#i only hit the snooze button twice how could she do this to me

[twistingsands]

pretty sure my dog peed somewhere in the house this morning but i can't fucking find it 😫 why is her pee so odorless 😫😫😫

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part IIII) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | 

Summary: Reader ponders the decision they made after meeting Zemo in Riga. Series now complete!

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Kissing, marijuana & alcohol abuse, heavy angst & depression, small reference to suicide, implied casual sex, yearning

A/N (also check out A/N at end when finished reading): This is it, everyone! I was going to end this completely differently originally, but after some thinking --  and some light peer pressure from ya’ll, I did something a little different. I did fight with this part the most out of all of them, so I hope it’s still good. Please enjoy. And thank you for all the love on this series, it’s been so fun to write! Also I was listening to this song while writing this.

---

The incessant buzz of her alarm clock jolted her out of her dreamless sleep. Fumbling in the dark, she slapped the top of it, hitting the snooze button and looking at the interface with bleary eyes. 

4:00 A.M. It stared, indifferent, back at her tired face. 

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and lamenting, bargaining, half expecting the clock to turn back time when she opened her eyes again. Unfortunately, it did not. With a huff, she threw back the covers and stretched, disturbing the orange cat that slept in the empty spot next to her where her husband used to lay. 

Snorting, the cat lifted its head to look at her as she climbed out of bed before curling back up in a ball where her feet had been. 

“Don’t mind me, just getting ready for work so I can feed us,” she said, grumpily, then in a moment of repentance, affectionately scratching her behind the ears. 

She had always been a night owl, so she didn’t think it would be possible to ever get used to waking this early. No human was meant to function at this time. It was the one part of the job she hated most. The rest of it was manageable, though it was still work. 

Setting about her morning routine, she showered, made coffee, and donned her uniform. Eating a day-old bagel and nursing her coffee on her tiny balcony, she looked out over the darkened horizon. It was far too early to even enjoy a sunrise. 

There was a saying, time heals all wounds. After her husband died, she’d heard it a lot. It was a saying she had come to find true. But it’d been well over a year since she’d left Helmut, alone in that swanky hotel room, and it still hurt like it was yesterday. 

“I understand,” he’d murmured, and she felt the ghost of his kiss on her forehead, arms around her waist, even now. She shivered, not from the chill of the morning air.

She’d left her old life behind, all of it. Sam and Bucky, too, about a month after their time in Riga. She couldn’t look them in the eyes after what she’d done.

But, she was proud of what they’d accomplished. They’d defeated the Flag Smashers. Bucky seemed happier, more at peace. Sam had accepted his role as the new Captain America. John Walker seemed to have faded into irrelevancy. All the loose ends had been tied up in a pretty little bow.

Except for hers.

Which is why she moved, sold all the stuff in her tiny NYC apartment, and packed her car full with what she couldn’t bear to part with, some photos and momentos from a different lifetime. Her car didn’t stop until she hit the Atlantic Ocean, on an island just south of Charleston. All but undiscovered by tourists, the residents in the sleepy beach town kept to themselves, and she could go about her life in peace, undisturbed. 

She couldn’t just run away from her problems, that was why she’d left Zemo. It seemed counterintuitive, but in her mind, it made sense. The problems would catch up to her, like they always had. The dissatisfaction she had with her life, with herself, was always going to return. And she knew she had to be alone to deal to face it head on. Like a wounded animal, crawling into the woods, there were only two ways things could end here; either she’d heal and come out stronger, or eventually she’d die. And so far, the healing part wasn’t going great. 

Each day was a matter of convincing herself that she’d made the right choice. Especially now, as her eyes burned, fighting to stay open against the inviting embrace of sleep. 

Despite it being dark outside, the bakery was bustling already when she walked in the service entrance. It smelled amazing, as always. Sweet and warm, a cacophony of aromas, baking bread, fresh coffee, sugar.

She set about the usual preparations to open up, packaging orders for the regulars, sweeping the floor, wiping down countertops. Once the place was open, she didn’t have to work the register, as she prepared batches of dough in the back for proofing, to be baked the next day. 

Before, she’d been a terrible cook, but she’d grown comfortable in the kitchen after learning to bake. There was something satisfying about working with her hands, at this point she’d memorized all the recipes and the work became second nature to her. Now, she always had fresh bread and pastries in her kitchen, although they were the slightly disformed, ones the shop owners deemed too ugly for the glass display cases. Daylight was cherished, even if she barely saw it inside the shop. Because while she was awake, busy with work, her thoughts remained pleasant.

At night it was the hardest. Things got quiet, lonely. When she got home, she poured herself a drink. Cheap whiskey, the kind that came in a plastic bottle and burned on it’s way down. She had never been much of a drinker before, she was now. Her thoughts were more manageable after a drink. Especially because she was usually thinking of Helmut. 

It was often that she wondered what he may be doing, and those thoughts usually ended with the image of him lying in the sun, poolside, on some island in the Pacific Ocean, drinking expensive champagne with a supermodel. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought to her, and yet she was plagued by some variation of it every night. 

Sometimes, she’d humor herself, and imagine what they might be doing had she decided to stay with him. Unfortunately, thinking of that was more upsetting. She wanted it, selfishly, though she wasn’t willing to admit it.

When she was younger, it had been so easy to block out the pain, to just press forward, no matter what. Much to her dismay, it didn’t get easier as she got older. Years of watching those she loved in pain, years of being in pain had taken a toll on her resilience. She wasn’t the strong woman she once was, she was weak.

That night, one drink had turned into two, into three. Wallowing in her own self-pity had become second-nature, she felt like Hamlet, lamenting her circumstances, a constant turmoil monologuing in her brain. But this night felt particularly worse, for some reason. 

For the record, she had been doing better. But she was all-too-familiar with how grief worked, pulling her back down the dark side of the mountain, where she was forced to fight her demons over and over again. At some point, they were going to win.

It was a funny thing. Despite the loss of her husband, who she had loved dearly, his death had been easier to accept. Final. She couldn’t bring him back. Helmut on the other hand, was still out there, an open wound that could never fully heal.

Before she knew it, she was four drinks in, at her bedside table, fumbling through the bottom drawer, until she found what she was looking for.

Back on her couch, she stared at the card in her hand, the hastily written phone number on it, an international line. Helmut had given it to her, the day she left, stuck it in her purse while she wasn’t looking. She didn’t discover it until she had returned home.

It had been months since she last did this, pulled the card out of its hidden place in her drawer, placed it on the coffee table in front of her next to her phone, and considered dialing it. It had been a frequent occurrence when she first moved here, when she couldn’t find a job and spent most of her mornings either hungover, or stumbling home from rendezvous with men whose names she wouldn’t remember, and she wouldn’t care to, because there was only one man she really wanted. She could only hope he’d be as close as one call away. But she never called. 

I mean really, he’d probably moved on by this point. If she was going to call, she should have done it months ago, when there was more of a chance that he’d give a fuck. 

She considered this a setback. But she’d made her way halfway through the cheap bottle of whiskey, it was the drunkest she’d been in ages and she was curious. She didn’t know whose number it was, who’d be on the other end of the line, and never knew why Helmut would want her to have it to begin with.  

At this point, she wasn’t capable of good decision making. In general, it hadn’t always been her strong suit. So why did doing the right thing matter now? It didn’t, she decided. 

Taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, she ensured she wouldn’t remember what happened next, at least not clearly. 

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello?” she didn’t recognize the sound of the man on the other end of the line immediately, so she didn’t answer. All she had wanted to do was maybe hear Helmut’s voice, he didn’t even need to know it was her that was calling. 

“Hello?” the man repeated, and she realized it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. The grandfatherly, comforting tone wasn’t her former lover, but someone close to him. And she supposed that wasn’t terrible.

“Is this Oeznik?” she asked. 

“It is,” he said after some hesitation. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Truthfully, she was shocked she’d allowed herself to go this far. This was a bad idea. If she stopped now she could get off without doing any real damage. But just as she was about to hang up, she heard her name, muffled, on the other end of the line. 

“H-How do you know it’s me?” She raised the phone back to her ear. 

“I thought you sounded familiar,” Oeznik chuckled, low and soft. “Helmut told me you might call.”

“He did?” she squeaked. “Yes, although it was awhile ago. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I uh….I….well….” she managed. “I guess I just….I guess I wanted to see how he was doing.”  Her words flowed together like the liquor she was drinking, she knew she sounded drunk.

“Good, since we last spoke,” he said. “I don’t hear from him much these days...maybe every couple months. As you might imagine, he’s trying to keep a low profile for the time being.”

She nodded. Perhaps Zemo was as lonely as she was, hidden away in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Though she had to imagine it looked much nicer than her current place, and maybe he had better company than a portly orange cat that begrudgingly liked him. “I understand.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

It sounded stupid, but she realized it was the first time someone had asked her that. Sincerely. Checked up on her. Even if she was the one who had dialed the number in the first place.

“I’m good,” her voice cracked. “Just keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Helmut always had such nice things to say about you.”

“Really?” she couldn’t stop herself. 

“Of course, would you like me to let him know you called?” 

“No, no...I wouldn’t want to bother him,” she choked on her words, something catching in her throat.

“Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”

“I’m okay, I just….” she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, lowering her voice, since she didn’t think her normal register would come out as anything other than a whine. “I think I made a horrible mistake.”

“What’s the matter? What did you do?”

She shook her head, shaking the tears loose and now they were lining her lashes, threatening to spill over. However, she managed to make the next words she spoke come out clearly. “Nothing, I just...it’s really stupid, I really shouldn’t have called.”

He sighed on the other end of the line, and she felt like, despite her attempt at staying calm, he could still see that she wasn’t somehow. “It seemed Helmut was awfully sweet on you,” Oeznik’s words next came hesitantly, calculated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he told me if you ever called, to help you with whatever you might need, no matter the ask.”

Oh God, what had she done? A sob left her, one she couldn’t control, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle any more. Her tears were flowing freely now, tracking down her cheeks and along her chin. She wiped at them clumsily, clearing her throat. 

“That’s very kind of him, but you can’t help me. I’m so sorry to bother you, please just forget I even called,” she forced a smile on her face so that hopefully he could hear it. “Goodbye.”

She hung up, horrified, and within seconds had deleted the call log from her phone. She’d been thoughtful enough not to memorize the number, and the lighter she used whenever she smoked sat in front of her. Without a second though, she burned the card, watching the paper blacken and disintegrate, until it was all but a pile of soot on her Wal-Mart coffee table. It was a fair punishment, and ensured she’d never get the chance to embarrass herself like that again. 

And then she cried, sobbed into a pillow next to her, until her tears ran dry and she wore herself out, falling asleep on the couch alone. When she’d wake the next morning, the only evidence of her actions would be a throbbing headache and a dead phone. 

She wouldn’t remember the call.

----

Life went on, as it always did. It had been about a month, and since that night she grew more indifferent, remembered how to ignore heartbreak. For now, she was stuck in her purgatory, waking up before the sun and falling asleep before it set, smoking joints, drinking cheap liquor, and going on the occasional date with people who she didn’t really like, tourists who would leave after a week and wanted temporary company. 

Despite everything, she partly believed things were getting better. Maybe they weren’t, but the possibility that someday they would seemed feasible. And that was enough, for now. 

On her days off, she’d walk to the beach and lay on a blanket, reading a book until the sun dipped below the horizon and lit up the sky in hues of pinks and purples. She found a record player at an antique store and began collecting vinyls, listening to obscure artists whose albums she found in the $1 bin. It wasn’t so bad. Life wasn’t so bad. 

She took a shower after work. Tomorrow was her off day, and she wasn’t sure what she had planned besides maybe watching a movie and getting stoned. Maybe she’d try going to the beach. The weather was getting warmer, and she could even go swimming if the water wasn’t too cold. 

Exhausted from her day of work, she laid down in her bed, still in her robe, her hair wrapped in a towel around her head. The sun was setting outside, the windchimes she’d hung outside slowly clanging together, birds singing in the warm spring air. Her cat hopped on the bed, offered an affectionate trill and curled up at her side, purring, in a rare display of affection. A cool breeze drifted through the open window. And for the first time in over a year, she felt content. Closing her eyes, she savored the moment, committed it to memory, so she could recall it the next time she was drunk-crying in front of her TV. 

She fell asleep slowly, so slowly that when she woke, startled by something in her kitchen clattering to the floor, it felt like she hadn’t even been sleeping at all. The clock next to her red 11:31 p.m. and it was pitch dark outside, the cool breeze from before had grown stronger and her bedroom curtains were billowing, wind whistling loudly through the apartment. Her cat had left her side, and she frowned, shivering in the sudden cold.

Pulling the towel off her head, she made her way over to the window with the intention to close it, sleepily, lazily, until she heard something else. A creak in the floorboard. A heavy footstep in her kitchen. That wasn’t just her cat. 

Some kind of muscle memory was ignited then, an ancient instinct that called to her from a different lifetime. Darting across the room, the gun she kept was in her hand, stealthily pulled from its hiding spot beneath her mattress. Truth be told, she never thought she would’ve needed it. Anyone looking for her would be smart enough to kill her in her sleep, not be so foolish as to wake her first with their heavy footsteps. 

A dark silhouette stalked through her kitchen, moving slowly. It was a man, she assumed, based on his broader figure, and lack of coordination. In her experience, women were often stealthier without trying. He took another step, the floor creaking below him, shuffling on bargain linoleum. 

Staying low, she crept forward, ducking stealthily behind furniture, avoiding the spots on the floor she knew made noise. It didn’t appear the intruder had a weapon, in fact, it seemed he was bumbling about, searching for something. A burglar, and a bad one at that. An island full of vacation homes owned by rich doctors and they thought they’d find valuables in her shitty apartment?

It wasn’t until she was standing directly behind him, gun aimed at his head, that she finally spoke up. 

“I believe you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said flatly. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’d be in your best interest to leave empty-handed.”

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but the intruder froze, arms slowly raising in defeat, empty-handed, as he turned around to face her. In the dingy room, she couldn’t make out any of his features, could only see that he was clad in all black.

“Unfortunately, liebling, that wasn’t my intention.” 

She would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, though the endearment he’d used was enough to clue her in. Hitting the lightswitch with her free hand, she was face to face with the man she’d spent the past year trying to purge from her memory, Helmut Zemo. 

Her gut twisted, her mind raced, but the only thing currently bubbling up, over the surface of every other emotion was the pure, seething rage left behind in the wake of fearing for her life.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she stepped towards him, gun still raised, fuming. 

“Hey, hey!” he staggered backwards, hands raised, eyes averted. 

“I thought you were a fucking robber!” she hissed. “I thought you were here to kill me!”

“Lower your voice,” he scolded. “You’re going to wake your neighbors.”

Taking a deep breath, she realized she still had her gun trained on him and she lowered it, clicking the safety and discarding the weapon on the countertop. “What the fuck?” she asked. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know you had such a mouth on you,” he smirked, but she wasn’t finished, and she glowered at him. 

“You broke into my apartment!” she growled.

“I had to be sure I was in the right place.”

“Yeah? You couldn’t have knocked first?”

He nodded, eyes trailing down to her hands, which were trembling, she hadn’t even realized. He seemed to understand what he’d done then, and she flexed her fingers, eyes locking with his. “I suppose...you may be right,” he said, surrendering.

She felt the rage subsiding as she took in his appearance. He looked not so different from the last time she’d seen him, except a fair amount of stubble covered his jawline in a short beard. He was still devastatingly handsome. Zemo’s dark eyes, filled with longing, drank her in, tilting his head as his gaze shifted to her lips. It was like she could read his mind, she knew what he wanted, what he was thinking. And her body was going to betray her if he kept it up.

Despite everything, she was still upset. Upset and embarrassed, as the light was doing an unflattering expose of her tiny, cluttered apartment, full of mismatched furniture and water-damaged wallpaper that her landlord refused to replace. It probably gave the prison cells that Helmut had spent years in a run for their money, and was in stark contrast to every other aspect of his life.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the empty liquor bottles on her countertop, stowed in her trash can. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not tonight,” she quipped, on guard. Had to be. As much as some old instinct told her to throw herself into his arms, press her lips to the underside of his jaw, and let him envelope her in the comfort of his embrace, she knew she couldn’t.

“Hmm,” he brushed past her, frowning, looking disappointed, as he made his way to her living room. 

“How did you find me?” she asked, eyeing him wearily.

“I’m a wanted man, I trace every call that comes into my estate,” he said over his shoulder. 

Helmut was taking inventory of the cramped space, staring at the photos she’d hung in a collage on the wall behind her couch, with a few watercolors painted by her late husband. One in particular, that he was focused on now, was from her wedding. Of all the memories she chose to hang, this one was her fondest, her former partner was all dark curly hair falling into deep blue eyes, and she was the portrait of a blushing bride, wearing a dopey love-drunk smile, gazing at him, ignoring the camera. 

“You looked so beautiful on your wedding day,” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at her. He was so out of place here, standing in her living room, for a moment she thought he might be a hallucination, some physical manifestation of the heartbreak she’d experienced. “Although that doesn’t surprise me.”

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious in her thin black robe and still-damp hair. It occurred to her that she wasn’t looking her best, which made this whole situation that much more disconcerting. However, the compliment disarmed her slightly, and the anger she felt began to dissipate, slowly. She was going to offer him something to drink until her cat, who had been absent through the chaos, suddenly jumped up on the back of the couch and promptly hissed at him in an attempt to defend her territory.

“Pumpkin, be nice,” she said, although it was mostly to placate Helmut. Pumpkin never listened to her. 

Helmut let her sniff his hand, and she was stunned when the cat rubbed her face against it. Of course, Pumpkin would like him of all people. That made sense. Then again, she supposed it made them not so different. He turned away to look at the rest of the room. “I see you haven’t kicked that bad habit you told me about,” he gestured at the ashtray full of roaches on the coffee table. 

“Did you just come to my place to insult me?” she asked, putting her hands on her lips and feigning confidence. She could’ve rolled over and cried and told him how much she missed him, how many nights she’d spent crying over him, and while all of it was true, she felt indignation was the better option for her self-preservation.

“That’s a good question,” Helmut turned to face her now, hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he was wearing. Completely inappropriate for the weather here, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be.”

He snorted, his frustration evident, and she saw a glimpse of the man that so many feared, the side that had earned him his dangerous reputation, that had him locked away in a high-security prison for nearly a decade. “I didn’t come all this way for nothing, draga, we’re going to have it out.”

“Fine,” she said, lacing as much venom as she could into her words to prepare herself. “Then get on with it.”

He stared her down, and the expression her wore startled her, something sparkled in his eyes, mischief, relief maybe? It was insulting. Like he didn’t take her seriously. But there was something else there, too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was wiped from his visage before it registered.

The tension in the room dissipated slightly when Zemo sat on the arm of the worn couch she’d bought from a yard sale, and she winced. “I spoke to Oeznik the other day,” he said flatly, snorting, eyes focused on a stain on one of the rugs she owned. “He told me he had the pleasure of speaking to a friend of mine about a month ago.”

Frowning, she tilted her head, her eyes meeting Helmut’s. Something in her brain sparked a memory she’d once dismissed as a dream after a particularly bad night of drinking.

“He was concerned, you see, because this friend didn’t seem to be in the best state of mind,” Helmut rose from the arm of the couch, stalking forward slowly, and she couldn’t move backwards, not even if she wanted to, as he could pin her easily against the front door. His voice grew louder, faster as he went on. “He said she was crying, slurring her words, he told me he thought maybe she might be-” Helmut cut himself off abruptly and closed his eyes, clenching one of his fists, a look of distress on his face as he took in a terse breath. “I won’t finish that thought, but you’re a smart girl, you can imagine what I’m getting at.”

Swallowing hard, the phone call came back to her in pieces, the tears, sobbing on the phone to a man she hardly knew. It was the night she finally admitted to herself she’d made a mistake, even though she’d already known it, deep down when she left him in the hotel room. 

“Please forgive me for breaking in tonight,” Helmut said. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not answering the door, I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay.”

Exhaling through her nose, she looked at the floor. “It’s not like that. I had too much to drink.” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “It was just a bad night.”

“Then tell me, what was the horrible mistake you made?” he asked, stepping closer. He was close to her, now. So close. And his proximity made everything more difficult.

God, if only she could remember exactly what she’d said, the only thing that came to her were the emotions, desperation, sadness, grief. It was all too much, and he was threatening to bring them all back to destroy her again. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, tilting his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? How hard it was to sit on a plane when all I wanted to do was be here? With you?” His hand rose to cup her cheek, stopping just short of her face when she flinched away from his touch.

“Please stop,” she managed, the burn of tears behind her eyes almost menacing. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. “You’re undoing everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“You’re….you’re here,” she murmured weakly, wetness seeping, glossing over her pupils. “I only have so much capacity for pain right now, if you touch me now, you’ll ruin everything.”

No one ever had this kind of hold on her, she’d never bent her rules to appease anyone else, and she’d gone toe to toe with super soldiers. He was just a man, and yet, he terrified her. 

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer, but one tear escaped, sliding down her cheekbone, and she sniffled. 

“I’m not the one who did this to you,” his thumb, swiped along her face gently, wiping it away. He’d touched her, just barely, and she was reeling. 

“I know,” she stuttered, gasping. “I know it was me, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You are so stubborn.” His expression softened as he looked upon her, his thumb tracing underneath her jaw, tilting her head upwards to look at him. Malleable, she obliged. “I’ve thought about you everyday since the night we spent together. You’ve plagued me. That can’t be a coincidence. Are you really happier this way? You must be honest with me.”

She shook her head, blinking out fresh tears. “No, I’m not. I just thought...by the time I realized I made the wrong choice, you’d have moved on. People like us don’t get to be happy.”

“Says who?”

How could she refuse him anymore? This would continue to go on until she gave in. And from the beginning, she wanted to give in. There was no use in fighting the inevitable. The small point of contact -- his hand on her chin -- radiated impressive warmth, and she could feel every part of herself being attracted to him, quelling some ache deep within her. 

Reaching up, she clutched at Helmut’s palm, which didn’t last long, because he pulled her into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his solid frame. 

“Come home with me,” he coaxed softly. 

“I will,” she murmured, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. “But you have to let me bring Pumpkin.”

He chuckled, warm and amiable, the vibration of his chest echoing in her own. “Of course, you’ll bring Pumpkin,” he murmured into her hair. Oh, how she had missed hearing him laugh. They could’ve stayed that way for hours, and she would’ve been content, but he pulled away, hands on either side of her face as he studied her.

Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned in to kiss him. It was chaste at first, all the memories of her last night with him came flooding back quickly when he parted his lips to deepen the kiss, but she didn’t want that quite yet, just needed a moment to process this. The simple comfort of being held by him, kissed by him, was more than enough for now. He’d been waiting for this, she could assume in the way that he responded, pulling her impossibly close so she was engulfed in him.

Her stomach flipped, a warmth blossoming in her chest as he pulled away, their foreheads touching. “Oh, I missed you,” she sighed, shivering as his beard tickled her neck, his mouth on her sensitive skin.

“And I, you,” he murmured. His eyes studied her, carefully, up close, and for the first time since meeting him, she really let him see her, teary-eyed and vulnerable.

She would never let him go again. 

---

A/N: So here we are! I know it’s been a ride, but I’m really excited for these two. However, I don’t feel like I’m done writing for Zemo yet. If ya’ll have any headcanons, thoughts, questions, requests, etc, feel free to drop them in my ask box or shoot me a DM. I’d love to talk more about him. I also would be down to write more oneshots based around this series, because I am sort of like….okay, they obviously have a connection, but they don’t know that much about each other, and I may or may not have a light future already mapped out for them. I might do an epilogue at some point even. But if you have anything you’d like to add, let me know!

Taglist: @juice-1981  @sapphiredreamer26  @tatooineisdry  @marvelsvision @spookycereal-s @trelaney @fireghost-x @booksarekindaneat  @thunderingbats  @felicityofbakerstreet @takacsgram @mischiefmanaged71 @fanfictionedagain @merelyhooper @gyllord @mundaytuesday @friday18eo  @lovegood7553  @adara-wolfhart @a-djarin @farawaywasteland @sky-writes-stuff @fuckinglittlekitten @katyasrussianaccent @agent-jbarnes  @neoarchipelago @pattispunk @kpopnena @purebloodwitch @spookyconsultingcriminal @msmarvelwrites @professorrw @lazyradeecal @captainrexstan @notyourfuckingbusinesss @felicityofbakerstreet @unlikekiana @maeday-18 @friendly-letters @fandom-lover-4 @meefal @queenfairyfangirl @gogomonbebelf @scullys-alienpussy @the-multiverse-approach @sky-writes-stuff @safiakillspop @eggofhumiliation @originalcollectorsaladsstuff @archangelproperty @friday18eo @jayden-rose-leon @actuallyanita @mayhemmachine @kermuddgen @zadiewrites @pach-inks @theokatz @reichelhache @autumnsoidier @mischief-siriusly-managed @danaaeaa @joey-motorola @singlemomslayer @stevesbestgirl @dinna-fashh @popriskra @xaanyhs @adorable-punk-superheroes​

[reidecorating]

Not Just Today, but Forever

A/N: This absolutely was not requested, I was just watching 14 x 06 and the only thing my eyes could focus on was Matthew Gubler looking like he forgot he was needed for filming that day and shaved that morning with a ridged cucumber, in the dark (spoiler: patchy ass beard) but I guess we can thank him in a way because this came out of it <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.6k-ish words of pure fluff

Summary: Stalling on going to work because prioritising your pretty boyfriend and sleeping in is far more inviting - along with shaving his face for him.

Warnings: None, just some steamy smooches

It was the far from languid tone of his alarm that hooked through his ears and, from a blanket navy darkness, reeled Spencer Reid into the waking realm as if he were a flounder found floating too close to a fisherman’s pier in a high morning tide. He hastily reached a stiff hand to meet his eyes, joints inharmoniously clicking, forcing them open - only after he had rubbed them hard enough to see invisible neon swirls painting his eyelids. He let out a yawn and reached for the buzzing clock. It was an old thing he’d found while antiquing once, having picked it up thinking its faded sage green would bring life to the mahogany catacomb of his room. He never thought the body occupying the right side of his bed, no doubt buried in a larger portion of sheets than he currently was, would do exactly that, instead. Slowly turning onto an aching shoulder, he faced the woman sprawled out beside him, clearly unbothered by the racket of alarm bells. He admired her for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall, the shadow of her smile chasing away the dark of night. Spencer’s heart grew fonder than he thought was possible at the way she stirred, leaning in his direction, yearning to be closer to him even when they were separated by sleep. Fingers parting the tangle of hair splayed across silk pillowcases - some of which he was sure had reached his mouth - he tucked it behind her ears, noticing the slight twitching of her nose subside as the tickling strands were now out of the way. Finally, Spencer planted a kiss on the apple of her cheek, fondly letting his lips linger just long enough so as to not wake her too soon.

Routine was something Spencer never kept to. The unpredictability of his life, which primarily haunted him from the second he strapped a gun to his hip and walked out the door, never left much space for it; the badge only showed that he was a protector - not protected. So, the hum of an electric toothbrush, and the grumble of a coffee machine sandwiching his simple morning cycle had become a convention he’d come to adore. Tiptoeing to shut the bathroom door, now half dressed in an incorrectly buttoned dress shirt, some boxers and one green sock, Spencer smiled to himself at the way her forehead was the only thing he could now make out beneath the sheets. Lifting the blanket, he lay back down beside her, feeling indifferent towards the creases he was aware were forming on the ironed fabric on his shoulders. He nudged her jaw with his nose. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty, it’s time to get up,” Spencer giggled as she let out a groan in annoyance at his attempt to get her out of bed. “Aurora was awoken with a kiss, you need to step up your game, doctor,” she opened one eye briefly to squint at him, shutting it again and pointing her nose along with comically puckered lips in the air. “Aurora was also asleep for a hundred years, and last time I checked, you were not,” he reasoned, deliberately avoiding her request. “She was lucky, ‘m so tired,” she nuzzled her head into his chest, sighing softly as she basked in the warmth he provided, ignoring the strength of his newly applied cologne. Spencer’s hands were nearly gravitating towards his phone, fully prepared to dial in sick, and convince her to do the same. “I let you snooze for a few extra minutes,” he spoke lowly, almost believing if he spoke too loud the rest of the world would wake up, interrupting what momentarily belonged to the two of them. “You were smiling in your sleep, I didn’t want to wake you,”

“Mhm, but y’should’ve,” the upturned heel of her hand stretched away from her and into the air, words jumbling together as they left her mouth, “you’re much better than’ny dream I’ve ever had,” she reached out to tousle his hair. “Oh! I’m so sorry, you’ve already done your hair,” her eyes widened before she grimaced and attempted to pat it all back down. Spencer couldn’t help himself, his smile reaching hers before their lips melded together. The hand that his head wasn’t propped on, dug through the heavy duvet to find the bone of her hip, tracing it lightly as his lips trailed along the column of her throat, careful not to leave marks.

Knowing they both had places to be, she stopped him before they travelled past a point of no return. “You hate morning breath?”

“My love for you outweighs it,” his lips hovered over hers, fluttering against them as he spoke. “Mm, poetic,” she finally caught them between hers again, the soft heat of his mouth on hers waking her up more efficiently than a shower. “Did you know that if you snore or breathe through your mouth at night, you’re more likely-“

“To have bad breath in the morning than those who don’t? Yes, Spencer, you’ve told me this before… Once or twice.” He kissed her again. “But did you know that one in two people sleep with their mouth open? All I’m saying is that I do not, so I’ll leave the rest of the deductions up to you, my genius boy.” He let out a huff of laughter, tongue pushing at the inside of his cheek as he shook his head. He hoped his eyes could say the things he couldn’t quite communicate out loud. Brown, she observed. The green in them would be brought back when the sun fully rose, only for its brightness to be put to shame by his smile. Her fingernails delicately raked along his jaw, eventually gathering at his chin, cautiously tilting his confused head from side to side. “What’re you up to?” He asked, face scrunching up in curiosity. Examining it as well as she could in the early light, she trailed her thumb away from the corner of his mouth, unshaven stubble its compass. “You missed a spot,” she noted, unabashedly examining his celestial features. Spencer raised a brow, “I may have been distracted by the beautiful girl in my bed,”

“You may be smooth, lover boy, but this beard of yours certainly isn’t,” she teased, blushing slightly. He brought up his own hand to feel at the light bristles. Defeated, he stood up in the direction of the bathroom.

Repining for the warmth of his body, having used up all her wild cards in coaxing him back into bed, she followed him to the sink. “Let me get it, please?” She politely asked as he rummaged through the cabinet for some shaving cream. Understanding how he felt about people prodding at him, like vultures to a carcass, she knew she was treading ice of a frozen Spring lake. “Considering I would’ve gone to work looking like this if it weren’t for you,” he motioned to his face with a razor, “Okay,” he nodded. She perched herself on the counter, gasping at the cool marble hitting her exposed thighs. Spencer gave her a look, cheeks red. “I can see the gears turning in your head,” she bit back a grin, pointing a finger at him. “I’m just making sure I can reach your pretty face,”

“I see,” he raised his eyebrows, the supple skin of his hands reaching to spread her knees in order for him to take his place between them. “I just don’t want you to be late to work,” he mumbled, handing you a silver razor. “Don’t worry, I’m always early. It’ll be good to let everyone think I have a life, for once,”

“I know what you mean, there was once a rumour that I actually slept beneath the BAU round table.” She laughed at that, and it was the sweetest sound to ever reach Spencer’s ears. She swirled the foam between her hands and lathered it onto his face with a feather touch, smitten with a smile at the way he crinkled his nose when his eyes flew shut. “That feels nice,” he hummed, forgetting that the cream tastes unpleasant. “Shh, shaving foam isn’t a good substitute for breakfast,” she hushed. Spencer’s hands played with the hem of her rumpled shirt, before sliding along her torso, while she tentatively worked her way through the small patches of stubble, paying close attention to the underside of his chin. Distractedly, her fingers ran along the scar tissue splayed on his neck. She kissed his temple before her mind travelled to a shadowy place. Every wrong turn had somehow led him right to her, and she needed to remind herself of that. Soon enough, she dabbed a warm cloth across his face, fawning over his beauty under the ruse of admiring her handiwork. Unable to practise self control, she littered small kisses across his cheeks before, once again, painting stamps of love over his smooth jaw, and tugging at his lips with her own, leaving them swollen when he pulled away. “Thank you,” he whispered as his forehead rested against hers, her eyes illuminated in the bathroom light. “I never tell you this enough, but I love you,”

“You’re very welcome, Spencer, and you remind me everyday, even without saying it,” Spencer gently nodded against her, his head having moved to rest against her chest. “I love you to Pluto, Spencer,” she toyed with his scalp, feeling his smile, “but you have to be in by eight, so you need to run,” she informed. He nipped at her clavicle, completely enamoured by the angel sitting on his sink, ignoring time. “I’ll be here when you get back, mister,” she gently squeezed his shoulders. Spencer gazed up at her, a silent ‘Do you promise?’ to which her eyes told him, ‘Not just today, but forever’.

[the-daily-multi-fandom-post]

The Anchor part 2

[part -- 1 ]      [Part -- 3 ]    [Part -- 4 ] 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4,166 words yall I didn't mean for it to be this long

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ( Y/n POV )

I turned around, seeing Elena and Caroline staring at Jeremy and I. Then I saw what they were staring at my hand was still on Jeremys. I pulled my hand away from Jeremys. "Sorry." I said quietly. "There's no need to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong." Jeremy said. I looked back to see Elena and Caroline still staring at me. "Are they making you uncomfortable?" Jeremy asked looking at me then the girls. I was about to reply but Matt texted me. "I'm sorry I got to go get Matt. Do you need me to take you home or are you going with Elena?" I asked getting up and grabbing my jacket and bag. I laid the money for my meal and stuff on the table. "Its alright. Elena is taking me home but thanks for the ride over." Jeremy said hugging me. 

( 3rd POV ) 

Y/n walked out to her truck. She drove to the school since practice was over. She got out and looked for Matt. She walked to the football field and Saw Matt and Tyler talking. "Hey Matt." Y/n said making her presents known. "Hey, (Your nickname)." Tyler greeted with a small wave and smile.  "Hey, Ty." Y/n replied with polite smile. "So Matty, Are you ready?" Y/n asked messing with the keys in her hand. "Yeah we have to give Tyler a ride home so I'm driving and your in the middle." Matt Said taking the keys out of his older sisters hand. "Okay." y/n replied with ease.  Tyler and Matt looked at each other with shock. Usually Y/n with fuss and groan. -She didn't really  seem to care for Tyler too much. He was nice sometimes, but other times he can be an asshole.  They all walked to the truck, but unlike what they thought Y/n jumped into the bed of the truck and sat down, a satisficed smile on her face as she sat down leaning her back on the cab of the truck. "Your unbelievable." Matt said getting in the truck with Tyler following suit. 

The ride back was fine. Y/n liked riding on the back of the pickup. It made her feel normal. Other than seeing ghost all the freakin' time. They pulled up at Matt and Y/n's House which confused her but she got up and jumped off the bed of the truck. She walked up to the door and Unlocked the door. She walked to her room and sat down at her bed. She started to do her homework, Until Someone interrupted. TYLER. . . . 

"Tyler What can I help you with?" I asked as I got off my bed and put my homework off my bed and on my desk. "Well I wanted to know if I could take up out to dinner sometime?  I asked Matt and he said he didn't care. So what do you say?" Tyler asked very hopeful. 

- Its not that she didn't like Tyler, she just felt like he only wanted her for Sex or to make someone Jealous.  "Fine." I said as I laid on my bed. "So tomorrow after the game, I'll take you to the grill?" Tyler asked with a slight smile. "Yes I will see you tomorrow at school. I'll be at the game since my Brother play. So after the game is over you can take me out." She explained with a smile. Tyler nodded with a smile. "Alright, see you tomorrow." Tyler said leaving  with a smile. After I talked to Tyler I laid back on my bed and started to do my homework. After hours of torcher I finally finished.  I put my homework in my bookbag and got a shower.  After my shower I  got dressed In my PJs, did my night time routine and then went to bed. '~~~~~~~~' The next morning y/n woke up to her alarm clock ringing. With a groan she rolled over and hit the snooze button. She laid on the bed trying to go back to sleep, but it didn't work. It rung again and she  cut it off and went to my closet. She got dressed wearing a black V-neck t shirt, Black skinny jeans, her converses and her jean jacket. After she got dressed she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Then braided her hair into a Dutch braid. She smiled after she was done, she grabbed her  phone, charger, and bookbag with all her school work and papers, then went down stairs to get her breakfast. 

"Moring (Your eye color)." Matt said mentioning (Eye color) eyes. y/n smiled grabbing a apple from the small yellow bowl off the table. "Morning Matty." Y/n  replied taking a bite of the sweet apple, sitting at the table as he fixed his food.  "So what do you have practice tonight?" Matt nodded as he took his eggs out of the pan, putting them on the glass plate. "Yeah, I do. I also have a game tonight, so you have to be there." Matt said looking Y/n with a stern look. "Fine." I said with a smile. "So how are you? You know since Vikki left?" Matt asked looking at y/n with a concerned look while starting on his eggs.  "I'm okay." She lied. -I'm not okay honestly. How can you be okay if you don't even know what happen to your sister?  How can I be okay when I seen my only sister and she told you she was dead? How do you tell your brother your sisters dead? "Really? Look I know its hard with her leaving and stuff, but you should move on. You know, maybe she didn't want to be here. I mean look at mom, she left us, she hasn't came back in a long time too. She'll show back up eventually." Matt said looking at his little sister with a sad smile. Y/n looked at her brother as tears formed in her eyes. "I miss her, Matty." Y/n said honestly. 

She hated crying, she truly did. She always thought she had to be strong. She always thought she had to put on a show, instead of showing what she was really feeling. . sad. Like all the time. Which is why she turned to drugs when Vikki was there. (And if she's gonna be honest she still did drugs. She just didn't tell Matt that). She thought the drugs would make her feeling better, and they did. They made her feel happy. The only time she was happy without the drugs was with Jeremy, and that was if he wasn't chasing Vikki around like a lost puppy. 

Matt nodded as he pulled his sister into a hug. "Its alright. I miss her too. " He said as he held her. He felt horrible that he couldn't say when Vikki would be back. He knew Y/n and Vikki were close. They worked together and hung out together, even though they were a couple years age difference between the two sisters. "Everything's gonna be alright, She'll be back once she get hungry."  Matt said with a chuckle, making y/n sniff and giggle. "She's never going too far. She loves me too much." Y/n scoffed hitting her brother on her shoulder. "You too I guess." He joked as she pulled back from him. 

"Okay, I know we're having a Brother sister moment, but if we don't go to school we'll be late." Matt said as he pulled away, giving his baby sister a smile. "Yeah, I cant be late anymore. They told me if was that id go to ISS (in school suspension, if yall didn't know)." Y/n said as she looked at her brother. "We just started school a month ago." Matt said looking at Y/n shocked. "How?" He questioned as he grabbed his bookbag. "Well, Jeremy and I skipped school for a little while." She mumbled as she looked down at her feet. "What were you and Jeremy doing for that little while?!" Matt raised his voice, getting into older protective brother mode. "Nothing too bad. We went out to the falls and hung out. Drank some beer, talked, may or may not have took some stuff Vikki gave us, but I promise it was only like twice." Y/n said looking at her brother. "I thought you said you stopped." Matt said looking at his sister. "I have, that was literally at the beginning of school." Y/n answered her brother with a innocent smile. "I cant deal with you." Matt said shaking his head with a smile. "Lets go, punk." He said grabbing the keys from the table. Y/N nodded throwing the apple core into the trash. She grabbed her book bag and followed Matt out to the truck. 

Once they got into the truck they made their way to the school. It was a comfortable silence as they drove 15 minutes down the road to the school. Once they got there they went their separate ways. Y/n went to find Jeremy and Matt was going to find Tyler. She walked out of the car lot and to the tall oak tree in the front, right where she seen Jeremy sitting by himself on his phone.

"Hey Jeremy." Y/n said sitting down beside him. "Hey Y/n." He said with a smile, putting his phone down. "How are you?" Y/n asked with a smile sitting her book bag in the table beside them. "I'm alright, have you stopped?" He asked looking at Y/n with a knowing look. "The drugs?" Y/n whispered looking at him confused. He nodded looking at her with a worried look. "Yeah, I've stopped so far. I've been trying to stay strong. I don't know how you do it." Y/n said with a chuckled shaking her head. "I don't know, but if you need someone. I'm here for you. You know that right?" He asked looking at her with a smile. "Yeah, I know." She said giving him a friendly smile. "We better get going if we don't want to be late for class." Y/n said as she heard the bell ring. Jeremy nodded grabbing his book bag. Y/n grabbed hers and the two walked to their classes.

Later on that day Y/n walked out of the school with her bookbag looking for Matt. She needed the truck keys that he had. So she walked out to the football field where he and a few other guys off the football team were talking. She  walked over to them and stood quietly while they talked. She was different from matt. She was more quiet and a bit introvert then matt. Sure he was quiet at times, but she was actually really quiet compared to him. She was more to herself then him. 

Once Matt was done talking to the guys he, Tyler and I started talking. "How was practice?" Y/n asked as she leaned against the bleachers. "It was good, did you know Elenas boyfriend did football?" Tyler asked looking at Y/n with a shocked looking before looking over at Matt. "Yeah, I seen him in the court yard the other day. Quite an arm he has on him." Y/n said with an nod. "Any way, the game isn't for a while and I want to go home before the game. So are you going home with me or what?" Matt asked looking at Y/n. "I was planning on going to the Grill right after I came to you." Y/n spoke looking at her brother. "Well, you can go. If you want I can drop you off." Matt offered looking at Y/n. "Alright." Y/n said looking at him with an nod. "But you have to be at the game where I can see you. Remember what happen last time?" He said looking at Y/n with a smirk. "What happen last time?" Tyler asked looking at the two Donovan's.

 "The last game, My poor, sweet, baby sister decided to she was going to take the truck on a little ride with a few of her friends." Matt said looking at Tyler and then to Y/n. "That doesn't seem so bad." Tyler spoke looking at Matt with unsure face. "Well, when they go a couple hours away and decided they wanted to get drunk that's something different. Y/n looked at her brother and rolled her eyes. "No, that's what Vikki told you. Tyler you were there. You were drunk, but there.  It was literally, Vikki, Jeremy, Tyler, Sarah and me. We went out to the falls which is thirty minutes away. I was sober and I was making sure nobody was not going to have alcohol poisoning." Y/n said looking at Matt with a serious look. "Oh right. Your right. I remember I busted that party. Yeah I remember when I got there you had left. You had took Jeremy home and Vikki was there with Tyler drunk." Matt said with a nod. "I don't remember this." Tyler said looking at Y/n with a serious look. "Man, you were well beyond drunk." Y/n said looking at Tyler with a laugh. He gave Y/n a flirty smile and Y/n blushed. 

"Lets go. I need a shower." Matt said looking at Y/n and Tyler. "Oh, I didn't know Tyler was coming." Y/n spoke as they started walking to the truck. "Yeah, I thought I told you." Matt said as he and Tyler threw their football stuff in the bed of the truck. "No, you didn't." Y/n said as she got in the middle seat of the truck. "Well, you know now, princess." Tyler said with a smile. "I'm not a princess." Y/n said looking at Tyler with a smirk. "What are you then?" He asked looking at her as she smiled. "A mother fucking queen." She said making Matt and Tyler laugh. "Okay, Queen Y/n." Tyler said with a smile. 

After a few minutes Matt and Tyler dropped Y/n off at the grill. She sat in one of the empty booths and ordered her food. As she was enjoying her food she seen someone walk up to her. Looking at them she seen Stefan standing there with a smile. "Hey, Y/n." Stefan said with a friendly smile. "Hi, Stefan, right?" Y/n asked looking at Elenas new boyfriend. "Yeah, may I join you?" He asked pointing to the empty seat in front of her. She nodded with a friendly smile. "Go ahead." She said with a polite smile.  

After a few minutes of casual small talk Stefan slowly brought up Vikki. "So I heard you saw Vikki, How is she?" Stefan asked taking a sip of his soda. "She's umm. . She's fine." Y/n lied not making contact before she took a sip of her drink. She honestly didn't want to tell Stefan her sister was dead, before she had told her own brother. "I feel like your lying." He said lowly as he leaned forwards. Y/n looked at him with a confused look. "Well, I'm not. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to get back to the school. Matt dropped me off so I need to be going." Y/n said putting some money to cover her food and tip onto the table. "Nice, talking to you Stefan." She said as she started to walk out the door.

Y/n walked out the door and was starting to walk through the parking lot when Stefan called out her name. "Y/n, do you want me to give you a ride? I have to be there too. I'm playing tonight." Stefan offered pointing to his red ford sports car. "Sure, Thanks." She said with a small smile. 

The ride to the school was quiet between the two. Y/n planed on telling Matt about Vikki tonight after the game. She couldn't  deal with not letting him Know. They pulled up to the school. "Thanks for the ride Stefan, Good luck with the game." Y/n said getting as they went different ways. "Thanks, if you hear from Vikki let me know." He said looking at Y/n. She looked at him confused as she started to speak. "Not to be rude, but Stefan why do you want to know about Vikki? Did you know her?" Y/n asked just out of curiosity, not even in a rude way. "She seemed nice, and I just seen where she disappeared out of nowhere. I just know she doesn't seem like that type of person." Stefan said looking at Y/n with a concerned look. "Oh, well I'll let you know if anyone has spoke to her." Y/n said with a nod going to find a good spot for the barn fire that they do before the game. 

At the end of the game when everyone was leaving She found Matt and was on their way to the truck when she heard Jeremy yelling. Her and Matt ran over to the yelling and saw Tyler and Jeremy fighting. "Are you wasted?" Tyler asked looking at Jeremy? Jeremy got made and shoved Tyler then the two started fighting. That's when Jeremy picked up a broken glass bottle and went to hit Tyler with it. But Stefan stopped him. It looked like it would have cut his hand. "Y/n, Matt can you take Jeremy home for me?" Elena asked looking at Y/n and Matt. "Sure." Y/n said quickly going up to Jeremy and grabbed his hand. "Your gonna help the drug addict?" Tyler asked looking at Y/n. "I guess it takes one to know one." Tyler said looking at Y/n. Y/n let go of Jeremy's hand and went over to Tyler. She looked him in the eye and smiled. Then she took her hand and punched him straight in the jaw, hard enough it made him stumble backwards. "next time you say something about me. I swear you better have life insurance." Y/n threaten as she grabbed Jeremys hand and walked to the truck. matt decided he was going to be riding home with Tyler in Tyler's car. 

"I cant believe you punched him." Jeremy laughed as Y/n got him into the truck. "I've been wanting to do that for a while." Y/n said with a smile. "Have you told them about Vikki?" Jeremy asked as Y/n got into the drivers seat. "No, but I'll tell him when I get home." Y/n said looking at Jeremy with a smile. "You know, you have really pretty eyes." Jeremy said looking at Y/ns (Your eye colors) eyes. "Your drunk, jer." Y/n said as she started the truck. "Its true. I knew it before I was drunk. You have always been pretty, even when we were little kids. I've always thought you were beautiful." Jeremy said with a smile. "I still think its the drunk you speaking." Y/n said as she started going down the highway. "I swear, I really do mean it. I like you. Like, Like you, Like you." He admitted truthfully. Y/n chuckled as she glanced over at him. "Tell me that when your sober." Y/n said with a smile.

 - She likes him to, but she just didn't want him just to be saying that because he was drunk. If he was really into her, then she wants him to mean it. Y/n looked at him and smile as she pulled into their drive way. "You're home, jer." Y/n said as she looked at Jeremy who was just staring outside of the truck. "Will you walk me in?" Jeremy asked looking at Y/n with a smile. She nodded with a smile. "Yeah, come on." She said with a smile. He nodded as he opened the truck door. "Come on big guy." Y/n said as Jeremy started stumbling. Y/n giggled as she put his arm around hers and started walking to the house. She looked at him and sighed. "House keys." She said looking at Jeremy. "In my pocket." he said as he pulled them out of his front pockets. he handed them to Y/n as she still held onto him. She unlocked the door and put the keys into her pocket, continued to help him up to his room. 

As she struggled to get the teenager that's bigger than her up the stairs to his room, she felt tired. "Jeremy, you need to take off your shoes before you get on the bed." She said as Jeremy started to lay on the bed. He huffed and sat up throwing his shoes off, putting them beside his bed. He laid up and the bed and sighed. "Thank you." he told her with a smile. She nodded as she smiled. "That's what a friend is for." She said as she sat beside him on the bed. "Will you stay with me? Just till I go asleep? I just don't want to be alone." Jeremy said as he started getting choked up. "Of course." she whispered. She stood up taking her shoes off and walked over to Jeremys draws. she grabbed one of his shirts and his sweat pants. She went to the bathroom and changed into them. When she went back into the room from changing Jeremy was in the bed with just sweat pants on and shirt less. 

She pulled back the covers and laid right beside him. Jeremy faced her before he chuckled pulling her into him. "This brings back memories." Y/n said with a smile. "Good ones I hope." he said with a smile. "They are. It reminds me of when we were little when we did little sleep overs. We would just hang out and play video games." She said with a smile. "And we cuddled." He said with a smile. "yeah that too." Y/n said as she looked into his puppy brown eyes. He smiled looking into her eyes, then glanced at her lips then back to her eyes. "I really want to kiss you." he whispered. She nodded as she looked at him. She didn't say do or say anything but leaned forwards, giving him just a small kiss. "Goodnight." she said putting her head on his chest. "Goodnight." He said closing his eyes. 

A couple hours later her phone rang. -Matt was calling her. "Hello?" She asked  lowly as she stepped out of the bedroom. "where are you at?!" Matt yelled at his sister. "I'm at Jeremys." She answered. "Well, you need to come home." he said with a strict voice. "Alright, I'm on my way." She huffed rolling her eyes. "See you when you get here." Matt said hanging up the phone. She walked back into Jeremys room writing him a small note. Telling him she would come by in the morning to check on him. She grabbed her clothes and changed back into them putting the clothes she wore back where they belong. She started going down the stairs when Elena walked in looking like she was freaking out.  

"Elena, are you okay?" She asked quietly, not to wake anyone up. "Yeah, I'm fine. Is Jeremy in his room?" Elena asked. "Yeah, I got to go. Matt called me sounded a little mad." y/n said as she pointed out the door. "He just wants to make sure your safe I'm sure." Elena said looking at Y/n. Y/n nodded as she looked at Elena. "thank you for watching out for Jeremy. I appreciated it." Elena said hugging Y/n. "He is my best friend. Its my job." Y/n said with a smile.   So Y/n got in the truck and went back to her house. Where Matt and Tyler were talking on the front porch.  "What's wrong?" Matt asked looking at his sister. "Well you know how I believe I can see ghost." Y/n said as she sat on the porch swing. "Yes, but I really don't think you can see ghost I think its just your imagination." Matt said leaning against the wall beside Tyler. "Well anyway umm... Matt.... I saw Vikki." Y/n said quietly. "You saw Vikki?" Tyler said with a hopeful smile. "Yeah, But Matt Vikki died." Y/n said with a sad look on her face. "Your just think that (Your nickname, You probably just dreamed that or you strung up on more drugs.." Tyler said with all seriousness. He didn't want to believe that his Ex girlfriend was dead. 

"But the thing is she really is dead. She was attacked I saw her she came to me and told me she was dead. She told me to look out for you. Because there was bad stuff in this town." Y/n tried to get them to believe her but the look on their faces told her all she needed to know. "Fine you don't have tp believe me." Y/n said getting off the tail gate and started to walk home. Ignoring the calls of Tyler and Matt who were calling her name. She didn't want them to tell her she was crazy that she was just imagining seeing Vikki. 

She was walking when she felt someone grabbed her. Then everything went black...

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Instinct (Part 2)

Summary:  In which the paladins are unprepared for the strength of Keith’s instincts and Pidge is taken off guard by her own feelings. Pairings: Keith/Pidge; background Shiro/Curtis

Also posted on AO3 (note: I no longer post to fanfiction.net)

-

It has officially been too long since I last had a chapter of anything ready to post. Sorry, everyone! I got a little wrapped up in my project for the Kidgezine, but now I have a slight bit of time to get back to work on this.

-

Part 2

It was good to have Keith home.

Shiro hadn’t realized how lonely it was without him nearby until he was back, filling the void left in his life. He suddenly had a reason to look forward to returning to his apartment in the evenings, and waking up in the morning no longer meant hitting the snooze button until he absolutely had to get up. His little brother was home and he was going to enjoy every second until he had to leave again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t find enjoyment when Keith wasn’t there - those moments when he and Curtis spent time together were always wonderful and he looked forward to many more of them - but Keith being home made things feel normal. Better, in some ways.

Shiro woke up before his alarm to the smell of coffee in the air. He slid out of bed and gave himself a once-over in the wall mirror before deeming himself presentable enough. 

“Morning,” Keith greeted as Shiro walked into the kitchen.

“You drink coffee now?” Shiro asked, already heading for the pot.

Keith shook his head and held up his mug. “Nah, this is chocolate milk. The coffee’s all for you.”

Shiro wasn’t even aware he had chocolate milk, but he shrugged that off in favor of pouring himself a large cup of coffee, adding an unhealthy amount of sugar and a little cream. “Any plans for the day?”

“Figure I’ll check in with my team later and make sure everyone is comfortable with their rooming situations. I sent Kosmo to Acxa with a note, so I should hear back from her soon about who wants a tour guide,” Keith said.

“Veronica will appreciate that. I asked her to put together a list of people who would be willing to do it. Curtis was right when he said she’d be happy to see Acxa again.” Shiro sat down at the table with his cup and took a sip, but it was too hot, so he set it aside to cool a little. “I have a presentation to give to one of the classes this morning, but I’ll be free after lunch if you want to do anything.”

“Day in or…?”

“Whichever you’d like. We could go driving, just like the old days,” Shiro suggested. 

Keith’s expression was soft as he took that into consideration. “I’d like that.”

There was a quiet ‘poof’ as Kosmo suddenly appeared with a letter tucked into the collar around his neck. Keith reached over to give him a pat and then removed the paper, looking it over before passing it to Shiro.

“Looks like everyone’s interested in a tour guide. Give Veronica my contact info and tell her if she needs more details, she can call me,” Keith said. He glanced at the clock on the wall and quickly drained his milk before standing up.

Shiro watched him wash it out and set it in the rack to dry. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“I told Pidge I’d go running with her this morning. I’ve got to get going if I want to meet her in time.”

“Pidge? Running?” Shiro asked in disbelief. He couldn’t have heard that right. Sure, she went to the gym once or twice a month, but it was always later in the day.

That wasn’t the only weird thing. 

“Keith, what’s with the Batman shirt?”

Keith turned around, looking confused. “It’s not. This is mothman. Pidge got it for me when we went out yesterday.”

Once Shiro took a better look, he could see the differences. While the typical Batman logo was yellow with a black bat symbol, the one on Keith’s shirt was bright red, and instead of a bat, the silhouette was of a moth. “Ah, I see now.”

He really didn’t. What was mothman and why did Pidge get Keith a shirt of it?

“Have fun running with Pidge.”

Keith beamed, clearly not hearing the confusion in Shiro’s voice. He headed out soon after, clearly excited to meet up with her. Kosmo trotted at his heels, leaving behind Shiro to puzzle over what was happening by himself.

He felt like he was missing something important.

---

Healthy body, healthy mind.

That was what Pidge tried to keep in mind as she and Keith made another lap around the outdoor tract. She could feel her calves burning from exertion, but kept pushing on, determined to keep up with him. She thought she was still in good shape, even with her infrequent trips to the gym, but clearly she was mistaken. 

She glanced at Keith, who’d barely broken a sweat. She was pleasantly surprised to see him wearing the shirt she bought for him and wished that she’d worn hers as well.

They exchanged them on their arrival back at the Garrison after their shopping trip. Keith had laughed in delight when she presented him with mothman, right before digging through one of his bags to hand over the one he picked for her.

The shirt itself was a super soft material and dark green in color. Printed on the front were the words “Hide ‘n Seek Champion of All Time” in silver font. At first she wasn’t sure if there was anything more to it, but then she saw it. Under the right lighting, there was a subtle difference in color to reveal the Loch Ness Monster.

Pidge loved it.

“Getting tired?”

“Never,” Pidge gaped out, hating how hard it was just to speak. She really needed to take up running in her spare time.

Keith huffed out a short laugh and slowed his pace. “Why don’t we take a break? I don’t want you to get hurt because you’re trying to keep up with me.”

“I’m not-!”

“You are,” Keith interrupted easily. “Pushing yourself is good, but not when it means you’ll be in too much pain to walk by this evening. Trust me, it’s not fun.”

Pidge begrudgingly admitted he had a point. She could already feel the ache settling in her legs and remembered the way she felt after the intense training Allura put them through in the early days. She had no desire to go through that again.

She slowed to a brisk walk and Keith matched her pace so they could cool down from their run. She focused on her breathing until she could speak without gasping for air. (She resolved to add more gym days to her schedule.)

“Any plans for today?” Keith asked.

“A few,” Pidge responded, thinking back to her meticulous, color-coded board of notes. There were so many projects she was eager to get started on, and some that she really needed to get back to work on, but Keith probably didn’t want to hear about those.

“I’m expecting a video call from Coran today, so I’m going to work on a few things while I wait for him. He sounded excited in the message he left for me last night, which either means he has some new discovery to share with me, or he needs me to do something for him. What about you? Anything fun planned?” she asked.

Keith smiled. “Yeah, Shiro invited me to go driving after lunch. I’ve been dying to try out a few maneuvers that my mom showed me. Maybe this time I’ll be able to win our race.”

“Just a ‘drive’, huh?” Pidge nudged him playfully.

“There’s driving involved!”

Pidge laughed at the indignation in his voice. “Good luck with your race. I get the feeling you need it.”

Keith was awful at faking any emotion, which made it all the more fun for Pidge as he tried to act mad. His lips twitched up into a smile and he looked away from her to hide it. “You’re probably right. I bet he has a new trick or two he’s been waiting to use on me, and that’s why he suggested a drive.” He shook his head fondly. “Do you remember when this all started? When you three interrupted my rescue of Shiro and we were lucky to escape?”

“How could I forget? I think that was the most scared I’d ever been up until that point,” Pidge said.

“Shiro taught me how to make that jump.”

It shouldn’t have shocked Pidge as much as it did. Shiro always tried to present himself as the mature, responsible one, but after all of their time in space and seeing firsthand his sense of humor, it was clear that he was just as childish as the rest of them. Really, if she thought about it, driving a hoverbike off of a sheer cliff for the fun of it was purely a Shiro move.

“You two need supervision,” Pidge said.

“Probably. You volunteering?” Keith asked.

Pidge shook her head. “No thanks. I think I’ll leave that up to Curtis, though I doubt he wants the job either.” She paused to rethink her statement. “Or else he’ll cheer you on.”

Keith laughed as they reached the lower loop of the track and headed back into the main building. Several cadets stopped to watch them, whispering and pointing, but Keith and Pidge ignored them.

“So you said something about a call from Coran? How is he doing?” Keith asked.

“He’s staying busy organizing everything on New Altea. Romelle and Tavo are helping him, or doing their best to help him. I get updates at least once a month from Romelle, so I know he’s eating and getting the bare minimum amount of sleep. Or the bare minimum as far as any of us know.”

Keith moved out of the way of a group of cadets, brushing in close against Pidge’s side and stepping away the moment they were clear. “I’m glad they’re watching out for him. I’ve been meaning to visit, but we never have time to stop whenever we’re nearby.”

“He’s like that. I would go, but… it’s just not that easy without the Green Lion,” Pidge said.

She missed her Lion. The freedom that came with her ship was something irreplaceable, and the bond it represented between her and the other paladins was a hard loss. Sometimes, if she focused hard enough, she could almost hear the purr of the cockpit.

“So, I hear from Lance and Hunk on a near weekly basis too,” she said, swiftly changing the subject. “Hunk likes to start up conference calls and won’t take no for an answer. And you I get updates on through Shiro. You know you’re allowed to call just to chat, right? Because anytime I hear you and Shiro on call, it sounds like you’re giving a mission report.”

Keith at least looked embarrassed. “I guess I’m so used to giving Kolivan updates that it bleeds over. Shiro keeps teasing me about it too.”

That wasn’t entirely her point, but at least Keith knew the way he sounded over video call. Pidge took a moment to consider emphasizing her original point, which was that he was the only member of the original team who she didn’t talk to regularly, but in the end decided against it. If Keith wanted to talk to her, he would.

She changed the subject instead, asking him about some of the more interesting planets he’d been to. Before she knew it, she was at the door to her family’s quarters.

“You still have a while before you meet up with Shiro, right? Do you want to come in and see what I’ve been working on?” Pidge asked.

“Sure,” Keith agreed with a shrug.

Pidge typed in the code and led the way inside, keeping an eye out for anyone else. It looked like they were all out, likely hard at work. She took off her shoes and placed them near the door before walking over to her room, which required a code of its own.

(And maybe that was overkill, but part of her felt the paranoia was justified, given everything happening with the WLC. She wasn’t going to risk anyone that she didn’t trust learning about her personal projects until she was good and ready to show them off.)

“If you ever need a place to relax while you’re here, the number is five-one-four-two,” she told him.

Keith looked at her in surprise. “You’re trusting me with that?”

“You’re my friend. And after everything we’ve been through together, of course I trust you,” Pidge said. The lock clicked and she pushed open her bedroom door, remembering a little too late the mess that was slowly accumulating. At least her dirty laundry was properly in the basket, waiting to be washed.

Keith looked around curiously and then smiled softly, reaching for a pile of junk in the corner nearest the door. When he pulled his hand back, he had one of the green nebuloids. The fuzzy creature vibrated happily at the attention.

“What are you working on that you wanted to show me?” he asked.

“It’s an upgraded version of the program my dad uses to keep track of project progress. The one their using now is useful for keeping track of who needs to do what and what parts are finished, but I think it could be better. I know it can be better. What I want to do is make it so he can input what supplies they already have and it will calculate what can be worked on based on that and what parts are already done,” Pidge explained.

Listening to her dad and Matt complain about their current work predicament was her inspiration. She doubted she would be able to finish it in time to be useful for their current project, but hopefully it would be ready for the future.

“That sounds really useful. I think Kolivan has something similar to keep track of members of the Blade of Marmora, but it’s not quite as in depth as that,” Keith said. “If you hit any roadblocks, he might be able to help. Or he could direct you to someone who could.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Pidge moved to her desk to pick up her tablet so she could show off what she had so far, and that was when she saw it.

Another package wrapped in brown paper, bearing her name in green ink. It was larger than the last one, roughly the length and width of a shoebox, but not as deep.

“How did that get there?” she muttered, staring at it with a frown.

Keith moved a little closer. “Is something wrong?”

“This is the second time I’ve come home to find one of these, and I don’t understand where they’re coming from! Only a few people know how to get in, and half of them are off planet. I swear, if this turns out to be Matt’s idea of a joke, he’s going to be in so much trouble,” Pidge ranted.

Once again, she found herself struggling to put the pieces together, and once again she had no answers that made sense.

“You… don’t know who it’s from?”

“No,” Pidge said bluntly. “There’s no note. No indication of where it came from. There’s just my name, and I swear I’ve seen that handwriting before, but I don’t remember where.” She slumped her shoulders and glanced at Keith to find him staring with a worried expression.

She cleared her throat, feeling the need to put him at ease. “It’s just weird, is all. Clearly it’s someone who I know and trust well enough that they can get in here, but the mystery of it is really bothering me. I can’t think of a good reason why someone wouldn’t give it to me directly. Why go through the hassle of waiting until I’m not here?”

Pidge picked up the package and was surprised by the weight of it.

“Are you going to open it?” Keith asked. He walked over to stand right next to Pidge, slowly petting the back of the nebuloid, which continued to vibrate.

“Someone’s curious,” Pidge lightly teased, though she didn’t blame him. She was curious as well.

She picked at the tape on one end, before making up her mind and tearing the paper away to reveal a sturdy metal box with beveled edges around the top. There was a simple clasp on the front and she squeezed either side of it to release the lock and lift the lid.

Inside were crystals of various colors, cuts, and sizes, all small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, and carefully nestled in individual compartments. Pidge took one of them out and found a note beneath it. In the same green ink was the designation of a Balmera.

“Balmera crystals,” she breathed. “But who? Why?”

It was too much. The hair pins were one thing, but crystals from different Balmera across the universe? The effort it must have taken to do such a thing, only for it to be quietly left on her desk for her to find, left a heavy feeling in her chest. 

She needed to know who it was.

Pidge turned to Keith. “Do you think I should put up security cameras around my room?”

Keith took a moment to consider her questions while he looked around the room with a critical eye. “The door is the only way in or out, so I think that’s all you need to focus on. Or you could change the code to get in and see how it goes after that.”

“That does make sense,” Pidge agreed, mentally scaling back the number of cameras she could place. “Okay, one camera to watch the door, connected to my personal network. That shouldn’t take too long to put together, as long as I can get the parts for it. Want to help? Or, no, quiznak. You’re hanging out with Shiro today.”

“I am, but I could come by tomorrow and take a look,” Keith volunteered. He stroked the nebuloid one last time and then walked across the room to deposit it back in the corner, where one of the pink ones crawled out to see what was happening. “Or we could go out and put it to the test.”

“Lunch?” Pidge suggested. She knew of a cozy bistro that Keith was bound to enjoy, simply because it never saw a heavy crowd despite the delicious food. It even had Hunk’s approval.

Keith nodded. “I’ll meet you here and we can walk together.”

---

The next day passed without incident.

It took Pidge a few more hours that morning to cobble together a working security camera to keep watch over her door, and then she put it to the test by going out for a light lunch with Keith. She returned to find nothing on her desk.

A review of the footage showed that the camera was in perfect working order, and after a few minor tweaks, she spent the rest of the day polishing up something she’d been working on for Coran.

During his video call the night before, he revealed that he was ahead of schedule on some big secret project. He would arrive on Earth in the next few days to pick up the prototype camouflage device that he asked her to design. It was based on the cloaking she used with the Green Lion (which in turn, had been based off of particle shield technology), but used far less power as it was only meant for blending in rather than being rendered nearly invisible.

She spent a few hours running small-scale tests and it was only when her speakers chimed to indicate a call coming in that she took a break.

“Pidge!” Hunk shouted the moment she answered his call. He was beaming at her through the camera. “Oh man, you’re not going to believe this, but I got a call from Iverson yesterday - or I think it was yesterday. Time kind of gets away from me out here… Anyway, he asked if we wanted to run a food stall at some festival the Garrison is running? So we’re coming in tomorrow so we can talk about the details!”

It took Pidge a minute to remember that she already knew about the festival; her dad told them about it a few nights ago over dinner. “Hunk, that’s great!”

“We’re planning on stopping near Lance’s place to pick him up and put in an order for extra food supplies, so once we get there, it’ll basically be a Team Voltron reunion! Y’know, just missing Keith and Coran.”

“Actually, Keith got in a few days ago,” she told him. “And Coran says he’s going to come by sometime this week.”

Hunk looked absolutely delighted. “This is officially the best week ever! Okay, so we’ll see you all tomorrow, depending on what time we get in. I’ve gotta go clear a few things with the others before we reach Earth. Could you tell Shiro and Keith for me?”

Pidge nodded. “We have our monthly dinner at Shiro’s tonight, so I can tell everyone then.”

Hunk looked away as someone shouted to him, and it quickly became clear that he was needed elsewhere, so Pidge let him go with a quick goodbye and made sure her phone was set to vibrate if he sent anymore messages. It was high time she left her room to assist her mom with dessert, as was tradition.

Once a month, the Holt family and Shiro would take turns hosting dinner. The host would make the main course, while the guests would prepare a dessert to bring over. They tried to make it more fair for Shiro, but he insisted he didn’t mind, and so they swapped places every month.

There wasn’t much for her to help with when she peeked out of her room, and Colleen quickly shooed her off to redress in something nicer than a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt. Pidge figured she had a good point and swapped them out for jeans and the shirt Keith bought for her, adding in one of the decorative flower hair pins to spice things up a little more.

Less than an hour later, they were all seated at Shiro’s dining table, relaxing and talking about their days. Pidge found herself between Matt and Keith, listening to Shiro talk.

A few minutes into Shiro’s story about sitting in on a simulation run for the newest batch of cadets, Keith leaned over to whisper to Pidge.

“You’re wearing the shirt I got you.”

“I think it’s the most comfortable thing I’ve worn since I lost my old sweater after… well, everything,” Pidge said honestly. Her lounge clothes were comfortable as well, but the shirt was warm and soft in a different way.

“We lost a lot then,” Keith acknowledged.

Pidge tuned back into Shiro’s story and steadily ate her food. She hardly looked at her plate, only glancing down when she needed to spear a new piece of chicken or scoop up some of her dad’s favorite peas.

She didn’t notice the way she went through most of her meal without running out of her favorites.

Shiro noticed.

And just as he felt befuddled by the news that Pidge was willingly going for a run with Keith, his confusion rose even higher with every exchange between them that he witnessed. 

The way they leaned toward each other whenever they spoke.

The ease with which they cleared the table together at the end of the night.

The way Keith subtly added food to Pidge’s plate throughout the night, seemingly without anyone else noticing what he was doing so.

Shiro had a theory, but he would need to observe them for a little while longer, just in case.

---

Keith was settling into bed when his phone beeped, indicating an incoming call. He picked it up and when he saw that it was Pidge, quickly answered.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“I found another one. It was sitting on my desk when I got back.”

It took Keith a moment to catch on to what she was saying. “Another gift? What is it this time?”

Pidge made a frustrated sound. “It’s… I don’t know. Like a snowglobe? But instead of a winter scene it’s a tiny galaxy contained in a sphere?”

Keith sat back against the headboard. “That sounds like a cosmolabe. They’re used more for decoration than navigation now, but Kolivan keeps a few on hand any time we travel someplace that interferes with advanced technology.”

He could hear her thinking through her silence and gave her a moment.

“Interesting… Would you show me how it works? I could probably figure it out on my own, but if you already know how to use them, then that would be easier. I want you to come over anyway and help me look over my plan for new surveillance cameras. Watching the door wasn’t enough or else they found some way to hack in and delete footage from when they were here,” Pidge said.

Keith frowned. “I thought you said it was secure.”

“It should be. I’m going to look everything over tonight. You can come by tomorrow, can’t you? Sorry, I know I just assumed earlier, and if you can’t, that’s okay.”

“I’ll be there,” Keith promised.

[kyndaris]

Suddenly Thirteen

When I was younger, one of my favourite films starred Jennifer Garner acting like a teenager who was pretending to be thirty. In high school, all I wanted to do was grow out of the phase of terrible acne and finally be able to get my driver’s licence. I had a thousand dreams. Each one more fantastic than the next. One day I would want to be an actuary, a researcher or an astronaut.

Fast forward a decade and a half, and I was still single, stuck in a job that I hate with a passion with no long-term career prospects as well as up to my eyeballs in debt. When had my life gone off the rails? Where had all the hopes and dreams flitted away to?

I glanced at the time down in the bottom right of the screen. It was two in the morning on a worknight and the only thing I could bring myself to do was scroll through Facebook, bitter and miserable. A glass of shiraz rested on my bedside table. It probably wasn’t a good idea but I needed some comfort after my explosive break-up with the man I had been dating for the last three months.

So, of course it seemed the perfect time to trawl through all the positivity that I could never have. A photo of a mouth-watering dinner from an acquaintance in the grade below me. Another Dungeons and Dragons post from old primary school friends that I had drifted away from over the years because life had felt it necessary to get in the way.

I was full of regrets and I had just barely hit thirty. A deadlier combination I knew not as I morosely pondered what could have been.

It was roughly two thirty in the morning before I closed my laptop and settled into bed. I knew it was a bad idea. Going to bed drunk and at so late an hour. Work would be hell when I woke up. The hangover would only serve to dampen whatever enthusiasm I had that it was a Friday. Maybe, though, I would be able to get away with calling in sick.

There was always a first time for everything.

My eyes had barely closed when my alarm sounded – loud and incessant – in my ear. Telling me that I needed to get out of bed if I wanted to arrive at work on time. Groggily, I reached for my phone on my bedside table, hoping to hit snooze. It wasn’t there. Frowning, I sat up and looked around my room.

Was it me or did it seem smaller? And had my bed been moved to the side?

Before I could make sense of what was happening, my door slammed open. Standing in the frame was a man that I had not seen for many years.

“Come on, Sharon, let’s get a decent breakfast in you. Don’t want to be late and starving for your first day at high school.”

This couldn’t be. I had to still be dreaming. Or perhaps my drink had been spiked. I pinched myself. Hard.

Pain lanced up my arm and I knew that this was no fever dream. Oh God. What was happening?

Sensing something was wrong, dad approached me. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“This isn’t right,” I blurted. “Am I still dreaming?”

Dad frowned at my response and crouched down next to me. “I know high school can be frightening. You’re going somewhere new. But it’s also exciting. Think of all the friends you’ll make and the things you’ll learn! Now, I’ll see to the waffles. Don’t want them to burn. Come out when you’ve changed, all right, sweetie?”

I sat in silence for several minutes, trying to wrap my head around everything. Dad was here. And alive. A sharp stab of longing pierced my chest. Even if I was still asleep and dreaming, I didn’t want to waste the opportunity of seeing him again.

Hastily, I climbed out of bed and padded over to the wardrobe. My old uniform sat neatly folded on the dresser. Within a minute, I had zipped up the skirt and buttoned up the crisp white shirt.

It was time to brush my teeth, wash my face and go down for breakfast.

Catching my reflection in the bathroom mirror, it took a few heartbeats for me to understand that I had been blasted back to when I was thirteen. No longer was my hair platinum blonde. Instead, it was the original muddy brown of my youth. My teeth were in disarray and my face was covered in freckles.

I shuddered at the thought of going through puberty again.

This wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

Dad called my name again as I was just finishing up my ablutions. After taking one last look at my younger self in the mirror, I dashed down the stairs.

“Well, isn’t someone a little more chipper now?”

I didn’t say a word as I plonked down at the breakfast table. Dad was true to his word. Waffles, drizzled in maple syrup, sat before me. All of it seemed so surreal. I grabbed up fork and knife and began to eat in earnest, savouring each bite, even as I told myself that none of this was real. It couldn’t be.

Within minutes, I was finished. By 7.30, my bag was packed and I was in the car, waiting to be driven to the nearest bus stop.

A part of me was nervous as we drove down the familiar streets of my childhood. It had been years since I moved and I had never looked back. Yet, sitting in the car with my dad, I was reminded of all the wonderful moments I had shared.

Before I knew it, we arrived at the station. Dad came with me, looking as proud as ever, as we both waited for the bus. There were other children as well. Many that I recognised. To my right was Blake Johnson, short and skinny. In a few years, he would go through a growth spurt that would have him towering over even the teachers.

Seated on the bench, with her mum, was Floris Yu. She had on a thick pair of glasses and she had her hair tied up in twin pigtails. It was hard to believe that by the time we were all in university, she would have slept with half the boys in the grade.

It was nearly eight when the school bus finally pulled up.

“God, sometimes I wonder where the years went. You’re a big girl now, Sharon. Have a good day at school. Mum will be here to pick you up. But you’ll have to tell me everything that happens on your first day, all right?” Dad said as I was just about to board, tears in his eyes.

I hugged him tight, relishing his warmth. “Be careful on the roads, dad.”

“I will, sweetie. Now, go on.”

Taking an empty seat near the back of the bus, I pressed myself up against the window and waved desperately at him. Dad smiled and waved back. As the bus began to move and turn around the corner, dad stood there, as if imprinting this moment in his memory.

--

The first day passed by in a blur. I met my teachers as well as my future friends. Despite the fact that Olivia was now back to her awkward twelve-year old self, we clicked just as easily as the first time. Danielle was as chatty as I remembered her. Oliver, on the other hand, seemed lost and a little preoccupied. I wasn’t sure what was bothering him. Had never really paid it much attention because by the time we became fast friends in Year 9, he had got over that bump in his life.

Mum greeted me when I got off the bus. Before I could do or say anything, she grabbed hold of my schoolbag and slung it over one shoulder. “So, how was your first day? Make a lot of new friends?”

Smiling, I answered her. We talked until we reached the car and then we talked even as mum drove us back home.

I was still regaling mum with tales of my adventures as we walked through the front door and the phone in the kitchen rang. Mum went to pick it up. Her face went through an entire gamut of emotions. A feeling of dread welled up through me. Oh God, how could I have forgotten?

Gingerly, mum placed the phone back down. As if frightened it was going to turn around and bite her. She looked at me, eyes wide and her face as pale as death.

“What’s wrong?” I asked even as I cursed myself for being a fool. Caught up in living the fantasy that I found myself in, I had wiped away all traces of Patrick and his failing health.

“We need to go to the hospital.”

Without even changing out of my uniform, I clambered into the driver’s seat, adjusting it for my considerably shorter legs. Mum stared at me, lost for words when I asked for the keys. How could she just stand there when Patrick was on life support and awaiting the final decision to euthanise him?

“Come on. We need to go, mum. Now. I’m the better driver. Just throw on Google Maps on your phone and direct me.”

“Sharon, you’re thirteen. And what’s Google Maps?”

Cursing under my breath, I realised my error. It was supposed to be a dream, but it was damn near too realistic for my liking. “Forget it mum. I’m sorry,” I said as I climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Let’s just get going. Patrick needs us.”

Mum nodded mutely and got in the car. She turned on the ignition and effortlessly put the car into gear. I knew she had questions. But she had the wisdom to set them aside and concentrate on more immediate needs.

Within ten minutes, we turned into the driveway of the veterinary hospital. I hopped out of the car as soon as we came to a stop, unbuckling the seatbelt and flinging open the door. Mum shouted after me but I ignored her as I raced to the open doors where dad was standing.

“How’s Patrick doing?” I asked.

Dad shook his head. “He’s having trouble breathing. Doc says he’s on his last legs. We’d better hurry in.”

I pushed past him. My feet took me down the familiar corridors until I reached the operating room. Looking through the circular window, I spotted Leanne. She was easily recognisable. Despite the gown she wore, I could identify her blonde streaks that had been tied into a neat bun.

Lying still on the table was Patrick. He was my first dog. A golden retriever that had been my protector and friend for as long as I could remember.

Was he already gone? But then, his chest rose. Within seconds I was by his side, holding his face in my hands. Perhaps he sensed me there for his tongue came out to give me an affectionate lick.

“You’re going to be fine, Patrick.” I didn’t know if I was saying this to him or merely to console myself after witnessing the same event twice. It wasn’t fair.

A hand came to rest on my shoulder. It gave me a comforting squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Sharon.” Dad. It had to be.

I gently patted Patrick’s muzzle and gave him one last forlorn look before I sought the shelter of dad’s embrace.

“Why did it have to be him?” I said into his chest as we were gently ushered out. A part of me resented the fact that I couldn’t be there when Patrick took his last breath. Only Leanne bearing witness to his last moments. But she was the vet. And it was her job to see it through.

--

We arrived home, sad and despondent. The last few hours had stained the days in hues of grey. Dinner was a quiet affair. I went to bed early, unable to shake off the loss I felt, though I should have remembered it all having experienced it before. Somewhere over the years, the pain had healed. Now, the wound had torn open again.

If mum had allowed me, I would have preferred going to sleep with a glass of rum. Unfortunately, my mum had always been a stickler for rules and in this dream of mine, I was underage.

Oblivion was difficult to find. After tossing for what felt like hours, I fell into a fitful slumber – unsure of what the next day would bring and hoping that I would wake up in my proper time, where things made sense and the pain that felt so raw now was only a distant memory.

But when I blearily opened my eyes, I found myself again in my old childhood bedroom. Instead of tastefully selected paintings, there were a myriad of posters. Most of them featuring Disney Princesses. A part of me wanted to scream. The more adult part felt deflated – resigned to the fact that I was trapped in the wrong time period and forced to relive my teenage years.

I wasn’t sure why that was the case. More than likely, it was some cosmic joke.

Dad came in with a tray topped up with breakfast around seven. “I know yesterday was difficult, Sharon. It was hard for me as well. Patrick was with us for so long. But you need to eat. And when you’re finished, let’s have a talk. I can call up the school. Get you the rest of the week off.”

His offer was tempting. And in my previous past, I had taken him up on the offer. But this was supposed to be a dream. Or, at least, I believed it was. Curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to see where such a choice would lead me as I already knew the alternative: bound to the bed for six days and moping around the house. It had meant playing catch-up when everyone else had picked the friendships that would last for more than a decade.

It was with great effort that I pulled myself from the warmth and comfort of my covers and slipped once again into my school uniform. Though I had experienced the death of Patrick before, the pain of his loss was still as visceral as ever.

Dad understood that when I gave him my bravest smile and said, “I can do this. Patrick wouldn’t have wanted me to be crying my eyes out all day anyways. Just because I’m at school doesn’t mean I won’t miss him.”

“That’s the spirit.”

It was a near thing, but I managed to scoff down breakfast, get dressed, pack my bag and arrive at the station just as the school bus trundled up. I got on, determined to have a good day at school. Even though I might have appeared as if I was just thirteen, I knew that in my head I was a grown woman that had already gone through a whole host of experiences.

With time, I knew, that the pain of losing Patrick all over again would dull. It was simply a matter of putting on a strong façade for the rest of the day.

The second day of school went by as quickly as the first. Before I knew it, the final bell had rung and I was on the bus back home. For a short while, as I was relearning the names of my teachers, I could forget that I was trapped in a different time and that my loyal dog that I had known all my life had passed away the day before.

Never before had I thought high school as a place to forget my woes. My memories of the teenage years had been filled with confusion and angst and worries about the changes my body was going through. Coupled with the pressure to perform and the mountain of homework that I always left to the last minute, it seemed like a miracle when I finally graduated.

Yet, here I was, putting aside the grief and pain as I socialised with the teenager versions of some of my oldest friends. It was striking how far we had come. From precocious students who dreamed of the world to weary adults, caught in the grind of the corporate machine even as we hid our misery by posting edited photos on Instagram and Facebook.

When I walked home from the bus stop later in the afternoon, I felt better than I would have thought given the recent death of Patrick. Rather than desiring to curl up into a foetal ball, I was filled with the determination to change my future.

It was to these thoughts that I fell asleep, after having completed my homework. For close to an hour, I had tried to figure out the maths equations that had never had any bearing in my position as a slave to capitalism.

--

Rays of sunlight peeked through my window when I jolted out of bed. I glanced towards the alarm clock, hoping to glean the time, but it was missing. Instead, an iPhone sat in its place and it was ringing shrilly. I picked it up. The time read 7:30AM.

Still muddled by sleep, I had just shimmied out of my pyjamas when I realised that things were not quite right. Back in high school, I didn’t have a smart phone. It would still be another year or so before Steve Jobs would announce his creation to the world at the Macworld convention. And it wasn’t until my first year at university that I had acquired my first Samsung S2. Purchased, of course, with my own money earned from a part-time job.

Nor had dad come in to check if something was wrong.

Looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I confirmed my suspicions. Thirty-year old Sharon stared back at me. Hair, dyed blonde at the tips with dark roots threatening to undo all my good work. I was back in my time. The strange dream that had held me hostage had ended.

A part of me felt bereft. The halcyon days of my youth were gone. A second time.

I let out a frustrated breath and checked the time and date on my smart phone again. Now was not the time of reminiscing over what could have been. I had an hour to shower, get dressed and head to work. Another day in the cubicle, earning the money I needed to survive in a cold and unfeeling world.

God. I needed a coffee. And I needed it yesterday.

--

The day passed as slowly as a snail. By eleven, I was jittery, wishing for the day to end. My earlier musings of what to have to lunch replaced by the monotonous repetition of office busywork. Jenny, one of my work colleagues, seemed to sense my mercurial mood.

“What’s up, Sharon? You don’t seem to be blazing through your cases as quickly as you usually do after your banana bread and skim latte combo.”

“Just got a lot of things on my mind, Jenny.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I said as I opened up another spreadsheet that reduced a person’s life into a series of indecipherable numbers.

She took the hint and kept quiet until lunch time finally rolled around. And before she could invite me out for a walk and offer to shout me some sushi from the restaurant down the street, I was already out of my seat, headed for the elevators. Luck smiled upon me and I managed to get into one of the death traps on my lonesome. But despite the myriad of choices for lunch along the street where my work was situated, I didn’t feel hungry. Instead, I simply let my feet lead me through the labyrinth of streets in the bustling central business district of the city – searching for something I could not quite name.

I returned, five minutes after the prescribed end of lunch. Jenny looked up from her desk, eyebrows arched into a question that I purposely ignored.

As soon as the time on the bottom right of the computer screen hit 5PM, my bag was packed and I was in the first available lift.

Within thirty minutes, I walked through my front door. The keys went to their usual tray, my bag landed precariously on the dining room table and I plonked myself on the sofa. Hunger had my stomach growling but I could not bring myself to start preparing dinner. Exhaustion tugged at every limb, despite the fact that I had done little in physical exertion. It was easier to just let the lid of my eyes close and allow my mind to drift.

When next I woke, morning light was shining through the blinds. Groaning, I sat up and stretched – trying to rid myself of the kinks. Having missed lunch and dinner the day before, I was starving. Still half-asleep, I went to my bag to fetch my phone and take a gander at the time.

But no matter my efforts, the screen remained black. Shit. After what felt like ten minutes, I managed to find my charger. At the very least, today was a Saturday and I had no plans beyond a property inspection. If I was lucky, I could squeeze in some time to finish the detailing on my next costume for the convention next month.

The day went quickly, even though I lounged around the apartment for most of the day. A quick jaunt onto Facebook only helped further my apathy as I scrolled through posts filled with fun and laughter. In my head, I knew that many of the pictures I saw were curated. Did I not do the same when I tried out a new café? The image of who I was on the internet was never quite the perfect representation of who I was in reality.

By 8 in the evening, I was ready to slink back into bed. Just as I was about to shut my laptop, Facebook Messenger popped up with an alert. Curiosity won out and I clicked it open without first glancing at the name.

Hey! How’s it going? I know it’s been a few years, but damn, how’s life treating you?

My gaze drifted to the profile picture in the upper left corner and the name emblazoned in bold white letters. Simon Lau. After we had gone to different universities, studying distinctly different degrees – he had studied medicine, whereas I had wasted most of my loan on a diploma in business – it came as a bit of a shock.

Hi Simon. Life’s been good for the most part. What about you? From the pictures and posts I’ve seen it seems as if you’ve been keeping busy.

Yeah. It’s been hectic. Finally managed to get tenure at my local hospital. Being a doctor isn’t easy. The hours are long and the pay is pretty lousy.

Well, I do believe congratulations are in order. Becoming a doctor is no small feat.

What about you?

I stared at the words, wondering how much of my life to reveal. When I compared myself to the achievements of many of my other friends, it felt like I had done little. An anime and boardgame fanatic with a flair for the dramatic.

I’ve hardly achieved anything of note.

That can’t be true. The Sharon I knew in school was a powerhouse. Sure, you might not have gotten the best grades, but I’m sure that you would have achieved anything you set your mind to. In fact, I’m kind of envious of the cosplay photos you’ve been putting up.

A smile broke across my lips. I had missed the conversations I used to have with Simon. We had met in fifth grade, as part of a gifted and talented initiative held by our school. From the moment he had shyly introduced himself one recess early in Term 2, we became inseparable as we poured over our love for Neopets and Little Figher 2.

Somehow, we chatted until midnight as we reminisced over the old days. Before I logged off for some much-needed rest, we exchanged mobile numbers and set up a meeting point for the convention that would be in town for the long weekend.

I fell asleep, grinning from ear to ear.

Within moments, I was rudely awoken by my alarm clock. With a groan, I sat up in bed and reached one hand to shut it down. As I yawned and blearily looked around my room, I was shocked to find myself once again in my old childhood home. I was back in the past again, reliving my time during high school.

--

For months, I lived two lives. One in the past, and one in my current time. Just like the first time I had ventured into my high school days, I was able to change small elements and make better decisions. When Floris came to me, dishevelled and shaking from an encounter she did not want to talk about, I was able to offer her a shoulder to cry on rather than be consumed by my own selfish problems.

It made me understand her a little more and see why her path so swiftly diverged from mine back in Year 8. In my present, there were also slight differences. As if somehow my actions were like the beating of a butterfly’s wings. Or perhaps I was simply seeing through different eyes. After all, having the ability to go back in time and make changes for the better seemed farfetched and I still wasn’t entirely convinced that I was having incredibly lucid dreams.

But what mattered during the second chance I was given were the moments I spent with dad, as well as being able to see my classmates in a different light.

All of that changed, however, as I was wrapping up work and my phone buzzed. I was back in the present again, after enjoying two weeks of school holidays where I had messaged Simon almost every single day. Frowning, I glanced down at the caller id that was flashing on my screen. It read ‘Beau.’ For a moment, I was confused. Only a few days ago, I had been scrolling through Tindr as the sole occupant of my apartment. My rooms had been a mess. Every spare surface covered in various pieces of fabric in a desperate bid to complete my costume before the upcoming event.

After all, I was going as my favourite character from a popular video game franchise.

Curiosity won the best of me. I accepted the call and was surprised by the voice I heard on the other end.

“Good evening, milady. Did you have a good day in the office?” asked Simon Lau. “I’ll be home around six and can come over to help for the last stretch. That okay with you?”

I was at a loss for words. Was Simon my boyfriend? It didn’t seem quite real. Yet, as I searched through my memories, new ones overlaid the old. After dancing around each other all throughout high school, we officially entered into a relationship during first year of uni. And though we had the occasional fight here and there, there had only been one instance when I had seriously considered of breaking up with him.

Simon was my second half. He knew me inside and out. Just as I did him.

“—Earth to Sharon. Are you still there?”

A smile slowly curled the tips of my lips upward. “Sorry. Just remembering how lucky I’ve been to have you by my side.”

“Of course. I wake up every day grateful I can see a handsome doctor with impeccable musculature in the mirror each day.”

“Narcissist.”

He chuckled. “Hey, you’re the one that brought it up in the first place.”

“I only said that I love having you by my side. Looking back, it almost seems predetermined,” I said. A giddy moment passed before a faint memory flitted across my mind that left me feeling hollowed out. “Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if things had gone differently. The thought chills me to the core.”

“There’s nothing to fear, Sharon. I’ll be back over before you know it. Just wrapping up the last of my shift,” said Simon, seemingly to sense my doubts and wanting to allay them. He was wasted as a doctor in the local hospital. But it was his passion to help and render assistance to those that needed it the most. And who was I to stand in the way of his desire when it was the thing that drew me to him? “Can you hold on until then?”

“Yes. I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you.”

With that, I ended the call – my heart lightened. God. What was wrong with me? Wondering what life would have been like if Simon wasn’t with me? The mere idea was inconceivable.

I stared at my phone, and the nickname I had given Simon, for several minutes before I pocketed it away. Dinner. And then, when he came, I could resume the work on our cosplay outfits for the event the week after next.

--

The dreams continued, though they mostly played out like memories of a time that sat parallel to what I knew to be true. Yet, they seemed so real. Back in my high school days, I lived a different life to the one I knew. Simon, for one, despite my best efforts, seemed to drift away from me. We had different circles of friends and pursued individual interests. The childhood connection we had was not strong enough to keep us linked.

Each morning I would wake up, covered in sweat, and glance to the spot next to mine in bed. On the days he stayed over, he was a warm presence by my side and my fears were allayed. For the nights that he had a particularly late shift, I had to wrangle my anxiety into submission with relief only brought upon by hearing Simon’s voice.

It was a dangerous line I walked.

And it felt like I was losing my mind. The mismatch of memories weighed heavily on my mind as I went through the motions of work and putting the finishing touches to both my and Simon’s costumes for the convention that was the coming weekend. After all, we were going as a pair from an animated show, though I had the feeling I had initially wanted it to be from my favourite video game.

Alas, the work would have been too great. At least for Simon’s outfit, as I had no access to a furnace if I wanted to ensure complete and utter accuracy. Foam was great and all, but nothing could beat a proper metal chain.

We finished the costumes just a day shy of the big event. To my great joy, as we tried them on, to learn that they fitted as well as a glove – although mine was a little tight around the chest. Simon, on the other land, looked impeccable. Once he had the wig on, he would be nigh on indistinguishable from the character he was cosplaying as.

I, on the other hand, was a little too short to be a perfect representation of my character. It didn’t matter though. What was important was that we were matched in perfect synchronicity and that others knew that we were together.

“Looking good. I could almost mistake you for an elf,” said Simon.

“The ears will go on tomorrow. I don’t want to risk damaging them.” Slowly and carefully, I tugged off my boots. “What about you? Ready for the big day?”

“You know it,” he said with a grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need the bathroom. And while these trousers are sublime, it’s going to take me a while to wiggle out of them.”

As soon as he disappeared down the hallway, the phone that he left on the coffee table lit up. I knew it was rude to take a look. Yet I feared that Simon would be called away for another shift at the hospital. So, risking a glance towards the bathroom, I picked up his phone and read the text message.

The words within immediately pierced my heart, shattering it into a thousand pieces. I tried my hardest to rationalise it all away. Surely, it was a joke. Or perhaps it had been sent to the wrong person.

But a second look only confirmed my worst fears. Why, on God’s green Earth, did it have to be Amy Fletcher?

Looking through the memories that weren’t my own, I knew she had been Simon’s girlfriend ever since Year 12 prom. During first year of university, they had broken up over something that most would have considered silly or stupid. At least, that was the rumour I’d heard on the grapevine as I focused on my own achievements. They had got back together in third year and everywhere they went, people said that they were inseparable. The perfect couple.

Yet, in my timeline, none of that happened. Simon was my boyfriend. Had been since high school. So, why the Hell was he receiving texts from Amy? And ones that seemed to border on what decent people might label licentious?

“What is this?” I demanded when Simon came back from his trip to the bathroom.

He looked at me, confused. “My phone?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Simon,” I snapped at him, fuelled by righteous anger. “Why is Amy fucking Fletcher sending you texts?”

“We bumped into each other last Friday. One thing led to another and we had coffee. Then, I don’t know, we exchanged numbers,” said Simon, his tone defensive. “Nothing came of it. It was just an innocent and casual catch-up.”

I didn’t believe him. How could I? The evidence was right there. In my hand. “Then why is she asking for pics, Simon?”

He stepped up to face me, his face red as a tomato. Before I could react, he snatched his phone from my grasp and looked at the screen. A minute passed. Maybe two. All I heard in the deafening silence was the sound of my heart beating an erratic tattoo.

Then finally a giggle. A bit of a chuckle and before I knew it, Simon had thrown his head back as he laughed and laughed and laughed.

To say that I was shocked would have been an understatement. Here I was, with evidence of his infidelity, and all Simon did was find amusement at my own expense. It was enough for me to see red. Desperately, I tried to swipe his phone back. But he was taller. His arms much longer.

He dangled his phone just out of reach, as if it was all a game. Each time I jumped Simon would duck under my grasp. And when I shouted obscenities, he ignored them with an easy smile.

It was only when I had tears trailing down my cheeks, threatening to walk out and throw the costumes I had laboured over for countless hours into the nearest dumpster, that he finally stopped. The expression on his face now serious and concerned. “Oh, come on Sharon. Can’t you see? She was asking for our cosplay photos. Just innocent and harmless fun. Stop acting like a baby. You’re better than this.”

“Why? Amy has never cared for the ‘geeky’ stuff. In ninth grade, she said anime was for little kids or people that hadn’t grown up.”

“Give her a bit of credit, Sharon. Not everyone has to be into pop culture. Sure, they can watch a couple of shows on Netflix, but you shouldn’t deride them for liking things like The Christmas Prince instead of Die Hard.”

I knew he was right. It was Simon, after all. But I didn’t like it. I fell into a sullen silence. Intractable to any of his overtures for peace.

“Goddammit, Sharon. Don’t just shut me out,” he said as he changed into his shorts and a ratty old t-shirt he used as bedwear. I was already under the covers, after having spent a good forty minutes in the shower. He tried to cuddle, but I was having none of it. With a sigh, Simon turned away. I knew I was being spiteful, but I couldn’t help it. The rage was still there and it would not be appeased.

It was as if it had taken on a life of its own. One that screamed vengeance at the wrong that Amy fucking Fletcher had done to me by texting my boyfriend.

Even when the lights turned off, I lay in bed, brain in overdrive as I pondered my next steps. Amy Fletcher would not get away with this.

--

The next day dawned. Though I had not slept, I was still buzzing with nervous energy. Jittery, almost, in anticipation of what was to come. Simon kept mostly busy with convention preparations, pausing every so often to look at his phone.  He didn’t notice. Not when he saw the texts Amy sent his way. I wanted to wipe that giddy-looking smile off his face. How could he do this to me? I was his girlfriend. Not Amy.

Even as I seethed, I was reassured by the plan that had come to me overnight. The old memories – of another time – had provided the answer I sought: Amy Fletcher’s address. It wasn’t far. It was only a ten to twenty-minute drive away. Given the traffic, it was plenty of time to get there, do what I needed and return before we set out to the convention.

Just to ease the burgeoning anxiety within me, in case things should go horribly wrong, I had slipped out of bed at three and Googled the address in my head. The Street View of the house matched several photos on her Instagram and Facebook. If I was wrong, I would simply play it off as mistaken identity.

I couldn’t say it was a good plan. But it was the only one that I could come up with that would satisfy the raging beast inside me.

“Where are you going?” Simon asked when I headed to the door at a few minutes past seven.

“Hardware store,” I replied. “Picking up a few more things that I forgot. It’s for the costume.” And then, I made the error that would cost me nearly everything. “You know, glue gun refills. Just in case something falls off.”

Perhaps if I had stayed longer, I would have seen the consternation on Simon’s face. Focused solely on the goal that I had set for myself, I hurried to the car. In my bag, I had my phone, keys, wallet and a sharp knife that I filched from the kitchen.

Traffic was light and I arrived at Amy Fletcher’s house with time to spare. For several long minutes, I sat in the car. My mind was a cacophony of noise. A part of me wanted to abandon the crazy idea that had seized me. The other, louder part, wanted to push on. It was unable to rest easy knowing that there was a threat to the perfect image of Simon and I.

When my hands had steadied, I opened the car door and walked to the white front door on stiff legs. Just to the side, hidden in a small alcove, was the doorbell. I pressed it.

Every second that slipped by felt like an hour. Until the door opened and standing before me was Amy Fletcher, her long brown hair, with blond highlights, was tussled and she was dressed in pyjamas covered in cartoon rabbits.

“Hi. You’re Sharon, right? Simon talked a lot about you when we caught up the other day. He said that you were going to a convention today. What brings you here?”

“Well, I heard you lived close by and I was in the neighbourhood,” I said, ducking underneath her arm as I forced my way inside. “This place is lovely. Did it cost a lot? God, I’m kind of envious, y’know. Simon and I, well, we haven’t been able to afford a house yet.”

“Hold on. Stop.” Amy Fletcher called out after me as I took a look at her two-bedroom house, situated in a quiet and idyllic suburb. “You can’t just come barging in. I know that we used to go to high school together, but it’s still very early in the morning.”

She caught up with me as I arrived in the kitchen, puffing a little. Her hand landed on my shoulder: a warning and a threat. It was enough.

I whirled around, one hand digging deep in my purse until my fingers had curled around the handle of my sharpest kitchen knife, and then I plunged the blade into her chest. Thirty fucking times.

Her screams were delicious as blood spurted. The beast, lurking with me, was appeased at the sight. As Amy Fletcher lay on the ground, her heart pumping out the last few litres of blood, a feral grin stretched across my face. I had done it. Simon was mine.

As I headed to the sink to wash up, I heard the first faint sirens. I dismissed it at first, until my phone rang.

Beau.

I picked up. What else could I do? Simon was my one and only. I didn’t know who had ratted me out, but I knew that I had to tell Simon. He would understand. He would be there for me.

“What have you done, Sharon?” were his first words to me. “I called the cops as soon as I noticed the missing knife. Tell me you haven’t done anything to harm Amy.”

Red. All I saw was red at his words.

“I’ve removed her from the equation,” I said with murderous glee, hoping to wound him with my words. How dare he accuse me when I was trying to salvage our relationship? If I hadn’t acted, Amy Fletcher would have inserted herself into our everyday and ruined our lives. “Don’t you understand, Simon? She was a fucking homewrecker. I did you a favour. I did the fucking world a favour.”

“You’re mad.”

Me? Mad? Simon thought I was crazy?

I laughed at the insinuation. Simon knew nothing of my madness. Of what I would do just to keep the world mine. The lengths I would go…

But as I looked at the dead body before me, the reality of my situation came crashing down on me. I know I shouldn’t have found it funny, but I could not stop. One I had started, all I could see was my future slipping away because of the mess I made. Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. Why had I let all my fears and anxieties take control? Amy Fletcher, despite all her faults, did not deserve what I did to her.

The police found me in the kitchen, murder weapon in my right hand and my phone in the left.

As they dragged me out, handcuffed, I continued to laugh. Even as the world faded to laugh, all I could hear were my high-pitched cackles of depravity…

--

With a groan, I woke up, and blearily blinked at my surroundings. It took me a moment to recognise that I was still seated at the kitchen table, my face pressed against the keys of my laptop. Beside me, was an empty glass of red wine. As for the bottle itself, it had rolled to a stop on the counter-top and seemed ready to plunge over the side. Luckily, I had corked it or else I would be cleaning up the stains for a few weekends.

Shit. Stiffly, I got out of my seat to rescue the still half-full bottle. As I picked it up, I managed to catch a glimpse of the label.

Devil’s Touch: Let your inner desires come alive

I scoffed. Yeah right. More like my bloody nightmares. Running a hand over my face, I wondered if anything had been real or if it had just been an overactive imagination fuelled by the alcohol I had ingested. Probably the latter, I decided as I placed the bottle into the fridge.

Glancing quickly at the time, 3:50AM, I packed up my laptop and headed to my bedroom.

Just as I was about to grab another two or three hours of oblivion, I was startled back into full awareness when I heard a sharp rap on my apartment door. There was no mistaking the sound, however hard I wanted to try. I looked at my phone. It had ticked to 4 in the morning.

Grousing, I slipped into my robe and padded on sock-covered feet to see who had come calling in the early hours of the morning. Whoever it was, they had better have a good explanation for disturbing the rest of my pitiful night, I thought, as I opened the door.

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 4 ~Something About Jamie~

Jamie hadn't slept a wink. He had tossed and turned in his bed, unable to relax and unwind, his body and brain in perpetual, heightened alertness. Not even the previous sleepless nights anticipating Claire's arrival, and downing more whisky than he should before he went to bed, helped him sleep. An image of his foster sister snuggled against him, her arms draped upon his waist and her warm breath on his chest, rose unbidden in his thoughts. Although the gestures were innocent, his fancy was more of a sensual and sultry kind. He tried to push the images out his head thinking if he didn't curb his imagination, he would either need to go for a long jog in ungodly hours of the night or to immerse himself in a cold bath. The fact that Claire slept in the bedroom next to his didn't help ease the predicament he was in. When the sun finally streamed through his windows, he heard her alarm clock go off and the sound of her movement in the next room. Jamie knew in a short while, Claire would be off to meet Frank for coffee. He needed to do something about Frank, but what? But first things first - a very cold shower was of paramount urgency.

..........

Claire had woken to the sound of her phone alarm, tinkling wind chimes that became louder until you hit the snooze or stop button. Remembering her coffee date with Frank, she smiled as she stretched like a lazy cat on her old bed and reached out to turn off the chiming sounds. It was a good thing she had the mind to set the alarm before seeing Jamie last night, as the last thing she remembered, she was nestled against the crook of his arms falling asleep to the steady rise and fall of his sturdy and muscular chest. That thought made her smile too as it had felt so right, so good and so much more. Realising the bawdy picture starting to form in her mind, she shook her head forcefully, trying to erase the "so much more" part.

"Think Frank!"  she muttered mentally. It was Frank's name she had engraved on one of the trees near Lallybroch, and it was his name she had scribbled in most of her notebooks ever since she had reached puberty and fallen in love with him. Although her heart didn't kick into a gallop as it used to when she met up with Frank at the pub, she couldn't help but feel a slight satisfaction in suspecting he was into her. Handsome as ever, he was the epitome of her ideal man; tall dark and handsome. 

But why did her thoughts keep wandering to images of Jamie; tall, coppery and devastatingly masculine. It wasn't right and appropriate to think of him in that light when all he had ever been to her since she came to Lallybroch as a young child, was a caring, protective older brother. There was much at stake, and she wasn't about to jeopardise that special bond and closeness they had, by acting on her attraction towards Jamie. Ultimately, there was Frank, and after all these years of being in love with him, she finally had his attention, and they were meeting for coffee in a short while. 

Twice she stuck her head out of the door, wondering how long more she needed to wait until Jamie was done in the bathroom. Claire knew it was him in the shower, as everyone else in the house were early risers, and she heard the rest of the family congregating in the kitchen earlier. For the love of God, why the hell is Jamie taking so long? I'm going to be late!  

Unable to wait anymore, she burst in, a hand over her eyes, with just enough gap between two fingers to see his naked silhouette turn abruptly in her direction. To her relief, Jamie was still in the shower. "Don't mind me...I'm not looking. Carry on what you're doing!" Claire announced as free fingers groped for the sink. Safe in the knowledge Jamie was still behind the shower screen, she put the hand down from her face and concentrated as best as she could at the task at hand, opening cabinets to retrieve toiletries she needed.

"What the fuck!? Christ Sassenach, couldn't ye wait for yer turn? I'm still in the shower!" he barked, his guttural tone making Claire wince.

"Sorry Jamie, I had to; otherwise I'll be late. You're taking so damn long. I just need to brush my teeth and quickly shave my legs..." she explained sounding breathless. The shower was to her right, and from her peripheral vision, Claire could tell Jamie had turned his back to her, cursing under his breath. Unable to help herself, she took a quick peek, and the sight of his arse made her mouth go dry. Quickly averting her gaze to what she was doing, she clumsily squirted far too much toothpaste than necessary.  Sweet mama of Christ, I'd give that 100 out of 10.

"Why do ye need to shave yer legs when ye're just going out for coffee with Frank?" he asked, trying to sound stern as he quickly rinsed off the suds.  Shave her legs?!? Wasn't that what girls do before sex?

"For your information, I regularly shave my legs. I felt I had stubbles..." Claire hurriedly explained as if she was able to read Jamie's thoughts. "If I was running any later, I would have joined you in the shower and done my business in there. I guess I'll have to do it in the sink..." Claire's voice trailed off as she started to vigorously brush her teeth.  Why the hell did she say that for?

Glancing at her, still wearing his T-shirt from last night, Jamie groaned as he thought of Claire sharing a shower with him. He was half tempted to walk over to her and yank off the oversize garment she was wearing and see what was underneath. "Sassenach! Get the fuck out. I've nae clothes on!"

"Well, it would hardly be called having a shower if you did have clothes on. Besides, I see heaps of naked men all the time. Surely your anatomical make up isn't much different to the rest of the male population."  Oh boy, am I so wrong. That arse is one of the finest I've seen!  Thank God for Geillis and her love for ogling at naked men on the internet. She was her constant source for naughty staple venture whether Claire welcomed it or not. "And what's the fuss? I've seen you naked before..." Claire made circular motions with an index finger in his direction without looking at him, as she continued to brush her teeth.

"What do ye mean ye've seen me naked before?"  What did she mean she'd seen heaps of naked men before.

"We used to bathe together... can't you remember?"

"For fuck sake, Sassenach, we were bairns!"

"Well, not much should have changed except...well... maybe just in size... bigger..." she gulped, almost swallowing the froth spuming in her mouth. "...and hairier."

"Sassenach!"

"What?"

"GET OUT!"

Quickly rinsing her mouth with mouthwash, Claire didn't bother with shaving her legs and ran out of the bathroom. Once in the safety of her bedroom, she quickly dressed in jeans and sweatshirt eager to leave the house before Jamie made an appearance downstairs.

..........

Christ!  Why did he have to shout at her? She was merely sharing the bathroom with him like old times. Except, when he wasn't naked in the shower and had a semi-arousal on, he reminded himself. She had walked in, face still puffy from sleep and her hair wild, loose and long. If he hadn't been feeling horny, he might have found the whole picture adorable and cute, except, he thought she looked so damn sexy, and his mind strayed to images of the types of undergarment she could be wearing under his shirt. Or maybe none at all.  Ah Dhia!  Although the glass screen was splattered with rivulets of water from the shower, he had noticed Claire taking sideways glances in his direction and mused if she liked what she saw. She did admit to having seen many naked men before, so why was her face so beet red. He didn't like the idea, one bit, of her looking at other naked men's arses and wondered if she had any intention of looking at Frank's. Swallowing a surge of shame and guilt, he rubbed himself dry with a towel until his skin chafed and to his dismay, he noticed the cold shower had not helped at all. He had a lot of pent up energy to unleash. Maybe checking up on the hotel restoration would be a great idea, and the construction workers would probably be only too happy to have an extra pair of hands assisting.

..........

Frank was already in the cafe when Claire finally arrived, out of breath. She couldn't decide whether her state of breathlessness had anything to do with seeing Jamie naked earlier in the bathroom or running from the car park to the cafe. Either way, she was grateful for the cleansing crisp air she inhaled, and she hoped there was no telltale sign of the heat that permeated her face since leaving the house.

Frank was sipping his cappuccino when she walked into the coffee shop, and the moment he saw her, he immediately stood and strode towards her before enfolding her in an embrace. 

"Good morning, lovely, you look absolutely beautiful," he whispered in her ears before pulling away to guide her at their table. "How was your first night back in Lallybroch? I hope you slept well."

Looking around, Claire saw a few familiar faces from school, who nodded and smiled at her in greeting. She was amazed by the attention one garnered when no longer labelled as an outsider and shunned for her quirks and awkwardness. Feeling all of a sudden conscious, she hurriedly sat down on the chair offered by Frank.

"Thank you...I slept like a log. I must have been exhausted from the journey and the excitement of seeing my family..." Her thoughts wandered to last night, her ensconced in Jamie's arms and how wonderful it felt to fall asleep against his warmth.

"That's a somewhat secretive smile," Frank said, arching a brow in curiosity. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh..uhm...my mind just drifted off to yesterday and how happy ma was, to have us all under one roof," she lied, trying to refocus her attention back to Frank, mildly annoyed with herself for fibbing.

"I'm so sorry to leave all of a sudden yesterday. We had a bit of a family emergency last night. Dad's car broke down, and I had to take him to the airport."

"That's alright, Frank. Like what I said, I was tired and..."

"Claire..." he interrupted and leaned closer to her. "Let me cut to the chase. I really want to see you again. Having coffee with you wasn't my idea of a first date, but I would love to take you out...somewhere nicer and maybe more private."

"That would be lovely. I like that."

Frank thought he saw a fleeting doubt reflected in her eyes. He wanted to reach out and take her hand but refrained from doing so, thinking it was too soon. "Claire, I know I've been a total arse when we were in school. I truly regret that. I was young and stupid..."

Claire smiled in spite of memories of let-downs and disappointments came flooding back. "Yes, you were an arse. What changed your mind now? Is it because I look different without my braces and glasses? Not once did you acknowledge me back then although we've sat across each other so many times at the dining table in Lallybroch when you came for dinner with Jamie," she said softly. It wasn't meant to be a cutting remark but an honest query.

Grimacing, Frank cleared his throat, looking down into his coffee cup as though the answer resided there. "Ouch, I deserve to be reminded of that. I must have been really horrible."

Claire knew she wasn't helping matters by putting him on the spot and thought, she was rather ungracious with all his efforts to expunge his bad-boy image. Feeling remorseful, she smiled softly at him. "Look let's forget about it, alright? I'm sorry I even mentioned it. Past is past...let bygone be bygone."

He sighed, looking relieved. "Alright...let's start again. How about dinner tonight?"

"Sorry, Frank, not tonight." Vaguely remembering Jenny's Italian dinner arrangement, Claire explained why she couldn't go.

"Mmm, sounds like a threesome date," Frank teased, and Claire couldn't help but notice the mild jest belied the seriousness of his remark.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Frank. I'm with my brothers and sister," she asserted, not wholly convinced the surety of her statement.

"They're not really your siblings, you know, and you're not related by blood. And if I recall, I may be right in assuming that Jamie has been carrying the torch for you for as long as I can remember."

She stopped and stared at him. "That's absurd, Frank. Jamie has been brotherly to me all his life." Frank's blunt unbosoming of his thoughts about Jamie was unexpected and had taken her by surprise.

"Is it really that absurd?" This time Frank held her gaze, searching for clues for any inkling Claire might have. "He's my best friend in case you've forgotten. I've seen the way he looked at you plenty of times when we were in school. Even though he never mentioned anything to me, his actions spoke louder than words."

"Yes, utterly absurd and you seem to forget the fact, I grew up with him. Surely if that's the case, I would have known." 

"If you say so." Frank relaxed and smiled, leaning back against his chair. "Sorry, Claire, I just wanted to know how many competition I am up against."

"I can assure you there's no competition," Claire said firmly, convinced she was right with her supposition.

"Great... dinner then, next weekend? Let's make it Saturday night. Maybe we could drive somewhere further away or somewhere you've never been to before."

"That's absolutely grand... I'm looking forward to it!" Claire put on the brightest smile she could muster and wondered why she wasn't inwardly celebrating for bagging a date with her dream man no matter how much she pushed the thoughts of Jamie away.

Two coffees, a bottle of mineral water and a piece of tomato and basil bruschetta later, Frank walked Claire to the car. Before she could hop in, he gently touched her elbow. "Claire, before you go...I have something to ask."

"Mmm?" she asked.

"May I kiss you?" Frank was posed ready to swoop down for a kiss, his gaze on her lips, waiting for her verbal consent.

Claire swallowed, panic eddying in the pit of her stomach.  Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, I'm going to embarrass myself.  Instead of answering, she stood on tiptoes and kissed Frank on the cheek before quickly hopping into the car. Before turning on the ignition, she poked her head out of the window. "Let's leave the kiss part until Saturday after the date, shall we?" she said, trying to sound cool-headed.

"As you wish..." Frank smiled before tapping the bonnet of her car. "I shall see you Saturday then. Meanwhile, drive safely and enjoy your night out with your siblings."

..........

Claire arrived at Lallybroch and was grateful there were no cars parked in the driveway.  Nobody home...great!  Just what she wanted. She knew Geillis would be in as Willie planned to pick her up and show her around the hamlet. Claire had 45 minutes alone time with her to discuss her problem.

"Geillis! Where are you?" Claire called out as soon as she let herself into the house.

"Up here!" Her friend shouted back.

Claire ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time, nearly stumbling when she reached the top. As soon as she opened the door to the guest room, she blurted. "Geillis...I need your help!"

"What's the matter? Are ye alright?" Her forehead pleating neatly above her brows.

"Yes, yes I'm great but promise me you will not laugh...," Claire laughed nervously, wringing her hands and leaning back towards the hallway to make sure no one was about.

"Christ Claire...spit it out!" she said bemusedly, a look of mild concern in her eyes.

"Frank asked me to kiss him...but I have a problem." Claire squeezed her eyes tight and swallowed hard before continuing. "I've never kissed a man before. You were always talking about French kissing in the past. Now, I want to know everything about it before Willie comes to pick you up. So tick-tock...start talking!"

Geillis' face cracked into a huge grin, her dimples on the cheek deepening and her cornflower blue eyes lightening up. "Oh my God, Claire! Ye've never been kissed? I had a hunch ye might still be a virgin, but tae reach the age of twenty-three, and tae n'er have been kissed...good Lord, ye've certainly missed out a lot in life."

It was the last thing Claire needed to hear, but she had to show restraint where her temper was concerned as Geillis was the only person she could confide to when it came to French kissing. "I know...I know...so are you going to show me how or will you be making a list of all the things I've missed in life," she retorted exasperatedly, closing the door behind her.

Still smiling, Geillis sat on the floor and crossed her legs. "Come here, Claire and sit down," she instructed, patting the rug opposite her.

Claire sat in front of Geillis, feeling on edge as she crossed her legs and waited apprehensively for what's to come next.

"Right...this is about trust, ok? Do ye trust me?" Geillis asked, reaching for both Claire's hands as her face took a turn for a more serious look.

Claire nodded eagerly before she could change her mind.

"Ok, before we start I want to ask ye first, would ye like to practice with my mouth? Or, if you're no' comfortable kissing me, ye can kiss the hole of yer hand when ye form it in the fist. Problem is, your hand won't kiss ye back," Geillis explained, and Claire could tell, her friend was trying to suppress a giggle.

Straightening her back, Claire shook her shoulders and spun her head in rotation, attempting to calm her nerves and relax. "Alright, we will practice with each other's mouth as long as you're alright with it. I guess I'm alright with it too," she said firmly trying not to sound petrified.

Geillis smiled mischievously before giving her a wink. "I'm cool with it, and I love kissing women...they're more soft and pliable."

"Geillis!" Claire's eyes nearly popped out in shock. If Geillis was trying to shock her, it was definitely working.

"Ok, ok here goes...first ye need tae know yer target, ok?" Geillis started, this time, her voice firm and resolute. "You wouldna want tae stick yer tongue into Frank's nostril or his eyeballs."

"Geillis!" 

"Ok...gee! Loosen up will ye! So...ye lean forward slowly...very slowly like this..." Geillis angled towards her, her voice barely a whisper. "Ye wouldn't want tae bump foreheads and noses. It could be quite a painful experience, ye ken."

"Right...slowly," Claire replied, clearing her throat.

"Now lean forward to me, gradually and wet your lips. Before you slip your tongue into your Frank's mouth, you should slowly, gently part your lips, so he knows what to expect. No one likes a tongue ambush."

"Uh-huh." Claire closed her eyes and leaned towards her friend. She could feel Geillis' warm strawberry breath fanning her face. 

"Ye should start by putting just a teensy bit of yer tongue beyond Frank's lips," Geillis murmured, her eyes half-closed watching Claire's lips part.

So intent they were with each other, neither of them heard a car parked outside nor the heavy footsteps climbing purposely up the stairs nor Jamie's voice calling out. He knocked twice before opening the door to Geillis' room. The girls didn't hear. 

Jamie walked in and staggered to a stop, his eyes bulging out, his mouth opening and closing before settling for an open-mouth look. He saw both girls, sat cross-legged, knees touching as they leaned towards one another. It took around 10 seconds before Geillis realised he was stood there, while Claire's face was still in animated suspension, eyes closed and lips parted.

"Och, look at the time, Willie must be downstairs," Geillis suddenly announced, making Claire jump out of her skin.

When it finally registered to Claire that Jamie was stood there looking at them, one hand flew to her mouth, her amber eyes bright and wide and her face a shade of dark crimson.  Oh shite!

"Don't look like that Jamie...I was just teaching Claire how to French kiss. Did ye know that she's never been kissed before? She wanted lessons before she kisses Frank. I was just in the middle of explaining when ye barged in..." Geillis grabbed her handbag before walking up to Jamie, one hand going under his chin to close his gaping mouth. "See ye later guys, I'm off to see the local delights." She smiled and winked naughtily at them before heading out of the room.

Oh for the love of sweet Jesus, what now!  Claire's heart began to hammer painfully against her ribs as she tried to avoid Jamie's eyes. Nobody said a word initially, as she kept her gaze fixed on the rug. When Jamie finally moved towards her, he stopped and held out a hand. "Sassenach?" She looked up, and taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his. She fought to breathe as his hand firmly closed around hers and pulled her up from the floor.

"So ye've never been kissed?" he asked huskily, his eyes overwhelmingly vivid and dark, as he took a step forward. They were merely inches apart.

Claire could only nod in answer, as she stared wide-eyed into his blue. She blinked a couple of times as she smelled sawdust, sweat and masculine smell emanating from him.

"Why did ye no' tell me?" His eyes were caressing her face before finally resting on her lips.

Claire shrugged. Her heart started to dance the rumba...or was it merengue?

"So, Geillis was explaining to ye how to French kiss...is that right, aye?"

Claire nodded as she glanced at his lips.

"Weel, I'll do you one better, I'll show you," Jamie whispered, his voice sounding ragged, as his face came closer until only a hairsbreadth separated them.

Claire's eyes widened as the moisture in her mouth evaporated. Her brain was shouting no, but every other part of her being was frolicking giddily. She felt one callused thumb pressed against her chin, gently parting her lips.

"I'll be damned if I allowed Frank to be yer first kiss," Jamie muttered, before grazing his tongue between her lips.

Jesus H.Roosevelt Christ!

[blurry-fics]

Chapter Eight

Prove Me Wrong | Series Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of depression, lots of self-doubt/self-deprecation, negative self talk, angst

Word Count: 2058

Author’s Note: Again, everything in this series is based on my own experiences with depression and anxiety! I understand that everyone experiences these things differently. 

“Tyler, you idiot!” I yelled.

I smacked my hand into the steering wheel. It stung, so I flexed my fingers to release the pain.

“Idiot. Idiot. Idiot,” I muttered as I stuck the keys into the ignition.

The car roared to life, although it took me a few tries to actually get the keys where they were supposed to be. My hands were shaking as I tried to plug the aux cord into my phone. Music. I needed music. Something to drown out the thoughts.

I turned the radio up to full volume. The bass was shaking the entire car as I pulled away from the curb, but that’s what I wanted. 

I shouldn’t have lied.

I should go back. Tell her the truth. Why had I even lied in the first place?

I turned the music up louder and mumbled along to the lyrics of the song that was playing, just to give my mind something else to focus on. My eyes were brimmed with tears, making the road look fuzzy. I blinked them away as much as I could and wiped the rest away with the back of my hand. Getting home wouldn’t take long, and as soon as I was there I could let go.

I practically stumbled through the door to my apartment and collapsed onto the couch. The tears were coming freely now, streaming down my cheeks and falling onto my dark jeans. My entire body was shaking; it was full of adrenaline and anger and a million other feelings that I couldn’t quite place.

Pity-flirting? Really? That was the best lie that I could come up with?

“God, you’re so stupid, Tyler,” I mumbled.

The look on her face… I couldn’t get it out of my mind. She had looked so upset. More upset than I had ever seen her before, except for maybe the night that she told me she had feelings in the first place.

And I was the cause of it.

I stood up and began to walk laps around the living room. If only my mind could shut up for two minutes and allow me to think about this clearly. Of course, my mind didn’t shut up and it just began to throw insults at me.

That was the root of the problem, wasn’t it?

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”

I pushed the palms of my hands deep into my eyes. Colors filled the dark space behind my eyelids, but that was quickly ended when I collided into the couch. My knee buckled from the impact and I fell forward onto it.

I couldn’t even walk right.

This wasn’t going to work. I didn’t want to spend the rest of the night being the prisoner of my own thoughts, so I began to search the apartment for something to do. There had to be a movie that I hadn’t seen in a while or a TV series that I could binge in one sitting. I just needed something that would take my mind off of my stupid actions and stop me from this downward spiral.

I needed her.

*     *     *

Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

I rolled over and smacked my hand straight into the nightstand. The pain made me wince, but I shook it out and grabbed my phone. It would be irresponsible for me to hit snooze a third time, so I pressed the end button and forced myself up into a sitting position.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and stared at the wall. One minute. That’s how long I had been awake and I was already ready to go back to bed. My entire night had been spent tossing and turning, floating somewhere between being asleep and being awake. When I did sleep, it was plagued with nightmares.

After a few more minutes of staring at the wall, I got out of bed and pulled a pair of sweatpants on over my boxers. My feet scuffed against the wooden floors as I slowly moved towards the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. It didn’t take long for the thoughts to snake their way into my mind. I let them stay there as I waited for the coffee to brew.

She’s too good for you.

You’ve ruined everything.

Things will never be the same now.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to rid the thoughts from my mind. The quiet hum of the coffee machine stopped, so I opened my eyes again. The mug was full now. I grabbed it and wandered over to the window.

A few cars were driving by on the street below. I watched them go past, bumping slightly over the uneven street. For a moment, my mind was at peace.

I couldn’t say when I realized that I was in love with Y/N. There had been no light bulb that switched on. No magical moment when all the clues clicked into place. No sudden tug in my chest when it felt like I was seeing her for the first time all over again. None of it.

Part of me wondered if I had always been in love with her, ever since the moment she took the seat next to me in English and gave me that all-too-familiar smile. But I had been young then and the concept of love was far from the forefront of my mind, so we were friends. And for awhile, that was fine.

Time had continued on and the feeling that I had always chocked up to mere friendship began to seem like something much more. Despite my best attempts to push the feelings away, they only grew stronger. I found myself more and more drawn to her. Any excuse to be around her was a good one and when I was with her, nothing else mattered. She quieted the demons that so often plagued my mind.

I sighed and ran a finger around the edge of my coffee cup, pulling myself back to reality for a moment. On the street below, a particularly agitated driver honked at another that was taking too long to parallel park. The corner of my mouth curled into a smile, if only for a moment.

Just as quickly as I had pulled myself back into reality, I slipped away from it. My mind resumed where it had left off without missing a beat.

There was nothing I wanted more than to tell Y/N how I felt. I had played out the scenario in my head countless times, imagining what she would say in response. It always managed to put a smile on my face for a second, just thinking about what it would be like to tell her all the reasons I loved her.

Until I remembered the reasons why I wouldn’t.

I rubbed idly at my temple with my free hand as I began to run over the list of reasons. They were as familiar to me as any song lyric that I had ever written.

I was broken. Unworthy of love. Incapable of giving her the relationship she deserved. I was lucky that she had kept me around so long, even if just as a friend. There were other guys who were so much better than me. Her feelings for me were a joke. 

It was a tiring game, the one that I played with myself.

I gulped down the rest of my coffee and tossed the mug into the sink, filling it with just enough water that it wouldn’t end up staining the cup. If I wanted to avoid getting stuck in this spiral all day, I needed to get out and do something. Maybe Josh would be willing to hang out.

I shuffled back towards my room so that I could actually start to get ready for the day. My phone was still sitting on my bedside table, so I picked it up and dialed Josh as I began to look for a shirt to wear. Most of the shirts I owned were ones Y/N had helped me pick out. Typical.

“Hello?” Josh answered.

“Hey, Josh. How’s it hanging?”

“Pretty good. How’s it going with you?”

“I’m alive,” I laughed as I pulled out a blue shirt. It was one of the few I had bought on my own. It would do.

“That’s always good to hear.”

“Yeah. Anyway, the reason I called.”

“Yeah?”

“You want to do something today? Not band-related, maybe?”

Josh laughed quietly, “You need some bro time, huh?”

“You could say that.”

I put the phone on speaker so that I could pull the shirt on. It was a little looser than I remembered it being.

“I’m having lunch with my sister in twenty minutes, but I’m totally down to do something after.”

“That’s perfect. I need a little time to get ready.”

“Alright, I’ll text you in a little while then. We can figure out something to do.”

“Sounds great.”

“Later, Tyler.”

“Bye.”

Josh ended the call and I took a seat on the edge of the bed. It would be easier to stay in bed today and let myself think about all the things I had done wrong, but I knew that was a bad decision. Hopefully spending some time with Josh would be just the distraction I needed.

*     *     *

“There he is!” Josh smiled as I slid into the passenger seat of his car.

“Hi,” I answered, forcing a smile.

“Alright, where are we off to?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Want to grab some food?”

“Sure. Pizza?”

“Always,” Josh laughed.

He pulled away from the curb, nearly hitting another car as he did so, and took off down the street. Music was playing softly, but I recognized it as one of his favorite bands. Josh had the tendency to play whatever he wanted in the car, regardless of who he was driving with. Y/N always played something that we both liked.

Could she just stay off my mind for two seconds?

“Tyler?”

I hadn’t even realized Josh had been talking to me.

“Huh?”

“I asked how you were doing. Twice.”

“Oh yeah, I’m great,” I nodded. “Doing really well.”

“Are you sure? Because you just spaced out. Hard.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I excused. “Three solid hours, maybe. The rest was just waking up every twenty minutes or so.”

“Aw man, that sucks. Was something on your mind?”

I bit down on my lip for a second, debating if I wanted to tell Josh about what had happened.

“Nope. Sleep problems just run in my family.”

Josh went off on a tangent about how some of his family members had the same issue, but I wasn’t really listening. He eventually finished his story and turned to me.

“Ah,” I nodded.

He shook his head, “Sorry, you’re exhausted and I’m just talking your ear off about my family. I’ll change the topic. How was hanging out with Y/N yesterday?”

I inhaled sharply at the mention of Y/N. The same stupid thoughts filled my mind, telling me about how terrible of a person I was. How I didn’t deserve her, even as a friend. How I was…

“It was fun,” I said, adding a bit of artificial excitement to my voice. “We just played video games and stuff. You know, the usual.”

“That sounds nice. You know, I’d like to meet her someday.”

“I’m sure you will. She’ll probably come to a couple shows, once we start playing more.”

“Right! We need to figure out some good venues to start playing once the album is out. A mini tour, of sorts,” he smiled.

“Yeah, a mini tour,” I said, matching his smile.

I scooted a little lower in my chair and looked out the window. Hanging out with Josh was supposed to distract me from everything that had happened, but instead it seemed to be making everything worse. I couldn’t get Y/N off my mind, no matter how hard I tried, and Josh bringing her up surely wasn’t helping.

Maybe one day I could work past all of this. All of the doubt that was holding me back from falling in love. All the fear that nobody would ever be able to love someone like me.

Maybe one day I could tell Y/N I loved her.

*     *     *     *     *

Taglist

@faceofcontvsions @ohprettyweeper @spookyjiimfanfiction @addictoftwentyone @svintsandghosts @gaiatheroyalrabbit @iamnotawasteofspace @patdsinner33 @merandlune @addictwithaheavydirtycheetah @schrodingersjustine @ccfffee @frappeitea @gayy-pilotss @coolcxt @donttellaweirdweakling @a-stumpsexuals-world @5secondsofmoxley @breadbinishigh @sinfulmango​

[asarahworld-writes]

Merry Christmas @vicapuleti​ !  I, @asarahworld, was your Zombies Secret Santa.  You mentioned a love of Zeddison, Zoey, fluff and angst, and AUs.  Well, it’s not quite an AU, but it is future fic where they’ve gone off to college.  We’ve got Zed.  We’ve got Addison.  Zoey makes an appearance. And without further ado...

Chapter 1

It had been six months since Zed had gone off to the state university on a football scholarship, six months since Addison had been accepted at her parents’ alma mater, and four months and thirteen days since the last time they had seen each other if you didn’t count the five minutes after the game two months ago.  The daily phone calls had slowed down to weekly; text messages became a quick thing to fire off between classes.

Addison was ploughing through a slough of research for her Writing Studies essay on “Classic Literature As Viewed Through a Modern Lens” when her phone buzzed.  Automatically, she reached for it and immediately flipped it over upon seeing that it wasn’t the cheer squad’s captain, Juliette Viconte.  (Unlike Seabrook High, the university squad had only one captain.)  She stared at the screen of her laptop, thinking.  She had just finished writing a decent-sized paragraph on Romeo and Juliet, exploring how if the leads hadn’t been so quick to act that the play would not have been the tragedy and leading into a comparison between the original storyline and modern adaptations. Star-crossed lovers destined to be apart.  Ultimately, every version of the play needed to end tragically, otherwise the message Shakespeare had intended behind the story was lost in the happy ending.

She stared at the screen of her laptop, thinking.  That was definitely the line of reasoning her professor would be looking for.  And yet she couldn’t help but see herself and Zed in the characters.  Two young people from feuding families (societies) fall in love. A relationship built on stolen moments. The relative innocence of one character balancing out the harsh reality lived by the other.  Theoretically, modern technology provided ease of communication that could have saved Romeo and Juliet from tragedy.  And yet, it was clear that just because one had the ability to communicate directly, that wasn’t necessarily going to happen.

She grabbed a pen and started re-working her notes.  Maybe this essay wouldn’t follow the professor’s expectations.  But Addison had her own ideas.

Her phone buzzed again.  Addison, in the middle of frantic scribbles, fumbling, turned it off.

“Hey, this is Addison-”

“Hey, it’s me,” Zed said cheerfully.  It was so nice to finally hear her voice.

“-so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”  The accompanying beep following the end of the recorded message startled Zed, and he realized that he had reached her voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me,” he started over.  “I know it’s getting old, but the captain’s scheduled another practice and of course it’s happening Saturday morning.  Abraza garzi’ska, ag gar-gargiza ru,” he said softly, reverting back to Zombietongue.  Zed smiled gently as the memory of when they had officially decided to only use Zombietongue for endearments.  As horrible as that fight had been (not that it could even be considered to be a fight as they had resolved their issue without any drama), they were so much stronger for it.

“This relationship is with you, too, Zed,” Addison had said angrily.  “I want you to be able to be completely yourself.  And that includes being able to speak Zombietongue around me.  Excuse me for thinking that that was a reasonable request.”

That hadn’t been it at all.  But despite his best efforts, Zed had failed to properly explain what exactly he felt about his girlfriend’s wish to become fluent in his native language.  Zed hadn’t even been certain that he himself knew why he was against the idea.

All that he knew was that Addison now sat by herself at the front of the classroom during Revised Local History, cheerleading practice was after football practice, and that the cheerleaders once again had their own table in the cafeteria.

“Zed, you’re overthinking this,” she’d told him when he’d finally confessed his fear. “History’s hard enough as it is without having you right beside me.  You realize that you have gym the period before, right?  So either you walk in and your hair’s still wet and there’s water rolling down your neck from your hair or else gym ran late and you didn’t even have time to change, let alone shower, and you,” she laughed nervously, “to be honest, you always smell amazing but especially then.  I need to pass history.  Surely you can get by without me for one extra hour,” she’d said, giggling.

“When you put it like that, how can I say no?”

“That’s what I love about you.  Always willing to listen,” Addison had said with a smile.  “As for cheer, well, during your practice, we’re up in the weight room. It takes a lot of work to be able to do this stuff.”  Addison had been counting her rebuttals off on her fingers.  “And as for lunch, some of the new kids seemed like they needed a friend.  And the cheer squad is a family.  We’ve gotta be there for each other.”

“Abraza garzi’ska… ag gar-gargiza ru,” Zed had said tenderly, threading his fingers through Addison’s.

“Gar-gargiza…,” Addison’s smile had grown softer.  “Ag gar-gargiza ru,” she’d repeated.  “I love you.”  Suddenly, her gentle smile had turned into an excited grin.  “Does this mean I get to learn more Zombietongue?”  Zed had only laughed, repeating his declaration of love softly in her ear.

Writing annotated notes for her essay had taken her far longer than she’d anticipated and when Addison finally checked her phone, she was startled to see that it was nearly two a.m.  She stumbled across the room to her bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Addison had learned during her first semester why you didn’t take an eight a.m. course unless there was no other choice.  However, being an underclassman came with certain disadvantages. Being one of the last to choose courses was one of those disadvantages and with that came fewer course options. Taking English was mandatory for all students and Addison hadn’t had any other options to fill that credit without waiting another semester.  So she begrudgingly took the Writing Studies course, wondering why she hadn’t looked for one during her first semester despite her parents’ insistence that she take it easy her first semester.

When the alarm went off at six, Addison immediately hit the snooze button.  Once. Twice.  Three times the alarm was silenced and Addison lay in bed.  The phone rang.

“Addison, where are you?  Class is starting in five minutes and you know that Professor Jackson docks points if you’re late!”  Bree’s hushed panic broke Addison’s sleepy haze.  She leapt from her bed, quickly changing into the nearest clothes that weren’t pajamas, and swept everything off her desk into her bag.  She sprinted to the classroom, from the D building up to A, and up the flight of stairs to the second floor, barely making it in the back door as the prof began class.  Luckily, she’d grabbed a notebook and pen in her rush, and was able to at least take notes.

The rest of the day passed in a similar haze.  Everything was a mess, but salvageable.  After her three-hour English lecture, Addison had another three-hour lecture (this time for Anthropology), followed by a short dinner break and cheer practice; practice ran much later than usual as the neurotic captain was more obsessed with perfection than Bucky had been at his most neurotic.  Just like that, the day was over and Addison flopped into bed, exhausted.

Sleep, shower, repeat.

Wednesdays she worked part-time in a café down the street from the main campus.  Though the pay was negligible, the hours were steady and gave her a reprieve from the stress of being a student.  Seven a.m. to three p.m., then she was back to cheer practice and homework.  Thursday was spent organizing her English notes and drafting her essay, Friday was another eight hour shift at the café and studying for her Anthropology midterm.  The weekend only provided more of the same.  When Monday came, her first draft was finished and Addison treated herself to a relaxing bubble bath.  To her surprise, it was only six o’clock.

The phone rang.

“Hey, sweetie,” it was her mother.  “How’s school?  You didn’t call us yesterday, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” she lied.  “I mean, I guess I’m just stressed with midterms and my essay.”  I haven’t spoken to Zed in a month.  There’s only so much you can communicate in a text and I only get to see him during the games.  Missy continued to press her daughter and Addison continued to say what she wanted to hear.  When her mother ended the call, Addison sat staring at the phone.

The phone rang.  And rang. And rang.  No answer.

The phone rang.

“Zoey!”  Zed couldn’t help smiling as he answered the phone.

“Hey,” his little sister replied enthusiastically.  “Did Addison tell you she enlisted Miss Zàrate to work with the Zombeans while you guys are at college?”

Zed nodded in remembrance.  “Yeah, said that someone had to make sure you rascals kept up with practice,” he joked.

“Is she there?”  Zoey asked. An innocent enough question, but one that tugged his dead heartstrings anyway.

“Uh, no.  It’s the end of the semester, everyone’s pretty busy with final projects and exams. How’s your schooling going?”  Zed changed the subject.  He didn’t want to talk about how the past few weeks had been hard, how they hadn’t even talked on the phone, much less seen each other. Zoey happily told him about Zombeans and her experiences at her new school. She talked about their Dad and Puppy, about the changes to Zombietown (the rusty gates had finally been removed, there was a bus that took the kids into the human part of town for school and a regular city bus connecting the neighbourhoods “we get to take the regular school bus with the humans to the bus stop,” she’d explained solemnly), and everything else that was important to an eleven-year-old girl.

“When are you guys coming back to Seabrook?”

Zed sighed.  “I don’t know, Zozo.  Probably pretty quickly after the semester’s over.  Five weeks maybe.”  He could practically hear her pouting over the phone.  “I miss you and Pops and Puppy,” he said.  And Addison.

“We miss you too,” Zoey assured him.  There was a brief pause while she said something to their dad. “Dad says I should let you get back to school stuff.  And he wants to go over my homework.  I told him it’s fine, but…”

“Math?”  At his sister’s hum, Zed continued: “you just gotta keep checking.  Try to memorize the uses of each formula and always check your work.  At the end of the day, all that matters is that you pass.”

“Thanks, Zed.”

“Hey, isn’t it just about bedtime?”  He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.  Laughing gently, he told her good night and hung up the phone.

MISSED CALL. ADDI.  Read the call display.  Zed cursed, a mix of English and Zombietongue, and hit the speed dial.

The phone rang.  And rang. And rang.  He cancelled the call, not wanting to hear her voicemail again. Instead, he sent a few messages. Fifteen minutes and a response later, he texted Addison.

U R FREE SAT! PICK U UP @ DORM @ 430.  SEE U GORGEOUS.

He added a green heart emoji at the end of the message, slowly smiling.

When he woke up the next morning, there was a new message from Addison:

YOU MEAN LIKE A DATE? followed by a single pink heart.

It was Tuesday.  He had three days to plan the perfect reunion date.

 Zombietongue and translations all taken from Ly’s amazing masterposts. @unusual-ly

Zombeans belongs to Sarah @fist-it-out

Abraza garzi’ska, ag gar-gargiza ru.  |  Sorry garzi’ska, I love you.

[mikauzoran]

Adrienette Drabble: Breakfast

“We thought we were going to have to drag you out of bed,” Gabriel snorted as Adrien walked into the grand dining room, bypassed the formal table, and made his way over to the sitting area with the loveseat, coffee table, and armchairs where Gabriel and Nathalie were sharing a light breakfast.

“Good Morning, Father, Nathalie.” Adrien tried to hold in a yawn as he did a happy twirl and sank into one of the armchairs. “I apologize for being late to breakfast.”

“He kept hitting the snooze button. I had to take the phone away from him so he’d get up,” Plagg scoffed, settling down on the coffee table next to the small plate of cheeses. “If he hadn’t been out so late snogging with his girlfriend…”

Gabriel arched an eyebrow, not sure what to make of Plagg’s comment. “I take it last night’s apology went well, then?”

Adrien smiled sheepishly, lightly fingering the bruise on his neck barely covered by his shirt collar. “Last night went perfect. I have a girlfriend!”

“You’ve had girlfriends before,” Nathalie snickered into her coffee as she gave Adrien a hard time.

“I finally have the girlfriend I want!” Adrien amended with a giddy laugh, unable to contain his euphoria any longer.

“Congratulations,” Nathalie conceded with a pleased grin as she reached out to pat Adrien on the knee.

“I’m happy that you’re happy, Adrien,” Gabriel added, pouring another cup of coffee and passing it to his son.

“Thank you. Thanks. She’s so wonderful; I can’t believe my luck that this perfect girl has agreed to date me,” he sighed deliriously, causing both Nathalie and Gabriel to smile knowingly.

As Adrien leaned forward to accept the coffee cup from Gabriel, Adrien’s shirt collar shifted, exposing the passionate desolation Marinette had wrought down Adrien’s neck.

“Oh my goodness,” Nathalie sighed. “Look at your collarbone.”

Adrien’s hand flew to his neck, and he smiled proudly even as he blushed. “Is it that noticeable?”

“Come here.” Nathalie shook her head.

He bared his throat to her obediently, pulling the neckline of the shirt down with a finger.

“That’s kind of impressive.” Gabriel looked on with a bemused smile. “Miss Dupain-Cheng has a good sense of aesthetics and balance even in this medium. She should have signed you.”

Adrien cleared his throat and tugged the neckline a little lower to reveal a simplistic M on his chest above his heart.

Gabriel laughed. “Weren’t you wearing your suit? How did she even get at your chest?”

“The suit has a zipper…with a bell she apparently likes to play with.” Adrien blushed, still not entirely sure if he felt comfortable having this kind of conversation with his father, despite the fact that Gabriel had recently been abducted by aliens and replaced with a father like the one Adrien had always wanted.

“Fair enough,” Gabriel allowed, wondering if Miss Dupain-Cheng had any similar souvenirs from the previous night and if his son was remembering to be safe and making mature decisions while in his love-addled state.

“You can’t go out of the house like that,” Nathalie decreed, finishing her inspection. “You look positively debauched.”

Debauched. Marinette had debauched him. Adrien smirked, liking the sound of that. “It’s just a love bite. My first one too, and I’m actually rather fond of it.”

“Your fans are going to riot. Perhaps it would be prudent to be discrete,” Gabriel suggested.

“It wouldn’t be decent to go out like that,” Nathalie added, informing, “You’re only allowed to look like you’ve been ravished for photoshoots.”

Gabriel frowned deeply. “Just what kind of photoshoots do you imagine him doing?”

She rolled her eyes. “Gabriel, he is eighteen, and you’re still treating him like a child. Adrien is a very attractive young man. It would only be natural for him to start doing more mature poses to capitalize on his growing sex appeal.”

Adrien wrinkled his nose. “Nothing too sexy. I have the most magnificent girlfriend on the face of the earth, and she sees the magazines that I’m in. I don’t want to cause misunderstandings.”

“I am uncomfortable with the fact that my child is no longer a child,” Gabriel announced, sounding as if he had not realized the truth in that statement until just then.

Nathalie patted Gabriel on the arm and slipped her hand into his before turning back to Adrien. “Chat Noir is the one dating Miss Dupain-Cheng, correct?”

“That’s right,” Adrien confirmed, sitting back in the armchair and taking a sip from his coffee cup.

“And you didn’t tell her your identity?” Nathalie verified.

Adrien shook his head. “Not…yet. It didn’t seem like a good time what with…all the… Soon, though.”

Nathalie nodded. “Well, in the meantime, it might be a good idea for her not to see Adrien with bruises that she gave to someone else. It might give away your identity or cause misunderstandings.”

Adrien blinked, fingering his neck once more. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I didn’t think you had,” Nathalie chuckled. “You obviously have other things on your mind.”

Adrien laughed happily, blushing anew. “Yep.”

“I’ll help you find a shirt or a scarf that hides the evidence after breakfast,” Nathalie offered, her normally impassive face shifting into an easy smile which was becoming more common in the past weeks. “You do remember that you have a brunch meeting today at ten-thirty, right?”

Adrien nodded. “With the designer that won that last competition, right? To go over details for the shoot?”

“That’s correct. You’re meeting her at Angelina across from the Tuileries.”

“That will be nice,” Gabriel hummed. “Maybe the two of you could go for a walk afterwards. If I remember correctly, your schedule is open until this evening.”

Adrien shrugged. “I’d rather just talk business with the designer at the restaurant and be done. I’d kind of like to go see Marinette today as Adrien, so, if it’s all the same, I think I’ll skip the walk.”

Gabriel gave Adrien a funny look.

“I don’t believe that Adrien has spoken with Miss Dupain-Cheng in the past two weeks,” Nathalie informed, elucidating the matter. “If I remember correctly, you were avoiding her after the incident with Chat Noir?”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighed. “I really need to go and apologize for being such a flake.”

“Well, hurry and eat a little something to tide you over until brunch, and we can have you on your way,” Nathalie urged.

“Which designer won the competition?” Plagg wondered, picking up on the fact that Nathalie and Gabriel knew something that Adrien didn’t.

“A last-minute entry,” Gabriel chuckled. “We expect great things from her. Now, finish your cheese, Plagg.”

“Oooh,” Plagg trilled. “I see. Don’t have to tell me twice.”

 Adrien checked his phone for the time once more. The designer was seven minutes late, and Adrien was slowly losing patience. He really wanted to get out of this restaurant and see his girlfriend. Chat Noir’s girlfriend.

Shoot. It was going to be really, really hard not to kiss her.

His fingers drummed an impatient rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat on the tabletop as he considered texting Marinette. He eventually decided against it. It would be better to see her in person.

“I feel like it’s been two whole weeks since I’ve seen the sun. Adrien Agreste, where have you been?”

Adrien turned to see Marinette herself in the cutest skirt and blouse coming up behind him. He stood and nearly tripped on his chair in his haste. “M-Marinette,” he breathed reverently, unable to keep a radiant smile from lighting up his face and the rest of the room.

“Ah, there’s the sun,” she chuckled, leaning in for the customary bise. “I missed you.”

“Not as much as I missed you,” he assured. She had no way of knowing how hard he had pined for her during their week-and-a-half-long separation, despite the fact that it had been his own doing. She had no way of knowing how he had missed her as he lay in bed the night, how he had woken up missing her.

“I was just thinking about you,” he confessed. “What are you doing here?”

She snickered, and realization hit him.

“You’re the designer that won the last competition. You didn’t tell me,” he pouted.

“I would have told you if you hadn’t been screening my calls.” She rolled her eyes and walked around him to the empty chair.

He rushed to pull it out for her.

“I was just really busy,” he explained lamely.

She rolled her eyes again, not buying it.

“…I’m sorry,” he added. “I was going to drop by the bakery today after this meeting and try to make up for neglecting you the past two weeks.”

Marinette shrugged. “Mmhm.”

“I seriously was,” he insisted. “I’m finally free for a decent chunk of time this afternoon, so…I really have been busy.”

She smiled knowingly. “Adrien, you’re always busy, but even during Fashion Week you make time to take my calls.”

“I…” Words failed him as his neck and cheeks began to redden. “I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry for being late,” she relented. “I didn’t want to arrive first and risk you seeing me and bolting.”

He frowned. “I would never stand you up, Marinette.”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how bad you wanted to avoid me, so I thought it was safer just to arrive a little late and ambush you. I don’t actually need to talk to you about the shoot, by the way. I already went over all the details with Nathalie. I had to actually get down on my knees and beg her to help me set you up, by the way. She’s surprisingly loyal.”

Adrien blinked. “Literally get down on your knees?”

“Literally,” Marinette assured. “So let’s get down to business. Why have you been avoiding me the past two weeks? What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it.”

Adrien blanched. “Nothing. It wasn’t anything that you did, Marinette.”

She sighed. “Okay. Then what did you do that made you too ashamed to show your face?”

Adrien’s heart stopped beating. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out.

“Is this about Marie?” Marinette guessed. “I have to confess, I am a little disappointed that you got another girlfriend so soon after things went south with Elise. I thought you would maybe take a break for a while, but—”

“—Marie was the one who approached me,” Adrien blurted out in his own defence. “And I told her no. I told her I was in love with someone else, but she said that was okay and that she just wanted a casual relationship, someone to hang out with. I told her no, but she kept asking and asking and asking, so I…”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I just gave in and gave her what she wanted because I still haven’t learned my lesson about setting boundaries, but I told her that I wouldn’t be doing anything physical with her. I told her we’d just be hanging out like friends, and she said okay…but then she’d hold my hand while we were walking or put her hand on my thigh or try to seduce me…” He looked down at the table.

“And you didn’t break it off why?” Marinette groaned.

“I felt bad for her,” Adrien muttered. “I told her again that I wasn’t interested in that because I was in love with someone else, but…I didn’t have the heart to just break up with her. She obviously really liked me and…I don’t know. Maybe she thought that she could change my mind, but… Eventually she got the idea when I couldn’t stop calling her ‘Marinette’, and she broke up with me. I should have just kept telling her no. I never should have agreed to something I knew wasn’t going to end well, but she was so persistent, and I really suck at telling people no, especially when they’re so earnest.”

He looked up and met Marinette’s gaze. “It wasn’t like Elise, though. You can be disappointed that I didn’t have the backbone to say no when I should have, but I didn’t do anything to be ashamed of. I didn’t lead her on. I didn’t lie to her. I may still be a screwup, Marinette, but I am getting better…painfully slowly.”

Marinette nodded. “Okay. Okay…just…promise me you’ll learn from this?”

“I will,” he swore.

“It kind of sounds to me like you shouldn’t be dating anyone right now,” she sighed.

“Don’t worry,” he laughed. “I don’t plan on dating anyone else for the foreseeable future.”

“Besides you,” he mentally added.

“So…if you didn’t do something you were ashamed of, and I didn’t do anything to make you upset with me, why have you been avoiding me the past two weeks, Adrien?” She looked at him pointedly.

His brain scrambled to cobble together a plausible lie, but, halfway through, decided that he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

Adrien took a deep breath. “Marinette? I can’t lie to you anymore. You’re probably going to be surprised, and you’re most likely going to be upset with me. This is maybe going to take some getting used to, but…I just want you to remember that everything I said last night, everything I said two weeks ago when this all started, I meant with everything that I am.”

Everything that I am.

Marinette frowned. There was that oddly familiar phrase again.

She parted her lips to ask what he was talking about, but he continued before she could get the enquiry out.

“I did do something I was ashamed of,” he confessed. “And then I ran, and I was scared to face you. I didn’t have the courage to come back and apologize and try to fix things until last night.”

Marinette frowned, completely at a loss. She hadn’t seen Adrien in two weeks. What was he talking about?

“Princess,” he called softly. “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t find the strength to tell you sooner.”

“Adrien, what—?”

He took her hand, entwining their fingers and leaning in to kiss each one as he had done the night when he’d first confessed. Once done, he looked up through his eyelashes at her, smiled adoringly, and whispered, “My Goddess.”

Marinette inhaled sharply, her face draining of color and contorting in panic. Her grip on his hand, tightened reflexively.

“I’m sorry I was afraid to tell you it was me.” He squeezed her hand in return. “This is probably really weird when you’ve only ever thought of me as a friend, but…Marinette, I’ve been in love with you for a couple months now.”

She choked, still staring at him in shock.

He resolutely kept going. “You saved me during one of the blackest times in my life, and I fell stupid in love with you. You’re all I can think about sometimes. I know you said you can’t return my feelings right now because of that other guy, but…I hope me being Adrien doesn’t change what you said about wanting to love me back and starting to fall in love with me too. Will you keep being my girlfriend?”

Marinette finally found her voice. “No.”

The bottom dropped out of Adrien’s stomach. Black pinpricks started to punch holes in his vision. “N-No?”

“No. This cannot be happening,” she laughed hysterically, reaching across the table to pull off his scarf and tug down his collar to reveal an intricate pattern of bruises down his neck and collarbone, culminating in five delicate dots forming an M above his heart.

Marinette laughed harder. “Nonononononono.” She rested her head on the table.

Adrien watched helplessly, trying to keep breathing. He attempted to calm himself down by reasoning that Marinette was just surprised. Maybe ‘no’ didn’t really mean ‘no’ to him. Maybe it was a general ‘no’. Maybe, once she’d gotten used to the idea that he was Chat, she would apologize for scaring him like that, start calling him Minou and petting his hair, and then they could go make out on her balcony again.

“I need some air,” Marinette whispered, getting up abruptly and heading for the door.

Adrien rushed after her, pausing briefly only to throw down twenty euros on the table.

“Wait!” he called.

He caught up to her at the crosswalk, grabbing her as she almost walked out into traffic. He took her hand and guided her across the street to the Tuileries.

She didn’t protest. Once they were in the park, she tugged him along until they reached a quiet area by one of the ponds that felt strangely secluded in the middle of the busy park. She took a seat on a bench under one of the many trees sectioning off and shading the area.

Marinette let out a weary sigh, slouching forward, letting her head hang.

“You’re disappointed that it’s me,” Adrien mumbled.

“Yes,” she answered honestly without much feeling in her voice. “Four months ago I would have been ecstatic. Now…”

“Because I’ve been an ‘emotional Hindenburg’,” he sighed, rubbing at the bruise on his neck.

“Because you’ve shown me an exhaustive array of all the ways you can be childish and selfish and thoughtless and cruel,” she corrected. “I will always love you as your friend, Adrien, but these past few months…there have been times when I really didn’t like you much.”

“Oh.” Adrien struggled to swallow. His mouth was dry. It was getting harder to breath. “But…I’m…I’m getting better, aren’t I?” He looked away as tears began to leak from his eyes.

She nodded. “Yes, but…you’re still not there yet.”

“But I’m getting there,” he pleaded. “Ladybug utterly wrecked me, Marinette. This hasn’t been easy. You’ve seen how hard this has been. I told you how much I was in love with her.”

Marinette winced as if she had been slapped. “I am so sorry, Adrien.” She was beginning to cry too.

“It’s not your fault,” he sighed, reaching for her hand.

She pulled it away. “No, it is, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s not, Marinette.”

She shook her head vehemently and turned to face him. “Adrien, it is literally my fault.”

“Marin—”

“—Look at my earrings,” she insisted. “Adrien, have you ever once seen me without these earrings in the four and a half years you’ve known me? You haven’t. Because I can’t take them off. The same way you can’t take off your ring.” She held his gaze unfailingly, even as tears steadily streamed down her face.

“Oh,” he breathed as it all clicked and he saw her, both of her.

She took his breath away and made him dizzy and deliriously happy and unspeakably afraid all at once. He was in more trouble than he had originally suspected because she had ruined him twice already, and he was very much eager to let her do it again.

“So…I’m guessing your ‘personal guardian deity’ is named Tikki, and this is what you meant when you said you’d introduce her to me later?”

Marinette nodded, her expression guilt-ridden.

“My Lady?” he whispered, gently cupping her face and brushing away the tears.

“Hi, Chaton,” she choked. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he insisted, desperate to make her tears stop.

A part of him knew he should be furious or hurt or…something negative. He should have some kind of negative emotion towards her, but…when he looked at Marinette, all he could feel was love and awe and longing.

After all, she was going to tell him, right? She had promised to share her secrets with Chat Noir. Why waste time being upset when he could be basking in her magnificence. Being in love felt so much better than being mad.

“I didn’t think I could love you any more than I already did, Marinette,” Adrien chuckled, “but then I go and find out that you’re twice as perfect as I thought you were, and I am so gone on you, it isn’t even funny.”

“Adrien,” Marinette sighed, pulling away. “Stop. I’ve hurt you.”

“I’d die for you. What’s a little pain? Please keep being my girlfriend, Princess.”

“Adrien, I’ve needlessly hurt you for years. I’ve been such an idiot,” she moaned, covering her face with her hands.

He pulled her hands away and squeezed them gently. “I forgive you. Now, forgive me, and don’t break up with me, Marinette. I swear I won’t let you down again. We can get through this.”

Marinette shook her head. “I’m in love with you.”

The words sent explosions detonating in a chain reaction through each and every cell of his being.

“I’ve been in love with you for four and half years, Adrien. You are the other guy I always turned down Chat for. It’s you.”

“You’re in love with me,” Adrien echoed giddily. “This is perfect. I am so in love with you, Marinette.”

He leaned in with the full expectation that they would be kissing and starting their happily ever after together.

“Stop,” she hissed in frustration, pulling away yet again. “Just stop, okay?”

“S-Sorry.” He blinked in surprise, confused by her seemingly negative reaction. “But…isn’t this good? We’re both in love with each other. Don’t we…forgive past wrongs, say ‘I love you’, and then…you know. Get married in a few years or…?”

She stared at him, honestly bewildered by his naiveite. “Adrien…real life doesn’t work like that.”

She was tempted to add, “Just look at your parents” by way of extreme example, but she feared it might be too cruel.

“I don’t understand,” he replied in a small voice. “I love you. You just said that you’re in love with me. What else is there?”

Marinette wilted. “Adrien. You are the guy that I told you about last night. Do you remember how I said that even if he returned my feelings, I couldn’t be with him for my own good and for the good of our friendship? That’s you. I can’t be with you.”

“I…”

The world was melting. The trees, the pond, the plaster statue displayed in the exedra, the flowers…all of it was swirling together.

“I don’t understand,” he repeated. “I…I’m getting better,” he offered, as it was the only thing he could say in his defence. “I’m really sorry for everything I did. I didn’t know what I was doing. You and Nino said I should date other people, so I did. Okay, I admit that I did it wrong, but as soon as I figured out that I was doing it wrong, I stopped. And then Nino said I should just date one person for a while, so I started dating Elise…and yes, I screwed that up too, but…I realized that what I was doing was bad on my own, and I apologized, and I won’t do it again. Haven’t I done what you guys told me? What more do I need to do before you’ll be in a serious relationship with me?”

Marinette bit her lip, gazing at him in pity as he desperately pled his case. He looked so lost. She was tempted to pull him into a hug and kiss it better. Only she knew that she couldn’t. For her own sake, she couldn’t. “Adrien, while it’s true that you did everything that was asked of you, you simultaneously missed the entire point of the exercise. Yes, you’ve gotten better, but it’s not enough.”

Adrien choked in disbelief. “Okay. Okay. Fine. Then…tell me what else I have to do.”

“Adrien, I don’t know,” she confessed, trying to be gentle. “Be more emotionally stable. I don’t know what you’re going to have to do to get there, but it’s clear that you can’t really be with anyone in the state you’re in now.”

He forced himself to take a deep breath before he started to hyperventilate. “This…isn’t fair,” he whispered. “I’m a mess because I loved you, but you didn’t love me, so I tried not to love you, but then I fell in love with you again, and now you love me too, but…that’s still not good enough? You can’t be with me because you’ve literally driven me insane? How is that my fault?” he laughed, feeling his chest tighten and tears sting once more. “Not that I think it’s your fault. It’s not your fault you’re…there’s not even a word for how beautiful and amazing and magnificent you are. I’m not blaming you, but I don’t see how you can penalize me for this either.”

Marinette worried at her bottom lip as she internally warred with herself. She wanted to hold him. She wanted to throw her better judgment out the window. She wanted to pull him down on top of her then and there and have him kiss her like he had the night before.

She had to get away from him.

She stood.

He looked up at her with eyes full of desperation, hurt, and confusion.

“Adrien, I’m sorry, but this is too much. I can’t do this,” she declared, putting her foot down. “I’m flattered, really, but I think you’re deifying me. I can’t be with someone who has those kinds of unrealistic expectations of me. I may be freaking awesome, but can’t live up to that. I am not a goddess. I’m a human being who makes mistakes and screws things up and hurts the people who are important to me. Until you can see me as I actually am and get your emotional health under control, I can’t be with you, no matter how much I want to.”

He opened his mouth to protest, argue, reason with her, but the only word that came out was a broken, sad little, “Please?”

“No, Adrien.” She shook her head, looking heartbroken.

“Please don’t leave me,” he tried again.

“Adrien,” she sighed in exhaustion. “No. I’m not leaving you. I will always be your friend…but your friend is all I can be right now. Okay?”

He laughed bitterly. “Do I even get a say in that? Do I have the option of saying, ‘no, that’s not okay, Marinette’?”

She stared at him without responding.

“Sorry,” he backpedaled, shrinking. “I’m sorry. I meant ‘yes’. I meant ‘okay’. Okay. Whatever you say. Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want. I swear I’ll respect your wishes, so…” He looked up at her questioningly, eyes full of supplication.

“Don’t leave me” was heavily implied.

“I need space,” Marinette decided. “And time.”

“Of course,” Adrien readily agreed. “Whatever you need. I’m sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing,” she entreated. “It makes me feel miserable.”

“Sorry,” he replied automatically before wincing, realizing what he had done. “Sor—” He clapped a hand over his mouth.

She smiled sadly.

“So…” He bit his lip. “I just have to…keep getting better? Not idolize you so much? Give you space for a while? And then you’ll go out with me?”

She grimaced, thinking, “Adrien, I don’t want to hurt you, but I may never be able to be with you.”

“Maybe,” she answered instead. “We’ll see.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So…did you…maybe want to go back and get breakfast—as just friends—or…?” He knew it was stupid to even ask, but if he didn’t, he knew she was going to leave, and he didn’t want her to leave because then she would need “space”, and he got the impression that that did not include Chinese food and watching anime on her couch or visiting her as Chat Noir to sit on her balcony and talk about whatever random thoughts entered their brains.

And he wished he had never told her. He wished he had just lied about why Adrien had been avoiding her and kept his mouth shut…and kept her. Kept her and proved to her as Chat Noir what a good boyfriend he could be. Proved to her that he was good enough.

Marinette shook her head, her smile tight and forced. “Adrien, I need you to not call or text me for a few days, okay? Don’t talk to me at school. Don’t drop by the bakery. Just give me some space, okay?”

He couldn’t find his voice to answer. He was going to cry. She was going to leave, and as soon as she was out of sight, he was going to break down into ugly sobs on a park bench in the middle of the Tuileries, embarrassing himself, her, and his father and the company. He was going to get akumatized this time. It had been nothing short of a miracle that Papillon hadn’t gotten him the last time after he’d first confessed as Chat Noir and she’d broken his heart by telling him there was someone else. He was going to get akumatized, and she was going to have to fight him, and then all of Paris would know that Adrien Agreste had gotten his heart broken, and he’d have to slink home with his tail between his legs.

Adrien nodded in lieu of a response. He reached up to rub at the still-tender line of bruises running down his neck, and it offered some small measure of comfort.

“Hey,” she called softly. “Make sure to talk to Nino, okay. If you need anything, go straight to Nino. He figured out my identity a while ago, so you can tell him everything, if you want.”

Adrien made a small, wounded noise.

Marinette pursed her lips. “Plagg?”

“I really don’t like you right now,” Plagg growled from within Adrien’s shirt, not deigning to poke out his head to speak with her.

“I know,” Marinette sighed. “Just make sure he gets home, okay?”

“I will,” Plagg scoffed savagely. “No thanks to you.”

“Thank you,” Marinette muttered. “Adrien?”

Reluctantly he met her gaze.

“Please, please take care of yourself.” She leaned in and pressed an affectionate kiss to his forehead. “I’ll see you later.”

She left.

Adrien cried.

No black butterfly appeared.

Plagg offered empty words of comfort. He didn’t expect them to help. They did not help.

It was half an hour before Nathalie and Gabriel showed up, alerted by posts on social media of Adrien Agreste’s latest heartbreak.

“Come along,” Gabriel coaxed, helping Adrien to stand. “Let’s get you home.”

Gabriel took one side, and Nathalie took the other. Together they guided him out of the park and to the waiting car.

Adrien rested his head on Nathalie’s shoulder and continued to sniffle softly, almost out of tears.

Hesitantly she wrapped her arm around him, hoping it would do something to comfort her charge.

“It’s okay,” Gabriel assured, at a loss for words.

Plagg snorted. “It is obviously not. Is that the best you’ve got, Gabe?”

Gabriel frowned. “It’s…going to be okay?” he tried.

Plagg rolled his eyes.

“Shh,” Nathalie whispered, obviously distressed and uncomfortable assuming this role. “Shh. Once you’ve calmed down, we can talk about it, and I can figure out some way to fix this,” she offered.

Adrien started to cry harder.

Plagg, Nathalie, and Gabriel exchanged looks.

“We suck at this,” Plagg decreed.

An hour later once Adrien had calmed down, he refused to say what had happened and only asked, “What does it mean when someone says they need space? What is space? Is that five days? A week? She said not to talk to her for a few days, but after that, can we still hang out, or…?”

No one knew the answers to those questions.

Adrien claimed he wasn’t hungry and retired to his room for a nap while Plagg filled the others in on the situation.

“I’ll clear his schedule for the rest of the weekend,” Nathalie sighed. “We all know he’ll be impossible to get out of bed until it’s time for school on Monday…if then.”

[leviosarpg]

Congratulations, SNOOZE! You have been accepted for the role of AMADEUS AVERY! Snooze, where do I begin with this app? When I created Amadeus I knew I wanted depth, but Snooze, you gave me so much more depth than I could have ever dreamed, I mean for goodness sake, you gave me an entire diagram! Your app genuinely captured me from beginning to end. From Amadeus’s relationship with his sister, Isolda, to his fascination with Ancient Runes, I was beyond blown away with how you managed to flesh Amadeus out into a fully actualized person--a living, breathing wizard. But what put this incredible app over-the-top, was your incredible second para sample. Despite bringing so much depth to Amadeus, you still manged to highlight his cruelty in a way so gut-wrenchingly perfect, know I will remain in complete awe for the rest of the night.

Your faceclaim change to: Keith Powers has been accepted. Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: Susan (though I prefer Snooze); 18; she/her; PST

THE CHARACTER

desired role: Funny story! Amadeus was actually not my first choice. I was trying to figure out who to apply between Bishop, Odin, and Silvanus. I got my Amadeus inspiration from brainstorming for Bishop, because I was asking myself, what kind of dude is Bishop listening to? Then I got into a rabbit hole and tada! Amadeus app.

Here’s the thing: Amadeus is nothing like any character I’ve played/written before. I tend to be attracted to characters who stand in the middle, who are struggling with a decision, torn between two sides, who don’t want to check the option boxes presented to them and who seek to make their own paths. But Amadeus grabs my attention. He grows up with a solid foundation and he’s sure of himself. He knows exactly what he’s doing. What happens if things deviate from his plans? He may be smart but he’s only eighteen. There are things he doesn’t know and situations he hasn’t experienced. His relationship with Seneca is so, so intriguing because how in Merlin’s name can a person like him has feelings? I’m also a sucker for secret/forbidden romance, so there’s that. I want to let him suffer and make mistakes — I want to see his growth and how the war and certain secrets will change him. He’s a volatile little guy. Anyway, read on!

gender/pronouns: he/him; cis-male

extracurriculars: In addition to the pre-selected ones, Amadeus is also in Astronomy Club, Charms Club, and Dueling Club,

para sample:

Note: The first sample I have no specific year in mind — it could be Amadeus’ fifth, sixth, or seventh year. The second one takes place in the summer of Amadeus’ fifth year.

Also! To prevent any confusion, since I wrote the app non-chronologically, Isolda is Amadeus’ little sister. They are eight years apart. Isolda was kidnapped in the summer of Amadeus’ fifth year, and he was the one who tortured and killed her kidnapper afterward.

————————————

Amadeus dressed in the dark, glancing at a mirror that only outlined the dark silhouette of his body, as the sun has yet to rise this early in the day, and he broke the unbearable silence by humming quietly a tune whose origin he could not recall. His mind was still groggy from the ten-hour sleep he’d indulged in yesterday. Stifling a yawn, he snatched his wand from the nightstand and whispered a Reducio to his trunk.

When he was about to leave, the door to his room cracked open, letting in a sliver of darkness against the grey carpet of the floor — the hallways had always had a tendency to cloak itself in pitch-black shadows, even darker than his room. A small figure entered.

“Where ar’ya goin’,” Isolda muttered, her words slurred together because she certainly shouldn’t be up at this time. Amadeus frowned, turned on the chandelier light with a wandless wave, and kneeled down to see her face-to-face.

“Hogwarts, of course,” he replied. “I would’ve stopped by your room before I leave, you know that?”

She nodded, though she didn’t seem convinced. “Papa said the same when he was going to Turkey, but he didn’t.”

Amadeus sighed; his father may be a great man, but he never remembered his promises. He hoisted Isolda up and tucked his left arm underneath her legs so that her face was buried in his neck, then he walked to her room. His nerves tingled while going upstairs, but his parents, he thought, were still deeply asleep and thus unlikely to appear and shake their heads at his physical display of care. It was a shame that Isolda was born into a culture of rigidity. She was too emotional for her own good.

She was already sleeping when they arrived, so Amadeus laid her gently on her bed and pulled the blanket over her. He fished from his pocket a small set of papers, upon which he’d copied numerous alchemical formulas from Hogwarts’ library. Surely she would have a grand time looking through them until Christmas.

After that, he called for Milsy, their house-elf, to make sure that his notes to his parents would be delivered when they breakfasted later. Shrugging on a suit jacket and a hat, he left the Averys’ premises with his miniaturized trunk and apparated away.

Amadeus stopped by Hogsmeade Post Office to drop off several contract packages for his father, then he headed to Borgin and Burkes. The air was so foggy and saturated that he felt as if he’d just swam the Thames.

“The Tome of Cleopatra,” he demanded upon entering. The man working behind the faux-wood table pursed his lips and sniffed his rat-like nose twice, but Amadeus only needed to lift his eyebrows to kick the man into gear. Anyone who didn’t recognize him may as well sign a death warrant — a social one if he was in a good mood or a literal one if he wasn’t.  While waiting, he eyed a pair of gilded cufflinks sitting in a glass box on a shelf. Diamonds decorated their surface, glittering brightly despite the dust that had settled on the box. They were certainly expensive and a fitting gift for someone he knew. He may have to lift some curses, but that shouldn’t be too hard. Small, probably unnoticeable, easily excusable price, perhaps …

No, no. Amadeus let the temptation slide. He should not be so careless — nor should he, for that matter, assume that the action would be appreciated. The man returned, slamming the thick book on the counter, and Amadeus felt dread creeping up his spine.

Merlin helps me, how can I go through this whole thing?

He slid the pouch of Galleon over and left with the tome. Seeing a beggar on the side of the road, he spat on the old woman’s face, then, for good measure, kicked her can of coins as far as possible. He wanted to make other people feel as miserable as he suddenly was.

The damn book. These damn feelings. This bloody muggy weather. What rights do they have to make him feel like a failure? Nothing! He was fucking Amadeus Avery! His throne sat on a wealth of power and money and he knew how to keep and better them. The economy of Wizarding Britain lay in his palm. The rich magic of this planet was his to command. He was not a failure.

Platform 9 ¾ was, as expected, empty, with only a couple of stragglers here and there and two shady individuals whispering near the ticket station. The Hogwarts train was here though, and its doors were unlocked, so Amadeus entered and claimed a cabin for himself. On the cabins of the Gryffindors he carved a mild curse of bad vision, created a few weeks ago, and hoped that it would kick in at opportune times during Quidditch matches, though there was a large chance that he guessed the cabin wrong or that the curse would have already petered out by then.

Satisfied with his task, he returned to his cabin and lay down on the bench, drifting off to a quick nap.

————————————

Trigger warning: Violence, gore, death, vomiting, torture

Money changed hands, and Amadeus stepped inside the cell where Isolda’s kidnapper was sleeping, resting, so peacefully that Amadeus felt his hatred burst out like a cobra springing to tear apart its prey. The man shifted on the stone floor. Amadeus gripped his wand tighter and thought, if you know what’s good for you, you will wake up now, a clumsy attempt at Legilimency, but he didn’t care for it had succeeded. The man’s eyes snapped open, deranged and red, and a half-smile tugged on the corner of his chapped, bloody lips.

“What’s this?” he spoke, voice hoarse and tinged with amusement. “Come to kill me?”

He stared down at the wretched piece of shit that didn’t deserve the mercy of the Dementors with his back straight, his voice steady, and he said, “Yes.”

The man mustn’t have expected a direct answer, as his expression faltered for a moment, but he went on, “Yeah, let’s do it then.”

“Not yet. Petrificus Totalus.”

The spell hit true. Amadeus shrugged off his suit jacket and set it on the floor; then he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, unhurried, for he had all the time in the world, all the while he flickered brief glances at the kidnapper to gauge his emotions, which had become more muted, more cautious, and, to Amadeus’ pleasure, more frightened.

Amadeus placed his wand on top of his rumpled suit, popped a collar button open, and kicked the man’s stomach hard. The man’s back slammed into the wall with a satisfying crack. Amadeus kicked again, this time to the man’s chest, and heard the pleasant sound of ribs breaking. He went on, and on, and on, lost in the vesuvian rage, in the rhythm of grunts and the thudding of soft flesh. At one point Amadeus straddled the man’s body and started punching his face, aiming everywhere he could—cheeks, nose, mouth, forehead.

“You think you can insult an Avery and leave unscathed?” Amadeus shouted, panting from the physical exertion. “You touched my sister, filthy mudblood, and I will make you fucking beg to be killed by the end of this.”

He stood up and backed away a few steps, grabbing his wand.

“Petrificus Totalus, Petrificus Totalus, Petrificus Totalus,” Amadeus intoned.

The man’s muscles seized tighter, tighter, until he was shaking and sweating and the veins in his neck were bulging, until several loud snaps rang loud, the sounds of ruptured muscles and tendons, and Amadeus felt the delicious, ugly glee in him morph into a grin. He released the spell, but the man remained in the same position, cursing, pleading, tearing up.

“Crucio.” A roar of pain; the man’s body arched up.

“Crucio.” Nonsensical babbling for mercy; empty promises to do whatever the Averys wanted. Too late.

“Crucio.” Eyes rolled up; a drooling mess; broken whimpers.

Amadeus paused. He breathed. He calmed his pounding heart. He’d gone further than he had ever been, and his fingers were trembling, maybe from the magical drain, maybe from the bleeding knuckles, maybe from the horror that was beginning to overcome his fury. But—Isolda, he thought. The rational part of his mind was yelling at him to stop, retreat, recalculate, for he, frankly, didn’t know where this was heading toward, didn’t know if he would jump off that cliff of indecision and into the chasm of immorality, passing the point of no return, staining his hand with the blood of another.

So Amadeus delayed. He transfigured all his buttons to thin needles, then he crouched down and held up the man’s hand. The hand that dared take away Isolda.

“Ennervate.”

This was the part he would not remember, the part that would appear blank were he to search for it:

Amadeus lined a needle to the tip of the man’s index finger and pushed it in steadily, watching life, awakened by pain, returning to the man’s dull eyes. The man screamed, wildly, uncontrollably, all his self-control gone. Amadeus kept on going: middle finger, ring finger, pinky. Deaf to the howling, he repeated the procedure to the other hand, half of his mind a far distance from reality while the other half drew on courage from hatred. Afterward, Amadeus stabbed the man in the stomach with the knife in his pants’ pocket, once for every hour Isolda was missing, methodically, as if hypnotized. He switched to the thighs once he ran out of space.

Finished, Amadeus moved back and took stock of his handiwork. The darkness of night hid the worst parts, but somehow he could still make out every bruise, every cut, and every bit of blood that littered the man’s body. The man yet lived.

“Merlin,” he murmured.

He pointed his wand to the man again.

You’ve got to mean it.

He’d done this before, a dozen times, but only to kill insects or to pretend to kill Isolda’s monster in the closet, never to a human.

You’ve got to be calm. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of a five-way duel, find that moment of silence in your head.

He reminded himself that this—this was worth it. For Isolda. For the Averys name. Or, if not, to end the man’s suffering.

Aim, draw on your willingness to kill, and be swift. Like snapping your fingers.

“Avada Kedavra.”

A flash of green, and then, the end.

He put on his suit jacket and cast an illusion over himself. Money changed hands, from a quivering grip to a hesitant palm, and Amadeus apparated back home. All of the lights were off, and he stumbled down the hallway, noisily, but only one elf appeared. She asked what he needed, but he didn’t reply, so she followed him as he opened the door to his room, crossed the bed, pushed forward the bathroom’s door, planted his hands on the sides of the sink, looked at himself in the mirror, and saw, as reality closed down on him like a strangling noose, the wretched face of a murderer and the wide, panicked eyes of a teenager yet to be of age.

He threw up. For a while.

“Milsy,” he called after his stomach stopped churning, throat still burning from the acid and nose thick with the scent of vomit.

“Yes, Master?”

“Get me some warm milk.”

“With three spoons of honey, Master?”

“Yeah.”

The house elf went away.

Now facing his reflection alone, Amadeus glared at himself, as if disgusted with his inability to contain the appearance of shock, and he said, “It was a good kill.”

Then, again, with more bravo, “It was a good kill. Your first one too.” He paused. “You need to learn that sooner or later, so it doesn’t matter either way. Father did it when he was eighteen. Mother when she was twenty. Everyone does it.” Not to mention it was a befitting punishment for taking away Isolda for thirty six hours.

And so he kept on going, muttering to himself, repeating what he’d said, making it a mantra, making it his truth, a truth that he, perhaps, could live with.

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

FC: Keith Powers!

Extra Content!

Disclaimer: I’m 100% down to change some details of what I wrote below, since a lot of them involve my cursory interpretation of the rest of the characters. Also, I try to explore his relationship with Seneca as much as possible, but I don’t want to delve too deep until I talk to Seneca’s writer & discuss some details.

BIOGRAPHY (Intro, Hogwarts, Tom Riddle): An imaginary piece of writing by Amadeus, briefly exploring his past and his years at Hogwarts. Note that this represents his perception of the world around him and does not necessarily reflect reality, especially when he boasts about his accomplishments. This is how he wants people to remember him.

LETTERS I WILL NOT SEND, WORDS I WILL NEVER SAY: Short, non-chronological pieces that Amadeus “writes” (the exact mechanics are explained in PERSONALITY section) and burns as an outlet for his emotions for Seneca. Amadeus only pens these when he’s overwhelmed with feelings, so they may seem excessively sentimental.  

PERSONALITY: Self-explanatory.

HEADCANONS: Things that I can’t fit into other categories. This part may seem really messy because I was jotting down thoughts as I go, so I apologize in advance!

THE DIAGRAM: Because I got lost in Amadeus’ complexity. It’s in a separate photo submission.

————————————

BIOGRAPHY

Introduction

August 15, 1942

As the heir of the Illustrious and Ancient House of Avery, it is traditional that I record the events in my life for future generations to peruse. For this is merely the first draft, I shall save the typical long-winded introduction for later and get started on the story.

My parents are a good match, perhaps the best there has ever been in the Avery line. My mother is Calista Avery, the Averys’ Matriarch, and my father Sivert Solberg, heir to the prominent Solberg line in Norway. They met during the Autumn Ball of Marseilles and was engaged three years later, in 1925. Their marriage was a winter one, brilliant and luxurious with six hundred and eighty two guests from Britain and Norway. Sivert adopted our name as per traditions of marrying a Head of a family, and I was born about two years later in the summer solstice of 1928. I should have had two sisters, but my mother miscarried once, so now it is only me and little Isolda, who is eight years younger than me. She will be attending Beauxbaton three years from now, and we are, naturally, very excited, for our private tutors have affirmed that she has talents in Alchemy. I was jealous of her for a while — Alchemy, after all, is the field of famous wizards such as Nicholas Flamel and Albus Dumbledore. But I later realized that her work would bring her to the shadows, to the edge of the crowd, while I, heir and a genius myself of the Dark Arts, would have the spotlight. I have stopped my unwarranted competition with her since and have fully devoted to train her to be worthy of the Avery name.

But enough about my sister. My name is Amadeus Avery. I have no middle name, for I am in the shadow of no one but myself. The Avery name is powerful, the Avery blood more so, and I plan to be the greatest Avery to have ever lived. I was born June 22, 1928, a day brimming with magic and, coincidentally, also the birthdate of the 5th Head of the Averys. My birth was a hard one, for I was my mother’s first child, twelve hours in total, a sign, apparently, for my stubbornness and determination. I grew up in a household of emotional detachment — not apathy, I must clarify, as I always know that my parents love and want the best for me. Public and private gestures of affection are much frowned upon, and we show our care through indirect means — material goods and gifts, the sharing of secrets and inner thoughts, criticisms and advice (how else could we maintain the image of a perfect family?).

My parents have had rough times — the aftermath of the first miscarriage when I was six, for example. My mother shut herself from my father, and he, frustrated with the isolation, left the country for two weeks, during which he had a tryst with some Ukranian lover. My mother, too, went out more frequently to meet with, I had guessed, her own lover, and sometimes my tutors and I would be the only inhabitants of the house. The Lestranges and the Rowles had had a grand time with the gossip then, I remember. At some point, I’m not sure when, my parents properly talked with each other (thanks to my uncle’s insistent; I have mentioned, of course, that my family does not explicitly express emotions) and the issue was resolved. Their connection and loyalty, strangely, only grew stronger. Perhaps the bad streak in their history motivated them to shine even brighter than before. Isolda’s birth when I was eight smoothed over the last of the scars, though I knew they could never forget their first daughter, Leona Avery.

Up until six I was showered with toys and magical trinkets, with bedtime stories of the founding of the Dark Arts and the beginnings of the Averys in the Fertile Crescent. We are part of the Sacred Twenty Eight, but such title is inconsequential, for the Avery name has, for the better part of the Wizarding World’s history, though not without ups and downs, garnered much reverence from the general populace due to our natural inclination to the Arts of Old Magic, recently defined as the Dark Arts by the more ignorant. My first accidental magic occurred when I was seven months old — hunger had compelled me to call upon all the chocolate cakes reserved for a party later — and after I learned to speak, my paternal granduncle, the former Norwegian Head of Law Enforcement, came down to teach me the basics of manipulating magic. Afterward tutors taught me, only the best in London, among which are a former assistant to Nicholas Flamel, Vice Chief of the Auror Department (my maternal aunt), a descendant of the Gamp family,  and the reigning Champion of European Dueling Tournament (though she only started when I got into Hogwarts).

I mastered the curriculum of Hogwarts’ first year when I was nine, and after that I branch sideways instead of forward (it was later explained that my physical body needed to catch up with my magical prowess; balance and harmony are important in the making of a strong wizard like me). We possess two libraries worth of tomes — one in the current Averys mansion and one in our ancestral home in Babylon (formerly known as the Babylonian Society of Ancient Magic). Books are not my forte, as I learned better with practical demonstration, but they nonetheless are an incredible source of knowledge. I delve into the arts of occlumency, legilimency, necromancy, ritual magic, blood magic, bone magic, runic magic, demonology (rather too obscure and unstable to be feasible, sadly), various branches of hex- and spellcrafting, ancient Egyptian and Roman curses (those people have a fascinating imagination, I must admit), and the lighter sides of magic such as arithmancy and charms. When I entered Hogwarts, I was not a master in any of those fields, but I knew enough to be one of the top students, and my sheer power was often enough to overwhelm my opponents.

Hogwarts

I have been aware of pureblood politics since I could read, but to be thrown into such a large body of students was a nasty surprise. Slytherin, the microcosm of pureblood society, was filled with intricate schemes and power plays between noble houses, a network that I at first found it hard to engage in, for the Averys had never been terribly friendly or popular. We stand above everyone else — because we are, indeed, better than most — and the purebloods, with their fragile egos, often take offense to our supposed arrogance. It is the Lestranges, the Rowles, the Malfoys, the Blacks, among many others, whose voices are heard and frequently recited. I struggled for two years to gain a footing in their network to no avail until I realized that I did not have to do so. I am Amadeus Avery, and I need not their acknowledgement. As soon as I stopped participating in their games, I became respected. They value me because they understand my importance, because they see my influence despite not being the top of their food chain. And so I gained my footing in pureblood society by refusing to acknowledge its presence. My parents were proud, and that Christmas they gifted me a brilliant case of jewelry stones for me to practice my blood curses on.

In school I focus on the Dark Arts, Charms, and Ancient Runes — the rest are unimportant to me, though I maintain respectable grades. I am far too busy with my projects nfor silly creatures or, Merlin forbid, divination. Astronomy is decent, but the subject is impossible to enjoy because the Blacks are so disgustingly vocal about their naming traditions. The teachers are merely satisfactory — none of them seemed to appreciate my talents in Dark Magic. Their responses typically fall into two camps, wariness or jealousy. Horace Slughorn is slightly better than most, as his Slug Club provides immense networking opportunities for like-minded individuals. It is where I developed a friendship with Tom Riddle — rest assured that I shall expand upon this remarkable person later.

I discovered the joy of inter-house rivalry in my second year when I became Beater for Slytherin’s Quidditch Team. Ivon Blaine was particularly entertaining. He’d always been weaker than me in all aspects — save for some lucky instances on the Quidditch field, of course — and I wholeheartedly enjoyed taunting him. He’d always been so easy to rile up, so easy to manipulate, and I, who had recently discovered my sharp tongue, was only too thrilled to test it on him. Gryffindors have always been so embarrassingly brash and physical — it is absolutely nauseating how they publicly display their affections and weaknesses out in the open air, as if they are desperate to be hurt. The duels were mere exercises to me, though they had the side benefit of elevating my reputation. Ivon became predictable as time passed, however, and I stopped enjoying our little games. I had better things to worry about — Grindelwald, for instance, and Tom Riddle’s vision. Though riling up Ivon no longer brought me as much joy as it did before, I am still rather entertained by his reaction whenever I speak to him.

Bishop Vermeer is a Ravenclaw that I respect. I met him during my fourth year while preparing for my OWLs and was impressed with his intelligence, which rivaled mine. He listens more than he speaks, but his interjections are always insightful and helpful to me, and so I come back to him as a friend, always, for his ears. We work on projects too, mine more often than his. I think he is too smart for his own good — he is never swayed by my honey sweet words, even though he sometimes pretends he does, and I am both disappointed and pleased by that. Had he been more weak-willed, I doubt I would have respected him as much as I am now. It is a shame that he is not more zealous about Riddle’s cause, but when the time comes, I have faith that he will side with us. If not — well, I would not wish to face him, out of respect for our companionship.

Tom Riddle

He was a bit of an underdog, I must admit, and him being quite mum about his origins except when absolutely necessary (at least during his first year at Hogwarts) hinted at his blood status, though now I dare not think about it, for his legilimency skills far outstrip my occlumency. His cause gripped my attention the moment he mentioned it in the Slytherin common room, and I remember being vocally supportive of it, for, with the current politics surrounding Grindelwald, I recognized immediately that his ideas would bring us far. Tom Riddle is a revolutionary who will usher in an era of greatness, of pureblood culture and appreciation for real magic, not the childish stuff that Hogwarts teaches. I intend to be at the forefront of this movement alongside Riddle. I will make a name for myself.

You may wonder why I am not the leader. First of all, I have no wish to make an enemy of Riddle — we may match in dueling prowess, but he is, I am reluctant to admit, hard to outwit. Furthermore, he has a better hold on the purebloods than I do — as I have said before, the Avery name is respectable, not popular. Riddle has a way with words that is gently persuasive and malleable. He knows how to push buttons. Let him lead the movement and I be his loyal soldier. The position is prestigious enough that I can contend with not being the top. His ego and mine sometimes clash, but I try to keep to his good side more often than not. We share details of our projects, though he tends to work alone rather than in a group, and he absolutely detests me offering help.

I suppose I shall mark this as the temporary end of this biography. I intend to update this as frequently as possible.

————————————

LETTERS I WILL NOT SEND,

WORDS I WILL NEVER SAY

My grandmother, a famous jewelry collector in her nineties, gave my father a ring of blue zircon, who, in turn, passed it down to me. It sat in a drawer back in my room, only to be worn during Christmas balls. The ring was thick and ostentatiously ornamental, heavy on my middle finger every time I wore it, and I complained all the time until I was five and learnt the art of formal presentation. The ring is a sign of power and a reminder that my parents are of two famous lines, and it often sat next to the Avery heirloom ring on my index finger, glinting, mesmerizingly blue, always distracting me when light shines at the right angle. Tonight, when I saw you, when I looked into your eyes, I thought of my ring, and I wished, for but a brief millisecond, that we were better, that I was better, so that I might, perhaps, be brave enough to —

[ … ]

I did not see you today, but I was frightened for you, for us. Charms class ended early, so I was traversing the hallway, sketching in my head a new design of some anti-apparition wards, when thoughts of you filled my mind. I remembered our kiss yesterday even though I tried not to — at least, not until I was safe in my dorm. I couldn’t help smiling. Then, Tom Riddle rounded the corner, and I froze. My heart dropped, my mind emptied, and I willed my face to express something close to pleasant surprise. You cannot imagine how fearful I was. It isn’t close to my fright for Isolda when she was kidnapped, but it is certainly high up the list. Had he been searching in my mind, we would have been discovered, and the fallout, though may seem inconsequential at first, could only be catastrophic to me. Everything would have been ruined, and the choices I would have to make were unimaginable. But he wasn’t searching, thank Merlin, and I would have known if he was. I am entertaining the thought of avoiding you for a while until I could calm down. I know I may hurt you, but you must understand that I have to control myself, I have to set boundaries, or else I —

[ … ]

You were worried today, and I am not sure why. Had you been anyone else, I would have attempted to persuade an answer out of you, but strangely I complied with your request not to pry. You have no idea how much control you have over me, and I am frightened. I cannot see our future, though I must admit that I always strived not to think about our future; there are too many complications there that I cannot resolve, and I cannot bear the thought of you absent from my life, much as I loathe to admit such weakness in myself. I want to enjoy the present and only the present. Sometimes, you are the only outlet for my emotions. Sometimes, we are strangers. Sometimes, you scare me to death with your glances and your smiles and your kisses. I have thought about breaking things cleanly between us, because the stakes are becoming higher and higher, and yet I never manage to do so, because to break cleanly is to admit that there is something to break, and because I simply —  

[ … ]

Sometimes I believe my parents are clay figurines carved with human features and charmed to be alive. Their expressions are stiff, their emotions strained, and they always seem most at ease with blank countenances and frigid glances, with careless words and calculated touches. I remember vividly that they barely touched Isolda when she was returned to us, a mess of a child, eyes red and dress muddied. My mother touched her hair, and I could not tell if she was too frightened to do more or if she simply detested public displays of affections so much that she would ignore her own child’s trauma. I was the one who scooped Isolda up in my arms and soothed her cries. I tried my best anyway. No one has ever done such things to me. You may wonder why I am telling this story, and here is why: I noticed that you were distraught today. You were hurt, and I hurt for you, but I could do nothing to alleviate whatever burden you were shouldering. I was too busy struggling with my confusion toward you. I do not know what to do. I do not know what we are. I asked myself how I could grow to care for you when I was not built for such emotions, how I could be in —

[ … ]

For a moment I feared that our secret was exposed, but we both performed well the role of casual acquaintances in class today, don’t you think? I am relieved that despite certain progress in our … companionship, we are still capable of maintaining a facade of normality in front of the masses. Tom Riddle, I think, suspects I am hiding something, but he cares far too much for his pet project to figure out. He’s never been too invested in our personal lives. If worse comes to worst, I could still tell him about my projects on developing possible resistance to the Killing Curse and mass-producing Inferi through a variant of a demonic rune design, neither of which, unfortunately, are straightforward enough for practical use, but they certainly will satisfy his curiosity. On a side note, I wish so fervently that I could buy you a better gift for your birthday, but alas, I could only lie about my expenses for so much, and the size of your gift could not be too large. My wish manifested in my dream three nights ago. In it we were happy, had been for months, and I, on that brilliant winter day, like a bloody muggle, horrifyingly, was on my knees —  

————————————

PERSONALITY:

Amadeus is …

Arrogant: He believes himself to be better than everyone else due to his magical might and his bloodline tracing back to the beginning of civilization.

His arrogance doesn’t quite manifest in speech (like, say, Draco Malfoy) but in his body language, his stance, the way he looks at people, the inflections of his tone. Taken alone, his words may seem casual and respectful, but coming from him they could be the worst insults.

He doesn’t care that people are weaker because of their circumstances. He cares that people are weaker than him, period.

Hypocritical: He criticizes the actions and personalities of other people but does not admit to himself that he sometimes shares those characteristics and does similar things.

For example: He thinks displays of affection are a weakness, yet he treasures his moments with Seneca and loves Isolda. He claims that he doesn’t care about Venus’ (or Odette’s) popularity, but he is actually jealous that they, along with the Lestranges and Rowles, have the ability to influence a crowd. He preaches that you reap what you sow, but when confronted with the consequences of his actions, he will never admit his faults. He believes Olive Hornby ridiculous for being contradictory in her actions (a guilt-ridden bully), but he is a creature of dichotomy also.

Judgemental: The number of people he respects or gets along with is small due to his tendency to either be critical of their differences (compared to him) or be jealous of what they have that he doesn’t.

Obstinate & Ambitious: Once he has a goal, he will never budge from it — for instance, nothing can shake him from his desire to be the best Avery there ever has been. It is difficult to change his mind about anything, including first impressions of people and ideologies.

Cruel: He is cruel not because he wishes to hurt (unless under certain circumstances) but because he is naturally unsympathetic to most.

But he is also …

Passionate: Though he is raised and tries to be otherwise, Amadeus is a passion-driven individual.

He loves magic and the Dark Arts, loves its instability and its potential for good and bad, and he delves into research with a furious fervor, never stopping, always wanting to have more, know more, always wishing to break the limits and go beyond what is known.

His jealousy comes easily. Amadeus grows up thinking he has the world in his palm, so he’s jealous of anyone who seems to be better than he.

He absolutely adores Isolda, at least once he gets over his jealousy, and he showers her with love and affection to a level that would be frowned upon by his parents had they known. He thinks she is too soft to be an Avery — she was born to be compassionate, and the rigidity of his parents hurts her, so he will lessen that pain for her in any way possible.

As an unintentional consequence of his love for Isolda, he also comes to like her pet hippogriff (a species of smaller size, fitting to live in a mansion) despite his vocal denouncement of anything creature-related.

He has deep affections for Seneca Montague — love, perhaps, though he’d never admit it — and despite his best efforts to contain these feelings, they are too much to keep inside, always threatening to spill out, and he has to compartmentalize his feelings, sometimes unsuccessfully.

Clever: He has a different brand of intelligence, but his mind, full of knowledge, always proves to be useful.

He may not be the best strategist, but he can process information incredibly fast and skip to a conclusion in lightning-speed. He works best under pressure and during duels.

He has an instinctive grasp on spellcrafting and runic magic, though he tends to lean toward the latter. He’s like a genius computer programmer or an engineer. He knows the pieces and he knows how to put them together; when they don’t work, he could easily tweak a bit here and fix a bit there to craft better rune diagrams for long-term curses and charms.

He cannot, for the life of him, read theories, but after a single demonstration, he can understand even the most complex alchemical concept

He figures out a way to compartmentalize his feelings for Seneca so he will not have to acknowledge them:

In the moments he shares with Seneca, he will not think of the repercussions. When he is not with Seneca, he will try to put him out of mind.

Sometimes when he feels too much, he would put his feelings on paper — using a quill charmed to inscribe his thoughts — and then he’d burn it. The reasoning is that if he makes it physical and then destroys it, whatever that is bothering him would stop existing. He doesn’t read these paragraphs, nor does he physically write them, so it’s easier for him to deny his feelings.

A downside to this compartmentalizing method is that his mood can swing widely from hour to hour, and often he wonders if it would someday break him. It works for now, so he doesn’t care much.

He is proud of …

His dueling skills: He has lost to no one except Tom Riddle and occasionally some members of the Harbingers & Liberation.

His runic diagrams: They are his own creations, and he is proud and thrilled to see them in action, no matter how destructive they could be.

His knowledge: He is well-versed in the rules of Wizarding economy and pureblood politics, and he was taught to keep up the prominence of the Avery name. Magically, his knowledge is shallow but extensive, and he frequently reads (or tries to read) to gain more information.

The murder of Isolda’s kidnapper: He tortured her kidnapper before finally killing him. It was his first kill and first usage of the Killing Curse on a human at the age of fifteen. Deep down, he’s horrified at his actions, but he successfully convinces himself to be proud because he could never admit that he feels guilty — a feeling that does not exist in the Avery household.

And he hates …

Nothing, which is what he would’ve said to himself, but in reality:

The isolation of the Averys: He envies those who can participate in pureblood politics and loathes that he is often pushed to the sides. He may pretend that he doesn’t need them, that the Averys doesn’t need to be a participant, but he is, nonetheless, lonely, because he doesn’t belong properly in any community.

The rigidity of his parents: He thinks his parents are too stringent with their emotions and believes Isolda is harmed because of that. Subconsciously, he blames his parents for his cruel nature and doesn’t want Isolda to live through his loveless childhood.

A subject that belongs in neither categories is his relationship with Seneca, which he loves and hates at the same time. He likes Seneca beyond the boundaries of friendship, but he hates defining what they are. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s aware that he’s making a mistake, perhaps the best mistake in his life, and he’s waiting for the inescapable fallout.

HEADCANONS

What’s his attitude toward muggles?

He believes in all of the stereotypes: they are dirty, primitive, stupid, and ignorant of the true beauty of magic.

He’s actually really into classical music (once he finds out about it through William Brown, unintentionally) but he wasn’t aware that most of the composers are muggles

What does he do in his free time?

Runic projects; finance planning/investment with his father; whatever Riddle wants him to do at that time;

His relationship with Ogden:

Good relationship until the end of 6th year when Ogden approaches Amadeus about an apprenticeship in Ancient Runes. Anyone would’ve been ecstatic, as it’s a rare occasion that a sixth year would be offered such opportunity, but Amadeus was angry. He couldn’t believe Ogden would offer him such a lowly career option, and he has a sneaking suspicion that Ogden wants to supervise his work more closely to prevent him from “falling” to the darker (and purer, in his opinion) forms of magic. Their relationship has been tentative since then.

His runic experimental room arguably shows more aspects of him than his dorm, which is often under the scrutiny of his dorm mates

Amadeus stopped bullying Ivon in the aftermath of Isolda’s kidnap. The taste of real violence and death has dulled the entertaining value of sharp words and silly duels. Amadeus turns his focus to bigger targets: necromancy, darker runes, deeper & more ruthless manipulations using money that will keep him in power. He’s also more focused on Riddle’s cause, and his runes projects also take up more of his times.

Wisdom and Power, to Amadeus, go so hand-in-hand that he’s never thought that it is more Ravenclaw than Slytherin. A trait he shares with Gryffindor is how passionate he can be, though no one really knows this except Bishop & Seneca. People do know that he hates easily though.

Motto for anything too sentimental is: React first, break down later

He was taught that “Power amazes, but money drives the world.” Despite this, he’s more attracted to raw power than wealth.

Doesn’t do well with criticism, especially from people he doesn’t care about.

Will initiate duels when called for.

He can convince himself to believe in false things.

Physical marking:

A horizontal scar on the side of his neck: A kitchen house-elf once went insane and injured him as a kid with a knife; said house-elf was killed but the knife was cursed so the scar doesn’t go away. Amadeus always illusioned it or wear clothes with collars.

Amadeus doesn’t quite remember this, but the incident is one of the few times that both of his parents touch him — keeping the wound close, healing, using salve, but he was too out of it to recall properly. He was seven.

Doesn’t have a fear of knives, but if someone is to lay the blade of one on his skin, that will kick in his fight-or-flight response and (depending on the situation) he will react.

Fashion:

He’s big on fashion

Style: Expensive, trendy but not gaudy, wear accessories to show off wealth (cufflinks, rings, modified ties, shoes, etc.)

Boggart:

Its form varies; but the two forms he’s faced is the burning of the Averys mansion (signifying the end of the line, which would be his fault) and the body of Isolda (recalling the kidnap incident).

Wand: spruce wood, 12-inch, dragon heartstring core

His spells are powerful and flamboyant, often attracting the attention of other people.

Amadeus has a sweet tooth.

He also cannot hold his liquor. He’s a touchy drunk.

He produced a Patronus once, during his fifth year, a hippogriff, unsurprisingly, but he hasn’t tried again since he killed Isolda’s kidnapper, telling himself it is unnecessary while actually thinking that he can’t do light magic now that he’s killed a wizard.

House Elf Treatment:

The Averys aren’t cruel but they do think that the elves are beneath their notice. The Averys, powerful as they are, does know that house-elf betrayals can be destructive, so they strive to inspire loyalty

He’s got no sense of self-preservation:

Because he thinks he’s invincible. Also he gets excited when faced with a challenge.

Likes to write but dislikes reading:

He actually doesn’t hate reading. He just has a very specific taste for a writing style & anything that doesn’t fit the bill makes him bored. He especially hates translations because they’re so dry.

He’s bad at defense magic - he likes to be on the offense & doesn’t guard himself much

The three P’s of Amadeus: Proud, Powerful, Private

He loves to low-key taunt people he dislikes, especially back when he was still harassing Ivon, and he lets his tongue lose when he’s angry. He also speaks his mind when he’s in the company of people he trusts.

He’s very ignorant when it comes to his emotions. This is by choice, not because he’s dense.

He (lowkey) admires Dumbledore because of how powerful the man is, and he secretly wishes that they are on better terms. Their ideologies, unfortunately, create a barrier between them.

To him, wisdom is …

Tom Riddle: knowing how to play the field, how to manipulate, how to be in the spotlight and claim it for yourself

Knowing everything - hence his attempt to branch out laterally

Naively, he also thinks being wise means never makes a mistake

Amadeus is verbose in writing but succinct in speech, touch-starved yet would never initiate body contact:

The Averys household is emotionally distant but not apathetic. Amadeus grows up understanding that display of affection is a bad thing, but sometimes he mistakes this with emotions are bad. His parents’ love for him is measured with material goods—their meanings, their quantities, their qualities—though of course, their meanings are exceedingly easy to misinterpret. Writing is an outlet of emotions in the Averys household—letters to their parents when they are abroad & when Amadeus is in school, notes delivered by house-elves (their mansion is very big)—thus, Amadeus shows himself more in writing, though it always seems to be otherwise. He masks his sentiments with pureblood politeness on paper, and only those close to him (his family) could read between the lines and understand.

He was taught the concept of formal presentation when he was six and learned how to check his speech. He became more succinct and direct or persuasive and round-about when needed.

Half of the time what he says isn’t really what he thinks/feels, but he has a habit of convincing himself that what he says is always the truth, so it becomes a falsehood in him that he never notices, and from this born his hypocrisy.

The Averys household frowns upon body contact except when absolutely necessary, and so Amadeus grows up, without noticing, touch-starved. He’s hyper-aware of the distance he puts between him and other people and the casual touches he received. He, therefore, treasures his moments with Seneca, but also are scared of them, of the body contact, of physical displays of affection that he knows nothing about. He’s always hesitant, testing the boundaries, reading the signs (sometimes over-analyzing them), always so scared that he’ll fuck up somehow.

His Runes Experiment Room:

Same wing that houses the Ancient Runes classrooms.

Approximately U-shaped

Left room is for the actual experiment, connected by a hallway to a sort of “office” on the right where all the theories/writings occurred.

Office:

Big blackboard filled with maths & diagrams

Big wooden desks filled with papers, very messy, on top of which sat …

Letters sent by Isolda

A pot of talking cactus, sent by Isolda

Lots of candy boxes ordered from Hogsmeade or sent by his mother

Two bookshelves overfilled with books; papers; chalks of different materials; boxes of preserved animal blood; rulers & measurement devices; bowls of different parts of different animals scattered around; a locked metal chest of rarer materials

When there are visitors, he puts everything personal to him in a trunk in the corner of the room

Two sofas for guests

Experimental room:

Kept clean & in pristine condition

Two Parts

A square part of the room in the middle, sectioned off by magic & physical means (eg: salt, powdered thestral fur, etc.):

This is where the floor diagrams occur, for more complex projects. Experiments here are frequently unstable.

The rest: There’s a trunk of gemstones + other objects for blood curses; there’s a long desk lining the wall with tools for carving, burning, melting, writing, and holding on top

He usually levitates the object or holds them by physical means as he carves runes on it

The long table is also used to deconstruct runes done by other people

People who have seen this room: Riddle, Bishop, Seneca, Ogden  

Attitude toward teachers:

Ogden: already mentioned

Dumbledore: professional admiration. Amadeus secretly idolizes him because Dumbledore is too Badass not to, though he thinks Dumbledore is too soft on Muggleborns.

Rakepick: doesn’t like since she likes the Gryffs

Edgecomb: likes her tattoos; on good terms because Isolda will be going to Beauxbatons; tries too hard not to ask her questions about schooling & dorming over there

Dippet: nice man, not useful but it helps that he likes Riddle

Fairbanks: likes her for various reasons. She went to Durmstrang is number one. She’s intense and, to him, she has a real appreciation for the true nature of magic. That she’s a Herbology professor irks him — he wishes she was teaching Dark Arts instead. Imagine the kind of spells she would’ve taught!

Isadora: annoying because of the homework

William Brown: muggle lover, ew

Sylvia: doesn’t care

Astrid: doesn’t like divination because he’s not a seer, but on good terms with Astrid because of her views

Binns: doesn’t care, except when his lessons mentions something related to the Averys

In summary: Amadeus is an ambitious individual who grew up in a distant household. He experiences lots of emotions despite being groomed not to. He is smart about many things except himself. He has the ability to rationalize his feelings but chooses to ignore them. He can exert great control over himself and he chooses his words carefully. He is proud and powerful and knows exactly what he wants — but what he wants may not be what he needs in the end.

Playlist: here

[tpwkking]

Duet Date

“Any info on the girl yet?” I asked, looking around the room.

“Um, not yet Harry. Im still working on it.” my assistant answered.

I nodded, and went back to strumming the guitar in my hands.

Apparently this girl had the most angelic voice, now, i’ve yet to hear it since she’s two hours late, but i’ll take my teams word. We’d been waiting in the recording studio for this up and coming star to show up. I had been a bit excited before, but that was before my management team and I wasted most of our studio time. Her agent and mine had known each other for years, and they had the idea for us to do a duet together. They’d said “With your  rockstar-esque vibe and her girl next-door thing going on, the fans will go nuts.”.

I usually wasn’t one for labels, and i didn’t really consider myself a rockstar, but the girl seemed nice. Now that i’m waiting here though, she kinda seemed like a diva.

“Mr. Styles, she just arrived. She’s coming in now.” 

“Alright! Lets get excited! Happy faces happy faces!” Her agent exclaimed. I gently put the guitar on the table and stood from where i was sitting. As i stood everyone else got to their feet and turned to the door in anticipation. There was a gentle murmur of voices from the other side of the door before it opened. She walked straight to me and shook my hand.

“I am so so sorry. I was with my grandma at the nursing home, and her neighbor asked me about the cookies i made her for her birthday, and you know how it goes with old people. Anyways, i left as soon as i was done and  of course there was traffic and-“

I chuckled. “It’s alright love, here now and that’s all that matters, right?” 

She let out a breathy laugh as she continued to shake my hand. I looked down at our hands with a smirk before looking back at her. She looked down as well before letting my hand go with a quiet ‘sorry’. 

I studied her as she made rounds. She was bundled up in layers of coats and scarves due to the snow falling outside. She was small, but her aura still commanded attention throughout the room. Her hair flowed softly down her back and she kept her legs crossed at the ankles when she stood. Her face was flushed and rosy from the cold. She smiled with her mouth closed, and if someone made her laugh she would tilt her head down and cover her mouth. She finally made her way back to me as she shook off her coat and hat (which was very cute).

“So, should we get started? I have a bunch of ideas i’d love to run past you for the song.” she said with a smile. “But do you think we could lessen the crowd in here? Too many people makes me nervous.”

I nodded my head. Not a diva. Noted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So for the bridge, I was thinking a ‘bum badabum bum bum bum’ or something like that, and have a really light piano behind it in contrast to the electric guitar.”

We’d been writing for hours now, way past our recording time. She was sat mostly at the  piano while i sat in a chair near her with a guitar, occasionally moving to the microphone to sing an idea of hers. 

I’d newly made notes that she scrunches her nose when she doesn’t like something, but tries it anyways to see what it sounds like (her nose is usually correct and so far i’ve only come up with the chorus). She’ll also lick her lips before she sings a new line, and before she plays something on the piano she’ll tap out the keys in the air.

“I like that. Play it for me?” i asked. She turned on the bench and played while singing what she’d come up with. When she was done she turned to see how i liked it.

“Fuckin’ genius.” i said with a grin. She laughed with her head down and turned back to the piano to write it down.

When we started, Mitch was here along with both our managers and agents, but while she and i worked they mostly sat and talked about the promotion of the song. Soon enough, we were so invested in the song that they went home for the night without us noticing.

“Do you wanna record it and see what it’s sounding like?” she asked. “I can go in after you and sing my parts.” She stood from the piano and collected the papers to put into the booth. I stood to help her.

“Was actually thinkin’ you could go first. Just to hear a voice apart from  mine for once.” I gave a smile and she nodded before heading into the booth. I sat in the producers chair and adjusted the sound board before giving her a thumbs up to start.

She slipped the headphones over her ears and listened to the starting music. Her arms were crossed and her fingers were pinching her bottom lip (a nervous habit like my own i’ve observed). She began to sing the first verse with her eyebrows scrunched together. Her eyes closed as she got lost in the music. I was entranced by her. She was most definitely worth waiting two hours for. Her voice was soft but held so much power and emotion, and you could tell that she felt what she was singing. She changed some parts but like usual, it made it better. I just couldn’t wait to get in there with her and sing it.

She sang the final few lines and looked at me through the glass for approval. All i could do was nod my head and signal ‘gimme a sec’ before getting out of the chair to join her.

“Alright, cover your ears, it’s about to get ugly.” I said with a stupid face. She smiled and took the headphones off to place them over my ears. 

“I don’t think you and ugly could even be in the same dimension.” she said, adjusting the big muffs.

“Course they could. I’m in the same room as you right now aren’t i?” I said with a shit eating grin. Her jaw dropped in fake offense as she hit my arm.

“Treat people with kindness my ass you hypocrite! That was so mean!” she said laughing. I don’t know why she usually covered her face when she laughed, her smile was beautiful.

“You have a pretty smile.” I said. She sucked in a breath and looked at the floor.

“Um, thank you.” She said, looking back up at me. “I’ll be right there if you, uh, need me.” She turned around and left the booth to sit in the chair on the other side of the glass. She gave me a thumbs up as the music started playing in the headphones. I sang the song but my mind was only focused on her. She was so enticing without trying. I just wanted to know more about her. I would sneak looks at her while she adjusted the board and worked her music magic. God, she was so pretty too. Angelic and sweet all while being sexy at the same time. I mean, she comes to a session in this huge fucking sweater and leggings and her scarves and shit and has these Santa Claus socks on and-

“Um, Harry?” she said through the speakers, snapping me out of my internal rant.

“Yea?”

She laughed lightly, pressing the button to speak. “You missed the bridge and said something about socks?”

Fuck, not so internal. 

“Shit, sorry love. Do you wanna do it over?” i asked.

“It’s kinda late, we can come back tomorrow if you want?” she asked softly. Her lips looked soft and pink and her eyes were low with exhaustion. Her hair now was frizzed from running her fingers through it and tying it up and down. 

“Course.” I took off the headphones and set them on the microphone before leaving the small booth. When i turned from closing the door, she was bent over to grab her shoes.

“Fuck.” I said to myself.

“Hm?” she said, turning to look at me. 

“Nothing, sorry.” I said scratching my head. She turned back to grab her other boot, then sat to put them on.  I watched her with fascination as she tied up the laces once, undid them, and did them again. I tilted my head and walked towards the couch she was sat on to sit next to her. “You tied your laces twice.” I observed. She nodded her head.

“It’s a habit. When i was younger i’d trip on my shoelaces a lot so i would tie them twice to make sure they were tight.”

I smiled. Fucking cute.

“So, what time do you want to meet tomorrow? Im free all day so I’m all yours.” she said, smiling at me.

“How’s tomorrow around two sound?” I asked.

She nodded, “Sounds good.” She got up to grab her coat and purse and i jumped up with her. I wasn’t ready to leave her yet honestly.

“Um, i know you said it’s late, and you can definitely turn me down, but would you maybe wanna grab a drink with me? Yanno, outside of writing songs and banging your head on a piano.” I chuckled and wiped my hands on my pants nervously. 

She continued to put her coat on, and then her scarf and hat. “I don’t really drink.” she said, buttoning up the last button. 

I nodded and internally grimaced in embarrassment. “Got it, yea no, i understand. It’s been a long night and all that.” 

“I like coffee though. And theres a really nice place open 24/7 about two blocks from here.” 

I looked up from my shoes to see that she was already holding out my coat for me with a smile. I grabbed it and threw it on before grabbing my keys and wallet. I turned back to her with a grin on my face.

“Ready when you are.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She couldn’t stop laughing, and it was so late that she didn’t even bother to cover her mouth anymore. She sat next to me in the booth still giggling about a uni student falling asleep in his pie.

“What type of pie do you reckon it is?” I asked, nudging her to look at him again. She broke into quiet shakes of laughter once more.

“I don’t know, you should ask him.” She said, looking at me with fond eyes. 

“You see,” i moved closer to her, and leaned towards her ear as if telling her a secret “I would, but it seems as if he’s having a rather fantastic snooze. I wouldn’t want to disturb him.”

She nodded in agreement. “Very right Styles, how rude of me.”

I nodded along with her before reaching out to grab my tea. She followed suit and, wrapped her hands around her mug of large coffee. She brought it up to her face, and the mug covered everything but her eyes. So fucking cute.

After sipping for a second, she turned to look at me. “If i’m being honest, he looks like a boysenberry kinda guy, don’t you think? Light jeans, classic vans, a Sheryl Crow shirt with a yellow flannel on top, absolutely terrible man bun on the top of his head.” Her eyes were full of mischief as she described my own outfit to me. I raised my eyebrows in amusement.

“Oh you think you’re funny do ya? Alright then.” I moved out of the booth and walked to the man whose head was in the pie. I softly touched his shoulder to wake him up, but he didn’t budge. I shook him a little harder this time but still nothing. Turning to the laughing girl I left in the booth, i mouthed ‘I think he’s dead’ but no sooner after i turned back to him, he startled awake and sat straight in his chair. 

“Hi sir, sorry to wake you but my friend over there,” I turned to point at our booth, “was wondering what type of pie that is exactly. It looks absolutely delicious.”

He shook his head to wake himself up and rubbed his eyes before answering. “ ’S boysenberry i think.” 

I muttered a ‘damn’ to myself, thanked him, and returned to the booth in shame. 

“So, was it boysenberry?” she asked, a smug look on her face. 

“Would you like me to go and ask him if you can have a bite? Ya little shit?” I said laughing.

“Don’t hate the playa, hate the game.” She gave me a wink and took a sip from her cup.

“You’re really beautiful” I said to her. She choked a little on her coffee. She took a breath and wiped her mouth before she turned to thank me. “You look down when you smile though. Which is strange because it’s one of the best smiles i’ve seen.” I grabbed my cup and turned back towards her. A blush spread across her cheeks as i sipped.

“I don’t care for my smile that much actually.” she said shyly.

“Well you’re proper crazy then.” I said. “Gorgeous through and through you are.”

 She looked at me and quickly leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. She whispered a ‘thanks’ and picked up her cup to drink again. I stared at her as she sipped, and it was long enough for her to feel it and look at me.

“Why are you looking at-“

I cut her off. “You missed.” I said. She laughed and shook her head.

“Maybe i did it on purpose.”

“Well do you maybe want to not miss? On purpose?”  She looked at me.

“That was terrible.” she deadpanned. 

“Alright in my defense I-“ she cut me off by putting her lips softly on mine. I sighed into the kiss and put a hand on her waist. She placed her hand on the side of my face, and moved further into me. Only when i pressed my tongue hotly against her mouth did she pull away.

“We’re in public.” she said, a bit out of breath.

“Yea.”  her cheeks were again flustered and hot and her lips were swollen. I moved back in to press slow kisses against her jaw. She gasped as her hand went to the back of my head.

“We can’t do this here. There are health codes and stuff.” she said, pulling away again.

“Come back to my house.” I said with my hands gripping her waist. I needed her in every way possible. 

“Harry, we can’t-“

“I could fuck you here in the bathroom, or we could go to my house. You pick doll, because I need you right now.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at me. Eyes locked on mine she nodded her head quickly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As we walked up to my door, I pulled her hand behind mine eagerly. I’d kept my hand on her inner thigh the entire car ride just so i didn’t have to stop touching her. Every now and then she’d steal a glance at me when she thought I wasn’t looking, but i saw her and would stick out my tongue to make her laugh. Her eyes lit up when was pulled into the driveway and she saw the abundance of fruit trees and flowers in the front. I thought maybe i’d make breakfast with some tomorrow morning (of course after she’d been thoroughly satisfied).

I pushed open the door and let her in first, taking her coat and bag to place by the door. I noticed how cute her boots looked next to mine and smiled, looking up to see her staring inquisitively at me. While we sat in the coffee shop she had braided her hair to the side, but now some pieces had fallen to frame her face just right. Her cheeks were wind whipped and her lips were pink and wet from her biting on them. She stood with her head tilted, studying me the same way i’d studied her all day. As i thought of all the things i wanted to do to her, i could only think about how badly i wanted to kiss her first.

As i walked to her i could see her stand a little straighter and look down at the floor. When i reached her i lifted my hand to lightly un braid her hair. As i did she stared at me with sparkling eyes filled with curiosity, and trust? I finished letting her hair lose and placed both of my hands on her cheeks. Her head tilted up to look into my eyes, and for the first time all night she held her stare.

“So fucking beautiful.” I whispered. She closed her eyes and whispered a ‘thank you’. While her eyes were closed i leaned down and pressed a kiss to her jaw, lingering there longer than needed, before pressing another kiss to the other side. She sighed and pushed her body as close to me as she could. Her hands ran up my back and tucked themselves into the hair at the back of my head. I pulled the slightest bit away to look at her face, before i leaned back in to kiss her lips. My hands left the sides of her face to move down her body and firmly grasp her sides. Her leg found a place in-between mine so she could sag against my body and kiss me harder. Her lips were as soft as they were at the coffee shop and i just couldn’t stop kissing her. She lightly tugged on a piece my hair, making me grab her sides harder. Her tongue swiped my bottom lip as I moaned and moved one of my hands to the back of her head and the other to wrap around her. 

It was one of the best kisses i’ve ever had. She wasn’t too shy to move her hands from place to place on my body, and at one point she brushed her hand against my bum (to which we both pulled away and laughed before kissing again). 

“Harry.” she breathed out. I moved from her lips to her neck and pressed long kisses there.

“Hm?” I breathed out. She smelled so nice.

“Should we move to someplace that’s, I don’t know, not your foyer?” she laughed. I pulled away and looked into her eyes.

“Yea, we probably should.” I said. Then I flung her over my shoulder and brought her into my room while she playfully hit my back until I sat her on the edge of my bed. As she sat on the edge, looking at me with curiosity, I slowly kneeled before her and rested my head in her lap. Her hands found themselves in my hair and played with some pieces lightly.

“What on earth are you doing?” she said with a light chuckle.

My speech was muffled due to my head resting between her legs, but i managed to get out a ‘just wanna sit for a sec’.

As i sat there, i slowly came to the conclusion that i didn’t want to fuck her. As far as i was concerned, sitting like this was enough for me. Her hands twisted strands of hair at the back of my head and scratched at my scalp.

“You know what? Would it be okay if we just, laid down? It’s been a long day and as much as i would love to kiss you everywhere, i’m just enjoying you being here right now. Is that okay?” i asked, lifting my head to look her in the eyes.

She gave me a sweet smile and nodded, grabbing my hands to lift me back up so i was standing over her.

“That would be nice.”

With that, i leaned down to give her one more kiss before backing her up against the headboard, situating  myself and flipping on the tv for some background noise as we talked and exchanged lazy kisses here and there.

God was I in trouble.

[donttelluswhattodo]

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Pen’s alarm went off everyday at exactly 4:30am and without skipping a moment his hand shot out to silence it. It was a rather dull alarm - a series of beeps that never went off twice in the same morning. He would kneel beside his bed and do his prayers, spending roughly five minutes asking the the Lord above for success and discipline. When he stood up, his knees ached slightly.

After getting ready, he was off to the gym, where he spent two hours exercising, lifting heavy weight, and always aiming for more. He was well known in the gym, in that everyone knew his face, but hardly anyone knew his name. Between sets of exercises, he would stare at himself in the mirror, flexing one strong and then the other, seeing how the veins had become thicker, how has bicep bulged further, and loving the ever improving definition of his body. At the end of every workout, he would take one last look, lifting his shirt and twisting his torso to get a better view of the peaks and valleys of his abdominal muscles.

By 7:30am, Pen was at his desk at work, freshly showered and shaved, in his light blue work shirt that accentuated his growing musculature. He ate a healthy lunch and never bothered with any form of sweet food other than sweet potatoes. His only only vice, other than coffee. The coffee room was his favorite place at work, where he would let loose for just ten minutes, sometimes more, to chat with coworkers about sports and TV shows.

Pen did important work that made him lots of money.

At 6pm, he went home to his empty house, had another short workout, showered, and finally made and ate dinner. He would sit and watch half a movie and by 9:30pm he crawled into his empty bed and went to sleep, never smiling, but always ready to repeat it all again the next day.

He was unstoppable and knew he was destined for greater things.

---

Bobby woke up around 6am and hit the snooze button on her alarm.

“Ugh…” she groaned.

Ten minutes later she really wanted to hit it again - no, she wanted to throw that stupid alarm out of a window, but she got up, rubbed the grogginess from her eyes, and went for a shower. By the time she went to go check on Jane, her daughter was already nearly dressed.

“Breakfast in ten,” Bobby said, bending down to kiss Jane’s forehead.

“Can I have cereal this morning,” Jane said.

“No way, kiddo.”

Bobby loved making breakfast for Jane, partly because she loved breakfast food, but mostly because she enjoyed the twenty or so minutes she could sit with her kid, talking about boys, school, movies, weekend plans, or whatever her kid wanted to talk about.

“I’m gonna miss the bus!” Jane said

“Oh sh-crap,” Bobby said, looking at the time.

“You almost said shit!”

“No I didn’t, let’s go.”

When Jane was finally gone, Bobby went for a run, usually about five miles, but sometimes less, depending on how she felt. Today she felt great, and managed an extra two miles before getting back home. She showered then did yoga for about an hour.

She looked at herself naked in the bathroom mirror, turning sideways and sucking in her belly. She lifted her arms straight up to see how much her breasts rose.

“Hmm, not bad. Check me out.”

Bobby was a freelance copywriter. She loved her job; not just the work, but the freedom it gave her. She stretched and set to work on a project for a client looking to sell appliances that could be turned on over Wi-Fi. She was ahead of schedule and the deadline wasn’t for another week, but she finished it early so she could work on her side project. On the weekend she was a freelance nature photographer, usually hiking the nearby mountain trails to get photos of wild animals. She was editing her latest pictures now.

Lunch today was leftover pizza. Yesterday it was a salad. Whatever.

While she ate, she sent messages to Grace - her oldest friend, since middle school, who had also gotten married but stayed in their hometown when Bobby and Pen moved to Seattle.

She messaged Pen too, to ask how work was going.

“Good,” was his reply.

A few hours later, she woke up from a nap. The book she was reading had fallen to the side and she lost her page. Her alarm was going off: Pick up Jane. So she walked to the end of the long street and arrived just as Jane stepped off the bus.

“Wanna go with me to run some errands?” Bobby asked. “We can stop for fries.”

“Sure!”

Bobby and Jane spent the rest of the evening together, doing this and that; picking up dry cleaning, eating french fries in the car, singing along to music, shopping for groceries, and finally heading home around 7pm.

Pen was watching TV. Bobby went over and kissed him. Jane gave him a hug.

“Hey, baby. Hey, honey,” he said.

“Hey,” Bobby said.

“I’ve got homework,” Jane said, and ran off to her room.

“Oh, did you remember to pick up my suit?”

“I did.”

“Great. By the way, I made dinner.”

“Oh, thanks,”

They didn’t talk much after that.

At 9:30, Pen went to bed alone. Bobby stayed up to read, like she usually did. And when she was bored of that she would watch TV.

Sometime around midnight, she went to the bedroom and saw Pen sleeping. He was shirtless, of course, and she could see his body with the aid of the moonlight that streamed in through the window. The way the shadows played off his back made him look massive. Or maybe he really was massive now. Bobby didn’t really know anymore. She didn’t see much of him these days.

She wondered as she lay down next to him, his huge back facing her, if she would ever see her old “Penny” again.

[theladyofdeath]

The Little Things {Feysand}

A Castaway Oneshot. (NSFW)

To read the rest of Castaway, my previously written ACOTAR fanfiction, click here.

Enjoy. :)

P.S. I’m pretty sure I’ve used this gif 100x and I’m not even going to apologize for it.

The alarm clock beeped obnoxiously, forcing Rhysand to flail blindly until he hit the snooze button.

“What time is it?” Feyre groaned.

Peeking through one eye, Rhysand sighed. “Six.”

Feyre groaned again, and pulled their shared comforter over her head.

Adulting had been difficult lately, although they had to admit it was easier to “adult” together. They’d lived with each other for nearly six months, since Kallias had moved out and married Viv.

Since graduating, Rhysand had started a job in the city, as a social media and marketing manager for a local chain of cafes.

Feyre was still in school, to her dismay, although Rhysand thought she secretly liked it. She was acing all her classes, and he couldn’t be more proud at how far she had come with her confidence alone.

Soft, warm hands spread across his bare chest, causing a smile to tug on the corners of his mouth. “Hmmm.”

She kissed his chest once, twice, before crawling on top of his body so that he could wrap his tattooed arms around her waist.

Feyre nuzzled her face into his neck, and sighed. “I suppose we should get up. Get ready.”

Rhysand shook his head. “Five more minutes.”

He was the one that had to be up so early, not her, and yet she woke up with him every morning at the crack of dawn – one of the many reasons he loved her so much.

“How about you take five more minutes, and I’ll start some coffee,” she grinned, and nipped at his nose before crawling off the bed, leaving him surprisingly cold in her absence.

The scent of coffee filled the apartment a moment later, just before the shower started from down the hall.

He glanced at the clock: 6:15.

Okay. Time to get up.

His feet hit the floor and he stretched his arms wide, groaning all the while, and slowly made his way to the bathroom.

The outline of her body was perfectly visible through the sheer curtain, every curve sending a jolt through Rhysand’s exhausted body.

He still wasn’t used to it. Wasn’t used to the early mornings, wasn’t used to working ten hour days, wasn’t used to having an official schedule. Being a college graduate wasn’t as exciting as he thought it would be.

And yet, it wasn’t all bad as he pushed his boxers to the tile floor, and sneaked through the shower curtain, up behind his girlfriend.

As his hands slipped over her abdomen, as his mouth found the side of her neck, she leaned back into the warmth of his body. It was almost as if she was expecting him.

“That was much longer than five minutes,” she mumbled.

Rhysand nudged her forward, so that the steaming hot water was pouring over his back. Then, she turned to him and grabbed his ass. “When will you be home tonight?”

“Hmmm,” he sighed. “Five-thirty? When will you be home?”

“Well,” she smiled, “I have class from eight until noon, then my lab at three, then I’ll be going over to Nesta and Cassian’s to watch Lia until eight or so. It’s date night. The first since she’s been born.”

Cecelia had just turned four months old, and the new parents hadn’t been out together for a night of fun since long before she had been born.

“Maybe I’ll come there after work then,” Rhysand said. “I haven’t seen her yet this week.”

“Such a good uncle.”

“I know,” he winked, and she laughed. As always, the sound of her joy was intoxicating.

“You’re so weird.”

He was, and yet she loved him that way. Rhysand had never felt as free to be who he was as he did when he was in the presence of this woman, the girl who hated him at first, who was loved by his enemy. Now, he couldn’t imagine living life without her. She was it. She was his person.

“You’re thinking about something,” she observed.

“You,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. “How much I love you.”

She kissed him softly as she replied, “I love you, too.”

With his mouth against hers, he grinned, “I still have forty minutes before I need to leave.”

She pulled his body closer as she whispered, “Better hurry.”

Rhysand was a lot of things when it came to making love, but a tease was not one of them.

Feyre’s legs were around his waist, and her back was pressed up against the wall before he could form a full thought about what he was going to do next. But maybe that was the greatest part about their relationship, about their love life, that he didn’t have to think at all.

Because his body knew exactly what it wanted.

Feyre whispered his name as his mouth found the base of her neck, as his hands wandered up to cup her breasts.

There was something more intimate about sex in the mornings, right after waking up. Something about the way two people are completely disheveled from a full night’s sleep, the way two bodies interact while simply going through the motions of a life spent together.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t foreseen. It just happened, because he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

He knew the moment she felt his length fully beneath her, because she grinned – cruelly, wickedly.

Rhysand pressed his forehead against hers as he adjusted her hips, and watched gray-blue eyes disappear as her eyelids fluttered shut the moment he entered her body.

Her nails dug into his back, just beneath his tattoo – the black, incandescent wings that she loved painting when they’d first met.

“Rhys,” she breathed, thrusting his hips into hers as he held her body up against the wall with his.

Rhysand never thought he would be making love to the same woman over, and over, and over again. Hoped, but never actually imagined that it would come true. And yet, he never grew tired of it. He never tired of her body, of the way it interacted with his. He never grew tired of the sensation, the utter bliss, the swept through every inch of his limbs as he grabbed onto her waist, and moaned her name with a plea. Feyre.

And when it was over, he carried her to bed and laid her down among the pillows, skin damp and smelling of vanilla. He kissed her again, his lips hungry for more, as she wrapped her slender arms around his neck.

“I’m skipping work,” he mumbled. “I’m staying here with you, all day, in bed.”

“What about Lia?” she giggled.

“I’m staying here with you until this afternoon,” he corrected. “She’s the exception.”

Another alarm went off from his phone, that seemed to be coming from the kitchen.

Rhysand glanced at the clock – 6:55.

He had to leave in five minutes. After a curse, and a long, tender kiss, Rhysand was on his feet, drying himself off with a dirty t-shirt, and walking into the closet they shared.

“I thought you were staying here with me,” Feyre mocked, watching his bare ass from their bed.

He glanced back with a smile, his eyes lingering in places he had been thoroughly examining only moments before. “I chose to be responsible. Although, the longer you keep laying there like that, the harder this gets. Put some clothes on.”

“Fine,” she said, meeting him in the closet where he was tugging on a pair of black jeans.

He tossed her over his shoulder and brought her back to their bed before he could zip them up, blessing her with yet another brush of his mouth.

“You’re going to be late,” she muttered, against his lips.

“I know,” he said.

Against his inner wishes, Rhysand stood up, and found a button-down, and grabbed his bag from next to the nightstand. He brushed his hand through his hair, quickly, and gave Feyre one last kiss before strutting toward the door.

“I love you!” he called. “I’ll see you at five-thirty!”

“I love you, too!” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice as he shut the apartment door behind him.

After tossing his backpack strap over his shoulder, and hoping he had put his laptop back in it the night before, Rhysand buttoned his shirt as he ran down the stairs to the parking lot. As he got into his car, he looked back up to their window, where Feyre sat, wrapped in a blanket, waving him off to work.

It was going to be a good day.

[k-waza]

Do you have the time to listen to me whine

Self doubt is something that has badly plagued me throughout my whole life. No matter what Job I got, no matter what job I did, even if I did it well, there was this constant, nagging, neverending dread that if I screw up I'll get fired and or "disposed of"

I once had a job as a School Age Program assistant and worked with kids. I have a natural talent for being nurturing and many people say that I'm really good with kids.

I was privileged to have such good co-workers and good superiors to help guide me and make me a better SAP assistant. I DID mess up a time or two, but instead of yelling at me, belittling me, or shaming me, I had supervisors and senpais (seniors) who would simply ask me "What do I think I need to do to fix the situation and prevent it from happening again". . as a result I got really REALLY good at doing my job.

Even though I had understanding, supportive superiors at my job I remember one time I screwed up on the job, I was a lot harder on myself than my boss was. I actually cried a little in front of the kids, but being macho I tried to play it off as an allergy attack. But even though I tried to play it off, even the kids were aware that I was crying a little.  

One base aspect of my personality is that I have a fear of being "Disposed" of. Thrown away.

Fast forward like 10 years later, I'm living with my aunt. I work as a minimum wage security guard making only 450$ every two weeks. My aunt is stingy with the food so I have to spend the majority of my money eating out. I don't have a car so any groceries I can carry while riding a bike would have to do.

After 4 months of living with my aunt, I caught wind of her saying that she wanted to drop me off at a homeless shelter. Not call any other relatives that I could live with, just dispose of me because I had to rely on her.

It was those thoughts that went through my head the day of the accident as I rode my bicycle to work that morning.

I thought to myself "If I die, everyone will be happy." -"I finally would have done something right with my life, nobody will have to worry about taking care of me or having me rely on them anymore."

"They'll be proud of me if I take the initiative and take my own life."

But then I heard a voice in my head that said "Don't do it"

The voice said "The people in your family may be unreliable, selfish, self-serving, insensitive, miserly, and callous, but they are NOT so sadistic as to actually take pleasure in the loss of one of their own."

"DON'T DO IT"

"Look at this beautiful sunrise as the sun gently climbs over the trees. . .it is the start of a new day. Each start of a new day brings potential of doing something great. As long as you get to see a new morning, you have the power to do something good and make improvements. . ."

At that moment I felt less sad. I felt a feeling of hope swell up inside me as I was inspired by that Rising Shine. . . . .

Then everything went black. I was hit by a truck and instantly renderd unconscious.

I don't remember the moment of impact.

As I was blacked out, I thought to myself "Shit, Please do not tell me that I DREAMT waking up, getting ready for work and riding my bike halfway to the bus stop!"

"I gotta wake up! I hit the snooze button twice already!"

I opened my eyes and I was on my back on the ground looking up at a darkened sky. Someone told me "Don't move, you were hit by a truck, we've called an ambulance!"

And then I thought to myself" Oh. . . .wait a minute. . .that means I get the day off of work today! WHOO HOO!" I was completely unaware that the lower half of my body was completely shattered.

The pain didn't kick in until after I regained consciousness again in the hospital. Ever try doing the splits when you're not flexible? Well imagine that pain, but your legs, spine and pelvis are twisted 1080 degrees.

I was in so much pain that time I UNIRONICALLY believed that I died, went to hell and I was on a torture rack thinking to myself "Even GOD thinks I'm not good enough!" (I was blind at the time I couldn't open my eyes or see anything)

Long story short, I'm still alive, and self doubt haunts me to this day. Not as badly but I've learned how to manage it a little better.

[leaves-of-three]

Day Nine || Turn It Off

Connor Murphy x Reader

Word Count: 3272

Summary: The morning aftermath and dealing with everything that arose in the woods.  [This is part of an in progress series. You can follow along here.]

Warning: Mentions or alluding to prior sexual assault. 

Author Note: What up? Hope everyone is good. Enjoy! xKatie

The morning sun poured in through the crack between the curtains. It shone across your face causing you to burrow under the covers away from the light. Your alarm clock was buzzing. The noise was irritating and persistent. It couldn’t possibly be morning already. You still felt like you needed another few hours of sleep. 

"Shut it up,” a male voice complained in annoyance from the floor beside your bed. 

You peeked your head out from under the covers and poked it over the side of the mattress. You were surprised to see Connor was still here. You had asked him to stay last night but you figured he would get bored and leave once you fell asleep. He was sprawled out on the floor, your old teddy bear under his head as a makeshift pillow, and an arm throw over his eyes to block out of the sun. Beetle, your cat, was curled up by his side.

You reached over and hit the snooze button. The alarm cut off immediately. Silence fell over the room once more. You had school today. The thought made your stomach hurt. Memories from the prior night resurfaced. They flood your brain. You were too tired to move. Too tired to do anything. You wanted to go back to bed. You were too exhausted to even entertain the idea that Connor had slept over. Or that you had kissed him last night. 

You had kissed him. 

Your heart leaped in excitement. Your eyes shot open. Okay, maybe you weren’t that tired anymore. You rolled over onto your side and tossed the blanket back over your head. A smile grew on your face. After everything you had experienced yesterday, you were still able to smile over a little kiss. It gave you hope that happiness still existed, even after a person goes through hell. 

It wasn’t exactly anything special. He hadn’t even had time to kiss back even if he had wanted to. You had moved away too quickly. You had busied yourself by getting ready for bed. You acted like it was nothing and he had followed your lead. But still...you touched your lips with the back of your hand and closed your eyes. You imagined that you could feel him there. You imagined what it would have been like had he kissed you back. You tried to remember everything about him in that moment but your memory was so hazy. Yesterday came back to you in chunks of time. You tried to focus just on him though. How he had helped you. He carried you out of the forest. He calmed you down. Five things...he taught you that trick which you would now remember forever. The rock, which had been your fifth object, was still sitting on your bedside table. You stuck a hand out, feeling around for it, and snatched it back under your covers into your little cave. You rolled it over in your hand. It was cool to the touch. 

Connor’s steady breathing floated through your ears. He must have already fallen back to sleep. You wished he was in the bed with you. You wished you could curl up against him and absorb his warmth, to fall back to sleep wrapped up in his arms. Instead, you ran your thumb over the rock. It was much less appealing than the boy on the ground. The rock reminded you of the worst parts which yesterday held. It reminded you of the panic, the fear, the memories. You couldn’t forget them again. You had to remember them. It was the only way to start healing. 

You slipped the rock under your pillow. If you held it any longer, you were afraid you might start crying. Simple tasks seemed daunting. Like getting out of bed. Getting ready. School. You snuggled up and closed your eyes. All those things could wait. You wanted to sleep. Sleep was good. 

Just when you began to doze off again, the alarm went off a second time. You had snooze set for every ten minutes. Connor groaned with exasperation, “I said turn it off.” 

“Someone is clearly not a morning person,” you rolled back over and turned off the alarm. It was 6:40. Too early for life. You remembered that your dad had an over night shift last night. He would be home soon. He’d be confused as to why his daughter’s car was not in his driveway and instead a beat, up old black one was. Yours was still sitting in the school parking lot. Hopefully. They might have towed it. For the sake of your father, you forced yourself to get up. You gently kicked Connor’s side as you walked past him. “Get up. My dad’s coming home soon. You need to move your car.”

“Move it for me?” He murmurer sleepily. “Key’s in my jacket pocket.” He half heartily pointed to where ever he assumed he had last left his jacket. His eyes stayed closed the entire time. You sighed. It was the least you could do after all he did for you yesterday. Plus he spent the whole night on the floor...and he sounded so incredibly sexy with his raspy, sleepy voice. You shook your head. You needed to chill. 

His denim jacket was draped over your desk chair. You reached into the pocket and felt around for the keys. Once they were acquired, you left the room. You didn’t bother with changing or putting on shoes. Outside was warm and the morning, fiery sun was rising against a deep blue sky. Your socked feet padded down the driveway.  

Connor drove a classic, old Ford Mustang. It would have been a beautifully impressive car if it was given some love and attention. Instead it looked like it rolled directly out of a junkyard. The door creaked when you opened it. Inside smelt like a mixture of stale smoke and the faded royal pine car freshener that hung from the mirror. The engine rumbled to life with the turn of the key. You’d just park it around the corner on the side of the street. No one would look twice at it there. 

As you turned out of your driveway, the sun hit directly into your eyes. You squinted and moved to push down the sun visor. As you did, some items tumbled into your lap. You didn’t bother to move them until you found a good spot to rehome his car. Once it was parked, you looked at what had fallen onto you. There were two pieces of paper and a rolled up joint. You shook your head. Very classy. One of the papers was a parking ticket indicating that he owed $65 for parking on a sidewalk. Once again, very classy, Connor. The second was a folded piece of lined paper. You recognized it immediately. It was the simple “thank you” note you had left him the first day you met. A smile grew on your face. He had kept it. Or rather, more likely, he had shoved it up into his visor and forgotten it was there along with the parking ticket and joint. But you needed more happy thoughts in your life so you opted to believe that he kept it simply because it came from you. You smiled as you left his car and walked back up the street to your house. Luckily it was early enough that not many people were out yet. Otherwise you would have been self conscious of the fact that were strolling down the street in pajamas and socks.

Back inside the safety of your home, you went to the bathroom. You grabbed your toothbrush, loaded on some toothpaste, and started to brush your teeth. You had a choice to make. You could go to school or stay home. After yesterday, all you really wanted was to go back to sleep. It would be easy to fake sick to your dad. Unfortunately, that would also mean that you would be missing yet another day. It was only the second week and you were already so far behind. You missed the same amount of classes as you had attended. It was not a good start to the year. You spit out the toothpaste just as you heard the front door open. 

“I’m home!” Your father’s gruff, tried voice echoed through the halls. “I hope you’re awake or else you’re going to be late!” A panic hit you. Hopefully Connor would be smart enough to not make any noise to indicate that he was in your room. 

You left the bathroom and shuffled down the hall to meet him. You put on your best tired, sickly look. It didn’t take much effort. Your dad was putting his bag down on the kitchen table. He was a tall, muscular man with a full, scruffy brown beard. He was still in his security guard uniform. His job was tiresome for him. He had to work long hours in order to support your little family and he wasn’t getting any younger. It took a toll on him. He turned around and smiled when he saw you but it quickly faded. “Hey, Bug,” he frowned at your appearance. “You feeling okay?”

You shook your head. “I’ve been sick all night. I don’t think I can go to school today.” 

He stepped forward and placed his hand under your chin, lifting up your face. He eyed the scrape across your cheek bone. “What the hell happened here?” 

You racked your brain, quickly coming up with an excuse. “It was the cat. It was my fault though. I tried to grab her out from under the bed and she freaked. We’re good now. Best friends. But I don’t feel good...”

He moved his hand to your forehead. “You’re not hot. You can stay home though if you can explain to me why the hell your car isn’t in the driveway.” 

“Oh, yeah, I meant to text you but I wasn’t feeling that great. After school it wouldn’t start. I got a ride home from-” You swallowed. Your dad knew little to nothing about your outside social life. “-from Alyssa.” To him, he still believed nothing had changed over the summer. You were good at hiding things. 

“Hmm, alright. We can stop by with jumper cables later and I’ll see if I can get it going.” He moved towards the kitchen and grabbed a cup of water. “If you don’t feel good, you can stay home. I won’t complain. I’m headed to bed in a minute though. I can hardly keep my eyes open another second. We can both use the day to rest up.” 

You smiled with relief and watch him walk to his bedroom. “Good morning and good night, dad.”

“Good morning and good night, Bug.” He closed the bedroom door behind him. You knew he’d be out and dead to the world until sometime this evening. He slept like rock especially after an overnight shift. You slowly backed up to your bedroom. With one last glance towards his closed door, you slipped into your room. 

At some point since you’d left, Connor had moved from his spot on your floor and was now laying, fast asleep in your bed. He was still in clothes from yesterday, boots included, and was sprawled out on the mattress. You were unsure what to do at this point. Did you wake him up? Did you kick him out? You really just wanted to go back to sleep. You would have been fine doing that had he still been on your floor. You chewed on the back of your thumb while silently debating. 

He was in your bed. 

You tried to ignore the growing nervous excitement and shuffled closer to the sleeping boy. His lips were parted slightly and he was breathing softly. He must have been just as exhausted as you after yesterday and sleeping on the floor couldn’t have lead to much rest. “Uhm...Connor...” You poked his arm, keeping your voice down in case your dad heard. He didn’t move. You poked him against and spoke a little louder. “Connor? You’re kinda...in my bed...” 

He stirred, eyes opening and staring at you through cracked slits. He mumbled some incoherent words and rolled away from you. At least when he rolled over, he opened up a side of the bed that you could fit into. He was above the covers so you decided to slide under them. Above the covers, below the covers. That was the old sleepover trick. You made yourself comfortable. Your back was to his. You bit your lip to keep from smiling. You were sharing a bed with Connor Murphy. He was unaware of that fact but that’s okay. He was in your bed after all. You had every right to be here. 

You took a quiet deep breath and relaxed. You had no worries that your dad would come in. He hardly ever went into your room and he was probably already passed out. The weight of yesterday settled back onto your mind. Your body ached from all the tension and walking and crying you had done. You were mentally and physically drained. It didn’t take long for your eyes to grow heavy. 

-

It was mid day when you began to rouse. Your sluggishness gradually dwindled and your mind cleared up. Already you could feel your body becoming stronger than it had been this morning. Sleep healed. 

You rolled over and surveyed your room. Connor was no longer in the bed with you. He had moved back to the floor. He was sitting in the corner of your room, wedging himself in the spot between the wall and your desk. It was a small space. You wondered if he felt safe or hidden behind there. You would have. He was on his phone but his eyes looked up when he heard you move. “Your lack of good books in here is abysmal. I’ve been bored as shit for the past hour.”

You sat up with a yawn. “I told you before. I don’t read much. Why are you still here?” It was surprising to you. Your house was only one floor. He could have easily left through the window or snuck down the hall and out the front door. He wasn’t forced to stay here. 

He shrugged and stated nonchalantly, “You asked me to stay.” 

A smiled tugged at the corner of your lips. You patted the spot on the bed next to you, indicating for him to come sit down. He hesitantly obliged, taking a tender seat across from you. The dark circles under his eyes were darker than usual. You felt you needed to properly thank him for everything he had done. Even now he was still keeping a watchful eye over you. “Listen...about yesterday...” You weren’t sure how to continue. How did you thank someone for that? Hi, thank you for watching me have a mental breakdown and bringing me home safely, please don’t tell anyone, bye. Words wouldn’t accurately describe what you felt. You also wanted to make sure everything stayed between just the two of you. “I don’t want- I’m sorry you- That wasn’t-” Every sentence you started failed to complete itself. 

Connor spoke up instead. “It’s okay, Y/N. No else will ever know what happened yesterday unless you tell them, alright? I won’t say anything.” He looked like he wanted to say more, to ask you something, but he refrained. 

You sighed with relief, “Thank you. I didn’t expect all that to happen. I’m sure that was the last way you ever wanted to spend your night. I’m sorry.” 

He hesitated again. Something was definitely on his mind. He seemed afraid to ask it though. 

You bit your lip and rose your eyebrows in question, wordlessly letting him know that it was okay to say whatever he was thinking. 

“Who’s Justin Crawford?” His eyes stayed locked onto your face. They held a look of intrigue in them. 

Your stomach dropped. You suddenly felt sick. You weren’t prepared for that question. Connor picked up on your change. He quickly spoke up again, “You said his name in the woods. You said he drugged you. What...what does mean? What happened?”

You stayed quiet for a long time. You kept your eyes cast down at the bed. You nervously fidgeted with the edge of your blanket. You weren’t sure you were ready to unpack all that yet. “He was Alyssa’s boyfriend. He used to be my friend. We were drunk...and...he...he’s not a good person,” you shook your head. It was all you could say. Anymore and you’d start to unravel again. 

Connor swallowed. His voice was calm but held a concerned undertone, “Did he hurt you?” He must have taken your silence as a ‘yes’ because he inhaled sharply. His jaw tightened. Anger flashed in his eyes. Then he seemingly appeared to clear his throat and put on a calm exterior. You could see through it though. Underneath he was fuming. You quietly wondered why he would react in such a way. It wasn’t like he knew you then. You picked at the blanket some more. The air in the room had become awkward and tense. 

“I’ve got to go,” Connor suddenly stood up from the bed. “I should get home. You’re fine now, right? I can leave?”

He was so dismissive. You looked up with a sad, confused expression. You felt like maybe you had done something wrong. You shouldn’t of said anything. You were so stupid. “I...uhm, yeah...I’m...f-fine.” You weren’t fine. His sudden will to leave threw you into a mental turmoil. You had more or less just confessed something awful to him and his first response was to leave. It was your fault. You should have stayed quiet. 

He didn’t look at you as he grabbed his jacket from the chair and his keys from your desk. “Where’d you park my car?” 

“Uh, the street behind my house...” You wanted to apologize. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was angry at you. You had done something to upset him. His responses had become abrupt. He refused to look in your direction while collecting his things. Tears burned in your eyes. 

Without looking back, Connor left your room and walked down the hall. He didn’t take any care in attempting to be quiet while your dad still slept. You followed behind, wanting to reach out and say something, but too scared to even try. Before you knew it, he had slipped out your front door and closed it behind him. Gone. 

Your lip quivered. Why did you have to say anything? He probably thought you were dirty. He couldn’t even look at you when he found out. Was he that disgusted that he couldn’t even lay his eyes on you? He thought you were dirty, used, and disgusting just like everyone else would if they ever found out. Tears spilled down your cheek. You ran back to your bedroom and slammed the door behind you, sinking to the floor. You were beginning to think he was someone who cared about you. Someone you cared about. He was special to you and you had ruined it like you ruined everything. This was how everyone would react if they ever found out. They wouldn’t be able to look at you. They would leave. Everyone would leave. 

You curled up on the carpet. You’d have to keep this a secret. You couldn’t ever let it get out. Keep quiet from now on. 

Your heart ached for Connor.