#which will undoubtedly happen every once in a while because I write imagining myself as the main character

[thepixelelf]

A reminder to fully call me out when I've accidentally written a detail to make my MCs exclusive!! Inclusivity is important to me

[buckyownsmylife]

Memory - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where Bucky's a vampire but still manages to develop a breeding kink

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, vampire!AU, creampie, daddy kink, mention of blood because of biting

A/N: this is for my darling cousin @whisperlullaby​‘s challenge, and also my own! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them, instead of on Thursdays, which are my usual one-shot posting days. I hope you guys will enjoy this silly idea of a vampire with a breeding kink 💛 I had a blast writing it! Unbeta’ed because I almost died this week and cannot be bothered to stare at my writing for any longer.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

“Okay, let’s play truth or dare!” I groaned as silently as possible at the proposition. One of the downsides of dating someone in college was having to deal with the immaturity of their friends, especially when I was unable to escape yet another invitation for a weekend getaway.

There were only so many encounters a man could refuse before mysterious became annoying, and I knew I was toeing the line, even if my girlfriend never complained.

She understood just how irritating these gatherings could be to me. It would have been easy to imagine if there was a realistic age gap between us, but considering the centuries that separated our birth dates, it was laughable that anyone would entertain the idea of me with a bunch of young adults who only wanted to get laid, smoke some weed and drink their asses off.

Of course, her friends didn’t know my true age, so they only thought I was a little bit irked by their behavior. Y/N knew the truth, and so evidently she tried to get me out of it, but I resisted.

I wanted her to take part in the normal experiences people her age were having. There was already so much that she was missing out on just by being with me - and I wasn’t even referring to the blood that she granted me every night.

I’d accepted to be there with her that evening. I was going to immerse myself in the full experience, if only to learn a bit more about her and those she surrounded herself with.

Her best friend let out a little excited yell when she noticed that we were joining the circle and I forced myself to smile at her. “Alright, let’s do this.” One of the male friends rubbed his hands before reaching for the bottle, making it spin as I frowned. I thought that was a different game, but apparently I was mistaken.

It landed on a girl I had yet to get acquainted with, and so I disconnected myself from the conversation as I watched my beloved laugh and have fun with her friends. It made me feel warm. It made me grateful I had decided to join.

A few more rounds went by without anything of essence actually happening. I was about to excuse myself when the bottle surprisingly stopped while pointing at Y/N.

She gasped as she stared at the man who was responsible for deciding her fate, and I already knew I wouldn’t like what was coming next. But she was smart, so she avoided the dare that would undoubtedly enrage me, leaving her to answer a question that I also would have preferred not to hear.

“So… Y/N…” He began, taking far too much pleasure at the situation, and by the way she rolled her eyes, I knew she was thinking the same.

“Yes, Simon.” He opened his mouth to say something, but instinctively looked my way. I was trying my best not to let any emotion slip through the cracks of my perfectly constructed mask, but whatever it was that he saw seemed to make him change his mind.

He closed his mouth and frowned, for a second deep in thought, before he sighed and finally voiced his question. “Just tell us one of your kinks.”

It sounded like he was trying to get this over with, and although Y/N seemed just as confused, she cleared her throat and gave him an answer.

“Oh, I don’t know… I guess.. Creampie?” Little giggles and comments rose around the circle, but nothing really stuck out and they were quick to motion her to spin the bottle so another person could have a turn.

It was a different reaction that I was expecting, especially considering what everyone did for much tamer answers, but the explanation for the lukewarm crowd was made clear by a groaned comment from Simon to the man beside him.

“This is no fun now that she isn’t single.” A small giggle resonated by my side, and I turned in the direction it came from to find my girlfriend trying to suppress her amusement behind her palm.

“Something funny, little one?” I knew they’d take notice of the pet name, but I honestly couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to care, and the fact that she smiled openly up at me showed me that she didn’t, either.

“Not at all.” She pulled me closer to deposit a quick peck on my lips and I was sure if my heart was still beating, it would have fluttered at the way she looked at me. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Of course.” Thankfully, the game didn’t last much longer - for us, at least. Somehow, the bottle didn’t land on me once, and Y/N started to yawn, her head resting against my shoulder after the third consecutive “Who would you rather bang?” question.

“I think we’re gonna leave for the night,” she excused us even though I knew she wasn’t really sleepy. She really could be an excellent actress when she wanted to.

We walked up the stairs to where the bedrooms were located, quickly getting in what had been assigned as ours for the weekend. She smiled softly at me as she reached for her backpack, no doubt looking for the one shirt of mine she always slept in, but I had a few things in my mind I wanted to ask her about.

“Why do you like creampies to much?” The words spilled out at me so unusually, considering the silence in the room, it didn’t surprise me that it took her a while to answer. When she did though, I was surprised to find her biting her lip, a look between amused and horny in her eyes when she approached me.

“Dunno.” She shrugged, taking my hands in her and playing with my fingers. I knew it was a way to avoid my intense gaze. “Guess I have a bit of a breeding kink, actually. It just felt too personal to share with those guys.”

The answer took me by surprise as I stared down at her, blinking a couple of times as I made sure to really process what she had said.

“A breeding kink?” I confirmed, and she rolled her eyes in that way I knew she did when she was embarrassed but trying to play it off as annoyed.

“Yeah, you know.” She pulled away from me to sit on the bed, legs dangling off of it almost like a child. “I like the idea of being bred. Even though I’m in no way ready to become a mother,” she added in a serious tone, making sure I understood what she meant.

But I didn’t. I didn’t and I guess it was clear in my face, because she quirked an eyebrow and jumped out of the bed, coming to stand before me once more.

“Why is this so weird to you?” She inquired, head tilted in amusement. “You’re over a century old, I’m sure your expectations regarding sexual relationships were related to impregnation for most of your life.”

And I mean… she wasn’t wrong. But I hadn’t thought about that for so long, I guess it didn’t occur to me that there was an actual term for it these days.

“There’s no way you don’t have a breeding kink.” The affirmation sounded almost like a dare, so my instinct was to fight it, wrap my arms around her torso so I’d keep her close to me, but deny it.

“You know I can’t ‘breed’ anyone anymore, darling.” But she wasn’t giving up. Her fingers softly traced my jawline, eyes sparkling with a dangerous glint as she countered, “Doesn’t mean you can’t like the idea of it.”

Even though I didn’t need the oxygen, I inhaled sharply, suddenly fascinated by her every movement, the way she gently unwrapped herself from my arms to slowly unbutton her simple dress, the one she made it look like a fucking gown.

“Think about it, Buck…” Every inch of skin that became exposed to my eyes still had my mouth watering, desperate to taste her all over.

“Wouldn’t you want to see me round with your child?” The question provoked my imagination, playing with her features as I thought about what she proposed. Her breasts fuller, stomach protuberant, and maybe a little feet rubbing against the skin, something I could kiss.

“See me carry your genes, continue your lineage… Wouldn’t you want that?” Her innocent eyes spelled trouble when she stood before me again, close enough to touch.

And I couldn’t deny that the idea did something to my heart - even though it didn’t beat anymore. Most undeniably, it definitely did something to my cock, which now strained against my pants, the arousal that the image of her impregnated by me provoked bursting as I looked at the creature that I loved in wonder and fascination.

“Are you trying to tempt me, doll?” She bit on her lower lip to stop herself from giggling before I pulled it away from her teeth when I took her in my arms again, naked breasts rubbing against my shirt.

“Is it working?” She breathed out, eyes connected to mine while she tried to gather my feelings about her attempt. I pressed her body closer, making sure she’d feel the hardness in my pants before I even voiced it.

“Very well,” I whispered in her ear, enjoying the way my cold breath awakened goosebumps all over her warm skin. She never complained about the difference in temperature, something that I was profoundly grateful for, since I loved to feel her hot blood pumping underneath my fingertips whenever I trailed my digits over her flesh.

“So tell me,” she pressed, still going for seductive even though she sounded slightly out of breath, her desire evident in the way her pupils had dilated. “Would you like to breed me, James?”

A shiver went down my spine at the question and I closed my eyes for just one second, just to relish in this sensation before I opened them to confess, “You have no idea how much I’d like that.”

My hand easily spread her lower lips, middle finger running between them to test her wetness and finding her soaked, like she always seemed to be for me. The knowledge had me smiling as I lifted my hand to taste her before making quick work of my belt, observing her slowly walking backwards towards the bed as I followed, almost like there was a thread connecting us, keeping us close.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned against my ear as he buried himself inside of me and I clutched at his shoulders, desperate to feel every part of him connected to every part of me.

Only he could get me this way. Chest heaving, mouth open just from the simple act of feeling him stretching me open. It didn’t matter how many times he took me, it still burned the same - and I loved it.

“Tell me, doll,” he panted, hypnotizing eyes connected to mine, unwilling to let my gaze escape his hold. “Tell me you’d want to have my child. You’d look so beautiful with your body changing because of me, wouldn’t you want that?”

I groaned, throwing my head back as James fucked me senseless, his cock ramming against my sweet spot over and over again. He knew no mercy, I knew that. I just never anticipated to have such an overwhelming reaction to a silly little kink I never even thought I’d ever get to explore.

“Answer me, little one.” His fangs came into play then, piercing around the nipple that he sucked, galvanizing me into actually responding, “I would, I would, daddy,” while pulling on his hair without even realizing.

He let go of my breasts to look at me with dark eyes - not because he had come in contact with my blood, oh no. It was clear that this was the reaction to the name that escaped me so easily, waving its way into him until it broke the last bit of his control and left him completely undone, only determined to fuck me.

I watched him lick his lips before he ordered, “tell daddy you want his cum inside of you.” Hearing him acknowledge this other secret kink, refer to himself as it had me delirious, unable to formulate any words to obey him, so I opted to hide my face in the crook of his neck, hoping the feeling of my burning cheeks would satiate him.

What a mistake.

“Oh, so now you’re shy?” He mocked, rubbing his jaw against my cheek as I whined against him. “Want daddy’s cum so much but can’t be a good girl and beg for it?”

I came with a long drawn-out gasp right then, my body twitching underneath his as his cock dragged along my walls once, twice, a third time until it spilled his cum inside of my channel. The act was so hot to me that it had me pulling on his hair, whispers of “I love you, I love you,” tumbling out of my lips.

He silenced me with a kiss, still managing to keep on thrusting until I had to push him away because of my sensitivity.

“Spread your legs for me, little one…” He ordered, brushing his tongue over his lower lip in contemplation. “Let me see the mess I left there.”

I was still a bit nervous about the whole ordeal now that the wave of horniness had left me, but I did eventually spread my legs for him, whimpering as he bit down on his own lip at the sight of his spent dripping from my abused pussy.

“Oh, you look so good like that, darling.” I could barely contain my giddiness as he laid down by my side and pulled me to rest on his chest, pressing a kiss to my temple while he caressed my arm. “But one question remains unanswered.” To my almost sleepy hum, he proceeded, “Why do you like the idea of breeding so much?”

That got me thinking, wiping the tiredness off of my muscles like a bucket of cold water. It felt weird to admit it, but at the same time, I wanted nothing more than to bare my soul to the man I loved, to have him aware of every little thing about me…

So I admitted, “I like the idea of being yours… in this very scary, slightly territorial way.” At his silence, I giggled, hiding my face on his chest as I waited for his response.

“But you are mine,” he reminded me, and even as I rolled my eyes, a silly smile painted my lips, loving that he felt like he needed to tell me that.

“I know I am,” I recognized. “It’s just another way I’d like to be claimed by you. Besides, I can just imagine how well you’d take care of me…”

Silence filled the room as we both got lost in the images of what could never be. Me with a fully-grown belly, walking like a penguin as he held up tiny onesies that looked ridiculous in his huge hands.

My heart ached for what could never be, surely, but I couldn’t really grieve a future I’d never have while I was so happy with the man who wanted to give me one.

“I’ll always take care of you.” He kissed the back of my hand, and even though he knew it wasn’t exactly what I meant, it was just enough. “I’m sorry that I can’t ever give you children.”

The guilt in his tone was almost palpable, and I wanted to do anything in my power to make it disappear. This wasn’t what I intended when I shared my sexual fantasies with him. They were just that - fantasies. I wouldn’t trade my reality for any alternative version the universe could offer me.

“It’s alright, babe,” I assured him, depositing a kiss on his chest, right where his heart would be beating for me if it could. “I think the way you want to claim me is just as territorial… and much more final.”

Bucky held me close, breathing me in - even if he didn’t need to do that to survive - before he asked me the last doubt that still hovered in his mind.

“Aren’t you scared?” And as I laid there in his embrace, feeling loved and cared for, I knew the only acceptable answer that I could give him was, “It’ll be worth it.”

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What would happen if you were sent back and ended up in the orphanage with Tom Riddle—and say you also had magic?

Oh boy.

Well, there's a lot to question here. Judging by the... spirit of this ask, I presume I'm... pretty much reincarnated. I'm in the orphanage, I'm much younger than I am now and a child, I'm pre-Hogwarts age, and I retain my current knowledge.

For the purpose of this ask I suppose I also retain my current mental faculties. Despite being in the body of an eight-year-old, I'm not The Carnivorous Muffin at eight.

Welp, there's a lot to consider here.

First, I probably don't realize I'm in Harry Potter for quite some time and instead assume I've been reincarnated to some parallel universe. It's the 1930's, I'm in England in the depression, WWI has occurred and the vast majority of major historical events I know about seem to have happened in the right order, and this Earth is eerily similar to the Earth I left behind.

Strange that I appear to remember everything of my past life with my adult mental abilities, but alright universe, I guess that's how we're going to play this.

What I do know is that I'm dirt poor, presumably still a woman which does not bode well for my career prospects, and if I want any prospects in life period I'm going to have to fight tooth and nail for it. It'd be great if I got adopted to help with this, and might be nice to have people in my life who love me, but there's a lot of orphans in the world and a lot of orphans who are much less weird than I am.

The orphanage is the orphanage and not great, Mrs. Cole is overworked, the orphanage is chronically understaffed, and the kids are running wild beating the shit out of each other.

Being a girl, I probably don't have to worry about getting the shit kicked out of me quite as much, but I still probably try to keep my head down and don't aggravate the particularly beefy looking orphans.

Yes, there's some very angry gremlin named Tom Riddle around who will shove you down the stairs in retribution, but that's just a weird coincidence. And then supernatural shit starts happening. Billy's rabbit hangs itself, people get injuries when Tom is nowhere near them, and I start wondering if this is really the Tom Riddle.

I'm in Wool's Orphanage, my matron is Mrs. Cole, Tom Riddle is running around lighting things on fire. It's possible, though it could all be a strange coincidence.

Now, how things go from here depends on how controlled my own magic is. Since accidental magic typically does manifest at least once or twice, it probably does manifest for me for.. something. If Tom Riddle's there to witness it then...

Well, I imagine he's very offended. Here he was, special, different, better than everyone else, and then some girl in the orphanage (who dares to get very good grades on her assignments in school) has it too.

And I just stand there, smiling, going "Tee hee".

He probably confronts me to prove that he's better at it than I am, and he probably is unless the universe hates both him and me, but having someone else with the Shining around probably prompts him to take me as his protégé (in part so he can show off and in part because he's genuinely excited to be able to share this super cool talent).

I am now apprentice to eight-year-old Tom Riddle. Whoop de doo.

Well, I don't remember this part of Harry Potter, so now I'm probably confused as to where I am again. Regardless, I try to advise Tom on how to tone it down and not, say, traumatize Amy and Dennis for life and antagonize all the other orphans forever. He probably doesn't take me seriously. What do I know, I can't even light that patch of grass on fire?

Hanging around Tom Riddle gets me a reputation to, given the difference in genders, probably a fairly nasty one at that. When Dumbledore arrives he's undoubtedly told hot gossip about how eleven-year-old Tom and I have had sex in a ritual to summon Satan. Dumbledore takes this seriously.

Dumbledore probably meets us both at the same time and it's a disaster. I tried my best to prep Tom without revealing I'm a prophet, Tom first doesn't believe there might not be others, then doesn't believe they would be antagonist/anything but amazed by how awesome he is.

Well, Dumbledore lights his wardrobe on fire while I sit there. Dying inside. Dumbledore probably also does something to me too, to teach me some kind of lesson about something.

I imagine he temporarily disfigures me/makes me appear very ugly, then sticks a mirror to the wall, that way I realize that looks aren’t everything/being a whore is wrong. Tom, still traumatized over the wardrobe, is no help and my magic’s probably not controlled enough to do a thing about it.

I spend a day looking like a pig, Tom and I are given just enough money to buy new wands and second hand/barely functioning everything else and given the world’s worst directions to Diagon Alley. Thanks, Albus.

Well, months pass, we get our wands, Tom gets excited for Hogwarts and I... start seriously considering the future. WWII is coming, the Blitz is coming, Tom and I live in east London and must be able to evacuate during the bombing of London (which went on well past the Blitz to the end of the war). I also start considering my future in the wizarding world. Do I now actually have career prospects?

Probably not because I’m muggle born and a woman. My best bet is doing very well in useful subjects and finding employment with the goblins, I can’t imagine they have the same hang ups as the wizarding world.

Tom wants to go to Slytherin, of course, I tell him this is a bad idea. “Gee Tom,” I say, “Not sure how I know this but I have this feeling that Slytherin is filled with people who loathe our very existence and will shank us. Why don’t we pick Ravenclaw or Gryffindor instead?”

No one shanks Tom Riddle! Tom says. Tom is still eleven and while he admits that sometimes I may, in retrospect, have been right about certain things that doesn’t mean he wants to go to the house known for hard work. That’s code word for everyone there being a moron and having no other redeeming features than tenacity. As for the other two, Ravenclaws sound like smug, elitist, nerds and Gryffindors like dumb jocks.

Better to be known for ambition, cunning, and actually being competent.

Well, there’s no talking him out of this one, and goddamn it we’re all each other has.

I’m the closest thing Tom Riddle has ever had to a friend in all these years and in the orphanage the only one who could hold a decent conversation with him. And while it’s not my moral obligation to keep Tom from becoming a domestic terrorist, and there’s no guarantee I even can, dumping him for one of the other houses and drifting apart won’t help.

Not to mention that, after all these years, I’m undoubtedly lonely, I’m in this foreign land, and he’s now the closest thing to a friend I have.

Looks like I’m going to Slytherin, YOOOOOLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO! I shout as a battle cry as tears run down my face. I may have to convince the hat to put me in Slytherin, but like all human beings I am a mixture of many qualities. I’m not cunning in the least, mind games exhaust me unutterably, but I’m full of ambition. 

This confirms every bad opinion Dumbledore had regarding me and Tom.

For the next several months, Tom probably beats the shit out of dormmates who steal his things/harass him. He beats up mine too because feminism (TM) means that he should treat all people equally when guilty of the same crime. I... am not sure I can win that fight so I just resign myself to having to adopt some of Tom’s tactics to make sure I’m not shoved in lockers, have tampons thrown at me, or pig’s blood dumped on me at the prom.

Once again, everyone thinks Tom Riddle and I are dating. I don’t even know if they’re wrong at this point.

Well, being in class with eleven year olds who seem to have had little to no prior education, Tom and I are undoubtedly blazing through class. I imagine I’m bored out of my mind (the Hogwarts curriculum sounds unbelievably boring) and Tom is... well, probably devouring the library but probably also bored. I decide to try and see if I can find some real history texts on this world (there are probably none, the wizarding world seems to only have two historians and both... have a different approach to history than current modern thought as I know it) and discover what magic even is. That shit is fascinating: wingardium leviosa is not.

Dumbledore likely gives neither me nor Tom points in class, I think the house cup is stupid, so I really don’t care. I have no interest in playing quidditch, neither does Tom, so that doesn’t happen.

The second world war starts up, Tom, me, and the muggle borns are the only ones who give a flying fuck. I work harder on figuring out how to get lodging during the Blitz/the bombing of London. Unfortunately, Mrs. Cole hates me too for being the Bride of Satan, so that’s a no go. Third year, 1939, I probably write her in earnest anyway telling her to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, send Tom and I instructions for the summer/where the orphans are staying/how they’ve been dispersed to the countryside. As a back up plan, I try desperately to shmooze shopkeepers in Hogsmeade during every Hogsmeade weekend to get myself and Tom part time jobs and lodging over the summer. As a back up back up plan, I spend my time badgering Tom to become very good at survivalist wandless magic and if the Lord has pity on me gain some ability in it myself.

Hopefully, either Mrs. Cole or one of the Hogsmeade shop owners take pity on us. If not, then Tom and I are going extreme camping. Given Mrs. Cole (and the brain damage brought on by Dumbledore erasing memories left and right) and the likelihood of Hogsmeade shop owners just not getting it, Tom and I probably go extreme camping.

(Tom, meanwhile, asks Dippet and Dumbledore if we can stay in Hogwarts over the summer. He’s told no exceptions. London’s being bombed, you say? No exceptions. Toodles. Tom is never the same.)

Me, Tom Riddle, a tent we made ourselves, several rabbits we had to catch and skin ourselves, and the pitiful fire that we can keep going through pure will alone because if we try to use real people spells then we’ll get arrested. It has the benefit of making Tom feel very manly and impressive, catching his own food, but both of us are well aware that this sucks.

But hey, we aren’t dead.

Well, I’m sure Tom doesn’t appreciate that and this is where I imagine he seriously starts talking about violent revolution. I imagine much of my time is spent discussing the merits of not violently overthrowing our ant overlords. I imagine a thirteen-year-old Tom isn’t impressed by my pacifism, but he’s not married to Voldemort yet (probably).

Then I imagine the horcrux thing comes up and... Well, I will argue hard against it. Humans die, it is a truth of the universe, and simply something we have to accept. Horcruxes are not a measure against that, they can be destroyed, given infinite time they will be, and the sacrifice they require is too high: human life as well as the very essence of who you are.

What is a soul? I’m not sure, we never really learn in HP canon, but whatever it is, it is in some way the essence of yourself. If you take half of it and throw it somewhere else, you will cease to be you, someone or something else is walking around in your body while the other half of you exists in endless agony.

If you must chase immortality, create a philosopher’s stone (as I darkly wonder why it was that couldn’t be replicated and what Flamel had to do to make it in the first place). On second thought, maybe we should search for the Holy Grail.

Whether I can talk Tom out of this or not is... unclear. I’m going to say that I can, in part because I imagine he’ll want to show the chamber off to me, tell me when he realizes he’s Heir of Slytherin, and in doing so I can prevent the basilisk incident from occurring. Without that, there’s no dead Myrtle, which means no first victim. That summer, when he goes to the Gaunts, I’ll go with him and convince him that it’s not worth it. He can just turn around and leave these people alone, I hopefully can talk him down. Which means no second victim.

I start writing Flamel to see if Tom or I can get an apprenticeship (Dumbledore probably beats us to the chase and poisons him against us, but it’s worth a shot).

Then, should all go well, I can convince Tom to find employment with the goblins rather than shady antique dealers on the bad side of town. Hopefully, I can convince him to never become Voldemort, and instead we travel the world together looking for the origins of magic or something.

Dumbledore goes around taking people’s memories of us in preparation for when Tom becomes a dark lord and I his lady of the night darkness.

TL;DR Apparently my life would become an SI/Tom Riddle fic. So, thanks anon.

[cacoetheswriting]

for you and i

Pairings: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: honestly just pure fluff, mild swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, implied smut (nothing graphic) Word Count: 2.2k Summary: A small collection of moments throughout reader’s and Spencer’s evolving relationship that features their song. A/N: this symbol ~~ signifies a time jump.

A/N: i finished my rewatch of bones last night (im hella emotional), and one of my favourite “running gags” from the show is hot blooded being booths and brennans song, and how the writers reminded us of that from season to season. it definitely definitely inspired me to write this. also i did this instead of working on my assignment as a birthday gift from me to me lmao ENJOY

-

The plane trip back home was completely silent.

Morgan and JJ were catching up on much needed sleep. Emily, lost in thought, observed the night sky through the small window. Rossi was reading, as Hotch worked his way through some case files.

Spencer sat next to you at the far end of the jet. You were listening to music while his nose was buried in a book. Although you could tell he couldn't really concentrate on the words as the page remained unturned for the last fifteen minutes.

“Why don’t you let your eyes rest for a minute?” You suggested, carefully taking out one earphone. “A short nap could be good for you. It doesn’t look like you’re retaining any information anyway.”

Spencer nodded slowly, agreeing with you. He shut the novel in his lap and tilted his head to look at you, his lips pursed into a thin shy smile. “You should get some sleep too Y/N.”

“I’m okay.” You replied. “Plus someone has to keep watch in case the jet gets abducted by aliens or something.” A sly grin appeared on your face as Spencer chuckled softly. He rested his head against the chair and gradually closed his eyes.

You watched him for a moment. Examining his perfect features. Your innocent crush growing by the second - something you would never admit out loud in fear it would ruin your friendship.

When you were about to place the earpiece back in your ear, his eyes shot back open. He sighed heavily.

"I actually don’t think I can.” Spencer said quietly and once again turned his attention to you. His gaze briefly landed on the phone in your hands before travelling up to your face. “Did you know that in addition to aiding relaxation and helping with falling asleep quicker as well as improving sleep quality, playing music before bed can improve sleep efficiency? Which means more time you are in bed is actually spent sleeping.” You raised a curious brow waiting for him to continue, but he just asked: “Can I ask what you are listening to?”.

Instead of answering his question, you wiped the dangling earphone against your blouse and handed it to him. He took it, a little hesitantly, and placed it in his ear - the two of you unconsciously shifting closer to one another.

You could tell by the expression on his face that he didn't know the song currently playing, nor did he particularly like it, but he didn't protest or ask you to skip it. In his eyes, you were kind enough to share your source of entertainment therefore he would never push to change what you were clearly enjoying.

The song ended, another began, and another, and another. Eventually Spencer closed his eyes again. The two of you continued to silently listen to the various songs on your playlist - a wild mix of different artists and genres, definitely showcasing your weird music taste.

Touch Me by The Doors began to play.

“I like this one.” Spencer muttered, eyes still closed. “I didn't peg you to be a rock fan.” You stated curiously. Spencer chuckled softly. “I wouldn't call myself a fan per se, this is just a very good song.” “This is actually my favourite song of theirs.” You proclaimed.

Sinking deeper in your seat, you quietly sang along. “What was that promise that you made?” To your pleasant surprise, the young doctor joined in. “Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?” 

Lost in the pure bliss of the moment, you gently rested your head against Spencer’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open. He glanced down at you and smiled to himself. Yes. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

~~

“Watch it!!!” You shouted and rudely gestured after the vehicle that overtook you out of nowhere, almost sliding right into your car. Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair before placing them on the wheel again. A deep sigh escaping your lips in the process.

Spencer chuckled next to you. “Maybe next time I’ll drive.”

“Sorry.” You muttered, tone of your voice changing completely for a moment. “People are just so fucking stupid.” The groan was full of annoyance, and it only made the young doctor snicker louder.

“How about we turn on the radio?” Spencer suggested. “Cool you down a little since we have another hour drive ahead of us, and I would preferably like to get there in one piece.” He teased. You rolled your eyes at his comment, but didn’t protest.

Taking your silence as a yes, Spencer fumbled with the car radio.

‘Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe’

Voice of Jim Morrison blared through the speakers. Instantly, your whole body loosened up. No longer feeling annoyed or angry. Driver’s rage dissipated. The frown circling your features was replaced by a happy smile.

‘Can't you see that I am not afraid?’

Stopping at a red light, you looked at Spencer who was lightly bopping his head to the beat of the music. His gentle curls bouncing with his every move.

“You know, the universe is telling us that this is our song now.” You noted. The young doctor met your gaze, and the grin present on his face made your heart skip a beat. A faint hit of nerves cascaded through your body as you anxiously waited for his response.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders slightly. “It’s a good song. The universe could have wished us a lot worse.”

As the light ahead turned green, and you were driving once again, the two of you burst into the chorus as loud as you possibly could: “Now, I'm going to love you! Till the heavens stop the rain!”.

~~

The bar was filled to the brim with people wanting to unwind after a long week of work. That included the BAU team.

“One more for the road!” Morgan exclaimed, jumping out of his seat. He motioned to Hotch for assistance and the two of them briskly walked off in the direction of the bar. “While they’re gone, I’m gonna hop to the loo.” Penelope chimed. “I’ll join you.” JJ spoke up and they hurried off.

Spencer sat beside you, shoulder pressed lightly to yours. He was sipping on the remainder of his drink and you were about to open your mouth to say something, engage him in conversation, when you heard it. The song. Your song.

Your head instantly snapped up at him and a mischievous grin spread on your face. By the time Spencer realised what was going on, you were up on your feet grabbing him by the arm, and pulling him onto the self-made dance floor.

You began to sway along to the music. The alcohol currently flowing through your veins definitely made you that much braver. It also gave Spencer the confidence boost he needed to join you with no objections.

Despite the questionable looks you were undoubtedly receiving, the two of you jumped around like kids. Singing the song out loud to one another. It was as if the world around you disappeared. Like you and Spencer were the only people left in the bar.

‘Till the stars fall from the sky’

And when the night concluded, when everyone said their goodbyes, Spencer continued to hum the melody of your song as he waited with you for the taxi. It was then you chose to make the first move - colliding your lips with his in a carefree kiss.

They were softer than you ever imagined. 

All at once, the attraction between you two and the tension that built up over the years burst. You grabbed onto his jacket pulling him even closer. Suddenly, the cold night air didn’t feel so cold anymore. It was hot, burning like a flame. Your body was on fire and so was his. 

Spencer’s long arms wrapped around you, trapping you in the fire. One of his hands moved lower down your back, while the other tightly gripped your hair. The sensation that he felt was unimaginable. He always imagined what you would taste like, although he never expected anything would happen. He imagined how your body would feel against his. How your lips taste. But this, this exceeded all expectations.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He said in a smoky voice after pulling away, his hands now holding your face. “That’s what I was going to say.” You managed to whisper before his lips landed on yours again. Your heart pounding hard inside your chest, it felt as if it was about to explode.

~~

Spencer huffed as he placed a heavy cardboard box down on the ground. He straightened himself, flattened down his crinkly t-shirt, and turned to you with a smile. “That’s the last of it.” He stated proudly, placing his hands on his hips.

“My hero.” You ambled towards him and pecked his lips. “Thank you.” His arms made their way around your waist, pulling you in close. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead before glancing around the room.

“I can’t believe we’re officially moved in together.”

“It’s been a longtime coming.”

“That it definitely has.” Spencer smiled kissing you. He let his arms fall and shuffled around to start unpacking. 

Having planned ahead, you removed a speaker from your handbag. You quickly set it up, connecting it to your phone, and pressed play to ease the process that would carry on into the night.

Starting with the kitchen, and the more fragile items, the two of you made your way through the new apartment. 

Hours passed. It was getting quite late as tiny yawns continuously escaped your lips. However, the hard work was paying off because space started to feel more and more like home.

You decided to finish up for the night - tomorrow was another day. Yawning, you leaned into the arms of your boyfriend. Spencer kissed the top of your head and began to sway you slowly from side to side.

Right on queue, the guitar intro you both recognised well began to play through the speakers. You smiled into his chest before breaking free from his embrace. 

‘Yeah! Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe Can't you see that I am not afraid’

Sharing a knowing look, you both started to dance. Not wanting to disrupt any neighbours you both chose not to sing along like you usually did. Instead, you mouthed the words in sync as if you were competing in a lip-sync battle.

‘What was that promise that you made? Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?’

The two of you circled happily around one another. It wasn't long before the air guitars came into play. 

And as the song concluded, Spencer cupped your cheeks. “I love you.” He muttered, gazing deep into your eyes. “I love you too.” You replied smiling.

Without another word, Spencer’s lips crashed against yours. Both your heads tilting hungrily from side to side to vary pressure. Hearts hammering loudly. Your hands made their way up his muscled back as his hands traveled down your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Why don’t we move this party to the bedroom?” He suggested, his face still only inches away from yours. You lifted your hand, and brushed some of his light curls away behind his ear. “I do believe I read somewhere that it is considered bad luck not to christen the bed on the first night of living together.” You stated giggling. 

Spencer raised an interested brow. “What else does the article say?”

“How about I just show you.” And like that, your lips were on his once again as he blindly led you to the bed.

~~

“And now ladies and gentlemen we would like to bring out our newlyweds, Dr. & Mrs. Reid, to dance their first dance as husband and wife. Let’s give them a hand.”

Spencer turned to you, that warm kindhearted smile you loved so much circling his lips. He offered you his hand. “Mrs. Reid.” You took it gladly. “Dr. Reid.”

He led you to the middle of the dance floor and swiftly wrapped one arm around your waist, holding you close, while the other hand intertwined itself with yours. Music started to play and the two of you swayed elegantly from side to side.

“I have a surprise for you.” Spencer whispered in your ear before briefly pulling apart and twirling you around. 

Suddenly the music stopped. Sounds of disappointment echoed through the watching crowd as you shot your husband a quizzical look.

A melody you knew all too well filled the space.

Your mouth parted slightly in shock as Spencer let his arm fall from your waist. He spun you around once again and began rhythmically banging his head to the beat of the song. You couldn't help but giggle at the sight before joining in.

Excited screams echoed through the crowd as they cheered on. Even though you heard them, you knew people were watching and documenting this moment, you felt as if there was no-one else around - déjà vu.

Spencer pressed his forehead lightly to yours, his hands cupping your cheeks. His lips twirled into a smile. A big smile that you reciprocated. Feeling as if you were on cloud nine, you looked deep into each others eyes and whole heartedly sang along with the song. Your song.

‘I'm going to love you Till the heavens stop the rain I'm going to love you Till the stars fall from the sky For you and I’

-

masterlist

[jyndor]

I’m rewatching the Puppetmaster for ~research~ and ugh.This is such a good episode but I cannot stand the treatment of Hama and also Katara’s special bending ability. And I’m gonna talk about it because I can’t help myself. But I also want to offer a solution maybe something that the writers could have done instead. Granted I’m a white US American so while I am about to talk about imperialism, anti-indigenous racism and racialized misogyny, I am coming from a position of privilege here and ymmv. It’s important that we as fans (especially white fans) acknowledge the things that our favorite stories can do better so that we can make our fandoms safer for everyone.

And btw fans of color have been talking about this so I definitely am going to be quoting some phenomenal bits of critique I have read on here. Also you should follow @shewhotellsstories and @visibilityofcolor for anti-racist fandom commentary.

I am also going to talk about grooming, so just be aware if that is a trigger for you.

I. Hama as a Campfire Horror Story Monster

The episode starts out with the Gaang camping in a creepy forest telling ghost stories to each other. Set to spooky music, Katara tells a story about something that happened to Kya, a friend named Nini (likely) dying in a snowstorm and then haunting her family’s home as a ghost. Immediately after, Toph hears people screaming under the ground - and then Hama finds them and invites them to her inn.

Every so often, Hama says something spooky with the spooky music playing. Katara immediately takes to Hama, but the others (especially Sokka) find her pretty unnerving. Katara says she reminds her of Gran Gran before Sokka starts snooping around and finds a bunch of puppets and a comb from the Southern Water Tribe. It’s the standard horror movie fakeout.

Every so often we get an artfully placed hint about Hama’s agenda - pulling water out of thin air, showing Katara that “plants - and all living things” are made of water. And oh yeah, she makes herself ice claws. Cool skill, but in the context of the episode, a little more unnerving.

The “moon monster” that Old Man Ding mentions, the alleged Moon spirit, turns out to be Hama (of course) and the tension builds to a peak as the Gaang rush to save Katara from the “dark puppetmaster” that has imprisoned the villagers.

Meanwhile Hama and Katara stand under the full moon washed in spooky cool lighting with an ominous breeze around them. You see Hama practically transform into a monster in a way sort of reminiscent to a werewolf - her fingers become claw-like, her veins pop out. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say it’s a coincidence that as she reveals her true agenda, she becomes less human in appearance. Which... okay I’ll get to that later.

While I can’t say that Katara fits the Final Girl trope very well, I do think it’s interesting to note that horror movies often do feature women as heroes who defeat the monster/killer/whatever and usually the Final Girl is used to allow audiences to experience the full horror of the villain, which absolutely is how Katara is used here. Yes, her friends come to help, but she saves everyone in the end (my queen).

So here’s why that’s bullshit.

Framing Hama as a horror story monster make sense when you don’t think about the Implications of framing the indigenous woman POW living surrounded by people who have benefited from Fire Nation imperialism. It does - it’s a common trope: the reclusive witch who first seems kindly to some lost/wandering children before revealing her true intention - to use them for her own purposes. Yeah, I know they’re playing on Hansel and Gretel. But yeah, I’m gonna call bullshit on that too - drawing on a c*nnabalistic witch for inspiration when you’re writing an indigenous woman character is probably not the way to go.

II. Hama the Puppetmaster* and Groomer

A puppet master is obviously a puppeteer, and Hama has puppets (creepy though they may be). But in terms of the underlying meaning, she’s a chessmaster, an Emperor Palpatine/Dick Cheney kind of master manipulator who works mostly through other people. What most people would consider a psychopath (in layman’s terms). When her friendly mask falls, she is terrifying.

She is cold, calculating, manipulative as fuck - she isolates Katara almost immediately. Hama uses Katara’s desire to connect with her culture to groom her to become a weapon. It’s actually such a good example of grooming that it has to be purposeful:

Targeting a victim - Hama hears that Katara and Sokka are from the SWT. She also hears Katara tell a story about Kya. To Hama, a waterbender from her own culture is a hell of a target.

Gaining trust - Hama reaches out to Katara in particular, is especially kind to her, gives her individual attention that the others don’t get. She prepares a SWT feast for them and tells the Gaang about her heritage when they go snooping.

Filling a need - so once Hama has given Katara reason to trust her about waterbending, she promises Katara to pass on SWT waterbending heritage that only Hama knows. She fills a unique need of Katara’s.

Isolation - From then on out, we don’t see Katara with the rest of the Gaang until the end of the episode. Hama seems like a normal teacher but she does start to drop little hints, pushing Katara very gently to see how she will react to her real agenda and desensitizing Katara to what would otherwise seem unacceptable coming from someone else who hasn’t established that unique trust. “You’ve got to keep an open mind, Katara.”

So this would be the point at which Hama would make sexual contact but this is metaphorical so that obviously doesn’t happen. What does happen is Hama pushes Katara’s limits. She makes her pretty uncomfortable with the idea of killing the fire lilies for water, but when Hama appeals to their shared history of marginalization she gets over it.

Maintaining control: Hama makes her final move, which is obviously bloodbending, and reveals her true agenda - and when Katara refuses to manipulative living beings’ blood, Hama violates her bodily agency. And not only this, but she pushes Katara into bloodbending when she victimizes the Gaang, fully realizing her control. 

Hama sees it as a victory, and telling Katara breaks down at the end in one of the most emotional scenes in the show. She feels like so many of us have felt at some point: violated, betrayed by someone we trusted. And then they never really deal with that.

I actually think that’s the point of The Puppetmaster, especially given ATLA being a show for children. I think it’s supposed to be a metaphor for csa.

And... okay.

Undoubtedly it is important to send these messages to kids. And yes, people usually are victimized by those closest to them, by those in their own communities. But not indigenous women. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but according to the National Congress of American Indians, Native American women  and girls are more likely to be sexually assaulted by non-NA men. 57% of cases are perpetrated by white men. Not the people in their communities.

Choosing to tell this story with an indigenous woman POW (who very likely would have been victimized herself lbr) is a choice that I find really aggravating. When writers tell stories with a Point, it is incredibly important for those writers to understand the implications of what they are saying about the characters who they are using to make that point.

Like I’m not saying don’t make that point, or don’t use Katara (who would in real life be at a higher risk of sexual violence than the others) to make it, but why make the perpetrator someone who is statistically unlikely to be Katara’s abuser? I’m not sure I have a good answer to that question. My guess is, like with making Hama animalistic and about as unsympathetic as it gets, the writers just had blinders on about the cultural implications of what they were saying.

Not even considering the whole victimizing-the-“innocents”-of-the-Fire-Nation-town plot, Hama’s not a good person. This is probably because she was driven mad by the need for revenge, which, eurgh okay, but still it’s very apparent that she is not interested in winning over Katara’s support directly or honestly.

* also the antisemitic history of this trope hmm.

III. Hama and The Victims of Genocide Victimizing Oppressors #NotAllFireNation

Okay. So this is the part that I think annoys me the most because it’s so bad. Like, imagine for a minute that you’re a white guy and you’re gonna tell a story about a victim of genocide who is completely divorced from her culture and homeland, and furthermore is an escaped prisoner of war who has radicalized in prison - okay it just hit me, I know what they MIGHT have been going for, like maybe some kind of anti-Gitmo statement? But that didn’t happen. People who were stolen away from Iraq and imprisoned illegally in Guantanamo Bay, and who were released after being detained illegally, haven’t really shown any real radicalization. They’re pissed at the US for victimizing them, but like that seems pretty fair considering so many of them did nothing wrong.

That’s been the US government’s excuse for not releasing innocent people who were detained illegally. The idea that prisoners of war radicalized in Gitmo so they can’t be released because they’ll attack the US is propaganda. I’m not saying it hasn’t happened, but that’s where it comes from.

Considering the time period ATLA was written, considering how much of it was inspired by the US wars of aggression and imperialism, considering how political ATLA is (and why it was so popular during its initial run - during the years that Bush lost a ton of popularity) I think if that’s what they were thinking about, that’s not great.

But for all of Avatar’s good messaging on imperialism and war, it’s still written from a white US American mindset. Well surely I’m not responsible, surely you shouldn’t imprison and abuse me, a random white girl in the States. It’s my government, which I cannot control because of two-party politics or some shit.

So first off, that’s shitty because oppression is often about systems, not individuals. Sure we need to always consider the individual experiences of people who are victimized, but the people who are benefiting from imperialism? Me? Fuck if I care if someone in El Salvador or Iraq or Chile or idk any of the countries we have meddled in, let alone from a marginalized community in the United States, hates white US Americans for what our government has done - and that’s even silly because white US citizens support our government. Like we think the institutions are sound, although sometimes we don’t support the guy in charge. We think the cops are going to help us, even though that isn’t really the case.

Why frame it about what she’s doing to the Fire Nation civilians at all? Why make Hama the villain? I don’t think they wanted her to be unsympathetic, I mean they tell her story and I don’t think anyone would conclude that it doesn’t justify her desire for revenge, but why tell this story through a victim of genocide?

Recently I saw a post by @sunkin-akh where they point out that Hama basically quotes Malcolm X:

I was literally just watching the Hama episode again and I just noticed for the first time that while forcing Katara to bloodbend she says that they must fight back against the Fire Nation (and she used this exact phrase) “by any means necessary”, which is Frantz Fanon’s phrase popularized by Malcolm X during the Civil Rights Movement (iirc). They directly compared Black liberation to Hama’s evil acts and it disgusted me.

The full context:

Hama: The choice [to use bloodbending] is not yours. The power exists. And it’s your duty to use the gifts you’ve been given to win this war. Katara, they tried to wipe us out, our entire culture, your mother.

Katara: I know.

Hama: Then you should understand what I’m talking about. We’re the last waterbenders of the Southern Tribe, we have to fight these people whenever we can, wherever they are, with any means necessary.

I find that so appalling because it is framing resistance, specifically anti-racist resistance, as barbaric and monstrous. And given the way that Hama is portrayed at this point, about as inhuman as anyone in ATLA, that is extra gross.

Finally, after Katara defeats Hama, she is lead away by the authorities in CHAINS.

So now the FN cops are the good authorities who we’re gonna trust a SWT waterbender with? I mean she’s a villain so we’re probably not supposed to feel bad for her, like yeah sure the FN is usually bad but she’s a criminal so it’s okay that they take a POW back into custody.

No, no, no.

I know I am reading into this far more than the writers intended - but that’s kind of the point of critically engaging with media. Because shockingly writers don’t always question their choices - they are people and have implicit biases just like all of us. When those writers come from a privileged culture that has colonized the culture they are using as “inspiration” for their story, they need to be extra mindful of how they represent those people.

IV: How To Write Hama

Well, I’m not gonna talk over indigenous fans on this one on specifics, and you should read this rewrite by @kispesan​  but my thoughts generally are:

lose the horror framing it’s just not right for this context and this character

don’t frame Malcolm X as a villain because that’s nasty and racist

have Katara learn to use bloodbending in ways that she is comfortable with (and not just like once in one episode where she’s extra vengeful and the hero of the show doesn’t approve of her actions JFC) and don’t make the dark-skinned girl the only character whose special bending skill is dubious (I know she also has healing but still)

bring Hama home

have indigenous people in the writers room

Anyway, I’ve gone on wayyy too long. Let me know if I am speaking out of turn please if you feel that I am. and I’m sure I had other thoughts but if you want to read some other good pieces of Hama meta, I’ve listed some below:

post and another post by @marsreds​

this post and this post by @visibilityofcolor​

this post by @shewhotellsstories​

anyway katara is a queen and should have been allowed to heal, and hama never should have been irredeemable because if you can make iroh redeemable, if the show was going to redeem AZULA, you can make hama redeemable.

[bondsmagii]

This is definitely one of the… wilder stories here, but as always, I suppose people will believe what they will. 

This will unfortunately require some backstory, but I guess you could say the long and the short of it is that I played at being God, and it. Well. Kind of sucked, actually.

So, the backstory. I’ll try to keep it brief. I grew up in a small country village about forty-five minutes away from Belfast, Ireland. There wasn’t much going on there, as you could imagine – just a standard rural Irish town, where the most exciting thing that might happen in a week was old Farmer Joe getting a new tractor or something. Anyway, I’m not sure how many of you know about Ireland’s rather troubled past, but for the most part I missed all that. I was born around the time things were finally settling down, and while my earlier memories are filled with bomb scares and low-flying helicopters and gunshots in the night, the distant sound of shouting and the acrid smell of smoke burning a little too close for comfort, by the time I hit my teenage years most of it had wrapped up. Of course, there was the occasional scare here and there, and I’m not saying my friends and I didn’t go out looking for trouble once we were old enough, but it wasn’t the same. I’m not saying that out of a sense of, I don’t know, regret or annoyance or anything. Now I’m older, I’m not so enamoured by the idea of that much violence. I’m just saying it wasn’t really a patch on the kind of violence that used to happened there – the kind of violence that fascinated my friends and I so much. It sounds bad, but really we were just kids being kids. Little boys everywhere play at war games. It just so happened that the war we were playing had happened in our own country. It’s difficult not to be obsessed, when you see the reflection of history on the faces of every generation around you. Even slightly older siblings would know all about it – it wasn’t something you asked your grandfather, distant war stories over some vague European country that you’ve only seen on a map in your Geography classroom. This was our street corners, our high streets, the road outside the house. Here the grass verge at the side of the road where the bodies were dumped; there the lay-by where over a dozen people were blown to pieces. It was awful, but we were children. We were enamoured.

Anyway. The only violence we got really involved in was the summer rioting that happened yearly, like clockwork. It sounds like a joke, but that’s how it goes. You don’t need to know the details, but suffice to say in mid-July every year, the city would light up like we were back in the 1970s. Localised, of course, and still nowhere near as drastic as it used to be, but enough to get a taste. Petrol bombs. Police lines. Armoured cars. Water cannons. Unrestrained summer fun, you could say. But that’s for a bit later.

I’m a writer. I have been since I was four years old. Generally speaking I’m a horror writer, but I’ve branched into historical fiction a fair bit over the years. Living in Ireland, growing up how I did, it was inevitable that I would develop a fascination for Irish history. I was always a very curious child, my head in books, chasing up stories that would keep me awake at night. I never knew any boundaries. I would go after answers with military precision, asking questions, going places I shouldn’t. Dangerous for anyone, of course, but in a country like mine, where crossing the road could quite literally lead to your murder? It was reckless. I was reckless. But that’s the thing about being that age. You think you’re invincible. You think you can do anything.

I was about fourteen or fifteen, at the height of this obsession. I believe I was fifteen when I wrote this particular story, but it’s difficult to say. It was part of a series, and I was going back and forth on it and other projects for many years. Here we finally get to the point of the whole story: I had developed an obsession with Irish history, as I said, and specifically the more “modern” history – from 1916 onwards, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence, all that. I was fascinated by the Irish struggle for freedom, and while age and hindsight has lessened my… enthusiasm for the violence, I do maintain a strong opinion towards the whole thing, which is not the point here so I won’t get into it. What I’m trying to say is that my stories reflected this enthusiasm, and were undoubtedly glorifying in nature, and also at that age I was more concerned with living the fantasy than doing the research, so it was all very self-indulgent. I’m sure anyone who wrote at that age knows what I mean.

My main character… well. I’m sure you know what to expect. He was—well. Me, really. In the way of all main characters at that age, and perhaps a little even as we get older, there’s a piece of us inside all our main characters. Sometimes a little piece, other times just a cooler and more badass version of yourself. Michael was that for me. I suppose that must is obvious; I wasn’t even trying to be subtle. My name is of course Miceál, which for those of you keeping track is the Irish form of Michael. I’m just grateful that I didn’t go as far as to give him my last name, too, but everything else was there. He looked like me, he held the same views and beliefs as me, he acted like me – or at least, he acted in the ways I liked to think I’d act, or how I imagined acting later that night in the shower, reliving the scenario again. He was the best kind of self-insert character, indulgent and fun and a good friend to me. I poured a lot of myself into him. I poured everything into him. He was a constant companion, something that became ever more important to me as my real life—well, went to shit. To put it mildly. I would sit in my room writing my stories, and Michael would go out there and fight the good fight, killing and bombing for good old Ireland, and then I’d shut my computer down and go to sleep feeling just a little better than otherwise.

I’m not afraid to say that I can be obsessive. I like to get into the heads of my characters; I like to know them as well as I know everything. Yes, Michael was me, but he was also a version of me who had done things I have never done. Sometimes I would try to imagine myself as him; wonder what it was like to see through his eyes. Wonder what a me who had done that would look like. Wonder what he would do in a situation. I asked myself that a few times; a lot of times. What would Michael do? I could have put that shit on a wristband. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I’ve always been a bit of a method writer like that. It was normal, until it wasn’t.

I first saw Michael on a hot July day, in Belfast. What we call the rioting season had come around; my friends and I were there to take advantage. Just at the sidelines, mind you – nobody wants to get a face full of water cannon, even on the hottest of days. Michael was in the thick of it though. Of course he was. I’d written him to be that way.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. At first I thought I must be seeing things, but the more I looked the more I realised he looked exactly like me. Only he was a little taller, a little fitter, and his hair looked different. His clothing was different, too; perhaps a couple of decades out of date, but looking at him I saw his clothing didn’t remain consistent. The changes were subtle – material, tone – but I noticed. Looking back, I assume it’s because I never did give a specific date for his story to occur in. Well, wherever he was from he was there now, throwing rocks with the best of them, skipping from stone to stone and hurling them at police lines with an easy swing that could only come from years of practise. When we had all finally cleaned out the area – soldiers coming, a helicopter, the kind of trouble you don’t want to toy with – I managed to catch up with him. He was talking to my friends. They noticed we were both there, but didn’t seem to realise we were two different people. The whole time we were all talking, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Michael. I tried, because I knew how obvious I was being, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t work him out. I couldn’t even trust that’s what I was seeing. And the whole time, Michael watched me back. I knew the look in his eyes. It was his smug little, I know something you don’t know look. Of course I knew it. I had made him like that. I had given him that look.

I didn’t see him for some time after that. Believe it or not, I put it out of my head. I mean, come on. It was probably some other guy that my friends knew. We were in Belfast enough, and Michael isn’t exactly an uncommon name. I put it out of my mind, but I was sure that sometimes, I saw him. I was sure I’d see him in Belfast, ducking down side streets or leaning in close conversation with someone I couldn’t make out. He was always watching me. Sometimes I’d feel eyes on me and know it was him, but when I looked around I wouldn’t spot him. On some occasions – and these were always the worst – I would feel his eyes behind my own. Like he was on the inside looking out, moving independently in there, a set of eyes swivelling around over my own. It happened most often when I was trying to write his story. As you can imagine, I was nervous to do so. The more I thought I saw him, the less I wanted to write, but I didn’t think that was a good idea either. I didn’t know what to do.

It was a sunny weekend just before school started back after summer that I finally resolved to do something about it. I didn’t even feel stupid as I booted up my old Windows 95 desktop and opened Word. Michael’s story was there, in 12-point font as I always wrote then, plenty of enthusiasm but a lot less technical skill. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, and then I typed.

Hello?

Nothing, of course. I deleted the word, wondering what I had expected. Feeling a little stupid now, I tried to think about where to go with the story. It was difficult to write now I had some kind of real person to assign to it all – what were the ethics here? How could I—

I won’t get into that. It would be a philosophical essay all of its own. I sat for a while wondering what to write, and then it hit me that the story had changed. The words Michael had spoken, in the paragraph that I had left off – they were no longer the words I had written. I forget what the original words were now, but they were something relatively simple; some response to another character, and I remember that another name was mentioned in it – the name of Michael’s in-universe best friend, Eamon. Now that name was gone, and the rest of the text had changed, too. Now the writing read something different entirely.

I thought you wanted to know?

I lied earlier. I said that age and experience and perhaps some more emotional maturity had led me to turn away from the kind of violence that fascinated me so much then, and I have no doubt that under normal circumstances it would have done. I had somewhat of a speed run, however; I turned my back on it because

I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had often wondered what it would be like to do what Michael did, of course. To kill and risk death for a cause, to face down prison, torture, exile. I had wondered what it would be like to commit those acts; how easy or difficult it would be to pull a trigger or push a detonator. I liked to think, in my foolish, idealistic teenage mind, that if it came down to it I could. Of course, I was in the very privileged position to not have to actually answer that question.

Michael, on the other hand, knew. And Michael was, if not me, than a product of me. Could it be possible that he could show me?

I ignored the message for several days. I didn’t know what to think. Truth be told I thought I was going mad. School started again and I got so busy that I almost, almost forgot about it – and then I opened the document by mistake one day, got into reading it over, laughing at my brilliant comebacks, you know how it is. And there it was again.

I thought you wanted to know?

Yes, I remember thinking. It stunned me – I remember that. I didn’t want to mess with this kind of stuff – I’ve always been a huge believer in the paranormal, always been cautious when it comes to fucking with that kind of stuff. I believe that magic like this, it requires intent. It needs you to be sure. It knows how you feel, true in your heart. So even when I ignored it again, even when I deleted the words and re-wrote whatever the original had been, even as I didn’t reply… I knew in my heart that my question had been heard by something. I could feel Michael’s eyes on me again, though now I wondered if it was Michael’s eyes, or something else entirely. It felt like a weight. Have you ever been in an old, old place, where you can practically feel the people who lived and died there; reach out and touch them? It felt like that. Like the weight of history was pressing down on me. I didn’t fall asleep easily that night, but when I did sleep was dark and endless.

I don’t know how long I spent in that state. In reality it was only seven hours; I woke up with my alarm. In that time period, wherever I was – because I was not living – I seemed to witness a hundred different lives. Over the course of Michael’s story I had him do all kinds of things; live all kinds of situations. I deleted things, changed others, added things in. I wrote what would now be called alternate universes. In that night I experienced them all. I know how it feels now. I know how it feels to pull a trigger; to watch the spray of someone’s life splatter a wall or a windscreen or the screaming backseat passengers of a car. I know how it feels to push the button, the one that sends a charge surging down a wire or flickering out over my head in an invisible wave of death, notifying the bomb, detonating the explosives. I know how it feels to sit in a hotel bar across a border, listening to the news, sipping a drink and feeling my heart beat in my chest as I add more numbers to the tally, more blood to my hands. I know how it feels to be shot, to be beaten, to watch a friend die, to kill someone who used to be – who still is, despite everything – a friend. I know how it feels to cough blood into my hands, onto the ground; to grip a wound that won’t stop bleeding; the blinding flash of an explosive detonating too soon and how the whole world seems to roar and how there’s a difference between the thud and slap of wet mud hitting the ground and the warmer, denser rain of something that used to be human. For days, weeks, years – I walked in Michael’s shoes, I lived his life, I committed every act.

I felt his pain. His fear. This hellish world that he lived in, created to kill and die and lose and fear, over and over. To meet his God and to finally, finally ask – why?

And what could I say? Because I wanted to know?

Well. Now I do.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

Hello there! I’m finally here with the third and last part of my favorite drarry fics I read in 2019!!! In the first part and in the second part I recommended 10 stories that made my year, and in this post I’m recommending 10 more that I absolutely adore. The banner art is by @spielzeugkaiser who was really kind and let me use this GORGEOUS piece, which you can (and totally should) reblog right here. Now, without further ado, here’s my,

FAVORITE FICS I READ IN 2019 PART THREE

1. The Company of The Rose - @lower-east-side - 31k - E - Six years after the war, Draco Malfoy has been restoring magical estates, while sidestepping his mother’s plots to marry him off and resolutely avoiding his issues. An advert in the Prophet takes him to a remote island, where a mysterious stranger has purchased an abandoned retreat. But the house has a few secrets of its own, and Draco will be forced to deal with not only his past, but the possibilities of the future.

We’re starting out this list with one of the last fics I read last year, and undoubtedly one of my absolute favorites. It’s gorgeous, sweet, breathtaking, a dozen other adjectives I can’t even think of. Stories that take place in beautiful, secluded places have a special place in my heart, and with a sure hand the author leads us through some of my favorite aspects of the trope: slow forming friendships, the feeling like they’re living in a world of their own as they get to know each other for who they really are, wonderful, delicious sexual tension keeping me breathless until the moment it snaps. The sex pollen element is also worked in a way I had never read before, with an exploration of what happens in the aftermath, addressing the issue of consent it creates. It’s just absolutely phenomenal, every single word of this. 

2. I could be wrong, I could be ready - @harryromper - 57k - M - At first Harry wonders if they’ve managed to destroy his vaults and are trying to tell him in the most oblique way possible. But when he turns the page he realises they’ve found a vault. A vault in the name of Lily and James Potter.The parchment trembles a little in Harry’s hand. He takes another gulp of wine. Harry Potter left Britain after the war and didn’t look back. Ten years later, when Gringotts discovers a vault containing his parents’ belongings—including their badly spell-damaged wedding rings—he’s forced to face up to friends and family who’ve grown in ways he could never imagine, a wizarding London rebuilt beyond his expectations, and the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s the entirely unforeseen problem of Draco Malfoy. Featuring pureblood wizarding traditions, ancestral magic, open mic nights, marriage equality, a diner in Brooklyn, and the return of Fleamont Potter.

Explorations of Harry as a character and his post-war issues never fail to hook me right in, and this beautiful fic takes us with him on a journey where he changes so, so much, and at first he does it by running away, thinking everything will remain unchanged as long as he doesn’t acknowledge it, which, of course, isn’t the case. We see him having to face his past, reconnecting with his friends, finding and coming to terms with pieces of himself that he forgot about, or never knew existed in the first place, and it’s absolutely exquisite. The tremendous amount of character development, the regaining of trust in himself and others, the way we can witness a love story blooming slow and steady, and see Harry grow into a confident, wonderful man. God, I have feels for this one, for every detail, every character and setting and emotion. It’s absolutely fantastic. 

3. What Real Thing? - @l0vegl0wsinthedark - 12k - E - They don’t cuddle, they don’t talk about their relationship (or lack thereof) and they certainly never fall asleep in each other’s arms.

This was my year of falling in love with l0ve’s fics. I had read some of her work before, but it was a few months ago that I found myself deep into her ao3 page, nearly weeping with the amount of emotion every single one of her stories stirs up within me. Picking just one was extremely difficult, but I finally chose this one, because the way she paints the relationship between Harry and Draco is masterful, their dynamic shifting and changing little by little, baby steps that become full-on sprints, single-minded and hesitant all at once, until we see them elbows deep into a feeling they don’t even know they’re experiencing, and it’s just brilliant, scorching hot, all-encompassing in a way that made me feel caught up in the whirlwind that is their relationship. If you haven’t yet read anything by l0ve, then I strongly, strongly recommend you start right about NOW. You won’t regret it. 

4. Teeth - @amelior8or - 5k - E - Potter’s been practically begging for it, for months, constantly staring until the air crackles with the intensity of it. Draco always stares back, until all it takes is a brush, a spark, before they go up like flash paper. The crash into each other is inevitable. Draco’s heart has got teeth. And there is nothing he won’t do to keep up the fight with Harry fucking Potter.

I am absolutely, 1000% weak for werewolf stories, and in just 5k words this one managed to enchant and entrance me. It’s hot and fast-paced and intense in the way I love, with their relationship charged with emotion and intensity that transform bickering into passion in the blink of an eye. The moment I reached the end, I went back to the top of the page and reread it that very second, because I had to experience it all over again. Amazing characterization, banter to die for and explosive chemistry are all present in this gem. I kid you not, I’ve read it about six times at this point and just keep going back to that moment in the showers because THAT DIALOGUE IS JUST- wow. 

5. Hush, darling - @magpiefngrl - 23k - E - Draco is in trouble. To get out of it he needs to seduce Harry Potter.

My god what a story this is. Absolutely unique, 23k words that felt like so, so much more because of everything they made me feel. There isn’t a single line of dialogue in this story that doesn’t feel purposeful, the characterizations constructed with such skill that every step the characters take rings true to their essence and gives us another clue to add to the puzzle that is Harry Potter, vulnerable man, powerful man, and Draco Malfoy, in all his darkness and his light. It also features some of the best sex scenes I have read, EVER. I could go on and on about this one, so let me just refer you to my long, individual rec for some more flailing. 

6. The Pirate and the Prince - @nerdherderette - 49k - E - Draco can't believe that fate and circumstance have made him a stowaway on the Master of Death's ship. He doesn't know what's worse: the dread pirate's legendary vendetta against the aristocracy, or the fact that his captor is the most infuriating yet irrefutably fascinating man Draco has ever met.

YES!!!!! YES!!! The moment I saw the cover art for this fic on tumblr my entire being just screamed YES, and it was everything I could’ve hoped for and more. Listen, there is nothing I love more than fics where I get to see Harry as a powerful, ruggedly handsome man who’s not afraid of getting his hands dirty, and in here there’s some of that and MORE, because he’s a freaking PIRATE. And not only did I adore that aspect of it, but the writing pulled me right in, the setting so vibrant I could feel it in my bones, and I just genuinely enjoyed every second of reading this so, so much. There’s ships and adventure and fighting for what’s right, there’s lovely kisses, heated kisses, secret identities and parrot Hedwig. Just, all in all, a great freaking time. 

7. Falling for a Golden Boy - @rockmarina - 44k - E - Merlin. Why couldn’t Draco have moved to a forgotten village in the Alps? He could have turned into a shepherd, learned to make his own damn cheese and given up his damn magic. But no, he’d had to come back to his Eighth year, hadn’t he? And this was his life now. Draping himself over Potter to hear words from him that he knew Potter wouldn’t ever mean.Great. The school year ahead of him looked simply great.“All I know is—when I’m with you, I…” Potter, the heathen, grunted when he read the rest of his line. “Do I really need to say this?”“What, scared of believing your own words, Scarhead?” Draco spat.“Boys,” O’Neill warned them.“All I—all I know is you’re the most amazing person with weak ankles that I've ever met, Meg.” Potter scowled. He was blushing again. “And when I’m with you, I feel less alone.”

My favorite eight year Drarry of all time, probably. I had never before experienced such a beautiful balance of the aftermath of the horrifying events of the war and how they impacted each character, and the light feeling of youthful fun. There are so, so many things to love in the 44k words that make up this masterpiece, so many details that warmed my heart and made me melt inside, so many moments that had me laughing or clutching my chest. In here, you’ll find quite a lot of Hercules references, wonderful teachers, drama club, healing, characters learning to trust, learning to love, learning to cope, beautiful friendships, hopeful romance. It is everything. I talked more about this fic in this individual rec, and I will absolutely talk MORE about it if given the chance. Everyone should read this. 

8. Tease Crossed, Eyes Dotted With A Little Heart - @diligent-thunder - 18k - M -  Draco's a curse-breaker, Harry's an Auror, and they're... something? Maybe? It depends. Harry definitely wants to get laid, Draco wants to follow procedure, and their work wives just want them to stop hiding from the truth. 

I hope you’re not sick of my rambling yet because oooooh boy, THIS ONE. It’s funny, in the way that makes you cover your mouth because you’re about to burst out laughing on the bus, it’s hot, in that casual way that makes you clear your throat and shift your phone just a little, just so the screen can’t be seen by the person sitting beside you because like HELL are you going to stop reading now, it’s sweet, in the way that makes you smile so hard your cheeks hurt, and it’s so detailed and all around so, so much fun to read, in the way that grips you and doesn’t let you go, only to release you when it’s over so you can go and recommend it to your friends, IT’S. SO. GOOD. Real quick: auror + cursebreaker pairing, are-they-friends-with-benefits-or-more, guess-they’d-have-to-actually-TALK-to-know-that, teasing each other in public, getting trapped together for a bit there, powerful female characters, should you guys really be flirting right now? and MORE. Listen, just go read it now and thank me later. 

9. That which hurts (and is desired) - @shealwaysreads - 19k - E - Draco was lying still, and pale, on a bed in a private room in St Mungo’s. The sheets were white, clean, enchanted against stains, vanishing the blood that kept spilling out of him. He hadn’t moved in two days. Not a twitch of his elegant fingers. Not a blink of his fierce eyes. Harry couldn’t even see the faint flutter of his pulse in his throat from where he stood at the foot of the bed, helpless, impotent, furious.

This fic is written so, so beautifully that it aches and leaves such an impression that, thinking back on it, every emotion hits me just as hard as it did when I was reading it. Everything Harry felt, I felt, every moment where he found himself just a little bit more in love with Draco, I was there, every moment of his frustration when Draco is hit with a curse nobody can decipher, I was there for it. With non-linear storytelling, it is evocative, a masterclass in narration, pacing, characterization and beautiful, lyrical writing. I nearly have no words for it. It features: auror partners that work together seamlessly, a dash of pining, a helping of very, very hot sex, and a love story that feels soft like a dream and thrilling like a race. This was the very last story I read in 2019, and I could not have ended the year on a better note. Definitely check this one out.

10. For Thine Is The Kingdom - @kedavranox - 66k - E - On a secret mission, Draco is Turned. With no memory of what happened, he learns that to save his missing Auror partner and regain what he’s lost, he must uncover the long-buried secrets of the vampire covens. To do that, Draco must open his mind and heart to what he has become, the new-found family that surrounds him, and the man who has remained steadfast at his side through it all.Harry spent five years avoiding the man he fell in love with, but when Draco needs his help, he cannot refuse. As they race against the clock to find Draco’s partner, Harry discovers that the bond they share is nothing to hide from, and that he'll never outrun the pace of his own heart.

And last but absolutely not least, there’s this freaking diamond of a story. I swear I want to squeal whenever I remember it. I’ll be brief: it is one of my absolute favorite fics of all time. In here, there’s vampires, unspeakables, a big investigation, wonderful side characters and information given in small little doses as we learn alongside the characters and piece together an entire picture. It’s dazzling, incredibly detailed in every way, with shades to each character and nuances to every interaction and bit of magic we get to see. I feel like anything I can say is not enough, I can never do this story justice. I have tried before, and written the gushiest individual fic rec of my LIFE but just- I honestly have no more words to express how much I think everyone needs to read this. Please, check that rec out, please, check this story out. There is absolutely nothing like it.

----

And that wraps it for 2019! Thank you to all who take the time to check out my lists, and THANK YOU specially if you give these incredible stories a chance, because they deserve all the love in the world. Once again: All the way from here, behind a username and a few tumblr posts, I can honestly say that these 30 stories made my year. I hope they can make yours, too ❤️ If you ever want to discuss these (for tag concerns or plain flailing) (or any story really) my DM’s are always open!!!

[viahoshi]

only those who are forgotten die  // k.sy

pairing — kwon soonyoung x female protagonist genre — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (?) warnings — swearing, death, blood, murder, major character death and any kinds of criminal stuff words — 2.8k summary — the one where kwon soonyoung needs a new partner in crime note — this is highly inspired from the series, vis a vis as I can’t seem to move on from the character death, I created another one myself. The italic writings are flashbacks, the dialogue ones are the current time. Enjoy♡

“How did you meet him?”

“Do you know that one quote from Dostoyevsky that says: We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who interest us at first sight. Somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.”

“Do you like Dostoyevsky?”

“No.” She firmly answered, “He did, though.” 

“So, you two were strangers at first who suddenly grew closer?”

“You can say that. Even though he worked with my brother, I had never greeted him before. Their latest heist went wrong, so wrong. My brother died, and he got into jail. I wanted to greet him personally after he was out to get revenge, you know? Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.”

“You were planning to murder him.”

“Mmm- yes.”

“When did the latest bus pass?” Soonyoung asks while wearing his black leather jacked in the middle of the heat of July, rubs his hands together, takes slow steps to the bus stop before turning back again.

“5 minutes ago.”

“And the next one will come in-?”

“40 minutes.”

Soonyoung signs before placing his sunglasses on his nose bridge, and takes another step towards the bus stop before turning around again just to stare at the place he spent most of his youth into. The world seems too large for the young man as he keeps groaning.

Soonyoung was a restless man. He almost appreciates the person who stopped their car for him. Almost. He sharply groans when he recognizes the woman stepping out of the car. The familiar appearance of the girl looks nothing like the one he saw years ago. The way her expression has no marks of distress and uneasiness makes him feel nauseous.

“What are you doing here?”

Soonyoung knows that he was miserably dishonoring his uncaring aura as he shifts from left to right at where he was standing. His hands became sweaty and unsteady in his pockets, failing himself. His features told a different story, and his hands showed another. 

“Every single night when I close my eyes, I see nothing but the two police officers arriving at our house to state that my brother was dead. I acknowledged that everything would go downhill, but I wasn’t foreseeing it to happen this fast. Their son was dead, and their daughter was conceivably a psychopath. All the people I loved and trusted turned their backs to me after that, just like it was my responsibility. You do not understand how it makes your head to be free, but not having anybody.”

He pouted in surprise while nodding, almost as if he was waiting for her to finish and leave, “Nope, I have no fucking idea.”

“I heard you’ve been a very good boy.” Her voice expresses nothing but sarcasm, lips form a smirk, hand raises to remove the hood of her sweatshirt which was closed the whole time, then moves before her eyes to block the steady sunbeams coming to her eyes.

“Yeah, I helped the police in two cases.”

“We’re all falling in line in the end, aren’t we?”

Soonyoung looks at her, tries to read her expression, studies the way her lips curl up on the ends when she smiles, and how her face creases when she fails to block the sunbeams.

“Really, what are you doing here?” Soonyoung asks again, wonder takes over as he glares behind the faint print of his sunglasses.

The girl takes her time glancing at the left and right side of the road, “The bus isn’t coming,” she glimpses back at him, “do you want a ride?”

Soonyoung takes his sunglasses off, and the girl studies the unique frame of his eyes, “To the cemetery.”

“He wanted to visit my brother’s grave. He tried to look undisturbed, but I knew he was. I left him there and returned to work.”

“Then what happened?”

“It didn’t take him a long time for him to locate the place I worked. When he came in, I thought I was seeing things, I used to daydream about him a lot at work, and I’m not talking about pleasing daydreams.”

“So you want us to become a duo? Like Bonnie and Clyde, Thelma and Louise?”

“No, that wouldn’t work out. You and me, as a limited liability company. [y/n] & Soonyoung LLC.”

His words make the girl throw her head back and giggle in doubt, “You’re trying to sacrifice me to protect your own ass as you did to my brother?”

“You’re talking as if you weren’t plotting to kill me for years.”

“You see, I hate you and you hate me. Why are you so sure that I won’t stab you in your sleep?”

“Hate is the greatest motivator.” The girl could picture his half smirk even though she has her back turned against him. He continues while standing up and making her way towards her, “We have another option, we don’t see each other again until we meet on a tour bus for seniors, heading to the beach.”

Edges of the girl’s mouth lifts, it’s crystal clear that his words satisfied her, the thought of replacing her brother giving her stomach slight tingles as she imagines the bad things she always wanted to do in her life but never could, “Okay, let’s do it.”

“And this is how our shared life began as a mismatched twosome who everyone thinks: They’re going to kill each other. With the money we made, we bought our first house, a baby blue caravan. We instantly learned the secret to a good marriage, trusting each other. We weren’t friends, we shared nothing. But as much as we didn’t like it, together we were the best. The perfect couple, precisely because we didn’t love each other. We found the perfect amount of space to not kill each other, neither too close nor too far.”

“You lived like a domestic couple, how come you could undoubtedly trust each other in such a little time.”

“Not a domestic couple, but more like a husband and wife in their eighties who have over 20 grandchildren, but no one visits if that makes sense.”

“Tell me about the things you did respectively, how did you spend your time?”

“We had nothing noteworthy to do, so he bought two chairs and we just sat on the roof of the caravan, on the opposing sides. That was the agreement.”

“And the robberies? How did you follow through with that?”

“We started with big targets, casinos. We would quarrel during the heist and people would just look at us like we’re lunatics.”

“No one move!” Soonyoung raises his voice, puts his hand behind his head, and holds onto his gun smoothly, “Put your hands behind your head like how I’m doing it. I won’t say it again, okay?”

The young boy doesn’t hesitate to wander towards the money source and doesn’t even consider it necessary to turn towards the girl before commanding pointedly, “The cash. I’ll deal with the cashier, you take care of the hags.”

“Excuse me?” The girl’s attitude catches him off guard as he stares at her in uncertainty. He chuckles softly before running his hand through his pitch black hair. “We’re not having this discussion here. Not now.”

“Why? Why do you need to be in charge of the money?” She cocks her head to the side, not bothered by the weirded looks of the people surrounding her. Soonyoung takes a step towards her, eyes and mouth wide open, “Any problems?”

“The problem is you fucking always put yourself above me,” Soonyoung takes another step towards her to hear her better, “shit, are we really going to start our first job together like this?”

Soonyoung gets much closer to her than he was moments ago, uneasy as he keeps peeking towards the woman who’s filling the bag with money, “We’re already splitting it 50/50.”

“It’s not a matter of money, it’s a matter of attitude.” Her look changes as her voice rises, “Either stop looking down on me or this is over.”

Soonyoung tries to change his expression, softens his voice, whisper screaming, “Is this the right place to talk about this?”

The girl walks over to him completely, face inches away from each other, feeling each other’s breaths on their faces. She whispers, “Are we equals? Yes or no.”

“We have to go.”

“I don’t care. Not before we clarify this. Equals or nothing, you decide.”

Soonyoung lowers his gun, steps away from her, spits while gritting his teeth, “Very well, equals. In sickness and in health, till death do us apart, amen.”

She nods, visibly satisfied. Giggles when she catches Soonyoung grumbling about how more effortless it is to work with a man rather than a woman.

“And that’s how we carried out together. It wasn’t the Bonnie and Clyde story you would predict, but days like this made me neglect the murder plots going on in my head. And that baby blue caravan was the closest thing I had that resembled ‘home’ to me, if that makes sense.”

“How would you define ‘home’?”

“Home? I don’t know.”

She gets a decent amount of shampoo in her hands before pressing them to Soonyoung’s airy locks, sudden contact of her hands sends shivers down his spine as he tries to get comfortable in his chair, relaxes his muscles while the girl runs her hands through his dark hair. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Did you knew that hair doesn’t stop growing after you’re dead?”

“And you want your hair to look sleek in the morgue?”

“No, I just want to talk without looking at your face.”

She eases her hand movements as if she waits for him to continue, he goes on, speaking softer than he did before, “I was 12 years old when my mother married to that pig. He brought nothing but misery and discomfort to the only place I knew as ‘home’. My mother neglected me, trying to be a suitable partner for that bastard,” he chuckles hysterically before continuing, “I was 15 years old when they send me to an orphanage, too old for adoption, too rebel for that environment. I fled from there at 18, and that’s when I met your brother, been doing this shit ever since.”

Soonyoung would pity himself sometimes, only life could be a little kinder to him, only if the world would have a little mercy for him, everything could’ve gone differently.

“Soonyoung”

“Mmm.”

“What is it?”

“There’s no need to run if you have a home, and the time we spent in the caravan, in the camper is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a home. I wanted you to know that.”

She lets the teardrop she keeps in her flow on her cheek, her lips curl up, forms a faint smile, “It was special for me too.”

She sniffs, grabs the water from the small bowl and rinses his hair. “Even though, to tell the truth, you’re a shitty roommate.” She grabs the towel and throws it to him, making him giggle like a little kid.

“And you droll in your sleep.” He turns towards her.

“So you watch me while I sleep?”

“No, I don’t watch you, you’re just making weird noises and it draws my attention.”

“Fuck you.” Her face lights up before grabbing the pot full of water and wetting his whole torso, his light colored jeans making the situation already more apparent than it already is. He laughs aloud before grabbing the fountain and pointing it towards her, their laughs brighter than the sun, for the first time after a long time.

"No.”

“No what?”

“I already know what you’re going to ask. Everyone wonders whether Thelma and Louise fucked or not. We did not. We did not fuck.”

“Okay.”

“And also, just clearing it for the record, we weren’t in a relationship either. We didn’t talk about any shit except the heists, that’s it.”

“Okay, good to know.”

The fairy lights inside of the caravan are shining in the colors of the rainbow as the girl sways to the beat of the song playing in the background. The drink in her hand matches the color of her colored sunglasses, giving her a vintage vibe. Soonyoung lies on his back, watching the way her body moves. She notices how his expression seems so cloddish, approaches him so that their noses touch, “Is this your first time?”

“What?” He tries to brush her off, not breaking the eye contact.

“Yes it is,” she laughs breathily, “this is your first time doing ecstasy.”

Soonyoung pushes her away and stands up to sit comfortably, “This isn’t getting me high at all.”

His tone of voice makes the girl giggle, “Right, you’re not high at all.” Her voice carries no expression but lust and sarcasm at the same time.

“At all.” Soonyoung keeps arguing while giggling and shaking his head.

“You don’t feel… Euphoria, empathy? This- sort of- uh- love? For anyone? I thought those were your favorite emotions.” She smiles sheepishly.

“When does this shit end?” He asks, not betraying his uncaring aura even when high.

Her sarcasm slowly drops and she feels alone with nothing but lust in her heart. She looks at him with an innocent expression, reminding him of those kids who want to buy candy in a convenience store, “Do you know what I want to do right now?”

“What?”

She gets closer to his face again, looks directly at his eyes, looks directly at his soul, “I want to touch your face.”

“Jesus, fuck no.” He stands up to go to the table which is decorated with various of liquor and grabs the entire bottle of the alcohol, drinks an enormous amount of it until the girl makes her way towards him again.

She moves her hand towards his face; he flinches when her hand contacts his skin. Her fingertips travel on his nose bridge, his cheekbones, his lips, his jawline. She leaves her fingerprints all over his face gently. Soonyoung chuckles but doesn’t move away, he doesn’t look away either. He enjoys the feeling that comes up to his spine as he keeps touching his face.

The air inside the caravan is thick, but it feels lighted than air for Soonyoung as he feels the butterflies in his stomach gently waking as she travels her fingertips along his sharp features. He pants, he doesn’t know if it’s because of the drug, or her.

“We’re not going to fuck, that’s what we agreed for.” He whispers while looking at her with a blank expression.

“You think I want to fuck with you?” She smiles again, and he nods.

“That makes little sense, does it?” She argues again, still looking at him with the same smile on her face and the same tone of her voice, seductive, “Oh well, let’s go to bed then.” And the first thing Soonyoung does when she turns her back at him to walk towards the bed is to grab her by her hair and pull her back towards his body. She laughs in surprise, her heartbeat rises as he pushes her front towards the wall.

And the rest is just a blur.

The next morning, she wakes up to Soonyoung practicing gunshots. She makes him and herself a cup of tea before making her way towards him. “About last night, that was stupid.”

“Yeah. By the way, I made the plan for the next heist.” He grabs the handle of the cup and responds in a sassy way.

“Well, you can tell me later.”

Soonyoung chuckles.

“Do you have any regrets?”

“Only if I looked back before leaving.”

“No.”

Soonyoung stretches out the beautifully packed gift, catching the attention of the girl who was sitting outside despite the cold air. She looks at him in doubt, “Kwon Soonyoung gives presents? Is that a bomb? Or an internal organ of one of your relatives? Perhaps it’s a scorpion-”

“Fuck, just take it.”

She hesitantly takes the gift and opens it just to find a polaroid camera inside, laughs while opening the box, taking the camera out. “Do you want to take a picture?”

“Yes. So you can remember we were young, we were hot, and we were free, and we felt a little, just a little less lonely together.”

She looks at the camera, and back at him before standing up, “Cool, let’s do it.”

The bright flash of the camera makes Soonyoung’s eyes hurt a little. He turns to her as the film gets released from the machine. He bounces slowly, reminding the girl of a little kid while smiling softly, waiting for the polaroid to darken. She gives the polaroid film to him after looking at it.

“Merry Christmas, asshole.”

“You too, princess.”

“Do you think things have worked out differently?”

“Things should have gone differently. I must have been in Italy or France, not here talking to you.”

“What about him?”

“What about him? Death didn’t intimidate me, nor him. There will still be winters and summers. It’s not like people will stop celebrating Christmas, or a child won’t get a birthday present. The gone is gone, and the world goes on, it’s nothing I can ease. However, he’s not dead.”

“How come?”

“Only those who are forgotten die, I’d like to consider he’ll be living for a long time.”

[purplekiwis]

“From the Dining Table” - Chapter I

Hello everyone, I’ve been enjoying reading your fics a lot, especially now with the whole quarentine thing, they never fail to bring me joy. I thought it would be fun to start writing some myself and that’s why I created this blog. I haven’t written a fic in over 10 years ( I promise I’m not that old, I was just a very imaginative child.) Anyway, I wrote this one based of a dream I had and then I realized it reminded me a lot of Harry’s song, so I just kept on going with the theme. This is a pretty long one, it’s going to be 3 Chapters. Today I’m gonna post the first one, I hope you (whoever you are that’s reading this) enjoy it and I would be super happy to get any feedback from you.❤️

You can read Chapter II here You can read Chapter III here Word Count: 8k Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Sexual References

Summary: Friends to Lovers; Y/N is a graphic designer working at a small studio in London. She lives a pretty ordinary life, considering she also happens to be friends with an internationally known musician. Which is fine... Until she finds herself having to face the feelings she developed for her friend, who's the last person she expected to fall in love with.

Chapter I - The House Party

Today was just another typical Saturday for you. You had just got out of the shower and dressed in your “sleeping clothes” - an old t-Shirt and a pair of incredibly worn out leggings, and cooked something quick for dinner, since all the plans you had for the evening, and for the rest of the weekend were to lay around the house watching movies from your watch-list and trying to keep up with the episodes of your favorite series you had missed out during the week.              

However, as you were browsing through your computer, trying to figure out what Riverdale episode you hadn’t watched yet, your phone vibrated on the bedside table. You let your head fall in your hands with a weary expression, fearing that it might be one of your clients asking for changes in the work you had just delivered 2 hours ago.     You tried your hardest to ignore it, for you had already decided that you were going to save the rest of the afternoon for taking care of yourself... which was a great accomplishment since you gradually and accidentally had become a bit of a workaholic.  

It wasn’t something you were proud of... but you were a proper adult now and that’s just how adultwood is. Suddenly all your friends were busy with their families (can’t relate), their partners (no, can’t relate either) and their jobs (yes, you had one of those now) and you didn’t have much else to keep you entertained, so at least you tried to do something productive with your time.            

Okay, maybe it was possible that you were focusing on work to try not to think about how lonely you actually felt... Especially when you found yourself rubbing your own aching back after spending the whole afternoon sitting at your desk immersed in your work. Secretly wishing somebody else was there with you besides the faces painted in the unfinished artworks laying around your flat... that were yet to be amazing pieces of art one day, according to you.

The only problem was that you couldn’t manage to get yourself to actually finish them, or even to work on them for a couple of hours. Why? You didn’t really know.  

All you knew was that there was no motivaton within you to focus on the things you had once really enjoyed doing. Maybe you were too tired to have a hobby, maybe you were already over those artworks, perhaps you didn’t even like painting anymore...          

The only thing that you knew for sure of was that you had became exactly who you said you would never: A young adult working for a small company with barely any social life, let alone a stable relationship, sharing a tiny apartment with her cat and the ghosts of her past dreams and aspirations.      So I guess by now it’s safe to say that you were definitely focusing on your work to forget about how boring your life had become in the last few months...      Even thought you really didn’t want to look at your phone, your curiosity got a hold of you and you checked it… Only to find a text from your friend Harry. Seeing his name on your phone made your heart skip a beat, as you rolled around in bed so that you could take a better look at it. It had been a while since you spoke to Harry... mostly because he had been busy, and you had been trying to avoid bothering him. Knowing damn well he would probably much rather spend his free time doing something better with his free time, since he was always busy as a bee, jumping between countries and cities whilst working on several projects simultaneously.      

You considered Harry a close friend of yours... even if you didn’t talk all the time and even ghosted each other for months on occasion, until one of you broke the silence with a text or a phone call. This time, it was Harry that texted you first...      

HS: What are you up to?            

You: I was just about to watch Riverdale...          

H.S:  What is that?   

You couldn’t help but to let out a little smile. Sometimes he could still surprise you with how alienated he could be from mundane stuff. You didn’t hold it against him, you knew he had a preference for oldies when it came to the movies and music he actually payed attention to.          

You decided not to bug him about it, since you were far more interested in figuring out why he was randomly texting you at 9PM on a Saturday.          

You : It’s just a gross teen show. What about you?          

H.S: Aren’t you a bit too old for teen shows? I’m home. Been here for a couple of days, actually.

You felt a little hurt knowing that he had been home for a while and was only letting you know now, since you were usually one of the first people he wanted to see after spending long periods of time away, even if it was just to come watch the telly and catch up over bags of take-away food. You shook off the uneasy feeling. After all it wasn’t like he owed you his free time... For all you knew, he could’ve been catching up with his other friends or even have someone far more entertaining over his house.  

You : Aren’t you a bit too young to be such a grandpa?

H.S : Good news is that grandpa might actually have better plans for your night.            

You felt your cheeks warm as a fuzzy feeling started in your stomach. You noticed you had been smiling at your phone whilst thinking of what his plans could be, and when you finally got back to reality your cat was blankely staring at you, making you feel aware of how stupid you must have been looking. “What? You know it’s not like that!” You exclaimed to your cat, getting a little embarassed by your own mushy thoughts.            

Before you could answer his text he sent you another one.        

H.S: Would you like to accompany me to this thing i have?        You sat straight in your bed, but almost immidiately got up to check yourself in the mirror. Yikes, you thought. There’s no way i’m going anywhere with a face like this... In the deepest, darkest part of your brain, you added: Especially not with him.             You: What thing?

H.S: It’s just a boring house party. Please come!!! I need someone to talk to.   

You: If you want to convince me, maybe you should consider rethinking your use of adjectives. I’m sure you do... just like all the other parties, right? 🙄         

H.S: Sorry, I meant AMAZING party!!! 😊  Also, it’s not my fault everyone likes to talk to me.     You : It is. You’re too nice to them.                     

H.S: That’s why i need you to scare them away with your moody face! Are you coming? I already asked Claire to save you seat in the car.          

You looked at yourself in the mirror, kinda wishing you had known earlier because you really looked and felt too tired (and ugly, might you add) to get out of the house. Especially to go to a party where you probably knew like, 3 people in real life besides Harry. Besides, you already knew that you would feel a bit out of place there...   Because no matter how hard Harry and his friends tried to make you feel included, there was always this feeling you felt... Like everyone else was judging every single thing you did. The clothes you were wearing, the way you acted with your friends, how much booze you drinked, how many crab cakes you ate, and even how much you talked, or didn’t talk... Going to these parties had undoubtedly showed you how cold and indifferent people could be about other people’s complete existence as soon as they realized they didn’t come from the entertainment industry...           Harry had tried to explain to you that they didn’t flat out dislike you... It was just that they liked to test the waters before jumping into a friendship with someone from outside the industry, since most of them had already been through bad experiences when it came to that topic.

Y/N had never really ate that one up, but she decided it wasn’t worth the fuss of sharing her opinion out loud. She still remebered the first event she attended to with Harry, and how he and his friends had tried to give her advise on what she should and shouldn’t do... Something she hadn’t taken very well at the time, because it wasn’t like she didn’t know how to behave herself at a party just for being considered an “outsider”. She had been to lots of parties. Smaller ones, yes. With cheaper beverage options and far unhealthier selections of finger foods she could nibble guiltlessly on, but they were still parties nonetheless...          

Luckily for you, people were starting to get used to your occasional presence at their informal house events, and you managed to get along with the majority of Harry’s mates as well, what made you feel a little more confortable... However you still always got a bit nervous before going, especially when you hadn’t seen everyone in a while, which was the case that time around...

You : I feel like i could fall asleep at any given moment, so i think i’ll have to pass this one out 😔 but maybe tomorrow we could do something?      

He took a while to reply, making you wonder if he got upset at you for not wanting to go, or if he was already asking another one of his friends if they would like to go in your place... You didn’t know what option you liked the best.    Eventually, you got tired of holding your phone so you put it down, a little too harshly, what made your cat tremble with the noise. “Sorry Tilly.” You whispered, as your pet got up and curled up in your lap, while you petted her gently behind her ears. “Maybe it’s better this way… right?” You asked, mostly to yourself.         

Suddently you heard your phone ringing. Harry was calling you. You got up in a jump and grabbed the phone, what led to an unpleasant scratch from Tilly in your thigh. Before picking up, you stared at the screen for a few seconds, just so he didn’t think you were impatiently waiting for his reply. Yes, you were petty like that sometimes.              

“Hey!”               

“Hello loser!” The raspyness of his voice caught you by surprise, making you shiver. You’d almost forgot how good it sounded.      

“No one uses that word anymore.”      

“Who cares?” “Good point. Hm, listen… I hope you’re not mad at me for not going...”       “What? You really thought I was gonna give up on you that easily?”     “Oh, stop it! I’m not going! Besides, even if I wanted to go, what would I wear? I literally have like ze-” You stopped your rambling, realizing he was singing something to you over the phone, you didn’t recognize it at first, but then you realized where it was from.     

“You're a mean one Mr. Grinch.               You really are a heeeel…               You're as cuddly as a cactus!       You're as charming as an eel! Mr. Griiiinch… You're a bad banana with a… Greasy black peeeeel!”      

It was a song from the last movie you had seen together when he had came home for the holidays. How The Grinch Stole Christmas. He was singing it to mock you by your choice of words, that reminded him of a particular scene of the movie. The way he was messing up the song with his gibberish made you laugh. Eventually both your laughs and his singing faded, leaving you with a huge smile on your face. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” You asked.           

“Well, thank you. Now... As a way of thanking me for my… astonishing performace, you must come party with us.”        

“You’ve got some nerve coming at me with that crap after you’ve abandoned me for... how long was it again? two months?”

“Hey... I’m trying to redeem myself here!”             “Good! As you should.”            

“Is that a yes? Please...? You’re not going to say no to me, are you?”   

“It’s a maybe... a highy dependant on me finding something to wear type of maybe. First of all, is it like…fancy?”      

“Hmm, not really… I think!? You never really know with these parties.”              

“Trust me, I’m aware.” There was a brief silent pause on Harry’s side of the phone, as you as you rummaged through your clothes. “What are you going to wear anyway?”  

“Don’t know yet. Probably like, some pants… boots… and a shirt?”         Harry’s vague description didn't help whatsoever, but you were far too busy trying to disenchant a decent outfit to make light of his words. “Okay!” There was a lot of shuffling from your side, making his eyebrows furrow on the other side the line, despite your lack of knowledge. “I think I may have just found my nice pants, but I don’t know if I have a nice blouse that goes with them... or one that is fitted for the occasion. Why am I so boring with my clothes? I need to invest in a better wardrobe asap…” “You can always come by mine and borrow a shirt… Ya know, If you don’t want to stand out too much.”

“Not standing out by wearing your clothes? Now that’s funny!”               “I’m sure you’ll find something wearable...”      

“Are you serious? You would let me borrow your clothes?”        

“Sure. If you want to.”  

“I don’t know… I’m scared I’ll rip them or something.”                       

“I mean, I like my clothes... but it’s not like I would kill you or myself if something bad happened to them.” “You’re so humble and reasonable Mr. Styles… How did you stay like that?” You could hear him briefelly laugh at your provocation. “I’m serious! besides, I secretly always want to know how my clothes fit on different people.”

“I’m not trying to spoil it for you but probably not that good... Mostly because I’m female shaped so they won’t fit me properly… Also, I’m not sure if you’re aware but you have this gift-”     “Oh, shut up! You can pull anything off.” He cut you off before you could either compliment him or put yourself down. “As long as you love it.” “We’ll see about that.” You challenged, noticeably way less hopeful than he was. “I’ll see you in… an hour and half? Is that a good time?”             

“Do you want me to ask someone to pick you up?”               “I’m good, thank you...” You answered, wasting little time mulling over your friend’s proposal. “But I would happily accept a parking spot in your garage…” You added suggestively, knowing he wouldn’t say no. “Sure! Anything for you.”           “Thank you!”   “You’re very welcome.”               “Okay, well... I better go and get ready now or I’m going to show up late.”   “Alright, I need to go get ready as well. See you soon. Drive safe!”           “Always do.” It took you a bit more than na hour to get ready, what meant you were already running a little late, since Harry’s house was more than half an hour drive away.  

You were wearing one of your favorite “going out” pants, they were black, high-waisted, carrot fitted and overwhelmingly confortable. You went for other one of your favorite pieces - a yellow silk blouse, just in case you ended up not fitting properly in any of Harry’s shirts.

You paired your outfit with oval style ankle boots you’d just recently acquired. I already know I’m going to regret this decision, you thought whilst putting them on.            

You had also decided to change into a matching set of lingerie just because you never know what can happen, right? and also partially because you knew you’d be changing at Harry’s, and god forbid he actually saw anything but if he did, at least it wouldn’t be your granny underwear. You put on a neutral makeup look, throwing a couple of lipsticks into your purse, just so you could decide which one to wear depending on the color of the shirt.             Finally, you put on a bit of perfume and grabbed your jacket, taking a final look in the mirror, staring at yourself from different angles. “I guess that’s about as good as it’s gonna get.” You mumbled to your reflection.           

Before leaving the house, you kissed and petted your cat goodbye, however she didn’t respond to your affection since she was already asleep on top of the clothes you had just carelessly thrown on top of the bed.      

You got in your car and drove off, thirty four minutes later you were turning into Harry’s street and stopping the car in front of the condominium’s gate.You took your phone out of your purse and rang him, he picked up almost immediately.

“You’re here?” “Yeah, I’m already at the gate.”               “Okay, let me open it for you and I’ll be down in a second.”         “Okay, thank you.” The call dropped and the large metal gate started to move, you slowly drove your way into the condo, trying to remember where the entrance to his garage was.          

You didn’t have to think too hard, because a few seconds later one of the garage doors started to open and you could see a pair of impecable black leather boots that merged with the bottom of burgundy flares. Yup, no need for more searching, You thought.          

You stopped the car, waiting for the gate to fully open for what seemed like an eternity, but it gave you time to fully appreciate the man that was slowly revealing himself in front of you.

You could start to see his top half now, he was wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, uncovering his tattooed arms. The top buttons were undone, exposing the cross necklace he always wore, he was also wearing another necklace you hadn’t seen before, his hands were hidden in his pockets, but you already knew that they would be adorned with multiple rings of all shapes and sizes. What a show off, was the tought that came to mind once his whole outfit was revealed, but you had to admit that you wouldn’t have him any other way...   

Finally his head showed up, and he was wearing a big smile on his face.

“Hey you! Better hurry up before this thing closes on you.” You were so lost in his smile that you accidentally let your car die, but you were quick to start it again and as he walked aside you pulled into the garage.           

When you finished parking, you got out of the car, being immediately greeted by Harry’s arms that wrapped you in a tight hug. You couldn’t help but to close your eyes to fully enjoy the moment. He smelled like his characteristic cologne, but since your head was pressed against his shoulder, you could also smell the fabric softner on his shirt and his deodorant.  

“You smell nice.” You mumbled under your breath.   “So do you.” He replied swiftly, resting his chin on the top of your head.          He walked you to the elevator and you went up to his apartment. After many minutes of catching up in the living room he led you to his bedroom, where his closet was. “It’s a bit messy in here, I’ve been meaning to organize it, but I haven’t really had the time.” The boy said before opening its door.

You tried not to look mesmerized by the amount of clothing in front of you, because you knew that one of the things Harry hated the most was when people perceived him as shallow or vain. Luckily, most people could tell straight away that his love for fashion had a greater meaning for him than to just look nice... And even when they didn’t, it only took them about seconds of conversation with him to realize how much of a ducky and kind person he truly was. Also, fairly recently he had been getting a lot of praise for his bold fashion choices, what led to a bit of over enthusiasm from his main stylists’s part and himself when it came to investing in it.  

“I promise I actually wear most of these...” He justified himself, noticing the enthralled expression you genuinely believed you were managing to disguise.

“Oh, don’t mind me!” You giggled. “I’m just slightly overwhelmed by the number of choices before me.”         “Well, take all the time you need.” Harry smiled, sitting over the edge of his bed and unlocking his phone to check the time. It was already past midnight.  As you finally gained courage to start going through his clothes, he let his back fall on the bedspread with a sigh and stared at the ceiling, and that’s when you decided you couldn’t possibly not try to mess with him a little bit. “Stupid… Ugly… Out of date…” (Reference (01:20-01:24)              

“Hey! Stop it, will you?!” He sat up again, supporting his upper body with his elbows that rested firmly on his lap. “Have you found my dress yet?” 

You peeked through the open closet to with a curious expression on your face. “No… Where is it?” you asked, disappearing behind the door and enthusiastically searching his closet for the item, suddently grabbing something that kinda looked like a dress, yet kinda looked like a curtain.           “Is this it?” You asked, stepping out of the closet, holding the hanger in front of you.               

“It’s not a dress, it’s a kilt... Sicko!”  (Reference (01:13-01:18)          

“Really? You had that one coming for a long time didn’t you?” You disdainfully smiled, shaking your head in disapproval. You could tell from his little smirk that he was proud of successfully tricking you into his joke. “Yeah, I was hoping you would find it and ask about it, but you didn’t so I had to find a way to deliver the line anyway.”            

“Okay, but for real why do you have a wedding dress in your closet?” You turned the hanger to see the strange garment from the front.            

“Cause I’m cool like that.”        

“You know what? It’s actually not as ugly as it seemed at first sight...”    

“Well, I would hope so ‘cause it was bloody expensive.” At the sound of his words you were quick to carefully hang it back in it’s place, gently rubbing the fabric to avoid any crinkles.

You kept looking through his clothes and ended up finding a almost sheer shirt that you liked. It was rusty orange with a psychadelic flower pattern that looked quite unique. Taking advantage of the fact that Harry was laying down and distracted on his phone and freed yourself of your blouse in a swift motion, trying on his shirt on as fast as you could. It fitted you quite nicely to your surprise.               “So, have you found anything you like yet?” Your friend asked, with his eyes still stuck on his phone.

“Actually yes, but I could use your help… How would you style this?”  He sat up again and focused his attention on you. “How come you end up finding the one shirt I don’t actually remember owning?” 

He admired you from the bed, letting is head fall to the side a bit, you could feel his eyes stuck on your figure, what made you feel a bit unconfortable and insecure about your body. His expression changed as he got up and walked towards you, making a little circle around you and finally stopping right in front of you. “May I?” He asked, reaching for the shirt.        

“Yeah, go ahead.” You lifted your arms slightly so they wouldn’t get on his way. Carefully, he started adjusting the shirt, slipping it inside your pants and gently pulling it out, until it fell down in a natural way.      

You could feel the warmth of his hands on your skin through the fabric, what caused your breathing to get a little heavy and out of your throat came a peculiar husky sound. Luckily, he was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t even acknowledged it.    

Feeling a bit flustered due to his proximity, you decided to break the silence.     “You look so different now that you cut your hair…”      

“Well, isn’t that kind of the point of changing your hair? Why are you complaining? Do you not find me cute anymore?”  “Who lied to you and told you I ever thought you were cute?” Harry looked up at you with disdainful expression once his green eyes met yours. You could feel your cheeks getting warmer by the second. “Well you’re wrong because I am, in fact, very attractive.” He looked down again and undid one of the buttons of the shirt, what left a bit of the black lace of your bra showing. “What are you doing?” You asked in a startled tone. “Just trust me.”               “Umm… Fine, I guess.” You shrugged as he stepped back to admire his work. His focused expression broke into a proud smile as he moved to the side, uncovering the mirror just so you could see yourself. You looked hot, there’s no other way to put it. The color of the shirt complimented your skin tone beautifully, as well as the golden necklace that fell over your chest in a sensual way, capturing attention to your stripped neckline. “You look cuter than me, I can't have that... Come on, we’re switching. Take it off, now.”  Your handsome friend complained in a frisky tone, grabbing at the hem of his shirt as if he was about to pull it off. “I could never…” You challenged, feeling quite shy after his compliment. “Well, apparently you can.” “You look amazing though...” You complimented back. “Love the pants.” “Really? I think they make my ass look weird sometimes.” The boy confessed, turning around so you could check his bottoms. “I think your ass’s great.” You kind of regretted the conviction you uttered that sentence with. “I mean… in those pants.”

Harry sighed playfully. “I was enjoying the compliment, why did you have to ruin it?” 

“Fine, you can take the compliment then.” You granted easily. “Shouldn’t we get going? I’m sure it’s pretty late already…” “Ready?”           “Yes, let me just…” You ran to your purse, picking one of the lipsticks you had brought with you, applying it in front of the mirror while the charming man shoved his essential belongings into the pockets of his matching blazer and put it on, completing the look.       You noticed he was observing you with curiosity as you tinted your lips in a dark shade of brick orange. “Let’s go missy.” The boy rushed as you locked eyes with him through the mirror.   **

Even though you offered to drive to Claire’s house, he insisted on taking his car because he hadn’t driven in a while and wanted to before he got “rusty”.  As he was driving, you inquired him about who was hosting the party you were going to, since all he’d told you was that you were meeting your friends at Clare’s house and from there you would share a car, so that the whole group would get there together.          

To your surprise, when faced with your question he got quiet and you noticed his expression changing, he briefely took his eyes off the road to look at you and you could practically see the guilt in this face. “What is it?” You asked, wondering what he could be acting so weird about.  

“Hum yeah, about that…” He began to stammer, keeping his eyes stuck to the road.          

“Just tell me it’s not what I think it is.”    “Before you say anything, I know you’ll probably want to kill me right now…”   “Harry!”         “I knew you wouldn’t have come if I told you... It’s going to be fun, I promise! She’s not as bad as you think she is.”         “No Harry!” You fretted. “You know what? Just stop the car, I want to go home.”         

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”  

“I’m not kidding Harry.”               “I’m not dropping you off in the middle of the fucking freeway.”              

“Yes you are!” “No, I’m not.”   He kept driving and you let your body slip through the seat, crossing your arms in silence, resenting him for almost five minutes while he tried to convince you of how Alexa was way nicer than you thought and that she wasn’t really a bitch, it was just that her sense of humor could be a little off-putting sometimes. The way he was defending her made you feel even angrier, even though you weren’t really listening.               

In your head all you could think about was all the times you had the unpleasant surprise of bumping into Alexa. She was such a bitch! Always finding a way to put you down and make you feel embarassed. She even came up with a stupid nickname for you at Harry’s birthday party that she always made sure to use, even though she must’ve known you hated it.       “Just so you know, when we get to Claire’s I’m getting a cab and going home.” 

“Fine.” He jerked his shoulders dismissively. “If you want to miss out on a great time with our friends, it’s up to you.”             “When she’s there it’s never really a good time for me so I guess I’m good.”       “Come on…” Harry huffed, shifting his gaze off to road for a moment to check on his muddled friend. “Everyone was so excited to see you...”             You were mad that he lied to you, but you were madder that you had gotten all dressed up and now you weren’t going. You also missed your mutual friends and hanging out with them. You kept weighting the pros and the cons throughout the rest of the drive, and when you got to Claire’s house, after a little convincing from the group, you decided you were not going to let the fact that it was Alexa’s party ruin the night for you.        

You were still mad at Harry though. And having to go on another car trip with him, feeling his body pressing up against yours whenever there was a turnabout, wasn’t making it easy for you to keep your cool.              

As you finally got to Alexa’s house you could tell the house was packed by the number of cars parked outside, making you feel relieved you had a driver, because if you had to find a place to park it would’ve been a nightmare.        

There was a group of people lining up, and as you got closer you noticed two men by the door checking for the guests names on a list. You started to get worried that your friends might have omitted to Alexa that you were going, since you were almost certain that your presence wouldn’t please her any better than it did to you. You eyed their faces, looking for any sign of concern, however they seemed calm.

As you walked the line, you started to get more and more nervous, ending up momentarily swallowing your pride and pulling at Harry’s sleeve, in hopes of getting his attention without the rest of the group noticing. “Does Alexa know I’m coming to her party?” You asked as quietly as you could.    

“Of course she does! I told her myself.”

“What did she say?”    

He didn’t get to answer your question because he was approached by the doorkeeper, that asked him for his name. Harry politely greeted him before answering his question and being such a gentleman, he provided the names of the other members of the group.

The doorkeeper checked the names on the list and to your surprise your name was actually there. He allowed the group to get inside. All of you murmuring a brief “thank you” as you walked past the big guy.              

The door led to a giant lounge style living room, that seemed to be where the focus of the party was. To your right, there were three big windows, each with it’s own balcony, where small groups of people gathered to enjoy a smoke and the beautiful view of the city. In the middle of the room there was an open dance space, demarked by an enormous persian carpet, that was still pretty empty despite the fact the DJ was already playing.        

Behind the dance area there were two long tables, practically stuffed with different types of alcoholic beverages. It had to be one of the most diverse open bars you had ever seen at a house party.          From the ceiling fell party ribbons and lights, and the walls were adorned with baloons and paper decorations. You tried to decipher the color of the objects around you, but it was almost impossible due to the color changing lights that provided an hallucinogenic athmosphere to the space.

You looked around, trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. As your eyes scanned the place, they found couple of familiar faces, but they froze at a well-known face in the kitchen.        

There was Alexa… She was sitting over the counter, scrolling on her phone. Her glossy lips rested on the edge of the paper cup she was holding. The light from the screen illuminated her face, making her glittery eyeshadow pop behind the thick lashes that she was wearing. She was dressed in a two-toned metallic mini dress and knee-high platform boots. You could tell from her expression that she was distressed about something. Her stillness gave you the opportunity to study her face. Her features were quite angelical, something you had never noticed before.

The sound of something scattering on the kitchen floor woke her up from her daydream as she turned around to curse at whoever opened the kitchen cabinet. Yup, there’s the bitch, You mused to yourself.            

She jumped off the counter and walked out of the kitchen, making her way around the groups of people that were chattering by the door. She walked around the living room, trying to greet the people she hadn’t seen yet.

Your eyes briefly met hers before she approached your friends. They went for a group hug, in which you didn’t participate. Instead, you awkwardly stared at them while they hugged and chatted. Harry looked back at you, encouraging you to join them with an eye motion, you let out a sigh and moved closer to the group, what caught Alexa’s attention. “Hi Nutmeg! I haven’t seen you in a hot minute…” She greeted you by kissing the air next to your cheek, before looking you up and down. “I see you’ve upgraded your closet... It was about time.” The beautiful girl remarked, focusing her attention on the shirt you were wearing.        

You found yourself side-eyeing Harry, trying your hardest to ignore her taunting words. “I swear I’ve seen that somewhere... what brand is it?” Her question startled you. Prompting your head to tilt towards Harry, realizing he had mirrored the gesture to stare at you. You stood there staring at each other, both of you wishing you could read his mind. “Is there something I’m missing?” Alexa questioned, suspicious of your odd behaviour.          

“No, not at all!” Harry was quick to intervene. “I’m gonna go for a drink, anyone wants to join me?” He suggested, clearly attempting to brush off the topic.        

“I’ll go get the drinks.” You volunteered, taking the chance to escape and ditch Alexa’s question.

“Will you get me some jack and coke?” The girl requested, handing you her freshly empty cup. “Thanks.” She added when you grabbed it from her hand. It was probably the only time you actually felt pleased to fix Alexa a drink. “Harry, what do you want?” You called his attention back to you, upon realizing he was already engaged into conversation with someone you didn’t know.            

“Double Tequila, please.” You raised your brows at his choice of beverage. Already knowing that when he started the night with Tequila he would, most likely, end up drunk out of his mind. But you didn’t bother to try to coarce him into switching to something else. “Do you need an extra hand?” He offered out of politeness.        

“It’s fine, I’m sure I can handle it.” You spat as you left, not wanting to interrupt his conversation again.   

As the night went on, people started to gather mainly around the dance space, that was proving itself to be a little too small for the large amount of people using it. You were having a good time, but you were definitely not enjoying the feeling of getting rubbed all over by everyone around you. Harry, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered whatsoever. And as you predicted, he was already pretty out of it, prancing around the place and carelessly engaging into conversation with everyone who approached him, including people you knew he shit talked behind their back... The fake little bitch...       

You tried not to care, but you couldn’t keep yourself from constantly checking on him to see what he was up to. You weren’t the only one who couldn’t keep your eyes away from him.. What wasn’t unnusual, since he was such a natural attention-grabber. Howbeit, there were several girls and boys that were practically drooling at the sight of him. That wasn’t new either, but it didn’t make it any less annoying...        

When the boy finally made his way back to the group, he tried to convince you to dance with him by grabbing your hand and making you spin for him. You graciously brushed him off. Mostly out of shyness, persuading him into asking your friend John instead. He agreed on the spot... And once he finally managed to get his friend to bend at his will, they got everyone laughing and cheering, encouraging them to keep up with the tango dance moves. But it wasn’t long until the two boys had enough of the attention, laughing it off and joining the group again.          

Then a figure rose above the crowd. It was Alexa, who has just stood up on a table holding a microphone in her hand that she was slowly tapping on, attempting to grab everyone’s attention. “Hello, hello, hello my magnificent friends. How is everyone feeling tonight?” She asked, earning a loud cheer from the crowd, that she encouraged by clapping silently before speaking again. “Alright, alright... can y’all can shut the fuck up now? …I just wanted to say that I hope everyone is getting drunk and having a great time. You know me, I gotta be real with you… There are some people here I’d much rather had stayed home, but you know what? You don’t really bother me.” The girl shrugged haughtily. “With that said, I’d like to propose a toast to every single one of you motherfuckers that came to my party. Cheers, bitches!” She yelled the last two words, emptying her cup in a single swig while the crowd cheered and downed their own cups along with the host.

The fact that Alexa let you in had given you the impression that maybe Harry was right about her, but her speech left a bad taste in your mouth and made you wonder if you were one of the people she was talking about, you were almost certain you were. “What did you say earlier about her being a nice person?” You ironically asked Harry, that was standing right beside you.        

Your eyes were still stuck on her as you wondered if she would manage to get down from the table without falling. You secretly hoped she wouldn’t.            

He failed to answer your question, so you turned to him. Only to realize that he wasn’t there anymore. Your eyes quickly danced around the room, searching for your missing friend, and unfortunatly it wasn’t long until they found him...  

Your whole body went cold, feeling your heart sink in your chest. Your vision felt blurry, and there was a complicated knot forming at the tip of your stomach. There he was. Barely six feet away from you. With his back flush against a wall and his lips pressed harshly on somebody else’s. His hands gently caressed up the other boy’s back, that had his hands firmly clutched onto your friend’s hair and the back of his neck.            

You felt like your whole world was crashing down in front of you.            

Whilst everyone around you was enjoying themselves, all you wanted to do was collapse to your knees and scream your confusing pain away, but you couldn’t. There was nothing you could do and it just fucking hurt.            

You’d always known it would eventually happen... But nothing could ever prepare you for the feeling of watching the person you love fondling somebody else.    

In the middle of your agony, you noticed a pair of hazel eyes staring right at you from distance, breaking your attention from the heartbreaking scene. “Yo... What the fuck?!” You couldn’t hear her words, but you could read them clearly through the motion of her lips. She looked completely baffled by the state of you.

You stepped back, attempting your best to muffle into the crowd, but it was too late... You were certain she’d saw the devastated look on your face, and the glistening tear that rolled down your cheek afterwards.

You turned your back on the scene and pushed through the crowd, hidding your face as you stumbled upon almost everyone on your way to the bathroom. You locked yourself inside and leaned against the door, finally letting it all out as you sobbed uncontrollably and allowed for your body to slide down the surface, until your knees met the cold marble floor.    

A unexpected loud banging on the door startled you. “It’s occupied.” Y/N shouted, in the most composed voice she could fabricate.  

“It’s Alexa... open the door.” The girl shouted back impatiently.    

“Fuck off Alexa!” You could feel your blood boil and your hands trembling at the mere sound of her voice. “Just leave me alone, will you?”

There was silence for a moment, before she banged on the door harder. You tried to ignore it because considering your state, at the slighest provocation you’d probably lose it and punch her in the face. “Don’t be a fucking bitch, I’m here to help.” Alexa shouted again, but it was pointless. “Okay, fine. I guess I’ll have to ask someone to kick the door down...”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”          

“It’s my house. What are you going to do about it?” She challenged, knowing you couldn’t fight her on that. “You have three seconds… one...two…” You flang the door open before she could finish her countdown, causing her to tremble ever so slightly. “Quite the charm, aren’t you?” She sighed satirically, making her way inside the bathroom while fixing her dress. You noticed she was holding a bottle of Bacardi rum, that she promptly opened and handed to you. You stood there perplexedly looking at her, trying to figure out what her intentions were. “Are you going to take it or not?” At that, you abruptly grabbed the bottle from her hand and took it to your lips, taking a big chug and giving it back with a disgusted expression caused by the intense alcohol sting. Alexa took the bottle to her lips as well, but unlike you, her face didn’t even flinch. “What did you come here for?” The sharpness of your tone led her into giving you a dirty look “What do you think? That I came in here to make fun of you?”            

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.”     “Just thought you could use a friend...” She explained, jumping on her bum to sit on the countertop. “And luckily for you, so do I.”  

“Judging by the number of people outside, I’m sure you have plenty of friends.”  

She let out a silent wheeze at your guess. “Everything isn’t always what it seems, Nutmeg… I have people that keep me company, but when it comes down to the real shit, I have no one I can count with really…”        

“I’m finding that quite hard to believe if I’m honest…”               “I know you are. So is everyone else. They all assume my life is just perfect. After all, I have everything, don’t I? I don’t blame them... I know I can be cruel and bitter sometimes, but I’m not the cold-hearted, super confident bitch everyone thinks that I am.”   “Why are you telling me all that?”          

“I don’t know… Maybe ‘cause I’m drunk and lonely and you’re one of the few people here that I actually like…” You couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. “You’re messing with me, right?”  She, on the other hand, seemed rather confused by your apprehensiveness. “I appreciate people like you... Who manage to stay true to themselves despite hanging out with these people. It’s so easy to lose yourself in this environment... But I don’t think you did, and I can appreciate that.”  

“I’m just lucky to have good friends... If they were different, I don’t know if I’d stayed so nice and humble.”      

As the silence settled, you took the chance to sit down on the edge of her expensive looking bathtub. “So… changing the subject. You and Harry, what’s the deal?”  

“What do you mean?” You pretended you didn’t know what she was implying, hoping she would let go of the topic.

“I’m not stupid. I saw the way you looked when he was all over that guy… I confess I had no idea that you were into him. I thought you liked girls, I could almost swear he had told me that.” Her words made your stomach twist, and Alexa didn’t miss your distressed expression. “Sorry... I’m not very good with words. I didn’t mean to make it worse.” The girl added, trying to make up for her cold stance. “Here...” She handed you back the bottle, and you agreeably to a swig from it. “Does he know?”

“I don’t think so...”   “I don’t mean to be unpleasant but I think he thinks you’re a lesbian.”   “Yeah, I know…  he’s not completely wrong, I guess.”     “So, you’re bi?”               “I don’t really know what I am.”               “Oh, it’s okay. You don’t have to be anything, you can just be… yourself!” You locked eyes with her, briefely smiling at her motivational words “How long have you fancied him for?”

“I don’t know...” You stared down at your own feet. “Thinking back, I guess I always kind of have... but it’s complicated. So I just hoped it would go away with time... Besides, you’ve seen the people he gets with. They’re all gorgeous, and I... I mean, I don’t really meet the standards, do I?”         “And how’s that working out for you?” You went quiet, since you didn’t really have a good answer to give. “Okay, here’s what I think you should do. First of all, you gotta stop with the self loathing. It’s depressing and outdated. You’re just as valid as everyone else.”

“It’s not self loathing. You don’t understand… What if he pushes me away? I really care for our friendship and I don’t want to throw it all away because of a stupid crush.”     “A stupid crush? Didn’t you just say you’ve always liked him? How long have you known eachother for? Three years?”   “Well… Two and half, but it’s not like I’ve been waiting for him… I’ve had my fair share of relationships and so did he, I never did anything to change that. Why would I start now?”       “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re at a party, locked inside a bathroom, crying over him, while he’s out there screwing somebody else.”           “God, you’re certainly are awful with words aren’t you?”             “I take pride in my honesty.” She stated. “Look, all I can say is that I think this whole “crush” situation is, obviously, far more than a crush... And you know I’m right so don’t even bother to deny it. Therefore, I think it’s long overdue that you do something about how you feel, otherwise you’re just gonna be stuck wondering on the what ifs forever, watching him live his life while you’re unable to move on with your yours, and you deserve better than that. Anyone deserves better than that.”       “It’s just… scary.”   “Isn’t everything worth trying always somewhat scary at first?”   You ended up spending the rest of the night with Alexa. Sitting inside her large empty bathtub, sharing your shittiest life experiences and drowning your sorrows with the bottle of rum. She told you about her crazy ex-boyfriend, and how he had been making her life a living hell since their break up. Showing up uninvited at her work, her parties, and practically everywhere she went, despite her telling him time and time again to stop and leave her alone. You advised her the best you could, but as you expected, she was pretty stubborn and acted as if she had everything under control, even though she clearly did not. The night had taken a unexpected turn for you, however, at least there was something positive you could also take from it, that being the friendship that was beggining to fluorish between you and Alexa. 

You were so deep in conversation that you completely lost track of time, so much that you finally felt tired and decided to check you phone for the time, it was already 6AM.

You had seven missed calls and fifteen text messages from your friends asking where you were, if you were okay and if you were still leaving with them. You realized they had probably already left, so you just apologized for leaving early and informed them that you were fine. When you and Alexa got out of the bathroom, there were still a couple of people hanging around, but as expected, the vast majority had already left.         

The light coming from the windows hurt your tired eyes and your bottom half was hurting from spending so many hours sitting inside a bathtub. By that time, all you wanted to do was go home, take a shower and take a nap to make up for the all nighter you pulled, but then you remembered…      

“Shit!”

“What?”

“I left my car at Harry’s house.”              

I hope you’re enjoying it so far! Chapter II is hereeee!

[supremeleaderkylo]

Third Time’s A Charm

Read on AO3

Thanks to lockdown I had a lot of time for writing and now decided to post it on here too.

Just some Kylo x fem!reader porn, expect absolutely no plot. 

Warning: Dubcon, Humiliation (ish?)

5.7k words

This was the third time you found yourself between the Commander's sheets. Or rather on them. Technically the first time was nowhere near his sheets but in a hallway, the feeling of humiliation was still deeply ingrained into your brain. You were working on the bridge when he came into the room, most people there tended to avert their gaze whenever he was close, hoping he won't notice them but you looked. It was the very first time you saw him without a mask and you were surprised that he was not some hideous creature as you and your colleagues often speculated but rather a young man, dark hair framed his beautiful face, the scar that ran from his brow down to his throat did nothing to change that and neither did the snarl curling his plush pink lips. For some reason however you were the only one who did not manage to seem unphased by this, on the contrary. When he entered you let out a weird squeal, you immediately slapped your hands in front of your mouth but all the attention was on you already. How did nobody else react to his face? You just ached to run your fingers through his soft hair while his lips sucked on your collarbone but apparently it was just you imagining those things.

You still remembered how his head had snapped towards you, his dark eyes piercing you and an unbearable pressure started to build in your skull, threatening to burst it open and revealing your brain, you had to lock your jaw and grind your teeth in order to keep yourself from screaming which would have undoubtedly just drawn more negative attention towards you. The pressure was gone as quickly as it came, the next thing you remembered however was how Commander Ren yanked you to your feet and dragged you out of the room, through the hallway and past a number of Stormtroopers who jumped out of the way and watched on, internally you were hoping at least one of them would feel heroic and somewhat suicidal enough to stop the Commander and rescue you. Needless to say that did not happen.

In the middle of some deserted hallway Kylo Ren had stopped and pushed you against a wall, the cold seeping through the fabric of your clothes and sending a shiver down your spine. You heard the beating of your heart in your ears, everything seemed to spin around you and did he not have his hands on you you might have just fallen down. You were certain you were going to die here, just some miserable officer impaled by a lightsaber because she was so desperate to be touched that she dared to crave the Jedi Killer. To your surprise his lightsaber stayed where it was, securely attached to his belt, and instead he ran his leather clad fingers through your hair, dragging them over your scalp and he leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear and his breath hitting the side of your face.

"Do you really think I would allow you to put your filthy hands on me?"

His words were mere whispers and yet they pierced through the silence, he balled his fists, gripping your hair and pulling your head back, mustering your face. You swallowed, heat was pooling between your legs and rushing into your face at the same time, the embarrassment was unbearable and yet you melted under his touch, your breath ragged, his power over you caused excitement to shoot through you like lightning.

You remembered how he had spun you around, pressed your face against the cold gray durasteel wall, how he pressed himself against you, his chest flush with your back and whispered into your hair how lucky you should feel to even be allowed to breathe the same air as him, that you were just some useless low ranked officer who should feel grateful if he'd even just so much as let you lick his boots. You remembered how his hand landed on your hips, digging his fingertips into your flesh, how he yanked down your pants right then and there in the hallway, how the sound of the smacks of his hand on your ass seemed to ring all around you and finally how he pushed into you, filling your throbbing cunt, muffling your moans with one hand while the other was creating bruises on your hips. You remembered how he came in you, how after he pulled out he told you to thank him for this, how he watched you standing against the wall with your pants down between your knees and cum leaking out of you. And you remembered vividly how when you told him that you don't have anything to thank him for since you neither got to touch him nor to cum Kylo struck you across the cheek and left. Even now thinking about it shame was washing over you.

The second time he did take you to his chambers at least but was not any more giving than the first time.

You figured the third time would be a charm. Your mind told you it was madness, not only was he dangerous but he was also selfish and you were nothing more than a toy to him, what did you even get out of it? Your cunt however was aching for more and that was enough to shut your brain up and make you follow your needs mindlessly. And so here you were, sprawled out naked in front of him, Kylo stalking around you like a predator. He however was still in full garb, robes, gloves, boots and even his helmet.

"Can you at least remove the mask, please?" you asked him, only to be silenced by a smack on your thigh, numbing pain spreading through your leg.

"You don't get to make demands, whore" he sneered in response, making it once more clear that you were there for his pleasure, not yours.

His visor was trained on you when he pulled aside his robe, his hard cock was straining against his pants and Kylo did not waste another second to free it. You were unable to take your eyes off his cock as it sprung free, the tip read and glistening. His fingers ran over a vein on the top of his dick and he stepped closer, now being only inches away from your face and you licked your lips, mesmerized by his sheer size.

"Such an eager little thing" Kylo said, he grabbed your arms and spun you around onto your back so that your head hung down from the edge of the bed.

He gripped the side of your face, his fingers dug into your jaw, and he guided the tip of his cock between your lips. The pressure on your jaw increased and you were forced to open it, giving him full access to your mouth, the salty taste spread over your tongue, you couldn't help but use it to play with the tip of his cock to gather more of his delicious taste, your lips wrapped tightly around his shaft.

Kylo's hips started moving in a slow pace, dragging his cock over your lips. He barely made a noise so the wet plop when he pulled out of your mouth just to plunge back in was the only sound filling the room but it did not take long for him to pick up the pace and your gags whenever his tip hit the back of your throat mixed in with the sounds despite you trying to suppress them.

You could feel the veins underneath his hot skin as his cock was gliding over your tongue, a mix of spit and precum was pooling in the corners of your mouth and threatened to dribble out.

Kylo was grunting, at this point not even the modulator of his mask could hide that. Your own grunts were muffled by his cock deep in your mouth, the heat between his legs made you feel dizzy and beads of sweat formed on your forehead, you wanted to hold on to his thighs but were unable to, your hands were chained to the bed by seemingly nothing but air.

Strong fingers were digging into your aching jaw, the quick and relentless pace got a sloppy rhythm to it now and just as you feared he would suffocate you with his cock you felt it twitching on your tongue, Kylo snapped his hips forward as hard as he could, burying himself deep inside of you, your nose was pressed into him and he held your head where it was, seconds away from crushing it, and ropes of hot cum shot down your throat. Once he had emptied himself in you and his cock stilled Kylo pulled out of you, leaving a trail of tangy and salty taste on your tongue and you gasped for air, your now free hands found your jaw and drew gentle circles on the aching joint.

The Commander tucked himself away and you watched, disappointed that he was again not bothering to please you and instead simply using you for his own pleasure. Your cunt was still needy with desire, clenching and hoping for any touch it can get, you had to feel him in you.

You sat up, pushing your chest out and locked your eyes on his visor, you licked his juices from your lips, your tongue glided over them and gathered any fluid left, hoping watching you do this would arouse Kylo. His visor was trained on you, you wished you could see his face, know what he was thinking. With your thumb you collected what had dribbled down your chin and let it glide smoothly between your lips, you made a show of sucking and licking it, letting out a low moan. At that Kylo shifted, hardly noticeable.

"What are you doing?" His words sounded menacing rather than curious.

"Just cleaning myself" you answered, pouting and batting your lashes at him. "Am I not allowed to?"

"You know exactly what you are doing, slut!"

He took a few quick strides towards you, no doubt watching you behind that mask, his fists were pumping at his side, clenching and unclenching, the leather made a barely audible noise every time.

"What am I doing then?"

You loved playing the innocent, teasing him and earning yourself some form of punishment. The prospect of that made sparks go off in your chest and you clenched. Kylo however did not answer, instead one hand shot out in front of him and something invisible wrapped itself around your throat, applying pressure and making breathing impossibly hard. You tried to grab whatever it was but you just grasped air. The man responsible for this closed the little distance between you two and now his mask was mere inches away from your face.

"Do not believe for one second that I'm doing this for your enjoyment" he spat through gritted teeth.

You wanted to answer but the pressure of the Force on your throat made it impossible for you, you opened your mouth but nothing but incomprehensible noises fell from your mouth. Kylo took the opportunity to shove two fingers into your mouth as deep as possible and made you gag.

"You wanted my touch and now you have it, don't get greedy" Kylo continued.

Your lips sealed around his fingers, the taste of leather filled your mouth, your head was feeling light and the room started to spin around you and just as you were about to black out Kylo, or the Force, let go of your throat, his fingers slipping out of your mouth with a wet plop, making way for the air to fill your lungs. You coughed, gasped and swallowed, rubbing your throat where the pressure has been. The pain whenever you swallowed filled you with anger, he was definitely taking it too far for your taste.

"What the..." you started, intending to give your anger a voice but you were interrupted by the hiss of Kylo's mask filling the room, followed by a thump when he let it drop to the floor.

The sight of his face, those delicious lips and silky dark locks would never tire you, if you could you would stare at him all day. And in that moment you forgot about your anger.

His voice was much smoother without the modulator, hearing him like this had the power to make you wet if you hadn't been already. Not that you would be any less aroused when he has his mask on, knowing what was underneath was part of it.

"Whore..." he mumbled under his breath and to your surprise he was on you within a second, nibbling and sucking on the skin of your collarbone, drawing it between his teeth, licking it, planting wet kisses on it.

At first you were dumbstruck, the sudden change in his demeanor catching you off guard and leaving you confused but once you registered what was happening you shyly placed a hand on his head, fingers gliding through his hair, it was silkier and far softer than you had ever imagined, a soft sigh tumbled from your lips. This was the first time he allowed you to touch him and you wanted to enjoy every second of it, cherish it and above all cherish him.

You raked your fingertips over his scalp and he hummed against you, sending vibrations through your skin. A slight tug at his hair earned you another hum followed by a bite, his teeth sank into the curve of your neck and the hot tip of his tongue left a wet trail between the bite marks. Involuntarily you bucked your hips up and sighed, a reflex of your arousal, never in your dreams had you imagined being touched this way by Kylo Ren and yet here you were, squirming beneath him, his lips exploring your body and strands of his dark hair wrapped around your fingers. You became more daring, your hand slowly travelled down his neck, your thumb caressed his jaw as his lips kept attacking your shoulder and then you slid your hand over his shoulder, gently gliding down his arm and feeling every muscle shift beneath the fabric of his robe as he was flexing them to keep himself steady on the mattress.

You repeated the motions on the other side, caressing his biceps, squeezing it gently. Teeth sunk into the tender skin on your throat, soft lips sucking on it and you sighed into Kylo's hair as he licked the spots he made.

Your hand returned to his neck, fingertips brushing the exposed skin there and then it made its way down his back, here too you felt his muscles work and move beneath the robe whenever the Commander shifted to reach another patch of your skin. You reached towards the front and fumbled with his robe, trying to open it with one hand while the other was still occupied with exploring him but in one swift motion Kylo detached himself from you and grabbed your wrists, squeezing them so hard that you felt the joints pop.

"I just thought...." you stammered, his angry eyes filling you with fear.

"You thought wrong. From now on you keep your hands to yourself again" Kylo sneered.

Your heart sank, replaced by a sharp pain in your chest and your eyes stung, tears welling up. You came so close to getting what you have been craving for a while now only to have your Commander shatter them in his ruthlessness.

"Stop crying, it won't help you" Kylo said sharply.

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat and nodded, as much as his words had stung you'd still rather be here than being kicked out for crying.

Deep breath, you can do this, you thought, you're a grown woman.

Kylo inhaled sharply through his nose and looked you up and down, then he grabbed your breasts and squeezed, not very gently, pain shooting through your chest.

"Yes, you are" he mumbled, clearly having picked up your thoughts.

He pushed you back on your back and placed his arms on either side of you, the way he was hovering over you, massive and dressed in all black, like a creature keeping its prey trapped and away from anyone else who might try to steal it. You clenched.

Slowly he lowered himself, keeping his eyes locked on your tits and when his face reached them he immediately attached his lips to your nipple, sucking on it, flicking it with his tongue. When his teeth grazed the sensitive and hardened bud he looked up at you and his eyes of molten chocolate made you forget everything.

He moved on to the other breath, taking as much of it as he could into his mouth, tongue toying with your nipple and his hums vibrated through your skin. You arched your back, pressing your chest closer to Kylo, the need of being devoured by him sweeping over you, drowning you in lust and filling your chest to the brim, threatening to erupt any second and spill out of you.

If Kylo was seeing or feeling any of your feeling he did not bother showing, he kept giving his devotion to your breasts, peppering them with kisses and biting the soft flesh before he moved on, dragging his tongue between them, inch by inch exploring you, tasting you, trailing a wet line down your belly, dipping into your navel and further down, stopping just short before your cunt. You whimpered and bucked up your hips, wanting his face between your legs more than anything else. Instinctively your hands shot out to grip his head and push him down towards your core but they were caught midair by and invisible force and pinned down to the mattress.

"You are unbelievable" you groaned.

Kylo shushed you. "I'll let that one slide because you have those lovely lips but one more word and you are out."

Out how? Out the door? Out of this arrangement, whatever it was? Out as in dead? You did not dare to ask and instead kept quiet, rather playing along to get what you wanted. Kylo however set out to tease you, make you whimper and slowly go insane from the overwhelming lust and need.

He licked along your inner thigh, grazing it with his teeth, biting into the flesh where your thigh met your pelvis and then he dragged his tongue towards your aching cunt, licking up and down the outer lips and you bucked your hips once more.

Kylo grabbed them and held you steady, his fingers digging into you and surely leaving bruises but you did not mind, on the contrary, the way his large hands pressed you down simply turned you on even more. A moan escaped you when his tongue grazed your clit.

His eyes flicked up to you and he let the tip of his tongue glide over your clit once more, watching your reaction. Your mouth formed an o and more moans fell from it. You gripped the sheets and tried to buck up again only for him to hold your hips down, you groaned in frustration and Kylo seemed satisfied with it. In an instant his lips were on you again, sucking your labia into his mouth, rolling it around and playing with it with his tongue.

Kylo let go and propped himself up, his lips were glistening with your juices and his saliva. Slowly he crawled up to you and you wanted to protest, wanted him back between your legs but you knew better and instead a whimper left you, mourning the loss of touch and everything else he was denying you.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head up towards him, his lips violently crashed onto yours, teeth clanking together, he thrusted his tongue into your mouth and you were able to taste yourself on his lips. Feverishly you returned the kiss, your tongue toying with his, gliding over it and underneath it, a dance of lust, every once in a while your tongue left his mouth to lap at his full lips, gathering more and more of that sweet taste. The grip on your hair tightened and hurt your scalp, you stilled only to be met by more pain from his pulling so you gave in and continued the kiss, letting Kylo explore your mouth, your noses were pressed together and breathing became hard. Kylo pulled away just in time before you had to, he released the grip on your hair while you gulped in air, welcoming the loss of tension on your skin.

His hand slid down your side, caressing your skin in such a gentle way you did not think he had in him. His fingers glided over your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin, and dipped between your legs, brushing against your folds, the entire time he kept his eyes on you. One finger slipped between your folds and you couldn't hold back a moan. Kylo rubbed up and down, brushing over your clit, down to your entrance and back up, occasionally dipping the fingertip into you, collecting your juices to then spread them on your skin. He soon added a second finger and spread you open for his viewing pleasure, watching how his fingers got covered in your slick. He licked his lips, his eyes were blown wide with lust when they met yours.

"Stars..." he muttered under his breath before plunging both his fingers into you.

You let out a little scream, his fingers were thick and you were not prepared to be stretched out like this, especially since Kylo gave you no time to adjust and instead immediately pumped his fingers in and out of you, pushing in as deep as he could and his hand slapping against you.

The noises filling the room were lewd, your whimpers and moans mixed with the sound your wet cunt made every time Kylo slammed his fingers into you and pulled them back out and somewhere in there he grunted, evidence of the sheer force he was using to finger fuck you, almost painfully. His face was close to yours, his lips barely touching your skin but his eyes were fixed on you, watching you intently, catching every move you made, every change on your face. You knitted your brows, your gaze flicked from his face down over his body and to his hand between your legs and then back up to his eyes, your lips parted and twitched ever so slightly whenever the palm of his hand his your clit and sent a bolt of pleasure through you.

Kylo's breath was hot and ragged against your cheek, no doubt he was hard again, aroused by what he was doing to you. You closed your eyes, eager to project images of him fucking you into his mind, hoping he would pick up on your needs. If he wouldn't let you speak you needed to get creative to tell him what you wanted. A smack on your cheek followed by a sharp pain spreading over the side of your face pulled you out of it but you clenched and an involuntary moan escaped your lips. Shock and shame about your body's reaction flowed through you and you kept your eyes shut as if that could hide your feelings. From him but most importantly from yourself.

Leather clad digits grabbed your chin and buried themselves into your cheek.

"Look at me, whore!" Kylo spat at you.

Hesitantly you peeled your eyes open, the Commander pulled his fingers out of you to wrap his hand around your throat and straddle you.

"You enjoy it when I hit you, don't you? You are pathetic, do you get off on my power?"

You nodded as a reply and, smack, another blow to your cheek, this time your head fell to the side but he grabbed your chin again and turned your head to face him.

"Speak when I ask you something" Kylo sneered.

"Yes, I do, Commander."

"Yes, you do, slut."

His fingers dug deeper into your cheeks, forcing you to open your mouth and without a warning he spat into it.

"Swallow" he commanded and you of course obeyed, swirling his spit in your mouth for a second like a good drink before you swallowed it.

Kylo watched you, his eyes dark and full of lust but his mouth was still in a snarl, giving you very mixed signals, silence hung over you like an executioner's axe.

"Good girl" he finally said, words smooth as silk and causing you to clench around nothing, a whimper escaped you at the feeling of emptiness between your legs.

The Commander got off of you, you wanted to protest but your voice got stuck in your throat and you were unable to move, held down by the Force. Kylo's eyes were still glued on you when he fumbled with his robe, letting it drop on the floor carelessly next to his mask. You were hooked, there was nothing you could do but watch him getting rid of layer after layer. Finally his undershirt and gloves landed on the pile on the floor alongside his boots, his pants however stayed on and he simply freed his cock from the restraints, again as hard as it was when he had shoved it between your lips, tip glistening with a drop of precum.

You could not help yourself, you drank in the sight of him, the broad shoulders and chest, muscles rippling and shifting underneath the skin whenever he moved. Of course you had figured out that Kylo had to be strong, not only from what you felt under his robes but you also knew he was not just strong in the Force, he was a great warrior with his lightsaber. For some reason you still had not expected this.

He was massive. All those robes, armor, padding and such made him look gigantic and menacing but underneath it all he was no different, having a strong physique you now just craved even more to touch, let your fingers glide over his smooth and warm skin, explore the scars littering his torso, neck and face with both hands and tongue, peppering them with kisses. Though you were certain he would not like it. Still, you wanted to, needed to even.

Kylo stood at the end of the bed, watching you watching him, certainly seeing everything that went on in your mind.

"No, I would not" he said and grabbed your thighs.

He yanked and dragged you towards the edge of the bed, you squealed and felt the hold of the Force on you disappear and thus you were able to prop yourself up but Kylo had different plans for you. He turned you over so you landed on your belly and commanded you get on all fours. Not daring to object him you did as he told you, lifting your upper body off the mattress, your hands and knees sank into it and you awaited Kylo's next move.

A large hand was placed on your upper back and the feeling of his naked skin on yours spread goosebumps all over your body, a prickling sensation where his hand was. Kylo applied some pressure, forcing you to lower your upper back and arching it so your ass stuck out further.

With his free hand Kylo smacked your ass and you jolted forwards a little; when he did it again the pain shot through your whole spine and a groan escaped you.

He spanked you once more and then caressed your ass, getting closer and closer to your aching and needy cunt until his thumb brushed over your outer lips.

"You should be ashamed, being hit by your commander making you so wet, filthy thing" he whispered while his thumb glided up and down your slit, spreading your juices.

Whenever he slid it into your core you let out a whimper, clenching around him and raising your ass as high as you could, pushing it out and meeting his hand, trying to get as much of him as possible.

After a few more pumps however Kylo removed his hand and you whined at the loss of contact but he did not let you wait too long, only a few seconds later you felt the tip of his dick prodding at your entrance.

"Stars, Kylo..." The anticipation tingled in your core.

Again a smack on your ass. "What did you just call me?"

You groaned. "Commander."

"I'm starting to think you don't want this." And with that Kylo took a step back, leaving you with nothing.

You wanted to yell, get up and grab him by his beautiful stupid hair and make him fuck you but instead you took a deep breath, that plan would not work anyways. So you at least made sure he got a good look at your ass, making a show out of it you looked back at him, batting your lashes. That probably would not do either, you knew but you still hoped it would.

"Commander, please."

"Please what?" His voice was stern.

"Please fuck me, I need to feel you inside of me, Commander, I need you to fill me with your cum."

His eyes travelled up and down your body, stopping for just a second at your wet cunt on display for him, all the while his jaw was clenching and you wondered if he would really had been able to hold back and stop himself from fucking you if you hadn't played along or if he would have just taken you either way. The answer didn't matter, within seconds Kylo had one hand on your hips and the other was guiding his cock to your entrance, in one swift motion he was inside and a low groan fell from his lips as he situated himself in you, you answered with sighs.

Kylo's hips started to move, dragging his dick along your walls, spreading you open, filling you, stretching you out. Every inch pure bliss to you and when he picked up his pace you could not hold back, gasps and moans tumbling from your lips, mixed in with the noise of skin slapping on skin and Kylo's groans.

One hand went back to your upper back, pressing hard to keep you down and the other reached around to grab your tits, groping at them, his hands were large enough to reach both at once, the palm of his hand rubbing on your nipple with every thrust into you. He leaned so far forward that his weight added to the pressure on your back, his hips snapping into you relentlessly, his cock hitting that sweet spot whenever he pounded into you and his name tumbled from your lips, you had no control over it, the lust and passion were just washing over you, carrying you away.

He pulled on one nipple, yanking it hard and pain shot through you, so much so that you screamed out.

"You're not worthy of saying my name, whore. You are just some stupid slut lucky enough to be fucked by her commander" Kylo sneered.

This took a very sudden and far less pleasant turn, you wanted to speak up but you couldn't. Yes, he was fucking you. Yes, the pain and humiliation were a part of it, a nice little game to spice it up but he could not treat you like actual trash, that went too far. Obviously he did not hold back when it came to killing subordinated but this relationship was different, he was fucking you after all.

Your wrists got yanked together and bound on your back by the Force, the hand that was on your back was now pressing your face into the mattress and the other one was digging bruises into your hips.

"You are wrong" he spat through gritted teeth, his thrusting still relentless. "You are still below me, in any sense, and I can fuck you however I want."

Your mind was screaming and tears stung your eyes, your body however was complying and a tiny voice amongst the screams kept telling you how good he feels in you, that you are lucky to be fucked by someone like him. His power, his body, his face, those hands...

"Oh stars" you moaned, you just couldn't help it.

Kylo's groans became more frequent and guttural, his rhythm faster but also sloppier and you felt him twitch inside of you. He removed his hand from your head and placed it on your hips, holding on to them to be able to fuck deeper and faster into you and with one last loud moan he emptied himself in you, pumping it deeper while he was fucking you through his orgasm until he stilled.

Large hands still on your hips, Kylo dropped forward and his forehead touched your back, his ragged breath hitting your damp skin and his softening cock slowly slipped out of you, smearing the last drops of cum onto your cunt. Your muscles ached, you still were waiting for that sweet release but you were too exhausted to keep yourself up. Before you could let yourself drop onto the bed however Kylo snaked his arms around you, your back flush to his chest and you felt heat rising to your face, his chest was heaving with every breath, pushing into you and the warm feeling of comfort spread through your own chest. This was the position you wanted to cum in after having been used to your exhaustion.

"Don't be ridiculous" he whispered against your head and heaved you from the bed, carrying you to the refresher.

Shame replaced the feeling of comfort, feeling naive that you thought he was actually going to hug you and hold you tight. And make you cum for once.

Kylo let you down onto the floor of the shower and turned on the water, the heat melted the tension in your muscles.

"Your shift starts in 15 minutes", he said and left you to yourself.

[carlyraejepstein]

potentially upsetting topics: sui, gender dysphoria, abuse and parents, sex

Elliot Page’s coming out rescued an awful day. Its wording is unbelievably powerful, a comment I have made once before and will continue to do so. In it, he so strongly encompasses the fears, the sorrow, the rage, but most importantly the determination and the defiance of not only him but every trans person. I hesitate to use the word “community” because it implies a certain connection that might just not be there; I play a bit of Counter-Strike but I don’t consider myself part of the Counter-Strike community; yet when I read Elliot’s words I feel solidarity, I feel a pull to the trans community that I often don’t feel I pay my dues to, and it feels good, really good. Like I said on Twitter once, other trans people being, existing, living, is just rad. Inspiring, even, despite how that word has been worn out by cis people.

However, there’s a certain something that Elliot didn’t write, for Elliot never wrote “I am a man”; only his name, and pronouns, how he wishes to be referred to. Of course, we cannot possibly know what this omission means or does not mean to Elliot, but it’s something that concurred with a shift in how I perceive my own gender.

I remember first properly ruminating on gender in 2012 or 2013. My understanding was primitive, coming from Wikipedia. Once I knew what transgender or, given the time period, transsexual, the curiosity never really went away. I knew at this point about transition, and I knew about deed polls because of my resentment of my parents, I knew about HRT and I even knew about the GICs. I felt compelled to be an ally in that turbulent period in both my life and in the online culture I immersed myself in from around 2015 to 2017. At this time a friend was going through their own transition and seeing them gave me pause for thought; partly pride, partly worry but a small kernel of imagination, wondering if that could ever be me. It was when I went to sixth form, with its environment permitting greater yet still constrained self expression, that I felt gender dysphoria hit me with its full weight. Thinking, wondering, worrying about being transgender has been the central dialogue of my internal and external monologue ever since. Not a day passes where I don’t think about the dysphoria I feel over my continued closet-dwelling and the malignantly gendered properties of my body. On a January morning in 2019, at my very lowest point, motionless under the covers, I gave myself a choice between transition and death, and I chose transition.

It’s been a complex journey. When I was 13 I shortened my gender neutral name to make it more masc (which I have now happily embraced as my middle name). I leant into the deepening of my voice because I thought it gave me authority, conditioned through the harsh words of people from public Team Fortress 2 servers. I’ve done almost everything under the sun that gets people to say “I’d never have known!” when you come out to them; I worry that I still do and that nothing has changed. I’ve gone and cross-dressed when my parents were out, and I’ve been traumatised by Susan’s Place. I am autistic, no one who has met me can escape that fact; not that I would want to, and as a consequence I am so much more confident in my presence on the internet than I ever have been in the flesh, despite me still not knowing how to make friends; hence I’ve ended up trying to piece my transition together through 4chan (I know, bad) and Reddit and Twitter.

Perhaps the biggest reason I am not out is the time when I decided I would come out to my mother as trans. When we were in Munich we had walked past a pride parade, and when we got back to the apartment I revealed off hand that I was bi. My mother chided me for not telling them before hand since it was “polite” to do so, as if it were not my choice to make because, as I still believe to this day, it’s not a big deal and it’s none of their business. But I decided this time it was important, and that I could trust her. It turns out that just like every other time, trusting my mother is a bad idea that is guaranteed to cause me pain every time I make that mistake. She told me that because she “knows more about [me] than [I] do”, that she thought that I was just straight up wrong, couched it in rhetoric about how she thought that I was too weak to be trans, and quoted the shockingly offensive “autism is extreme male brain” theory to me. It was really devastating at the time and I think it still affects me to this day, especially as she constantly tries to worm her tendrils back into my life after I moved out.

But enough about my mother; she is a fucking flat out abuser. She has emotionally abused me, and undoubtedly my brother, all our lives. I was relieved that my dad chose not to react aggressively as she did, but with a modicum of respect and agreement not to make such a big deal out of it, something I would never expect my mother to match. In the middle of writing this piece I had to decide that I could not do it any longer, and I would never let her back into my life again.

Where that conversation in late 2018 relates to Elliot Page’s statement is my mother’s purported belief that “you don’t have to define yourself as a man or a woman”. Going past the fact that she is lying, since her tolerance for all trans people is thinner than the grey hairs on her head going on the basis that she couldn’t bring herself to say one positive thing to her own daughter that afternoon, it struck me recently that I can more eloquently describe my gender through elimination rather than a label. I am happy to call myself a woman, a trans woman, and I don’t feel as if I really am wavering in or around the binary. But what I can say for definite is that while I have been a boy for almost all my life, and am holding onto that, I am not, and never will be, a man.

Where that leaves me is that I am not a man, but must I be a woman? If I am perhaps not a woman, am I non-binary? No; it doesn’t feel right. However, if I attach just a convenience to the label woman, I can give myself that flexibility in how I feel and how I present myself, and perhaps the biggest example of that is how in recent months I have made peace with my voice. It is not really a femme voice; I hit vocal fry just speaking normally. But I know how to be expressive with it; it is my voice that I have honed over 19 years after all. One day I want to find someone who will help me upgrade my voice (and yes, upgrade) but keeping it means I fulfil one cool thing about being trans, and that is saying fuck you to the very existence of the gender binary. I keep this voice out of necessity, but I’m still trans femme, I am still a woman and I still want my facial hair zapped off.

As well, I reserve the right to say I used to be a boy. Not a man, but a boy. That’s why they call it boymoding, right? How else can I describe the first 17 years of my life? I can be a boy all the same now, although I may be pushing it aged 20, and at the point at which I am really stretching that concept which at this point I am adhering to solely for my safety and comfort, I shouldn’t need to use it anymore. Wishful thinking, of course.

I think we should consider why we use “man” and “woman” in the first place. From my perspective they are simply words to describe people with two different sets of primary and secondary sexual characteristics, convenient because, well, being cis is unavoidably common. But they are not discrete, as we so often have to reiterate using intersex people as an unwilling crutch, where one does not occur in the other they are so often analogous and often they overlap! Supposedly 60% of teenage boys develop further breast tissue, and 40% of women have some form of facial hair. Thinking that the two are discrete gives rise to the idea of “biological sex”, a concept developed by cis people either to misgender trans people in a way they think is philosophically rigorous, or to reconcile their tenuous support for trans people with a continuing belief in the gender binary. Personally I would like to smash the concept of biological sex to bits because it is not useful to us. At the very least it may describe one’s primary sexual characteristics but bottom surgery exists, and I don’t happen to think that it is “mutilation”. I don’t need to argue that “biological sex can be changed”; they are not discrete categories, and I don’t need to move between them, or seek validation for having moved between them. It is not a helpful generalisation for bodies, diverse as they are.

I must add that as a trans woman the fact that I may have a penis doesn’t mean that I use it in the same way as a man. I use mine to pee, primarily, and it’s definitely not going inside anyone except myself any time soon; a whole zine was written about how trans women fuck and use their bits to fuck, so I definitely don’t need to anyway.

Another bullshit concept is “biological destiny” or “biological reality”, although I will give less breath to this one because at it’s core it is fundamentally misogynistic, and it so often is divorced from any sensible definition of reality. It’s like if I had to have my arm amputated and then someone came up to me and said “you’ll always have two arms, you were born with them and you’ll die with them”.

I’ve heard and thought a lot about gender abolition but it seems to me that its proponents expect that like the state, gendered differences will just disappear over time. But I don’t want that to happen. If the binary is done away with I don’t want gender to disappear I want it to flourish! Because gender is beautiful, men are beautiful, women are beautiful, and everyone in between or outwith are beautiful. On the other hand, me and you don’t need to be men, or women, or call ourselves non-binary to be beautiful. Being trans is about cultivating your own beauty and your own identity. When cissiety demands that the only identity and presentation we’re allowed is one that corresponds to what they decided was between our legs when we were born, why give ourselves only one other choice?

I don’t really know how to end this piece because I wrote one half of it one day and the other half a couple of weeks later. At the very least I’m glad I can attribute my peace with not necessarily being a woman but a femme to Elliot Page, and not my rotten bastard mother.

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, epilogue

Epilogue: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby: The beginning of the end. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol consumptions, other than that just a big ball of FLUFF !

series masterlist

A/N: holy shit, this is the end!!! i had so much fun writing this little series, but it wouldn't have been the same without all of you reading, so seriously thank you! now, if anyone on the story taglist would like to be moved to my general spencer reid taglist just let me know, other than that i hope you enjoy this very last chapter!

-

Ever since you were little, you dreamt of your wedding day.

The elegant white dress you would wear, the way you’d style your hair, how your dream venue would look, the perfect guest list, the flowers, the track list, and of course, your husband to be.

You imagined he’d be handsome, a prince to accompany your dream of becoming a princess. You imagined he’d be smart, trustworthy, courageous, and caring. You imagined he’d be funny, make you laugh even when you didn’t want to smile. You imagined he’d be a great listener and have a heart of gold. And you imagined he would always put you first, no matter what.

Dr. Spencer Reid, your husband, was everything you imagined and so much more.

“I believe it was Paulo Coelho who once said, Love is just a word. Until someone comes along and gives it meaning.” All eyes were on Rossi, who with a glass of champagne in the air was delivering a speech he swore he hadn't prepared prior to this moment, “Now, when Y/N and Spencer broke the news and told the team they were finally tying the knot, I personally couldn't have been more thrilled.”

Everyone nodded along to his words as he continued, “And I think I speak for everyone gathered here today when I say these two are made for each other.”

Rossi glanced between the tables until his gaze finally landed on you and the brunette doctor beside you. “To the bride and groom. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” The gathered crowd erupted simultaneously, and what followed was the loud clinking of glasses.

You turned to face Spencer. The hazel-eyed man was already looking at you, a warm smile circling his lips.

“Cheers, my husband.” You lifted your champagne flute a little higher, as he chuckled lightly before following suit, “Cheers, my wife.” Without breaking eye contact, the two of you chinked your glasses together and took a sip of the bubbling liquid.

The evening slowly turned into night. Dozens of tiny fairy lights illuminated the venue, accompanied by the shimmering hue of the disco ball in the middle of the dance floor. Not a single body was sitting down. Everyone swayed to the music, rejoicing in the love which was so clearly floating in the air.

Spencer had his arms wrapped around you, the palms of his hands resting on your lower back. Your arms were around his neck, tips of your fingers tangling in the ends of his soft curls.

The song currently playing was quite fast, but neither of you were particularly keen on the comforting embrace ending - even though you had the rest of your lives to hold each other.

Next to the two of you, on your left, Emily and Tara were jumping around to the beat of the music, while JJ filmed them. Rossi and Will observed the spectacle with drinks in hand and loudly cheered the ladies on. On your right, Penelope was engaged in a dance battle with Derek - one she was undoubtedly winning. Matt, Kristy, and Savannah watched the pair in fits of laughter. And all of the kids ran circles around the gathered group, playing a game of tag with Luke.

“What’s on your mind?” Spencer questioned quietly, after noticing the look of contemplation gracing your features.

“Hmm... I’m just trying to remember the last time we were all together, and this... carefree.” You replied, meeting the ever so welcoming hazel gaze of your husband.

Spencer smiled softly at your response. “Well, we’re here now.” He simply stated, and you couldn't help but playfully roll your eyes.

“You know what doctor, for an extremely outspoken man, and one who seemingly possesses more knowledge than all of us here tonight, you can be very cryptic sometimes.”

“I have to keep a few things to myself, otherwise you'd loose interest in me.” He joked with a chuckle.

The comment earned him another eye roll. You moved one hand from behind his neck and lifted it in between you, curling all fingers inwards apart from the ring finger. His gaze travelled to the notion and the grin on his face widened, because he knew what you were about to say.

“I’m stuck with you now, forever and ever and ever, whether I loose interest or not.” You teased. Spencer’s hand found yours and he brought the finger to his mouth, before pressing a soft kiss to the ring.

“I wouldn't dream of being stuck with anyone else.” Spencer proclaimed, and proceeded to attach his lips to yours in a blissful exchange of breaths. The kiss was short and sweet. Similar to many you’ve shared before, yet different at the same time. Better almost, because he was no longer just Dr. Spencer Reid, he was your Dr. Spencer Reid, and you were now Mrs. Reid.

“I love you, my husband.” You muttered against his lips after pulling away. He smiled, “And I love you, my wife.”

Spencer spun you around once, causing a light giggle to escape you, before he pecked your lips again.

“May I steal her for a moment?” It was Luke who asked, appearing beside the two of you almost out of breath.

“The kids really wore you out, huh?” You teased as Luke smirked, “Oh definitely! Which is why I’d like a dance with the lovely bride so I can compose myself.” He extended his arm and you linked yours with ease.

Shooting Spencer a smile, you disappeared into the crowd with Luke. The doctor watched you for a moment, once again wondering how the hell he got so lucky, when his thoughts were interrupted by a clearing of the throat. He turned his head to find your dad also looking in your direction.

“She’s beautiful, isn't she?” Your dad asked.

“Extremely.” Spencer whispered back, loud enough for Anthony to hear.

The older gentleman shifted in his position, facing Spencer completely. “Thank you.” Anthony stated and extended his arms to wrap them tightly around Spencer. “Thank you for keeping an eye on her, son.”

“I’ll continue to do so for the rest of my life. Nothing’s gonna hurt her ever again, sir” Spencer replied, before quickly correcting himself, “Anthony.”

The older man chuckled lightly as he pulled away. He straightened his tie and proceeded to place his hands on Spencer’s shoulders. “I’ve wanted to say this for quite some time now.” He paused briefly. “Call me dad, son.”

The unexpected request caused the smile on Spencer's face to widen ever so slightly. He didn’t waste time to nod his head in agreement and with one last hand shake, he observed Anthony make his way through the bodies and steal you from Luke for a dance of his own.

Spencer’s heart soared as he watched you sway to the music. In this moment, he was glad he had an eidetic memory that would allow him to remember this sight forever. How filled with joy you seemed, and how ethereal you looked in your white wedding dress under thousands of fairy lights.

Your eyes locked with his amid the celebrating crowd. Amid the off-key singing and crazy dancing. Amid the drinking and loud cheering. Amid every single person that was currently partying between you and Spencer. When his hazel gaze found yours, it felt as if there was no-one else present.

And you were suddenly filled with immense gratitude for everything that has happened since you met the handsome doctor. Grateful for every single step which lead to this very this very moment. Grateful for him, for Spencer.

Your husband.

Today was like any other day.

You woke up at your usual time to the sound of your alarm. You had coffee, and a quick bite to eat while aimlessly scrolling through the social media apps on your phone. You showered, brushed your teeth, got dressed, did your makeup. And when it was time to leave, you walked out the front door locking it behind you, hopped in your car, and drove to work.

Today was like any other day. Except that it wasn’t.

Today wasn’t like any other day because while you carried out all of your menial morning tasks, you felt a great deal happier. Because you weren't doing them alone, and with Spencer by your side, you won't ever have to again.

You finally found your happily ever after.

-

A/N: from the bottom of my heart thank you for your continuous support and going on this journey with me. with love, mal. x

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story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne​, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94, @stepsofthefbi, @chatterbug2-0, @calm-and-doctor, @halseysunset, @ellesgreenaway, @chipot-lol, 

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[runenc03]

HH - Kaycee’s fifth year (part 6)

Writing date: January 2020

Genre: fluff. And an approaching war

Warnings: maybe some harassment? It all ends up being okay and nothing terrible happens

Word count: 6.3k

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

Summer

"Have you ever heard about horcruxes?"

Kaycee was sitting in Professor Dumbledore's office, her stomach slightly squeasy because of the nerves she felt all throughout her body. She shook her head, unsure of herself, before looking to her side to see if her sister knew anything about it. Hermione's brows were furrowed, but her head was slightly tilted, two signs Kaycee had learned to recognise through years of being with her sister.  It indicated Hermione didn't know something yet, but was inquisitive to learn more about it.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, looking at them with a kind smile, but a serious expression in his eyes.

"Horcruxes are very, very rare objects. They're also a very dark form of magic, which is why most people have never heard of it before. A horcrux is an object in which a piece of someone's soul is placed. The process is not something I'd recommend, though. In order to make a horcrux, one has to splinch their own soul. I've obviously never experienced it myself, but it's said to be one of the worst kinds of pain to exist."

The heavy silence Kaycee thought would follow was immediately killed by Hermione's voice full of disbelief.

"But why would someone do that? That sounds gruesome!"

The headmaster nodded understandingly at her.

"That's the clue, Miss Granger. You can't kill someone who has put a part of his soul in another object. Horcruxes always make it possible to return from death."

Kaycee heard Hermione gasp, and she knew her sister had connected the dots. She, however, still had difficulty comprehending where this conversation was heading, until her sister started whispering the answer to the questions that were swirling inside of her head.

"Voldemort has put a part of his soul in a horcrux."

"I'm afraid it's not just one horcrux, Miss Granger. Voldemort has indeed used this technique to be able to reclaim his life, but he has splinched his soul not once, but at least 3 times."

This time, it was Kaycee who gasped. She just couldn't imagine wanting to splinch your own soul. She promptly started shivering at the idea, for once hating how much empathy she possessed. Her shock didn't make her forget her confusion, however, so she asked her headmaster the question that had been burning on her tongue throughout the entire visit.

"But, Professor, what does that have to do with me, and my strange feeling?"

The old man's eyes went from serious to grave, as if he were about to convey some very bad news, and Kaycee suddenly went from sweating to being very, very cold. She wanted this to be over with, so she could crawl in her blankets, the familiar prison for once protecting her from the outside world, instead of the other way around.

"Miss Granger, that's where it gets very interesting. First of all, I want you to know that nothing like this has ever happened in the entire history of Magic, or at least as far as we can read back. That being said, I do have a suspicion I am pretty confident about. You undoubtedly remember your first year, and the diary you wrote in."

Dumbledore's voice got lower, his guilt about not being able to prevent all of that from happening evident in the way he spoke, and Kaycee nodded, half to indicate that she was still following, half to let him know that she was well now, and didn't hold any grudge.

"The diary was a horcrux. When Mr. Potter destroyed it with the basilisk fang, a piece of Voldemort got destroyed along with the object. Since you had been taking the diary with you for such a long time by then, the influence of the horcrux had kind of put itself inside of you, Miss Granger. I know that sounds very concerning, but I want you to know that you were not a horcrux, the influence of the horcrux had merely started residing inside of you, if I can put it like that. Of course that influence got destroyed at the same time that the source of it, the horcrux, got dismantled, but the place it had stayed at, didn't immediately get occupied again. Not that your mind misses anything, it's quite the opposite, really. If anything, your mind got stretched with that influence, and since that space didn't exist before your first year, it was empty after Mr Potter's battle with the basilisk."

"So, my mind is basically larger than average?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"It is, Miss Granger, but that's not all there is to it. After doing some research, I found out that such 'mindgaps' have existed before yours, although they were made in other circumstances. Losing a mind twin, for example, is an unfortunate event in which the mind twin experiences a void in their mind, but fortunately, that's not the case for you, Miss Granger. In fact, your mind has magically filled itself again, with what I expect to be exactly the feeling you have described. See it as an extra gut feeling, an extra internal compass, if you would. Miss Granger, I know that this must come as a surprise, and if it was possible, I wouldn't let you dwell on it any further, instead opting to let you enjoy your teenage years to their full extent, but I'm afraid that in times of war, we must use everything we can, and that includes the extra capacity of your mind."

Kaycee was fast to nod, agreeing completely with what her headmaster was saying. Unlike what Professor Dumbledore had expected, Kaycee didn't feel all that shocked or overwhelmed anymore. True, this was not what she expected, but she finally had an answer now, finally knew for sure that the feeling was not something she made up, or exaggerated. It was useful, she was finally useful in this journey to the light - as she liked to call the war going on around them.

"What's the plan, professor? I'm up to whatever you see fit."

The headmaster smiled at that, his eyes twinkling with pride.

"I would like you to come to my office every 2 weeks, for an extra class outside of your normal classes. I will teach you how to understand your power, how to use it, and, if necessary, how to suppress it. Are you okay with that?"

"Yes, Professor. I look forward to it."

And she did. For so many years, she had been struggling with the memories of her first year, the nightmares, the guilt of holding onto that diary for so long.

It was time for her to step up, do her part, help her loved ones.

She was ready.

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

Autumn

Sean breathed out a sigh of relief when he finally found her. The sight of her sitting there with crossed legs, looking up at the sky through the massive window, her hair cascading down her back, made him feel so many things at once. It was breathtaking, really, and he could've stood there all night, up there in the astronomy tower, without moving an inch. He knew that wasn't an option though.

"So there you are."

She didn't move, didn't say anything at first, but Sean knew he was allowed to come closer. He vaguely registered how the wooden floor creaked as he moved, but his focus was on Kaycee. He was still hesitant to do anything. She was the one who ran away so suddenly, after all.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that. It was not your fault, I promise."

She said it with a quiet, hoarse voice, and he knew right then and there that she had been able to think while looking at all those constellations above them. It had made her calm. Another wave of relief crashed over him.

She wasn't going to run from him.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She finally looked at him, a million stars seemingly reflected in her eyes at that moment. She nodded, stretching out her arm to him, beckoning him to sit down, but - to Sean's disappointment - letting go of that arm as soon as he was sitting beside her. For a few seconds, she said nothing, and he didn't push her. He knew that she would start when she had found the right words.

"Look, we both know that I like you as more than a friend, right?"

Sean tried his best to hide his surprise that she didn't beat around the bush. For some reason, the dark blue colour of the sky combined with the bright spots scattered across it had made him think their conversation would be a meaningful one, one to start gradually but last forever in his memory.

"Did I say too much...?..."

Her voice, a lot softer than normal, brought him out of his thoughts, and he started to speak immediately, not wanting her to be insecure because she decided to be brave enough to finally address their dynamic.

"No, no you definitely didn't Kayc! I just....didn't expect you to be so open about it so suddenly."

She smiled at that, still a bit shy, but at least more comfortable now.

"Sean, when Ron asked me to come smell his Amortentia, I just, I don't know....for some reason I really didn't think it would be that much of a big deal, but then I smelled it and I just...panicked, I guess."

Those last few words made Sean panic in her place. Had he actually been mistaken about her signs and did she not feel anything for him? Had he really been that arrogant? A cold spot formed itself in his chest, and the longer Kaycee waited with continuing her story, the more it spread out towards the rest of his body.

"So....what did you smell then?"

He tried to be casual about it, he really did, but the cold spot had reached his throat and made it hard to speak. Kaycee finally turned her head, now looking at him instead of at the constellations, a small smile on her face.

"Come on Shamu, like it's not embarrassingly obvious already. I smelled...well, this is probably pretty unique for Amortentia, but I smelled sweaty dance rooms, and parchment, and freshly cooked meals. Sean, I already knew I liked you. I mean, I guess I made it pretty obvious. Smelling you in Amortentia though...it brings everything on a much higher level. And I...I guess I underestimated how serious my feelings for you were, but we both know Amortentia never lies, now does it?"

And he knew as well that Amortentia never masked anything. Whatever you smelled while hanging above a cauldron of the lovely liquid was what your deepest desire was in terms of love, and that wouldn't go away after your crush stayed uninterested or your teenage years passed.

No, what you smelled in Amortentia, counted for the rest of your life.

"Sunflowers, hairspray and just a hint of sweat, but the good, 'I gave my all and created something magical' kind, not the disgusting one."

"What?"

He almost laughed at the clueless expression on her face, but then he didn't, suddenly realising that this could very well become the moment he could officially ask her to be his girlfriend.

"It's what I smelled in my Amortentia, Kaycee. I think we both know who smells like that, don't we?"

"Well, I hope I don't smell like sweat all the time."

She said it while laughing, but Sean could hear the relief she was trying to cover up. Had she been so insecure about his feelings for her? He thought he'd always made it pretty obvious she was it for him.

"No, you don't. You smell like sunflowers most of the time, but if I talk or think about you, I always picture you dancing, so I guess that's where the smell of hairspray and sweat comes from."

And then, when he saw the doubt on her face:

"Kaycee, it's you. And I don't know what that does to you, I hope it makes you happy, although it can also cost me my friendship with you if it makes you panic, but it has to be said. I am completely in love with you, and I've known it for far longer than my Amortentia class, or than going to the Yule Ball with you, even. And there's nothing I can do about it. I can only hope you feel the same, really, because there is no way to get over what I feel for you."

He didn't know why he said all of that. It was true, in fact there was nothing more honest he had ever said, but even he realised that this was probably a bit much to take in all at once. He should've said those things all separately, at the right time, but then again, he had been walking around for almost 3 years now, his head repeating these words like a mantra, over and over again.

All the while, Kaycee's face stayed unreadable.

"Sean....wow. I wish I could say something as meaningful, but you're the one with the right words, aren't you?"

Her tone was so controlled, almost restrained, that his first thought was that she was angry with him. He should've known better.

"It's one of the many reasons I'm in love with you as well. You want to hear some other ones?"

Sean could only nod, overcome with a second, huge wave of relief, gratitude, and slight disbelief. When talking about this moment to others later on, he would always contemplate telling them about how Kaycee's skin seemed to bask in the light those millions of stars emitted. He never did. It was something only he would ever know, and he knew he would always remember it.

"Your friendship with Hermione is something that makes my heart warm. Or the way you don't try to overpower me when we dance, but rather dance with me, next to me. I love how you can engulf me in your arms, how you offer me comfort, but also see me as my own person. And then we haven't talked about all the sweet gestures. Like, I love it when you take my hand, or lay yours on the small of my back. Or when we duelled in the DA last year, you never held back, you duelled against me to win, which made me feel that much more accomplished when I managed to win. You saw me as your equal opponent, not as a little, fragile sister or a too-naïve Hufflepuff. You saw and continue to see me as the deepest, rawest, most true version of myself. And that, Sean, is something I'll always be grateful for.

He couldn't help himself anymore, needed to diminish the distance between them, so he opened his arms, ready to wrap them around her.

"Come here, Kayc."

And she did, with a surprising amount of eagerness. She shuffled closer, and then, when Sean expected her to come to a halt propped next to him, she moved again, this time lifting herself up and sitting down again on his lap, leaning backwards and laying her head on his shoulder, looking at the stars again.

They were silent once again, but Sean wasn't one to stop talking because a moment was beautiful. He believed words had a great power, and if used in the right way, they could make that beautiful moment even better.

"Kaycee, does this mean..."

He still couldn't outright say it. Was it because of all the years he had stayed silent before this, or because of the intoxicating smell of her hair currently tickling the right side of his neck, he didn't know. He wanted to kick himself for ruining this moment with his words, when Kaycee's next ones made him smile again.

"Do you want it to?"

Something in her tone was open enough to finally give him the courage to go through with it. He took her hand, interlacing her fingers with his, letting them rest on her lap.

"Kaycee Caitlin Rice, do you, at last, after everything we've been through, want to be my girlfriend?"

She said nothing at first, only raising the hand that was holding hers and kissing the back of it. Sean could feel the outline of her smile on his skin. His heart was soaring, burning, even, and he loved every second of it.

"I would love to be your girlfriend, Sean Charles Lew. Very much so."

And that was it. He gave her a kiss on her hair, and put his arm around her middle, pulling her just a smidge closer to his chest. He needed to feel her, to assure himself that this had actually just happened. For some reason, he'd always thought getting together with Kaycee would be something grand, something with music, flowers, lengthy speeches, tears. It hadn't been anything like that, this was probably the most silent get together in the history of Hogwarts.

Still, he looked up at the stars again, wanting to cherish this moment, no matter how silent it had been. What followed could be his imagination, but he swore he saw one of the stars wink. It was all that was needed to tell him that the roaring of his heart was loud enough, and, judging by the way Kaycee's thumb kept rubbing over his arm, he knew it sounded like music to her, too.

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

Winter

"Mione! Look, quickly!"

She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice, already having to remind herself that she had to stay silent. This was a library, after all.

Her sister shuffled closer to her after putting away her wand, trying to watch their friends sitting at an old wooden table through the same small gap in between 2 seemingly endless rows of books.

"Oh, there's mistletoe above us, Neville!"

Neville promptly looked up at Luna's wondering tone of voice, and Kaycee squeezed Sean's hand, smiling when he immediately squeezed back, as well as putting his chin on top of her head.

"I wonder how it started blooming here so suddenly...the living conditions in a library aren't exactly ideal for a plant like misletoe..."

Kaycee could almost feel the identical grins that were on both Hermione's and Sean's face now. She herself, couldn't help but grin as well. They should have known Neville would start thinking about the misletoe's traits, rather than its meaning.

"Well Neville, in a place like Hogwarts, I believe everything is possible. You do know what this means, right? I've already checked, there aren't any nargles in it, which means it's real mistletoe, and not giving me a kiss would mean lots of things, starting with being bothered by hinkypunks for the rest of your life. Now of course I understand if you do not wish to kiss me, but -"

"I do!"

Neville had cut Luna off, and everyone, including Neville himself, only realised a few seconds later what he had actually said. Kaycee smiled, hidden from Neville and Luna by that massive wall of books. She hadn't expected their plan to go so easily.

"I mean, I do want to kiss you, Luna. Especially under a misletoe. It's tradition, after all."

Neville's voice was a lot softer now, and Kaycee silently thanked him for it, afraid for a second that Madam Pinch would check on the pair and their moment would be completely ruined.

"Well then, what are you waiting for?"

Luna sounded even brighter than usual, although Kaycee's fangirl heart could also be playing tricks on her. Either way, she was excited beyond words for what was about to unfold right in front of her.

And then, it happened.

After Neville had taken one last deep breath, he lowered his head, hesitating for only a second before finally letting his lips touch Luna's. For just a second, nothing happened, they just stayed like that, quiet, in peace, and Kaycee was about to swallow her 'awwww' when something changed.

Luna had shuffled closer to Neville, wrapping her arms around his neck. His reaction was a bright smile, not even hidden behind Luna's lips. His arm was next, Neville wrapping it around Luna's waist, squeezing her side when his hand ended up laying there. Kaycee thought her jaw would actually drop, the whole thing looked so fluent. It took her brain a second to realise just how right this had to feel for both of them in that moment, and her heart melted a little more. They deserved it so much.

By now, Luna had moved her arms, one laying on Neville's chest, the other on his left sideburn, tilting his head so she could reach it. Then, they separated, but as soon as they looked into each other's eyes, they diminished the distance between them again, Neville taking the lead now, following her example of laying a hand on his cheek, moving his thumb across her jawline.

They pulled away slowly, both of them seemingly not wanting this to end. It was only now that Neville started to blush. He pulled her even closer, Luna responding to that by putting her legs over his lap and once again wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Do you think he's going to confess?"

Kaycee whispered her words in Sean's ear, afraid the faintest sound would ruin the cozy bubble Neville and Luna were in right now. He made a face, telling his girlfriend wordlessly that he didn't know, but hoped it would finally happen. Kaycee could feel his arm coming to hold her waist, and in this moment she could only think about how much she wanted Luna to be able to feel the same thing, not just now, but always.

On the other side of the wall of books, Luna placed her forehead against Neville's, her eyes closed.

"Did you know that when you're in love, there are little elves in your belly? Everyone always thinks those are butterflies, but that's not true."

"Is that so? Well...it's good to know what's going on in my stomach, then."

Okay, Kaycee had to admit that one was smooth.

"Yeah, when I first felt them, I wanted to know what caused the feeling, so I started searching for an explanation and eventually, I found an article about it in an old edition of the Quibbler."

Kaycee noticed that while Luna's eyes were still closed, Neville's were wide open, looking at the girl in front of him. Kaycee didn't think she'd ever seen so much adoration in someone gaze.

"When do you feel them, Luna?"

Luna's smile got even broader, her whole body actually emitting a warm glow.

"They always crawl around when we sit in the greenhouses. Or when I help you with your homework. Or when you accidentally touch me and apologise while you really don't need to. Also when you just smile at me."

Neville answered with a kiss on Luna's forehead, and Kaycee knew that this was the start of something extraordinarily beautiful.

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

"Hey, babe!"

As soon as Kaycee heard those words, she turned around warily. This was definitely not Sean. He had nicknames for her, yes, like darling, or love, or baby, when he was in a particularly clingy mood, but never babe.

Upon seeing the guy who had clearly called out on her as there were no other people in the corridor she was currently standing, she put on an unimpressed face, trying to seem unaffected, but wrapping her thin coat tighter around her body. The past week had been remarkably warm for this time of the year, and Kaycee had secretly started hoping Spring would come early this year, but apparently, thin coats didn't protect you against creepy dudes. Not that thick coats did, really.

"Hey, I was talking to you there!"

This time, Kaycee couldn't ignore him anymore. She took a closer look at the guy. He was striding forward urgently, black hair sleeked back, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. She didn't trust him one bit.

"What do you want?"

She was snapping at him, Kaycee could hear it herself. She could only hope he didn't hear the panic sleeping through her tone. She just couldn't help it, the guy was so much taller than her, actually towering over her small form. There was a threatening glow around him that automatically made her want to get as far away from him as possible.

"Oh, well, you see, Kaycee Granger, I've heard some things about you. All good things, don't worry. You're a dancer, aren't you?"

Kaycee nodded, still unsure of where the creepy guy was going. She just wanted Luna to show up so they could go feed the thestrals, which was the reason she was standing here in the first place. Suddenly, his face came closer to hers, and Kaycee had to suppress the urge to lean backwards. She didn't though, because she had finally recognised that dangerous gleam in the boy's eyes. It was a look of pure hunger.

"Do you also like to dance in more...suggestive ways? What do you think about dancing for me? I'd quite like you to give me a lap dance...would you like that, Kaycee?"

This was actually disgusting. She didn't know where this guy got his information from, but it made her sick to her stomach to realise that people immediately linked dancing with sexual things. Even then, she really had nothing against more suggestive dances, but the fact that this guy thought every dancer would automatically want to dance for everyone in that way just went beyond what she thought possible.

"I...stay..away from me."

But even she heard how soft it sounded, vulnerable even, and she could kick herself for being scared of this guy. He didn't deserve that satisfaction.

"Are you sure, sweetheart? I'll surely reward you well..."

And then, there was another voice, not hard at all, but icy, his words echoing through the corridor.

"Do as she says. Stay away from her. For your information, she keeps those kind of dances exclusively for her boyfriend, who is, in this case, only a few feet away from you. If I were you, I'd listen to her."

Both Kaycee and the scary guy looked at the owner of the voice, and if Kaycee had had any way to run to the guy by escaping her threatener, she would have, but he was standing too close, leaving her little more than a few inches of free space on both her sides, her back already against the stone wall.

"Sean Lew."

It was a statement, the teasing undertone completely wiped from his voice, now sounding hollow, empty.

"Geoffrey Zagan."

She had never heard of the guy before, never even seen him. It was only when her eyes fell on his scarf that she realised how the two knew each other. Geoffrey was a Ravenclaw as well.

Sean started walking closer now, his face still void of any emotion. Kaycee could see it though, the cold, threatening glare in his eyes. For the first time in her life, she wasn't completely sure Sean wouldn't physically fight with someone. His steps were deliberate, almost demonstrative, but Kaycee knew he was not playing games. This was a serious matter for her boyfriend.

When the distance between the guys had diminished to 2 feet, Sean came to a halt, right across from Zagan, who had now turned to the other Ravenclaw. That's where the 2 boys stayed for a while, just looking each other in the eye, the silence around them somehow sounding even louder than the words they had spoken a few moments ago.

"Right. I'll go then. Enjoy your girlfriend, Lew."

And with that, he was gone, his steps brisk, with each one he took loosening the iron hold on Kaycee's lungs a little more.

As soon as Geoffrey Zagan had turned around the corner, Sean started talking, his voice harsher than Kaycee had expected it to be.

"I cannot believe this just happened. Honestly Kaycee, how long has this been going on?"

"Sean, stop overreacting. This was the first time this happened, and he didn't have any time to do something to me, now did he? You were fast enough to show him I'm all yours"

She didn't know whether reminding him was a good choice or not, but it was the only thing the could think of.

She saw that her boyfriend finally relaxed at her words, smiling now, and then she smiled too, relieved he wasn't angry anymore. He wrapped an arm around her and rested his hand on her hip, pulling her closer to him, a grin spreading over his face while looking into her eyes.

"That, you absolutely are, my darling. All mine to love."

Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck automatically, as if it was second nature. She stood on her tiptoes, her balance perfect because of all the technique classes she had taken throughout the holiday, and angled her face to kiss him. As a thank you, or as an I love you, or maybe both. Sean immediately kissed back, smiling in the kiss, the arm that was still wrapped around her waist pulling her closer to him, his other hand weaving through her curly hair, angling her face so he could reach her better.

Kaycee pulled back from his lips now, but only slightly.

"I love you Shamu. I truly couldn't help it, what he did...but I'm sorry you had to rescue me."

They were whispering against each other's lips now, the moment feeling delicate, vulnerable, and in Kaycee's eyes, easy to escalate in the wrong way. Sean's angry tone had scared her, even though she wouldn't admit it. That wasn't necessary, however, because Sean could see it in her eyes, she knew she couldn't hide it, and his face was immediately filled with guilt.

"I'm sorry love, I just....I got so enraged seeing him so close to you. Not even because I was jealous, I wasn't, but because of the look on your face. I promise I won't put my frustration on you anymore Kayc."

She nodded, caressing his cheek, and he smiled again, his dimples showing. She couldn't help but poke them, they were so adorable, resulting in the 2 of them falling into a fit of laughter, desperately clinging to each other while trying to get at least a little bit of oxygen.

Their laughter eventually calmed down, however, and a thought suddenly struck Kaycee, promptly removing all happiness from her mind.

"Sean...you lied to him."

Sean looked confused, and didn't know what to say to that, unsure of what she actually meant. She could see it in his eyes, he was already going over all the previous events, trying to pinpoint what he had done wrong. Quickly, she put her hands on his chest, putting her weight forward instead of backwards, showing him she wasn't, and would never be, afraid of him.

"You didn't do anything wrong, in fact I'm incredibly grateful you did this for me in the way you did. Saving me-"

"I didn't save you, I helped you. You would've been able to fight him on your own, I'm not your knight in shining armor, even though I'd like to be sometimes."

Kaycee just continued what she was going to say, but couldn't fight the small grin that was returning on her face.

"Be that as it may, my point is that you made me feel taken care of, but you did so by lying, and I didn't even realise it. You said I dance for you in that way Sean. And we both know I don't. We only do cute and sweet things, never the more...spicy ones. And...I just...I guess I only realise now that you maybe want that and I've been so insensitive about your wants and needs, never even asking if you wanted me to do something like that while you've given me everything I want and more and I-"

"Hey hey, calm down darling, breathe. Please tell me this is just the shock from meeting Zagan, and you don't really think this."

The silence following his words answered him, and she could see that it wasn't the answer he had been hoping for.

"Sean...I just, he made me think, okay? I would understand if you wanted me to do certain things. Why hasn't that happened yet? I mean, we've been together for almost 5 months now, and you're a healthy teenage boy, I would truly understand Sean."

He was shaking his head, and she was afraid he hadn't even heard her, hadn't even wanted to know what she was saying, but to her, this wasn't something unreasonable. She would really understand, she wasn't just saying it to make him happy.

"Kaycee, you're so wrong this time. This doesn't have anything to do with my needs or wants in terms of sexy things, at least not only mine. I know this is going to sound so cliché but I swear I'm telling you the truth. Your wellbeing will always be my number 1 priority. I really don't care whether we do those things now, or in a few weeks, months, years. The thing is, Kaycee, that it'll only be fun for me of I'm 100% convinced you are enjoying yourself too, and until then, I'm happy to wait. Really, I am. Darling, say something please, I want you to understand."

And she finally did. What Sean had said was true for her too, things were only fun or nice whenever the person you were doing it with was happy as well. Kaycee realised then, that the beauty of everything, but most of all these romantic steps, was the knowledge that you were sharing that beauty, sharing the memories, the feelings, not just the activity itself. It all made sense now. And she could only hug Sean, this wonderful young man in front of her, not only for reassuring her he wanted to wait with things, but for convincing her that he was 100% okay with it.

In time, they would make their own, unique, precious, and beautiful memories in that department, but until then, she was going to show this extraordinary human in front of her all the other ways in which her heart longed for him.

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

Spring

This could very well be the worst day of Sean Lew's life.

Not even when he had had to save Kaycee in his second year did he feel as sad as he did now. Back then, he had been able to do something. Right now, it was all out of his hands, irreversible.

Albus Dumbledore was dead, and he would be gone forever.

It was the only thought that was able to sink through the thick fog pervading his brain, the only thing he could hear, over and over again, his inner voice echoeing within his head. He could only sit there, outside, alone on one of the wooden benches after the Headmaster's funeral. Of course Kaycee and his friends had been there during the service, but afterwards, they had all known Sean needed some time alone, and he was grateful that they let him gather his thoughts in solitude.

Until now.

"Hey there Sean Lew. Do you mind if I sit here with you? You look like you could use another perspective on all this."

Sean turned his head, smiling slightly when he heard Luna's voice. His fellow Ravenclaw had a way with words, with saying them, and he realised that it would probably be wise to listen to what she wanted to tell him. He was no fool, having someone like Luna in your life was a true blessing, like a breath of fresh air, time and time again, and he had figured out a long time ago that he should never take her presence for granted.

"You know Sean, when my mother died, my father and I didn't do anything extremely special. We didn't remove her pictures inside the house, but we also didn't put any more on the walls. Her grave was very simple as well, no special bouquets or incredibly long letters. No intricate service, not at all. We said goodbye to her and that was about it."

Her tone was so light when she told about her mum, Sean noted, and he could only be impressed. She didn't sound sad at all, and he wanted to know how that was possible.

"Luna....why are you telling me this now?"

She smiled at that, not looking him in the eye, but rather at the field of grass in front of her.

"Because, Sean, you look too much at the earthly things, the tangible things, the facts. Services, flowers, gravestones....they're not important, or at least not in my opinion. If we follow biological rules, there's no denying that dead people are, and will always be, dead. They won't come back. But what people often tend to forget is that there is one way to keep those loved ones alive, regardless of your religious or scientific beliefs."

A brief silence fell over them, and for the first time since she approached him, Luna turned her head, making eye contact with him.

"You keep them alive in your heart."

And there was something about the way she said it that made him believe her. The fog in his head disappeared, and the sun that had been shining all along, reached Sean now as well.

And deep within his heart, a home for Professor Dumbledore started to bloom.

[rogerthat-taylor]

Numbers on Flyers (Roger Taylor x Reader x Ben Hardy One Shot)

Summary: You were flatmates with Roger and one evening, while meticulously duplicating flyers for Queen’s upcoming gig, he picked up the phone and heard another boy, Ben, asking to speak to you. For the first time ever, in your decade-long friendship with Roger, he was undoubtedly jealous.

Warnings: None

Words: 1.3K+

A/N: I was inspired to write this back when Roger posted a flyer he had made for one of Queen’s gig back when they were starting out. This has been in my archive since then but I never really got to go back to it until now. Also... I kinda did an overly ambitious thing whereby I kinda imagined the other guy to be Ben Hardy so we’ve really got the best of both worlds here iDk but yeah. There's meant to be a part 2 to this but let’s see.

“Where’s Brian?” You grunted while you stood one-legged by the door trying to kick off your shoes.

You were exasperated from a long day of back to back lectures and beyond relieved to be home even if home referred to a grotesquely unkempt flat and an empty fridge all of which can be expected for you shared the flat with two university boys. It was either this or an overpriced tiny dorm shared with a complete stranger. Besides, Roger had been a dear friend since childhood, perks of having a neighbour who was the same age of you growing up, and Brian - well, Brian had always been a delight dating back to your very first introduction to one another upon hearing his interest in sharing the flat.

“He’s doing a project at someone else’s” replied Roger, barely looking up from what he was doing to acknowledge your presence, “God knows when he’ll be back.”

You nodded as you trudged towards the table he was at, curious as to what he was so engrossed in that he failed to say a decent hello or some sort of greeting. 

“You’ve got an exam coming up?” you questioned right before your brain could process what was on the table.

His usual pile of books and files where nowhere to be seen rather, the table was scattered with loose leaf of papers identical to one another. Some of which seemed to have been organised and separated. This was all very curious because it almost looked as if he had been doing an art project.

“Nope, exams were last week,” he replied, eyes still glued to what he was doing. One hand on the paper, the other wrapped around a marker as he slowly and very meticulously wrote on a fresh white paper, “We’ve got a gig coming up next week. Could you pass me that paper over there?”

He finally looked up but only to point at the stack of papers at the corner of the table you were standing at. You obliged, taking the paper that was on top of the others.

"Not that one," he said, "that one."

"Thank you," you chuckled cynically, "The whole pointing to one group of papers is really helping out."

"Yes! That one!" He said when your hand grazed on one of the many papers. You pulled it out from the pile only to find that it was identical to everything else but not according to Roger who took it from you without any form of gratification and proceeded with adding onto it.

"Loving the whole attitude, Rog," you rolled your eyes making your way to the kitchen, in hopes of finding anything edible when the house phone rang.

Roger jumped up and sprang to the phone as if he was expecting a call.

"Hello?"

Empty; just like your stomach, the fridge had been empty of food just as you dreaded.

"Y/N," Roger called out, "The call's for you!"

Surprised, you head out to Roger to find him frustrated.

"Why is there a boy calling?" he mouthed as you took the phone from him.

You shrugged, "Hello?"

"Y/N!" greeted Ben, the boy you took Linguistics with, "I was wondering if you if you were free next Wednesday evening? I'd like to take you up on that dinner I promised."

"Next Wednesday?" you voiced out to Roger in hopes that he would gather enough to understand that you had been subtly asking him if they had a gig that night.

He shook his head and mouthed, "No, you can't that night."

"I'm afraid I'm not, how about Thursday night-"

He shook his head yet again, "Nope."

"Wait, I'm sorry, I meant Frid-"

"No-"

"Okay, look, Ben," you cut Ben off for the umpteenth time, "Why don't I call you back when I get my schedule for next week sorted out?"

"Sure, of course," he said delighted as he recited his contact.

You took the closest paper and pen to you, which unfortunately happened to be one of Roger's flyers, and penned down Ben's number accordingly.

"Oi!" Roger tried to take the pen from you but failed as you managed to dodge him.

You read out his number to confirm, "Alright, I'll get back to you as soon as I..."

Roger had been trying to take the flyer with Ben's number from your hold only crumpling the paper.

"As soon as I sort things out," you continued, "Goodbye!"

"What was that?" You and Roger raged in unison, "What do you mean-"

"Actually," Roger took a step back and returned to his seat with his flyers, "I don't care - I don't have the time for this.

"The time for what, exactly?" You pressed on, aggrevated and confused.

You heard the markers screech and scratch against the paper as you noticed how much more aggressive and messier Roger has gotten with his handwriting. The once used to be pretty flyer has turned into one that was evidently rushed and ruined.

You took the marker from him, earning yourself a growling Roger.

"What do you want?" He probed.

"We're just gonna take a break from the markers-"

"I'm not jealous!"

Your eyes widened, "And no one ever said you were, hun."

"Then give me back my marker," he grumbled on.

"You're not in the right state to be doing these, look!" You held up his recently ruined flyer to reiterate your point.

"I'm fine," he lied and faked a smile, "See! All good and dandy."

"Liar," you called out.

"Fantastic song, if I do say so myself," he shrugged, his eyebrows still creased together.

You sighed and smiled, bringing the pad of your thumb to graze over his eyebrows in an attempt to soften the frown and somehow it did. There was absolute peace and silence as the both of you locked eyes as if searching something in each other's gaze, something evidently there but not quite so clear. You felt your heart pounding louder as the ends of his lip curved ever so slightly into the teeniest, cutest smile. He bowed his head down chuckling slightly to himself.

"Look," he said, looking up, "We just have a lot of gigs coming up next week and Brian and I don't want you missing out."

"Our flat doubles as your studio, do you really think i'll miss out?" You laughed, elbowing him.

"It's different and you know it."

"So a gig every night?" You pressed on as if needing him to confess something.

"No - Wait, yes," he stuttered.

"And you want me there every night?"

"Yes."

"If you say so," you shrugged off and stood up from your seat.

You smiled as an indication to you obliging to his request.

"Help me distribute these flyers, will you?" He tugged on your wrist before you could leave the table.

"Only if you say please," you teased.

"Please."

You nodded before turning away with Ben’s numbers in your hand, heading to your room. The way Roger had reacted was all very peculiar and whatever it made you feel was equally baffling but whatever it was, you knew better than to dig deeper into it. Whatever you and Roger shared had always been platonic and you both knew it was for the best anyway. Too much was at stake, you've been each other’s best friends since young - you just couldn't risk losing that.

"The trash bin's that way," Roger called out pointing to the kitchen, implying that you throw the flyer that had Ben’s number.

You laughed it off, careful not to add meaning to all his gestures. Little did you know that deep down, Roger was a raging mess. His heart had been pounding out of his chest and his palm had been engraved thanks to his nails digging into them in frustration. He had never felt this way about other boys going after you and he didn't quite comprehend why this was happening now but one thing seemed clear: he and you were the unbreakable pair and whether that was only a platonic sentiment was something he has yet to find out.

[mashkaromanova]

Eugene Botkin, 1916. Below is his last ever letter, written not long before he was murdered along with the Russian Imperial Family and three other servants on the 17th July 1918. Dr Botkin started this letter on 9th July 1918 but continued writing it on 17th July, when he heard the knock on his door, which was why letter ended abruptly. It was never finished or mailed. The letter was meant for his brother Alexander

“My dear, good friend Sasha, I am making the last attempt to write a real letter, - at least from here, - although this caveat is completely redundant; I do not think that it is in the cards for me to ever write from anywhere else again, - my voluntary imprisonment here is limited to my existence on this earth. In actuality, I have died – dead to my children, my friends, my work… I have died, but have not been buried yet, or rather was buried alive, - whichever you prefer: the consequences are almost identical, i.e. both one and the other have their negative and positive sides.

If I were literally dead, that is to say, anatomically dead, then according to my faith I would know what my children are doing, would be closer to them and undoubtedly more useful than now. I rest with the dead only civilly, my children may still have hope that we will see each other sometime in this life, while I, other than thinking that I can still be useful to them somehow, do not personally indulge myself with this hope, do not humour myself with illusions, but look directly into the face of unadorned reality.

Although for now, I am as healthy and fat as always, to a point where I feel disgusted every time I look in the mirror. I only console myself with the thought that if it would be easier for me to be anatomically dead, then this means that my children are better off, because when I am separated from them, it always seems to me that the worse off I am, the better off they are. And why do I feel that I would be better off dead, - I will explain this to you with small episodes, which illustrate my emotional being.

The other day, i.e. three days ago, when I was peacefully reading Saltykov-Schedrin, which I often read with pleasure, I suddenly saw the face of my son Yura in diminutive size, as if from far away, but [it was] dead, in a horizontal position, with closed eyes… The last letter from him was on 22 March o[ld] s[tyle], and since that time postal connection from the Caucasus, which even earlier faced great difficulties, probably stopped completely, as neither here nor in Tobolsk had we received anything else from Yura.

Do not think that I am hallucinating, I have had these types of visions before, but you can easily imagine, how it was for me to experience this particular thing in the current situation, which in general is quite comfortable, but to have no chance not only to go to Yura, but not even to be able to find out anything about him. Then, only yesterday, during the same reading, I suddenly heard some word, which to me sounded like ‘Papulya’, which was uttered in Tanyusha’s [his daughter Tatiana] voice, and I almost broke down in sobs.

Again, this was not a hallucination, because this word was uttered, the voice was similar, and not even for a second did I think that this was my daughter speaking, who was supposed to be in Tobolsk: her last postcard was from 23 May – 5 June, and of course these tears would have been purely egotistical, for myself, that I cannot hear and, most likely will never again hear that dear little voice and feel that affection that is so important to me, with which my little children spoiled me so. Again, the horror and sorrow which gripped me during the vision I described were purely egotistical too, since if my son had truly died, then he is happy, but if he is alive, then it is unknown what kind of trials he is going through or is fated to live through. So you see, my dear, that my spirit is cheerful, despite the torment I live through, which I bear, just described to you, and cheerful to a point where I am prepared to do this for many more years…

I am encouraged by the conviction that ‘one who bears all until the end is saved’, and the awareness that I remain loyal to the principles of the 1889 graduates. Before we graduated, while still students, but already close friends who preached and developed the same principals with which we started life, for the most part we did not view them from a religious point of view, I do not even know if too many of us were religious. But each codex of principals is a religion already, and for some it is most likely a conscious thing, while for others subconscious, - as it basically was for me, as this was the time of, not exactly uniform atheism, but of complete indifferentism, in the full sense of the word, - it came so close to Christianity that our full attitude toward it, or at least of many of us, was a completely natural transition. In general, if ‘faith is dead without work’, then ‘work’ cannot exist without faith, and if faith joins any of our work, then this is just due to special favour from God.

I turned out to be such a lucky one, through the path of heavy trials – the loss of my firstborn, the year-and-a-half-old little son Seryozha. Since that time, my codex has been widened and solidified significantly, and I took care that each task was not only about the ‘Academic’, but about the ‘Divine’. This justifies my last decision as well, when without any hesitation I left my children completely orphaned, in order to do my physician’s duty to the end, like Abraham did not hesitate to sacrifice his only son to God on His demand.

I strongly believe that the same way God saved Isaac, He will save my children too and be a father to them. But since I do not know how He will save them, and can only find out about it in the next world, my egotistic torment which I described to you, due to my human weakness, does not lose its torturous severity. But Job did bear more, and my late Misha always reminded me about him, when he was afraid that I, bereft of my dear little children, would not be able to bear it.

No, apparently I can bear it all, whatever God wills to burden me with. In your letter, for which I ardently thank you once more (the first time I tried to convey this in a few lines on a detachable coupon, hopefully you got it in time for the holiday, and also my physiognomy – for the other?), you were interested in my activities in Tobolsk, with a trust precious to me. And so? Putting hand on heart, I can confess to you that there, I tried in every way to take care of ‘the Divine, as the Lord wills’ and, consequently, ‘not to shame the graduates of year 1889′. And God blessed my efforts, and I will have until the end of my days this bright memory of my swan song.

I worked with my last strength, which suddenly grew over there thanks to the great happiness in the life [we had] together with Tanyusha and Glebushka [his son Gleb], thanks to the nice and cheerful climate and relative mildness of winter and thanks to the touching attitude towards me from the townspeople and villagers. As a matter of fact, in its center, albeit a large one, Tobolsk presents as a city that is very picturesquely located, rich with ancient churches, religious and academic institutions, [but] at the periphery it gradually and unnoticeably transitions into a real village. This circumstance, along with noble simplicity and the feeling of self-respect of Siberians, in my opinion gives the relationships among the residents and not visitors, the specific character of directness, naiveté and benevolence, which we always valued and which creates the atmosphere necessary to our souls.

In addition, various news spreads around the city very fast, the first lucky incidents for which God helped me be of use brought out such trust towards me, that the number of those wanting to get my advice grew with each day, up to my sudden and unexpected departure. Turning to me were mostly those with chronic illnesses, those who were already treated again and again, [and] sometimes, of course, those who were completely hopeless. This gave me the opportunity to make appointments for them, and my time was filled for a week or two ahead in each hour, as I was not able to visit more than six - seven, in extreme cases eight patients per day: since all these cases needed thorough review and much and much pondering.

Who was I called to besides those ill within my specialty?! To the insane, to those asking to be treated for drunkenness; [they] brought me to a prison to see a kleptomaniac, and with sincere joy I remember that the poor wretch of a lad, who was bailed out by his parents on my advice (they are peasants), behaved decently the rest of my stay… I never denied anyone, as long as the supplicants accepted that certain illnesses were completely beyond the limits of my knowledge. I only refused to go to those recently fallen ill if, of course, they needed emergency help, since, on the one hand I did not want to get in the way of regular physicians of Tobolsk, which is very lucky to have them in the capacity and most importantly, quality of relations.

They are all very knowledgeable and experienced people, excellent comrades and so responsive that the Tobolsk public is used to sending a horse or cabby to the doctor and receive him immediately. More valuable is their patience towards me, who did not have the ability to fulfill these types of requests, but on the contrary, was forced to make them wait a long time. It’s true that soon it became commonly known that I never refuse anyone and keep my word sacredly, a patient could wait for me with peace of mind.

But if their illness did not allow them to wait, then the patients went to local physicians, which always made me happy, or to Doctor Derevenko, who also possessed their vast trust, or they headed to the hospital, and this way it would happen that when I arrived at a time of prescheduled appointment, I did not find the patient there, but that was always convenient, since most of the time my schedule was so extensive that I wasn’t able to accomplish everything, at times debts formed, which I paid off when I did not find someone there.

To see [patients] at the house where I was staying was inconvenient, and anyway there was no room, nevertheless from 3 until 4 ½ - 5, I was always home for our soldiers, whom I saw in my room, the walk-through room, but since only our own [people] passed though there, it did not discomfort them. During the same hours, my town patients came to see me too, either for a refill of a prescription or to make an appointment. I was forced to make exceptions for peasants who came to see me from villages tens or even hundreds of versts away (in Siberia they don’t pay attention to distance), and who were in a hurry to get back. I had to see them in a small room before the bathroom, which was a bit out of the way, where a large chest served as an examining table.

Their trust was especially touching to me, and their confidence, which never betrayed them, that I will treat them with the same attention and affection as any other patient, not only as an equal but as a patient who has every right to my care and services, gave me joy. Those who were able to spend the night, I would visit at the inn early the next morning. They always tried to pay, but since I followed our old codex, of course I never accepted anything from them, so, while I was busy in an izba with a patient, they hurried to pay my cabby. This surprising courtesy, to which we are not used to at all in large cities, was occasionally highly pertinent, as at times I was not in a position to visit patients due to lack of funds and fast-growing cab costs.

Therefore, for our mutual benefit, I widely took advantage of another local tradition and asked those who had a horse, to send it for me. This way, the streets of Tobolsk saw me riding in wide bishop’s sleighs, as well as behind beautiful merchant trotters, but most often drowning in hay in most ordinary burlap. My friends were equally varied, which perhaps was not to everyone’s liking, but it was no concern of mine. To Tobolsk’s credit I must add that there was no direct evidence of this at all, and only one indirect, which in addition was not unquestionable.

One evening the husband of one of my female patients came to see me with a request to visit her right away, because she had strong pains (in the stomach). Luckily, I was able to fulfill his wish, albeit at a cost to another patient, for whom I did not schedule a visit, but rode with him to his house in a cab in which he came to get me. On the way he starts to grumble at the cabby, that he is not going the right way, to which the latter reasonably respon [letter ends abruptly].”

[aleapoffaithfiction]

XIV.

It's like I've been awakened Every rule I had you break it It's the risk that I'm taking I ain't never gonna shut you out

You ever felt like you’ve been hit by a car, survived it, and as soon as you go to stand on your feet, you end up getting hit by an eighteen-wheeler truck?

No?

Well, that’s how I’ve been feeling since I woke up this morning. I’ve suddenly morphed into a milk chocolate toned dragon who breathes fire from the depths of my chest and straight out of my throat. Every word spoken comes with an excruciating aching that Tylenol refuses to ease. The tea and honey are barely doing anything to subdue the rough cough that began just yesterday. Oh, and the body aches? I might as well just lay down in the middle of the floor and pray the Lord has mercy on me at some point.

“I don’t know how the hell you made it through the entire show like that. You really are crazy sometimes.” Anna pulled my box braids into a high ponytail as I slouched my frame even further down into the styling chair. I’m conning myself into believing that the slump position will give me a few seconds of relief from the aches I’m having.

The chills trickling everywhere have left me shivering under a throw blanket I took from home. If anyone on set didn’t know any better, you’d think I’ve been standing outside in the blistering soon to be winter air. Thank God I sat through the lengthy amount of time to allow her to put the braids in on Saturday night. With the way I’m covered in perspiration, any straightened or curled hairstyle would have left me looking like an extra left out of a Soul Glow commercial.

“It irritates me to have to call out at the last minute. That typically leaves production scrambling to try and fill in gaps. If I were in their shoes, I know it would be a headache for me, so I don’t like to do it to them. On Saturday, I e-mailed both Amy and Chip to let them know that I feel pretty shitty and to clear my schedule for the next two days pending further notice. I’m hoping it passes by then.”

The last time I had a cold, it was right at the very end of winter and it felt like nothing more than a bad headache and the sniffles. A couple of home remedies and a few over the counter products had me feeling much better within two or three days, but what I’m feeling now? I don’t know what the hell is going on. Rite Aid literally showed up to the medical office at the studio and offered the flu shot to everyone, through our insurances, as a curtesy, so it better not be that. I can’t stand getting injections, so it would be one hell of a disservice if I allowed them to inject that medication into me only for it to not work out in my favor.

“Are you going to go to the doctor?”

“Probably tomorrow. It’s too late to do any of that today. Once I drop Taylor off at the airport, I’ll head straight there.” Though I’m so accustomed to living on my own, I can admit to being sadden about Taylor heading out to Los Angeles tomorrow. It’s not that I’ve gotten used to her being around; it’s more so that I’ve enjoyed the company that she’s been to me for the past week. We always have incredible conversations over the phone about the most trivial of topics, but it’s been far more fulfilling and hilarious to be able to say all of those things to one another face to face. We’ve indulged in our love for classic cult black films, shared recipes between one another in my kitchen, and have taken New York City by a storm.

Even with Jesse being in town, it didn’t feel like the presence of her man overshadowed anything that we did together. Ice skating was better than I thought it would be because I was and still am quite rusty in that area. We did see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular and humorously took photographs sitting on Santa’s lap complimentary of the showrunners. Although I’ve seen it more times than I can count, we saw The Lion King on Broadway and then had far too many pitchers of Matusalem rum infused mojitos over at Havana Central on West 46th Street.

I nearly came face to face with the filthy pavement as I moved at the best speed I could offer to avoid the invasive TMZ camera crew awaiting our exit. In Hollywood, I suppose it’s controversial for a woman to be involved with a soon to be divorced television actor while he’s in a discomforting public battle with his soon to be ex-wife over alimony and joint custody of their children. Anywhere she goes, that narrative follows Taylor like a sinister stalker in the night and though her feelings run deep for the blue-eyed Chicago native, I know that she’s quietly growing tired of being the scapegoat for what is beyond her.

“You better go too. I know you. Sipping tea and taking spoons of Robitussin isn’t going to get the job done this time it seems.”

“I’m going. I’m going with a shit ton of questions about why the flu shot is a hoax. I’m not one of those conspiracy theory people, but I don’t know. I might have to start.”

“Take your illuminati ass home and get in the bed.”

“I’m not rich enough to be in the illuminati. They’ll probably be calling me when I make my first hundred million. I’m not there just yet, but I’m working on it.” I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. Even a chuckle would have pulled more energy than I can exert at the moment. I’m currently questioning if I’ll even be capable of moving at a snail’s pace to make it out of the building with the next couple of minutes. I could have been gone already and yet I’m lingering around in this chair with hopes that my imagination will take me home. Where’s Glenda the Good Witch to instruct me to click the heels of my Jimmy Choo pumps so that I’ll be able to suddenly wake up in my bed in Edgewater?

“Get you a man that’s there already.” I knew she was going to say that. I just knew it. Anna will never not find it fascinating how I encounter countless men who earn hundreds of millions of dollars by running a ball around a field, court, or course.

In her words, I, more than the majority of the women in the world, have the perfect opportunity to live life lavishly and worry free by the way of someone else’s finances if I’d only open myself up to the opportunity of dating just one out of the many who flirtatiously attempt to garner some interest out of me. While my financial obligations are the last thing that I’m interested in a man handling for me, if only Anna knew what is going on in my life now.

“Yeah? So that he can think he’s entitled to stress me and all of his other women out because he’s providing materialistic shit? Girl, I refuse to allow a man to turn my head grey and cause bags to be up under my eyes sooner than it should be happening. No thanks. I’d rather be smiling in a Benz that I purchased than to be crying in one that he did.”

I’m naturally a giver. I give credit to my dad for instilling that quality into me. I’ve always struggling with taking or rather being gifted things. The majority of the time, all I wanted for birthdays and Christmas’ were new accessories needed for whatever sport I was playing at the time.

I never pestered either one of my parents to lace me in the latest Jordans, although my dad made sure to surprise me with them at least once a month. If he was due to leave town, he would leave enough money for my mother to handle it. Honor roll report cards always came with great gifts and while Celeste would often ask for the most expressive girly trinket she could think of, I never wanted anything. I was fine with a stack of pancakes from iHop and a day at the park.

What I did ask for was experiences. It never needed to be anything financially burdening or something that specifically catered to my taste alone. I was fine with exploring new exhibits at the Met or taking a random road trip to Philadelphia just for the hell of it. I loved walking around neighborhoods that I didn’t reside in to people watch and observe the different ways in which they express themselves and the culture that we all share.

I’ll never forget when we road on an Amtrak train to Washington, DC and stayed in the district for the weekend. I still consider that to be one of the best times of my life despite my sister’s ridiculous and pompous complaints about her boredom. Though she’s yet to admit it out loud, I know that she now undoubtedly regrets all that she said during that weekend because it was the last family trip, we ever had with him.

“All of his other women? Damn. Why did you have to put it like that?”

“Because men are vile creatures. If women are walking around talking about how much average men aren’t worth shit due to their antics, then use your imagination to think about what men with money and power are doing. I’m not saying all of them are dreadful, but I’ve heard far too much while working within this industry to write it all off as coincidences.” The last portion of my sentence barely made it out as my chest heaved up a rough cough. The furnace that only calmed for a mere couple of seconds ignited with a wild fire and sent a rush of warmth flushing through my chest while the rest of my weakening limps shivered.

“Okay, you need to go, because I’m not trying to get sick. You may not have any dick in your life at the moment, but I do, and I’m trying to get back to it with my health intact.”

“Whatever.”

Like a boxer in a ring attempting to peel himself off of the floor after a knockout, I pulled myself up and out of the comfort of the chair. With every step, my muscles stiffened and the aches throbbing from the sides of my body intensified unexpectedly. My Alexander Wang bag felt like a dozen bricks rested at it’s very bottom once I positioned it over my shoulder and it only slowed down my stride as I made my way to the awaiting SUV.

I could only silently thank God for Fred as he secured me inside the vehicle and warned me that he better not see me in the morning. Thankfully, I followed my gut and decided not to drive. If I were sitting in this parking lot in my own car at this very moment, I probably would have taken off this midnight black Moncler coat and used it as a blanket while I lay in the backseat awaiting a rescue that I never called for.

“Can you please turn up the heat just a bit more?” I’m sure I’m suffocating him but I can’t help that it feels like the temperature precipitously plummeted to ten degrees below zero. The sound of my teeth chattering against one another has surpassed the faint tunes coming from the radio.

“Sure, Ms. Nazaire.”

As the heat increased and swarmed me in the manner that I needed it to, I glanced down at my phone vibrating in my lap. The lone heart emoji was a clear signifier of who was attempting to contact me. He’s the only person in my phone not identified by his name and at this point, it is the most idiotic tactic to keep because I have more than enough photographs of him and the both of us together to implicate me in whatever may happen if we’re caught.

As soon as I slid my thumb across the bottom of the screen to answer, the splendor that is his face filled the frame of my screen. And just like that, I’d been reduced to speechlessness.

“I thought I told you not go to work this morning.” I certainly read the text message as soon as I opened my eyes this morning, but it did absolutely nothing to deter me from doing what I had to do. It was great advice but it had to be brushed off until I handled a number of things at the production studio this morning. Besides, it wasn’t as rough of a day as I thought it would be, effort wise. Aside from speaking throughout segments, we had no guests or anything major to cover.

“I’m staying home tomorrow. Also, look at how early I’m leaving today. It’s still the afternoon. I’m not doing the Podcast.”

The slight shaking of his head was brief and though he quickly stopped, I noticed it. I’m not sure if it’s in reference to this morning’s chosen defiance or the current state of frustration we’re both in for two totally different reasons. Despite my explanation about my occasional absentmindedness being a part of the reason why I needed to hurry home and write out a check for the nine-a.m. maintenance job my mother called to have done on her stove, I omitted the part that truly mattered most to the both of us.

I fear him.

My mind is with him whenever I’m not within his presence. My body yearns for the warmth that soothingly radiates from him whenever we’re within an inch of one another. I can eerily sense and feel him; emotionally and now physically. He evokes a sentiment within me that is at call unceasingly and has intertwined our lives in a manner that I never faced before or expected to come into my life at this point.

My body is now at his mercy. Just the tips of his fingers faintly grazing off the smooth surface of my skin awakens every aspect of me; sending my frame into an uncontrollable frenzy that only he knows how to tame. I don’t know what he did to me that night in New Orleans. I expected to be fucked; most men prefer to turn a woman over on her stomach to consciously strip away any intimacy that may be felt and emotionally clung to during and after those moments when their bodies are adjoined. Despite his unpredictable nature, I did cling to that repeated experience as something that I’d always endure. I should have known that what we shared would be everything but that.

He savored me; deliberately drawing out every single second of it in an effort to achieve a never-ending wordless oath that we’ll never be able to share with anyone else. His eyes bore into mine and spoke to me whenever his lips weren’t whispering into my ear in the midst of the groans spilling from them. My body clung to his, gratifying his silent plea to take possession of me in every way possible.

Our heartbeats created an identical medley as they thrashed against our chests in unison with the increase heat within our cores. I was no longer in control of myself. His flesh played as the remote; pushing buttons to leave me weeping and leaking. I believe I only slept for minutes. Though the clock read that it had been four hours later, it only felt like minutes because the feeling of him hadn’t subsided. If anything, he served as the gasoline to the flames as his tongue awakened me for what turned into another two rounds of him.

I am wordlessly at war with my evolving devotion to him; to us. What if I’m not enough? With the life that he lives, something better always comes along. What am I supposed to do when we’ve arrived to that point?

“You’re so hardheaded. You going out into the cold and being at work all day has most likely made your cold worse. You should have stayed in the bed today. Did you just leave?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“How do you feel?” He tugged on the neck of his hooded Givenchy sweater to loosen it’s pulled tightness around his neck and almond shaped eyes narrowed, intensifying his glare. He’d pull my card if I lied.

“Like shit, honesty. Everything hurts. It even hurts to breathe. I thought I’d be able to tough it out until I can see a doctor tomorrow, but I don’t know. I might have Taylor drive me over to Hackensack University Medical Center when I get home.” And just like that, he sat up from his lazy and laxed position on the couch. As his large palm brushed over the golden curls falling all over his forehead, he stood to his feet. He paces when he’s nervous but it was never my intention to provoke him to do so.

“You feel that bad? You want me to go with you?”

“Odell.” As great as that sounds, I shouldn’t have to explain why that can’t be. He already knows the answer to that.

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“Yes, so that I can speed up the process of getting some medication. I’ll be able to get prescriptions tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow. That’s all. It’s going to be an in and out thing. Also, you have an event tonight. Did you forget?” He’s heading into Manhattan to promote the launch of his Air Force I collaboration by speaking with fans and a couple of groups of kids who won a contest to be able to meet him and have their shoes autographed. I know he doesn’t want to miss that because being a great role model for the youth is one of the primary reasons why he does what he does. He loves kids, so disappointing them for no legit reason doesn’t make much sense.

“I didn’t forget. If I don’t go, the least I can do is come and stay at your house so that I can make sure you’re taken care of until you’re better.”

“And spread my germs to you?”

“What is it with you and your love for being difficult? You hate to cooperate.” I’ve heard that before. Actually, I’ve heard it far too many times. It’s been said that I have an answer for everything before even hearing the complete scenario or question being asked of me. I can be somewhat of an overthinker. Well, not somewhat.

I am an overthinker, but I’m not admitting that out loud because it’ll give people the ammunition to call me out on it whenever they feel like it and I’m not with the shits. It is never my intention to do it to be difficult or uncooperative as he just called it. I tend to try and side with logic first before I jump into anything. Unnecessarily spreading my germs isn’t logical. Besides, I tend to go and lay up at my mom’s place whenever I’m not feeling my greatest. She doesn’t always welcome me with open arms, but ultimately, who else do I have to lean on despite her resistance about that?

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. It’s annoying as hell too.” He rolled his eyes to put even more emphasis on what he had to say.

“If you come, don’t complain when you start sniffling and feeling like every part of your body is aching.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take the risk.”

“What time does your event start?” I nearly dropped the phone down onto the carpeted flooring as another rough cough poured out of me. I’m convinced my lungs are going to suddenly fly out of my mouth and land in my lap.

“You sound really bad.”

“I know. What time does the event start?”

“Seven.”

“Oh, you have time. I can’t believe I caught this stupid cold. I was supposed to start my Christmas shopping this weekend. Speaking of, what do you want?” I’ve been trying to think of gifts for him. There’s one in particular that I already have hiding in my closet. I consider that one to be the big gift.

Patek Philippe is a family-owned Genevan luxury watch manufacturer. Their watches are considered to be among the best in the world: full stop. Of all of the other impeccable Swiss watch manufactures with distinguished statuses and sophisticated watches, Patek Philippe has driven itself to the forefront of them all. While it would have been much easier to purchase him a Rolex, he deserves something that is as inimitable as he is. The “Ribbon Joaillerie” watch and its distinctive diamond embellishments that orbit its surface in a glimmering never-ending loop stole my heart as soon as I laid my eyes on it. The spiraling circles of diamonds beautifying the dial was what immediately made me hand over my Citigroup Chairman Card to secure it. It’s the first time I’ve ever spent six figures on a man.

“Supreme stuff. It doesn’t have to be any specific item. Oh, and maybe some art or something.”

“Art or something? Like a painting or a sculpture?”

“Anything. Actually, I want it to be a picture of you. A painting or something of that sort.”

“A painting of me? Are you kidding me?” That’s arguably the most narcissistic gift I could ever give anyone. I can only imagine how much internal cringing I’d be doing while boldly requesting for a painting of myself to gift to be my man. Actually, a canvas painting of Heather, Jazzy, and himself together would be breathtaking. I love that idea so much more.

“No. I’d love that.”

“And where exactly are you going to hang it up? You currently have a camera crew in your house once a week.” He is presently in the midst of filming a docu-series with Lebron James and Maverick Carter’s sports-media company Uninterrupted. Though the majority of it will focus on his comeback throughout the next season, they are filming coverage of his recovery from the ankle injury and his life off of the gridiron.

“In my bedroom. They don’t go in there.”

“We’ll see.”

“Ain’t no we’ll see. That’s what I want. Oh, and you in one of those sexy ass Mrs. Claus outfits.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.” I’m not sure if the driver is focusing on our conversation, but if he is, I’m certainly embarrassed now. His laughter might have made it even worse.

“I’ll call and check on you in a bit.”

“Okay.”

I attempted to take a nap but the physical discomfort served as a disruption to my mental state and kept me awake the remainder of the ride to my home. Traffic wasn’t as disorderly as it usually is during this time of the day, which allowed me to arrive just fifteen minutes over the nearly two-hour timeframe that it’s supposed to take me to get into Edgewater.

“You’re finally home!”

The way Taylor’s voice vibrated off of the walls almost made it seem like my house is completely empty. It was so piercing.

“Yeah.”

I’m not sure what she decided to cook but it smelled appetizing from the moment I stepped into the door. Maybe it’s Italian.

“I watched a bit of the show before making a Whole Foods run. Oh, and I found this bottle of wine upstairs in your room. I hope you don’t mind, because I couldn’t resist.” It was one of the remaining bottles of wine Odell bought me during our weekend getaway. I decided to pack it and take it home.

“You’re drunk?” That’s the last thing that I need her to be.

“I wouldn’t say drunk. I’m feeling pretty good though. Incredible, actually.”

She’s drunk.

“I want you to come with me to the ER, so that I can get checked out for this cold and get prescriptions for it. I wanted you to drive but since you had drinks, I’ll do it.”

“You feel that bad? Oh my God.”

“I’d just rather go now instead of waiting to go to the doctors tomorrow.”

“Let’s go. I just have to grab my coat. I told you to stay home this morning.” If I had the energy, I would have gone upstairs to change into whatever sweatsuit within close reach but I’m not walking up there. I’ve barely stepped away from the door.

“Taylor.” Part of her hazelnut toned wool trench coat hung off of her body as she rushed in my direction. As I nodded my head in the direction of the wine glass in her hand, she took a glance at it.

“Oh.” Before she put it down, the remaining contents inside of it went down her throat. If we both weren’t notorious for finishing entire bottles of wine on our own, I would have thought that something stressful or a man were driving her to drink so heavily today.

You good?

I read the message as I stood at the very top of my porch.

Yeah. Headed there now. Taylor’s drunk, so I’m going to drive.

Of all the days for her to get drunk, it just had to be this one.

Drunk? The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. I’m just going to meet you there.

As I slid into the passenger seat, apprehension immediately caused my eyes to bulge out of my face. His stubbornness will probably be the one thing that’ll always make me want to reprimand him.

You better not.

I-80 West was the fasted route. It took me to Exit 64B within seven minutes. As we walked through the parking lot, I slipped Taylor one of the cough drops I had in my pocket so they wouldn’t frown upon the whiff of the alcohol oozing from her breath any time she opened her mouth up to speak and I sprayed her coat with the mini bottle of perfume I keep in my purse to further mask it.

It’s very seldom that I use my status as a trump card for perks. Often times, it just happens and I go along with the flow. In this case, I used it. One autograph for the registration clerk served as a fast pass through the paperwork to process me through the emergency room and straight into triage. The hundred and two fever and slightly raised blood pressure rose the severity of my flu like symptoms to somewhat of an urgent case though I’d beg to differ. Luckily for me, the examination room was built to only fit two patients and thus far, I’m the only one in it.

“Did you see that bald guy nurse?”

“What bald nurse?”

“The one who walked past us out in the hallway. I’m not even into bald guys but he’s hot.” Like a child in a store, her curiosity kept her out of the seat next to the bed, and urged her to walk around examining everything in sight. Though she didn’t touch much, she looked on and read off whatever she thought I’d be just as interested in knowing about. Now I think she’s starting to see shit, because there was no bald nurse in that hall way. If she’s talking about who I assume she’s saw, that was a woman.

“Right in here?”

That voice couldn’t be mistaken no matter how much I desired to be hallucinating in a reaction to whatever drug they intend to give me for the pain I’m feeling. It’s that soft depth filled tone that plays like the sweetest medley in my dreams when I’m resting and fills my thoughts at random moments throughout the day when I am diligently executing every task on my schedule. It evokes chills and a throbbing within my center that nears me to the point of erupting.

I could choke him right now.

Behind a visibly annoyed Ben, he appeared in the doorway barely discreet in his black and vivid yellow attire. The Supreme beanie on his head barely covered his signature platinum blonde curls and casual dreads as they loosely hung out of the very front of it. His light caramel skin was without a single blemish as it always is.

God, he’s beautiful.

“Hey, big sister Sarai. I heard my favorite sister was in the hospital and I rushed here right away. I was hanging out with my boy, so I figured I’d bring him with me.” Both of my eyebrows rose as my head dropped back. Ben slowly panned his eyes to Odell and instantly rolled them in response to the nonchalant shrugging of his broad shoulders. What the hell is he talking about?

“Ben told them he was your brother so we could get in. I mean, it was either that or I was gon’ say that I’m your husband.”

“I’m going to fuck you up. You do know that, right?” If I had the energy, I would do it right now. His rebelliousness is absolutely pointless within this moment. It’s a trait that I’ve always admired about him from afar and now that admiration is coming back like a thief in the night to haunt me.

“I’m so confused. Maybe I’m a little drunker than I thought. What are you two doing here?” Taylor wagged her finger like a scolding mother as she twisted her head back and forth to take in the additional presence within the room. I had no set date or specific timeframe for when I intended to explain what’s been going on to her, but I planned to do it at some point. We share just about everything but I’m still trying to navigate all of this and figure it out on my own, which is why I’m purposefully avoiding any additional opinions.

“I’m going to sit in the car. Ya’ll two motherfuckers are annoying with this sneaking shit.” The hint of playfulness in his tone did not match the expression on his face. While my lover found it to be all so hilarious, a confused Taylor glared at me with a questioning expression that I did not want to have to answer to. I never thought I’d ever say it, but I was sad to see Ben walk out. If anything, I needed him to remain in place to be the comedic relief or better yet the distraction from the verbal questionnaire that is sure to come from my friend.

“The doctor came in here yet? What did he say?” As his large palm meshed into my forehead to serve as his own personal thermometer, I smacked it out of my way.

“Why don’t you listen?”

“I told you that I was coming. Don’t act surprised.”

“And I told you not to come.”

“And I didn’t listen. What’s next?” My frustration rose with every word that slipped past his supple lips.

“Since when are ya’ll such close friends? Like three months ago, you were ready to argue with me about why you two couldn’t be cool and now you’re the best of friends? What?” She finally flopped down in the chair that was in place for her to relax in and she looked on between the two of us as if we were two guilty souls. I may be the only guilty one.

“Sarai Nazaire?” A middle-aged white woman donning blue scrubs and a white lab coat cheerily entered the room with a chart in her hand and a stethoscope loosely hanging around her neck. I faintly raised my hand to single myself out so she wouldn’t confuse me with Taylor.

“I’m Dr. Shepard.”

“Oh snap. Like Grey’s Anatomy?” Why did I bring Taylor?

“Yes, just like that. I get that all the time. I’m not Meredith though. I’m Dr. Jane Shepard.”

“Nice to meet you Dr. Shepard.” I didn’t extend my hand to her because hers aren’t gloved and I’ve been using mine to cover my mouth during the coughing spells.

“So, it says here that you’ve been having flu like symptoms. I see the hundred and two fever. You’re visibly sweating. Tell me anything else you’re been feeling and for how long.”

“I start feeling sick a few days ago and it just got progressively worse. I feel chills, aching muscles, fatigue, a horrible headache, my nose is stuff up.”

“Don’t forget the sore throat, baby.” I was getting to it before he interrupted.

“Baby?” Oh my God. I should have let her finish off the rest of that bottle without any interruptions.

“Have you been taking anything?”

“Tylenol and cold medication. Robitussin DM.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“I’m going to take a listen to your lungs. You mind unbuttoning your blouse for me?”

“No.” Odell reached his hands in for the small buttons on the Zara dress shirt covering the upper portion of me and I rapidly smacked his hands down.

She only needed me to unravel the first few buttons so she’d be able to easily reach her hand down into my top to access my chest and back.

“You’re definitely congested. Are you allergic to any medications?”

“No.”

“Based upon the date of your last period, I have to ask, do you think that you could be pregnant right now?”

“Oh, dear God no. Absolutely not.” Taylor’s abrupt answer and laughter was nearly condescending. We’ve had far too many conversations about kids being something we’ll worry about later on down the line because we have so many aspirations that we’re working towards accomplishing now.

If a sewing needle suddenly dropped onto the floor, it would have sounded off like a vibrant bass within a stadium due to the stillness within the room. All eyes panned down on me while I had every urge to unexpectedly combust into a gust of nothingness so that I wouldn’t have to expose the anxiety I’ve been dealing with since we boarded the private jet to leave New Orleans.

My periods have always been slightly irregular and may sometimes skip a month, but God only knows how much I did not need one of those skips to happen this month. I haven’t been on birth control in three years. I decided to stop taking the pill because I had no use for it anymore and wanted to regulate my hormones and cycles. It’s been smooth sailing ever since because I haven’t had any men in my bed and I haven’t been in any of theirs until now. I’ve always been careful. Always. Even with the few years I spent in a relationship, I’ve never had unprotected sex until I shared my body with the man sitting at the foot of this bed.

“I….”

What was once one set of questioning eyes, turned into three, but all I could focus on was his. I awaited the grimace, but it never showed itself within his facial expression. Much like everyone else, he was awaiting the answer that would involve his fate just as much as it would mine.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m just not one hundred percent sure.”

And there it is. My reality. I truly don’t know. I’ve driven past a few Walgreens, Rite Aid, and CVS stores since it all happened and my lack of courage kept me from going inside to purchase what would give me a verdict to either ease or intensify the stress. Back in Louisiana, what should have been a trip to a pharmacy for a Morning After pill when the sun began peaking beyond the curtains and cascading down on us turned into yet another escapade of him filling me again.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?”

“Taylor!”

“That’s not a problem. We’ll collect a urine sample to measure your HCG level. It’ll be quick. A nurse should be in the room within the next two minutes or so with a cup. It’s just protocol so that we’re on the safe side when administering medication to you. She’s also going to do a rapid influenza test so that we can verify those flu symptoms you’re having. Your symptoms align with it, but we still have to run the test. She’s going to swab the back of your nose.” 

“Okay.”

“In the meantime, just relax. Once we get the results back, we’ll proceed from there. Sounds good?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

The nurse couldn’t come with the plastic cup fast enough. I nearly fell onto the floor as I leapt out of the bed once she did. Locking myself in the bathroom is what eased the spell of anxiety being triggered by all eyes focusing in on me. What should have been a two to three-minute process turned into fifteen as I sat there wallowing in my thoughts. I never wanted my apprehension to be on display in front of him. I didn’t need any of what I’ve been dealing with being a conversation until it was absolutely necessary.

“You okay baby?” His knock was light but I could undoubtedly sense his urgency.

“I’m fine.” It’s far too late to hide now.

“The nurse is back. You want me to give the cup to her?” This man wants me to hand over a sample of my urine to him? Seriously?”

“No. I’m coming out.” 

Once I handled the hygienic aspect of things, I finally stepped out of the bathroom with the cup wrapped into two pieces of paper towel and I timidly handed it over to the nurse. Once I was seated again, she swabbed my nose just as the doctor informed me, she would.

“Thank you. I’ll be quick.”

I wished she would have offered to take me with her. I wouldn’t have minded walking to whatever laboratory that she’s going to drop that off to.

“How long has this been going on?”

Her lean leg crossed over the other and Taylor sat back with a knowing smirk on her face. Her haughtiness in figuring out the obvious would have been hilarious at some other time.

“Months.” His answer came with a shrug. His tone was so blasé that it nearly made it seem like the entire world knows about this and she’s the only one who’s late to the party.

“Months? You hid this for months?”

“T, can we have the room for just a minute or two?”

“So, you can talk about your baby?” The lingering headache seemed to strengthen at what she thought was some sardonic joke. Her irritation about being left in the dark is justified but now is not the time to admonish everything that I am. I’d rather she stand before me and release her frustrations in a private setting and away from him.

“Taylor, please?”

“I’ll go. I’m going to the waiting room. While there, should I think about baby shower themes? Maybe Tinkerbell if it’s a girl and Finding Nemo if it’s a boy? Oh no. I know. A New York Giants theme sounds so much better; a little cliché but better.”

“Taylor.”

“I’m going.”

She tenaciously cut her eyes at Odell sparking laughter from him in response.

“Cute though. Really cute.”

Those were her last words as she disappeared down the hall, finally leaving us in the privacy that I needed. The lack of commotion in the hallway kept my attention focused on his striking face. I thought I would have seen a rush of nurses running a gurney down the long hall and into emergency surgery. If not that, then maybe a crying baby and a fretted mother who can’t seem to figure out why her child has been crying all night long. I need a distraction

“I don’t want you to be upset with me. I should have been more careful. I…”

“Sarai. Upset with you about what? The unknown? I’m not upset with you. I’m not upset at all. I’m here. I’m right here with you. It’s not just you.”

“I know but…”

“What’s the but for? Whatever happens, happens. We’ll be fine.” Will we be? I don’t believe I’m with child but hypothetically speaking, what happens if I am? How do I explain a sudden pregnancy to a man that no one knows about? I am not Mary and this is not the Immaculate Conception. How do we navigate still being in the stages of exploring and learning all there is to know about one another while preparing to be parents to a child that we did not plan?

Both of his hands reached for my thighs. This time, I had no energy to smack them away as they began a pacifying caress. I just want to go to sleep. Is that too much to ask for? In the midst of what should be a temporary illness, the weight of erratic decisions rests on my shoulders and is further deteriorating my mood. He’s in the prime of his life. If people aren’t talking about Tom Brady, they’re talking about him. He’s not ready for any of this. He doesn’t need this.

“Relax.”

“What?”

“You keep tensing up. I can feel it. Relax.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

If it were, I would have already been home sleeping.

“It’s as simple as we want it to be. I don’t mind being your Big Daddy and someone else’s daddy. It’s cool with me. A kid that looks like us? We can both retire now and use the kid for money. Plus, we’re both athletic, so our kid is bound to be a pro athlete. Yeah, our retirement plan is set.” Every muscle within my upper core clenched to an unbearable tightness and yet I laughed anyway. With my mouth being open, I know I’m sharing every bit of this virus with him. However, his words tickled me in a manner that I needed. I haven’t laughed all day long. If anyone is more than capable of making me do so, it’s him.

“My what?”

“Your Big Daddy.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You sound like Stephen A. Smith. Ridiculous. Conspicuous. Prosperous. Expeditiously. He’s forever using some unnecessarily big word to describe his frustrations.” The joke about my fellow ESPN brethren amused me even more. He is absolutely right and it’s what we all love about Stephen A. He’s animated, exaggerated, and his outbursts about the eternally cursed New York Knicks will stand the test of time for sports fans. I constantly have a good laugh when I stop by his dressing room for conversations. He’s been a mentor to me from the moment we’ve met and my admiration for him is boundless.

“Don’t talk about Stephen A. He’s great.”

“He stays on my ass though. He tends to be hot and cold with me. One minute, he’s praising my talent and in the next breath, he’s tired of me.”

“He appreciates you. I promise you that. Steven A. is tough, but he believes you’re the heart of the team. It’s why he can be so critical.”

“I watched the discussion ya’ll had about my pending contract situation. You really think I should be the highest paid receiver?” He’s the most explosive one.

“We can make arguments about Antonio Brown and Julio Jones, but when people think of wide receivers, your name is the first name to come out of most people’s mouths. You have the highest selling jersey of any receiver in the league and you’re the one who fills those seats at the Giants stadium. You have been the heart of the team’s offense for the past three years. Prior to your injury, they averaged twenty-three points in three games when you were on the field for the most snaps. They averaged thirteen point six points when you weren’t out there. You’re worth almost ten points per game with your ability to take a short gain and turn it into a long touchdown. Teams literally run their defenses strictly off stopping you. Get paid. You deserve it.”

All I could see is pearly white porcelain as his eyes further narrowed the more his smile spread across his face. As soon as he leaned in for a kiss, I drew my head back.

“Germs.”

“The way you know your shit is sexy as fuck. You want my last name?”

“Shut up, you…”

Dr. Shepard stepping back into the room ceased my reply. And just like that, my nerves were rattled all over again.

“Well, the pregnancy test is negative. Flu test is positive. I’m not sure which way you wanted those results to go, but that’s the verdict.” I know it was supposed to be witty but it didn’t register as such as I signed in a relief that wasn’t as fulfilling as I thought it would be. No, I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m not in that space just yet. More than anything, what I’m now focused on is the person who would have been alongside me in the journey if the results were the opposite. I would not have been alone. I commend him for that.

“I got a flu shot.”

“When did you get it?”

“A little less than two weeks ago.”

“It takes the body about two weeks after the vaccination to develop immune protection. You probably were exposed to influenza viruses sometime since then. Also, there are different strains of the flu. The vaccination only protects you against certain ones. You may have been exposed to one that is very different from whatever ones the vaccination is designed to protect you against.”

“Well screw whoever was around me and had been sick.” She and my man shared laughter at my words.

I’m serious.

“We’re going to give you Tamiflu. The directions on how to take it will be in your discharge instructions and the pharmacy will give you some too. You can take Tylenol for the fever. Rest. You need a lot of that. No work for a couple of days because you have a ton of germs right now. Hot foods and drinks. Steamy showers will help with congestion and the stuffy nose. Vitamin C is great, so orange juice and they have the cough drop like ones. I emphasize rest. Getting rid of the flu is really a waiting game.”

“You hear that Sarai? Rest. Lots of rest.” If I had no class, my middle finger would have been up and towards him.

“If you feel like your symptoms are persisting, come back.”

“Thank you, Dr. Shepard.”

“The pleasure is all mine. The nurse will be back with the forms and prescriptions.”

As soon as we were left alone again, I immediately slipped back into my coat for much needed warmth.

“I’m about to head out so I can make it into the city on time. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sending Renee over so that she can make you some soup or something. So, be expecting her. You need something from the store?”

“I can make the soup myself.”

“Anything you need from the store?” See? This is what I mean.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Alright, so I’ll see you when I get back. Be in the bed.”

“Uhm.” He knew I’d swerve his lips, so he softly planted his kisses on my warm forehead.

“See you in a bit.”

The nightfall car ride to Walgreens and finally to my home entailed of more conversing than I wanted to have. I was nearly ordered to confirm and deny many of her assumptions, feed into her baseless jokes about a baby that she now knows is non-existent, and defend myself against my supposed lying by omission as we spoke on the phone while I was away. She then proceeded to take credit for our relationship; citing the Bleacher Report party run in as all being a part of her master plan. I beg to differ. I still think it’s a coincidence that he saw me there, but I’ll let her run with that fairytale if it makes her feel better and keeps her off of my case.

“I’m going to lay down.”

“As you should. It’s not like you have to do anything anyway. Your man’s chef is currently making you tea and soup.”

“Taylor.”

“And he arranged for a driver to take me to the airport tomorrow so that you don’t have to get out of bed.”

“Taylor.”

“And he shoots up your club.”

“You know what, goodnight Taylor.”

Lavender; I doused everything in it. I lathered my body up with Dove’s Purely Pampering Relaxing Body Wash while in the shower and spent an extended time inhaling the steam to loosen my nasal passages. Once I was dried off, I moisturized my skin with whipped shea butter fused with lavender essential oil. I lit a match to my Joe Malone London Lavender & Lovage candle, and finally sprayed my pillow cases with Bath & Body Works lavender pillow spray. If I don’t get the best sleep of my life after all of that, I’ll know that I’m suffering from insomnia.

Renee’s coconut ginger carrot chicken soup and the cup of ginger tea certainly made me think of my mother because it’s her key remedy for illnesses. The rich flavoring and natural spice of the ginger eased the congestion discomfort in my chest.

I opted out of the television because it would only deserve as a distraction to the rest, I not only needed but wanted. Unfortunately, what I thought was going to be a long night of slumber ended up being nothing more than on and off naps.

Bergamot, cedar musk, and hints of sage superseded the rest inducing scent that once filled my room. With only a hint of moonlight peaking beyond the white curtain, the man of my affection quietly dropped what appeared to be a duffle bag onto the floor and began to shuffle around the open space within my bedroom to sort himself out.

“I’m not sleeping.” His pace was slower than his usual because he didn’t want to ruin whatever sleep he assumed I was getting.

“You should be.”

“I keep taking naps.”

“You hungry or something?”

“No. Not really. You?”

“I’m good. There’s more than just soup downstairs. I had something before I came up.”

“How was the event?”

“It was nice. The kids were great. They enjoyed themselves.” With every piece of jewelry that he removed; I could hear it clinking against the dresser as he placed them down one by one. “You smell great.”

“Thank you.” I love when he chuckles. It’s so lighthearted and innocent, especially following a compliment. I always want to hug him right after. It’s no different now.

“You look good too.” Yellow against his skin is defining. The whole time he sat with me in that examination room, I couldn’t look away. Even in this darkness, I still cannot do so. My body is riddled with a confusion that I cannot define. I can feel every single flu symptom there is and yet, my nipples are impulsively stiffening against this t-shirt of his that I’m wearing. The prickling in my thighs is increasing with every article of clothing that he removes. I should make him go into the guest room.

“Thank you. Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying.”

His presence kept my eyes open and trailing behind his every move until his almost bare frame slid under the covers and alongside me. I’ve warned him more times than I can count about my germs and yet here he is, basking in them.

“Thank you.”

As he always does when he’s in my bed, he took two of the pillows on his side and tossed them towards my side to lower himself to his liking. I’ve always been someone who loves to lay on way too many of them. It’s probably why I wake up with neck pain every once and a while.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me today.”

“You’re stubborn as hell but it’s what I want to do. It’s my pleasure.”

“Thank you for dealing with my stubbornness too.”

“Of course, baby.”

“And thank you for that yellow coat because I’m keeping it.” That amused him.

“You can have it.”

“Can I have a kiss too?”

“Nah. Germs.”

I used one of the pillows he tossed to whack him in the head. How is he so adorable and maddening all at once?

“Hey, Sarai.”

“Hm?”

His arm extended and slowly snaked around my waist to draw me closer. The skin of his legs melted into mine as they intertwined.

“No Beckham babies today, but later on down the line, for sure, right?”

Beckham babies. Plural. Maybe two boys? Possible two girls? How about the best of both worlds? More than two is out of the question. Twins would ideal. It’s a one shot and done, deal. Actually, no. Two at one time sounds like madness. The genes are strong within his family. I don’t think they stand a chance of genetically inheriting any of my traits. I’ll literally be birthing clones of him in either male or female form. It’s hilarious and yet warming to ponder about.

“Right.”

His lips then met mine.