#i told you it’d be hozier

[starman-waitinginthesky81]

[incognit0slut]

hii, i love you’re writing and i have a song request idea. the song too sweet by hozier would be so cute it could be angst to smut and it could happen late morning or late at night since the lyrics. idk if it makes sense i just thought it’d be cute 😭. again i love your work sm okay, ty, bye 🫶🏾💖🫶🏾💖🫶🏾

Spencer thinks you’re too sweet for a damaged man like him.

Warnings: (18+) Professor Reid x Student Fem Reader. Age gap (he’s in his 40s or post-prison era, Reader is in her 20s). Angst and smut. 2.8k words A/n: anon I took your request but I changed it a little to how I interpret this song… which means a lot of ANGST💔 I hope you don’t mind

He knew you were here. He always knew. The usual chaotic sprawl of books scattered throughout his apartment seemed to be in order, and there was a comforting scent lingering in the air that unmistakably belonged to you.

Although Spencer could never really put his finger on your scent. Sometimes you exuded a sweet fragrance, like the delicate petals of a flower, while at other times, a crisp, fresh aroma lingered around you, reminiscent of a morning breeze, or perhaps the soft scent of rain. 

But it didn't matter whether you smelled like a garden in full bloom or the crisp air after a rainstorm, the mere proximity to you brought him the peace he was all too familiar with, and that calmness enveloped him as he made his way toward his bedroom.

You looked like an angel. Sweet, calm, serene. His eyes drifted towards your sleeping form, and he couldn't help but wonder how you could sleep so well after the conversation you both shared this morning. The weight of your mutual decision to end things for good hung heavy in the air, yet here you lay, seemingly unaffected.

He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, each rhythmic pattern of your breathing seemed to draw him closer. One step, then another, until he found himself standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, vulnerable in your sleep. And then, as if pulled by an unseen force, he sank into the space beside you.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and so did his heart. Spencer knew this wasn't the wisest thing to do. He was supposed to be the responsible one, after all, he was older than you. With age came experience, or so he believed, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he should be the voice of reason.

But as he lay beside you, he couldn't help but question his judgment. Was it truly wisdom that guided him, or was it simply the fear of facing the unknown? Age and maturity seemed like a flimsy construct now, overshadowed by the raw intensity of his emotions. With a heavy sigh, he placed a hand on your waist.

One touch, he told himself, one touch was all he would allow himself.

You felt the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, grounding you in the present moment. Spencer watched intently, well aware he should have pulled back, yet, despite his better judgment, he found himself unable to let go, his grip on you tightening almost instinctively.

His gaze traced your face in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. Despite the early hour, your features seemed to radiate with a warmth that defied the darkness of the dawn. The lines of worry on your brow softened, your lips curved into a gentle smile, and for a fleeting moment, you appeared to embody the very essence of sunshine itself.

It was a peculiar sight, Spencer thought, considering how the world beyond the window remained shrouded in darkness.

"You're home," you muttered as if the word home was a concept you both shared. Perhaps it had once been true, or perhaps it was a dream that had never quite materialized. He felt a pang in his chest, a bittersweet reminder of what once was, or what could have been.

"You're not supposed to be here," he mumbled softly.

"I was going to give you back your keys, but you weren't here," you confessed. "And I wanted to wait for you."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "So you decided to wait on my bed?"

"It seemed like the most comfortable spot."

"You've always liked my bed."

You shook your head. "It's not the bed, per se. It's the feeling of being close to you..." Your gaze softened as you met his eyes. "Even when you're not here."

Time seemed to stand still as he met your gaze, a rush of emotions swirling beneath the surface. "I'm not here most of the time," he said after a pause.

"I know."

"That's not fair to you."

A heavy silence fell into place.

"I know," you replied quietly.

"And the next time we do see each other," he continued, his tone tinged with resignation, "Is when I'm standing in front of class with you sitting between the seats."

"Spencer, I know," you pressed, your voice barely concealing the ache in your heart. "We went through this conversation this morning."

"Then why are you still here?"

You held his gaze, your eyes reflecting countless emotions—sadness, longing, and perhaps a hint of defiance. "Because," you began softly, "I still can't bring myself to leave."

His heart clenched at your words, the weight of them settling heavily upon him. He had expected defiance, anger, perhaps even resentment, but your quiet admission caught him off guard.

"Why?" he asked.

You looked away. "You know why."

He knew the reasons, of course, he knew them all too well. But hearing them spoken aloud, seeing the pain reflected in your eyes, brought the harsh reality of the situation. He reached out, gently grasping your chin and guiding your gaze back to meet his.

"This is for the best," he replied quietly, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. He knew the words sounded hollow, even to his own ears, but he couldn't bring himself to admit the truth—that perhaps, deep down, he was trying to protect himself as much as he was trying to protect you.

"For me or for you?"

He hesitated, the lump in his throat growing heavier with each passing moment.

"For both of us," he admitted softly.

It was the truth, undeniable and painful. He couldn't deny the impact of your relationship if it continued down its current path. Not only was he much older than you, but he was also supposed to be your mentor, your teacher, your professor.

His role was meant to guide you. He was supposed to impart knowledge, not to engage in illicit affairs behind closed doors. He had allowed himself to become too invested in you, to give you more attention than was appropriate, more than was fair to his other students.

But it wasn't just about him anymore—it was about you. He couldn't bear the thought of tainting your pure, sweet soul with the darkness that came with him. He had done things he wasn't proud of, and made choices that he wished he could undo, and now, as he looked at you, he couldn't help but feel a sense of shame.

You deserved better than to be with someone who carried the weight of his past like a heavy burden.

"So this it?" You asked.

All he could do was nod. A lump formed in your throat as you struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. "Fine. Just..." You paused, taking a shaky breath to steady yourself. "I'll leave as soon as you tell me the truth."

He felt a knot tighten in his chest as he waited for you to continue.

"Tell me you don't love me and I'll leave."

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, the pain evident in his eyes as he struggled to find the right response. He knew that he had to be honest with you, no matter how difficult it might be.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, the words caught in his throat. How could he deny the truth when every fiber of his being longed for you? How could he let you go when you were the one thing he couldn't bear to lose?

"I..." he began, his voice faltering as he searched for the courage to speak the words you so desperately needed to hear. But no matter how hard he tried, the words refused to come.

"Say it," you urged. "Say you don't love me and I'll leave you for good."

Taking a deep breath, he met your gaze and braced himself for the pain his words would inflict on you.

"I don't love you," he whispered, the words feeling like a betrayal even as they left his lips. It was a lie, and he knew it. And yet, he couldn't find the courage to admit his feelings for you.

The air around you seemed to thicken with tension. He had braced himself for the pain his lie would bring, but nothing could prepare him for the look of hurt and disbelief that crossed your face at his words. You were the one who asked for this, yet hearing him admit to it so easily shattered your heart into pieces.

"You're... you're lying."

Spencer felt a pang of guilt shoot through him at the sight of your pain. He knew that he would regret what he was about to do, but he couldn't stand the thought of you walking away without knowing the truth, without knowing how much he truly cared for you.

So he closed the distance between you, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and captured your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. For a moment, you were lost in the sensation, the warmth of his touch, the tenderness of his kiss.

But as quickly as it had begun, it came to an end, leaving you breathless and uncertain. You pulled back and searched his eyes for answers. "You're lying," you repeated.

He sighed heavily, his forehead resting against yours. "I-I don't love you."

Your chest tightened again. How could he say that when his touch was so tender, when his gaze held so much depth? Frustration and hurt boiled over as your nails dug into his skin, gripping his wrist firmly as you held his face close to yours.

"Stop lying to me," you pleaded almost desperately. "Stop fucking lying to yourself."

He closed his eyes. He knew that he couldn't keep lying to you, and yet, the words refused to leave his lips, trapped by the fear of what might happen if he dared to speak them aloud.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart as he pulled you closer, not knowing what else to do to ease the pain away.

So he kissed you again.

He kissed you as if he was apologizing, each gentle press of his lips against yours a silent plea for forgiveness. He kissed you as if he needed to convey his feelings that he couldn't express with words, his touch speaking volumes where his voice fell short.

He kissed you as if you were everything to him, as if the taste of you was sweeter than any other, as if he couldn't bear the thought of a life without you in it. He kissed you desperately and unapologetically, it was sweet yet painful, tender yet desperate, as if every moment shared between you was both a blessing and a curse.

You could taste the bitterness of goodbye on his lips, yet you couldn't bring yourself to let go, not when his touch still felt like home. So you pushed your tongue into his mouth, savoring the taste of him even as you knew it would only make saying goodbye that much harder.

Your breathing became heavy as you felt his hand glide down from your cheek to your neck. He then pulled away, his lips still tingling from the taste of you as he licked them unconsciously. His gaze followed the movement of his hand as it settled on your breast.

You could feel the tension between you crackling in the air, the desire that pulsed between you almost tangible, as he brushed your nipple over your shirt. A gasp escaped your lips as he continued to tease you, each touch sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

You knew that this wasn't the wisest thing to do. You were both playing with fire and giving in to the temptation could only lead to more heartache. But you couldn't help yourself, not when your body was coming alive with the familiarity of his touch, not when you knew that this might be the last time you could feel him as close.

So when his hand slipped further down, tracing a path over your stomach, past your legs, you let him. The anticipation built within you as his touch hiked up your skirt, your breath catching in your throat. And when the rough pad of his fingers ghosted over the material of your panties, you found yourself instinctively spreading your legs apart, inviting him closer.

As the first electric surge rushes through you, the smallest of breaths escapes your lips, signaling the release of the tension you had been holding in your lungs. Your hands found purchase against his shoulders, nails digging into his t-shirt tightly as you felt him pressing onto your folds.

You both stared at each other, a silent exchange of emotions passing between you. There were so many emotions in his—sadness, frustration, and a burning desire that mirrored your own. And yet, despite the turmoil that raged within him, you found yourself unable to look away, drawn in by the intensity of his gaze.

As his hand worked its magic between your thighs, you felt yourself growing wetter by the minute, desire pooling low in your belly. And then, with a sense of purpose, he pulled his hand away, his fingers deftly finding the band of your panties as he coaxed the thin material down your legs. 

How did he manage to bring himself into this situation again? It was a familiar pattern, one that he had promised himself he would break, and yet, here he was, like a moth to a flame, irresistibly drawn to you.

Or perhaps it was more like you were a precious flower, delicate and beautiful, and he was drawn to you like a bee to nectar, unable to resist the sweet temptation that you offered.

Whatever the reason, he knew that he couldn't stay away from you. With trembling hands, he buried his fingers between your thighs once more, finally touching your bare, slick skin. The slickness of your arousal coated his fingers as he explored every inch of your delicate folds, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

And then, unable to resist any longer, he pressed a single finger inside your entrance, the sensation causing you to gasp in pleasure. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of your tightness enveloping him, before picking up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate with each passing moment.

"Please," you muttered, gulping and concentrating on the feeling of him slowly pumping his single digit in and out of your tightening, dripping walls. 

But what were you begging for? For him not to stop? Or for him not to let you go? Maybe both, and for now, the only thing he could do was give you the pleasure you so desperately craved.

He could feel the tension building within you, the way your body arched and trembled. And as he continued to pleasure you, he made a silent vow to himself—to give you everything he could at this moment, to make you feel alive and wanted, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

So he continued to move his finger inside you, and as he felt you drawing closer to the edge, he knew that he couldn't stop now. His thumb found your clit, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips as he applied gentle pressure. Then with a sense of urgency, he plunged another finger deep inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way possible.

Your grip on his shirt tightened, your nails digging into the fabric as you clung to him desperately. "Pl-Please," you begged, heavy eyes searching for his own. "Please don't leave me."

His heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in your voice, the depth of emotion written plainly across your face. He couldn't bear to look at you any further, so he buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing tender kisses against your skin as his fingers continued their fast-paced rhythm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with anguish. "I'm so sorry."

His words were barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths, but you heard him clearly, and a loud moan ripped out of you. This was the cruelest form of rejection; to find pleasure in his touch only to be denied the warmth of his affection. You wanted to push him away, to scream at him for playing with your emotions, for making you believe there was something more. But as his fingers continued their relentless assault on your senses, driving you ever closer to the edge of ecstasy, you found yourself unable to resist.

So you surrendered to him completely, because all that mattered was here and now—the ache between your legs, his lips worshiping your body, and the undeniable connection that bound you together, even as the world threatened to tear you apart.

[thefrontofmymind]

Unknown (matty healy x reader)*

WARNINGS: THIS IS SMUT, IF I FIND OUT A MINOR READS THIS IM TELLING UR PARENTS

a/n: this is a part 2 to all things end, this one is based off of the song unknown by hozier. listen to it, it's such a good song

You spent months living your life before you let yourself think about him again. You were invited to a dinner party at the Hann’s, it would’ve been weird if he wasn’t invited. You were thinking of it as something of a preemptive strike against yourself–finally thinking through and addressing your relationship with Matty. 

It’d been easy so far, he’d been away on tour so things in your flat were like they always were, apart from the day after you knew they’d all gotten back when George showed up to your flat, asking for some of his things. You let him take most of Matty’s things, from a list you saw he was reading off of from a text on his phone–a guitar he particularly loved, some of his clothes he didn’t pack for tour, and his stack of full notebooks he’d compiled over the years. He let you keep all the records housed in a floor-to-ceiling shelf in your living room. You knew there were some especially rare ones in the collection, ones you knew he tracked down after years and years of looking.

You decided the best way to really digest everything you’d hid away in a locked-up cupboard in your mind was to write a letter. You didn’t go into it thinking you’d ever give it to him, but you just wanted to write down all the things you wish you could say to him, so you could start again with a clean slate of sorts.

Dear Matty,

To start out this letter, I should tell you that, even now, I think I’ll always love you. Of course you knew this from our last proper conversation, but it’s still true now over 2 months later. We did so much together, you’ll always have a piece of my heart, and I hope mine your’s.

I try not to think about you when I see the ashtray I made for you during that week of quarantine when I got really into pottery. It still sits at its home on the window sill of the bathroom. I try not to turn my head too quickly when I’m out in public and I hear a Northern man speaking behind me. I don’t think I can ever watch True Romance again without thinking about my favourite song, I don’t think I could listen to Fugazi again without thinking of that goddamn t-shirt you wore until it was covered in holes.

I never said it enough, but I’m still so proud of you. For everything. You are a true image of dreams being accomplished, you’re basically a legend in the making. I know you never liked me inflating your ego too much, but I hope you’ll take this compliment at least this once.

This could be misconstrued as a little selfish, but I hope you’re hurting as much as I have been. I hope you struggle to think of me, I hope you reminisce on the good times and dwell on the tough times. I don’t know where you’re staying at the moment, I’m still getting all your mail so you mightn’t have gotten a new place yet, so you’re probably staying with George or someone, but I hope there’s things that remind you of me. Like those cufflinks I bought you for the first of your birthdays we spent together or when you see a movie on Netflix you know I love.

I hope that when we see each other again, there’s not a shred of any contempt in my heart. We don’t have to be friends, but it would kill me if we couldn’t even speak.

Love From Me

As you folded it and slid it into an envelope you felt so much lighter. And with it placed at the bottom of the drawer of your nightstand, you felt like you could breathe freely–for the first time in months.

Now you just had to face him. A task easier said than done, even with your previous exercise, it was a bandaid that made the pain bearable.

The evening of the dinner, you made sure to look your best. Not for Matty, no. You needed to show everyone else that you were fine–you were sure Matty had told them all about what happened, and the only one of his bandmates you’d spoken to was George. It was a shock when you got the text from Carly asking if you were free, you thought the end of your relationship with Matty would mean the end of your friendship with the people around him. Not to say you weren’t pleasantly surprised, just a little bit caught off guard.

You did a quick once-over before you headed out the door, and in the least self-conceited way, you’d never looked hotter. Your makeup was perfect, your hair had that fluffy, 90s supermodel look, and you were wearing a dress that fit you like a glove, in a colour that was the perfect compliment to your glowing skin.

On the drive there you were trying to psych yourself up. It wasn’t a big deal…You could do this. Even as you were walking towards the front door and you could hear laughs inside, you kept telling yourself you would be okay…even if you didn’t believe it all that much.

Only about a second after you pressed the doorbell, you were greeted with the sight of the one, the only Jamie Squire.

“How are you, kid?” He asked excitedly, giving you a friendly hug.

“Oh…You know,” you answered. Because he most certainly did know. You held up the mid-priced bottle of red wine you brought. “Where should this go?”

“Oh Carly’s in the kitchen,” he said.

You were glad to see Carly alone in the kitchen, checking on whatever meal was in the oven. She was just as dolled up as you–you were glad you wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

“Carls!” You called to her as you entered the kitchen.

She excitedly turned and gave you a hug, and gave you a compliment on your makeup. You were always grateful for the friendship between The 1975’s WAGs, past and present.

“So where’s the little rockstar?” You asked, you always loved spending time with Baby Hann, as one of his godparents you’d spent many days playing along with any game he could come up with–which were becoming more and more inventive as he got older.

“He’s at Ad’s parents’,” she answered, you frowned. “Hey, we need a night off every so often!”

“I know…I know…” You joked as you poured a glass from the bottle you brought. “Well then where’s your lovely husband? Need to tell him he should help out his wife.”

“He’s in the living room with everyone else…” She got quiet at the end of her sentence.

“Hey,” you said in a serious tone. “It’s okay, I can be around him.”

“You’re sure?”

“I think.” You laughed.

“If you say so…” She went back to preparing some kind of sauce on the stovetop, leaving you to wade into the unknown. 

You followed the noise of laughter and talking. You were greeted with the sight of George standing in front of everyone else, telling some insane story of his–and the band’s–youth. He trailed off mid-sentence when you entered, and his audience all whipped their heads around to look at the interruption.

Immediately everyone stood, each taking turns to greet you with a polite hug. Last was Matty, he hung back as everyone else said hello. You were so distracted you didn’t notice him at first, but when you did, it was clear how he’d been doing. His hair was longer than before, but not in a way that seemed like he was trying to grow it out, he had a light sprinkle of stubble, and the suit he wore–a staple for him recently–was wrinkled and it looked just a little too big on him.

You politely gave him a kiss on the cheek. You were engulfed in the scent of his cologne, a scent you didn’t realise you missed so dearly.

“How are you, love?” He asked. Love. Sometimes things don’t change, you thought.

“I’m alright,” you said with a bright facade. “Busy with work.”

“Good! Me too,” he answered.

Soon you were whisked away by whomever wanted to talk to you next, not even given an opportunity to say goodbye.

And that was how it went for most of the evening, you’d somehow end up standing next to each other, and someone would intervene. You couldn’t blame your friends, they just wanted to minimise the tension, but there was nothing that could be done about your heart shattering more and more every time you got a look at him.

It got later into the night, and soon the group began to get thinner and thinner. At just a few stragglers left, you saw Matty in the back garden, smoking a cigarette and scrolling through his phone. It was time.

Maybe it was the bottle of wine giving you the courage, but you knew you couldn’t end the night without a proper conversation with Matty, it would be just plain rude not to.

He didn’t react at hearing the clunk of your heels on the wooden deck he was sitting on, only when you sat down right next to him. All he did was offer you a drag of his cigarette which you took, like old times.

“I’m glad you came,” he said after you handed the ciggie back to him. “Here, I mean.”

“Me too…” You answered. “Was a fun night.”

“Did you see how pissed Charli was?” He smiled. “G had to carry her to the car.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” you laughed. “So…uh…where are you staying at the moment?”

“I’ve been bouncing around…” He answered. “Here for tonight.”

You nodded. He seemed quite content to keep scrolling on his phone in silence, but you didn’t want to quit.

“Do you think we could be friends?” You asked. “One day, I mean…eventually.”

Matty looked at you–properly–for the first time since you sat down. “I hope so. Just…”

“What?”

“I need to get over some stuff before that,” he said, nonchalantly, stubbing out his cigarette on the wood of the deck. “Like…I don’t think I’ll ever love someone the way I love you. Like ever.”

Your heart sank at the admission. Everything you’d done to prepare yourself to face him calmly suddenly went out the window.

“Then what are we doing?”

He looked confused by your question.

“Why are we both miserable and just not doing anything about it? Why did we decide to split up if this was how it would end up?”

You were admittedly a bit drunker than you realised at first, you’d never have as much courage to talk to him about all this if you were completely sober.

“Because…” He started. “We run our course.”

“Who says?” You could feel something–Anger? Passion?–bubbling up. “Why should we suffer doing something that neither of us really want? Why were we so rash with all this?”

That last question was more to yourself, why did you give up so easily? You could see Matty’s eyes had a slight gloss to them, yours matched them.

“I don’t know.” Was all he said. And it was enough to solidify your decision of what you were about to do.

You began to lean forward, strong eye contact between the two of you. Matty met you in the middle and before you knew it you were engulfed in the warmth of his kiss, now letting the tears flow freely. It was some kind of cathartic release, all pent up over the last few months.

You didn’t break away until you were in desperate need of air. You both caught your breaths, just staring at each other. Eventually Matty let out a small chuckle.

“What?” You asked, confused but matching his grin.

“Was just thinking…” He started. “I’m supposed to stay here tonight…And I don’t know how I’m gonna sneak out to spend the night with you.”

You laughed. “Well that’s very presumptuous of you.”

“Well I know my audience…” He quipped. It was true, he knew the kind of person you were, as evident when you brought him back to your flat after your first proper date and silently begged him not to judge you–which he didn’t.

You both sat in silence for a little while, a comfortable silence. You didn’t want to go back inside, you felt safe in just Matty’s presence. But you were thinking, how would you explain this to everyone? Simple, you didn’t have to. As much as you loved the band and everyone that came along with them–your family–you did like being alone some of the time. And you thought it best to be alone right now.

“Well I’m going home,” you said, standing up.

“What do I do?” He asked.

“I don’t know! Come up with some excuse! Like you need another pack of fags or something!”

“Carly doesn’t like me smoking here! I had to sneak that one!” He pointed to the butt that was sitting crumbled on the deck next to him.

You sighed. “Just come up with something?”

He laughed. “I’ll try…”

You bid a farewell to the last of the group, and thanked the wonderful couple for hosting. As you turned the ignition of your car, a sense of excitement ran through you. You felt like a teenager again, sneaking around with a boy that made you giddy.

When you got back to your flat, you hurriedly tidied as best you could; making your bed, drying and putting away the dishes you’d left on the sink. When you finally had the time to get a look at yourself in the mirror and saw the sight before you, you quickly refreshed your makeup, fixing your smudged lipstick and creased concealer.

And then you waited on your sofa, after you poured yourself a glass of wine to keep your fearlessness going. Time ticked by ever so slowly. You must’ve checked your phone about two hundred times over the course of about 50 minutes. Eventually you heard a series of rapid knocks at your door, it could only be him. As soon as you opened the door his lips were on yours, feverish and rough.

“What took so long?” You asked in between kisses.

“Had to wait for everyone to leave…” Another kiss. “And then for Hann and Carly to go to bed.”

You just smiled. You had the adrenaline of a horny teenager.

In a flurry of clothes being stripped off between biting, hot kisses, you made your way to your bedroom. A task that was easy for Matty, purely for muscle memory.

There was no need to warm up to it. You straddled Matty and engulfed him in another kiss that almost made you melt.

“You want me to wear a condom?” He asked in a string of breaths, trying not to focus on the heat radiating from you on his thighs.

“I know I’m still clean, are you?”

“Of course.” Was his way of saying there’d been nobody else, An admission that made you beam.

You took gentle hold of his cock, running your thumb over the tip and eliciting a moan from him. And even more as you slowly lowered down on him. It felt comfortable, like home.

As you began to bounce, keeping firm eye contact with Matty, you could feel a bubble start to form in your abdomen. 

You felt your spine turn to jelly when Matty placed two firm fingers on your clit, massaging it in a familiar pattern that you hadn’t felt in months. You were rapidly approaching the edge.

“Ma–Baby…” You began to get out. “Al-almost there…”

“Do you want me on top?” He asked, you nodded.

In a flash, Matty readjusted you so you were laying on top of the mattress, lifting your hips up just a little so he could hit that spot, over and over and over again.

You were biting your lip to stop from letting out the most guttural moan, you just about drew blood. But you just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Once Matty had hit your g-spot one last time, you just unravelled underneath him. He kept thrusting as you ran out your high, but it wasn’t long before he was emptying into you and collapsing next to you.

In a hazy silence, you both were laid on your bed–yours and his–catching your breaths. After a few minutes of recovery, you sat up a little to look at Matty. He was staring at the ceiling with the biggest smile you’d ever seen on him.

“You alright there?” You asked, with a smile of your own.

“Yeah just…” He took a second to gather his thoughts. “Just really, really happy.”

“Me too.”

The rest of your evening–in a word–was still. You were sat in bed, now under the covers with legs intertwined, just talking. Talking about anything, everything, what you missed out on each other’s lives in the past couple months.

But there was one thing you wanted to tell him–needed to tell him. It was whispering at you from the drawer of your nightstand.

“I have something for you,” you said.

“Oh?” Matty asked with a smile as turned away from him to retrieve the envelope. “Is it a good something or a bad something?”

“Good, I think.” You handed him the envelope that had ‘to Matty’ scrawled on the front. “I wrote it a couple days ago, I just wanted to get all my feelings out.”

As he opened the envelope and quickly scanned the paper within, he got the memo. “A letter for me?”

“You don’t have to read it, or if you want to I can leave the room if that makes it easier…”

“No, you don’t have to…” He said with urgency. “Just sit with me?”

You nodded and shimmied closer to him as he read. It took a couple minutes, after he was done, he folded it back up and placed it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. You finally looked at him, he had tears in his eyes.

“I…” He said shakily. “I love you so much. And I’m never letting you go again.”

[mazzystar24]

the edits once they go canon are going to be next level

(i also admittedly can’t wait to be petty too and comment on every single one of them going “look at this beautiful CANON ship” since apparently being canon is the only thing that makes a ship valid /j🤭🤭)

Our range🤩

we can be sobbing over edits while being petty 😭😭

No fr tho the minute gay Eddie or buddie are canon I’m giggling and making jokes like no tomorrow

I may not have the talent to make edits or fics or anything but I am a court jester at heart so I shall be making many many jokes

Back to the edits yesss I will personally be requiring:

My love mine all mine

Lover you shouldve come over (personally one of my ideal songs if the buddie confession/kiss required a soundtrack)

Paper rings

Lover

The alchemy

He could never love you (SHUT UP SHUT UP I GOTTA GO MAKE A POST OR ANNOY MY FIC WRITING FRIENDS ABOUT THIS ONE)

Until I found you (cos of the how could we ever just be friends)

We’re in love (boygenius l because it’s so underrrated and so unbelievably a buddie song - “we’re not swapping blood” “And I told you of your past lives, every man you've ever been It wasn't flattering But you listened like it mattered” “would you still love me if it turns out I’m insane I know what you’ll say but it helps to hear you say it anyway” “And I'll be feeling lonely So I'll walk to karaoke” “Who looks like hell and asks for help And if you do, I'll know it's you” “I can't imagine you without the same smile in your eyes There is something about you That I will always recognize And if you don't remember I will try to remind you”

Keep me warm - Ida Marie (also one of my buddie ideal soundtracks and also criminally underrated as a buddie song)

Anything from hozier’s discography that man can scream into the mic and it’d be the most romantic shit you’ve ever heard

Crack option: my best friend’s hot by the dollyrots (yes this was also my crack karaoke guess but listen I need this song to play around buck when in proximity to Eddie- whatta man scene 2.0 if you may)

Truly truly - grant Lee buffalo

So highschool - listen Eddie officially does know how to ball and you can’t tell me walking encylopedia has full ass bookshelves in the loft buck doesnt in fact know Aristotle - plus y’all already know they will have no sense of decorum (yes this is about the lyrics jk jk)

Lucky- Jason mraz, colbie caillat (I don’t even particularly listen to this song but “lucky I’m in love with my best friend lucky to have been where I’ve been lucky to be coming home again they don’t know how long it takes waiting for a love like this”)

Nothing- Bruno major (CMON THE VIDEO GAMES AND THE DOMESTICITY IT ALL SO BUDDIE)

Oh god you asked for none of this but you’re getting these songs 😭😭 sorry babe you should know I’ll take a simple ask and go on and on😔💔💔💔💔

[razorsadness]

I’m not obsessively tagging this one, so just a few content warnings: there’s nothing graphic, but there’s some TMI stuff about sex and masturbation; talk of food and alcohol; discussion of grief, death, and illness; and a brief mention of transphobic/transmedicalist stuff. Also it might come across like I’m bragging about some compliments I’ve gotten for my writing recently. Also it’s long.

This is a really long entry, because I started writing it like, ten days ago, but then more stuff happened. This is a common thing for me, with letters and journal entries; I start writing them but don’t have time to finish, then more stuff happens, and I start adding the new stuff, but don’t have time to finish, and then more stuff happens and…you get the idea.

Anyway, these past two weeks have been jam-packed. There’s been a lot of luck & magic & beauty, with some hard stuff mixed in. (That’s life, that’s what all the people say…)

…

The evening of Thursday the 16th, I sent the ‘Mats-inspired vignettes to the editor of a zine I thought it’d be perfect for. Friday morning, I opened my email, and read his response. He loves it, and wants to run it in the next issue. He said I “perfectly captured that lonely midwestern feeling that certain Replacements songs have,” and that my writing is “romantic, but also real, like Kerouac mixed with Cometbus.” And if you know me at all, you know why I practically swooned over those particular compliments.

I also got an email saying our local library’s free seed library was newly restocked for the year, and I wanted to get there before it was all picked over. So, C. and I went to the library and picked up seeds for this year’s garden, along with an info packet on where and when to plant everything. We got seeds for: cayenne and poblano peppers; pickling cucumbers; spinach, mustard greens, collard greens, and kale; eggplant, squash, broccoli; Roma and Wisconsin organic (heirloom) tomatoes; carrots, and radishes. I’m so excited. Last year’s garden was our most successful ever, but we also made a couple mistakes which we learned from, so I’m thinking this year’s garden might be even better.

After that, C. and I popped over to my friend D.’s house. We got to meet his new pitbull-mix, Leonard, who is less than a year old and is therefore super high-energy, but so sweet. And we got to see their two-week-old foster kittens (and their mama), and C. even got to pet one! D. also gave me some cayenne and habanero, which he grew in his garden last year, then dried and ground—he’s been giving it to anyone who wants some, as he grew so many peppers that he can’t possibly use it all. (He also offered me some Carolina Reaper, but I passed on that.) I told him if there was ever anything I could give him in trade, to let me know, and he said: “Just listening to your spoken world album is trade enough,” and went on to say that he’s in awe of my poetic abilities.

All these compliments, a guy could get a big head! Except, I often think my writing is okay at best and I should just quit; when I get compliments like those it just offsets that and makes me realize that if other people are getting something from what I write, I should keep going.

Our last stop was the grocery store, where I got the rest of what I needed for the Dublin coddle, and got my flirt on with a beautiful redhead girl.

I had thought about putting green dye in my hair and painting my nails green for St. Paddy’s Day, but after all that running about town, I didn’t have time. I did, however, put my hair in braids (it’s long enough to braid now!), and put on green eyeliner.

I spent the next while putting together the Dublin coddle and getting it into the oven. I listened to the St. Patrick’s Day mix I listen to every year, then I listened to Hozier’s new EP, which holy fuck, I am trying so hard to be normal about, but it’s difficult. I truly wish I had a close friend who was into Hozier that I could nerd out about it with. Then I made a cup of tea and sat out in the backyard for a bit. One of the neighborhood crows came and lit on the fence, and it was cawing loudly about something. I asked it what was wrong, and we had a little ‘conversation.’

Me: “What is it, what’s wrong?” Crow: *cocks its head from side to side* caw caw. Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t help you with that.” Crow: squirrr-wakkk. Me: “I’m sure it will turn out fine.”

Funnily enough, the crow quieted down after that, stayed there for a while looking at me, then flew off.

It was really windy that day. To paraphrase myself: the wind, my lover, had returned, so I flirted with him a bit.

In the evening, I drank a pint of Guinness and a small glass of Jameson. In the old days, I would have easily downed three pints of stout and at least half a bottle of whiskey, not even because it was St. Patrick’s Day, but because it was a day, and to paraphrase myself, again—if you’re really Irish, you don’t need an excuse to get drunk. But I don’t do that anymore. The thing I do still do is get nostalgically sad (sadly nostalgic?) about old flames, and I had a few moments of that on St. Paddy’s Night. I found myself missing Ruby, and Jack of Spades, who I always miss most at this time of year; and Derry, whom I miss all the time, but always hardest in the spring and fall.

And then I emailed Derry. When I saw him back in October, I told him why I never respond to his periodic emails. And since then, he hasn’t emailed me; we left each other with the ball in my court, with it being up to me if I wanted to ever be in contact with him again. I probably shouldn’t have. I wasn’t even drunk, so I didn’t have that as an excuse. My only excuses are that I miss him so, so, so much, and I’m addicted to bad ideas.

Then P. and the kiddos and I watched Darby O’Gill and the Little People, which I hadn’t seen since I was a child. The movie left an indelible impression on me when I was a kid, though—I was deeply, deeply terrified of the banshee. Watching it the other night, I was no longer afraid, but I do understand why it scared me so back then. The sound she makes is absolutely bone-chilling.

…

Saturday, the temperature dropped, drastically—it was the coldest day we’ve had in weeks, felt more like midwinter again—but we braved the cold to go downtown and see the St. Paddy’s Day parade. It’s a small parade, even smaller this year because some people dropped out due to the weather, but it was still nice. A marching band started it off with a rendition of “Whiskey in the Jar.” One of the bars on Main Street was selling drinks, both alcoholic and non, in to-go cups, so you could grab one and take it outside while you watched the parade. P. and I both got Irish coffees, the kids got hot chocolate. The kids grabbed handfuls of candy and green plastic beads that some of the floats were tossing to the crowd. I sipped from my drink, and half-watched the parade, half-watched the other spectators.

There was a super sexy man standing near us. He was fat and also just big, like over six feet tall. He had a long, gray beard, but it was a very well-kept long beard, not ratty or dirty in any way. He was wearing a black beanie, a black leather jacket, an Irish kilt (with the tartan for County Derry; yes, I looked it up when I got home), and these tall, intricately patterned leather boots. I guess he caught me lookin’, cuz he fucking winked at me, and then I blushed so hard that my face felt hot despite the cold. Jaysis.

The best parts of the parade were the Root River Rollers (our local roller derby team; they looked hella cute in their green plaid skirts and black leggings and derby gear; I have a major thing for derby girls and have for a very long time); the float from McAuliffe’s Pub (they had someone on fiddle and someone on bodhrán, playing a reel); the pirates of Will’s Revenge (they’re a local group who cosplay as pirates for various events, I always love them, but this time they’d added little Irish touches for St. Paddy’s; of course I thought of B. saying of me all those years ago: …you’re and Irish pirate, that’s the best kind); and the girls from a local dance school (they were wearing black hoodies and black leggings and sparkly green tutus; they did a wildly impressive hiphopjazz dance routine).

Later that day, I made some minor edits on my ‘Mats vignettes (at the editor’s suggestion), while listening to The ‘Mats, and “Treatment Bound” came on and for the first time it hit me how much it sounded like some of my old friend L.’s music. I mean, I knew he was a Replacements fan, but it had honestly never hit me until then how much his sound was influenced by some of their stuff. Particularly the stuff off Hootenanny. And then I sat around missing L. for a while. I’ve written about him a lot before. He was one of those friends I had an intense crush on, and I thought I wanted to smooch him or maybe even bone him, but the most we ever did was cuddle/spoon. And then I realized it was better that way; I could get really close to him without worrying about sex making it weird. And then years later, I realized I never had actually wanted to fuck him, I had wanted to be him (or, well, be more like him, anyway). He had such a huge impact on my writing, my music, my life. We never had a falling out, just lost touch, got busy with our separate lives, never ran into each other anymore. The usual. I think of him often, though, and decided to web-search him the other day just so see what he’s up to. I found out that all his albums are now up on Bandcamp, and I’m so excited, because I lost my copies of them ages ago, and I love his music so much.

…

The next day was warmer again, though still windy. I took a long walk by myself. I trysted with the wind, again; he yanked my hair and slapped my cheeks pink. I walked down to the Little Free Library that’s in my neighborhood; I’ve found some great stuff in it before, and it had been months since I’d checked it. This time, I found nothing. I did, however, spot a tow truck with the words Anywhere and Anytime on it, and I snapped a picture. It seemed like a good sign, as the title of my ‘Mats memoir series is Anyplace or Anywhere or Anytime.

When I got home from the walk, I spent the rest of the afternoon writing.

…

Monday, I woke up and got the bullshit stuff I had to do but had been dreading/putting off out of the way first. I am not always able to do that, but the Executive Function fairy truly blessed me that day. Then I did school stuff with the kids. It was warm enough that we could do a (partially) outdoor science experiment. First, the kids designed protective casing for eggs, then we took them out in the backyard and dropped them from various heights to see how far they could drop without breaking. We even recorded our results! It was a lot of fun.

After that, I did some witchy stuff to celebrate the first day of spring. I redecorated my altar, lit some incense, did a little spell/ritual. Then I did a Spring Equinox tarot reading for myself, and it was so clear and right-on that I reached out to Emchy and was like: “Hey, the cards are really talking to me today, want me to pull a few for you?” She said yes, so I did.

Later in the afternoon, I took another solo walk. This time I took photos of some of the sidewalk date stamps in my neighborhood. I also spotted the first crocus of the season, and snapped photos of those. Trysted with the wind again. Sang (quietly, but out loud) as I walked—first Jolie Holland’s “Springtime Can Kill You” (because it is one of my all-time favorite songs), then the Counting Crows’ “Sullivan Street” (because I’d thought of something ‘hanging on the air,’ and it made me think of that song).

When I got home, I wrote a short poem, and then I started working on translating it into Gaeilge. I find that when I’m learning a new language, translating my words/thoughts from English into said language helps.

After that, I checked my email. There was one from Derry; his response to the email I’d sent on St. Patrick’s Day. I am not going to quote from it directly, not here; some things have to be kept just for me. Suffice it to say: we’re not trying to hook up or get together or start things all over again, but we’re mutually unsure where that leaves us; he misses and loves me just as much as I do him.

P. and I made dinner together that night. He made the sides and I made the main dish. We’d already planned on making roasted potatoes with dijon and rosemary (because we already had all the ingredients) and green beans with onions and bacon (because we already had the bacon and onions); we’d already decided to have pork chops as the main dish. But the night before I got a craving for French food, so that morning I looked up “French pork chops,” and found a recipe for pan-cooked pork chops with paprika, in an onion-dijon cream sauce. It was amazing.

We finished off the night by having passionate sex. It was a perfect ending to the first day of spring.

…

Tuesday was kinda crappy. The kids were cranky, and I had some unspecified physical yuck happening; my stomach hurt and I was just exhausted the whole day. But I managed to take another walk, this time with C. And it was World Poetry Day, so I read some poetry and worked more on my translation.

…

Wednesday was a happysad day. It was the ten year anniversary of my grandma’s death, so of course I was thinking about her. I was also thinking about Jason Molina. The 18th had been the ten year anniversary of his death, and my grief over losing my grandma is inextricably bound up with my grief over Jason Molina’s death. When my grandma got seriously ill, and we knew she wasn’t going to live much longer, I was deeply depressed, and I was listening to a lot of Songs: Ohia and Magnolia Electric Co. at the time, and then Jason died, and four days later my grandma died, so yeah, they’re always linked in my mind.

Wednesday was also my dad’s birthday. I wrote a birthday poem for him, and collaged a card to put it in. In the afternoon, P. and I went to a local job fair and found out about some potential employment opportunities for him. Fingers crossed that one of them pans out, because they’re pretty good ones. As we were leaving the job fair, we saw a seagull and a hawk fighting. Then we and the kiddos went to my folks’ house to celebrate my dad’s birthday. We had a nice dinner and some cake, and I gave my dad the card I’d made.

My mom and I reminisced about my grandma (her mom). Then she told me about an old friend of the family who is battling a serious illness. Later, Joni Mitchell came up in conversation, and my mom and I were talking about Joni and her music, and the memories we have attached to it—for both of us, Joni’s songs specifically remind us of being in our twenties. So we were both in our feelings about my grandma and the old family friend and our own pasts and Joni’s music, and we listened to “River” and cried a little together, and it was probably the closest I’ve felt to my mom in a long while.

Later that night, as I lay in the dark trying to fall asleep, I heard coyotes yipping as they wandered through the neighborhood.

…

Thursday, the kids were in bad moods again, and I was feeling anxious about various stuff. But I managed to get past it. I read some, made a collage, drank some tea. I signed up for a temporary money-making side gig. I finished writing/editing the poem about the time Ali and I visited Nancy Spungen’s grave; I have been working on it on-and-off for years, and I’m glad to finally have it in a place where I feel like it’s ready to be out in the world.

Then I watched the crows in the yard. That crow I talked to on St. Patrick’s Day? It returned, and brought its mate, and they are building a nest in the tree that hangs partially over our yard! Maybe that’s what it was making a racket about the first time; maybe it was scouting locations for a nest and was trying to get its mate to come see? In any case, we’re gonna have crow neighbors, and they’re gonna start a family! Oh my god, there are gonna be baby crows! The crows in the area are probably already familiar with me, because I have left out food for them before, and said hello when I’ve been near them; and I’m very glad that my talking to one of them the other day did not deter them from building their nest in/near our yard. (I’ve now started leaving peanuts for them in the backyard, since at least this pair has been coming around that side more often, and they’ve been back every day, but more about that later.)

Thursday night, I had a dream about my old friend J.C. I’ve known him since I was in the sixth grade, and we’ve been in and out of each other’s lives since (again, no falling out, just life drifting us apart), but I haven’t seen him in almost fourteen years now. It was good to see him in the dream, though, and I hope he’s doing well.

…

Friday, I spent most of the day getting ready for that evening’s spoken word gig. I collated zines, gathered together all the merch I wanted to take with me. I gathered together the poems I might want to read; timed a few newer ones/ones I’d never performed at a reading before. I drove to the bank downtown; to get some cash in various smaller denominations of bills, so I’d have change to give when people bought my merch. At one point on the drive, I was behind a car, and I noticed one of their bumper stickers: the background was the pride flag, and the text over it read Make America Gay Again. Awesome. Back at home, I started enacting even more pre-event rituals. (I say ‘event’ because I have long enacted some or all of these rituals whether it’s a spoken word gig, a music gig, a zine fest, an art show, a burlesque performance, a circus performance, etc. etc. Basically, I enact some or all of these rituals, or other, similar ones, whenever I have any kind of event where I’m performing and/or selling stuff, whether it’s in-person or online.) I cut the sleeves off my Keep Books Dangerous tee (a sure sign of spring for me, cutting the sleeves off a t-shirt), and changed out/added to the pins on my leather jacket. I freshened the color in my hair. I did all this while summoning the Undying Spirit of Punk Rock, by blasting the Daycare Swindlers.

Listening to the DC Swindlers of course made me think of N., as he was the lead singer of that band. I know I’ve written about him before, but I was hit with a wave of missing him so hard on Friday. We were platonic soulmates. I was never sexually or romantically attracted to him; as far as I know he was never into me that way either. (In fact I had a huge crush on his girlfriend!) But we just clicked; from the first time we met we had people saying we were like twins. We didn’t look anything alike, but there was just something about us. The way we dressed, our predilections, obviously our taste in women; just our general vibes. Twins. Soulmates. Because not all soulmates are romantic or sexual in nature; in fact, for as many romantic/sexual partners as I’ve had, I’ve had far more platonic soulmates.

Other rituals I enacted pre-gig were putting on my necklace of charms and dabbing a bit of the “Follow Me, Boy” scent on my pulse points.

P. actually got to come with me for once, which was amazing. I’ve said before that my parents are real weird about watching the kids, but this time they offered so P. could go with me, and of course I jumped at the chance.

At about five, we dropped the kiddos at my parents house, then headed north/west, to the far west side of Milwaukee, right on the border of Wauwatosa. Drove up on old familiar roads, saw some excellent graffiti. Parked near the gallery where my reading was, in front of a beautiful soft-yellow house with a pride flag hung from their porch, and a sign in the yard: We Back the Vag. Again, awesome.

The gallery was great, full of funky-cool art. Everyone that worked there was super friendly, so were all the other performers (both featured and open mic). At least half the people there, performers and audience, were some flavor of queer, and there were also several POC and several Jewish people! (I know that last part for a fact because a few of the poets read pieces that mentioned Judaism/being Jewish.) I felt so comfortable and happy. Like, obviously, as a queer person, I get tired of being around only cishets; but even as a white goy, I also get tired of being around only white, (culturally) Christian folks. I guess I just spent enough of my life in big cities and other diverse spaces that I am actually less at ease when everyone looks like me and/or has a similar cultural background. And it’s just fucking boring, ya know? Why would I only wanna be around people who look and act like me?!

Soon after we arrived at the gallery, I was setting up my merch, and the queer kid (I say ‘kid’ because they were in their early 20s, which, now that I’m in my 40s, is definitely in ‘kid’ territory for me) who was the musician for the evening saw my spoken word album—Self Portrait with Ghosts & Trains. “That’s definitely something I would listen to,” they said. “I like ghosts, I like trains.” Pause. “Damn, too bad I only know one train song. I mean, I only know how to play one train song. I know lots of train songs in general.” I told them that I’d made a playlist of train songs a few years ago, and that even though I’d spent time narrowing it down from the original list, it still had 50+ songs on it. “Have you ever seen Metalocalypse?” They asked. “How come all they sings about is trains?” I replied. “That is actually the name of my train song playlist, no kidding.” They laughed, said, “What else is there, really?,” and then we fist bumped.

Then it was time for the open mic part of the evening, and the other featured poet-performers. All of the other poet-performers were really good, in their own ways. Some of them were just good all around, both poetry-wise and performance-wise. Others were not my jam, poetry-wise, but performed their stuff really well. And still others were people whose poems were fantastic but who were fairly new to performing; I know that if they keep at it they will be absolute fire in the not-too-distant future.

Then it was my turn. I opened my set with a poem that is not my own. See, it would have been Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s 104th birthday that day, so I opened with “See, it was like this, when…” Then I did a bit of improv. What I mean by that is—I had brought way more poems with me than I could feasibly read, and I had a couple I knew I for sure wanted to read but for the rest it was like, I’ll just go with what I’m vibing with at the time. And some of the other performers inspired some of my choices. One of the poets read some of their sonnets, so I read two of my sonnets; one of the performers opened with an a capella rendition of “Cabaret,” so I read my Cabaret-inspired poem. I also read two of my Wisconsin poems—a Milwaukee one, and my Beast of Bray Road poem; an excerpt from The Loneliest Show On Earth; and the poem about visiting Nancy’s grave. The crowd was so, so attentive and responsive. Like, they were there to hear poetry. I heard some laughter during parts of some of my poems (not laughing at, laughing with), and also some gasps and ohs. Afterward, I got so many compliments. I mean, people were telling me my stuff was funny but also moving, or saying it was like I cast a spell, saying they got chills at certain points; someone noticed the Diane Di Prima influence on my work, someone else noticed the Lynda Hull influence…god damn. I sold some stuff and got a cut of the door, and it was enough to cover my gas money to and from the gig and still have like thirty bucks left over; gotta love that sweet, sweet poetry money. (To quote myself: How no one warned you it’s hard to make a living writing about your heart. How you don’t make a living, but you sometimes make enough money for wine.) I also got approached by the guy who runs the weekly Poetry Nights at Linneman’s River West Inn, and he wants me to be the featured poet there sometime in July or August. I’m so excited! I haven’t been to Linneman’s since early 2009, but back when I lived in MKE I used to perform there all the time—though back then, I performed on the music open mic nights, as that’s when I was more focused on music than poetry. Speaking of music—when the kid I’d talked to earlier in the evening got up for their set, they played the one train song they knew how to play—“Freight Train,” by Elizabeth Cotten—and dedicated it to me. My heart.

P. and I left, then crossed the border into ‘Tosa, and got a round at a beer & whiskey bar called Draft & Vessel. I had an imperial stout that had chai spices in it, and it was so fuckin’ good.

On the drive home, I got to experience that magical thing that happens on the road at night. You know, where you look down at your lap, and the lights coming in through the windshield from above have striated your skin and clothing, and as you move the stripes move, moving stripes of light/shadow/light/shadow. I wish I could think of a better way to describe it; if I can, I’m going to put it in a poem.

…

Saturday we got a bunch of snow. Early spring snow is not uncommon in the upper midwest—in the immortal words of Prince: sometimes it snows in April. And anyway, we had nowhere we needed to be that day, so we just had a cozy-at-home, creative day. P. and I made meal plans for the coming week. I wrote a bit. I made a necklace, inspired by some I’d seen at the gallery and couldn’t afford. I took some knolling photos of my bottlecap, key, and souvenir penny collections; for no other reason than that I felt like it. I recorded an audio version of my VU-inspired poem from Left of the Dial.

My knee and ankle were hurting all day. The poetry reading had been packed full and there were only about eight chairs available, and there were people in their sixties and seventies there, and I never think of my disabilities as real enough, so I gave the chairs to those I thought needed them more, and I stood the whole time. And yeah, I paid for it, bodily. It sucked to be in pain all the next day, but I did kind of chuckle at the “I’m getting old”-ness of it all. Like, I used to go wild in the pit at punk shows and maybe I’d get banged up and sore but I’d be mostly okay (with the notable exception being that time I broke my ankle in the pit), and now I stand for a couple hours at a poetry reading and I’m in pain for days.

I thought of Sinclair, another old flame, that day; possibly because of that kid playing “Freight Train” the night before, as that was a staple of Sinclair’s repertoire. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in somewhere close to 14 years now, and I haven’t even web-searched him in a decade. Unlike with some of my other exes, it’s not that I fear I’ll decide to contact him and open everything up again, it’s that— Well, I’ve worried that he might be dead or in prison. He was a sweetheart, genuinely one of the best, kindest people I’ve ever known—but he was also an outlaw, and he lived a rough life. He was a queer train-hopping hobo/crusty/circus performer/musician; he was often homeless, and had bouts of trouble with the law and various addictions. Saturday, I decided to look him up to see what I could find…and I was relieved to know that he’s not just living but seemingly thriving, back in his hometown of New Orleans, where he just had a music gig on March 23rd. I’m so relieved. Just knowing that he’s out there, still doin’ his thing, is enough for me.

That night, P. and I had hot, wild, rough sex, and I fell asleep more easily than I normally do. Unfortunately, I did have a terrible dream that woke me up in the middle of the night, and then it took me hours to get back to sleep. I don’t even want to go into detail about it because it was so gruesome and bloody and involved terrible bodily harm being visited on some of my loved ones, including one of my kids. I actually had to go into D.’s room and make sure he was okay, and sit watching him breathe for a while, before I could calm down at all. I don’t have vivid, horrific dreams as much now as I did when I was in my teens and twenties, but when they come? They’re fucking doozies. A lot of horror doesn’t even scare me because I’ve had dreams that were just as graphic, but even worse, because the harm was being visited on me and/or people I love.

…

Sunday, I woke up to the notification that someone had bought some stuff from my online shop, which is always a nice thing to wake up to.

Later in the morning, it snowed a little more, and I saw the crows again. And this time, they’d brought a friend. My first thought was: “They’re a polycule!” Which, okay, I know crows don’t work that way, but I recently read something that said crows are ‘socially monogamous but genetically promiscuous’ so maybe? In any case, they were with a third crow; probably another member of their murder. And they were playing! I watched them leap down from the tree to the top of the neighbors’ garage roof, then slide to the bottom edge near the eaves, from which they’d fly back up to the tree and do it all over again. I was so fucking thrilled; I’ve seen videos of crows playing before, but I’ve never seen it so clearly in person. I wanted to get my own video, but of course by the time I got my phone and got ready to record, they’d stopped. I know, pics or it didn’t happen, but this has just been one of the many amazing things I’ve witnessed or experienced in my life where I do not have any ‘factual’ documentation, and it doesn’t even matter because I know it happened and it lives inside me, now.

In the late afternoon, D. had the worst meltdown he’s had in a while. His anger is getting worse as he edges towards adolescence, but at least now he has a therapist that can help us through it.

For dinner, P. made shrimp, pork, and andouille jambalaya, with a side of greens. We had sex again that night; this time, it was slow, lazy, and deeply sensual.

…

Monday morning, D. had his therapy appointment, then I did schoolwork with the kiddos. Then I got dinner going in the crockpot (one of my favorite go-to meals: Moroccan chicken tagine with chickpeas and apricots) while listening to my favorite radio station; they played banger after banger after banger, and I discovered a bunch of new (to me) favorite songs.

Monday evening, before dinner, we filed our taxes. We’re not getting back as much as I’d hoped (because the fucking Republicans decided to axe the expanded Child Tax Credit), but we’re still getting enough that it will make a positive difference in our lives over the next couple months.

That night, we had sex; wild and hot and fast again, that time.

…

Despite all the sex we’ve been having, I woke up ridiculously horny on Tuesday. I was also really restless and a little bit anxious, but I had to do all this sitting-at-my-desk bullshit like attending the Zoom training session for my new side gig, and applying for energy assistance. In between sit-down tasks, I worked through my restless, horny energy by either pacing around or jacking off. Seriously, it was like, bullshit task, walk up and down the stairs a few times; bullshit task, lock myself in the bathroom to jack off; and so on. I ended up jacking off three times that day. (Twice during the day, once at night in bed after P. had fallen asleep; his chronic back pain was acting up so we couldn’t mess around that night, alas.)

The best things of that day were: 1. Finding out I was such a hit at the gallery on Friday that they want me to be one of their features again in May. Like, according to the person who is my point of contact there, even after I left, people were coming up to her saying: “Wow, Jessie was amazing; when can I see them again?!” 2. The burgers we made for dinner that night: blue cheese, bacon, Buffalo sauce, and tomato burgers.

…

Yesterday I clocked a couple hours for my new side gig. It’s kinda tedious, but at least I can do it on my own time, and I need the money.

After that, I did school stuff with the kiddos, including some art time. They both painted, and I sat down to draw something that I thought was kind of inspired by Paradise Lost (cuz I’m on a Milton kick lately) and Nick Cave, but which turned out to be a figure straight out of that horrifying dream I had on Saturday. And I am  actually entirely freaked out by the drawing; I had to hide it so I won’t see it.

I spent most of the afternoon laying in bed, drinking tea and reading, as my sinuses were acting up and I couldn’t do much else.

Fortunately, I felt better by evening. For dinner, I made fish tacos (with shredded lettuce, pico de gallo, fresh avocado, and lime wedges for garnish) with beans and rice on the side.

And P. and I got to have sex last night, and it was great, again, as it has been lately.

…

Today I woke up restless, horny, and anxious, again. Mostly the anxiety stemmed from a phone call I had to make. Before I made the call, I did yoga, ate a small breakfast, and took my ashwagandha and magnesium supplements, which helped ease my anxiety a little. Then I made the call, and it sucked, but not as bad as I had feared it would, and hey, at least then it was done.

Late morning, I took the kids to the library. They got to play in the play area for a while; I talked with a mom who was there with her three kiddos (all of them true gingers!). We checked out a bunch of books, as per usual. Then came home to make lunch—mini quesadillas, plus avocado & pico de gallo & beans & rice left over from last night.

After lunch, I decided to take a walk. It’s chilly and a bit windy today, but it had been over a week since I took a walk, and I get even antsier/more restless without them. So I bundled up, and took some hot coffee in my travel mug to keep me warm.

When I stepped out the back door, my crow friend was in the tree where it’s building its nest. It saw me and cawed, then went flying toward the front yard, like it wanted me to follow. I was like: “Oooh, side quest!” When I got out to the sidewalk, I saw the crow in the front yard a few houses down, pulling at something in the mud. I got to the crow just as it pulled the object free, and I saw it was this long, silvery piece of something—like maybe tinsel, or part of a mylar balloon. I said: “Oh, good for you, you found a shiny for your mate!” The crow then flew back towards our backyard.

As I said above, I’ve been feeding the crows in this neighborhood on and off for years, and occasionally saying hello to them, but I do not understand why this particular crow (and by extension, its mate and family/friends) has decided we’re besties. I do not understand, but I am fucking delighted.

I took my walk around the block, got home, promptly locked myself in the bathroom and jacked off.

Tonight, for dinner, P. made chicken cacciatore. The recipe he uses has a white (white wine, lemon juice, olive oil) sauce as opposed to the usual tomato-based chicken cacciatore, and it’s so good. And I’m hoping we get to fuck again tonight, cuz like I said, I’m wildly, insatiably horny these days.

…

This weekend is looking like it will be another jam-packed one. I have to meet up with K. to pick up the Joe Strummer piece I commissioned for Ali’s birthday. There’s a couple activist things I’m participating in; tomorrow’s rally for queer youth, plus some voter outreach stuff I signed up to do prior to next Tuesday’s very important election.

Saturday is the start of National Poetry Month/NaPoWriMo. I plan to attempt a 30/30, because I generated so much work last April (and had fun doing it). I’m also working up some curriculum to teach both the kids about reading and writing poetry, at age-appropriate levels.

One of my first projects for NaPoWriMo is gonna be trying to finish translating that poem I wrote last week from English to Gaeilge. It’s been tricky because, though it’s a short poem, it has an odd structure that does not lend itself easily to Gaeilge. Also, my grasp on Gaeilge is rudimentary at best. But then, that’s why I’m doing this, to help me learn.

Next week, I’m hoping to finish getting the New Wave anthology ready for print.

…

Other than all that? Well, there have been more realizations and epiphanies.

I’ve been getting braver, again. Doing things even if I’m scared to; because I remembered that most of the best things in my life have come from moments of “Am I scared? Yeah, but fuck it, I’ll do it anyway.”

I’ve been reincorporating elements of my old life, my old personality. From things as simple as drinking lapsang souchong again, taking walks whenever I can, rereading old favorite books, rediscovering old favorite albums; to things more esoteric. For so long I’d been lamenting the days when I was a mystical romantic lovesick dork, wishing I could be that way again but thinking I was too old. But now I’m allowing myself to behave that way again. I’m romanticizing my daily life, singing as I walk down the street, talking with the crows, cavorting with the wind.

A lot of those things (the tea, the walks, the mystical romantic lovesick dorkiness) sort of rhyme with a very specific time in my life, namely 2006-2008, and it’s funny that I’ve been asked to do a reading at Linneman’s, which was a place I frequented in those years. I know, you can’t go home again—except, sometimes you can.

And I’m also glad that I’m managing to reintegrate the positive aspects of those days without the self-destructive ones (i.e., drinking to excess and hooking up with people I didn’t even really like very much).

Another thing I’m reincorporating into my life is the DIY? Because I Gotta attitude. It’s not that I’ve ever fully lost it, but I’ve been doing a lot of it lately: things like making that necklace for myself, writing the poem and making the collage-card for my dad, etc. I used to get down on myself because I’ve never had enough money to buy gifts for all my loved ones for every occasion, but now I’m like, wait, this is actually a good thing about me. Not the lack-of-money part, but… I might not have money to buy people gifts all the time, but I do things like make them art, write them poems, make them personalized zines, make them mix tapes or playlists, bake them bread or cookies, give them veggies from my garden, give them tarot readings, etc. That’s actually pretty fucking cool.

I’ve been re-redefining success re: my writing career. Once again reminding myself that as long as my words get out in the world and the people who need them find them, that’s the most important thing—doesn’t so much matter what route those words take to get there. Reminding myself that I can look for agents for certain projects, submit to the more established lit journals, enter big name contests, etc., but that I can also continue to publish my own zines and chapbooks, and send stuff out to indie mags and presses. I don’t have to choose! I can try it all!

Speaking of not having to choose—I’ve been re-embracing the fluid nature of both my gender/gender expression and my sexuality.

For a while I was reading too much of that baeddelism stuff, and even though I objectively know it’s bullshit, it kinda got to me. I started thinking to myself: “You’re not currently pursuing medical transition, you have long hair, and you still wear skirts and makeup sometimes. Those people are right—you’re just a penis-obsessed cis woman LARPing as nonbinary.” And then I was like, wait. First of all, though medical transition is an important part of transitioning for many trans people, it is not the only valid way to transition. Second of all, plenty of men, trans and cis, have long hair or wear skirts or makeup; why am I letting a handful of people who are basically TIRFs (trans-inclusive radical feminists) dictate how I present and what that means about my gender? My gender and sexuality have always been fluid, that’s just who and how I am; that’s why I have always preferred the term queer—because it states that I am not cishet, but doesn’t box me into some narrow definition of gender or sexuality that might change the next moment, anyway. So, once again: I’m here, I’m queer, get used to it. And: You cannot misgender me in a way that matters.

Speaking of fluid sexuality—the way my desires are changing lately is fascinating.  Some things that used to turn me on no longer do it for me; other things that I was never into are now super hot.

These past two weeks have made me think of that Aaron Cometbus quote, about the kind of days I’ve been having: Simple days but with little surprises and long walks and good luck.

And it’s spring, it’s spring! Still chilly, but it stays lighter later every night, and the birds are out squawking and singing at all hours, and of course I’m restless and horny, it’s spring!

Overall, I’ve been full of gratitude and joy. I have amazing friends, all over the world. I get so overwhelmed with love for my kids, and for P. Seriously, every day I look at P. and think how lucky I am to have him as my partner in life; as the person I get to raise kids with and have hot sex with and cook good food with and wake up to every morning. And every day, I get to read books and listen to music and make art and write.

Of course things aren’t perfect, with the kids or with P., and I’m tired of being broke, and there’s the anxiety and executive dysfunction, and there’s a lot of bad shit in the world. But I have plans to make my and my family’s future better. And I’m getting more involved with activism again—apparently, when I allow myself to do things that bring me joy, I have more spoons for helping other people! Shocking, I know.

And I cry a lot, and I get nostalgically sad and long for old faces and places I once knew, and I get restless and long for new faces and places and adventures. And my heart breaks every day, from the beauty of the world, and the pain. But if that’s the tax for being a poet, for being a mystical romantic lovesick dork; if that’s the tax for not being closed off to any part of life—then I will gladly, gladly pay it.

[lieutenantwilliamrusso]

It Will Come Back S2 1

Warnings: mentions of sex, swearing, 18+ minors DNI

Werewolf Stalker! Billy x Female Reader

A/N: I told myself I would take a break before season 2, but I can't stay away from it I'm having too much fun.

Side note: Have I ever told you the title is from "It Will Come Back" by Hozier? Totally the Billy x Reader anthem for this fic.

Billy is on top of you, one arm holding himself up, the other one encircling your head, hand wrapped in your hair. He’s thrusting into you, cock dragging against every sweet spot inside of you. You’re begging him, to keep going, not to leave, not to stop. He smiles down at you, circling his hips as you whine and writhe from the attention.

“You gonna come for me sweet girl?” He asks, huffing as he approaches his own peak.

“Yes, yes, Billy yes!” You chant.

His mouth moves to your throat, his tongue tracing circles across your bite, and it’s that that pushes you over the edge.

You wake with a start. You’ve been dreaming of him, unable to make Billy leave your mind since you’d kicked him out almost a week ago. If you’re honest with yourself, you’re avoiding it, seeing him, talking to him. You want to be angry, know you have a right to be. He pushed you too hard, too far and you can't just let it go. If you think about it too hard, stare at the bite in the mirror a little too long, the feelings come rushing back and suddenly you’re faced with what you know you have to do.

-

Billy hasn’t been human in two days. It’s excruciating, wondering when you’ll talk to him again, fighting with himself not to go see you anyways. He’s smart enough to know when his actions will make things worse but that doesn’t mean he listens. Not seeing you feels like the worst kind of quitting. So he’s hauling himself through the forest just outside of the city, running until his lungs ache, until he’ll have no choice but to fall into a restless sleep. He’d tried getting plastered, but it’d just made him sad, made it harder not to go to you, not to cry and scream and beg like he wanted to deep down inside.

He knows Frank is probably livid, Billy’s been AWOL from Anvil for days, not answering his phone, avoiding opening the door. It seems like the more Billy allows himself to feel, the more people he has to answer to these days. He knows he can’t stick this out much longer. Soon, he’ll have to head back to the city, to his life, to his job, to you. And if you still won’t talk to him, he’s going to have to make you.

-

It’s Saturday night when you find it. Duke’s collar is collecting dust under your bed, and as you tidy up your bedroom, your fingers brush against it. The leather still gleams, shiny from lack of use. You cradle it in your hands as you bring it to the kitchen. You can’t bring yourself to throw it away, but it’s the last reminder you need. You’re going to break up with Billy. You have to.

Not that there’s much of a relationship anyways. You can’t really be with someone you just lie to all the time, no matter how bad you want them. It’s that little spark of anger that has you picking up the phone and texting him that you’re ready to talk.

-

When Billy reads your text he thinks he might pass out from sheer relief. You want to talk to him. Not just on the phone. You want to see him, be with him. It’s that thought that has him speeding all the way back to the city, human for the first time in days. He knows he must look terrible, must smell even worse, and the second he’s home he takes the fastest shower of his life and then he’s going, driving to you, desperate to be in your presence, smell your hair, stroke your soft skin.

When he knocks on your door, three staccato beats that somehow manage to come off shaky and nervous, you answer only a second later. It’s the look on his face that almost doubles him over with dread. You look resigned, unbothered, like you haven’t missed him at all while he’s been contemplating breaking your door down this entire week.

“Hey. You say flatly.

He doesn’t know what to say. For once in his life, Billy Russo is speechless with fear.

Until suddenly he isn’t.

“You can’t do this.” He says in a rush, entering your apartment and closing the door behind himself.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.” You retort.

“You can’t leave me.” Billy pushes, hands shaking. He balls them into fists, eyes boring into your face.

You sigh, eyes closing for a second before you reply.

“Billy, you know we can’t do this. I can’t agree to be with someone I barely know for the rest of my life. Not when I didn’t even get a choice in the matter.”

No, no, no, no, no, no.

“And I told you not to open the door.” Billy answers. He knows it’s a moot point. He would have just broken it down, but he’s desperate to get through to you.

“I thought you were hurt. But I guess I can count that as another lie.”

“Y/N, you don’t know how sorry I am-“

“Sorry because you really are, or just sorry I feel this way?” You cut him off, anger seeping into your eyes, mouth pulling into a tight line.

“You know how I feel about you! I wouldn’t hurt you on purpose.”

“But you would force my hand without me even knowing.” Your eyes are wide, the anger still there, but you also look defeated, maybe even sad. It makes Billy sick.

“Please don’t.” He whispers, hand moving to cup your cheek but you move away at the last second and Billy is becoming less and less sure he’ll survive this.

“You can’t change my mind, Billy. I’m sorry. But we can’t be together.” You say the words slowly, methodically, like you’ve rehearsed them and Billy wonders how long you’ve known you were going to do this.

“I will. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. You can be angry, you can fucking hate me but every time you open that door I’ll be there. Waiting for you.��

“Trying to force me to change my mind.”

“It’s all I’m fucking good for, right?” He snaps, nerves shot.

“You said it." You bite back.

Billy laughs humorlessly.

“You forget you can’t get away from me, Y/N. You have to listen to me.” Billy knows this is only pissing you off, but he’s never felt fear like this.

There was fear in Afghanistan. But there was also the knowing that there was a good chance he’d walk away alive, just because he was smart, could strategize and work towards an outcome. Here, with you? It’s all uncertain, uncharted territory he can’t traverse.

He sees it when your face changes. When you go from mildly angry to livid, and it sends a pang through his chest. But he’s too scared, too angry at himself to resist lashing out, even at you.

“Don’t you dare.” You growl.

“Don’t leave me, then.”

“Fuck you!”

“That’s what got us into this mess, maybe we should take it slow, go away together for a while.”

“You’re delusional.” You say. “For you.”

“Do not fucking speak to me in my head. You’re not welcome there, and you’re not welcome in my life. Fuck off, Billy.”

Billy clenches his jaw. “You’re making the wrong choice.”

Suddenly you’re reaching over and flinging something at him. It hits his chest with a dull sting before he realizes it’s his collar, from before.

“Don’t you dare tell me what choices I should be making! This is the first smart thing I’ve done in weeks. You wanna talk about bad decisions? Taking your sick, twisted ass home was one. Get the fuck out and don’t talk to me again.”

Just like that, you’re turning away, ignoring him. You’re throwing him away, acting like the past month has been nothing more than a bad dream you’re ready to wake up from.

When he leaves he slams the door so hard it splinters a little, a reminder for you of how you make him feel. How terrified and angry and sick he is without you. You want to call him twisted? He’ll fucking show you what he’s capable of. You’re never getting away from him. You’ve got nowhere to run where Billy can’t find you, and he’s ready to take up permanent residence in your head.

[cherrysha]

Run

Remember when i posted abt lumberjack a/b/o Uvo? well here it is!! shoutout again to ram fr helping me with this piece!! This is my first attempt at a longer story with more plot. Part of me wanted to break it up into more chapters but I like the build up thats there by keeping it in one piece. Its my take on abo (I know some people love it and some absolutely hate it but the lewding potential was too much for me to pass up) Very loosely based off of this song by hozier

Summary: Alphas are rare, Omegas even moreso. The standard for society is being a Beta, but unfortunately you weren’t born as one. Being an Omega is a presentation so detestable that it’s hard to even survive. In an era where it’s completely normal to cast you from the village for simply existing, to keep you blind from what it is to truly be an Omega, will there be any respite for you? (Yes, this is a period piece)

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: A/B/O, dubcon (since the readers in heat), predator/prey, a little blood, one slap, breeding, overstimulation, unprotected sex

“Do you ever get the feeling that they are lying to you?” you stare at the weathered wooden boards of the porch before you dare to glance at her face. The miller’s daughter was an omega as well, and often you found yourself gravitating to her if only out of comfort. The one of few in the village that could relate to you. She looked so soft in the morning sun, so lighthearted and gentle as she picked at the frayed patchwork of her dress.

“I don’t like to think about it too much or else I scare myself, y/n” she giggles. 

So Naïve.

You mull it over before coming to the conclusion that you and her are not the same. “I guess I understand” 

Her father always says she’s too kind, but that’s exactly what was so endearing. A world where it was normal to treat people like you and her as lesser, and she was still so kind. Absently, you wondered if you'd ever see her again after her next heat. It had been too long since an omega went missing.

“Will you still be walking with me to the market?”

“Ah, mother seems to have found some extra fabric that had been tucked away somewhere, so I suppose not. However, I’m glad you came to visit y/n!” she giggles as you stick your tongue out at her like a child. 

The walk there gives you an opportunity to think of her words. Was denial better than the fear that came along with the truth?

Plenty of omegas had gone missing. When you were younger, the elders would tell you that there was a man who lived on the edge of the forest. He wasn't an alpha, or a beta, or even an omega. He was only a monster. 

The path stretches before you and the heat of the summer sun is almost enough to make you turn around. But you persist, the idea of returning home empty handed was enough to make you ignore the sting on the back of your neck. 

This man, this beast, would eat omegas. That’s why it was important to return home before dark, the man in the forest used the cover of night to hunt; to take. that’s why omegas always went missing in the village. 

You momentarily take refuge in the cool water in the creek on the outskirts of the village, watching idly as water swirled around your bare feet.

When were you old enough to realize the flaws of that story? Was it your first heat? When with shaky hands, your mother had packed you enough provisions for the week and whispered for you to leave? Or was it the anger in your father’s voice when you asked to stay and he bitterly told you that omegas only brought misfortune?

You sigh. No, it was the day you'd found out one of the few remaining omegas hadn’t come back and that truth had only been a hard pill to swallow for you. No one seemed to care, it was as if the man in the forest didn’t scare them, had never scared them.

Not much sooner had you made the connection. Alphas were few and far between, but omegas were even more scarce. The ones who couldn’t find omegas settled down with betas, but what would a married alpha do when an unclaimed omega went into heat? Only the forest knew.

Sometimes you wished the beast was real, and still the lie had persisted. The younger omegas believed it to be the wood smith and while he was a recluse, so much so that you'd never even seen him, he was far too young to be the monster from your youth. He’d only made his appearance in the village every so often, and in truth he hadn’t lived in the area for that long. You let them hold on to their delusion instead, not wanting to be the one to burst their bubble.

Your heat was many moons away, but the fear of living still persisted.

The water feels nice on your neck, gentle and cooling as you scoop handfuls of it over your burning skin. It makes you forget about everything for a second, soothing over you like an expensive balm. Somehow, It reminds you of when you were little, before you presented and the friends you'd made in the village. Small and unassuming, no worries about presentation or etiquette. Just young and carefree. The thought brings a smile to your face.

Now, boys your age would rather die than be seen with an Omega, not that you cared about their indifference. In their minds it was completely warranted, and in yours the Betas had nothing to offer you. You both saw each other as fundamentally useless. No one gave mind to insects, most of the time they were just there. Some were cruel, yes, but most went their way, and you went yours. That was the best you could ask for.

Sighing, you pick the coin purse out of your pocket, taking a moment to count the few coins your mother had given you. 

It was barely enough to buy thread, but you weren’t surprised. Her and father were still angry that you'd ripped another hole in your dress again since it was one of the little clothing items they had granted you. If it weren’t for the fact that the hole steadily became bigger, threatening the integrity of the entire garment, you don’t think it would’ve been mended at all.

The wind swirls around you, reminding you of your task and the repercussions of wasting time. 

With a grunt, you force yourself back up and onto the road, sidestepping a rather large man carrying probably one of the largest baskets of wood you'd ever seen.

Mother says that its impolite to stare, so you don’t let your gaze linger for too long, but the sight was unusual to say the least. He’s tall, so tall in fact that you have to peer up to even try to see his face, eventually you give up and your gaze ends at the well toned muscles of his chest that are thinly veiled underneath a rather dingy tunic. You couldn’t judge him, right now you were wearing the same dress that desperately needed patching up. Still, he was somewhat of an unbelievable height, it was hard not to wonder of his presentation. Surely, there couldn’t be Betas that tall, but it was even more so unbelievable for him to be an Alpha. The Alphas in your town were well known, their large presence in the village applauded by most and avoided by Omegas. Like the tavern owner with wandering hands under the guise of drunkenness and the butcher who stared a little too long that one might find it indecent. 

 as you make your way through the village opening you can feel his presence pressing closer behind you with each step. It’d be easier to know for certain if the wind carried his scent, but at the present moment it was blowing yours in his direction, a thought that was a little unnerving to you. Nevertheless, you persisted, pushing past the mounting feeling in your chest that seemed to get worse the louder his footsteps became behind you. Surely, he was just selling the basket on his back at the market. And since he was a stranger to you, It would make sense for him to follow you so closely there if he wasn't from the village.

You let yourself relax, tense shoulders easing up as you finally come to the only conclusion that made sense. You were an Omega; A Beta had no better reason to follow you other than directions.

The sun still beats overhead, making the exposed skin of your face damp with sweat. With little thought, you wipe it away with the handkerchief stashed inside your pocket. It was little more than torn fabric that mother had no use for, but you appreciated when she had given it to you nonetheless. 

The market wasn't busy for this time of day, which you were grateful for. Less people to cast you a distasteful glare as you silently perused through the stalls in search for thread. It only takes a few moments to find it at a stand with colorful fabrics, pins and needles and textiles that were definitely worth more than anything you'd ever own.

The smile on your face lights up as you find the cheapest option available, speaking quietly to the stall owner you ask for it.

You're met with silence, its only when you look at them that you realize they aren’t even looking at you. Instead, you follow their gaze behind you, to the burly man who had somehow gotten close enough to block out your view of the sun. 

“Gorgeous too, huh?” he smiles down at your shocked face, even daring to lean down, hand gripping your jaw to force your head up, leaving your neck exposed to him. He’s not quick about it either, his nose coming to scent you as he indulges himself in the smell he finds there. 

“And where have you been hiding?” he whispers it, a secret between the both of you that your too scared to acknowledge. In stark contrast, you've been rooted to the spot, too scared to do much of anything as the complete stranger ungracefully takes his time mulling you over. 

It’s a funny thing, he can smell just how frightened you are, but it doesn’t mask the scent that made him follow you in the first place. 

The scene is far too intimate for such a public space, and subconsciously, you're aware of that. You know this isn’t right, you shouldn’t be letting yourself get so carried away by the stranger, even if he does smell wonderful. Nothing like any Alpha you’ve met. Although his presence is completely overwhelming, his scent isn’t, and he lets out a breathless laugh when you subtly try to scent him back. 

The only thing that snaps you back to reality is the stall owner clearing their throat, forcing you to realize how blatantly improper you were being. It’s far too embarrassing to handle, and mortification sets into your bones. The man pays them no mind, instead using one of his large hands to slam a few bills onto the counter.

“Whatever she wants” his voice comes out as a low and guttural thing, hoarse from days of disuse, as his breath fans across your face. He thinks it’s cute, the way your eyebrows shoot up makes his grin even wider. 

With shaky hands you point to the cheapest bobbin of thread, hands fumbling for your coin purse before he grabs your wrist. “What did I say, Omega?” its stern, but all you can manage to do is bumble over your words, eyes cast downwards as you try to ignore the embarrassment settling on your face. He was just trying to be nice, maybe he was a tad bit uncivilized about it, but his impropriety shouldn’t make it okay to decline such a kind offer. The thread is taken from the counter, his hand slowly ruffling the folds of your dress as he finds your pocket and drops it in.

At this point you’ve become a spectacle, passersby muttering not so subtly about just how close you are to him, how rude it was to make a scene like that in public. With a cough you back away, surprised to find that he doesn’t follow, only aims a grin at you as he continues to stare. Not wanting to leave on a sour note, you ask

“What’s your name?”

  Maybe one day you could repay the favor, although he didn’t look like the type to need to buy thread. He didn’t look like the type to care that much about his appearance at all, if you were being honest.

“its Uvogin. Gimme what’s in your pocket.”

“The thread?” with a wolfish smile he shakes his head no. It takes you a moment but clumsily you pad at the dress before finally finding your pocket and dipping your hand in to pull out the tiny wad of fabric in question. The only other thing in your pocket besides your coin purse. Your handkerchief. You don’t think about it as you hand it over to Uvogin, your head feels fuzzy just by his proximity. Don’t even think about how closely he must’ve been watching you to see that you had one, or how long he’d been doing so as he walked behind you and into the market. Right now, he could ask for a lot of things and you'd gladly hand it all to him with no second thoughts about it.

“You should head home. Maybe get some rest before it happens” he leans closer to sniff at your throat one last time, albeit a lot quicker than he had in the past “Although, I don’t think you’ll have much time.” The end of his sentence comes out in as a laugh, jovial enough to make you forget how sinister his final words were. With little grace, you slowly backpedal, eyes still on his before you turn around and walk out the way you came.

You smell. You reek of him. It’s the only thought in your mind as you clutch at yourself tightly, eyes cast downwards to avoid the shame of looking at others. There wasn't a pair of eyes that didn’t linger on you, most likely smelling exactly what you smelled; The stench of an Alpha. So thick and cloying that you couldn’t pretend it was anything other. Maybe you could rinse it off in the creek before you got home, but you doubted it. The smell permeated through your dress and settled into your bones. Quickly, you head out of the village and towards the sound of running water. 

He was handsome, his scent so alluring that it made your mind wander as you tried desperately to rinse it off of your skin. A hint of sweat, pine and something sweet you had no name for. Sitting on your haunches, you let out a whine at the fact that nothing you did could rinse it off, and part of you didn’t want to, anyway. He’d ruined your dress by doing little more than touching it. If your parents smelled it, who knows what they would do. Probably cast you out like they’d planned on doing when you tore your dress. Any little infraction was worth your disappearance. This would give them every reason not to want you around. 

It seemed to be getting hotter. So hot in fact you were half tempted to wade into the creek, dress and all, just to get the feeling to go away. The sun had been hidden by an overcast sky, clouds threating to burst at any moment, and you prayed they would. It could drown out any scent lingering on your skin, your clothes, the far recesses of your mind that held onto it like a bloodhound. Why was it so hot?

Wordlessly, you waded into the water, thinking little of the repercussions of coming home with a sopping wet dress as you sat down, letting the stream flow over you and around your shoulders. It felt soothing at first, like a cool bath when you were sick, but all too soon the water felt just as warm as you were. It. Was enough to elicit another strangled whine from your throat.

Slowly you stood, the weight of the fabric hugging tighter against your skin all too noticeable. This wasn't right. The sun was gone, the water cool, so why did you feel so sick all of a sudden?

It took a minute to fully accept it, as part of you didn’t want to. But you couldn’t excuse the need growing in your abdomen as anything else.

You had to leave here, quick. Get as far away from the village as possible. Away from the Omegas and your family, away from everything in order to have a chance at saving yourself.

Wading out of the water, you give no pause to the way your skirts cast dark droplets onto the dry ground. 

 With little to no hesitation, you make your way back onto the road before veering right, into the underbrush as you picked up the pace. Before, you'd have a day’s head start to get as far away as possible, but this was different. The telltale signs of your heat stirring low in the pit of your belly was a fortnight too early. Your thoughts were already starting to fog around the edges, an in a few hours all you'd be able to do was cry out from the sheer pain of it all.

 With every step you find yourself walking faster, legs getting whipped by the low lying brambles. The way they so easily tear into your skin going almost unnoticed by you in your sheer panic. It wasn't supposed to be this way, it’s a type of confusion that adds on to the delirium already buffing away at your subconscious. 

After a few minutes of running, only your panicked gasps keeping you company, the clouds burst above you. Fat drops soaking the underbrush and you along with it. In no time the ground beneath your feet becomes even more treacherous, mud and leaves and errant roots making you stumble and fall at every opportunity. After one nasty fall, you can't help but sit for a moment, a manic chuckle ripping through your chest as you examine your skinned palms. Your dress is filthy, the tear even larger than it had been when you set out this morning. Absently you wonder if mother will let you try to mend it before she casts you out for it. Without looking down at your legs, you already know the bruises that will be there from every bump and fall you’ve taken on your little journey. It does little to worry you, once the adrenaline wore off, maybe then you'd feel yourself start to care again.

With a sigh you let yourself rest. Hypervigilance slipping as you gaze up at the canopy in awe. How could rain be so loud? 

Mentally, you try to assess your location. There was a place not far from here that served as your hideaway in times like these. A fissure in the face of a sheer cliff, only big enough for you and any other Omega that had the misfortune of being cast out into the woods. It wasn't much, the crack was uncovered, the rain and wet still able to reach you, but that wasn’t what was important. 

Standing up gives you a better view of your surroundings. With little thought you start to head in the direction you remembered, down the slope of the hill in hopes of finding your salvation at the bottom. 

It doesn’t take long before you hear it. Crackling branches under heavy, heavy footsteps. It’s not a promising sign, to say the very least. Feverishly you pick up the pace, mind racing as you try to figure out who would’ve followed you. It’s not like you did much to hide where you were going, in truth you didn’t think about it at all. Mind glazing over, you don’t notice the thick tree root that’s in your way, stumbling over it as your palms meet the forest floor once again. Ungracefully, your body tumbles easily down the rest of the slope, a cry leaving you as you hit the ground repeatedly. 

Uvo’s laugh is audible over the thunderous sound of rain. Its jarring. A wretched reminder that you're actively being hunted down like an animal.

“Sounds like I’m getting close, huh?” he yells, still too far away for you to see him under the darkened canopy. His voice echoes and you can't tell where exactly he is behind you, only knowing that its entirely too close for comfort. Hazily, your mind makes the connection, his voice rattling back in your ears over and over again as you pick yourself up. 

You can’t say that you've gotten any faster after realizing who exactly was chasing you. The ache in your body from multiple falls was finally catching up to you, along with the heat that was settling low in the pit of your stomach that seemed to be burning even brighter than a few minutes ago.

After a few minutes of running, you see it and almost sob with relief. Thick with vines, the opening of the rockface, your salvation, is almost within distance. 

“I hope you're not thinkin’ of doing what I think you're gunna do.” Its not a yell. Not anything other than an irritated statement thrown so casually and so, so close to you that it causes goosebumps to rise on the back of your neck.  Quickly, you look behind you, a slight yip leaving your throat as you take in the distance between the both of you.

In a last ditch effort, your body works on autopilot. Fear drives you, pushes you faster and faster until the only thing you can hear is the thrumming of your own heart in your ears. He’s loud behind you, yelling something unintelligible as you try to make your escape. You're within reaching distance of the opening now, but his hands grab at you. The slickness of the rain serves in your favor. Easily you slip from his grasp, body lurching forward and into the opening as he tears at the shoulder of your dress.

The air surrounding him seems to vibrate with raw anger, something akin to a roar tearing through him at just how close he’d come to having you.

Big hands come to slam against either side of the opening as he peers down at your shrunken form. Chest heaving, the rain glints off of his skin and the image alone is enough to make you whimper in submission. He’s so tall, broader than any Alpha you'd seen, and he’s incredibly angry. Uvo’s gaze doesn’t leave you as the seconds tick by.  After a few moments of him trying, and failing, to collect himself he finally speaks

“I’m not gunna hurt ya, now come here” he says, and it sounds sincere enough that your fuzzy brain almost believes him. Almost gives in to the temptation of his scent, his open arms goading you to leave the small space.

“I don’t believe you” you whine, shaking your head ‘no’ as if he wouldn’t understand the meaning of your words.

It’s so unbelievably hot. The fat drops of rain hitting your face and soaking you through to your very core did little to relieve the feeling. if anything, it overwhelmed your heightened senses, every little drop on your skin felt like something you needed to pay close attention to.

“Just wanna make you feel better” the statement alone forces a whimper out of your throat, body edging backwards as if to physically deny him

“You can't make me feel better, no one in this damn town can make me feel better.” it’s a lot more hysterical than you meant it, but Uvo’s face contorts in confusion all the same.

It’s quiet for a moment as he assesses you. Big green eyes rake over your shivering form, more anger than pity bubbling to the surface of his features as he realizes how much he doesn’t like what he sees.

“You don’t know anything, huh?” he mumbles to himself, letting one of his large hands swipe away the excess water on his face before settling on his hip “What’s it gunna take for you to come out then?”

You want to tell him to leave, to let you be alone but another part of you wants something. Something you can't explain enough to even know yourself.

“Just don’t hurt me, okay?” no matter how much you try to calm yourself down it still comes out too whiny and nasally for your liking.

Uvo laughs at that, boisterous and loud and it almost seems to overpower the sound of heavy rain hitting the tree branches around you.

“I just told you I wouldn’t, you forget that already?” you have half a mind to nod in affirmation, “Come on out then” he gestures towards you, wolfish smile marring his face.

As if to try and soothe you, he asks for your name. The question eats away at the open air before you finally find your voice enough to answer him.

In the quiet that precedes your answer you realize numbly that It’s getting darker out. You have no provisions and now you’re drenched. If you didn’t listen and stayed put, the rest of your heat would be torture. There’s a lot to consider, truthfully too much to consider in your current state. The ramifications of your actions, the honesty of the large man in front of you, the means in which he planned to help, how long you could actually survive out here without him. Your brain functions moved with the viscosity of syrup. The more you thought about it all, the less it seemed to make sense.

Quietly, you make your way to the opening, Uvo lets out an excited laugh as you crawl ever closer to him. It doesn’t take more than a few steps before a gasp is being torn from you as he grabs you by the arm, pulling you completely out and into his embrace. It feels nice, albeit a little jarring, but you won’t deny the full feeling in your chest at his proximity. A big and sturdy hand rakes up your side as the other holds you to his chest.

With little thought, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, relishing in the scent that hasn’t been completely washed away by the rain. Its calming, maybe he’s pumping out pheromones to induce that emotion within you, but at the same time it makes the coil in the pit of your stomach reach incredibly high temperatures. It hurts, oh god, it hurts

“Hurts, huh? I can fix that.” You don’t remember saying it aloud, but the burly man responds quickly by tearing the flimsy fabric of your dress, making sure to rip through your underwear as well. When you whine at the sensation all he does is mutter “Didn’t expect me to let you keep that ratty thing did you?”

It’s a makeshift blanket once he tosses it onto the ground, saving your back from most of the drenched forest floor as Uvo sets you down, his own body hovering over yours. His warmth is so nice, nothing like what’s eating you up inside, and with needy hands you run your fingers through his hair, a high pitched whine leaving your throat at the groan you coax from him.

“Fuck” he growls “M’gunna knot you so good. Bet it’ll only take one time before I get you nice and round”

You nod up at him, delirious and wanting. The only thing on your mind being the feel of him under your fingers.

With little finesse, Uvo thumbs at the opening of your sex before sliding over the bundle of nerves that lies just above it. He smiles at the confusion on your face before slowly, slowly sinking one of his large fingers inside of your heat. Your body writhes with broken sobs at the feeling. Its unlike anything you ever experienced before. 

“All this for me, huh? Must really want it.” It comes out in a huff, his smile ever growing as you nod in affirmation. You can hear the slickness he’s referring to as his finger pumps in and out of you. 

Right now the wind was bustling, rain beating down harder than it had been all night, but all that you could feel was the comfort Uvo gave you. As if his wandering hands were stroking your very soul.

Unbeknownst to you, Uvo’s already dipped another digit inside of you, marveling at the way your body so easily opens up to his touch.  It’ll only take him a few more minutes of his fingers dutifully scissoring you open before he’s able to lay his claim. 

“Doesn’t hurt, does it?” he smiles as you shake your head, mouth open and panting as your lovestruck gaze meets his “Of course it doesn’t.”

He takes his time, languid strokes and teasing bites against your chest. No rush in his movements until you brokenly sob for him. The feeling in your gut was only getting worse with every movement. With weak hands you claw at him, trying desperately to pull his body closer.

His hand moves from your cunt, popping his digits in his mouth with a groan. When he finally sucks them clean, his hands go to his belt, “Impatient little thing” whispered from his lips.

The sight alone makes your mouth water. Too long and jarringly thick, his cock slaps up against his stomach. 

“Gunna make you feel a loot better” he mumbles, taking himself in hand. God, you want it, want every bit of him no matter the repercussions. He kneels above you, chest wet and heaving with excitement as his gaze lingers on your exposed pussy. A Grecian God chiseled from marble and sent here just for you. 

With steady hands he presses you your legs up, folding you in half until hes achieved the angle he’s looking for. You have no choice but to comply, whimpering as he guides himself into your aching cunt.

The stretch of it burns, it makes your body quake almost as if the size of his cock alone has rendered you weak. It’s an overwhelming sensation that eats away any rational thought until you can only focus on the piercing sharpness of it.

“Stop, please, s’too much.” You can't recognize the sound of your own voice. Its hoarse as if you'd been yelling for hours. Uvogin buries his nose in your neck again, hands coming up to press your legs to even further against your chest.

“Here… got somethin’ to take your mind off it” 

With little warning his teeth are in your neck, tearing a wretched scream from your throat as Uvo draws blood. True to his word, he sinks the entirety of his length within you without your notice. Only thing on your mind is the feeling of your flesh being torn open by him, claimed by him. 

There’s’ little compassion in the way his hips snap against yours. Its brutal, making you cry out even more as the force of it jostles the teeth still buried snugly in your neck. Your hands claw at the ground before eventually settling on his back. Uvo groans at your nails digging into him, spurring him on to go faster, harder, to give you everything he’s got until you drain him dry.

The noise of Uvo thrusting into your warm cunt is loud, almost deafening compared to the rain around you. It’s all you can hear; All you can feel as he doesn’t waste any time in finding the exact spot within you that makes you scream.

Every shift of his hips is maddening. Every sharp thrust enough to push the air out of your lungs. Eventually Uvo’s mouth pulls away from your throat, lapping at the bloodied mess he’d left there. You can't focus on it too much. Can't focus on much of anything at the present moment, only the slick sounds of his cock dragging in and out of you filling your mind. 

“Gunna need you to do somethin’ for me, doll” his words are almost too far away for you to hear. As if he’s underwater, it takes a light slap to your face in order for you to process them.

“Huh?” you ask dumbly. You can't remember if your voice always sounded that small. That meek. 

“M’not gunna last long with the way you’re suckin’ me in like this” he growls “Gunna need you to bite down.” One of his hands that was previously holding your thigh up reaches for the nape of your neck, pulling you up until your face is flush against the side of his throat. Something is growing inside of you, burning through your very being and he’s the cause of it. It’s mind numbing, this pleasure you’ve never felt before. Lazily you recognize it enough to know that your own orgasm is mere seconds away.

“Right here.” you nod, heat searing through you as his hips stutter. There’s something catching against your cunt now, impeding every kiss of his hips against yours as he struggles to fit the rest of his cock inside.

With an audible groan being your only warning, Uvo cums inside of you. It sears against your insides as something finally stops his movements, his body unable to do anything besides grind against your own. So full, you jerk with the feeling, finally letting the coil inside you snap. The scream that leaves your broken throat is cut off by Uvo shoving your face harder against his neck and, dutifully, you bite down. Its mere instinct driving you, or maybe the need to drown out your warbled cries for him. Either way, the wound makes him laugh, his hand pushing harder against you as if to force your teeth further into his skin. The tang of metal in your mouth does little to stop the ebb and flow of your orgasm as it washes through you. It’s too good, so good in fact you find yourself pulling away only to be met with Uvo’s unshakeable grip. Tears prick at your eyes at the sensitivity of it all, the overwhelming buzz that courses through you with no end in sight.

It takes a minute of blindly thrashing against him before you give up and settle on the wet ground below.

It’s completely pitch dark now and the rain has quieted into a slight drizzle. You can't see him, can only feel as the hand not gripping your neck finally lets your other thigh down to ghost over the plains of your face. 

“You're mine now” he whispers. Silently, you nod your head in agreement, not fully understanding the meaning of his words. It didn’t matter. Nothing truly mattered anymore besides the man above you. Uvo presses a lingering kiss to your neck, your jaw, before landing on your spit slicked lips. It’s almost soothing, the gentle touches his attentive hands leave on your body. Soothing enough to make you forget how you got here. 

With a gentle tug, he finally pulls out of your sex. The laugh that leaves his throat as his fingers explore the wetness that paints your lower body is euphoric. Soon enough he’s pulling you into his arms and standing up.

“Feel better?” it sounds like more of a statement coming from his mouth, but you nod all the same. As he starts to walk your eyelids droop in exhaustion, mind focused on the way his chest vibrates with every garbled sentence you can't quite hear.

[muffindaddystyles]

Love Brings Patience.

A/N: Just an angsty "3am thoughts and listening to hozier while doing" it blurb. Enjoy!! ♡♡

It thunders outside loudly, but she didn’t flinch. The mass of blues and viridescent ivory painting the sky -- a call for rain, as when there’s blessed pour of shower after every winter sick – but it’s monsoon —- there’s none of the sympathy that these boofy clouds could slip into Y/N's pocket as she lays on her bed watching through the glass roof of the home ... they built together.

With so much, love, trust, faith and passion for eachother that anything in the world was unable to come between them – until it did.

Pinning against them and keeping them apart.

Everything will be okay, in the end. It’s not okay. It’s not the end.

It’s just beginning. Beginning to suffer alone and without him, his emotional and physical support, his cheery smile that’d race her heartbeat like chariots of Hades and his gentle need to saturate the distances between them wherever they’re, his loving gleamy eyes never skimming past her and he'd dot soft grateful kisses to her raspberry cheeks and kiss her temple as if she’s the goddess that resides in his home and it’d be a sin not to cherish her.

He loves too much. He did. He does. He loved her beyond everything that it killed him, he was sobbing that night – drenching the lilac carpeted floor with the water droplets dripping down and Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the roar of lightening against the creaky windows of their home or the feebleness of his voice that sobered her into dust.

“Been hurtin' ye'fo’ years .. by being away from you fo' months and coming back to just give y'memories and hopes for me early arrival —-.. what .. -- what kinda lover does that?” He hiccupped. His wet fringes didn’t let Y/N fetch him and dip her hand in his soul to touch it and tell him where he belongs, he always belonged to her – and your path is always destined to ones, who you belong to.

“-- ... makes ye' -m..m—makes you wait and takes the test of yer patience, like you’re not human –...” But, this isn’t what love brings? Wait and patience and sacrifice —- the yearn to have the love of your life in your embrace while you pace through the alleyway of airports.

Love brings patience.

“... darlin’ ye' deserve the same warmth of a body, same attention and love that everyone out there’s getting ..” His sniffles sharp and breathless as he pointed out the window to indicate the world and she doesn’t know how in just one night he became so silly, because her world is him — only him.

Her whisper came out broken, “And what about you?” Her caring question for him made him push the heels of his palms to his sockets and rub the stubborn fat tears away.

“It’s hurtin’ me to. Makes me not breath at nights, stayin' away from you -- ‘m never focusin’ –- ‘s just you, Always you in the pocket of me heart – the back of my mind —-- can’t escape it. My stupid stupid heart tries to see you in strangers faces ‘n —--... my arms pulls at cold sheets to get to your warmth but it never comes, whatever I do.” His chest tightened and it’s repeating the same shortness of breaths he used to get while crying to himself in those hotel rooms, the puffy lips gasping for oxygen and Y/N' was rushing towards him grabbing his jaw to inspect him but he’s slip shutting his eyes and gesturing her he’s okay.

Murmured sadly, “And lovie’ it hurts.” So, loving her hurts him? What kind of love is that? A piece of failure when it should be what they tell in fairy tales.

She failed him.

She was shuddering letting his hand slip from her sweaty palms when he stood up with a worn out sad face, head hung down with the burden of guilt and selfishness.

“I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.” She was on her knees. Lips wobbled glum. She tugged on the bottom of his trousers crying dolefully without any word.

“Not wanting to hurt me by hurtin’ me more?” She cried hugging his leg and not letting it go.

His bestowed assertion made her shudder as he stepped away and to side, “I don’t w'na hurt us anymore.” His heart cracked and promised to him that it'll never heal up how much he'd beg later.

He was crying into his wrist leaving their apartment. Closing his ears with his palms to shut down the loud reckless sobs that echoed till hallway.

That cruel summer night still haunts her every moment and it’s been two weeks, and she wishes that he'll come running towards where she’s shrinking into the bed and jump over her as he used to —-- covering the little distance from the kitchen towards the bed and always made them bounce with the glee of his soft giggles.

How merciless could he be?

Leaving her alone in their home, where every piece of furniture holds his memory; the pink vinyl that’d play their favourite French songs, the squared tiles of their kitchen walls that he wrote different recipes over, the glassed roof through which they'd moon gaze snuggled into eachother and he'd be more happy to stroke her skin and love on the softness of it rather than the twinkle of stars – because he does it when he misses her, not when she’s right in his arms kissing his cheeks to happy affection, his cat who’s homesick because her momma is there or not – it’s not a much difference.

Everything is just ghosts of his memories making the edges of her heart bleed and cracking them dry.

She misses him. She misses him terribly and no day goes by without his thought swimming and tickling her mind.

Telephone rings. It keeps on ringing and she ignores it closing her eyes and tries to surrender herself to darkness of sleep, but then it kept on cutting through the tranquillity of their home and she’s plucking the yellow receiver and speaking something – embarrassed when her voice doesn’t even reach herself.

There’s loud annoyed groaning, vigorous disturbance and a high pitched squeaks before Mitch's monotone voice startles Y/N, “Can you please take him home? He's proper waffled .. broke his —-.. Harry! Can you sit down? Christ. Look you’re looking like a clown in front of all these nurses —-- Y/N?” He sighs and Y/N turns the curly wire around her finger out of anxiousness.

Fidgety on the tips of her toes.

“Where are you? Nurses? Broke? Is Harry okay? Tell me Mitch what’s happening!!?” She’s yelling into the receiver snatching the notepad when Mitch mutters grumpily, “Harry’s in hospital.”

Her heart drops to floor at that and she stares at her feet letting it sink before blinking the tears away and asking him for locations.

The time she reaches it starts raining and she covers herself with the cardigan she sneaked from his wardrobe to feel his presence, his scent and his brush of touch to her skin.

When she’s stumbling inside the rushy lobby filled with people waiting for their turn and her blurry gaze moves in every direction to find Harry sitting on the steel benches, wearing loose tailored curdory trousers and a baby blue sweater she knitted him as a gift for his birthday.

His apple-ish cheeks rosy and his button of nose scrunching up as he sits clumsily on the bench, poking Mitch's bum every other second to laugh at some kid who has his hand struck in a pot.

His own wrist bandaged up and around his neck, his pupils glassy foam and his condition dishevelled and ruffled up. It tears her up and she breathes in a sniffle – wiping her nose and padding towards him.

When his eyes rakes up a huge dimply smile is adorning his weary features and he’s waving her with limpy fingers shyly.

He’s drunk, drunk.

He pouts cherry-ly. Brows flinching together and he position himself straighter with Mitch's help when he takes in the dampness of her cheeks, “Why’re y'cryin' lovie’?” Darn that pet name. He slurs and his words mumbish.

“You’re hurt...” She points at his wrist. He looks down as it isn’t obvious and Mitch rolls his eyes, “Not hurt.” He shakes his head and when looks back up he’s grinning.

“Was just takin' hugeee steps downstairs -- ye'know me clumsiness and it’s kinda Mitchy's fault too ... told him to grab me tightly —-... ‘cos ‘m sensitive lil petal —--...” Y/N's biting down a snort at his squeaky high pitched voice and Mitch’s cutting him with thin smile.

“Been biting my ears off about you. How was I supposed to keep my balance when he clings to me so hard as if I’m summat his lover....” Y/N's eyes widen when Mitch grabs Harry from armpits and slinks his one arm around Y/N's shoulder as if Harry’s some parcel and he didn’t like it.

“Take him, home.” He mumbles and she stutters, “Wait ... hey! How? Mitch come back you mummy head.” She calls for him but he just walks away and Y/N’s left with no option but to take Harry with her.

“Be careful.” She whispers walking down the slope at exit of hospital with Harry clinged to her, “You came here on car?” She nudges his cheek with her shoulder but he just snuggles his face into the nook of her jaw.

“Mitch took it?” She groans. Swiping the rain droplets away from her forehead and steps behind under the shelter, “No ... it’s parked right here.” He mumbles against her sweet spot making her shiver and she makes them do a lil jog to the car and Harry’s giggling squeaking nonsense in her ear.

“Harry if y’refuse to leave me .....” She warns him trying to squirm out of his embrace as he sits in the passenger seat holding her so she sighs and tries to stick to more gentle coaxing way.

Shaky fingers gliding up his cheek to cup it and stroke the blue bags under his eyes, screaming that he having restless night for week now, “Petal if you don’t leave me how ‘m supposed to drive?” He gazes her peculiarly –- caressing her knuckles, stares his own motion and gives her the most puppy eyes that melts her on the spot, “Then hold me hand?” Now, could she say no to him? Never. She hates herself for it.

“’kay you could hold my –-- lemme —--... just --.. good boy.” She takes her hand out of his grip and pats his thigh before rushing to driver’s side.

She knows that how much he needs reassurances when he’s drunk and how much his love language of touching her peaks to sky.

She fulfils her promise and let him hold her hand, enjoying the little happiness because she knows it’s temporary and in the morning she'd be met by empty bed and hollow arms.

“I missed home.” He smiles wetly. Eyes closed as he stays on hugging her walking inside and whines when she squats down to untie his laces.

When she make him sit on the sofa and tries to leave for the kitchen, he’s lurching forward to grab her wrist and plead into her arm with moisture in his eyes, “No.No.No lovie' don’t go. Don’t go, pleaseeeee.......” She pets his sweaty curls kissing his forehead and murmurs against his hair while he loops his elbows lazily around her waist.

“Not going anywhere bub. Bringing you water.”

“No water. Just you. I missed you. Missed you so much. Missed you too much.” He’s rambling knuckling at his eyes and her belly fills with butterflies that flap till her heart and makes her feel woozy.

Though, she overcomes the bitter sweet feeling and brings him water how much he whined.

He has his hand planted softly at her thigh and gasps loudly and dramatically finishing the last droplet, and puckers his lips making funny noises against the rim of glass and she takes it away from him giggling, “’kay it's enough.”

He shuts his eyes for a moment and when opens them back it’s sea of pinks and the tears are shining at his waterline and he croaks out hoarsely, “Y/N ....?” Sobered up. He's feeling awful and in constant need to take her in his arms.

“Hmm?” She hums giving him a nervous smile and he straightens up taking both of her hands in his's, “I don’t want to be away from you anymore, darlin'. It’s worse than being temporarily away from ye'. Terrible. Terrible. I feel sick all the time as if there’s a dagger twisting into my heart ‘cos I know ‘m never fallin' in love with anyone except you ... but I don’t think you deserve me —.. I -- I —... I just think you —--- it’s killing me baby. Take me back please, baby take me back." He sniffs the tears and she’s crying with him; calling out his name and when he doesn’t listen she’s cradling his face delicately in her palms and making him look at her.

“Harry, my sweetheart. I love you. Isn’t that enough to assure you that I deserve you and only you – no one else.” He's blinking furiously and she bobs her head not flickering her loving gaze away from him.

“I love you too, will you take me back now? After what I did?” His insecurity and doubts about himself floating back.

“You left for best. Realised that we couldn’t live without eachother, didn’t you?” She pecks the corner of his lips and he leans in for a chaste kiss, their teeth clanking from smiling wide and happy and he giggles when she pushes herself off from him.

They crawl to their bed together and she flumps on his chest and he moans squeakily, “Ow.”

“Oh my, Har ....” She gasps. Shakes her head and flicks him on forehead when he grins bashfully.

“G'na take care of me?” His chin doubles over adorably as he tries to see her and brush her hair away.

“Gonna take care of you, petal” She patches a soft kiss to his chest and erupts into loud giggles when he teases her nonchalantly, “G'na help me wipe my arse.”

“Harry! Your other hand’s perfectly capable of wiping yourself clean!” He brings her closer with his uninjured hand and kisses her tenderly -- to show her all the love they missed on these few weeks.

“I love being home.” He murmurs into the kiss. Playing with her tresses round his nimble and traces kisses all over her face.

“Promise me you’re never doing silly again.” She pouts and he plucks at it – smooching a kiss to it later.

“Promise.” He tries to hook his bandaged pinky to her's and she laughs into his neck – shakes her head and kisses his cheek hugging him tightly.

[write-orflight]

Cherry Wine: SpencerXReader

*gif not mine*

Pairings: SpencerXReader (Angst w/ happy ending oneshot)

Rating: M

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: SMUT! very, very, angsty! TW/CW: Drug abuse, attempted suicide, murder

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Inspired by Cherry Wine by Hozier. (Listen while reading)

The first thing they tell you when getting clean is to not date anyone from group. Unfortunately, neither of you can follow rules. 

A.N: Please! do not read this is drug abuse or suicide will be triggering for you protect yourself please! Much love, Cia

The first thing they told you when trying to get clean was not to date anyone from the group. 

But you and Spencer couldn’t help how you fell into each other. 

You remembered the first day you walked into group. The way the heel of your boots clacked hard against the dirty linoleum floor. You were wearing your dad’s old sweater and ratty shorts. You didn’t think anything of your outfit but Spencer would later tell you that he thought you were the most radiant thing on the earth when he saw you in that moment.

You kept your hood up as you plopped into the squeaky folding chairs. You looked over to your left to see the tall, lanky man wringing his hands together constantly. Your eyes trailed up and down his body from his battered converse to the hard outline of his set jaw. You knew you had to have him in that moment. 

You leaned over. “Hey.” you said. He jumped out of his skin practically, trying to put as much distance between the both of you as possible. You hold your hands up in surrender. “Sorry, you just look nervous and I thought you would want a friend.” 

“I-I do…” He stutters over his words. Moving back into the space and inadvertently closer to you. “I’m Spencer.” He says. 

“Spencer…” You test the word out on your lips. It’s not bad, you’ve moaned worst names. You dated a guy named Harold for a spell, nothing was worse than that. “Hi, Spencer. I’m Y/N. First NA meeting?” 

He looks down at his feet. “Yea.” 

“What was your poison?” You ask. You’re not supposed to ask that but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“Dilaudid.” He says, awkwardly.

You nod. “That’s rough. How are you adjusting?” 

“I’m getting there, I just feel like an idiot being here.” 

“Well, why’s that?” 

“I have an IQ of 187, Several degrees and PhDs. I’m not necessarily the audience for drug addiction.” He says, frustrated. 

 “Well, I have my master’s in Engineering. I may not have a genius IQ but I’m by no means an idiot.” You say. “But I got hooked on pills just as bad as the next guy, you’re not dumb for needing help.” 

That’s how the two of you started. It was innocent at first, staying a little longer at meetings just to talk to each other, meeting for coffee. But pretty soon it was exchanging numbers and late night calls. 

One particular phone call was when you shifted. Whether it was for the better or worse you could not tell. 

“You sped out the meeting yesterday, I didn’t get to tell you happy 6 months.” Spencer said, over the line. You couldn’t help the gentle swoon that came with hearing that raspy voice praise you. 

“Yea, I had an early day today. Sorry.” 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer says, immediately able to tell something was up with you. “You seem upset.” 

You sigh. “I’d like to preface this by saying that I didn’t do it, I promise.”  you say, shuffling your feet that were laid on your coffee table. “I’ve been thinking about using, a lot lately.” 

Spencer gasps slightly. “And you haven’t?” 

“No, I didn’t Spencer. At least not yet, but work has been stressful and I’ve just been thinking about it alot.”  

“Well, what did you do to destress before?” 

“Honestly?” You ask. “I had sex, like a crazy amount of sex. I know it’s not the best coping mechanism but it’s better than OD’ing. I used to regularly hit up this guy but he got a job in Portland recently. So that fountain is dried up.” 

You hear Spencer mumble something. “What’d you say?” You ask.

“I said, I could do it.” He rushes through the sentence. 

“Do what, Spencer?” 

“We could… have sex…” He says, awkwardly. 

You look at the phone in shock at that. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable taking your virginity, Spencer.” 

You hear Spencer sputter on the other line. “I-I’m not a virgin.” 

“Really?” You say. That was a shock for sure.  “Could’ve fooled me.”  

You hear those words that changed everything next. “Come over.” 

“What?” 

“Now.” He says, hanging up the phone at the moment. 

You go and grab your keys not needing to be told twice. 

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

You knock on Spencer’s door a rough 15 minutes later. The door swings open and a hand is already circling your wrist, pulling you in. It’s not long before that door is slammed and you’re being pressed up against it. You try to move the hand he’s holding down but Spencer is deceptively strong, probably needed in his line of work. You look at him, eyes blown wide with lust and initial shock. 

“Will you tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable?” He asks, looking you in the eye. 

“Are you saying I need a safeword, Dr. Reid?” 

His eyes darken significantly as he hears his profession past your lips. “It’d probably be wise to have one.” 

You think for a second. “How about Tardis?” You say, you and Spencer had bonded over your shared love of Doctor Who.

“That works.” He says, Tugging on your wrist, pulling you deeper into the Apartment until you reach your final destination, his bedroom. 

He lets you go and shuts the door. 

“Strip.” He says, leaning against the dresser. You narrow your eyes at him to see if he was serious. He looks back at you with a waiting expression, to show you that he was. 

Might as well… you think, tugging your shirt off. You continue to look Spencer in the eyes as you shed the rest of your clothes. His eyes travel down and back up your body. He steps towards you in that moment, tilting your chin up to look at him. 

“You’re breathtaking.” He says, sweeping you into a passionate kiss. You moan against his lips as his arms bracket under your thighs to lift you up, dropping you onto the bed. You look up at him, eyes blown wide as he takes his shirt and pants off before rejoining you on the bed. You moan loudly as he sucks bruises onto your neck, grinding his erection against your sex. He leaves hot, bruising kisses down your body. Your shoulders, your chest, your stomach. Until they meet their all-time destination, right above your sex. 

He rubs a hand against your sex, kissing bruises into your inner thigh. “Look at how needy you are for me. I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked.” He says, thumb circling your clit.

You moan, moving your hips to get some kind of friction. “S-Spencer, please--” 

“What do you want, baby?” He says. “Use your words.” 

“Please, your mouth…” you manage. 

“What do you want me to do with my mouth, huh?” He says, taunting you. You squirm under the scrutiny. “I need to hear you say it.” He said, slipping two fingers into your wet heat, curling instantly. 

You babble for a second, trying to formulate the words. “Spencer- Spen, Please!”

“I know, baby. I got you.” He whispers before giving a deep quick lick to your clit. Your head thrashes back in ecstasy as he curls two fingers inside of you. It wasn’t long before you felt that tell-tale ball tightening in your lower abdomen. 

“Spencer, fuck- I’m going to--” 

“I know, baby. Go ahead and cum for me.” Not knowing you were waiting on permission, you release yourself on his fingers. He leaves small kisses on your thighs while coaxing you through your orgasm. Once you’ve come down, he crawls back up your body. You pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel him crawling out of his underwear while you’re kissing. 

“Do I need anything?” He says, his tip already dragging along your wet folds.

You moan, slightly. “You can use a condom if you want but I’m clean. And I’m on birth control.” 

He smiles wickedly at you. “I’m clean too.” He whispers to you, still teasing you. 

“Spencer.”  You moan. “Please fuck me.” 

He smiles before pushing into you, not needing much convincing. You both gasp at the first contact. The hands on your hips are practically bruising. He waits searching your eyes, making sure you aren’t hurt. You don’t like that, when people look at you like you’re of value. 

“Move.” You say, Spencer happily obliges, opting to go slow. You instantly start moving your hips to make him move faster. He looks at you slightly confused but keeps his pace. You sigh, frustrated. “Are you going to actually fuck me or what, Spencer?” 

His hips snap into you harshly at that moment, making all the air in your lungs expel. “Excuse me?” He says, instantly fucking into you harder, his hand circles your throat, squeezing the sides. You moan loudly. Well, as loud as you can with him cutting your air supply while he fucks into you roughly. 

“This is mine. Don’t tell me how to fuck it, ok?” He says, moving faster, other hand traveling down your body to rub your clit roughly. He lifts you leg over his shoulder so he’s almost impossibly deep inside you. You scream out, it was too much.

“Spencer.” You whine. “I-I can’t.” 

“You know your safeword.” He says roughly. “Unless you’re going to use it, I suggest shutting up and taking it.” You moan loudly at that, liking nothing more than the feeling of being used. 

“Spencer-fuck-I’m going come.” You moan. 

“Fuck-me too.” He says. “Go ahead and cum on my cock, baby.” You head thrashes back as your orgasm takes over, Spencer following close behind. 

He collapses on top of you for a second while the two of you catch your breath. The second he’s off of you, he moves to pull you close to him but you’re already up out of the bed. You stop in the bathroom to pee and clean yourself off. Once back in the room, Spencer watches you in confusion as you put your clothes on. 

“Are you in a rush?” He asks. The awkward kid you’ve known for months now back replacing the man you had just been in bed with. “You could stay.” 

You walk over to where he is on the bed, placing a small kiss on his forehead before patting his cheek lightly. “It’s probably best if I don’t stay.” You say, patting his bare leg. “I don’t want either of us to get the wrong idea.” 

“Wrong idea?” He asks. 

You sigh. “You know, sex and drugs release a lot of the same brain chemicals.” You watch him nod. “Of course you do, you know everything. I’m just saying, this is a nice simple way to stay clean, I use you when I need the distraction from pills. And… you use me when you need it.” 

“But, I don’t want to use you. I lik-” 

“Don’t finish that sentence. Please, Spencer.” You sigh, tapping him lightly on the forehead. “This is why I don’t want to sleep over. If I do, those chemicals in that big brain will confuse the high from good sex with love and… I’m not the person you want to fall in love with right now, it’s not the right time for us. I’m a fuckup.” You say, standing up and grabbing your purse. “You may not like this now, but you’re going to have a really bad day probably, that’ll make you want to use again and if that happens…. I’d rather you call me before you do.” You ruffle his hair before walking out of the apartment into the brisk air. 

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

It’s weeks before you hear from Spencer again. You almost counted him up as a loss by the sheer amount the two of you didn’t speak after you had sex. You respected his decision not to contact you and you figured even though you lost a friend at least that friend had made you cum twice before leaving you out to dry.  

You were sitting on your couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and Netflix queued up when you got the call. 

“Hello?” You said around the spoon. 

“Come over.” You heard Spencer say on the other line. 

Your heart fluttered at the sound of his rough tone. “I’m in my sweats.” You say. 

“I don’t care.” He says, hanging up. 

You shrug, jumping up to put your ice cream in the freezer before running out the door. 

When you get to Spencer’s place, he answers the door almost as soon as you knock as if he’s been waiting. His eyes are puffy and red. 

“You’ve been crying.” You say, stating the obvious. 

He rolls his eyes. “Do you remember your safeword?” 

“Yes.”

“Then get inside.” 

Thus began the vicious cycle that was you and Spencer. You would call him, typically after a long day of being interrupted and ridiculed by your colleagues. He’d call you after rough cases, and you’d fuck each others brains out. One time. No encore performances. No sleeping over. No falling in love. 

It worked for a while, a long while. Spencer was still a nice friend. You’d text him about new episodes of Doctor Who or ask him obscure questions you needed answers too when you didn’t feel like googling it. He always had an answer for you. 

But of course just like most things in your life, you couldn’t have a good thing without finding some way to fuck it up. 

It started with one time Spencer called you to come over after you had worked a 12 hour shift. You didn’t tell him that, you just still went. After you guys hooked up, he watched you sleepily try to put your clothes on. Not even able to keep your eyes completely open. 

“Y/N, just stay.” He says. “I can’t let you drive home like this.” 

“No, I’m fine. I’ll go.” You say, mid-yawn. 

“Yea, real convincing.” He laughs. “Get in the bed, Y/N/N.” 

You were very tired. Spencer’s bed is pretty comfy. Why not? You think. 

“This doesn’t mean anything. It’s still not time.” You say, as you crawl back in. “I’m just tired.” 

Spencer says nothing, just turns off the light next to his bedside. “Goodnight, Y/N” 

You wake up that morning, warm and wrapped around Spencer. You leave before he can wake up 

Things really change when you get the call. 

After your mother found you on the living room floor covered in your own vomit, you could never speak to her again, not until you were clean. Fully clean and a fully functioning adult that didn’t need pills to cope. You were getting there and you thought you had time. 

That was until you were called to identify a body. 

They told you it was a robbery gone bad, that they robbed your mother’s store and was upset about the amount of money that wasn’t in the drawer. And they just shot her with no remorse. The only person in your life who cared about you, gone in seconds. 

Fuck, you really needed it right now. 

After being sober for months, your cravings weren’t bad but right now you needed to feel nothing. You wanted to drift into nothing right. You thought about how easy it would be to just float away right then, how easy it would be to join your mother. 

You should probably call someone. 

So you called Spencer. Several times. You needed the distraction, even if he couldn’t fuck you, you needed something to take your mind off the ache. But every time you dialed, you only got his voicemail. You left him a nonchalant message the first time. Just a simple hey call me back when you get a chance but after the 5th 6th and 7th time you called you never left a message, just slipped deeper into that hole you were digging. You were foolish to think he cared enough about you to be there when you needed him. You were nothing but a warm body to him. Just like you were to every guy you’ve had the misfortune of meeting. 

No one cares what happens to you. Why should you?

That was the last thought you had before your fist circled the cylindrical body of an old friend. 

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

Spencer didn’t know why you called so much, but he knew something was wrong. Which was why as soon as he checked his phone he rushed to your apartment. He knocked harshly several times before you swung the door open, leaning on the door frame to support your weight. 

“What, Spencer?” You say, eyes heavy.

“What do you mean what? You called me several times. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing anymore, so if you’ll excuse me.” You say moving to close the door. His hand springs out to stop you. Eyes narrowing at you. 

“Are you high, Y/N?” 

“It’s none of your business, Reid.” 

“Like hell it is.” He says, brushing past you into the apartment. “Where is it? I’m fucking dumping it.” 

“Spencer, leave!”

“Absolutely not! Where the fuck is it?” He says angrily. Before his eyes land on the now empty bottle you had sitting on your nightstand. “Did you take all of these?” 

Spence--” 

“DID YOU TAKE ALL OF THESE?!?” He asks again, screaming. You don’t say anything, he takes your silence as an answer, pulling out his phone to dial 911. 

“Spence, don’t.” You say as you hear him rattling off your address to the operator. He’s tugging you into the bathroom. 

“Make yourself vomit, now.” 

“No, Spencer.” You say. 

“Either you do it, or I’m going to do it Y/N.” you look him in his eyes, before wobbling off to the toilet to try to make yourself throw up. 

You don’t make it very far, you pass out on your bathroom floor. 

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

You wake up to fluorescent lights hurting your eyes. You sit up looking around, you were in the hospital. 

“Don’t try to sit up.” You hear next to you. You look to your side to see Spencer. 

“What’re you doing here?” You say annoyed. 

“Well, contrary to popular belief, one of us actually cares if you live. So I wanted to make sure you were ok before I left.” 

“Well, I’m fine you can go.” 

Spencer runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Why did you do it, Y/N.” He asks, tears welling. “You were doing so good.” 

“You don’t think I know that!” You snap. “My mom died.” You choke on your words. 

“Y/N/N…” 

“The one person on this earth who cared about me was murdered in cold blood. I lost everything, I had no one.” 

“Don’t say that, Y/N. You had me.” 

“And where were you?” You yell. “Because I called you and you WEREN’T THERE! Don’t act like you fucking care now because I’m in a hospital bed, Spence. You just use me for a quick fuck and then I never hear from you.” 

“I use you?!” He says, words almost venomous. “You’re the one who told me that you only wanted to fuck. I wanted you, Y/N! I wanted to be with you, I loved you. And you told me no!” 

“I told you it wasn’t time--” 

“Oh yea, it’s not time yet, it’s not time yet.  So I’m just supposed to wait and be in love with you while you treat me like shit and try to kill yourself?!” Spencer says, angrily. “Because it’s not time yet! What does that even mean, Y/N!” 

“It’s not time for me to be in love with you!” You yell. “I can’t right now, Spencer. I don’t have anything in my heart to give you and I wish I did. I wish I could sit here and tell you I’m in love with you and that I want to be with you right now but I can’t, Spencer. I can’t love you when I don’t even love me!” You cry, Spencer stays across from you, wanting nothing more than to cross the room and sweep you in his arms. “You deserve more than that.” you whisper. 

“I don’t want more, I want you.” He whispers back. You look up to see the tears falling down his face too. 

“You need to leave, Spencer.” You say. 

“Y/N--” 

“Now!” You yell. “Please don’t make me call a nurse.” 

Spencer sighs, taking one last look at you before leaving you. 

You cry for 2 weeks straight after that. 

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

Some years later, you quit your job. It caused you nothing but stress anyway. 

You travel for some time, spending your savings backpacking through europe and asia. You made some amazing friends, ate some good food, and had some good experiences. Life went on and thankfully got better. 

You were now 7 years sober and this time with, thankfully, healthy coping mechanisms. You took better care of your body, exercising daily and the only time you really splurged was a giant ice cream sundae on your sober anniversary. You found a good therapist and you were offered a job teaching Engineering at a local university. Which you happily took, there weren’t enough female professors in STEM. 

You had a relatively small 8AM class (no one really liked waking up.) and during a silent note taking portion you couldn’t help but hear two of your female students talking. 

“I’m telling you Whitney, that professor is fine as hell.” You heard one of them say. “I mean, personally I have no interest in Criminal Psychology but I’d be interested in anything he had to say. You should come audit the class with me so you can see for yourself.” 

“Something you want to share with the class, Ms. Rivera?” You say.  

“I’m just talking about the new professor, Ms. Y/L/N.” Addie smiles.

“New Professor?” You ask, you hadn’t heard anything about a new professor. Then again, STEM and humanities didn’t really cross paths. 

“Yea, He’s hot.” Addie says. “Name’s Dr. Reid.” 

Your heart stops when you hear that. Spencer was here, teaching. The students must’ve noticed your pause, all looking at you confused. 

“Focus on your work.” You call out. All eyes leave you, suddenly going back to their papers. 

You knew in that moment you had to go see him. Even if nothing came of it the least you could do was thank him for saving your life that night. You decided to also go audit his class. The lecture hall was already full of college age girls, meticulous putting on makeup to impress the professor. You opt for a seat in the back. 

You watched as he came out and greeted the class briefly with a bright smile before going through his lesson. You can’t help the way your heart swoons, his hair is longer and more fluffy. Like he stopped putting that product he used to slick it back with in his hair. He was older definitely but so were you. And as you watched him give his lesson you saw nothing about him had really changed at all. He was still the same excited-to-learn, nerd you fell for in the first place. 

You stuck back for a while after he dismissed his class, waiting in the far corner while a girl tried and failed to flirt with the man. You laughed slightly, Spencer never could take a hint. You watched him pack up his messenger bag before saying something. 

“Hey, Spen.” You say, the man instantly spins around, looking at you in shock. 

“Y/N?” He asks. You nod. “Oh my god, you look good, healthy.” He smiles at you, you can’t help the smile you give back. “Are you…” 

You know what he’s asking. He wants to know if you’re clean. You nod. “7 years, as of last tuesday.” You say. 

“That’s good, I’m so proud of you.” You preen a bit at the praise. 

“How have you been?” You ask. “Are you..?” 

“I’ve been better, but I’m still clean, yea.” 

“That’s good.” You say. You look at each other in silence, the conversation now stale. “I just wanted to say thank you, for that night. You saved my life, Spence and I was so ungrateful.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” He says. 

“Do you maybe want to get coffee? Catch up maybe?” 

“I can’t do that, Y/N.” He says, you look down, trying not to seem upset. “I want to but, there’s still a big part of me that has all these feelings for you and I can’t just get coffee and have it mean nothing.” He sighs. 

“What if I want it to mean something?” You say, looking him in the eyes. 

“Y/N…” He takes a step closer to you, you hate how welcome he already feels in your space. “Are you telling me it’s time?” 

“There’s never going to be a right time for us, Spencer.” You say, looking him in the eye. He looks downtrodden.  “But what I can say is that I want you now, and I want to try being with you now. If you also want that.”  

He smiles at you. “I’ll always want that. I’ll always want you.” 

You smile back. 

It isn’t perfect but at least it’s now.

Perm. Taglist: @diesinspanishbcimhispanic​

[cas-kingdom]

So Im not sure if this is open still but here is the song and character I was thinking of! Better Love by Hozier. And the character Thomas Shelby :)))

Better Love

Summary: Tommy teaches you to ride a horse.

Find the OC version of this fic here.

Tommy had once been told that he so clearly preferred the company of horses to people. He couldn’t quite remember who’d said it, and he hadn’t really thought about it before the words had reached his ears, but afterwards, it’d been the only thing his mind was set upon.

Of course, it was true. He’d slept in the stables more times than he had his own bed. He’d ridden his horse more times than he had his car. He’d said more nice things to the damn animals than he had to every single person he’d met in his entire life.

So, yes. Tommy Shelby very clearly preferred the company of horses to people. And it wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, he loved that about himself. If every horse magically turned into human beings one day, he suspected they’d also sprout angel wings and prance along the streets, making every single person happy, before racing off, free, into the mountains and the forests.

Therefore, he was glad when you took a shining to the animals and prompted him to make the decision to teach you to ride. You were young, yes, but he’d only been a year or so older when his Uncle Charlie had taught him, and he had no doubt you had better balance at three years old than he’d had at four.

Watching you now as he stood off slightly to the side, smoking, he couldn’t help the corners of his lips turning upwards while Curly led you slowly around the large paddock. He’d tried convincing you to ride one of the smaller ponies, but you’d insisted on his thoroughbred.

He hadn’t been able to hide his smile at that, either. The first time Finn had ridden a horse, standing plainly at a little over twelve hands, he’d whined and panicked until Arthur had plucked him off. You, however, had pushed Tommy’s hand away each time it snaked up to hold onto your leg for fear of you falling, and were now gripping onto the reins and holding yourself up straight with all the instincts and grace of a natural-born horse rider.

After a short while, he’d stopped walking beside you and had stepped away to simply watch. Curly was leading the horse with a tattered rope, alternating between leisurely and fast walks and slow trots around the outside of the paddock.

“Watch me, Tommy!” you squealed happily as you bounced around on the saddle when the horse sped up a little.

Tommy nodded, blowing out a puff of smoke. “I’m watching, sweetheart,” he called back. 

“Moony’s goin’ fast!”

He hummed, shaking his head fondly at the fact you’d shortened the horse’s race name - ‘Luna Moon’, Ada’s choice - to ‘Moony’. You’d done the same to Charity, his grey mare, though her nickname was a little less manageable and something grimly akin to ‘ChaCha’.

“Careful, there, Curly,” he cautioned as the horse pranced a bit and whinnied, clearly not used to the slow speeds he was being forced to endure. Curly nodded and stopped him, stepping in front of him and running a hand down his black nose as he murmured to him.

Tommy threw his finished cigarette over the fence and stuffed his hands in his pockets before walking up to you. He pat the horse’s sturdy shoulder and smiled at the clear joy on your little face.

“How was that for your first ever ride, eh?” he asked.

“It was fun!” you told him, leaning forward to hug the horse and try your best to wrap your short arms around his neck. Tommy chuckled. 

“Well, we’ll get you back on soon enough, and when you’re older, you’ll have your own Luna Moon.”

You grinned in delight at his words. “I love him, Tom!”

And Moony, with a snort, twisted his head around to nuzzle at your fingers, making you giggle in utter glee.

He smiled. There was no better love on this earth than a horse’s.

Peaky Masterpost

[inmyarmswrappedin]

hello! :) I was wondering what was your opinion on the davenzi argument and I love you scene at the pool (episode 9 clip 7)? Did you like it or not really (including everything like acting, pacing, what they said, etc)

Hi anon! 🎷 Lmao I hope you weren’t looking for a critical opinion, because that’s one of my favorite s3 scenes. I really like it by itself, as a remake of O Helga Natt, and also for teenie characters being dumb reasons.

Okay so:

David’s voicemail for Matteo: While I consider Even’s text a straight up s*icide note, I think David’s voicemail plays with the idea of, is it a s*icide note or is it a goodbye message? If Matteo goes to the pool, is David going to be there, or will it be too late (in both a s*icide and a goodbye sense of late)? I also obviously love that David finally shares in Matteo’s worldview. Throughout the season, David has denied he believes in fate, but in this message he says that fate wasn’t on their side, i.e. he has given the idea that he and Matteo are fated some thought. Later in the scene, David also asks Matteo to run away together! When he previously said that he’d run away alone in the case of a catastrophe. Like, this is David internalizing Matteo’s worldview and using it to express himself.

When the season was dropping, and because the dynamic in so many of their scenes was reversed compared to Isak and Even, I thought that it would be David who would tell Matteo he’s not alone. Matteo was the one to say he didn’t want to be alone, so it just made sense to me that they’d change this up. I also have an unpopular opinion, which is that I think The Weeknd’s Call Out My Name was a fitting song for the soundtrack and the clip it showed up in. The thing is, Matteo really did make David his priority throughout the season, he dumped Sara for David, he followed David’s lead and only really pushed that one time. When the song says, “falling for you was my mistake,” for me, it’s about the fact that David keeps running away from him despite Matteo being 100% in and Matteo being clear that he hated being abandoned, not about David being trans. (I mean, I get my interpretation doesn’t totally make sense in the context of this scene, but I love the song and I think my interpretation still works, so let me have this thing please lol.) All this to say that I felt Matteo had a right to be “what the hell, David!!” in this scene, because at this point Matteo has been running after David for around 24 houts, and David’s like, “I guess this is goodbye :(” 

I don’t think Call Me By Your Name deserves a bop such as Visions of Gideon, so I’m pleased that Druck reclaimed it for David and Matteo, who are ten times more deserving than Elio and Oliver. I also think it provides enough tension for the scene, because it’s a goodbye song, and at this point we don’t know if David’s even going to be at the pool.

But it turns out that it was just a goodbye note, and maybe not even a goodbye note. Maybe it was an “I’m sad please come find me :(” note. (Sidenote to say that I love David’s flair for the dramatic lmao.) I would love to wax poetic on what David’s state of mind was at this point, like did he think Matteo would show up? I think he at least hoped Matteo would, since he gave Matteo every clue to find him. And it’s not like he was getting ready to leave lmao, he was just chilling and doodling. 

Anyway, while I think Matteo had every right to say, “are you kidding me!!” I also want to make it clear I don’t discount David’s pov. From a narrative pov, I think it was really important that David gets to talk in this scene. In Skam, we get a lot of little hints and clues as to how Even feels about what went down in Elvebakken the previous year, including his snapping at Sonja in the Halloween clip. This is the first and only time we get to hear about this part of David’s backstory (since it wasn’t part of Amira’s season, unlike Even’s in Sana’s). So, in episode 1 we were told that David switched schools with only a few weeks of his last year left, and in this episode we get to hear exactly why. 

And also, like, I love that David gets to be angry about how unfair it all was. In fiction, victims of bullying (and esp LGBTphobic bullying) can be presented as sort of martyred saints who don’t get to have an emotion other than sad. I think anger is a very valid emotion if deployed in the right moment (obviously I’m not advocating for Sporty Spice to continue being an asshole lmao), and in general I’m a fan of marginalized characters getting to be angry.

Again, I could wax poetic forever about how David has seen himself as going it alone all this time, even as he’s been picking up friends (and a boyfriend) left and right. I don’t necessarily think that Matteo’s friends would’ve organized a whole meeting to help David out, if they hadn’t known that David and Matteo were a thing, but like... That’s it. The fact that David responded to Matteo, that he opened up to Matteo, that he made Matteo visibly happier, resulted in Matteo’s friends caring about David in return, which is very true of real life. David had every reason not to open up to Matteo given his experiences, but he did and he trusted Matteo and, because of that, he was rewarded!!!!

And yes, from their very first scene together, it was very clear that Matteo thought David was the coolest guy he’d ever seen. Love all the throwbacks in this scene.

Matteo also has experience with going through really rough times, but he has always disliked being alone, and in the course of the season, he’s also learned that isolating himself only makes things harder. It’d be so easy for the writers to have Matteo say, “it’s all gonna be okay,” but that’s not what Matteo is saying. Matteo says yes, going back to school after you were outed is going to suck, having to confront Neuhaus is going to suck, it’s not going to be okay or easy, but this isn’t how the story ends or how your school year ends, because I’m not leaving, and I love you and I want to be with you and by your side. Everything is going to be awful, but we’re going to face it together. 

And I just fucking love that David was having a breakdown five seconds ago, and when we see him again after Matteo says he loves him, we can see by his profile that he’s grinning from ear to ear. Knowing that he’s loved changes everything for him, as it should!! He’s not a shitty vampire cast aside from society! He, David Schreibner, is loved by the person he loves in return!!!!!! I loved that the pics Matteo posted after this scene show David making dumb faces because that’s what first love is like babey! Catastrophizing one second and all smiles the next. 

Annnd the episode closes with the same song it started with, Hozier’s Take Me To Church. Only this time it’s the chorus, which is celebratory and joyful, as opposed to the contemplative tone of the first verses. 

[t-o-m-hollands]

Locksley Hall - Part II

Summery: Tom doesn’t know quite how it happens, but one moment he’s working as the gardener at Locksley hall, and the next he’s run of to marry the lords daughter, a girl he hates. Set in England, 1920.

Word count: 5500 (sorry...)

Pairing: Tom x OC

A/N: Again, this is heavily inspired by the first part in Atonement – Ian McEwan, but the plot is different.  

Music wise: For Madeleine’s parts I listened to Old Money – Lana del Rey and for Tom’s part I listened to NFWMB and Work Song - Hozier.

R E A D   P A R T    O N E   H E R E

Gideon’s cottage - 1920.

Tom is awakened by yet another expensive automobile driving up the road and past his cottage. His brain works slowly, still half asleep, one foot in a dreamland where he’s chasing someone in a labyrinth made out of peonies. Slowly he wakes his body by moving his toes, and then his fingers too, before stretching his arms over his head, letting out a tired groan. His body feels warm and his limbs lethargic and slow, as they do after a particularly long nap. For a long while he lays there, eyes half-closed, staring at the dust aimlessly drifting in the sunlight.  

Another car passes by outside.  

Downstairs he can hear Mr. Higgins doing the washing up. If he concentrates, he can hear the guests from the ball chatting and laughing up at the manor. If he concentrates further still, he can hear the blood pumping through his system, steady and slow.  

The whole world feels slow. Like the air in the room stands still, despite the wide-open window. It is mid-July, and the heat feels oppressively persistent, there is no escaping it. Only now, as the clock is nearing eight in the evening, does the world seem to cool. All morning he’d worked in the garden, preparing the grounds for the ball under the watchful eyes of old Dowager Locksley. When she was finally satisfied that there wasn’t a dead leaf, not a single weed, nor an unwatered rose in sight she’d sent him off, ready to attack the kitchen staff instead. He’d walked down to Locksley bay. There he’d rid himself of his sweaty, earth-stained rags and he’d swam until his body felt cool again before returning to the cottage for a long and well-deserved nap.  

He stretches again and groans. He desperately wants a smoke, but his pack of cigarettes along with his lighter is all across the room, thrown on the cluttered desk along with countless of books and an old typewriter that the library had given away. The letter M was irreversibly lost and therefor it had been deemed useless. He’d taken it with great gratitude, glad to have something he’d normally wouldn’t be able to afford. It had amused him, typing long passages without using any word containing the 13th letter of the alphabet. In a strange way it thrilled him, that some words in the dictionary simply became forbidden for him. Suddenly out of reach.Words like magic, monarch, melancholy, magnetic, maddening, maiden,  

Madeleine.  

Finally he gets up, walks across the room and sits down by his desk. He lights a cigarette. Staring out the window he watches as yet another car makes it up the driveway to join the ball.  

The sky outside is lilac, and the first evening breeze makes its way through the grass like a wave in the ocean and he prays it’ll make its way through the window to cool his head. He inhales deeply, but the sinking feeling he’s had in his stomach all day stays where it is.  

And half of his mind is still in his dream. 

Had he been better at drawing he’d drawn her hands, soft and small compared to his calloused ones. Maybe if he’d draw them, he’d be able to get the picture of them out of his mind. Those hands, gracefully holding a cigarette as her eyes, dark and deep and framed with long lashes, observed him with great disapproval as they’d discussed poetry. She always looked disapproving when she was observing him. She’d worn a evening gown in the finest silk, and his ratty jacket over her shoulders, her normally perfectly pinned hair falling down in cascades over her shoulders. It had felt strangely intimate, seeing her like that, so undone and wearing his jacket

Swearing, he puts out the cigarette. He’d been distracted, not noticing how it’d burnt down to the butt, burning his fingers. He doesn’t light a new one, but leans back in his chair, runs his hand through his hair and tries to calm his breathing.  

It hadn’t always been this way.  

Once upon a time, they’d been friends, hard as it was to believe now. They’d defied gravity when they’d climbed the great oak three behind the cottage. He’d taught her how to swim in Locksley bay, held her up in the water and told her to fill her lungs with air in order to float. She’d taught him how to read. His teacher in the village school had called him slow, so she’d sneaked out books from the library, and with patience of a saint she’d taught him how to recognise each symbol until he could make sense of the words.  

She’d been his first kiss.  

It had only been a small peck on his lips, lasting not more than a second, but it counted. He counted it. 

She’d find him in the greenhouse, crying over the trashing he’d gotten from Mr. Higgins for attacking Francis Locksley. Silently she’d sat down beside him, her long dark hair in a braid and dressed in her Sunday best, having just been to church. She’d taken his bruised knuckles in her hands and she’d kissed them, before kissing each tear streaked cheek, and then ever so briefly, she’d pressed her lips against his. He had felt like a knight, being awarded by the queen for his brave service. He hadn’t known what to make of it, but she’d held his hand in hers and he’d leaned his head against her shoulder and for the longest time they’d stayed that way until he’d forgotten all about stinging bruises and tears.

He lights another cigarette and another car drives up the driveway.  

The sky is now a dark blue, the last evening light turning the leaves in the trees golden. Earlier that day Mr. Higgins had put out lights all along the drive way to the manor house and they now lit up the summer evening. 

Against the evening sky he sees a bird shoot up, rising to the sky.

Once when they’d been children they’d found an injured songbird in the woods. He’d watched as Madeleine with the gentlest of fingers picked the bird up. He’d watched as she held the wounded creature in her hands, as she observed its broken wing. She’d looked at him then, her dark eyes sad, and she’d told him they’d have to help it heal.  

So they’d gone to Gideon’s cottage and he’d sneaked her in, while Mr. Higgins worked in the garden. She’d placed the songbird on his bed. While she was kneeling in front of it, as if in prayer, he’d taken out bandages. He’d watched as she’d gently wrapped it around the bird’s wing. She’d looked at him, and told him to sing. She’d said that it would make the bird feel safer, that it was what she used to do to baby Beatrix when she was crying.  So, he’d sung a song to the poor harmed thing, while Madeleine patted its head.  

For seven days the nursed it, making sure the wing healed as it should. It had been their secret. She’d snuck out of classes with her governess and he’d faked being ill until Mr. Higgins let him be home from school and they’d sat in his room, and he’d sing for them. They kept the bird in a box, on the lid of which he’d put air holes in, and she’d placed her cardigan in the bottom of it, making sure it was soft to sleep on. They’d feed t worms Tom had dug up in the garden and Tom would sing to it every night.

In the end the songbird had healed, and they’d released it in the woods again and watched as it flew away, awkwardly at first, nearly toppling towards the ground before it found its strength again, slowly rising until it was only a speck of black in the distance. He’d held her hand, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from weeping, while she had cried openly, pressing his hand in hers. They’d hid in the labyrinth until late that evening, far away from nanny and Mr. Higgins. He’d sung her songs until she’d stopped weeping.  

Tom stands up, puts out his cigarette and stretches out one last time. Then he walks out, leaving his memories in the smoke-filled room, heading towards the pub. 

*

The Wild Boar, the village pub

“You ever think about headin’ out of here?” he asks his friend.  

They’re in the village pub, The Wild Boar, throwing back beers. A Victorian pub with murky green wallpaper, beer-stained velvet booths and worn mahogany wooden floors. The atmosphere is always good and someone is always singing. Harrison, who most days works in the bar but is enjoying a rare day off, calls it his home.  

“What, go somewhere else to drink, you mean?”

“No, no, I mean like leave Milchwood, go to London or something, head somewhere else you know”.

Harrison gives him a puzzled look and Tom can tell he doesn’t feel the same. They’re both comfortably leaned back on each side of the booth. Around them the other patrons are talking loudly, discussing this and that, enjoying their Saturday night and the unusually warm summer weather.  

“No” Harrison answers in the end “no, I mean, it’s home, yeah?” He drowns the last drops of his pint, waving to the bar for another before looking back at Tom, “you feel like leaving?”

“Dunno, maybe, sometimes” he says. “’is just, some days I want nothing more than to head out to Milchwood station and take literally any train away from here.” He takes a long gulp of his own pint.

“Well, why don’t you?”

It takes some time for Tom to answer. He keeps his eyes on the dirty window in front of him. Far away he can just make out the silhouette of Locksley Hall. They are all up there now, the lords and the ladies, having a ball.

“’s just hard to leave you know.” He takes another gulp of beer as the bartender places another pint in front of Harrison. “Spent most of my time in France wishing I was back here and now” he waves his hand in front of him, as if this would explain the strange sinking feeling he’d been walking around with lately. “Now it feels like it all stands still, like I’m just walking around, waiting for something to happen.”  

Harrison gives him a worried look “but what’s keeping you here then?”  

“Dunno, it’s just, it’s hard to leave”.

He doesn’t have ties to this place the way Harrison does. He has no other family part from Mr. Higgins. Mrs. Higgins had taken him in when he’d been nothing more than a baby, but she’d passed away before his fifth birthday. He hardly remembered her. Mr. Higgins had kept him on, and despite his stern ways he’d been kind to the boy, and taught him all he knew of gardening and thus ensuring that Tom would have a future secured. But Tom knows that Mr. Higgins wouldn’t mind if he took off, that maybe he’d even expect it.  

“Yes, we saw ‘em, didn’t we Billy!” Owain Murphy’s loud voice booms from the booth beside theirs.  

“Yeah” Billy concurs, nodding his head and staring down into his glass.  

“Yeah, we saw ‘em, all ‘em gently folks up at Locksley Hall”.

“Yeah” Billy nods again.

“They say the ‘eir is being married off!” Owain bellows.

Billy is too busy drinking now to agree.

“She looked a vision, didn’t she Billy?”

Something twists uncomfortably in Tom’s stomach. He drowns his beer and nods to his friend. It’s time to leave. The night air is cool and he takes deep breaths of it as he steps outside. They walk and chat for a while, before hitting a fork in the road, saying their goodbyes and promising to meet up for another pint the next day they then part ways, Harrison walking to the house he shares with his parents and little sister, and Tom steers his feet to Gideon’s Cottage and Locksley Hall.  

He can see the lights from the building, hear the piano music even from outside. Across the lawn people are taking some fresh air, surely they’ve been dancing for hours. They’re all dressed in their finest clothes, heavily bejeweled. Tom closes in on Gideon’s cottage, and he can’t wait to throw himself on the bed and sleep for a few hours. Tomorrow is Sunday, the day for resting, and he’s free as a bird.  

A flash of white moves in the corner of his eye and he looks over.  

By the enormous rhododendron bush stands Lady Madeleine Locksley, wearing a silky white gown that somehow plays tricks with his brain; for when he first lays his eyes on her, it looks to him as if she’s wearing nothing more than moonlight, the diamonds from her tiara glistening in the night.

For a moment it feels as if he’s actually gotten the breath knocked out of him. Owain Murphy had been right, she did look a vision.  

A man joins her, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s tall and blond and even from this distance he can tell she’s bored with the conversation, but she politely goes along with it.  

Tom walks into the cottage, closing the door behind him.

*

The cliffs of Locksley bay

The Atlantic Ocean spread out in front of her, wide and far and impossibly blue. She’s standing on the cliffs beside Locksley bay. If she were to turn her head to her left, she would see the docks with the boats lined up one after the other, each more impressive than the last. It is summer, and high season for travellers. Would she instead turn her head to her right she would see the bay, and the people playing in the water, lying in the beach and soaking up sun. Enjoying themselves and cooling themselves off in the unusually warm weather.  

But she keeps her eyes far ahead.  

Out on the water she can see sailing boats slowly drifting over the landscape. It’s not a good day for sailing, not even up here on the cliffs can you feel anything more than a gentle breeze. The heavens are almost violently blue, not a cloud as far as the eye can see. In the sky seagulls fly, screeching as they go and she inhales deep breaths of the ocean air. She feels so far removed from them all, the people on the boats and the ones on the beach. 

Her lungs feels tighter, there’s a scream in them that needs to get out.

She takes a step closer to the edge.  

A pair of arms grabs hold of her and pulls her in against something hard. “What are you doing?!” A familiar voice inquires angrily in her ear.

He pulls them both a few steps back, away from the edge, before turning her around to face him. Anger clear on his face. His chest, still close to hers, is heaving.  

“What are you doing?” She asks, not quite managing to match his level of animosity. His hands are still holding a firm grip around her arms. She pulls herself free and takes a step back, trying to create some distance between them, though she swears she still feels the heat radiating of his body, his scent, which she’d briefly inhaled, surrounding her.

“Were you going to jump?” he asks in a serious tone, his warm brown eyes intensely searching her face for something.  

“No” she says, voice firm, and he relaxes somewhat, though he still looks angry. That frown, seemingly permanent on his face whenever she’s around. “But it wouldn’t have killed me if I had, people jump from here all the time”

“Sure, but not young heiresses”.  He sounds almost sarcastic and she can feel her blood nearly boiling. Her diamond heart beats faster in her chest.

“Have you?”

He observers her for a heartbeat, like he’s searching for something in her face. The long days spent working in the garden has given him a nice tan. His brown hair looks windswept and he’s not wearing his usual uniform of muddy trousers, suspenders and a dirty white shirt. Instead his clothes look washed and clean; he’s wearing his Sunday best, linen suit trousers, clean white shirt and suspenders that don’t look quite as worn. His arms, well developed from all the hard work, fills out his shirt in a way that makes something inside her flutter, and she hastily looks away.  

“Yes” he answers in the end. “Yeah, me and Harrison jumped it last year”.  

“Yet you’re so against me doing it?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, and she can tell he’s weighing each word carefully. “I just, I didn’t take you for a thrill-chaser, is all. It surprised me”.

Now he’s avoiding looking at her.  

“So, how was the ball?” he asks eventually, having to fill the stale, strange silence.

“Long” she answers and sighs. “Awfully long, and dreary”.  

“Poor girl” he teases, but she wonders if there isn’t real malice underneath. “And how is your betrothed?”  

She narrows her eyes at him. “James is not my betrothed” she says, trying to keep her voice calm. He’s got his hands in his pockets, an arrogant look on his face and she wants to scream at him.

“Huh” he says, “I heard you were being married off”.  

“Well, I’m not. Not yet”

“So, what’s he’s like, this not betrothed man of yours”

He sounds so nonchalant, and it’s making her skin itch with irritation. “He’s nice, actually”.

He scoffs, “nice?”

“Yes! He’s very nice, unlike certain people! And he gave me a book of Wordsworth poetry”

Tom snorts “you hate Wordsworth, you always have”  

“How do you know?” She asks, annoyance clear in her tone.  

“You told me” he answers, and he sound so certain of himself.  

“Yes, when we were children, I might have changed my mind since!”  

“You haven’t though”.

“Funny isn’t? All the things you remember?” She tries to sound superior, but she’s not sure she accomplishes anything. He’s still standing there, hands in pockets and a devil-may-care smug smile on his face.  

“You find him dull”.

“How do you know if I find James dull or not! You’ve never even met him! Maybe I find it fascinating to talk about dog breeding and horses!” you scream at him. 

But he just smiles wider. “I was talking about Wordsworth. You find Wordsworth dull. But clearly I hit a nerve”.  

She’s so angry she’s speechless. From the village they hear the church bells ring.  

“We should go” he says and nods to the path back.  

“No”

“Lady Madeleine, -”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Well, it is your title”.

“Oh, like you give a toss about people’s titles! I’m Madeleine and we used to be friends, or don’t you remember that part?”

“Alright Madeleine” he says slowly, like he’s talking to a particularly petulant child, “we better head home now, they’ll want you back for dinner”.

“I don’t want to” she says stubbornly. “You head back. I’m staying here to watch the sunset”.

“They’ll just sent me out to look for you if you´re not there for dinner, let’s go”.

She takes a deep breath and a step backwards, towards the edge. “You know, I’m so tired of everyone telling me what to do all the time, were to be and what to think, and how to feel”. She takes another step backwards and the smugness on his face is soon replaced with worry.  

“I’m so tired of people telling me that I can’t do things when they have no issue doing it themselves”. She takes yet another step back and as he reaches out for her, realising what she’s about to do. She turns around and runs toward the edge.  

“No Maddie, don’t!”  

But she’s already taken the leap.

*

Locksley Hall

The next morning she wakes early, though it feels as though she’s hardly slept at all. Memories plays behind her closed eyelids from the day before. The cliffs, Tom’s arms grabbing hold of her, the argument, the jump, the fall, the splash, the sinking, the searching for the surface. And then, a hand grabbing hold of her, pulling her towards the light.  

He’d jumped in after her, had thrown himself of the cliff in his Sunday best without any hesitation.  

He’d always been the better swimmer, he was the one who had taught her after all, and luckily it hadn’t taken him long to find her beneath the surface.  

They’d swam ashore, dragged themselves up in their heavy, wet clothes watched by the bathers who looked at them, some agog and some in chock. (“Is that not lady Madeleine?”)

He’d been furious, practically steaming with anger. It hadn’t mattered how many times she’d tried to talk to him, tried to apologise, he’d only ignored her and kept steering his feet forward to Locksley Hall. Only when she tried to thank him for having saved her did he respond.

“Don’t” he had uttered, his resentment almost palpable.

They had been walking through a path in the woods, sun shining through the canopy, painting the whole world a bright green colour, and she stumbled after him, keeping her eyes on his wet white shirt, his suspenders holding of his soaked beige trousers.  

She too had grown angry then. Had tried to argue with him. Tried telling him that he was overreacting, that no one had forced him to jump in as well, that it would have been better if he hadn’t, that they both knew he wished he hadn’t and suddenly -

She’d been pressed up against a tree, his face just centimetres from hers, both their chest heaving with conflicting emotions, his arms on either side of her face, in the most beautiful trap.

Madeleine untangles herself from her many sheets and blankets and walks to the window to pull apart the curtains and let in the morning light. The grounds outside are empty, no one is yet awake. It must be very early indeed, for even Gideon’s cottage seem peacefully quiet.

She opens the leaded window and drags in deep breaths of fresh air, but her lungs still feel too tight. She fishes up a package of cigarettes from one of the pockets of her silk robe and with trembling hands she lights one. Everything is set now. She is to marry Sir James Hatfield, and settle down at Hatfield house in all its ugly Tudor glory. It didn’t matter if she smoked in the house anymore, she wouldn’t stay here much longer.  

With picture perfect certainty she imagines married life with Sr Hatfield. Endless conversation of the breeding of horses, hunting and dogs. Her life spent doing things the way they have always been done at Hatfield house, keeping up with the traditions of a family she has no interest in. And then, several blonde little children would come along. All boys, all taking after their father in looks and manners.  

Her life would surround around them. She would be Lady Madeline Locksley no more, but instead, Lady Hatfield. She would have to leave Locksley hall, leave Benie,  

leave Tom.

The thought startles her, and she gets up from the window ledge, starts walking aimlessly round the cluttered room.  

Using her empty tea cup from which she’d drank her evening tea the night before as an ashtray she puts out her cigarette, and with hands trembling more than ever she lights another, before throwing herself back on the bed.  

Tom.  

Who surely hated her now. The achingly long moments when he’d trapped her against the tree plays again in her head. She’d seen so many emotions on his face, his chest heaving from all of it. First there had been anger, then confusion and then, unless she wasn’t entirely mistaken; because god knows her experience was non-existing in the area,  

- lust.  

But he’d torn himself free, and marched off, without looking back. And she’d stood leaned against the three, feeling like a planet spinning out of its axis, struggling to remember how to breath again.

When she walked into the great hall she’d been met with her mother, Benie and granny. Upon seeing her, they’d all gone completely silent, the only sound to be heard the water dripping off of her, landing on the newly swapped floors.  

“Oh Madeleine!” her mother had eventually burst out “what’s happened?”

She had told them she’d been at the cliffs, and that Tom had come along, but then her granny had interrupted her. “Are you telling me” she’d asked in her superior voice “that you were ‘hanging about’ the cliffs with the junior gardener?” The disapproval in her voice was evident.  

“No” Madeleine had answered, trying to keep her voice steady and calm. “I’m saying that I was there, and he was there, he annoyed me, and then I jumped off the cliff”.

Dead silence again.  

“You, you did what?”

“I jumped off a cliff. And then he saved me. And now, I really must change, so would you please excuse me”. The wave of emotion that washed over her had surprised her, but suddenly she’d been holding back tears.

““Madeleine, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but you need to go and get changed, right now. Sir Hatfield is invited for dinner, and you will behave yourself and you will conduct yourself accordingly” her mother had told her in her sternest voice. So, Madeleine had nodded and walked up the stairs, choking back on tears, her wet clothes leaving a trace of water in her wake.  

And she’d changed and Alice had done up her hair and she’d joined the others for dinner. And she’d sat beside James at dinner and listened to him lecturing her on various dog breeds and she’d smiled appropriately. Then, after dinner, he’d taken her aside. Professed in a dry tone his admiration for her and asked for her hand in marriage. He’d told her that he’d already settled things with her father. She had smiled and complied and tried to press down the feeling of nausea in her stomach, tried to ignore to scream growing ever larger in her lungs.  

She stands up again, puts out her cigarette, takes one of the many dresses scattering the floor and slides it on. Then she’s out the door. With silent steps, as to not wake anyone, she makes her way down the corridor, and then down the grand staircase and the foyer and out the door. The pressure in her lungs grow tenser and tenser and her feet move faster and faster, until her naked feet are sprinting over the grounds, the dewy grass cold under her soles. When she finally reaches the greenhouse, she’s sobbing.

This had always been her secret place. Not even Tom had known about how she’d used to come here when things became too much, when things would build and build inside of her until she had to let it out. Like it was a living, moving thing in her chest, begging her to set it free. Knowing that the old greenhouse was the only soundproof place in all of Locksley Hall it became her safe place to let it out, she’d always steer her feet here. When she’d been to boarding school, and then in Canada, she’d been forced to try letting the scream free under water, no other place felt safe enough, but it hadn’t felt the same.  

She slams the door shut behind her and then she lets it out. Nearly bending over from the force of it she shrieks, for as long and as loud as she can. Her eyes pressed shut and trembling hands in fists. When she finally stops it still seems to echo in her ears, and she feels exhausted. She’s breathing as if she’s just run for miles and miles. Slowly she stands up straight again, unclasping her fists. Opening her shut eyes.

Tom.  

Standing in front of her, looking shocked and horrified, hands and shirt muddy. He must have been in here for some early work before the heat gets too intense. 

They stand there, for a long time, just staring at one another, her screams still echoing in her mind. And then, like she’s a wild animal, he slowly walks towards her. Taking her hand in his, an arm around her waist, he gently guides them towards the pond, on the side of which he helps her sit down. Bending down in front of her, so that he’s on his knees, he looks up at her, a strand of brown hair falling down, framing his face.

It’s so tender, the way he looks at her. So unbearably tender. His earth-stained hands clasped around hers, placed in her lap, calloused and warm.  

“What happened?” He asks, voice soft and low.

She doesn’t know when it started, too distracted by his gentleness perhaps, but she realises then that she’s crying, two tears falling from her cheek and landing on their hands.   

“I’m just being silly” she responds, but her voice sounds hoarse and dead even to her own ears.

“I doubt it, what’s wrong?”  

“I, I” she begins, her lungs feeling tight again “I have to marry.”

His kind eyes blink up at her, and for a moment she swears he holds on tighter to her hands.  

“But you don’t want to.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. “Why do you have to?” His thumbs stroke her trembling hands and it feel and it is the gentlest thing that’s ever happened to her.  

“There’s no male hair. So, if papa dies before I marry, we’ll lose everything”. Her voice is hoarse from screaming and she wonders if he finds her pathetic, but in his eyes she only finds sympathy, and maybe a fair share of pain.

“But you don’t have to marry Hatfield?”

She shakes her head, and more tears fall. “No, but he’s the best option. I can’t afford to wait”.  

Silence for a while as he observes you.

Then,  

“What if I’ll marry you?” his voice is steady, but his eyes are fixed their clasped hands.  

“What?”

“I’ll marry you” he states and looks up at her again. She stares at him in disbelief, for surely, he can’t mean it. He continues. “I know it’s not a good option, but the estate will be safe, and you won’t have to marry Hatfield, you won’t have to leave Locksley Hall.”

When she just keeps staring at him in silent disbelief his cheeks turn pink. “I know I haven’t got anything to offer; you know I don’t. But -”

“Alright”. Her answers comes without her thinking about it and it seems to catch him off guard. “But, are you sure?” she asks, worried that he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.  

“Yes, Madeleine, I’m sure” he smiles, his hands continuing to gently stroke her hands.  

“But, but” she starts, feeling almost dizzy. “But why would you want to marry me?”

“What?”

“Why would you help me? It would change your life forever.” She keeps her voice serious, knows that it’s of utmost importance that he understands the importance of this.  

He seems struck silent and for a long while his brown eyes stare up at her in disbelief. “Well I, I mean I would, I” he starts, letting go of her hands and standing up, placing them his pockets instead. It is like he’s trying to look as nonchalant as he usually does.  

Turning slightly away from her, eyes fixed on the koi fish in the pond he then continues. “Well, I’d get to live in Locksley Hall, wouldn’t I? I’d be the lord of the manor. No more hard toil in the garden”.  

“So, mostly self-interest then?” She says, not knowing whether she feels more relieved or disappointed. More than anything she feels light headed.  

“Yeah” he agrees, eyes still fixed on the pond. “It’s self-interest".  

Silence spread between them. This is new territory that neither one knows how to tread.  

In the end she stands up and he turns to look at her again, something like worry in his expression. “We, well we’ll have to discuss this. If it’s to happen it needs to happen soon.”

“It is to happen” he says, firmly, but then his cheeks turn pink again. “As long as you want it to”.  

“Well then” she says, a small but genuine smile on her face. “It can’t happen here; Gretna Green is our only option. We have to come up with some excuse so we can leave for Scotland for a few days”.  

He nods, but he too looks more relaxed now. “I’ll think of something”.  

“So much to be fixed” she says, mostly to herself. “Wedding dress for example, though the wedding will be so small only something simple will do.”

“Could you” he begins, and he avoids her eyes again. “You could wear that dress you had on at the ball” he asks awkwardly, fidgeting slightly where he stands.  

“Oh, yes of course” she says, just as awkward. “If that’s what you want”. She smiles at him, and he smiles back. Its embarrassed, but it’s tender too.  

“Meet me at the fountain tonight?” he asks, and that strange fluttering sensation she’d felt when he’d pressed her against the tree makes another appearance. “To discuss how we’ll do this?”

She nods “yes, I’ll see you then. I better get back now, or Alice will notice I’ve left when she brings in breakfast.”  

She turns to leave, but changing her mind mid stride she turns back to him. When she reaches him she stands on the tips of her naked, now muddy, feet. She presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you” she whispers.  

***

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[atypicalacademic]

To The Strand

Title from Hozier’s “From Eden”

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of memory loss

Chun Yu Jun x  Edayil Thangam Maitreya

*

Determined to find her sibling on her own terms, Thangam seeks the help of a young mercenary.

*

The mercenaries sitting guard at the entrance to the medic’s tent sent only a cheerful greeting and a sly smile her way as Thangam stormed past them, only one of them setting down their drink with a frown, though they raised no objection when she paid no heed. There was nothing unusual, after all, despite the oddness of the hour, about the surgeon’s assistant stopping by for a quick visit. She’d taken the pains to press damp towels beneath her eyes until their redness faded, waited for her voice to stop shaking, for the tear tracks on her cheeks to dry in the night air.

Letting her eyes adjust to the low light of the fire seeping from outside through a sliver of fabric to faintly illuminate the inside of the tent, Thangam took a cursory look around. Even the sharp instincts of the mercenaries sleeping here had been dulled with sleep and medicine, and nobody stirred, even at the crunch of her leather boots against the gravel, at the briskness of her pace.

Nobody, save for one.

Chun Yu Jun sat up in his bed, alert despite the evident fatigue in his eyes. It was as though out of an old habit that he shifted in his sheets, drawing one knee up to his chest, avoiding the bandages on his left arm. He did not wince as he did, and just as well.

Though the look on his face was quizzical, his smile was- pleasant.

“Doctor E?”

Thangam only threw him a glance of acknowledgement as she knelt by his bedside, set her satchel down. “How are you feeling?”

His smile widened.  “Good as new, really.”

He sounded like it, but she looked him over again, as well as she could in the dim light and distracted by her own trepidation. “We can take these off tomorrow.” She told him, laying his bandaged arm gently by his side again.

“Thanks, Doctor.”

She shrugged. It was her job as much as this- guarding caravans and fighting someone else’s wars, were his.

Sitting back on her heels, Thangam bit her lip. She had practiced this conversation, once, twice, fourteen times, to be exact- before walking into the tent. Though she couldn’t do much to hide her obvious inexperience without lying- she didn’t want to appear clueless. Neither did she think it was fair to leave him clueless, or ask him to tag along with her on a mission uninformed of what it was.

Gods help her, there was no money in this world to make up for what that felt like.

She had to spit it out before the tears returned. She laid the satchel across her lap, clasped her palms over it.

But before she could speak, Yu Jun cleared his throat. “Um.” He hesitated. “If this is- a proposition, I’ve got to tell you-“

“What?” Thangam stared at him, incredulously. Though, on second thought, she really couldn’t blame him. She did come to his bed in the middle of the night, and, given how little he knew, it was only fair that the intent in her eyes could easily be read for something else.

She snorted. The ridiculousness of the situation eased some of the tightness in her chest. “I’m not here to sleep with you, if that’s what you think.”

Yu Jun ducked his head for a moment, his smile turning mischievous. He seemed unperturbed by her frankness.

Even better.

“Oh, good.” He said. “Because it’s the furthest thing in my mind-“

“Naturally.” She retorted dryly. “It’d be a bit alarming to think of it in a medic’s tent.”

He chuckled. “I mean I don’t think of it anywhere. Ever.”

“Fair.” Thangam shrugged, catching a strand of her curly black hair to pin it back into her braid. “But like I said, that’s never been my intention.”

“Then what is?” His gaze seemed to rest for a moment on the flash of her dimple as she twisted her mouth thoughtfully.

“Well, okay, I do have a proposition. Like, of the professional sort.”

Yu Jun’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

“Your contract ended with the skirmish, no?”

He nodded, the last hint of sleep vanishing from his eyes as he leaned forward, attentive.

“I’ll need safe passage to Vesuvia.” She said. “Have you ever been-“

“No, haven’t. Though I have been as far as Nopal, guarding a few caravans. I have a fair idea of the route. Suppose that’s what you’ll need? A bodyguard?”

“Yeah. To Vesuvia, and back- to wherever Doctor Satrinava’s going to be by the time I’m done with my- visit there. They told me they’d let me know.” They’d offered to take her themself, though she’d declined. She’d rather settle this with a fair deal than take them away from their job. “Your expenses will be taken care of, obviously.”

Yu Jun let out a breath, sidling back against the wall as he curled his long legs on the bed. “Just so I know what to prepare for- what’s your business there?”

“I-“ Don’t falter don’t falter don’t falter. Thangam caught her breath, letting it sit in her chest long enough to drown out the lump rising to her throat. “I need to see my sibling. She’s-“   dead-alive-someone-else- “Unwell.”

“Is she in danger?”

“No? I don’t know.” She said it through gritted teeth, sharp with the remnants of the bitterness she’d flung at Asra. A part of her was certain that he didn’t deserve it. That he’d done whatever he done to bring Balam back to life, was something she’d owe him for the rest of her life.

Another part of her, however, resented him for that too. That it was his love, rather than hers, that seemed to have counted. That too, she knew, was unfair. Whatever. She could apologize later.

“She has amnesia. I think. It’s what he told me- her friend who takes care of her.”

Yu Jun fixed her with a keen look. “You don’t believe him.”

Was she that easy to read? Or was he simply that alert? It could be the latter. He’d had just as much need as she did to watch his back. Maybe even more.

“I only believe what I see.” Thangam straightened, squaring her shoulders. “He didn’t tell me any of this for months. Months. He said-“ She sniffed harshly, quelling the emotion rising in her voice. “He said I shouldn’t go see my sibling. That it- hurts her to remember. Just because he’s the magician, and he’s her friend- sure- I-“ She took a deep breath. “I know my sibling better than anyone in the world.”

He doesn’t get to take that away from me. He doesn’t get to take Bibi away from me.

“What if she needs me? I won’t know that till I see her, will I? He doesn’t tell me what to do.”

Yu Jun was quiet for a beat, then another. There was a pensive furrow in his brow, before he shook his head, slowly. “No.” He said all steel and sincerity behind the thinnest veil of softness . “He doesn’t.”

Thangam’s breath left her in a rush. It was an odd kind of relief to be listened to- to be agreed with. But she had no time to dawdle, or savor the feeling. “Good.” She said instead. “We’ll sort out the particulars in the morning. But will this do?” Scooting closer so she could lean against his bed, she flipped open her satchel, holding it up for him to see.

It was significantly lighter than it had been since she’d first set out- but she’d accounted well enough through her travels that the jewelry peeking through their protective coverings were worth a fair bit and then some. The thin strands of silver and platinum reflected like moonlight in Yu Jun’s clever black eyes.

He felt over one of the chains in his deft hands. Then a pair of earrings. The look he gave her held something close to wonder. “Where did you-“

“Technically, I stole them from my parents.” She snapped the satchel back shut, and pulled from the bed to her lap. “Realistically, I’m being compensated.”

To her surprise, Yu Jun lit up and laughed, loud enough that one of his companions grumbled from a nearby bed, and the mercenary guards outside the tent sent coy, quizzical looks their way.

“Oh you’d make good company, won’t you, Doctor E?”

“It’s Thangam, by the way.” She enunciated it all the way through- slow, and calm, and measured. “Edayil Thangam Maitreya. Just so you know.”

He mouthed the name along with her- the fluid vowels stumbling only a little in his thick Macawi accent. He held out his hand, the strength of his grip matching Thangam’s as they shook, his palm broad and callused. “Chun Yu Jun.”

“I know.” She snorted. “I didn’t walk in here having done no research, you know.”

“I bet.” He laughed, good-naturedly. “Been assessing me, Doctor?” The suggestion in his voice was only heightened by the cheeky wink he threw her, and Thangam cursed the faint color rising to her cheeks.

Nevertheless, she persisted. “Yes, actually. I have.”

He gestured to himself with his healthy hand, wiggling his fingers. “And the verdict?”

Thangam fell silent, searching his face as she took stock of her own deductions. He couldn’t be more than two or three years older than her- the boyishness not having quite left his features. There were thin scars running down the planes of his face and arms, betraying experience that exceeded his age.

Even in his recovery, he had been high-spirited- planning and delegating, easily taking a place as one of the ringleaders among the older members of his company.  Likeable- friendly and charming and an undercurrent of stealth, a distinct air of being tactical enough to wiggle out of sticky spots, and make a few friends while he was at it, laughing off the grimness of war, undaunted and level-headed.

There were other things, too, that caught her attention. Black beauty spots flecked across his bright, wheat-golden skin- angular brows like the wings of a bird- a wide, pretty nose, and a dashing, crooked grin. As he moved, his lean muscles shifted beneath the fabric of his shirt, and his mop of black hair fluttered in the night breeze. He was handsome- very handsome, even. She wouldn’t complain, at the very least, of having to see him every day for however many months it may take.

“Favorable.” She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. Why else would I be here?” Briskly, she slung the satchel back around her shoulders. “So I take this as a yes?”

There was a faint flush on his cheeks when he replied. “It’s a yes.”

She tried not to bodily sag at the relief that coursed through her. She did, however, permit herself a dimpled smile. “I’ll draw up a contract in the morning, finer points and all, but for now-“ She cast a glance to the night outside as she got to her feet. “I’ll let you rest.”

Yu Jun relaxed, stifling a yawn as she walked away. “Sleep well, Boss.” Stretching back against the bed, he let his eyes wander over her.

Her tight braid of curly black hair swung around as Thangam did a double take, halting at the entrance. Her fawn skin was darkening to raw honey at the end of the summer- her wide, lovely black eyes held the same quiet self-possession as her smooth, drawling voice. Yu Jun thought he caught another flash of her dimples, though she only sniffed, casting him a withering glance as she flipped her braid over her shoulder. “ ‘Doctor’ would do.”

[supersonic-darling]

Always There// Jake Kiszka Series// Chapter One

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x (F) Reader

Summary: Y/N’s band has just finished a six month tour supporting Hozier which ended in LA. They’re hanging around trying to get onto a record label and a tour of their own when they bump into another band. What could possibly happen ...

Word Count: 1333

Warnings: none

A/N:  I’ve planned this out to be about 11 chapters but depending on feedback or whatever happens when I’m writing it that might change. (please give me feedback, I’m so self conscious of this fic)

‘Y/N, Harri! we’re going to be late come on’ Freddie shouted from the other side of the door. Last night was the final show you had done supporting Hozier across his North America tour and to say you guys went all out last night may be a bit of an understatement. Harri groaned from the bed beside you, her long limbs and messy blond pixie cut a pile on the sheets as she lay face down in her pillow. You picked up the water bottle by the side of your bed and took a swig, poking her with the end of it when you’d done.

‘Come on. Up. We’re leaving’ you moaned, slowly rising and preparing yourself to gentle wobble to the bathroom. Harri turned her head up to see you close the door behind you and Freddie come bursting in through the other door. Her long wavy hair and flared sleeves breezed across the room and flung the curtains open.

‘Nooo’ Harri rolled over, recoiling from the sun.

‘Have you told them yet’ Fizz said as she walked in wearing dark glasses and holding a flask of coffee.

‘No. Where’s Y/N?’ Freddie turned, looking around the room. Just then they heard the shower stop, and two seconds later you came walking out, towel around you as you rubbed your hair dry.

‘What’ you said, stopping in your tracks as you saw everyone staring at you. Fizz sat on the bed next to Harri as Freddie made the announcement.

‘A producer came to the show last night.’ She paused ‘He saw us’ looking around as if we could put the pieces together from that ‘He wants to bring us into the studio!’ she shouted excitedly. The volume made you all wince a bit but the excitement caught up with you, Harri lept off the bed and lifted Freddie up in a hug, and soon you were all celebrating together. Suddenly Harri stopped dead, looked pale, then ran to the bathroom. You all laughed as you watched her sprint to the toilet.

‘Right, better get ready then’ you sighed happily, stealing a gulp of Fizz’s coffee before going to change.

You went arrived at the studio shortly before mid day and after a six hour session of you guys playing, then talking, then playing, then listening, the producers and your manager got together to discuss terms. As they went into another room and left you guys there you decided to just jam and mess about with your instruments whilst you could. You began plucking out a rhythm on your bass, just fiddling about with notes and tempo as Fizz came in on the drums, she loved using the brushes whenever she could. Harri’s electric guitar wailed as she joined in whilst Freddie vibed in the corner, eyes closed as she thought of what she could sing. You and Harri started to move around the room, you bopped to your own beat trying to make Fizz laugh with your movements whilst Harri tried to find her most rock and roll pose by propping one foot on a chair. Freddie came in with a wail of her own as she made something up on the spot as she usually did.

Whilst you were all mindlessly jamming in your booth another artist and his manager were walking to a meeting down the corridor. The small eccentric man stopped when he heard the music and peered through the circular window in the door. Smiling to himself as he listened to you he looked back at his manager.

‘What about these guys huh?!’

‘Josh come on, you’re going to be late. And where’s Jake?’ his manager said, ushering him along, but not before taking a peek himself.

A few minutes later your manager along with your new prospective producer came back into the room, your manager beaming.

‘We like you guys’ the Californian producer smiled with his big Hollywood smile. ‘We’ll send a first draft of the contract through tomorrow and pick things up from there’ you cheered your thanks all round as the tall tanned man exited the room.

‘And in other great news’ your manager interrupted you all ‘I’ve just bumped into Greta Van Fleets manager, they’re interested in some sort of collaboration’ he paused as you all gasped and carried on your celebration ‘We’ve arranged for you guys to all meet tomorrow. They’re pretty casual guys so Josh suggested you all meet by the beach, there’s bars an thing round there you can get to know each other a little better.’ Your manager waved his hands in a you know what I mean, kind of way.

***

‘She should be here any minute.’ Freddie searched, looking over the crowds of people.

‘It’s not like her to be late’ Harri muttered, checking her phone for the time. Just as she looked back up she saw you walking towards them in the distance.

‘There she is’ shouted Freddie, turning to wave her long slender arms in the air, large floppy hat billowing with the movement.  The boys all turned to look out for you as you came closer, waving back at Freddie. Jakes breath caught in his throat at the sight of you; your smile, your curves, the way you walked with confidence down the road towards them. Everything about you made Jake heart leap to his throat. He adjusted his sunglasses and fiddled a little with his hair as you approached.

‘And this is our bassist Y/N’ Harri wrapped her arm around your shoulder to bring you into the group.

‘Hi, m’Sam’

‘Danny’ he gestured pointing to himself

‘I’m Josh I’m the singer’ Josh welcomed with a friendly handshake

‘Hi I’m Jake’ he smiled, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses.

‘Y/N. Nice to meet you’ you smiled back as he took your hand in his.

‘Hey. Jake’ Jake said again, still shaking your hand. Sam stifled a snort as Jakes eyes widened, realising what he’d done.

‘Say, that’s a lot of books you got there’ Josh pointed, distracting everyone with the contents of your bag.

‘Oh yeah. Stopped by this little bookshop I found the other day and I couldn’t help myself.’

Freddie interjected, fearing the facade of her Rockstar allure would fade should you go on any further ‘So, drinks?’

***

‘I’m out’ you said, trying to take a sip of an empty drink. ‘Anyone want another one?’ shaking the glass a little as you broke the conversation circling the table.

‘Me!’ Every member of your band said in unison, holding their empty glasses out at you. Huffing a smile you grabbed the glasses and made your way to the bar. You waited for ages for the bartender to refill your drinks. He seemed to disappear around the corner and hadn’t come back in a while when you felt a presence behind you.

Turning around you came face to face with a stranger, seemingly towering over you. His leering presence immediately put you on edge but considering your options you decided it’d be much easier in this circumstance to just smile and edge away. Chatting for a small while you were thankful when the bartender brought your drinks over and you had an excuse to leave. Moving past him with your tray of drinks you double took as you saw Jake leaning up against the bar, watching you over the bottle brought up to this lips.

‘You alright there?’ Jake gestured to your previous spot at the bar

‘Yeah, he just wanted to talk about himself’ you laughed

‘So what was wrong with him? Tall. Broad. Every woman’s dream right.’ He laughed, hanging on your response.

‘Being tall isn’t a replacement for a personality’ you shrugged, moving off back to the table, leaving Jake standing there smirking into his drink.

As you took your seat on the corner of the table again you caught the end of a conversation about a jam session.

‘So tomorrow we can all get together at the studio and see what happens’

[guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom]

Blessing in Disguise

Peter Parker x bisexual!reader

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Peter Parker x black!reader

Peter Parker x villain!reader

Warnings: Hospitals, Explosions, depictions of pain, allusions to mania and depression, self harm/unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of death and the dead, gambling, potential underage drinking, theft, guns, gun violence, depictions of bullet wounds, and drunk people. 

Word Count: 3.4k

Songs: All the kids are depressed- Jeremy Zucker, Everywhere- Chloe x Halle, Middle Child- J. Cole, She Knows- J. Cole, Breezeblocks- alt-J, Pussycat Doll-Flo Milli, It’s Been So Long- The Living Tombstone, Take me to Church- Hozier, Good Kid- Kendrick Lamar, Death of a Bachelor- Panic! At the Disco, Them Changes- Thundercat, Detention- Melanie Martinez, Recess- Melanie Martinez, Something for your M.I.N.D- Superorganism 

A/N: I actually hate this chapter because I feel like the writing doesn’t flow. I feel like it’s to jampacked with things that don’t do anything to push the story forward. Anyway I hope you still read it anyways. 

Series Masterlist   Previous Part   Next Part

I did the hand sign stating I’d stand. I knew I won for sure this time because I had a perfect hand of 21. The two other people playing against groaned as I was declared the winner yet again. 

Swiping the chips for the 3rd time since I’d been at the casino. I decided to take my wins and make my way to the bar that our “target” was residing. 

I had a hunch on where Carmen was but had no actual idea. I’d just text her. In the meantime I had this grown ass man to make a move on. 

I was like 97% sure I had the right guy anyway. I looked much older than usual tonight due to Carmen being a makeup goddess and I gotta say flirting can get you a long way. 

“Hey,” I spoke, sitting on the bar stool next to the man.

He looked up at me mumbling a quick hey.

“You expecting someone?” 

“Nope,” He popped the ‘p’ “What about you?”

“Same as you,”

“Now I don’t believe someone as beautiful as you is here alone,” He moved his arm that much closer to mine. I pushed out a smile and giggled. 

“I could say the same about you,” We made eye contact for a second “But no seriously, I’m just here with a girlfriend. It was my birthday yesterday but she wasn’t free so we came out today,” I lied. 

“How old did you turn?”

“Twenty Two,” He nodded seemingly content with the answer. 

“So you’re not around here are you?”

“Either you’re a genius or I’m just very bad at blending in, no I’m from New York,” 

“Ah, I have some friends in New York, which part?” 

“Harlem actually but I recently moved to Queens,” I lied again. 

“Oh I don’t many from those cities,”

“If we're being honest I don’t know many people from Queens either my life’s been more hectic ever since I moved,”

“I hear you,” He informed me, leaning on the small backing the stools had. 

We talked for about 15 more minutes, him explaining the switch between New York to Nevada. Then Carmen walked up to me and feigned drunkenness signaling she was done with her job. I made my way back. To the man who’s name I still hadn’t learned. 

“As much fun as I was having talking to you, my friend is way too drunk to be out in public so we should probably head back to the hotel.” I sat back on the barstool turning my legs towards the man batting my eyes 

“Could I possibly use your phone to call an Uber mine is dead?” 

“Yeah of course you can…” His sentence fizzed off at the end in place of where my name would be.

“Ciara,” I filled in “And you are?” 

“Jim” He started handing me the phone.

I used his phone for an entirely different reason than I’d claimed. The project Carmen had been working on was melting the wires together to fix the flash drive that works inside of phones. It hadn’t worked in years.

It took about a minute to duplicate the phone's data. I stuck the flash drive in my bra before going to give the phone back. 

Just as I started moving a loud argument broke out, by the drunk accents I could tell it would soon get violent. Seeing as I had many experiences with an aggressive drunk. I wasn’t going to take my chances and began turning towards the main exit.

 I heard the first shot echo followed by another. Soon everyone was shooting. Including Carmen who I think just wanted an excuse to shoot at people passing it off as “protecting her friends”. 

She was closer to the exit than I was so she slid me the gun and I was able to ward off anyone shooting in our general direction. Not for long though. A bullet lightly grazed my dominant arm’s shoulder; it still dug in enough to do some sweet damage. 

Fuck

What’s up with me? I haven’t been on my A game lately. 

We were also out of bullets. Mostly because we weren’t actually expecting to have to fucking shoot at people. I ducked back down behind the bar trying not to get caught on the broken glassware. 

“I think it would be a good time to do that thing?” I asked. 

She rolled her eyes 

“You know I hate doing it,”

“Well I’m literally bleeding out,” I dramatized pointing to my shoulder. “So if you want to get out of here not in body bags, do the thing,” 

“Alright, just this one time,” She begrudgingly made her way out from behind the bar and away from me. 

I covered my ears and closed my eyes as the glass around me rained down and the bar shook. I could slightly hear the cries from beneath my hands. Once she moved back over to me 

“See that wasn’t so bad, birdy,” I scrambled up to my feet ignoring the pull in my shoulder. 

I made my rounds grabbing Jim’s phone, cash, wallets, watches, and anything else that looked expensive from pockets and the ground. 

I stood awkwardly staring at my feet as I slid from side to side with my butt planted on my skateboard. 

“Hi,” I heard squinting my eyes looking up revealing a equally nervous looking Peter

“Hey,” I nodded at him. 

The conversation wasn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be he’d apparently asked Liz to prom and he said yes. Which I was definitely super happy about because why wouldn’t I be? 

Anyway who cares about that anyway. Props to Peter for not bringing up the whole ghosting everyone thing for like a week thing. Because if he didn’t bring it up I was going to act like it never happened. 

We talked about everything and anything. From favorite candies or colors to our beliefs about life after death. I’d found out his favorite candy were skittles, favorite color: red and that he was Jewish but not necessarily religious and didn’t believe in heaven or hell but he believed in the eternity of a soul. 

I’d told him that my favorite candy was F/C, my favorite color being pink and that I didn’t know what I believed in. I believed in a higher power but not that they were inherently good because of all the suffering on earth. I’d told him if they weren’t good and had abandoned us while alive. Why would they care or have any plan for us into the afterlife? I think that part is up to us, and what we believe. I’m trying not to think about death.

Then like clockwork he had to leave before 9 which is funny because it’s like he wasn’t even trying to hide his secret identity. He’d told me he lost the internship and normally his excuse to leave was the internship. 

I just guess that means he no longer has Stark’s backup. He only had it for a while anyway he’d be fine without it again. Actually when I think about it,  from his behavior he’d exhibited as Spiderman in the short few months I’d had the displeasure of knowing him as ‘Thorn’ he’d be weak. He was unconfident, relied on his tools far too much. Couldn’t see himself without the suit. So maybe he was really just going home. So he’d be fine. 

I’d also be fine. No matter how much it didn’t look like it at the moment. I’d be fine. I was always fine. I was fine without my mom, without Rose, without my dad, without Olivia and any one else I’d ever been stupid enough to get attached to. I’d bounce back. I always did. 

It’d taken Carmen much convincing to not sit around and babysit me 24/7 because of my shoulder. She was sure that I’d do something dumb and it would get infected. 

 I was sitting on MJ’s bed getting ready for homecoming. My neck jerked again as Bri attempted to detangle and braid my hair. 

If I hadn’t spiraled into the Vulture, Kingpin and SHIELD, rabbit hole I probably would have taken better care of myself and my hair. 

“Stop moving,” She tsked.

“Stop trying to rip my head off my neck,” I hissed back. 

Bri did my nails back when we were still at her house waiting for MJ to pick us up. She actually did pretty good. I think she would do great at a cosmetology school. She's pretty much into everything: hair, nails, makeup the whole nine yards. She did all of that for me. 

The make up was very simple, but I was still able to get my signature winged eyeliner. Winged eyeliner is something very dear to me mostly because Rose was the first to put me on it and I wore it everyday since. It kinda felt disrespectful to stop at this point.

The only thing left was the dress MJ had gifted me. Her mom bought her a dress but she still refused to wear dresses so she returned it for this one, she opted for a very nice pantsuit she already had. Then Bri's outfit of course matched her boyfriend’s. 

I’ve never really liked school dances they’re always so overhyped, but I go to them all anyways, because then I get in on all the drama. It helped me build up my arsenal of knowledge about everyone. 

I was sitting at one of the round tables near the entrance with MJ, Bri, and Olivia. We had a bottle of “Gatorade” open and out for anybody who wanted to drink it. I was about to drink from it when I saw Liz enter alone. 

I made my way over to her.

“Where’s Peter? I thought he asked you?” 

“I don’t even know he just ditched me,” She let out a deep breath. 

“Aw I’m sorry,” I wrapped my good arm around her shoulder.

 “Well don’t think about that asshole, you’re way out of his league anyway,” I assured her to which she let out a weak laugh. 

“Come sit with me and my friends,” 

 A girl with knockers dancing all along her head came up to before speaking 

“Why are you crying?” 

I sniffed pulling my head from my arms. 

“I miss my mom,” 

“I miss my mom sometimes but I like my grandma too,”

“Where’s your mom?” I asked.

“I don’t know my grandma says she’s sick,” She shrugged. “Where’s your mom?”

“Well my grandma says she’s in a better place now but I know that just means dead,” 

“Yeah my dad is dead too so I know what you mean, I’m Rose. What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” 

“Y/N, that's a pretty name,” She smiled. “You wanna come sit with me and my friends Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

I jumped a bit at the voice before matching it to MJ

“What?” I asked in a harsher tone then necessary.  

“Jeez sorry,” She reeled back “Someone is asking for you named Carmen. They said it’s important,” She waved her phone around. 

My face dropped and I hoped no one caught it. 

I grabbed the phone exiting the auditorium.

“Okay what’s up?” 

“You know Liz’s dad whatever her name is but yeah, He’s gonna rob that plane that’s moving everything from the Avengers tower,” She rushed

“What!?”

Holy shit 

That must be where Peter’s went. So he figured it out too. Kid’s smarter than I give him credit for.

“I’ll send you the location on your phone,”

“Why didn’t you just call me from there?”

“Because you never answer it,”

“True,” 

“Y/N?” She whispered.

“Yeah?” 

“Be careful,” 

“Always,” I smiled. 

I rushed out of the building not thinking about how I could get caught. Near the buses there was the new Shocker lying unconscious. 

I took the webshooter I found next to him. Then made a run for it. Stopping to hot wire the nearest car, I sped to one of the locations that I knew Vulture’s team kept their weapons at. I was throwing everything in the same pile. Getting ready to destroy them. 

Then the door creaked open.

I felt the bed dip as my brother sat next to me. 

“Are you coming?”

I pulled the cover off my face 

“Why should I?”

“Because you’ll regret it if you don’t,” 

“No I won’t leave me alone,” I pulled the cover back over my head. 

“You gotta eat something,” 

“No I don’t leave me alone,” 

“Y/N…”

I knew what he was going to say and I didn’t wanna hear it. 

“She would want you to eat something,”

“Fuck you! How would you ever know what she would've wanted? No one here knew her and now one will ever get the chance to again so just leave me alone,” 

“Y/N-“

“Don’t Y/N me, get the fuck out of my room,” He sat there for a second, stunned “NOW!” 

As soon as the door closed and I flipped back over

I was shaken back into the present only to find that I was pinned under the man who’d entered the room before I zoned out. He reached for the nearest weapon. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Which is rare. I have a whole weapons catalog in my brain. Unfortunately for him he couldn’t grab it without giving me leeway to get from underneath them. 

Unfortunately for me I put too much pressure on my arm in the seconds I took to grip my shoulder recuperating myself. The man had fired the weapon he had at the pile of weapons that I stumbled back towards. 

The weapons then emitted purple light before exploding leaving me caught under some wood and concrete as the ringing in my ears only got louder and louder.

The fire around me crackled loudly and I bit my lip.

The smoke was only getting more plentiful.

I started coughing which only got more and more painful.

When I came to myself, I wasn’t choking anymore and the fire around me had died down. I was able to push myself from underneath the rubble holding me down. Not without lots of pain though.

The dress I was wearing was torn completely, holes big enough to see what I was wearing underneath it already. 

So I just took it off.

It wasn’t like I was completely naked I was wearing boxers. Not like I haven’t left the house in a bra and shorts before. Also who gives a fuck I just almost died. 

It was like 35° but I wasn’t cold in the slightest. I was actually kind of hot.

If my phone was accurate the plane had already made it near the edge of Queens and Staten Island. Rushing there I was seconds late as I saw the plane crash after I saw two figures fighting along it. 

There was fire everywhere but I wasn’t thinking. I was just running because I couldn’t make out Peter’s shape and if he was dead- 

I swear to fucking God if he was dead. Not again. I couldn’t handle another death.

Peter was saying something. No, pleading as the Vulture stood tall with his wings still intact. He was talking about how it was a nice try and he doesn’t know what he’s messing with.

Peter might not but I knew what this was. I also knew I wasn’t letting him get away with it. 

The wings started producing visible waves of heat. Then it hit me, what Peter was trying to say. The wings were gonna blow.  I got a head start and lunged towards the man. The element of surprise was on my side. That was until he used the wings to lift himself off the ground. 

Now I was fine with parkour and other activities, but being lifted off the ground by someone else, someone who’d never interacted with me ever, is where I draw the line. Then Peter was shooting a web at the wings. To which Vulture dropped me to go after him.

Oh hell no.

“Give it up Peter,” He continued to get closer and closer as the webs were continuously cut through. 

You know how people say they see in red when they get angry? Well the opposite of that happens to me I just see black. Remembering very little to nothing.

Last thing I remembered was fire just fire. From my fingertips, arms, head. It destroyed the wings in seconds, before they had a chance to blow up on their own. 

Peter webbed up the man before moving out of my sight. 

How the fuck do you get fire coming from your body. 

 Literally what the actual fuck. 

I couldn’t breathe. 

That’s what it was, I was dying, I was probably in some coma and this was a weird hallucination my brain pushed out in its final moments.

Okay this is it. I was dying suffocating in some coma.

Or even worse this wasn’t a coma and I was going to die with my body lit on fire literally.

“Oh my God,” I gasped trying to get air into my lungs. 

I closed my eyes and when I opened them Peter was in front of me in a torn up ripoff suit. 

“Y/N,” He moved trying to catch my eye.

“Y/N, Y/N breathe…”

I couldn’t really process his words. My mind was clouded with fear, fear and anger. 

Before I knew it I was hitting my head so I wouldn’t hit anyone or anything else. It’d been a coping mechanism I used ever since I was 3. 

Peter reached for my arms reeling back after his hands came into contact with my boiling skin. 

“Y/N you have to calm down,” He moved in front of me.

I stopped moving my hands but it was still difficult to breathe.

The monitors beeped all around me and if I closed my eyes  and concentrated hard enough. I could convince myself they were birds. 

I could tell from the patter of the knock on the door that it was Rose. 

“Come in!” I called out.

She picked up the clipboard examining it. As she did every time she visited. Luckily for everyone there was no nurse she could bombard with questions and criticism. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked. 

“Itchy, like my guts are on fire,” 

To which she replied by singing the chorus to Girl on Fire. 

“Anyway,” she brought us back after our laughter. “I got you pizza today since I’m sure you’re tired of McDonald’s,”

“I don’t mind McDonald’s actually, anything is better than hospital food. Well actually, their chicken strips aren’t that bad,” 

She placed the box down on my lap. I lifted up the lid and was hit with the smell of the many herbs. I pat by my legs signaling she could sit down. She wiggled into the spot that the bar of the bed allowed. 

“What are we watching today?” 

“Uh…” I clicked on the TV “Vampire Diaries?,”

“That show is still going?

“Yeah, I don’t think it’ll ever end,” 

Somehow the show turned into us dancing around the cramped hospital room.

We spun like the ballerinas in the broken jewelry box I got from my mom. Arms flailing around. The air conditioner made a rattling noise and a half eaten pizza on the bed. The situation was probably extremely weird or unpleasant from any other perspective, but because it was her it was perfect. 

It was like the moment in rom coms where the camera zooms into the main characters dancing as the rest of the characters are put out of focus and they stare into each other’s eyes. I closed my eyes. 

When I opened them I saw Peter’s eyes above mine. 

His hands were immediately on my face making my look straight at him. 

“Are you okay?” He breathed out. 

I sat up feeling a pounding in my head and a pull in my lungs. I was met with the fact that I was definitely not on the ground. I was actually very far from the ground on some ride on the pier. My mouth was dry so it took me a minute to get the words out and when I did it hurt my throat.

“Yeah ’m okay jus’ tired,”

“Okay, well don’t go back to sleep because I think you have a concussion,” 

“You’re acting like I died or something, how long was I out dang,” I joked I always hated when things got too serious. 

“Uh probably...30 minutes? I don’t know I don’t have a watch,” He sniffed and that's when I realized he’d be crying. 

“Were you crying? I knew you cared about me,” I smiled “It was only a matter of time before you fell in love with me, I’m irresistible” 

He laughed weakly wiping his eyes “This isn’t funny,” 

I looked up at him and started uncontrollably giggling. Soon Peter was laughing too.

The moment was interrupted by a squad of police cars pulling up. I absolutely did not want to get down but my tired muscles betrayed me. I was extremely exhausted.  I literally could not move. I just had to go wherever Peter decided to take me. I honestly think I might have a few broken ribs. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before though. We stood off to the side watching as Vulture was stuffed into the back of one of the cars. 

“So Spiderman?” I smirked.

“Uh.. no?” He said as if he’s questioning himself. 

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone I’ve known for a while now,” I twisted my body to face him hissing as a sharp sting shot through my body “You're not very good at hiding it,”

“Hey!” He cried out “But seriously you can’t tell anyone,”

“I already said I wouldn’t, but if it makes you feel better I’ll pinky promise you, and everyone knows you can’t break a pinky promise,”

“Alright,” He sighed.

I tried to move closer again and was stopped by the pain in my sides. 

“Okay well, the offer still stands, you’re just gonna have to come over here,”

Taglist:

@tomdiddlyumptious

[littlekatleaf]

Be still my indelible friend (Overwatch)

So this is inspired by the “Love Triangle” scenario @lovely-starry-universe​ shared. (sorry it’s not TMA, @beaugtifuw​ but maybe consider it as an alternative to death?) This is also separate from my other fics.

Be still my indelible friend, you are unbreaking Though quaking, though crazy That’s just wasteland, baby ~ Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!” Roadhog wanted to rub his eyes, aching behind his mask. He felt like he was going to sneeze, but his head throbbed and sneezing would make it worse. He really wanted to disappear into his quarters and sleep whatever this was off, without the mask so he could sneeze as necessary and blow his nose. Unfortunately he was stuck here, trying to keep Junkrat from noticing he was getting sick. 

Junkrat always noticed, even if he was in the middle of working something up for Torbjörn, or messing with one of Lena’s pulse bombs. Could be completely immersed in his work, muttering about whatever crossed his mind as he pieced things together, but the minute Roadhog started feeling off, sometimes before he actually registered the sensation in his own body, Junkrat would be there with tea or Kleenex or cough drops. Whatever Roadhog might need. Or want. No matter how many times Roadhog told him to stop - didn’t need coddling - Junkrat just shrugged and kept on. Irritating. Not a sook and rankled that Junkrat thought he was. 

Reckoned the Rat had a point, though. Hard to intimidate when one was constantly sniffling. Like he was doing right now. Just about to get up and find his own tissues when footsteps clanked down the passage outside the door and Junkrat finally looked up from his wires. Not at him, though. At the man currently leaning in the doorway.

“Oi, Lucio! Welcome back, mate. How’d it go,” Junkrat asked.

Lucio gusted a sigh. “Horrible. She’s gonna be gone for months, and as a goodbye gift she gave me her cold.”

Junkrat laughed, but not meanly. “Now that ain’t fair.” He crossed the room and pressed his hand to Lucio’s forehead. “Might be warm.”

“Eh, no big. Just feel a little under… the… weather.” His voice wavered up on the word and suddenly he pitched forward. “Hitchoo! I’tchoo!” 

“Bless ya, mate.” Junkrat tossed him a box of tissues from under a pile of detritus.

“Oh, thanks, man.” Lucio shook his head at himself. ��Could’ve been a disaster.” 

“Who takes care of the medic when the medic’s feelin’ crook?”

 Lucio pulled a tragic face, but was clearly trying not to grin.  “No one, now that Hana’s away.”

“That ain’t right. Patched me up often enough, right Roadie? Only fair if I do the same. C’mere; sit.” He steered Lucio to the other side of the couch, put a blanket around his shoulders. Then he began to fill, not the kettle for tea, but the coffee pot. Lucio liked coffee. Roadhog didn’t.

 As the coffee brewed, Junkrat asked Lucio about the trip to Busan. 

Lucio made a so-so gesture. “Meeting the parents was okay - they didn’t hate me. Maybe. But Dae-hyun’s another story. I’m surprised he didn’t try to poison my soda.”

“But you’re the dead nicest person I ever met. Can’t imagine you were rude. What’d ya do?”

“He thinks it’s my fault Hana won’t be more than his friend.”

“An’ it ain’t?”

“Nah, she sees him like a brother. Anyway, we’re open. If she wanted to be with him, it’d be fine with me.”

“Huh,” Junkrat made a considering noise and Roadhog caught him looking at Lucio with an unreadable expression. Which was weird - Junkrat usually had the opposite of a poker face. Made playing cards against him profitable.

When Lucio’s voice went hoarse, Junkrat took over the conversation, making his usual terrible jokes. Going into far too much detail about the modification to Torb’s turret he was working on. Nattering. 

And Roadhog realized he was going to sneeze. Hated doing it with the mask; small as the sneezes were, still felt fucking gross. Hated more doing it with an audience. Too many comments over the years about ‘big guy, tiny sneeze’ ha ha ha fucking hilarious. Ducked his head, tried holding his breath and kept it tightly contained to just a shudder.

No one responded. Thank fuck.

Felt odd, though. Unsettled. Maybe he was getting a fever? But he didn’t have that bone deep ache yet. Just felt… not right.

The day wore on. At some point Lucio switched from coffee to orange juice. His voice was barely more than a croak. Junkrat teased him about sounding like a frog and instead of biting his head off, like Roadhog would have - well deserved, in his opinion - Lucio just laughed and pretended to eat a fly. Roadhog rolled his eyes. Immature. Both of them. 

Lucio shivered, just once, and Junkrat dug his own scarf out of another pile of random crap and wrapped it carefully around Lucio’s neck, the orange and yellow stripes shining bright against his dark skin.

“Thanks, man,” Lucio said, sincerely, a flush rising up his neck. Fever? Or something else? He put his hand on Junkrat’s arm, and Rat covered it with his own. Roadhog looked away.

Every single time Lucio sneezed, Junkrat blessed him. And at each blessing, Lucio said thanks. He didn’t get irritated, he didn’t snap or growl. He just kept Junkrat cheerful company, laughing at Rat’s jokes (even, or maybe especially, the terrible ones), making listening noises in response to his endless stories, face nuzzled down in Junkrat’s scarf. 

Finally, Junkrat noticed his head nodding forward, eyes drooping closed. “Why’nt you head to bed, mate? Ain’t gotta keep us entertained.”

Lucio yawned, stretched. “Sorry. Just exhausted suddenly. I was going to stop by the mess hall for some food first, but…” He sneezed suddenly, ducking into the scarf. “Oops! Shit. I’ll wash it before I give it back, I promise.”

“Bless ya. No worries.” Junkrat shrugged. “Saw Mei cooking some of her chicken noodle soup earlier. I’ll bring you a bowl.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Junkrat. If Mercy caught me anywhere near the mess with this cold I wouldn't have to worry about being sick for very long.”

Junkrat mimed a shudder. “Too right. Sheila only looks sweet and innocent.”

“Thanks again.” Lucio tossed a wave over his shoulder as he sauntered out. “See ya, Roadhog.”

Junkrat whistled tunelessly as he cleaned up his workbench. Roadhog struggled against another sneeze. He tried to ignore it, to think of something else, but the tickle was insistent. Fuck it. He ducked his head, sneezed once, then again. Junkrat’s whistle didn’t falter. Was focused, maybe, on what he was doing. Roadhog tried to breathe carefully, but his nose wanted to drip so he sniffed, and then he needed to sneeze again.  An annoying as shit self-perpetuating cycle. 

He glanced around the room for the box of tissues. Apparently Lucio’d taken it with him. Of fucking course. “Junkrat. Gonna head up to my quarters for a bit.” Maybe he’d be focused enough not to ask…

“Ya ain’t hungry? ‘S well past lunch. Don’t think I’ve ever heard ya turn down a meal, ‘specially when Mei’s cooking.”

Roadhog wanted to groan, but kept it to a sigh. “No, yeah. Let’s go.” He was a little hungry. He’d pick up a bowl of soup in the mess hall and when Junkrat made his delivery to Lucio he could slip off. Soup would help, and maybe then he could get sleep. Or at least a little peace and quiet.

Luckily no one was in the mess hall when they stopped by, so it was a shorter trip than if Junkrat’d had someone to talk at. Just filled their bowls and, balancing his own and Lucio’s because sometimes Rat’s mech hand had trouble with the porcelain, followed Rat to Lucio’s quarters. Shit - his nose wanted to drip. Sniffed against it, which triggered an urge to sneeze. With his hands full of soup. Balls. Couldn’t even get Junkrat’s attention, any attempt to talk and he’d lose the tenuous control he clung to. 

A breath, another breath… only a few more steps until he could hand off the bowl… and he realized he wasn’t going to make it. Stopped and braced for it and “Ht’nxxt!  Ngxxt! …. Ht’nxxt!” Let his breath out carefully. It felt like he’d exploded his sinuses, but at least he didn’t spill scalding liquid over his hands. Small mercy. Junkrat was already knocking at Lucio’s door, a rhythmic tapping that wasn’t like his usual fist at Roadhog’s door.

Lucio opened the door and a soft tune wafted out like smoke. He’d clearly been working on some new music. A pair of headphones was around his neck. He’d changed from his travel clothes into a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized sweatshirt with two laughing gingerbread men that said, “Let’s get baked.” 

“Thanks, guys. Appreciate it.” He seemed to notice Roadhog staring and glanced down, then chuckled. “It’s from Hana,” he said, as if that explained everything.  “I’d invite you in, but I’m probably contagious.”

“Ah, no need to sit around all by your lonesome, sick an’ miserable. I never get sick. And Roadie’s already got it. He’s been sneezing all day.” Junkrat waved a hand at Roadhog dismissively. 

“Oh, sorry Roadhog! I didn’t know you were sick.”

“Ain’t nothing,” he mumbled. So Junkrat knew? And hadn’t said anything? Hadn’t even blessed him once? What the hell? 

Lucio stepped back to let them in and, with no idea how to bow out gracefully, Roadhog followed. The room was dark, lit only by a few strings of colorful fairy lights. Lucio’d made himself a nest on the couch, pillows and blankets and his laptop. His sound system sent out a low bass beat, overlaid with electronic melody and a voice that sounded almost like Hana, singing something he couldn't make out. In the corner of the room was an altar with a buddha statue and a candle lit in front. He let Junkrat take the spot next to Lucio on the couch, and sat on an arm chair across from them. It was a surprisingly welcoming space and Roadhog found himself relaxing, almost against his will. 

Junkrat made himself useful, cleaning up the dishes when they’d finished eating. Making sure Lucio was comfortable, that he had a glass of water and tissues in easy reach. When Lucio yawned, Junkrat pulled him close, to lean against his shoulder. He launched into some ridiculous, and likely embellished, story about a heist he’d pulled on the Queen of Junkertown sometime in the years before he and Roadhog started working together. Lucio made impressed noises, egging him on, and each story got less likely than the last. 

And then Lucio turned away from Junkrat, sneezing again. “Hitchoo! I’tchoo! Ugh, excuse me. I’m so gross.” He blew his nose.

“Bless ya. And no ya ain’t. Least ya got a normal sneeze, not like me. I sneeze like a bomb going off.” Junkrat tugged him close again and Lucio relaxed against his side, laughing.

“It’s true, though. An’ apparently size don’t matter in these things ‘cause Roadie sneezes like a kitten.”

Roadhog felt himself going red under the mask. He really, really did not want to be having this conversation. Not with Lucio, and not with the tickle that was building again. “Could you not make fun of me for five fucking minutes? Damn, Junkrat.”

“Don’t be such a touchy bastard. Ya know I don’t mean nothing by it.”

He wanted to keep arguing, to cuss Junkrat out for being such an asshole, especially while he was just as sick as Lucio, but part of him wondered whether he might, actually, be overreacting. Worse, he was pretty sure he was going to sneeze. He raised a wrist to the nose of his mask, like that was somehow going to help, but the tickle was too strong to  be contained. “Huh… chu! Chu! Chu!” Kept his head down when he finished because Junkrat was right, he did sneeze like a fucking kitten and he hated it. Hated that Junkrat teased him about it, hated that Lucio was there to hear it, hated that he hadn’t just gone to his quarters before Lucio ever got back from Busan.

“Bless you, Roadhog,” Lucio said after a couple beats of silence. And that just made it worse. Lucio blessing him, not Junkrat. 

The cold must be fucking him up more than he thought, because everything just felt like shit suddenly. His head hurt and his body hurt and his eyes hurt. He needed to blow his nose but then he’d have to take off his mask and Lucio would see all the fucking scars and he’d ask too many questions because he wouldn’t know not to and what could he possibly say? And Junkrat was ignoring him and paying attention to Lucio and he fucking hated that and he didn’t know why it bothered him so much and he didn’t want it to bother him, but it did, bothered him like a blister his boot kept rubbing over and over. Irritating and painful and it was just one more thing on top of everything and he hated it. Because Junkrat was his friend first. Was his first… but Lucio was so much nicer about everything. So much kinder and softer and not at all an asshole.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and he realized he’d been shaking, just a little. “Ya okay, Hoggie?” Junkrat’s voice was unusually soft, almost gentle.

“Fine,” he said, but the attempted sharpness was blunted with congestion and he coughed. And he didn’t push away Rat’s hand.

“No, ya ain’t.” Junkrat stood between Roadhog and Lucio, and carefully loosened the mask then lifted it away from his face, slow enough to be stopped. Roadhog didn’t. Then, just as carefully, Junkrat took a Kleenex and wiped Roadie’s eyes. Then his nose. Roadhog sighed and rested his forehead on Junkrat’s belly. “Hey, hey. What’s this, then? Thought ya didn’t want any attention when you’re sick.”

“Thought not, too,” he mumbled without moving. 

“Ya jealous.” There was the lilt of laughter in the words.

Roadhog shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Ya are!  Ain’t no reason for it! Might be mean as cat’s piss when yer sick, but it don’t matter. You’re my Hog, an’ that’s the way of it.”

 “But Lucio…”

“Reckon I can take care of ya both. Yeah?”

Roadhog nodded, and when Junkrat stepped aside, Roadhog kept the mask off and Lucio didn’t ask about the scars, or make any comment at all. He just smiled and offered a movie night and that was how they ended up sprawled across Lucio’s bed, Roadhog on one side, Lucio on the other and Junkrat between them, arms around them both. Sometime in the middle of the movie, they dozed off, warm and comfortable.