#i’ve only been watching since november and i’m fucking crying right now

[lovesosweeet]

better left unsaid // cth

chapter forty two

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.

calum hood x fem!oc

read other chapters

november 21, 2018 los angeles, california calum

Hearing from Emelia was not on my bingo card for today. I know she has been in contact with some of the others pretty regularly, mostly KayKay and Crystal, maybe Luke, and I think some with Ashton, too, but she has not reached out to me personally since everything happened, aside from when I texted her a week or so ago. When her name pops up on my screen saying that she’s calling me, my heart drops.

‘Is she dead?’ is the first question that pops into my mind, and with that, I start crying while I swipe across the screen to answer the call. Would Em call me if Orion died? I would think so. I’d hope so. 

“Emelia?” I ask into the speaker. My voice is wavering with nerves. She can’t be dead yet. She looked fine when I saw her last. Frail, and sick, but she didn’t look like she was on her last leg. Please, please don’t tell me she’s dead.

Emelia starts crying into the line, and it only makes me even more nervous. She hiccups and then takes a deep breath before she speaks.

“Cal, she needs you.”

I’m thankful that it’s not a notice of her death, but it’s still not good news.

“She’s too scared to say anything herself. She doesn’t think you’d pick up if she called, but I knew you’d pick up. She’s… not doing great, but the depression is wearing her down faster than the cancer. I’m sorry to ask like this, I just can’t watch her spend another day crying in bed and too sad to eat or do—“

“Em, breathe,” I say to her. She and Orion do the same thing under stress: just keep talking to explain something that they made clear with their first few words. “I’m leaving now.”

I don’t think twice. I need to go to her. If Emelia is saying Orion needs me, then I’m there. I’m dropping everything and I’m going. I don’t care if Orion broke up with me. I know she still loves me and I still love her more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone. If Emelia thinks it’s time for me to go to Orion, I’m going. Emelia asking me to go is practically the same as Orion asking me to. Their hearts are almost the same and they know each other better than they know themselves.

I don’t bother to do anything like pack or take care of Duke. I’ll have Luke or Sierra come take care of him. I just grab my keys, wallet and shoes and walk out the door in a matter of seconds. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but none of that matters, all I know is I need to leave.

“We’re at her moms’. Do you need the address?”

“Em, it’s only been a month and a half since I was there. I don’t need the address.” I laugh quietly, even though I’m a mess of nerves and worry.

“Right, sorry. It just feels like it’s been a million years.” 

I am in the elevator now, riding it down to the lobby. 

“I know. It’s been fucking brutal,” I confess. 

The elevator doors open up to the lobby where Ron is on the phone. I nod to him and he waves. He’s been devastated that Orion is gone, but in her absence, I’ve made an effort to make conversation with him whenever I can, so we wave or chat every time I see him. I get through the lobby and then to the garage. I hop in my car and start it, still on the line with Emelia, who’s just crying. 

“It’s okay, Em. I’m on my way, alright?” It has to be okay.

“Thanks, Cal. She’s not the same without you.”

“I haven’t been whole either.” I don’t know how I lived before Orion. Now that I have had her, my life doesn’t feel right without her. Orion made everything in the world make sense. She showed me the best of humanity, the brightest light, and the purest love. I get to go to her again, and the prospect makes my heart light up again.

I put my Jeep in reverse and then zip out of the parking garage, turning onto the busy street.

Emelia laughs. “Yeah, I’ve seen all the shit on Twitter.” 

Twitter has been a hellscape of mostly well-intentioned fans commenting on my very apparent heartbreak. Everything I do on stage or in public is documented and it feels as if everyone on the planet knows I’m depressed and recently single. Me being spotted in Cologne with Paula was just another catastrophe for the fans.

“Did you expect anything else out of our fans?”

“Not in the slightest,” she says. “Okay, I’ll let you go since you’re driving. I’ll see you soon?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

The drive feels like it takes forever, and I feel all kinds of nerves. I don’t think Orion knows I’m coming, so I hope Emelia wasn’t wrong in calling me. I pray she wasn’t wrong. 

The thought of holding her again has me giddy, but I know that she won’t be feeling well. She’s not doing well at all, and I feel somewhat selfish for being excited. I’m also nervous to see her, knowing what Emelia just said about her. She’s not doing well. I wonder how much smaller she is, how much her hair has grown, and how the treatment plan has been going. 

Circumstances are less than good, but I’m looking forward to seeing her regardless. Seeing my girl again is all I’ve wanted since she made me leave, and it’s happening now. 

I call Luke while I drive once I see signs saying I’ve reached San Diego and can turn off my GPS. I know how to get to the Moss household from here.

“Hey, what’s up?” Luke asks, answering only after a few rings.

“Hey, not sure how long I’ll be gone, but I’m on my way to see Orion right now.”

I have more to say, but I know he will have questions, so I stop talking to give him a chance to ask whatever he wants. He fulfills my prophecy instantly and starts spewing questions.

“Wait, what? How? Why? What happened?” 

“Em called me and said she needs me, so I’m going.” 

“That’s… good and bad, I guess.”

“I know.”

“So you’re going to San Diego?”

“Yeah, and I was hoping you and Si can take care of Duke for me?” I haven’t thought about the prospect of him saying no, so I’m hoping he says yes.

“Of course, whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Luke. I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t. This is the least I can do for you and O. I’ll go get Duke in a bit and keep him here for now. Petunia will be happy to have a friend.” 

Duke and Petunia are very different in size, but they love to play together. 

“Thanks. I’m sure Duke will be excited to play.”

“His food and stuff is still in the same spot?”

“Yeah, nothing’s changed.” Except Orion doesn’t live there anymore.

“Sweet, I’ll let you go. Let me know if you guys need anything else, yeah?”

“Sounds good. Thanks again, Luke, you’re the best.” 

We hang up right as I turn onto the Moss family’s street. I see Emelia’s and Orion’s cars in the driveway and park behind them. Her moms must be at work since their cars are gone. As I pull in behind Em’s car, the front door opens and she waves to me. I park and get out, running up to hug her. 

She looks rough, and she’s not the one sick, so I know Orion is worse off. Emelia’s eyes are brimmed with tears, red and puffy. She welcomes me with open arms and hugs me tightly. 

“Thanks for coming,” she whispers.

Had she thought I wouldn’t? In what world would I not have come when she called? I love Emelia, and of course, I love Orion even more. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for either of them.

“Em, you could’ve called me at 3 in the morning and I’d be here as soon as humanly possible. If I was anywhere else in the world right now, I’d be on the first flight to San Diego, seriously. Thank you for calling me.” 

“I know that’s how it would’ve been before, but I wasn’t sure, with everything…” She whispers into my chest, sniffling quietly.

“Nothing could ever change how I feel about Orion. You know this. I love her with every single cell in my body.” I hope she can hear the sincerity in my voice. I mean it. I don’t think that there is anything that girl could do that would diminish my love.

Emelia steps away from me then and smiles. “I’ve missed you guys being gross together.”

“Can we go be gross now? Does she know I’m coming?”

“No, she’s been asleep for a few hours. She’d had a bit of a breakdown earlier and I called Ash freaking out, because I wanted to call you but wasn’t sure, and he said I should call you, so I did.”

I make a mental note to give Ashton a few points, but he’s still very deep into the negatives. Nonetheless, I’m grateful that he knew me enough to urge Em to call me. If he hadn’t, I would be spending another day alone, mourning my relationship and sitting in the dark about how the girl of my dreams is doing. Instead, I get to see her again.

“What was the breakdown?” I ask.

“Oh, you know, just Orion things. She’d been doing a Twitter deep dive and felt awful for seeing how bad you’re doing, hurt by the shit people are saying negatively about her. She feels like she ruined everyone’s life. She’s feeling lonely, depressed, and—fuck, I guess I should let her update you on her treatment and stuff.” Emelia sighs, her forehead wrinkled with worry. “Here, come inside. Want coffee? Tea?”

She opens the door to the house for me, and then she guides me to the kitchen. She gets out the electric kettle and fills it with water before I even answer her.

“I’ll do tea if you’re making some.”

Emelia nods, switching the kettle on before grabbing mugs. I instantly recognize Orion’s favorite Madrid mug and another she had thrifted a few months ago. She’d taken them from our apartment, and I’m glad to see they’re getting some use here. 

Once the water starts to boil, she turns the kettle off, plops tea bags into the mugs, and then pours the hot water in. She hands me the Madrid mug — I honestly used it far more than Orion did, but it was technically hers so I couldn’t fight her on taking it with her — and I’m happy to get to use it again. As I go to take a sip from my tea, I hear footsteps on the floor above us.

“Em?! Where the hell did you go?” Orion yells.

Hearing her voice for the first time in a month and a half makes my heart skip a beat. 

“Downstairs!” Em yells back, and then she smiles at me knowingly. She’s stopped crying now, but her face is still blotchy and her eyes are still bright red. 

I turn to be able to see Orion as she comes down the stairs in search of her best friend. Her bunny slipper-covered feet appear first, and then baggy black sweatpants, and then an All Blacks hoodie that I had bought her last year. Her brown eyes widen as she sees me standing in the kitchen. Her face morphs through almost every emotion imaginable: shock, joy, anger, shock again, and then she’s crying what I hope are happy tears.

Her short hair is now long enough that she can messily tie it back. Her cheeks are even more hollow than they were in October, the bags under her eyes darker, and the light in her face is just… gone. But, at least she’s smiling right now.

We both hurry to each other, her throwing her arms around my neck and I lift her up so I can squeeze her as close to me as physically possible. She’s so light and fragile feeling, I worry I’ll crush her, but I need to hold her like this, at least for a few moments. 

“Wh—what… what are you doing here?” Orion asks with surprise laced through her tone, her voice gentle. She seems entirely shocked. 

“Em called me. Here I am.”

“But… I… I thought… I’m sorry. Cal, I’m so sorry. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you, but I missed you so much and I felt selfish for it and I just didn’t want you to watch me fade away and I knew how bad it would hurt for you and…” Orion trails off. Her words are all accompanied and disrupted by hiccups and sniffles. “I don’t deserve for you to be here.”

I place her feet back on the floor, placing my hand on the back of her head and pressing it into my chest. I smooth over the top of her hair, holding her while she tries to explain herself.

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters to me. I need to be here and I need to be with her. I don’t care how bad it hurts. I have to be here with her, by her side, for whatever she needs. That’s what I need. The amount of love she has shown me over the past two years has earned her buckets of love. She deserves for me to be here. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. 

“You deserve for me to love you the way you love me. I’m putting you above me, just like you’re doing for me. I am here. I will always be here. You can’t get rid of me. The love I have for you is embedded into my skin, my soul, my blood. You’re mine, until the day I die, okay?” 

Orion not giving me a chance to not go on tour was her way of loving me, and I know that. She did it because she loves me. She wanted to spare me. She suffered back in LA alone because she didn’t want me to give up on going on tour. She did it to be selfless, to put my needs above hers. I’m here now to put aside from the pain she’s caused and be here for her, because she needs me. And, god, I’ve needed her.

“But,” she starts, and I shake my head. She can’t see it, since she’s still pressed into my chest.

“No, no buts. It doesn’t matter, okay? Whatever you wanted to say, it doesn’t matter. I’m here for you and I love you and none of that is ever going to change.” 

Orion goes quiet then, and the only sounds she’s making are of her shakily drawing in air. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, my love. I am sure.” I don’t know if I’ve ever been more sure of anything.

Orion squeezes me tighter, her bony arms digging into my sides, but I don’t care. Being this close to her again is the best feeling, and I don’t even care about the circumstances. All that matters is we’re together. 

I can feel her tears through my shirt while she cries. I’m so happy to be here right now. It almost doesn’t feel real. It feels like an eternity and also only a few seconds that we stand here in each other’s arms, but we both snap out of it at the sound of a camera shutter.

“Shit, sorry, I thought I had the sound off!” Emelia says.

Orion and I both laugh, breaking apart to find Emelia with her phone pointed at us. She has a close-lipped smile and teary eyes, her free hand pressed against her cheek.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re back,” Em adds.

I look down at Orion, who’s staring right at me, softly smiling. “There’s nowhere else in the entire world I’d rather be.”

The three of us laze around for the afternoon, laying on the couch and watching some random movie that Emelia insists we watch. I don’t even care; all that matters is Orion and I are intertwined with her head on my chest and our arms wrapped around each other. I don’t watch the movie. I simply stare at Orion and take in every strand of hair, freckle, eyelash, pore… I just look at her, in awe that she’s back in my arms.

Around 6:00, Penny, Gloria, and Eri come home. Gloria went shopping for Thanksgiving tomorrow and Penny had to pick up Eri from his after school play date when she got off work. They were all shocked to find me in their home, but welcomed me back with open arms. We eat dinner together — just a simple spaghetti and meatballs dinner that Orion barely eats a few bites of — and then they take Eri on an evening walk around the neighborhood, giving Orion and me our first moment alone in forever. 

“Thank you for coming,” her soft voice says. We’re back on the couch, music quietly playing in the background.

“Thank you for letting me come back.”

Orion looks up at me, tears filling her eyes again. “I was stupid to make you leave at all.”

I lean down, pressing my lips against hers. “It’s okay. We’re together now.” 

She nods, trying to smile while she has tears rolling down her face. “What all did Em tell you?”

“Not much, just that you’re not doing well.”

A flash of pain — not physical pain, emotional pain — lights in her eyes. “Chemo didn’t work.”

My stomach drops. I knew it was a possibility. It had to have been, given how Em spoke about how Orion has been doing. I knew it was possible, but I didn’t actually consider it.

“What’s next, then?” I ask.

She mashes her lips together and pulls them to the side, breaking eye contact for a second before she looks back up at me. “They said I could do trials for other treatments, or I can just ride it out and take medicines to keep me comfortable until things take a turn for the worst.” 

I selfishly would’ve asked her to do the trials, but I can’t imagine how grueling and uncomfortable they would have been, and if they’re trials there’s no way to really know whether they’ll do any good. I also couldn’t ask her to do anything. It’s her body and her life on the line. She deserves the ultimate say. 

“What did you choose?”

“I’m just riding it out.” 

I nod, trying to mask my slight disappointment. A chance at having her for the longest amount of time possible would’ve been nice, but I have to respect her choice for herself and her body. “Then I’ll be with you every single day, and I’ll do my best to keep you feeling okay. Okay?” 

Orion stares at me. I watch her mentally battle her need to not let anyone help her or prioritize her and I can tell it takes a lot of strength to accept me and my help. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She looks at me with so much love and sadness at the same time that I feel my heart constrict. “I love you, and I’m so happy you’re here.” 

—

@EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: no i don’t have permission to post this but idc. my heart is so happy and so full to have these two together again ❤️ love both of them and their love. @calum5sos & @ my bff who only has a burner twitter Image attached

@MacyLacy123: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: oh my god my heart can’t take this!! THANK GOD! and thank you for sharing!!!! love everyone involved sm. true love exists! @Ashton5SOS: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: best friend of the year award! @Calum5SOS: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: thanks for sharing her with me, Em. love you ❤️ @CrystalLeigh: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: okay WHAT i’m crying tears of joy. :’) CALL ME ASAP @5SOSGirlie: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: idk what’s going on but if cal’s happy i’m happy! @5SOSUpdatesUK: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: wait i thought they broke up? why is this pic so cute tho!!?? @Luke5SOS: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: IM CRYING AGAIN I LOVE THEM @Michael5SOS: Replying to @Luke5SOS: bro you gotta stop crying over orion and cal @Luke5SOS: Replying to @Michael5SOS: don’t tell me what to do i’m still gonna cry! @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: Replying to @Luke5SOS: it’s okay luke i’m still crying too but i saw it in person @Luke5SOS: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: yeah well I get to watch Duke so suck it @MaliKoa: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: don’t know how we got here, but I’m so glad we are! they’re the sweetest ❤️ @PaulaPeriodista: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: YES YES YES! we all needed this! thanks for making it happen! @Francesca5SOS: Replying to @PaulaPeriodista: THE UPDATE IVE BEEN WAITING FOR

next chapter

#unrelated this is probably my favorite cal pic ever #maybe #5sos #luke hemmings #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin #calum hood #fanfiction #5sosfam #imagine #fanfic #michael clifford #calum 5sos #calum fanfic #calum fic #calum x ofc #calum x fem!oc #better left unsaid

[liseenle]

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐔𝐏

ANGST but also fluff? Eddie Munson x reader

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Robin and Steve try to make it better for their friend 

A/N: PART 1 Here , PART 2 Here 

As it turns out, love isn’t easy. At all.

Y/n was learning this more and more every day, and it hurt like hell.

Two weeks had passed since the night of the double date, and since then things had only gotten worse for her. Steve and her had gotten into a huge fight and they weren’t on speaking terms anymore. What struck her was the fact that he didn’t even seem to feel bad about hurting her feelings, nor had he excused himself for going against Y/n’s wishes. Y/n felt he probably was just proud of himself and his plan, because in the end, it had truly worked. Eddie wasn’t in her life anymore.

He was actually, in some sort of way, part of her life, but not in the way she had hoped. Eddie was everywhere, wherever she went, there was that Munson boy too, hanging on to his new chick. It seemed to Y/n that fate was having fun in playing with her feelings, by making her watch from the outside the beginning of a new love. She watched as Eddie walked hand in hand with that girl, as they kissed, as she smiled and flirted with him. And Y/n’s heart had kept on shattering, on and on, even though there should have been nothing left to break by that point.

However, in the past few days, she had felt something new, creeping along inside of her: a sort of numbness, that was now filling every space inside her body. And the more she grew numb, the more tired she felt, the more she isolated herself from the rest of the world. The only person she’d let in, inside herself and her discomfort, was Robin, her best friend through thick and thin. The best friend who never grew tired of comforting her, of hyping her up and encouraging her to move on, although slowly. Robin would spend her afternoons watching films with here, in complete utter silence. She would pick up the phone whenever Y/n couldn’t sleep at night. She would go out of her way to just be there for her, to try and make her smile.

But, although Y/n felt truly grateful and felt a little better whenever they spent time together, Robin wished she could do more for her friend. Seeing her like that, empty of the energy that was normally so intrinsic in her personality, was breaking her heart too. She wanted her back to normal.

So she took matters into her own hands.

It was a cloudy afternoon, November was already giving in to December, and Robin could feel the cold rushing in, creeping up her skin and making her shiver. She walked fast toward the store, her job place. Steve, her best friend and colleague, was standing in front of her by the desk, reading a magazine. Robin quickly moved up to him and slammed her hands right on top of Johnny Depp’s photo.

“Robin what the hell?!” Steve growled back at her, staring at her in disbelief

“Hi”

“Yeah hi, can you please keep your sweaty hands off my magazine?” He told her irritably.

“No.” she told him lowly. She looked seriously angry and Steve, who obviously knew better, went silent and waited for her to continue.

“Just because I haven’t had this conversation with you before it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about it. Because I really do. It’s her feelings we are talking about and you know how much I care about-“

“what?” Steve could be so clueless sometimes, but as soon as Robin had sent him a death glare he understood what she was referring to.

“Oh…”

“Yes you dumb ass. Oh. Is that all you have to say? Oh is not enough. You think you can play cupid? Well you shouldn’t. Because apparently you can only fuck it up. And you did, you fucked it up. Y/n’s been crying for two weeks straight and I’ve been trying to make it better, but I can’t. And it’s your fault. Why did you do it? And where have you been? I don’t understand you. She told you who she liked, she trusted you with the information and you simply ignored her, her and her feelings. I trusted you too. Remember? I told you that I’m into girls, and you said you accepted me. I trusted you like I never trusted anyone else and I felt it was the right choice at the time, is that still true? Because after what you did to her, I’m beginning to think you’d try to change me to if I gave you the chance” she told him without even breathing.

“Robin I would never… you know I support you-“ dread was washing all over him, like a cold tide. He felt he couldn’t swim through it.

“Why did you have to get mixed up in this, Steve? Is it that bad that she doesn’t like a stuck up guy like-“

“Like me?” He interrupted her. But he wasn’t angry, he just seemed… sad.

“Yes. Like you.”

Silence filled the space between them after those cold words, as Steve looked deep into Robin’s eyes. Robin knew she had exaggerated by saying that, but still, she was so angry she couldn’t care less if it hurt him.

“Listen, I didn’t want it to go this way. Frankly, I didn’t even think it could go that bad. I just wanted to make her see that there are plenty of fish in the sea, fish who don’t smoke weed and don’t sell Ketamine to sixteen years old,  for a matter of fact”

“Steve, you are so close minded that it hurts” sighed Robin, “you should be the first to know that life isn’t… easy. And people aren’t what they seem! Eddie is a really nice guy, the type that stands up for you when you get bullied and helps you whenever he can. And yes, maybe he does sell weed but probably it’s just because life sucks and everybody needs money and it’s not his fault if people actually buy it from him in the first place either! Yes, he is different. Yes, he does some things which I don’t really like myself, but I know him enough to tell you that he truly cared about Y/n, that he was always gentle and kind, that he made her feel loved and, especially, he made her feel seen. He always saw her for who she is and always accepted her despite that. Her and the traumas caused by fucking demogorgons and Russian shit.

You’re telling me Mason or Matt or whatever that guy was called would even try to understand what she’s been through? Because I don’t think so. I think Eddie is what Y/n needs, someone who she can trust, who can encourage her to embrace the many abnormalities of her life, her differences and quirks, rather than someone trying to make her turn into a person she’s not, making her become normal as everyone else. That’s just boring and basic.”

“Wow, did she even breathe?” Steve asked himself, once again.

“I know I’ve fucked up Robin, I’ve been telling myself this every day for the past two weeks of my life. I just wish I could protect her, you know? I wish I had someone like that with me when Nancy broke my heart. But I didn’t. And I just felt that I had to be that one person for her, even though she didn’t really need it. I just thought that I was preventing her from getting her heart broken but, instead, I was the one who broke it in the first place, who made it happen. I know Eddie isn’t that bad, it’s just that… I love you both and I don’t want you to hurt in anyway”

“Steve. You know I love you. But you really should start communicating more and asking rather than just doing things like this! And you also need to clean the mess you made, ‘cause Y/n’s really unhappy”

“I will” he told her, turning red.

An akward silence filled the space between the two friends.

“do you think Dustin loves Eddie too?” he asks her in a small voice. Robin snorts.

“More than he loves you” she tells him ironically.

#robin buckley #robin and steve #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie the freak munson #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things #hellfire club

[marengogo]

Well Well Well … - 3 : It’s Been 1 Month BRO!

Lavender Haze - by Taylor Swift  [Midnights ]

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

–🐺–🐺–🐺–

Now, this is gonna be about Jikook with regards to the past 31 days, I promise, but I needed to start with saying that: I just got home from spending the weekend out with a Friend-who-is-like-Family and the second I stepped into my room I began to cry because I realised I wished we had another day in the weekend. They are like a parent to me as they are much older, so their parental instinct always kicks in, as my actual family is in another country also their S/O, my second parent if you will, has been on a business trip, so as the good “daughter” that I am I went to keep them company for the weekend, but in the end, I ended up being the one being spoiled: AS ALWAYS.  

They cooked so much and constantly (parents seem to think that food IS WHERE IS AT: and they are right 😂😂😂), we watched the whole of Young Royals in 2 days (I rewatched season 1 with them, because even though I am a movie/TV snob I love doing things with the ones I love a trillion times if needed, particularly with series that I like), even watched “RUN BTS Dance Practice together” and mind you, I slept on their couch and not only they have one of the best couches on this planet, but I had the best sleep I had in maybe a month.

After the beginning of a shitty ass November (So far, November has been so ass that where usually I’m the person to whom my close friends come to for comfort, I’ve been consistently like “Please don’t come to me, cause I got nothing!”) And mind you I just thought of toughing it up, but Friday I just was like “Fuck it all, fuck, like FFS!”. Which is why the second I got back into my room y’all, I just felt so happy, so lucky, so loved all at once, that tears just wouldn’t stop UNTIL I made the mistake of checkinf my twitter TL. Bro, Bro, Bro?! The usual-different shit that was taking place had my tears cease and got me realising that today is exactly one day since that Brotherly Birthday Thirst Trap and  BRO since that day, up to today, a lot has happened …

JM and JK became officially blood brothers after JK’s birthday wishes to JM (October 13, 2022)

Tae and JK went on a long date in Busan - Part 1: Stadium aka “Nobody but I Saw Them” (October 13, 2022)

Tae and JK went on a long date in Busan - Part 2: Beach aka “Of, Shoes, Footprints and Sand” (October 15, 2022)

JK went to Qatar and Tae hid in his luggage, in order to be with him in Qatar, cause Tae said, and I quote “Flight tickets be tripping lately“ (October 24, 2022)

Following an interview with HYBE’s CEO Park Jiwon, some ARMY make it yet again very clear that they have no understanding what-so-ever of words such as “Yet To Come” and “Please Trust Us” and/or “We Want to be Your Forever Artist”. How to blame them though: They are very complex words with MILLIONS of meanings. (November 3, 2022)

On Capulet News: We received updates with regards to Atomixgate and brooo … (November 8, 2022)

On Montague News: A couple that looks like the officially blood brothers are shown kissing and brooo … (November 12, 2022) and you know as we’ve been getting not a single peep from current  jikook it has gotten  the Usual Insecure Suspect Montague act the fool.

JK is announced to be Public Enemy #1 as he joins forces with Qatar (November 12, 2022)

Tae had a WLIVE where he sleepily renewed his marital vows to JK over the phone (November 13, 2022)

Hence, JM and JK, once again, are reconfirmed officially blood brothers who however do excellent fanservice, such as the following

I’m pretty sure I missed a few but you need to understand, it’s always a lot happening Bro, like fam for real, a lot to keep up with Bro, so yeah, y’all need to be patient with me. I will say 1 thing though: Regardless of all the loud chirping on that bird app Jimin has been Wliving with ARMY whenever he can, JK has been Prioritising ARMY whenever he can, Tae has been replying ARMY comments on WLIVE whenever he can. I mean, understand, in the mere span of a month, one single ass month, the drama, rumors, tragicomedy that has been following and surrounding VMINKOOK has been extraordinary, like some Hollywood movie screenwriting EXTRA+ORDINARY. A single ass month that has been repeating itself in drama-levels for the past 5 years at least. Yet Jimin keeps working. Yet Jungkook keeps working. Yet Taehyung keeps working.   

So weather 99% of Capulets prefer to live in their no-real -facts-manufactured Verona, or whether some insecure Montegues take jikook’s lack of presence as a reason to doubt even their most basic bonds, or whether I’m right or wrong about JK and JM possibly being in a relationship, it REALLY don’t matter cause it guess what? It would appear like VMINKOOK will VMINKOOKing in fact BTS will keep BTSing. So yeah, just keep informed, triple-check your sources always and keep it moving cause trolls gotta troll, but rest assured, though Karma is one stunning lady, when needed, she will always be the baddest bitch.

🎵Run Beautiful🎶Everyone! Always respectful yours 💜🫰🏾, 

Marengo.

PS - So much for working on my new Masterlist Series … let me go eat and see what to do from there, I guess I can at least open them 😂😂😂.

#Well Well Well... #Jikook #Jikook Bro 1 Month Anniversary

[hellovintagebaby]

mentally ill and confused

i’ve been depressed since i was 13. it was such a novelty at the time - so exciting, fresh, trendy. i would sit and cry and be suicidal and absolutely revel in it. i loved to just wallow in how sad i was. i’m teetering on the edge of adulthood now. after much character development and what seemed to be a new diagnosis every psychology appointment, i can tell you with confidence, that i fucking hate being depressed. 

god, it is so fucking difficult to sit here and hate life. i have a group of friends whom i love dearly. i have a really fun little job which gives me enough to buy things i like, with really hot coworkers i can crush on, and even if i didn’t have a job, i have parents who are well off enough to buy me things sometimes. i have the world’s funniest siblings, i live in the same universe and time period as childish gambino and the red hot chilli peppers and women. i have massive tits. but for some reason, no matter where i am or who i’m with or what i’m doing, i would rather just be dead. it’s so fucking confusing and aggravating. i feel like off fruit. 

sometimes, i’ll be laughing with someone - like fully cackling - and for some reason, i’ll turn my head or push it into a pillow, and stop and sigh, and then keep laughing. and i’m having fun and enjoying the person’s company, but i’m just so fucking tired, dude. 

and after nearly 5 years of being inexplicably sad - well, the reason - as always - is my father - he’s a november scorpio by the way - i’ve figured out how to make myself less suicidal. it’s really inconvenient for everyone, actually. 

i simply have to not be alone. i cannot be alone with myself. it sucks. tonight, my brother left the house with his girlfriend and my sister went to her room because we finished the movie we were watching. i tried to put on another movie. i tried to dry the clothes. i tried to do literally anything, but the only thing that helped was dragging my little emo sister back to the living room and make her sit with me and do whatever she was doing with no reason whatsoever. 

she left because i was chewing on her earphones and then i mocked her when she told me to stop. yes i needed her, but let me remind you/tell you for the first time that i have add and my psych said that she thinks i have a bit of aspergers and also my case worker said that she thinks i have psychosis? so yeah. 

i used to get so scared and disturbingly excited when they’d spring a new diagnosis on me, but like, does it change my behaviour? no. does it make me feel different? no. do they give me a new one every session? pretty much. does it matter whatsoever if they don’t understand me enough to medicate me? no it doesn’t, so at this point, another diagnosis means literally nothing to me. disregard anything that comes off as ‘oooh, i’m so mentally ill and cool’ because fuck me dead what am i even typing?? i’ll shut the fuck up now. 

she left, so i went on my calm harm app to figure out what the fuck to do, and one of the activities was ‘start a blog’. so here i am. does anyone even use tumblr anymore? i didn’t know where to start a blog so i just opened this. i don’t know if this is helping, honestly. no clue. i have ruby sparks on in the background, and it’s making me so confused because i’ve always thought paul dano looked like donald trump, but i’m so attracted to him in this movie, so am i attracted to donald trump?? no, right? 

#mentally ill #mentally fucked #confused #ruby sparks #astrology #aquarius #scorpio #daddy issues #first blog

[letters-into-the-endless-void]

(!!) Letters to Fabi Alonso #23

August 23, 2022

Hi Fabi! I hope you’re happy and doing well. That’s a threat, by the way.

I don’t know your current state. I don’t know if you’re still being bothered by other things. But how do you feel when you think of me?

I won’t accept anything other than pure bliss and contentment in the fact that you cut me off. You’d better be happy with your decision, confident, and know that you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because if you have one bit of regret in you, if you miss me in any fucking way, but you chose that misery, I will haunt you for the rest of my life.

I’m okay if my sadness means you’re happy. I’m okay with that, because I love you, and this is my problem. It’s my consequence to deal with, albeit out of my control. But if you’re not happy, and my nearly 2 months of suffering has been worth absolutely nothing, than you, Fabi, are evil.

For some reason, possessed by some need, I read through one of our conversations today. An earlier one, from November. By then, I had already loved you. You already meant everything to me. We were talking about feitian, and then it somehow went to bai qi and han xin, because I was an idiot, and mistook li bai from the wangzhe xinbai ship for bai qi. I scrolled, and I felt so suffocated, like I couldn’t breathe, but I smiled and laughed, and it was the most genuine smile I’ve made since early July. The giddiness and feeling of “I’m the luckiest person in the world” was there, and so real, as I looked at how happy I once was, and still could be when I looked back.

But the more I smiled and giggled, the tighter the feeling in my chest got.

It’s the first time, I think, that I was able to look at our past conversations and derive joy from it. It’s not only a bad memory anymore. But the more I think of you and laugh, the more I want to cry.

Is that closure? Is this what closure means? I don’t know.

Subconsciously I’ve started calling you my ex, even though we didn’t have that kind of relationship. I think it’s just easier. “My ex online friend that I loved more than anything in the world and dedicated my life around and also we called each other soulmates” is so long.

Oh, right, and I realized we were actually together for 10 months, not 8. I think that I once mistook there to be 10 months in an year and counted 8 months between august and june, and just rolled with it. But no, it’s 10, huh. Almost an year.

I had always thought I’d figure something out for our “first anniversary”, as in first day of watching jimi. Anniversary of our discord.

Hey, in the past conversations, you said that, the next show we would watch together, would be shuangbi. That’s a promise, okay? Even if shuangbi never comes out. Even if I have to haunt you down in the afterlife to watch it with you.

Damn, I hope you’re alive and fine.

I’m in a really petty and self-confident state right now, and here’s my decree:

I’m going to keep writing these letters. And you know what, I will never stop trying to reach you either. If you want me to stop, you come to my face and tell me to stop. If you keep ignoring me, I’ll just keep trying. If you never see anything I try to show you, I’ll keep trying.

Come, Fabi, and tell me you’re happy. Let me know you’re alive, and good, and happy, and have no regrets. Until I know that you’re living your damn best life, I will haunt you like a ghost, no matter how much you may hate it.

I’ll respect your boundaries when you set them. You never told me to stop talking to you. You said You wouldn’t talk to Me.

I’m rude, I’m selfish, and I’m basically throwing a temper tantrum here. I think it’s unfair that at this point everyone, everyone I’ve ever dared to call a friend or even a close mutual, a soul I cared for on twitter, has forgiven me, but the one person I would give up everything for to be happy is somewhere out there, and I don’t know what is going on.

I’m going to be so annoying from now on. And the truth is, I’m actually not that strong. The moment you tell me to stop, I will break from the inside out. But to be honest, that’s probably what I need. If you hate me, come shatter my fantasies. Let me give up on any hope. Please. 

I’m sorry in advance. I know I said that I should be good for you, and let you be, and this will probably just make you hate me, but, Fabi, I’m just so lost and so tired.

I’m pathetic, I’m a loser, I know.

- Your Ex-Zhiji, Avro Lanca

#fabi alonso #letters to fabi alonso #letters to fabi alonso 23

[sapphicwhxre]

ASTERIA'S 2.5K FOLLOWER FIC REC LIST

i read fics just as much as i write them so here are some of my favourites. tysmsm for this milestone, i love you all <3 quick note: i didn't re-tag anyone if i recommended more than one of your works because of the tag limit.

───────── girls ─────────

hermione granger

tuesdays - @stupxfy

probably one of my all time favs for hermione. it's just so well written and adorable and fluffy and yes.

if i could tell her - @hellounicorn

pining, pining, PINING. the way these emotions and hermione's described is just... art. perfection. there's a happy ending and it is so worth the build up.

darling dearest - @dracolvr

fluffy goodness. read to be hopelessly in love with hermione ─ which, let's be real, we all are.

november rain - @pansydaisy

uhm i love this one sm. it's so simple but amazing ─ everyone has their days like this and having hermione to cure them? it's what everyone needs.

i need more - @15-dogs

i sobbed the first time i read this. it'll break your heart but it's so amazingly written that it's worth the sadness. actual gut wrenching / mindblowing writing.

how the potter girls react to you in lingerie - @pottersanime

the title. need i say more?

honeyed eyes - @minty-malfoy

HEAVEN. being hermione's first kiss as friend? but both of you idiots liking each other? oh my god, sign me up.

hugging her from behind - @pastanest

again, the title. read to feel 🥺💙

grey days - @pepperimps01

PANSMIONE 😌😌 it's angsty with a happy ending and i love it sm. this does such a perfect job of capturing pansy and hermione's relationship growing and having its ups and downs with just a few paragraphs. honestly so good

grenade - @hellounicorn

another one that'll make your heart shatter. but in the best way. these are the fics i live for where the you can't help but feel like it's really happening to you and hermione and god it's so fucking powerful. underrated writing right here in general. and also pansmione is the loml so it hurts in that way.

honeybees - @pansydaisy

fluffy aesthetic heaven.

lead the way - @teacup-tai

more pansmione but this is pure filthy thinking and satisfies all the sexual tension dreams pansmione shippers have.

two queens in a king sized bed - @shysneeze

domestic christmas morning with hermione and it's angelic.

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

one of those blurbs i never imagined i'd read or love so much. not to mention it's spot on and adorable.

pansy parkinson

right and wrong - @starrkidmalfoy

a first kiss and the overdone trope that i will never get sick of, the bitch who's soft only for you. the descriptions in this are perfection and the writing is beautiful <3

messed up - @writseo

toxic, messed up love fics will be the death of me. insane how well you captured it all and i just yes damn fucking props.

pansy parkinson imagine - @moonlight-imagines

*screams* THE BEST FRIEND BANTER + THE ENDING OH MY GOD OH MY GOD ─ I SCREAMED WHEN I FIRST READ THIS. I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE IT.

dating pansy would include - @lotsoffandomimagines

ABSOLUTE POWER COUPLE SHIT and to this day, pansy saying "jealous much?" when being scolded for pda remains iconic.

grey days - @pepperimps01

as i said before: PANSMIONE 😌😌 it's angsty with a happy ending and i love it sm. this does such a perfect job of capturing pansy and hermione's relationship growing and having its ups and downs with just a few paragraphs. honestly so good

new rules - @silversslytherin

excuse me this is immaculate ─ pansy is the best friend and the second you see that she's also the best s/o, you're done for. perfection.

study "dates" - @turning-dreams-into-chaos

the title is self explanatory and this whole thing is fluffy heaven <3

how the potter girls react to you in lingerie - @pottersanime

read the title, thank me later.

lead the way - @teacup-tai

more pansmione but this is pure filthy thinking and satisfies all the sexual tension dreams pansmione shippers have.

traitor - @hufflepuff-writings

a masterpiece where pansy chooses the wrong side in the battle of hogwarts. this ties up so well and the writing is so powerful.

back alley love potions - @a-simple-imagine

this actually hurts but in a beautiful way. watching pansy give draco a love potion is such a fucking concept and this is executed incredibly.

my little bunny - @emmamarie7708

pansy making you do this is so dirty yet she's slightly sweet and i am a sucker for it. god is a woman and her name is pansy fucking parkinson.

pansy parkinson imagine - @moonlight-imagines

i'll let pansy beat people up for me all day. they put me in madame pomfrey's, feel my girlfriend's wrath.

ginny weasley

blissful - @enyastasia

fluffy ginny goodness. the friends to lovers? the amazing kiss? 🥺🥺🥺💞💞 this fic lives in my heart <3

bubble pop electric - @hunnypot-imagines

this is hotter than a lot of actual smut and the chemistry is so... wow. ginny weasley owns me.

dear ginny - @alyssamalfoy

how does this short ass letter manage to make me feel so much. it's sorcery but i don't even care, it's beautiful.

wildflower - @pansydaisy

will i ever get tired of cheeky i love yous? not when loves like ginny weasley and ayli's so so pretty writing exist.

all i want - @hellounicorn

ouch. fuck you harry :) quite possibly the best ginny fic i have ever read. insanely talented writing, i genuinely feel every touch of emotion you put down and you need to know how amazing that is. keep breaking my heart.

linny hcs - @bluebirdlinginthenest

who doesn't need good linny content in their life?

how the potter girls react to you in lingerie - @pottersanime

sexy bitch, fuck me up.

willow - @padmeamiala

ginny is the loml. her brothers can cry about it.

bellatrix lestrange

attempting to bake with bellatrix - @carters-coffee

MY FAVOURITE BELLA FIC ─ there's not enough bellatrix fluff out there but this makes up for the lack of. heaven.

bellatrix prompt - @carters-coffee

this gives me chills. she knows she's a bad bitch and that's what we love about her.

change of plans - @dumb-sbian

why THE FUCK have i not had a rainy morning with bellatrix? she can sleep and mumble something just like this and i'm still head over heels for her.

being tortured as bellatrix's girlfriend - @writings-of-a-british-fangirl

definitely a concept BUT this makes me feel some type of way and i recommend giving it a minute of your time 😌

bellatrix finding out you're a muggleborn - @carters-coffee

the beauty, the nuance omg. this is art.

bellatrix prompt - @carters-coffee

yep jealous bella. trust me, im all yours mommy <3

sex with bellatrix would include - @onegayastronaut

so short but... sign. me. up.

luna lovegood

never leave - @/deactivated

luna smut is hard asf to come by and this is my favourite. it's so luna and the pain over her not knowing, not getting that closure about how you feel until this is an amazing rollercoaster.

she - @hunnypot-imagines

the beauty of falling in love with luna, through this majorly talented writing. ten out of fucking ten. i will not elaborate but there's also majorly good association in this imo.

silver berries and flickering fireflies - @duskgrangers

i love this fic so much. she's so herself and that is why we ✨ simp ✨ and the scene set just sounds so prettyy

how the potter girls react to you in lingerie - @pottersanime

luna + this title? yes please, ma'am i am simping.

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

put me in your pocket luna. im begging you.

dancing in the rain with luna - @/deactivated

only luna would get you a dress to go dancing in the rain and this is the stuff of blissful, fluffy dreams.

hugging her from behind - @pastanest

short and cute, do me a favour and read it :)

dating luna lovegood would go like - @glossymalfoy

life is NOT worth it if you don't read these cute little headcanons and imagine dating ravenclaw's baddest bitch.

linny hc - @bluebirdlinginthenest

like i said, who doesn't need good linny content?

cho chang

strawberry kisses - @pansydaisy

the only cho fic i've been able to find and it's SO WORTH IT. the cutest, it flows so well, and i absolutely love it. i need this with cho tbh.

fleur delacour

toutes les etoiles - @coffee--writes

im in love with fleur and this amazing writing. and for the first time since i started high school, my three years of taking french feel good for something.

being best friends with fleur would include - @harrypotter-imaginess

not romantic but actually so sweet pls. i want this friendship in my life so bad.

nymphadora tonks

dating nymphadora tonks would include - @imaginesforgirls

dating her + that warm little feeling of bliss that only HCs can give you

taking care of her after the war - @random-imagines-blog

this kind of hurts in that good ass way and i lovee it. they're simple hcs but i feel for tonks so much and then there's that warm lil feeling when you're the one to put her back together aand now my primary life goal is to help this woman heal.

───────── boys ─────────

harry potter

phosphenes - @minty-malfoy

ok shakespeare, the fuck?? this fic will never not get me right in the heart. the angst, holy fuck. and for once, the reader doesn't hurt harry and let draco walk all over them and it's just done so well. the transition from a toxic relationship to a sweet, loving one PLEASE. it's beautiful.

happy memories - @15-dogs

how does this manage to be so. smutty and fluffy at the same time? this is one of those short ones that has lived in my head, rent-free since i read it. and tbh any fic that includes expecto patronum is guaranteed to be good.

come back to me - @wondernimbus

right from the beginning, it's a mess of emotions both good and bad. that kind of good ass writing that hits you in the heart <3

making out with harry potter would include - @badfvith

read this title. done? now thank me later.

harry prompt - @thoseofgreatambition

harry x a sarcastic swooning bitch is an elite trope idc. short and sweet, i'm marrying this fic.

keep your eyes on the prize - @rowema-ravenclaw

first of all, showing harry up and second, pure fluff (and a little steam) right after. i also love how she writes harry in general because he's totally safe/in love with the relationship but still has that awkward lovable shyness and i just... *sighs*

always - @pansydaisy

uhm i will always love him and always reread this a thousand times so its a fit title + a good read.

late night studying - @lumosandnoxwriting

fuck studying, let his hand stay in my shirt. once again recommending fluffy bliss in the form of a short read that makes me feel things <3

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

he's so stupid. but he still loves you + this is from our resident perfectly talented writer so its a win.

cuddling after a rough quidditch practice - @badfvith

harry james potter is : b a b y

gryffindor's victory - @rowema-ravenclaw

make me gryffindors fucking cheerleader because HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT. AND THE WRITING IS IMMACULATE PLEASE. just read it, you won't regret it.

draco malfoy

silent treatment - @slytherinwh0re

andy's mad talented and this is just... insert a cheesy chefs kiss. unbelievably adorable but so fucking hot and an actually good smut plot (which is rare lmfao). remind me to give draco the silent treatment every time im upset.

rewards - @malfoysstilinski

so hot PLS. hype him up for the match and get your reward, bye. so good.

reading between the lines - @minty-malfoy

i've said this a thousand times but that's what happens when you've got a mad talented mutual BLESSING everyone with beauty like this. butterflies and warm feelings all around when i read this 💓

point of view - @draconisxcaput

its angst for hermione and fluff for you but overall ethereal writing. i am never going to recover from the pure talent that this is.

im not kidding im dying - @malfoysmatrioshka

i hate being sick with a passion but this... this would make it worth it.

hogwarts express - @/deactivated

draco fucking you because he knows harry's watching. the shit of legends and god is it hot.

draco laughing at you because you can't walk after sex - @glossymalfoy

*motions to the title* fluff with this loser 😌

the cheeseburger - @slytherinwh0re

really short read but this is one of those things i just. didn't know i needed. you're missing out and haven't even realised it if you haven't read about introducing him to cheeseburgers. and that ending is so funny/in character to me i fucking love it.

four am - @malfoysstilinski

domestic draco 🥺 but also sad draco 🥺 and then fluffy draco 🥺

hugging him from behind - @pastanest

real short and it'll brighten your day <3

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

how is it that this is so stupidly adorable. i love it 💘

ron weasley

heather - @hellounicorn

always making me cry with your fics i swearrr. this is a must-read. having someone but them not really being yours is a beautiful trope and this fic absolutely does it wonderful, poetic justice. your angst is addicting.

apple pie - @pregnant-piggy

ABSOLUTE DOMESTIC BLISS I AM IN LOVE. i don't even like kids or baking that much but this made me so soft. the whole cozy, heavenly vibes from this fic yes yes yes.

jealousy - @writeroutoftime

cliché jealousy turns friends to lovers and i am a sucker for it all over again <3

shaking and trembling - @ronsbadidea

if ron doesn't finger fuck me and then make a cheeky comment about it in class later then WHAT IS THE POINT :(

mixed signals - @iamthecabbage

i've always figured ron is this awkward idiot cutie with a crush and yea, this is it.

fred and george weasley

i love you, but you don't - @george-fabian-weasley

fred's a character i really don't read for often but goddamn. it's the saddest, most beautiful mix of rejection and pain and fred desperately caring but not in the way you want him to ─ an angsty masterpiece.

cockwarming george - @roonilwazlibimagines

because of this filthy gem, i one hundred thousand percent believe that he could make me cum without even fucking me and this is just... it's a good fucking read.

would you still love me if i turned into a worm? - @minty-malfoy

their responses are so wonderfully chaotic and adorable and GOD you're missing out if you haven't read these lil blurbs.

─

#harry potter x reader #hermione granger x reader #pansy parkinson x reader #luna lovegood x reader #ginny weasley x reader #draco malfoy x reader #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #cho chang x reader #nymphadora tonks x reader #bellatrix lestrange x reader #ron weasley x reader #fleur delacour x reader #harry potter #fic recs #masterlist #smut #fluff #angst

[reidyoulikeabook]

Invisible String

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: None, this is just fluff.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Spencer Reid don’t know it, but you’ve almost met quite a few times. What happens when you do?

A/N: This is potentially a bit on the wrong side of the cheesy line, but I was listening to invisible string by Taylor Swift and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Pls bare in mind I’m from the UK and my only understanding of the US college system is from Google searches, so pls be forgiving of any misunderstandings about that.

November 6th, 2007

Dr. Spencer Reid. As you sat, thumbing through the article he’d written about the formation of ionic compounds in a chemical whose name you could not for the life of you spell or pronounce, you couldn’t help but resent the man.

Sure, the paper was very well-written and as cohesive as possible given the complex subject matter. But Dr. Spencer Reid, whoever he was, was the current source of your resentment at selecting chemistry to make up your science credit. Highlighting the name of a substance you’d have to look up later, you sighed. It was getting late but you had to hand in a critical summary of the paper on Friday.

It didn’t help that Dr. Reid was: a) a triple doctorate holder by the age of 22, or b) that your chemistry lecturer was none other than his old chemistry lecturer from Caltech and practically glowed with pride whenever he got to bring him up.

You chew on the end of your pen, having now distracted yourself from the notes. Not that you were particularly focused anyway.

In another life, maybe you’d have been a budding chemist who could describe an ionic lattice off rote. In this one, however, you’d just have to settle for slogging through the list of chemical processes and hoping you understood it well enough to please Dr. Reid’s biggest fan.

***

April 16th, 2008

Spencer hated flaking on commitments. It caused him a great deal of anxiety, the feeling of disappointing someone. He didn’t have much choice in this circumstance though.

Diana had taken ill over the last weekend. Nothing serious, some stomach bug or other. She’d become severely dehydated though, and had been hospitalised as a precautionary measure. Truth be told, he might not have gone if she hadn’t caught him on the phone. He was already feeling guilty for not having visited since Christmas. He wrote her letters everyday, yet still felt like he was neglecting his duties as a son. Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a deep sigh. Then takes out his laptop, to send another email.

Dear. Dr Abraham

I sincerely apologise again for my last minute cancellation. Excluding any unforeseen circumstances, myself and SSA Hotchner will be available to present the lecture on May 12th.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

May 12th, 2008

Considering this was your third year on campus, you sure were bad at finding your way around. In your defence, they were doing maintenance in one of the main buildings, meaning that lectures got shuffled around and relocated. You probably had a higher change of attending the right lecture by accident than on purpose.

It doesn’t help that you’re running a little late this morning. You rush into Room 203. A lot of the seats are taken, you have to meander your way past quite a few people until you end up sat almost directly in the middle. Only moments before the lecture starts.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Reid. We’re members of the BAU which is based at FBI quarters in Quantico. Today, we’ll be talking to you about profiling.”

This is not your forensic linguistics lecture.

Panic hits you, hot in your gut. Scanning the room anxiously, you suddenly become conscious that you’re drawing attention to yourself when you feel the eyes of the man who is not SSA Hotchner on you. Fuck.

There’s no way for you to escape now, not without disturbing half the lecture hall.

So you sit back in your seat, resigning yourself to sit awkwardly in the lecture you’re not supposed to be in and hoping nobody notices.

But then, it’s really interesting, actually. The work that Dr. Reid does sounds similar to work you’ve done in forensic linguistics, analysing patterns of speech and minor phrase formations that can give things away about the perpetrator. By the end of the seminar, you’re sat leaning forward. Enraptured by almost every word coming out of their mouths.

It seems to be the general mood: everyone is enamoured. People are clammering to speak to them at the end. After a brief inner battle, myou decide that you should talk to them too.

What’s the harm?

You’ve decided that you’ll speak to Dr. Reid, since he seems to share more of a field focus. However, as you’re heading down, you spot him. Dr Adams, your chemistry lecturer from last year. Oh shit, it’s that Dr. Reid.

Speaking to SSA Hotchner will just have to do instead.

----

“I’ve been majoring in forensic linguistics and criminal psychology,” You tell him, “Do you think ... I mean, I know it’s a pretty exclusive team to get on to. But is that the kind of thing that could maybe get me there one day?”

Hotchner nods, “Forensic linguistics is something that comes in very useful in the investigative aspects of cases. The FBI is always looking for new angles and perspectives, those are both good subjects to study if you were thinking of signing up to the academy.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” You say, suddenly a little bashful as you notice the queue of people lingering behind you, “That was a really interesting lecture. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

“You should talk to Dr. Reid if you have a particular interest in the linguistic aspect of profiling. He’s more specialised in that area than I am. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss any research you’re conducting at the moment and suggest materials that might be helpful in furthering your understanding of the area.”

“Thank you,” You smile, and he nods at you again.

Stepping away from Agent Hotchner, you look to your right. Dr. Reid is still engaged deeply in conversation with Dr. Adams. You glance at your watch. There was time before your next class, you supposed, so you could wait. It couldn’t hurt to find out more, could it? It wasn‘t like you were getting your hopes up or anything.

It’s then that you feel a pair of arms around your waist, a familiar scent of cologne.

“Hey!” You whip around to see your boyfriend, grinning widely.

“Hey,” You reply, “How’d you find me?”

“I was walking past when I saw you talking to that FBI agent. Seriously, FBI?” He asks, with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow, “You want to grab a coffee before Psych?”

You want to say no. But he’s got his hand on the small of your back, leading  you out of the room before you even get a chance to reply. You glance back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Dr. Reid for all of two seconds before you’re swept away.

“Seriously though babe, FBI?”

Unsurpisingly, you don’t mention your potential change in career path to him.

***

March 8th, 2009

“Come in,” Hotch calls. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to see Spencer entering the room, clutching a report in his hand.

“That last case we were on. I was doing some more research, just for future reference about linguistic patterns. Have you read this?” He asks, sliding a copy of your paper across the desk.

Hotch gives it a cursary look over, nodding, “Yes. It’s interesting. She’s signed up as an NAT. I believe I actually spoke to her at one of our lectures last year.”

"Her work is really impressive for somebody whose only studied this at a master level.”

Hotch almost smiles, “Yes. That’s exactly why I’ve recommended to the bureau that she signs up for profiling classes. Her work shows a lot of promise. They’re sending over a copy of her completed thesis, if you’d like to read it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you,” Spencer says, struggling to conceal the smile playing on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll email it to you as soon as I receive it.”

Spencer nods, smiling properly to himself as he leaves the room. It wasn’t unusual, exactly, for him to share new research that was relevant to cases. It was important that they all kept themselves fresh and acquainted with new theories about the field. Hotch, however, didn’t miss the excited way Spencer had presented it to him. Talking about how impressive you were, as if to subtly hint. He thinks it’s quite typical, actually, that Spencer could take such an interest in someone he only knew via an essay.

Although Spencer’s response does get Hotch to send a follow-up email, inquiring about whether you’d agreed to the classes. If Spencer was this impressed with your work, it must be good.

***

June 1st, 2009

The Metro that morning is packed. It doesn’t help that you’ve not been living here long, and don’t exactly know the route from your flat to the station off by heart yet.

You'd also had to make a detour to the post office. Your, firmly ex, boyfriend had mailed over the last of your things. Really, it was good riddance. His hounding you about your choice in job had only worsened. The relationship had been hanging on by a thread long before you’d moved away last month. You were more than a little grateful that it was finally over, that you could draw a line under it all and focus on your career.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped you having a little cry to yourself on the way over.

Rushing, you make it onto the Metro just as the doors are about to close, falling against the railing on the left side. You grip onto it for dear life.

On the other side of the carriage, Spencer notices someone hurrying for the train. He had been buried deep in the paper he's reading, but the bustle had pulled his attention. Your back is to him, and there’s a scarf at your feet. He wants to say something, to try and get your attention, but he can’t from where he is.

“Miss, I think you’ve dropped something,” The woman you’re standing in front of says, gesturing to the scarf pooled at your feet.

You meet her eyes, sniffling slightly, “Thank you.”

Spencer watches as you pick it up, back still to him. Crisis averted, he turns his attention back to what he's reading: the published copy of your thesis Hotch had emailed him last week.

***

September 2nd, 2009

"This is SSA ____, the newest member of our team. She’s recently graduated from the academy and has an excellent knowledge of linguistics that the bureau feels will be a great advantage to this team. She’s had her induction and now will be joining the team on a probationary basis. She’ll be spending a little time with each of you in between cases to make sure she forms well-rounded knowledge of all aspects of what we do.”

It’s a little overwhelming, having everybody’s eyes on you.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily is the first over, offering her hand for you to shake.

“You too, it’s really nice to meet all of you,” You say, shaking hands in turn with her, Morgan, Rossi, J.J, and Garcia.

“Hi,” Spencer calls from behind you.

You turn around to face him. You remember what Hotch had mentioned to you about him being a bit of a germaphobe, so you keep your hand by your side.

“Hi,” You say, “Dr. Reid, right?”

“You can call me Spencer,” He says, a little bashful, “I read your thesis, the study about you did about the construction of passive clauses as an indicator of guilt in adolescent offenders. It was fascinating.”

You feel yourself getting a little warm under his gaze, “Thank you. I'm surprised you’re even aware it existed.”

Hotch interrupts then, “Reid, do you want to sit with ____ while she goes over the case file? It’d be useful if you could go over how you’d go about constructing a linguistic profile.”

That’s how you end up spending much of your first day: with Spencer, huddled up over case files as he explains his profile-building process to you. Spencer’s an incredible teacher, you think. He explains his thought process without ever being condescending, leaving little gaps for you to answer.

You’re incredible, Spencer thinks. You seem to grasp exactly what he’s saying, filling in the gaps based on the clues that are actually in front of you, not letting yourself be guided too much by bias.

***

October 29th, 2009

Spencer loves everyone at the BAU. They’re all the family he never had, and he has relatively good friendships with all of them. Just, they aren’t quite the same as they are with you.

He struggles to put his finger on it, exactly. It’s a unique relationship. He shares very familial bonds with a lot of them: he and Morgan are brotherly, Rossi is fatherly, Garcia’s somewhat like an overexcited little sister.

The friendship he has with you is special. You always listen to him, even as he rambles on about inane things that anybody else would tell him to shut up about. In fact, sometimes about the exact things that they do tell him to shut up about. Just last week, he was rambling on about Star Trek when Morgan told him, not altogether unkindly, to “give it a rest, kid.”

“What was that you were saying?” You’d asked, sidling up to him, “I’ve never watched Star Trek but I thought the quote was beam me up Scotty.”

He’d looked at you, considering you for a moment, “You don’t have to-”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know Spence. You think I’d ask for a 15 minute lecture on Star Trek if I wasn’t interested in it?”

A warm feeling flooded his chest. The look on your face was so genuine, and you’d perched on the edge of his desk as he gesticulated, getting deep into the lore and how the misconception had come about. He still didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, until he got to the end of his spiel. And then you asked him a question. You asked him a question to make sure you understood what he was talking about. You were listening the whole time, and you genuinely cared about the point he was making.

It's then that he realises, it was hard to pinpoint because it wasn’t friendship. He likes you. Shit.

***

November 2nd, 2009

You like everybody at the BAU. They’re all quite patient with you, really, happy to walk you through how they do things. Morgan’s taught you quite a bit about the tactical side of things already, and Rossi has been working with you on your interrogation techniques. Emily’s generally just a great mentor, always happy to listen and support however she can. She’s more experienced, but still relatively new to the team too, so you feel like there’s a certain understanding between you.

However, you’d definitely be lying if you said the person you hadn’t learnt the most from, or spent the most time with, was Spencer.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, either. You seemed to gravitate towards one another, forever sitting side-by-side on the plane. Sharing a line of thinking that usually led to devolved rambling, and scribbling, until you came up with something coherent.

It isn’t until November 2nd that you realise you have feelings for him.

You’re sitting at your desk, filling out a case report that Emily had promised to go over with you before she left for lunch.

“Hey,” Spencer’s familiar soothing voice comes, as he sidles up to you, “I got you something.”

Looking up, you notice the coffee cup in his right hand, “You are my caffeine lifesaver.”

He hands it to you, smiling a little nervously, “It’s actually not that.”

“Oh?”

His other hand is tucked behind his back, and he pulls it foward towards you, brandishing a red sweatshirt.

“I know you uh, left your red sweater behind at the hotel on the last case. And I know it was your favourite one, and I was shopping yesterday and I saw this and...” He trails off, embarassed, “It’s not the exact same, but it’s the same kind. I just thought you might like it.”

You swallow, hard, “Spencer that’s so sweet. C-Can I hug you?”

He nods. Standing up from your desk, you wrap your arms around his frame.

“That was so thoughtful.”

He squeezes you a little, really leaning into the hug, his face pressing against your shoulder. His tousled hair tickles your nose a little and you smile, clinging onto him, relishing in the feeling of safety and warmth.

It hits you then. When you realise you don’t want to let go. When you realise he makes you feel fuzzy. Loved. Cared for in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. Eventually, you have to let him go, and it’s in a daze that you return to your desk. You’re so concentrated on your overwhelming realisation, you don’t realise how reluctant he is to let you leave his embrace.

***

December 22nd, 2009

Driving Spencer home from the office was really just an excuse to get some time alone with him. You’d said something about the Metro being busy, one of the services being cancelled. He hadn’t factchecked you on that.

The BAU had tentative plans for boxing day, with the caveat being that no emergent cases arrived in the meantime. It was only really four days you wouldn’t see him, but that was longer than you’d ever gone without seeing him in all the time you’d known him. You worked together everyday, and it was unusual for you to go a full weekend without seeing each other. Recently, you’d got into the habit of going out for Sunday brunch together.

Pulling up outside his house, you hear him sigh.

“I know it’s only four days, but I’ll miss you.”

Smiling, you turn to him, “I’ll miss you too.” 

Something in you changes then. He’s looking at you. You may be relatively new to profiling but you can see something behind his eyes, feel the charge of unsaid words electrifying the air.

“Can I hug you?” He asks.

“You can always hug me,” You reply, undoing your seatbelt and opening your arms for him.

He embraces you the way he always has: tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go, couldn’t imagine ever letting you go. His face nuzzles to the crook of your neck, and then you feel his thumb brush your chin. Tilting your head down.

You exchange a look. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, and back. You nod your head, just slightly.

He kisses you then. Tender. You melt into one another, lips moving quickly as you drink one another in. Kissing each other breathless, your fingers intertwine in his hair and his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Nothing has ever felt so right.

***

June 10th, 2011

Neither of you have ever really believed in fate. It’s hard to - especially in your line of work - to want to interpret the workings of the universe as deliberate. Maybe you’d think a little differently though, if you knew about all the near-misses. All the times you could have met. But fate knew better. She waited until you were ready.

And as you exchange vows, promising each other your forever, you both know you couldn’t possibly deny that this was meant to be.

------

Taglists: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician

(let me know if you would like to be added to/removed from this list!)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #imagine spencer reid #criminal minds x you #imagine criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagines #pls like this it took me so long

[kissme-hs]

𝒩𝑒𝓌-𝐵𝑒𝑒 {𝒸.𝑒}

Hey guys! It’s been a while since I wrote, I’ve been fucking busy with exams and final semester but ya girl is done now so expect fics often. You can always request or if you just want to talk don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask! Here’s a little something based off the following request :)

Anonymous asked:  Chris Evans one shot chris family visits in quarantine after you guys just had your baby girl and it’s just cute watching chris mom cry thanking them for an beautiful grand baby! so the reader hugs her and it’s just cute

Warnings: None. Dad! Chris and bunch of fluff.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem! Reader

Being blessed by a baby girl was everything for you both. Chris always wanted to be a father and ever since you gave birth to your little princess about two weeks ago Chris hasn’t stopped being grateful to you. Every morning he’ll wake up before you, make you tea just the way you like, cut you fruits and bring you in bed. Man didn’t even let you move a single thing. He wanted you to rest as much as you could. Even though the baby was delivered normally and by the grace of god it all went rather smoothly, Chris just wanted you to not worry about anything.

“Good morning baby” He chirped entering your shared bedroom. The smell of the spice tea filling up your nostrils as you stretch your arms, opening your eyes the first thing that came in view was your loving husband, standing there holding the tray. He wore a pink t-shit and a pair of sweats, the reflection of the t-shirt tinting the apple of his now shaved cheeks, after the birth of the newborn Chris immediately shaved his perfect fluffy beard because he read in one of the books that facial hair could irritate the sensitive skin of the baby. And no being able to give his sweetheart a kiss was the last thing he’d want. Seemed like 2010’s Chris era was back.

“Morning husband” you smiled sitting up to which Chris responded by setting the tray on side table and supporting your back with the palm of his hand. A soft chuckle left your mouth as you shook your head. Dad Chris was definitely extra caring and loving. Kissing your forehead Chris walked over to his side of the bed and put the tray on his lap.

“You know I’m feeling normal now baby, besides just a little soreness in my boobs” you smiled running your fingers through his soft hair and cupping his cheek, feeling the radiating warmth of you palm against his skin Chris nuzzled his nose further in the plushy skin of your hand.

“Hmm let me spoil you honey; you’ve given me the greatest gift of all. Please let me take care of you”

“But sweetness you already take care of both of us, though I might have given birth to our new one, I can never forget my first big baby” You said making his laugh out loud as he brings you closer by your chin and places a sweet long kiss on your lips.

“I love you”

“I love you too” you whispered against his lips before pulling away. His eyes sparked with the new responsibility that just came over him few days ago. Not wanting it to go away ever you remembered the day you told him you were pregnant.

“So, do you want to take break now or after the baby is born?” you asked him closing your book s he froze in track while getting under the covers of the comfortable soft bed.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean the parenting leave baby, munchkin is all set in mama’s belly” you smiled wide as you placed his hand over your belly biting your lower lip waiting for his reply. And not to your shock, his eyes instantly teared up as he attacked you with a big hug, sobbing softly in your neck making you tear up yourself. Chris always desired a family and now it was all happening, he was going to be a dad.

Pulling away he wiped his tears and lifted your t-shirt up to reveal where your love rested safely, not showing yet. He pressed his lips to the soft skin and closed his eyes letting his lips linger for a few seconds.

“Hi bubba, daddy is never leaving your side. He’ll be here now and after you’re born. I love you already my sweet love”

The memories still remained fresh after 10 months.

After a while you finished and even though you told him you were, he insisted to go clean the place and then start preparing lunch before Lisa, his mother arrives to visit the newborn. Giving in knowing the man would do what he wants regardless, you let him do so. Once you took a shower and got ready you went to your daughter’s room who was wide awake sucking on her fist probably because she was hungry.

Cooing you picked the little bundle of happiness and brought her downstairs where her father was busy stirring the sauce for now almost ready meatballs. With apron tied around his waist, his backing facing you as you stood there admiring him with your daughter in your arms. Post pregnancy emotions were no good than the previous once you had while the baby was still in the womb. Seeing his arms flexing with every move and his perfect round ass through the grey sweatpants made your mouth water. Only if you were granted the permission to have sex by your doctor, the head you would’ve given the man.

“Smells good sexy” You said walking over to him and slapping his peachy ass.

“Hey outta kitchen. You know you girls aren’t allowed inside for a few days baby” He said washing his hands and wiping with the hand towel he had placed on his shoulder before softly pushing you out of the kitchen until you were in the living room.

“babe come on, we just wanted some daddy time!! Right peaches?” you kissed your daughter’s nose which she instantly scrunched with the cold contact of your lips with his warms nose making Chris laugh. Bending down he kissed his baby’s forehead and then pecked your lips before the doorbell caught your attention.

“Mum’s here” He announced marching towards the door and engulfing his mother in a big warm hug. Walking over to her you did the same followed by Lisa rushing to wash her hands and taking the little one from your arms. Her heart filling up with adoration and love looking down upon her grandchild. You smiled softly at your mother-in-law before leading her to the living room where she could get comfortable and warm by the fireplace.

Out of all the months new bee decided to join the family in midst November in heavy snow. But you were glad, you would celebrate the Christmas as a family of three.

“She’s beautiful sweetheart” Lisa smiled as the little one wrapped her fingers around her granny’s index while she was being fed. Once you all finished your lunch it was time for the baby so here you were all four settled, comfy in front of the fireplace and crackling wood with soft music in the back.

“Thank you Ma” you said before placing the baby on your shoulder to burp her after she you’re your nipple getting sleepy. Her eyes dropping close.

“Here, I’ll burp her and put her to bed” Chris said standing up from his comfort and taking the baby from your arms before placing her on his shoulder and rubbing her back and making his way over to her room. The soft sound of Chris humming could be heard down the hallway. You were too busy in appreciating the man when the muffled sniffles caught your attention. Lisa wiped her tears with her thumb as you rubbed her back.

“Mum you okay?”

“Yes honey, just overwhelmed. I cannot thank you enough darling. You’ve made my son the happiest he’s ever been” she smiled cupping your cheek and placing a kiss on your forehead. Your eyes picked up tears with the motherly love she radiated. And now becoming a mother yourself, you understood how much your child’s happiness matters.

“No ma, I love your son to death to not give him what he deserves” You smiled pulling the old lady in a hug kissing her cheek.

“He’s all I ever wanted”

#chris evans #chirs evans imagines #Chris evans x reader #chris evans daddy #chris evans writings #chris evans drabbles #chris evans one shots #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fics #cevans #chris evans imagines

[opaldraws]

Dandelion

Billy never thought that he would become a dad. Besides believing that it wouldn’t be possible for a person like him, he also was scared shitless. He’d seen first hand what happens when the wrong kind of person became a parent, he knew how screwed up things could get. He had this huge fear that he would ruin a kid’s life. And even though Steve had assured him countless times that Billy would be a fantastic dad if they were to have a kid, he also accepted that Billy wasn’t ready for fatherhood and he may never be. So Steve never pushed the idea.

Then Max had a baby.

Out of the pair, no one expected Billy would be the one hit with baby fever.

Max was only able to get three weeks of leave from her work, so Billy volunteered to help out with little Julien. Julien was precious: He slept for long hours and rarely cried, he loved playing peek-a-boo and was easily entertained by crinkly paper, and when he got especially fussy, all Billy had to do was put him in his swing and Julien would knock right out.

Billy would come home from Max and Lucas’ and gush to Steve about whatever him and Julien got up to that day. It was usually the same sort of stuff, babies don’t really do that much, but Steve would listen fondly to Billy’s report while they cooked dinner together. Eventually Max found a sitter and changed her work hours, so Billy didn’t spend as much time with the runt.

A few years passed and Billy mentioned having kids of their own. Steve and him were in bed, the light on the nightstand casting enough light for Billy to read but not too much that Steve couldn’t doze off.

“Steve.” Billy ruffled Steve’s hair gently, letting his hand wander down to rub his back. Steve blinked over at him sleepily, his eyes a little unfocused without his glasses.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, frowning.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I just… I’ve been thinking lately, maybe we could look into adoption?” Billy wrung his hands together nervously. When Steve didn’t answer immediately, Billy interjected, “Only if you want to, of course! Fuck, nevermind. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

Billy picked his book up, not able to look back at his partner. Steve hadn’t seen him this nervous since Billy had asked him to marry him. This conversation caught Steve off guard- and not only because he was half asleep. They’d talked about kids before when they were freshly married (technically unofficially, but whatever), Billy said he didn’t think he’d ever want to go down that path. And now, Billy was bringing it up.

“Babe, it’s not stupid.” Steve said seriously. “I want to do that with you.”

...

Adoption for two gay men in 2000 wasn’t easy. They were basically at the bottom of the ‘list’ of candidates and they’d been through multiple near adoptions that eventually fell through in just the past two years. Steve was beginning to lose hope, but Billy stayed determined. He called the adoption agency every week and he stopped by in person once a month. Steve told him he was probably bothering the agency, he said that they had their application and when the right kid came along, everything would work out. Billy’s perspective wasn’t quite as rose-colored as Steve’s: He realized that the agency didn’t want a same-sex couple adopting a baby. They may not outright say it, but he could tell. Billy wanted to show them that they were just as serious as any other couple.

In November of 2001, they got the call from the agency. The weekend before they brought their daughter home, Billy and Steve prepared the second bedroom for their new addition. Steve excitedly put up a fresh coat of paint while Billy struggled through assembling furniture for the bedroom. When they finished, they stood side by side in the doorway, misty eyed and excited for their daughter’s homecoming.

“We’re going to be parents.” Steve sighed, he let his head fall to Billy’s shoulder.

“Fuck, I’m so scared.” Billy admitted. He took a deep breath and tried to ease the panic creeping in. Steve gently wrapped his arms around him, pulling Billy in to hold him. Billy sagged into the hug.

“I am too, but I know it’s gonna be okay.” Steve said.

“How could you know that though?” Billy asked fearfully. So many things could go wrong, what if this was a mistake? Steve tightened his arms around Billy and leaned them against the doorframe.

“Because I know you. I’ve seen you grow into the man you are today and I know you’re going to be an amazing dad.”

...

Billy knew that for every developmental milestone that Abby passed, he should be excited. Don’t get him wrong, he was beyond happy to see his daughter growing and becoming a little person… but he also got sad? Abby was growing up so fast, one day she was crawling around on the carpet and the next she was racing around the apartment wreaking havoc. It felt like only a few days ago she drooled and needed to be spoon fed, now she was talking in barely formed sentences. Sometimes Billy would just curl up next to Steve in bed at night and have to cry about how big Abby was getting. Steve would rub his back, comforting his partner as best as he could. These breakdowns started happening more frequently as Abby’s 2nd birthday got nearer and nearer. Billy was aware that he was being dramatic, but his little girl was growing up way too fast. He felt like he was going to blink and then she’d be gone, old enough not to need her dads anymore.

“Billy, stop worrying about the future, Abby’s barely two! You have got to just live for today.” Max scolded him during one of Abby’s and Julien’s playdates after he had opened up to her. It was a sunny June day and Julien was happily keeping Abby occupied on a blanket in Lucas and Max’s yard. Lucas had been called out of town for a work emergency and Steve had gotten stuck covering a late shift. The step-siblings watched the kids from the porch, periodically bringing out new toys and snacks.

“Yeah, that’s what Steve keeps telling me. That’s what everyone keeps telling me, shitbird.” Billy huffed, rolling his eyes. “I can’t help it!”

“Listen to me, I felt the same way. Every time I had to go into work, every time I left Julien with you or Lucas, or the babysitter, I was so afraid that I was missing out on his childhood. Even when I was with him, all I could think about was how I could never get this moment back. But it’s useless to think that way! I realized that I couldn’t stop time from passing so I needed to enjoy it while it lasted!” Max insisted. She grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Billy squeezed back. Even though Max was younger than him, he appreciated the wisdom she occasionally provided. He was happy that their days of fighting and heated arguing were left behind at the house on Cherry Lane.

Billy looked out at the yard, he watched the way Abby would giggle when Julien ran circles around her with his toy airplane. She made grabby hands at him and squealed, “My turn!” Julien passed the toy plane to her and she zoomed it around. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat and announced that she was going to get food ready. Billy walked over to the rainbow blanket and sat down beside the duo.

“Daddy attack!” Abby jumped up, discarding the airplane to wrap her arms around his shoulders and climb onto his back. He held onto her chubby little legs and she laughed into his ear. He tried not to dwell on the future, let himself enjoy the moment. “Down.” Abby instructed him and he helped her back to the ground. She plucked a nearby dandelion from the ground and held it to Billy triumphantly. “Present for you.”

“Thank you baby, I love it.” He smiled at her, taking the dandelion. She beamed at him, clearly happy that her gift was well received. He tucked the yellow flower into the breast pocket of his shirt. Julien came bounding up to them excitedly, hiding something behind his back.

“I have a present for you too, Uncle Billy!” Julien grinned and offered him a wiggling pink worm clasped between his fingers. Billy chuckled and took the worm and Julien bounded off - probably to find more worms.

Abby went back to playing with the airplane and some of Julien’s matchbox cars. She pretended that Billy’s arm was the road and rolled the cars over it, back and forth. Every so often, she would show Billy a new car, telling him which color it was or if she liked it or not. Steve had been working on colors with her a lot recently, and Abby had gotten into the habit of pointing out the colors of things frequently. It was really adorable and she always looked proud when she got the color right. And when Billy would catch those intrusive thoughts about the future, he gave it his all not to dwell on them and instead focus on Abby rolling her car over his arm. Max rejoined them with a big plate of fruit and sandwiches to share for an early dinner, calling Julien over to eat.

Before Billy knew it, a few hours had passed and the sun was beginning to set. He helped Max bring all the toys back in the house and the kids savored the last few minutes of light while they cleaned up. Billy caught a glimpse of the clock on his trip inside; It was nearing 7pm and Steve would be arriving soon to pick them up. Billy and Max tried to coax the kids inside with the promise of a movie, but Julien had other ideas.

“Five more minutes? Please? Momma, I wanna see the fireflies!” Julien tugged at Max’s pant legs, giving her his best puppy dog eyes. “I promise I’ll be good for bedtime!” For a five year old, Julien was quite the negotiator. Of course Max caved which meant that Abby also got to chase the growing number of fireflies blinking around the yard. Billy couldn’t help but grin watching the cousins running around- and periodically jumping up- to try and catch the glowing bugs. After struggling to jump high enough to reach any of the fireflies, Abby pouted at Billy.

“Hold me?” She asked and how could Billy say no? He lifted her up in the air and she swung her little hands around, attempting to catch at least one bug. Billy could tell that she was getting frustrated when each time she came back fruitless. Abby got distracted by Julien showing Max all of the bugs he had captured, a faint green-ish yellow glow coming from his closed fists. “Daddy! Want one.” Abby’s chin wobbled - one of her tell tale signs that a meltdown was coming.

“Okay honey, I’ll get you one.” He smiled and moved her so that she was propped on his hip. They walked slowly around the yard together and Billy caught one for her. He helped her get it in her hand and her eyes widened. “Now you’ve got to be real careful, you don’t want to squish it right?” Abby shook her head no, wanting to keep her new friend forever. Billy watched the way she would peek into her fist to catch a glimpse of the small bug, finding it sweet how gentle she treated it. She kissed the top of her hand and said “I love you” to the tiny insect hidden within. Billy was so transfixed with her that he didn’t notice Steve’s arrival; It startled him when a hand met the small of his back. Abby lit up even more once she saw Steve.

“Papa look! Bug!” She opened up her hand to show Steve the bug, but the firefly took the opportunity to make its escape and flew off into the night sky before Abby could close her hand. She gasped and tried to reach for it in a futile attempt. Here comes the meltdown... or so Billy thought.

“Oh Abby, it was such a beautiful firefly! Looked like it was a really good flyer too huh?” Steve smiled and Abby only pouted a little. “Now it’s going to go home and tell all of its friends about you. And we gotta go home too sweetheart, it’s getting pretty late. Let’s say bye to Julien and Aunt Max, okay?” Steve was great at de-escalating a situation, he always knew exactly the right thing to say to stop Abby’s tears. Billy put Abby back down on her feet so that she could go over to Max and Julian to say goodbye. Steve turned to Billy and gave him a quick peck on the lips before taking his hand and walking them over to the trio waiting for them.

“Seems like you were able to get out of your head today, I’m glad.” Max said to Billy during their hug.

Once their farewells were said and done and they were all loaded up into Steve’s car, the small family made the short drive back home. Steve’s hand rested over Billy’s atop his thigh, periodically giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.

Back home, Steve carried a sleepy Abby in from the car and straight to her bed (he hated for her to miss brushing her teeth, but made an exception because of the long day she had had). While Steve helped Abby get settled in, Billy headed into their bedroom. He picked one of the heavier hardcover books off the bookshelf and pulled the dandelion out of his pocket. He tucked the wilting flower between the pages, saving it so that he could remember the day. Steve came into the bedroom as he was reshelving the book, he walked straight to Billy and wrapped his arms around him.

“Had a good day?” Steve asked. Billy twisted in his grip, turning to face Steve. They shared a few slow kisses, with no intention to escalate, only to be in each other’s space after being apart for the day. Billy pulled back, hands still holding onto Steve’s waist securely.

“Yeah, it was really good.” He smiled. Sure Abby was growing up, but they had so many years ahead of them, so many warm summer days just like this one. Although Billy didn’t expect he could completely quell his anxieties about the future, he was ready to start enjoying the moments as they happened.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #dads!harringrove #my fic

[jeon-kookie-dough]

Caught in the Game - Chapter 01

After growing up in the midst of Toman and a rather wild time in college, you are now working for a popular fashion magazine. You were aware of your boss's gang past - Kokonoi Hajime's name having been well-known during your school time - but after you bumped into an old friend at work the other day, one coincidence follows the next and you find your past catching up to you...

pairings: Koko x reader, Chifuyu x reader genre: angst, gang!au rating: m for violence & slowburn smut word count: 2,536 next>

The subway was much stuffier than usual. Bodies pressed into each other at every curvature, the sweat mingling on the sticky handlebars. And it is only the morning, for fuck’s sake.

The way from my house, which is located kind of in the outskirts of Tokyo, to Chiyoda where my office was located, felt like a lifetime this hot morning. Between trying to avoid creeps in the subway and standing in the longest queue in front of my favorite coffee shop for what seemed like hours, I was trying to supersede immense tiredness.

As of November, of the year prior I was working for one of the bigger fashion magazines in the country and the deadline for my latest article was already scratching at the front door. More like clawing, actually.

Up until starting up this job, I was used to living a half-assed life. School came easy to me, despite having been caught up in some…situations. College was a blur of alcohol and parties and I just barely graduated. After college I held myself above water with various part-time jobs, having been kicked out from home at barely 18 and landed my current job by chance. This upcoming article was more than important to me, thus stressing myself, and crying my fucking eyes raw from frustration, since it was the first time having my work printed in an actual magazine instead of just publishing online.

The second I stepped foot into Marunouchi Park Building, I sighed of relief and thanked who ever invented ACs. I entered the elevator, pushed the button for the 23rd floor and leaned back against the cool metal wall of the cabin. Just as the doors were about to close, somebody sprinted into the otherwise empty cabin. The person was male and of average height, balancing a couple garment bags and shoe boxes in his arms. I wasn’t really surprised that he was going to exit on the same floor, as the other offices in this building were mostly financial firms.

Not minding the other person, I let him leave the elevator before me, clocked in and greeted my colleagues with a friendly nod. I took a while, but in the past eight months, people seemed to have accepted that I was far from a morning person, so they learned to appreciate my curt nods. Only because I bring coffee. At least that’s my hypothesis.

“Good morning, sunshine!”

My eyeballs immediately rolled to the back. Hearing my boss’ voice in the morning was like nails on a chalkboard. I rolled back with my chair, peaking around my cubical. The bright sunlight illuminated the office through the glass front, reflecting in the angled door to the chief editor’s single office. His figure leaned in the door, arms crossed and hand holding out expectantly.

“S’up, Koko?” I mumble. I knew exactly what he had his hand stuck out for, but I wouldn’t give him the gratification he wanted. That rich fuck, I thought. Bet he snorts his coke with 10k yen bills but can’t even get his own fucking coffee.

“Think my hand is missing an iced Americano this morning. Care to explain?” His slender frame circled around the cubicle wall, now towering above my sitting person. My office was usually occupied by five people in total. Inui always being late and the other three on vacation left me as the only victim. I rolled my eyes at him. “Dunno”, I retorted, opting for my most innocent look. “Think I might have dropped it. You can have a sip of my Cappuccino, but I’m afraid I spat in it.”

Kokonoi Hajime was a peculiar person. He stood at 5’9” and his black locks braided away from the left side of his face was his signature look. He cared a lot about his staff being dressed well, as he himself only own designer suits from Italy. Despite enjoying the power he had over his staff, he also was very liberal in the way we communicated with another at the office. I had never met him before taking the job, but I had certainly heard of Kokonoi way before.

Koko was only a year or two older than I was and back in middle and high school he had a reputation. He lived one school district away from me, but the stories about him were also told at my school. Stories of a financial prodigy that hid behind his wannabe gangster friends that, most of the time, resorted to violence.

“You have a foul mouth”, he snickered, grabbing my cup and taking a sip anyway. “Somebody ever told you that?” I hummed in response, counting my coffee lost, and turned on my laptop. “I have a meeting in five minutes, so please take my calls, will you? Inui is useless, as always.” I nod silently, still grieving the loss of my coffee. Koko’s gaze rested on Inui’s empty desk, then on me. “How’s that big article of yours coming along?”

I knew he meant no harm with that question, but my elevated stress levels along with the acid, that always seems to wing in his voice, made me snap. “Fuck off, alright? I’m working on it.”

The chief editor raised his hands in defense and backed away from my desk, a smile playing about his lips. “The meeting’s until noon. Tell Inui to take my phone when his drags his lazy ass here.”

Inui arrived at 10:30, offering a coffee and a doughnut as a peace offering. I told him to screw off and, finally, concentrated on my article. It was almost done, but I needed it to be perfect before handing it to Kokonoi for proof-reading. I couldn’t afford messing this up if I ever intended of becoming a regular in the print.

I was so emersed in my work that I never saw the visitor arrive or leave. At lunch, all that occupied my mind was my hunger. I didn’t really have a lot of money left, thanks to the fucking chief for having me dress in expensive clothes so he quote unquote didn’t have to claw his eyes out at the sight of me, so a snack from the vending machine it was.

With food just in sight, my feet may have become a little too eager and I stumbled a crashed face first into someone walking by, having them fall onto the marble floor with me. I cussed under my breath and tried to get onto my feet, when there was already a hand outstretched to help me.

“You okay?” I averted my eyes immediately, embarrassment written on my face. “Uh, yeah, I’m alright, I guess. Er, I think you dropped something.” I dove right back down, picking up the visitor laminate. It read ‘Visitor for KOKONOI Hajime. Name-‘

My gaze darted up immediately, meeting a pair of silver eyes staring right back at me. “Mitsuya fucking Takashi?” I whispered in sheer disbelief. My opposite grinned, squeezing his eyes shut doing so. “It’s been a long time, huh, (Y/N)?”

I found myself accompanying Mitsuya to a Korean restaurant down the street for lunch. His treat, he said. The sun was merciless, and he scolded me for not carrying an umbrella with me. “It’s bad for your skin, you know?” I grunted, looking up at him. “Like I care.”

My high school graduation ceremony had been the last time I had seen Mitsuya. Up until then, we had almost been inseparable, having lived in the same shitty apartment complex, visiting the same middle school and him only being one year older. Back then, a lot of things happened. We never really had a fall out, at one point things just changed.

At the restaurant, we slid into a booth and a young waitress came to our table to take our order. Her eyes revealed that she found my companion attractive, but as per usual, he was oblivious. A couple minutes passed, and we were handed our drinks.

“Alcohol at this hour?” His eyebrow shot up in worry, vanishing behind his silver hair. He changed it up a bit since then, leaving his shaved sides in his natural black hair color, his top hair raked with black strands in the otherwise light hair. “Thought you had given up on that.”

I stirred my vodka soda with the glass straw, the ice chinking against the glass. “Yeah, I had.”

Mitsuya didn’t dig any further and leaned back into the cushioned bench instead. “So, a fashion magazine, huh? I thought you always wanted to become a sugar baby, what happened?” At his question I emptied half my drink in one gulp, disregarding the straw completely. “Turns out I’m not really cut for sucking wrinkly dick.” To that, Mitsuya busted out laughing. “You achieved just what you always dreamed of. How does that feel?” I asked quietly.

He stayed silent for a while and I watched him gnawing at the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking about how to choose his next words. “A lot of time has passed, you know?” His voice was dull as he finally spoke. “And a lot happened in between. I guess it was either getting my life under control or…” His voice trailed off, but I knew exactly what he left hanging in the air. Prison. Or even worse, death. “For my sisters’ sake, I chose to get my life together.”

I nodded, fumbling with the glass straw, one burning question on the tip of my tongue. How are the others? Is everyone still alive? I was too afraid of the answer, so I pushed the thought way back.

“Tell me about you, though”, Mitsuya smiled and leaned forward, folding his hands and propping his chin on them. “Working for Koko now, huh? How’s that been?” I groaned quietly and let my head hang. “He’s a fucking pain in the ass. Making me buy all this expensive shit so I’ve got nothing left in the bank. If I knew beforehand who the chief editor was, I would have never taken that job.” Mitsuya chuckled and flicked my forehead. Just like he always used to.

“I know what you mean” he mused. “I never thought I’d see his face again after-“ My eyes shot up at the tone in his voice. I never knew they had met before. Back then, I would have feared for his life. Everyone was young and stupid back then; delinquents with nothing but fist fights on their minds. But the folks Koko had surrounded himself with were more on the actual criminal side.

“What? Mitsuya, you never told me!” Even I was surprised at the pure horror in my voice. “Why didn’t you say something?” Mitsuya shrugged. “Nothing bad ever happened. It was just a surprise to see him in a position like this, that’s all.”

After lunch, which was fucking delicious, dare I add, Mitsuya and I exchanged numbers before going our separate ways.

The rest of the day I couldn’t concentrate on anything anymore. Before I headed home, I met Kokonoi’s gaze through his glass door and it gave me the shivers. Like he was watching me. Like he knew something. Creep. This weird feeling followed me all the way home and I caught myself looking back at every turn, at every red light. For some reason the conversation I have had with my old friend had me nervous. Nervous for him, for me, for everyone. What if Koko’s the same old thug, but with a lot more money and influence?

At home I opened a bottle of white wine, dunked the cap in the bin and sat at my desk, ready to catch up on the time I wasted at the office being worried. With a little liquid confidence, of course. Cheers!

I had approximately gotten about three hours of sleep. My body felt like it had gotten run over by a truck, my brain felt like soup. The only silver lining was, that I had, hallelujah!, finished my article – and my favorite co-worker Natsuki returning from her vacation. She had been working at the magazine already when I had started and showed me around.

Only a few days after I had started working, Atsushi Sendo had been transferred from another internal office to ours. There had been a lot of rumors occurring around his transfer, sexual harassment among them, but in the end, he had only royally fucked up his latest pitch and, as a punishment, had been put under Koko’s supervision, since he’s known to be the meanest editor. He ended up liking to work with us so much that he just stayed. The three of us ended up becoming the bane of Koko’s existence.

I stepped one foot into the office, yawning and pulling an Inui, I can’t believe that I arrived even after him, before I heard Natsuki already picking a fight with the chief editor. I silently put her coffee next to her cup of tea, handed another one to Inui and sat down at my own desk.

“With all due respect, Kokonoi, but you can’t expect me to not freak out when I come back after three weeks and find myarticle published under your name!” I leaned back into my chair, eyes closed, and head thrown back, and listened to the bickering in the chief editor’s office. A few minutes later, Natsuki threw the door into the lock behind her, the heel of her shoes dangerously echoing in the otherwise silent room.

It only took a moment before my sleepy body jumped awake when it got hit by a paper ball. My eyes ripped open just to find her eyes lingering over the wall between our cubicles. “Thanks for the coffee”, she said, raising the cup in a silent toast. I did the same, somewhat straightening up my spine in the seat. “Glad you’re back”, I yawned. “Old scrooge was unbearable.”

“Was?”, Natsuki barked under her breath. “He’s the spawn of hell! Remind me to never take anything from him again. He’s the kind of person to always expect something in return and I don’t even want to think about what he would expect.” I grunted in my chair and sipped on my black coffee, leaving a red lip print on the paper.

“Money” Kokonoi, who unbeknownst to any of us had left his office, answered Natsuki whilst keeping his sly eyes on my. “I don’t take anything but cash. (Y/L/N), where’s your article. Deadline’s today.” Natsuki’s and my eyes met over the screen. Our boss rarely called us by our names, much less our family names - he prefers shit like darling or sweetheart. Why the fuck am I still working here?! – so we knew something was up. And maybe I have a hint.

“Check your mails. I submitted it at, like, 3.” “A.m.?” Natsuki mouthed in disbelief, but I kept my eyes fixed on Kokonoi. He beckoned me with a finger to follow me. “Come in my office for a minute, would you, sweetheart.” There he was again. The egotistical, chauvinistic asshole. The chair hit the screen behind me as I rolled back a little more forceful than intended, but I followed him, anyway.

#tokyo revengers #TR #chifuyu x y/n #koko x y/n #matsuno chifuyu #tokyo revengers x oc #tokyo revengers x you smut #hajime kokonoi #sanzu haruchiyo #mitsuya takashi #slowburn #smut #gang!au #kurokawa izana #izana #ran haitani #rindou haitani #hanma #kazutora hanemiya

[poorcinderelly]

Perfectly Fine

Author: poorcinderelly

Rating: PG13 (language mostly)

Fandom: RPF

Pairing: Tom Holland/Reader

Disclaimer: This work is purely fiction and not-for-profit fan activity. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here.

Word Count: 3,491

Notes: Soooooo....I have never written an RPF fic before and especially not one that involves Tom Holland. I got inspired to write this after listening to Taylor Swift's song, Mr. Perfectly Fine on loop for the past few days. Fair warning, Tom is not really kind here. I mean, he's not the worst, but he's also not the greatest either. Part of me also really wants to do a part two to this, but I guess it will depend on how it's received and honestly, if I feel like it, lol.

Here's the AO3 link, too.

Enjoy!

It takes everything in me just to get up each day But it's wonderful to see that you're okay

You rolled over in bed and picked up your phone. It was almost 11:00am. You knew you had to get out of bed. Brush your teeth. Comb your hair. Eat something.

But your energy was gone. Everything felt so heavy.

The last communication was over a text message. Tom had asked when you were going to come by to get the rest of your things from his apartment. At first, you told him you weren't sure yet. He responded asking if he should just have them mailed to Jessica's, your best friend's place. You had been staying with her since the break-up.

You eventually told him that you would come to get them. But that was two weeks ago.

You opened your messages, a small part of you hoping to get a new one from him. But there was nothing.

You opened Twitter, mindlessly scrolling through, not really reading anything that was on your feed.

'Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her And I never got past what you put me through But it's wonderful to see that it never phased you

That was when you saw it. A video of Tom, with his new girlfriend. They were caught by paparazzi coming out of a restaurant. You watched as they held hands, making their way down the sidewalk. Tom was chatting them up as usual; it was something he did to try to make what's a typically stressful situation go as smooth as possible. It was something he did when he was out with you.

A lump swelled in your throat and you tried your best to blink back tears.

He seemed totally fine. It's like he has completely moved on, even though it had only been two weeks. You started seeing photos of him and her together shortly after you broke up. You thought it was odd that he had moved on so quickly, but you also suspected that he may have been talking to her for a while, even while you two were still together.

How wonderful.

That thought made the dam broke and you started to cry again. It felt like you had been crying non-stop since things ended. You were so tired of it. Jessica, being the best friend that she was, told you it was okay to cry and that it was okay to feel. "You've been through a shock," she said. "What Tom did caught you by surprise."

She was right of course, but it still hurt.

You closed Twitter and went back to your messages. You opened the thread you had with Tom and wrote the following:

I'll come pick my stuff up today.

You closed the app and rolled over, facing the window. The sun was out and you could see the leaves from the trees rustling in the breeze. It was a beautiful spring day.

Then you heard your phone ping. You reached over to the other side of the bed and picked it up.

Tom replied.

You took a breath and opened the message.

Okay. Just text when you're on the way.

You saw through that immediately. It was so obvious that he was trying to make sure she wouldn't be there when you came. "How considerate of you."

You didn't even bother to text him back.

You set your phone down on the table and even though it felt like it took all of your strength, you rolled out of bed.

"Time to get moving."

- * -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -

Mr. "Perfect face" Mr. "Here to stay" Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away" Everything was right Mr. "I've been waiting for you all my life" Mr. "Every single day until the end, I will be by your side"

You and Tom met at a red carpet event for a summer Hollywood blockbuster. He already had two Spider-Man movies under his belt by then, but you were an up-and-coming actress. You were aware of him and he was aware of your work, but you had never met or spoken to one another before. However, when you saw him outside the theater, it was like sparks went off. Despite being surrounded by the press and screaming fans, all you could see was him.

Once you both were inside the venue, he asked if he could find you at the party afterward. You said "yes," trying your best not to show how eager and excited you were. Once the movie was over, you made your way to the after-party. Walking in, you felt like you were in a fairytale; a princess trying to find her prince in the crowd.

Tom found you first; he made his way from the other side of the room and offered you a drink. You never left each other's side that night; you danced, ate, drank, and left to go back to his hotel together.

You hoped that the one-night stand would turn into something more and it did.

One month turned into six, then a year, and another year. Tom was everything you wanted in a person; kind, funny, smart, and attentive. Even though you both had extremely chaotic schedules, you both made it a rule to coordinate a FaceTime every night before you went to sleep, no matter where you were in the world.

It did not take long for the press to catch on about your relationship. Since your career was not as established as Tom's, having everyone in the world find out about you made you incredibly anxious. But Tom was supportive and patient; he was also a private person, which helped. He promised to protect you.

Tom was good for you and you thought you were good for him, too. He made you feel safe and loved. You had been waiting for a relationship like this one for a long, long time.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart" Mr. "Leaves me all alone," I fall apart

You couldn't pinpoint when exactly things changed, but it occurred over the span of a few months.

Tom started to snap more during your FaceTimes. He assured you that it was stress from having to film three movies back to back. But you knew something was off; you just couldn't tell what it was. Not long after that, your FaceTimes were getting short. The same thing would happen: Tom would lose his patience, you would get defensive, a fight would happen, and both of you would hang up.

Tom barely answered your FaceTime calls after that fight. He would always say he was busy or tired, but you knew better.

And throughout this time, the anxiety kept building up. Every day, you asked yourself what you did to upset him and if there was a way to fix it. Your communication with Tom was mostly through text messages, and you were starting to notice that when you told him you loved him, he didn't say it back.

The first time you saw him after that was in November. It was the start of the holiday break for the both of you and you wanted to have a few weeks to yourselves before having to travel to see each other's families. You arrived at the apartment you both shared in New York. After you dropped your suitcases in the bedroom, you texted him asking if he was on his way.

Hours went by. He never responded.

You heard the doorknob click around nine-thirty that evening and Tom made his way inside. He tossed his keys on the counter and went into the kitchen, not saying a word. You could tell he was tired; you were tired too. You knew better than to do this, but the anxiety and frustration that had been building up for the past few weeks finally got released.

It resulted in the biggest fight you had. You asked why he didn't respond to your text; he snapped and asked why you were always breathing down his neck. You just wanted to know what was going on; why things have been distant between you both. But Tom just kept deflecting, saying that nothing was wrong. But your anxiety wouldn't let you believe it; something was different and you knew fighting wasn't going to solve the problem. But it just didn't stop; it quickly escalated to more screaming, more crying, and slamming doors.

Tom left the apartment that night; he left you sitting on the living room floor, crying. Right before he slammed the door, he said, "I need to get away from you right now."

Hours went by and you were waiting for him to come home.

He didn't.

You ended up sleeping on the couch.

Mr. "Never told me why" Mr. "Never had to see me cry" Mr. "Insincere apology so he doesn't look like the bad guy"

Tom returned the next day. You heard him come in around the early afternoon. He was wearing the same outfit he wore yesterday. You wanted to know where he was, but you didn't ask, afraid that it would set off another fight.

Your mind wandered to what he said the night before.

"You're always nagging on me."

"Why do you think something always has to be wrong?"

"You're so fucking crazy."

"I need to get away from you."

Tom saw that you were on the couch and came to the obvious conclusion that you slept there and had not moved. He crouched down in front of you and brushed some loose strands of your hair out of your face.

"I'm sorry."

You could not tell if his apology was genuine. It honestly felt like he was only apologizing just to apologize, not because he truly meant it. But you were so tired; you wanted this to be over.

So you accepted it.

Hello Mr. "Casually cruel"

Things did not get better after that. Typical small arguments turned into big ones and minor disagreements turned into personal attacks.

It amazed you how Tom had so many casually cruel comebacks for you in his arsenal. But you were not so innocent either; some of the things you said to him surprised you.

You started to not like who you have become; you were anxious all the time now and truthfully, you really did not like hurting him. You weren't sure if you could say the same about Tom, though.

One night in February, you were sitting out on the balcony, looking over the Manhattan skyline. You were sipping your tea and heard the sliding door to the balcony open. Tom sat in the chair next to you, running his hands through his hair.

"I think..." he sighed, "....I think we need to break up."

You knew it was coming, but you still were not fully prepared. Tears swelled in your eyes and you squeezed the mug like it was your lifeline.

"We just can't keep doing this, babes," said Tom. "I can't keep doing this."

In your head, you begged him to stop. You pleaded that it was not in fact over; that you just needed to talk things through. You could definitely work through this; it was just a rough patch. But you could not say the words - because a part of you knew that he was right.

You could not keep doing it either.

Both of you sat out there for a while, not saying a word. You still squeezed the tea mug, but the tears you were holding back were falling freely now.

It was over.

- * -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -* -* -* - * -

You found the energy to shower, blowdry your hair, and get changed into a white t-shirt, jeans, and green jacket. You grabbed your phone, wallet, and keys and tossed them in your handbag.

Jessica was in the kitchen eating a piece of toast. You saw how elated she was when she noticed that you showered and changed clothes. She offered to make you breakfast, but you refused.

"I'll just eat something when I come back."

"Oh!" Her eyes widened. "Where are you going?"

"I, uh...I'm going to Tom's...to get the rest of my things." You picked at the end of one of the drawstrings on your jacket.

"Will she be there?" Jessica asked.

You shook her head. "I don't think so."

Jessica nodded; you noticed that she looked a little relieved. "Well, do you want me to drive you? Just in case you see some paps along the way?"

"Oh. Them," you thought. It did not take long for the media to catch on that you two had broken up. It was partly why you had been hiding out at Jessica's for the past couple of weeks. As much as you wanted her to come with you, you knew this was something you needed to do yourself.

Jessica said she had to work tonight, but promised to come home straight after for a full report, which you laughed at. You said your goodbyes and made your way out of Jessica's building.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that there were not any paps around. You hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address to Tom's apartment. Your old apartment.

You leaned back in the seat and pulled out your phone.

I'm on my way.

You tried not to think too much about it. If you thought about it, you would surely cry. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

The cab pulled up to the front of the building. You paid the fee and got out. You said your hello to Tony, the doorman (who was surprised to see you), and made your way through the lobby, up the elevator, and down the green carpet hall to your old unit. Room 4J

Your hands were shaking a little now, but you tried to brush it off. You turned it into a fist and lightly knocked on the door. It was just starting to hit you that this would be the last time you would set foot in this place, but you interrupted the thought.

"Damn it, you are NOT going to lose it!"

You heard movement from the other side of the door and the jiggle of the doorknob.

There was Tom.

He was wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and socks. His chestnut hair was curly and he had what looked like a cup of tea in his hand.

"Come in."

He did not smile when he saw you; you were not expecting him to, but it stung a little.

You began to scan the apartment, trying to find anything that belonged to you. Then you heard Tom clear his throat.

"Uh...everything's in the guest bedroom," he said.

You looked at him, confused. Since when did he have a guest bedroom?

"We turned it into a spare bedroom after..." his voice trailed off near the end.

Their now guest room used to be your craft room. It had all of your paints, markers, fabrics, and colorful paper that you used to make gifts for friends, co-workers, and loved ones. Of course, all of that was packed up and in storage now.

You sighed a little and made your way down the hall to the guest room. You opened the door and saw a full bed, a dresser with a small television on it, and a bedside table with a lamp on it. In the space between the bed and the dresser was a single medium-sized cardboard box with your name written on it in big, black letters. The handwriting was Tom's.

You crouched down and opened the box. Inside was your favorite tea mug, a spare cell phone charger, some headphones, a scarf, and a paintbrush set you left behind. At the bottom of the box, was a small, red photo album.

You knew immediately what that was. You bit your lip and swallowed. "I'll open that another time," you thought.

You folded the box back up and tucked it under your arm as you got to your feet. You made your way back to the living area and saw Tom sitting on the couch, with his arms crossed. When he saw you enter the room, he got to his feet.

"Do you need help with that?" he asked.

You shook your head. "No," you answered, shortly, "I got it."

Tom let out a small sigh and followed you to the door. You wanted to get out of there. You could feel the dam was about to break. Just as your hand was about to twist the doorknob, you heard Tom's voice let out a small, "I'm sorry."

You bit your lip and lowered your head. "Don't do this! Not here!" you begged yourself. "You don't have to apologize, Tom," you said, surprised that you were even able to get that out of you. Your hand was still clenching the doorknob.

"Y/N, can we please talk?" Tom asked. "I just need to clear the air on a few things."

You could tell he was a little desperate for this. Part of you wondered if this was something he had planned all along. You knew you did not owe him anything, but part of you wanted to hear him out.

You turned around and set the box on top of the kitchen counter. You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "Do you want to sit down?" Tom offered. You shook your head. "No thanks."

And it's really such a shame It's such a shame 'Cause I was Miss "Here to stay" Now I'm Miss "Gonna be alright someday" And someday maybe you'll miss me But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late"

So Tom stood too. He looked you in the eye the entire time he spoke, but he also twiddled his fingers.

"I'm sorry that we ended things the way we did. I'm sorry for the way I treated you, how I yelled at you and insulted you. No one should ever have to hear those words, and I know I should have treated you better. I'm truly sorry."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and bit the inside of your cheek. This was all you wanted - a genuine apology. Now that you finally got it, you weren't sure how to process it.

But you knew you better say something, too.

"I-I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for how I treated you, too. I said some horrible things to you, too, and I wish I could take them back. I'm sorry."

The damn started to break now. A few small tears started to roll down your cheeks. You wiped them away with your sleeve, hoping it would hinder the rest.

There was so much more that you wanted to say to him, but you knew if you did, you would not be able to control yourself. Tom took a step closer to, with the intent to give you a hug. But you held your hand up to stop him, which he respected.

That was when you took a step closer to him, stood on your tiptoes, and kissed him on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Tom," you said, your voice cracking. "Thank you." "I wish you well."

You did not give him the time to speak. You quickly turned around, grabbed the box from the counter, and walked out the door.

You pushed through the doors of the building and walked out into the street. You got lucky again and immediately hailed a cab before saying goodbye to Tony.

On your ride home, you watched people pass on the sidewalk. The box was resting in your lap. The tears you had been working so hard to hold back were starting to fall. But you did not feel any tinge of sadness, anger, or any pain. The feeling in your chest was mostly bittersweet.

You accepted that that was probably the last time you were ever going to see Tom, and you were beginning to feel okay with that. You were also beginning to feel happy that he was fine. Despite the pain that the both of you endured, you truly just wanted to see him happy. And now you finally knew that he wants the same for you too.

You reached up and wiped away the tears that were still rolling down your cheeks. A part of you will always love Tom, but after today, you can finally take the steps to move on.

You know you will be perfectly fine too someday.

Goodbye Mr. "Perfectly fine" How's your heart after breakin' mine? Mr. "Always at the right place at the right time," baby Goodbye Mr. "Casually cruel" Mr. "Everything revolves around you" I've been Miss "Misery" for the last time And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine" You're perfectly fine

Click here to read Part II (Changing Minds)

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #taylor swift #mr. perfectly fine #mr perfectly fine #fic: perfectly fine #fandom: rpf #rpf: tom holland #ch: ofc #ch: reader

[capsized-heart]

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this. 

gif credit to @michonnegrimes​ 

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy. 

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child. 

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother. 

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed. 

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.   

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English. 

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland. 

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin. 

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre. 

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king. 

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to. 

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland. 

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk. 

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey. 

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates. 

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you. 

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey. 

A lick of fire coils up your throat. 

God save the king. 

**

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand. 

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling. 

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose. 

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly. 

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing. 

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other. 

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.  

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels. 

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. 

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance. 

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy. 

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear. 

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal. 

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation. 

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

**

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own. 

You see it all. After all, you are a woman. 

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror. 

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.” 

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”      

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact. 

King Henry IV.     

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly. 

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.     

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air. 

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride. 

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.  

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.  

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you. 

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light. 

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you. 

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”  

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law? 

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls. 

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile. 

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more. 

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue. 

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor. 

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.  

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light. 

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.   

“I thank you, sire.” 

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear. 

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”  

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced. 

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests. 

You leave him burning. 

**

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting. 

 The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria. 

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup. 

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans. 

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor. 

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted. 

Even if it is all a charade. 

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.      

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.  

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.   

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes. 

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs. 

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers. 

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.   

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.     

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek. 

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers. 

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic. 

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip. 

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.  

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat. 

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink. 

**

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily. 

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly. 

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time. 

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

**

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife. 

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil. 

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.  

“King Henry!”

**

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.  

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry. 

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood. 

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker. 

A ball for the boy king.   

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture. 

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm. 

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.    

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise. 

**

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.  

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk. 

You feign surprise and turn.     

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.  

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.  

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize. 

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection. 

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno. 

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear. 

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum. 

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs. 

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming. 

“I thank you, my lord.” 

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?” 

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response. 

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar. 

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

**

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you. 

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game. 

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands. 

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father. 

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.   

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce. 

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely. 

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game. 

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding. 

You are to let him touch you. 

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire. 

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself. 

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.  

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure. 

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth. 

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman. 

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

**

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows. 

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move. 

You only burn brighter.  

**

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase. 

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest. 

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil. 

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval? 

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago. 

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

**

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment. 

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.  

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns. 

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself. 

**

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return. 

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession. 

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England. 

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song. 

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together. 

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room. 

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.” 

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear. 

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.  

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.” 

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis. 

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely. 

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually. 

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening. 

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it. 

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm. 

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...” 

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss. 

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder. 

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed. 

You have the king’s word. 

**

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool. 

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.” 

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries. 

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly. 

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer. 

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.  

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming. 

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races. 

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.” 

**

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger. 

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this. 

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood. 

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

**

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill. 

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling. 

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers. 

Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

**

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have. 

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest. 

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl. 

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos. 

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world. 

 The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone. 

 You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world. 

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below. 

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[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

His Dark Materials S2 Ep 6 - Rambling/Thoughts

I really cannot believe that we’re at the penultimate episode already, oh my gosh. It’s gone by so fast??

Again, because I’ve reread TSK in the last couple of weeks, the book is fresh in my mind but I’ve probably still missed stuff

Also last week was so intense and seeing the “previously on” section made me remember just how intense that was, so it’s a hard job to top that!

ANGELS AHH RIGHT AWAY IM GEEKING OUT

“The last time they were seen was to make war” - IT’S HAPPENING ASDFGHJKL

Ruta going off to see Asriel and me just remembering what exactly went down between them while she was there with him... heh

So Will’s hand looks AWFUL oh my god poor Will 😭

Pan is REALLY into his Red PAN-da form oh my goodness

So the other kids out for revenge terrified the living SHIT out of me, dear god I don’t think it could be any creepier than dozens of them appearing out of the shadows like that, like it’s genuinely terrifying

Serafina just dropped right in to rescue them and I was both relieved and a little disappointed? Because in the book the whole chase sequence is so much longer and more important, like it takes up most of an entire chapter I think, and here it’s like two minutes?

Serafina: What does this edge cut? // Lyra: Everything (Will at the same time: Nothing.) - 😂

I missed Lee and Jopari tbh so yay to seeing them once more! And they’ve crossed into the next world!

Oh hi again Mary!

^ I wasn’t expecting to see Mary again this series because in TSK book, her last appearance is going through the window (which was last episode), so I’m a little curious as to whether we’re going to get a TINY little peek into The Amber Spyglass here (it’s been years since I reread it, I apologize). Because last series they did a bit of TSK (namely introducing Will + him crossing into Cittagazze), so it would be interesting!

“Good, something I can understand for a change” - LOL Same

Serafina wants to take Lyra back to her world?? Really??

Not gonna lie, the two girls spying on Mary was kind of low-key creepy

Lyra mentioning that she crossed worlds to find out about Dust and mentioning Roger 😭

Also I’m so emotional over just how much she wants Will to be safe, like she would really do anything to keep him safe and I love it

Lyra asking the Alethiometer where Will’s dad is and “he’s in this world” - ahhh it’s going to happen!

Also I really hope that the BBC/whoever decides to sell replica Alethiometers because the design is so beautiful?! I would fork out serious dough for one, and it would go nicely with the one I have from the film

No but seriously, words don’t describe just how badly I want a replica

“I wanted to fly so I summoned you here, now I’m flying” - LOL OKAY THEN JOHN

Ooh damn, that outfit Marisa is wearing is FINE. I’m slightly gayer than I was before, ngl

I was like “nooo Mary don’t be nice to these kids, they’re awful”

But it’s very sweet that she offers them food?? Like she pulls a chocolate bar out and is like “it’s no good for you, it’s full of sugar”... I love her

The way that Mary was so happy and excited when they mentioned Lyra, only to tell the girls off for trying to kill her - more of a mum than Mrs Coulter tbh

“Miss, can I have a hug?” - AWWW OMG WHY AM I SAD

They asked Mary to stay and look after them omg 😭😭😭

“Come with me, I’ll bring you to your adults” - ooh okay this could go any number of ways... Either she actually reunites them with their families and all’s well, or she takes them up there and their parents/adults are all dead (for lack of a better word)? Or the Spectres attack after Mary leaves them with the adults??

Jopari talking about meeting his dæmon and also a little bit about trying to get back to his family :(

“Can you magic us up a fire?” “One moment” *presents a box of matches” - LMFAO

Wait did Serafina seriously just imply that she thought Will might hurt Lyra?!?

Serafina saying that if protecting Lyra means protecting Will as well... Yes, protect Will please! Protect BOTH of these children, I literally BEG you, they’ve gone through far too much

Ooh okay so the witch ritual/spell was kind of cool to see!

Lyra saying “please tell me he’ll be alright” 😭♥️

The fact that Lyra curled up close to Will and then Pan (in ermine form) curled up CLOSER to Will is so cute, they both love Will so much

Pan: “We feel safe her... don’t we?” / OOF OKAY THIS IS F I N E

I already know what Lyra’s “other name” is because I read the book but the hints are anything BUT subtle tbh. “Mother of us all, cause of all sin, tempted by the serpent”... I’m not even that religious but I think it’s pretty obvious.

Also, if Mary is playing the part of the “serpent” within Lyra’s destiny, does that mean that Mary has tempted Lyra? Or that she will?

Boreal being nervous about being in the city and Marisa is just so unimpressed by him... Mood

That smirk she had when going up to that Spectre victim was so chilling, we have to stan Ruth Wilson and her incredible acting

Also, fun fact, Ruth Wilson went to my sixth form college and is from Surrey (like me), and she grew up in Shepperton, which is where my Nan used to live when she was alive (my uncle and aunt live there still), so that’s super exciting!

“We could learn from this” - PLEASE DO NOT MA’AM

God I hate the Magisterium so fucking much, the patriarchy is so strong with them

Oh great, now they’re gunning to kill Lyra :/

Also, off topic, I’ve only just connected that Will Keen, who plays Father MacPhail, is Dafne Keen’s dad?!?

“She’s lost a lot for one so young” - AND SHE’S STILL GOING TO LOSE PEOPLE, WHY IS THIS FAIR PHILIP PULLMAN 😭

“She must be protected” - AGAIN, they BOTH need protecting PLEASE

The Spectre noises reminded me of the noises of the Smoke Monster from LOST, so that’s definitely trippy for me

Thanks, I hate it

I nearly shouted “WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE DOING” out loud in front of both my parents, I seriously thought she had a damn death wish

I have never been so damn tense in my entire life as I am watching this show - and I KNOW what happens

HOW DID SHE DO THAT WITH THE SPECTRES SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN

Lee’s so worried about Lyra - 11/10, Father of the Year

The Magisterium airships... NO. FUCK. WE’RE AT THAT POINT ALREADY AND IM NOT OKAY BECAUSE I KNOW HOW AND WHERE THIS ENDS AND I HATE IT

I deadass thought Marisa and Carlo were about to kiss when he ran up to her and I actually said out loud “NO please don’t”

Look I must just be so dirty minded but when she said “let’s celebrate”, my immediate reaction was “NO NO NO NO EW EW EW NO” and “I hope she just means having a drink and not doing the frickety-frack”

I was so close to tearing up as Will was talking about his mum, her illness, and the boys who were mean to her because of it. His love for his mum is so beautifully written and the way Amir Wilson is playing Will is so wonderful

I was also close to tears when he was talking about his dad and how he used to imagine about his dad, so maybe I’m just emotional anyway

“Could go to school... have friends” - okay yeah no I’m definitely crying 😭

“I couldn’t trust anyone.” “Until you met me.” “Yeah.” - EXCUSE ME ♥️😭 my HEART

I love one (1) soft boy, and one (1) feral girl and her dæmon

The relief I felt when I saw Marisa and Carlo were literally just having drinks 😅

“They consume what makes us human, so I just suppressed that and hid it” + *cut to the monkey looking kinda sad/uncomfortable* - Umm fUCK OKAY THEN

Why am I feeling sorry for the monkey?!?

“You think we’re equal?” - LMFAO RIGHT

EWW THEY KISSED. No, just... nO

When I saw his snake dæmon moving towards her monkey, I thought one of two things was about to happen: 1) the monkey was going to pet and paw and the snake as Marisa seduced Boreal, or 3) the monkey was going to strange the snake and kill Boreal

OKAY THIS TOOK A SHARP BUT NOT UNWELCOMED TURN

“You’ve NEVER been my equal.” “You’d only hold me back.” - OH MY GOD YES THE SHADE

She’s not wrong though let’s be honest here

So she poisoned him I’m assuming? She poisoned his drink because the monkey didn’t actually touch the snake... damn.

Her just sitting there and continuing to drink with his dead body there is... damn.

“Into that valley” NO NO, please no

Jopari really just summoned a whole damn storm huh

Also the fact he fully trusts in Lee’s abilities to land them safely :3

Lee: “Can we trust him?” // Hester: “Do we have another choice?!!” - LMFAO I love them so much

THE WAY I NEARLY SCREAMED WHEN THAT WITCH GOT ATTACKED BY A SPECTRE OMFG AT LEAST WILL WAS THERE TO SAVE HER

Okay but did Marisa REALLY sit there for HOURS with Boreal’s corpse sitting opposite her?!?

Her burning her hand on the flame in front of the monkey, and the monkey clearly whimpering and in pain was so agonizing to watch, I can’t take this show

Also, you have to wonder just how many times she’s harmed herself (and him) for her to keep doing it with next to no problems (like separating from each other all the time)

I was so excited to see the birds attacking the zeppelins, like it was one of my favourite details in the book, and I worried that they wouldn’t have the budget for it but yay!

I do kind of wish that we’d had Sayan Kötor as the “eagle Queen” leading them though - she probably was but I wish we’d actually seen it or heard Jopari say it or whatever

THEY SHOT THE GAS CANNISTER OH SHIT THEY’RE GOING DOWN HARD AND FAST IN THAT BALLOON

HOLD ON BBC YOU CANNOT END THIS THERE?!? EXCUSE ME?!

The last episode is next week and on an hour earlier, so that’s exciting! I have no idea what I’ll do once this series ends, or when we’ll even get the third and final series because of COVID and filming delays, but I’m excited for it nonetheless and hoping it’s next November/December or something!

#his dark materials #hdm #lyra belacqua #lyra silvertongue #marisa coulter #mrs coulter #will parry #serafina pekkala #ruth wilson #dafne keen #amir wilson #pantalaimon #john parry #lee scoresby #hester

[0ri0nmvns0n]

SPN FINALE ESSAY

I’m writing my first essay in my college English class about the SPN finale. We’re supposed to write about a key experience and I’m pretty fucking sure it qualifies considering how much it fucked me up

I’m writing the first draft now but I’ll keep updating this post as this progresses!

First Draft

How the Series Finale of Supernatural affected the mental health

Watching the series finale of your favorite show is a bittersweet moment for many of us. Especially if you’ve been watching the show for almost a quarter of your life. Supernatural is a show that is very near and dear to my heart and it follows two brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester as they hunt all kinds of supernatural creatures, including angels, demons and everything in between. I’ve been watching it since I was 13 years old.. On Thursday, November 19th, 2020 I had to say goodbye.

I have a very personal connection to the Winchester brothers and having to say goodbye to two characters that I felt like I grew up with, and to some extent felt like siblings I never had was heartbreaking. The Winchesters had been in my life for almost 5 years at that point and I hadn’t been in the best place when I had started watching the show at 13 years old. Supernatural was a way to escape to another universe for a few hours and distract myself from all the negative things that were going on in my life. I formed a strong attachment to the Winchester brothers early on and as I was following their journey over the course of the show, I was slowly growing and changing into a better version of myself. Supernatural was there for me when I felt hopeless and alone. I knew that I would have to say goodbye and that it would eventually come to an end, as all good things do. However, the possibility of a series finale felt so far into the future that I didn’t think about it in 2016.

When finale night arrived, I was emotionally preparing myself for whatever the finale had in store. I was extremely optimistic but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. I was hoping for a happy ending that gave Sam and Dean the happy, apple pie kind of lives they deserve, but little did I know how much the finale would break my heart and let me down. To say that I was shocked and disappointed with the finale i ended up watching is an understatement.

Overall, it didn’t sit right with me . It felt like the writers just threw it together and called it a day. The finale starts with shots of Sam and Dean waking up and doing their morning routines and then doing some research to try and find a case. The case Dean finds involves vampires that attack Ohio towns along Route 77. We later find out that the vampires had been investigated by their father years ago and that this was unfinished business. Initially the hunt goes as planned but everything heads south quickly when the brothers are overpowered and Dean is impaled on a piece of rebar and eventually dies.

His final moments are absolutely heartbreaking, especially since this time we knew he was gone for good. For me that made it even worse, because I felt a strong connection to Dean and his story from the very first episode and he was a character that I have always seen a piece of myself in. His death left me absolutely devastated. I had grown so attached to him over the years and to me, he was family. It was hard for me to even look past Dean’s death and focus on the rest of the episode, because I felt like I had just lost a close family member. after the finale was over, I ended up crying for over two hours because I was still in shock that he was gone. My brain was struggling to process it and I barely slept that night. Over the course of the show, Dean had done so many good things and for him to die the way he did just felt like a slap in the face. The aftermath was just as bad as the actual finale. Less than two years prior, I lost my grandfather and went through the stages of grief and now I was experiencing that same decline in my mental health all over again. I felt numb and indifferent about a lot of things, I slept in later than I usually would and most days I barely left my room. To some, being this affected over the death of a fictional character seems childish and immature, but considering how much I saw myself in Dean and his journey during the show, and how much I had grown since I started watching, his death felt like I had been stabbed in the back. The fact that he was killed when he was finally learning to love himself and experience true happiness and peace was extremely upsetting for me and was a legitimate cause of emotional distress. I felt so betrayed by the finale, because Sam and Dean had been through so much and did so many good things for thousands of people and that ending didn’t send a good message to fans. Supernatural taught fans the importance of self acceptance, found family, and most importantly, to always keep fighting your battles no matter what. The finale seemed to throw that out completely, and the message it sent was unsettling: you can only find peace in death and that erasure of LGBTQ characters is acceptable.

Dean is bisexual, it was not explicitly confirmed in the show but multiple actors have come forward and confirmed it. The fact that dean is bisexual added a whole other layer of disappointment and distress to my already declining mental health. Proper LGBTQ representation in media is few and far between especially bisexual individuals like myself. The fact that my comfort character was killed as he was finally beginning to accepting himself after repressing his true identity for most of his life was extremely damaging to me.

It felt like the writers were indirectly telling me that I don’t deserve to be happy and speak my truth and that good people won’t get the happiness and peace they deserve really affected me. It felt like a betrayal in every sense of the word and even though it’s been over two months since the finale aired, I’m still struggling with my mental health due to the finale.

#supernatural essay #spn family #spn s15 #spn #supernatural finale #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #sam winchester #jensen ackles #misha collins #dean winchester deserves better #bi dean #spn 15x20 #the finale traumatized me and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to recover #fuck cw #fuck andrew dabb

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter fifteen: i’m single and incapable of mingle

part sixteen of sudden desire

warnings: mentions of pregnancy/infertility, pining, sweet, sweet pining, angst

word count: 2.9k

Marcus Pike hopes James Casey knows he’s the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. Because he gets to call Coraline Meyer his girlfriend.

They’ve been dating for a couple of months now - the longest few months of his entire life, he’s sure - and it’s fine.

Really, it’s fine.

He’s happy for them.

Because Coraline is happy. And she’s all that matters.

August bleeds into a snowy November and it’s even colder without her there. He doesn’t see her every day like he used to; she’s busy with work - filming and interviews and red carpets where she outshines everyone - and with James, because they’re together now and they’re okay.

And it’s fine.

She makes time for him. Of course she does. He’s her best friend and god knows she wouldn’t survive without him and his beautiful warmth, and the way he holds her just a little longer when they say their goodbyes for the night. But Marcus feels selfish when it hurts him to realise he doesn’t see her as much as he wants to, as much as he used to. But happiness truly looks good on her - she’s the sunshine when the sky turns slate grey - but, sometimes, she still falls into him and she cries, the weight of their loss still weighing heavy on her shoulders.

Marcus can’t find it in him to cry. Maybe he should, because it’s his loss too, but the ache holds his chest tight and terribly uncomfortable that crying sometimes feels too painful. He mourns in silence, with her there those snowy nights, beside him, and that’s enough for him. That’s all he can muster.

He’s started to date, too. Or, at least, tried to. Coraline’s eyes had lit up when he’d told her that the pretty girl from the office had asked him out, and she’d almost lost her mind when he’d told her he’d accepted. They’d been on a couple of dates - and she’d been lovely and the date had been lovely; really, it had - but his mind had been elsewhere. It wasn't her fault, because he’s sure if things had been different, he’s sure things would have been great.

But, somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s sure that it’ll always be Coraline.

At least, for now.

When they’re together, Coraline tries not to talk about him. They talk about everything and nothing, but she only brings him up when it’s almost unavoidable. She tells him about the dates they go on and about the daughter he has with his ex, the little girl that she’d adored before they even started dating, and who seems to adore her; the red-haired, rosy-cheeked four-year-old, Bea, who’s always giggling and asking her for candy. Coraline seems to treat the girl like she’s her own, but Marcus has yet to meet her. Or James, for that matter. She feels bad for droning on and on and on about James around him - she’d hate to bore him with tales of her lovelife - even though he listens with renewed interest and a smile on his face, every time.

But he’s her best friend, and Loren has heard it all before, and sometimes she can’t help spilling all her stories to him when they’re curled up beneath a blanket with their takeout, watching a shitty movie.

They try to do it every week, now. But they see each other far too little for either of their likings.

They still see each other, but those days of sharing apartments and waking up beside each other every morning, hoping and praying they’d have a baby to show from it, are long gone. Sometimes, Coraline lies awake at night and wishes he was still there, holding her close like she was this precious thing. James holds her, too, but it’s not the same. She can’t quite place why.

“Daniel’s worried about the gallery, again,” Coraline tells him, idly, over takeout. It’s Sunday night - and the week has been so long that they’d both practically collapsed onto his couch, exhausted and giggling at each other’s dishevelled and half-asleep appearance - and the only time they’d managed to see each other in between their hectic schedules. There’s a lot to catch up on, and Marcus fears it’ll be over too soon. “Some guy sat outside for two days last weekend, but he hasn’t seen him since.”

“Get him to give me a call,” he insists, “I’ll look into it.”

“Do you even have time?”

Marcus chuckles. “No-” He leans over and plucks an egg roll from Coraline’s carton, much to her displeasure. “-but I’ll find time.”

“Well-” Coraline reaches over, pokes him sharp in the arm with the end of a chopstick, and steals one of his dumplings from his tray. He smirks at her as she savours the taste of the stolen snack. “-I appreciate that, And I’m sure he will, too.”

“Anything for you, sunshine,” he hums.

“That sounds sarcastic.” She chuckles.

“Well, you did just steal my dumpling.”

She pokes him in the leg with her toe.

He grins.

“I’m serious, though. I’ll take a look into it for him.”

He misses those months when it seemed like he was part of the family. When he’d met her parents, had dinner with them and her brother, played with her nephews in the living room and rocked Piper to sleep one night when she’d grown tired in his arms. He misses that little cobbled-together family they’d built on the hope they’d soon have one of their own. His family are so far away - his parents and brother still in Texas, and rarely free long enough to come and visit - and Coraline gave him somewhere to belong.

She still does. With her, things seem to make a little more sense. The memories of Teresa and his first wife don’t seem to matter when he’s with her.

There’s a little silence; a comfortable one, at that, their familiarity still thick between them, despite the distance. Marcus breaks it with a question he’s been itching to ask. “How have you been?” It’s a heavy question, loaded with meaning; the question could refer to anything - to work, to life, to loss and sadness, or to James and his daughter that she sees as her own, now.

Her eyes raise to his, brown eyes that melt her soul, comfortable and wonderful.

There’s no necessity to his question. Marcus had asked because he cared, not because he had to. Coraline tips her head back against the sofa. “I’m doing good,” she admits, though it seems foreign coming from her. How dare she be happy when they’d lost so much, only a few months before? It feels wrong. “Really good.” She sighs. “How about you?”

Happy that you’re happy.

But miserable. Completely fucking selfishly miserable without you.

“Fine.” He brushes her question off.

Coraline narrows her eyes at him. She knows him too well; she can tell when he’s lying, and that’s the worst part of it all. She knows him better than anyone — cares for him more than anyone ever has, too — and she can see right through him. Through the facade and the lies he’s all too comfortable telling. She probably knows how much he adores her, too, but she’s just too lovely to admit she doesn’t feel the same way.

“Marcus-“ His name is urgent. She takes his cheeks in her palms.

It takes everything in him not to pour his heart out to her. “I’m fine.” He repeats.

“Promise?”

Another pause. More uncertainty. He hates lying to her, when she’s so honest with him. “Promise,” he says after a while.

Coraline eyes him, still sceptical. But her shoulders relax, just a little. “How’s it going with Lisa?”

Oh, he hasn’t told her. “Things didn’t work out.”

She pouts. “Why?”

She’s great but she isn’t you.

Marcus shrugs. “I’m not ready to date, yet.” I’m not over you. “I guess Teresa really did a number on me, huh?”

Coraline squints at him; the Marcus she knows is absent, hidden behind hesitation and something she can’t quite place, something that wavers whenever she looks at him. If she presses for answers, she’s terrified she’ll lose him. So she doesn’t. He’ll tell her when he’s ready.

If he’s ever ready.

She places her half-empty carton of food on the coffee table, leans forward and buries her face against his shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around his torso. Her cheek presses against his chest, warmth radiating through the thin material of his white shirt. He relaxes at the feeling of her curled into him, and the warmth of her at his side. “I missed you,” he sighs. His voice rumbles through her.

Coraline hums. She buries further into him, as if she could get lost in him. She has many times before. “I missed you, too. So much,” she whispered. Her words are muffled by his shirt. “Sorry I’ve been so busy lately.”

“That’s life for you.”

“But-“ she sits up stock-straight, and almost knocks into his chin with the top of her head. She utters a breathless apology because she carries on, with exuberant enthusiasm. It’s so damn infectious. “I’ve been writing a screenplay,” she tells him. “I started it about six months ago but I didn’t want to mention anything until I was committed.”

She’s always wanted to write one; she’d told him not long after they just met, when she’d sat and fiddled with the straw in her drink like what she was saying was hopelessly boring and not the most interesting thing in the world to him. She’d told him she was worried she had no stories worth telling, which seemed ridiculous to him, because he would sit and listen to her recount what she insists are silly little stories.

To him, they’re intricate poems and elegant ballads, and the most beautiful things he’s heard in all his years.

It’s no surprise, because the whole of her is priceless artwork; every inch deserves to be admired.

“I’m so proud of you,” he insists.

“Hey, don’t say that yet.” She drops back against the couch cushions behind her. “Could be terrible.”

“I doubt that, sunshine.”

Her green eyes light up bright again. “Will you read it?”

Marcus takes Coraline’s hand and his thumb brushes over her knuckles. “I’d be honoured.”

“Good, because I was intending on forcing you to read it, anyway.”

“On second thoughts-“ Marcus crosses his arms over his chest and smirks. He can’t help it. “-maybe it’s not a good idea for me to read it.”

The glare she gives him is playful. She’s back in his arms in an instant, cheek pressed back against his chest, eyes closed. “I really did miss you, you know?” She brushes a hand over his chest to keep him close after she reaches for her Chinese food again. “Let’s not make a habit of it.”

More comfortable silence.

He could almost fool himself into thinking they’re something more than friends.

And he almost does, until the doorbell rings and a soft rapping comes from the other side of the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Marcus declares, standing with a groan and a crack of his hips; he really shouldn’t be putting off gym training so much. Life’s starting to take its toll on his body. Life and takeout with Coraline. “You expecting someone?” He questions as he stretches out his long legs before him and shuffles towards the door.

“No.” Coraline can’t help the yawn that pushes its way from her chest. “It’s probably just someone selling something.” Her eyes follow him as he rounds the couch and disappears down the hallway towards the front door.

He reaches for the overly-elaborate doorknob; it’s carved with flowers, and brass juts out around it, like the rays of the sun. It’s all so typically Coraline, and it makes him smile every time. He’s greeted with a reminder of her whenever it’s time to leave.

And, when he opens the front door, he’s greeted with a reminder of all he can’t have.

“James! Hey!”

He’s greeted by James Casey blinking back at him, a big bouquet of flowers in his grasp, surely expecting to see his girlfriend and not some unfamiliar guy in her apartment. “Marcus! I didn’t realise you were here.” It’s not meant to sound rude; in fact, his expression is one of surprise, but not as if it’s a bad thing. His southern accent rips the edges of his words. “It’s great to finally meet you.” He tucks the flowers beneath one arm and extends the other hand for him to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh-“ For some reason, the idea that she talks about him when he’s not there hits him. He can’t quite place whether he takes it as a good or a bad thing. Though Coraline’s stories usually paint people in wonderful technicolour. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.” He nods as he accepts his handshake.

He can’t help but feel a fool next to James; he’d turned up with flowers, bright and beautiful, and sunflowers, Coraline’s favourites, while Marcus had turned up with nothing but a greasy bag of takeout food and a smile. James rushes a hand through his short hair. Marcus smiles bright again, and goes to say something, but Coraline’s lilting voice interrupts the beginnings of their conversation. “James! What are you doing here?” She calls from down the hallway.

Marcus had been taking suspiciously long at the door, and she’d hauled herself up — reluctantly — from the comfort of the couch to see what was keeping him. She draws towards her best friend and her boyfriend, the pair of them surprisingly thick in conversation. She reaches them, drawing up on her tiptoes to kiss James, before her hand brushes against Marcus and she settles beside him in the doorway.

They both look at her like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.

She definitely is.

“I managed to get the night off, so I thought I’d come and surprise you,” he tells her. His eyes flicker to Marcus; he’s trying his best not to look at either of them, stuck in the middle of this unavoidably awkward situation, but his eyes keep trailing back to Coraline. They always do. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t realise you had company.”

Coraline shakes her head. “It’s fine.” She giggles a little. “I wanted you both to meet, anyway. But we maybe could have planned it a little better.” She looks down at the yellow joggers and white vest she wears, the only things she feels comfortable in whenever they’re eating so much takeout they could burst.

There’s quiet for a moment, the three not knowing what to do or say, or even think. Marcus’ mouth opens and closes a couple of times, the words falling short; he’s sure he looks like a fish to Cora and James. “I can go,” he suggests sheepishly, eventually finding his words.

It’s terrible and selfish, but he can’t shake the feeling he’s being replaced again. He knows Coraline will always love him — maybe not in the same way he loves her, but she’s insisted he’s her best friend one too many times for it to be a lie — but it’s all too familiar, that the woman he loves loves someone else instead. The cycle seems endless.

“No!” Coraline insists, reaching for his hand. She squeezes his fingers between her palm. Marcus wonders, then, if James knows about their agreement, and why it fell apart. Coraline smiles up at him, bright like the sun. She spins to James a moment later. “Do you mind?” Her eyes are gentle, not quite pleasing but hopeful. “I haven’t seen him this week.”

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’.” He smiles bright at her in return and ducks to kiss her cheek. “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And these are for you. Bea picked them out yesterday,” he tells her, handing her the bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, they’re beautiful,” she gushes, running her fingers over the delicate petals peeking out from between the brown paper wrapping. “Tell Bea I said thank you.” She tips her eyebrows up at him and he hums.

“I’ll be sure to.” His southern accent rasps strong. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” He ducks to kiss her again, then turns with an outstretched hand to bid farewell to Marcus. “See you around, Marcus. Great to finally meet you.”

He shakes his hand again and nods, once, curtly, familiar. “You too, James.” His name sounds stiff in his throat. He hopes Coraline doesn’t notice the unintentional tightness in his tone.

Marcus steps back to allow them to say their goodbyes, paying mild attention to the things they say. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt. He hears the door click shut as he shoves himself back into the couch, aching lithe legs drawn out long before him. Coraline’s hand brushes over his shoulders as she passes, swapping the wilted flowers in her vase before the window for the fresh ones James had brought, before flopping down onto the cushions beside him.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t know he was coming.” She sighs, settling back against him. Her carton of noodles is back in her hand again, but she pokes at it idly.

“You don’t have to pity my loneliness, Cora.”

Coraline scoffs. “I’m not pitying you.” She sits up straight and almost glares at him down the end of her nose. She nudges him in the side with her elbow. “I’m just not going to abandon you.” She leans up and dots a kiss to his cheek. “I promise you.”

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