#my therapist says i need to just accept it and ride the wave and i know she's right but like also fuck that.

[ghostzzy]

being depressed fucking sucks and is a stupid goddamn waste of time and i hate it.

[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed (Javier Peña) Chapter 2

Rating: Mature

Warnings: brief references to non-con, abuse, manipulation, underage; grooming, age gap.

Notes: Javier makes his appearance! Lots of references to Narcos: Mexico. Also on AO3 under the same title. Pen name: emilythepemily.

Words: 3,383

Series Master List | Author Master List

Journal Entry

October 22, 1993,

We’re going to visit a friend of Dad’s, Chucho. He owns a ranch. I’ve met him a couple of times. He’s very sweet. I like him. The ranch isn’t that far out of town, but Dad insists on staying the night. For the experience or something like that. Everyone will be there: Dad, Anna, the kids. I haven’t spent a night away from home since I came back. Dad says it’ll be good for me. So does my therapist (the new one, Trisha). Apparently, it’s a safe environment. Nothing feels like a safe environment. I expect to have nightmares both nights we’re there. Dad said the kids can stay in his and Anna’s room. I’m thankful he offered. I hate feeling like I need to accept, but I don’t want to scare my kids.

Miguelito remembered he hates me. I don’t know what to do. It’s been 4 years. He still blames me for his dad’s arrest.

I know the kids will love the ranch. Dad is already thrilling Alejandra with tales of horseback rides. Mateo is excited to get so close to the cows. I hope Miguelito has fun. He seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. I think he remembers too much…

The station wagon doors close in rapid succession. The sun was starting its descent in the west. Emily helped Mateo out of his car seat. She propped him on her hip. Even though he was fast approaching 5, Emily cherished every opportunity to hold him close. It only lasted a few seconds before he wiggled down. Emily placed him firmly on his feet. He ran to Jaime, grabbing his hand.

“You little traitor.” Emily shook her head. Mateo giggled.

“He’s not a traitor. He just loves his Abuelo. Isn’t that right, bud?”

“Mhmmm,” Mateo grinned, looking between his mother and grandfather.

Alejandra grabbed Emily’s hand. “Don’t worry, Mami. I still love you.”

Emily laughed, kissing her daughter’s head. “Good, at least one of my children still cares about me.”

Miguelito whispered under his breath. Emily couldn’t hear what he said, but she didn’t need to. She sent a stern look his way. He straightened up slightly but still wore his pout

The front door swung open. Chucho Peña waved as the parade of people walked up. “Welcome. It’s good to see everyone again.”

He and Jaime shook heads. Anna leaned in for a hug. The kids exchanged high-fives. He nodded at Emily with a welcoming smile. She returned the greeting.

“Thanks for hosting the rowdy bunch, Chucho. I know we can be a handful.” Jaime said.

Chucho waved him off. “If it’s too much, I’ll just put you to work.”

Jaime sighed, putting his hands out. “And I just so happened to forget my work clothes this trip.”

Miguelito wandered over to the porch and sat on the steps. Mateo stayed close to his grandfather, intently watching the two men interact. Alejandra scanned the distant fields for signs of animals. Emily kept tabs on each of her children. She would be able to tell you if a hair was out of place on their heads.

Chucho laughed. “Fortunately for you, Javier has already taken care of my entire to-do list around this place.”

Jaime rested his hands on his hips. “Speaking of which, what’s he up to? Couldn’t spare a minute to say hi to an old friend?”

“He’s finishing a few things up. Should be back soon.”

“Can we go inside? It’s hot out here?” Miguelito called from the steps, hand held over his eyes.

“We live in Texas. It’s always hot,” Alejandra said.

Emily bit her lip to keep her laugh at bay. Her stepmother did the same. Alejandra had all the sass and it often targeted her older brother and his negative attitudes.

Chucho laughed. “Let’s head inside. We wouldn’t want you to melt.” 

Miguelito stood and Emily caught the roll of his eyes as he turned toward the door. She opened her mouth. She could take his attitude when directed toward her. She believed in giving him some space. He would come to her with an apology when he was done being mad, but around other people, particularly their host, was crossing a line. Jaime put a hand on her shoulder. “So he’s-”

“Remembered he hates me again? Yes.”

Jaime kissed the top of her head. “I’ll talk to him later. See if I can help.”

“Thank you.”

They followed Chucho into the house. Their host showed them to the spare rooms. “Javier said he’d sleep on the couch, so no one has to sleep on the floor.” 

Miguelito’s ears picked up. “Really? I get my own room?”

“Only if that means you have to share with me,” Alejandra said.

“Stop being a brat, Ale.”

“Miguel!” Emily looked at him. It was the equivalent of using his full name. She hated calling him Miguel. She never used his full name. 

“When you stop being a little bitch.” Alejandra replied.

Emily turned to her 6-year-old, eyes wide. “Alejandra Rosa! Where did you learn that?”

A sly grin crossed Miguelito’s face. Chucho’s cheeks were as rosy as Santa’s from withholding laughter. 

“It was in one of Abuelo’s movies.” She pointed to Jaime, shoulders shrugging as if she had done nothing wrong.

“I swore you to secrecy, young lady.” It was obvious Jaime was finding the same amusement as his friend. Emily glared at her father. He held up his hands. “We were watching a movie. I forgot it was in there.” 

Emily sighed, rubbing her temple. She grabbed both their hands and pulled them into one of the rooms. Her stern voice muffled through the door.

“Well, Mateo, looks like you’re the last man standing.” Chucho chuckled.

“It happens a lot.”

“There’s some blocks and cars in that cabinet over there.” Chucho pointed. Mateo rushed over eagerly finding the promised toys.

 “So, I hear Javier got himself into some hot water in Colombia.” Jaime eased himself onto the couch.

“You probably know more than me,” Chucho said. “He hasn’t wanted to talk about it much. I haven’t seen him in his head so much since he came home from Mexico.”

Jaime nodded. Anna grabbed her husband’s hand. He sighed. “I know the impact Mexico had on my guys down there… and my family..” He looked at Mateo, building a tower in the corner. “The stories I’ve heard about Escobar and Colombia aren’t any better.”

“It’s hard to see your kid struggle and not know what to do.”

“It is.” 

The front door opened. Javier kicked his boots off, groaning with his tense muscles. “I got the back fence mended, but not before that damn heifer got out.” 

“54?”

“Yeah, took me almost an hour to get her back in.”

“Still, probably one of the easiest chases of your career,” Jaime said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Jaime, it’s good to see you.” Javier shook his hand. 

“Likewise. It’s been, what? 10 years?”

“Something like that.” Javier smiled. “The Felix Gallardo hunt, right?”

Emily cleared her throat. She looked two shades paler than normal, arms crossed. Jaime felt the stab of guilt in his gut. “Uh, Javier, this is my daughter, Emily.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Javier held out his hand. 

Emily looked down at it. Her arms stayed put. “Nice to meet you too.” She forced a smile. 

Javier cocked his head to the side, confused. Miguelito pushed through the two adults. Javier sidestepped the child but not before he was shoved. 

“Miguel.” The front door slammed behind him. She clenched her fists. “Sorry about him.”

Jaime gave her a look as if to say, twice in one evening, I’m impressed. 

Chucho waived it off. “Javier had his fair share of storm outs in his day.” 

“I’ll try.” Jaime stood, following his grandson’s trail. 

Emily forced a smile. Javier still stood in front of her. Her color began to return. “That was my son, Miguelito. That’s my youngest in the corner, Mateo. Alejandra is in the bedroom getting some self-prescribed beauty rest.” She stepped around Javier. He was too close. She sat next to Anna. “Her words, not mine.”

Chucho laughed. “She’s quite the talker.”

“Hasn’t shut up since the day she was born.”

“She keeps us laughing,” Anna said.

“They do say laughter is good for the soul,” Chucho said. “I’m going to start on dinner. I want you two just to sit there and relax. Would you like something to drink? Wine?”

Anna hugged her stepdaughter. “Chucho, we never turn down wine.”

...

Emily’s bare feet padded down the hall. The house was quiet, but the sound of cicadas echoed through the windows. Chucho had opened them to air out the house. Warm air cycled through. Even with the breeze, moisture collected over her skin. Her breathing was heavy. It labored as if a pallet of bricks sat atop it. 

Sleep continued to evade her. The insomnia worsened in a strange place and the wine had worn off over an hour ago. She knew when she did manage to fall asleep, he would be there, forever branding her. Even now, he controlled her. She hated that most.

She followed the glow of the moon to the back sliding doors, desperate to be free of the walls around her. The door made a loud squeaking sound, sticking to the trim. She cursed under her breath.  

The cement patio was still warm under her feet. She let out a long breath. The bricks lifted. The outside air wrapped around her. Relief inflated her lungs. 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Emily jumped, her hand covering her mouth. Javier sat on the old, metal patio furniture, elbows on his knees. She shook her head, her breathing elevated. A cigarette glowed between his fingers. Her eyes followed the stream of smoke as it drifted upward until it disappeared under the moonlight. 

He offered up the cigarette, eyebrow raised. She stared at it, not saying a word. Javier cocked his head to the side. He’d never seen anyone take so long to accept or refuse a cigarette. She looked almost scared by it. 

Javier opened his mouth to say something, but she stepped closer, carefully plucking it from his grasp. She took one, slow drag. She held it in for a moment, feeling the nicotine wash through her.

She had despised Miguel’s chain smoking. It always meant he was stressed. It meant he wanted more from her. In the beginning, he would brush his teeth and put it off as long as possible when he was with her. Later, he used it as an intimidation tactic. She vividly remembered puffs of smoke blown in her face. She would purposefully keep a baby on her hip to keep him from smoking around her, but it didn’t keep it off his breath. 

These were lighter than the thick stench of his. These were closer to the ones her dad smoked. Jaime had switched brands after a passing comment from her about it. As much as she detested them, she often found one in her hand when the nightmares set in. 

 She waited until the smoke disappeared, then handed the cigarette back to Javier. 

“Thank you.” 

Javier nodded, bringing the bud to his lips. “Seemed like you needed it more than me.” 

His eyes flicked up to hers. She stared back. There was something wild behind her eyes. Panic came to mind, but it felt deeper than that. He’d seen that look in Colombia in people who’d come accustomed to living in fear for their own safety, doing whatever it took to survive the horrors of the drug war. 

She swallowed. Turning toward the backyard, arms wrapping tightly around herself, the breeze caught her hair and traveled down her neck. Her skin prickled and tightened. She closed her eyes. It didn’t last long. 

Alarm bells fired in her head. She turned back toward Javier, watching him closely. The moon illuminated his profile. Emily could see each muscle in his neck move.

“I don’t have a monopoly on shitty patio furniture you know.” He flicked the ash off his cig. A faint smirk played off his lips.

Emily looked down at the chair closest to her. It didn’t look particularly comfortable, but it did sound better than standing here until her nerves calmed or her anxiety pushed her back inside. It wasn’t any closer to Javier than she was now. If she leaned back, she may even be further. Logically, she knew he was safe by all accounts, but Emily didn’t have the luxury of logic anymore. Trauma doesn’t reason. 

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Not really a strong suit of mine.”

“Yeah,” Javier said. A breathy ghost of a laugh floated off his lips. “Me either.”

Emily pulled her legs into her chest. The immediate panic started to leave her body. She snuck a direct look at Javier. There was something familiar about him. She had never seen him before today. She recognized the haunted look in his eyes. She’d seen it in the mirror for years.

“So…You were in Mexico with my dad?” She didn’t know why she asked. She hated talking about Mexico.

“Just during the search for Kiki Camarena. I had just finished training when it happened.”

“Hell of a first assignment.”

He leaned forward and offered up the cigarette again. She reached across the expanse. 

“I heard the cartel came after the families to try and scare the DEA off. Must’ve been scary.”

“I wasn’t in Mexico with my dad.” She handed back the cigarette. His fingers brushed hers during the exchange. Her hand jerked away. 

His eyebrows furrowed. “Could’ve fooled me. Your Spanish sounds more Mexican than Texan.”

She laughed dryly. “And yet they always said I sounded American when I was in Mexico.”

“I got the same in Colombia.”

“To be fair, we are American.” A smile tugged at her lips. 

Javier chuckled. “That we are.” He took one last huff from his cigarette before squashing it out on an ashtray next to him. “but you did live in Mexico.”

She looked up at the stars, taking her time. She let her hand travel through her hair. It snagged  on a tangle. The breeze picked up again. It soothed her racing heart. Javier watched her. She looked serene, but he had the feeling she was anything but. “Yeah, almost 7 years… Had my kids there.”

“So you were there when everything went crazy?”

She got quiet again. Contemplating her words. She’d only ever said the words to therapists in a room under the protection of HIPAA. To say it out here, under the open sky, to someone she hardly knew, would it give it more power? She’d felt powerless for so long. Define her? It felt like they already fucking did. Trisha would tell her keeping it in is what gave it so much power. 

“I was married to Miguel Felix Gallardo.”

Javier looked at her. He wanted to call her bluff, pass it off as her pulling one over on him, but she wasn’t joking. She held tension in her shoulders and bit her lip. She still couldn’t look at him. The look in her eye made sense.

“Fuck,” he muttered before disappearing inside. 

Emily’s head snapped around. She stared at the sliding door left wide open. Was Javier disgusted with her? She’d married a drug lord and had his children. She’d even loved him at one point. It didn’t matter the circumstances. It didn’t matter that he’d taken advantage of a 16-year-old girl, or he’d abused her. Javier was a DEA agent. They hated drug lords first. Everything else was second.

Javier emerged with a bottle of liquor and two glasses. He set them on the table between their seats. “Seemed like this conversation could use a drink.” He poured a couple fingers into each glass. 

He held it out to her. She looked between him and the cup but didn’t move. It was just them. She didn’t let her guard down, didn’t drink if her dad or Anna weren’t around. Of course, she didn’t hang out with people, particularly men, she’d just met either, but here she was. Javier set the glass down and shrugged. He lounged in his seat, feet propped up as he sipped his drink.

Emily leaned forward and grabbed the cup. She took a sip, letting it sit on her tongue. Tequila. She knocked the rest of it back and swiped the bottle off the table to refill her cup. Javier raised his eyebrows. She ignored him as she settled back into her chair. 

Warmth radiated through her mouth and throat all the way to her stomach. Her insides felt like the outside, warm and hazy. “It’s okay if you hate me, you know.”

“How old are you?”

Emily looked at him weirdly. “25.”

“And your oldest is what? 10?” 

“Almost.” She found her voice growing quieter. 

“Sounds like a powerful man took advantage of a teenager.”

She swallowed, looking into her drink. Tears welled behind her eyes. She’d heard it all from her therapists before, but they were trained to recognize that. Her dad had struggled with that concept early on. He’d asked her what she’d seen in him. It took her a while to come to terms with why that hurt the way it did. DEA agents hated Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo the most. 

She blinked the tears away, pushing back her emotions. “Did you know him?”

“Who?”

“Agent Camerana?”

“No.”

They stayed quiet. Emily let the emotions pass. Javier looked up at the sky now. She looked at him. She pulled the cup to her lips, putting on a playful facade. She almost believed it.

“Ever meet Escobar?”

“No.”

“Ever meet any of the guys you’re chasing?” The playfulness reached her eyes. It was no longer a facade. There were some things about all of this she could joke about. Tequila helped too.

“I was part of the team that captured Rafa.”

“Don’t tell Miguelito that. He’ll hate you as much as he hates me.” 

Javier tilted  his head to the side. “Why?”

“You put away his Tio. He’s fiercely loyal.”

“What’s his problem with you?” 

Emily opened her mouth and then closed it. The temptation to spill everything was there. Her heartbeat quickened. She would break down if they went there. “He blames me for his dad’s arrest.” 

Flashes from that day, Alejandra’s screams and Miguelito’s please, played in her head. Her pulse beat in her ears, growing louder. Before Javier could respond, she set her glass on the table and stood. “I need to go to bed.”

She was 6 feet in the house when she stopped. Slowly, she pivoted. She took a deep breath. Her head poked out the window. “Thank you, Javier.”

He met her gaze with a short nod. If he found her behavior odd, he didn’t let on. “Anytime.”

...

Emily sat on the edge of the bed. The bedside lamp glowed. She waited for her body to slow down. She could feel the liquor fully setting in. Maybe… maybe she wouldn’t have nightmares tonight after all. Doubtful, a new place coupled with that conversation.. 

A knock on her door, and it popped open. It set her heart pounding again. Damn anxiety. “Miguelito?”

“Mami, I woke up and can’t get back to sleep.”

She motioned over, sitting back on the bed. He bounded over, curling into her. He rarely did this anymore. He liked to think he was too big and tough. She played with his hair and kissed his head. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She squeezed him. “I love you, mijo.”

“I love you too, Mami.”

That was the end of it for now. Emily knew he’d get upset again. It was inevitable, it would be that way until he was old enough to know and understand enough. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Emily bit her lip. She wanted that, but she wasn’t going to let him see what happened to her at night. 

“Sure, mijo.” She rubbed his back. There was no way in hell she could carry him back to bed, but she could get him just asleep enough that he would walk back to bed with guidance. 

The nightmares woke her up two hours later.

Chapter 3 ->

taglist: @phoenixinthewater​

[puyoginge]

What's been going on with me.

3 years later I’ve decided to resurrect my Tumblr because it is my sanctuary and the social media ever. I disbanded twitter because it makes me angry all the time and for the sake of preserving my dwindling adult sanity. lol.

You may remember me from my few posts under the username yaboinate28. very 2018 lol. I posted a lot of trans / general mental health relatable stuff to manage my struggle with gender dysphoria and hopefully connect with others who felt the same as me. If you want to get a taste of what's been going on since then then please do read on below!! (TW mental health stuff)

WHY I LEFT

Some time in 2020 I purged all my trans posts, removing all my incentive to return to this new decade apocalypse of a site. I guess was feeling really insecure about the discordance between my Tumblr open-transness (??) and my irl extreme stealth thang. I was chronically worried about people from my real life finding my account basically. 

Much of my stuff was very Tumblr cringe and probably stuff you’ve seen before but there were a couple of self help posts that were actually insanely good resources for coping with gender dysphoria (particularly in the early stages of social transition) which I seriously regret deleting. I remember a lot of my memes “blowing up” which made me feel really special and like I could contribute something to the world. As a young teenager struggling with self harm and severe depression as well as navigating my life within a home that outright rejected my trans identity, my Tumblr was my lifeline, the people I met made me feel hopeful for the future, and seeing people reblog with “I needed to hear this” or “thanks so much for posting” meant everything to me.

But its important for me to address that I’m not the person I was back then, !!and whilst I'll be attempting to find and repost some of those self help resources!!, I probably won’t be posting about my trans experience much anymore other than within this entry. But please please reach out if you need someone who’s been through it to talk to. I’d love to support you however i can!! I’m only a message away. 

LIFE STUFF

Since 2019 my attitude on life has changed a lot and whilst coping with my mental health issues are still a daily hurdle, I’ve found myself a groove in which to sit and ride the wave. Essentially I’m managing and I’m happy and able to maintain a positive outlook on life, which is good. Additionally, with time my family have softened to my trans identity. Its not perfect, but I’m not at risk. I love my family and I don’t blame them for their actions, I’m just taking it slow. 

Passed my GCSES with flying colours, passed my A-levels with regular colours, and I'm going to uni. Life has continued and its good. And whilst I would rather eat my own shit than go back and relive the days when my mum had to force me me out the door to get me to go to school, I made it through every last day. That's fucking badass, and tbh I'm pretty resilient now because of it lol.

I guess my point is (crass warning) see the joy in what you have. Take life day by day. Don’t let yourself take the easy route, because then you’ll learn how fucking strong you are. And you are stronger than you think even if all your cards are stacked against you.

TRANSITION STUFF

Since the last time we spoke I’ve legally transitioned, and am (at the time of writing) dealing with the initial admin of medical transition. I’ve been speaking regularly with a gender specialist therapist for 2 years. more recently I’ve been exploring my gender expression with my new found freedom. AND I’m in a relationship with someone who is beautiful and kind and couldn’t be more supportive of me (I adore them). And.... I’m still as stealth as ever. Just as resistant to say “yAYYyy i’m trAns!!!” as I’ve always been. I fucking love it. Some things never change lol. As I said family are being dragged by the tail along with me and have warmed to the whole thing. Support is not the word, but acceptance is pretty apt. They both realise it’s always been “me” at this point and that's enough for the time being.

WHO I AM NOW

I’m now an adult (wtf so surreal????) I have allowed my passion for retro gaming to flourish, recently got super fucking into rhythm games, developed a healthy collection of games and consoles which I may post about perhaps. Resurrected my love for anime, particularly dumb slice of life shows and Madoka Magica (all hail you beautiful broken masterpiece of infinite spinoff potential)

I found my interest in psychology (wowwww surprise!!) Got a job, found some friends, told some people a long overdue fuck off. And rounded myself into a much more open minded person than I used to be.

I couldn’t care less how many people read this, mainly I’m doing it for me. To provide myself a clean slate and stuff. But if you do read this, and you used to enjoy my silly little posts or find them helpful or whatever: I hope you’re well, I’m glad you stuck around and I hope you stay :)

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your lost - Part I “I will grieve”.

Serie Masterlist here || Part II|| Read on AO3 

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, hurtful behaviors, domestic wanda.

Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, death.

Author’s notes:  Hello readers! I'm finally back to posting something, but I disappeared for a good reason, I was writing three new series. And here is the first of them. I really enjoyed this work and it's something I've been trying to write since I watched WandaVision, and only now I've managed to put it into words. I am not finished yet, but there is only one chapter left, so your reading will not be affected. Pay attention to the warnings, and good reading!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be tagged) 

@mionemymind​ / @abimess​ / @stephanieromanoff​ / @yourtaletotell​ / @tomy5girls​ / @justagaypanicking​ / @thegayw1tch​

//-//

Chapter One - I’ll grieve.

You wished you could go back to sleep as soon as you opened your eyes. The sound of your alarm buzzed loudly throughout the room, and after putting it on snooze mode at least four times, you finally got annoyed enough to grab it and throw it across the room. But the sound continued.

Letting out a grumble of dissatisfaction, you pushed the comforter off you, and sat up in your bed. Your room was a mess, but you just skipped through the clothes on the floor to reach the phone, turning off the alarm through the new crack you made in the screen.

"Honey, are you up?" you heard your mother's distant voice calling you through the door, probably from the living room or the kitchen. "Don't forget your therapy today."

You sighed impatiently, running your hands through your hair. The damn group therapy. 

Grumbling lightly, you forced yourself to take a shower, not wanting "poor hygiene" to end up on your progress report card. 

A while later, when you were finished, you went into the kitchen. Your mother was using her laptop on the counter, and just waved at you.

"Are you going to take me?" You asked her with your hands in your pockets. Your mother took her eyes off the screen to evaluate the sweatshirt you were wearing, and you rolled your eyes at her disapproving expression. 

"You know, you could try driv-"

"Mom" You cut her off in earnest, your heart racing momentarily. You don't drive. An she knows. Your mother sighs, putting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

"It was just a suggestion dear." She retorts as she stands up, reaching for her car key on the key rack exiting the kitchen. "But I'm busy with the store, you'll need to take the subway next time."

"Thanks for the support." You grumble as you step out in front and your mother lets out a wry chuckle.

You frown and let out a dissatisfied exclamation as you step outside feeling the sun's rays on your face.

"You're not a vampire, cut the drama." Mocks your mother by pushing you lightly to get you out of the way. 

You grumble  as you walk to the car. And when you are sitting on the seat, your mother is starting the vehicle and she asks:

"Are you sure you're not going to eat anything?"

Looking out the window, you just mumble that you're not hungry, and she shakes her head in disapproval before you back the car up. You don't speak any more on the way.

//-//

Your mother dropped you off in the parking lot of a gymnasium where the therapy group would be meeting. You sighed as you got out, and thanked her for the ride and the money she gave you to eat, even though you probably weren't going to use.

Resisting the urge to run away, you forced your feet to walk toward the place.

There were a few people at the door, but you didn't smile at any of them, entering the place with your head down and your hands in your pockets. 

And then a woman greeted you, and put a little sticker with your name on your shirt when you gave her your papers. 

Then she signaled the way you should go, and you ended up on the gymnasium court, where there was a wheel of chairs, and a table with food and drink, and several people scattered around, who you thought were part of your therapy group. 

Sighing impatiently you made your way to the bleachers of the venue, hoping to be alone until the session started and you could leave.

Fortunately it wasn't long before the leader signaled for everyone to sit in the circle, and you sighed as you stood up. You ended up with one of the chairs on the far left opposite the therapist, which could be bad since he would see you clearly.

"Thank you very much for coming." Said the therapist smiling gently as his gaze roved over everyone in the circle. You kept your gaze on your shoes. He made a noise with his throat. "Who would like to start today?"

The silence lasted for a few seconds, but then someone was speaking. You forced yourself to come back to reality and pay attention.

"[...] and this is my fourth week around here." Said a woman in a leather jacket. You noticed the army lanyard around her neck. She was talking about an accident when you got distracted again. Lightly poking your eye with your finger, you tried to focus again, letting out a low sigh. And then the therapist was talking again.

"We have new faces today." He said and you felt your heart speed up. You absolutely did not want to talk in front of strangers. "Why don't you share with us, miss?"

You raised your gaze to meet that of the therapist, smiling gently at you. The rest of the group looked at you as well. Taking a deep breath, you began to wiggle your fingers on your leg.

"I don't... I've never been in a group." You say clumsily. "What should I say?"

"Whatever you wish to say." He answers with a smile. You swallow the urge to tell him you didn't want to talk at all. Realizing your lack of response, he is quick to add. "Why don't you tell us why you are here?."

You let out a dry laugh. 

"I really didn't have much choice." You retort wryly. The therapist looks slightly surprised, but makes no mention of interrupting you. You let out a sigh before clarifying. "My psychiatrist, she...she didn't approve of my social ratings. She wanted me to talk to other people. People who... went through the same things I did." You count staring at the floor. When you look up again, the group still waits for you to continue, and you sigh, running your hands through your hair. "I haven't... I... I haven't talked to other people outside of my family in six months. Not since..."

You move your head, sniffling slightly as you straighten your posture. The therapist clears his throat.

"You just need to share whatever you are ready to tell us." He says gently, you nod slightly feeling extremely vulnerable. "But remember that this is a safe space. There is nothing to fear here."

And then he is talking about methods of easing the guilt, and dealing with the pain and you were distracted again. You would like to go back to bed. It must have taken a while, but the session is finally over.

The group dispersed around the room, and you went toward the therapist's desk to have him sign your schedule. He smiled as you approached.

"Miss Y/N/L, I was happy to hear that you would be joining us today." He said greeting you with a handshake. You nodded, taking the paper from your pocket. He chuckled, but accepted it. "You know, I'd like you to try to have a partner in the group, it's recommended for cases like yours."

"What do you mean cases like me?" You ask snidely, but he doesn't care.

"Doctor Harkness gave me your chart." He explained as he signed the paper you gave him while you frowned. "Extreme Social Anxiety in the first few months of treatment. Tendency to complete isolation, introverted..."

"Yeah I know my problems, buddy." You interrupt him with irritation. "You don't have to list them for me."

The therapist gives a lopsided chuckle, and holds out the signed paper to you. But he adds with a serious look:

"I'm here to help you, Y/N." He says. "Don't forget that."

You don't respond and take the paper, turning toward the exit. 

//-//

Your week passes slowly and tortuously. Which is surprising because you barely get out of bed. And then it is group therapy day again, and you are making a new crack at your cell phone screen.

Your mother greets you with a pat on the back as you enter the kitchen, and she is walking past you toward her own room.

You know you have to take the subway today, and you are trying not to think about it too much. As you are walking out the door, your eyes pass quickly over your car key, and you think you have a flash of memory, but you shake your head quickly, pushing the thought away. And then you walk forward.

And you are late for the session, because you can't take the bus to the station, since your feet simply didn't obey you. But that's okay, you don't really care.

You weren't the only one who was late. When you went to enter the door, a red-haired woman bumped into you, also running to get in. She smiled slightly as she apologized, and you just made room for her to enter first.

"Sorry Stephen." She said to the therapist as soon as you two entered the gymnasium, "I had an emergency with the kids."

The man just shook his head with a smile, and waved for you both to sit down.

"And why were you late today, miss Y/L/N?" He asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

"I didn't wanna come." You retorted and the group giggled, and the sudden sound startled you slightly, but you just sat with your arms crossed. 

"Do you want to try again?" He retorted with light humor in his voice. And you bit the inside of your cheeks. And then you looked down at the floor.

"I couldn't get on the bus." You confessed next. Stephen looked at you tenderly, though, and you didn't like the feeling of your chest heaving slightly.

"And why do you think that happened?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable. 

"I don't know. I... There were too many people." You said embarrassed. And then you started twiddling your fingers, feeling all eyes on you. "I just... I knew I'd have to say hello to the driver, and the conductor. And then I would pass strangers in the hallway, and one of them would sit next to me. And I just... I couldn't."

Stephen nodded slightly in agreement.

"It's okay, Y/N. " He stated. "No one is judging you here."

You let out a dry laugh, and Stephen blinks in surprise, which spurs you to explode.

"Everyone is judging me, Doc." You say through gritted teeth, swinging your leg. "It's as if I can hear the gears in people's brains forming opinions about me." You state with a sigh. "Like my mother for example. She...she...acts like I'm past the time of mourning." You explain with tears in your eyes. "Like there's a limit, and I'm extending her goodwill. Because it's been six months, and she doesn't want me to be sad anymore. But guess what? I don't know how to move on!" You state angrily. "I can't! If I don't miss her, what's left for me? If I don't... God, I can't do this."

And you stand up, wiping your tears away, and walk out of the gymnasium, heading for the restrooms. You feel your heart racing, and it's hard to breathe. 

As you rest your hands on the sink, your brain starts to wander back to the day of the accident again. You choke, because it feels like you're sinking again. You see the water rising through the metal of the car. Your hands on the steering wheel, and then on the seat belt. You shake your head, pushing the images away, and rush to turn on the faucet in front of you and pour the water on your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. And then there is someone entering.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asks and you nod lightly, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you stare at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I gave a break to the group, wouldn't you like to walk with me?"

"I'm not good company right now." You grumble but he smiles, nodding slightly as if to repeat the invitation. You take a deep breath before turning around.

You walk silently and slowly to the outside of the gymnasium, and then he is speaking again.

"You were very brave today."  He comments, and you let out a dry laugh. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I panicked today." You say. " It doesn't sound very brave to me."

Stephen smiles guiding you through the gymnasium entrance toward the parking lot.

"You talked about a trauma to a group of people." He says. "That takes a lot of courage, even if you don't believe it."

"I don't believe in anything." You grumble, but Stephen doesn't mind your hostility. He stays with his friendly posture.

"I would like you to accept my request from before." He said after a moment. "About a group partner."

You let out a sigh.

"I don't even know what that means." You retort with slight impatience as you reach the edge of the parking lot. You notice the garden a few feet ahead of you.

"It's like a therapy buddy." He explains with a smile. "We encourage socializing here. That's why Agatha recommended this group to you."

"Oh, of course you do. Agatha is a bitch." You wryly wipe your hands across your face. Stephen laughs lightly. "How does that work anyway? Do I have to hold someone's hand? Exchange friendship bracelets?"

"No, it's much better." He says with a chuckle. "You talk to that person. You exchange experiences with them. You learn to trust somebody else again."

"My god, it looks like a fucking Disney movie." You retort with irritation and Stephen lets out a laugh. And then you let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I have nothing to lose, and it seems that neither you nor Agatha will leave me alone if I don't agree."

"We want you to feel better. Don't take this as a punishment." He says, guiding you back to the gym. You nod slightly, thinking that it really does feel like punishment anyway.

//-//

You see Agatha the same week. Your appointments have been switched to monthly meetings instead of weeks as they were at the beginning of treatment, and while you appreciate the familiarity of seeing her, you can't help but feel irritated with her.

"Someone's grumpy." She comments as soon as you sit down on the couch in the room, to which you roll your eyes.

"You are always so very tender, Agatha." You mock as you cross your legs, hoping the time will pass soon.

Agatha laughs lightly, finishing tidying up a few things on her desk. And then she gets up and sits down in the armchair a few feet in front of the sofa where you are, carrying a small notebook in her hands.

"So, why don't you tell me how your your first two sessions in group therapy went?"

You let out a dry laugh.

"Like Stephen didn't tell you everything." You sneer and Agatha just smiles, waiting for you to speak. You let out an impatient sigh, before stating wryly. "It was amazing, doc. It only took two sessions for me to have a panic attack, so thank you for that."

"Why do you think that happened?"

You squeezed your eyes.

"I have no idea." You retorted. "I'm not the doctor here." Agatha laughs lightly, and then opens her notebook and starts writing something. You sigh impatiently. “Really, you're going to start that again?”

"If you don't talk, I write." She states simply, and you roll your eyes, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.

"Agatha, I just... I couldn't get on a bus, okay?" you tell her, and she closes her notebook to look at you attentively. You take a deep breath. "There were a lot of people. I don't mind walking anyway. It helps me think."

"You don't mind walking eight blocks?" She asks with a slight irony. "That's pretty athletic of you."

"It's weird that you know my address off the top of your head." You play lightly, and she just laughs, straightening her posture. 

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask me what you want to ask?"

Agatha blinks slightly in surprise, and then she shakes her head slightly, opening her notebook again. You sigh.

"Okay, sorry." You say, and she looks at you for a moment before closing the object again. I... I thought I was drowning again.”

"Are your nightmares back?" She asks seriously, and you deny it with your head.

"I feel too anxious to sleep." You tell. "And then I black out from exhaustion in the night or in the morning. I don't dream anymore."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

You sigh.

"Of course I have."  You say. "I don't... I'm having trouble keeping my mind still. Like the first few months, you know. Everything seems so noisy now."

Agatha nods slightly, becoming thoughtful for a few moments. 

"I know it may sound strange to hear that, but that means you're getting better." She declares and you frown in surprise, then let out a dry laugh.

"How is my peak anxiety a good thing?"

She opens the book again, but before you can ask what you said wrong, she is reading.

"The first day you were here, you said you felt like you were empty." She narrated and you swallowed dryly. "During your first two months, you continued to describe that you felt like an empty shell. And that you no longer had any dreams, thoughts, or opinions. Without your wife, you said you were no longer here."

You felt your eyes fill with water at the mention of her. But you swallowed your emotions. Agatha turned a page, and read for a few seconds, and then looked at you.

"With your history of anxiety, your mind was remarkably quiet after the passing of your wife." She says. "But now that you're on medication, and therapeutic treatment, plus you're socializing even superficially with the world again, you're starting to feel things again. That's progress."

You look away from her, nodding slightly, trying to believe her words, and trying not to be so terrified at the thought of learning to live again. Without Nat.

You choke slightly, holding back a sob, and then Agatha hands you a box of tissues, but you refuse with a nod, wiping away the tears that have slightly escaped.

"What do you want to talk about now?" She asks after a moment. You take a deep breath, still trying to calm yourself.

"Last week I took a cold bath." You count. "It was snowing."

Agatha blinks in surprise at the information and then lets out a giggle.

"You want me to write it in the book don't you?"

You laugh, wiping away the last of the insistent tears. You just hope Agatha could help you.

//-//

You hate coffee. But you barely slept last night, and now you need to stay awake during the group meeting, so instead of walking to the chair in the corner like you used to, you detour your way to the food and beverage table as soon as you arrive at the gym.

There are a few members around, but you don't look at them, just sidestepping as you extend your arm to the coffee bottle. You pour some, and as you touch the cup, you notice. It's cold.

"Hey sorry about that." Said a girl you thought was named Val or something, as soon as she saw you touching the cup. "We mixed up the shifts yesterday and nobody made new coffee."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cup and throwing it in the trash. Then you forced a wry smile on the girl and walked outside. 

It was cold, but you are boiling with rage. It was just a damn cup of coffee, you thought as you closed your eyes and tried to reduce your anger. Just coffee. 

You stumbled with fright when Stephen called out to you.

"We'll get started in a minute." He said looking at you curiously. You just nodded, following him after a few seconds.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you noticed the same coffee girl as before, now sitting where you usually sat. The universe was testing you today. 

You just sighed, twiddling your fingers inside your pocket, and walked over to one of the free chairs.

After Stephen gave the briefing, he asked if everyone was all right, and the group lied in unison. You were almost asleep when he called your name.

"I would like to choose your partner today." He says and you feel your heart racing as you straighten your posture. "But I want to know if you have any preferences."

You blink in confusion, and roll your eyes.

"I don't know anyone here, but I'm sure they will all hate me equally, doc." You tried to joke, but Stephen only looked at you with concern.

"No one does or will hate you." He says and you swallow dryly, looking away as you mumble that it was just a joke. Stephen pauses momentarily before continuing. "You know that everyone here has their own experiences of loss and they are unique in their own way, even if they have similarities." He begins and you just wish he would speak soon who your partner is at once. "Usually we don't put new members together, but with the release of one of our members, the number ended up getting odd." He explains. "Anyway, I'm sure you and Mrs. Maximoff will get along very well together."

You frowned slightly at the whole explanation. Then you looked around the group, and realized that this Maximoff woman was the late redhead from the previous session who looked at you curiously. You looked away from her to Stephen.

"Thank you, doc." You said with a slight irony and Stephen just nodded smiling.

"Partners are grieving companions ladies." He says. "We will assess your progress at each session, and then switch partners once the necessary improvement has been achieved."

You grumbled in understanding, and looked away to your lap. When Stephen began to ask about the stories, your mind wandered to the departure time.

And when the session was over you wished you could go to sleep. But Stephen made a slight movement of his head in Maximoff's direction, and you understood that you should talk to her.

Ignoring the urge to show Stephen the middle finger, you just sighed as you got up from your chair and lazily walked over to the woman at the exit. She was talking to a man, and you were even more anxious to address not one, but two strangers.

"Hi." You greeted awkwardly, and both of them turned to you with mild curiosity. 

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Said the man with a smile as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bucky. James Barnes actually, but everyone calls me Bucky." He said and you shook his hand, smiling awkwardly. Then he quickly pointed at the woman.  "And this is Wanda Maximoff, your grief partner."

"Hi." Wanda said shyly as she offered her hand to greet you. You accepted as clumsily as she did.

"Sorry, I don't know how this works." You say. "Should we exchange numbers or something? Or is that just a therapy thing?"

Bucky gives a little chuckle.

"Oh believe me, they'll know if you're not making it work." He counters. "My first partner was Sam Wilson and we wanted to jump on each other's necks whenever we saw each other. And then Stephen asked us to move in together." He says and you blink in surprise. "We're married now, but that's not the point. I guess I'm getting off topic..."

"Bucky." Wanda interrupts with a smile, and he smiles half-heartedly as well. You frown, annoyed by Bucky's story. You didn't want to marry anyone. "I guess we'll make it work, I hope you don't mind having the company of two tiny restless creatures on our walks."

You look at her with confusion and then you understand, smiling shyly.

"No, it's okay." You say. "I like children."

"Really?" She asks in surprise.

You nod slightly. "Unlike adults, they tell the truth."

Wanda seemed to be thoughtful, but then Bucky lets out an exclamation.

"As group guide, I have to pass the to-do list to you ladies." He says pulling a small notebook from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Wanda. "Partners need to develop these habits of socializing and coping with grief together. And yes, there is a test."

You sigh impatiently, tucking a loose string behind your ear. 

"That sounds fun." You mock lightly making them smile. 

"Anyway, good luck to you two." He says tenderly. "And Wanda, call me if you need help with Tommy. I know a good therapist."

You frown slightly, not understanding what he is referring to, but you prefer to stay out of matters that are none of your business. And then Bucky kisses Wanda on the cheek in farewell and waves to you smiling before leaving. You switch foot weights when you are alone with Wanda. Talking to other people is not exactly your strong suit these past few months.

"So..." You start clumsily when she turns to you. 

"So." She repeats equally embarrassed. You then clear your throat and rush to pull your cell phone out of your pocket and hand it to her.

"Give me your number." You say. "That way we can arrange...whatever this is." 

Wanda smiles weakly as she accepts the device, and you ignore the curious look when she notices the cracks in the screen. A moment later she hands the cell phone back to you.

"I gotta go." She says. "I need to pick up my kids from school."

You nod slightly and force a smile to say goodbye, and Wanda copies your movement before leaving.

You stare at your cell phone next, noticing the slight anxiety in your stomach as you read the contact "Wanda Maximoff" on the screen.

//-//

By the weekend, you are miserable. Just like the first few months.

You spilled some tea under your bed, and when you went to clean it up, you ended up taking the objects that were lying there. And then you found a crumpled piece of paper.

It was your farewell speech. The words you wrote down to speak on the day of the funeral. The paper you pulled out of your pocket when you got home from the ceremony and probably fell under the bed when you collapsed on the floor from crying so hard.

Suddenly your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. But you didn't want your mother to worry, so you concentrated on remembering the exercises your therapist had taught you.

And when the room started to get too small, you left.

But because it was cold and rainy, you had just taken a hot shower and had decided to brew tea before you finished putting on a sweater, you had bent down to pick up your socks, and the liquid fell on the floor. 

You went outside without your shoes, and your mother let out a worried exclamation when she saw you standing outside, staring at nothing.

"Honey?" She asked walking out the door after seeing you through the kitchen window. "Honey, what is it?"

You didn't answer. Your face was wet. Your mother's hands wrapped around your shoulders, and she gently pushed you inside, worried that you would end up getting hypothermia.

"I'm fine." You gasped as she led you inside, but she just shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, honey." She retorted making you frown. "You're not."

"Mom."

"Sit down." 

And then there were blankets around you, and socks on your feet. And your mother was in the kitchen, on the phone, but everything seemed stuffy. You began to be absent again. Thousands of memories flashing through your eyes.

An image of yourself on that living room floor, laughing while your girlfriend had her arms wrapped around you. Your mother was pouring a glass of wine for each of you, and you were happy to tell her about your engagement.

Then an image of you running across the room, trying to dodge the tickles your father tickled you while you laughed.

Then a puppy in your hands on the floor. You looked at it fondly, laughing at how cute it looked. 

Looking down, you saw a hand on your thigh. It was your wife's, the ring on her finger. She smiled at you. You were happy because that was the day you told your mother about the house purchase.

You gasped slightly when you felt someone's hand on your shoulder suddenly.

"I need you to tell me three things you can see." It was Agatha. God, you should have been out of reaction long enough for her to get here. Wiping away your tears, you took a deep breath, trying to reason straight.

"I... I..." You started, but your brain didn't seem to obey you. You took another deep breath. You could see the carpet, so you told her so.

"Two more." Agatha asked tenderly, her hand caressing your back from top to bottom. 

"The... table." You replied crying. "I can see the table."

"That's right, honey." She said. "Just one more now. Tell me what else?"

"My feet." You add breathlessly. "I can see my feet."

"Now breathe with me, okay?" She asks. "Like I taught you."

The exercises help you to calm down again. You apologize for scaring your mother, and for making Agatha drive to your house, but neither of them is upset with you. You feel exhausted, but the doctor wants to talk to you after she accepts the cup of coffee your mother offers her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She asks as you sit on the covered porch, fluffy pillows around you.

You lower your gaze to the floor, sniffling lightly.

"I found my grief speech." You count. "Under my bed. The next minute I was outside."

Agatha sighs.

"You ready to talk about the accident."

You raise your eyes quickly, frowning, because it wasn't a question.

"W-what?"

She takes a deep breath, crossing her legs.

"It's suffocating you." She clarifies. "You need to talk or these attacks will happen again."

"I-I don't..."

"It won't be today." She interrupts with a tender smile. "Tonight you need to sleep. But we won't prolong this any longer. You need to talk about it, even if it’s only to scream."

Clenching your jaw, you hold back your tears as Agatha takes one last look at you before getting up. She murmurs that she will see you on Monday, but you don't look at her.

//-//

You don't sleep well on Sunday. And it's definitely because you can't stop thinking about your appointment.

And it goes well for the first twenty minutes. Agatha doesn't pressure you, and agrees to hear about your week, without mentioning the incident on Thursday.

There is a pause after you have told her about the dog barking noise in the early morning and then you know it is time to speak up.

"I was driving." You say softly suddenly, ignoring the feeling that your throat wants to close up. Agatha has her hands folded in her lap as she listens to you. "She...she was sleeping in the passenger seat." You swallow dryly, trying to count and not get caught up in the memory again, your heart racing. Talking is almost like going back there. "I looked at her for a moment and I got distracted... and then... we just..."

You only realize that you are crying because tears fall on your hand. You blink, sniffling. Taking a deep breath, you continue.

"We fell into the water, and Nat...she just...I couldn't get her belt off." You gasp breathlessly. "The water just...kept coming up around us. And she looked at me, and... she just shook her head like she knew what was going to happen." You tell between sobs. Agatha's eyes water, but she doesn't interrupt. "I just...she pushed me. She pushed my hands away and she told me she would follow me. And god... my dumb brain believed her!" You confess angrily. "She told me she was right behind me! And I swam out and when I came up she wasn't with me."

You shut up, not being able to tell anymore through the sobs. You can't even see the office clearly because of the tears.

It takes a moment for you to speak again, your head down.

"When I swam back, the car was completely covered with water everywhere" You recount. "I...I was going to dive again.... I wanted to get her out of there. But the people who saw the accident jumped in after us. And they pulled me out of the water. And I kept thinking that if I hadn't been distracted, she...she would be...."

"No." Agatha interrupts by offering you a tissue. "Natasha had a stomach injury, don't you remember?" She counters and you gasp, the words echoing in your brain. "That's why you couldn't remove the belt."

And then you were remembering clearly now.

Soft music echoed in the car as you hummed the tune and drove to your friends' house. Your wife mumbled softly beside you, making you smile as you watched the sleeping figure. The red hair in front of her face.

"Hey sleepyhead." You called softly, looking away from the track for a moment. "We're almost there."

Nat muttered in agreement. You bit your lip, thinking she looked beautiful. And then you heard a noise, and a white light in the window. You barely had time to frown when the impact threw your car off the road.

Your body tensed immediately as you sat up, looking around with desperation. The car was sinking fast and you turned to Nat.

A wound on her forehead was bleeding, and she was clearly disoriented as you touched her hands. You hurried to unbuckle her belt, but it was jammed tightly in her waist, and you gasped in shock at the wound.

"N-no." You grumbled, trying to move the metal, but Nat gasped in pain, pushing your hands away. You could barely breathe in desperation. Your feet were freezing, because the water was already at your ankles. "Babe, move please. We have to get out."

Nat advanced toward you, taking off your belt. You tried to touch her, but she pushed your hands away again, intending to guide you out.

" Sweetheart, go! Open the door! " she commanded and you shook your head, the water on your knees. Nat forced a smile, the tears in her eyes made your stomach turn. "Don't worry love. I'm right behind you."

As you opened the door, the water moved all the way into the car, and you held your breath Nat repeated the words "I'm right behind you" one more time. And then you swam out.

When you reached the surface, you were alone.

Sobbing, you couldn't say anything else to Agatha, and she proceeded to stroke your back, trying to soothe you with words of affirmation.

"I need you to remember some things honey." She says tenderly. "You couldn't have helped Natasha. She got stuck. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened." Agatha whispers to you, and you sob. "Remember the investigation, okay? The police said that the driver of the truck was drunk and hit your car after he fell asleep. It wasn't your fault." Agatha says trying to remind you. You gasp, countless memories flooding your head at once. "Say that for me, will you?" She asks and you gasp. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

You sob, burying your face in your hands. It takes a moment, but you repeat the words.

"It wasn't my fault." You whisper breathlessly. "It...it wasn't my fault."

When you leave therapy that day, you feel different.

You think that it is the healing process that is beginning to work. You still have a long way to go, but you have the feeling that a weight has been lifted off your back, because you have started to believe your own words. You could not have saved Natasha.

There is still a deep sadness in you, but you still buy your favorite drink on the way home, and try to stay in the living room for a few hours before going to your room when you are inside.

[hikarimiyanaga]

Loving You (Part 5)

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

Because exams make me stressed. But I did get through some of them. And I think I only have one more to go! So here comes an update!

Warning : Omegaverse. Beta!Reader x Omega!Wanda Maximoff. Curse Words. Mentions of Bullying. Indication of Self-Harm.

Also, just tell me if I need to add more warnings so I can edit as quickly as I can.

Taglist : @mitchiesdungeon / @upsidedowndanvers / @trikruismybitch / @fayhar / @madamevirgo

-

Monday comes and you stretch your body. You were spent yesterday. There was an emergency at the firm, so your Mom and your sisters had to be there. So you spent half of the day cleaning the house with your Ma but then she also had to go because the emergency got bigger so you had to go do all the cleaning and chores by yourself. You also didn’t get to talk to Wanda because your phone was inside your room all day. The morning was a blur and you snap out of your daze when someone talks to you.

“Did I do something wrong?” Wanda asks before you could even go to your locker. You furrow your eyebrows and shake your head.

“What? No.”

“Then why didn’t you talk with me yesterday?” You yawn.

“Do I have to?” Wanda gets taken aback as you push past her. She looks shocked at your question. She thought that things were going well? Did she really do something wrong? She clutches her chest as she goes to her first class. Pietro pushes you away from your locker and you let him. It was like the old times where people just shove you or push you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you an idiot?” You don’t answer. You just get your book and close your locker. “Y/LN!” He grabs your arm and you have had enough.

You haven’t had enough sleep.

Your body hurts like someone just smashed it with a sledgehammer.

People are suddenly talking to you.

Your own family doesn’t trust you.

Janine just tried to bully you again last week. You had a nightmare about all the things she had done last year.

You got mad so suddenly because people think you’re trying something when you just want a quiet life.

You’re falling faster and you can’t risk it if Wanda is not your soulmate because you knew that if you do fall then that’s it. A one-time deal that you had no say in.

You dread every day that you get older because it’s just a step away in proving to everyone that you won’t get accepted to colleges.

You’re a Beta who doesn’t deserve to live.

Tears fall and you take a deep breath. Pietro lets go and you thank the stars. You don’t need anyone trying something with you today. You were silent as you wipe your tears away while going to your class.

-

“Y/LN.” Natasha calls out during lunch and you sigh. You were inside the library and people still somehow found you. You look up to her and sigh as you pack up your things and get your bag. She drags you outside and you just let her. Will this be the day that the Avengers would finally bully you? You just hope they don’t drag along Wanda… damn it. It’s your fault again. Your stomach falls as Natasha drags you to the cafeteria. Will they publicly humiliate you?

“Natasha! What are you-“ Natasha stops as you both get to their table.

“Explain.” You stop as Wanda hides behind Pietro.

“What?”

“Why are you suddenly being a dick?” Angel holds out her hand for them to stop.

“Why are you wearing a jacket?” You pull down your sleeves to hide your wrists and both Wanda and Angel lunge at you, you try to push them away but Natasha tackles you down. She holds you down as Wanda and Angel look at your wrists. They let go as they gasp. You stop resisting and sigh. Natasha checks and glares at you.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” She shouts at you and you don’t even flinch. You look at her with blank eyes and she gulps. What the hell happened?

“Get off me.” You mumble and Natasha complies. You get your bag and get the letter that you received yesterday. “Here.” You hold it out to Wanda and she shakily gets it. You stand and try to leave but Angel stops you. Wanda opens it and cries as she reads. She hugs you and gives Angel the letter. You don’t hug her back.

“What the hell!? Who the fuck sent this!?” Angel shouts and Natasha snatches the letter out of her hand. “You fucking assholes!” Pietro holds Angel back as the Avengers read the letter. Their faces get angrier by the second.

“Who the fuc-“

“Does it matter?” Wanda pulls away and you snatch the letter up. “It’s the truth anyways. Hope you had-“ Angel slaps you and you scoff. “Is that-“ Pietro grabs your collar. He snarls at you.

“This isn’t the truth! For fuck’s sake!”

“It is.” You mumble and Wanda grabs your hand. She drags you to the courtyard and pushes you on the bench that you two always hung out on. She straddles you and you immediately feel calm. She whispers comforting words and you can’t help but hug her. You realize your actions while in daze and you can’t help but cry. You whisper your apologies over and over but Wanda just keep shushing you and rubbing your back.

-

You groan as the school bell rings. You went to the nurse and got your wrists bandaged up. You’ve been out of it and only went to classes like a drone.

“You okay?” You nod at Angel and get your things into your bag. It’s a good thing that your hand just wrote notes automatically since you knew that nothing got inside your head. “Let’s start tomorrow, okay? Rest up.”

“Thanks.” You mumble as you get out of your last class. You realize that two people were waiting for you and Angel.

“Hey, babe.” Angel greets and Natasha smiles as they hold hands. They kiss and Angel turns to you. “Bye, Y/N, Wanda.”

“Bye.” You both say and wave at them as they leave. You sigh as you face her.

“Wanda. I’m really sorr-“ She hugs you and you hug her back.

“Don’t be. Just.” She pulls away and flicks your forehead. “Tell me next time.”

“About?”

“The letter and the thoughts.” You nod and sigh. You both walk outside.

“It’s just.” You sigh as you run a hand along your hair. “My thoughts got out of hand and there was just no one else in the house.” You clench your fists. “They spiraled before I noticed.” Wanda holds your hand and you calm down.

“That’s why tell me. I’ll run to you if you ever have them.”

“Why?” She smiles and pulls you closer to her.

“Because I meant what I said. I don’t think I could live without you.” You kiss her and she kisses you back.

“Aren’t we moving too fast? We just met a month ago.” She chuckles and pulls away.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.” She intertwines her hand to yours. “This feels right. You feel right.” You smile at her words.

“I love you.” Wanda’s heart beat faster and you smirk as she blushes. “I love how your hand fits with mine. How your scent calms me down. How kissing you feels like I’m on cloud nine.”

“Sweet talker.” She kisses you.

“No. Just being honest.”

-

You go to school next day with your bandaged wrists exposed and you feel everyone stare at them. You go to Wanda’s locker.

“Hey.” She smiles at you and closes her locker. She takes your hand and you kiss her.

“You’re not covering them.” You hum as you both go to your locker.

“Mom and Ma got angry which is why I’m going to Therapy later. Sorry I can’t meet with you.” She shakes her head as you take your books.

“Your emotional health takes priority.” You pout as you close your locker.

“But you’re my cure.” She pushes you away and you chuckle.

“Shut up.” She mumbles as you take her hand.

“Y/N? No jacket?” Angel asks as she, Natasha, Steve, Bucky and Pietro approach you two.

“Nope.” You show them your wrist and shrugs. “Why bother?” Angel smiles. “By the way, can we start on Thursday for the project? I have a session today and a date tomorrow.”

“Oh? So it’s official now? You two are dating?”

“Oh. They are if they’re not then I’m going to beat up Y/N.” You chuckle as Wanda rolls her eyes.

“You’re only older by twelve minutes, Pietro, don’t push it.”

“Older is older, Wanda.” You laugh as you all get to class.

-

Lunch comes and Wanda picks you up from your classroom. You both go to the cafeteria.

“Finally eating like normal people?” Angel asks as you and Wanda sit on their table.

“We do eat.”

“Sandwiches and juice. The cafeteria offers much more.” You shrug as you eat.

“Convenient is convenient.” Angel shakes her head at you.

“Y/LN.” Tony calls out and you look at him.

“What’s up?”

“Sorry for being sexist assholes.” You stop and so does everyone else around you. They wait with bated breath. “We judged before we even knew you.” You smile at him and before you could even reply, Natasha says something first.

“Sorry for getting jealous. I don’t like it when anyone else asks for Angel’s number.” You chuckle and nod.

“Thank you for apologizing.” Tony holds out his hand and you accept it.

-

“Y/N!” Alsie calls out from her car and you turn to Wanda.

“That’s my ride. See you tomorrow?” She nods and you kiss her.

“I love you.” You grin.

“I love you too.”

-

“So what do you think was the cause?”

“Two phrases. It was ‘always your fault’… and-“ You mumble the last part and your therapist, Dr. Martin lean towards you.

“Y/N. Speak up, I’m af-“ You cut her off.

“Wanda is just pretending.”

“And you believed it?” You laugh.

“Yes. That’s why I was in a daze. I believed every line and every word.”

“Why is that?” You sigh.

“I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Everything that was happening.” You take a deep breath. “People were being nice to me. My sisters suddenly visited. My mom and ma started getting interested in my life… I guess everything was changing and I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Or rather you were afraid of it.”

“Yes.”

“I know changes are a scary thing but they are inevitable. You have all these happenings, what do you think is the root of them?”

“Wanda.”

“Who?”

“Well, she’s-“ You take a deep breath. “I think I’m falling for her.”

“Think?” You shake your head.

“I already am.” Linda smiles and you sigh. “I just- I think it’s too fast. Everything that’s happening.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m just a Beta! I don’t deserve-“

“And that’s why you’re so afraid. You’re second gender.” You nod.

“It’s the reason why I got bullied. Why teachers are ignoring me. Why people avoid me.”

“Why you also got disconnected with your own family.”

“Yes. I believed that I deserved everything because of something that I cannot control.”

“It’s good that you do remember our past sessions.” You chuckle.

“Things are changing and I have to accept them for what they are.”

“Yes. And you’re second gender?”

“Is something I did not choose nor should be ashamed of.”

-

“How’d it go?” Alsie asks as you stretch your body after leaving Dr. Martin’s office.

“Good.” Alsie nods then stands.

“Where’s the letter?”

“Why? What do you need it for?”

“Things.”

“You’re going to find who wrote it, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You comply and give her the letter.

“Tell me who it is before you destroy their life, will you?”

“Why?”

“I might want to get in a punch or two.” Alsie grins and nods. You both get out and go home.

-

You go to school the next day and stretch as you walk down the hallways. You see Wanda and smile as you approach her.

“Hey, gorgeous, good morning.” “Morning.” She yawns and you take her hand.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just tired.” Pietro chuckles as he approaches you two. “Mom made her clean our garage all night.” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Why?”

“She was caught sneaking out.”

“For what?”

“You. I wanted to see you.” You grin and kiss her.

“You could’ve just video call me.” She pouts.

“That’s not the same.” You laugh.

“I guess not.”

-

You hum as you sit on the bench. You just finished your date with Wanda and you were both on a stroll around the park. Wanda straddles you. You hug her and she hums.

“Don’t you have curfew today?” She frowns at you.

“Do you want me to leave?” You shake your head.

“Of course not, but I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to be a bad influence.” You kiss her. “When I meet your parents, I want them to know my intentions with you.”

“What intentions?” You hum.

“That’s for them to know and for you to find out.” She pouts and you chuckle.

-

You yawn as you and Angel hover your laptop. You were at the cafeteria with the Avengers. You’ve brought your laptop for the day so you two could start the project. Both Wanda and Natasha are fuming with your and Angel’s closeness but you just ignore them. This project costs about quarter of your grade in an AP class. Both you and Angel love them. Really. But priorities need to be put first.

“You two are serious about that project, huh?”

“Quarter of overall grade.” “AP Class.” You both answer and Natasha sighs. Wanda holds your hand and you look at her.

“What’s up?” She shakes her head and you give her a small smile.

“Just wanted to.” You chuckle and kiss her hand. You spend the whole lunch holding her hand whilst paying attention to Angel and making plans for the project. “Y/N.” She calls out and you look at her. She was holding up your meal’s spoon with food on it. “You need to eat.” You sigh and nod. You accept the food and hum. She smiles as you finish it. You kiss her cheek and get back to Angel. She eats her own food as she makes random patterns on your palm.

-

You groan as you and Angel spend your last class, just researching for the project.

“Miss Wanda that much?” You glare at her and she snickers.

“Shut up.” You grumble and focus on your research.

-

“That was good.” You hum as you pack up your things and laptop.

“We’re already halfway done.” You both get out and both Natasha and Wanda were waiting for you two. And you flinch as Natasha approaches you.

“Y/LN. Here.” She gives you a book and you look at it.

“Wha-“

“An apology for the last time. I got jealous and was immature. I should’ve trusted you and Angel more.” You sigh.

“You should.” You cross your arms. “She’s your soulmate, woman.” She groans.

“I know. My instinct just told me that you were a threat.”

“Why? I’m only a Beta.” Wanda hits you softly and you smile at her. “Besides.” You take Wanda’s hand and kiss it. “I only have eyes for her.”

“Okay. We get it.” Angel gets Natasha’s hand. “You two are running for the cutest couple.”

“I’m pretty sure you two won that last year.”

“Well now, we have serious competition.” Angel smiles and she holds up her hand. You slap it with yours. You both laugh. “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you too, Gel!” She and Natasha waves at you and Wanda before leaving. Wanda holds in her laughter and you turn to her.

“Gel?” You scoff at her as you two walk together.

“It’s a nickname!”

-

“What’s that?” You hum and raise an eyebrow at Alsie. It was already Saturday before you knew it and you had a date with Wanda tomorrow since she was busy today. “New book? That’s not your usual genre.”

“You mean her usual documentary, mystery or thriller?” You glare at Valerie who smirks. You sigh as you keep reading.

“Someone gave it to me.” Your two sisters look at each other and they both hum.

“Wanda?” You shake your head and they get taken aback. You had more friends?

“Then who?”

“Romanoff.”

“Natasha? You’re friends with Natasha Romanoff.” You nod and they gasp. You close your book and glare at them.

“WHAT?” They get up in front of your face and you shield yourself with the book. They barrage you with questions and your eye kept twitching as you get more annoyed. The hell is wrong with them? “Stop!” They both back off as you glare at them. “What’s with you two?”

“You know her parents?” You raise an eyebrow as you nod.

“They just switched to our firm last week.” Oh.

“The emergency?” They nod. Alsie gets up and Valerie nods at her.

“They were the reason why we were all needed there.”

“Even Ma?”

“Ma was there to calm the employees down.”

“Ah.” Alsie comes back and holds out a brown folder to you. It says Romanoff Airlines on the side and you take it. “This is?”

“Open it and read it.” You nod and Alsie turns on the TV.

Romanoff Airlines. Opened in 1956 and has been one of the Pioneer Airlines in both Europe and America. This is because of their partnership with Stark Industries who provide the latest technology to Air Transportation through them.

Current Owners: Melina Vostokoff and Alexei Shostakov. Both are Russians and ex-spouses. Although they are divorced, they still live together with their two children.

Heirs: Natasha Romanoff and Yelena Belova. Both are adopted and have decided to take their biological parents’ surnames but are still living in America and with their adoptive parents.

Natasha Romanoff. Currently attending high school. Can speak many languages (Exact number was not extracted), is friends with Tony Stark, Vision Stark and many others. Is a helper of martial arts clubs. Martial Arts Expert. Is a gifted student, passing all of her classes with flying colors. Decided not to take any AP Classes because it was ‘time consuming’.

Yelena Belova. Currently attending middle school. Can speak many languages. Martial Arts Expert. Gymnast. Gold Medalist.

You read everything before closing it.

“You okay?”

“Why switch to our firm?”

“Apparently because their previous firm was shady and we were recommended by Natasha.”

“Did you ask her why?”

“Yep. She just said that we know why.” Their words click inside your head and you look shocked.

“Me?”

“Most likely.”

“Huh.” You give the folder back to Alsie and hum.

“You good?”

“Yep.” You say as you open your book and continue reading.

A/N:

Because Angst makes me feel things.

I don't think I would ever write a series without an ounce of angst.

Thank you for Reading!

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Booster

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Han and Fem!Reader x Bang Chan

Warnings: language, explicit smut, cheating, indecent affairs, very rich Bang Chan who can be exceedingly arrogant, mentions of alcohol and smoking; aged up characters (especially Chan)

Word Count: 11K

Genre: Marriage AU; Romance AU; Indecent Proposal AU

Summary: You love your husband more than anything else in the world, but the two of you have been arguing lately about your struggling financial situation. Things seem bleak until one night when your husband’s new boss makes you both an offer that you can’t afford to refuse.

A/N: If you’ve seen the movie “Indecent Proposal,” then you know how this goes, but I put my own little spin on the classic! Please enjoy!!

“Are you happy, Y/N?”

It was a deceiving question, basic in its premise and expectation, but you couldn’t help but falter at the unexpected doubt coloring your vision.

“I guess,” you said.

But why shouldn’t you be? You were in your prime, employed as a freelance writer, and married to your high school sweetheart,

Oh, wait...How could you forget?

You were also preparing to turn thirty-years-old in less than a week, your job wasn’t delivering stable work, and you and your husband had been arguing about the single-digit amount of savings in your join account since last year.

“That’s good to hear,” your therapist said, and you nodded even though it felt misplaced.

You both knew that it was bullshit, but since this was the last session you could afford together, your therapist was clearly trying to use up the rest of your time to her advantage. Maybe it was for the best since you hated seeing her face every Sunday afternoon. 

“Jisung and I are going to Vegas with his company,” you said, startling yourself with the unexpected confession.

“That’s interesting,” your therapist said, leaving the “considering how bad off the two of you are” to fill the empty silence. “I hope you have fun. Take some time to reconnect with him.”

Because surely she had heard enough of you complaining about how your husband could turn into the world’s biggest asshole sometimes when things weren’t going his way. Or when the easy parts of your personal life were feeling far too stressful to be considered healthy. “It’s nice to get away,” you decided to say in place of anything less amiable.

“Feel free to reach out if you ever need me,” your therapist continued, offering you her business card.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it from her with a sigh. “I guess that’s it then.”

“For now,” your therapist agreed, and you left the sterile-white building feeling more burdened than when you had arrived.

It was late when you got home, and you were even more exhausted than usual, laying next to Jisung in bed as soon as you had changed into comfortable night clothes.

“Do you want to fuck?” Jisung asked later on, taking off his reading glasses to look over at you as you concentrated hard on balancing next month’s budget, including all the money you had put aside for Jisung’s company retreat.

“Not right now,” you said.

“Whatever,” Jisung grumbled, and you ignored the pain in your heart as he turned around to face away from you, turning off his lamp to bathe half of the room in darkness.

“This is too important,” you tried to argue, but Jisung wasn’t listening, and it didn’t take long for him to start snoring.

But he never understood.

“Asshole,” you whispered, gathering your things to settle down in the living room instead. Where you continued working through the night, eyes glossing over from focusing on the numbers for too long, and you were drained the next morning, barely even comprehending Jisung leaving the house for work until you heard the car’s ignition from outside.

It was somewhat of a routine at this point, and you could feel the strain in your marriage, the distance between you and Jisung increasing the longer things continued to grow worse.

Your therapist would tell you to talk things out with him, but you really didn’t feel like arguing with your husband anymore. Instead, you pushed him out of your head and slept for a few more hours before getting up to start your freelance projects. It wasn’t anything difficult, and you finished most of the work by noon, leaving you to clean the house and wait by the phone in case a potential client called you with an assignment.

But the problem was the phone never rang, and you were hardly getting any work to support your shared household income.

It was a frequent point of contention, and Jisung had been begging you to take on a full-time position for months.

Maybe you should. 

Maybe it would make him happier.

But why did it feel like his happiness was always prioritized over your own?

Damn, you were starting to sound just like your former therapist.

“I made dinner,” you told him when he got home that evening, and even though it was obvious that he was wore-out, Jisung met you in the kitchen with a forced smile.

“It smells good,” he said, and there was a longing in his eyes, one that you also shared but could never fulfill.

And no amount of sex ever made it any better, but that sure as hell didn’t stop the two of you from trying to use it as an excuse to pretend that the problem didn’t exist elsewhere. “Shit, Sungie,” you gasped, nails digging into the smooth skin of his back as he fucked you on top of the counter, legs spread wide around his waist as he pummeled his hips into yours.

“Yes!” Jisung moaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head as your tight walls constricted around his length - pure, velvet warmth. “God, you’re perfect.”

“Harder!” you cried, trying to meet each of his thrusts, but finding it impossible to touch his animalistic pace, brutally stretching your pussy around him. The good kind of stretch that left you gaping long after you both came, lingering throughout the night and well into the morning as you limped around the house.

It ached and hurt, persistent and demanding, but there was always a desire for more, even when it was impossible to fulfill those empty places. But that didn’t stop you from trying, winding your fingers through Jisung’s hair to pull him closer, smashing your mouths together for a brutal kiss that only served to stoke the flames of passion sparking between the two of you. Something hot and raunchy, delicious in the exchanges of precious oxygen and the thin cord of saliva that remained when Jisung pulled back to look at you. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, parting your thighs around his hips as he studied the place where he was driving his cock between the delicate folds of your swollen labia. “Look at how well you take me.”

“Please,” you whimpered, unsure as to what you wanted from him, but it was always too much and never enough. 

“I want you to come first,” Jisung said, sucking the pad of his thumb into his mouth before bringing it down against your clit. 

“Oh!” you gasped because the secondary stimulation was proving to be the necessary catalyst to unwind you from the inside, and you could feel your orgasm growing stronger by the second. 

“That’s it, baby,” Jisung groaned, throwing back his head as he worked on moving his hips faster, thrusting his erection with as much power as he could manage while focusing on digging harsh circles against the tight little bud between your legs.

“Coming!” you cried, closing your eyes against the first wave of pleasure, moaning when Jisung lifted your legs higher around his waist, slamming his cock between your pulsating walls. 

It was a divine high, the kind that left a deep impression, riding the euphoria of your orgasm until you could feel your heart practically vibrating against your chest, leaving you breathless and throbbing in the place where Jisung continued to grind his cock. “I’m close,” he said, grunting as his hips stuttered in place, and you watched him fall over you as a familiar warmth escaped from where his cock was softening.

“S’ good,” you managed around a deep breath, trying to bring yourself back to Earth.

“You’re always so good for me,” Jisung said, eyes glossy with lust as he parted your lips around his fingers.

You puckered your lips, sucking hard and leaving him groaning. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“I know, Y/N, and I love you,” Jisung said, holding himself up while panting over you, eyes dark and devoted.

“I love you too,” you replied on instinct, keeping him close while the two of you basked in the afterglow of your passionate lovemaking.

One Week Later

It was raining at the airport, but you were in a good mood while following Jisung through the crowded terminal. “Are you excited?” he asked you once you stood in line to board the plane.

“Of course,” you replied, accepting his gentle kiss before he held out your tickets for the flight attendant.

But why shouldn’t you be? You had never been to Vegas before, and you were beyond excited for the trip, even if it had been painful to budget with your lousy combined incomes. 

“I’m gonna treat you so good, baby,” Jisung whispered to you on the plane, finalizing his promise with another heart-stopping kiss.

“I love you,” you said, smiling when you heard the words in return.

It was always a promise that you could both keep, no matter how hard things got in your lives, and you could always rely on Jisung even when your own mind turned against you. Sure, it would be nice to have more financial stability, but the two of you would eventually achieve that goal, just as long as you kept working hard.

The idea of being happy all the time seemed impossible, and you were grateful for what you had, holding tightly to Jisung’s hand as he hailed down a taxi cab to take you to your hotel upon your arrival in Vegas.

“A couple’s retreat?” the driver asked when you were both settled inside.

“Something like that,” Jisung agreed, and it was half-way true, even if Jisung’s company was the main reason you were both enjoying the unfamiliar sights of the Vegas strip - blinding lights, crowded streets, and loud music. Everything was organized chaos, and you could see why so many people loved it.

“It’s beautiful,” you said to Jisung when your taxi cab arrived at your hotel.

“What do you want to do first?” Jisung asked, taking both of your suitcases as you led the way to check-in.

“Do you have to meet with your co-workers?” you asked, reminding yourself that this trip had a larger reason behind it.

“Not until the morning,” Jisung laughed, and he signed the copy of the room notice before dragging you to the elevators. “It’s you and me tonight, baby. Wanna check out the poker tables?”

You rolled your eyes because you both knew that Jisung had no idea how to play cards. “Looking around sounds nice.”

“Whatever you want,” Jisung promised, and after your things were settled in your lavish suite, he made good on escorting you around the impressive gambling floor - nothing but slot machines with bright color sequences and a vast expanse of tables with every kind of game you could want. 

It was almost too much to look at, and you were grateful to focus on one thing when Jisung paused next to the craps table. “Do you want to try?” you asked, smirking at the curious look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before exchanging a twenty for some chips. “I’ll put it all on Pass.”

“Pass!” the dealer said, dragging Jisung’s chips closer. “Your roll.”

Jisung grabbed the dice from the table, bringing them closer to you with a smirk. “Kiss for good luck?”

You rolled your eyes, but entertained his request, brushing your lips against his knuckles before pulling back and watching him flick his wrist as the dice bounced across the table. “Seven!” the dealer announced, and you and Jisung were both surprised to win, watching as two piles of chips were pushed in your direction. 

“Holy shit!” you gasped, and Jisung nodded his agreement, taking all the chips before bidding the dealer a good night. “Did you see that?” you asked, unable to stop yourself from giggling as Jisung pocketed the chips. 

“I guess I have enough to treat you to a drink,” he said, and you followed him to the bar where he ordered you both something strong.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” you asked him, feeling far more jubilant than before as you downed most of the contents, wincing at the sting.

“You need to loosen up,” Jisung said. “I know you’ve been planning for the trip, so I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Cheers to that!” you said, tapping your glass against Jisung’s and enjoying the rest of your drink.

And for a while, you actually found yourself letting go of all the worries leading up to the vacation, drinking and laughing with your husband as you played on some of the slot machines and observed some of the more serious poker games. 

The alcohol sat pleasantly on your stomach, and you were losing yourself to the buzz dulling most of your anxieties. “Jisung,” you said at one point, leaning closer to him as you sat together outside by the pool. “You look really good tonight.”

Jisung smiled, bringing you in for a kiss that turned heated despite the people surrounding you. “Slow down, baby,” Jisung said, breaking your exchange and ignoring your pout.

“Let’s go to the room,” you said, lowering your tone as you trailed one finger down his toned arm.

“Maybe later,” Jisung said, but he dangled the key in front of you. “If you want, then you can go upstairs.”

“You don’t want to come?” you asked with a pout.

“I’ve been watching,” Jisung admitted with a shrug. “I know we’ve been having a lot of problems with money, but I think I can take what we brought and turn it into enough to end most of our debt.”

“Jisung,” you said, sobering up in an instant. “What if you lose?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, and you could tell that he had already made up his mind. “I know when to stop.”

“Okay,” you agreed, but it was a reluctant acquiescence because you wanted nothing more than to have him in your arms. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, baby,” Jisung said, and you frowned when he slid you his credit card. “Call room service and take care of yourself.”

“Sure,” you agreed, pocketing the card since you had no intention of using it. “Call me if you need anything.”

Jisung nodded, waving you off as he rose from his chair, and you watched with an overhanging sense of dread as he rejoined the crowded gambling room.

You waited for as long as you could, but midnight trickled by with no sign of your husband returning to the room.

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep from the excitement, and you only woke-up again the next morning when you attempted to reach out for Jisung in bed next to you, only to discover empty space.

“Sungie?” you said, filling the empty room with your voice.

But you could’ve sworn you had heard the door open at one point, so you dressed yourself and ventured out of the bedroom.

Your Vegas suite was fairly large, and the bedroom was connected to the main room by a narrow hallway with another room on the opposite end. Maybe Jisung had slept in the wrong room on accident?

It seemed plausible, until you heard the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen, and you quickly followed the noises to find your husband bent over the counter, head hanging low.

“Jisung, what’s wrong?” you asked, approaching your husband to soothe a hand down his back.

But you were completely unprepared for the way he began to lash out.

“I lost it, okay?” he snapped, jerking himself into an upright stance. “All the money we brought, I blew it on the slot machines.”

“Jisung-”

“Fuck, I can’t believe it!” Jisung shouted, interrupting your attempt to speak. “I was doing so well, and I didn’t even realize things were going bad until I almost used our bank card to pull out more money.”

You exhaled harshly, realizing that if Jisung had spent all of your money, then he also accessed some of your savings since you had brought extra cash in case of an emergency. “Oh my god.”

You stumbled back against the wall, holding your chest because you could feel the start of a panic attack taking root. But how else were you supposed to react to Jisung’s confession? He had spent all the money you would both need to pay rent and buy important necessities.

“This is so screwed up,” Jisung growled, rubbing a rough hand across his disheveled face. 

“That was everything,” you said, swallowing hard as your detail-oriented brain attempted to come up with an alternative, but you saw no light on the other end.

“Y/N,” Jisung said, and his voice was calmer as he looked at you. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could make things better.”

“But you made them worse,” you said, closing your eyes against an onslaught of tears, feeling as if your entire world was crashing down around you.

“Baby, no,” Jisung said, hurrying over to catch you before your body crumbled to the floor. “We’ll be okay, you know? I can always take out a loan.”

“To pay for the other loans?” you asked in a much harsher tone that you usually reserved for your husband.

“I promise I’ll make it better,” Jisung said, and he groaned when his phone started ringing. “It’s my boss again. He wanted to meet me in his room this morning.”

Jisung silenced the call, holding your face between his hands. “I promise nothing bad will happen to us, and maybe I can ask my boss for an advance on my next paycheck to help cover expenses.”

Your brain knew better than that, understanding that one paycheck wouldn’t cover those lost savings, but this was Jisung. Your sweet and kind husband, and you didn’t feel like arguing. “Okay,” you said, accepting the gentle kisses he pecked along your wet lashes.

“We’ll figure this out,” Jisung said. “But let’s not worry about it until we get back home. Can you put some clothes on for me, baby? I want you to come meet my boss with me.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding your head as you allowed Jisung to lead you both back into the bedroom.

“Everything will be fine,” Jisung said, and you allowed him to delude your mind even though nothing could be further from the truth.

Jisung’s boss was a powerful man named Mr. Bang, and his net-worth made Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk pale in comparison.

You were nervous to meet him, and it didn’t help that you were still upset from earlier.

“Deep breaths,” Jisung instructed you when he knocked on Mr. Bang’s door. “Don’t worry about anything.”

It was easy for him to say since everything was his fault, but you swallowed down your anger and pasted on your best smile when the door opened - revealing an older gentleman with dark brown hair and eyes, wrinkles edging some of the corners of his features, exposing the effects of age.

But he was still undeniably handsome, and his eyes took a long moment to gloss over you. “Mr. Han,” Mr. Bang said, finally looking away from you. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Of course, sir,” Jisung said, placing his hand on your lower back as you were both invited inside. “It’s been a rough morning.”

“Oh?” Mr. Bang questioned, following you both into the main room. “Why is that?”

You held your breath when Jisung hesitated. “Just some money stuff.”

“Ah,” Mr. Bang acknowledged. “It’s personal.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Jisung insisted, and Mr. Bang shrugged off his coat as he accepted the reassurance, reaching for a pack of cigars.

“Well, I’m excited to talk with you this morning. Would you both like to join me in the other room? I heard that Jisung enjoys playing pool.”

“Absolutely,” Jisung agreed with a smile - one that managed to disguise all the horrible realities that existed outside of this impeccable suite.

You took another deep breath, fixing a smile in place when Mr. Bang turned to look at you. “This must be your wife.”

“Y/N,” you said, holding out your hand for him, and trying not to feel disconcerted by the obvious interest in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he repeated, looking back ahead of himself as he brought you both into a far simpler room - sparsely furnished with the exception of the pool table in the middle of the area. “Do either of you mind if I smoke? It’s a bad habit.”

He chuckled at the end, waiting for your combined approval before lighting one of the cigars and bringing it to his lips.

“You’re welcome to go first,” Mr. Bang said, selecting one of the pool sticks against the wall. “I’d love to be informal with you.”

“That sounds great,” Jisung said, and you watched him bend over the table as he broke the balls at the center, sending them flying in all directions. “I was really honored to receive your invitation.”

“Were you?” Mr. Bang asked with a smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re a bit of an enigma around the office, Mr. Bang,” Jisung said, and his boss chuckled in response.

“Please, call me Chan,” he continued, taking his turn at the table after Jisung missed his shot, cigar dangling from his lips. “How are you both enjoying Vegas?”

“I think we’re having a lot of fun,” Jisung said, and the response irritated you a little as you cleared your throat, nose wrinkling as some of the cigar smoke reached you.

“It’s quite beautiful,” you said, and Chan found your eyes after landing his first shot.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “You know, Jisung, you talk about me being an enigma around the office. Why is that?”

You flinched at the sound of the balls smashing together, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you focused on your husband. “Well,” Jisung shrugged. “I think it’s because you have so much more than the rest of us. Not that it’s a bad thing.” 

“Really?” Chan asked, standing up straight as he shot you a knowing look. “You do have something that I don’t have.”

You found yourself blushing at the comment, and Jisung studied his boss with narrowed eyes. “I guess there’s a limit to what money can buy.”

“Not mine,” Chan said, putting out the cigar with a satisfied smirk. “I can afford anything.”

You didn’t like his attitude, finding yourself jumping into the conversation without being provoked. “Some things aren’t for sale,” you said, watching as Chan bent over the pool table once again.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Well, you can’t buy people,” you said, and he stood tall again with a sigh.

“That’s naïve of you, Y/N,” he said. “I buy people everyday.”

“I don’t mean in business,” you argued. “I meant something more like...when your emotions are involved.”

“So, you can’t buy someone’s love?” Chan questioned, and you didn’t like the way he was laughing. “Jisung, I hope you don’t feel the same way.”

“Of course,” Jisung said, shaking his head. “I agree with Y/N.”

“Really?” Chan smiled. “Then, maybe we should put that to the test.”

“What do you mean?” Jisung asked, and he exchanged a quick look with you - one filled with uncertainty.

“How much?” Mr. Bang asked.

“How much?” Jisung repeated, and he studied his boss with a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Bang chuckled, and you frowned at the obvious condescension. “I mean, how much for one night with your wife?”

“Oh...” Jisung trailed off, and the room quickly filled with silence - awkward and heavy.

“Why so tense?” Chan eventually asked, and you shook your head because he knew exactly why the two of you were suddenly less than enthusiastic.

“You can’t be serious,” Jisung eventually said, reaction surprisingly neutral.

“I’m completely serious,” Chan continued, never breaking a sweat as he continued to take his turn at the pool table. “I’ll give you $1,000,000 dollars,” Chan said. “That would be enough to keep you in a life of luxury.”

“Sir,” Jisung said, and you could tell that he was caught off-guard, trying to find the right words to prevent offense to his boss, but you didn’t have to extend the same courtesy.

“No,” you said, keeping your tone firm. “He would tell you to go to hell.”

“I didn’t hear that from him,” Chan said, and you fixed Jisung with the sternest glare you could manage.

“Yeah,” Jisung said. “I’d tell you to go to hell.”

Chan sighed, pocketing the coveted eight ball with a quick motion. “I guess that proves me wrong, then,” Chan said. “But I’ll at least say this: $1,000,000 dollars is a lifetime of security. Think about it, talk it over first, and then you can forget all about this conversation.”

It should’ve been over after that without any further consideration, but you were disappointed to see that Jisung was still distracted as you sat together in your room later that night - long after leaving Chan’s suite.

“You’re still thinking about it,” you said, drawing his attention.

“Of course not, baby,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing.

“Would you seriously be okay with me spending the night with some pompous billionaire? you huffed. “He would obviously want to fuck me.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame him,” Jisung tried to joke, but the situation was far too serious.

“Sungie...”

“Look, I get it, Y/N. Marriage is sacred, and I respect you for that, but we both can’t ignore how much this would change our lives! It’s a million fucking dollars.”

“He’s an old perv,” you growled. “Would you seriously sell me out?”

“That’s not what this is,” Jisung argued. “I’m not selling you out.”

“Sleeping with a stranger for a million dollars is selling me out,” you said. “I don’t even like him...”

“It’s fine,” Jisung interrupted. “It was just a made-up scenario, and I would never force you to do anything.”

“Good,” you said, turning on your side to switch off the lamp. “He can’t just expect that from someone. It’s crazy!”

“I know, baby,” Jisung whispered quietly to you, and you knew that you were both exhausted from the chaos of your day together.

Sleep was what you needed, but it wasn’t coming. 

Instead, you were loathe to admit that your mind had returned to that indecent proposal from Jisung’s boss, thinking about the last thing he said.

One lifetime of security.

You would never have to worry about money again...but what about your relationship? Would it suffer because of such an illicit affair?

You tossed and turned all night, feeling Jisung do the same thing.

Think about it.

God, that’s all you were doing, and when the sun was starting to rise again from the coverage of your blinds, you rolled over to look at Jisung, unsurprised to see him wide-awake. “If we do this,” you said, “it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“Of course not,” Jisung said. “It would still be the two of us against the rest of the world.”

You nodded, studying the gentle brown of Jisung’s eyes. The weight of such a consequential decision hung over both of your heads, and you sucked up every last ounce of pride you had when you came to a conclusion: “Call him,” you said, and Jisung’s eyes widened. “Tell him we’ll take the money.”

“Y/N, are you sure?” Jisung asked, and he was cautiously reaching out for his cellphone.

“I’m sure,” you said, although you didn’t feel as confident as you would like, turning onto your back to study the ceiling overhead.

The date and time were arranged for the following evening, and you could barely meet Chan’s gaze when he met you outside his suite.

“Just relax,” he whispered to you, inviting you outside onto the extended balcony attached to his penthouse where he proceeded to pour two glasses of champagne.

The cold air of the night hit you in the face like a firm slap, forcing you from the haze you had surrendered to when you first walked into the room. A wake-up call that this was happening, and the man next to you was not your husband.

You nearly drained your first glass of champagne, feeling the alcohol give you some much-needed courage. “Y/N,” Chan said, standing next to you in a suit that likely cost more than your and Jisung’s last paychecks combined. “I want to ask you what your expectations are of this evening.”

You shrugged, staring out over the bannister. “I thought we were just gonna fuck,” you replied, even if the words were a little crude.

Chan laughed at your comment. “Is that so?”

“I don’t see what’s funny,” you said. “You’re the one who has to buy women.”

“You think I have to buy women?” Chan asked. “Because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

You hesitated, sensing him growing closer. “Why me, then?”

“I bought you because you said you couldn’t be bought,” Chan replied, stepping closer to drop his hand on top of yours.

“I can’t be bought,” you argued, even though everything leading up to this moment was proving the contrary.

“Really?” he asked, and you begrudgingly shook your head.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“You might enjoy yourself,” Chan said with a seductive smirk. “This isn’t meant to be a punishment.”

“I know that,” you said, holding your breath when his lips touched the shell of your ear.

“Damn, you’re unbelievably gorgeous,” Chan said, and his free hand was trailing down your spine. “Come with me into the bedroom.”

You gave him a shaky nod, following him back inside while taking in several deep breaths as you greeted the darkness of the room, discarding your champagne on the side table. “What now?”

“Take off your dress,” Chan said, and you squinted your eyes to see him falling down into one of the chairs.

Despite the cold air of the night, everything inside was heating up again.

“Okay,” you whispered, reaching back for your zipper, and holding it between trembling fingers as you unhitched the material, allowing it to fall down your body like an avalanche of blue as it pooled around your ankles.

You heard Chan’s sharp intake of breath, feeling his eyes trail over every inch of your lingerie-clad form. “Get on the bed,” he said, and you obeyed at once, trying to make yourself comfortable on top of the mattress.

But it was hard when you noticed Chan approaching the bedside, removing his jacket and shirt to reveal a lean, muscular torso - one that had undoubtedly been built after long hours in the gym. “This is my favorite part,” Chan said, shoving down his jeans and boxers without shame, and his cock sprang up against his abdomen with an impressive girth. “I like to see the way a woman’s eyes look at me. How their breath hitches when I touch them for the first time.”

He followed through on his promise, sliding his fingers down the smooth skin of your stomach with a feather-like touch before they paused at the waistband of your panties. “Take these off,” he said, and you did your best to wrangle off the flimsy fabric, pushing it aside with your toes as Chan’s eyes zeroed in on your delicate mound. “When I fuck a woman, I make sure she comes...several times.”

You shivered at that, hearing his tone grow huskier as he instructed you to open your thighs, giving himself enough room to crawl on the bed and settle down between your open legs. It was already so revealing, and you couldn’t believe you were in this position, exposing everything to him. “Do you use protection?” he asked, and you nodded. “I’d like to fuck you raw, but only with your consent.”

You nodded again, gasping when his long, thin fingers started to carefully penetrate you, scissoring around your entrance - teasing curls that did nothing but trigger your body’s instinctual arousal. Especially as the room around you continued to grow warmer, almost as hot as Chan’s lips as they scalded your skin, lifting one of your legs higher against his arm.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” Chan whispered against your thigh. “If I had a woman like you, I’d do my best to make you happy.”

“Fuck,” you couldn’t help but curse, feeling him use his other hand to start moving his fingers even faster, gliding them against the greedy walls of your pussy as your body demanded you for more of the sweet addiction.

There was already a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin, and your heart was beating faster and faster, matching the pace of his fingers. Eventually, he leaned down to take your clit between his lips, dropping your thigh back onto the mattress before sucking hard and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. 

You gasped, hips arching without your approval, grinding closer to the source of that immeasurable pleasure. It was wet and sensual, creating the gentlest of sensations that traveled all the way to your toes.

You could feel Chan smirking, lips barely touching your clit before he properly opened his mouth wide to lave his tongue across the throbbing area. It felt so good, and you were practically humping his face to gain more of his delicious mouth.

He was learning your signs, hands holding your waist as he listened to every hitch of your breath, knowing when to speed up and slow down. It was like a well-rehearsed dance, swipes of his tongue across your folds, pressing firmly against your clit when he returned to the delicate organ. 

It felt like pure heaven, bringing you higher and higher to a much-needed release, and it had been a long time since a man had made you experience such white hot lust from just his tongue.

“Cum for me,” Chan whispered, and he nipped at your clit, and the tinge of pain was enough to send you spiraling into your first orgasm of the night.

“Oh!” you groaned, grabbing his hair to pull him back when his sucking was starting to feel too painful right after coming so hard.

“What a good girl,” Chan said, looking down at you with a sheen of arousal coating his lips. 

It was obscene, forcing you to close your eyes against the image, but you cried out when he pinched one of your nipples, causing you to open them again. 

“Do me a favor and look at me while I’m fucking you, Y/N,” Chan murmured, hooded gaze meeting your struggling one - trying not to succumb to his advances, even though he was making it incredibly hard, wrist almost imperceptible with the way he was stretching you open again, pussy gaping as you felt yourself leaking uncontrollably.

“I’ll try,” you whispered, heart thundering against your chest as Chan removed his fingers only to align his cock with your entrance, dipping just the tip into your eager heat.

“Moan for me as much as you want,” Chan said, and he was bottoming out without hesitation, moving slow to prevent any pain while you got used to the stretch.

It was different from how Jisung fucked you, thrusting into you impossibly fast from the very first moment he impaled you on his cock. 

There was something caring about it, and you adjusted quickly to Chan’s girth, grinding your hips subtly just to feel very inch of his generous erection. “Good girl,” Chan cooed, and he brought his cock to a deeper roll, moving back to leave only the head before forcing himself inside once again, picking up speed as your moans continued to grow louder in volume, signaling your approach to a second release.

It was beyond amazing, and you swallowed down your embarrassment from the noises he was punching from your lungs, opening your eyes as he started to move even faster, thrusting his cock between your legs at a rhythmic pace.

He was hitting your g-spot on every deep penetration, granulating in and out at a steady pace that was so unbelievably fulfilling.

You never expected it feel this good, slick from your pussy gushing at an embarrassing rate, creating an even smoother slide. But the squelching sounds were incredibly loud, filling your ears just like his cock was filling your cunt...the best kind of fullness.

You were being stroked just right, moaning when Chan shifted his hips to thrust into you at a new angle, holding your legs over his shoulders as he practically bent you in half.

His lips were warm when they connected with yours, and there was a strange desire to sink into the kiss and lose yourself there forever. But your pussy was throbbing with need - an impossible want for the man reaching all the way to your cervix.

It felt amazing when his fingers brushed across your sensitive clit, rubbing generous circles against the tight nub. He started snapping his hips at a faster rate, slapping against your hips with every thrust, holding onto your hips with a bruising grip that would leave reminders of him for days. 

But maybe that was his intention.

Chan growled, plunging into your sore cunt time and time again. He was practically pounding you with how hard he was going, like he was trying to prove a point, and maybe he wanted to since nothing could have ever prepared you for how euphoric his cock was making you feel.

“Are you gonna cum again?” Chan whispered, gazing so fondly into your eyes.

You couldn’t speak, only managing a nod when he started to rub even faster at your clit, and you let out the loudest moan of the night when you were unraveling yet again, sinking into a third orgasm that left you drained.

It was a rollercoaster of overstimulation, and Chan realized this and gave a few stuttered kicks of his hips before he was filling you up with his cum, groaning and grunting as he leaned over you.

Your legs were numb from being spread wide for so long, and you weren’t sure that you would ever catch your breath, listening to the sound of Chan whispering sweet endearments from next to you as you realized that nothing would ever be same after this.

The next morning, you woke-up alone, but there was a note waiting for you on the nightstand.

Y/N,

Join us in the kitchen when you’re ready.

- Chan

“Us?” you repeated aloud, feeling a sense of dread as you stumbled on weak legs to gather your clothes.

You were incredibly sore between your legs, a reminder that last night actually happened, and you had slept with your husband’s boss for a big paycheck.

“It’s worth it,” you tried to reassure yourself, walking from the bedroom and into the kitchen with a subtle limp. “Nothing will change.”

But hindsight is 20/20, and you can’t predict the future. Still, your first sign should’ve been the strange image of Chan and Jisung sitting together in the kitchen, like they were having a casual breakfast together,

“There you are!” Chan greeted you upon your arrival, but you barely paid him any attention, eyes immediately finding Jisung’s.

Your husband was sitting next to Chan at the table, and there was a buffet of food displayed on elegant kitchenware. “What’s going on?”

“Breakfast,” Chan said, indicating towards the empty chair next to Jisung. “Please join us.”

You nodded, finally breaking your intense stare-down with Jisung to carefully sit down next to him.

Suddenly, it was difficult to acknowledge his presence, memories of last night resurfacing and causing you to blush at the obscene images. “I hope you slept well,” Chan said, and his plate was completely covered as he ate without a single care in the world. “Last night...it was amazing, Y/N.”

You could feel Jisung shift from next to you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to look at him. “Chan-”

“As promised,” Chan interrupted as he reached into the pocket of his expensive suite jacket, producing a thin slip of paper, and he slid the check in Jisung’s direction. “Thank you both for everything.”

“Sure,” Jisung said, and his tone was short as he grabbed the check and immediately stood from the table. “We should get going.”

“So soon?” Chan questioned, mouth stuffed impossibly full. “You’re more than welcome to anything you want.”

“We’re fine,” Jisung insisted, and he took your hand with a firm grip. “I know you’ll understand, Mr. Bang.”

“Ah!” Chan grinned. “Formalities again?”

But Jisung ignored him, turning to look at you with a gleam in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher. “Let’s go home,” Jisung said, and he tried for a smile which you couldn’t match as he led the two of you as far from Bang Chan as you could manage.

Tragically, your return home was nothing triumphant, and it should’ve felt so good to finally pay off so many bills and debts.

But it didn’t.

Everything felt hollow inside.

You also couldn’t help but notice that it was becoming increasingly difficult to talk to Jisung. Because every time you looked into his eyes, you were reminded of your impassioned affair in Vegas. It wasn’t fair to either of you, but you had no idea how to fix your relationship.

How could this be fair? You no longer had money problems forcing that divide between the two of you? In fact, you had no problems at all, and you were both entertaining the idea of moving into a bigger place and quitting your jobs.

So, what was missing? What was wrong with the way things were now that your joint account was filled to the maximum?

The answer was obvious, but you both refused to talk about it, and every second spent in each other’s company only served to carve an even deeper rift. Something so painful that you could barely share the same bed as your husband.

You couldn’t believe that things were so bad, even a month after your night with Chan, and nothing was going right. But what could you do? There was no easy solution, and it certainly didn’t help when you received a phone call from an unknown number one morning, accepting it with hesitation, only to be greeted with a strikingly familiar tone: “Hello, Y/N,” Chan said from the other end, and you immediately sat down on the edge of your bed.

“Chan?”

“How are you?” Chan asked with a pleasant tone. “I thought I might check in on my favorite couple.”

You frowned at his mocking tone. “Thanks, but we’re fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that! And I hope the money goes a long way for you and Jisung,” Chan said, and you clenched the phone tighter between your hands.

“It’s been helpful,” you said, even though the words didn’t seem to match the life you were currently living.

“Well, I’m in town for lunch this afternoon,” Chan continued. “I thought it might be nice just to catch up with you. Would you care to join me?”

You hesitated, looking around your empty bedroom with desperate eyes. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea...”

“Oh, please it’s just one lunch,” Chan said, and it was almost impossible to resist him. But that must be why he was such a good businessman. “One lunch.”

You sighed, already feeling yourself giving in to him. “One lunch,” you agreed, parroting back the response because it felt like your body was moving on auto-pilot, having lost the familiar spark ever since you came back from Vegas.

Chan’s chosen location was a gorgeous downtown restaurant that had more Michelin stars than the places you sometimes watched on TV.

It was beyond elegant, and you found Chan waiting for you at the door after having a car bring you to him. “Good morning,” he said with a cheeky tone, meeting you halfway as he offered his arm to you - the perfect gentleman.

“This was unexpected,” you said, allowing him to escort you inside, greeting the man at the front who seemed to instantly recognize Chan, leading you both to a private room away from the others.

“I wanted to do this,” Chan said. “I thought we could talk a little.”

“Is that it?” you asked, taking the menu and gaping at the immense prices.

Chan seemed to notice, smiling at your awed expression. “Have anything you want,” Chan said. “I’m buying.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly let you do that...” you said because then it would feel like a date, and that was as far from what you wanted as possible.

“Don’t concern yourself,” Chan said. “Everything is good here, and you deserve it.”

You weren’t sure that you liked the sound of that, but you didn’t complain as you requested that he order something for both of you instead of trying to interpret the gauche-sounding entrees. 

“Now,” Chan said once your waiter left the room. “Let’s talk about you.”

“Me?” you questioned, sipping gingerly at your water glass. “What about me?”

“I want to know everything,” Chan said. “All of it.”

“Everything?” you repeated, shrugging as you blushed. “There’s not much to tell.”

“I can hardly believe that,” Chan said. “What about your job?”

“I’m a freelance writer,” you said, nodding when you realized that he was genuine. “Kinda hard in the city though.”

“But you’re doing what you love?” Chan asked, and he grinned at your confirmation. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Could it be so simple? you wondered, remembering all the countless arguments you and Jisung had shared because, according to him, your job was hardly considered career-worthy. “I love writing.”

“Then you must be a big reader,” Chan remarked. “All the best writers are.”

You swooned at his smooth conversation. “I have shelves full of the classics.”

“What’s your favorite?” Chan asked.

“Jane Eyre,” you admitted, and Chan raised a brow.

“I like that about you,” he said. “It fits: the idea of a bright young woman falling in love with the enigmatic billionaire.”

You met his gaze, recalling how Jisung had aligned the term “enigmatic” with Chan on the night you made your unholy deal. Was there a deeper meaning, then? “I love the prose,” you replied instead, thinking the subject might return to Chan. 

But it never did. In fact, Chan kept all the questions about you, engaging you in a way that you had never experienced with another man. Like he cared so much about the person underneath, and his probing gaze was seeing past the outside in a way that spoke to your very soul.

And you couldn’t help but compare him to Jisung: a very dangerous thing to do.

“That was nice,” you said after you had both eaten. “It was good to see you again.”

“I agree,” Chan said, ever the businessman as his hand fell low around your waist, taking you back outside the restaurant. “Should we make plans for tomorrow?”

You almost laughed, until you read his expression and realized that he was serious. “What?”

“Y/N,” Chan said, and his tone was intense. “I can’t stop thinking about Vegas.”

“Chan,” you whined, trying to pull away, but his hold was firm. 

“If you were with me,” Chan purred, and it was a lethal sound that was as smooth as the hand traveling up and down your back. “I could give you everything you wanted and more.”

“I can’t,” you insisted, and there was an image of Jisung in your head when you managed to escape him. “That was only one time.”

“I think you and I both know that it meant more than that,” Chan said, and you could deny it all you wanted, but there was an insistent throbbing at the back of your skull.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lied, ignoring the scoff that escaped him while calling for the valet to bring the car Chan had organized for you.

“At least take my business card,” Chan said, and he was holding the small piece of printed paper out for you, but you knew that going down that path would only make things worse.

“I can’t accept it,” you said, returning your attention to the valet as he opened the back door.

“That’s a shame,” Chan said, but he was as persistent as ever, leaning close to press a kiss across your cheek. “You can always call me. If you ever need anything.”

You nodded, feeling somewhat disoriented as you sat down against the leather seat, swallowing hard when you could still see Chan from the rearview mirror.

By the time you returned home, it was already late, and you were glad to see Jisung when you sat your purse down onto the counter. “Hey,” you said, and Jisung glanced up from where he was reading the newspaper.

“Hey,” he replied. “How was lunch?”

You swallowed hard because you hadn’t told Jisung who you ate lunch with. “It was good.”

He nodded - a short dismissal, and it you decided to freshen up in the bathroom, taking a quick shower just to wash off the lingering traces of Chan.

But maybe it was foolish to think that water could wash away everything that had happened - those traces would never simply vanish.

When you walked back out into the main room, you were stunned to see Jisung putting on his coat. “Jisung,” you said, watching your husband rush around the living room. “Are you busy?”

“Just gong to meet some friends,” Jisung replied. 

Distracted. Uninterested in you.

“Oh,” you said. “I thought we could spend some time together?”

“Yeah?” Jisung snorted, and you were shocked to hear him sound so abrasive...at least until he marched up to you waving around a business card. “And what the fuck is this, huh? I found it in your bag.”

He flung the card at you, and you sighed when you saw Chan’s name at the top - he must’ve snuck the card into your purse when you weren’t looking. “It’s nothing,” you said, but Jisung only laughed - a sound devoid of all humor. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“Does it matter?” he huffed. “You can’t get enough of him, can you?” he asked, and you were like a tea kettle that had been sitting on the burner for way too long - practically erupting from the top.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think?” Jisung smarted back. “You’re obviously still seeing him, spreading your legs for his cock like a bitch in heat. I guess one night wasn’t enough for you.”

“How dare you!” you yelled, getting right in Jisung’s face. “You want to know what happened? He slipped the card into my purse when I met him for lunch today, but I had never even spoken to him until then.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Jisung spat, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a fucking whore, Y/N. Throwing yourself at a rich man like Bang Chan just because he can buy you nice stuff.”

“What’s money got to do with anything?”

“It obviously means everything!” Jisung shouted. “It’s what got us into this fucking mess into the first place.”

“You mean, the mess you made when you gambled all our money away?” 

“Are you really going to throw that back in my face?” Jisung seethed. “I was trying to make things better for us!”

“Good job,” you snickered. “Since we’re so fucking happy together.”

“What do you want from me?” Jisung asked, throwing up his arms. “I’m obviously the biggest asshole in the world.”

“I’m glad you can admit it,” you said. “Did you ever stop to think that all that I’ve done up to this point has been for you?”

Jisung paused, opening his mouth to retaliate, but then wisely deciding to let you continue. “Did I want to go to Vegas?” you asked. “No, but I went because you wanted to impress your company, and I know you wanted to do things right, but we should’ve both known better than to bet against the house. We lost everything, and in that moment of desperation, you pressured me into sleeping with another man, and I can’t think about anything else but him whenever I look at you.”

Jisung was stunned at the admission, all traces of anger gone from his expression. “Y/N,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah?” you said, voice quivering as you wiped away your tears. “Well, now you do.”

Jisung bowed his head, and you decided that you were done waiting for something to change, marching into your bedroom to grab your phone and dialing the first number you remembered.

“Chan,” you whispered when he greeted you on the other end. “Can I come over?”

There was only a split second of silence before Chan’s voice was soothing the raging storm inside of you. “I’ll send a car.”

It was almost midnight when your driver pulled up outside of a lavish home in the suburbs: huge, towering columns and Greco-Roman architecture making the place seem more like a mausoleum.

But it wasn’t the home itself that brought you comfort; rather, the people living within it who always made things seem safe and welcoming, and Chan was sure to greet you at the door, opening his arms wide to accept your embrace. “Was it a bad fight?” he asked, and you nodded while wondering how he could’ve possibly picked up on the fact that you and Jisung had been arguing again.

Maybe he just had good intuition when it came to you, and you appreciated the understanding, allowing him to bring you into an enormous den, settling you against the couch next to him while a fire blazed in the background. “I made tea,” Chan said, reaching for the two cups waiting on the ornamental table filling the empty space at the center of the room.

“Thanks,” you said, finding your eyes drawn to the neat stack of papers that had been sitting next to the cups.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chan asked, relaxing one arm around your shoulders, bringing you against his much-needed warmth.

“We just don’t get along anymore,” you said. “I thought having money would fix things, but everything is worse.”

“Really?” Chan asked, and he seemed to consider your words. “It might seem like a good thing, and from the standpoint of a businessman, money is a very powerful motivator.” He smiled, looking down at you with eyes glowing from the flames. “But money isn’t the solution when it comes to the people you love.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, but you had also started picking up on that yourself. “Were you busy with something?”

Chan followed your gaze, reaching out for the papers that had drawn your attention from the very first moment you sat down. “These?” Chan chuckled, and he slid them to the edge, allowing you to read the fine print across the cover. “Divorces are complicated, aren’t they?” Chan asked, and you hesitated when you realized what he was implying. “But if you have enough money, then anything is possible.”

“Chan...” you trailed off, vision blurring at the edges and making the letters bleed together - a cacophony of meaningless jargon. “What are you trying to say?”

“You’re unhappy,” Chan said, and it was an observation that wasn’t difficult to make after all that had happened. “I guess I just don’t want you to be associated with the person causing that unhappiness.”

“You want me to leave Jisung?” you said, breathing in and out because it wasn’t a simple decision that one could make on the spot - not after years of living with someone who had become a central part of your existence.

It was too much to bear, and Chan’s presence was almost suffocating, breaths heavy against the side of your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Why should you stay with him? With or without money, he can’t seem to make you smile.”

You trembled at his closeness, choking around a sob even though the atmosphere between the two of you was suddenly charged with something electric. “And then what?”

“Well, after Jisung signs them,” Chan said, and his tongue traced the lobe of your ear. “I’d love to have you for myself.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, closing your eyes as he took you into his arms, doing nothing more than holding you, but the feelings bubbling below the surface of your skin told you more than actions or words ever could.

The next morning, Chan had his driver take you back to the apartment you shared with Jisung.

The apartment was strangely quiet, and you left the divorce papers on the table in the kitchen while you went to shower, wanting nothing more than the scalding water to provide a temporary numbness to the confusion you felt in every fiber of your being.

It was a much-needed reprieve, and when you walked back into the kitchen, you were surprised to see your husband at the table, eyes downcast. “Come sit with me, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard when you realized he was searching through the divorce papers, but you weren’t met with his anger; instead, Jisung just seemed really sad, and that was much worse. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” you said, but your husband just smiled and shook his head. 

“I knew you wouldn’t come back home for nothing,” he said, sliding out the chair next to him as an invitation. “Why should you? I treated you like shit the other night.”

“We both said some really cruel things,” you said, joining him with a sigh. “Things spiraled out of control.”

“I can see that,” Jisung said, tapping his fingers against the papers. “Let’s talk about what happened.”

You shivered at the thought. “I don’t think we should-”

“No,” Jisung interrupted, but it was a gentle chide. “It’s important, so hear me out.”

It would be so hard, but you still agreed. “Okay.”

“The whole mistake in Vegas wasn’t the money,” Jisung said. “No, money might’ve caused our problems, but the mistake wasn’t wanting something to make our lives better. The real mistake was me thinking that I could just forget about it after we left. That I could easily forgive us both...What’s that old saying? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?” Jisung laughed, but it was bitter sounding. “Bullshit, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Bullshit.”

Jisung smiled. “People in love stay with each other, not because they try to forget the wrong parts, but because they’re capable of forgiving the bad. And I couldn’t do that because I thought you would want Chan after that night...that you would be right to want him. He’s so much better in every way, the better man for someone wonderful like you. But by the time I realized that it wasn’t true, that he was only better because he had more money, everything had spiraled.”

He was quiet after his confession, struggling to hold back his tears as he clicked open one of our pens and brought the papers closer. “If you really want the divorce, then I’ll give it to you,” Jisung said. “I just want you to be happy.”

Why should you stay with him? With or without money, he can’t seem to make you smile.

“Jisung...” you trailed off, unsure if there was anything you could do to change the look in his eyes.

“I’ll always love you,” Jisung said, and it was the same promise as always, but you watched with a heavy heart as he signed his name in cursive as the bottom of the form.

The divorce papers felt like an added weight in your bag as you marched into the office building of SKZ Enterprises.

It was ridiculous, really. They were just papers, made in a factory and mass-produced to be sold in stores.

But it was the symbolism they carried, the significance of Jisung’s name scribbled at the bottom of the final page that had you faltering.

Your heart was hurting, and you forced a smile when you greeted Chan’s secretary at the corner next to his big, corporate office. “I’m here to see, Mr. Bang,” you told the secretary. “Tell him my name is Y/N.”

“Of course,” she said, and you watched her disappear into the office, giving you a few critical moments to collect your thoughts.

Until you heard his voice again:

“Y/N?” 

You startled at the sound of Chan’s voice, seeing him standing in front of you with a million-dollar smile on his weathered face. “Come inside?”

“Yes,” you agreed, following him into the office with the door shutting firmly behind you.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Chan said, grabbing you hand and pressing a kiss to your lips. “Is something wrong?”

“We need to talk,” you said, and Chan’s smile disappeared.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said, chuckling as he invited you to sit down in one of the expensive chairs next to his desk. “Do you need anything? I can call for some tea.”

“No,” you said, deciding it was better to get straight to the point as you reached into your bag to bring out the divorce papers stapled together.

“This could either be good or bad,” Chan remarked, accepting them from you and quickly turning to the last page, expression falling. “I see.”

“I can’t sign them,” you said, and there was something powerful in your tone that had even Chan admitting defeat.

“Damn,” Chan sighed, eyes boring a hole into the pages. “This is the worst news I’ve gotten.”

“I talked to Jisung,” you explained. “Just looking at him and entertaining the idea of leaving forever...I couldn’t do it.”

Chan finally tore his gaze from the papers, meeting yours with disappointment. “I take it he said something to change your mind.”

“I don’t know if he changed my mind,” you admitted. “Rather, I think his love and forgiveness made me see reason with what I was doing.”

“Ah,” Chan said. “I think we’ve come full circle, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you told me that all the money in the world couldn’t buy your love,” Chan said, and there was something that resembled respect reflected in his eyes. “You were right all along.”

You ducked your head, unable to maintain such intensity. “I’d like to give you that money back, Mr. Bang. My husband and I can manage on our own.”

“Oh, please, I’d be insulted if you did that,” Chan said, and he held out his hand for you to shake. “You know I’m a good businessman, so consider this an opportune long-term investment in something I’m supporting.”

You were full of gratitude, swallowing back tears as you nodded. “Thank you.”

“”There’s no need for that,” he said. “I’ll always be here for you.” The sentiment was matched by the gentle brushing of his lips across your cheek, and you could feel the last reminder of Chan even after leaving his office for the first and final time.

You were carrying takeout up the stairs, feeling lighter on your feet than you had in months.

The weight of your burdensome worries was gone, and you knocked with a little too much enthusiasm on the front door to your apartment.

“Y/N?” Jisung questioned, and there was an obvious look of surprise on his face when he opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reminded him with a cheeky smile. “I brought food.”

Jisung’s eyes moved to the bag in your hand, nodding once before allowing you inside. “I thought you were going to see Chan.”

“I did,” you said, leading him into the kitchen. “There were some things to discuss.”

“I see,” Jisung said, watching you with a wary expression as you presented him with his favorite Italian special.

The suspense was killing you, and you desperately wanted to see the frown leave his lips. “I didn’t sign the papers,” you said, sitting down at the table with a wearied sigh. “I couldn’t.”

“Really?” Jisung asked, clearing his throat at the hitch in his voice, but you were just trying to hide your smile at his boyish charms.

“Have I told you that I love you recently?” you asked, looking at him with way too much fondness.

Jisung paused, chopsticks poised in hand. “You do?”

“Always,” you affirmed, and you were unprepared for the first of Jisung’s tears to fall, endearing him even more to you if that was possible. “I’m happiest with you,” you told him, reaching out to wipe away those rebellious tears.

“I’ve always felt that way,” Jisung said, getting himself back under control as he pushed away his food and patted his lap. “Come here.”

You were more than happy to oblige, climbing into his lap to wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair while searing your lips together in a kiss that promised so much more from the one true love of your life.

[early2000smovieimagines]

Meeting and Dating Donnie Darko

(Not my gif)(Requested by @teddansonwannabe16 )

(Also, if there’s ever something in these headcanons that you’d like me to write more about; especially in the meeting part, just let me know!)

- You and Donnie sort of met when you were younger but you were never close. You’d lived in the same area of town and waited at the same bus stop every morning but you’d never actually had a full conversation with the boy nor hung out together. 

- Every once in a while, you’d encounter each other. Maybe he’d tell you your backpack was open or where a certain class is, maybe you’d share an umbrella or he’d tell his friends to leave you alone; or maybe you’d share an awkward wave as you passed each other on the street. Other than that, there was nothing between you. 

- That being said, the two of you still liked each other, even if the other person wasn’t aware of it. Your teenage crushes were also; probably, part of the reason the two of you didn’t speak all that much; both of you being too shy and awkward to speak to the other. 

- It was seemingly completely out of the blue that he chose to ask you out. You’d both ended up being alone at the bus stop that day, his sister and her friends going to dance practice early in the morning, his friends skipping class, and Cherita coming down with the flu.

- The two of you stood side by side awkwardly, him glancing over at you a few times before he suddenly blurted out the question of “do you wanna go with me”, making you look over at him in surprise.

- It took you a few moments to respond, wondering if you’d heard him correctly or if there was someone behind you you hadn’t noticed, but after he began to ramble, you finally realized it really was you he was talking to. So you interrupted his babbling and told him that you’d like to.

- The bus pulled up as he smiled and the two of you got on, him sitting beside you and watching you as you looked out the window happily. 

- He walked you to class that day, and the next day, and the day after that, and ...I think you get the picture.

- The two of you didn’t quite have a first date, you sort of just started hanging out together a lot. You’d walk home together or hang out at one of your houses; maybe in the fields by Grandma Deaths house. It wasn’t until a few weeks after you became an item that you actually went out and watched a movie together which you suppose could be considered your first “date”.

- You share your first kiss a few weeks after he asked you out as well. Donnie didn’t want to rush you; and he wasn’t sure of how to do it himself, so he just waited until he couldn’t take it anymore.

- You were hanging out and he was accidentally only half listening to what you were saying up until he finally blurted out that you’ve “been seeing each other for a while”.

- When you replied with a questioning “yeah?”, he grew more nervous and struggled to find what he thought was the right way to say what he wanted to say. That was, until you asked if he wanted to kiss you.

- Instead of replying, he merely closed his eyes, leaned in and connected your lips. You fought back a smile as you wound your arms around his neck, feeling his hands move down to your waist.

- And just like that, Donnie Darko would never be able to let you go again.

- Donnie sort of just pays no mind to most people so if you let him kiss or touch you in public, he will. Plus, as demented as he can be, he does keep things socially acceptable and innocent so you don’t have to worry about that.

- Handholding. There’s just something so comforting and nice about the feeling of another living thing holding and squeezing him back.

- Random affectionate touches.

- Long and tight hugs. 

- Once in a while, he has this inexplicable need to feel you in some way. To kiss you, touch you, be touched by you. You’re what helps him forget about the world and all that's wrong with it. Your warmth, your touch, your lips; they’re what makes his messed up life worth living. 

- Gentle kisses on the cheek and forehead. 

- Soft kisses.

- Intense kisses. Being able to kiss you until he can’t breathe is quite therapeutic for him. 

- Long and slow paced makeout sessions. He could genuinely kiss you for hours. 

- He likes when you rest your head on his shoulder or otherwise be absentmindedly affectionate and comfortable with him. It just reassures him that you actually love and want to be with him; and it just feels nice. 

- He may have trouble initiating it when you first start dating but he actually really likes cuddling. He tends to like to press his face into your neck or chest and wrap his arms around you, especially when his days been sort of shitty. That being said, pretty much any position is fine by him.

- He sorta likes when you nap on or around him, it makes him feel trusted or like he’s your protector or something. He also gets to memorize your features without feeling awkward about looking at you.

- Time is a social construct. If you want to see him or if he wants to see you, the fact that it’s three a.m. is irrelevant. He’ll let you in or sneak you in somehow; you’ve both probably learned how to climb in through each other’s windows.

- Nighttime walks. 

- Stargazing. 

- Listening to him read, or him asking you to read to him.

- Donnie being Donnie, he usually just calls you by your name rather than a nickname or pet name. There’s something about them that makes him feel awkward; they just seem so strange coming out of his own mouth.

- Looking at his writing and paintings. He’ll sometimes give some of them to you as little gifts.

- He once just really wanted to try to do your makeup and honestly, he did a really good job. Every once in a while, he’ll ask to do it again and hey, who are you to turn down a free makeover.

- Running errands together. If Donnie really wants to hang out with you; which he often does, it doesn’t matter what you’re doing, he’ll tag along no matter how boring.

- Donnie isn’t one for extravagant dates and you probably aren’t either so the two of you just sort of hang out together. You’ll do puzzles, ride your bikes, jump on trampolines, etc; all just random fun things.

- Television dates. You swear he must have watched every cartoon from premier to end a dozen times with some of the knowledge he has of them. He’ll go on some long explanation after you express confusion about something and then finish with a shy chuckle and a “I watch a lot of tv”.

- Shooting bottles with him or watching him shoot them while sitting on the couch in the field.

- Sneaking into abandoned buildings. The two of you like to go exploring.

- Always being project partners and sitting together at assemblies, lunch, or in class.

- Always having help with your homework or other assignments. Donnie usually just offers up answers without even thinking about it.

- The good kind of teasing comments. Things that’ll snap you out of your funk or start a conversation/make you smile.

- Sharing headphones or just sharing different music with each other.

- Long, somewhat rambling conversations. He just has a lot to say about a lot of things. 

- Existential debates.

- Letting him rant to you. He gets really worked up over certain things that most people don’t care about so occasionally you’ll just have to sit him down and calm him instead of letting him blow a blood vessel. 

- Listening to the stories of when he was “unruly”. He’ll admit some slightly troubling things and then try to assure you that he’s “better now” so that you don’t think he’s crazy; especially when you first start dating.

- Donnie's view of the world is sort of skewed but even if it wasn’t, he would never judge you, especially because you never judge him. It doesn’t matter what it is, he’ll always stand by you because he cares about and “gets” you.

- He sometimes likes to pretend to be your therapist. It’s meant to be humorous most of the time but occasionally, when you’re upset, he’ll try to see if it actually works or could help you in any way. 

- He always seems to understand you, no matter what nonsense you may be saying. No one else will ever know exactly what you mean like he does.

- Watching him closely when he begins to act sort of strange. You notice that something isn’t right but you don’t know if it’s your place to ask or if you even should.

- He may or may not confide in you when Frank shows up; it depends on how long you’ve been together and the kind of person you are.

- While he may not talk about it, he’ll want to spend as much time with you as he can for some seemingly inexplicable reason.

- If Donnie can help it, he’ll never tell you or make it obvious when he’s jealous so you may never truly know when he is. But, when he’s sitting alone at night, his mind will drift back to what may or may not have happened and he’ll feel his chest begin tighten while a million different thoughts race through his head.

- Donnie isn’t extremely protective but he does look out for you. He’ll tell people to leave you alone, guide you away from something, take something from your hands, or help you down from a large step, etc. Whenever something happens, he’s only ever really worried about whether or not you’re okay.

- You see, if Donnie wants to have an argument about something, you’re gonna have it. That being said, you don’t fight a ton but when you do, he tries to remain fairly calm until he can’t help but get heated; usually when you just won’t listen to him or try to understand or just won’t explain what you’re mad about.

- He’s miserable when you’re in that post fight funk although he may try to convince himself; and succeed, that he’s angry. He’ll mope around and probably tell his therapist about it it. You’ll have to come to him when you’re ready, at least if you gave him the silent treatment since he’ll stop trying to approach you after a while and just assume you hate him now.

- That being said, there will be instances where he’ll just not leave you alone until you talk to him, kind of like a psycho ex would. I’m sorry but Donnie is still Donnie and not completely mentally well.

- There’s not too many I love you’s in your relationship but when there is one, it’s emotion filled and meaningful. He really wants you to know and understand how much he cares about you; especially if he’s saying it after somethings happened to him.

- Well your actually future together is sort of doomed from the start but the future he wanted was one where the two of you were together and neither of you were alone.

[infinitegalahad]

Hi! Request with prompt “i’m not jealous!” “you’re clearly jealous.” With nixon please? I love jealous nix! Lol 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙 You’re the best!!!

WASHING MACHINE HEART

Prompts: "I'm not jealous!" and "You're clearly jealous"

Gif Credit: @andrewhaldane

Summary: Nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world. You are pretty much the only person who could change the way Lewis operates, and that's exactly what you do-change him.

Word-Count: 4.8k

WARNINGS!!!: semi-not healthy relationship, alcohol abuse, investment to lovers, sugar daddy/baby, semi-age gap (21-28?), a

Notes: Life lesson learned. Never listen to Mitski or Lana Del Rey when having thoughts about Lewis Nixon being your sugar daddy? Why you may ask? Because it will destroy you. This request was so fun to do, thank you op! I haven't written for Nixon before, so I apologize if he's a little too OOC. Also warning, this is defiantly not the most healthiest relationship, and I realize that. But they try to make it work. Also while writing this, I listened to @web-gott's lewis Nixon playlist and all of her playlists r GREAT BUT THAT DESTROYED ME. great job ily. anyways enough rambles! enjoy!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @now-im-a-belieber @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @ask-you-what-sir @web-gott

Masterlist | Send In A Prompt!

“You want me to be you’re what?”

Nearly spitting out drinks, Vat 69 mixed with vodka (A Nixon classic). It was quite a bizarre offer. Maybe Lewis had drunk too much, which was a common habit. But you made eye contact with him and he had a shit eating grin on your face. You let out an awkward laugh, and he followed suit.

You had been Lewis’s assistant operations officer since Caretan, there with him through a demotion, a divorice, and all of the other wonderful things that happened in his life. Not only was he your boss, but someone you confided in. He would confine in you, you would confide in him with stolen alcohol-it was a perfect example of mutualism. It’s as if you were his therapist at first, then a friend, and then a friend with benefits. Everything was kept under wraps, of course, for both of you to honor your diginites. Besides, you wouldn't wanna tarnish Lewis’s relationship with your father-considering that he was his boss, a Major general for the 101rst Airborne Division.

“A confidante. Companion. Confrère.” Nixon explained as he poured more vodka into your empty cup, which was not a good sign, “Miss Nixon won’t leave her baby boy alone. If I show her I have someone on my arm, she’ll shut up.”

“So let me get this straight. I go back home with you to New York, attend a party with you, be your arm candy, and you pay me?” You summarized his point, swimming the drink in your hands.

“Money, gifts, whatever you want, I can give you,” Lewis promised. He leaned against the railing as you looked at him. Your elbows grazed against each other. Resting your chin on your palm, you went deep into this arrangement.

The war had ended in The Pacific, so you could finally go home. As much as you were excited to leave and finally get back home, you’d miss Nixon. Sure, you’d be in Bronxville and he’d be Manhattan, only a train ride apart. Yes, he was a total asshole, but he was your asshole. The two of you had been together through thick and thin. Your parents would never approve of an alcoholic divorcee, but there was something inside of him that made you fill up with nervous excitement.

You could hear your mother’s voice, scolding you about the type of man Lewis was. Maybe he was a little too old, a little too broken, and a little too much for you, but that’s what attracted you to him. Over time, you learned that you and Nixon had much more in common. Both of you wanted to get away from your families. Hell, Nixon was paying for your college tuition at Sarah Lawenrece and when he had a weekend pass into Paris, you would come. For “work purposes”, but in all honesty it was for fine dining in Paris, shopping for the finest things in Champs-Élysées with Nixon, arm in arm wrapped under your finley manicured finger, and learning more about Miss Nixon’s best boy.

It was hard to let go of that. Everything he had done for you, and yet you were just friends with benefits. Still, after all you have gone through. It frustrated you. But after his divorce, you wanted to support him. He had lost everything, and without Dick, he was probably more lonely and hurt than ever. You wanted to be his comfort besides Vat 69. This arrangement could be an opportunity for the both of you. Maybe it would be more than an arrangement, but something bigger than that.

Lewis nudged your elbow as he raised a thick eyebrow, “Well, whatta’ say?”

“I say, why the hell not?” You accepted the offer, and the two of you clinked your drinks together. “So would we call this an arrangement? Be the pretty thing on your shoulder and you give me pretty things? Just like in Paris?”

“Just like Paris.” He reassured you, patting your shoulder. Sitting on a bench, he patted the spot next to you with his arm stretched out. “Sit with me?”

“Why I’d be honored too, good sir!” You dramatically stated for a comedic effect, which earned a smile from Lewis as you sat down right next to him. Moving close, both of your thighs caressed with each other. He adjusted and moved his free arm around you, bringing you close to him. You responded by laying your head on his chest, along with one of your hands.

Lewis didn’t say much besides drinking more from his cup, which kept getting refilled and gouged in seconds. There was a cold silence that filled the air. You kept adjusting in his hold, craving for that attention that wasn’t crude jokes or touch, but it always flew over his head. As he got lost in what the hell he was going to when he was home and the alcohol that poured in his system, you laid on his chest, waiting for that kiss, even though you knew that it wasn’t happening.

You closed your eyes as you laid there, pretending that Lewis was more than an arrangement for you.

The thing was, Lewis wasn’t dumb. He knew that too, but he didn’t know how to put it in words, so he used what he knew who to use best-money and gifts. Just as you always did.

~

A month after you had set up the arrangement, the two of you returned home. He went back to Manhattan, you went to Boxnville to attend Sarah Lawernce. Two months later, the week before you’re to head off to see your family in Florida, Nixon finally chooses to call you. After he ignores all your calls, letters, everything-he finally chooses to be a man. It doesn’t even feel like a relationship, which is what you wanted it to be. All of the effort you have made has gone to waste. Lewis looks as if he wants to keep it in an arrangement.

Normally, you’d appreciate the cash and all the lavish gifts, but money didn’t buy happiness.

His offer was simple. The Nixons were throwing a party at the Tribeca Rooftop, and it was bound to be full of every socialite in the Tristate area. Lewis asked for you to accompany him for the weekend. Separate rooms if you wanted, all of the dinners paid for by him, in exchange he gets arm candy and you get all the money you need. You considered using it to pay for rent, but after all-Lew was paying for everything, despite there being ignored communication.

It was hard to pass, and you were frustrated. But despite it all, you took up the offer. It was better than being stuck with your parents.

Once you accepted the offer, Lewis drove his Buggati down to Bronxville to pick you. You lived in a cramped apartment with a bunch of other Journalism majors. Seeing him outside of the window, you opened your window and waved.

“Look at what the devil dragged in.” You spat with a smile.

Lewis looked up at you, wearing those damn aviators he got in Austria. They had also been the ones that you had picked up for him, so it must have been sentimental.

“There you are,” He said, leaning against his car, “You coming?”

“Give me a minute!” You called and closed your window. Grabbing your keys and bag, you walked out of your room and towards the exit, only to see all of the girls who lived in your apartment ushered, admiring whatever the hell Nixon was to you. A friend, a sugar daddy, you truly had no idea.

One of the girls turned her head back to you, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe, “So, you’re the lucky one?”

You looked at her, slipping your boots on and tying them, “For?”

“A weekend in the city with a man who’s got money. Fancy dinners, fancy things, almost anybody would want it,” She explained, a tint of jealousy in her voice, “Just don’t come back pregnant.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” You confirmed. Once you finished getting your coat on, you waved goodbye to your flatmates, who all begged for you to bring nice things back to you, and even a man for them. The thought you made it chuckle, since they were truly all naive to what it was really like to be treated as an investment.

Walking down the stairs, you were greeted by Lewis, slouched on the front of the car and upon seeing you, straightened up. He began to walk towards you, and so do you. For once, he had cleaned himself up and looked like he was taking care of himself. It took you by surprise when he pulled you into a one armed hug, wrapping around your neck. You met with his chest, taking in his expensive cologne.

“Hey,” He mumbled into your shoulder as he held you close. Maybe for warmth, you thought. “I missed you.”

The cold layer you had felt upon seeing Lewis again had suddenly melted away. Normally, he wasn’t so sentimental. He was sarcastic and witty, but this time-he was different. Kinder, softer, just a little sadder. You put a hand up his armpit, also holding him close.

“Guess I did too,” You responded back. Breaking from the hug, the two of you looked at each other. You chuckled to yourself, not really knowing how to fill the silence.

“I’m glad you took up the offer, by the way.” Nixon added on. It made you look up and shrug your shoulders.

“It’s not like I wanna see my family.” Your shoes moved around on the icy ground, swishing the ice to the side. You were happy to see him, but there was just something about Lewis that was always sad. The same could be said about you, but he looked exhausted. Drained, emotionally and physically.

“Yeah, me either. But you make it tolerable,” Lewis said as he took your bag out of your hands, putting it on the back seat. The two of you got into his car. Before he started the car, Lewis threw a velvet case at you. You were taken by surprise and looked at him.

“Open it,” Lewis nudged his head.

Puzzled, you carefully opened the case and smiled. It was the Willsonite sunglasses, the tinted tortoise shell ones you had seen in Austria when roaming the streets with Lewis.

“It’s what all the girls in the city wear,” Lewis explained. He had picked out his gift with precision and care. Normally, all the girls would buy sunglasses for cheap at a stand at the beach, but hell-you were with the Lewis Nixon after all.

You put on the sunglasses and turned to Lewis, the glasses gently sliding down the bridge of your nose. “Is this your apology for neglecting me?”

Lewis leaned back, looking regretful. “I sent money, I sent the Mademoiselle perfume every month, I’m taking care of you-”

“That’s not what I want. I don’t-” You let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. It was easy to get angry, but you contained yourself, trying to hide your anger. “I love the gifts, but I want one thing. You. I want to actually spend time with you.” You bit your lip, and the only reason you were going to say it was to keep Lewis, “I’m supposed to be your arm candy, aren’t I?”

“You’re more than arm-candy to me, y/n. I enjoy your company. You’re a great kid.” Lewis began to explain his case. His sunglasses fell down his face, revealing the eyebags, “I didn’t want you to know that I went to rehab.”

“What do you mean? That’s all I wanted for you.”

“I know-it’s just. It wasn’t pretty, and you’ve got a lot going through you. I didn’t wanna drag you down with me.”

Guilt tugged at your head. The last thing you wanted to do was make Lew feel guilty. The only way the arrangement was going to work is if Lewis got the help he needed. He repressed his problems, and you were stubborn and weren’t going down with a fight.

“Lew,” You cooed as you put your hand on his. He looked at you as you inhaled and exhaled, “I don’t give a shit about whether it was pretty or not. I’m just glad you’re getting help. Take the worry off of my back. I care, y’know.”

Lewis put his hand on top of yours and his dark eyes connected with yours. He looked deep into your soul as you sat there, a smile on your face. It was your motto to just sit and act pretty. It was backwards, but If it was for Lewis, then it had to work.

“You make everyday worth living.”

You were unable to respond, frozen. The ice barrier that you surround yourself with had melted away. The one thing in your mind was a kiss. It seemed appropriate. As you began to slowly lean forward, not to scare him away, Lewis removed his hands and put them on the wheel as he began to back out of the parking lot. You sat there, your hands once we’re Lewis rested.

“Let’s have a good weekend, okay?” Lewis says, and you clench your hands together. Putting on a smile, you put on the facade of the arm candy. It’s all a part of the game.

“I’d like that a lot,” You commented and moved towards the window. Putting your sunglasses back on, it earned a smile from Lewis as he drove the car. Now both you matched.

“I like those on a lot,” He complemented, “They bring out the shape in your face.”

You moved them down, winking at him. “My oh my. Someone’s coquettish today.”

The two of you chuckled as you drove down the road. As you merged onto the highway and saw the traffic, you made a polite request.

“Can we go down the west side highway instead of the FDR please? It gets down to Tribeca faster.”

“Sure,” Lewis said, his hand resting on the wheel. “Anything for little miss/mister y/n.”

You leaned against the window and smiled to yourself. You should’ve been happy, you had everything you ever wanted.

But the one thing-Lewis’s love.

~

Lewis’s apartment in Tribeca was wonderful, located on the top floor of the most expensive building in the city with glorious paintings, velvet chair, and a built-in fireplace and bar. For such a large place, it was empty, all besides his Daschuand puppy named Pepper. He got the dog since he felt lonely, but made your heart twitch. He let you choose whatever room you wanted, despite the look in his eyes. So, you choose to sleep with him in the master bedroom.

That night, you expected Lewis would want to have sex, but he wasn’t in the mood. Normally, that’s what it was. Fucking and money. But Lewis had changed. He just felt you close in bed, and the two of you walked about mundane things. Pepper, of course, slept in the bed since she was Nixon’s little girl. You fell asleep in his arms, and enjoyed the change of the pace.

The next morning, Lewis took you down to a restaurant on the water. When ordering drinks, he asked for a bloody mary-virgin. You ordered a mimosa-virgin as well.

“You realize that’s just orange juice, right?” Lewis commented as you leaned over the table.

“And you’re drinking raw tomato juice,” You snarked back, which made Lewis smirk. You saw the change in him from yesterday and today. So, you decided to question further. “So, did you quit?”

“Trying. Whenever I think of doing it, I think of you, throwing out every single bottle in my cabinet and threatening to leave me. And I don’t want that, so go figure.”

Under the table, Lewis’s legs crossed and held the ankle of your foot. You felt your cheeks grow pink, grasping onto the napkin on your nap.

“Why me by the way? Think about it. You’re a hermit socialite, I’m a college student. Those two don’t click well together,” You itched the back of your neck.

Lewis looked at you, his leg itching up your ankle. He thought you were joking as he furrowed his thick eyebrows. He stopped, straightening his posture. “Well you, my dear, are someone that isn’t easy to forget. I like making you happy. Also, who else would be paying your rent and tuition?”

“Myself.”

“Waste of money.” Lewis threw his hand up to shrug off the matter, “Where’s the fun in that?”

The waiter came over and put your drinks down. Lewis gave the waiter a thank you as you laughed to yourself. He was really good at playing his role.

“Y’know, you’re good at this stuff. The whole sugar daddy thing,” You let out a snort, taking a sip at your drink.

“I like making others happy. That’s what money does. Not for yourself, but others. When I take you shopping and I see your eyes light up, that’s what makes me happy,” Lewis acknowledged. The two of you looked at eachother. Not in that joking way, but it was romantic. Sweet. He loved to see you happy, and you loved to see him sober. It worked.

“Also, wherever you wanna go today, I’ll take you. But I do have one rule.”

“And what is it?”

“We stop at Lord and Taylors. I have another surprise in store.”

~

The surprise in store turned out to be an outfit for the Nixon’s party. It was nothing too flashy, but regal enough to make you feel like you were out of a fairytale. His goal was to make you the belle of the ball, and he never failed to under the assignment.

Nixon's party was what you expected it to be. Awkwardly meeting Lewis’s parents and his mother giving you a death glare, seeing the dark haired solicates drink, a jazz band, and the best part of the party-Blanche. She was the only one besides Nixon without a stick up her ass. Most of the party you and Nixon were arm in arm. You would occasionally lean against him, yearnin for his attention, but he’d be too busy with the supply of Vat 69.

You had that feeling in your gut, and it wasn’t a good one. It made you sick, anxious, nervous-all around horrible. The more he drank, the more the pit in your stomach would drop. So you went outside onto the patio to catch some fresh air, to be alone and stroll around. Hell, you were even wearing Nixon’s jacket and clutching to it like a child to it’s comfort blanket.

Strolling across the patio and watching the skyline, your moments of peace were interrupted by the distant yellings coming from a room with an open door. You walked down the line, realizing that the voice was Nixon’s.

“An escort at this party? Lewis, you usually disappoint me, but this is unacceptable!” An older gentleman cried, setting down his scotch.

“Do you see the way they were dressed! What a vixen…” A woman cried, who you presumed to be Miss Nixon herself.

“There is nothing like that. They chose to come-”

“Stop lying to yourself. Someone of that age and you, someone with money, is a recipe for disaster. How much do you pay them to accompany you?”

The words kept breaking your heart. You leaned against the window, as fishguard as you were, listening to every single world.

Under pressure, Lewis threw his hands up, “Fine. You know what? You’re right. I pay for what y/n wants. To make them happy and for them to accompany me. They are nothing more than an investment to me.”

Those words cut like ice, like a bullet to the heart. A hand wrapped around your mouth as he pushed away and began to walk away, unable to listen to another word. An investment! How pathetic you felt to think that after all this time, everything you had been through together, everything he had brought you was all for nothing. Just like you had been told, Nixon was using you for your youth or as a way to cope with his many divorces.

Naturally, you would have felt like running out of the place and getting on the next train to Bronoxville, never seeing Nixon again. But there was anger in your heart that burned brighter than any fire you had seen. The ice surrounded your heart once more. It was a party, after all. And you didn’t want to leave without leaving a mark. After all, you 're a vixen.

Long story short, you stormed back into the party and met another young soilciate. Typical asshole with too much money and his way paid into an Ivy League. You didn’t even catch his name as the two of you conversed, and he kept the alcohol pouring. The two of you sat on a couch, and he eventually cozied up to you, wrapping an arm to pull you close. Just as he was on the topic of bringing you to Montauk to the summer, Nixon, of course, had come by.

“Hey, smartass. What the hell are you doing?” Nixon spat, the alcohol evident in his voice.

Smartass was now his name, and you couldn’t even remember it. Smartness looked up at Nixon, shrugging, “Talking to this pretty little thing. Why don’t you go back to drinking and ruining your family name?”

That comment was enough to make Nixon throw a punch, once again bring shame to his family, and get the two of you kicked out of the party. Lewis tried to talk to you, but you ignored every word he said until you reached the apartment.

“What is your problem?” Nixon asked, closing the apartment door. You threw off his jacket, throwing it onto the ledge of the loveseat.

You let out a snort at his unbelievable behavior. He acted as if he did nothing wrong.

“Are you serious? What is your problem!” You hissed back, “You can’t control yourself in drinking, let alone with me hanging out with other men. Face it, you’re just some spoiled , jealous, alcoholic.”

Lewis ignored all of those other comments and chose to focus on the most petty of them. “I’m not jealous!”

“Ha! You clearly are!” You quickly quipped back, walking towards him as he pointed your finger at his chest. “Look at you! Getting all angry, throwing punches. Just for a little investment! After all, I’m just what you use when you need a distraction from all of your other life problems. Just like all of your failed marriages.”

Your eyes began to feel watery and you spun around, biting your lip as he attempted to hold it together. This hurts more than you wanted it to, and no matter what you did, the waterworks wouldn’t stop.

Despite being drunk, Lewis could sense what he did was wrong, and he fucked up-bad. He was drunk, frustrated, and had no control of what he was doing.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean that.”

“Like I mean anything to you,” You sniffled, wrapping your arms around yourself, “The only reason I came was because I wanted...something more than an arrangement. I, fuck-love you, damnit.”

There was a silence in the room, and you felt cold. Goosebumps trailed all over your body as you bit your lip to contain your sobs. Suddenly, a pair of arms held your shoulders and turned around. Knowing it was Nixon, you wanted to punch him, but your head fell into his chest as you let out a long sigh.

He rested his head in your hair, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you close to his warm body.

““I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that but yeah, I love you too.” Nixon said into your hair, drawing circles into your back. “How mad would you be if I kissed you?”

“Absouetly fucking furious.” You tilted your head up as Nixon grabbed your chin, and your lips collided. It was a beautiful and messy lip with lounges smearing against each other. The messier it got, the more passionate it was. Eventually, the kiss calmed into a fiery disaster into a slow moving dance. Through the kisses, you let out a moan, which made Nixon’s hand go lower down your back. You separated from the kiss to catch some air.

“Why’d you stop, my dear?”

You playfully slapped his chest, “You’re lucky you’re hot. Can we go to bed, please?”

The older man swooped you and carried you to bed, treating you like the royalty you were. Once you were placed in bed with Penny by your side, Lewis crawled in next to you, holding you close.

“That’s why I asked you to come, y’know. I wanted to tell you, but I thought you’d say no.”

“For someone so smart, you don’t pick up on cues. Lewis Nixon, I love you, but you’re an idiot sometimes.”

“I’m your idiot, dollface.” Nixon smiled, leaning his forehead against yours. You felt his body weight onto you as you patted his shoulder, giggling.

“Have you ever thought about how much worse our lives would be without each other?”

Lewis pressed little kisses into your hair before stopping his kissing parade to stare at you. He moved the bangs from your face, letting his hand rest on your skin. “The world could be on fire and I'd still be happy as long as I'm with you.”

Once again, Lewis brought you close and the two of you made passionate love. It wasn’t out of frustration or anger or a distraction, but it was raw, genuine, and emotional. It was all you ever asked.

~

A patterned knock on the door prompted you to stop unpacking the books from your book and to call, “Come in!”

Turning around, you saw Lewis walk in, along with Penny, who was scrambling in on her tiny feet.

“Well look at what the cat dragged in.” You smirked, and Lewis threw his arms up. He held a photo in his hand. You returned to putting the last of your textbooks on your desk, gently patting them down.

“How’s the unpacking going?” Lewis asked as he picked up Penny, who was squirming to attack your face with kisses. You walked over and gave both Penny and Lewis a quick peck. You admired your brand new Burkburnett Desk with Hutch. Photos, memorabilia from Europe, books, and pencils decorated your desk for school.

“Good. Turns out, living in a penthouse is a thousand times better than being a dormitory.” You said, leaning your shoulder against Lew’s as you played with Penny’s floppy ears. After some decision, Lewis had made your relationship official, but to both of your parents distaste. Your parents thought Lewis was a creep, his parents thought you were vixens. As Lewis said, the thanksgiving we're going to be interesting. So Lewis decided that you should move in with him, which you didn’t reject. Tribeca wasn’t that far from Bronoxville.

“Good girl/boy. I’m glad you already like it here.” Lewis cooed into your ear, placing a tender peck. “I got an addition for your desk.”

Lewis pulled the photo and showed you. A smile appeared on your face as you took the beautiful frame. It was a black and white photo of you and Lewis, having dinner on top of the Refinery Rooftop. Both of you had your hands together on the table, smiling as the sun set in the sky. Despite there being no colors, it was a breathtaking photo.

“I know just where to put this.” You breathed, walking towards your deck. Right next to your light and glasses was where the photo went. Next to it, a photo of Lew holding a two week old Pepper, a gift from Blanche. More like Blackmail according to Nixon, but you didn’t care. “There. Perfect. Now I’m all moved in.”

Lew snuck up behind you, snaking his hands around your waist as he rested his head on your shoulder. You leaned back with a subtle smile, putting one of your hands on his own.

“Since you’re here to stay, I was thinking of dining in tonight. Blanche’s coming over too.”

“She is?” You hummed.

“Yup. I Want to see the new place, since you came in and cleaned it up.” Lewis mumbled, “How does that sound?”

“That sounds great. Just peachy, Lew.”

You and Lewis fell in love during the war. You were there for eachother in your worst moments and pulled each other up when you both needed it most. But nothing is ever easy in life. You fight. It’s rough. You fight, breakup, kiss, and makeup. With Lewis’s recovery and your family disowning you, the path down the road won’t be easy. You know that you and Lew will face thousands of hardships, but it’s ok. You have each other, and it’s not perfect at all. But it works, and that’s all that matters.

[not-the-nice-thing]

BIG MOUTH S4! BEING A KID IS HARD!

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Hey, so instead of doing my homework I spent the afternoon watching the new season of Big Mouth. I decided to make notes while watching and I think it’s only right that I share them.

* Gotta love the representation, glad they introduced a trans character and dealt with the storyline well

*Camp Councillor Harry is so British it’s perferct

* Tito the anxiety mosquito is such a mood, that’s really how it feels for me when I’m panicking

* I hate Seth, complete shit head

* That heavy period Jessie got was something every girl has experienced (also I’m super scared of using tampons too)

* Jay and Lola are super cringy but then I’m slightly dying of laughter

* Andrews shit was super scary and I wanted to puke

* Jessie and Natalie’s friendship is so fucking beautiful

* I. LOVE. COACH. STEVE.

* I feel super bad for Jessie, moving to a new school is hard

* FUCK U DEPRESSION KITTY

* Andrew and Nick are fucking nonces (Andrew possibly more but he’s always been creepy)

* I need Cafeteria Girls to be a real show

* Connie riding on a wave off discharge is iconic

* Jays reaction to Lola’s stepdad being a terrorist 👌

* Missy struggling with her identity breaks my heart but then she breaks the forth wall and I die

* Devon singing about code switching was cool cause I learned all about it last year in English language

* Matthew was a complete dick to Coach Steve about 9/11

* KEEP. TALKING. BOUT. RACE. ISSUES. PLEASE.

* Michael Angelo is an asshole

* Connie broke up with Nick 😭😭😭😭

* Adult Nick is such a fucking bitch boy

* Cum diapers 😂

* The sex cult was the best thing that whole episode

* GLOBAL WARMING IS A THING PEOPLE!

* Women like to pleasure themselves, get over it boys

* The kingdom analogy was just perfect

* “It’s Adam and Eve, not Chuck and Larry” 😂

* Spunk history needs to be a thing

* Aidan and Matthew are officially my favourite couple, thanks for the lesson boys

* The Glouberman method was scarring

* Michael Angelo is a piece of shit, what an abusive (brace for it) cunt

* Blue balls < free tampons

* Guys shouldn’t get so defensive, penises are funny

*Damn child divorce is more crazy than child marriage

* WE ALL BLAME BRITTANY

* Why the fuck are u trying to fuck your cousin at your grandpas funeral, Andrew?

* I could seriously kill Matthews mother (homophobic bitch)

* SHES CRYING! DONT KISS HER NICK! FFS!

* Matthew has the voice of an angel, his song is officially my favourite of this season

* I’m glad Jessie is moving back home but her saying goodbye to her mum just got to me

* JESSIES THERAPIST IS A (TOAD) FROG WONAN I LOVE THIS

* Drugging kids? Nice one sorority girls

* Recreating SAW? noice

* Lola you fucking bitch! HOW DARE U REJECT JAYS CONFESSION OF LOVE LIKE THAT!!!!!!!!

* Fuck the pillows are back!

* Downward dick

* Damn Missy’s voice change is adorable

* Nicks a lost soul 🥺🥺🥺

* Gotta love the gratiToad

* Awwwwwwwwwww Lola does love Jay yeah!

* Connie as Beyoncé? That’s a concept that I can get behind

* Matthew came out to his dad, that’s the supportive attitude parental we need

* My only thought when watching the Nick Birch vs Nick Starr battle was “when is Andrew gonna get a good character arc?”

* Yas Lola! Girl power!

* Damn Nick accepting himself got me all emotional

So yeah, I hope you like my notes. I liked that this season really tackled some big issues that kids, as well as adults, face. I loved it and now I can’t wait for the next season (my hopes are super high). If you want, start a conversation in the comments. Bye for now!

[misslilli]

Thank you guys, for going on this adventure with me 🥰 I'm having such a blast reading your comments!

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Chapter 13 - Fantastic Mulders And Where To Find Them

[ DS ]

“Well, little lady, you’re pretty young and inexperienced, you’ll learn to distinguish when it’s appropriate to call in parents and when it’s clearly not necessary.” Stunned, I stare at the father of a girl in my class sitting across from me, trying to control my flaring temper. ‘What a misogynistic, condescending asshole!’

“I can assure you, sir, when a child comes to me with a concerning story from home, I will always want to clear it up with the parents. Now that we’ve cleared it up, I think we’re done here. Thank you for coming.” I get up and hold out my hand, hoping to end this nightmare of a conversation on a positive note.

Once he left, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, anger boiling in the pit of my stomach. There’s not much that I hate more than being belittled and I yank my book bag off my table angrily, spilling the cup of pencils in the process, scattering them everywhere. I want to scream. Okay, now I’m Pissed. Royally.

I pick up the pencils and shove them back into the cup before turning off the lights and leaving for today. As I head outside, I notice a small gathering of women down the front steps and they’re giggling and laughing at something Fox Mulder had said. At the sight of him, my heart skips a few beats. ‘Oh that’s just great. I’ll keep my head down and walk by quickly, I’m in no mood to be dragged into a conversation with the PTA brigade.’

I try to pass them by inconspicuously, walking briskly down the stairs and keeping my head down, but I’m stopped with a hand on my arm and a “Miss Scully, do you have a moment?” I turn to him trying to hide my exasperation. ‘Ugh, why do you have to be so damn handsome. And please, get your hand off my arm before I burst into flames. Victim: Dana Scully, cause of death: Spontaneous human combustion from being touched by Fox Freakin’ Mulder. Try and put that on a headstone.’

My mask of professionalism only slips for a brief moment, though, and I smooth out the frown on my face. “Yes, Mr. Mulder?” ‘Why is your hand still there? And why is it so hot all of a sudden, it’s freakin’ September.’

“I was hoping you could give me another opinion on something.” He leans into my personal space conspiratorially and I raise my eyebrow in a silent question. ‘Mmmh he smells really good too. Why, God, why? Ugh, that low tone of voice is driving me insane.’

“Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?” The women around me giggle and I blink at him slowly. ‘What the fuck kind of question is that?’ I draw myself up to full height - don’t you dare laugh - thankful that I wore my heels today and gather the few braincells I have left that are not occupied with wondering how that broad chest would feel under my fingers.

“Logically, I would have to say No. Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft’s capabilities.” I can tell that my answer somewhat surprises him but he’s not done yet.

“But there are obviously unexplained phenomena out there, now when convention and science offer us no answers might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?”

‘What I find fantastic is your ass in those jeans…’. “What I find fantastic is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, you just have to know where to look!” The other moms watch our argument as if they’re watching a tennis game.

He flashes me a wry grin. “That’s why they put the ‘I’ in FBI.” ‘Huh, so he’s with the Feds? I wonder where he keeps his gun. Well, I know where I’d check first but… Okay that’s enough. I wonder how many Hail Mary’s Father George will make me say for what’s going on inside my head.

Felix comes running down the stairs at this moment and wraps his arms around his dad’s legs. “Well thank you for this fantastic point of view, I’ll see you tomorrow ladies. Miss Scully.” He tips his imaginary hat to us and walks Felix back to the car. The little boy turns and waves at me, briefly. I smile and wave back.

My mood has miraculously improved during this odd bit of conversation and I bid the PTA moms goodbye as well, walking over to my bike to head home.

----------

[Felix]

“Hey dad, what did you and Miss Scully talk about back there?” I need to know. Please don’t let it be something embarrassing. Dad smiles at me in the rear view mirror.

“I asked her if she believed in aliens!”

“Noooo DAD, please tell me you didn’t!” ‘This is even worse than I thought. Can I give him up for adoption?’Dad shrugs his shoulders.

“She was having a pretty bad day, I just wanted to cheer her up. I think I did a pretty good job, too, she did smile at the end didn’t she?” Okay that is kind of sweet and yes she did, maybe I’ll keep him after all. I decide to change the subject.

“Dad, can we go to a soccer game sometime?” I just found out at recess today that our school has a soccer team and I really want to see that game. There’s another reason, too, but I keep this bit of information to myself.

“Sure, just tell me when!”

----------

[ FM ]

During the week, I’m treated to various stories from Felix’s school day on the car ride home, but his favorite daily segment of the Felix Show is “Dad, Do You Know What Miss Scully Did Or Said Today?” I’m bat-shit crazy about her too, so I get where he’s coming from, but he’s downright obsessed and I worry that this kind of attachment is not healthy for a kid.

I talk this over with our therapist on Thursday, in a one-on-one session and she thinks that maybe because he lacks an emotionally available mother, he looked for a suitable substitute and found it in his teacher. I shouldn’t worry too much about it, she’s sure when it’s too much, that the teacher is capable of handling the situation. She also promised to talk to Felix next time, to maybe tone it down just a little.

Our time is up before I can tell her about my own concerns about this situation. How I’d like to ask her out on a date but I don’t know if I should because I don’t want my son to get hurt in the process. I’m too inexperienced in dating to know the proper ways to handle this and frankly, the thought of getting back into dating terrifies me a little too. Okay maybe a lot. Felix is not the only one who has been scarred by the divorce.

----------

[ Felix ]

“Dad! Do we have any glitter glue in the house?”

It’s Thursday night and I’ve been working on my project for hours, wanting to get it just right. I had asked dad to write out a text for an invitation for me and I copied it onto the paper carefully. Pleased, I look at the two invitations I made, I can’t wait to hand them out. I really really hope they’ll accept the invite. My dad’s voice is getting louder while he talks, he’s coming upstairs. He enters my room and looks over my shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s in one of the drawers in the office. Tell me again why you’re making extra invitations when we had official ones made this week?” For someone who spends the whole day at work getting into other people’s heads, he’s not very good at understanding people.

“Because I reallywant them to come, dad! They’re my special guests!”

“Well, if there’s glitter glue, they won’t be able to say no! You did a really good job, Felix.”

“I hope so, dad. I’m pretty sad that mom’s out of the country and grandma can’t make it either.” He strokes a hand over my head.

“I know, son. I’m sorry!”

Chapter 14 - Last Chance For Spotting A Rainbow

Notes:

I stole some lines from the pilot. Please don’t sue. They’re just too good. Asdldlgdf

Also, the scene in the beginning is not entirely made up, a version of it happened to me last year.

[19mrs-barnes17]

Wedding Guest

Summary: Bonus Theme Day - Wedding Date

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Warnings: little steam

Word count: 1,683

A/N: A bonus fic for theme weekend! Enjoy!

~

You had developed a habit of always checking the plus one box, just in case. Life had been a swarm of weddings as of late and you were feeling left behind. Usually you would bring some friend who was free, but this time you knew you couldn’t. This was a family filled wedding which meant that if you didn’t bring an actual date you’d be interrogated all night. And you’d rather be asked pleasant questions about a fake relationship than be scolded for wasting a chair and being alone. So, there you stood before your best friend, your eyes begging her to accept the invitation.

“What’s in it for me?” Strands of her fiery red bob were slipping from the scrunchie, her brow arched. 

“Free food and an open bar?” 

“Boy you really do know how to treat a girl. I’ll do it.” You nearly tackled her with a hug, her arms wrapping around you as you thanked her profusely. “Yeah, yeah. But you have to wear the dress if I do.”

“That old thing?” She leaned against the door frame, smirking. “Yeah, ok. Then I get to pick your dress.”

“I’m glad we could come to this arrangement. Come on in, sweetheart.” Shaking your head at her laughter you follow her to her closet and get to work.

In the passing weeks you and Nat forged a solid story, planned for any questions that might arise, and booked your flight. The plane ride was fairly standard, the two of you watching movies off your laptop. Soon enough it became time to introduce her to a family member, and of course it had to be the most guilt tripping one of them all. Your niece. She had run up to you in the airport and wrapped her arms around your legs. 

“Aunt Y/N! Is that your girlfriend?” She peeked around you at Natasha with curious little eyes, smiling when Nat squatted down and waved. 

“Hi there. My name’s Natasha but you, you can call me Nat.” Her gentle smile seemed to coax Lyla in, her small frame emerging from behind your legs. 

“I’m Lyla. I’m 6 and a half.” Your attention was torn from the adorable scene to the group approaching you. 

“Isaac!” In mere seconds you practically tackled your big brother to the ground, his wife laughing as you pulled her in. “Marie you look better. Healing okay?”

“The surgery went well and the doc says I’m recovering quickly. Enough that I might dance at least once tomorrow night.” Her daughter came running back, latching onto her leg like a leach. “You actually brought a girlfriend home?”

“I know, we’re gonna be swarmed.” Nat caught up, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended toward your family.

“You must be Isaac and Marie, right?” She turned to you feigning the guess, a soft smile dancing on her lips. “I did my best to learn names beforehand.”

“You found yourself a clever one, eh sis?” Isaac smiles shaking Nat’s hand, his eyes still cautious. Marie linked arms with Nat and led her toward the car, Nat glancing over her shoulder at you with a sweet smile. “Finally bringing someone home, she must be important.”

“She’s been my best friend for years, I trust her. And I trust that meeting you whackos won’t deter her.” Isaac smiled before tossing you over his shoulder, your screams turning into giggles. 

“You still walk too slow.” 

“We passed the entry exam. Get ready for the next level.” She shook her head at you and mumbled something along the lines of ‘I used to be a spy you know’. “I come from a family of therapists and professors. They eat bullshit for breakfast.” 

Nat sat in the middle seat of the back of the van, her fingers intertwined with yours as the hour long drive began. The ride consisted of sing-a-longs, in which only your niece participated. If you didn’t know the words to every song in Cinderella, you did now. The parking lot of the hotel was packed, you recognized 70 percent of the cars from family and friends. Nat carried both your bags and rejected all offers of assistance.

“She’s pretty independent.” Marie shook her head, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

“You should have seen her when I moved in. Helped me carry every box and sent the boys to pick up lunch. You should have seen their faces.” You laugh as your thoughts go back to the day you moved into the avengers facility. She had given the guys one look and they went scurrying out the door.

“I’m glad you’ve found someone Y/N. She seems to suit your temperament very well.” Perhaps she did, but that was what had made the two of you such instant friends.

Every waking moment around your family with Nat felt suffocating, they all seemed so proud of your choice. Apart from your Aunt Dinah that is, she was a little stuck in the wrong part of history and never approved of your life choices. She was quite vocal about it and Natasha was not very happy to find this out. In fact, she seemed to up the fake romantic touches whenever your aunt was near. While it made you smile to see her so furious, it also meant a lot more touching than you had planned on. Skin to skin contact with Nat had you questioning your relationship and on a few occasions forgetting it was fake. You thought you could be stronger than all those fake couples in the movies, however, it turned out you were just as susceptible. 

The day of your younger brother’s wedding had arrived and you could not be more grateful that this charade was coming to a close. Pretending to be in love with someone really does a number on your emotions. Hours spent readying the room and double-checking that everyone was being prepped, everything was underway. Tonight you would dance with Nat a few times before saying goodnight and heading back to the hotel. Easy peasy. 

Oh, sweet jesus. Not easy peasy. In no way would her being close to you in that dress be easy peasy. You felt rather compelled to jump her right then and there, which was rather problematic. Even worse your sister-in-law saw the look you had on your face when Nat rounded the corner, it was definitely lustful. You couldn’t hide it.

“Someone’s getting lucky tonight.” Marie smirked as she nudged your arm, eyes twinkling mischievously. “You both look fantastic.” 

“Marie!” You whispered, shooting her a warning look before turning back to face Natasha. “Wow, I told you that was the dress.”

“Then was it your intention to make all the men in the room drool? If so, you’ve done splendid.” One of your cousins was staring at her with a look that you wanted to smack from his face. She moved closer, whispering so only you would hear. “If not, I can only assume it was because you wanted to see me in this dress.”

She wasn’t wrong, you had always wondered about the black gown hanging in her closet. All that she had ever said was that it was for specific missions. By this point you were beginning to gather what sort of missions she utilized its stun capability for, and you were flush in the face. My god, you had done this to yourself.

“Why choose this dress for me? And why it was your stipulation?” Nat smirked and gestured that her lips were sealed, linking her arm with yours before leading you into the elevator. 

Eyes followed the pair of you everywhere, the entire event someone was gawking at her or staring incredulously at you. The entire thing made you squirm in your skin, far too much attention was being placed on the two of you. However you took this opportunity to become even more physical, partially to send the onlookers’ gazes elsewhere and partly because you needed to know whether her flirtation was real or had limits. Your hand rested on her exposed mid-thigh, her hand soon covering it and moving it upward. Either this woman was the queen of acting or she wasn’t having to. Dancing was even more intimate, no matter the speed of the song she was close to you. Her hands roaming and eyes flirting. This was send your gay heart into a panic, you had absolutely no idea what to do with this kind of attention. 

“I need to ask you something and I need an honest answer.” Nat’s hands rested on your lower back and yours at the nape of her neck. Her eyes met yours and with a nod of her head her attention was yours. “Is this even fake anymore?”

“I was wondering when you’d finally ask.” She smirked, something hidden behind her eyes. “I’m not sure it ever was. Maybe when we arrived, but not for long.” 

“So you felt the same? This whole time?” She nodded, arching a brow at you. “When did you?” It was a vague question, but she knew the answer you were seeking. 

“New Years.” The drunk kiss, well half drunk apparently. Only you were tipsy, Nat barely buzzed when you pulled her in for the midnight kiss. It had been passed off as nothing, but it seems both of you knew it was so much more. “Care for a redo?”

“What?” 

“Kiss me while everyone is watching.” Your eyes glanced from hers to her lips, heart racing in your chest as you pulled her into a kiss. Deeper and deeper you fell into the kiss, soon breaking to move it elsewhere as the song ended. A round of goodnights and you were on your way back to the hotel, in the elevator, and behind a closed door. Nat had pushed it shut with her back and you were quick to pounce, tongue sliding in. Your body was coursing with adrenaline as things began escalating and your mind slowly turning to putty. “Seems Marie was right after all”

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @gstran18​ @cantnkrusshedevil​

[vampiregirl1797]

Virginity Can Be A Fickle Thing: Part Two

Lucifer Morningstar x Virgin Female Reader

 GIF Not Mine

 For My Masterlist, Click Here.

For Part One, Click here.

It had been exactly one week since Lucifer and I had made our “arrangement.” I had been more than willing to go through with losing my virginity to him then and there, but he had insisted that he wanted me sober and completely aware of what I was agreeing to. Maze had been surprised when I told her, but I wasn’t at all taken aback by his actions—he’d always been kind and considerate with me; it was one of the things I loved about him.

 Lucifer had told me to take one week to really think about whether I wanted this, and if my answer was yes all I had to do was find him and he would happily take care of all my sexual desires—his words, not mine. And I was sure, my mind hadn’t changed after I’d sobered up, if anything that made me even more certain. He was right, he fulfilled every quality I wanted the first man I slept with to have and more, if that were even possible. I was ready to do this. Which was how I’d found myself getting a cab to Lux and wondering in, looking for the sexy devil—he was usually easy to spot in a crowd and my inability to do that convinced me that he wasn’t here. So, I wondered over to the bar, managing to snag a seat as I waited for Maze to be free.

 ‘If you’re looking for Lucifer, he’s upstairs. Didn’t feel like partying tonight.’ Maze’s voice snapped me out of my trance, ‘there’s a first time for everything I guess.’

 ‘Is he okay?’ I asked, concerned.

 Maze shrugged, ‘he didn’t want to talk to me, maybe you’ll have better luck.’

She gestured towards Lucifer’s personal elevator and I headed over to it without hesitation, typing in the code that took me straight up to his floor. The ride was quick and soon I was stepping out into the devil’s penthouse, feeling the ball of concern grow in my gut at how quiet it was.

 ‘Lucifer?’ I called out, not noticing him in his living room or kitchen, so I decided to head towards his bedroom and he was in there, well technically. He was on the balcony that adjoined onto the room, his hands braced on the railing as he looked out onto the sparkling city below him. He was shirtless and his shoulders were slumped as if he were defeated. I didn’t hesitate and stepped out into the chilly night air, gently closing the glass door behind me and standing next to him.

 ‘It’s a beautiful view.’ I murmured quietly, not wanting to disrupt the quiet bubble that existed around us in that moment.

 I gazed away from the city and over to him, startled when I saw he was already watching at me. His eyes were rimmed red as if he’d been crying; he looked so vulnerable that I just couldn’t hold myself back. I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. My own eyes fell shut when I felt him rest his head against my shoulder; he seemed to fall into me, no longer strong enough to hold himself together. We didn’t speak, I just continued to hold him, one hand stroking along his spine and the other moving through his hair, both gestures intended to comfort him. By the way he seemed to relax in my arms, his muscles unwinding from the tense state they’d been coiled in before, I assumed it was successful. I had to hold back my own tears when I felt a few fall from his eyes and onto my shoulder. This was Lucifer, a man that was usually brimming with confidence, authority and a questionable sense of humour. To see him so crushed and helpless broke my heart and made me want to destroy whatever had hurt him.

 I don’t know how much time had passed when his head lifted from my shoulder to look down at me. His eyes were still red from crying, but the pain that had been present in them before had reduced exponentially in size. Now, the softness in his gaze was making my insides melt, I didn’t know what it meant or why he was looking at me like that but you’d never find me complaining about it.

 ‘What happened?’ I murmured, involuntarily leaning into his touch when he caressed the side of my face.

 ‘I’ve had a terrible day,’ he smiled gently at my reaction to his touch, ‘someone stole my wings.’

 ‘What?’ I startled, feeling anger bubbling up in my belly at his behalf, ‘who?’

 ‘I don’t know, but I assure you I will be getting them back.’ His tone bled with so much certitude that only an idiot wouldn’t have believed that.

 ‘Still, I’m sorry. I know you asked Maze to cut them off for a reason, but they were still important to you, or you wouldn’t have kept them all this time.’

 ‘They were a part of me once, a gift from my father.’ He said, which I already knew but I suspected the purpose of his words weren’t to inform me, ‘it feels like a part of who I am has been stolen.’

 ‘Those wings are just a physical representation of that part of you. Lucifer, that piece is still inside of you,’ my hand moved from his spine to cover his heart, ‘and it’s a piece that no one can ever steal, because it’s a part of who you are. As for the wings, you’ll get them back. I know you will.’

 Just as I was starting to worry that I’d said something wrong, his lips met my forehead and as he tenderly kissed the skin whispered, ‘thank you darling.’

 ‘I’m always here for you, you know that.’ I replied, albeit a little shakily; the kiss had thrown me off. I’d never been kissed on the forehead before and I hadn’t expected it to feel so intimate, or for my skin to tingle so much.

 ‘Right, well I think I’m due a night in.’ he announced abruptly, making me jump a little.

 I had to hold back my frown when he moved away from me, taking the warmth that had wrapped around us both with him.

 ‘I’ll go and get some drinks.’ He smiled a little nervously, which was a drastic contrast to Lucifer’s usual suave confidence.

 I followed him through his bedroom and into the living area. I took a seat on the sofa as he went to the kitchen and I couldn’t hold back my smile as my eyes fell on the blanket folded on the love seat. It was something he hadn’t owned until he’d met me—I got cold easily and after I’d been over a few times to hang out he’d noticed my sensitivity. The next time I’d come over the blanket had been on the loveseat, which was where I usually sat. I’d smiled so big and hugged him for his thoughtful gesture. He’d waved it off, but the smile on his face told me he was happy with my reaction. I migrated over to that seat, unfolding the blanket and snuggling underneath it. My eyes slid shut as I relished in the softness of the grey fabric. I didn’t know where he’d got it from, but it was the fluffiest thing I’d ever had wrapped around me.

 ‘You’re not falling asleep on me are you, darling?’ Lucifer’s amused voice caused my eyes to snap open.

 I narrowed my eyes playfully as I accepted my water from him and lifted up the left side of the blanket so he could slide in next to me. Us cuddling together was an action that we were both used to by now. It had started after I’d fallen asleep on his shoulder one night a few months ago. I’d woken up cuddled into his side and we’d both agreed there and then to do it more often, seeing no reason why not.

 ‘Not yet. Give me an hour.’ I teased, my eyes actually starting to feel a little heavy.

 ‘Long day?’ his arm wound around my shoulders so that I could settle more fully onto his chest. A long breath left me as I eased into a state of relaxation that only Lucifer could induce.

 ‘Not really.’ I said, my index finger absently drawing shapes on his chest. The truth was, I’d spent most of the day trying to find the confidence to come over and take the devil up on his offer, but I didn’t want to mention that now—I didn’t want to draw attention to my lustful desires. His problem was more important.

 ‘I’m always tired when I’m around you, it must just be your personality.’ I teased, grinning when I both felt and heard him chuckle at my jesting.

 ‘And people say I’m the devil. It seems to me that you could give yours truly a run for my money.’

 ‘Don’t sell yourself short.’ I lightly scolded him, but the sting was taken out of my words when he started running his fingers through my hair, soothing me so much that I swear my bones melted.

 It was strange; before I’d met Lucifer, I’d never felt this comfortable around a man. Usually I didn’t know how to talk to the opposite sex, but that was an obstacle I’d never had to face in the past year that I’d known him. I could tell him anything without fear of judgement and I knew I could trust that whatever I told him would stay between us. I could count on him to be there for me when I was sick, sad, or downright depressed. He always took the time to ask what I needed, and no matter what it was, he would do it for me. Like when I’d got my period after a month of us knowing each other, he’d offered to have a lazy day with me. He went all out—bought some cheesy movies on Amazon prime, stocked up on chocolate and ice cream, hell he’d even worn sweats so I wouldn’t feel out of place in my pyjamas. That had been the first time someone had done something so thoughtful for me, and I hadn’t even asked, he just knew what I needed before I did. And just as he was there for me when I needed him, I was there for him. I’d been there when his friend and therapist, Linda, had froze Lucifer out when she’d found out that he’d been sincere about his true identity. Though I think the biggest turning point in our relationship for him had been when he’d shown me his true face. It had been after Chloe had seen it; that had been the act that finally convinced her of his individuality. He’d been so… sad that someone he had considered his friend had rejected him in the revelation of who he truly was.

 That night, I’d gone over to comfort him, not knowing the exact details but I’d had a bad feeling when he didn’t answer any of my calls or texts. One thing had led to another and he’d transformed. It had only been for a second, but I hadn’t run, nor had I been surprised. He’d questioned my reaction and I’d told him that while I’d never seen or asked about his other face, I’d assumed it had existed. Call me crazy, but I’d believed him when he told me he was the devil. After getting to know him and observing his disgust and low tolerance for lies, it wasn’t hard to deduce that he was being sincere. So that was that, and we became closer than ever before.

 Over the past year, we hadn’t gone a day without talking to or even seeing one another. To be honest, I think I’d feel a little lost if I did, the ache in my chest at the mere thought supported that theory. I felt myself stiffen as I realised… this wasn’t how a friend felt about another friend. This was how a girlfriend felt about a boyfriend. How someone felt about someone they were in love with.

 Oh. My. God.

 I knew I had feelings for him, and that I loved him but I didn’t know I was in love with him. Shit. What was I going to do? I took a deep breath, relaxing my muscles before Lucifer could question me. Was this a bad thing? Worst comes to worse, he doesn’t feel the same way. If that’s the case, I’d have to take some time to sort out my feelings, but I was confident we could still be friends. But the small chance that he may feel the same made me summon all of my courage.

 ‘Lucifer?’ I cleared my throat, my index finger resumed in making random shapes on his chest.

 ‘Yes, love?’

 I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, ‘I’m in love with you.’

Click here for Part Three.

[magic8realism]

Chapter 1: Therapy

It was an all too familiar experience, sitting there with nothing but the sound of deafening silence. How many times has it been now? Eight? Nine? Maybe less? Was it sensible to keep count? No, she promised herself she would not entertain such thoughts. She reminded herself that she was here to get better. Yes, that is precisely what Michaela told her. She needed to get better, but was that even possible? Is it possible for someone who had been through what she had gone through to get better? Michaela said she should not give up, that she had made some excellent progress, but her mind knew that Michaela had no idea that it was all an act, a false persona. People need to put an act sometimes to get by. Life demands it. Certain professions would not allow its occupants to survive without it. Her situation was not different.

“Miss. Collins, are you okay? You haven’t said anything for a while now.”

Her eyes darted towards the blond middle-aged woman sitting right across from her. Mary Grove was her name, was it? Michaela told her she was the best therapist in the city. Her friend did say the same thing about other therapists before her, yet not a single one of them had been able to help her. Maybe she was a hopeless case. Maybe she should just accept the fact that she would never overcome the experience and just give in. It would be nice, leaving this world with all its troubles. The ironic thing was that her traumatic experience had left her brain so fragmented and incapable of aligning its contradictory demands that she would no longer know if death was really what it wanted. She would find herself at one point at the pit of a spiral of depression so intense that she would wish she was dead. Her sadistic mind would even go on to devise one method after another in search of the best way to go. A few moments later it would recoil in terror. Her heartbeat would race, her whole body would start to convulse and her chest would struggle to fill her lungs with air. The episode would go on and off for hours until it totally annihilated her grip on reality and sent her crawling into a corner to wait for her impending doom.

“Lesly are you okay?”

No, she was not okay. No one in this god-forsaken city was okay. What made this woman believe anyone was okay? Isn’t that what they say any way? That every single individual suffers from an issue of sorts?  

“Do you need me to get you anything?” Mary asked with a concerned look on her face.

“I’m fine,” Lesly finally decided to answer.

Mary nodded her head, acknowledging the response she was given. She started scribbling on her notebook before she finally decided to address her newest patient, “Shall we continue?”

When Leslie smiled emptily in response to Mary’s question, Mary proceeded, her gaze cantered undividedly on Leslie, “Michaela told me about your situation, but I would like to hear your story.”

Oh yes, the story, that god-awful story. She must have told that story like a hundred times. Although she would like nothing more than to forget it, her brain would make sure to remind her every once in a while. True to its sadistic streak, her brain would not only reminisce on the moments when she was most helpless and scared but would also make her relive every excruciating detail of that experience every chance it gets. Nightmares were quite common and as awful as they were, they were still preferable to the far more harrowing and intrusive flashbacks. Yes, sharing the story should be a breeze. Why would she object to telling it?

“You already know it. Why go through it again?” Lesly answered dryly.

“That’s fine. We won’t discuss it then,” Mary responded with a smile. It seemed that she had had her fair share of difficult patients before Lesly showed up.  

“How’s work Lesly?”

Was Mary trying to approach the problem from a different direction now? Lesly had encountered that strategy a lot, especially when she was reticent. It was obvious what Mary was trying to do.

“You are familiar with my line of work,” Lesly answered calmly.

“Michaela told me you are a brilliant lawyer.”

Brilliant indeed. She could barely afford these sessions. Ever since the death of her younger brother seven years ago, she had been suffering this overwhelming guilt that robbed her of sleep. That guilt would only be eased a little when she distracted herself with work. However, it was not long before she lost the sense of comfort that work gave her. Every case she took made her feel miserable, not only because some clients proved to be the absolute worst human beings on earth, but also because she was the reason the people who really needed help found themselves financially crippled soon afterwards. Eventually, she began taking more cases pro bono. She convinced herself that she was balancing some of the bad with a little good, but sadly that was not the case. People do charity work for different reasons. There are those who help out of the goodness of their heart, and there are those who help for purely selfish reasons, to fix their public image, deceive people into thinking they are somebody that they are not, or even use their charity organization as a front for illegal activities. She could easily fall into the second category. Helping was one way she could convince herself that she was not a bad person, and because she knew that was a lie, she found herself charging her clients little to none over and over in an effort to mask that reality. It was not long before her savings dried up and she found herself downgrading everything in her life to make ends meet. That did not bother her much. As long as she was handling that overwhelming sense of guilt, she was fine. Soon afterwards, she joined Sonata, a charity organization concerned with helping the victims of human trafficking and putting an end to their suffering. Unfortunately, every case she took through Sonata following the incident was nothing more than a blatant reminder of what she had gone through.

“Lesly?”

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about a case I encountered at work today,” Lesly finally decided to answer, realizing that the long time she took to respond was also a sign this Mary person could use to figure her out.

“Care to share it with me?” Mary asked patiently, hoping to get Lesly to finally open up.  

Lesly sighed, wondering whether it was worth it to say anything at all or not. She eventually decided to randomly choose a case and to present it to Mary as a way to fill the silence.

“There is this woman, early twenties, who came to the city of Redlyn in hopes of finding a job that would support her and her five-year old son. She trusted the wrong people and ended up in a prostitution job that she could not leave for fear that her son might get hurt. We managed to save her, but we can’t find her son.”

“That is awful.”

“Yes, that is what people normally say, and yet no body is doing anything about the problem.”

“Lesly, what makes you think the problem is getting worse?” Mary asked after a moment of silence.

“What makes you think it’s getting better?”

“Wouldn’t you consider the changes the newly elected mayor promised to make a step in the right direction?” Mary clarified.

Leslie could not help but laugh at this point, “Politicians!”

Unable to keep her real thoughts to herself any longer, she continued, “The slave-trade has grown prosperous due to the city’s stagnant environment, yet despite the growing numbers we announce, politicians still insist that we exaggerate. Why do you think that?”

“You tell me.”

“Because they are entangled in that mess. The persistence of the problem helps them. They get paid a handsome some by the syndicates running the show to stay quiet. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the city’s major political figures are involved in the lucrative sex-trade that such an activity gave rise to.”

Silence again. The crime rate in the city of Redlyn was high. That was an undisputed fact. The factors behind the increase in crime rate, however, were a source of a major controversy. As with any community, there are those who believed that hijacking people’s freedom through stricter laws was the answer. There are the conspiracy theorists who would either trace the problem to some foreign powers or locate it in the existing government. And then there are the religious fanatics who would simply interpret every occurrence as God’s punishment to the sinful.

“That is…an interesting analysis, Lesly,” Mary replied hesitantly after a moment of silence.

Great! She must have already been categorized as another conspiracy theorist. Lesly did not normally care what other people thought of her, but she did not want Mary to needlessly prolong those sessions. One session every two weeks was torture enough.

She leaned forward in her seat and tried her best to control her simmering temper as she reasoned, “Dr. Grove, how would you explain the rising crime wave? The inadequacy of the law enforcement system? The corruption of the judicial system? And the fact that parts of the city are totally controlled by syndicates and criminal organizations rather than a functional government body?”

Mary would not answer the questions. She just sat there waiting for Leslie to voice the one experience that was the source of this seething, yet somewhat controlled anger.

Realizing that she had revealed more than what she wished her therapist to find out, she stood up, turned her back to the middle-aged woman and began walking towards the window. Lesly took a couple of deep breaths and tried to think of way to handle what remained of the one-hour session. She wanted to leave that instant, but Michaela was waiting outside. Leaving would mean subjecting herself to the hellish nagging, crying and pleading that resulted in the guilt-ride that brought here in the first place. No, leaving was not an option, and apparently beating around the bush and answering questions with questions was not working either, especially since she was exhausted and sleep-deprived. What else was there to do?

Her eyes scanned the small garden through the window. The sound of children playing and laughing immediately caught her attention and had her search their surroundings for the source of their amusement. She soon found out that it was a small golden retriever running around the kids in circles and chasing after a toy they were holding. Something about the scene evoked a surge of emotions within her. She could not understand at first why the scene affected her so much, but she soon managed to put a name to the phenomenon…nostalgia…but that was not all there was to it. Something else was making her eyes burn. They were tearing up. The more she fought that, the harder her eyes pulsed. She tried to keep herself composed, but so many things were out of order right now that she could not keep track of everything. Something was bound to slip out.

Almost involuntarily, she found herself whispering, “Things would have been easier if he was around.”

“Who Lesly?”

“Christopher.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

What was there to talk about? The guy lived his whole life treating her like nothing but the family he always wanted, but she never returned the sentiment. She hated him at first because he was her father’s love child. Christopher was twelve when she first met him. He was four years younger than her. His mother had passed away when he was two and he spent the next ten years in the care of his maternal grandmother. Her father kept his existence a secret from her up until he could no longer do so. Christopher’s grandmother passed away and her father had no choice but to bring him over. What made it easier for her father to do so was the fact that her mother was no longer around, too. Her father only had one person’s feelings to worry about and those were hers. She spent the next year fully ignoring Christopher’s existence for her sanity’s sake up until the moment she went to college.

Lesly finally got to acknowledge Christopher as a brother when her father passed away. She had just graduated from college and she was trying to put herself through law school. The sight of Christopher weeping at her father’s funeral tore at her heart strings. She realized that Christopher had just lost the only family he knew. Their relationship grew from that point onward, but it was not long before it hit another hurdle along the way. She did not know whether it was the lack of guidance or the fact that he had been spoiled by everybody who cared for him throughout his life, but Christopher had grown up to be the most irresponsible person she had ever encountered. He could not keep himself in college and would not even bother looking for a job. His reason, of course, was that he did not need the money after he was finally granted access to the trust fund left to him by his maternal grandparent. Every encounter the two had followed the same routine course. She would criticize his irresponsible behaviour. He would call her a stuck-up a bitch, and then the two of them would keep their distance until he sought her out again. It was always him who initiated the contact, never her. He was the one who would call to check on her. He was the one who would arrange dinner appointments to meet her. He was the one who constantly called her office to plan things around her schedule. It was obvious that he loved her a great deal. She loved him, too, but for some reason, she was never capable of showing it, and now he was dead and his blood was on her hands alone.

Why didn’t she keep her mouth shut? If she had tried to reason with him rather than criticize and point his flaws every time she saw him, he would not have stormed out of her flat in anger and got himself killed in a car accident. Why did she do that? Why was she so harsh with him? She was an attorney and a damn excellent one. She should have been able to use her words in a more effective manner than that. Did she still resent him for being her father’s love child? Was that the real reason? Did she secretly want him dead? Did she even love him or was she lying to herself the entire time to make herself feel better? Maybe she deserved what happened to her, getting incarcerated, tortured, and raped. She should have died that day. She should not have been rescued.

“Lesly, what are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Lesly answered in a small voice.

At this point, Mary could not help but sigh in frustration at her patient’s lack of cooperation. She placed the cap over her pen, put her notebook aside, took a deep breath, and tried to reason one more time, “Dear, I’m trying to help you. You are obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. What you have been though is horrendous in every sense of the word. You have to open up.”

Still not convinced, Lesly asked, “What’s the point? It won’t erase the fact that it happened. It won’t erase the fact that I deserved it.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m a horrible human being,” Lesly replied softly.

“Lesly, it is common for sexual assault victims to blame themselves. The most important thing to remember is that…”

“Did you not hear me? I deserved it,” Lesly interrupted, almost breaking down.

Mary tried to hold back from saying anything that would further enrage Lesly. She took a deep breath, tried to rearrange her thoughts, and then proceeded one more time to convince her patient to speak, “Lesly, perhaps you can help me understand the situation better by telling me exactly what happened.”

Lesly tried to calm herself down. She closed her eyes to keep the tears that were threatening to fall from falling, and counted to ten. She could handle this. She could power through if she wanted. She had done it before, and she could do it again.

She slowly walked back to her seat, sat down, then spoke softly, “I helped someone.”

“And?” Mary asked encouragingly.

“I paid dearly for it.”

[knit-wear-it]

Abnormal Psychology II

Joan Leland’s Two Greatest Disappointments

PhD student!Crane, Undergrad!Harley, Narrator!Joan Leland / Writing exercise to help me work through backstories. Which includes rewriting the first part of this. Because it was terrible.

Read Abnormal Psychology I Here

**Reminder: Harley killed her college boyfriend.

Abnormal Psychology II

2. Joan Leland's Two Greatest Failures

Eight years before Harley meets the Joker.

Joan Leland had been teaching Psychology at Gotham University for over twenty-five years, the tenured head of the department for nearly ten. During those years, she’d seen many precocious PhD candidates, but few of them stood out like Jonathan Crane.

She first met Jonathan when he was twenty-two years old, freshly graduated from a southern university known for its football team rather than its academics. With a bachelor’s in clinical psychology, and a minor in chemistry, his grades had been excellent, and his tutors called him ‘brilliant’ in their referrals. He was an obvious choice for an interview. 

The young man Joan met had been caustic, bordering on rude, and she immediately suspected he was either on the spectrum or suffering some other mental health ailment. That wasn’t a mark against him - so many students of psychology were drawn to the field because of their own struggles. But Crane had a unique interest - obsession if the intensity in his pale eyes was any indication - in fear that hinted at PTSD more than intellectual curiosity. Still, despite Joan’s reservations, Crane was invited to join that year’s group of post-graduate students.

He hadn’t fit in, making numerous enemies amongst his cohort, fellow twenty-somethings who submitted complaints about his rudeness and inflexibility. Then there were Crane’s complaints - of which there had been many - accusing his peers of being lazy and holding him back. In the end, Crane spent the collaborative early years of his PhD working alone. 

It was in Crane’s third year that Joan became well acquainted with him. As head of the department, she had the final say in allocating budgets to research projects. Predictably, Jonathan believed his doctorate thesis to be of paramount importance above his fellow graduate students, and he spent an increasing amount of time lobbying Joan for more money, and issuing empty threats about going to the dean if she didn’t agree. 

“Twenty-thousand dollars?” Joan asked warily, raising her eyebrows at Crane over the top of the proposal he’d just handed her. He was a skinny, pale young man at twenty-five, with an untidy flop of black hair and striking pale blue eyes. His clothes were always neat and tidy, his preference for gray slacks, black oxfords, and ties beneath wool vests separating him from his peers, who tended towards more childish versions of professional dressing. He might have been handsome if it weren’t for the way he carried himself - arrogant, impatient, full of disdain.  

Joan felt sorry for him. 

“I require a larger pool of test subjects,” Crane explained stiffly, his top lip curling. “The volunteers aren’t good enough.”

“Why aren’t they enough?” Joan frowned as she removed her spectacles. “Your peers have no problem with the volunteers.”

Crane closed his eyes and inhaled sharply like he was rallying his patience, or maybe he found being asked to explain himself deeply offensive. 

“I require a certain kind of subject,” he forced a bitter smile that made Joan’s eyes widen. “I need to vet them myself. It’s essential to my research.”

“I understand, Jonathan,” Joan offered him a sympathetic smile and set his proposal aside. “I’m afraid twenty-thousand is out of the question. I may be able to free up five for you.”

“Ten,” Crane insisted sourly. “Dr Leland, I’m sure you’re aware that it would be generous to call the department’s psychopharmacology resources lacking.”

“I’m sorry, Jonathan, this isn’t a negotiation,” Joan sighed as she got to her feet, adjusting her pastel suit jacket. “You’ll have to make do with five-thousand. Now, please excuse me, I have a meeting.” 

She gestured to the door when an idea occurred to her - perhaps a creative solution. Crane isolated himself from his peers, and he never spoke about friends or family. He was missing empathy in his life, with no one to care for, and no one to show him compassion in return.

“Actually,” Joan’s smile brightened. “Have you thought about signing up for the free therapy program the student union set up?”

Crane’s pale eyes widened incredulously. 

“Dr Leland… are you suggesting I need therapy?” he demanded indignantly.

“Well, no,” Joan admitted, though it was abundantly clear Crane needed to talk to someone about his past. “You are a licensed therapist, Jonathan. I’m suggesting you volunteer your time to help these students. It would be good for you to practice outside of your research.”

Crane squinted at her owlishly for a moment, then quite abruptly, he snorted out a laugh.

“I don’t think so,” he said smugly. “Children with eating disorders don’t interest me.”

“Most of them are there for depression or anxiety, or trauma they need to work through,” Joan pointed out, feeling a swell of pity for him. “Psychology isn’t just research and test subjects. We’re here to help people too.”

“Mm,” he sneered, disagreeing but apparently not feeling the need to make his case. He wasn’t holding himself back because he held an unpopular opinion - Joan had heard plenty of complaints about his outright disdain for patient welfare. But this time it seemed he didn’t feel it was an argument worth having. An argument that was beneath him as he found so many things to be. 

“How are you finding the lectures?” Joan asked hesitantly, shouldering her bag as she followed him out of her office. 

“Most of them are morons,” he shot her a withering look that could have stripped paint off the wall. “I’ll also be lobbying the dean to remove the teaching requirement for students in their fourth year,” he informed Joan crisply. “Some of us have more important work to be doing.”

Then he turned on his heel and stomped down the hallway without a word of farewell. 

Joan sighed, feeling another surge of pity for Jonathan Crane as she locked her office door and headed in the opposite direction. 

Gotham University’s campus was covered in snow, a treat for students returning from their Christmas breaks. Joan smiled at colleagues and a few students she knew or recognized as she walked toward the student union building, struggling with the question of how she might help Jonathan Crane.

The student union was a modern building painted yellow and red, and it hadn’t aged well since it was constructed in the late seventies. Joan took the lift to the third floor, where she’d been given a small office to assess the students assigned to her. Four or five other members of staff from the psychology department volunteered their free time there too, with patients dolled out to them in a kind of raffle. Students wanting therapy would be added to a waitlist and scheduled with whoever was available whenever they were available. It wasn’t ideal but it was better than nothing. 

“Hi, Dr Leland,” the volunteer behind a receptionist’s desk greeted Joan brightly, handing her a file. 

“Hi Sarah,” Joan smiled back at her. “How is everything?”

“It’s pretty dead,” Sarah observed affably. “I guess the kids are feeling pretty good after the break. No finals to stress them out.”

“Sure,” Joan agreed politely, inwardly thinking that many of these young people would likely be in need of more therapy after the holidays, not less. “Who am I seeing today?” she opened the file, her eyes widening when she found a police report inside. 

“Ah, she’s kind of a special case,” Sarah sighed. “Her boyfriend was Guy Kopski, you know, the boy who committed suicide before the holidays?” She cringed, which made Joan frown, deeming a cringe to be a particularly inappropriate response from someone working closely with students requiring support and compassion. “Anyway, the financial aid office insisted she either take time off from school or get some form of therapy. She’s waiting in your office.”

“The FA office is involved? That seems heavy-handed,” Joan mused, scanning the police report before she turned the page. “Oh,” she nodded, understanding. 

Harleen Quinzel was on a full-ride scholarship, and she was an orphan. The financial aid office wanted to make sure their investment paid off. 

Sad stories were something you got used to working in psychology. It was important to empathize with your patients, and that never got easier or less painful, but the longer you did the job, the more you accepted those stories as part of life. Joan would never feel numb toward the people she helped, but their stories did become less shocking to her. Including Guy Kopski’s violent suicide.

To jump off a building, one truly had to want to die.  

Joan knocked on her office door before pushing it open, her lips curving into a patient smile, which came naturally to her after years and years of listening to sad stories. 

“Harleen?” she asked the girl waiting for her, keeping her voice soft. 

Harleen Quinzel sat at one end of a pale green corduroy couch, looking out the window. She had long, honey blonde hair that fell in soft, messy waves around her shoulders, and she wore the typical GU-girl winter uniform of leggings, a collegiate sweatshirt, and snow boots. She turned her head when Joan said her name, her sober expression inspiring an almost painful pang of sympathy in Joan. Harleen looked strained and pale, her blue eyes overly-large like she’d lost a lot of weight quickly, with bruise-like smudges beneath. It had been about three weeks since Guy Kopski’s suicide, and Joan realized that Harleen probably hadn’t had anyone to talk to about how she was feeling in that span of time. 

In fact, if she had no family to speak of, she would have spent most of that time alone in Gotham while her friends went back to their family’s homes.

“Dr Leland,” Harleen greeted Joan warily. 

Joan lowered herself onto the other end of the couch; she should have taken the chair, but Harleen was so… alone, it seemed more natural to sit beside her. To be closer to her.

“I’ve been filled in about Guy and the financial aid office,” Joan explained kindly while Harleen nodded. “This may be a very general way to open, but would you like to tell me how you’re feeling today?”

Harleen took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, her eyes on one of the many ferns populating the room. 

“Numb,” she said eventually, not looking away from the fern. “Like it didn’t happen.”

 “Acceptance is the final stage of grief,” Joan replied kindly. “It’s only been three weeks. It makes sense that you haven’t fully processed Guy's death.”

“No,” Harleen caught Joan’s eye. Her eyes were glacial, like an icy arctic sea. “I’ve accepted that he’s gone,” she said softly. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it.”

“There isn’t one way you should feel about it,” Joan said patiently. “It’s not about what you decide you should feel - you’ll feel whatever you feel. That’s one of the things we’re here to talk about so you can understand and cope with those feelings.”

“I know that. I meant I don’t know what I’m feeling, or if I’m even feeling anything at all,” Harleen explained, her gaze shifting back to the fern. She blinked at it a few times, her face placid as she searched her feelings, trying to understand them. “It’s like it didn’t happen to me, but someone else…” she murmured to herself.

Joan was about to jump in, not wanting to push her too hard in the first five minutes when Harleen spoke up again. 

“Everyone knows green is a soothing color,” she observed, running her hand over the corduroy couch cushion. “Doesn’t it seem a little patronizing to use it so liberally?”

“I’m not sure everyone knows that,” Joan offered her a wry smile. “You’re a psych major, aren’t you?”

“You’re the head of the psychology department, aren’t you?” Harleen countered tartly, imitating Joan’s tone perfectly. Then she shifted back into moroseness, almost more intensely than she had been before, and she took a deep breath like she was bracing herself. 

Joan felt a startling thread of dread roll through her gut - some sixth sense waving a flag that there was something wrong with this young woman. The way she flipped on a dime, from depressed to… whatever that was, and back again. It made Joan wonder if there wasn’t something ingenuine about her grief.

But, Joan reminded herself, there was nothing wrong with anyone. No matter what their pathology, no matter what their circumstances. There was a diagnosis to contend with, but no human being could be wrong. 

Aside from, perhaps, some of the most vicious psychopaths.

What made a person human if not empathy? 

“I’m hoping to get into the PhD program after I graduate,” Harleen said, giving Joan a hopeful smile that looked forced. 

“That’s wonderful,” Joan beamed at her, shrugging off her unease. “There’s pretty stiff competition, but you’ve certainly got the grades for it. What are you interested in?”

Harleen licked her lips, eyeing the fern thoughtfully as she considered Joan’s question. Or, perhaps she was considering how to answer Joan’s question. The longer the silence stretched on, the more Joan came to feel she was trying to craft an answer for Joan’s sake, rather than telling the truth. But that was ludicrous, there was nothing she could say that Joan would judge her for. 

Then Harleen looked at Joan, and there was a faint gleam in her eyes, something dark that sent an uneasy shiver rolling over Joan’s shoulders. 

“Psychopaths,” Harleen announced grimly, the word seeming to hang in the air between them. “I want to understand the way they feel,” she added, sounding more subdued.  

Joan raised her eyebrows. Psychopaths were frequent favorites for the younger students, no doubt because they were one of the more exciting pathologies. Not to mention the many movies featuring glamorized versions of them - Hannibal Lector, Patrick Batement, Frank Booth, and nearly every other villain created by Hollywood. 

But there was something… certain about Harleen's words. 

Something personal. 

“Psychopaths don’t feel very much,” Joan pointed out cautiously, watching Harleen turn her attention to the corduroy couch, stroking the ribbed fabric slowly. “They have almost zero emotional intelligence. Everything they do is driven by impulse, trying to feed the pleasure center of their brain for immediate gratification.”

“Really?” Harleen frowned as she looked up at Joan. “All of them?”

“Generally speaking,” Joan said hesitantly, holding Harleen’s gaze, which was intense and made her feel somehow… exposed. 

Harleen sighed and looked down at the pale green couch cushion.

“I wonder if psychopaths find green soothing,” she mused, sounding genuinely curious.

That brought a smile to Joan’s lips. Curiosity was one of her most prized qualities in a student.

After that first meeting, Joan met Harleen every other week for the rest of the semester, getting to know her sad story and her curious mind. There was something about her that made Joan feel protective of her, almost like she owed it to Harleen to give her what she needed to succeed. 

There was also something about Harleen that reminded Joan of Jonathan Crane. Something a shade too ambitious, something a fraction too disinterested in the people around her. They both had sad stories, but while Jonathan’s seemed to drag him down, Harleen seemed to exist separately from hers, as if none of it had really happened to her.

Joan was dismayed but not surprised when the world found out what Jonathan Crane turned Arkham Asylum into. His fear toxin, torturing his patients, working with the mob, the Scarecrow moniker, all of it seemed like an inevitable conclusion.  

But she could have never predicted how Harleen’s story panned out. 

Joan had always worried about the way Harleen monitored herself in front of other people. Over the years that followed their first meeting, she could never understand why her most talented student felt the need to hide her thoughts and feelings, and there was always something decidedly… clenched about how she carried herself. As if there was a weight on her shoulders she couldn’t shake off, something constantly holding her back from being herself, something she was constantly fighting against. 

It wasn’t until the world was introduced to Harley Quinn that Joan understood what that something was.

And all it had taken was the Joker to unlock it.

A/N: Again, just a little writing exercise with some throwbacks to the Harlequin, but nothing revolutionary or spoilery.

Now time to write what I’m supposed to be writing...

[satonthelotuspier]

Day 7 of Xichengclipse is here, and we’re almost done!

This turned a little away form the original concept into wanting to explore how societal pressures affect JC's notion of himself. He has this role he has to play in canon, especially young jc, the sect heir, the more sensible one to WWX's shenanigans, and I wonder if he ever found that stifling. I wanted to take a look at what that might mean in a different verse. 

Lotus Lakes In Spring

Lan Xichen has suddenly started working late every night, and Jiang Cheng, insecure at the best of times, is imagining the worst. Although he had thought they had developed feelings for each other theirs was still a match of convenience, tying to powerful families together, and perhaps he's has enough of Jiang Cheng.

How far away from the truth is he? His therapist suggests there's only one way to find out - communication in relationships is key.

Featuring a JC struggling with societal expectations and his own nature, and a misunderstood LXC who's taking some matters into his own hands.

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng assured, except it really wasn’t. It wasn’t fine. They hadn’t spent any time together for weeks because Lan Xichen had been working constantly, and this afternoon was just another call to excuse himself from dinner, because he’d be working at the office until into the evening again.

It was a herculean effort, but he killed the needy keen in his voice; an omega begging for attention from his mate might sound cute in theory, but Jiang Cheng hated that he was so weak to the natural reaction.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow evening then, I have to be up early for a conference across town, so I need to go to bed early tonight.” He didn’t sound terribly pathetic, but it was a close thing.

“Sleep well, Wanyin, I’ll be quiet when I get in, so that I don’t wake you.”

He could feel the wetness behind his eyes, but worked hard to keep it out of his voice.

“Thank you, Xichen.”

With a few more pleasantries they ended the call, and Jiang Cheng stared at the bright-screened mobile in his hand.

Was Lan Xichen growing bored of him? Their relationship was complicated, no doubt, it wasn’t any secret that their match had been a power move, two of the biggest families in Suzhou, united in an act of politically motivated showmanship.

But Jiang Cheng had thought they had come to care for each other, despite neither having been the other’s choice. Lan Xichen was a kind and caring man, and an attentive alpha mate, and Jiang Cheng tried his best to be a good omega. Despite his quick temper, neediness, and easily embarrassed nature, he did try to be as good to his alpha as Lan Xichen was to him.

Perhaps with mixed results.

And that must be why the other was pulling away, having had enough of having to pander to him, to address the flaws in his character, and yes, in his body.

Jiang Cheng whined low in his throat, as he acknowledged the white elephant in the room. It must be, in part, because their matings hadn’t taken yet. Despite numerous heats shared together, he had yet to become pregnant. He was failing in an omega’s most basic function, and powerful dynasties, like the families they both came from, required heirs, and he wasn’t providing.

What was the point in bringing an omega into the family if he couldn’t breed?

Lan Xichen said it didn’t matter, things would happen in their own time, but that was just Lan Xichen, being nice, paying lip service. If it wasn’t an issue why was it in every gossip magazine? Every tabloid newspaper?

Taunting headlines about separate bedrooms and a lack of intimacy between the Lan heir and the Jiang heir, married for convenience, to further two powerhouses of political and economic might, but cold and distant with each other.

Until a few weeks ago they couldn’t have been further from the truth, he had fallen asleep in his husband’s arms every night, and they shared a full and mutually satisfying sex life, even outside of his heat cycles.

He was assured by the specialists he had consulted that there was no physical reason for it, that everything was in perfect working order; Lan Xichen had even supported him, attended the appointments with him, even submitted himself to a physical examination and tests to ensure there was no problems on his side either.

Jiang Cheng had been pleased to find that out that the kidnapping he had suffered as a young adult had left him with no lingering effects other than a pervasive fear of the dark.

Which meant it was him. He wasn’t broken medically, he was just broken.

Had Lan Xichen gone back to the lover he had stopped seeing in readiness for their marriage? Had he finally had enough of a mate that didn’t provide the things he should?

Who could blame him? Maybe these were the first tentative steps towards divorce?

He unlocked his phone and dialled.

“Wen Qing, can I talk to you?”

“I’m not your therapist, A-Cheng.”

“Your monthly invoice says differently. You’re damned expensive for someone who isn’t,” he snapped, and she snorted.

“I have a client in half an hour, but I’ll give you a call before I go home. It will be around five, alright?”

He agreed and they hung up.

***

He tried to process her advice that night as he lay in the bath he had taken to try and relax a little. The gist of their conversation had said he could drive himself silly with the what ifs, the suppositions, and the only way he’d get any closure on the issue was to ask Lan Xichen directly.

And that he should also talk to the other about his needs, that he missed the other and wanted attention.

Out of the two, Jiang Cheng thought the latter was the least likely to pass his lips. How pathetic would it make him seem to be begging his own husband for attention?

He was that pathetic though, he really, really wanted to.

He bathed, changed for bed, and, ensuring the small lamp near his side of the bed was on, settled down to sleep in a bed that seemed all too empty, because Lan Xichen wasn’t in it beside him.

***

It must have been the sound of the thunder that awoke him, as he shot upright in bed, and began to panic. The room was pitch dark, and he felt his chest tightening and his breathing speeding to shallow pants in immediate reaction to the darkness. He mewled; a lost child. It was oppressive, and closing in on him ever faster.

“Wanyin?” Lan Xichen’s voice sounded, clear and soothing by his ear. “Damn.” There was some scrabbling around, then a flare of light in the darkness. “Here, take this, baby.” Lan Xichen’s phone, with the torch function on full, was pressed into his shaking hands, and he waved it wildly around the room, checking in the shadows while the other gave him space to ensure he was safe.

Eventually he calmed enough to accept Lan Xichen’s arms around him, as he was pulled into the other’s lap and hugged tightly.

“You’re safe, sweetness, you’re safe here with me.” Lan Xichen kept up the steady, soft, stream of reassurance, stroking his hair and kissing wherever his lips landed until Jiang Cheng regained some measure of control over himself.

He didn’t have quite enough to control his tongue, however, “Don’t leave me, Xichen, please don’t leave me. I’m trying so hard to be better for you. I am.”

The stroking hand paused, then slid to his shoulders and held him away from Lan Xichen’s chest so the other could look at him, “What do you mean, Wanyin? Of course I’m not going to leave you, I know you don’t like the dark, it’s not a surprise to me. I’ll hold you until dawn or the power comes back on. I don’t mind.”

“B-but you’re avoiding me. You’re staying at work all the time now, like you don’t want to be with me, or you’re seeing someone e-else.” It could only be described as a wail, and Jiang Cheng hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop now the dam had burst. “I kn-know I haven’t given you heirs yet, but I’m trying my b-best.”

“Wanyin? Why…” Lan Xichen sucked in a breath, then moved his hands up to cup his face gently, “you silly thing, we’ve discussed this again and again. I don’t care. It will happen when it happens, or it won’t, and that’s fine too,” Lan Xichen’s thumbs rubbed over Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, wiping away the tears, “I’m working late because I’m trying to clear my schedule early, before your next heat cycle. I’ve been looking for places we can get away from the city and take it easy for a while, and you might relax enough to enjoy yourself a little more, instead of worrying incessantly about something that is so completely out of your control.”

Of course, Lan Xichen’s words only made him cry harder, and try to wrap himself around the other.

“And how could I consider seeing someone else? Who would ever match up to my beautiful omega? No one else smells of lotus and soft spring rain on a lake like you, no one else has that fiery, challenging gaze for me,” Lan Xichen feathered his lips against Jiang Cheng’s jawline, and he preened at the praise falling from the other’s lips, hmming his approval, “and no one else would look half as divine spread across our bed, tousled and well-loved and marked so completely as mine, as you do.”

Jiang Cheng growled, “Yes, I want that, show me, alpha, Xichen, show me I’m yours.”

Lan Xichen pulled the torch phone out of Jiang Cheng’s hands, and placed it besides them, so it still cast a glow, and pushed forward to pin the other beneath him. “As my omega wishes.”

***

Jiang Cheng lay back against the unfamiliar-smelling bed, while Lan Xichen rubbed gently at the arch of his right foot. He had never considered his feet erogenous zones but the way Lan Xichen touched him, anywhere, everywhere, so possessively, so soothingly, with such an intent to relax, to make love to. He made a soft, light sound of delight, surrender, and contentment in his throat, which was mirrored by a more aggressive sound in his alpha’s.

The bed would soon be flooded in the scent of their pheromones, overwhelming whatever neutral washing agent the hotel used, when his heat hit in earnest.

But at the moment he was riding it’s edge, extremely sensitive, a little excited, by the nearness of his alpha, but too relaxed to move. That would change soon enough, but he intended to enjoy this for as long as he could.

He was so lucky, to be this cared for, to be this precious to someone. He still felt so guilty that he had suspected Lan Xichen of having an affair, when the other had been working hard to provide an environment where the mate he knew was so tense and stressed about their inability to fall pregnant, could relax, let go, and forget about the newspapers, the pressure of his family, and just enjoy what should, after all, be a  pleasure-filled few days, worshipped by his alpha, like any beautiful omega should be.

“I love you.” The words were out before Jiang Cheng realised, and he would have slapped a hand over his mouth, but the deep, pleased, possessive sound that came from Lan Xichen’s throat made his toes curl.

He felt a flush of heat begin to run through every nerve ending in his body at the same moment Lan Xichen released his ankle, and moved between his lifted knees, almost more tuned in to Jiang Cheng’s heat than he was himself. He looked dangerous, and hungry as he lowered his head to mouth at the pulse pounding at Jiang Cheng’s throat as the room flooded with the smell of lotus lakes in spring.

“Love you too,” he raised his head briefly to reciprocate, before returning back to sucking a mark against Jiang Cheng’s throat.

***

It had been a wonderful idea, to take this away from the city, from all the factors pressing expectation down on Jiang Cheng, and they decided to stay for a day longer than Lan Xichen had originally planned, as they were both exhausted after a very pleasurable heat spent worshipping each other.

It became a regular thing, and it was no surprise to Lan Xichen, who had theorised privately, that it was probably the stress of expectation and regard on Jiang Cheng, that was causing the problems, that it wasn’t too many heats later that they were cuddled on their bed together awaiting the results of the chemist-bought pregnancy test Jiang Cheng had purchased on his way back from the office earlier that evening.

He had sat through so many hopeful tests himself, only to have them come back negative, Jiang Cheng was almost too terrified to look after the required time. He hadn’t wanted to expose Lan Xichen to this side of him, the failed omega, desperate to fulfil his purpose and obsessed with his inability to do so, but he felt that this time, even if it was negative he was in a better place to deal with that, with his alpha, his mate, his husband, by his side.

It was positive, however, and it was a long time before Jiang Cheng was coherent enough at the news to discuss it with Lan Xichen, who held him close as he went from elated to terrified and back again over and over again.

The feelings only abated a little that night in bed, where they lay together in the soft sheen of the lamp behind Jiang Cheng, talking about their future.

“You’ll have to cut back on those ridiculous coffees you drink, baby.” Lan Xichen teased him gently, and Jiang Cheng frowned unhappily.

“Ugh, but where are the gossip mags going to get their photos from if I don’t go to the coffee shop?” He grinned suddenly, “I can’t wait to maternity it up, they are going to get so many baby bump shots. Infertile, separate beds, hah,” he ground his teeth in irritation, then forgot it just as quickly as he went through another plateau of delight at the thought their child growing tenaciously in his belly.

[krisseycrystal]

rated: g

fandom: Steven Universe

prompt: “Competition” + BisPearl (& Steven)

requested by: @moominquartz​ (& myself)

SO I’M PRETTY SURE when my darling husband, Isaiah, first said “I can’t decide to request BisPearl w/ Competition or Protecting Someone You Love” I said “both” but then SUF ended and I cried my eyes out and got slammed with feelings to explore Steven’s adventures post-show, out on his own, while still connecting with the gems who love him 

maybe just bc under this past year i, too, moved out for good across the country from my family and i want to see him enjoying it

so now have this lengthy oneshot. enjoy!!

- o - o - o -

Put it There [Read on AO3]

- o - o - o -

Give me your hand, I’d like to shake it, I wanna show you I’m your friend You’ll understand if I can make it clear, It’s all that matters in the end

- o - o - o - 

Steven is in some tiny nowhere town in the snow-capped mountains of Wyobrado when Pearl comes to visit. Unlike Amethyst, Pearl doesn’t have a bag in her hand when she arrives. She warps in to the nearest pad with the clothes on her back and a bright smile on her face and as soon as she sees him, she extends her hands and trills, “Oh, Steven!” and Steven lets her run to him, laughing as they crash into each other.

The air is full of, “So how’ve you been?” and “I’m so happy to see you again,” and “I saw the pictures you sent! You look like you’re taking to skiing much better than roller-skating!” and “Oh! Is that what it looks like?”

They talk for the entire drive down the mountainside to the classic 50’s-style diner run by Old Marjory. Steven finds out this was a mistake when Old Marjory, who absolutely adores him, meets Pearl, who also absolutely adores him. Steven tries to hide his head under his menu and even then, he doesn’t feel like he’s able to fully escape.

“Did you have to tell her the one about the Ready-Whip?” he whines once Old Marjory has stepped away.

Pearl laughs. Steven watches her thumbs fly across the screen of her phone and wonders if he’s part of the reason she’s somehow gotten so fast at texting while he’s been gone. “Why? Were you embarrassed?”

“Uh, duh! Anything that happens when you’re twelve is embarrassing.” 

“Huh. Really? I wouldn’t know.”

Steven scoffs and props his elbow up on the formica table. “Course you wouldn’t,” he says with his cheek squished against the heel of his hand. He watches the birds gathering on the telephone wires on the street. After a moment of silence, he looks to Pearl again.

Her pale blue eyes are still on her phone.

Huh.

“So, uh, I know we just drove down the mountain, but we’re going to have to drive back up after dinner to get to the B&B I’m staying at. Sorry about that. Old Marjory’s chicken and waffles make the out-of-the-way drive totally worth it though; I promise.”

Steven looks up from where his finger has begun to idly draw shapes on the patterned formica.

Pearl’s response is a second delayed. “Hm? Oh, no, that’s fine. You know I don’t mind riding in the Dondai with you.” 

“Yeah,” Steven says slowly. His eyes dart between Pearl’s face and her phone, hovering in front of her pointed nose. “Speaking of which, the B&B is really cool. It looks like a ski lodge, but much smaller. It’s got this awesome stone fireplace in the common room; I can’t wait for you to see it! I love playing the new Hummingbird with my feet up against the gate.”

“That sounds wonderful, Steven.”

“Yeah…” Steven swallows. He drops his hand from his cheek and straightens up. “So, hey, uh, is everything okay?”

Pearl’s gaze finally snaps up. “Huh? Oh, yes. Everything’s fine.” She smiles and--for the first time that Steven can remember--instead of putting her phone away in the ether of her gem, she turns it over and places it on the table at her elbow. Just before she locks the screen, Steven thinks he catches the name sprawled across the top of the text message window.

Peridot. 

Double huh.

He didn’t know those two were on such familiar speaking terms.

“Do you like it here in Peak City?”

Steven chuckles and shrugs, but avoids meeting Pearl’s gaze. He knows what she’s really asking. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. Old Marjory’s waffles do make a pretty convincing argument to stay. I just…don’t know if this is the place for me yet.”

“That’s okay! You haven’t been to all 39 states yet. You still have 12 more left, right? That’s 12 more options and countless more cities among them, too.”

It’s the little things--the little details that Pearl remembers--that shows how much she really does pay attention to his texts and letters. His heart feels warm. Whatever tension that was building in his body ebbs. He crosses his arms over the formica table. “Yeah,” he sighs and smiles.

He is so, so glad to see Pearl.

Pearl continues right on as if he hadn’t said a word and he lets her prattle, listening fondly with his chin resting against his forearm.

“You’ll find your place, Steven. And even if that place changes over time, that’s okay, too. Why, you know how many temples your mother, Garnet, and I went through before we settled on the one in Beach City? Not that there were many completed temples on Earth before the war started, and not to mention there were a lot of upgrades we had to do to the temple’s interior to make it suitable, but stars, you should have seen it before we put our own spin on it! Come to think of it, that temple has undergone several changes since then, as well…”

- o - o - o -

It’s not like Pearl needs a bed, but they accept the cot anyway from the kindhearted B&B owner when his husband nods at them from over his shoulder with a look that reads, “Just let him give you the thing and be done with it.” 

The cot remains folded and upright on its wheels, pressed to the far wall, as Steven and Pearl stay up late into the night talking and talking and talking.

“How’s everyone in Beach City?”

“Great. The annual Food Truck Fair was two weeks ago. It was a--what do you call it? A hit? Everyone loved it; Beach City had hundreds of off-season visitors. Mayor Nanafua was proud. So was Mr. Dewey, I think. You should come by to see it next year; Blue Lace is talking about getting a Spacetries truck for it.”

“That’s amazing!”

���Little Homeschool’s growing every day. Winter Break’s coming up too, you know. Garnet, Amethyst, your father, and I have been talking about using the time off to come see you together, if you don’t mind dealing with us again in a few weeks.”

“You know there’s nothing I’d love more than that.”

Pearl smiles and puts her hand in his curly hair. She leans forward and presses a kiss to his brow.

“We can talk more tomorrow. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“Kay. Love you, Pearl.”

“I love you, too, Steven.”

- o - o - o -

Steven isn’t sure what wakes him. He stares groggily at the red 2:03 AM glaring at him from next to the bed and rolls over.

The light of Pearl’s phone screen illuminates her waxy, furrowed face. Her gaze is focused, thumbs moving rapidly across the bottom. Again. A deep frown curls her mouth. Tension tightens her form and stiffens her already rigid posture.

“Pearl?” he groans.

Pearl’s head jerks up from her phone. The light catches her surprise before she locks the screen and douses the room in night. 

“Steven?” her voice swims to him from the chair closest to the curtained window. “I’m sorry. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“I don’t think so.” He rubs at an eye. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.”

Steven wishes he could see her. Pearl may have been the original secret-keeper, but she has never been good at lying. He wonders if he should ask about her phone; if he should question what’s going on with Peridot and whatever it is that’s got Pearl frowning so much when it’s only the first night of her visit.

But he wonders if that’s just him being petty, hoping she would be so excited to see him that nothing could be wrong.

“You’d tell me if it wasn’t, right?”

There’s a split-second of hesitation. At first, Steven worries that it means whatever follows will be a lie and he doesn’t want to think about the implications of that--but then the mattress dips and familiar, slender fingers card through his curls. A warm hand brushes against the curve of his ear.

“I would, Steven.” 

Steven takes a breath. He tells himself to trust those words. With Pearl’s hand in his hair, he falls back to sleep.

- o - o - o -

The next morning, Steven wakes to find that it has once again snowed outside his bedroom window, just as it has for so many of the other nights he’s spent at this B&B. He thinks this might be the perfect time to finally get Pearl on a set of skis at the resort further up the mountain.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“You know,” Pearl says as she stares at the giant boots Steven hands her, “I think I’d remember if I had.”

Steven snickers and takes that as a no. He gets to his knees in front of her feet. “Just a heads-up, then: these are going to get pretty tight.”

“What? Steven? What are you--” Pearl’s face does a weird thing when she looks at him. When he raises an eyebrow, pale blue floods her cheeks and she waves a hand, looking away. “--s-sorry. Go on. What were you saying about the boots?”

“Uh.” 

Steven half-wonders if he should say something. He’s spoken with his therapist about this before: how he’s gotten instinctively used to knowing when one of the gems are looking at him but not seeing him. His therapist has said not to skip over that feeling like he has learned to do his entire life.

This could be such a good moment to practice it; he knows it could be. 

But he straps on Pearl’s boots for her and says, “I said they’ll feel tight. They’re supposed to be,” anyway and feels disappointed in himself.

“You’re sure I shouldn’t fashion my own?”

“It’s better not to. They’re tight for a reason. You’ll see.” Steven stands back up and picks up the skis sitting next to the crate Pearl’s perched on. He reaches out to hand Pearl her rented set when Pearl’s phone chimes.

“Oh!” As if struck, Pearl straightens. Her hand flies into her pocket. “I’m sorry. Give me just one second, Steven.”

“Oh…uh, okay.” Steven withdraws his hand. And the skis.

The excited smile that had been stretching Pearl’s mouth dims the instant she unlocks her cell.

Steven’s fingers tap against the flat side of his own skis. “You sure everything’s okay?”

Pearl doesn’t answer. She stares at her screen with a deep frown until finally her thumbs dance across its surface madly. “I’m sorry, Steven. What did you say?” she asks when she’s finally done.

Steven watches the phone slip right back into Pearl’s pocket, not her pearl. He passes over the skis.

“It’s nothing.”

- o - o - o -

They take a bunny hill first. 

Pearl is nervous, as Steven remembers he himself was a few days ago, but he smiles warmly as he and the attendant patiently explain over and over again how, exactly, she is supposed to fall. 

“Why is this even a thing?” Pearl mumbles and Steven laughs. “A sport in which humans first have to learn how to properly fail before they can even begin trying?”

Isn’t that just life? Steven wants to say, but the words balance on the tip of his tongue and don’t slip off. He laughs and shrugs and says instead, “I don’t really know. Must be a human thing, I guess. I think we do a lot of that in general, anyway.”

There’s something in Pearl’s gaze that makes Steven’s chest warm and fuzzy when she looks at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Pearl shakes her head. Her soft smile melts into something determined. “All right. Okay! Let’s do this--this--what did you call it? Skiing? Let’s ski, shall we?” she cries and pulls down the snow goggles she fashioned around her own head.

Pearl takes the bunny hill stiffly, her body refusing to yield the snow. She descends the slope in a completely straight line.

Steven laughs so hard he almost falls over.

- o - o - o -

Pearl is a quick study. Steven has always admired that about her: how quickly she can adapt and master a new skill. They talk the entire ski-lift up to the higher hill about it and Pearl gets so bashful after all of his compliments and says, “Oh, stop it,” and Steven realizes how much he really was looking forward to this: spending time with Pearl again.

Then Pearl’s phone chimes.

And Steven’s smile slips.

“Oh! One moment,” Pearl says. 

Steven watches the emotions that play across her face as she bends over her phone. He hates the way his chest twists at them. He hates the way he resents something that isn’t really a problem; it shouldn’t be a problem. So why, again, is he upset?

“Okay,” Pearl finally says as their seat approaches the hillcrest. “And just in time!”

The bar is unlocked and Steven drops down onto the snow. His fall is fast and heavy; it shoots hard through his knees.

“Wha--” Pearl scrabbles to follow. She isn’t quite used to the long planks strapped to her boots and wobbles once she lands. Her sticks wave dangerously before she plants them into the snow. “Steven! Wait!” 

Steven’s throat is tight and it’s stupid. He feels stupid. He shakes his head and pulls down his goggles. “Sorry. You okay?”

He can’t see Pearl’s face; he knows she can’t see his eyes. But he hates the way he knows all the same that she’s looking at him and seeing straight through him. 

“You’re not.”

Steven bursts. “Of course I’m not!” 

He hates it as soon as it leaves his mouth but it’s true and didn’t his therapist talk about being more honest about how he feels, anyway? About being more unafraid to talk to his family about the things festering inside? He forcibly swallows down the wall he wants to build in his head and in his heart. “This is probably gonna sound really, really petty, but I was really looking forward to you visiting me, Pearl! I was looking forward to this!”

“Oh, Steven,” Pearl says in that way she always has for as long as he’s known her. She frees a mittened hand and touches his shoulder. “That’s not petty. You know I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you, too.”

“No! I don’t know!”

Pearl blinks. Her hand falters. 

“I don’t know that you’ve been looking forward to seeing me again, because honestly it doesn’t feel like you’re here sometimes! Like you’re here, but you’re…not really here. Do you want to be here, Pearl? Do you want to go skiing? Or are you just trying to keep me happy? Because we can go back to the B&B, and you can go back to Beach City if--if there’s more important things waiting for--”

“--oh, Steven!” Pearl’s hand flies to her mouth. “Is that how you feel?”

Okay, so, we’ve reached this point, Steven wants to say to the copy of his therapist in his head. We’ve put everything out there. Now what’s supposed to happen? Is he supposed to feel good?

“Y-yeah,” he rasps. He blinks hard and his ski goggles fog up. He pushes them back up onto his brow with a sniff. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

Pearl hugs him. 

“Oh no, Steven, I’m sorry!” she cries. “You’re right! You’re absolutely right! I’ve been so rude to you!” After a sniff, she pulls away and flourishes away her mittens to wipe at her face. “Ugh, I’m such a hypocritical fool! After everything that’s been going on with Bismuth, now I’m doing the same thing to--”

“--w-wait, what’s going on with Bismuth?”

Pearl’s head snaps up. Her cheeks are a strange, unnatural shade of ice blue. “I…”

Steven shoves his ski sticks into the snow and searches Pearl’s face. “Wait. Did something happen to her? Is she okay?”

“What? No. I mean, yes! She’s fine. She’s just…” Pearl looks away. The blue is everywhere, now, spilling down her neck and off-coloring her usual shade of porcelain hue. “…she’s great, actually. Little Homeschool keeps her busy. She’s also been, um, how you like to say ‘hanging out’ with other people. Especially Biggs. Those two have finally reconnected after all this time. They’re thick as thieves. I…I don’t know, I guess I’m just…”

Pieces are startling to click in Steven’s head. One by one. He blinks. “W-wait. Is this why you’ve been texting Peridot? Are you…trying to keep tabs on Bismuth?”

“What? How do you know I’ve been--?”

“--are you jealous, Pearl?”

“Wha--” Pearl freezes, mouth hanging agape and speechless. “Jealous! No! Of course not! I would never…”

Steven can’t help it. He laughs.

Perhaps it’s the relief of finally getting everything off his chest and being told it’s okay. Perhaps it’s just because he’s really glad Pearl’s just being Pearl and nothing is truly seriously wrong at home. Or perhaps he’s just genuinely found it really funny that of all the people in the world, it is Pearl who has found competition trying to vy for Bismuth’s attention--who, last time he was on the phone with, has been voicing similar worries about Pearl and her time she was spending with Volleyball.

“Steven! Are you laughing at me?”

“M-maybe a little,” Steven admits. He pinches off one of his mittens to wipe at his face and dried tears. “Gosh, this is just like a reverse of that time you guys took me to that vacation house. It’s…wow.” He chuckles again. “I’m really glad you told me this.”

“I…” The anger deflates as quickly as it came. Pearl softens. “…yes. I could say the same to you, Steven.”

She reaches forward and cups his cheek. Steven stills under her touch. 

“Really, though. I am sorry. It was never my intention to make you feel like you weren’t important to me or that I didn’t care about this opportunity to spend time with you, when everything I feel is the exact opposite. You mean the world to me, Steven. You should know that.” 

Steven’s smile wobbles; it melts into something crooked and tender and touched. He sniffs and wipes at his face with chilled fingers before he remembers he should slip on his mitten again. “You mean the world to me, too, Pearl. Wanna go down this slope together?”

Pearl reaches into her pocket and touches her phone to her gem. With a small shimmer of light, the device disappears. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

- o - o - o -

“…then she said, ‘Whoa there, Pearl! Don’t you know? It’s Bismuth before pleasure!’ And I--” 

Steven howls.

“--I didn’t know what to say!” Pearl laughs in the middle of her words, breaking up her speech. “I had no idea what to do. I was still under the mindset that I was just a Pearl! It was so embarrassing for me; I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for her!”

Steven has to hold on to the neck of the Hummingbird so as not to let it topple forward off his lap. The strings hum under the hard pressure of his fingers. 

Pearl sighs, a nostalgic smile spread across her face. She plucks a G on Steven’s old ukulele. “Oh, but that was eons ago. I doubt she even remembers that now.”

“I don’t know, Pearl,” Steven hums once he’s finally done laughing. He leans back and props his socked feet up on the iron gate of the common room’s stone fireplace. “I still say you should talk to her. After all you’ve got to…” He dramatically strums a pleasing D. “…mind your own Bismuth, right?”

Pearl laughs and shoves his shoulder gently. “Oh-ho-ho, stop.”

Steven chuckles and rocks back. He rests his shoulder against Pearl’s side. He strums another G. “Really, though. Thanks for coming to see me, Pearl. I hope you had as much fun as I did today skiing.”

Pearl hums happily and echoes the chord. “I had a lot of fun with you today, Steven.”

Steven lifts his chin to look up at her.

When Steven starts strumming, Pearl follows along. When he opens his mouth and sings, “I don’t care if it weighs a ton,” she sings with him, “As long as you and I are here, put it there,” dipping her voice in pleasant harmony.

The hearthfire crackles at their feet, warm and strong.

- o - o - o -

If there’s a fight, I’d like to fix it I hate to see things go so wrong The darkest night, and all its mixed emotions It’s getting lighter sing along

- “Put it There” by Paul McCartney