Jisung is the first to say something after that tense silence, and your brows furrow, “I… I shouldn’t have… I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll… I’ll.” 

“Why are you sorry?” You asked softly, and Jisung seemed hasty. His hands were trembling as he gripped the blanket, and he didn’t make eye contact with you. 

“I shouldn’t have done anything to you. Everything’s ruined now,” Jisung’s head dips, “I shouldn’t have let the stupid alcohol guide me. Fuck, (Y/N), I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. Hey, nothing’s going to change between us,” You crawl towards him, still keeping the blanket firm around you as your free hand cups his cheek and lifts it up towards you. “It was both of our faults…” Jisung stares up at you, “I was the one to make the first move. If anything, it was my fault.” You let go of his face, as he watches as you sit on your feet. You swallow the lump in your throat, and utter out, “And, besides… I don’t regret anything.” Jisung’s mouth falls open, and his brows lift in what you can guess is shock, “I might not remember all of it, but I how you made me feel.” 

There’s another silence, both of you staring at each other. 

“I want to feel it again.” 

Jisung didn’t answer right away, but his bottom lip got entrapped between his teeth subtly. 

“You don’t know that,” Jisung whispers, “You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“Of course I do,” your brows furrow, almost angrily. “I know what I’m saying, Jisung. And I’m saying that I don’t want this to be just a once in a lifetime thing and never think of it again.” You look away, resting against Jisung’s headboard. “I know that we don’t share romantic feelings for each other. I know that, Jisung.” You look over to him, “So, I want benefits.” 

“You mean…? Friends with benefits?” Jisung musters out in a low, unsure voice, “I don’t know, (Y/N). I don’t want to ruin this friendship.” 

“But, that’s the whole point of it, Jisung,” you chuckle, “I know that you don’t want our friendship to weaken, and neither do I. But, Jisung, I’ve always been attracted to you. Not exactly like I want to be your girlfriend, but I want you in some way. I just don’t know if you feel the same way, so I’m saying it now. Do you want me, Han Jisung?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, which makes you nervous of his answer. But, his answer satisfies you, thankfully; “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I hate to admit it, but I do. I couldn’t resist last night.” 

“I know. It was my fault for urging you to do that even when you warned me not to,” you chuckle. 

And, from then on, you two concluded that whenever someone needs to let off stress or steam in the form of sex, the other should be open for it. Of course, there’d be rules along with it. You didn’t want this to just be a ‘come by for sex and leave’ kind of thing, or thinking the other is romantically attracted to the other so you wanted to make some ground rules. Jisung agreed, thankfully. 

There were four rules. Number One was that no one is to hear about this relationship. Not only would it cause rumors amongst school and your friends, you both agreed that it should be kept top - secret. Besides, you both didn’t want people to think you’re both in a secret relationship and that it’s more than just a friends with benefits type of relationship. 

Number Two was that the minute one of you gets into a serious relationship with someone, all benefits cease. This one is quite obvious. Neither of you wanted to be defined as a cheater if either of you do end up in a relationship with someone else. No matter how much the other person wants it, if one of you is in a serious relationship, until that relationship ends and both are single, there’s no sexual activity. 

Number Three was that both had to respect each other’s wishes entirely. No matter how bad they want it or how horny they might be, if the other person is uncomfortable with something or doesn’t want to have sex, then the other must respect their wishes. Again, no matter how horny or how much they want a certain thing. This also leads to a safe word between the two of you, which was just basic yellow and red. Yellow being to slow down or to take a short break and red being to stop completely without argument. 

And finally, Number Four was that there’s no falling in love. This one was actually Jisung’s idea. Everything else was yours. You agreed with him, but was still skeptical about it. If you did catch feelings, you’d have to hide it. Jisung seemed pretty serious about it, though, which kind of scared you.

And, those four rules led to the present day, months after this event. You lean against a family bathroom sink with Jisung’s fingers curled around your hair, keeping your head up to watch him in the mirror as he slowly pushed himself into you. Your leggings and panties barely pushed down past your ass as Jisung undid his belt and pushed his pants down. Not even prepping you before he pushes himself into you. His cock, covered by the condom, which he had learned to always carry around, slowly dragging against your wet, oversensitive walls. 

He’d been teasing you all day in the movie theatre he’d taken you to with his friends. While watching the movie alongside Hyunjin, Felix and Christopher, he was slowly playing with your clit, edging you on and on. Finally, the movie ended and after half an hour of pure torture from Jisung’s sinful hands, you dragged him to the family bathroom (which was one bathroom with a lockable door). He didn’t even hesitate before bending you over the sink, making you watch him and yourself as he fucks himself into you painfully slow. 

“Oh, fuck, baby… you feel so fucking good.” 

You delicately whimper at the sound of his words from behind you as he fills you. Jisung liked to call you by pet names during sex, like baby, babygirl or babe (anything with baby in it, really). 

“Oh, fuck… I’m not gonna go slow, baby.” Jisung warns the minute his pelvis presses against your ass. 

“I don’t care,” you groan in response, eyeing him in the reflection in the mirror, “Break me, Jisung. You’ve been teasing me all fucking day - oh my god!” you would have screamed if it wasn’t for Jisung stuffing the end of your hoodie into your mouth before his hands grip your waist before pulling out and ramming himself back into you. Once his hand lets go of your hair, your head dips down in pure bliss. Your teeth grinding against the fabric of your hoodie and your hands gripping the sink. 

“I know you like it, baby,” Jisung grunts out as he starts to thrust into you, “I know how much you like it when I play with your little pussy in front of everybody like the little fucking slut you are. I know you like it, baby.” You let out choked moans at his words. The degrading words only make you wetter as you move your body back to meet with his thrusts. One of your hands reaches back to grip his wrist as Jisung’s hands dig into your hips to move your body with him. The way his cock rammed into your tight cunt burned in a blissfully sinful way. 

Jisung had pulled your tank top and bra underneath your breasts so he could lean over you to play with them harshly. His hands gripping your bare, warm breasts as his chest presses against your back. His head presses against your shoulder as he breathes heavily against your neck. His tongue occasionally jutting out to lick stripes up your sensitive neck. Sucking gently on your skin, trying not to leave too many marks.  

“Fuck, fuck…” Jisung curses breathily, and you try your best not to scream as he ruts into you as if it were the last time he’d ever have the chance to fuck you again. Your saliva coats the part of the hoodie that stayed in your mouth for you to bite onto. Your hands weakly grip the sink to try and hold you up, but your legs can barely hold your waist. “Oh… my god, babygirl.” Jisung sweetly moans into your ear. 

Your mouth opens to let the hoodie fall out of your mouth, and you utter out, “Jisung… Jisung I can’t… oh, fuck… I can’t stand.” Jisung is quick to fix the situation by turning you around so that you’re sitting on the sink, legs thrown over his shoulder and your back and head leaning against the mirror as he fucks himself into you. Jisung doesn’t hesitate to grip onto your neck, but careful not to let off air flow, just pressing his fingers on either side of your neck as he rams himself into you. Your hands creeped up to grip his wrist, which only seemed to make Jisung more and more confident.  

He pressed his hand against your core, slowly down slightly to allow himself to focus on pressing his thumb against your extremely sensitive and extremely erect clit. The minute his thumb makes contact with your sensitive bud, waves of pleasure and chills run through you, and your eyes roll into the back of your head as your back arches up, your nails digging into Jisung’s arm. 

“Oh my fucking god, Jisung!” You pitifully cry out, trying your very best to contain your moans so no lingering ears would hear. But, it was getting difficult with Jisung’s hard cock thrusting ever so quickly into you and his thumb pressing firmly against your clit as his hand wraps around your neck. 

“Shh… babygirl, you don’t want anyone to hear, do you?” Jisung chuckles darkly as he looks down at you, no mercy in his eyes as you clench around him. Beyond sensitive to every touch. “I want you to cum on my cock, but be as quiet as you can, baby. Try and be quiet, but I want you to cum.” His hands move from your neck to your mouth, his middle and ring finger slipping between your lips and pressing down against your tongue. 

The moment his hips start to stagger and his thumb pressed harder and harder against your sensitive clit, your hip bucks violently as you feel your climax approaching. Jisung doesn’t slow down when he feels your warm walls clench around him tightly. He speeds up despite how his hips falter and tense as his own orgasm edges up, you let out a series of high pitched moans, muffled by Jisung’s finger, and Jisung lets out a string of low groans against your neck. His thumb softens against your clit, rubbing small circles to ease you out of your climax. 

Your stomach twitches as Jisung pulls out of you, his thumb finally coming off your clit to gently press against your abdomen as he eases out of you. You let out a sigh as let your body relax once Jisung’s no longer in you. His fingers pull out of your mouth to deal with the condom, and you catch your breath. Your hands clutching the sink as your legs stay limp on his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You made such a fucking mess. How horny were you?” Jisung teases as he eyes the cum and pure wetness still seeping out of you. You glare at him. 

“Very. And it’s your fault.” You snap, and Jisung raises his hands in defense. 

“Hey, guilty as charged,” Jisung chuckles and pulls up his underwear and pants, not bothering to tighten the belt around him before he reaches over to grab paper towels to help clean you up. 

“Still. You were the one teasing me during the movie,” you utter out as Jisung wipes away the cum with the paper towel, “Couldn’t even focus on it. You seemed to enjoy every bit of it, though.” 

“You know it,” Jisung jokingly winks at you, and you playfully hit his head. 

Once he’s finished cleaning you, you get off the sink to pull up your underwear and your pants, sighing deeply at the sore feeling in your core. “Fuck… Jisung, you’re carrying me back to my dorm.” Jisung couldn’t argue with you, since you’d always have the upperhand, especially since Jisung knows he can become an animal when fucking you, and usually blames it on ‘not being able to hold back’. 

“As you wish, princess,” he teasingly calls you, and you glare at him as he buckles his belt before turning his back to you and crouching down for you to get onto his back. 

When you do, he unlocked the door and started heading out, both of you not really caring for the wandering eyes of people who were curious why two adults came walking out of the family bathroom. Luckily, Felix, Hyunjin and Christopher were all gone, since you couldn’t spot them anywhere. The movie theatre was in the center of a mall, so you had suspected they were somewhere, roaming the stores of the mall. 

“I swear, I’m going to have arms bigger than Changbin’s at some point. Having to carry you everywhere,” Jisung complains, and you groan. 

“It’s not my fault all you do is go rough,” you counter, and you can see Jisung roll his eyes, “Maybe if you were a bit more gentle you wouldn’t have to carry me. But, hey, you need the workout.” 

“Do you not like it rough?” Jisung teases.  

“I never said that,” you mutter, and Jisung laughs triumphantly. 

At first, things were a bit awkward between the two of you, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t until Jisung was knocking on your dorm room door at three in the morning and railed you while your roommate was out grabbing groceries (at three in the morning? You didn’t know why, either.) because he had just gotten into a fight with one of his friends and “needed to let off steam”. After that, everything even related to the benefits you both have turned into a normal thing, and you both seemed to get even closer with each other. You both could talk about information that would be considered weird between normal friends, but since you’ve both seen each other completely nude over a dozen times, it wasn’t as weird anymore. 

“But I don’t just like it rough, you know? If it’s intimate and slow, then I don’t care,” you sighed, resting your chin comfortably on his shoulder. Jisung doesn’t respond. In fact, he frowns at you. Why? You had no clue. All the more, it was a silent walk back to the dorm buildings. Jisung dropped you off at your dorm, and your roommate, a geeky, yet strange, girl named Jeo Jeongja thanked Jisung for taking you home. 

“And, by the way, (Y/N),” Jisung said before leaving, and you raise a brow as you climb up onto your bed, “I expect you to meet me at the D.R. tomorrow night. Jeongin’s gonna be outta town for the weekend.” Jisung winks at you, and your breath catches in your throat. 

D.R. was your secret word for ‘dorm room’. Since saying directly, especially in front of others, that you’re going over to a boy’s dorm room when they’re roommates going to be out of town is suspicious to say the least, you both decided to come up with that. 

“Are you alright with that?” Jisung asks, his tone lacing with a delicate worry. 

“Definitely,” you shoot him a playful smile. 

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. See ya, Jeongja,” Jisung waves at Jeongja, who gave him a subtle wave back, not really interested or immersed in the short lived conversation you and Jisung were having. And with that, Jisung left, closing the door behind him. 

There’s a subtle silence between you and Jeongja. You both might be roommates, but you could never really consider her a friend. The most you two talk to each other is when you help each other study with whatever topic. Once Jisung leaves, Jeongja sits up on her bed and stares at you with a playful smile. 

“Oh my god, I don’t get how you’re not crushing on him” Jeongja giggles. 

“He’s my best friend,” you sigh, laying down on your pillows to try and soothe the ache in your gut from your last session with Jisung, “I could never picture myself with him, you know. If you want him, have at it. But, be warned, he is a player.” 

“Oh. I know that much,” Jeongja laughs shortly. You should’ve known, since Jeongja seemed to have ears all around the school. Every rumor eventually gets to her, and through your ears, whether you want to hear about it or not, “I heard he’s been fucking with most of the popular girls.” 

“Oh, really now?” your brows raise. For some reason, it sparks an angry flame in you. Sure, you might not be in love with him, but the fact that you both have an intimate relationship makes you jealous when you hear that he’s been with other girls, but you try not to show it as much. 

Jeongja shrugs a shoulder, “Just what’s been going around. I only report what I hear. And, apparently, Jisung knows all of the rumors. He just hasn’t said anything about it.” 

“Well, he hasn’t talked to me about it,” you sigh, taking your phone out of your pocket, debating whether or not to talk to Jisung about what you're hearing. After a few brief moments of staring at your locked phone, you decide against it and let it fall onto your stomach. “Do you mind keeping me updated on this shit?” 

“Why? Is someone jealous?” Jeongja wiggles her shoulders and brows at you, smirking. 

“Hell no,” you groan, your head falling back, and you rub your eyes. Exhaustion crashing over you, “I’m going to bed, Jeongja. Do whatever you want, but don’t turn the lights back on.” You get up briefly to shut the lights off before climbing back under your blankets, slipping off your bra. 

“But, it’s only nine!” 

“I don’t give a shit. I’m tired.” 

But, a part of you wasn’t. A part of you was beyond eager for what Jisung had in mind for tomorrow. Your aching core began to throb at the thoughts.

[justgillespie]

Missing (3/?)

Summary: Your next door neighbor, Luke Patterson (a.k.a. your longtime crush) has gone missing, and you think you could help finding him.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: None!

Author’s note: So the third part just needed to be edited and now here it is! When I said as soon as possible, I meant it lol xo

Part 4

•

“This better be good. I was in the middle of a game-.”

“I have news”

At last, you decided to call Max first.

“I have one of the band members’ phone number.” You added.

“What?! How?”

“My sister gave it to me. Long story. Should I call now?”

“Well, yes obviously!”

“Okay, okay I’m on it. I’ll call you later.”

You finally dialed the number and patiently waited.

“Hello?” You heard a male’s voice.

“Hello, um...” It wasn’t until that moment that you realized: you didn’t know who you were calling, exactly.

You decided to improvise.

“Is Alex home?”

“Alex?”

The confused voice made you panic.

“What about Reggie?”

The silence made you add “Bobby?”

“Sorry, wrong number.”

The man hung up before you could say anything else.

You groaned.

I’m gonna get so pissed if Tamra was playing with me, you thought, but you wanted to believe that that was not the case.

“What if Tamra wrote a wrong number?”

Max asked once you called him back and explained what happened.

“Don’t think so. She told me the guy gave it to her.”

“Maybe he wrote it wrong.”

“I don’t know.” You sighed. “I guess we’ll just call it a night. See you tomorrow.”

He said goodbye back and you hung up.

“So? How did it go?” Tamra asked from the couch, when you were heading to the kitchen.

“It was a wrong number. Were you just making fun of me?”

She scoffed. “I’m not that bored. No. That was the number he gave me. Maybe he changed it.”

“Thanks anyways.”

You went to grab a popsicle from the freezer and went to your room.

The only idea stuck on your head was to go to the Patterson’s. And you knew pretty well there wasn’t much they could give you. The other idea was to convince Max to stop being complicated and just ask people in his school about the band.

You would go for the second one. You rapidly came up with a plan, and the next morning, you were ready.

Max woke up pretty early for school because he took the school bus, around the corner.

That morning, you woke up thirty minutes earlier than usual (and before anyone else), got ready as fast as you could, and, in a blink, you were next to a sleepy Max in the bus stop.

“What the-? What are you doing here?” He asked once he saw you.

“Going to school. With you.”

“Are you asleep? You do know we don’t go to the same school, right?”

“Oh, I know.”

You faced the street in front of you, pretending to wait for the bus.

“First of all, I barely believe you will get away with getting into my school. And second of all, why would you want to go?”

“Because if you don’t wanna talk to your classmates about Luke, then I will.”

“You can’t be serious.” He said, just when the bus was turning the corner to their street.

“You better believe I am.”

The bus stopped in front of them and you decided to take a step ahead Max and get into the bus, but he stopped you on the steps.

“Y/N.” He said laughing nervously. “You can’t go to my school, that’s insane.”

“Kids, come on. I don’t have all day.” The bus driver said from his seat.

“Then talk to people! We can finish this as soon as possible if you at least try!” You talked despite the man’s warning.

“Oh my gosh! Why do you insist so much?!”

“Are you serious?! We’re talking about a missing person!”

“I’m leaving.” The bus driver said, and you took one more step before Max stopped you again.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll do it. Okay? Just, please stop this and go to YOUR school.”

You squealed and hugged him, and you finally left after thanking him.

Your heart was still racing even after you silently entered your house from the backdoor and you rested against it. You sighed, a laugh in between. You did not know what would have you done if your plan didn’t work. Maybe you were trusting Max too much. He could’ve just said he would do it for you to leave the bus.

But your optimistic self didn’t mind that thought.

You went back to your room, and as soon as you lied back down on your bed, your usual alarm went off. You stopped it. You were ready anyways, so a little bit more of sleep didn’t harm anyone.

Except yourself.

You fell asleep and you didn’t hear your parents calling you until your mom went up to wake you up.

“Y/N-.”

You snapped your eyes open.

“I’m so sorry! I’m going downstairs now, I’m all dressed, I-.”

“You’re not going. Your sister already left.”

You checked your alarm clock. It was 7:57. You always left at 7:40.

“I can’t believe her sometimes. I told her to come call you. It was weird you were still asleep.” Your mom rubbed her temples. Then, she looked back at you. “Your dad and I are going to work now. You’ll stay here, okay? And go to the Pattersons’ for lunch. I’ll call Emily.”

“Mom, I can cook for myself.” If calling Nito’s Pizzeria counted as cooking. “You don’t have to bother Mrs. Patterson.”

“You’re going.” She demanded. “I’ll see you later, okay? Take care.”

She kissed your forehead and left the room.

Well, you had a lot of free time now.

You smiled. This was good. You could continue your investigation.

You got up ready to get started but then you realized. You didn’t know what to do. You still counted on Max to get the important information. And unlike you, he did go to school. You had plenty of time before he came back.

You lied back down on your bed, looking at the ceiling.

You were going to the Pattersons’ house.

You knew you weren’t gonna get out of there with much information but, maybe there will be something...

You got up and opened your window.

Luke’s room was the same as the last time you checked it. Which was last night. Now, it was neat. You figured Mrs. Patterson must have cleaned it.

You focused on the Sunset Curve poster. Why was it so hard to find any of them? If only you could see his room a little closer, maybe you could find something there that could help you.

His room.

A smile slowly appeard on your face.

You were going to Luke’s house today. Maybe you could ask Mrs. Patterson to check his room...

You shook your head. That was something weird to ask. Even if you had good intentions. At least you had the first step done, which was going to his house.

You decided to show up earlier than expected, hoping Mrs. Patterson didn’t mind.

“Oh, hi, sweetie!” Emily said when she opened her door. She was clearly surprised.

She looked tired, but still managed to have a smile on her face.

“Good morning, Mrs. Patterson. I hope it’s okay I come earlier than my mom told you I would”

It was just 8:30. You weren’t supposed to be there until four hours later.

“Oh, no, it’s totally fine! It’s nice to have some company. Come in.” She motioned for you to get into the house and so you did.

You looked around, curious. It was a really nice household.

“Mitch goes to work early and I stay here pretty much all day until he comes back. So I’m really glad you’re here.” She smiled at you again. “I was actually now deciding what should I make for lunch. Does lasagna sound good to you?”

“Sounds perfect.” You smiled back at her. “Do you need any help with that?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You make yourself comfortable. Oh, and for dessert I was thinking that maybe we could bake some cookies?”

You immediately gave her a big smile and Mrs. Patterson chuckled.

“I think I have my answer. I’ll call you to make the dough once I’m finished with lunch, okay? You can turn on the tv if you want to. I’ll be right there.” She pointed the kitchen.

You thanked her before she left.

So, you were there. You were at Luke’s house. The next step was to get into his room. You could sneak in but, would that be fair to Mrs. Patterson, who’s been super sweet to you? But how were you supposed to ask to get into her son’s room?

You bit your thumbnail.

But you were there already. You couldn’t just lose that opportunity.

You visualized some framed photos around the living room and you took one with your hands to see it closer. It was Luke, when he was a baby. You smiled and felt embarrassed for being excited about baby pictures of a boy who you barely knew.

You shook your heard. Remember rule number 1, you thought.

Still, you couldn’t help but keep watching the rest.

There weren’t many in sight. They probably kept way more in photo albums. If you didn’t know that Luke had some issues with his parents (and you didn’t until a few nights ago), you could’ve never tell there was something going on. In every single picture, Luke wore a beautiful smile. He seemed happy. And not only in the pictures.

He looked happy when he was singing, when he was playing the guitar, when he said hi to you on his way to who-knows-exactly-where...

Of course, it could be quite suspicious the fact that he wasn’t home most of the time. But still. How many times did he probably come out of his house after a fight with his mom, and still managed to pretend that anything happened?

He’s been suffering by himself.

It was then when you noticed the flyers on the sofa. A picture of Luke was plastered on it, with the word “Missing” on top of it.

Your heart skipped a beat. You forgot your mom said they were hanging flyers if Luke didn’t come back yesterday. You felt the urge to shred them and throw them away.

He will be back. You will find him.

You left the living room and made your way to the kitchen.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” Mrs. Patterson asked when she saw you. She was boiling something on the stove.

“Everything’s perfect, Mrs. Patterson. Thanks again, for letting me come.”

“Oh, it’s okay, really. You’re always welcome.” She smiled at you and went back to stirring whatever was in her cooking pot. “Your mom told me you fell asleep.”

“Yeah... I was a little extra tired today.”

She chuckled. “I understand. At least you set your own alarm and get ready by yourself. I have to fight Luke to just wake up. And don’t get me started on getting him out of bed.”

You chuckled, not adding anything else. The moment was very fragile, and you didn’t want to say anything wrong.

“You do dance, right?” She asked then.

You nodded, thinking that maybe your mom told her something about that too.

“I figured. Of course, Sandra told me something but it’s easy to tell you’re a dancer by the way you’re standing.”

You smiled shyly, knowing what she meant. You were standing in a nice third position, ironically, because dancers your age don’t even use that position.

You talked about your dance experience and after a while, you both were just talking about everything. You felt at ease with Mrs. Patterson pretty quickly. She just made it feel that way. You helped her making the lasagna, after all, and after putting it into the oven, you both started making the cookie dough.

“I usually bake with my sister. We both have a sweet tooth.” You commented, cracking two eggs into the bowl Mrs. Patterson had in front of her.

“Oh, me too. Dessert is completely mandatory in this house. A rule that I made, of course.” Mrs. Patterson said and you laughed.

“I should make a similar rule in my house. We only have dessert on birthdays or holidays.”

“I encourage you to do so.” She chuckled, mixing with a whisk the batter in her bowl.

She then asked you to hand her the vanilla and baking powder.

“You guys seem close.” She said, still mixing in her bowl. “You and Tamra.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” You leaned your head. “It’s just been harder to hang out ever since the start of this year. It’s her senior year.” You said, although you thought she might’ve known that already. “But I guess I get it. I’m sure she just wants to enjoy her friends before going to college. Her family will always be here but her school friends won’t. She’s going to Berkeley, by the way.”

You thought about it, but you didn’t mention how glad you were she didn’t want to leave the state. You didn’t want your parents to transform Tamra’s room on a gym (something they never actually talked about, but you saw it on a movie).

Mrs. Patterson added the flour and she let you add the chocolate chips, before mixing again.

“Sandra told me so, I’m really glad... here. You can start to shape them into little balls. I’ll grease the stray.” You obeyed and she also did her task. “How old is Tamra, by the way?”

“She’s turning nineteen in a few weeks. She failed first grade, so she’s a year behind.” You explained, as soon as you saw the confusion in Mrs. Patterson’s face.

“Really?”

“Yeah... back then they just came from Texas due to my parents’ job, so they were with lots of stuff like bringing all of their belongings, they also had to work and on top of all that, they had to take care of Tamra. They didn’t want her to grow up with a nanny, so they would take her with them everywhere. She would ditch school a lot, and therefore she didn’t have a great time at exams.” You placed several dough balls in the tray.

“I think that’s pretty sweet. There are kids that grow up with practically strangers and then go against their parents for that.”

“Mhmm.”

She took the tray and put it in the freezer.

It was 12 p.m. when you both sat on the table and had lunch.

“Your mom... told me about what you’re doing. That you’re helping to find Luke.”

Your heart raced. And you thought that maybe she noticed the panic in your eyes, because she rapidly added something else.

“I just wanted to say thank you, Y/N. Because... I know you guys weren’t close. I don’t think I ever even saw you talking but... you’re still doing this, and I can’t thank you enough. And I just wanted to say that if you need anything, don’t hesitate on calling me.”

She had tears in her eyes which immediately softened your heart, and made you tear up too.

You squeezed her hand.

You knew she said all of this for two reasons. She meant it, but she also knew you were just a sixteen year old, after all. You were aware of that too. How much could you possibly do? But you were willing to do anything. Even when the adults around you didn’t exactly believe you could.

“Just promise me you won’t forget about school or dance while you’re at it. That you will take care and will not go through this alone.”

“I promise.”

She had a doubtful look on her face for a moment, but at last, she spoke. “You know, we haven’t talked to the police yet. But I think we might soon. I just... I didn’t want to call them because I know Luke is safe. I know he’s smart enough to go somewhere he’ll be okay. But he hasn’t come back. And I just can’t help but be worried. I wanna see him. I wanna talk to him. I know he might be in a friend’s house. I suspect it might be someone from his band... Oh!” She sobbed. “I just wish I supported him more. I wish I was more interested on the people he was seeing. Maybe that way we could’ve found him already...”

You got up to hug her from behind, around the shoulders, while she stayed on her seat. “It’s not your fault, Mrs. Patterson. When he comes back, you’ll have another chance. I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you get that second chance. Maybe you won’t even need to call the police.”

“Oh, dear.” She hugged your arms. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

You then pulled back and went to your seat.

“What a mess.” Emily chuckled, cleaning her face with a kitchen cloth. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You looked like you needed it.”

She nodded. “I really did. Thank you.”

A comfortable silence grew between the two of you after that conversation, while you finished your food.

“Mrs. Patterson, actually, I was thinking on asking you something...”

“Sure, sweetheart, what is it?”

Your heart pounded against your chest again. You were doing this.

“I just wanted to know if... if I could check Luke’s room? It’s all for the investigation, I promise I’m not a creep.”

For your surprise, she chuckled, and then looked down for a second.

“Luke really didn’t like people getting into his room... but I guess this could be an exception. It is a peculiar situation, anyways.”

[actuallybarb]

The Aftermath ~ Part 7

Summary: y/n goes to therapy, is a confirmed hoodie stealer, and gets a pep talk from sam wilson and wanda maximoff

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, trauma, me attempting to write a therapy session 

Word Count: 3850

A/N: so many things. 1) i’ve never been to therapy (even tho i desperately need it) so i’m solely basing that off of Freaky Friday with Lindsay Lohan. 2) i live for sleepy tropes and i hella indulged. 3) sorry not sorry

                                                         //////////

“Your projects are due next Monday. Have one partner email me who your group is working with, and no, Mr. Thompson, you can’t work with students from other periods. Class dismissed.”

“Want to work together?”

We had been going to class together for a month now, but it always seemed like Peter was surprised whenever he saw me sitting next to him. Maybe it wasn’t surprise...

“Yeah. When do you want to work on it?” I shoved my notes into my already disorderly backpack and slung it over my shoulders. It was starting to get colder in New York, but I was still wearing t-shirts and shorts (mostly because I could keep myself warm and also because I’m stubborn as hell).

“Thursday? Or do you want to start sooner than that?”

“No, I can do Thursday. Are you going to the compound this weekend?” It wasn’t more than a whisper, but I still checked who was around before asking. You can never be too careful.

“Yeah, May’s driving me up after school on Friday. Want a ride?”

I smiled. “That’d be nice.” People were slowly making their way out of the building to head home for the day, but I was heading to Manhattan.

“You going home?”

“No, I’m seeing my shrink. I’ll see you tomorrow, Peter.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He turned right, I turned left, and I might have turned around and glanced back at him over my shoulder, just for a second.

But so did he.

/////////

Taylor’s office had a billion plants and as many windows in it. She always had a candle burning that smelled like clean laundry, and she liked to talk first whenever we met up. That’s why I liked her so much.

“Remember my crazy neighbor’s dog?” She was watering one of her plants when I walked in. “Guess who I accidentally ran over?”

“You ran over a dog?” I left my backpack by the door and grabbed my own watering can.

“No, not the dog. I ran over my neighbor while he was chasing after the dog.”

I laughed. “Like that’s much better.”

“Running over a dog is unforgivable, Y/N. A person is understandable.” We finished watering the plants then sat down at the huge floor-to-ceiling window that took up her back wall. Another reason I liked Taylor: I actually do stuff while I’m talking with her. It’s not like I’m sitting on a couch staring at her while I talk about my feelings, we’re on equal ground. The last couple visits I’ve worked on painting New York, but I haven’t made much progress because I’m a shit painter. “That’s not the point,” Taylor would say, “it’s all about going with it. Be a shit painter. Own it.” Yeah, we get along great.

“No more panic attacks since the first day.”

“Yeah? That’s great.” Unlike me, Taylor is a phenomenal painter. Her skyline had identifiable buildings. Mine had — I think one looks more like a tree than a building. (That’s one huge tree.) “Any nightmares?”

Oh. We’re going there today. “Just on bad days.”

“How often are the bad days?”

After the Blip and before Europe, my bad days went from every day to maybe once a week. Then Europe fucked me over. Now? I don’t know. “Whenever they feel like it.”

“C’mon, Y/N, you can do better than that.”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. “It’s not like it’s a cycle, like the moon or a period or our meetings. It’s sporadic, Taylor, and fucking exhausting.”

“Why? Why are the bad days so exhausting?”

I may or may not have angrily made a bird smash against a window in my painting. “Because I’m the only one who knows. Mom guesses, most of the time, but it’s like she’s still dancing around me. Dad sees it when he’s home, but he doesn’t know what to do. And—“ I almost said ‘and Peter.’ That would’ve been awkward. “And my friends make it better, but they’ve got their own shit to deal with, and I don’t want to dump any of my problems on them. And I know you’re going to say ‘Internalizing your pain is bad, Y/N,’ but it’s the only solution I can handle right now until I muster up the courage to actually talk to my mom again. I mean, last time I needed Jess by my side, how the hell am I going to handle it without her?”

“For starters, I’m proud of you for acknowledging the way to address the problem. And secondly, you don’t have to do it by yourself. I’ve actually been wanting to have another session with your parents, and now seems like as good of a time as any. Bring them around for your next session, and we’ll talk to them, together, about how you can get through bad days with their help. Okay?”

My lips quirked up, just a smidge. “Okay.”

“Now let’s talk about King T’Challa’s new suit, you can’t pretend you don’t have an opinion on it...”

///////

It was a bad day.

Which sucked, because it was also Thursday, and Peter was supposed to be over in half an hour to work on our project. And I was a mess.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom called from the living room. Her elementary school got out twenty minutes before Midtown, so she usually beat me home. “How was school?”

“It’s a bad day,” was all I said before I closed the door to my room. I didn’t slam it (not anymore) but I didn’t know anything else. I couldn’t tell if I wanted a nap, I couldn’t tell if I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, I couldn’t tell if I wanted to fly from rooftop to rooftop until I was too exhausted to come home; I didn’t know. Which sucked, because I’m the only one who could’ve told me the answer.

The was a light knock on my door. “Can I come in?” I didn’t respond, so Mom walked in. “Mind me asking why today was bad?” I still didn’t say anything, my face buried in my pillow. She sat at the edge of my bed, near my knees. “I can usually tell, you know.” It was a hushed voice that came out of her mouth - nothing like the loud and loving woman I’ve known almost my whole life. “You do a good job of trying to cover it up, but I can tell. Your shoulders are tenser than usual, and your eyebrows are crinkled together the second you step out of your room.” She sighed and put a hand on my back - her hands are always warm and usually smell like hand sanitizer from Bath and Body Works because she refuses to use the government-issued ones at school. “You dad and I have no idea what you went through while we were gone. We have no idea what you went through in Europe. But we’re here for you now, Y/N. You carry this weight around with you, and I just — I want you to know that you have people to share it with. Maybe not the weight itself, but the pain it’s causing you.” She removed her hand and set both of them in her lap. “I don’t know how to make the bad days better, so I need you to tell me when you’re ready. I’m here for you, baby.” She leaned down and kissed my head, then stood up and started walking toward the door.

When her hand was on the knob, I finally spoke up. “Thank you.” It was barely a grumble, but she heard it.

The door closed quietly, and I finally decided what I wanted to do.

Cry. I cried. For at least twenty minutes. I cried because of my abilities, I cried because I lost Jess as a mom, I cried because I went to Europe, I cried because Quentin Beck was an asshole that fucked up my mental state for probably the rest of my life, I cried because I killed a lot of people, I cried because now I was friends with Peter but at what cost?

He showed up, eventually. I heard him knock on the front door as I blew my nose. Mom, bless her soul, kept him distracted until I came out of my room myself. It took me another twenty minutes to finally convince myself to leave my room, and at that point I was too exhausted to keep myself warm anymore, so the cold breeze blowing through New York hit me in full force. I slipped a hoodie on, grabbed my backpack, and took a deep breath before opening the door.

Peter was sitting at the counter while Mom washed the dishes from breakfast this morning. She was back to talking loud, and he was listening with a smile on his face. My door closed and his eyes immediately darted to me. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey, Pete. Is it okay if we’re in the living room?”

Mom glanced between the two of us and tried to hide her little smile, but at least one of us caught it. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be in the office if you need anything.”

He must’ve noticed my bloodshot eyes; he couldn’t stop staring. “Is that my hoodie?”

Shit. Is it? I glanced down at the Midtown Tech logo and remembered getting drenched at the compound after the sprinklers unexpectedly came on. Then Peter gave me his hoodie. “Shit, yeah, it is.” I pulled on the sleeves to take it off, but he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, I have at least two more at home.” He pulled out his laptop and it was suddenly back to business. “Any ideas how we’re going to do this?”

We bounced ideas off of each other until we came to a rough draft, but it was getting later, and bad days always get worse at night.

“Shit, is it ten already?” Peter started gathering his things and stuffing them in his bag. “I told May I’d be home by ten, I hate being late.”

I pulled out my phone and sent May a quick text; we’ve had each other’s numbers since my first weekend at the compound. We lost track of time, he’s heading home now.

I figured. See you tomorrow :)

Peter stood up and started walking toward the door, and I followed him. I had spoken maybe twenty sentences the whole time (it’s a miracle we got this far in the project) but I couldn’t convince myself to say anything else before he left. And I wanted to. But I also wanted to cave in on myself — and we both know which option was winning that battle.

“Do you need a hug?” He basically had one foot out the door, but he turned around and asked me this.

“What?”

“Your heartbeat — it’s been off all day. And it still is right now, and — Do you need a hug?”

God, he was perfect. And I was so gone.

All I needed all day was a goddamn hug, and now he’s offering one, and tears started brimming in my eyes before I could even nod yes. He was so warm, and his voice flitted around in his chest, and I would’ve felt bad about getting tears on his shirt, except I didn’t care anymore. All I cared about was how the weight on my shoulders lifted when Peter Parker’s arms were wrapped around them.

“Are you going to be okay?” he mumbled in my hair. I only nodded again. “Okay.” He slowly loosened his grip, but not before he left a quick kiss on my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Another nod. “See you tomorrow.”

///////

Peter was going crazy. Since we hadn’t found any footage that could clear Spider-Man’s name without incriminating Peter he wasn’t allowed out as his alter-ego. And he was literally climbing the walls of the compound.

I was blowing gusts of air at him, trying to knock him down from the ceiling. We had officially finished our project only twenty minutes before, so I pulled up the EDITH footage from London, trying to think of how to clear Spider-Man’s name.

And then it hit me.

“Oh my god.” I ran to the computer and started typing away furiously. “I think I figured it out.”

He came back to the ground. “Figured what out?”

“We can just use the audio file from the video. Then your face doesn’t have to be in it at all.”

I found the file and played it over the speakers.

“EDITH! Turn off the drones.”

“Should I execute all cancellation protocols?”

“Yes, execute them all.”

It was perfect. Exactly what we needed.

“Peter.” I turned to him with a huge smile on my face. “This can save Spider-Man.”

“This can save Spider-Man,” he repeated. “Shit, Y/N, you just saved Spider-Man.” He wrapped his arms around me tightly and lifted me in the air, his laugh ringing in my ear. “I can still be Spider-Man!”

I laughed along with him. He set me down after a minute, but we were still standing unbelievably close together. One minuscule step forward and my lips would be on his. His heart beat jumped, and so did mine, but he didn’t pull away. Neither of us pulled away.

His tilted his head and kissed my cheek (which I still freaked out over) and then took a step back.

“We have to call Pepper and tell her.”

“Yeah, yeah.” FRIDAY started the call and Pepper was over the moon.

“We’ll get a press conference set up for tomorrow, and I’ll work on a statement. Peter,” this was the sternest I had ever heard her - even more serious than when she was talking to Morgan, “I know this is all good news, but you have to wait to be Spider-Man still. All of this press has to die down first before you can go out in the open again, okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Potts.”

“Okay. I’ll see you two bright and early tomorrow.”

She hung up and Peter hugged me again. This one was way more subdued than the last one. “Thank you, Y/N,” he mumbled into my neck.

“You’re welcome, Pete.”

//////////

The press conference went well, according to Rhodey. “I think most of them were relieved to know Spider-Man’s not actually a murderer.” Everyone was dying to have Spider-Man come out and answer questions, but Pepper insisted no questions were being taken at that time, or ever.

MJ called Peter after the press conference was released to the public, and they talked for what felt like forever. The second he got the call I went to the training room: to distract myself or actually train, well, it doesn’t matter because both were done.

A simulation droid was about to “kill” me, but red magic tore it apart at the last second.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Are you okay?”

I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Peter’s been talking on the phone for the same time you’ve been in here.” Wanda gave me a knowing look. You forget that she can read minds because she’s not invasive about it, but she’s always there, holding the information to either back you up or tear you down.

I sighed. “He’s talking to MJ. And I know there’s a high possibility that they’ll get back together but a part of me is hoping they won’t.”

“So you can be with him instead.” I gave a small nod. “Don’t give up yet, Y/N. I see the way he looks at you. You might have more of a chance than you think.”

“She’s right, kid.”

I jumped in surprise. “How long have you been listening?”

Sam smiled from the observation deck of the training room. “Long enough. Boys are stupid, they need all the help they can get.”

“I’ve given him plenty of help already. Literally.”

“Haha, very funny.” He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. If it doesn’t work out with MJ, shoot your shot. I have a feeling you won’t be disappointed.” He winked before leaving, and Wanda followed suit.

I rolled my eyes before telling FRIDAY to pick another random simulation. “Make it a good one.” And, boy, did she. It was the hardest one yet, and all of my concentration was going into it. I was so focused I didn’t even notice Peter walk in until after I had won.

“Damn.”

I turned quickly to see him standing near the door, his hands in his pockets. “Hey. How’d it go?”

“It was okay. She saw the news.”

“But…”

“But it’s not happening. I-“ he looked down at the ground, “I can’t trust her. Not when she lost trust in me. And I- I think I’m interested in someone else.”

I nodded along. I tried to keep my heart as normal as possible but it was beating too hard from my adrenaline to be controllable; I’m almost positive Peter heard it jump at the news. “That’s understandable. Who’s the, uh, the someone else?” God, please be me.

Peter’s lips twitched up to a small smile. “You’ll find out eventually.” He stepped further into the room and relaxed a bit. “Want to do a round together?”

I wanted to. I really wanted to. But I was exhausted, and I think I pulled a muscle, and I could already feel bruises forming where I ungracefully fell on my side. So I just shook my head. “Some other time.”

My room had a bathroom attached to it, and that’s where I spent the next half hour, standing under the blazing hot water coming from the shower. Once I convinced myself to actually get out and change into pajamas, I grabbed my laptop and climbed into bed. I was going home tomorrow, I deserved a few hours of shuteye.

Then someone knocked on my door and ruined the whole ambiance.

“Oh, you’re - I was just - I’ll just go.”

“No, Peter, what’s up?”

He was standing there, hair damp from the shower, black t-shirt and flannel pajama pants on, looking hot as ever. “I was going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie, but you’re already in bed, so never mind.” He turned to walk away, and I almost let him because I was on-my-ass exhausted, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, not when he looked like that (soft, but also hot as fuck).

“Come on.” He turned, and I opened the door wider. “I was about to watch Gilmore Girls, but we can watch a movie if you want.” I pulled back the covers and left plenty of room for Peter to sit beside me.

“We can watch Gilmore Girls, I don’t mind.”

The second I pressed ‘play’ on the third episode was the second my eyes could barely stay open any longer. I tried so hard to watch Jess win Rory back, but sleep caught up with me and I let it win. I used Peter’s shoulder as a pillow and decided sleep was a battle I didn’t mind losing.

////////

I woke up to my alarm, but as quickly as my eyes opened, Peter’s arm pulled me closer to him. I was too tired to feel embarrassed or excited about the fact that Peter Parker was in my bed with an arm wrapped around me. All I wanted to was to turn off my alarm and go back to bed, but my dad was picking me and Peter up in two hours and I wanted to bully Sam into making me pancakes again.

“Let go, Peter,” I ended up mumbling, “I have to turn the alarm off.” He moved his arm off and I sat up and grabbed my phone. “I’m getting breakfast.”

It must’ve been my lucky day, because Sam and Bucky were in the kitchen. “‘Morning, sunshine. Sleep okay?” I looked at Sam with a hard glare, and he laughed. Of course he knew Peter was with me, FRIDAY knows everything.

I sat next to Bucky and thought of fluffy pancakes to ward off my burning hatred for Captain America. “Sam, how much do you love me?”

“Depends on what you’re willing to give me in exchange for the pancakes.”

Of course he already knew my move. Typical.

“I’ll delete half of the embarrassing footage of you saved in FRIDAY’s hard-drive.”

Sam looked at Bucky suddenly, extremely confused. “I thought that was done months ago.”

He just shrugged and drank his coffee. “Must not’ve gone deep enough. Good thing Y/N is here to catch it.”

Sam glanced between the two of us and sighed. “Okay, fine, I’ll make you some stupid pancakes.”

I smiled, then Bucky slipped me ten dollars under the counter and whispered, “Save me the footage.” I winked back.

“Can I have some too?” Peter, soft as hell, came into the kitchen and sat beside me. (His knee was brushing up against mine.)

“Only if you have something to offer.” Sam liked us, I know he did (that’s part of the embarrassing footage FRIDAY has saved) but he was usually a dick to us - anyone who wasn’t Bucky (and even then) - in the morning. It was always playful banter, but we knew not to step too far before eleven o’clock.

“I promise not to test out my new long-lasting webs on anything you own.”

“Deal.”

The pancakes were delicious (“hell yeah they were, I don’t mess around with pancakes”) but my dad was at the compound before we knew it, and it was time to face reality again.

“I saw the press conference,” Dad said when we sat down in the back, “and everything was very convincing. Congrats on getting to be Spider-Man again, Peter.”

He beamed. “Thanks, Mr. Y/L/N. Anything exciting happen at the hospital recently?”

They talked medical, while I sat back and listened to the engine. It covered up their hearts, but that didn’t matter, because both would’ve sent me right back to sleep. And it did.

We pulled up to Peter’s complex an hour and a half later. There were still plenty of daylight hours left, but we both left more homework to today than we would like to admit and neither of our parental figures would be pleased with that.

“See you tomorrow,” he said with a smile.

I smiled back, genuinely, (I was giving those out way more often now) and waved. “Bye.” Dad and I drove back and walked up to the apartment bumping shoulders. Our schedules didn’t line up very often because he was needed in the ER a lot of the time, but we always had a sort of silent understanding. He unlocked the door and let me in first, but when my eyes landed on the kitchen table, I stopped mid-step.

Blood. Everywhere. On the walls, on the floor, on Mom’s floral couch she claimed “added personality” to the living room. No one else was in the apartment, I could tell, but then it just raised more questions:

Who’s blood is everywhere?

Where the hell is Mom?

tags: @eridanuswave​ @vampirestrawberries​ 

[soldouthaz]

Do you have any recent fic recs? 🥺 I just finished reading Baby Blue and now I don’t know what to read next. (It was amazing by the way).

hii!!! I'm so happy you liked baby blue! thank you so much for reading and for reaching out! :))) 

I don’t have any specifics on what you like to read, so I'm just going to give you a bit of everything - I hope that’s alright! if you want more you always know where to find me ;) 

--

recently read fics (July 2020) - 

✰ sleeping on our problems (E, 67k, bL) by @risthebrave / falsegoodnight 

Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about. 

✰ tell it like an old song (E, 26k, bL) by @outropeace

where Harry is a bit lost (just like his memories), his best friend is hiding something, the love of his life is gone and love... love is like flowers. 

✰ soaked in the blood of angels (E, 40k, bL) by @crazyupsetter / whoknows

The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape. 

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago. 

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape. 

✰ like the earth around the sun (E, 23k, bL) by astrangepurplefairy

the one where Harry bursts in on Louis in heat and things only get more complicated from there.

(*personal note* if anyone happens to know if this author has a Tumblr please let me know!)

✰ we both got nothing to hide (E, 43k, bL) by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10

Omega Louis has a secret nest. Alpha Harry keeps losing his clothes.

✰ move so pretty (you’re all I see) (E, 10k, bL) by @risthebrave / falsegoodnight

Harry’s pretty content with his life. He loves his job- a veterinarian at a local clinic who’s already built up a name for himself despite his young age. He loves his gorgeous flat with its wide, open space and minimalistic, yet still homey feel. He loves his family who he talks to and visits as much as possible, not bothered by the long hours of driving to Holmes Chapel from London he endures multiple times a month. He loves his friends and his coworkers and his neighbors- especially Allison, the little old lady next door who brings him and Louis cookies on holidays and who always comments on how “strong and handsome you are, Mr. Styles,” everytime he sees her.

And most importantly, he loves Louis, just- maybe in a slightly different way.

✰ maybe, baby (M, 16k, omega!L) by @thoughtsickles​

Louis runs away. Harry finds him.

✰ when tomorrow comes (E, 11k, bL) by @jacaranda-bloom

the one where Louis is an Omega who has been keeping himself pure for his Alpha, Harry is a traditional Alpha focusing on his studies while he waits to find his bondmate, and Niall is a sneaky bastard who keeps borrowing Louis’ clothes and never returning them.

✰ in a world alone (E, 50k, bL) by @risthebrave / falsegoodnight

Harry’s breath catches as the glow grows bigger and bigger until he’s squinting his eyes and blinking at the sudden intense brightness. He closes his eyes, rubbing at them helplessly. When his eyes open again- he gasps, grip loosening on his bow as he gawks at the sight before him.

Because the swan is gone.

And in its place is the prettiest omega Harry has ever seen.

-

A Swan Lake AU

re-reads - 

✰ like a siren in the night (E, 24k, bL) by @crazyupsetter / whoknows

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

✰ ours are the moments I play in the dark (E, 20k, bL) by @holdingthornsandroses / edensrose

Jane Austen's Persuasion AU. Nine years ago Louis Tomlinson was persuaded to break off his engagement to Harry Styles, a poor sailor. Since then Louis has come to regret being so easily convinced to give up his one chance of happiness. Now Louis' family is in debt and his childhood home is being sold. In a complete reversal of fortune, Harry has returned to England a wealthy bachelor looking to settle down. Events conspire to bring them together once more though Louis is- must surely be- the last man on earth that Captain Styles would think of now. 

✰ pretty please (with sugar on top) (E, 113k, bH) by @angelichl

Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

✰ dance like warriors on a battlefield (E, 20k, bL) by @crazyupsetter / whoknows

Down in the arena, the triumphant gladiator places his foot on the back of the loser, holding him there as he waits for instruction on his next move. Kill or let live. It’s barbaric, really, the bloodlust involved in this sport. Louis is pretty sure that if it wasn’t for his distaste for the killing there would be a lot more blood soaking that sand.

As it is, his father rarely gives the kill order anymore. He gives the order to let the loser live. Louis rolls his eyes, turning away. He doesn’t miss the way the gladiator’s eyes linger on him.

fics on my list to read soon - 

✰ until (E, 38k, bL) by @allwaswell16

Rural Eagle County, Colorado wasn’t the type of place to find a famous musician or actor. At least not until songwriter Louis Tomlinson showed up with pop star Niall Horan to visit his uncle’s horse ranch, and they just happened to find themselves next door to a reclusive former movie star.

(*personal note*- I'd put off reading this until I finished my own cowboy fic so that I wouldn’t subconsciously copy anything but I’m so so excited about this one!) 

✰ smells like omega spirit (NR, 11k, omega!Louis) by @lululawrence

Louis is an omega doing a test run on neutralizers for a class project. Every time he talks to Harry he smells completely different.

Harry is an alpha who can't figure out if he's going crazy or his sense of smell is broken, but all he wants to figure out what Louis' real scent is.

Somehow they figure it out.

✰ ever since I tried your way (E, 25k, bH) by anonymous

In 1949 Harry left his bride at the altar, running away from the only life he'd known. When a kindhearted farmer offers him a ride in his truck and a place to sleep the two find themselves inexplicably drawn together. Isolated on Louis' farm with nobody but a field of dairy cows to intrude, the men are finally able to explore the parts of themselves they've spent their lives hiding away.

✰ was in no hurry, had no worries (E, 21k, bL) by @larrywmi / defencelouis 

The year is 1999 and Harry can’t stop dedicating songs to Louis on the radio. Or the one where Harry hits Louis with his car.

✰ the murmur of yearning (E, 93k) by @mediawhorefics 

Four years ago, Harry Styles was forced into a marriage of convenience to enrich and ally both his and his promised's families. The sudden, and slightly suspicious, death of the Marquess of Haxshire, however, brings great disturbance to Crescentfield Hall and, as his late's husband's closest male relative, Harry unexpectedly finds himself the head of a family he never felt he belonged to. Between a meddling distant cousin hellbent on inserting himself in Harry’s life, his wicked and mistrustful mother-in-law and his late husband’s advisors refusing to help or take him seriously, Harry struggles in the fight to keep what he’s earned and make the Estate finally feel like home.

Luckily, he doesn’t stand completely alone and finds himself an unlikely ally in Mr Tomlinson, the elusive Land Stewart who has been taking care of the property in the shadows for years. Louis Tomlinson is caring, patient, and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t seem to think Harry committed a murder.

-- 

as always, please let me know if I tagged anything incorrectly etc. and I hope this helps you a bit!! I hope you’re well and happy reading! :) 

[imjusthereforbatfam]

Never-Ending Encore, ch 8

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter Summary: Yes, this is Gotham City but helping people isn’t a CRIME, Red Hood! Eden’s not afraid of some crazy nutzos! Er, well… Okay, maybe she’s a little afraid of some crazy nutzos, but… But that’s not gonna stop her from helping people when she can! 😤

Warnings: minor swearing, very minor mentions of suic*de and previous suic*dal behavior, very minor mentions of previous abuse, abuse forgiven/excused by victim (which I personally don't care for but this is how Eden currently handles/perceives her trauma so...)

---

Eden sat down at the table with a content sigh. The heavenly aroma of homemade garlic bread was more prominent now that the rolls were right in front of her. The scent, mixed with the expectation of company and the eagerness of having some Mad Mountain Fudge chilling in her fridge, made her feel incredibly at-home. Though, to be fair, it was more of a hope for company than an expectation.

Red Hood said he’d try to come this night or the next, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would. Admittedly, Eden's shier half – which vividly recalled Aaron’s earlier, uh… praises toward Red Hood’s… physique – wouldn’t entirely mind waiting a few days to see him. The rest of her was so excited, though, that she had to keep reminding herself it was okay if he didn’t come tonight. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He was a busy man, after all, saving dumbasses like herself and doing… whatever an ex-mob boss might do to make a place like Gotham better.

Not that any of that stopped her from hoping he would come, of course. Nor would it stop her from being disappointed if he didn’t. Even so, Eden knew she was just one, very small person among a million other very small people in this city. She understood that visiting a random civilian like her, even with the world's greatest fudge in her fridge, couldn't rank very high on Red Hood’s to-do list. Especially in a city like this, filled with a thousand not-so-very-small people — many of whom were quite dangerous. 

Still, taking in her surroundings, Eden couldn’t help but smile. She was excited for him to come visit. The entire one-roomed apartment – not just the kitchen space – was clean now. She was back in the habit of making her bed every morning, and— okay, fine, the chair by her closet still held her not-quite-clean clothes, but at least they were folded now! Which was an improvement from the misshapen pile of before!

The once-crowded coffee table had also been improved. Now, it only housed her laptop, headphones, and one book (and notebook) at a time. The rest of her books and notebooks – aside from the pair she kept on the kitchen table – had a new home, piled neatly along the wall dividing the kitchen from the main living/sleeping space. They still needed a proper shelf, but the current setup worked for now.

Two plants with tall, twisting stems stood guard on either side of her slow-growing book collection, while a small, mismatched assortment of baby foliage in tiny, colorful pots sat along the edge of her kitchen table near the window. It wasn’t anything compared to rows and rows of crops back on the farm, nor the nearby woods she dearly missed walking through, but it still felt good to be around some greenery again.

Biting into a roll, Eden continued penning ideas into the notebook she kept on the kitchen table; new ways to make her place even homier, things that needed her attention, different possibilities to look into. Though it was the mortifying thought of Red Hood coming back to her apartment in its previous state that had spurred her into action, Eden now found herself genuinely starting to enjoy the little space.

Now that she was putting in the effort, her apartment was actually starting to feel… pleasant. Welcoming, even. And even though her neighbors were still ridiculously loud at times, Eden was finding herself happy with her little home. Enjoying the fruits of her labor whenever she paused to take it in... It was a very nice feeling.

Eden suddenly stopped writing. Her heart leapt in excitement as she looked to the far window, the one that led to the fire escape. It could be nothing, but she could’ve sworn she’d heard— The soft tapping repeated itself.

Scrambling up from the table, Eden flew to the window – nearly slipping in her socks – and beamed at the sight of Red Hood on the other side. He greeted her with a short wave of his hand.

“Hi there, Mr. Hood!” she greeted the moment she had the window open. “It’s so nice to see you again! How are you? Your fudge is almost ready, but it needs another couple of minutes or so to finish chilling. I hope that’s alright? I remembered you said you might stop by tonight, but I didn’t think it would be until later on so I— oh! Where are my manners?” She moved out of the way, her cheeks warming. “Won’t you come in?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” 

Eden smiled as he deftly climbed inside, pleased to find she could still easily recognize Red Hood’s humored tone.

“Smells good in here,” he said turning toward the kitchen.

She quirked a brow, glancing at his helmet. “You can smell with that thing on?”

“It has an automatic filtration system." He lifted his chin, apparently quite proud of it. "Keeps Fear Gas out, lets good-smelling food in.”

"Really?” She hummed, making a show of looking over his helmet. “It doesn’t look all that fancy to me, Mr. Hood."

He scoffed. “It’s a lot more high-tech than it looks, Cookie Girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” She turned up her nose, grinning, as she led him toward the kitchen table. “What kind of high-tech stuff does it have, then, hotshot?”

“All kinds,” he said unabashedly, not afraid to meet her teasing head-on. “There’s the obvious, like night vision, thermal imaging, incendiary devices, and high-frequency—”

“Hold on, wait.” She turned the words over in her head. “Incendiary devices? Isn’t that just fancy talk for bombs?"

“It might be,” he said confidently.

"You have a bomb in your helmet?" She made a humored face. “That doesn’t sound very high-tech, Mr. Hood. Or obvious.”

He hummed, leaning forward slightly, resting his hands on his hips. “You don’t believe me?” Eden could imagine him grinning at her.

She crossed her arms playfully. “No way. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. There’s no way you have an actual bomb that close to your head. You’re not that crazy, Mr. Hood.”

He made an amused sound, tilting his head to one side.

Eden opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked him up and down, faltering. “Are… Are you? Mr. Hood, do you really have— Are you— Please tell me you’re joking. That’s— Do you?”

“Relax, Ede.” He said it comfortably, as if he called her that all the time. Eden blinked, trying to remember if he’d ever called her that before — or anything other than Cookie Girl. “It’s just for absolutely fucked situations where I don’t have any other options.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait— You don’t mean— You don’t mean—” She jabbed at her temples frantically, trying to sputter something out.

Red Hood watched her struggle until what she was trying to say finally clicked.

He jerked forward, his hands up. “Shit, not like that! It’s an escape thing, not a kill myself thing,” he explained. “I take it off and throw it like a grenade.”

“Oh. Cool. Okay. A grenade. That’s cool.”

“Breathe, Cookie Girl," he reminded her.

“I’m breathing! Totally breathing!” She took a huge breath for good measure. Then another. “Sorry, I just—” She shook her head, plopping into her seat. She looked at him, then, in realization, jolted right back up again. “Oh, sorry! Please,” she gestured to the spare chair in front of him, “have a seat.”

“I’m alright.” Red Hood leaned onto its back, watching her sit down again. Her face was red hot. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine, thank you.” She took a few slow breaths, her brows pulled together with worry. “Do you… end up in situations like that a lot? Where you have to blow up your helmet to get away?”

Just a few nights ago, there’d been an explosion on the Westward Bridge. One of her coworkers said a friend spotted Red Hood escaping the scene afterwards. Eden, becoming more accustomed to Gotham’s shenanigans than she cared to admit, hadn’t worried about him too much when she’d heard. In fact, oddly enough, she’d felt a bit proud. But maybe she shouldn’t have.

Maybe she was wrong to have assumed he was okay. Maybe he’d been in serious trouble. Maybe he’d needed help. Maybe she should’ve done something. Maybe she should’ve—

“Not really,” Red Hood answered, breaking her dizzying thoughts with a casual shrug. “It’s the last of my last resorts, and it’s pretty rare for me to be so off my game.”

“Oh. Oh, good. That's...” She sighed in relief, then smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Hood.”

Of course. What in the world was she thinking? Red Hood wasn’t some small-time, stumbling wannabe. Unlike her pitiful attempts at playing hero, he actually knew what he was doing. If she ever showed up to one of his firefights, she’d probably just end up causing him trouble and end up staggering home with a plethora of healing bullet holes and another encore under her belt. (Maybe two, if she was particularly unlucky.)

Red Hood pulled out his chair and turned it so that its back was nearly up against the wall beside them. When he sat down, angled the way he was, he had a clear line of sight of the entire apartment.

The move was familiar to Eden, but it surprised her to see it done so precisely and naturally. The only other person she’d seen do that – and do it like that – was Mama.

Mama always had to have an eye on her surroundings, so she rarely took a seat without her back against a wall or being tucked in a corner. The habit was one of many from her life before "Louanne Smith". They were so far ingrained into her psyche that if she ever tried to go against them the struggle was obvious to even the blindest fool. Though she feigned ignorance at having ever lived such a life, it had obviously taught her all the skills she now used to keep their “cousins” safe: how to observe and analyze even the smallest detail, how to fight and defend unflinchingly, how to disappear without a trace, how to… make other people disappear.

It made Eden curious to see Red Hood with a habit like that. On the bright side, it probably meant she didn’t have to worry about him the way she had been. If he was even half as capable as Mama was, chances were he could handle just about anything thrown at him — even in a place like Gotham.

But… on the not-so-bright side, she had to wonder...

Red Hood tilted his head slowly. “What?”

“Hm?” Eden blinked and realized she been staring. “Oh, sorry! I was just remembering my, uh… um… well, it doesn’t really matter, I guess. I just got lost in thought. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Right, sor— I mean, uh, thank you. I guess.” Cheeks warm, she glanced around quickly for something else to talk about. “Um, would you like some garlic rolls, Mr. Hood?” She picked up the plate and offered it to him. “They’re stuffed with cheese.”

He leaned closer to the food, inhaling it. “So that’s what smells so good.”

She smiled. “Try some!”

He started to grab one when his head turned toward the kitchen. He looked into it a moment then lowered his hand, sat back, and said, “On second thought, I’m okay.”

Eden lowered the plate slightly, surprised. She glanced into her kitchen, wondering what he’d seen to change his mind. The space was perfectly clean and tidy, as she always kept it. The only thing “out of place” was the baking sheet cooling on her stovetop. Any other dishes were already drying in the sink wrack.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind… I’m happy to share.”

“I’m not interested in stealing your dinner. Besides,” he added in a lighter tone, “I need to save room for the fudge.”

Eden nodded slowly and set the plate down. Glancing toward the kitchen again, she wondered what had tipped him off that the rolls were her meal for the night. The empty baking sheet? The drying dishes? 

Always have more than you think you’ll need, she remembered. That was a tried-and-true rule on the farm. They never knew when they were going to have company, so there was always more of things than Eden’s family could ever go through on their own — more blankets, more clothes, more toiletries, more food. Especially food. If there were seven people in the house, they made enough food for ten, and those extra servings came in handy more often than not.

“Can I get you something to drink, then, Mr. Hood?” she asked, picked up her pen and writing the old rule into her notebook. “I have sweet tea, orange juice… uh, water…” She paused, thinking. “Milk?”

He snorted. “I’m good.”

She quirked an impish brow. “Does your fancy, high-tech helmet even have a way for you to drink things? Some built-in twisty-straw component or something?”

He shook his head, edging forward. “Nope. Sorry. No twisty-straws.”

“Your helmet can be an emergency grenade, but it has no cool twisty-straw thingy?” She tsk-tsked, trading her pen for a roll. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Hood. It’s like you’re not even trying to impress me.”

He chuckled. “I’ll get right on that, Cookie Girl,” he assured, a smirk-like quality to his voice.

Eden shook her head at him, trying to hide her grin behind the roll.

He nodded to the notebook in front of her. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, just some ideas.” She pushed it toward him, inviting him to look. “I haven’t been treating this place right,” she explained, pulling apart the roll. “Acting like it’s a prison when it’s a home in need of as much tender loving care as any other.”

Red Hood hummed, going over her lists. “Hard to make a home in a neighborhood like this,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I need to let it sit and rot like I was. It’s nice to have a place you’re at least a little proud of.”

He gave a half-shrug and nodded.

He flipped to a previous page in the notebook, glancing up to see if she minded. Eden shrugged, knowing most of the pages were haphazardly filled with everyday nonsense that likely wouldn’t mean much to him. He looked them over while she ate and she looked over him, a little embarrassed when he started reading out random thoughts.

“‘Mary: Superfluous, plain but extra, well-meaning but unaware’?”

“Uh, that’s a… That’s a thing for work.”

“What do you do for work? Evaluate assholes?”

She laughed. “No, no, I’m a…" She fixed her posture, feeling a bit proud. "I’m an actress, actually."

“A professional liar? Great.”

“Wha—? No! Lying and acting are two very different skill sets, Mr. Hood!”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Cookie Girl. Whatever you say.”

“No really! I’ll have you know I’m an awful liar but a really great— er, uh, well, okay, maybe not a really great actor— I mean, maybe not a great actor either, but, you know, I— Well, actually—”

He snickered, then moved on to the next blurb he could tease her with.

“Are all your notebooks filled like this?” he eventually asked, glancing at her collection against the wall.

She gave a half-shrug as she finished the last roll. “Some are more coherent. This one’s mostly for stuff that pops in my head while I’m eating or in the kitchen. It’s easier to have my thoughts written down where I can see them instead of fighting through them all in my head.”

“Makes sense.” He leaned forward brazenly. “Am I in any of those thoughts?”

“Not any of the written down ones,” she said with a laugh, assuming that was the real question. “I’m not that dumb, Mr. Hood.”

“Good to know,” he said with a nod. “Speaking of dumb, though…” He leaned back in his chair and fished out a cell phone from inside his leather jacket. “I was wondering if you could help me connect some dots here.”

“Me? I don’t know what you could possibly need my help sorting out, Mr. Hood," aside from an urgent, impromptu lesson on goat milking perhaps, "but I’ll certainly try.”

“Oh, you can help a lot more than you think, Edie.” Red Hood set the phone down on the table and pushed it toward her.

Eden blinked again at his sudden use of one of her everyday nicknames, suddenly nervous. She looked down at the phone, at the picture on its screen, and her brows lifted in surprise. She immediately recognized the sleek, minimalist decor of Café Très Boissons and the slightly hunched, unassuming man who’d been taking her picture earlier that day. But more than that, she recognized the angle the picture had been taken from.

Turning to Red Hood, wide-eyed, she faintly recalled the faces of the boys in the corner booth. The younger two were obviously out of the running, but between the smiling one and the one in the red hoodie… It wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make.

“Wait, were you the guy—?”

“I have contacts all over this city,” he told her. “They keep me informed.”

Eden’s brow furrowed. She worked her mouth to say something, not really sure she believed him, but he leaned over the table and swiped the screen to the right, moving the conversation forward before she could. The new picture was taken closer to the scout and clearer than the first, better showing his face and overall frame.

“So imagine my surprise,” Red Hood went on, “when I learn a small-time heiress has a look-alike who can clock up a potential threat in a heartbeat, and it turns out that look-alike—” he swiped right again, this time to a grainy, blown-up picture of Eden, Veronica, and Aaron crossing the street “—is you.”

Eden stared at the picture: she and Veronica arm-in-arm, Veronica’s purse over her shoulder, a flippant expression on her face that didn’t seem to fit quite right. The picture was from an entirely different viewpoint, somewhere up in the air looking down on them, and of a far poorer quality than the first two.

“Security camera?” she guessed glancing up at him. His permeating stare was hard to meet through the angry “eyes” of his helmet.

“Traffic cam.”

Eden sank a little lower. “You’re making me feel like I’m in trouble here, Mr. Hood,” she mumbled.

“Aren’t you?” he accused. “You’ve practically got a flashing neon sign on your forehead that says In Deep Shit.”

 “No, I—!” She huffed and moved some hair out of her face. “I do not. I meant trouble like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“Funny.” He moved to rest his jaw on his fist. “I didn’t.”

Eden lowered her gaze, unable to meet the unbreakable scrutiny of his “eyes”. “I’m not in any trouble,” she muttered, rubbing her socked feet together under the table. “Not like that, anyway. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Y’know,” he half-teased, “I think I’m starting to understand what you meant about being able to lie and being able to act.”

She struggled with a response to that. “What… What even makes you think I’m in that kind of trouble anyhow?”

“You want the short list or the long?”

She stared at him. His certainty was unshakable.

There’s no way it was that obvious she was in trouble… But it wasn’t deep trouble like he seemed to think. Just… ankle-deep trouble. That she was slowly sinking in. No big deal.

Besides, it wasn’t any of his business. Her “trouble” was just between her and her parents. And her siblings, sort of. And… probably the people Frank worked with... and for… But, like, at its core, it was mostly just her and her parents.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Nothing vigilante worthy, anyway.”

Red Hood tilted his head, silently encouraging her to continue regardless.

“It’s just… family stuff.”

Just a looming fight between divorced parents; their adult child stuck in the middle and trying to put out the fire before it sparked. A totally normal thing for a totally normal "family".

Only, like… kicked up to a ten because Eden was a metahuman, her father was a superhero-obsessed farmer-turned-geneticist who basically stole samples of her DNA, and her mother was not afraid to get her hands dirty. Especially if she perceived something as a threat to her daughter’s well-being — which Frank’s recent work and actions could definitely be perceived as.

Plus, everyone in that facility seemed to know about her powers. Mama would not like that. That Eden regretted helping them – that she’d tried to rescind her consent, been denied, and her DNA taken anyway – just made the whole thing even messier.

The only way to hide any of it from her mother was to literally take the money Frank gave her for her "donation", run off, and hide away while she tried to string everything together. Because once Mama knew, Frank was a dead man. Unless Eden could figure out some way to cushion the information and keep her from digging deeper, there was no doubt in her mind that Mama would wipe every last trace of him – and his colleagues – off the face of the earth.

And Eden… Eden didn’t want that.

Despite everything he’d done and put her through, despite all the hurt and tears, part of her still thought of Frank as her father. As the man who read her stories every night and taught her to ride a bike and a horse. The one who called her “Champ” and always carried her up on his shoulders when they went into town. Who told her she was meant for great things, encouraged her compassion, always put her back on her feet… told her he loved her every morning and every night when she was young…

They were both older now, and him colder. He’d abused her trust and love in pursuit of his own goals. Again. This time with intent. But he was still the man who, above all else, wanted to help others. Eden knew that. He just… didn’t seem to mind hurting her in the process. And a part of her hated him for it, but she still loved him, too. She couldn't stand the thought of him getting hurt, or worse.

Which, you know, with her mama a hairpin trigger away from… removing him… sorta left Eden caught between a rock and a hard place. But, again, that wasn’t any of Red Hood’s business.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she stressed. “And anyway, Veronica’s the one with the scout right now, not me.” She swiped back to the picture of the man in the suit and pointed to him firmly. “He cared about getting her picture, not mine. Even if he mixed us up, it still means she’s the one in real trouble here.”

Red Hood hummed. The disharmony was hard to interpret, but she was willing to bet he was neither fooled by nor satisfied with her answer.

“What?” she shot back, crossing her arms, acting defensive to force the conversation forward. “It’s not my fault he confused me for Veronica.”

“No, but you wanted to keep him confused. In fact,” he reached over and swiped back to the traffic cam picture, “you did everything you could to make sure he thought he had the right girl.”

Eden lifted her chin, waiting for the real question. Red Hood studied her, possibly waiting to see if she’d answer it herself. Maybe blubber out something as she was wont to do. But she was determined to keep her mouth shut this time.

She tipped her head, politely prompting him to continue. When he didn’t, she huffed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood,” she said rubbing her forehead, “but I really don’t know what you’re trying to ask me here. I’m not a mind reader.”

He stayed quiet for a few more beats. His consideration shifted from her to the picture on his phone. “For now, I guess my biggest questions are why and how.”

Eden sat up a little. “Why?” she repeated, not sure she understood.

“Yeah. According to my source,” he said slowly, “you two,” he nodded toward her and Aaron in the picture, “figured out the scout was there for Veronica before she’d even entered the building and that he’d mixed the two of you up.”

“Right,” she agreed cautiously. “And?”

“And?” He gestured in front of him as though he’d clearly laid everything out on the table itself. “Didn’t it occur to you that if he saw the real Veronica, the scout would’ve pieced it all together and left you alone?”

Had that occurred to her? She couldn’t remember. Probably not.

But even if it had, Eden wouldn’t have wanted him to leave her alone if it meant throwing Veronica under the bus like that. Eden at least knew how she was supposed to act in that kind of situation, which was more than Veronica could probably say. And besides, no matter what might’ve happened, she would’ve been fine in the end. Veronica didn’t have that guarantee. Nobody did. Except Eden.

“It was better for him to bother me than her,” she said firmly. “At the very least it threw them off her scent for a bit. Hopefully, she can get some sort of security team or something before they get too wise.”

“They?”

“Whoever wanted those pictures in the first place,” she explained. “I seriously doubt that scout was taking them for his own sake, or he would’ve left the moment “Veronica” started noticing him.” She tilted her head at Red Hood and gave him a wicked smile. “Or did your source not mention that part of my theory?”

“He did,” he said simply. “All the more reason to want to stick your head in the sand, though, don’t you think? It’s what anyone else would’ve done.”

She frowned, finally realizing what he was saying. “You Gothamites are so weird. I’d have thought a vigilante would at least understand..."

“Uh, rude?”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be, but… It’s just I think I figured out what you’re really asking me, and Aaron and Veronica asked me the same thing earlier, too, and it’s just…" She shook her head, finding it hard to wrap her brain around. "Y’all…” She huffed. “Y’all’re just so weird to me.”

Red Hood didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” she said again, more genuinely. “But you’re asking me why I helped her, right? Even if it wasn’t… oh, how did Veronica say it?” She turned her head, trying to remember. “Wasn’t my problem, I think? Something like that…” She refocused on him. “Anyway, my answer to you is the same as it was for them: because it was the right thing to do.”

Red Hood made a short, unamused noise. “The right thing was pretending to be that girl? Putting yourself in danger?"

“The right thing was helping her,” she corrected. “And that scout had already taken my picture anyway, so…” She swiped between the pictures. “At least I stopped him from taking the real Veronica’s picture, too.”

“But now he’s got your picture.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Which means his employer’s going to have your picture. If they don’t already.”

“Which they probably do, since he was using a cell phone," she pointed out.

He threw his hands in the air. “Exactly! And he could be some sick, psycho fuck!"

"Well—"

"This is Gotham, Ede," he went on, imploring her to listen. "Even if they know you're not Veronica, they'll know you tried to fuck with their plans for her, whatever they are. People get themselves killed for way less here. You know that, right?”

“No, I... I guess I hadn’t really…” 

So that was why a lot of Gothamites didn’t go out of their way to help others! Of course! There was no guarantee offering their hand to one person wouldn't put a huge target on their back with another. And nobody in their right mind would want to risk gaining the attention of one of Gotham’s scarier characters. It all made perfect sense now. Gothamites kept their heads down and only focused on their own problems because they had to. If they didn't, they could very well be signing their life away. And when people asked her why she was helping others, they weren't really asking her that; they were asking her why she was so willing to put her own life in danger for someone else.

But Eden wasn't like them. No matter what happened or what anyone did to her, she would be fine. She was always fine. It didn’t mean she had to throw on a cape and go looking for trouble every day like Frank had wanted her to, but it also meant she didn’t have the same excuse as everyone else. If she could step in and help somebody, she should. She was one of the few in this town who probably could. And, most importantly, she wanted to.

“I still would’ve helped her,” she decided. “Even if someone scary thinks I’m her for a little while, or gets mad at me, at least Veronica is safe for now.”

Red Hood stared at her, unmoving. It wasn’t clear what he was thinking or feeling, but Eden could imagine he might not like what he was hearing. After all, as far as he knew, Eden was just a totally normal, would-die-and-stay-dead civilian.

“I mean, if they have any brain cells at all, they should realize pretty quickly “Veronica” doesn’t look like she should, right?” she said trying to reassure him. “And even if they don’t, all they have to do is follow me home once and they’ll realize they’ve got the wrong girl.” She pointed out the window. “Even a total rock-for-brains moron would start scratching their head if Veronica Bradford came to a neighborhood like this.”

He followed her finger, seeming to consider her words. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But they’d probably just say fuck it and stick around anyway. Especially if it was some goon following orders.”

Eden bobbed her head from side to side, agreeing with the possibility. “They’d still figure it out eventually, though. Veronica’s a socialite. And I’m definitely not. Eventually, she’d post a Snapstagram story or go somewhere fancy while I’m hanging about here and things wouldn’t add up. And if they were still convinced I’m Veronica after something like that, then I don’t think they’re smart enough to be considered much of a threat to anybody but themselves.”

“Everybody is a threat in this city,” he warned her. “And the last thing you want is some twisted mother fucker knowing where you live. Especially if they think you messed with them.”

“I’d rather someone like that know where I live and make my life difficult than let someone else get hurt or killed because I didn’t help them,” she said stubbornly.

Red Hood let out a gruff, half-groaning sound as he sat back to stare up at the ceiling. "Of course you would," he grumbled. He stayed like that for a minute, perhaps trying to gauge how serious she was. He sighed, apparently finding his answer. "I don't get you. You freak out when a stranger shows up to warn you inside, but the idea of some asshole coming here and actually trying to fuck with you? That doesn't scare you?"

"In my defense, this is the ninth floor and it was my private fire escape. I had every right to freak out when some big stranger with guns and a mean-faced helmet suddenly showed up out of nowhere."

He huffed.

"And I'm not completely helpless, Mr. Hood," she told him. "I have a little fighting know-how under my belt."

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure. And how's your neck, again?"

"My...?" She blinked at him, then remembered the healed cut and frowned. "Hey, I'll have you know I was doing very well for myself until I got stabbed!" she said pointing at him.

He looked up again, this time as if asking a higher power for help. “So if someone broke in here with a gun or another knife, you think you'd be able to fight them off?"

“I'd be fine."

"So you do think you could."

"Not really, no."

He stared at her. “Y'know... a little lie might be nice right about now.”

"I could 100% fight them off no problem, Mr. Hood."

He groaned, covering his eyes. "God, you are an awful liar."

Eden tried very hard to suppress her giggles. “If it makes you feel any better," she offered, "I wasn’t planning on it. Pretending to be Veronica, I mean."

Red Hood sighed, but he lowered his hand and gave her his attention anyway.

"Veronica’s not very… Well, let’s say she’s not the most observant person around. And I know my foresight’s not exactly great in the heat of the moment, and I might end up paying for it eventually, but… I couldn’t just... not do something when that scout noticed her, you know? She needed someone to help her and she didn't even know it. So I just… did.”

Red Hood let out a sharp laugh, which sounded sharper with the distortion. He looked away, subtly shaking his head. “So you just did,” he muttered to himself. He turned to her again. “Didn’t you agree not to do anything stupid before I came by again, Cookie Girl?” he teased.

Eden smiled apologetically, then turned coy. “I did try, Mr. Hood,” she said sweetly. “And I promise that that was the stupidest of the stupid things I did. Which I’m willing to bet is still a million times better than the craziest thing you’ve done since the last time I saw you.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Who me? Do something crazy? Never.”

“Uh-huh. You sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure I heard someone say something about a red vigilante being involved with that big explosion Friday night.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me. Must’ve been Red Robin. I’m completely innocent.”

Eden nodded along, not admitting she only knew of the other vigilante because she’d thought Red Robin was just another of Red Hood’s names until somebody corrected her.

“Oh, completely innocent, I’m sure,” she goaded. “And what was it that you were doing oh-so-innocently while the bridge was blowing sky high, Mr. Hood?”

“Hey, the bridge is still standing, isn’t it? He made sure there wouldn’t be any structural damage. Just a little mess of things. He knows what he’s doing with shit like that.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. I sure hope he does. Especially if he also has a helmet full of explosives.”

“Not to worry, Ede," he assured her. "I’m the crazy Red.”

“Oh. Good. I feel so much better now. Thanks."

He laughed.

“Wait.” She pointed at him. “Do you both go by Red?”

“We do," he nodded, "but Double R’s usually Red if we’re using shorthand,” he said crossing his arms. “They call me Hood to keep it simple.”

“Oh, well, that’s not confusing at all. Though I suppose y’all can’t exactly call him Robin. That’d be even more confusing.”

Red Hood scoffed. “Demon Spawn would have an absolute fit if we did that.” He looked to the side. “Then again…” He rubbed his chin, seeming to consider it.

“Um,” Eden lifted a tentative finger to catch his attention. “I’m sorry, but this is Gotham City, so I’m gonna need you to clarify: do you mean, like… a real demon spawn or…?”

“I mean I think he is,” Red Hood joked, “but, no, not really. That’s just what I call Robin ‘cause he’s a little shit.”

She perked up. “You mean Robin like… Batman's Robin?” He nodded and Eden scoffed with certainty. “Well, he can’t be that bad, then.”

Red Hood let out a short, sharp laugh. Something about it a bit painful. “Are you an expert on Robins now, Ede?”

“Well… no,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed. “But if he’s a Robin then… I dunno. He can’t be all that bad.”

“Have you ever met the brat?”

Eden shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to scowl.

No, she hadn’t met the boy Red Hood was talking about… But she’d met one of his predecessors. And that Robin? He’d saved her life. Not just from a fight or another encore. She could handle those things on her own. Poorly, sure. But she could.

No, what he’d saved her from was a life full of fights and encores. And pain. Endless, endless cycles of pain.

Without him, who knows where she’d be today. Who she’d be. Certainly not the person she was. Not the civilian trying to make the best of an awful situation by following her theatrical dreams. If he hadn’t knocked some sense into her, she would probably be what Frank wanted her to be. A… A hero. A constantly struggling, hurting, dying, pitiful attempt of a superhero.

Robin saved her from that. From a life of wishing every day, every death, would be her last.

As far as she was concerned, she owed that boy every good goddamn thing in her life. So to hear Red Hood call her hero a brat or a demon spawn, even if it was a completely different boy, even if Red Hood obviously knew him a thousand times better than Eden knew the one she’d met… Well, it upset her. In her heart, “Robin” was still the boy from her childhood.

Though, even she could admit it was hard to remember him clearly after so many years. She could remember the way he’d spoken to her and how it had impacted her, but not most of what he’d actually said. She could remember him joking and laughing with her, but not the way it sounded. She could remember the way he’d smiled and offered his hand before lifting her up into the air, but the scene was fuzzy.

“Sorry,” Red Hood grumbled, rubbing the jawline of his helmet. “I guess you’re more of a Gothamite than we thought.”

“Huh?” She squinted at him, confused. “No, I’m not. What do you mean?”

“Well...” He leaned back, spreading out slightly. “People these days tend to be pretty protective of their Robins. Even when this one first started out and was swinging his sword everywhere—”

“This one’s got a sword?” she blurted out, shocked. 

“Yeah, a katana. He hacked up a couple of goons pretty good with it, too. Which I thought was great,” he said gesturing to himself, “but B didn’t.”

“B? As in… Batman?” she whispered.

He snorted at her. “He’s not the boogeyman, Ede. He’s not gonna jump out of your closet if you say his name too loud." Despite saying this, he was clearly doing a quick survey of her apartment.

“Wow. I feel so reassured,” she droned. “Anyway, no, I should be the one apologizing. You clearly know this Robin well, so if you think he’s a—” her mouth twitched slightly “—a brat then... you… probably have your reasons for it. I suppose. And I should... respect that,” she half-snarled.

Red Hood clapped slowly. “Wow. What a beautiful performance, Edie. How’s it feel to be such a great actor?”

“Oh—” she reached over the table and shoved him “—shut it, you!”

He just laughed her off.

“You better start being nice to me, Hood," she said standing and moving toward the fridge.

“Or what?” he asked confidently.

She grinned at him. “Or you’re not getting any Mad Mountain Fudge,” she teased right back.

---

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Next chapter

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part two)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU 2]

Part 1

Word count: 9240

TW: Child abuse, blood, the r-word again, emotional manipulation, minor implied sexual content (as in: one paragraph and nothing actually happens), underage drinking, vomit

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

-Eve Was Weak-

  “Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone

And if he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so alone?”

Mulaney looked up from the notebook, which is studded with doodles of crosses and stars and hearts, and set his gaze on the teenager sitting across from him. Her arms are crossed over her chest again and she’s leaned back in her chair, jaw set thoughtfully. She’s got some sass, but was one of the easiest, most well-mannered people he’s spoken to for questioning before. Plus, she made the examination more fun with her snarky comments, which were even able to make his stoic partner who ran the camera, Madeline, chuckle or smile from time-to-time.

  “Any speculation as to who the author is?” 

  “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say Joan Seymour.” Katherine Howard said. That sass mentioned before slipped back into her voice, edging her words in a way that made Mulaney huff out an amused breath.

  “What do you suppose she’s trying to say?” Mulaney questioned.

  “Probably, ‘help me, my mother’s insane.’” Katherine responded.

  “Interesting.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows at him, sniffing. She’s poised and waiting.

  “Do you consider yourself anti-religious, Katherine?” Mulaney asked.

Katherine snorted a light laugh. “No.” She said. “I just think some people take it too far, that’s all.”

  “And you disapprove?”

  “Look--” Katherine uncoiled her arms and sat up straight. At Mulaney’s side, Madeline quirked a brow at her change in stance, intrigued. “I’m all for believing whatever it is that you believe, but you say ‘religion’ to me, and I’m thinking da Vinci’s Last Supper. Jesus looks sad. The apostles look miserable. I don’t want to go to that party!”

Mulaney blinked at her logic. Katherine looked back at him, then turned her gaze up thoughtfully. She drummed her pointer fingers against the tabletop.

  “Shouldn’t religion be more like Dogs Playing Poker?” She said.

  “Dogs playing…”

  “Poker.” Katherine finished for Mulaney. “I can’t tell you what any of the apostles are doing in The Last Supper. But I can tell you that the little white bulldog is holding an ace under the table.”

Mulaney unsuccessfully tried to smother a smile. Katherine caught it, grinning.

  “See?” She said. “That’s fun! I’m engaged! There’s wonderment and awe! That other stuff is just all ritual and punishment. And it’s way too weird and way too serious.” She leaned back again, studying Mulaney and Madeline’s expressions. “What? It is!”

------

Jane Seymour was a woman of many faces, and not in the mentally ill sort of way, although some people assumed she may have been harboring multiple personality disorder within her wretched brain. She had many masks to wear, some cold and stoic, others sinister and wicked, and a few that may have even been sweet and nurturing. When she was at the local laundromat she worked at in town, several customers reported how she would “look at them like she was assessing their souls”, like she was judging whether or not they deserved to go to heaven. She thought most of them were Godless and muttered about it constantly, regardless of if they could hear her or not. She simply did not care.

Many people thought she would never delve into the sexual world of intercourse, what with all her screws loose that warded away most men and her extreme devotion to Christ, so it was quite shocking to hear the screams that erupted from the Seymour bungalow May 13th, 2005. Police were called, but had to wait to get a search warrant, so they, along with several neighbors, sat on the curb for hours, listening to the piercing cries that split the street in two. By the time police finally burst into the house to locate the struggle, they thought they were too late when they reached the master bedroom, which was covered in blood. But then they saw the woman rocking back and forth on the soaked bed, holding a tiny red baby with tufts of whitish hair to her left breast and everything clicked into place.

Several believed this woman was not fit to raise a child for obvious reasons, but police had no right to take a baby away from its mother, so the infant stayed and grew up in the house she was born in. It wasn’t like there was any place she could go, anyway. Jane’s husband was nowhere to be found. 

Henry Tudor is--was--had been a mountain of a man. His arms were like truck tires, round and firm to the touch. He had broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a huge body to go along with his already giant frame. Coppery gold hair framed his head and his bright sapphire blue eyes struck a stare that could put someone six feet under. Every single aspect of the man’s body boasted of an indestructible juggernaut.

And yet, he hasn’t been seen in fifteen years.

Rumors bubbled up. They always did. Some speculated he ran away to avoid the burden of taking care of a child or to simply get away from his insane wife. Others, mainly rowdy teenagers itching for drama, said Jane killed him and sacrificed his body to the Lord. Because of that, stories of the Seymour bungalow being haunted were created, although there was no proof of anything of the sort. Because they weren’t true. But Jane Seymour had been out to kill.

Her girl-spawn had barely been a few months old at the time. She laid in her homemade crib, gurgling and laughing, staring with strange blue eyes up at a mobile that was made for her. Jane crept up to her and aimed a knife for her throat.

Henry stopped her.

  “You shall name her Johanna,” He had rumbled, easing Jane’s hand back to her side. “Joan for short.”

  “Like Joan of Arc.” Jane had observed.

  “Yes,” Henry had said.

  “Hm.” Jane had peered down at the wriggling little beast. “I suppose that does make it slightly less Godless.”

  “Yes,” Henry had said again. “Wait and see.”

And then, he was gone, disappearing into the night and never coming back.

Jane should not have let him stop her.

The child, of course, did not know this.

Joan slipped through the front door, but not without noticing a few neighbors peeking avidly out of their own windows, ears pricked. The whole neighborhood, possibly even the entire city, was always so interested in every little detail of the Seymour family’s lives. At least a few of them actually had the decency to duck back inside when they saw her coming up the sidewalk. One didn’t even notice her, it seemed, because he was still staring when she disappeared inside, while another was only pretending to not snoop while she fussed unnecessarily over her rose garden. Joan shot the flowers a sharp look, willing them to burst out of the ground and bite the lady’s nose off, but the front door closed behind her before she could see if anything happened. From the silence outside, she assumed nothing did.

(damn stupid woman wish she’d just go blind)

The smell of cinnamon was drifting through the entrance hallway. Maroon and orange (never red) candles were lit up throughout the downstairs area; Mama always preferred their warm glow over the harsh fluorescence of the overhead lights. Mama’s favorite radio station, WORT Radio, could be heard playing from the kitchen, along with the sound of singing.

Mama’s singing.

  “Jesus, possess me!

Sweet savior, be my shepherd

Bless each endeavor

Till I finally join you forever”

A giddy tingling sensation zipped up through Joan’s spine. She always loved the sound of Mama’s singing. Her voice was so silken and honey-slicked, like the gentle croon of an angel. Joan said she should join a gospel, that she would be the best singer in the entire group, but Mama would always wave this off with a dismissive hand and a chuckle.

Joan ventured further into the house, feeling lighter and lighter with each step. She entered the lounge, where a Black Forest cuckoo clock clucked peacefully on the wall. There were many religious pictures and crucifixes in here, but Joan’s favorite was the photo of Jesus leading a herd of baby lambs through a beautiful flowered field. It radiated so much innocence, unlike all the other paintings of punishment and hellfire and sin. It was hung up beside the huge wooden cross with reddened edges over the unused fireplace. Joan did her best to never look at that decoration in particular.

Weaving around the brown felt couch and two moth-eaten velvet throne chairs facing each other, Joan glided into the kitchen. It was an old kitchen indeed, with an oven that squealed like a dying pig when opened and a sputtering gas stove, but everything worked perfectly fine for the two of them.

Two…

  “Fly me free of temptation

And the flames of Hell's devastation

Then He will take me

And wash me in the river

I will make celebration

In the joy of final 

The might of final 

The fire of final Salvation!”

There was Mama, singing along to the song playing from an old radio on the counter, her back to Joan. 

She was a moderately sized woman, but had a strong, corded neck and incredibly muscled hands from years of working at the local laundromat. Honey blonde hair framed her face, which was quite beautiful in a weird, overzealous religious way. Reaching brown roots slithered like snakes from her scalp, with only a few white hairs visible. Despite being in her forties, her complexion was more weathered by hardship and discipline than age. Piercing golden brown eyes flickered when she finally noticed her daughter standing there and a smile broke out on her pale pink lips.

  “Mama,” Joan said breathily, unable to bite back her giddy grin. 

  “Ah, Joan,” Mama said, “there’s my sweet girl.” And then she opened her strong arms out wide and Joan darted into them instantly, nestling into her embrace. Mama smelled like honey and laundry detergent. “You’re home early.”

Joan felt her lower stomach twinge and she leaned a little closer into Mama’s chest. She would keep her mouth shut about the incident at school for now. Mama was in a good mood; no need to go and mess that up.

  “School--ended sooner than usual.” Joan said, internally wincing. She hated lying, always fearing that she would be struck dead the moment the fib rolled off her tongue, but she would correct herself and tell the truth soon.

Mama hummed. “I see.” She pulled away and turned back to the counter, where she had been shaping bread dough with her wolf-like hands. “Dinner won’t be ready for awhile.”

  “That’s okay,” Joan said. “I can wait.”

Mama hummed again. Joan fidgeted anxiously behind her.

  “Is everything alright, my darling?” Mama asked, concern in her smooth voice.

  “Yes, Mama,” Joan answered. “Just-- umm-- may I go shower?”

Mama chuckled. “Of course, dear.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Joan gave her another quick hug, then scurried up the creaky wooden stairs to her room.

Filthy. She suddenly felt so filthy. She had showered barely an hour ago, but grime seemed to be crawling all over her. Would Mama be safe from it? Was it bad that she touched her?

She tried to remember what Miss Aragon had told her. About this being…

  “Normal.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s perfectly normal, Joan. Every girl goes through it.”

Joan whimpered. The spattered mess between her legs had been wiped away by Miss Aragon, a humiliation she would never be able to live down, and she was now fully dressed again, but her clothes felt too tight, especially around her groin. It felt like there were eels alive and writhing inside of her. She squirmed on the grey couch she was seated on in Miss Aragon’s office, a place where most students were forbidden to go into.

  “My skin feels weird,” Joan whispered. “I-I’m hot…”

Miss Aragon frowned. Joan looked up at her with shiny, wet blue eyes and a glazed expression.

  “It hurts,” She croaked.

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  “What did I do?”

  “What?”

Joan shifted uncomfortably. Guilt surged through her, along with another painful sensation in her lower stomach. She whimpered again.

  “What did I do?” She asked again. “D-did I sin? Is this my punishment?” Miss Aragon looked baffled, and Joan wasn’t sure how she should feel about that. 

  “No, no, Joan,” Miss Aragon said quickly. “You didn’t--you didn’t sin.” She made a face, like those words tasted funny on her tongue, but it disappeared quickly. “You’re a very good girl. All women go through this, like I said. It’s completely normal.”

  “But--but I’m bleeding!” Joan cried woefully. She could feel drops of blood squeeze slickly out of her vagina and she cringed. “You shouldn’t-- it’s not-- I-I’m gonna bleed to death!”

Miss Aragon is frowning again, and Joan easily recognized it as a frown of pity. That’s the expression most adults wear when they look at her. 

  “You aren’t, Joan,” Miss Aragon said patiently. “It’ll stop in a few days.”

Joan squirmed again, wanting it to stop now. She looked up at Miss Aragon helplessly.

  “What did you do?” She asked. “To get yours? How did you sin?”

Miss Aragon sighed and Joan instinctively shrunk away. Instead of being struck, however, her coach eased an arm around her shaking shoulders and pulled her in close against her side.

  “Oh, Joan…” She murmured, stroking her wet hair. “You poor, poor girl…”

Miss Aragon had then gone on to explain the process of the strange word called ‘menstruation’, telling her how she would bleed for four to seven days at a time every month for basically the rest of her life. It sounded awful. How could God curse females with such a horrible bodily function?

The sharp ache in her lower stomach returned like a tug on her small intestines. She put her hand between her legs, but drew no blood (this time). A new feeling rose in Joan’s sore chest, a yearning, an ache. She felt suddenly cold, as if the sun could no longer warm her. This was it, then, the change was here.

Would she still be Joan after it was all over? When she shed the last of her “uterus lining”, as Miss Aragon had said, would she still be herself? Or would she be someone new?

Would being someone new be all that bad?

Joan swiped some looser, fresh clothes from her dresser and then scurried her way into the bathroom. She didn’t want to turn on the lights, so she lit a few candles instead, letting their warm glow fill the small space.

With muscles that were weak with fatigue, she slowly began to undress herself. First her overalls, then her white and baby blue flannel, her cream colored bra, and finally her underwear. The puffy sanitary napkin--a “pad”--that Miss Aragon had put in for her was spotted with large dark red, almost black stains that looked like gross bodily jelly. It was wilting already, so she carefully removed it and replaced it with one of the many others she had been given, remembering how Miss Aragon had told her to always change them whenever she got the chance or she may get sick.

After throwing away the pad she wadded up with toilet paper, Joan stepped into the bathtub and cranked the faucet handle.

Showering was agony.

Although the hot water had offered her a brief respite from the deep, otherworldly chill that had settled into her body, there was no escaping the pain. Each beating droplet against her limbs felt like a fresh wasp sting stabbing into her muscles and the flesh on her stomach, taut and uncomfortably bloated, pulsed and throbbed with agony every time she moved.

Like before a few minutes ago, like at school, she reached between her legs, and it came back sticky and red.

The smell of the blood was pungent and unnatural. It was nothing like real blood at all. It was more like the rot from her deteriorating insides as her sin caused her to rapidly decay. It made her feel sick, so she stuck her hand under the spray of liquid fire shooting out from the shower head and didn’t pull it back until all the blood was gone.

The smell remained on her hand.

Joan scrubbed vigorously between her legs, which seemed to be permanently stained. Crimson would smear across her pale flesh each time her vagina bled again and she did her best to wipe the trails away with an itchy sponge. By the time she finally gave up, her inner thighs felt chafed and raw.

Joan took to just watching the water and beads of soap run down the slightly rusted drain. Slowly, she sat down, knees bent up to her chest, legs spread slightly. Red drools down the floor of the shower to join the suds down into the pipes.

This reminded her of a time when she was eleven and was violently ill in the shower. She remembered looking up, slumped heavily over the rim of the tub, still in all her clothes, and seeing Mama in the doorway. She had been shaking her head, but had a morbidly amused glint in her eyes. Then, chuckling darkly, she was saying, “You shouldn’t have gotten--”

  “--drunk,” Said Joan, her fists clenched determinedly at her sides and her heart hammering in her throat.

The figure in the armchair in front of her turned to look at the doorway and squinted up at her for a moment as though trying to figure out who she was. And then it sagged back into the chair with an air of disappointment. Like it had been expecting someone else, someone better.

Joan stared back through the thick mop of white-blonde hair that had started to hang in her eyes lately because she’d been too lazy to cut it.

She was eleven and standing in the doorway of the house she’d grown up in, feet squared in her tattered shoes (she hadn’t gone and gotten herself a new pair in awhile, though she was long since overdue) and jaw set grimly.

  “...You're what?” Said the figure slowly, her weathered, thick-knuckled hands clutching a periwinkle embroidery and a shiny sewing needle.

  “I’m drunk, Mama,” Joan said again, feeling a thrill that was equal parts excitement and terror run through her from head to toe as she said the scandalous words. She watched those dark eyes apprehensively, dimly aware through the buzz of alcohol that she was shivering.

Later, on nights when she had nothing better to think about (there would be a lot of nights like that), she would dramatize this event in her head. She’d think about what might have happened if she’d been yelled at, or sent to her closet, or even slapped across the face and sent sprawling. It wasn't that she did this to feel sorry for herself, or to pretend that it had been worse than it actually was.

The truth was that all of those outcomes were things she wished had happened more than what actually had.

From the worn-out old armchair, the figure stared at her a moment longer, before simply shaking its head in silent apathy and looking back down at the embroidery.

  “This is why God has left you,” Said Jane Seymour, dismissively.

And then Joan had trudged off, disappointed by the lack of reaction. Usually her Mama would throw an absolute fit over the littlest things she did, but the night she drank alcohol was barren of any dramatics.

An hour later, she would violently heave up all the whiskey she ingested from her system in the shower. It burned more than it did on the way down and made her cry helplessly for her Mama, who knelt by the bathtub and stroked her hair like she was a dog while she threw up all over herself. Mama had cradled her head against her chest when she was finished, mouth and chin still dripping with vomit, and told her what an evil little imp she was in a voice like sweet caramel.

Joan shook her head, scattering droplets across the shower walls and curtain. She looked down and saw a small sea of blood rippling around her feet. Her nose curled in disgust and she backed up further against the back of the tub.

Minutes passed. Joan’s mind was fuzzy and blank for most of the time she sat in the water and her own blood. Her vagina began to hurt at one point and throbbed steadily with her beating heart. 

When it was eventually time to get out, she found that the heat of the water had soaked the energy right out of her, and it took everything in her to get dressed again instead of just curling up naked in a corner of the shower and passing out.

The cuts splattering her figure, those that hadn't scabbed over yet, were gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. They burned faintly as she stepped back out of the shower’s steamy shelter and into the cold air of the rest of the house.

The light from the candle flames cast her gaunt features in harsher contrast when she peered into the mirror. Her hollow cheeks nearly became empty holes and her sunken eye sockets were black caves. Still, the shiny blue of her eyes was visible even in the cavernous puncture. The fire’s glow reflected off the stygian liquid steel of rolling droplets over her emaciated frame. 

The sight of the deathlike girl would send anyone but Mama screaming into the night.

------

  “Good news, Kitty!” 

Anne came out of nowhere, flinging her arms around Katherine and causing her to jump. They staggered, nearly falling right over, but managed to stay upright in the crowd of students leaving the school. Katherine laughed.

  “What can it be this time, Annie?” She asked, shifting her backpack onto one shoulder after Anne pulled away.

  “It turns out we are going to college together after all!” Anne declared, smiling widely. “I just got the text last period!”

Katherine felt a surge of happiness go through her, but still couldn’t help but tilt her head. 

  “Wait-- I thought the Royal College of Music turned you down?”

Just saying the school’s name sent flutters of joy and excitement and awe through her. She still couldn’t believe that SHE, Katherine Howard, got accepted into THE BEST music school in England. Maybe even the entire world!! She couldn’t wait until she got to explore the castle-like campus and fulfill her dream of being a real performer, and although she had hoped that her dear cousin and best friend would be a part of that, she didn’t actually think it would have happened.

But here Anne was, shrugging nonchalantly with a radiant look in her dark brown eyes.

  “Yeah, well,” She waved a dismissive hand, “Daddy pulled a few strings and now I’m in.” 

Katherine couldn’t help but chuckle knowingly when her Uncle Thomas was brought up. She could only pray for the poor soul at the Royal College’s administration board that must have met the other end of his needle-sharp words.

  “We get to be roomies together!” Anne said. “Isn’t that great or what?”

  “It’s AMAZING!” Katherine declared, hugging Anne. “I can’t wait!”

The sound of a car broke their embrace and the two of them, along with a few other students in the courtyard, turned to look at the shiny dark blue Ford Mustang honking at the curb. The driver’s side door popped open a second later and a gorgeous young woman, probably twenty or twenty-one, with lush olive skin and curly brown hair came sliding out. She lowered her electric blue Burberry sunglasses and hickory brown eyes swept over the crowd of high school kids in disdainful amusement.

  “CATHY!!” Anne cried gleefully. She launched herself at Catherine Parr and the two immediately melted into a heated kiss. Katherine sputtered a laugh.

  “Classic Anne,” Maria said, coming up beside Katherine with Maggie and Bessie. “Always can’t wait to jam her tongue down her lady’s throat.” She’s elbowed in the ribs by both Katherine and Bessie for that, making her snicker. “What? It’s true!”

  “Come on,” Maggie said, and they all crossed over to the couple. “Alright, children! That’s enough PDA!”

Anne parted from her girlfriend to stick her tongue out at Maggie. Cathy chuckled and turned her gaze to the others.

  “Hello, kids,” She said languidly. 

  “Hey, Cathy,” Katherine smiled at her. The other three greeted the other woman as well. “How are you?”

  “Bitchin’ good,” Cathy rumbled, her lips twitching upwards. The lipstick coating them was a dark red color; Katherine believed it was called “Nibble” if she remembered correctly.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Anne suddenly said. She perched on the hood of the Ford Mustang and spread her hands out in front of her like she was about to tell a grand fairytale. “Can you guys believe the stunt in the shower earlier?”

Like that, Katherine’s good mood dropped away and icy guilt slammed into her once again. It made her feel so stupid, as all her friends burst into giggles around her, enjoying the funny memory while she just felt sickened by them. Why couldn’t she be more like them?

  “What?” Cathy looked at all of them in confusion. “What happened?”

  “Oh, Joan Seymour happened,” Anne told her. “Sixteen fucking years old and that stupid retard just stood there having her very first period.”

Katherine winced at the use of the slur. Why did it suddenly hurt to hear? She hadn't cared when Maria said it earlier in the pool. Was she just now realizing that it was wrong to say?

  “I think she’s fifteen, actually,” She said.

  “Who cares?” Anne said. “Doesn’t change anything! I knew when I was 9!”

  “Wait--” Cathy said, and then she exclaimed, “Gross! In the shower?”

  “Oh yeah!” Anne nodded her head enthusiastically. “Blood was just dripping down her legs!”

  “All the blood ran into my stall!” Maggie joined in excitedly.

  “And she sat in it!” Bessie added.

  “All while squealing like a fucking pig!” Anne chortled. “WEE WEE WEE WEE!!!”

  “Anne, enough!!” Katherine shouted over all the laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!”

Anne looked at her and then said, “Hey, you guys! Stop! Stop! Kit is right. It’s not funny.”

All the giggling died away instantly. Katherine breathed out a sigh of relief--

  “It’s fucking hilarious!”

--that was quickly replaced with a sharp intake of breath.

Anne slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aww, sweetie!” She nuzzled her cheek with her nose. “There’s a runt in every litter! A nobody. And our nobody,” She chuckled darkly, “is Joan.”

------

The smell of freshly baked bread hit Joan’s nose when she walked down the stairs and her stomach growled so loud it caught Mama’s attention in the kitchen. Her face flashed dark red, her blush bright against the pale backdrop of her white-blonde hair, and Mama chuckled in amusement.

  “Someone’s hungry,” Mama said.

  “J-just a little…” Joan stammered shyly.

She really, really was, though. She skipped lunch because she had left school and hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which had just been two pieces of plain toast, but she felt like she was starving. Like it’s been a lot longer since she ate anything. She set her hands on her lower belly and wondered if hunger was another bitter side effect of menstruation.

  “Joan?” Mama noticed the way she was holding her stomach. “Is your tummy alright, darling?”

Joan felt an intense flash of fear 

(she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows)

lance through her and she inhaled sharply. She nodded, dropping her hands limply to her side.

  “I’m okay, Mama,” She said. “Just hungry.”

  “Dinner will be ready soon,” Mama told her. Joan could smell the casserole in the oven and her stomach growled again. “Why don’t you go wash your hands and set the table?”

Joan nodded and hurried to wash her hands off in the kitchen sink before retrieving the plates and utensils from various cabinets. She took them to the dining room, a dimly lit room filled with more crosses than anywhere in the entire house. A huge iron one hung above the table, where Jesus’ petrified face of agony could always leer down at her when she was trying to eat. The only other decoration was a wooden picture frame laying face-down on a small shelf. Joan glanced at it and remembered the last time it had been filled by...

...a photograph of Mama’s wedding.

It had been a bright and sunny day, with white clouds floating over the wedding ceremony. In the picture, the newlyweds were standing on the top of the stone stairs leading to the chapel. Above their heads was a tall arch decorated with beautiful white roses, handpicked by the maid of honor. The bride and groom held each other’s hands, the picture of matrimonial bliss. 

This was the first time Joan actually saw what Daddy Henry looked like. Mama didn’t talk about him very much, and when she did, it wasn’t ever in a good way.

But these two in the picture looked so happy.

Daddy Henry’s wedding tuxedo had to be one of the largest ever designed. He was herculean, with a behemoth body and golden blonde hair. Dazzling sapphire blue eyes stood out brightly in the photo, so much like Joan’s own. He had a massively wide smile on his bearded face, grasping his bride’s hands in his own huge ones. 

Mama was in a beautiful white gown gown that hugged her every curve, with sterling silver feathers sewn into the sleeves and into the frills of the wedding dress. Her lips were painted ruby red and were curled up into a blissful smile as she leaned into the wall of muscle that was her husband, her hands lost within Daddy Henry’s colossal grip.

...Were these really her parents?

Joan had found the photo hidden behind one of Jesus’s birth when she accidentally broke the frame while playing. She was ten at the time, and itching for mischief, so she hid the photo from Mama, despite all the questions she wanted to ask. 

It had been a complete accident that Mama found out she had it, when she saw it in her room after she forgot to put it away.

For a long time, Mama didn’t speak after she found the photo. She just gripped it tightly and stared at it with wide, bulging eyes.

  “Where did you find this?” 

Joan flinched at the edge in her voice. Trembling, she stuttered, “I-I broke a picture frame a little while ago. You didn’t notice, so I picked up the broken glass so that we wouldn’t get hurt. I found it behind the picture of baby Jesus.”

Mama took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. Joan swallowed thickly.

  “M-maybe it could help us look for him?” She said timidly.

Turning abruptly, Mama stormed out the bedroom and downstairs. Joan ram after her, crying, “Wait! Mama!”

Mama strode into the lounge and began roughly throwing firewood into the fireplace. Joan skidded to a stop behind her, her eyes wide.

  “Mama!” She shouted. “Stop! We have to find Daddy!”

But Mama didn’t stop. She just kept tossing in wood until the fireplace was full, then moved to dousing the logs with an alarming amount of lighter fluid. Joan lunged forward and grabbed her arm as she lit a match and flicked it in. The flames roar to life instantly, illuminating the cold look in Mama’s golden eyes.

  “No.” She hissed, and then threw the photo into the fire.

  “NO!!!” Joan screeched.

She threw herself at the fireplace, dropping to her knees and shoving her hands into the burning logs. Flames licked at her skin and she howled in pain, but didn’t pull back until she grabbed the smoldering remains of the photograph. It disintegrated in her fingers and she wailed in anguish right before Mama grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her backwards.

  “What are you doing?!” Mama cried. Her eyes are even wider now, and Joan saw that she was scared. The smell of burned flesh hung heavily in the air.

  “That was going to help us find Daddy!” Joan yelled, tears running down her cheeks. Her hands hurt so badly. Pink and scarlet criss crossed together over her charred skin. “We were gonna find him and he was gonna come back!!”

  “No he wasn’t, Johanna!”

  “WHY?!”

  “BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING KEEPING HIM AWAY!!”

In an instant, the scalding hot blood in Joan’s veins turned to ice-water. She started to comprehend the implication of Mama’s words, and the tears came out from her eyes faster and faster. She wilted like a daffodil, crossing her burnt hands in front of her chest and grabbing her arms, squeezing them tightly as she bowed her head and doubled over on her knees. The crown of her skull cracked against the hardwood, sprawling her hair like a waterfall of white-gold all over the floor. 

  “No… No… No...” She wept again and again.

  “He doesn’t want you, Joan,” Mama said ruefully. “He didn’t even want me.” She took a deep breath, sadness etched in the grooves of her words. “He doesn’t want either of us.”

Mama knelt and took Joan into her arms, rocking her slowly. Joan tried to grip onto her, but just let out a pained wail when she moved her hands.

  “Mama!” She cried. “Mama, it hurts! It hurts!”

  “Oh, my poor baby,” Mama said sadly. “Shh… It’s going to be okay, my darling angel. It’s going to be okay, Joan…”

  “...Joan? Joan?”

Joan jolted, backpedaling into her mother, who looked concerned. Mama gently cupped her cheeks.

  “My dear angel,” She murmured, “what’s wrong?”

(tell her tell her tell her)

Joan swallowed thickly. “S-something happened at school today. Something terrible...”

Mama frowned and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Joan’s face. “Terrible things are the Lord’s way of testing us, Joan.” She said wisely.

  “I know, Mama, but the other girls--”

  “You aren’t like the other girls.” Mama cut her off.

  “But I am, Mama! I am!” Joan said. “I never thought so, but--”

  “You aren’t, Joan. You aren’t. You’re special.” Mama’s lips twitched slightly. “Special.”

  “You aren’t listening to me, Mama…”

  “I’ve heard all I wanted to hear, now finish setting the table, please.” Mama said. She glided past Joan and went back into the kitchen to check on the casserole. Joan slowly laid out the plates, then looked over her shoulder.

(tell her tell her tell her)

  “Mama, in the showers today…”

Mama whipped around instantly, her eyes suddenly lit up like hot coals. Joan thought she might have seen a flicker of fear somewhere in there, too.

  “What have I told you about showering with the other girls?” Mama said.

  “I know, but--” Joan floundered.

  “What have I told you?” Mama shouted.

  “It’s a sin! It’s a sin!” Joan gave in.

  “And as such--”

  “But Mama--”

  “It is--”

  “I STARTED TO BLEED!!”

Silence.

Stillness.

The platter Mama had been holding slipped from her fingers and shattered against the wooden floor. White and blue pieces exploded out in every direction. A few chunks cut Mama’s slipper-clad feet and ankles, and blood slowly began to bud out like blooming roses in May, but Mama did not move. Or flinch. Or even blink. She just stared very intently at Joan like she was hoping she would burst into flames if she leered hard enough.

And then, her face did something strange. It twitched, like all her expressions were falling off one by one, so it looked like a mask for a moment. Then, the skin rippled and creased and wrinkled, and her soft features were eroded away by furious and sinister ones. A sick white light ignited behind her golden brown eyes, like twin lightning bugs of insanity inside the sockets. Joan backed up against the dining room table with a whimper.

  “Mama, I started to bleed in the showers and the other girls-- they laughed at me and called me names and threw things at me!” She said woefully. “I was so scared, Mama! I thought I was dying!”

Mama’s face twitched again, and this time her head jerked a little with it. The veins in her neck bulge out of the flesh and pulsed monstrously. Her eyes suddenly looked a lot less golden brown and a lot more brown-red.

  “Mama, why are you looking at me like that?” Joan asked softly, quaking.

  “The curse of blood,” Mama said quietly. There’s an awful, dry chuckle edging her words. Joan blinked like an oblivious pure white heifer about to be sacrificed to God.

  “Mama, you’re scaring me…”

Mama’s entire head twitched this time and then, a split second later, she’s striding across the kitchen with her right hand held high. Joan didn’t have any time to react before she was backhanded across the jaw by pointy, spike-like knuckles. She yelped out in pain and shock, tottering sideways and careening right into one of the dining table chairs. Her body unceremoniously crumpled into it, and she and the chair both crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

  “You’re a woman now,” Mama said above her. Her eyes are wide and gleaming, but there’s no emotion in them. “Pray to heaven for your wicked soul.”

  “Wh-what did I do?” Joan stammered, rolling over onto her back. She could already feel her jaw welling up with a fresh bruise. “M-Miss Aragon said it’s something all girls go through. Even y--”

Mama hit Joan again, and blood splattered out in a bright red line across the floor. Joan whimpered sharply, tears of pain springing to her eyes. Her tongue instinctively flicked out against her newly busted lip and it stung in response to being licked.

  “And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Mama said like she was in a trance. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called Sin and the first Sin was the Sin of Intercourse. So the Lord visited Eve with a Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Blood.” She leaned down to Joan and her words were suddenly washed with potent venom, “Say it, woman.”

  “No, Mama--”

Joan was struck a third time. Smears of her blood are left on Mama’s knuckles.

  “Say it!” Mama bellowed.

  “No!” Joan cried. She turned sharply and scrambled away, but Mama pursued her and delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her sprawling on her back.

  “And Adam and Eve were driven out of the Garden and into the World and Eve found that her belly had grown big with child.” Mama droned on. She lifted her foot and pressed it down on Joan’s stomach, pinning her to the ground. Joan yowled in pain when a cramp seized her at that very moment, deepening her anguish even further. “And there was a second Curse, and this was the Curse of Childbearing, and Eve brought forth Cain in sweat and blood.”

  “Mama!” Joan sobbed. The tears were flowing free without resistance, now, and creating small pools on either side of her head. “Mama! Stop it, please! Listen to me!!”

But Mama did not listen. She just leaned down, applying more pressure to Joan’s poor belly, like she was hoping to make all the blood come out now. Joan threw her head back and screamed in pain.

  “And following Cain, Eve gave birth to Abel, having not yet repented of the Sin of Intercourse. And so the Lord visited Eve with a third Curse, and this was the Curse of Murder. Cain rose up and slew Abel with a rock. And still, Eve did not repent, nor all the daughters of Eve, and upon eve did the Crafty Serpent found a kingdom of whoredoms and pestilence.”

  “Mama, listen!!” Joan yelled. “Stop! It wasn’t my fault!”

  “And Eve was weak,” Mama said flatly. “Say it.”

  “N-o!” Joan squirmed underneath her mother. Her hands, rough and scarred permanently from the burns she got five years ago, flew up and grabbed Mama’s leg. Two of her fingernails jabbed into one of the cuts on Mama’s ankle she got from the glass and Mama jerked away with a hiss.

  “You vile demon!!” She screeched.

Joan fled as quickly as she could, but Mama went after her, just like last time. Just like all the other times. 

(if i had a nickle for every time she made me cry in here...)

Her wrists are seized and they both fall to their knees on the floor in the lounge. The impact rattled Joan’s frail body and she could feel more blood drip out onto the sanitary napkin in her underwear.

  “Mama, let me go!!” Joan cried frantically. She struggled, but her Mama was much stronger than she was and was able to restrain her. Mama’s body hunched over her, her belly pressed against her rigid spine, practically crushing her frail daughter. “Please! Please, Mama! I’m sorry!!”

  “Say it, woman,” Mama whispered harshly in her ear, her words biting like serpents.

Joan sniffled and, with words that were thick with blood from her busted lip, choked out shamefully, “And Eve was weak.”

The grip on her wrists loosened slightly. Mama’s hot breath tickled her ear when she breathed out a dark laugh. A sloppy, halfhearted kiss was pressed to her temple.

  “Good girl,” Mama whispered breathily. She leaned back and twisted Joan around so they would be facing each other, but did not release her child from her ironclad grip. 

  “Mama, why didn’t you tell me?” Joan asked. Her icy blue eyes are filled with tears and sorrow, so much sorrow. “I was so scared, Mama. I thought I was dying!”

Mama shook her head and looked up ruefully. She squeezed Joan’s hands together and exclaimed hugely, “O Lord! Help this sinning woman beside me here see the sin of her days and ways!”

  “Stop it, Mama--” Joan squirmed uncomfortably.

  “Show her that if she had remained sinless the Curse of Blood never would have come on her!” Mama brayed on.

  “Mama--” Joan whined. “Mama, please stop! I don’t understand! What did I do?” She squirmed harder. “Mama, let me go!!”

Mama shook Joan violently, then drew her in close, eyes flashing. 

  “Ask for forgiveness of your sin.”

  “No, Mama.” Joan said, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t sin, you sinned. You didn’t tell me and they laughed.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Darkness overtook Mama’s features like the black clouds of a thunderstorm. Her face twisted with disgust, and she suddenly looked like she hated her child with every inch of her being. She dug her fingernails deep into Joan’s brittle wrists.

  “I did not.” She hissed lowly. “I did not--sin.” She carved off chunks of Joan’s flesh with her nails. “Go to your closet and pray.”

Joan stiffened, her eyes bulging hugely in her skull. She whimpered and shook her head, shrinking down into herself.

  “No, Mama,” She whispered fearfully. She could see her prayer closet from the lounge, the door fitted underneath the staircase. It was cramped and dark and hot in there, just how Mama liked it for her. “D-don’t wanna go…” She couldn’t look away from it.

  “Pray.” Mama said. “Ask for forgiveness.”

  “Please, Mama,” Joan begged, looking up at her mother desperately. “P-please don’t make me go. I-I don’t wanna go. I’m sorry!”

But Mama’s uncaring look of hatred did not change, and inky black dread poured out through Joan’s organs like a thick, dark oil spill. Her breathing began to hitch and pick up, but Mama didn’t seem to care about her worsening panic attack.

  “Please, Mama,” Joan wheedled hoarsely. “I-- I’ll bring the Stones again!”

This time, it was Mama’s turn to look scared. But then it morphed into intense enmity and she began to beat Joan senselessly towards the closet.

  “You monster!” She howled. “You spawn of the devil! Why must I be so cursed?!”

  “The Stones!” Joan yelled as she was kicked and hit and slapped. She rolled to the side, but Mama beat her back down to the floor, slowly getting her closer and closer to the wretched, evil closet. “I’ll bring the Stones, Mama! I’ll bring the Fire!” 

And then a powerful kick drove into her belly and her words pitched into a shriek of agony. 

  “MAMA!!” Joan screamed. “MAMA-- MAMA, STOP!! IT HURTS!! Y-YOU-- IT HURTS!!!”

Mama grappled onto Joan’s arms and began dragging her across the floor to the closet. Even with the sharp, unbearable pain in her stomach, Joan fought her, kicking and struggling and screaming bloody murder, but it was futile. Mama shoved Joan into the prayer closet and slammed the door shut, locking it tightly.

   “NO!!” Joan shrieked. She threw herself at the door, causing it to rattle heavily on its hinges. “Mama, let me go!!”

  “Pray, little girl!” Mama ordered. Madness curled from her lips like poisonous vipers. “Pray!”

  “Please, Mama!!” 

But Mama did not let her go. Her footsteps retreated somewhere into the house and Joan sunk to the floor, weeping. Panic started sticking to her lungs like black tar, making it harder and harder to breathe. 

Mama was so angry… What if she never let her out? 

Dread sped up her thoughts, racing through her veins, filling her with desperation. 

No one would even hear her screams, her last dying words, her final prayers…

She began to wheeze, the thick, musty air brushing against her lips. The oppressive stench of her own fear and blood and piss from other times in the closet burned her nose.

Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care? 

Pain lighted in her belly again as her chest contracted with her heavy breaths. 

Would her teachers, so quick to look away from her black eyes and limping figure, even call and ask where she was?

Joan began to scratch on the door, the frame, the hinges, scrambling to escape, her instincts pitching her action into a fury of movement. 

What would they say when her body was finally discovered, a rotting corpse hidden in the darkness of a closet made for holy purposes? Perhaps she would be the talk of the town, even more than usual. The poor Seymour kid, whose Mama went mad after her husband left and God could no longer satisfy her. Who killed her only child, slowly starving her tiny daughter to death one evening while she sewed a new blouse for a customer at the laundromat and listened to her religious music.

Joan’s fingernails scratched harder, grazing the wooden confines of her holy coffin. She could feel the warmth of her blood as the nails began to tear and break, smell the copper of her panic, leaving thin lines of crimson as she clawed frantically.

What if she didn’t starve to death? What if she suffocated? Could that happen? No, she’d read about that before. There was enough air filtering in here, probably. She’d die of dehydration first. Already she could feel her throat constrict, dry and callous, an arid lining of flesh. Spots of light pricked her vision. Tears ran down the side of her bruised face, mingling with the sweat now coating her skin. She felt clammy and cold, yet suddenly too hot, as if in a fever.

  “Mama, let me out!” She begged coarsely, the words scratching at her throat.

She could take the hitting or yelling or cursing. Anything but this. 

  “Mama…” 

Joan slumped to her side, shuddering. She looked up and gazed around at the horrors that littered the closet. There were so many paintings of Jesus’s death, all in great, graphic detail. When she was little, they used to give her awful nightmares about evil men nailing her to a cross or Jesus’s bloodied body chasing her through a ruined dreamscape, welding a wicked-looking crucifix made of barbed wires and yelling at her to join him on his cadaverous crucible.

They still gave her nightmares, she hated to admit.

The dead eyes of Christ bore down on Joan’s pathetic, shaking frame. Jesus’s face was contorted into the same expression of disgust and pain as Mama’s had been, like even he knew that she was the worst thing to ever grace God’s green earth. She curled into a tight ball on the floor, not wanting to meet his scornful gaze anymore, and began to pray through her haze of tears.

------

Moonlight cast silver streams on Anna’s smooth, glowing skin, making her look like a goddess of the night above Katherine. Her soft touch sent pangs of pleasure crackling through Katherine’s body like lightning bolts of lust, soothing her mind of all its worries with her warmth. Everything felt good and okay and wonderful again when Anna was with her, holding her, talking to her, loving her. She thought that nothing could possibly bring her down when her girlfriend was there by her side.

And yet, she still couldn’t get the image of Joan Seymour’s naked body covered in blood on the floor out of her head.

Katherine sighed heavily and Anna pulled back, blinking.

  “Am I really that bad?” She said, then looked at her fingernails, inspecting them closely. “I thought I got them down to the perfect length this time…”

Katherine managed to laugh. “No, it’s not you, you big silly,” She nudged her playfully. “It’s--something else…”

Anna tilted her head. “What is it?” Worry flashed across her expression and Katherine couldn’t help but feel a flutter of love flap in her chest. She loved when her girlfriend got like this, all concerned over her, even over the littlest things. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” Katherine said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position with a sigh. “It’s just-- I did something...not good today.”

  “Oh no,” Anna gasped. “Not good?”

Katherine shoved her. “I’m serious!”

Anna laughed slightly. “I know! I know!” She said. “Come on, tell me about it.”

They got dressed and stepped out of Anna’s red Jeep so Katherine could get some fresh air that would hopefully help her tell the shameful story. It was a warm spring night and they were parked on the side of a small grove that had a trail that led to a hiking trail and some camping grounds. Katherine ducked under a tree that was wrapped in blooming vines of pink-white dog roses, pale ghost petals shivering in the breeze. Anna came up beside her and they both sat on a low-hanging branch that was practically grown for the purpose of sitting and telling your girlfriend about the awful bullying you participated in today.

  “Did you...hear about the Joan Seymour incident today?” Katherine eventually choked out hesitantly.

Anna actually thought for a moment, as if a fifteen year old girl getting her first period and thinking she was dying hadn’t been the talk of the entire school.

  “Vaguely, yeah,” She finally said. “I don’t get into that kind of drama, though. I tend to stay away from it, you know?”

Katherine did know, and that sent fear ricocheting through her body when she remembered it. Of course Anna didn’t like discourse- she’s told her several times before! How could she be so stupid?

Anna peered at her closely, and she knew it was too late to turn back now.

  “What does Joan Seymour and her period have to do with you?” Anna asked her.

Katherine swallowed thickly. Fear pounded heavily at her brain, fear of Anna breaking up with her when she told her and leaving her all alone--but didn’t she deserve that? What she did was horrible. She didn’t deserve a girlfriend after harassing a poor little girl, ESPECIALLY when she herself was eighteen and technically an adult.

  “I--” Her words caught in her throat for a moment, but Anna’s patient, loving gaze made them all come tumbling out. “I was in there. With her. In the locker room.” She lowered her head in shame. “I--yelled at her with everyone…”

Anna just looked at her for a long time, moonlight glinting in her caramel brown eyes and making them look like they were glowing. Then, she sucked in an impressed breath and said, “You’re right. Not good.”

Katherine felt a cold slicing of fear slash through her, but then Anna’s grave expression shifted into a thoughtful smile. She ran a hand down an ivy-coiled section of the tree and mused, “I kicked a kid in the ribs one time.”

Katherine blinked at her. 

  “I did!” Anna said, then shook her head and chuckled at the memory. “Reed Mulligan. Big white kid who’ll probably grow up to be a robber or something. Anyway, he beat the shit out of me once in Year 7. And then, in Year 8, he picked on the wrong kid and got his ass handed to him. Everyone ran when he dropped to the ground, but first I gave him a good kick in the ribs. Felt terrible about it afterward.” She peered at Katherine closely. “Are you gonna apologize to her?”

Katherine snorted dryly. “Did you apologize to Reed Mulligan?”

  “Hell no!” Anna said. “But there’s a big difference, Kat.”

  “There is?”

  “This isn’t Secondary School anymore.” Anna said. A flurry of snowy pink petals swirled down from the tree and over their shoulders. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you?”

------

The prayer closet lock clicked and the door creaked open after seven long hours. Joan stopped crying for her Mama after the first hour and fell silent for the rest, not even asking to eat or go to the bathroom. Probably because she was asleep, curled up into a little ball on the floor, pillowing her head with her arms. Mama knelt down to her, setting one hand on her shoulder and raking the other through her white-blonde hair. Joan’s eyes shot open instantly, and they seemed to glow in brilliant shades of blue in the candlelight.

  “Did you finish your prayers, little girl?” Mama asked.

Joan nodded.

  “That’s my good girl,” Mama cooed. She kissed Joan’s cheek, saying nothing about the dark indigo bruise bloomed on her jaw. “It’s time for bed.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Joan whispered. Slowly, she uncoiled from her position on the floor, shaking out her numb limbs as she did so. Mama watched her with a sharp eye as she rose to her feet.

  “Joan?”

  “Yes, Mama?”

Mama took a deep breath and stood up, practically towering over her little daughter.

  “I know I sometimes do things that I can’t explain,” She said, “but know that my feelings for you never change. Even--if you have sinned.”

Joan winced, but she shook her head and managed to smile wryly up at her mother. 

  “Mama, you don’t have to say that,” She said. “You love me. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness from me. I know you do what you have to.”

  “Yes,” Mama said slowly, nodding. “We have no one except each other, Joan.”

Joan shivered. Her heart ached fiercely in her chest, and she so badly wanted to believe that that wasn’t true, that there was someone out there who wanted her, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. Fifteen years, and the only person who didn’t throw her away was her Mama.

  “I’m the only one who cares about you.” Mama said. “No one will ever love you except me.” She cupped Joan’s cheeks and looked at her with maddening adoration and love flickering in her eyes. “You will always be a monster to everyone else.”

And Joan nodded, knowing this would always be true, and whispered, “Yes, Mama.”

[jessicajonesrp]

I’m always watching

Rikarah was starting to resent her decision to resurrect Kevin Kilgrave.

 Certainly, the man had every bit as much power as she had believed. She had witnessed him use it almost ceaselessly now, on just about every person he came across, whether or not she thought it necessary or useful. It seemed to her that the man who had such abundant ability, who could do so very much with it, used it nearly as much for having people do things for him that he could and should do for himself, such as cook meals or give him things rather than having to pay for them. It was a disappointing irony to see that the man who had such strength in his supernatural abilities had so little motivation for independence. She was beginning to wonder if the man even knew how to do for himself, or if it had ever occurred to him that he could.

 Watching Kilgrave use his powers was fascinating. It never ceased to interest her how quickly and unthinkingly people responded to his commands, even if they caused physical or emotional discomfort or deprivation. She wanted very much to grow to understand just how his power worked, so perhaps she could learn how to channel it, even into limited use, for herself one day. But she, unlike Kilgrave, would use her powers for much more focused purposes than simply fulfilling trivial whims. It was exhilarating to think of what impact she could have one entire cities, countries, even the world. She could rise to a place of enormous power, bring about a world that served justice as she saw fit- if she could endure Kilgrave long enough to further understand his abilities.

 But her patience was dwindling fast. For one thing, any ideas she had entertained about Kilgrave having interest,  or even gratitude, for the woman whom he owed his very life were now thoroughly disabused. The man barely paid attention to Rikarah, other than to impatiently “ask” her to do things that she refused to respond to. Each time he seemed newly astonished when she didn’t grant his request, although she had already explained more than once that she was immune to his powers. It was irritating and tiresome to have him show such little regard. Even Phillip, a boy unaware she had any abilities at all, had shown Rikarah more appreciation than that.

 And this damn obsession with Jessica Jones. Jones Cage, technically, but it was difficult for Rikarah to think of the woman as a Cage when her brother had always exclusively referred to her as a Jones, whatever the marriage certificate might say otherwise. If she had thought Phillip’s frequent, narrow focus of his sister and her life choices could be wearying, it was absolutely nothing in comparison to Kilgrave.

 The man literally seemed unable to think of anything beyond the woman he swore to be his- his, although she was married to another man and had apparently never shown him any interest of her own volition at any point in time. Rikarah had thought his fascination would fade once he got used to being around another gifted woman- her, namely- but that hypothesis had proven very false.

 And just what was so enthralling about Jessica anyway? Rikarah could see nothing about her that was exceptionally stunning in appearance, and she certainly could be unpleasant in her behavior at times. Her abilities were hardly more impressive than her own. So what was it about Jessica that the man could not let go of?

  Rikarah had watched with somewhat disgusted astonishment as Kilgrave went to great lengths to track down information on her. He had broken into Jessica’s old apartment building despite Rikarah telling him she not only no longer lived there, but also that her apartment was burned and uninhabitable last she had checked. That hadn’t mattered to him. He had mind controlled the building super and five of her old neighbors on her hall into giving him access to the building and all the information they had about her since his death.

 For the first few people, who had barely known Jessica and didn’t much care what she did with herself, this hadn’t been very successful. But Malcolm Ducasse, who still lived on her old floor and was still in somewhat close contact with her, had ended up giving Kilgrave all the information Rikarah herself didn’t have.

 She knew where Jessica worked, of course- a person could hardly turn on the TV or radio without hearing those irritating commercials by the Trish Walker woman. They both knew where Trish worked as well, but that had not been enough for Kilgrave. He wanted to know, as he put it, “everything working against him and for him in Jessica’s life” before going to her. Apparently, obsessed stalkers wanted to stalk from a distance before stalking up close and personal- information Rikarah filed away as potentially useful future knowledge.

 Kilgrave had refused to believe her when Rikarah, hoping to dissuade him from his madness, had informed him that Jessica was married. He had barked out a laugh that didn’t quite sound amused, shaking his head at her.

 “Very amusing, but I know very well you’re yanking my chain. Jessica isn’t the marrying type, there is no one on this earth the woman would soften those thorns up enough to marry in such a short time. Why would she marry, to help someone get a green card?”

 The moment Kilgrave knocked on Malcolm’s door and the man peeked out at him through the keyhole, Rikarah had heard the young man swear in obvious shock and panic, appearing to be rushing to bolt the door and scramble backward from the loud, fumbling noises on its other side. But Kilgrave had spoken up quickly, halting him in his tracks.

 “Let us in, Malcolm. Offer us the best of whatever you have in that miserable bunghole of yours, and tell me everything you know about what Jessica has been up to since my untimely death.”

 And the young man had done exactly as he had been asked. Rikarah could see the self-loathing and the struggle in his eyes as he did, but he had not been able to resist in the end. In less than ten minutes Kilgrave had learned for the second time of Jessica’s marriage, the names of all the staff associated with Heroes for Hires and their positions that Malcolm was aware of, the death of Dorothy Walker, and all other information about the woman that he could think up. Rikarah had watched Kilgrave rather than Malcolm as the younger man recited his knowledge, faintly amused as the man’s sallow face grew taut, his cheek twitching with barely reigned in rage as Jessica’s marriage was confirmed as reality and Malcolm characterized it as “really good, I think he’s good for her. Like, she’s stopped drinking like she did and she seems happy, I think she really does care about him a lot.”

 Kilgrave made no attempt whatsoever to control himself any further at Malcolm’s final revelation that Jessica had recently told him she was pregnant with a daughter. He had leapt to his feet, almost sputtering in his outrage, and threw the beer bottle Malcolm had given him against the wall. Rikarah was further amused to note that it didn’t break at the contact, but just sent beer and foam spraying all down the wall and over the floor. She also got the impression, though Malcolm’s expression didn’t change, that he was pissed about the mess and the gesture.

 “Pregnant?! How the bloody hell did she get pregnant, what jackass knocked up Jessica Jones- my Jessica?!”

 Malcolm blinked, obviously finding the question as ridiculous as Rikarah did herself.

 “Well, I didn’t ask for the specifics, but I’m assuming she had sex with her husband, and he’s the father. No one told me any differently, so unless the kid comes out as pale as Jessica herself, I’m going to guess it was Luke.”

 Kilgrave didn’t take much longer with Malcolm to hear any more- maybe he didn’t want to hear anything that would upset him any further. Sputtering barely coherent threats and obscenities, he managed to instruct Malcolm not to tell Jessica or anyone else that he had spoken with or seen Kilgrave before storming out of the apartment, not seeming to remember that Rikarah had accompanied him and had legs much too short to keep up with him without nearly running. She deliberated between calling out to him to wait, to think, to let her voice the reason so obviously absent him, before choosing instead to turn and go home.

 She doubted he would be coming after her, or even recalling that he was currently staying with her, any time soon. Perhaps by the time he did recollect that she was gracious enough to be hosting him, he would find that she was no longer willing to do so. Not that it would matter. The man could literally order anyone to house him, and they couldn’t refuse.

 Why had she thought this was such a great idea again? It was seriously slipping her memory.

 88

 What Rikarah didn’t know was that after parting ways with her, Kilgrave immediately began to set in motion his plan for winning back his Jessica- or at least, manipulating her into willingly coming near enough to him, and remaining there long enough in his presence, to give himself a chance to try. Even now, he told himself frantically, nearly desperately, it wasn’t too late. He and Jessica had been so good together, so perfect, even if she was too stubborn to acknowledge it. She would see this time- he would make her see. And until she did, he would brutally and unflinchingly use every person he could to force her into submission.

 Husband or not, pregnant or not, he would make her his. The husband could be easily disposed of, and the baby, well, how bad could a second copy of Jessica be, one he could raise as his own, carefully guiding to his own ideals? It would work out. It would have to.

 So Kilgrave infiltrated the staff at Trish Walker’s talk show studio, implanting the suggestion for young intern Chloe Ash to commit suicide as soon as any information from Trish or others on the show was given out to the public about Kilgrave’s resurrection. He made certain to give specific instructions for her to make sure to announce why she was doing what she was doing before dying, and was pleased to hear from the three other staff members he had under his control that she had done as instructed when they reported back to him.

 Next step was infiltrating Agent Perry, one of Danny Rand’s team members, and his staff. The agents were to forcefully break into Heroes for Hire, which Kilgrave already knew to be heavily secured, all while informing everyone within hearing range that they were blaming Jessica for their behavior and shooting at anyone who moved- without aiming to kill, but without making this obvious. Kilgrave had been very explicit in his instructions that they could shoot at Jessica, but that anyone who shot her in a vital area or the stomach would thereafter have to immediately shoot himself in the head. No one, thankfully, had made this error.

 What was unknown to the others, however, was the true reason for Perry and his men’s break in. Although Jessica and her friends believed them to be there to attack them and force Jessica out of the building, the so called invasion had actually already occurred before any of them had been aware of their presence in the building. While the Luke and Danny had been distracted, tending to Trish and Jessica after they had witnessed Chloe’s suicide, Perry’s team had already infiltrated the building, tapped into the security cameras inside and outside of the building, and redirected the feed to be sent with only a thirty second delay to the receiving devices Kilgrave had ordered them to bring to him on his end, in his new (and stolen by command) swank apartment a few blocks away. Thanks to them, without the others inside being aware of this, he now had full access to seeing what Jessica and the others in the building were doing and saying and any plans they might be coming up with, as long as they were within range of one of the building’s many security feeds.

 This was far better than before, when Kilgrave had to settle for static photos of Jessica. Now, he had live video footage. And soon, he hoped to have Jessica herself.

[freckled-words]

Count The Teeth - Part Eleven

I am just. I don’t even know? I swear I remember posting this final chapter last year with the whole series, I swear I did, but as far as my tumblr account can tell, it doesn’t exist.....I hate tumblr sometimes, I really do. So if this is already in existence, then let’s just roll with this being an odd duplicate.

I’m not going to post all the prior links here, as I’m setting up another post that will have EVERYTHING on it, including the original one shot ‘Smoke and Blood.’

I can’t even remember if this was edited. Regardless, enjoy this random end chapter XD

It had been the oddest thing when you left NateMare licking his wounds.

You’d gone to the driveway and found a taxi waiting for you. The driver said the fare had been taken care of and he was to take you wherever you wanted. When you asked him who had covered the tab, he said a well spoken gentleman had done so. 

Seeing your disheveled appearance in pajamas, the taxi driver became curious as to why you were there. 

You went with an elaborate story. It was your birthday, and your asshole brother had kidnapped you and brought you here for a spooky adventure. You’d gotten fed up with his childish antics and had decided to leave. You added that it was likely your brother’s friend that had paid the taxi driver.

When you got home, you took a long, luxurious, hot shower and collapsed into bed. Your exhaustion was deeper than you’d thought, leading you to sleeping for a straight 12 hours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4 months later…

It had taken him a month, but Mercer had kept his word. He’d found each of his victims that had been put into a coma, and brought them out of it. When questioned about what had happened to send them into the coma, they all had the same story. They’d been out at night, and they came across a man looking for directions. After they sent him on his way, they’d become dizzy and passed out.

Authorities believed that the victims had been distracted by the man asking for directions, then jumped by a second person that knocked them out and then drained them for blood. Reddit was running rampant with theories about a team collecting blood for the black market.

You supposed it was better than them getting freaked out about a rampaging vampire. The last thing the city needed were civilians taking up guns, pitch forks, torches, and stakes to go after people that were innocent.

In the following months, you remained on alert. NateMare’s promise of retribution had left a fairly strong impression. Armed with the knowledge of something to use against him, you’d set up a collection of weapons throughout the apartment.

In the kitchen, you had a bucket of blessed water by the sink. In the living room, you had a Super Soaker loaded with the stuff and in your bedroom, you had a spray bottle at the ready. You knew it would annoy and delay him at best, but at least it was better than just standing around and letting him curse you again.

You were so intent on watching for hints of a smoke cloud, you didn’t think to watch for any bats.

Which was how Mercer caught you off guard.

You’d spent the day out with one of your friends, and had lost track of time. It was dark when you made the walk home. The night was overcast and the wind was much colder as winter was settling in.

Despite your thick jacket, you still felt the chill. Your hands were stuffed into your pockets and your shoulders were hunched up to your ears. Your attention darted between the people walking towards you on the sidewalk and the people that were walking parallel to you across the street. Leaving no room to focus on your surroundings behind you.

An arm went around your shoulders, pulling you in against a tall frame. Startled you made a noise that was barely a word and some kind of squeak.

A familiar voice chuckled, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You didn’t dare look up, not wanting to get caught by his eyes. 

“What are you doing here Mercer?”

Mercer’s arm squeezed a little tighter, guiding you forward to keep walking.

He was greatly enjoying himself. You could tell from his voice as he replied, “Well hello to you too. Can’t a friend just come around for a visit now and then?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Oh, you wound me.” He lamented, without an ounce of actual dismay.

“Did you come here to get some payback for soaking you?” It was the first thing that came to mind, and you were kicking yourself for not bringing your tiny spray bottle with you when leaving earlier.

You caught sight of Mercer’s hand as he waved that thought off, “Not at all. I’ve gotten over that little trifle. As I said, I’m just here on a friendly visit.”

“At what point between you and NateMare trying to kill each other, did you and I become friends?” You could see your apartment building up ahead, and at this point, you were just utterly perplexed as to what was happening with Mercer right now.

He ignored your question, “I had some time to think while I went from hospital to hospital, and I’ve come up with a fun idea. One that I’m sure you’ll see the benefits of.”

You knew it was stupid, you could hear yourself calling it stupid, but when you both stopped in front of your building, you looked up. 

The bugger was genuinely amused, smiling brightly and in all innocence. There was no glow to his eyes and you didn’t feel any part of you go numb. He was playing nice. For now.

You shrugged off his arm and moved around to stand in front of him, “And what idea is this?” 

“Well, as we’re both aware, my dear, baby brother is all in a huff about you letting me go. The set of lungs on that boy, I swear. My ears were throbbing for an hour after his hollering.”

You winced, but you weren’t surprised Mercer had caught that.

“I was thinking to myself about how much trouble you and he were, going around and messing about in my handiwork. Good job on digging up the family history by the way. Anyways, I thought I should probably keep tabs on my brother, make sure he doesn’t come barging in on me at some point unexpectedly. The only problem is that I’m terrible at tracking idiots.”

You shuffled on the spot, getting colder by the minute. Mercer was clearly intent on dragging this out, and you doubted he’d just let you walk away. But you had no intention of inviting him inside.

“So I came to the only logical conclusion: You! I knew he was bound to come knocking on your door at some point and figured I’d keep watch. I tell you, watching a mortal for a month is boring. Which is why we’re having this chat. Much more engaging than just hovering about bored out of my mind.”

Your blood pressure rose at his declaration of stalking you for the past month. You thought you’d felt eyes on you, and it made you twice as jumpy. Knowing it was this nuisance didn’t make you feel any easier.

Processing everything he was saying all together, you just about threw your hands up.

It was the same damned position you’d been in 5 months before, only now it was reversed!

“Clearly you two are related.” You grouched stomping your feet. The cold was seeping through your boots and socks, making your feet ache.

“I am not helping you find NateMare. You are not hanging around here to wait for him to show up! And I’m not getting involved with either of you again!” You didn’t care if the neighbors heard, for all they’d understand, it sounded like a romantic issue.

You spun on your heel and stomped up to your apartment door.

Just as you put the key into the lock, a decent sized bat flew around you and clung onto your chest. You looked back over your shoulder and saw no sign of Mercer. Glaring down at the bat, you hissed, “You are not coming inside, let go and go away.”

The bat merely wiggled its ears, and much to your chagrin, he nuzzled against your coat. Even worse, it was adorable.

You heard people, more tenants that belonged to your building, coming up behind you. 

Suppressing a frustrated scream you unlocked the door, and kept your body turned away from the approaching people.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, concealing Mercer as best you could, and made a beeline for the staircase.

Huffing up the stairs you swore at him, “You’re in so much trouble. I have a bucket filled with holy water in my kitchen and it has your name all over it buddy.”

The impudent bastard gave a tiny squeak. One that conveyed no distress in the slightest.

A glance down and there was no mistaking a smug smile, even on a bat.

You didn’t stop until you were inside your apartment, at which time you were breathless and sweaty under your coat.

“You make one damn comment about me being out of shape, and I will seriously drown you.”

“I’d very much like to see you try.”

You’d been locking your door, putting your back to the living room.

It hadn’t been Mercer that had replied.

Stiffly, you hit the light switch next to the door frame and peeked over your shoulder.

NateMare lounged back on your couch. His body was relaxed, but his expression was one that read murder.

The sound of dripping drew your eye to the kitchen. Your bucket of holy water was on the floor, along with a puddle of water and some that was dripping off the sink's cabinet doors. 

“NateMare-”

“Shut it.” 

He got to his feet and stalked towards you, “You should consider yourself very lucky. Had I gone after you that same day, I would have happily ripped your esophagus out of your throat.”

You swallowed thickly.

“But I took some time to calm down, recover, and think about it. I changed my mind.”

He stepped closer, leaving two steps of distance between you, “I’ve come to realize that I enjoy having a minion doing my bidding. Unlike some other… people… I could name, I don’t have a host popping out brothers every damn holiday. Plus, you’re already semi-trained.”

He smirked and held up a hand. Smoke gathered in his palm, and formed a thick section of chains.

“Hell. To. The. No.” 

You’d done this song and dance and you were not doing it again.

Turning to face him, you pried Mercer from your chest and shoved him into NateMare, “Here, talk to your brother. Take it outside!” 

Stunned, NateMare had dropped the smoke chain and grabbed Mercer on reflex. 

Unprepared, Mercer didn’t have a chance to resist being shoved into NateMare’s hands.

The two stayed frozen and dumbstruck to the spot while you threw off your coat and went to get your mop and bucket.

There was another second of silence until you heard, “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

There was enraged squeaking, a bit of scuffling, the sound of a grunt, and then silence.

When you returned to the kitchen, you found the two were gone, and your balcony door wide open.

You were in the clear. For now.

[zankivich]

Neighbors: Shawn x Plus Size Reader Chapter 13

a/n: Hi there. This is going to be good. I promise. Take some deep breaths. Relax a little. Let yourself fall into it. There’s a lot of build up here but it will all make sense in a little while. I promise. If you hate it that’s cool, you can come yell at me. I’ll understand. But I love you? If you like it enough to want to buy me a ko-fi I’d love you forever! 

Trigger Warnings: details of sex, anxiety attack

*y/n’s point of view*

Going home is good for a while. You start a huge campaign with Roger’s Stadium to do their new branding. It’s kind of Shawn adjacent, but distant enough that no one brings it up that your boyfriend just happened to sell out a show there. You got to pick someone to help do the low-level research and you quickly paired up with Stu. It meant late nights in the office with your best friend doing what you did best. Marketing was your thing. Understanding different demographics of people and what got through to them best was something that you’d never had to be taught in the classroom. It came naturally. So communicating your product, connecting with people was just fun for you. It just so happened to come with a lovely commission on the side.

You meet with Gina, to confirm and solidify your pitch, but also apparently for a wellness check. After a lifetime of male bosses, you’d never once had one of those, but the second you sat down in her office she quickly flipped the lid on your ipad and made you talk about yourself instead.

“How are you?” She asked.

Your eyes widened slightly. “I...I’m good. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” She chuckled. “You’re used to jumping right into things, aye? Is that it?”

“I guess. Most bosses usually just want me to do the job and move on.”

“Ah. Then this should be a lovely change of pace for you. I have no interest in what you do professionally if you’re not doing okay holistically. The two are deeply intertwined. I’m not saying we’re going to be best friends. In fact we probably shouldn’t but, if at no other point in your day is someone asking you how you’ve been, let that be what your time with me looks like, okay?”

“Okay.” You murmured letting your shoulders relax slightly. “Okay.”

“So I ask you again, how are you doing y/n?”

“Things are good, actually. Stu and I work so well together that sometimes I can’t tell when our friendship stops and when the work begins. We just understand each other’s minds in a really productive way, so it’s really nice to be able to work together.”

She gave you that smile again that said you were doing something wrong causing you to pause again.

“What?”

“I guess I’m just curious how often when someone asks you how you’re doing you immediately start talking about work.”

You signed, hands twisted up in your lap as you struggled to maintain eye contact with her.

“Yea well...There’s not really much going on for me outside of work right now so?”

“Really? What about that famous boyfriend of yours everyone’s always yapping about?”

You snorted. “Famous boyfriend is getting ready for his very famous tour in England at the moment.”

“England, aye? That’s where you flew out to a few weeks ago right?”

“Yea. We uh had a fight that was bit my fault, so I went to apologize and smooth things over. He’ll be heading for Amsterdam come March though.”

She nodded. “That’s a lot for you to handle, I’m guessing. You must fly a lot to go see him? That’s hard considering your job here.”

You peered down at your lap again.

“This is actually the first time we’re doing the whole long term long distance thing. I’m sure we’ll be fine. It’s all a learning curve though. I uh I was planning on going to Amsterdam for the first two shows but that will probably be the last time I leave for at least a few months. I won’t see him for most of the year.”

“Well, shit. That just sucks.”

You smiled. “Yea, little bit. But he says he’ll fly back as often as he can. And with social media and technology now a days I can still talk to him for like hours. We’ll be okay. The hardest part is just keeping myself busy, and thankfully I’m pretty good at that.”

“What about family and friends?”

“Family is...complicated. Friends is Stu and his boyfriend Brian. Most of the people in the office are much older than me though, and we just don’t really care about the same things. I’m good though, I’ve always been the kind of person to go out and do whatever makes me happy. I don’t need a bunch of people around for that.”

She laughed again. “Well isn’t that nice to know. I suppose you can show me your pitch now.”

She loves it. And it’s incredibly validating, and takes a lot of stress of your shoulders. Now all that was left to do was to present the real thing and hope that they liked your design. It seemed like a cause for celebration. So you and Stu made plans to get all gussied up, go out to a fancy dinner, and get wine drunk together before eight pm. You tried to give Shawn a call, he knew how stressed you’d been about it after all, but it went to voicemail. So, you tucked your phone in your purse and went out to have a good fucking time.

“To being in our mid-twenties and finally hitting the fucking glow up! We are in our prime motherfucker!” Stu grinned cheersing his glass against yours.

You snorted. “We sure fucking are. When Ari said it feels so good to be so young and so successful, bitch was not lying.”

“Ugh. I wanna die and come back as that song. I thought that the thing I hated you most for was getting to see Shawn Mendes’ dick in person, but I think it’s that you have the ability to meet my fairy godmother, Ariana Grande, and there’s just nothing I can do about it.”

You peered over at your best friend over the rim of your glass with raised eyebrows.

“Stu...Are you sexually attracted to my boyfriend?”

His eyes widened slightly and his lips parted like a goldfish flopping on a dry surface begging for water. The idiot.

“To be fair...The entire office wants to fuck your boyfriend. Not just me!”

“Wow...That does not make me feel any better you sleez!” You chortled. “You’re my best friend!”

“It’s not like I would pursue it! Besides, Shawn Mendes was on our hall pass list far before you two were playing footsie behind my back.”

“I beg your pardon? And stop calling him by his full name, it gives me the creeps.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “The minute that man figured out how to put on a suit, Brian told me straight up if he ever found out Shawn went the other way, he would leave my ass in a heartbeat.”

“Jesus. So the whole world wants to screw my boyfriend?”

“Little bit, babes. But, you’re the only one who gets to! Don’t worry about the rest of us horny idiots.” He smiled.

“Have I ever told you how good you are at consoling me?”

“No.”

“Good.” You smirked. “You suck at it.”

He swatted at you playfully allowing both of you some time to look over your menus. At least that’s what you thought you were doing. It only took a few minutes of not so subtle stares for you to get the hint. The more you got used to being with Shawn the more you picked up on stuff like that.

“What is it now, Stu?” You sighed plopping your menu down.

“Well...Don’t take this the wrong way, because I completely don’t mean it in a predatory, creepy one at all but...What’s the dick like?”

“Oh god.”

He sighed. “We used to talk about all our hookups! I just want to know that my bestie is getting the dicking down that she deserves. It just so happens that this is internationally famous dick.”

Your best friend was a complete and total dumbass. But, you loved him. And you loved Shawn. And quite honestly not getting to share your experiences with someone was tough. It was hard because you knew Stu might not be able to relate to some of the things you were now experiencing as a result of your relationship, but he was also the person you went to for just about everything and vice versa. Also...sometimes a girl needs to gloat.

You peer around the restaurant as if a pap or one of Shawn’s fans might be lurking around every corner. (Sometimes, it felt like they were.) Stu leaned in in his nosey ass manner

“So like...it’s the best dick I’ve ever had in my life.” You whispered.

“Shut the fuck up.”

You whined dramatically. “I wish I was kidding. The whole hour and a half shows every night of the week translates so well into the bedroom. His stamina is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. His breath control allows him to go down on me for insane amounts of time. I’m talking like the bastard has evolved gills or some shit!”

Stu cracked up laughing and clanked his glass happily against yours.

“To evolving gills, bitch!”

You snorted happily and cheers’d with him again.

“Wait Stu, something happened.” You murmured moving closer in your seat to lean across the table.

“What? What?”

“So I went to the UK obviously to make up for things and I found this plus-size lingerie store while I was there so I thought it might get his mind off things if we like had some fun or whatever.”

“Okay….AND?”

“And so we’re doing...you know, it. And out of nowhere this dominant side of him comes out that honest to god made me wetter than the ocean seas.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “What the hell does that mean? What did he do?”

You bit your lip taking another gander around the restaurant only for him to swat at you about getting shy just as you were getting to the good part.

“I was somewhat bent over, I guess you could say.”

“Great so you were doing doggy style, get to the kinky shit, sis.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know… It just like started to feel really good and I had a feeling that I was going to…”

“Cum?”

You shook your head softly.

He gasped. “Squirt?”

You nodded.

“Oh. My. God. He’s really dicking you to explosion.”

“Yes. That is accurate. Anyway, I’ve never done that while he was in me before so I guess I started pushing against his hips because it felt so good? And he pulled my arms behind my back randomly and literally fucked me through it. Even when I was screaming louder than I’ve ever screamed before. He said, and I quote: ‘Baby, just let me give it to you. Let me make you feel good like only I can.’ and I just...holy shit Stu it was the best orgasm of my life.”

“You memorized a quote during sex? That is the biggest dick energy I’ve ever heard in my life. I have to go home and now slap my boyfriend because you’ve told me that story. I hope you’re satisfied, ruining other people's relationships. Holy shit, y/n.”

You licked at your lips and smile up at the sky as if God had something to do with it and not your wonderfully aggressive boyfriend.

“Yea. I know.” you sighed dreamily. “I love him.”

Meanwhile…

*Shawn’s point of view*

“What’s your problem? Y/n not texting you back?” Brian asked as Shawn tossed his phone back onto the couch.

He rolled his eyes. “No. But I am a perfectly grown adult who doesn’t need his girlfriend’s constant validation to feel secure in our relationship, Brian!”

“That what the self-help books telling you, bud?”

Brian was walking past after having turned the tv on and he very purposely tripped him. Jackass.

“Is you not getting to blow your load at least three times a day gonna make you an asshole this whole entire tour?”

He reached for a pillow and quickly socked his best friend in the face.

“Why are you such a dickhead, dickhead?!” He snorted. “There’s nothing I can do about having an incredible sex life. That is not my fault!”

“Incredible sex life, my ass!”

He put his hand over his heart and gave him the most sincere face he could offer.

“Bri...it’s a great fuckin’ sex life. Best of my whole life.”

“What does she shoot beams of light out her pussy or something?”

“This is why women hate our whole gender by the way. No, jackass, but she might as well. She is soft and passionate and beautiful and...vocal. Everytime I think I’m in control she does something to put me in my place. It’s wild. She’s fuckin wild.” He sighed collapsing back against the couch. “God, she’s perfect, man.”

Sure, he missed her. He always missed her. But, he also just appreciated everything about her. And talking about their love life wasn’t out of disrespect at all. It was more like bragging out of love for everything that they were together. And also because when it came to sex...they were kind of incredibly good at it.

“You two fuck like bunny rabbits. I’d almost be impressed if it wasn’t a complete inconvenience ninety nine percent of the time.”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “How is our love making an inconvenience to you, oh poor wonderful Brian?!”

“Oh don’t even get me started! Exhibit A, you invite all of us over to your apartment for a party in December. We’re supposed to get incredibly hammered and play mario kart. Not even forty-five minutes into the damn thing, you two assholes disappear into the bedroom, WITH the game system I might add, with the door locked for over an hour. The only reason you even came back out was because y/n wanted more tequila!”

“Hmm...that was a beautiful night. She sounds like a symphony when she cums.” He sighed to himself.

“Gross. Exhibit B! We go to the after party for the billboard awards. It’s supposed to be a good fuckin’ time for everyone--”

“Hey! We had a good fuckin’ time that night! We shared a blunt with Post Malone, Alessia, and fucking Ariana Grande. What could you possibly have to complain about?!”

“Why yes Shawn, that we did. But do you remember what happened after that?” He paused for the briefest of moments before very quickly continuing on. “Y/n for some reason found you smoking to be the hottest thing in the world and decided that she had to have you right then and there. You two left the fucking party and Alessia and I had to uber back to the hotel.”

“Well that is...yea I don’t really have an excuse for that one. Not our best moment. But trust me you didn’t want to be in that car anyway, I ripped her dress that night. It was a bit of a shit show. The only reason the paps didn’t get us was because we penguin waddled inside to hide it.”

“The moral of the story is, as happy as I am that you guys are trying to set an olympic record for fucking, you both suck!”

“You’ve got me there. We both suck...incredibly well I might add.”

He hit him with a pillow and left the room. What are best friends for anyway?

*y/n’s point of view*

“How are things going with Bry?” You asked as Stu worked to pack their bowl.

What better way to celebrate their wonderful friendship date, then ending it with a little weed?

He lit the bowl and took a deep hit, letting it sit in his lungs as he handed it over.

Stu groaned. “They’d be fine if he would get his shit together and propose to me already.”

You took a hit of your own and laughed.

“If you want to marry him so much, why don’t you propose?”

“I’m the one who asked him out in the first place! I’m the one who single handedly kept our relationship going through college. I told him point blank that he needed to propose and for some reason, five years later I’m still missing a ring on my finger!”

“Do you want me to talk to him? Give him the hint?”

He rolled his eyes. “As wonderful as that sounds, no. I want him to want to be with me. I just want him to take a little initiative ya know?”

You each took another hit of the bowl and leaned against each other and the high took over.

“I get it. You want to feel confident in your future. You wanna know he’s gonna be there when you need him. That’s a valid feeling.” You assured him.

“We’ve just been together for so long. And most of the time we are so good together. We communicate well, we have fun together. I just want to know that we’re both feeling the same things. Sometimes he seems so sure that he just thinks we don’t need to talk about it at all.”

“Damn. I think Shawn and I might be the opposite. I think all he wants is for me to talk more.”

Stu chuckled. “No shit. It took me getting you high in my college dorm for you to even tell me anything even remotely personal about yourself. Shawn’s sappy ass probably thinks it’s like talking to a wall.”

“Very funny asshole. I can’t help it okay? I’m the baby of four kids. By the time I was growing up, no one had time to listen to me whine and complain about shit. Shawn just...he understands all of his emotions so well, and he spends so much of his life reflecting on everything no matter how busy he is. I’m trying though. I know it’s necessary, It’s just hard.”

“Do you think you two will be okay with all the touring?” He asked.

Wasn’t that just the million dollar question? You didn’t know how to explain that when you were together it seemed like you could take on the world, like you could do anything together, but that when you were apart you’d never felt weaker. It all feel so sappy and so high school. Not being able to live on your own and per your own person? You wanted to be better than that. And admitting anything else out loud, even to Stu, shook the very foundation of the persona you were trying to force yourself to be.

“Shawn thinks we will be.” You mumbled.

“I didn’t ask what Shawn thinks. I’m your best friend, you can tell me of all people.”

“It’s just harder when we’re apart. So, I fly into whatever country he’s in and we fuck and we go out to dinner and maybe we get high because that’s all there is when you’re together for two or three days. And it’s not until I come back home that I even realize it. Cause when we’re together, I can’t imagine being anywhere else. I could honestly sit in one of those green rooms and just watch him all day, and I’d be happy. I love him that much. But when I get some distance, when I’m back home I realize just how little there is. How little there will be for the rest of the year. I just...I guess I’m hoping I can hold on. Because when I’m with him? It’s the greatest pleasure I’ve ever known.”

“Holy shit babes...That’s deep. C’mere.”

He wrapped his arm loosely around you. You passed the bowl back and forth a few more times until the world grew fuzzy and calm and you were each happier for it. It was a good way to end the night.

***

It’s four in the afternoon. You have a meeting in fifteen minutes to go over revenue for the department. These meetings always made you super anxious. You were the only female senior executive, so any conversation you had about revenue was always in a room full of men. It didn’t help that a lot of the assholes in the office didn’t like the way you were offered the job and definitely held a grudge. You were always dead set on having the best numbers, so no one could say shit. Your stomach was tied up in knots and you just wanted to get it over with, so you could go home and drink a glass--or three--of wine. You’d been stressed about it all week, and it only made it worse that you had started sleeping in Shawn’s apartment because the smell of his sheets was sometimes the only thing that could lull you into sleep only for the smell to eventually fade away. There was tension in your neck and in your shoulders from the tossing and turning, and you just needed the week to be over.

Your phone started to vibrate on your desk and you almost chucked it at the wall. When you saw that it was Shawn wanting to facetime you honestly weren’t sure if that made it better or worse. But, Shawn tended to get anxious when you didn’t answer, so you took a deep breath and opened the phone.

“Babe!” He smiled immediately as his image came slowly into focus.

He must’ve been walking somewhere with the team cause he wasn’t looking at his phone right away. You didn’t really have time for this.

“Hey Shawn. Look, what is it? I’m uh I’m kinda busy.”

“Wait just one sec.” He scrambled a little with the phone before he was finally staring at you, wild curls and beautiful brown eyes to boot. “What’s wrong? You sound stressed.”

“I am stressed. I have a meeting in ten, Shawn; what can I do for you?”

He frowned. “I don’t need you to do anything for me. I just wanted to see you. Hey Jake, I’m gonna go sit for a minute alone alright? I’ll be back.”

“No, Shawn don’t--” But he was already walking away from the group.

“What’s going on, right now? Talk to me.”

Your initial instinct was to tell him nothing was going on, that you didn’t want to talk, you just wanted to muscle through. But you couldn’t help but remember your conversation with Stu a few days ago. It felt hypocritical to say you were trying to communicate if every time your boyfriend asked you to communicate you shut down.

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger.

“I have a meeting, okay? That’s all” You mumbled feeling like an incessant toddler.

He nodded. “Okay, you have a meeting. You’ve told me that. You’ve got a meeting that’s stressing you out. You look flustered. What else is going on?”

“Nothing else is going on. I’m just really stressed at the moment.”

He sighed. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to fight me on this. I only want to help you. You’re breathing is uneven. Are you feeling anxious right now?”

“I--I don’t know. Yea, sure, I feel anxious.”

“How long have you felt anxious, honey?”

“Shawn, what the hell does this have to do with anything?!” you snapped the irritation getting to you.

“I think you might be having an anxiety attack. Try and take a deep breath with me. I know you’re feeling upset, but let’s just breathe for a little bit.”

“An anxiety attack? Shawn what--”

“Hush. Just fucking listen to me okay?”

You stumbled into silence and watched as your boyfriend did his best to calm you down. He had you lean the phone against your desk so that you could place one hand over your stomach and the other over your heart. He had you use your stomach as a guide to let your lungs fill with air, breathing slowly and letting the tension in your back and neck to ease out. His voice was low, calm, and incredibly soothing in your ear. You may have offered him comfort before, but this was something new entirely. At least Shawn could tell when he needed help. You were so delusional about your own wellbeing that you hadn’t even been aware you needed it. It wasn’t until you felt your heart rate calm and your shoulders drop that you felt infinitely better. With this relief came a rather odd rush of sadness that left you crying in the middle of your office in broad daylight.

“Hey,” He cooed face moving closer to his screen. “Why are you crying, y/n?”

“I don’t even fucking know.” You sighed trying to catch the tears before they fall. “I really thought I was fine, Shawn. I thought I was okay.”

“That’s alright. That’s why I’m here. To catch the things you let slip. You do the exact same thing for me all of this time. It’s okay to lean on me once in a while, you know?”

You nodded softly with a sniffle. “I really do have to go to my meeting though.”

“Go. Call me when you get home from work okay? Take a shower, relax a little bit. I’m a few hours ahead of you here, but just call and I’ll be there. We can talk through it.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll do that.” You mumbled.

“You’re gonna do great, sweetie. I love you so much, okay?”

“I love you too. I’ll talk to you later.”

*four hours later*

“Is that my bed?” Shawn asked leaning back with an arm behind his head with abs on full display.

Ugh.

You nodded. “I’ve been sleeping here a little better lately...Is that okay?”

“Yea! Of course it is. Nothing makes me happier than you sleeping there. That spaces is yours too. That’s why I gave you the key to begin with.”

“Okay.” You murmured not being able to hide the smile that his words brought to your face. “You could probably send me a sweatshirt or something that you’ve worn recently though. The sheets hardly even smell like you anymore.”

He grinned. “I’d love to sweetheart. It’s just that by the time something could get to you from Amsterdam, I think you might actually have already flown to Amsterdam. I’ll be sure to send you back with plenty of material.”

“Good.”

“So...you ready to talk about it?”

“Ugh, I am surprised you're not a licensed therapist with how much you want me to talk about my feelings.” you whined. “How did you even know it was an anxiety attack?”

“I just remembered when I was going through my panic attacks at first, that I didn’t even know what they were called. The doctor said these two words, panic attack and anxiety attack, and I didn’t really know the difference. They sort of sound the same. But you know how like when it gets really bad for me it’s like...super quick? Like one second I’m just thinking about something bad and then the next I can’t see my way out of it?”

“Yea. That’s usually when we start breathing together.”

He smiled. “Exactly. I guess anxiety attacks can be a little slower. My doctor said they can actually happen over a period of days. It’s what makes them harder to detect, but it can also make them much harder on the body. It’s like thinking about something until it consumes you. Not being able to sleep, irritability--even at very lovable and cuddly boyfriends, muscle tension. You seemed to check a lot of boxes, honey.”

“I’m sure loveable and cuddly boyfriends was right in the symptom description, aye?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“You’re digging.”

“I am trying to take an ounce of burden off your back, and you are making it incredibly difficult.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath telling yourself to stop being such a little bitch. He was there. He wasn’t going to leave. You could trust him.

“It’s okay to talk to me, y/n. I’m not going to hurt you.” He murmured.

You groaned. “I know. I know.”

“It’s just that...if it were anyone else I’d say that you should find someone to talk to, anyone to talk to but I . . .I’m supposed to be your person. You’re my person and I just--I don’t know y/n, how do I help you through this if you won’t let me?”

“I’m trying Shawn. I swear I am.”

“Hey I know. And I’m trying to be understanding of how hard it is for you. But, I’m also trying to help. I’m gonna need you to at least meet me halfway.”

You nodded sullenly, fingers bunching up in the blankets at the thought of failing him, of not being able to be what he needed.

Shawn sighed. “It’s uh...it’s getting pretty late here. Let’s just talk tomorrow, yea?”

You peered at him through the phone unable to discern how deep of a situation this was from halfway across the world.

“Are you angry with me?”

“N--No. Honey, I’m not angry. I’m just...tired. I’ll call you when it’s morning for you okay?”

“Okay. I love you, Shawn.”

“I love you too. Get some sleep.”

That was certainly easier said than done.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

He’s in the middle of a meeting when his phone starts to buzz on the table. And he can’t help but reach for it just in case it’s y/n. It is.

y/n: so I couldn’t sleep last night. Surprise. And I just kept thinking about everything that you said, and it made feel really shitty.

y/n: not to say that you made me feel shitty just that that’s how I was feeling

y/n: anyway. I couldn’t sleep, so I tried to think about how I feel and I tried to write it down. I thought I could share it with you. Idk if it’ll help at all I just don’t want to keep letting you down.

y/n: so check your email if you have time. I love you. K. Bye.

And of course the rest of his meeting is absolutely useless. Of course all he can think about is her, about what she might be thinking, about what she might be feeling. And there’s a much bigger part of him than he’d like to admit, that’s wants nothing more than to fly home and cuddle the hell out of her until she gets some rest. The distance between the two of them felt heavier than ever.

“You’ve got forty-five minutes for lunch. Then we’re at the venue for run throughs. Final creative meeting for tour outfits after okay?” Andrew ordered.

Shawn nodded already in search of his laptop.

“Can you have Jake bring me something for the drive? I’m not gonna have time for anything else.”

“Why not?”

“Something is wrong with y/n. I need to check in okay?”

He was so unwilling to focus on anything other than y/n that if Andrew had anything else to say, he didn’t notice. He set up his laptop and found a space to sit in the quiet and read.

So...This is weird. I haven’t written anything like this since my diary in the eighth grade. I just um am tired a lot lately. I don’t think it’s work because I love what I do so much. I guess that’s not great either because I just keep working even when I’m exhausted. And it’s not you. Jesus, it most certainly is not you. I keep thinking that my love for is going to plateau or something, but it never does. It just keeps growing infinitely. I’m not sure if it’s the distance between us at the moment. When I first got home it actually felt good to get back into my routine. I think it’s not until I can’t sleep that I roll over and see you aren’t there that it hits me. It’d just so odd for me Shawn. I want to hold you and talk to you and I can’t because you’re not here. And there isn’t anything that either of us can do about it. I’m not used to there not being a solution. I’ve always been so good at solving things, that now that I can’t I feel like a waste of space. And I know that if I told you you’d tell me to call you but you’re six hours ahead of me right now. Everytime we talk it feels like I’m keeping you from something more important, and I don’t want to do that. I want you to be happy and to tour and have all the success in the world. I think also, and this is just me being honest with myself, even with the people I’ve loved most in my life I haven’t always had my needs prioritized.  My mom. My brothers. My dad. So I really try to take care of myself and prioritize myself. I never learned how to let someone else do it for me, because every time I tried I got let down. Your so endlessly kind to me. And you love me like i’ve never been loved before. Me not letting you in when I’m struggling is not malicious it’s just innate. I’m trying to unlearn these things and it’s much harder to do when I don’t even realize that I’m doing them. I’m sorry if I upset you. I’m sorry that you stayed up for me last night only to be disappointed. You mean more to me than a hundred of these pages could explain. I know I keep asking for time, for some leeway, and maybe your getting sick of that. I guess I’m sorry for that too. I promise you it’ll be different, if you let me try. I want to try. I love you enough to do that for us.

He sits with it for a while. There’s a feeling in his chest that he’s never had with y/n before and then there’s another feeling into response to it. He gets out the app on his phone and meditates for a while because he just doesn’t know what it is at first. And it isn’t until after he’s breathed for twenty minutes and they’re in the car on the way to his next meeting that he gets this overwhelming wave of deja vu. It’s so visceral that he feels himself become sixteen again. He watches himself get off the plan in Toronto and drive to his first girlfriend’s house. He watches him explain to her that he’s got to go away and live his dream, and that them being together is only going to hurt her, that it would kill him to keep hurting her. This idea that...it doesn’t matter how much we love each other, it’s never gonna matter, because all I’m ever gonna do it hurt you. And if I love you, if I truly and genuinely love you, then isn’t the greatest act of love I could ever show you to let you go?

It fills him with anger. Anger because this was meant to be different. In hindsight it makes him feel like a child who had been shouting at the top of his lungs that he knew something that he so clearly didn’t. Maybe Andrew was right. Maybe Brian had gotten annoyed for a legitimate reason. Maybe their love wasn’t what he thought it was. Or, even worse, maybe there love was everything it felt like. Maybe it was larger than the two of them, maybe it was complex and beautiful and wonderful. But, maybe that only meant it would consume them in the end.

After that there’s nothing but sorrow. Because his thread, his being, his life was so deeply intertwined with her’s that he could see no way out, couldn’t imagine not being with her.

For the first time in a long time he was completely at a loss. And it seemed as though he had opened up a can of worms that was only going to hurt them in the end. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Taglist: @kitykatnumber @lou-and-me​ @ourlittleshawnie @mutuallynotmutual @wanderingmendes @peacedolantwins2 @chels-nyc @justbeingoceana  @hayyitsfayy​ @claredolphinbear24​  @september-lace  @literallyshawn @mchutchmendes @liliane106 @iloveshawnieboi @samwillllson @illloveyouforever1 @grittyisaho 

[daylightdreamt]

hello everyone, i’m karina and i’m so hyped to be here and bring my baby rumor to life !! i can’t wait to get to know all of you and your lovely muses and see how everything goes down here !! like this if you want to plot and i’ll hit u up !! mwah

if you want his annoyingly long full ass bio you can read it here !!

also his pinterest board is here !!

backstory: 

rumor chastain was an accident in his family - but that doesn’t mean he was unwanted. his parents, delilah and benjamin, were more than happy to have another child after their daughter verity (who was around ten when rumor was born).

the chastain family lived on a farm in the countryside, far from the nearest town and no neighbors in sight. just the four of them and their lovely house, along with all the animals rumor affectionately named and cared for. being the baby of the family his parents ensured he took that role, never giving him any big responsibilities on the farm and rather letting him roam about as he pleased. he was a happy child, and he loved his life. he did his chores early in the morning so he could run out and see the sunrise, spend the rest of his day running up and down the hills picking flowers and finding figures in the clouds. he’d stay out there until the sunset, counting every new star in the sky until there were too many, and only coming home once his mother called him down for dinner. 

when he was old enough for school he was homeschooled along his sister verity, who taught him his abcs and how to read while teaching herself geometry. they were isolated in their country home, but rumor didn’t mind, he had everything he needed. his family was his best friends, and their property seemed like the whole wide world to him. he loved that farm more than anything, he couldn’t imagine a life better than the one he lived now. 

nothing good can last forever, and the worst part is that rumor doesn’t even know why. he just remembers waking up in the middle of the night to his sister shaking him awaking, rushing her words as she picked him up and took him to the cop car waiting for them in their front yard. she held him close as they drove into town and to the police station, and continued to hold him as he cried in her arms asking why they were there and what was wrong. they were there until sunrise when his aunt finally made it, taking verity and rumor with the news they’d be living with her now and that they’d never see that farm again

going from his quaint life in the country to a town, even a small one, was shocking to rumor. his usual routine now interrupted by an actual school, no more running around rather he was expected to sit in a desk all day with very few reprieves. at home he was always confident, outgoing, always had something to say. here he was terrified to speak, never being around other kids or knowing how to act around them. he sat in the back with his head down, dutifully taking notes on his own. it wasn’t until lunch when one student gave him a chance that the boy he always was came out. all the students crowded around him to meet the new kid, and he was so excited to talk to all of them. tell them about himself, the farm, the stories he made up and games he’d play. his happiness was quickly crushed as he was responded to with laughter. to his peers he was a freak, a weirdo with an equally weird name. that was the first time rumor chastain learned to change himself, hide certain parts to fit in. it was only a matter of time before hiding simply became erasing those parts of himself, unable to get back that full shine he once had.

his sister had dropped out of high school and gotten multiple jobs instead, saving her money in the short time they lived with their aunt. the minute she got enough money she bought them a little trailer barely able to fit the two of them and they left. it wasn’t because of anything their aunt did, they love her dearly and thank her for everything she did to help them, but they just weren’t meant for a life like that. rumor wasn’t at least, because as much as he loved to learn he hated the constraint of the classroom. he knew how smart he was, too smart for the pace most classes took. verity and rumor were always on the road, always moving, his sister finding odd jobs wherever she could. most of the time he was self taught, only going to actual schools when they stayed in one place longer than most. even then he barely went, preferring to be on his own and go at his own pace.

once he was old enough to get a job he did, wanting to do anything to help his sister out after everything she had done and given up for him. it was the least he could do, and he only hoped that one day he could do more. he graduated high school early and took some time off to keep working and be with his sister. he wanted more than anything to go to college but he was scared of leaving, crippled by the drastic change he went through as a child (and learned not to ask about) that left him terrified of any other form of change. he eventually had to get over that and leave for college, going to covington a dream for him, even if he did cry every night the first week he was there. everything was perfect there. his peers made him feel welcomed, his classes challenged him, and he even had the perfect girlfriend. it finally felt like his life was getting back on track.

personality & headcanons:

the thing two most important things i didn’t mention about rumor above are 1. his love for poetry and desire to be a poet and 2. how much of a hopeless romantic he is

rumor always loved literature but poetry owned his heart. ever since he was a kid and his mother would read him poets to go to sleep he tried to write some of his own, developing his own style over the years and finding a passion for it. he’d often visit bookstores and read whole collections of poetry while there, knowing he couldn’t afford to buy them so he memorized them instead. because of this he’s that guy who quotes poetry randomly.

rumor loves love. his entire life has been looking for love, creating this idealized version of his soulmate in his mind. love is truly the driving factor in his life, and he’d do anything for those he loves (romantically and platonically) almost to a fault or dangerous point. when it comes to romantic love he is the type to go all in, full romeo and juliet kind of guy. he wants a love to overwhelm and take over his entire life, but he puts too much pressure on this idealized love that is virtually impossible to obtain.

despite all he has gone through and how he isn’t nearly as happy and bright as he was as a child, he still tries to hold onto that happiness and optimism he once had. he sometimes struggles to do so, but he tries his hardest to keep his dreams alive and keep a smile on his face.

one of his biggest vices is that he smokes cigarettes. he’s minorly addicted and picked it up when he was around 15, and it’s become a kind of nervous tick for him to immediately start smoking once anything makes him anxious. despite this he doesn’t really drink, that’s reserved for when he’s especially sad and wants to get drunk on his own. he isn’t a big party guy but when he does go out and doesn’t want to stay sober then he’ll smoke some weed.

he’s just really sweet okay, he’s not the biggest social butterfly but he is social enough to have friends and he’s legit nice to everyone. it’s hard to find a mean bone in his body. at parties he’s a bit of a wallflower though since he legit never went to a single party until he got to covington and baby doesn’t know how to act.

rumor dresses like a writer guy like he’s the type always in autumn clothes and colors, sweaters and turtlenecks, etc.

melanie:

melanie, melanie, melanie...let’s make this quick. melanie and rumor were the picture perfect couple. they knew just how to be pda enough for everyone to know how cute they were without going over the top and grossing everyone out. they matched each other intellectually, and the best part was that melanie was the girl rumor had always dreamed about. she was the girl of his dreams, the ideal partner all his poems were about and yet...he never fell in love with her. he never did and he doesn’t think he ever could and he doesn’t know why. she was perfect, they were perfect, but there just wasn’t that thing that made it different. they didn’t have that passion, that moxie that every great couple had. he wanted a love that he couldn’t stand to live without, and he just didn’t have that with melanie. he never had the guts to break up with her, and now he didn’t need to.

wc’s: 

listen i’m shit with pre wc so here’s some basics

roommates !! ones who get along or don’t either way is fun

friends !! likely ones, unlikely ones, bad influences, ex friends, etc

lil stoner group cuz like he ain’t a full stoner but sometimes he needs that good good shit and needs his lil stoner friends he can call up and smoke up with

[lululawrence]

2017 Fics Written by lululawrence (2/2)

Master Fic Masterpost / Buy me a Coffee?

(And Things Will Be) Hard At Times (35k)

Louis and Nathan had been talking about marriage and kids and a family for years now, but it had never felt right. If anything, the talking about it had petered out over the past while because they were busy living the lives they had settled into. It wasn’t that they didn’t think they’d ever have kids, just that they weren’t to a point where they were ready for it yet.

Well. Ready or not, it was happening.

Or the one where Louis and his boyfriend of five years unexpectedly find themselves pregnant and Harry is the paternity photographer that makes everyone think twice.

Wait for the End to Change (8k)

Harry was running late. He was running late, because apparently his electricity had been turned off overnight, which had caused his phone to not charge, which meant it died and the alarm didn’t go off. He would have just kept sleeping if it hadn’t been for the paper thin walls and his neighbor’s alarm being horribly loud. Anyway.

Harry took his second sip of his glorious morning coffee when someone biked past him and hit him with their bag. It jostled him enough to pour the hot coffee all down his front, staining his work shirt and trousers.

“Sorry!” the cyclist called over his shoulder, and Harry just stood there, staring at his ruined outfit. Maybe he should just go home, climb back into bed, and see if he could try starting the day over again.

Or the one where Harry has the Worst Day that won't stop haunting him, but Louis might be more than just the silver lining.

If It's Meant To Be (It'll Be, It'll Be) (4k)

“So, anyway. I’m done here and on my way to the airport. I think I’m expected to be there in the morning, around ten. I’ll let you know when I’m getting close.”

“Sounds good.” Harry pulled back from the window and threw himself onto one of the beds. Once he got comfortable, he steeled himself and then went for it. “It’s been too long this time, Lou,” he finally whispered. He watched as Louis bit his lip and nodded slowly.

“I know,” Louis agreed, just as quiet in return. “We have to swear to never go this long without seeing each other again. Two months is just...unacceptable. I’m gonna go now, but I’ll see you soon. ‘Kay?”

“Yeah. See you. Be safe,” Harry said, far too fondly for his best friend. He couldn’t help it though. It was how he always had been and probably always would be.

They hung up and Harry threw his arm over his face.

“I am so in love with him,” he whined to himself. “Fuck.”

You Can Read Me Anything (7k)

“So wait, why are you upset over having five classes so far with Louis?”

Harry heaved a dramatic sigh. “Because! It’s so exhausting trying to pretend to be somewhat cool all the time, Li!”

Liam stared at Harry, obviously unamused. “For Merlin’s sake,” he muttered before standing from the table. “I don’t have time to deal with this.”

Or...the one where Harry has pined over Louis from afar, but his sixth year at Hogwarts is when it all changes.

(This Could Be Forever) Right Now (3k)

From the time Mrs. Barkley met them as unruly and hyper twelve year olds in middle school, she took them under her wing. She’d breathed color and hope into their dreams, helped them realize that they could actually go out and attain them. When everyone else was telling them to be realistic and see that their future was just like everyone else’s, she taught them how to do what they needed to in order to get out of their beautiful, homely, loving town.

And now, the woman who had taught all of them such important lessons, the woman who had never failed to send them birthday cards no matter where they were scattered around the country, the woman they’d call in addition to their moms on Mother’s Day, she was gone.

Or the one where OT5 are back together in their small hometown for just one day and maybe that's the perfect time for Harry and Louis to do more than just reminisce.

Will Love Be There (14k)

Louis didn’t care who he had to pay or how much, but he was pretty sure he would give his entire life’s savings and a year’s salary if it meant that whatever was causing someone’s fucking phone to ring would stop.

The person calling must have gone to voicemail, because it stopped ringing and vibrating, but it started up again almost immediately.

“Make it stop,” Louis whined. He lifted his head enough to pull the pillow out from beneath it and smothered his head to dull the sound. “Oh shit, I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Just be sure to get out of bed first, please,” a deep, gravelly voice said from right beside Louis.

“Holy fucking shit!” Louis cried in surprise as he shot up in bed.

Or the one where Louis attends a Steve Aoki concert and accidentally ends up with a husband.

With You In Your Dreams (5k)

“And how are you boys doing?” Professor Trelawney asked as she came to their table. Her wide eyes blinked at the two of them before peeking into the cup. “Ooh, a heart! How interesting…”

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked at Louis. Louis was just looking into the cup in interest. “Should I note that as well, then?”

“Absolutely, Tomlinson. What others do you have?” Trelawney looked at his scroll and she let out an overdramatic gasp. “Oh my my. It looks like someone definitely has love in their future! Those signs all stand for love, marriage, stability, togetherness, and when combined like this predominantly new love! Very interesting reading you’ve done there, Mr. Styles.”

She gave a wink at Harry and then whisked herself off to the next table.

Or the one where Professor Trelawney plays a very unlikely matchmaker.

Couldn't See Past Me, Till I Saw You (13k)

“Look at us, living the dream,” Louis said softly. “But Harry, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to finish my last semester with the baby. I don’t know how far along I am or anything. And what about my internship and all of that?”

Harry shook his head emphatically and pulled back once more from Louis, this time placing his large, strong hands on Louis’ shoulders and squeezing them tight.

“We’ll make this work, Louis. I’ll help take care of you and your little one and I know you’ll help me make it through whatever happens with this. We’re always there for each other, right? Just like we promised when we were in middle school.”

Louis laughed a bit and smiled through his tears that finally seem to have left. Again. Hopefully they stayed away a little longer this time.

“We’ll figure it out, yeah?” Harry asked again.

“Yeah. We always do.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis have been best friends since they could remember and their friendship has withstood it all...but an unexpected pregnancy might change everything.

All I Want Is To Be Free (11k)

“Uh, you saw photos? Of me wearing the shirt?”

The guy nodded eagerly while he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah! I took a picture of the photo I saw so I could remember to look it up. Hold on.”

The guy scrolled through his phone and made a happy sound when he found it. “Here!”

Louis grabbed his phone to look at the picture. Yep. That confirmed it. He was going crazy.

The photo he was looking at was definitely one of him wearing his beloved shirt, but there was a taller man standing beside him, looking at him and laughing as Louis had his hand resting possessively on the guy’s hip. Louis had absolutely no recollection of this ever happening.

Or the one where Louis keeps finding photos around campus of him with a man he's never met before, and the only logical explanation must be he's going crazy.

One Taste And He Want It (10k)

Stan: Yeah, dude. Listen to Steve and Oli, as much as I hate to say it.

Perrie: Well I’m supportive. If you two actually got together, it would be super cute. Perrie: Jesy says she stans you and supports your marriage

Stan: Shut up, Perrie. He doesn’t need more fuel for this. Stan: For real, Louis, I don’t think it’s a good idea.

Louis: Too late. I’m captain, which means my vote counts more than yours, and my mind’s already made up. I’m gonna woo him and learn about his team and we’re gonna kick their asses.

Or the one where Harry and Louis are the captains of the two Frisbee Battles teams in the finals, and Louis has to find a way for his team to win. Seduction is, naturally, the only option.

Better Walk That (Pap) Walk, Baby (25k) - Co-Written with @suddenclarityharry 

Harry sat and stared at the print in front of his eyes where the names Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles looked to be in neon lights. It made him think back to those early days when all they’d dreamt of was seeing their names lit up on the signs for popular venues. Back then, things had seemed so black and white. Their love had grown as their popularity had, fast and intense and overwhelming. Maybe that was part of the problem. They’d never anticipated having to weave their way through a love so all encompassing at that age, much less at the same time as navigating brand new careers they’d been lucky enough to be a part of.

Harry stared at the papers as if it wasn’t him who had just signed them. He could do this. He could. He could pretend he was still as in love with Louis Tomlinson as he had been all those years ago no problem. He was now an actor in addition to a musician for fuck’s sake, he could make this work.

Or the one where, after years filled with the anger and pain that accompany a bad breakup, Harry and Louis have to try to put it all behind them, at least for the cameras.

Love So Soft (5k)

“Harry?” Louis called out. It was light out and a Sunday. Harry was probably in the kitchen.

Right then, Harry came walking back into the room with some scrambled eggs and toast on two plates. He froze about three steps in though, and looked up at Louis, his brows furrowed.

“I made breakfast, but...you…” Harry stopped and cleared his throat. “Uhm, your scent changed? Just since I got up to make breakfast. You okay?”

Louis bit his lip and shook his head. “I think my heat is coming early.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis have been friends since they were kids, but when Louis' heat comes early, that balance that always existed between them suddenly changes.

Got This Feeling In Our Souls (8k)

Louis sat up, awoken by something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. He scrubbed at his eyes, unsure if he was actually still dreaming or if he was awake. He didn’t dream often, but when he did they were always vivid like this. Louis opened his eyes and squinted through the darkness before jumping back, his heart racing.

Dream or not, there was a person sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. The chair that usually was only used by Charlie while Louis slept.

“Who the fuck are you and how did you get in my apartment?” Louis asked, voice a bit more squeaky than he’d like to admit. Suddenly there were two flashes of green, and the world went black again.

We're Both Stubborn (Two Hearts in One Home) (13k)

The crickets that somehow were still chirping in the chilly October air suddenly sounded louder after Louis went quiet. Harry wasn’t sure what to say in response though, so he let their song remain unbroken.

“I guess I’m just scared ‘cause I don’t know what I’m doing after this,” Louis confessed with a whisper. “Some days, with the way my mom and dad are fighting, the only thing I’m sure of is you.”

Harry wrapped his arms tightly around Louis’ torso and turned into him, ignoring the night sky they were supposed to be observing.

“Doesn’t matter what else is going on, Lou. You’ll always have me. Always.”

Louis nodded and Harry could feel the movement from where he was, and that was enough.

Or the one where Harry and Louis stumble their way through life and their relationship, but at least they've got each other.

Before I Knew That I Had Begun (3k)

Louis closed his eyes and carefully rolled over so he could wrap his arms around Harry as well. Things were permissible at night that he wouldn’t allow himself otherwise, and snuggling up to Harry, breathing in his scent like this, was definitely one of those scenarios that was only allowed in the dark. Once light broke, they pulled apart again and didn’t speak of the way their bodies fit together so perfectly or the way they always ended up with awkward morning wood that needed to be taken care of separately. The blue haze that filled Louis’ dorm room and the snores from Logan in the bottom bunk afforded them a soft safety net where the impossible seemed possible and where, just for a few hours, Louis could let down his guard and not worry about why his body was so drawn to the curly haired boy sharing his bed.

A Real Work of Art (12k)

“I don’t understand,” Liam said for probably the fiftieth time in ten minutes. “You have to explain again how this is a bad thing.”

“Leeeeyummm,” Harry whined into the phone as he leaned his head onto his desk. “I felt like this year was my year for getting his attention, you know? That senior year I would finally get Logan Thompson to realize I exist! But he’s in almost every single one of my classes, Li. How am I supposed to survive that?”

“Easily,” Liam answered, with the same matter of fact tone his voice always took when Harry was in one of his fits. “He doesn’t know you exist, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”

Or the one where Harry calls on an old friend, the super popular Louis Tomlinson, to help him change his look to capture the heart of Logan. Things only mostly go as planned.

You Can't Blame Me For Tryin' (5k)

Reason # 38 - Because He Is From One of the Countries You Haven't Had Sex With a Person From Yet.

Louis had been accepted into the study abroad program through his uni back home and therefore got to spend a year in rural Minnesota, of all places, but he wasn’t going to complain. It was still a pretty cool experience, even if it was far different from what he had been expecting. And besides, if he’d been sent to literally any other university, he’d never have met Harry.

Christmas at the Holly Lodge (17k)

Harry made his way to the back of the lodge and saw a building that looked like it used to be a barn, that had obviously had some renovations done. The lights were on and it looked a little like Santa’s workshop. As Harry walked closer, he saw that one of the windows was cracked open and through it came the tune of Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You. Dancing along was the most beautiful man Harry had ever seen.

The guy was really going to town, too. It looked like he was organizing boxes of ornaments or something, but he had taken time to pause and hold up...was that a hot glue gun?...to sing into so he was belting right along with Mariah.

Harry covered his mouth with his gloved hand to hold back the giggles, and continued walking. He didn’t want to disturb the guy and embarrass him by letting him know he’d been seen. It was adorable and Harry needed to make sure he had a better first impression than that. He could already tell this visit was going to be interesting.

Or the one where Louis is the owner of the Holly Lodge, Harry is an investment advisor, and maybe Christmas miracles really do exist.

You've Got My Heart (2k)

Harry and Louis are celebrating being together for fifty years, but they can't seem to agree about who initiated the first step of the journey.

[anthony-kate]

***Well... clearly a lot has happened during this on-going hiatus, huh? I mean, I could maybe go on another rant of this absolute nonsense but I believe you are just as tired as me. Besides, there are way better things to spend your time with---reading Malec fanfics, for example. I dunno about you but those fics always cheer me up and put me in a better mood, so I hope this will be the case for you, too.

Anyway, thanks so much for all the love for the previous rec’s and I hope you enjoy this 8th(!) edition of Malec fanfic rec’s as much as the other ones. As always, I am curious to know what you think of it, so let me know. Even more so, leave a comment or/and kudo for the authors---we all need the validation and it is just a nice gesture after their fics kept you entertained for a little while.***

Volume 1

Volume 2

Volume 3

Volume 4

Volume 5

Volume 6

Volume 7

MR CONGENIALITY by @stupidnephilimlove [ M | AU | 28.7k | complete ]

When a terrorist threatens to bomb the Mr United States pageant, FBI Special Agent Alexander Lightwood is chosen to go undercover. His partner, Jace Herondale, thinks he's doing Alec a favour by choosing him, but Alec's disgruntled. He considers the idea of a male beauty pageant - hell, any pageant - degrading.

As he progresses through the rounds, Alec struggles to fight a growing attraction to pageant consultant Magnus Bane, forms unlikely friendships with contestants, and learns that Mr United States is much more than just a beauty pageant.

But with limited time, can he uncover the person behind the threat before it's too late?

BEST LAID PLANS by @superficialpeasant [ E | 74.2k | WIP | Best Laid Plans #1 ]

When a High Warlock looking to end his celibacy streak meets a Shadowhunter after no-baggage thrills, the two make a deal: anytime, anywhere, no strings attached.

CASUAL WIN by @superficialpeasant  [ E | 6.5k | complete | Best Laid Plans #2 ]

Alec tries new things, and Magnus rediscovers the joy of laughing during sex (a ‘Best Laid Plans’ one-shot).

SET ME IN MOTION by @lemonoclefox [ M | AU | 132k | complete ]

“Is that your way of asking me to cook for you sometime?” Alec says. “'Cause I will.” The moment the words escape his mouth, Alec finds himself slightly panicking. Because he does not talk like that, ever―in a way that might even be considered flirting―and he still doesn’t understand what it is about Magnus that brings stuff like that out of him. More importantly, he has a boyfriend. Magnus, however, just looks mildly surprised as their eyes meet. “My, my. Master chef, good family name, and charming?” Magnus tilts his head ever so slightly. “Careful, Mr. Lightwood,” he says in a low, teasing voice, mouth curving up in a smile. “You’re gonna make me swoon.” ---

One night, Magnus spots a handsome stranger in the elevator of his apartment building – which wouldn’t be a big deal if said stranger didn’t turn out to be dating Magnus’s neighbor. The stranger soon becomes Alec, and their paths end up crossing more than once. A tentative friendship develops as they slowly get to know each other, and they both find that it’s effortless in a way neither of them has ever known. It's only when other kinds of feelings start getting involved that things become a bit more complicated.

ON STRANGER TIDES by @lecrit [ E | AU | 53.7k | complete | A Pirate’s Life For Me #2 ]

Alec kissed him like he had the first time, desperately, but tenderly, with all the rashness of a man in love. It was Magnus who pulled back, thumb gently brushing over Alec’s cheekbone. “I’m going to miss this,” he said, voice pitched low, “when we get back to Alicante.” “As will I,” Alec allowed, bowing his head to rest his forehead against Magnus’. “But I know we can show them how it’s done, you and I.”

As long as he had this, the unconditional love of an extraordinary man, the gift of his passion behind closed doors and the tenderness of his eyes in the secrecy of his mind, as long as there was their burning bodies melting together to express what words couldn’t, Alec didn’t need to worry. What was the worst that could happen?

A TINY SPARK by @magicandarchery [ E | AU | 55.7k | complete ]

As a firefighter for the FDNY, Alec Lightwood and his battalion respond to an emergency call for an apartment fire. After rushing a young, soon-to-be mother out of the burning building and to safety, Alec must deliver her newborn baby.

He never expected the little girl to spark an inexplicable bond between them. After a prior adoption fell through in a devastating way, should he and Magnus even hope they might be able to adopt her?

EXIT POLLING by @unrestrainedlyexcessive [ E | AU | 14.7k | complete ]

You can have ambition or love, but you can’t have both. ---

a political au: magnus is a political fixer, and alec is the poor fool hoping to be mayor.

STARS IN YOUR EYES by @carmenlire [ not rated | 2.1k | complete ]

Huh. His door is standing open but there’s no one in his office. He’s about to stand up and close the door when he hears a giggle. Alec smiles, and leans back in his seat waiting for-- Ah, there it is. A pair of big blue eyes are peeking around the corner of his desk. Alec makes a show of focusing on the inventory spreadsheet in front of him. He silently starts counting to five in his head. He barely makes it to three before an enthusiastic body launches itself at him. Alec has help with his Head of the Institute duties.

THE ONE THING (I CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF) by @floralegia [ M | AU | 28.7k | complete ]

Alec wasn't expecting to enjoy this summer locked away with his family at a posh resort in the Catskills, just biding his time until he can go home in the fall and then finally, finally move out and escape to college. He was expecting to alternate between bored out of his mind and frustrated with his father's heavy-handed attempts to set him up with Aline, whose parents own the resort, as a last-ditch attempt to pretend Alec didn't come out six months prior.

Enter Magnus Bane.

OR: a Dirty Dancing AU.

I NEED YOU (DO YOU NEED ME?) by discoveries [ T | AU | 6.5k | complete ]

“I am your ex, you are a cop, and I just got arrested for being drunk and disorderly."

THE ANSWER IS “NO” (BUT BABY IT’S COLD OUTSIDE) by @la-muerta [ M | AU | 9.3k | complete | A Game Of Pitch And Catch #1 ]

It's Christmas Eve, but instead of being home with his siblings watching cheesy television and eating pizza, Alec Lightwood is stuck in a small town in the middle of nowhere because of a snow storm. Worse, he's going to have to share a room at an over-priced B&B with his sister's annoying boss, Magnus Bane. They'll be lucky if this Christmas doesn't end in bloodshed.

OUT OF LEFT FIELD by @la-muerta [ E | AU | 13.5k | complete | A Game Of Pitch And Catch #2 ]

Alec and Magnus didn't expect this attraction between them, but they'd agreed to give it a chance. And if this was going to be more than just sex, then it made sense to take sex off the table for now... or at least that was the game plan.

Well. When life throws you curveballs, there's only one thing to do - knock it out of the park!

WELL AT LEAST SOMEBODY NOTICED... by @the-burning-tiger [ G | AU | 2.7k | complete ]

Alec Lightwood is seriously regretting his life choices. If it weren't bad enough that he was on the blind date from hell, his work nemesis Magnus Bane just walked in.

IT’S GETTING HOT IN HERE by @astudyinfic [ E | PWP | 4.9k | complete | Institutional Series #1 ]

When Alec is late for date night, Magnus goes to the Institute to retrieve his workaholic boyfriend.

But it turns out that Alec is cooking up a lot more than dinner.

STUDYING HARD by @astudyinfic [ E | PWP | 5.1k | complete | Institutional Series #2 ]

Magnus wanted a chance to pay Alec back for the kitchen incident, as he liked to refer to it, but work kept getting in the way.

But when Alec gets stuck in the Institute library doing research, Magnus eagerly offers to help. However, it appears very little research will actually get done.

Revenge never felt so good.

HAPPY SHINY PEOPLE EVERYWHERE by @unrestrainedlyexcessive [ E | AU | 18.1k | complete ]

Alec emerges from one of the bathroom stalls already fully dressed in a gray suit, plain white dress shirt, and hair neatly combed.

He looks like he always does, which is to say: painfully handsome and angry at the world.

A week into his new living arrangements and Magnus has realized that no matter where Izzy goes, she wears towering stilettos that hurt Magnus just to look at them, Jace is a mostly harmless douchebag, and Alec is a big mystery, their very own Phantom of the Loft.

VITULA by @lightwormsiblings [ G | AU | 1.9k | complete ]

Alec vaguely registers that he’s standing in the middle of the sidewalk and blocking people’s path but he can’t stop staring.

He’s beautiful. Not just because he’s outwardly gorgeous, but because of the way his eyes slip closed whenever he crescendos and the way his body seems to move fluidly to the music he’s creating.

Or the one where Alec becomes particualarily enamored with a street violinist

THE STORM, THE WHIRLWIND, THE EARTHQUAKE by @alecsgideon [ G | AU | 1.4k | complete | Small Town Verse #2 ]

Lightning has a way of changing Alec's life

CALL IT LUCK (CALL IT FATE) by the_crownless_queen [ not rated | AU | 17.5k | complete ]

When Izzy rents out a house in Corsica, the last thing Alec expects it to meet the man of his dreams while running on a beach there.

THREE TO MAKE A PAIR by @like-a-bucky [ M | AU | 47.8k | complete ]

Magnus is a good friend and the absolute best roommate in the world, so of course when Jace begs him to pretend to be his boyfriend for his family's 4th of July barbecue, he says yes. Enters Alec, Jace's gorgeous brother. Aaaand Magnus is screwed.

EVERYTHING HE COULD NEVER BE by @alecsgideon [ T | AU | 21.7k | complete ]

In between jobs, Alec and his son, Max, move to Alec's mother's country home where they meet Magnus and his son, Rafael - the small family Maryse rented the 1st floor out to. As a big city MD and single dad, Alec finds himself fascinated by Magnus' eccentric healing practice, parenting methods and deep brown eyes.

And while preparing for the move to London, finally spending time with his son, and juggling his growing affection towards Magnus, the ghosts of Alec's childhood threaten to disturb the peace he'd found surrounded by his family.

BLUE JEANS AND BLUE SKY by @like-a-bucky [ M | AU | 57.6k | complete ]

Magnus was seven years old when he arrived in Colorado to start his new life - with new parents, a new language, a new everything. Making friends would have helped him, except that his first encounter with the neighbours' kids didn't go too well, and Magnus vowed to hate the Lightwoods forever.

Forever. No matter what.

IT’S US AGAINST THE UNIVERSE, BABY by @la-muerta [ E | PWP | AU | 12.9k | complete | The Universe is Conspiring Against Us #5 ]

Magnus and Alec have been happily married for seven years now. They've started their own law practice, and they have three beautiful children together. They should have known the universe wasn't going to leave them to their happily ever after.

Then again, nobody messes with Mr and Mr Lightwood-Bane - not even the universe.

YOU KNOW WE’RE GONNA DO IT RIGHT by @unrestrainedlyexcessive [ E | AU | 26.7k | complete | Happily Ever After, Kind Of #1 ]

"So, like, this is--what? A pity date? Good press? Take the poor college kid out, let people see you mingle with the commoners?"

"No," Magnus says, "I like you."

Alec shakes his head. "You don't even know me."

"Does anyone ever really know another person?"

"Boy," Alec says, fiddling with his napkin, "I love philosophy."

---

A royalty au. Magnus is a prince. Alec is perpetually stressed out.

THE CHEMISTRY BETWEEN US by @astudyinfic [ M | AU | 42.2k | complete ]

Izzy's parents will never accept her new boyfriend, whom they expect her to bring home for the holidays. Enter her best friend and colleague Magnus. Sure, pretending to date is a terrible idea in the movies but as neither of them harbors any secret love for the other, Magnus figures this should be a simple weekend in the Hamptons with his friend.

Until he meets Isabelle's brother and Magnus knows they have all the elements of a chemical reaction that is about to blow up in his face.

MIGHT AS WELL by @carmenlire [ not rated | AU | 3.1k | complete ]

The two of them stare at each other for long minutes. Alec doesn’t know if Magnus is waiting for him to speak first but now, laying here with Magnus just inches away and feeling like it might as well be an oceanic chasm, he’s too tired to keep the words from slipping out.

After all, what’s the worst thing that could happen? He’s already staring down the face of his world imploding, just because he was stupid enough to fall for someone who wouldn’t ever be interested in him like that.

GOING DOWN by @lecrit [ M | AU | 6.7k | complete ]

Of all the days in all the years Alec has worked here, and of all the people who work in this building that he could have found himself stuck with, the Universe chose to trap him in an elevator with Magnus Bane on the day his sister is giving birth. Well, fuck you too, Universe.

[eretzyisrael]

JTA — Following the victory of Volodymyr Zelensky in Ukraine’s presidential elections, the country will become the only one in the world besides Israel whose president and prime minister are both Jewish.

When Zelensky is sworn in as president, his prime minister — at least for a while and possibly until the parliamentary elections scheduled to take place sometime later this year — will be Volodymyr Groysman, a Jewish politician who was the mayor of the city of Vinnytsia.

To some of incumbent Petro Poroshenko’s critics, the landslide success of the vague campaign by the politically inexperienced Zelensky, a comedian, was not surprising in light of widespread resentment over the persistence of corruption under Poroshenko, who was elected in 2014 on a platform that vowed remedial action on exactly that front.

More unusual to some, however, was how Zelensky’s appears to have won the elections so decisively in spite of how his Jewish ancestry – his mother, Rima, is Jewish and he has jokingly referred to this during the campaign — is well known in Ukraine.

After all, Russia and other critics claim Ukrainian society has a serious anti-Semitism problem and legacy.

Ukrainian Prime Minister Volodymyr Groysman gestures as he speaks at a meeting of Ukrainian President Petro Poroshenko’s supporters in Kiev, Ukraine, Tuesday, Jan. 29, 2019. (AP Photo/Efrem Lukatsky)

“Imagine, a pure-blooded Jew with the appearance of a Sholom Aleichem protagonist wins by a landslide in a country where the glorification of Nazi criminals is enacted into law,” wrote Avigdor Eskin, a Russian-Israeli columnist, in an analysis published earlier this month by the Regnum news agency.

Eskin in column on Zelensky downplayed allegations of widespread anti-Semitism in Ukraine, attributing much of the attention to the problem in media and beyond to propaganda by Russia, which is involved in an armed conflict over territory with Ukraine.

But Eskin’s statement about Ukrainian laws glorifying Nazi criminals is not inaccurate, and Russia is not alone in criticizing Ukraine over this and other issues connected to anti-Semitism.

Last year, Israel’s government singled out Ukraine as a regional trouble spot in the Israeli government’s annual report on anti-Semitism.

“A striking exception in the trend of decrease in anti-Semitic incidents in Eastern Europe was Ukraine, where the number of recorded anti-Semitic attacks was doubled from last year and surpassed the tally for all the incidents reported throughout the entire region combined,” the report said. The authors of the report counted more than 130 reported anti-Semitic incidents in Ukraine in 2017, they said.

Also last year, more than 50 US Congress members condemned Ukrainian legislation that they said “glorifies Nazi collaborators” and therefore goes even further than Poland’s controversial laws limiting what can be said about local complicity during the Holocaust.

A letter signed by the US lawmakers stated, “It’s particularly troubling that much of the Nazi glorification in Ukraine is government-supported.” It noted ceremonies, gestures and legislation venerating leaders of the UPA and OUN militias, who fought alongside Nazi Germany during World War II and whose troops participated in atrocities against Jews and other victims.

Poroshenko’s government greatly encouraged glorification of those troops and leaders as fighters for Ukrainian freedom who it insisted sided with Germany only in order to fight against the Russian-controlled Soviet Union.

Several cities across Ukraine named streets for the Nazi-collaborator Stepan Bandera, who prior to Poroshenko’s time in office was openly glorified only in the country’s west.

A statue of Stepan Bandera in Lviv, Ukraine, September 2014. (Courtesy Andrey Syasko/via JTA)

Meanwhile, in the western city of Lviv, nationalists became emboldened enough to celebrate with city authorities’ permission the anniversary of the 14th Galician division of the Waffen SS. The anniversary events featured men parading in Nazi SS uniforms on the street.

Such sights would have been unthinkable under Viktor Yanukovych, the corrupt president who was deposed in a 2013 revolution that ended with Poroshenko’s election. Careful to alienate neither ethnic Russians in Ukraine nor its powerful neighbor to the east, Yanukovych was less tolerant of this nationalist phenomenon.

On this subject, Zelensky has said only that he personally does not favor the veneration of people like Bandera, whom he described as “a hero to some Ukrainians.” It was a markedly reserved formulation compared to the unreserved endorsement of figures like Bandera by officials under Poroshenko.

Thousands of Ukrainian nationalists hold a torchlight procession across Kiev in honor of Stepan Bandera, a World War II anti-Soviet insurgent, on January 1, 2015 (photo credit: AFP/Genya Savilov)

The presidential campaign itself has featured some anti-Semitism.

In some far-right circles, Zelensky’s work in a television stationed owned by the Jewish billionaire Igor Kolomoisky was proof of his belonging to a “Jewish cabal.” But it made Zelensky popular with other nationalists who appreciated Kolomoisky’s reputation as a fiery patriot.

Alexander Paliy, an influential political analyst supporting Poroshenko, last month stirred controversy when he wrote on Facebook that, despite his “respect” for Jews and some Russians, “The president of Ukraine should be Ukrainian and Christian, like the absolute majority of Ukrainians.”

Such rhetoric is shocking to many of Ukraine’s 300,000-odd Jews, whose ancestors suffered murderous anti-Semitism in Ukraine for centuries before, during and decades after the Holocaust.

The French-Jewish philosopher Bernard-Henri Lévy also referenced Ukrainian Jew’s bloody history in an interview with Zelensky, the 41-year-old son of scientists who lived near major Soviet army bases in Ukraine, that he published earlier this month in the Le Point weekly.

“His Judaism. It’s extraordinary that the possible future president of the country of the Shoah by Bullets and Babi Yar is a self-affirmed Jew from a family of survivors from Kryvy Rih near Dnipro – the land of pogrom if ever there was one,” Levy wrote. “This postmodern kid, is he new proof that the virus of anti-Semitism has been contained” after the revolution, Levy added.

Not denying his Jewish ancestry, Zelensky declined to explore it at length in the interview, Levy wrote. On this subject, he replied with typical self-deprecating humor, telling Levy: “The fact that I am Jewish barely makes 20 in my long list of faults.”

Zelensky, whose mother, Rima, is Jewish, has ingratiated himself with the Ukrainian public with such jokes as the star of “Servant of the People” – a primetime television show where he portrays a teacher thrust by an unlikely chain of events to become Ukraine’s president. He announced his candidacy in January, becoming an instant favorite.

Volodymyr Zelensky, Ukrainian actor and candidate reacts after debates between in the weekend presidential run-off at the Olympic stadium in Kiev, Ukraine, April 19, 2019. (AP Photo/Vadim Ghirda)

This popularity has allowed Zelensky to both win on an unusually vague platform and distinguish himself from his professional politician rivals, with their proclivity to hyperbole and nationalist slogans.

For example, when a reporter asked him how he would deal with Russian President Vladimir Putin, Zelensky reverted to his comic roots, saying “I would speak to him at eye level.” It was a reference to him and Putin being at least three inches shorter than Poroshenko, a 6-footer.

Zelensky opaqueness means a high level of uncertainty, Dolinsky, the Jewish community leader, said.

“We will need to wait and see what kind of president Zelensky turns out to be,” said Dolinsky, who was an outspoken critic of some policies of the Poroshenko administration. “What is clear is that Poroshenko’s attempt to appeal to nationalism has failed. Ukrainians said they wanted change. And I am feeling optimistic.”

[johnny2071]

F is for Family - Bill’s Letter and Apology (Deconstructed)

Bill running away and finally calling out his parents is a major turning point in his character arc, and hopefully, the entire family. In these connected scenes, there's a lot of deep contexts, and I will be analyzing each of them. If anyone here has ever watched Mystery Science Theater 3000, Rifftrax, or any Channel Awesome reviews, you should understand what I'm doing here. Pay close attention to everything written in parenthesis within the transcript, as I will explain each note at the end. Bill's Letter: ----------------- Dear Mom and Dad, By the time you find this note, I will be long gone because I'm running away. Dad, I'm sure you won't care too much being that I'm such a big disappointment to you and I'm always bothering you with my problems. And I know you think I'm a pussy. My reasons for saying this are A, I heard you say it to Mom (Bill was there during the bedroom argument). In conclusion, I'm sure you will all be better off without me (Bill has been burned or neglected by all four members of the family). Mom, I'll remember to brush my teeth (No ill will?). Maureen, even though I'll be gone forever, you still can't have my room (Bill's less-than-kind sister has been moved into his bedroom space). And Kevin, you were doing something (Bill is that turned off by his masturbating, followed by his usual excuse). Sincerely yours, Bill. P. S. Watch out for Phillip (Who has a murderous mind and has gone ballistic twice). Bill's Calls Out His Parents & Rescue: ----------------- Frank: Bill, we're here! Daddy's gonna save you! Bill: Go to hell! (Bill strikes!) Frank: What the fuck did you just say to me? Bill: I'm fucking mad at you! You don't care about me, Dad! You never cared about me! You didn't take me to hockey tryouts because your stupid fat boss was eating chocolate in your truck. Pogo: (*"Now, there comes a point where a reasonable man will swallow his pride and admit that he's made a terrible mistake. The truth is, I was never a reasonable man"*) A Puerto Rican forced me to do that! (Pogo proves that he's not a reasonable man to own up to his mistakes) Bill: All you ever do is yell at me and call me a pussy. A guy exploded in front of me and you told me to shove it down. And when I needed you today, you told me, "Not now." Well how about now, Dad? (Bill has called out his old man) Frank: Jesus Christ, he's right. Son. I'm I'm sorry. I have been a terrible father lately. (Frank finally gets it, ….for now) Sue: Your father is very sorry, Bill. (Latching onto someone else's apology like a captain's parrot) Bill: I'm mad at you too, Mom! (You ain't off the hook, honey!) Sue: What? (MGS alert sfx) Bill: You spent all your time with that stupid scissor-spoon that I cut my fingers on! (Bill clearly holding back for some reason) Sue: (*cue Shopping Jaunt music*) It was called the Forkoontula, and it's still in the development stages, but you're right. It's just this new baby coming really threw us for a loop and then we got all wrapped up with the new neighbors. (How to construct an legitimate excuse over an apology to a very upset 11-year old boy) Mrs. Vanderheim: Well, I guess I ain't such a bad mother after all. [BLOWJOB] (Crass humor fodder insert) Sue: But that's all over now. (What's over? The pregnancy? The dead/arrested neighbors? The Forkoontula? The abuse?) Frank: And we're sorry. (Frank either hijacks Sue's "apology" for more .temp glory, or spares her the burden of responsibility) I told myself I'd be a better father than my own dad, and that starts now. You kids mean…. you mean a lot to me. I love you people. Just please come on home. We'll talk about it. (Which is either forgotten, or a discussion is had among the parents, while the children are elsewhere having zero-input) Bill: Can I have my old room back to myself? (A wish off the top of his head) Sue: Of course! Frank: Jesus, Sue, the house is a fucking mess! Sue: Frank! Frank: Sure. Your own room again. (Wish granted) Bill: I just want to go home. (Bill is back) Epilogue: ----------------- Frank: Well, I know things got a little crazy this summer. But now your mom and I, we got our priorities straight. Sue: Our most important job is being your parents. And I swear to you, we'll never forget that again. (Good luck with Frank's jerk father and your pregnancy still a thing) Notes: -Bill was there during the bedroom argument - Bill's parents knowing this is important, because the last time he mentioned this, the entire matter was preempted in favor of Major going missing. It should also tell them that he fully knows about their sex act right afterwards, and raise the question of why was Bill underneath the bed in the first place and not in school? He was suspended that day. Why was he suspended? He got into a fight with Jimmy Fitzsimmons. Why did he get into a fight? Fitzsimmons harassed him on Halloween night, when he was left home alone. -Bill has been burned or neglected by all four members of the family - Frank has been abrasive towards him, like every else he screams at. Maureen has zero-respect for him, blackmailed him, and was the first one to push him over the edge. Even Kevin (who isn't the friendliest guy) has begun to sour towards Bill as early as Season 2. And Sue, the one person you think would be closer to Bill (unlike of rest of Frank's personal juniors, Boy-Frank and Girl-Frank), has been nothing but hostile towards him in the rare moments they actually interact, for next to nothing. -No ill will? - After the way Sue has been hostile towards Bill, including this season, all the Bill has to say is that he ensures her of proper hygiene, a response so generic, he has nothing notable to say specifically to her in his goodbye letter. -Bill's less-than-kind sister has been moved into his bedroom space - After the way Maureen has treated him in the past, Bill is not fond of sharing his bedroom space with her, or giving her the satisfaction of ownership of his room. -Bill is that turned off by his masturbating, followed by his usual excuse - Given Kevin's boy-ish nature and questionable means of pleasure, and the fact that Bill's mind hasn't sexually matured yet (since he's barely in double digits), close encounters with sex-related matters make him squick very hard. In short, Bill is disgusted by Kevin for this. -Who has a murderous mind and has gone ballistic twice - Bill has already seen Phillip's kill book, depicted horrible acts of torture and murder to anyone who upsets him. Phillip himself has also flipped out at Bill for so much as liking a girl. Not to mention Phillip completely losing it on the Hobo Jojo Show. -Bill strikes! - After all the abuse both his family and the outside world has finally put him through, Bill finally lashes out at his father, all while hanging on for dear life. Frank and Sue finally come face-to-face with Bill's rage, something that's been long overdue since episode 5. -Pogo proves that he's not a reasonable man to own up to his mistakes - A reference from a quote from Big Fish. This was originally meant for Frank, except he does just that. Sue is a good alternative, but not only would the quote not make sense out of context, but Sue actually dances around this. Naturally, Pogo has been as much (if not more) of an asshole as Frank. I got the whole quote idea from a YouTuber's video. -Bill has called out his old man - In this season alone, Frank has been horribly dismissive towards all three of his children, especially when they needed his attention/any helpful advice the most. Here, Bill actually succeeds in calling Frank out on just that. -Frank finally gets it, ….for now - Frank, who's been extremely close-minded of anything his children say, actually has his mind opened by Bill, and is nearly left speechless. For the first time ever, Frank sincerely apologizes the Bill for being a bad father. However, this Frank we're talking about. Believe it or not, this isn't the first time Frank has made a passionate speech or apology. In fact, he has done this for each season final up to this point. By now, you would think that he would've because a better person by now. However, this show brands itself on bitterness and misery, and unfortunately, gets nothing but praise for it. In order for the show to keep its bitterness, Frank has to remain an over-the-top salty, powder keg, jerkass. Based on what resonates with this show's audience, it's Frank's defining trait, down to his threatening catchphrase, which is used towards the people he spends most of his interaction with: his children. Based on this and his track record of resetting back to default each season, it seems impossible and and out of character for Frank to change, much like Bojack Horseman (a character who actually tries to change, despite many characters in that show closing their doors on him). -Latching onto someone else's apology like a captain's parrot - Rather than apologize herself for her own mistakes, Sue decides to chime in and repeat back to Bill what Frank had just said, like a parrot or a one-dimensional yes man. -You ain't off the hook, honey! - It's good to know that Bill has resentment towards his mother as well, considering that she was actually worse to him than Frank was, even though the show tries to pretend that these moments never happened, yet throw off people (especially those hoping for better) by giving us more when we least expect it (or when scenario do not call for it at the slightest). You can tell that Bill (despite his situation and limited rage) is using this opportunity as his best bet to call BOTH parents out (since he's been a victim of bad timing and has run out of steam before he can get started, leaving him vulnerable). -MGS alert sfx - A sound effect from Metal Gear Solid that should've played alongside Sue's ridiculous reaction. what's baffling here is the fact that she's that shocked that Bill is angry at her, as if she's done nothing wrong to him, as if she's been nothing but kind to him, as if one of her children holding hostility towards her is such an outrageous out-of-the-left-field concept. It just sounds so fake coming from her, almost as cartoonish as The Simpsons, in a show trying to be as dark and real as possible. -Bill clearly holding back for some reason - Out of all the things Sue has said and done to Bill up to this point, THIS is the thing Bill decides to call out on. It's almost as Bill had a brief flashback of all the Sue-Bill moments and intentionally held back, by only referencing the most immediate she's done during the summer, or at this point, he's literally running out of steam and doesn't have enough stamina and anger to call her out on everything else (like he did with Frank). He isn't WRONG about all her time going into the Forkoontula, and the invention DID amplify Sue's ugly side. However, Bill was unintentionally spared from any instances of Sue's wrath pertaining to the Forkoontula. The only who wasn't so lucky and got the cold shoulder/venom is Maureen. "The Stinger" and "Punch Drunk" are prime examples. -*Cue Shopping Jaunt music*/How to construct an legitimate excuse over an apology to a very upset 11-year old boy - Shopping Jaunt is a public domain stock music piece often associated with assembly line production sequences. This is a reference to Sue/Laura Dern's lack of sincere emotion and patronizing/near-robotic delivery in her line. It's the equivalent of a someone making an announcement over an intercom in a professional environment, as opposed to a mother deeply apologizing to her son. Hell, she doesn't say "I'm sorry" to the the boy, not even once. Instead, she just brings up the news of the baby, as well as the new neighbors as the cause of their problems. The baffling thing is, it's not like Sue/Laura isn't capable of delivering a sincere apologetic tone. She did in episode 4 of this season after she learns the truth of what the other wives though of her invention, and actually apologizes to Marie for yelling at her. -Crass humor fodder insert - Did we really need this? This is supposed to be an emotional moment where the family finally sees first hand how upset Bill truly is, and finally gets his dues. But the impact is muddled by an insert scene of yet another crude one-note, one-dimensional, one-timer character taking up already limited screentime (given Bill's situation, how late in the season it is, and how late in the act it is). -What's over? The pregnancy? The dead/arrested neighbors? The Forkoontula? The abuse? - In a show like this that tries to stay faithful to its branding and reputation its built up, what exactly does Sue even mean by that? Last time we checked, Sue's still pregnant, and they only have a few months left. Will she decide NOT to have a fourth child and get an abortion, even this late? If she's referring to the new neighbors, of course that's over, since Nguyen-Nguyen poisoned Chet and got arrested. Will Sue finally give up on the Forkoontula (and future inventions), considering how it's bought out the worst in her and caused problems or everyone else, and focus on improving as a person and communicating with her children (which brings us to the "end of abuse" factor)? -Frank either hijacks Sue's "apology" for more .temp glory, or spares her the burden of responsibility - We've seen Frank constantly attempt to make up for his recent mistakes enough times already (spoiler alert: Someone like him, especially in this show, can never change). Why not have Sue be a person for once and own up to her mistakes. Just one apology to her children (in this case, Bill, and to a further extent, Maureen). "Sue: And I'm very sorry, Bill, for the horrible way I've acted as a mother." Is that honestly too good for Bill, or the viewers? We get it. Frank is the main character, but when you have a character like Sue act that scary and hostile towards the ones that don't deserve it, they have to take responsibility for their actions and amend for it so they can be sympathetic/likeable again, especially if they're part of the main cast: the family. -Which is either forgotten, or a discussion is had among the parents, while the children are elsewhere having zero-input - The phrase "we'll talk about it/we'll talk about this later" has been used very loosely in this series, with almost no promise, delivery, or payoff behind it. In the Murphy family, do they even HAVE family discussions? Do they actually talk with the children, instead of just barking orders and threats? Do Frank and Sue actually care about their opinions and how they feel, or just how they APPEAR to feel? At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't "talk about it" at all, especially after five months of dead silence after the events of season 2, only for similar mistakes to return and get as bad as they did in this season. -A wish off the top of his head - Bill sees that his parents are desperately pleading for his return, so he uses this opportunity to ask them for anything as a reason to come home. But considering who his parents are, Bill simply asks for the first thing he can think of in reason. -Wish granted/Bill is back - With this request granted, Bill is ready to return home, and his resentment towards his family has faded. With that said, is this the end of Bill's character arc? Will Frank and (mainly) Sue get along better with him, and the rest of their children? -Good luck with Frank's jerk father and your pregnancy still a thing - Despite Sue's promise to never forget that "being their parents is their most important job", there's still the matter of Sue's pregnancy, and all the hormones that make an already volatile person worse. Also, the introduction of Frank's jerkass father, who will have no problem driving everyone in the house crazy with his baggage (based on Frank's experiences with the man). And even without those glaring issues, what exactly does Sue mean by that? More work specifically for Frank (the least-suited man for the job)? Or does it mean simply mean paying more attention to their kids, but without improving communication/reasoning with them, and being more hostile towards them, over the slightest infraction at the wrong time/mood? In conclusion, I was initially ecstatic over S3E10 (since it was the closest we were going to get to a true happy ending, especially after all the crap that went down in season 2), but after I did more research (since I actually didn't sit through this season and skipped to a transcript of the season finale) and learned about everything else that happened, I learned that this ending wasn't enough to make up for it.

[its-love-u-asshole]

as long as you come home [fic]

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Kuroo Tetsurou

Summary: Tsukishima wasn't afraid to admit he got scared, everyone did. He just didn't think he'd ever come this close to experiencing his greatest fear, waiting for Kuroo to come home hours after he should've been back. 

Rating: E

Tags: fluff and smut, established relationship, protective tsukki

Note: yoooo, alright I did kintober last year in much the same fashion (one fic a week or so), and hopefully I can do it again? I already have 3 done so I'm almost there! This one is by far my favorite of the bunch though, because I'm a sucker for sappy kurotsuki, so I wanted to post it first! I hope you enjoy, I really enjoyed writing this <3 Thanks @emeraldwaves for reading this over!

Read on AO3! 

It's late, it's storming outside, Kuroo should've been home hours ago, and Tsukishima is definitely not worried.

It's what he tells himself as he paces the floor of their shared apartment, wrapped up in one of Kuroo's old hoodies from high school, one he's grown out of in his quest to be "as ripped as Bokuto," like such a thing is even possible.

Just the memory makes him smile as the scent of his boyfriend envelops him, subtle and sweet, almost faded because of Tsukishima's own.

His not-worry grows stronger.

Another lightning strike illuminates the sky from where Tsukishima left the window open, and he flinches. A bad sign. The rain is usually his favorite kind of weather, soothing, cleansing. Now each trickle, every hit against the window pane makes him bite his nails further down to the nub.

He regrets not getting the phone number of Kuroo's friend, some guy from his chem class who invited Kuroo out for drinks. It's not an uncommon scenario.

Kuroo is a popular guy, and despite his usual preference to stay home and drown in blankets along with Tsukishima, he values his social connections. Plus, apparently this guy takes good notes.

He'd promised to be back before midnight, before their ritual snacking time. Tsukishima was going to make s’mores.

Yet, Kuroo had not kept his promise.

Tsukishima never minds when Kuroo goes out; Kuroo never fails to come home to him, on time, or with notice.

It's what makes tonight extra concerning.

Tsukishima isn't dramatic. He prefers the rational side of things, but well...even he's seen those soap operas. The ones where the fretting spouse waits and waits, only for the police to show up instead of their significant other, only to reveal--

No.

Absolutely not.

Tsukishima flops onto the giant beanbag Kuroo impulse bought a few weeks back, ignoring the pain of his stomach and the restlessness in his limbs. It doesn't help, because it smells like Kuroo too.

It's been over an hour.

Tsukishima called him once already, and texted twice, because usually more wouldn't be necessary. This is not like Kuroo, and again Tsukishima wishes he could do something. He doesn't even know what bar Kuroo is at, and in retrospect, that was probably also a mistake.

Maybe Kuroo just got drunk, had a little too much fun. It's not impossible to think he might've crashed at a friend's, unable to remember to let Tsukishima know.

If such is the case, Tsukishima will see him in the morning, apologetic and panicked, with a lovestruck expression too powerful for the blond to not forgive.

But Tsukishima doesn't know if he can survive til the morning, he's barely lasted an hour.

If he just knew Kuroo was alright, it would be enough.

Twenty more minutes pass, and Tsukishima's nails have started to hurt, but his stomach is too up in knots for him to stress eat. Is he being ridiculous?

Maybe.

Kuroo will come home and have a field day with this, surely. "You worry too much baby," he'll say, and Tsukishima will ignore him for a few minutes until he can't harness the strength anymore.

He hopes. He hopes and hopes and hopes some more, lying in a ball and staring at his cellphone, checking the ringer every five minutes.

When there's finally a knock at the door, all the lead in Tsukishima's legs lightens and suddenly he's a teleporter, or an olympian, with how fast he is at the doorstep and throwing it open.

His heart stopped somewhere in that millisecond, and his lungs join in on the fun, as his mouth opens the door with one choked, simple name. "Tetsu, where have you--"

It's only somewhat relief which makes his words die. After all, it is Kuroo, not the police, or some other poor soul tasked with giving him bad news. It's Kuroo.

Tsukishima's shoulders slump, shaking.

It's surprise which hits Tsukishima alongside relief, and the initial anger and panic he feels dissolves away when he sees the state of his boyfriend. He doesn't look like someone who deserves to be yelled at; he doesn't look sheepish or relaxed.

No, Kuroo looks so sad the way he is now, shaking like he's experiencing an earthquake right on their cheesy doormat, completely drenched and teeth chattering to levels which make Tsukishima's ears hurt.

Frowns don't suit Kuroo, Tsukishima realizes. Neither does guilt, or the pained relief of finally making it home. Tsukishima's heart hurts for him.

Kuroo is alive though. Alive.

It kicks Tsukishima into gear.

"Are you okay?!" Tsukishima asks, stupidly, voice trembling with something so unlike him, he might gag later. It's not about him right now though.

He doesn't let his boyfriend answer.

He pulls Kuroo in, slamming the door shut to keep out the cold, and fuck the neighbors if they think it's too loud. Tsukishima cares about absolutely nothing else except Kuroo. He doesn't even know what to do first, so he does everything.

He turns on the heater, cranking it up to insane levels as he fishes for towels in the nearby cupboards, draping one over Kuroo's shoulders and getting another for his hair.

Kuroo had barely recovered from an illness, Tsukishima couldn't let him fall back into one, but god his skin is so cold.

Okay, new plan.

He takes Kuroo's thick sport jacket and his jeans off in record time, too fast for Kuroo to make a dirty joke about it. Not that he can, his teeth are still clacking while Tsukishima fishes him new sweatpants and a t-shirt.

The old clothes are sopping wet, and Tsukishima has so many questions as he takes them to the hamper, feeling how heavy they sit in his hands. Freezing.

Again, Tsukishima wonders if there might've been something he could've done to prevent this, despite knowing close to nothing.

What he does know is he's ready to push someone into the Arctic Ocean for this; it's the only just equivalent for how his boyfriend is shivering in the middle of their living room.

When Tsukishima walks back in, Kuroo spots him, and Tsukishima hates the guilt in his eyes. At least he's got his new clothes on. "Kei, Kei I'm so sorr--"

Tsukishima crashes into him and they fall onto the monstrous beanbag, and Tsukishima is thankful he was unsuccessful in talking Kuroo out of it. He almost feels guilty for how Kuroo chokes, but Tsukishima can't help it.

Kuroo is never this cold. He's usually unbelievably, unbearably warm. Enough to be Tsukishima's personal heater during the winter, enough to make Tsukishima wake up sometimes because he's too warm, having fallen asleep pressed up against him.

Kuroo's skin should not be so chilled to the touch, and Tsukishima is desperate to return him to normal. Even if he has to throw his pride away to do so, it's fine. His worry has taken him out of his right mind, and he rubs his face in Kuroo's neck, squeezes him tighter, and only somewhat lets up when Kuroo starts to reciprocate in full.

Ah, it's Tsukishima's favorite. Kuroo's strong hands wrap around him easily, but they seem even more desperate than usual. This time Tsukishima is the warm one, like fire spreading to Kuroo's fingertips.

Better.

He doesn't have to say how scared he was, how concerned, he's sure Kuroo can feel it in the way Tsukishima clings and breathes. The embrace tightens, close enough to be otherwise suffocating, like when Kuroo is joking around.

"Don't leave meeee," he'll whine, on the off chance they don't have the same day off from work or school. Tsukishima would roll his eyes and push him off, because Kuroo is all for theatrics.

This is not one of those times.

Kuroo's nose bumps into Tsukishima's cheek, pressing, and Tsukishima lets him leave a few featherlight kisses there before he finds his voice. Kuroo is a little warmer now, and that security helps. "Where were you?"

It's one of about a million more questions he has in his head, but it's the best place to start.

"I-I thought your friend was giving you a ride?" Tsukishima continues, because in his defense, he's not good at comprehending these kinds of things. Plans and schedules are weirdly set in stone for him, there's no room for flexibility where time commitments are concerned. When something deviates, it stresses him out, even when he's not involved.

But c'mon, this is his boyfriend. Tsukishima can act as annoyed as he wants with Kuroo sometimes, can blush and act like he's reasonable enough to see logic in any situation. It's simply not true.

If Kuroo is involved, Tsukishima is involved. That's how it is, because Tsukishima loves this fool more than anything and the prospect of Kuroo one day not being around only makes Tsukishima want to sink into the ground or maybe fight Satan himself to give Kuroo back to him (they'd had this discussion before, pillow talk you know? neither of them are getting into heaven).

Kuroo can totally sense his agitation, he doesn't pause to tease or prod or calm him. He answers; Tsukishima deserves it. Kuroo sighs loudly, pulling away from Tsukishima, his hands already rubbing soothing circles onto his back. "He bailed on me. I was supposed to meet him at the bar next to that sushi place you like? But I was running late, and by the time I got there he'd already found some girl he liked and...yeah. They ended up bar-hopping for a bit, I stayed put. Some of my other friends were there so I didn't mind."

Kuroo winces then, maybe because he can feel the beginnings of anger seething under Tsukishima's skin, and because it's the next part which he undoubtedly knows will make his blond livid beyond all possible belief.

"Then what?" Tsukishima asks. It's the most relaxed tone he can manage, and it's not good at all.

Kuroo's expression turns into annoyance, and it makes sense. Kuroo's a nice guy, but he's not that nice. He dates Tsukishima for a reason. Salt soulmates. "Anyways, he said he'd still come pick me up after he'd gotten her number or whatever but, he never showed. I must've waited under the bar awning for thirty minutes, but he let all my calls go to voicemail. My friends had left already, I was alone."

Shit out of luck.

Tsukishima will kill this guy. It's not a cute hyperbole or empty promise, he's going to do it. It's not gonna be gentle, or swift, or merciful either.

In fact, Tsukishima is already getting up, like he's going to go find this guy right then, but Kuroo is dragging him back down just as fast. Damn, he knows Tsukishima a bit too well.

"Kei, Kei no," Kuroo warns, wrapping his arms around the blond's trembling frame. He knows he's being a little ridiculous. He barely knows this guy's name, much less where he lives or where to find him. But he's upset, he's more than upset. He's on a warpath.

From the bar Kuroo is talking about, it's a good mile and a half at least back to their apartment. It's pouring outside, college kids aren't the best drivers either....

A number of things could've happened, and Tsukishima won't entertain them in his head.

The frustration drenches his tone as he turns to face Kuroo, glare colder than the rain. "He made you walk home in the worst storm ever and you're telling me to forget about it? No, what's his name?"

Number. Work. Whatever.

In reality, Tsukishima is not a fighter. But he'll be damned if he doesn't at least cuss this guy out.

"I-in his defense, I made the call to walk home," Kuroo tries, weakly. Ha. Maybe Kuroo is too nice, that or he's being selfish. Having Tsukishima end up in prison isn't ideal for either of them.

"Yeah, because he ditched you," Tsukishima replies, and he doesn't mean to make Kuroo flinch, he really doesn't. This isn't his boyfriend's fault, but god. "You wouldn't need to walk home if he'd just picked you up and...and..."

And brought you to me, brought you home.

He can dump the body in the lake nearby. He and Kuroo hike there often, it's very romantic.

Tsukishima's fists are clenched in the fabric of Kuroo's shirt, and as much as he does want his revenge...it's late, and this is where Kuroo needs him to be.

His boyfriend isn't shivering anymore, which is a good sign, and Tsukishima allows himself to settle into his hold, feeling Kuroo sigh before he speaks. "I didn't want to worry you, but I guess I ended up doing that anyways. I just wanted to get home faster, I knew you were waiting, and after being blown off I...I missed you."

And Tsukishima missed him too, painfully so, too much to let himself admit. But the fear of losing Kuroo loosens him up regardless, and he tilts his head up, stealing a kiss from Kuroo's lips.

Yes, he seriously doesn't know what he'd do without those, and it's horrible.

"Why didn't you call me?" he finds himself asking, in an effort to keep all those emotions bottled away. He's sure they carry through in his tone anyways, but oh well.

"After trying to get ahold of him for so long...my phone kinda died," Kuroo says, and for the first time that night he smiles, sheepish in a way which makes Tsukishima want to kiss him again. "And okay, I know you always nag me for forgetting to charge it, I'll be better."

Uh-huh, Tsukishima thinks, what a load of crap. But he's smiling back at his boyfriend, annoyance hardly there.

"Needless to say, I figured it wouldn't take me too long to walk but....the rain happened, and yeah," Kuroo finishes, trying to make himself smaller. It's not possible. He may not be Bokuto, but Kuroo is tall and muscular, and his presence is massive in more ways than one. Tsukishima shakes his head.

You can't hide from me.

He lets the quiet settle in between them, comfortable, mindlessly rubbing patterns into Kuroo's forearms. It seems stupid, but Tsukishima feels like he needs to cherish him a little right then. The fact he could've never seen Kuroo again makes his anger spike again, but it's vastly overpowered by the need to surround himself with everything Kuroo has to offer.

It's what's important, he thinks.

"I guess I can postpone the murder," Tsukishima says with a sigh sometime later, letting himself settle deeper against his boyfriend. It's cozy, and he feels his eyelids start to grow heavy. All his nightmare scenarios really did wear him out, not to mention the late hour. Maybe his body is finally letting him feel the exhaustion, now that Kuroo is safe and sound. "At least until I know you won't get sick."

If he's not here to bundle Kuroo up or force him to drink fluids, the fool will try to walk back out into the rain, Tsukishima knows he will. Kuroo thinks he's invincible, and it makes Tsukishima both extremely proud and extremely concerned.

Not that Kuroo knows about either. That's fine too.

Kuroo chuckles, lying back, and taking Tsukishima with him. They land in an ungraceful tangle of limbs, but it works for them. They've never been neat sleepers. It's not possible, with their heights, or their weird need to fall asleep huddled even though they will most assuredly wake up separated. It's a comfort.

They really should get to bed, their real bed, but...

This is nice, warm.

Kuroo rolls them over, tucking Tsukishima against his chest, and mouths gently at the back of his neck. There's a lot still to say, but they're tired and the rain has returned to being relaxing instead of terrifying, lulling them in the low light of their living room.

Good thing they were too cheap to buy the brighter lamps.

Tsukishima huffs a laugh. Ah, Kuroo is rubbing off on him in all the best and worst ways. It makes Tsukishima's smile grow, and he hides it in the beanbag.

Still....Tsukishima can't let one thing slide, no matter how relieved he is. It eats at him, whittling away at his heart and soul until the words tumble out of him, vulnerable and far too quiet.

"Please...don't do that again," he whispers, and he knows Kuroo gets what he means. It's not meant to guilt him, but...Tsukishima means it. If Kuroo can help it, he should never do something like this again.

Tsukishima will gladly do whatever it takes to get him home as an alternative, but just...not this. Never this.

His boyfriend tenses behind him, but then presses in tighter, like he never wants to let go. He won't, all night. Tsukishima knows it.

He blinks away some wetness in his eyes, because it's uncalled for and childish, but Kuroo must sense it anyways. He grabs the nearest blanket, throwing it over them, and kisses Tsukishima again on the back of his head.

Kuroo tends to know what he needs, whether Tsukishima admits to it or not.

"I promise," Kuroo replies, and the last thing Tsukishima registers is a hand wrapping over his, sealing the deal.

--

The next day, Tsukishima still feels like murdering someone, but it's subdued. Basically, he's not going to go out and look for this guy, but so help him, if he ever sees him in public...

All bets are off.

Tsukishima sighs into his tea, letting the rest of the tension fade away as he fixes Kuroo something for his immune system. It's citrus flavored, and Kuroo hates it, but if Tsukishima insists enough he'll have no choice but to force it down like a little kid taking his medicine.

When Kuroo wakes up, he does just that, because Tsukishima is often right about these things, and it's about as amusing as he expects.

"Goddamn," Kuroo curses, gagging on the last gulp, and Tsukishima has to look away. He's not a fan of the flavor either, and just the thought of it sends the memory of the taste back to his own tongue.

Blegh.

Kuroo rinses it down with a piece of chocolate cake, the last piece, but Tsukishima must still be feeling overly affectionate, since he doesn't feel like making a fuss.

He'll make another one later.

Besides, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't made the cake a little healthier this time around, purely for Kuroo's sake. When had he started catering to Kuroo like this? Without minding or second guessing it?

Probably around the same time Kuroo started folding Tsukishima's laundry the way he liked, or buying Tsukishima's favorite cereal.

It's the way things are, and Tsukishima's happiness is amplified when he feels Kuroo's arms wrap around him from behind.

"You're not still mad are you?" Kuroo mumbles into Tsukishima's shoulder, it's then Tsukishima realizes his boyfriend isn't wearing a shirt. Kuroo's chest is firm, and Tsukishima leans back into him. He knows if he turned around, he'd get a nice view, his fingers could graze every ridge of his abdomen...

The thought is tantalizing, more so than he expects.

A familiar heat coils in his stomach, a tingle travels up his legs and makes his skin itch for touch, and he's almost embarrassed for his timing. After such a scare...

He blamed Kuroo's influence, even though he knows he's just as guilty.

He's hyper aware of his clothes, his body, and most importantly, Kuroo pressing back into him.

And okay, maybe this is what Tsukishima needs. A different kind of relaxing, but the best kind. Asking for it is not usually his way, but it doesn't mean he denies it or keeps it hidden. It's just...Kuroo can often tell.

Tsukishima hums, shaking his head as he spreads his legs, letting Kuroo's thigh rest between them. It's the easiest way to communicate his desire, to let Kuroo feel it. He needs to communicate other things to Kuroo too..."I was never mad at you."

"I know," Kuroo says, but Tsukishima feels him sag a little more, the relief palpable. As if Tsukishima could be mad at Kuroo in this situation. The fondness surges again, egged on by the lust clouding up his brain. "But you know what I meant."

Yeah...

"I just hope for your sake I never see that guy in broad daylight," Tsukishima answers, like it's nothing, and he shivers as he presses the cleft of his ass against Kuroo's groin.

He usually hates wearing these shorts, they're too thin and kind of ratty, but right now he's more than grateful. Easy access.

He hears Kuroo take a sharp intake of breath, and he knows his goal has been reached. Tsukishima bites his lip, suppressing a smug smile.

"And why--why is that?" Kuroo says, a bit lost as he rests his hands on Tsukishima's hips, more to steady himself than anything. The waistband of the shorts is a little loose too. Kuroo's breath is warm where it ghosts over his neck, and Tsukishima sighs, tilting his head.

The heat coils tighter, his toes are already curling, pathetically wanton.

"I don't think you'd appreciate having your reputation ruined because your boyfriend punched someone in the middle of the quad," Tsukishima replies, though the idea sounds very enticing. Not as enticing as Kuroo carrying him over to the couch, but he'll get that soon enough.

"I don't know, that sounds pretty hot." Kuroo's laugh is about as magical as his hands, washing over Tsukishima, heavy and purposeful.

They're at his thighs now, squeezing the flesh there, because unlike Kuroo, Tsukishima has not felt the need for such an intense workout regimen. If he felt subconscious about it before, which he didn't, all thoughts would certainly be dashed with the way Kuroo is groping him, hands traveling up his stomach and over the beginnings of love handles.

"Guess I should be thankful anyways," Kuroo begins, and Tsukishima can feel the smirk, razor sharp and threatening to eat him alive. "I have such a loving boyfriend, one who deserves to be spoiled."

Tsukishima's whimper, yearning and in time with the roll of Kuroo's hips, ends the conversation.

--

It's not uncommon for Kuroo to feel extra...giving. Most of the time it's when they're sitting on the couch, lazy, watching some movie they've seen twenty times before and are only half paying attention to.

Kuroo will send him one of those looks, the kind which drips sex and authority, one which only Tsukishima can decipher. Then, Kuroo will lie down on his back, not breaking the eye contact, and beckon Tsukishima over to sit obediently on his face.

Tsukishima doesn't have to admit it delights him; he's sure Kuroo can fucking tell, like he can tell now, as Tsukishima moans shamelessly while holding the couch's armrest for dear life.

"O-oh, oh shit," he whines, and it's becoming increasingly harder to keep his legs from trembling, from resting his hips down completely on Kuroo's face. He doubts Kuroo would mind, with how eagerly he's applying himself to making Tsukishima come from this.

Getting eaten out by Kuroo is a spiritual experience, truly.

Tsukishima's nails dig into the couch fabric, and Kuroo's hands are busy spreading his cheeks apart, tongue diving deeper into Tsukishima's hole.

Kuroo is so determined at everything he does, even taking Tsukishima apart. At the thought, Kuroo's hand draws back to deliver a harsh slap to Tsukishima's ass, and Tsukishima jumps. He wonders if the last handprint is still visible, refusing to fade away...

Thinking is becoming increasingly difficult.

He grinds his hips down, helping Kuroo go deeper, reaching every part of him. "Tetsu...mmm..."

His head is swimming; all he cares about is coming, but in this position he has to work for it. They both do, and maybe that's why Kuroo loves it so much.

He's being obscenely performative this time, slurping loudly, uncaring of the drool or jaw ache, his thumb teasingly circling Tsukishima's entrance every now and again. It's like he's having the time of his life, pushing Tsukishima to his limits.

It's maddening. Tsukishima falls for it though, his hips rolling, searching, and one of his hands fall to tug at Kuroo's hair. He's rough about it, and Kuroo moans, the vibrations making Tsukishima's legs spread wider.

Curse this stupid couch, it's too small.

Eventually, Kuroo makes him do most of the work, stilling himself so Tsukishima can bounce and twerk his hips as he pleases, using his tongue like one of the many toys in their drawer. Not enough, Kuroo knows it's not enough, but he likes seeing Tsukishima hunger for it.

Asshole.

Yet the insult, even in his head, is hardly powerful. Tsukishima writhes, and doesn't care how he sounds. He's so damn keyed up, his muscles tight, he just wants and wants and--

He cries out, garbled, untangling his fingers from Kuroo's hair to reach up and tug at one of his own nipples, the sensation sharp and intoxicating. It's too hot, his skin is burning, aching, he needs more before he does anything truly humiliating.

Any other day, Kuroo might push him to that point, until Tsukishima is crying or babbling, but Tsukishima can sense something different about him today. Kuroo is impatient, and Tsukishima can't help but feel a little proud. By now, Kuroo's cock must be begging for release, untouched...

"Tetsu...c'mon...please." Tsukishima punctuates the request with an unsteady jerk as Kuroo's thumb dips into his entrance, and he knows at that point Tsukishima can't take anymore. Fortunately, neither can he.

Tsukishima manages to catch the glint of ferocity in Kuroo's eyes before he's being moved, manhandled willingly until he's turned around, face to face with Kuroo's leaking cock.

Oh, so this is how he wants to finish things. Tsukishima can't say he disagrees.

His mouth waters instead. The tip of Kuroo's cock is an angry red, precum dripping down along the veins of the shaft, and Tsukishima moans, taking it in his hand. Always so heavy, so filling. Kuroo's hips jump, and Tsukishima's own determination blooms.

He blushes as he spits onto Kuroo's cock, slicking it up in the stereotypical, porn film way Kuroo likes for whatever reason. Kuroo mutters a curse at the action, and Tsukishima gives his cock a few firm pumps before he's taking it into his mouth, the bitter taste coating his tongue.

"Shit, yes," Kuroo groans, squeezing Tsukishima's ass before giving the blond's cock some much deserved attention. Tsukishima feels hot breath hover over him, a teasing prelude of his reward. Showing his appreciation, Tsukishima takes Kuroo deeper, fisting the parts he can't reach. If it makes some extra, wet noises, so be it. He can give Kuroo a show too when he wants.

He hears Kuroo growl, stilling Tsukishima's hips, which he hadn't realized were shaking so much, and utters his final command. "Make sure to come in my mouth, okay?"

Who is Tsukishima to refuse?

He moans, loud and a bit too purposefully around Kuroo's cock. They can last a good amount of time if they try, but that's not what Tsukishima wants. He wants Kuroo to come hard and fast, to completely fall to pieces because of Tsukishima's mouth...his touch...

Tsukishima hollows his cheeks, his other hand cupping Kuroo's balls as he takes Kuroo in feverishly, but he's past feeling ashamed about it. Not now, after all this time. Not when Kuroo's hips are straining to push further into Tsukishima's mouth, so needy.

All for me...

Tsukishima pulls back to gasp; Kuroo is just as gifted, and just as determined to make Tsukishima come first. He has Tsukishima's cock stuffed fully down his throat, and Tsukishima wishes he could see his teary eyes. Show off.

It's not gonna pay off for him though. Tsukishima knows this as he tries not to smirk, taking Kuroo's cock in just far enough to choke. The sound is filthy, but he's sure it reaches Kuroo's ears, another thing which drives him up the wall.

It's the perfect prelude to Tsukishima's last move, the kill shot. Or in this case, the money shot.

He moans as Kuroo swallows around his cock, his toes curling, and it takes everything to not get lost in the sensation, to chase his orgasm and push back.

Kuroo's mouth feels so amazing, so attentive.

Everything about Kuroo is so attentive...

"I just wanted to get home faster. I missed you."

And suddenly, Tsukishima feels twice as generous.

He takes his mouth away, letting the mixture of spit and precum in his mouth drip out and onto Kuroo's cock, making each stroke bounce off the space around them. Kuroo's hand grips his ass, and Tsukishima laughs, too sex drunk to be entirely smug.

He's been lewd all morning, no harm in adding to it at this point. He rubs his cheek against the head of Kuroo's cock, having enough sense to push his glasses away before he kisses the tip, words hot and tickling against it. "Make sure to come on my face, okay?"

He tricks himself into thinking the words are mocking, as if that gets rid of his blush or the fact he will hide his face at his own boldness later, but it's genuine. Kuroo knows it's genuine too, and he succumbs to Tsukishima's game instantly.

Kuroo pulls his mouth off Tsukishima's cock, throwing his head back. "Ah, Kei, f-fuck."

The splash of Kuroo's cum against his cheek and chin is enough to push Tsukishima close to the edge, and he moves to his side frantically, reaching down to give himself a few strokes.

Then, his vision blacks out, so deliciously, like it always does, his mouth open in a silent scream.

It's perverted of him, he knows it, and he'll never admit it aloud, but he thinks he could chase this feeling forever. It travels up his legs, his spine, like a shot of pure ecstasy that only lasts a few seconds. It's not fair, but it's so worth it. His brain short circuits, his legs twitch; he loves it.

Love it enough to not mind the mess on his face as his body finally relaxes, letting him flop unceremoniously.

He thinks his foot is close enough to kick Kuroo in the face, but he's too boneless to care. He's as light as air right now, and Kuroo's cum has started to drip from his chin down to his neck, and he doesn't mind in the slightest.

Out of habit, his tongue flicks out to catch some of the cum beading on his upper lip, and he feels Kuroo scramble to sit up, like he doesn't want to miss a second of it.

What an idiot.

Yet, Tsukishima doesn't stop his dazed little show. This turns Kuroo on like no tomorrow, and it's rare Tsukishima allows it...

So he figures he can indulge Kuroo a little before he wipes it all off. Tsukishima's own mess is splayed out over Kuroo's torso anyways, so it's only fair.

Still, with the air of sex dwindling away, replaced by a heavy wave of sleepiness and affection, Tsukishima avoids Kuroo's piercing stare. Instead, he busies himself with trailing his fingers through the drops on his cheek, bringing them to his mouth afterwards.

From the way Kuroo shudders, Tsukishima wouldn't be surprised if he was ready to go again.

Maybe later, for now...

Tsukishima sits up, making no effort to right his hair or pull on some clothes. This is something he is comfortable with, and he picks up his glasses, welcoming clarity once more.

When he finally looks up, Kuroo's smile makes him want to either crawl under blankets for two hundred year, or kiss it away.

It's a weird combination.

Kuroo's eyes are lit up with something far too loving for Tsukishima to have ever deserved, but there's fire in there too, like his desire has only been somewhat sated, and is building again. Tsukishima bites his lip as Kuroo rearranges them, and it makes Tsukishima snort. Their heavy limbs are not making things easy, but they eventually end up face to face, Kuroo half in Tsukishima's lap, his smile edging closer to smug.

Okay, so it pisses Tsukishima off a little.

Not enough to do more than lightly shove him though.

Kuroo laughs, but the obnoxious quality of it is made softer by the way his hands intertwine with Tsukishima's. "Well, if I thought you were tense before, you definitely aren't now."

You...

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. "Someone's arrogant."

"Because that someone is one hundred percent right," Kuroo says, and...he is, but it doesn't make it tolerable. "Judging by this anyways." Kuroo's other hand dips into the cum drying on his chest, Tsukishima's, and the blond blushes up to his ears.

He hates Kuroo, but it's nothing compared to how much he loves him, and Tsukishima will probably never figure that ratio out.

He doesn't break their connection though; if anything, his grip on Kuroo's hand tightens. This had been what he needed, he knows Kuroo can sense it, can tell from his expression alone.

So, Tsukishima lets Kuroo be proud and overconfident for now; and if there ever comes a time where he's lost and alone, physically or mentally, Tsukishima will be there to pick up the slack.

And...relax him, in whatever way Kuroo pleases.

Whatever keeps him from murdering those responsible...

In public anyways.

[yesimgoingtopeacecorps]

A Woman Is Not An Object or a Prize

As a female Peace Corps volunteer, there is no escaping it.

The sideways glances, the stares that last too long in your direction, the sigh you feel leaving your body when you're asked, yet again, if you are married or if you're dating anyone- and if you're not, "why not?"

There is a lot a person can get used to and become accustomed to when living in a foreign place. I am no longer phased by the fact that my toilet is simply just a hole in the ground, or that I have to wash my clothes by hand, or plans don't work out, or a three hour long car ride could end up taking me almost an entire twenty-four hours. Those are things that are easy to adapt to.

But the one thing that I will never fully adapt to? The one thing that continues to wear on me and chips away at the patience and acceptance I have built for other things in this experience? It's the feeling that no matter what, I am constantly looked at by men as an object, and I'm spoken to as if I have a buying price.

"Where is your husband?"

"Why are you not married yet?"

"My love, I love you, I want to marry you."

"Don't you want a husband? You need to start having children"

"Please, my darling, love me. We can go back to America together."

"If I was to marry you, you would be worth 1,000 cows. I would pay your father and he would be very happy."

"Hey baby, you are so sexy."

"Why are you not talking to me everyday? Is it because you do not want to be with me?"

"He is saying that because he wants to be with you, he does not mean any harm."

Let me be clear about something here, these aren't things I have heard from just Guinean man. I've heard it in all of my travels across the world. From my creepy rickshaw driver in Cambodia who picked me up from the airport, to the safari car driver in Tanzania where I worked for a summer, to my female host mother during my rural homestay in Uganda, who told me basically that “men will be men” when a drunk neighbor came by and wouldn't leave me alone. After awhile, this gross objectification starts to get to you. 

However, I think the difference for me now is that in the past, the trip always ended. I would go home and was able to surround myself again with male figures and close friends who respect me as a human being and don't look at me like I'm a walking vagina and breasts. 

I was able to build those walls up again and rebuild stronger each time, so that each new foreign experience, I started to care less about the stares, the crass comments, and the creepy actions towards me. I grew, I learned how to recognize these men and these situations, and I would brush them off or I would say something really brash and straightforward like "I want a husband someday but it won't be you." or I'd ask "Why is it necessary for me to have children?". I could say what I wanted and be as cold and detached as I needed to be if someone was making me uncomfortable or was being disgusting to me because, 9 times out of 10, I was probably never going to see them again.

I had these walls, these safeguards, and these skills I gained from over a decade of dealing with men out there who feel as if myself and other women are something that is owed to them. I came into Peace Corps with that fortress of self reliance under my belt and I was ready to take on what Guinea was going to throw at me. And let me tell you, in the last 17 months, the constant objectification has been bombarded on me.

The stares from men anytime I go anywhere, the constant comments from taxi driver asking me where my husband is (or if I want a husband, or can they be my husband?), having my photo taken without my consent, having to refuse invitations to men's homes, the persistent feeling of never fully being safe in a crowded male dominated space… the list could go on, and I know for a fact most other female volunteers I know have similar stories to share with you. It's gotten to the point where many of us just find it necessary for our sanity to straight up lie about being married or engaged to avoid further questions because, after the hundredth time of hearing "So if you are not married or engaged, you need to find someone here to marry." you stop wanting to have the argument of women's rights and choices.

But, all that said and done, those are the sort of instances and people I can deal with. Sure, they're exhausting, but I built those walls on purpose and they've kept me safe here. These sort of things exist everywhere in the world; as much as I individually do what I can to change those actions and inherited traits of these sorts of people, I try not to let them affect my life.

What exhausts me in the end, are the alarming number of men here whom I've put my trust in to not act that way towards me, and then having them betray that trust. They are the cannonballs among the pebbles being thrown in my direction and they are the ones that are wearing me down to a point of burn out.

Guinea, like almost all of the rest of the world, is a male dominated society. Unlike the culture I grew up in that has adapted and begun the journey of social equality for all, many Guinean men do not see women are their equals. It’s a culture where a bride price still exists, meaning simply that a woman literally has a monetary value assigned to her and her rights, her choices, and her body can be sold to the highest bidder. It is also a culture where, for the most part, the thoughts and feelings of the males in society are seen as the only ones that matter. But because I want to get work done, and because I want to make a difference, I grit my teeth and I grin through my gut-wretching feeling of wanting to run the opposite direction. I try to make friendships, develop work relationships, and have casual conversations with the opposite gender.

...Obviously the director of a branch of a major non-governmental organization in our area who works with my health center would be willing to work with me on helping to improve the capacity building of the community. We have so much to work on and he'd be a great work colleague. At least that's what I thought until I went to his house once on my way to my regional capital, just to chat, and he told me he wanted to "marry a beautiful American woman" and would leave his wife to do so, staring at me the whole time like a vulture waiting for his chance at the roadkill. Uncomfortable, I left and ignored his phone calls after that. He's since been moved to another posting in the lower part of the country.

...Of course this guy in my community who wants to work on organizing sessions for malaria trainings wants to just work with me because he cares about what I'm here to do… unless of course he's decided that by doing this with me, it was his way of telling me how much he loves me and wants to be with me. He said this to me over text message after a campaign that we did. When I didn't answer him and I started getting his six phone calls and fourteen text messages a day for a week, I finally had the doctor at my health center get involved and the harassment ended.

...There's no way that my friend and French tutor, a young, well educated, guy, would want anything more than my friendship and to hang out- until he asks me to dump the Peace Corps volunteer I’ve been dating so I could date him and when I said no, that I just wanted to be friends, he proceeds to stop speaking to me.

I’ll reiterate again, this sort of thing happens to women in America and all over the world; I'm aware it's not just a Guinean phenomenon of culture. But when my Peace Corps service has consisted of over ~80% of my interactions with male acquaintances always leading to me hearing a comment about my marriage status, or the 99.5% chance of me being nice to the taxi driver and then giving him my number to contact him for rides later, result in him constantly calling me asking to hang out, or, when I have at least a 1 in 2 chance of a man I'm trying to develop a professional friendship with, is thinking that working with me is eventually a way to get in my pants- you really begin to question whether you’re going to be able to make any difference at all.

So, what keeps me going on days that I feel like this? And feel like venting out about how I don't think things will ever evolve in this testosterone filled space I find myself currently apart of?

Every single day is a constant struggle to keep pushing back against these norms and keep allowing myself to trust people and let my guard down- despite being hampered with so many reasons to be jaded and shut the men out all together. But the reason I don't give up is there are men who are an exception the rule. By forming friendships with these men and having them embrace that fact that I am a human being, not an object or a prize to be won, it empowers them to teach others group them how to act and behave towards the opposite sex. It gives me hope that they will be the ones to change the ways of the next generation.

I see it in my friend Cissé, who's marriage I was a part of and who has constantly been working with me to start a girls' sports club.

I see it in my Chef de Santé, Dr. Bah, who always tells me about the importance of educating women and calls me his teacher.

I see it in my counterpart Mamadou, who has never once asked me about a husband or has ever made a pass at me in our year and a half of working together.

I finished writing this, and I went and stopped by my health center and sat down with Dr. Bah. Frustrated, I explained my feelings to him about how men act here. He said something to me that gives me hope. “Les hommes qui ne respectent pas les femmes ne sont pas des hommes bons.” The men who do not respect women are not good men.

So, because of them, and Guinean male role models like them, I keep moving forward. I keep finding ways to, cautiously and carefully, let the other gender into my life while I'm here. I keep going so that, maybe one day, men like my few Guinean male friends who respect me and respect the rights and choices of women, will no longer be the exception but will instead be the rule.