#he is me and i am him. hyde move over it's my turn to use the “we're the same person” card.

[ccruelgods]

every glass scientists update makes me realizing feeling comfortable with using the name jekyll is actually not normal and has very troubling implications

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut. 

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass. 

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp. 

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste. 

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips. 

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over. 

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment. 

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically. 

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too. 

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

[spaceagebachelormann]

Okay so Xavier meeting the reader who is Wednesday’s friend and he thinks she’s intimidating but she’s actually the opposite of Wednesday and really sweet and nice and he just falls for her on the spot?

Idk what else to put with this idea

intimidating

pairing: xavier thorpe x fem reader

warnings: splinters, xavier shit talking reader, reader is kinda weird, swearing

summary: xavier falls in love with an unexpected person

intimidating pt 2

masterlist

“Who are we waiting for?” Xavier groaned from his spot on the grass.

Wednesday glared up at him, indicating that if he asked one more time, she would snap him in half, and he didn’t doubt if she could or not for a moment.

“I’ve only told you 6 times.” She grumbled, still staring him down, “Y/N. My friend, who you seem to have a discomfort for.”

Xavier glared back, “Of course I have a discomfort for her! She’s creepy and always stares at me in class. Scratch creepy, she is terrifying.”

He had never really like you. Everytime he glanced at you, you were already staring. You were also freakishly smart, and overly smart people are always secretly insane. It didn’t help that you had a resting bitch face, so that also made you intimating.

Enid nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she does always stare at him. It’s weird.”

“That just means she admires you. It’s a compliment, really.” Wednesday said, turning her attention from Xavier to the book in front of her.

Enid frowned.

“Wait, you invited Y/N even though Xavier doesn’t feel comfortable with her?” Her frown turned into a scowl, and she added “That’s not a very good move, Wednesday. I don’t think you should have done that.”

“I don’t think I care.”

Xavier nodded at Enid, “Thanks for trying.”

Enid smiled.

“However,” the raven haired girl began, “I do agree. Y/N is never late, not to anything. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited her this time.”

Xavier began to nod, but a voice distracted him.

“I’m here!” The voice called, falling out of a tall tree.

You sat up, and hissed in pain, because there was multiple splinters all over your body.

“I’m sorry, I was busy.” You apologized, slumping in between Enid and Xavier.

Enid couldn’t sit still with your condition, she began to tend to your wounds as Xavier not so subtly scooted away from you.

“It’s fine. Do you know why I asked you to come here?” Wednesday asked, putting her full attention on you.

You shook your head, mindlessly smiling.

“I need your help to catch a hyde. Your parents used to work with them, correct?”

You grinned at your friend.

“Yes! Thank you for remembering, everyone always forgets and just acts like they’re as insane as I am.”

You were unaware of the fact you were just proving Xaviers theory of smart people being crazy criminal masterminds.

“That’s so cool! Do you know anything about catching them?” Enid cut in, giving you a big grin.

“Well, I can remember some things. For example, they..” You trailed off as your eyes landed on Xavier.

Wednesday cleared her throat. “Is something wrong?”

You smiled at the boy across from you. “Xavier Thorpe, right? I’ve been meaning to tell you for weeks now, I absolutely adore your shoes! Where did you get them from?”

Okay, Xavier thought, maybe she’s really not as bad as I assumed she was. But, he knew he couldn’t be sure just yet.

He blushed. “Uh, thanks. I have an extra pair if you want them. I ordered them, like, four sizes too small.”

You turned your attention back to Wednesday, after smiling at Xavier once more and thanking him. “You were saying?”

Enid awkwardly laughed, “Actually, you were talking.”

“Oh, yes! I was! For example, they absolutely love the smell of meat, obviously. If you were going to capture one, it’s better to do it in a wide and open space, so you have room to run away if needed. However, running away would only work if the trees were thick. So, it would be hard to find a good spot.” You smiled at the group thoughtfully, taking in Enid and Xaviers shocked expressions, and Wednesdays neutral one.

“Y/N,” Wednesday said, “I need a favour.”

~

And now, you were standing alone, waiting for the three of them. Wednesday had told you to meet her by the statue of Edgar Allan Poe. As usual, you hadn’t been given very many details of why. All you knew was that she needed your help.

From the very few details you were given, you knew that they needed your help to find out where the hyde was hiding. Their current idea was an old abandoned house.

It was exactly 10:30 PM, the time you had agreed on meeting.

A few minutes continued to pass, and they still weren’t there.

You had begun to get worried.

Until, you spun around and saw Enid, Wednesday, and Xavier walking towards you.

“Sorry, Enid decided to paint her nails again. In her mind, it seemed like a great idea.” Wednesday apologized.

“Well, they looked atrocious! I had to do something!” Enid defended, crossing her arms defensively.

You gave a joyful laugh, the noise causing Xaviers cheeks to slightly flush.

“It’s alright! I’m just glad you’re here now.” You said to them all, eye lingering on Xavier for a moment, just long enough to see his pink cheeks.

Since your last meeting, Xavier had fallen for you. At first, he had thought you were like Wednesday, cool, calm, and intimidating. But, you had proved him wrong. You were sweet, and nice. He liked that.

And now, he got to explore an old house with you.

10/10 first time hanging out.

Good for him.

[jellyfishsthings]

My lips. Your lips. Apocalypse.

Warnings: angst, smut

part 1

A whole eternity seems to pass instead of mere hours, until he wakes up. He looks all around him, bleary-eyed. His eyes land on me and the gun I am holding and naturally he panics trying to move to cover himself up only to notice that his hands are tied to the bed.

"You know." He says it as a statement and not as a question. I simply nod, unable to frame my thoughts. "Are you going to turn me in?" He asks in a scared voice.

Thing is that Hydes are manipulative and completely controlled by their urges and yet… all I see is Tyler. My Tyler. So I nod negative. "Will you let me go? What are you going to do to me?"

"I don't know." I whisper." I have been sitting here for over three hours trying to find a solution but I am still empty-handed."

I hear the front door shut loudly and after that.

"Tyler, what did I say about taking out the trash."

I quickly unlock his handcuffs and quickly get out of the window running at full speed into the forest, until my lungs give out. Supporting myself in a tree bark as I take deep breaths. That's when I feel a hard chest press me to the tree, gluing my front and turning my head to the side. My breaths are uneven and panicky, yet I still pick up his scent, coffee with a smidge of his cologne.

"How-"

"I run fast. Now I want you to stay still and listen. Can you do that for me?" He whispers in my ear, as his breath fans my upper neck. I try to push backwards and free myself. That's when I feel something hard pressing in my backside and my cheeks flame. He presses me harder and I whine in protest." What did I just say huh? Do you see what you are doing to me?" My frantic beating heart seems to be trying to escape my ribcage.

A part of me rebels at that, Tyler wants me. But the more sensible part of me is scared out of his mind because as I let my mind slip into his, turning my eyes into a deep midnight blue, I see everything Ms Thornhill and everything she has done to him. So I make a fast decision in a slip of a second.

As I turn my head towards him as much as possible and mutter " Do something about it then."

He manhandles me, spinning me so to face him. Attacking my lips and tearing apart my shirt, exposing my bra-covered chest. His head dips down sucking mouthfuls of my neck and my chest and then somehow locating my nipples, wetting the thin material of my bra to pinpoint them and then sucking them, creating an amazing friction. My eyes well up as he slowly draws my bra straps down my arms, and attacks my nipples once again, paying them a special tribute, sucking licking and lightly biting them, being encouraged by my breathy moans.

I grab the hem of his t-shirt and feel up his strongly defined pecs, his midriff and then the v between his hips. Eager to see the rest of him. He chuckles and unbuttons my pants, letting them drop to my feet. He waits until I step out of them and grabs my thighs, easily lifting me up as my legs wrap around his waist. He lowers his pants and boxers and grabs my panties by the waistline. He draws them up slightly until they are snug against my entrance and then in one quick motion he tears them to shreds.

He grabs the head of his cock, running his finger over his tip and guides it towards my center. He looks me dead in the eyes and enters me in one swift motion. My tears finally spring free as I gasp at the feeling of him. I am filled to the brim, and despite the pain it feels amazing. He quickly starts moving, snapping his hips fast and hard. The force of his movements is so much that my back is moving up and down the tree bark, and it surely leaves red marks in its wake.

My hands latch to his shoulders, keeping him impossibly close, and he grabs handfuls of my ass, using it as leverage to bounce my on his cock. My moans are loud and borderline pornographic as he hits all the right spots. Before I know it my stomach contracts and my pussy tightens around him, resulting in the curses that fly out of his mouth. I am so close, and he knows it. I am ready to let go as I feel a sharp pain in my ass cheek.

"You cum when I say so. Understand princess?" He punctuates the question with a couple of spanks and I squeal in delight as my back arches and my tits land in the front of his face. He takes full advantage of that, wrapping his lips around one of my nipples once more.

"Tyler please." I sob. His answering chuckles are muffled by my breast. His thrusts soon after turn sloppy and lose their rhythm.

"Let go for me" he whispered into my skin and that is exactly what I do. I see stars under my eyelids. And pant as his forehead rests against my own. I slowly regain my senses and most importantly my composure, as I open my eyes and find his loving stare and giddy smile. I feel my heart tore open as tears run down my face and collect in my chin. His expression turns into a confused one as he sees my tears and asks. "What's wrong princess?"

"I am sorry Tyler. I love you." I say as my eyes turn once again midnight blue. I slowly collect his memories, those that include Thornhill, those that include me and turn them into ash. I make him forget and instead plant the idea of the High-strung academy, the one that accepts mythical creatures as students, the one he will be safe. His body slowly sags against mine as he loses his sense while his brain rebuts. My feet fall to the ground, they are weak but they still hold up my weight. I dressed us up and I let him rest against the tree. That beautiful mahogany tree.

My torn shirt does little to protect me from the cold weather, but I pay no attention to it. I walk fast, with a purpose as I find my phone in my pocket and I dial a number. I hear it ring a couple of times before I hear an answer.

"Hello this is the Jerico police department. What is your emergency?"

"I found a boy in the woods please. Come quickly."

"Alright ma'am tell me exactly were you -"

I cut the line short and hide behind some bushes.

He is still visible from here. The police cars soon arrive and find him. Their Sheriff's son, he is safe. That's what matters. I wait until they disappear, only then do I allow myself to break in tears. Only then do I realize that I lost him forever.

words: 1.078

[jerefishvr]

hyde catching

.*.｡ଘ xavier thorpe x reader ଓ｡*ﾟ

SPOILER ALERT !!

trope : enemies to lovers <33

summary : when a monster,certainly a hyde, appears and messes up the academy of nevermore , two enemies are determined to find out about the truth and uncover dark secrets, all while fighting and almost sinking teeths into one another.

Xavier Thorpe was a well known student, mostly known for his impressive art and his beautiful face structure, along with his long hair. Yet, there was a girl that despised his guts so bad she almost thought she loved him. Judy Addams. No, she wasn't named after a week day. No, she wasn't as emotionless as her sister Wednesday Addams, but she sure was worse and crueler than her. She craved for something, someone, and the need was urgent.

Judy was walking down the halls of Nevermore in hurry to search for clues of who was the monster that haunted the academy when she bumped into the tall brunette long haired boy, making her roll her eyes while he had an annoying smirk on his face. She looked him in the eyes, no emotion seen on her face whenever she looked at the boy. Something about her made Xavier feel sparks but he didn't know what exactly was making him feel so small in her deadly gaze. Maybe it was her droopy eyes and cherry like lips along with her long black hair that was fixed into braids, just like her sisters, or maybe it was the way her long black skirt would fly around gracefully whenever she took a step forwards as her boots touched the ground.

"Move it Thorpe, you're disturbing my peace and quiet." She said as she walked past him, making sure to shove his shoulder as she did so. This took Xavier by surprise as he chuckled teasingly and turned around to face the dead looking girl.

"And why should i, Addams?" He said while putting emphasis on the Addams. This made the girl roll her eyes and simply ignore him as she continued walking around searching for Tyler, she knew he was the Hyde but she couldn't prove it yet, but she had to.

"I'm looking out for the academy. There's a monster out free and im not interested in any of us getting killed, even your pathetic self whom i hate." She paused and looked at Xavier's reaction before continuing.

"This academy needs proof and im here to provide it and do my best. Now excuse me but i believe i have to go somewhere" venom dripping from her voice as she looked at Xavier, suddenly feeling a tingle in her heart as she saw his beautiful smile. Her own reaction causing her to be surprised, her eyes suddenly softened and her voice now was soft like a melody now, no longer sounding like she could cut thin air. Xavier noticed this and almost panicked when he saw that she didn't look like the living dead and that her eyes suddenly were filled up with stars.

"I won't let you go out there by yourself,you know that right?" He asked the girl, watching her pale face burn up and her hair sticking on her forehead cause of the sudden anxiety she got from just looking at him.

"I don't need a man to protect me from a hyde, the worst it could do was kill me, which i wouldn't mind as id feel death's cold, comforting embrace. And most certainly, I don't need you to protect me" Judy said, not even believing herself as she had disbelief written all over her face as she noticed how her tone wasn't cold and neither did it send chills down Xavier's spine, but it only caused him to smile even more and shake his head.

He grabbed her shoulder and got close to her face, his thumb brushing her bottom lip.

"I'm not that bad as you think i am Addams" He said while smirking and getting closer to her, he could hear her heartbeat which he swore he would never hear as she didn't have one, or that's what he thought.

"Yeah, you're worse" She said and quickly turned around her head while making sure to dust off her skirt and continuing to walk.

He grabbed her hand and spun her around while putting a hand on her waist.

"Why do you hate me so much Judy?" His voice soft, yet broken. He pushed a piece of hair behind Judy's ear and stared at her lips.

"I hate how you're always top one at everything, the way you show off your skills, that stupid smirk you always have whenever you talk to a girl , but you know what i hate more about you? Your stupid smile." She listed like it was just a school project, not caring if she'd hurt him or if she'd make him the happiest man to walk on earth.

The brunette smiled and took her emotionless face in his hands, seeing a spark light up in her eyes as his lips connected with hers. She smiled a little bit and took his hair out of the bun he put it in and hugged him like there was no tomorrow.

Her soul finally felt complete, her black aching heart was now, still black but filled with planets and different types of stars dancing around.

Xavier smiled and caressed the top of her head while closing his eyes and enjoying the moment, before it got interrupted by Judy's sudden gasp.

"I saw something out there, come on we need to go now" The girl said while grabbing his hand and

a / n : i fucking hate the fact i can't find 3 pics from the same scene and have to keep using the same umbrella ones like omfg shut up I'M DONEE, anyways, my crush gave me her chuuya plushie im gonna scream

[anonymousewrites]

A Good Day for Death (Book 1) Chapter Seventeen

Wednesday Addams x Reaper! Reader

Chapter Seventeen: A Good Day for Death

Summary: Wednesday knows who the Hyde is. Now, all that's left to do is confront Tyler. However, it seems the Hyde's Master is lying in wait to cause trouble.

            Tyler walked through the forest towards Nevermore, glancing around himself as each moving shadow seemed to promise danger. He crossed his arms as he arrived at the meeting place Wednesday had named for him. He had anxiously awaited news from her the whole day. Tyler was sure that if he could just talk to Wednesday, he could get her to give him a chance, even if he wasn’t one of her fancy Nevermore friends.

            Wednesday stepped out of the woods to face him, and Tyler turned to her. “Thing gave me your note. I was surprised you wanted to see me again. I’m hoping we can talk things out.” He glanced around them with an awkward smile. “This is a weird place to talk, though. What exactly is this?”

            “It’s a surprise,” said Wednesday shortly. Tyler chuckled wryly, and his hands dropped to his sides as he stepped forward. Wednesday walked around him to keep her distance. “When I came to Nevermore, romance was the last thing on my mind. But everything makes sense now.” She used the double meanings of the words to hide what she had really worked out behind what he believed was a revelation of the heart. “(Y/N) pointed it out accidentally. I should have realized they had a point.”

            Tyler furrowed his brow. “What?”

            “Xavier has visions and is compelled to paint them. Like me, they’ve been about the hyde. I misconstrued why he had those paintings. I should have seen it wouldn’t be so simple,” said Wednesday. “The true hyde would never be so obvious if they managed to avoid capture for so long.” She stared at him darkly.

            “Wait, you don’t think—” began Tyler.

            “I don’t think. I know,” said Wednesday. “Kinbott probably discovered your secret during one of your sessions. Why’d you kill her? I thought hydes were typically loyal to their masters.”

            “Wednesday, this is nuts,” said Tyler.

            “On Outreach Day, I told you (Y/N) and I were visiting the old meeting house. Did Kinbott send you to spy on me?” Wednesday didn’t let him answer and continued. “At the Rave’N, you must have heard Eugene talking to (Y/N) and I about your cave in the woods, and you warned Kinbott. Eugene probably saw her torching it. Then she sent you to clean up her mess. I have to hand it to you, Tyler. Wounding yourself that night at the Gates mansion, that was a masterstroke of misdirection.”

            “Okay, stop, do you know how insane you sound right now?” said Tyler incredulously. “I’m not a monster. A-And if you thought I really was, why would you risk bringing me out to the woods to confront me alone?”

            “Who said I was alone?” challenged Wednesday.

            From behind them in the woods, (Y/N), Ajax, Bianca, Yoko, and two other sirens walked out. Tyler took a step back.

            “Okay, I don’t know what kind of sick joke you’re playing, but I’m out of here,” he said, taking a few steps away.

            Bianca mirrored him. “Actually…” Her voice became distorted, magical, as her siren song activated. “You’re coming with us. Sleep.”

            Tyler’s eyes shut, and he collapsed as her spell took over.

l

            Tyler’s eyes opened to find himself chained to a seat in Xavier’s art shed. Pictures of the hyde and its victims in bloody glory stared down from all around.

            “Welcome back,” said Wednesday.

            “Where the hell am I?” asked Tyler.

            “Somewhere no one can hear your screams,” said Wednesday.

            “What’s with the chains?” he questioned.

            “Don’t ask stupid questions,” said Wednesday.

            “Wednesday, this is crazy. I’m a normie,” asserted Tyler.

            “That’s only half true.” Wednesday held up a fencing squad phot from thirty years ago. “Do you recognize her? Perhaps if I hadn’t been so distracted by my own mother hogging this photo, I would have noticed yours sooner. Luckily, (Y/N) made the connection once I explained you’re the hyde. They remembered how similar you two looked, and sure enough, like mother like son. Hydes.” Wednesday held up the medical records of Tyler’s mother. “According to her medical records—”

            “You stole her medical records?” asked Tyler incredulously.

            “Technically, Thing did,” said (YN). “He took them from your garage.”

            “Your mother’s postpartum depression triggered her condition,” said Wednesday.

            “My mother had severe bipolar disorder,” said Tyler.

            “We all know that’s a lie,” said Wednesday. “She was a hyde, just like you. And your father has been in living his life in dread, never quite sure whether or not she passed her condition on to you.”

            Tyler appealed to the group watching. “Are you all gonna stand there and let her do this to me?!” he cried.

            “Uh, guys, Enid just texted. Thornhill’s suspicious,” said Ajax.

            (Y/N) frowned. What tipped her off? Not all of us are in Ophelia Hall. Never underestimate the dorm mother, I guess.

            “How long until he morphs into that…thing?” asked Ajax.

            “I’m not the monster!” denied Tyler vehemently.

            “You are. I saw it in a vision at the Weathervane,” said Wednesday, rummaging in her duffel bag of supplies.

            “Wait, you’re basing all this off some vision you had after I touched your wrist?” questioned Tyler. “I mean, is that something you can trust?”

            Wednesday drew out a surgical saw, and everyone took a step back.

            “Uh, Wednesday, what are you doing with that?” asked (Y/N), eyeing the blade nervously.

            “Just some light torture. Don’t worry, I won’t leave a mark,” she said.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, no,” said (Y/N).

            “Wait. Are you being serious?” asked Ajax, aghast.

            “We’re not torturing anyone,” said (Y/N) forcefully.

            Wednesday looked at them darkly. “There’s only one thing that a hyde understands. Pain.”

            “No, Wednesday!” (Y/N) grabbed her arm, albeit gently. “We don’t know enough about hydes to even begin to force a switch, and torturing him isn’t the answer either way.”

            “That’s it. I’m out!” said Yoko, throwing up her hands and leaving.

            “Me too,” said Ajax, back up.

            “Nope,” muttered Bianca. She and her fellow Nightshades walked out of the shed, unwilling to continue this path.

            “Wednesday,” urged (Y/N), pleading with their eyes. “We can talk to Weems and explain everything. He’s not a Nevermore student. She’ll probably be willing to help.”

            “And if not? No. I’m not risking it,” said Wednesday, removing her arm from (Y/N)’s hold. “I’m handling this.” She drew a taser out of her pocket.

            (Y/N) took a step back and shook their head. “I can’t watch this.” They backed up to the door. “You’re on your own. I’m going back to the dorm. Think about what you’re doing.”

            “No, don’t leave me here with her, please! I’m begging you, please!” cried Tyler.

            (Y/N) squeezed their eyes shut as they walked away. Please, Wednesday. Think about what you’re about to do.

            Inside the shed, Wednesday glared down at Tyler, who glanced between her face and the sparking taser. Growling in frustration, she flicked it off and slammed it back down in the duffle back. She couldn’t go through with it.

            Unfortunately, as sirens approached, the damage was already done.

l

            Wednesday paced in the sheriff’s office as she watched Tyler sign papers. Weems and Sheriff Galpin walked into the office she was walking in, both looking stern and frustrated.

            “Sheriff Galpin isn’t pressing kidnapping charges,” said Weems tersely. “Which is a miracle given the circumstances.”

            “Of course not,” said Wednesday. She looked at the sheriff. “How long have you known?”

            “Excuse me?” said Sheriff Galpin.

            “When I gave you that claw from the cave, did you already know?” questioned Wednesday.

            “Wednesday, that’s enough,” said Weems warningly.

            “Xavior Thorpe is our hyde,” said Sheriff Galpin. “We’ve got evidence, thanks to you. That’s why I’m giving you one pass.”

            “Tyler is going to turn on you too,” said Wednesday, trying to reason with him.

            “Let’s go!” ordered Weems, pointing to the door.

            “Get out,” said Sheriff Galpin, nearly snarling it.

            Wednesday tensed her jaw and walked out. As went towards the door of the building, though, Tyler intercepted her.

            “Wednesday, wait!” he called.

            “Tyler! No, no, what are you doing?” questioned his father sharply.

            “I need to talk to her, Dad,” said Tyler. “She was my friend. We’re in a police station. What’s gonna happen?”

            Sheriff Galpin bit his cheek and considered the lone girl standing in the abandoned hallway in the middle of the sheriff’s office. “Make it quick,” he said sharply. He went back into his office to talk with Weems.

            Tyler approached Wednesday. It was just the two of them.

            “What do you want?” questioned Wednesday, eyes watching him warily.

            Tyler held up his hands defensively. “To ask a question.” He took another step forward. “What does it feel like?

            Wednesday furrowed her brow. “What does it feel like to what?”

            Tyler’s face fell from caring to mocking. “To lose?”

            Wednesday’s eyes widened minutely as she realized just how deep the monster ruse ran.

            Tyler quirked an eyebrow and continued approaching, his movements mirroring a predator approaching its prey. “You know, at first, I’d wake up naked, covered in blood, no idea what happened. But over time…I started to remember everything.” He was now looking down at Wednesday, who didn’t flinch. “The sound of their screams, the panic in their eyes, and a fear so primal I could taste it.” He let out a shuddering breath at the memory. His eyes snapped up, his dark gaze meeting Wednesday’s. Tyler smirked sadistically. “And it was delicious.”

            Wednesday was forced to break eye contact for a moment at the revelations. She took a step back towards the door.

            Tyler grabbed her by the shoulders and leaned to whisper into her ear. “You have no idea what’s coming. I’m going to love tearing everyone you care about apart.”

            Wednesday’s eyes widened at the implication. (Y/N)…!

            Tyler released her and stepped back. His mask of sadness returned, and he let tears well up in his eyes as his act returned. He turned and walked away.

            Wednesday felt like killing something. Tyler had revealed what he had done, and she couldn’t do anything. He was going to get away with everything. Wednesday had failed.

l

            “I can’t believe you’re actually leaving,” murmured (Y/N) sadly as they helped Wednesday pack for her afternoon train. “I somehow thought you’d get away again and avoid expulsion.”

            Wednesday shook her head. “Not with Sheriff Galpin wanting people to be in the dark about Tyler. He knows, and he needs me gone.”

            “But…you can’t just let Tyler win. Surely you can get away from Weems again,” said (Y/N), trying to find an answer.

            Wednesday placed a stack of books in her trunk and shut it. “Xavier’s right. The prophecy can’t come true if I’m not here. It kills me to leave while Tyler walks free, but this is how I protect Nevermore.”

            (Y/N) sighed. “I have no way to convince you to stay, even though I know the more you fight against prophecies, the more likely they are to come true.”

            “This is the best chance you and everyone else has,” said Wednesday. She looked at (Y/N) somberly. “You have to make sure he doesn’t try anything.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “I’ll rally the whole school to fight if I have to,” they promised. Their eyes softened as they looked at Wednesday. “I’m going to miss you. I’ll still be here, so, uh, write to me? I don’t have a phone to give you yet.”

            “I will write you,” said Wednesday. She looked to the side. “And your absence will be noticeable. And thank you for the poem—the one from my birthday.”

            (Y/N) brightened. “You liked it?”

            Wednesday nodded. “It…I have never been described that way.”

            (Y/N) turned pink and fiddled with their ring nervously. “Your music inspires me a lot.”

            “Here, then.” Wednesday held out a handheld recorder. “I made a tape of one of my pieces to study. Perhaps you’d appreciate it,” she said awkwardly, unsure how to give a sentimental gift. “I hope it is an acceptable parting gift.”

            (Y/N) smiled and took it. “I love it, thank you.”

            Wednesday straightened. “I suppose all that’s left is to say goodbye.”

            “I guess so,” said (Y/N).

            Neither spoke.

            Finally, Wednesday extended a hand. “Until next time.”

            (Y/N) smiled and shook her hand. “Until next time.”

            Not goodbye.

l

            (Y/N) dejectedly walked into the greenhouse. “Miss Thornhill?” they called.

            Miss Thornhill poked her head out from behind some bushes and smiled. “Oh, (Y/N)! Hello! How can I help you?”

            “I was just wondering if I could talk to you?” asked (Y/N) awkwardly.

            Miss Thornhill smiled in understanding. “About Wednesday, right?” She chuckled at (Y/N)’s expression. “I saw you two became good friends, it wasn’t a hard guess. What’s the matter?”

            “I just feel guilty because I feel like I could have done more to help her,” admitted (Y/N). “I’m her friend, and I let her get into trouble instead of trying harder to stop her.”

            Thornhill smiled. “Wednesday is a headstrong girl. It was, unfortunately, bound to get her into trouble eventually. I’m sure you did the best you could.”

            “I guess. I just can’t help wondering if I could have done more to find proof of everything,” they said, looking down in frustration.

            Thornhill sighed and smiled patiently. “You made sure Wednesday was alright, that’s all you could do. I mean, you even risked your life on occasion, like standing in front of the hyde so it couldn’t get to her and Enid in the dumbwaiter in the Gates mansion.”

            (Y/N) froze. “How do you know about that?”

            “Weems informed me that you all snuck out to the Gates mansion where the monster attacked Tyler. I had to keep a closer eye on you all,” said Thornhill, remaining pleasant.

            “No, the dumbwaiter. How did you know about the dumbwaiter?” asked (Y/N). Their eyes widened, and they took a step back as they made the connection. “Oh my god. Tyler told you when he reported back to you. Because he’s the hyde, and you’re his master. You’re Laurel Gates, aren’t you?”

            Thornhill’s Laurel’s smile dropped, and a malevolence they had never seen in their dorm mother appeared in her eyes. It was pure hatred for (Y/N) and their kind: outcasts. “I always forget you’re not as blithely unaware as people believe.” Laurel snapped her fingers. “Tyler, grab them.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they spun to run away, but Tyler had already circled around the array of plants and appeared behind them. He grabbed them roughly, holding them still as Laurel opened her desk drawer and pulled out various flasks, vials, and syringes.

            “It’s fortunate you came in at such an opportune time,” said Laurel. “I thought I’d have to handle you on my own, lure you out somehow while I ordered Tyler to go the train station for dear Wednesday.” She smirked and filled a syringe with a strange liquid. “This is far simpler. You walked right into my grasp.” As (Y/N) struggled against Tyler, Laurel approached and grabbed their air. They yelped as she jabbed the needle in and emptied the liquid into them.

            (Y/N) groaned as they felt woozy and collapsed farther into Tyler. “What…Are you killing me…?”

            Laurel smiled broadly. “Oh, no, it’s a light poison. It really only amounts to an unpleasant sedative.” She frowned as (Y/N) continued to glare at her. “Though it’s not taking effect as much as I’d like. I’ve never tried it on a Reaper before. Ah, well. We’ll have to go stronger~!” She filled another syringe with a dark, murky liquid. “This should do it.” Again, she stabbed it into (Y/N)’s arm and emptied it out.

            (Y/N) groaned. Their whole body cried out in displeasure as the effects of the poison set in and the world began to darken. Their eyes closed even as they fought to remain conscious.

            “I can’t wait to rip them apart,” muttered Tyler. “I’m going to enjoy it.”

            “All in good time,” came Laurel’s faraway voice. “I still need them for the ritual. Take them to the Crypt and then get to the station. We need out second guest.”

            Wednesday!

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[mikeys-bike-slut]

Untitled - SEQUEL Pt.1

Surpriiiiise! Here is a sequel to my Untitled story! Hope you will like it! Strap ya seatbelts guys cause it's gon be a bumpy ride

T.W: N/A

***

5 years later

"Wakasa, hurry up!" I shout upstairs as I rush through the house trying to put my earring in.

"Shut up!" A yell comes from upstairs.

We have time Wakasa said.

Dont worry, we won't be late Wakasa said.

Of course we're late...

Today's Emma's and Mitsuya's wedding and as much we drifted apart and Toman has disbanded we kept in touch with each other and our friendship remained strong.

After I moved in with Wakasa I barely seen the gang except Chifuyu and Tora with whom I've been actually working with the past four years. Chifuyu saved up and opened his pet shop, just like he planned it with Baji. It's a sweet little shop with loads of cats, dogs, hamsters and every other furry little pet you can imagine. Though Wakasa told me I don't have to work he'll take care of me, that was just not something I wanted to do. So I talked to Chifuyu and he was happy to hire me full time.

No one knows where Mikey went, hust like if the ground opened up and swallowed him he disappeared. I was worried about him in the beginning but it was his choice and I had to put him into the back of my mind in order to move on and function until he was nothing but a distant memory.

The Haitanis, since our last goodbye they kept their word and vanished from my life, the only time I'd ever hear from them is when they send me a beautiful bouquet and gift on my birthday, every year but in person? I have not seen them since that day.

Draken? He's well, we used to meet up once every month for a coffee and a catch up until life got busy for both of us and I haven't seen him for over a year, we still text every now and then but it's not the same.

The Ginza duo, a few months after I moved into Wakasa Hyde contacted me and set up a meeting. Wakasa refused to let me go alone so he accompanied me to Ginza. Hyde explained his reasoning and apologized for causing me distressed and also offered me a position at the Ginza gang which I turned down. Once I explained to him that I am retiring from the deliquent life he respected my decision but told me I'll always have the Ginza district at my service if I'll ever need them. He also offered of I ever want to talk about my brother I can contact him whenever. In the beginning I didn't but as time went by I needed closure so I rang him and we met up. From that day on it was almost once a week thing and we grown really close. He reminded me of Yasu a lot and unofficially became my brother which just shocked Wakasa that once again I was able to turn one of the ruthless men in Japan into my lapdog basically.

Back to now. Wakasa and I were getting ready for the wedding, you know, at a decent time as one should but the White Leopard decidedhe urgently needed to fuck me. I told him we have no time but it's Wakasa, when it comes to sex the world could be on fire and even that wouldn't stop him. Would have he stopped if I asked? Of course, though Waka's sex drive is high he is always respectful and asks for my consent. So yeah was it also my fault? Yes. Will I keep blaming him? Also yes.

"Oh god, c'mere kitty" I sigh as I grab him and pull him to me and fix his disaster of a tie. "There, now can we go? I'm supposed to be the maid of honour"

"Well you definitely suck at that" he grins and I just flip him off while I grab my ourse that matches my dress. "Shit" I curse as I check the time and see we're already half an hour late. "Can we go now?"

"Yes, just shut up" he groans as he grabs his keys and we finally head out.

Ignoring traffic lights Wakasa sped through Tokyo straight to shrine where the ceremony is to be held. As he parks up I don't even wait for him I rush up the stairs -as much as I can in heels and a long mermaid dress- but as I get there to my surprise everyone's still outside chatting and smoking.

"Angel!" I hear a voice from my right and I find Mitsuya standing there in a beautiful lilac suit with silver patterns.

"Taka-chan!" I exclaim as I jog up to him. "Where's Emma? What's going on??" I ask almost panic and he let out a laugh. 

"We still have about an hour before the ceremony don't worry" he chuckles and I give him a confused look. "We know you and Waka too well we know you two probably gonna be late so we gave guys the wrong time" he winks at me and I don't know if I'm annoyed or grateful.

"You have a point" I sigh then chuckle then suddenly someone covers my eyes from behind. "Hakkai?" I question.

"Wrong" Mitsuya chuckles. "Bit taller"

"Kenny??" I ask excited and I hear his laugh from behind me as he uncovers my eyes. I turn around and find him standing there with a big grin. "I like your hair" I grin as I look at his now jet black hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Cool, right?" He grins then opens his arms and I give him a tight hug. "I missed you" he smiles softly as he holds me close. 

"The hell is this?" I hear Wakasa's voice from behind me with and annoyed expression on his face. 

"Precaution" Mitsuya grins at him then shakes his hand.

"Well played" Wakasa sighs then looks at me and Draken. "Don't steal my girlfriend" 

"I try" Draken grins at him then lets me go. "You should go find Emma she is inside if Yuzuha hasn't murdered her yet" 

"I don't think Takashi's that lucky" Wakasa grins and I just smack him. 

"Feel free to beat him up if he won't behave!" I call back as I run off and Wakasa just gives me the finger. 

I quickly find Emma, but instead of finding her with a big smile and excitement she is curled up crying on the small seating inside the room. I walk in giving Yuzuha a confused look who just shakes her head. 

"Hey, hey what's going on Em?" I ask worried as I kneel in front of her. 

"Maya!" she exclaims and just launches on me and continues crying. I hold her close and gently caress her back.

"Alright, what's going on. If you missed me, I'm already here" I grin trying to lighten the situation but it failed.

"I don't know if I'm ready... I just... seeing Draken here brought up a lot of feelings" she cries quietly and I let out a sigh.

"You still love him, don't you?" I question as I pull away enough to look at her and she just nods. 

"If you love someone else you shouldn't marry Mitsuya..." Yuzuha speaks up and walks up to us. "It wouldn't be fair on him"

"You should talk to Mitsuya, Em. There's no point in marriage if it's only one-sided. I'm sure Taka will understand it" I explain as I caress her cheek. 

"I guess I should... I just... I don't know how I feel. I love Takashi but my heart still yearns for Draken... I don't know. I just need a bit of time alone" she says quietly as she looks at us. 

"Of course. Give us a ring when you'll need us. I'll go talk to the priest" Yuzuha smiles softly and gently squeezes Emma's shoulder before walking out. 

"I'm gonna go check on the males incase they murdered each other" I joke which makes Emma chuckle a bit. 

I give her a hug before I walk out as well. I let out a sigh and running my fingers along my neck trying to figure out what the fuck to do exactly. As I walk outside I lean against the wall of the shrine and let out a long sigh, just wanting to collect my thoughts before I check on the herd but I can't enjoy the silence for long as I hear footsteps approaching. Looking up I find a tall, dark blue hair guy standing there with not exactly a happy expression. 

"Is everything okay, Shiba?" I cock a brow as I look at the former Second Division Vice Captain. 

"I don't think so... Look can I trust you?" he asks in a serious tone and I start to not liking this.

"Of course" I nod. "What's going on?" 

"Mitsuya wants to call off the wedding. He and Yuzuha got very close and doesn't think he should marry Emma. Nothing happened! Before you'd murder any of them, as far as Mitsuya knows it's one-sided but I know my sister... she had a massive crush on Mitsuya for years and I- I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do" he says with almost one breath and suddenly I feel somewhat relieved. I let out a chuckle and Hakkai just gives me a glare. "This is serious!" 

"I know but, Emma also unsure about the wedding cause she still loves Draken" I say it with a big grin. 

"Oh? Well, they all need to have a fucking talk cause Draken loves Emma too..." Hakkai says then we just both starts laughing. 

"You go talk to Draken and Taka, I'll go talk to the girls" I say with a big grin.

We both run off to the opposite direction. My heart hammers in my chest from excitement as I rush through the shrine almost tripping a few times until I finally reach the room finding both Yuzuha and Emma look like they're in line for the slaughter house.

"Okay, this wedding is off" I say with a big grin and they both give me a scared and confused look. 

"What did you do??" Emma asks panicking but before I could say anything Mitsuya walks in along with a very shy Draken. 

"The four of us should talk" Takashi says in a soft tone. 

I just wave at them before I walk out leaving the four lovebirds to sort this out between themselves. As I walk out Hakkai gives me a big grin and I just jump on him and hug him tight. "Good thing they have us" he grins then spins me around before putting me down.   

"What on earth did you two do?" we hear a laughs from behind us and as we turn around we find Chifuyu and Kazutora standing there.

"Hey good to see you guys" Hakkai grins as he hugs the two males and I just wave at them. 

"So what's going on? Did you crash a wedding? " Wakasa's voice suddenly comes from behind me as he wraps his arms around me.

"More like saved it" I grin as I lean back against him and he places a kiss on my neck. 

"Sure" he grins then playfully bites my neck making me let out a small yelp.

"Behave leopard" I chuckle. 

"Aren't you two cute" Tora and Hakkai coos as they look at me Waka and I. 

"Shut up" I chuckle and flip them off. 

"Don't be jealous" Waka grins. 

"Oh god no, it's enough working with her" Chifuyu laughs but suddenly I notice something in the distance and I tune out of the conversation. I notice a figure in the garden of the shrine and he looks eerily familiar.

I pull away from Wakasa and walk off towards the garden which the males don't even realize as they get deep into their conversation. I open the gate and walk into the beautiful garden but the figure was gone. Was I just seeing things?

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Admittance

Fandom: Wednesday (2022) Summary: Tyler has something to tell Wednesday. Warnings: Mentions of underage sex and mentions of sexuality crisis Word Count: 963 Ship(s): Wednesday Addams/Tyler Galpin

Archive link!

A/N: Surprise! Should I be working on my gothbee fic right now? Probably. Am I going to write a fic about Tyler Galpin being asexual and discovering himself that way? Yes. Enjoy! Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

“I don’t want to have sex with you.”

Wednesday slowly drew her eyes up from where she had been staring at her manuscript. It was her writing time, something that she had given up a lot of when she began to room with Enid. She had a social life that she had to fulfill otherwise people complained too much. While she adored Tyler and enjoyed spending time around him as any girlfriend should, she was upset that he was infringing on the only time that she would get by herself that week.

“Excuse me?” Wednesday asked as she raised a brow at him.

“I don’t want to have sex with you,” Tyler repeated, breathless and chest-heaving. She wondered for a moment if he had run the entire way from his dorm to hers, which was almost all the way across Nevermore campus.

“I wasn’t asking or expecting you to,” she sniffed. She tried to turn back around to her writing but noticed that he lurched forward like he was trying to get closer to her in a hurry. That in and of itself was disturbing, as Tyler had confidence in himself with their relationship. He didn’t find the need to move her around or constantly be touching her like Enid and Ajax seemed to.

Wednesday jerked out of her chair and then met him halfway so that they were standing face to face with each other. Her head had to be tilted up to meet his eyes since he was at leats six inches taller than her, but her presence made it feel like they were the same height even when she wasn’t wearing her heels. “What’s the matter?”

Tyler took a deep breath and then glanced towards the door. He did that whenever he got nervous, most likely because of a cocktail of trauma involving the asylum he vacationed at, his father, and Laurel. The Hyde snapped his attention back to his girlfriend as he said, “I don’t want to have sex with you. Ever.”

“Is this your way of saying that you want to break up with me?” she asked, immediately dropping the hand that she had grabbed in her attempts to find a way to ground him. She had seen Yoko doing something similar during Enid’s last panic attack after a call with her mother. “I always knew that we wouldn’t last but I didn’t think that it would be over this quickly.”

“Wha- no, I’m not trying to break up with you. I mean, we can if you want to. Of course. I would never force you to be in a relationship with me if you didn’t want to be,” Tyler was stumbling over his words. He tilted his head down so that his big brown eyes were hidden by his flop of curls.

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me that you don’t want to have sex with me if it wasn’t meant as a breakup,” Wednesday said pragmatically. “Isn’t that something integral between two partners?”

“I-I mean, I didn’t think that it had to be for us. We’re already pretty different compared to the norm so I thought that it would be okay for us to not do this one thing…” he was shaking like he had just crawled out of the lake in mid-December. Wednesday had never seen him this upset, and that was disturbing on a level that she wasn’t very fond of.

She took a step back from him and then folded her arms over her chest. It was a kind of defense for her so that she wouldn’t get hurt, but also a way for him to finally snap out of whatever stupor she had unknowingly sent him into. “I think that I spoke before you had the chance to finish. Please explain yourself like I didn’t.”

Tyler blinked at her for a few times before he got the message. “Right. Um, I don’t think I’ve ever felt physically attracted to someone before. I was having a talk with Ajax and apparently as soon as he saw Enid he wanted to have sex with her which led to Xavier explaining that he’s convinced himself that he wanted to kiss people or date them but he doesn’t actually want to and that kind of resonated with me. I think I fell for you because you were so much yourself and you were so different than anything I had dealt with before, but I didn’t want to have sex with you. I only wanted to kiss you and shit like that after we got to know each other a little bit. Honestly, the thought of having sex with anyone is really repulsive, so it’s not just a you thing.” 

Once the tirade of words had finished dropping from his mouth, Wednesday stood there and took everything in. It was a lot to process all at once, but once she deciphered what his rambling story had actually meant she figured it out pretty quickly. “So you’re asexual?”

“You know what that is?” Tyler asked, looking genuinely surprised.

She rolled her eyes fondly. “I don’t like technology. It’s not like I don’t like anything to do with the future. I know about sexuality and gender and how they intermix. It’s okay if you don’t want to have sex with me. I’m perfectly happy masturbating when my body desires sexual pleasure.”

“So you don’t want to break up with me? Or think that I’m broken?” Tyler asked, the puppy-dog look taking over his rugged features again.

Wednesday shook her head. She reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I most certainly don’t. I don’t think you’re broken because of the Hyde or because of your asexuality. Don’t listen to Xavier as often as you do, alright?”

[greers]

rory greer 

“and i ended a friendship on the day that i left, and though i really meant it, it still makes me upset am i losin' my family every minute i’m gone? what if my little brother thinks my leaving was wrong?” right now, gracie abarams. 

full name — rory greer nickname(s) — none  name meaning — red king age — twenty-nine date of birth — march 31st place of birth — thistleberry valley  star sign — aries sun, sagittarius moon, scorpio rising  current location — thistleberry valley  gender — non-binary pronouns — they/them sexual orientation — bisexual, demisexual  religion — atheist  occupation — owner of greer carpentry  education level — photography journalism    family — richard ‘richie’ greer ( older brother, unknown ), joseph greer ( grandpa ) finances — struggle bus   spoken languages — english, spanish 

character inspos: john bender ( the breakfast club ), selina kyle ( batman ), steven hyde ( that 70’s show ), patrick verona ( 10 things i hate about you ), boromir ( lord of the rings ), alex karev ( greys anatomy ), steve harrington ( stranger things ), eleanor shellstrop ( the good place ), ferris bueller ( ferris buellers day off ) 

tw: brother goes missing, dysfunctional family 

rory’s parents were never meant to be parents, that’s what their grandpa joe used to say as he watched his grandchildren at the back of the shop whenever rory asked too many questions. they were a curious child and lacked something that many kids their age seemed to have. it didn’t feel like a loss, not in the way that it did for richie. but rory wouldn’t realize this until much later. 

it’s easy being in a constant state of survival if you don’t realize that you’re in it in the first place. grandpa joe gave them the best life that he could, it’s not easy tailing after a rambunctious child and their gloomy older brother who’s got a permanent eyebrow raised to the sky as they look down at their younger sibling. whenever rory got hurt their brother was always there to pick them up off of the ground. 

their grandpa joe had the greery carpentry business for as long as he’s been in town ( so must of his life, rory would say with an eyeroll to anyone that asked ). there was a time when he thought that he would pass it on to his son but his son skipped out right when rory was born but richie never had the kind of dreams that rory did and was prepped to take over the company when their grandpa couldn't. 

when rory graduated they left to new york city and climbed the social latter and met the right people, they got their degree and traveled across the world with their camera by their side. they had a natural charm of listening to people and getting them to open up about things, it’s what made them superb at their job. whenever they came back home richie hardly talked to them until they had their big fallout when rory turned twenty-six. 

richie called them selfish and cruel. rory called him a pushover and people pleaser. for two siblings that relied solely on each other growing up this was the kind of fight that wasn't easy to forgive. despite their grandpa trying his best, rory left back to new york, and they stopped talking to each other until about a year ago when their grandpa joe asked if richie was with rory. he wasn’t. 

rory moved back and took their brother’s place at the shop, they have no idea what they’re doing. they have their grandfather’s help from time to time but it’s hard to ask your grandpa for help when it feels like you’re the reason that your brother is gone. 

other things: 

look it looks like they don’t know what they’re doing and like... partially but they have grown up in the shop for all their life so they are not useless it’s just... they haven’t been around much to get to know their customers but they do their best 

grandpa joe is a grandpa to all as far as im concerned 

honestly... rory doesn’t mean to be cruel or selfish it’s just a defense mechanism and i don’t even think they’re cruel or selfish just sometimes a little flighty -- richie hit a low blow in the fight and rory has been spiralling about it ever since 

they probably do some freelance with their major. but they’ve probably given up on their actual career by the time they came back 

they’re a good photographer tho.. just it’s now a hobby than it is a job  , they used to travel all over the world to work on journalistic pieces so coming back home to a slower life is... kind of terrifying 

they’re annoying bc they’re naturally talented and p much are able to pick up anything easily 

looking for old best friends , etc 

[firehousewithaview]

6x11 Reactions as I Watch

A collection of the disjointed thoughts I had about the episode as I watched it because I had to watch it over the course of a few hours instead of in one go

(under the cut because it got long)

The huddle omg

Buck making Daniel vaguely bitter is insane, I’m sure that means nothing

The Big Bear picture in Maddie’s living room ahhhhhhh

Jee into G

HOLY SHIT DOUG

credit where it’s due, the Buckley parents came to the hospital this time.

Buck’s face the whole time Doug is talking is priceless

I WANT TO KNOW WHY THEY CALL HIIIM CHIMNEY

Why arent you married

HE STOPPED BREATING WHEN HE HEARD ABOUT BOBBY

buck has now been struck by 2 random acts of nature

THE PARENTS NEVER ENTER THE ROOM

Albert I am begging you to leave Chim alone

The rewritten history lesson thing makes sense but I hate it (post to follow)

CHRIS INSISTED

had to pause to cry jfc that scene hurt, thanks Gavin. honorable mentions to Ryan and Aisha who were also great

on a lighter note, I will now picture all of buck’s problem solving process as if he has a mental Chim and Hen talking him

Mom brought 2  you brought 1 brb crying again

Peter Krauss has murdered me and I am thanking him

Buckleys still wont enter the room ugh

Because there was never a doubt in Buck’s mind that Hen and Chim would help him if he asked them. cool cool, I’m gonna be so normal about this

Oh man that hallway chase scene was not great for my brain but man did it do its job

Oh peter, turns out you will be killing me multiple times tonight, I’m so ready

I WAS NOT READY OH NO

Athena really said I will mom you back into consciousness and if Buck were any further in his process, it would have worked

The montage of memories ahhhhhhh

COLDPLAY Fix You how dare you

Chim <3

I’M ALWAYS GOING TO FEEL GUILTY FOR THAT ONE

Oh. I have too many bitter feelings about the Buckley parents to be satisfied with that. I’m going to pretend he was speaking solely to the parents that could have been. Moving on.

I have a family... not the same one I have here, YES SIR YOU DO

Oh the buckleys entered the room finally. Just for what might have been the end. I’ll be back to look at symbolism later

Daniel being a manifestation of his self hatred who

OHHH we’re getting some Dr Jekyll Mr Hyde action, love that

Oliver, please play more villains, I’m begging you. for science

FOR ME AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The way maddie doesn’t look surprised while his parents do, I am going to chew on a brick

2 pizzas lmao

hahaha yeah, lets talk about his traumas please. it will only take like a full season of just him

The doctor looks. so fucking done. like, seems very done with him already.

EVERYONEEEEEE

Once again I point out that the Buckleys? Not in the room. Even when random other guy was (who I want to know, please) Oh wait there’s 2 of them? tell me who you are please

Awwww they’re playing cards when he didn’t with his dream family (there’s a whole cant count in dreams thing that was big in Sterek that I’m co-opting here for personal reasons)

Bobby was different because his usual method of giving Buck advice and letting him decide was going to be too slow, this is my personal headcanon now

‘It’s better here’ where he actually gets to have the dad he chose and who chose him back

Mmmmmmm if Chim wants to fix things with his dad, fine. I will not be satisfied until they duke it out in some way shape or form. And I mean them, not Albert or Myung or anyone else. Them.

I have to give Kenneth Choi props, the realization look he gave us there makes me think there’s some interaction we didn’t get to see that was... important

awwwww, Jee calls him Pop Pop

‘she called me funny’ alright I can see them being related lol

I’ll take that. It wasn’t forgiveness, it was an open hand.

‘I’m getting you a couch’ no, you’ve been here like less than three minutes, please at least pretend you have respect for his boundaries

oh god they’re staying

awwwwwwwwwwww the birthmark kiss!!!1

But I’m putting my money on ‘it’s kinda nice’ turns into ‘please fucking leave’ really fast.

Personal issues with the directions the Buckleys seem to be going in, this episode was really good!!!!!!!!!!!

Final thoughts: EVERYONE WAS AMAZING, GOOD JOB

[andromedaexists]

Happy STS!!! Have some asks!

For Desecrate:

Are there any recurring themes or motifs in your story?

Tell us a random piece of trivia about your story.

Describe your WIP plot as badly as possible.

For Andi:

What are your favorite tropes to read or write?  Bonus if they’re rather specific.

What is your favorite scene you’ve ever written?

~Morri🗡 (@memento-morri-writes)

Lmao hi Morri!!! I hope you are having an amazing saturday!!

Are there any recurring themes or motifs in your story?

There are! Good gosh there are so many! I think the biggest and easiest to see are the recurring themes of Queerness. I don't think i've written anything that does not have some level of queerness in it. Even the Botany short story that I am working on, though it does not have any romance, is queer.

Another really big one is rebelling against something. For Kit in Desecrate, he's rebelling against the Church he grew up in to free their captive.

There are undoubtedly more themes and motifs that appear in my writing, but I feel like those are the two biggest ones!

Tell us a random piece of trivia about your story.

ooooo this one is fun. Uh, a fun piece of trivia about Desecrate is that Father David is based off the priest of the church I grew up in! I got really creative with the name and most definitely name him Father David off the real life Father David who helped me through a lot and convinced the old ladies of the church that me having pink hair and piercings was not a sin... no definitely not lol

Describe your WIP plot as badly as possible.

ooooooof i already did this for Call Me Icarus, but i genuinely don't know how to poorly describe Desecrate. lets see...

Country Emo looks at religion for too long and recruits friends to break God out of prison.

yeah, i think that'll work lol

What are your favorite tropes to read or write?

i fucking love found family and idiots to lovers. Those two specifically. I will eat them up.

as some of y'all have probably noticed as some point or another, i am a huge fan of Bungou Stray Dogs. a big part of that for me is Dazai and Chuuya. Not only is Chuuya an angry redhead, but they fall perfectly into both of those tropes. Chuuya's family and Dazai's family in the manga is their coworkers and I love that shit

Not only that but they are so goddamned stupid. but only with each other. they are individually very smart, but put them in the same room and their braincells go on vacation. it's great, I love it

Y'all will be able to start seeing these tropes in my writing as i post more of it. I know it's there. Unfortunately you won't see the dynamic between Icarus and Apollon all that well, but I more than make up for it with other stories

What is your favorite scene you’ve ever written?

So i actually have a couple. I am head over heels in love with the scene in CMI where Icarus is dancing on the roof in the middle of the night. Dancing has always been freeing to me, and when I wrote that I was unable to really move - let alone dance - due to surgery. So that was how I freed myself from my restraints, through Icarus.

I also fucking adore the snippet I wrote based off Sex With A Ghost by Teddy Hyde. It was my first foray into portraying hallucinations on paper and I think it turned out great. I cannot wait to play with it more!

There's also the snippet I wrote based off Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood. I actually made myself cry with that snippet, so it holds a place in my heart

And the final scene that I am in love with is the one I am working on right now for Desecrate. It is one of the last, if not the final, scene in the story and I am using it as my final for my Starting a Novel class. This scene is why I started writing Desecrate. It is the tone from which the entire story will be written. It is the scene that will likely get me labeled a heretic. It Is Everything

I can't wait for y'all to read it

[rosesloveletters]

merry christmas, beloved💌

a christmas gift package for my best friend and sister @ajokeformur-ray​

Merry Christmas, darling! I always look forward to crafting these posts for you around the holidays and it is even more special to me than before because, this year, we were graced with the shining opportunity to meet in person. I cannot thank you enough for traveling over 4,000 miles to spend a couple of weeks with me; if I had it my way, you never would have had to go home. I miss you tremendously and I hope these gifts show you just how special you are to me and how much I love every single thing you’ve done for me over the past couple of years we’ve been friends. I want you to know how deeply you are appreciated and loved and how intensely proud of you I am. You’ve gone through so much this year, with work and with uni and just life in general. I've seen you at your best and at your worst, darling, and I love you for all that you are because you’re you. You’ve been such an amazing friend to me that you’re more like family than anything else. Thank you for being in my life and loving me so wholeheartedly. Take care of yourself and treat yourself this holiday season! Try to stay cozy and I hope you have a lovely Christmas with your loved ones and a happy and healthy start to the New Year. I hope this next year has only positive things in store for you!

On to the gifts!!

To start, here’s another note from me (so much gushing! I know, right?)

Next, I had a couple of my F/Os write you some letters. Technically I only asked Terry to write you one and, well, François insinuated himself into the situation as he often does🙄 Hope you don’t mind...

Now, for the bigger gifts!! I wrote two pieces for you this year: one larger (first) and a second smaller one. I hope you enjoy!! If not, I am happy to make you something else😊

Shadow Play // Edward Hyde and (daughter) Erika // word count: 2,774

‘How would you say we are related to our shadows?’ / ‘If we cast them, are they not always part of us?’

Summary: You never knew why your Papa always made you speak your truth aloud, but he makes his intentions clear the night you begin to question why your family exists in the first place. If the entire household wanted him dead, why is he standing right in front of you? You don’t know how you would cope without him, nor how your Father would go on with his studies or his life, if day had no more night and light touched no darkness.

He put his hand across his face, then started at his own shadow, which the lamp had sent shooting up the wall so the movement of his hand had made a giant dark motion behind him. He laughed softly. ‘When you were a child, Mary,” he said, ‘did you play shadow games?’

‘No, sir,’ I said.

Master looked up at me, a smile still playing around his mouth. ‘Just as well,’ he said. ‘As it turns out, they can be very dangerous.’

‘Please, sir,’ I said. ‘I don’t understand you.’

Master held the lamp up before him and, moving his hand, made the shadow leap up again. He watched the shadow play but spoke to me. ‘How would you say we are related to our shadows, Mary?’ he said. ‘If we cast them, are they not always part of us?’

‘Sir,’ I said. ‘They are only a trick of the light.’

Master put the lamp down on the step and fell to adjusting his cuffs, which was turned back. ‘It may be that weare the trick of the light, Mary,’ he said.

***

The echo of your Father’s words rang in your ears as if they’d been spoken to you instead of to your Mama, who had later recounted them when she was able to allow herself to fully appreciate the depth of them on her own. Henry Jekyll had arrived at a conclusion and perhaps that which he had found was not what either you or Mary had hoped for, though an answer was still an answer nonetheless, even if it wasn’t a desirable one.

It made perfect sense. Shadows were inherent of any three-dimensional object, living or not; it was only safe to assume that those shadows were a part of whatever may have cast them. Your father had made short work of your assumptions in the past and, therefore, you knew better than to rely purely on that. You had a hypothesis, but you needed evidence.

A trick of the light.

That was the ticket. You had to shut your eyes and pretend you were someone else just to push the thoughts away that came unbidden into your mind like floodwaters rising after a great storm.

If your Father truly had believed what your Mama said to him, and if his response was genuine like you had known it to be all this time, then you knew as well as he what that meant: he was the light and you damn well knew who was the dark.

***

You did not put much thought into your actions when you were small as you did now, but you never forgot the way that your Father played shadow games with you. He used his fingers and hands to cast darkness upon the walls of your bedroom in the forms of animals you knew by name and wild creatures which you didn’t. Your Father befriended those creatures before your very eyes and made them dance for you; your Father knew how to manipulate the darkness and played with the shadows as though they were real.

As a young girl, it made no difference to you. You had always struggled to feel safe and comfortable being wrapped in total darkness, but your Father knew the way. He showed you that you did not have to be brave all the time, if you remembered that darkness was alive within everyone, him and yourself included, and that there might still be a proper time and place for it. As you grew older, you had come to the realization that the light which your Father would block to create the shadows was, in fact, himself.

He had inhibited himself in favor of his own shadows, to stifle the light within himself and allowed the darkness to play the same as he’d shown you to do with your hands. In doing so, you had learned from him that you did not have to show no fear to be fearless. After all, he had not been afraid at first and it was not likely that, if he was indeed afraid at all, he would ever show it even if it went against everything he had ever tried to teach you. He wanted for you to be a better version of himself, a grown woman he was proud of beyond all measure...and you were.

You were the striking image of all three of your parents and Henry Jekyll could see that reflected within everything that you did. You worked your fingers to the bone, sometimes denying yourself food, sleep or comfort to complete a task. You were highly intelligent and could understand things far beyond what even he could at times and that impressed him immensely. He wanted your life to be easier than his own and he did all that he could to provide a safe environment for you to grow up in.

It troubled him from time to time when the darkness came.

He resented the opportunities he had passed on to this darker side of him and the access he had given him to you. He did not regret your connection with your Papa, only he worried that he might not have prepared you for some hard truths that would surely never come to pass. Whether he wanted it or not, Edward Hyde was a part of all three of your lives and your Father would come to terms with that. He had created him, after all, out of mere curiosity; it was his burden to bare.

***

Your lips twisted into what you hoped would be considered a genuine smile, while you fought to maintain and strong and determined gaze. It felt convincing enough, you thought, as you gazed into the mirror and frowned suddenly.

He was going to know.

In the back of your mind, you knew you had already lost the battle, though nothing could yet be said of the war currently raging inside of you like a wild animal fighting its confines. Your Papa and your Father both knew the feeling all too well; it stayed with them wherever they went.

Seeing as you knew how intuitive he was, he would read you like one of the books he had “borrowed” from your Father’s personal library, only to scrawl upon the pages out of blatant disrespect for what was written there and, secretly, you relished in it. You longed to be seen and heard without having to alter your emotions; you craved that same freedom.

Your Papa had a gift at reading people because he naturally saw what was laden beneath the surface because he walked amidst the very darkness that hid a person’s greatest secrets. It did not matter whether you might try to pretend. He saw right through the mask anyway.

“I thought I might find you here.”

You had been expecting him, but nevertheless did the interruption in your stream of consciousness make your physical body react and you jumped at the very sound of his voice at your back.

“Papa…” you whispered the endearment with every ounce of meaning behind it. You hoped he understood what you were trying to say without you having to say it, like you often did because sometimes it was just too damn difficult to get the words out. He always knew what it was that you were trying to say but most often than not would he force you to say them aloud because that was his nature and he had a certain way about him…he was a force not to be reckoned with, his rules, or lack thereof, demanded following.

And so, you tried…for him.

“You blame him for it, don’t you?”

It wasn’t what you wanted to say, not even close. Maybe not at all. Perhaps after careful consideration and assessment of all attributes and potential facts and variables all you would come to find was both your greatest fear and worst nightmare: that your Papa had been damned from the start. That he cared for no one, not even you, barely even himself, and that they all hated him for it.

You refused to believe that there was any truth to that sentiment. How could your Father have created your Papa, brought him into this world, taught him what he knew, made him do what he does and then punish him for it? Trying to understand only made your head throb with migraine. Your Papa was a lot of things, but he was not worthless. Long ago had your Father taught you the importance of darkness, to make peace with it, because it was always there. Even when you could not see it, the darkness would lie in wait until it could come creeping back in. You were never rid of it, so might as well befriend it if you could not destroy it.

“You blame Father for how much everyone hates you.”

His lip curled and he let out a snarl, “you’re your Father’s daughter, aren’t you, Erika?”

You ignored the bite that that statement carried, swallowing your nerves, and pressed on, “I’m yours too.”

He gave a snort of laughter, “What aren’t you telling me? Why don’t you say it out loud? Tell me what you want me to know, and I’ll know it.”

Your anger at the request amused him, you could tell, and that was just as well. Your Papa was like that whenever you showed emotion, specifically negative ones. He thrived on it, like drinking down an entire glass of water when one was dying of thirst, he craved that kind of a reaction.

You reached your resolve; everyone was up to something.

The look of impatient boredom on his face was not unknown to you but you never thought it to be directed atyou. Your Papa was invested in this conversation, though he may not look it. Underneath his intense gaze you did not waver. You began to metaphorically put one foot in front of the other and confront years and years of false continuity, accusations and words left unspoken.

‘I can face this…my Mama did.’

Your Mama had not asked him that night, had she? When she had found your Papa lying on the ground in the middle of the night, soaked through with tears and determined that should he lie down in a dirt grave and die on the spot, not a soul would give a damn about it. The notion made you feel sick and you wavered for a moment with blurred vision as though you’d been struck by a great force.

‘This yard is my last prison’ he had said to her then. You could only imagine if it had been. You would not be here if that had been his fate. Did your Papa blame your Father for it? What was worse to think about, did both your Mama and your Father truly hate your Papa? Were you the only one who loved him, wholehearted, for all he was?

It was for this did you feel almost more connected with your Papa than with your other two parents, even though it had no effect on how close you were with them. Your Papa was special to you. You could not imagine a world you would feel safe or comfortable to live in without him and your Mama and Father both knew it.

They did not hate him, did they?

“They had their reasons, Erika,” your Papa’s gentle tone snapped you out of your thoughts; nothing about him was ever gentle and it was disconcerting if he ever was, “there is no blame to pass for how I am perceived. I am who I am and that is all there is to know.”

His words were the seal of approval, desperate words of a cursed man, and you finally released the breath you didn't know you were holding as you simultaneously permitted youtself to be scooped up in one of his hugs. Awkward in theory, unsettling in almost every scenario, it was not too often that he hugged you and it was tight. Had he not been your Papa, never would you allow someone to touch you like this, but he meant you no harm. He was rough by nature, not necessarily by choice. Your Father set him on his path and ever since he had become a source of misery and despair; you did not care what your Papa got up to, so long as he was safedoing it. If that made you equally as horrible, then so be it (you could never be horrible; to think so would be unfathomable.)

“Do you know why I always tell you to say what you mean?” he asked when he let you go, regarding you with the most possibly unreadable expression, but his eyes were black as if they seemed to say, ‘You would not believe a word I say if you knew who was talking to you…’

When you were too overwhelmed to offer a response, he fixed you with another one of his amused expressions and continued, “too many words have been left unsaid. I won’t let that happen again.”

It dawned on you what he meant, what he never said, but instead wrapped his fist around it, thrust it in his pocket and refused to let it go: he was referring to the three of them, your Mama, your Father and himself.

Your Papa always made you say what you wanted to say because the last thing he would ever allow to happen was to repeat the same mistakes that had been made before. It was as if the words had to be said out loudbefore allowing himself the refuge of that sentiment; he was done with emotions being bottled up, words never to be spoken. If your Father or Mama could not put a stop to it, he damn well would.

You reached for his hands and cupped them in yours, a small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but a reciprocation of affection you knew he would appreciate, even if he never said so. You now knew in your heart of hearts what your Papa was trying to say to you. Your Father and your Mama never hated him, only it had taken them some time to learn his ways. It was not proper to act as your Papa did, even if there were positive things about it as well as negative ones. A double-edged sword, as one might call it, or that there were two sides to every coin. Your Father was the light in the darkness, your Papa, the darkness which was illuminated by the light. One could not exist without the other, in metaphor, and in reality.

The subtle signs of your Father’s deterioration had become more and more visible each day and he knew that Mary knew. At first, he had laughed it off when she tried to talk to him, insisting it was nothing; he said he wanted to focus on her instead because that gave him meaning. Whether she had understood what he meant or not remained a mystery, but you were fairly certain that she had, otherwise, they would not have had you.

Your Papa tried to convey it all to you in the only way he knew how; you understood him because, in more ways than one, you were him. You had never been afraid of the dark when your Father had played shadow games with you and showed you how to make ones of your own. It was your turn to befriend that same darkness that followed your Father’s footsteps and you would not disappoint him, for he had taught you that darkness is a part of everyone.

‘How would you say we are related to our shadows?’ he said. ‘If we cast them, are they not always part of us?’

You couldn’t help smiling wistfully whenever your mind conjured his words, unbidden; you loved him for it.

You were forever grateful for him, for your Mama and your Papa, but you knew he was teetering on the edge, and you wanted to be there when he inevitably fell, because it was you who would set him on the right path as you often remembered him doing for you throughout your life. Your Father was there for you at every turn as you now would be for him. Should the words ever be left unspoken, you would speak them, for him and for your entire family.

The truth was, they all loved Edward Hyde, because, after all, he lived in all of them.

A Hint of Magic // Eddie Munson x Erika // word count: 1,037

Summary: A short snippet in the relationship of Erika Reilly and Eddie Munson - two lovers connected and brought together by just a hint of magic.

At last, everything seemed almost too easy. Those warm-hued emotions that cradled your psyche and made you feel like you were floating sent you into an altered state of reality and left you drunk on no more than a feeling, without the dangerous repercussions of hard liquor flooding your system.

You laughed to yourself, struck silly by the way it had all come about, though you could not say why you found the ordeal funny. You had never entertained any idea of what you and Eddie wanted to be, only what you were. It felt strange putting words to it because it had only ever been what it was. Stating more than the obvious was never something you liked to do without certainty that you were not reading more into the situation than was there.

It was one thing to assume, but it was another to put words behind it. The similarities you shared with Eddie were so striking that when presented with them it was enough of a blow to knock the wind from your lungs. You could trust him with this and, if not him, then who? The notion itself made you giddy and you wanted him to repeat those words to you over and over again, reminding you till the end of time that you were his.

"I don’t think ‘boyfriend’ is the right word to call you, Eddie,” you shook your head both to discourage the continued usage of the given title and to clear your addled mind.

He nodded and you could almost detect a sense of pride and appreciation on his face that soon turned to one of mock disbelief and a genuine smile graced his features before his mouth dropped open, “It doesn’t? So, what would you like to call me, then, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know…using the term ‘boyfriend’ makes it sound like we’re still in high school.”

Eddie groaned and shuddered dramatically at the very thought of having to set foot in that cursed building ever again. Even though he had met some of his best friends there, Hawkins high school was the last place he ever wanted to be seen in again for as long as he was alive, “actually, you’re right,” he agreed with you, much to your surprise, “and I don’t think we need a repeat of that.”

"How about we just stick with 'baby'?"

"So, like, I ‘won't let anybody put you in the corner'?

You snorted with laughter, “Eddie Munson, do you secretly watch romance movies?”

“I guess my secret’s out, Eri,” he quipped sarcastically, followed by the most adorable giggle that made his shiny curls bounce.

His fingertips traced patterns on your arm as you lie snuggled next to one another and looked at him as he brushed a few strands of hair away from your eyes. His own pupils were dilated as he looked down upon you with such great affection and love, but you could tell he was waiting for you to continue speaking. There was never a dull moment with Eddie in your life. He had such a vibrant personality, one which you shared so much of a connection that it almost seemed unreal, and you found yourself breathless just from looking at him.

Hearing him refer to himself as your ‘boyfriend’ only solidified this, but the term did not sound right to you. Technically, he was your boyfriend, but you had never thought of him in such simple terms. Eddie was yours, it was true, but all you had ever known him to be was inexplicably and unapologetically himself. That was what initially drew you to him. He did not try to hide what he thought of your peers or of himself, either. He was the sort of person you needed in the past, whether you had realized it in the moment or not. He was also who you needed now and you drew great strength from him.

After a few moments of intense silence, Eddie continued, his tone low and his meaning genuine, "It took meeting you to realize all the things that have been missing from my life."

You laughed again and it carried over to him until you were both rolling around on the bed, effortlessly devolved into childish fits of giggles.

In the midst of your laughter, you heard him say, “I know! Sappy, right?”

Eddie had not profusely confessed his love for you yet, not with words, at least, but with his hands, his eyes, his deeds. He sometimes had no control over those intense, juvenile acts of which almost every young person is familiar but his inherent love language set the precedent for what was sure to follow.

Loud and clear and obvious was Eddie’s way of loving you, like if someone were to shout aloud in a quiet room. A single sentence was more than enough yet also not even close.

How could he tell you the truth when the truth had yet to be written?

You found what he said to be quite funny, because you were laughing harder than you perhaps ever had, but that was because everything seemed so much more intense with Eddie in your life. You felt your emotions with much more vigor and strength, food tasted better, life seemed a bit more vibrant. You understood now that love was much more beautiful when you had someone pure of heart by your side. He was conscious of you, your needs and your goals and he supported you fully every single step of the way.

Eddie fell in love with the way your laugh sounded in his ears. It resonated deep within his heart and a smile grew on his face as a result; you looked so gorgeous whenever you were happy.

For now, Eddie did not need to put any words to what you shared. He knew it in his heart as well as you did that what you had was just a hint of magic and sometimes the lack of an explanation was enough. He never had to fake a persona to appeal to you and vice versa; you were more than enough for each other.

Nothing in life was perfect, but you were damn close.

Next, I have made two aesthetics for you: one with your beloved Arthur/Joker (Because how could I not include him?) and one of us/all the things we did together while you were here🥺 I miss those times so much and I hope this aesthetic captures our time together like a little highlight reel✨

Arthur Fleck/Joker x Erika

Erika and Rose on Holiday

And last but certainly not least, a final note to my darling sister❤️ Merry Christmas, my beloved, and a happy New Year! This year was full of so many chaotic ups and downs, but knowing I exist in the same time and space as you makes life a little more bearable. I love you, darling. Please stay safe and well and take care of yourself - I’m sending so much love your way~

[ketso]

Episode 25

We have moved into a new house in Gauteng - Hyde Park. It's close to Fifi's and Rea's house. They helped us move in and unpack because... well... how do I put this? Tee-le knocked me up again and Khumo is still on her way to two years old. I was on contraceptives and he still got me pregnant. I was first angry, but now I'm just wrapping my head around it. I'm grateful that we are not struggling financially. But I was looking forward to starting something of my own now that Khumo is in crèche, and be so much more than just a mother and a housewife. Being pregnant is giving me another three years off investing in Thulisile... it's three years of being Tee-le's pretty and nice housewife as well as Khumo's and the new baby's mother. I'm just beginning to feel a bit trapped within myself.

Tee-le walks into my reading room – yes, I have a reading room – and finds me deep in thought, rubbing my belly and a bit teary. He sits next to me. He takes a deep breath. He knows that I'm not excited about this pregnancy. I have been very clear about that. But I also know that it's making him sad because this is his dream coming true. The dream of just having endless babies and always having a barefoot and pregnant wife all the time.

He holds my hand.

"I'm sorry for taking the experience away from you", I say.

"It's okay. I don't know how to really support you because it doesn't feel as if anything would work. You are against having this child and it's arrival date gets closer by the day." He says.

I'm quiet.

"Khumo asked me why your tummy is getting bigger. I don't even know how to tell her that in the next four months, she will have a sibling. You don't seem to want -

"Ja mara Tee-le angisho I'm having the child. I'm five months pregnant. Ucabanga ukuthi I can abort at this stage of the pregnancy?!" Now he's just making me angry.

When we start arguing, he gets up and leaves. And he does just that now.

"Tee-le, uyaphi? Uyaphi? Siyakhuluma!"

"Ngiyolanda uKhumo!" Just like that, he's gone.

I just chill in here and cry.

...

I passed out mid-crying. Now, I'm being woken up by Fifi. She's with Nene, Mfundo's wife.

"Hey girl", Fifi says.

I open my eyes wide and sit up.

"How did you guys get in?" I ask them.

"The guys are downstairs. Tee-le told us that you are up here." Nene.

"Mxm!" Me.

"Hawu Thuli, yini?" Nene.

I take a deep breath and shake my head with my eyes closed.

"Do you remember how I was when I was pregnant with the twins? I didn't even tell Rea for months. I was contemplating abortion. I wasn't ready and I didn't want them. I felt so bad about hating my own children, Thuli. About not wanting them. But the moment they were born, I just fell in love like I've never been in love before. I saw both myself and Reahile in them, blended in them so beautifully and ready to do so much more in life than what Reahile and I would do. Thuli, there are things I'll never reveal to Rea - like how I turned at an abortion door three times." Fifi says.

Why am I crying? I'm just gushing in tears.

"People make pregnancy so glamorous and easy... as if it's the best thing that could ever happen to you. And you know, it probably is. But your life changes forever. You could be on baby number four and still not be used to it. It's insane. Your body changes. Your life is turned upside down. But when these people are here and you yell all day like you work at a creche... something about that madness is so worth it. So so so worth it. These little people are crazy, complicated and rely on us for everything. That's why we love them so much. They make the journey- no matter how complicated it is - worth it." Nene says.

I start laughing.

"I think we should have our own mom-club of three. We should meet up often and just help each other fricken BREATHE." Fifi says.

"Yes please!" Me.

We laugh.

"Actually, we can even go on holiday together - just the three of us - and leave the dads to take over the house and the kids." Nene.

We laugh, but I need it. I do.

"Also, one of the things I'm most upset about is not having a life outside of all this. I don't want to hate being a mother and a wife. But it can't be all there is to me. I need to do something with my life." I say.

"Well, there's a project that we are working on at work. It's got to do with health support for mothers and children. But it gave me an idea of possibly doing something business-ey with it." Nene.

"We could even start clothing lines, baby decor lines where we design baby rooms in terms of set up, decor and baby linen", me.

"Alongside developing premium baby essentials- feeding bottles, pacifiers, blankets..." Fifi.

"And we could try get a tender with government for providing supplies to baby sections of hospitals." Nene.

I'm actually happy. I'm glad they are here. If the plan was to make me excited about this pregnancy, it's working.

"I'm the only one here without a job, so let me put the business plan together then we can meet up over the weekend to discuss?" Me.

We are happy, man. Happy!

We chat a bit more then make our way downstairs.

We hear the noise before we see the faces. The kids are screaming and playing. The men are talking and laughing. How is neither of them bothered about this noise?

The guys see us, stop talking and focus on us. The kids see us and decide to sprint to us with their noise.

Nene is the only one who has well-behaved kids. It may be because they are slightly older than my Khumo and Fifi's twins, but shame, I'd take them any day.

Tee-le is reading me, trying to figure out if it's safe for him to come to me. Everyone notices that there is a sudden tension between us. There is complete silence.

I put Khumo on my hip then walk up to Tee-le. He stands up as I approach him. Everyone is watching us.

I throw my arms around him and hold onto him. He receives me. He holds me tight.

"I'm so sorry", I say.

"I love you", he says.

"You guys are hurting me", Khumo.

Everyone laughs.

We come out of our hug and he takes Khumo from me. I see now that Fifi and Nene are tucked into their men. I tuck myself into mine.

"Mommy, why do you have a growing tummy?" Khumo.

Eish.

"Because she's having a baby", Liso, Nene's and Mfundo’s son says.

"A baby? But I'm her baby." Khumo.

"They are having another one. So, you are going to have a sister or a brother. Like me and Liso. And like Mulalo and Mohau." Mbali, Nene's and Mfundo's daughter.

Khumo thinks about it. I honestly would have never put it that way.

"Can I have a sister?" Khumo looks at me and says.

"Daddy buys the baby. I just carry it. Ask him." I say because I don't know how else to say that the sex of this child is up to her dad's semen.

"Daddy? Please????"

The guys laugh.

"Let's just pray for a healthy baby", Tee-le says. He's looking at me and shaking his head. I'm just giggling.

Maybe this isn't a bad thing after all.

"Manje, the wedding? Wasn't it supposed to happen when you outgrew Khumo's baby fat?" Mfundo asks us.

"Ayi, it will happen after this baby ke", I say.

"But you are so gorgeous! Wena pregnancy treats you well because even with Khumo, you were stunning! You'd make a stunning pregnant bride." Fifi.

"It's not happening, babes. I refuse to be a pregnant bride."

Laughter fills my lounge area. And shame, I'm not joking.

...

"Coffee?" I offer her.

She smiles at me and accepts the cup.

Shack is upstairs with the boys. He doesn't have training or a game today. I guess he feels guilty about his infidelity because when he doesn't have training or a game, he spends time with us. His daughter passed away two months ago. They were prepared for it and they were expecting it, but they are still hurting. Especially Shack. It's as if he blames himself for her death. He even made me go to the funeral with him. To say that I was uncomfortable would be an understatement. But Thuli and Tee-le showed up for us. Tee-le sat with Shack - in between Shack and the mother - in front of the coffin. Thuli sat with me somewhere at the back of the hall. I was dragged on social media, no doubt. All sorts of things were said about me, especially because the child's mother did a whole Instagram live and told people how evil I was as a stepmother. I'm actually annoyed about it. But before I could even address it, Paula was at my doorstep. Shack, Thuli, Tee-le and I were coming back to our house from the funeral and found Paula at our gate.

"And then?" I asked her. I didn't even know that she had been discharged.

"I need a place to stay", she said.

She's been staying in our cottage ever since.

Shack obviously told Leruo. Leruo came by, I suppose to fetch her. But she refused to leave with him. She told him she wanted a divorce. Leruo said no then left.

I also don't know what's happening.

I'm in her cottage now and we are about to gossip like we always do every morning, because honestly, I don't know how else to be her friend. Paula doesn't talk. She really doesn't. She never lets anyone in. So, I have to work with what she gives me. 9/10 times, she wants to know what's been happening while she was away. Here we are.

"Nomzamo has Leruo seeing a psychologist." She says.

Okay, we are not gossiping today.

"For cheating?" I enquire.

"Nope. Other things. Some of the critical issues that we had in our marriage", she says.

She's speaking in codes again.

"Paula, I'm your friend. I have no idea what's happening, but Nomzamo knows so much to the extent that she can even have him go to a psychologist?"

"It's complicated, Renay".

Really?! That's all I get? She's staying in my cottage, not Nomzamo's cottage, and that's all I get? But I don't press. I just keep quiet. I don't know what else to do.

"I'm glad you and Shack have fixed things", she says.

I don't know how to answer. Because really, is she entitled to my issues when she can't even share hers? I'm also not going to be truthful with her. I just say, "Thanks."

She looks at me and she knows I'm not sharing more than that.

"Nomzamo is picking me up today. She's letting me stay in her old house. I'll be there for some time until I even know what's happening." She says.

Her relationship with Nomzamo actually irritates me. I won't lie.

"And your kids?" I ask.

"They'll still be staying with Nomzamo and Leruo. I'm not ready to have them back."

"Paula, I don't understand you. You want to divorce Leruo, but you still want to be reliant on his other wife, benefitting off lesithembu senu. If it's such an issue in your life, how are you trusting Nomzamo so much?"

"Renay, I'm not divorcing Leruo because he's married to another woman."

I'm so confused.

"So, why are you divorcing him?" I ask her.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then she says, "I can't talk about it."

Yoh hai.

"I know I'm frustrating you. And I'm sorry. But I'll be out of your hair and space within the next couple of hours. Thank you for everything though, Renay. Truly. Ngiyabonga. I'll never forget this."

I just hug her.

...

I'm in my bedroom now, lotioning myself. I just took a shower. Shack bathed the boys and gave me a bit of space to have a peaceful morning.

I'm not sure how to describe where Shack and I are at right now.

We are nice to each other. Civil. We have sex because we are married sexual beings. But we both feel the emotional disconnect. I know that he's hurting and grieving over the death of his daughter. But I cannot bring myself to being there for him. I can't. I don't feel sorry for him. A part of me feels like he deserves this. He had no business making that baby in the first place. The way that I see it, God merely removed what was never supposed to be there to begin with.

"Nay", I hear him say.

I don't answer him nor do I look at him. I just continue to lotion myself.

"Baby, please."

I know what he's asking. But I'm still so angry.

I now feel his arms around me.

"I'm sorry", he says.

Today, I'm not going to cry. I'm going to be strong and we are going to talk about this.

"Why did you do it, Shack?" I'm still not looking at him.

"I don't know."

"Is it me? Am I lacking somewhere?"

"No, baby. You are perfect."

"Clearly, I'm not. You had an entire relationship with another woman for years, Meshack. Made and raised a child with her! You had an entire life with her! If I'm so perfect, what were you looking for and enjoying with her that you couldn't find and enjoy with me?"

He's silent.

"How did you meet her?" I ask him.

"Reneiloe, please."

"Answer me, Meshack. How did you meet her?"

He lets go of my body and sits on the bed. I'm still wrapped in a towel. I'm standing up. I don't want to sit down.

"A few of the gents and I were out. There was an indoor netball tournament happening that Ndalo was part of, so Yaya asked us to go with him to watch it because he didn't want to go by himself."

"You watch netball now? This is what you, Meshack Twala, do? You leave your house to go watch women in short dresses jump around a netball court?"

He's silent.

"I'm asking you a question!"

He rubs his hands together.

"Renay, I'll never apologise enough for that night."

I look at him.

"You met her at a netball game then slept with her that same night?"

He nods his head and says, "It was never supposed to be a relationship, so I wasn't interested in getting to know her better. She was cute. She was coming onto me. Tee-le went home. Yaya, Leruo, ManQ and I took the girls to a hotel and shit happened."

"Why didn't you follow Tee-le when he left?"

"I don't know. I didn't know that the night would end up like that."

I'm now pacing up and down the room.

"So why continue with the relationship if that was never your intention?" I ask.

"Ndalo gave her my number. She started stalking you, telling me that I had some nerve to just 'hit and run'. She kept saying that akayenziwa kanjalo yena and if I wouldn't finish what we started, she'd tell you about the fact that we fucked and she'd make our lives hell. She would literally camp outside our estate gate. I was scared that she'd end up harming you or our kids. So, I gave in. I asked her what she wanted and she told me she wanted to be my mistress. She said she'd not cause any issues. She'd stay in the dark and never even tell anyone that she's my mistress. But if I ever did her dirty, she'd go public. I agreed. At first it was so that you never find out what happened, but I won't lie, after some time, I enjoyed her company and I did feel like I could love you and still be with her. I didn't love her. At all. That part, I'm sure about. Before I knew it, she was pregnant. I bought her a house. I bought her a car so she would be less dependent on me. I supported her financially. Anything to keep her away and to look after my child."

I've heard enough!

I charge to the in suite bathroom. He runs after me and I almost hurt him when I slam the door. He stepped away on time.

"RENEILOE, I'M SORRY!"

We both cry. I can hear him crying and I'm crying so loud that he can hear me crying.

"Nay, please! I'm sorry!"

I just cry my heart out. I actually fall asleep on the bathroom tile, in my towel.

When I wake up, I'm in my bed. Blankets are covering me. There are some painkillers on my side table. It's dark. Oh, my curtains are closed and they are block-out curtains.

I get up from the bed.

I have a headache from hell.

My door opens.

It's Shack's mother. Fucken hell! Had I known we are calling parents, I would have phoned mine too. I'm not an orphan you know.

She gives me a plate of food and sits on one of my bedroom couches.

I don't trust this woman. I'm not eating her food.

"Makoti", she starts.

"Mah?"

"Eat your food." She says.

"I'm not hungry", I say.

She chuckles.

I don't like her. I know she doesn't like me too. Why are we doing this? Why is she acting like she wants to fix things between Shack and me? I'll have you know that she got a whole Twala delegation to go and pay damages for Shack's illegitimate daughter. Lalela, I want this woman out of my sight!

"I've decided to come and live with you and Meshack", she says.

"FOR WHAT?!"

"Ungang'phapheli wena, ntombazane. This is my son's house."

"A court of law views this as my house too. And you are not welcome here." I say.

"You and Meshack need some help."

"I don't need your help."

She's quiet.

Shack walks into the bedroom.

"Hey, you are awake." He says, walking towards me.

He gets into the bed and hugs me.

"Ufunani umah wakho la, Meshack?"

"She's going to help us."

"HELP US WITH WHAT, MESHACK?! WHEN HAS SHE EVER HELPED US WITH ANYTHING?!"

The mother is laughing. I'm going to shove her out of a window very soon. She has my nerves on probation.

"She's not sleeping here." I say.

"Are you the man in this house?" The audacity of this woman!

"YOU SHUT UP! YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU'VE NEVER HELPED US! YOU'VE DESTROYED US MORE THAN YOU'VE HELPED US! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN THIS HOUSE! AND WENA MESHACK, IF YOU CHOOSE ANOTHER WOMAN OVER ME ONE MORE TIME, WE ARE DONE!"

"THIS IS MY SON, YOU EVIL GIRL!"

Kanti she fears losing him too?

I just leave the bedroom. I find my kids and we drive off to my parents' house. They live about an hour away from us. Maybe I do need some love from home.

...

Love", he walks into the kitchen and greets me.

"Hey baby", me.

"Did you sleep okay?"

"I did. Wena?"

He nods his head.

Mohato and I are still together. He is bringing cows to my family next week then we are having a wedding celebration here in Tholoana Kingdom. Then I'll be moving into the royal house. I love him. I do. But I wish he had his own life like Reahile does. I wish he didn't want the throne and everything that it comes with. His family runs our lives and I don't like it. I'm not even allowed to work. I have to work at their government offices as well as run that Sip & Read shop that the queen-mother refuses to sell and let go of, telling me that it's Rena's and Moloko's legacy.

Mohato works in government. But I think he also does some illegal things with his fathers. I keep bumping into guns, drugs and hectic money in our apartment. I think our apartment is actually one of their storage places for nonsense. My parents bought me this apartment after graduating. I don't understand why Mohato wouldn't respect that. He doesn't even want me to sell this place. I know it has everything to do with them continuing their illegal shit in here.

"I'd like to treat you to a holiday away", he says.

In other words, he is going away to possibly get arrested.

"If you are not coming with me, I'm not going." I say.

"Why would I want to go on a girls' trip? It's for you and your girls", he says.

Mxm!

"I don't want to go away. I want to be here with you. Or go away with you", I say.

He takes a deep breath.

"Zari -

"Mohato, we need to go, monna." His dad walks into our house and says.

He observes the situation and realises that Mohato hasn't won in getting rid of me.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

Silence.

"Eh monna! Keng?! We need to go!" He says.

"What's the hold up?" The other dad barges in and asks. He looks at me, takes in the situation then says, "Take her to Remo. They'll all go on holiday together."

Heh!

"Babe, can we -

"No, Mohato! The answer is no!"

"Mohato, we don't have time for this! Reahile is already waiting for us and the first vault is already open. If he can manage his wife and children, I don't see what it is exactly that you are struggling with here. Pope has us on countdown. If Zari doesn't want to leave, leave her here and let's move the fuck on!"

Mohato kisses my cheek and runs out of here with his dads.

Reahile is in on this too?

Let me phone Rofhiwa. She might know what's going on.

I dial her number. My signal is automatically jammed. I can't make calls?

"What are you doing?"

I literally fly off my bed in utter shock. When the hell did he get into my house? Let alone my bedroom?

"I asked you a question. Why are you phoning Rofhiwa?" He asks me.

"Uncle Shaka, I -

"Yes?"

Silence.

He leaves the bedroom. Just as I catch my breath, three masked men come in and take me away.

[rubysunnday]

your song, prt 2 | c.b

Summary: As their wedding day approaches, Y/N’s parents continue to disappoint her. Colin reminds her that his own family is now hers.

Part 1 

Colin Bridgerton had a way with words.

Ever since the concert, he hadn’t stopped writing Y/N little notes, proclaiming his love to her and comparing her to a summer’s day. Y/N was almost certain that half the things he wrote down where stolen directly from Anthony’s copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets, but she wasn’t complaining.

In the dozens of letters he sent her from when he was on his travels abroad, he always managed to describe what he was seeing in a way that made Y/N feel like she was there. From his vivid descriptions of the Grecian beaches lined with houses of every colour to the snowy heights of Norway, Colin somehow always made her feel as if she was there.

Y/N treasured each and every letter he sent her, tying them all together with a beautiful ribbon that he'd sent all the way from Amsterdam. They sat on her shelf next to the dried flowers that had been a part the bouquet of flowers he'd given her for her birthday.

She had spent the day with the Bridgerton's since her own parents were too busy up in Scotland to come down to celebrate.

Her parents were constantly disappointing her. They had barely even acknowledged her since she’d announced her engagement and she was tired of being ignored. 

Y/N walked into the drawing room of Bridgerton House, a fake smile on her face. 

“Y/N!” Hyacinth squealed, running up to her future sister-in-law and hugging her.

“Hello, Hyacinth,” Y/N said, returning her hug.

"I thought your parents were coming," Anthony said, noticing Y/N's lack of escort. His brow furrowed in concern as he noticed Y/N’s forced smile.

"They are in Scotland," Y/N replied, sitting down on the sofa and sighing. "They are too busy with my sister's horse riding competition to bother coming down to celebrate."

Y/N was trying to hide her upset about being forgotten by her parents. It wasn't the first time it had happened and it probably wouldn't be the last. Y/N's sister was their dream child - the talented one who would probably be the diamond of whatever year she decided to make her debut in.

Y/N's own debut had been almost ruined by her parents. Her grandfather had died two days before she'd been due to be presented to the queen and her parents and vanished overnight to Cornwall, leaving Y/N behind with no one to present her or accompany her to the ball.

Which was when Colin had stepped in. They'd found each other out in Hyde Park where Y/N had gone to escape her house and by the time they'd walked back to Bridgerton House, Colin had decided that Y/N was worthy of so much more than what her parents were giving her.

"Anthony!" Colin yelled, as soon as he walked inside the front door of Bridgerton house. "Anthony!"

"Colin, be quiet, it is fine," Y/N said, hitting his arm not too gently.

"No, it is not fine," Colin replied, his usual cheeky grin absent. "This is one of the most important days in your life and they have just left you! Anthony!"

"Colin, will you stop yelling!" Y/N hissed, noticing the staff giving them both bizarre looks.

Colin didn't listen. "ANTH - oh, there you are."

Anthony Bridgerton all but ran down the stairs, panic on his face. "What, who is injured?"

"No one," Colin replied, frowning. "What made you think that?"

"You yelling, probably," Y/N muttered, yelping as Colin elbowed her.

Anthony sighed and closed his eyes in despair. "Colin,” Anthony said slowly, looking up “what do you want?"

Colin shoved Y/N forward, the woman almost falling into Anthony at the sudden shove. She shot Colin a glare but he ignored it, putting his hands on her shoulders and spinning her back to face Anthony.

"Y/N, here. Our wonderful, amazing Y/N, has been abandoned by her parents. They will not be able to present her to the queen in two day's time nor will they be able to escort her to the ball. Therefore, I was wondering if you and mother could do it."

Y/N looked up at Anthony. She'd known him since she was eight and the Viscount had become a parental figure in her life, replacing the lacklustre figure that was her actual father. But asking him and his mother to present her to the queen was a massive ask.

Anthony's eyes softened as he looked down at Y/N. He put a hand on her shoulder and nodded. "Of course we can. Come upstairs, Y/N, Eloise will be very annoyed if she finds out you stopped by and did not say hello. We can talk more then."

Y/N took Anthony's arm and let him walk her up the stairs. She glanced behind her and mouthed a thank you to Colin who sent her a smile and a thumbs up.

Anthony gestured to the sofa next to Eloise and Y/N blinked, suddenly remembering where she was. 

"So, your parents are continuing the standard they set when they did not turn up to your debut, then?" Eloise asked, moving up as Y/N sat down next to her. She offered the tin of sweets she was holding out to her.

"Please, do not remind me," Y/N muttered, taking a red sweet. "Thank you, again, for saving me," Y/N said, looking up at Anthony and Violet. "Truly."

"Do not worry about it, my dear," Violet replied, waving her off. "Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?"

"If you do not - Colin, what on earth?"

Y/N stared at Colin, who was struggling to hold a large bouquet of roses, hyacinths, elderflowers and daisies, with a perplexed look.

"Happy birthday!" He exclaimed, setting them on the table in front of her.

Y/N leant back to avoid being poked in the eye by a branch of elderflower. "I..."

Colin's face fell. "You hate them, I can tell. I was not sure how big was too big or how many flowers to include -"

"Colin, I love it," Y/N said, cutting him off. "I just was not... expecting anything."

Colin smiled down at her. "I could not remember which flower was your favourite out of them," he said, fiddling with a daisy, "but I remembered you liked how purple contrasts with blue and how yellow breaks the colours up like it does in a sunset. Specifically -"

"The Athens sunset of July 1814," Y/N said softly, remembering every single detail of that letter.

Colin's description of the sunset had stuck with her ever since. He'd described it in so much detail she'd felt as if she'd been sat next to him on the beach.

Her birthday flowers had only been the start. Colin seemed to remember every passage that had transported her, every sentence that had made her envy his freedom, every word Y/N had felt connected to and turned it into affection and gifts.

He made her feel wanted and loved when her own parents forgot about her or dismissed her. Whenever she cried he picked her up and read from his journals to distract her. Every single ball he would compare her dress to a sunset he'd seen and Y/N would just listen in awe as the words flowed like a song.

And then he had actually written her a song and had gotten it performed at the opera and Y/N had fallen head over heels in love with him. Colin had proposed to her that night and Y/N hadn’t hesitated before saying yes.

Colin had began leaving notes around her house, counting down to their wedding day. They’d come accompanied by flowers or little presents and even watercolours of her favourite places. Y/N kept them all in a box under her bed, hidden away from her parents who, if she was honest, didn’t really care about Y/N’s wedding or her successful match. 

Her parents lack of interest in her or her wedding hurt. Y/N was hoping that her match to Colin would have at least perked something inside them but all she’d received was stoney silence and her father telling her that they couldn’t make it. He didn’t say why they couldn’t make it, just that they couldn’t make it. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Colin asked quietly, nudging Y/N’s arm.

Y/N turned her head to look at Colin, realising that he’d evicted Eloise off the sofa and taken her place. Benedict and Anthony were both looking over at them with matching looks of concern but Y/N focused on Colin and nodded. “I am fine, Colin. I am simply thinking.”

“Well, we all know how dangerous that is for you, my love,” Colin replied teasingly, winking at her. His smile faded as he noticed her solemn expression. “Come on, tell me what is wrong.”

“My parents,” Y/N said quietly. “They... well, you know what they do to me. They have said that they are not coming to the wedding and have not even acknowledged me since we got engaged. They do not even acknowledge my birthday and I just -” Y/N cut herself off with a hefty sigh and dropped her head onto Colin’s shoulder. “I am so tired of them.”

Colin rested his head on top of Y/N’s and held her hand. “I know you are, darling. I am sorry they are not better parents. But,” he lifted his head up and gently tilted Y/N’s chin up, “you do not have to worry about them anymore. My family is your family, Y/N.”

Anthony, who had been listening to every word, spoke up. “Y/N, I will happily walk you down the aisle if you do not want your parents there.”

Y/N nodded and smiled, feeling tears burning her eyes. “Thank you, Anthony.”

Anthony could read her like a book and got up, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I promise you, I will not let them ruin your day.”

Y/N nodded. “I know, Anthony, thank you.”

Colin nudged her. “See, I told you. Besides, I do not believe that Hyacinth will let you go anywhere without her. You are a Bridgerton now.”

Y/N smiled sadly and kissed him on the cheek. “I cannot wait to marry you, Colin Bridgerton.”

“I cannot wait to marry you either, Y/N Bridgerton,” Colin replied with a smile.

[isthisthingeven0n]

you’re still here : s.r

spencer watched you die in his arms, believing you were gone forever. but when he learns the truth that you’re alive in london, he can’t help but wonder why you’ve hidden away for so long. (2.4k)

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(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

Salem, Oregon

“No, no, no Y/n, please,” Spencer pleads as he holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as your body becomes weaker by the passing second. “please don’t go,” His cries intensify as his arms shake, watching as your eyes begin to close. “no, please.”

“I’m sorry,” You manage to whisper as tears fall from Spencer’s eyes, the last sight you ever saw as your eyes closed, and your head fell back.

“No,” Spencer mutters, shaking you lightly. “no, you can’t be, no!” His cries turn to yells as Morgan approaches him slowly, resting his hand on Spencer’s shoulder as it shakes violently.

“Reid,” Morgan sighs, afraid to look down and see you lifeless in Spencer’s arms. “it’s over, I, I’m sorry.”

Looking over his shoulder, the rest of the team with solemn faces walk over and shield around Spencer whilst the police take care of Jason Lodgings; your murderer.

“Come on, Spence,” JJ speaks softly as she kneels beside Spencer as tears fill her eyes.

“I’m not leaving her.” Spencer states firmly, still not letting you go from his embrace.

“Reid,” Hotch calls out, his voice firm as he stands tall, watching as Lodgings walks away in handcuffs, glancing down with sorrow at the blood oozing from your cream jumper, dripping onto the wooden floorboards. “we have to go.” Hotch tells the team as they slowly rise to their feet, not wanting to start an argument with their superior.

Closing his eyes, Spencer releases a shaky breath as he gently lowers you to the ground. He pushes your hair out from your face and brushes his fingers across your cheek for the last time.

“Goodbye, Y/n.” Spencer whispers to you as he stands up and turns around, ignoring JJ’s open arms and walks out.

*

London, England - Two years later

It was always going to catch up with you, this life was a mere facade for your sake to have a sense of normality, but normality was never something you wanted.

Nearly two years had passed by since they last saw you. You hadn’t seen Garcia flirting with Morgan, heard JJ talk about Henry with such joy or avoided the stern looks Hotch shot over when you joked with Rossi and Emily for two years. But the one thing you’ve missed more than anything was seeing Spencer smile. You missed everything about Spencer, but seeing his smile brought a sense of indescribable joy.

This was never going to last forever, and you knew that coming into the situation. Hotch and Emily helped you figure out what to do, where to go in order to keep you safe. But keeping you safe meant everyone believing you were dead in the eyes of Jason Lodgings and his team, otherwise, they’d kill your team, your family off one by one just to get to you.

Having experienced the trauma from Emily’s ‘death’ you knew this wasn’t going to be easy on the team. You were lying in Spencer’s arms, close to death as you heard him cry for you. Every part of your body screamed to react, to tell him you’d see him again soon. If only you could have, just to provide him with some sense of relief in the long term. Yet if you did, it would’ve ruined the entire plan.

Wandering through Hyde Park, you knew he was close by. Maybe he had seen you already and was too afraid to believe it. The last time you spoke to anyone you knew was a year ago in Paris with Emily.

* Paris, France - One year Ago *

“How are they all?” You question as she sits down opposite you, files in hand as she places them on the table.

“They’re healing,” She answers, sliding the files across as you grab your bag, putting them inside without any hesitation. “it’ll get easier, but they’ll always miss you.” Emily sighs knowingly. “That contains everything you’ll need to get to London and set up a life there. But please, don’t trust anyone easily, Y/n.” She warns you as you nod.

Rising to your feet, you shrug your bag back onto your shoulder as you look down to one of your oldest friends for the last time. “Thank you, Emily.” You smile to her, wishing you could say more.

“Stay safe, okay?” She tells you, unable to form more words as thousands hover behind her lips. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

With a nod, you turn on your heels and walk down the street, not daring to look back as you’ve got to carry on.

*

Exhaling deeply, you bury your hands further into your coat pockets. Autumn was approaching as the Summer nights came to an end. You can’t help but kick through the piles of leaves that line the pathways as children giggle with their parents behind you.

“Did you know after June 21st, the Summer Solstice the sun’s direct rays will begin to shift southward from the Tropic of Cancer toward Earth’s equator?” You can’t help but tense as you hear his voice, filled with pain behind you. “As a result, the summer days become shorter, but that isn’t noticeable for a few weeks until late August when we near Fall.”

With a heavy heart, you begin to turn around and face the one person you owe the most to.

Your eyes remain locked on his feet, an old pair of sneakers lined with dried mud. Slowly, you raise your gaze past his trousers and toward the knitted sweatshirt vest, one you remember vividly even after all this time. As your eyes reach his shoulders, you can see his hair is long again and you can’t help but want to reach out and run your fingers through it like you once did.

“Hi,” You breathe out, unable to meet his scared gaze. “hi, Spencer.” You mutter, tearing apart the tissue in your left pocket as your nerves spread through your system, igniting undiscovered anxieties about this situation.

Spencer remains silent, taking in the sight before him. He never thought he’d see you again, the last time he saw you he held your lifeless body in his arms as he cried for you to stay with him. Yet you’re here, in London, alive.

“Do you wanna sit down?” You motion to the nearest vacant bench, and Spencer walks alongside you without saying a word.

Sitting down beside him, the gap between you feels too big. You’re used to the times of sitting together on the jet, resting your head on his shoulder and drifting off peacefully.

“Been up to much whilst here?” You ask, unsure what else to say. You can see out of the corner of your eye he’s looking straight ahead at the squirrels scaling the trees like buildings in the city.

“Why?” Spencer breaks his silence, his voice firm with you which takes you back by surprise.

“I,” You pause, lowering your head in defeat as you stare at the faint scar on your hand from the initial knife wound that Jason struck you with. “I had no choice.” You admit, hearing the gunfire as you blink away the memory.

“Everyone has a choice, Y/n, always.” He reminds you and just hearing him say your name causes your heart to drop. “You could’ve told us, we would’ve kept you safe, you know I,” Spencer pauses as he exhales his frustration. “we could’ve protected you.”

“I know, Spence,” You mutter, now turning to look up at him for the first time. “but I couldn’t do it, Hotch and Emily assured everyone would be safer this way.” You try to explain as you see the pain that lines his eyes, the heartache held in his gaze as he focuses on you.

He looks older, still sleep-deprived, but there’s a hint of happiness in the lines that surround his lips. A reassurance that he does have good days, the one thing you wished he'd have since you left.

“So you just left knowing we thought you died in my arms? Do you have any idea how I felt?” He’s angry, and rightfully so. “I, I thought I meant more to you than that, Y/n.” His anger subsides as his voice softens, his defences down.

You can’t help but reach out as you look at your hand on top of his, not daring to move it as you study his reaction.

“You’re the most important person to me, Spencer.” You reason, feeling his hand take a hold of yours, resting it in his palm as he curls his fingers over your hand, refusing to let go. “That’s why I had to let you believe I was gone, as Lodgings’ team would know, they’d always know and you would be in danger because of me.”

Spencer shakes his head. “We would’ve found a way, we, we,” He stumbles over his words as you squeeze his hand.

“You think me faking my death was plan A, Spence?” You chuckle, noticing a faint smile crossing his lips. “That was plan Z, actually version 3 plan Z if we’re being specific.”

“Did you ever plan on coming back?” Spencer quietly questions as his words linger around you for a moment as you slip your hand out from his.

“What did Emily tell you, Spence?” You ask, looking up at him as you hide your hands in your coat pockets, picking at the tissue once more.

“Besides the fact you’re alive and in London?” He nervously chortles, catching you rolling your eyes playfully. “She said you were doing okay, and that you were safe here.”

“I am, with Lodgings’ team having been sentenced, I’m no longer a target to them. My life is my own again, I can finally carry on living it.” Looking up, you watch as pigeons fly overhead, swarming down on the chunks of bread left for the swans. “But I made an agreement with Hotch, I’d stay away for at least three years. Three years to ensure my safety and for Lodgings’ team to be dismantled and dealt with.”

“Three years.” Spencer repeats, and you nod along. “You’re not planning on coming home, are you?” Your silence answers his question without you needing to respond. “I understand, Y/n. Three years is a long time to be gone from us all, and people change.” He reasons to himself more than to you. “I, we all thought you were gone, and finding out you’re alive I,” His voice trails off as he clenches his jaw, fighting his emotions that have been pent up for so long.

“Spence,” You mumble his name as tears fall from his eyes. “I want to come home, I do. I just don’t know if it’s home anymore.”

“Home is where the heart is.” Spencer comments.

“Elvis Presley.” You chuckle, lifting your hand up as you wipe away his tears, feeling him tense momentarily from your touch.

“Please don’t go, Y/n.” Spencer whispers as he lifts his hand up, resting it on top of yours as you cup his cheek. “I want to be selfish, I don’t want to lose you again if I don’t have to.”

Tears glaze your eyes as Spencer scans your face for any uncertainty. “Six months, Spence.” The words are barely audible for anyone passing by, but you know he heard you.

“One hundred and eighty-two point five days.” He nods as you lower your hand from his cheek, but he still keeps his on top of yours. “Then you’ll come home?”

“I can’t promise, Spence.” You know lying would be useless with him, you were never the most confident liar around him. “But before I go, I just want to tell you something.”

“Anything.” Spencer responds in a heartbeat, his entire body facing you now as you lower your gaze and take a steady breath.

“When you held me in your arms as I was,” Even after all this time, you still struggle saying the word. “well, fading, there was one thing I couldn’t help but think as you pleaded for me to stay.”

Spencer edges closer, your thighs touching as the previous gap between you both on the bench is gone. “What was it?”

“I wanted to tell you how much I care for you, how much I love you. And I wanted to thank you for being there for me through everything.” Your eyes remain locked on his as you pour your heart out to him, knowing if you don’t say it now, you never will. “But I didn’t have enough life in me to say all that then.” You nervously laugh. “So I thought I’d say it now, as it’s still true. You are a wonderful person Spencer Reid.”

A comfortable silence falls between you both as echoes of children's laughter surrounds you. And for the first time in years, you feel perfectly content.

“You know, Rossi once told me something,” Spencer speaks up, looking down at your hand as he brushes his thumb over the scar Jason caused. “scars show us where we have been, they do not dictate where we are going.”

“Wise words from a wise man.” You comment quietly as Spencer pauses.

“I know you have scars, Y/n. Externally and internally. But I’ll always be here, wherever you chose to be.” A small sweet smile lines Spencer’s lips as you focus on him, wishing there was so much more you could say. “And I’ll always love you, I’ll always miss you. But if I know you’re healing, then that is all that matters.” He lifts your hand up to his lips, kissing it softly before lowering it back to your lap, unaware of your heart-shattering in your chest.

“I’ll see you soon, Spence.” You tell him as he stands up, hands resting in his jacket pockets as he sways back and forth on his heels.

“One hundred and eighty-two point five days, Y/n.” He reminds you, and you can’t help but laugh and Spencer joins in too for a moment and everything feels okay again, just for a second. “I’ll be holding you to it.” He smiles to you one last time as he sees the glint in your eyes falter. “Bye Y/n.”

“Bye Spencer.” You wave to him as you turn around, walking down separate paths once more, unsure when you’ll next reunite.

[sarcastically-defensive17]

Hello lovelyyy! Could i request a Billy imagine? He makes fun of the reader after hooking up with her at a party and she just playa along for the sake of his reputation but it hurts her a lot. He finds her and apologizes and its all really angsty with a happy ending??✨

Facades - B. Hargrove

I love this req so so so so so so much and I am so sorry I took so long to complete it! If you hate it then I am so so sorry and I hope you let me know so i can send you pictures of baby otters to apologise!

I really hope you like it!!

TW: THIS STORY CONTAINS MENTIONS OF BULLYING, SEXUAL REFERENCES, SWEARING, BRIEF ALLUSIONS TO DOMESTIC VIOLENCE / PARENTAL ABUSE, BILLY BEING A BIT OF A MYSOGINISTIC PRAT, Y/N STANDING UP FOR THE LITTLE PEEPS AND BEING A QUEEN AND MENTIONS OF NON-CONSENSUAL STARING AT INTIMATE BODY PARTS.

IF THIS CONTENT CAN POTENTIALLY TRIGGER YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ. YOUR OWN MENBTAL AND PHSYICAL HEALTH IS IMPORTANT, SO PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. MY INBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN.

Original Story by defensive_sarcasm17.

Please do not copy, reproduce or repost without credit or in a manner that removes my username, and/or ownership from the work. Stealing is not cool, my loves.

Billy Hargrove was an asshole.

Not just your regular asshole, but the kind that knew he was an asshole and allowed his severe longing for attention to control his every action. Whether positive or negative attention, he craved it; he reveled in it.

He knew it was wrong, but simply knowing he was on somebody’s mind in any way filled him with a sense of pride. It disgusted him but the thrill was far too addictive.

And there was sweet Y/N. Anybody could tell that she didn’t fit in. She walked - no, she strut - to the beat of her own drum. The minute he arrived she caught his attention. He had never before witnessed how somebody could be so unique and beautiful, yet remain on the outside. She was a fascinating creature and he hadn’t before felt such an intense desire to get to know somebody.

She was so different to so many people, both in personality and appearance, yet she took care to avoid bringing others down. Her first interaction with him was her reprimanding him for speaking ill of another girl in their grade with his friends. She had overheard the conversation that occurred near to her locker and made sure to discuss it with him away from his friends.

The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him and herself, but she also needed to tell him that his behaviour was unacceptable. He made more of an effort to watch his tongue after that, but old habits die hard and he quickly resorted back to being an ill-mannered asshole.

Just... never to her.

Nevertheless, he was still drawn to her. Their relationship evolved, a few sneaky kisses, hanging out outside of the arcade, or the cinema, or even the one time that Billy was eating at the diner and Y/N took a seat across from him just to babble about some new thing she was doing. If she was anybody else, Billy would have told her to take a hike, but instead, he clung to every word she told.

What Y/N didn’t know, though, was that she had become a butt of some jokes amongst Billy’s friends. Her kind, bubbly personality, her eyes that were often wide in energetic glee, the way she held a cheesy smile on her lips whenever she passed Billy in the hall.

To her it was normal. Never in her the lengths of her imagination would she conclude that the way she behaved would spur other people - people that she has grown alongside - to ridicule and tease her behind her back.

So she continued on in blissful nativity, even going as far as spending a night with the brutish boy - cuddled together, fumbling blindly amongst the rumpled sheets of her double bed. What started as a meaningless conversation at one of the many parties ended in one of the best nights that either had experienced.

She was entirely enamored by him, forming an intense and strong connection with the way he would present himself to her. She quite enjoyed the Jekyll within him.

The euphoria that he felt in her presence wouldn’t fade away like it normally did, even as he took his leave from her.

But when Billy was seen by Y/N’s neighbour, Angela, leaving her house early in the morn, the news circulated with the intensity of a swarm of angry locusts amongst the school.

And when Billy turned up to school late the next day, after a long and enjoyable farewell with Y/N and a quick stop at his own abode to change and freshen up, he was hounded the minute he approached his friends in the cafeteria.

“Please for the love of all that is cool in this world, tell me you didn’t hook up with freaky Y/N,” Tommy blurted in front of almost the entire cafeteria. The frown on Billy’s face did nothing to deter the boy, and from the corner of his eye he could see Y/N still as a statue as she felt most eyes turn towards her. Her tray was clasped between her fingers and she struggled to shift her features away from shock. “I mean, look at her,” he raised a hand as if he intended to whisper, yet the silence of the room ensured everybody heard, “You’d get more satisfaction out of a bean bag chair. She’s a dork.”

In that moment, he had two options: stick up for Y/N and confess to the growing admiration he harbored for her in front of everybody, and remove the cloud of admiration he received from many women and men alike; or do what billy does best-

“Please, I won’t put my dick just anywhere, willingly,” he scoffed, avoiding the burning gaze from the girl. His stormy blue eyes hid the flurry of his neurons, all of them working overtime to one up with an excuse, an answer, anything to avoid judgement from his peers. “She ended up with my jacket at the end of the night and there was no way I was letting her keep it.”

Tommy had an evil smirk on his face, turning his gaze towards Y/N and eyeing her in a grotesque way. His eyes linger on her chest for longer than she deemed comfortable before he snapped back to Billy. “Figured as much, but, we’ve all seen the way the freak looks at you. Even now, she can’t keep her eyes off of you.”

More sniggers erupted throughout the room. Y/N placed her tray down carefully, planning to leave the room as fast as she could, but she stopped when she saw Tommy crook a finger at her. He beckoned her closer, and she wanted nothing more than to shrink down to the size of a mouse.

“Is she dumb?” Tommy grunted as he nudged Billy’s shoulder with his own. “Come here, freaky!” Some chatter resumed in the room, but all eyes were still on her. She slowly stepped towards their table, crossing the few meters difference as slow as she could.

A chuckle left Billy, but he had forced it from his chest. His mind was going through many scenarios in which he could hurt Tommy, his favourite settling on stabbing him in the hand with one of the cafeteria forks followed by a severe pummeling to the face, but the eyes on him sent his adrenaline spiking. He felt horrible about speaking so badly of Y/N, but everybody had their attention focused on him. He was making people laugh, gasp, grumble even. He saw the girls at the table next to them get closer, winking at him and whispering along themselves about Y/N.

It was intoxicating.

“Tell us, freaky,” Tommy drawled, a sinister smirk forming in his thin and cracked lips. “You’re just obsessed with my man, Billy, here. Aren’t you?” Billy didn’t meet her eyes, and she knew - she just knew - that he didn’t enjoy what was happening, but she figured he would have the decency to stop it from continuing.

She had seen many sides of Billy, including the menacing, careless, boarding-on-sociopathic side, but she had managed to convince herself that she was immune to the abuse that tumbled from his lips. Y/N was already scolding herself inside her mind for thinking such discrepancies.

“Look at her, Billy. She can’t even speak!” Billy felt Tommy shove his shoulder with the palm of his hand, dropping the appendage quickly when he noticed the glare Billy shot him. His face paled slightly before the arrogance returned and the smirk resurfaced when his gaze shifted back to Y/N.

She hadn’t moved, her eyes locked on Billy. In those situations, Y/N knew her tear ducts were far to close to her eyelids, often spilling over at the any confrontation. She shied away from it, knowing that it often resulted in heartache and misfortune - but this time she felt anger. She just wasn’t quite sure if the anger was directed at herself or Billy.

Maybe both.

To add fuel to the flame, Billy turned his steely cerulean eyes towards her, raking them along the length of her body before he decided to open his mouth once again.

“Do i make you speechless?” his voice was sultry, warm, juxtaposing with the chill that ran down her spine at the audition.

It took her back to the previous night when he whispered sweet nothings against her skin. But she knew this was not the same Billy. This was the Billy that he would show to everyone. Everyone but her.

This was his Hyde, and she despised it. This was far from her Billy, but she knew how much his reputation meant to him.

He held her gaze strongly, but she could see something else in his expression. He was hoping that she would stay quiet, retreat from any chance of spilling his secret to the entire cafeteria, but part of his mind was telling him that he deserved her to speak the truth.

“I can’t help it, Billy,” she mumbled, hoping that a confession would make everything end. Her face was stoic, jaw set in a tight clench, only relenting to let the words slip out. To the rest of the cafeteria, it would portray as nerves and embarrassment, but to Billy - he knew that something had definitely changed in the usual mild-mannered, kind-hearted woman. Shame was running through her head at an alarming rate, mixed with embarrassment and cut with a growing anger. “I’ve had a crush on you for so long. It’s hard to deny how i feel about you.”

The words hit him like a speeding truck. Despite their activities, she had never once given him an indication for the depth of her feelings, nor had he for her. He had came to the conclusion that she simply knew of his emotions without the audition of them - he treated her so differently, he thought.

Nevertheless, he wanted to believe that her words were the truth, but the fire blazing in her beautiful eyes set his skin alight and had his heart pounding against his ribcage with guilt. She was Y/N. She was kind, she knew him. She knew how much he craved the satisfaction of being on somebody’s mind as if he could sense that he held somebody’s attention.

He knew she did it to help him, and he was somewhat grateful underneath the growing guilt.

“Wow,” Tommy breathed. His face held a look of astonishment, but once again he returned to his stock standard expression. “What an absolute spaz!”

Billy found himself nodding along to avoid the heat-filled stare, swallowing the lump of bile rising in his throat, “Why is it that all the dorks think they have a chance with me? I must have a wannabe-magnet that makes them all hot for me,” his cackle was filled with faux-malice, but the students were none the wiser. His thoughts were roaming around his head, moving faster than he was sure his brainwaves could manage.

He barely noticed when a feminine voice hit his ears and said something about Y/N needing to cool off before pouring a drink over her head. The red liquid was already beginning to stain her shirt and her hair was pushed to the front of her face.

“There you go,” Carol - the girl that had Tommy wrapped so tightly around her little finger that she has a circulation issue - had been the one to spill the liquid over her head. The smile on Carol’s face was dripping with sugar, but Billy knew that it was actually salt.“The red makes you look less like an ugly cow.”

A gasp left her lips, her eyes closing quickly. Y/N knew that the tip of the iceberg was approaching. Everybody has the point in their anger when they hit a point of hypersensitivity. Their body struggling to find a way to release the pent up friction in anyway, and it chooses to take the route of tears.

When she opened her eyes they had already began to blur with tears, yet she could still make out Billy’s figure, but she didn’t stay long enough to hear their taunts any longer. Her feet carried her to her car at a steady pace, where she finally allowed the emotion to escape in any way it pleased.

<><><><><>

He had expected to see her in their next class. Her presence was the only think that kept him from flipping out during their history class. Mr Daniels, the balding, narcissistic, middle-aged douche bag, had it out for him. Billy had often joked that it was because of the hair - pure jealousy, he said. The mere sight of Y/N’s profile managed to keep him occupied, his mind running wild with thoughts of the woman.

But when he had noticed she wasn’t there, all resolve had fled his body as his body fled the school. He had been trying to reach her since he had left, the pay phone on the corner of the block had his attention for nearly an hour, all of his change spent dialing her number over and over again with the same result.

The guilt was eating away at him, shame creeping up his spine.

He was an asshole. Plain and simple.

He had spent nearly his entire wallet on the pay phone, growing more frustrated by the minute. If she were home, she would answer. She always did. She was too kind to ignore a call. Hell, she even stayed on the line with telemarketers until they stopped talking for long enough for her to apologise and bid them goodbye.

The mere thought had him slumping his forehead against the receiver of the phone. His patience had worn thin and he cursed under his breath as he reefed his keys from his pocket and set off towards his blue camaro.

He needed to see her. The image of tears running down her cheek was burned into his mind, occupying all of his thoughts as his subconscious mapped out the route to her house. He had only been there once, maybe twice after dropping her home one afternoon, but he had the way etched into his hippocampus alongside many things about Y/N.

He had barely pulled in to the curb before he shut down the engine and stomped to her door.

His knuckles were rapping on the door before he knew it.

He knocked again, and once more. But no answer. Her car was parked in the drive way, he knew she was home. He picked up on the faint sound of music playing, some indie band that she was fond of. Not Billy’s taste.

“Y/N?” He called, fighting the lump that had swollen in his throat. “Y/N, please, I need to talk to you!”

The door opened slightly, just enough for Y/N to stare at him with innocent eyes full of shame before the chain stopped it from advancing further.

“I think you’ve said enough, Billy,” her voice sounded broken. Shattered even.

Her hair was still saturated, the T-Shirt she wore was stained, and he faintly recognized it as one of her favourite articles. A from was deeply carved into her features and he had to restrain his mind from thinking about how she adorable she looks with a crease between her brows and a dimple forming on her chin with growing anger.

“Darling, please let me in. I need to talk to you about something,” he flashed a charming smile. His pink lips contrasted perfectly against his sun-kissed skin. He was a delectable sight and he knew so; he made sure to dress to impress on the daily. He craved the looks of lust and jealousy. Like neon straight into his awaiting veins, it was his drug. Even the way Y/N glared up at him made his ego hum, but his heart ached with the disappointment she showed. “What happened in the cafeteria... it’ll never happen again. I just, I couldn’t-“

The door abruptly slammed in his face silencing his words in an instant. He froze, the sound shaking his spine and clearing his train of thought, only for the sound of a chain clicking and the door reopening capture his attention back.

There she stood. Hair drenched beyond all hope, clothes stained a bright red, throwing off the aesthetic of her outfit for the day. Her makeup was smudged more than he originally thought, as if she had been furiously scrubbing at her eyes with her hands. His heart ached, but he couldn’t deny the excitement in his nerves when she gave him her full attention.

Her hand reached out to grab his shirt, pulling him inside faster than he thought possible.

“Couldn’t what?” She snapped at him, venom coating her words in a way that made him recoil. “Couldn’t resist making fun of me? Couldn’t resist having every single pair of eyes on you? Couldn’t resist taking the piss out of me, just like you have done for months?”

She wasn’t meant to know about that, he thought. She was meant to be none the wiser. His face paled, eliciting a dry laugh from her chest. She felt the pressure of the forced omission in her stomach, the muscles aching from the furious sobs that racked her frame moments before.

“All of this time, I was trying to be your friend, Billy! And you!” She waved her hand at him, pointing at him in a manner dripping with unbridled anger. “You were playing me for the fool! I’ve been the butt of all jokes between you and your asshole friends since the minute I opened my big mouth to talk to you, haven’t I?”

He knew he was in the wrong. He knew that he should have punched Tommy in the face for even bringing anything up in front of her. His friend had noticed that he had abruptly halted the jokes surrounding the girl in question, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit the real reason why. He was falling head over heels, but he just didn’t know it yet.

Now he felt like his heart was ripping in two at the sight of her blotchy cheeks and red rimmed eyes, and he was the reason.

“It started as a joke, Y/N. I never meant to hurt you,” His voice was full of pain. Self-loathing. “Yeah, Tommy and I used to make fun of you for a while, but...” his words faded away.

The chuckle that left her lips this time was a hearty one, more like she was laughing at an actual joke than their humourless situation.

He didn’t realise how intently he was staring at her sock covered feet until he brought his eyes up to her face. She was genuinely laughing, but the tears that he didn’t realise were falling down her cheeks made his arms twitch from the need to hug her.

“My god,” she huffed, bringing her palms to her eyes and pressing hard, almost as if trying to hold her tears back. Her voice deceived her, and she sobbed for - what felt like - the millionth time that day. “I’m such an idiot.”

His hands connected with her shoulders and he brought her in against his chest. The hug was all he could do to comfort her, for he knew so little about his own emotions to even begin to understand another’s pain.

“Every time we spoke, every time we hung out together...” she pulled herself back from his chest. She couldn’t stand the contact that she craved so much, for she knew that it was unrequited. “Every time I kissed you.. last night. It was all bullshit!”

“Princess,” his own voice began to shake, feeling overwhelmed and anxious, “Every moment I have ever spent with you has been because I want to.”

She worked her hands into her now half-damp hair, pulling it back from her face in a tight grip, “Why? You and your friends needed some new material?” She released a heavy breath, her lips trembling. “Nancy told me about all of the jokes last week, yet I still went home with you last night. I still played along while the entire cafeteria stared me down because I know how much your reputation means to you. I know that I am at the very bottom of your priority list, Billy. Everything you do is for a purpose, and your purpose with me was just to make me feel worse than literally everybody in that school already does.”

He reached for her hand slowly, as if he were afraid she would pull away from him forever. He was never sure of his emotions, but this time, he knew that he would watch the world burn just to make her happy. He hated himself. He hated Tommy, and the girls that embarrassed her further. He hated Neil, and he hated his own narcissism. He hated the world for making such a beautiful soul so miserable, but he especially hated how he knew right from wrong and still chose the latter.

His fingers laced with hers, but her hand remained slack in his grip. It was better than nothing, he thought.

He cleared his throat, the organ feeling as stiff as a piece of cardboard, his mouth dry. The next words would be difficult, but they were honest. She deserved honesty.

“When I first met you, I didn’t know who you were, and I didn’t really want to. You were kind and thoughtful and you pulled me aside to chew me out for talking shit about some girl, but you did it where you knew my friends wouldn’t hear, just so you could spare my reputation. For the first little while, yeah, we made jokes. I made fun of the weird way you dress and the horrible music you listen to, and how you are the nicest person I have ever met, but the it stopped. The things you did stopped being funny to me, and the way I felt when I was around you changed completely.”

“Billy, what are you talking about?” Her tear-filled eyes wrinkles, her brows furrowing deeply.

“Tommy and the rest of the assholes, they noticed that I didn’t want to talk shit about you, or that I didn’t like when they would talk about you in the way - in the way we talk about other girls. Its hypocritical, but they dropped it. Until today. All because Angela couldn’t keep her big mouth shut.” He caught the look that she sent him, frowning slightly. “Sorry. Because Angela told them that I left here this morning, and they wouldn’t shut their stupid mouths the minute they saw me. I told them that I had nothing to say about you, but they wanted answers and I said shit that I never wanted to say.”

She watched him intently. Tommy had made a lot of comments about her over the years she had known him. The other guys had too, but she did notice that they started backing off lately. She hadn’t paid much attention to the fact, secretly hoping that they had begun to mature, but to think that Billy made them stop - well she didn’t know what to think.

“Why did you make them stop?” her mind was running faster than her mouth, but she still couldn’t put it together. If Billy was anybody else, she would maybe think that he reciprocated the feelings she expressed for him in the cafeteria but he isn’t - he is Billy Hargrove, and he doesn’t have feelings for anybody.

He laughed for a second. A soft, disbelief fueled cough. His eyes seemed to shine bright in the dull lighting of her house. Neither of them had realised the time that has passed, it was now nearing the afternoon. He looked down at her, his stomach full to the brim with an odd sensation.

“You really don’t know?” he seemed to have stepped closer to her, only slightly. His shoulders were slightly shrunken in. She shook her head softly, the crease returning to between her eyebrows as she thought. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

Never in his teenage life, had Billy feared rejection from a woman. His mother had given him all of the rejection he needed for a lifetime, but now, as he stared into Y/N’s eyes, his lungs seemed to constrict.

It was as if her world froze for a moment. Not only did Billy Hargrove, possibly her best and only friend, confess that he has feelings for her, but he said that he loved her. To say she was at a loss for words would be an understatement, but she stood in front of him gaping like a fish, mouth opening and closing every time she wanted to say something.

“I don’t mind if you don’t feel the same,” He spoke, slightly lower than when he confessed to her. He turned away from her slightly, releasing her hand and using it to rub the back of his neck. His skin felt like it was aflame and he started to sweat. “I just wanted to let you know, especially after what happened today. I-I’m sorry for the shit I said, and I am gonna kick Tommy’s ass for this. And I’m sorry that you had to say that stuff today. I know that you just said it to help me, and I appreciate it but you didn’t have to -”

His words fell short when he felt arms wrap around his waist. It was a soft, slow gesture, new, but not entirely uncomfortable. If he had to put money on it, he would say that she could feel exactly how fast his heart is beating.

“Those things I said today, about my feelings for you...” she began, head pressed against his chest.

“Yeah, princess?”

“They were all true.” He pulled her back slightly to look at her. It was his turn to look confused. “Last night was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, Billy. Being around you just makes my heart swell and everything better.”

His heart started to beat impossibly faster, but there was still hesitance in her voice. “I feel like there is a ‘but’ coming.”

“But I can’t deal with this split-personality bullshit, Billy.” He had never heard her curse before. It was music to his ears, exciting, entrancing, but he also knew that she meant business. She was incredibly serious. “The person you are when you are around me, that is the guy I am obsessed with. Who you are when everybody else is around... I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of that now, and I hated it.”

“I know, darling. I’m so sorry for that, I promise, I will be better. Even if you won’t have me, I will be better. For you.” His eyes held an honest strength. It was as if he were selling his soul to her, right there in her entry way, where they had stood since she wrenched the door open in a fury. “But, if you will have me, how about I take you out tomorrow night? If you don’t want to, then I understand.”

“I would love that,” she smiled up at him, the expression growing wider as a matching one took over his face.

He couldn’t help but lean forward slowly, giving her an opportunity to pull away. When their lips connected, he melted into the touch, moving with such intensity it was as if he were repeating his apology and his promise into the kiss.

She had never felt more wanted before, and he had never felt more safe.

When their lips parted she rested her forehead on his for a moment, basking in the silence and the ambiance that surrounded them.

But of course, Billy had to ruin it.

“So, you are obsessed with me, huh?” She could feel the smirk against her cheek as he nuzzled his nose into her temple.

She turned away from him so fast that the wet ends of her hair slapped his face.

“Where are you going, princess?” He followed after her, long strides catching up with her faster than she wanted.

“I’m going to have a shower. If you want to join me, you can leave that bad attitude at the door along with your shoes,” She sent him a sly wink, a smirk on the lips that Billy wanted to taste once again.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and his shoes went flying into the hallway.

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