Tie, untie, retie

Ahhh I made this prompt in my head and my friend wanted me to post the scrap I wrote with it.

**WORK IN PROGRESS**

Here I am. Standing at my best friend’s front door, bags in hand, and the trail of despair behind me. And in front of me. It’s everywhere. Remnants of my broken heart and patheticness leach onto me, like they’ll never let go.

I sigh and hesitate before knocking. Do I even want to? Do I want to go into her wildly successful house while she acts like I’m not a complete failure? The answer is of course, yes. Because it is 11:30 at night, I’m exhausted, and sopping wet from the rain. 

My jet black hair droops over my shoulders leaking rainwater and washed out box dye over my clothes.

I roll my eyes at the soaked, black mess over my brand new white t-shirt and realise that $30 has now turned into a crappy pyjama shirt, and I knock. She opens the door all too fast and I am once again kicking myself.

I think stealing a car and sleeping in it may have been better than this. Marie smiles, a smile too big for a woman who has stayed up all night waiting for me. Her eye bags droop and scream at me when I first look at her. She tells me she’s “stretched too thin” all the time.

But again, she smiles and even her smile is stretched. She comes out on her doorstep and grabs my bags. Normally, when I’d visit, the first thing she asks is: “How are you and Isabelle?” This time, she says nothing but a half assed welcome and something about her newly renovated bathroom.

I try not to throw up and roll my eyes because she has let me into her home. She told me for as long as I liked. I told myself I’d stay a week tops. I used to stay months at her rickety apartments she’d had over the years, bouncing from one apartment to the next. We’d call each other at least once a day and talk about the different Uni courses we were taking.

A year into my degree, I’d met a woman. Isabelle. I can’t even think about her, or her name, or how every time she looked at me I’d feel safe. 

Because now when I think of all that I see the things I sacrificed, the far too white dress I was wearing that day, and the fact that I could jump onto Marie’s couch and never ever leave. I could just sink into her new couch that she and her longtime boyfriend bought together.

After my first year, I spent a lot of time with… the girl who makes me want to crawl into a couch and never come out. So, Marie and I stopped talking as often as we did. She eventually found a boyfriend and everything she said felt like a competition. If I mentioned that I moved in with Isabelle, she’d suddenly want to talk all about how her and Joel were “amazing” and “how intuitive he is”.

I’d met Joel. He didn’t like me and I certainly didn’t care for him. He’d heard before we went to University, I’d confessed that I was in love with Marie. She didn’t feel the same way and we both moved on. A part of me still thinks that’s where the tension started. 

But I still called to tell her that Isabelle had accepted a job in Spain. Marie tightened when I told her.

“Oh” was all she had said, but I could tell.

“What?”

“Spain is far.” She mumbled, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes, of course it is.” I argued back, “This is an amazing opportunity for Isa, you could at least be happy for us!” 

“I am trying” Her voice didn’t shake or tremble, she really wanted me to understand, “What has Spain got for you? I know you just got that job off-”

I cut her off, “look I have to go, we leave in a week.” I sighed “Bye Marie”

I remember Isabelle giving me a sympathetic look and drawing me into her arms. We ended up leaving earlier and I cancelled coffee plans with Marie. I cut my hair up to my ears the day after we arrived. Isabelle smiled a warm and happy grin when she saw. She told me it was good I wanted to make a new beginning for our new life. 

I felt like I was cutting Marie off and throwing her into the garbage with my pale brown locks.

Note: I actually can't tell if I like it or not

so over the last six months I’ve been on ... three or four medications. and wowsers I didn’t realise my memory was so bad I can’t count to four. anyway I’ve been weaned off them and been med-free for nearly a week, so as to avoid inter-medicinal clashes and side affects.

This year has been bad on me. I haven’t been able to sit on my computer chair for at least a month. some parts of the floor I haven’t seen this year. A few months ago I tried to change the sheets and failed, and for months I’ve had the nagging need to change the sheets to no effect, and the foam mattress has been disintergrating under me.

Today I managed to tidy up a bit! I havent managed to finish, but I’ve got a whole garbage bag out, I’ve got the scattered clothes into a more organised heap, I can SEE FLOOR, the electrical plugs are no longer insulated under layers of cloth (yikes.) and I managed to put a sheet on a duvet. I am so pleased with myself!

The previous doctor had bloods taken and tested, as there was some hope that this was a glandular issue. All my bloods were great, which was actually shocking. liver etc healthy, despite the selfmedication of alcohol for years. The blood sugar and cholesterol were fine, despite my atrocious diet. In a lot of ways I have had good luck on the genetic lottery, with just one or two bad rolls for the brain stuff. But yeah, no glandular problem, so no easy solution :(

The last medication was real bad for me. I was completely exhausted for months. I was told it was a side effect that would probably go away with time, and I got shit from the doctor at uni for quiting it after a couple weeks because I couldn’t even move to go eat.

I think the recent motivation is the build up of two months of inaction, finally letting me do things. I truly did not take “being able to move” for granted, but having the completeness of the sertraline shackles lifted has brought tears to my eyes.

Of the many medications I have tried, only one of them has had a positive effect, and it affected neurodramamine levels as well as the .. other brain chemicals. I stopped taking it because the effect would only last a couple days, and then I’d need the dosage upped, and I read that its also addictive. Better to try and find something that works all the time than get hooked on something my brain is getting increasing resistence to. The current doc said there wasn’t any other medication that did that :(

I think the purpose of all this was that i was just about to start trying to draw something, and I haven’t been able to follow through on that urge in years. I truly truly dont want to be “medication bad”, and I am saddened that nothing has been able to work for me, but I am thinkign of extending this “no medication” period. I like being able to do things.

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 30

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: At Waystation, pt 3/?

A/N: Chapter 30 already! This chapter was not an easy one to edit as I was insecure about a lot of things, but hey, it's out now and that's what matters, right? I am so aware things are progressing a bit slowly right now but I feel it's kind of 'necessary' to have a bit of down time before things start going down. (Not that I'm capable of writing actual drama.) Well, at least we'll find out a bit more about Leo's past in this chapter.

Without a further ado, please enjoy and let me know what you think (those comments really help me!!!)

Words: exactly 3000 apparently :O

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

After breakfast Leo asked Calypso if she would like him to give her a tour around Waystation. She agreed, but Leo couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow at his family members when Georgina asked if she could go with the flatmates and Leo’s mothers told her that they needed Georgie’s help in some Christmas chores.

“What?” Josephine asked innocently when she noticed Leo staring.

“I dunno, tía Jo. It just kinda seems like you don’t want Georgie to hang out with us,” he stated bluntly.

“That’s not accurate at all, Leo,” she denied. “I’d gladly let Georgina go with you but we really do need her help around here. Christmas isn’t coming if we all just slack off, right, Emmie?”

“I agree, dear. I haven’t even…” Emmie’s hesitance only deepened Leo’s suspicions. “...hmmm, taken care of our mistletoes yet.”

“Mistletoes?” Leo crossed his arms over his chest, briefly daring to wonder what would happen if he and Calypso were under one of those plants at the same time. He shook his head to dispel such an idea.

“Didn’t we agree that we don’t need stuff like that? You don’t even like Christmas!”

“I may agree that this holiday is way too commercial these days, but since Emmie has some mistletoes growing in her greenhouse anyway, I don’t see why we wouldn’t use them,” Jo commented. “It’s nice that Georgie gets to experience some of the old traditions even if we grownups don’t care about them.”

“Whatever,” Leo rolled his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t win that battle.

“Um, if you need extra hands,” Calypso joined the conversation, addressing Jo and Emmie, “I don’t have to go with Leo. I’d love to help too.”

Leo felt a twinge of disappointment because of Calypso’s suggestion. His insecure side yelled that maybe he had misread Calypso’s intentions all along.

“Oh, no, no!” Emmie denied immediately. “You are our guest; we want you to take it easy and enjoy your stay here. I bet Leo’s tour is a lot more fun than us peeling way too many potatoes and carrots for the casserole.”

“I wouldn’t mind peeling potatoes,” Calypso mumbled but Leo’s mothers pretended they didn’t even hear that. The flatmates simply had to accept that they wouldn’t have a chaperone - except maybe Festus - on their tour.

Once the two of them were outside, Leo’s thoughts went back to the time when he had first arrived at Waystation. Back then, he had been only 15, having just escaped from his latest foster home, which had been located far away in New Mexico. His foster family there had hidden their opinion on him very badly, giving him sly remarks about his looks and telling him to speak clearer English even though Leo’s English had always been fine, thanks to his real mother allowing him to learn both Spanish and English as a small kid. They had also made him do the hard work such as carrying heavy loads while the other foster kid of the family got the easy tasks. And when he had come home from school with bad grades, the foster parents had commented: “why do we even bother with you?”

At some point Leo had simply had enough, and by selling some of the few belongings he had he had managed to gather just enough money for one plane ticket and so he flew to Indianapolis without telling anything to his foster family.

After living on the streets and successfully dodging the authorities for a couple of weeks, the police finally found him and contacted the local social workers. Thankfully, after Leo put all his convincing skills to use, they agreed to not send him back to New Mexico, instead finding him a new foster family nearby. Leo hadn’t had high expectations because he had been in at least 6 different foster homes since his mother’s death and none of them had been a good match for him. Some had been abusive, some racist, some ignorant, some had had kids who were bullies, some had had alcohol issues… What had been common for them all was that none of them had treated him the way they should have.

That was why Leo had picked some bad habits too; he wanted to drown his feelings somehow and he ended up stealing small amounts of money from his foster family so he could buy alcohol from his older homeless ‘friends’. He had hated how it made him feel afterwards, but it had been the only way he had known how to deal with his issues. At some point he had even had suicidal thoughts because the guilt and trauma from his childhood got so bad he woke up covered in sweat after the same old fire filled nightmare almost every night. And going from foster home to foster home and feeling like none of those people cared what he really did with his life definitely didn’t help him regain his feeling of self worth. He had no future, no plans, no real friends or family and nowhere to go.

Luckily, during his worst phase in his last foster home someone from his homeless group mentioned having a relative in Indiana and that he was hoping to move there at some point in hopes of getting a new start for his life. That idea sparked something in Leo’s mind and when he started planning his big escape, Indianapolis was the first place that he thought of.

When he finally met Jo and Emmie, he was surprised. Seeing them spending time with their then 5-year-old adoptive daughter, he could tell that these women genuinely cared about the little girl and did everything for her wellbeing. Not only that, Jo was a mechanic just like Leo’s real mother and they had also other things in common. With some patience and showing that they cared, simply by making sure that Leo ate, rested and had something to do with his time other than dwelling on his sad past, they eventually won him over. And when Leo discovered thanks to Jo’s help that he himself had the skills to become a mechanic someday as well, he finally had a goal to reach and studying wasn’t quite as big a struggle for him anymore.

Soon, however, Leo became afraid that Jo and Emmie wouldn’t want to keep him around because he still had some bad days when he literally had to be dragged from his bed. He was also worried that maybe the women had heard what he had done in his past and were silently judging him. Instead, they surprised him by telling him that they wanted to officially adopt him much like Georgina because he was a part of their family now. As an added bonus they assigned him for therapy sessions, which really helped and the days when he didn’t want to do anything became less and less. Leo knew he was still a work in progress but this family had helped him so much and he had found his purpose, his home, at Waystation.

Calypso had naturally noticed Leo’s silence so eventually she asked:

“Are you OK? You’re being unusually quiet.”

“Oh, yeah, just dandy!” Leo exclaimed, trying to act more like his usual self. “I was just thinking about the times when I first moved in here.”

“Really? Do you want to tell me more about that?” Calypso asked curiously.

“I guess it won’t hurt.” Leo shrugged. “I don’t remember if I’ve told you that I was in a lot of foster homes before I got here. Well, my last foster parents were really shitty people and I was this close to… I dunno, doing something desperate. So I decided to just leave and ended up here in Indianapolis. I, um, was homeless for a bit but when the social workers got me into their hands they found me a new family, Jo and Emmie. At first they were supposed to only foster me for a time being but they ended up adopting me instead. I… haven’t told this to anyone, but they probably saved my life by doing that. The Leo from that time was far from the Super-Sized McSizzle that I am now,” he attempted to joke, but Calypso ignored that. Instead, she said:

“I’m sorry you had to go through that… but I’m glad you opened up about it to me.” Leo’s heart did an extra jump when he saw Calypso smiling at him supportingly. He would never get used to that. “And I’m glad Jo and Emmie adopted you.”

“Yeah, me too… When I first saw the place I was like, ‘wow, I wish I could stay here’. Obviously the people here are awesome - they are my family - but that wasn’t the only thing the 15-year-old me cared about. The cars and other machines Jo was fixing? So cool. I had only seen something like that at my childhood home and the nostalgia hit me like ‘boom’ right away.”

“I should have known it was the machines that convinced you to stay here,” Calypso teased, but Leo knew her already too well to get provoked by that.

“Nah. I mean, they’re neat and all, but Jo and Emmie did the actual convincing.”

“Okay, I believe you. So, was Jo’s garage what made you want to become a mechanical engineer?” Calypso asked.

“I guess the spark was always there but it took me a while to convince myself that I should try to pursue that goal. But when I started going to school again regularly – long story, don’t ask – I noticed that the sciences were easy for me, I was also decent enough at drawing – which of course helps with the blueprints and stuff – and Jo let me try fixing some of the simpler machines she had and turned out I wasn’t half bad. It was Jo and Emmie who kept pushing me to apply for the uni, though, because they believed in me more than I did. I’m thankful that they did it but… sometimes I still doubt...” Leo hadn’t talked about his insecurities even to his adoptive mothers so he felt that the fact that he was able to open up about it to Calypso was a big deal.

“I’ve seen you fix countless items,” Calypso said slowly. “I’ve noticed that you’re always… so different when you’re fiddling with your machines. More relaxed. Calmer. Surer of what you do. And your eyes sparkle and you hum some old school rock song while you work and I can just tell that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Leo had to avert his eyes from her because he was afraid he would do something stupid like cry if he looked at her too long in that moment. No matter how encouraging his family, friends and the therapist were… it was still hard to get used to the compliments. And if he was honest to himself, he probably valued Calypso’s opinion more than anyone else’s at that point.

“Wow… umm… I don’t know how to answer that…” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“A simple thank you would probably do,” Calypso replied. “But know that I mean what I say. Now, how about you show me that famous garage?”

Leo did as he was told. He introduced Calypso to all the tools and machinery they used to fix whatever item the customer happened to bring in. He had a feeling that Calypso probably didn’t have any idea what he was talking about half the time because he tended to get very technical with the terms when he got excited, but she still seemed content listening to him. At least she wasn’t telling him to stop, which was definitely a plus.

To Leo’s surprise, Calypso went to the table where he and Jo used to draw their blueprints and asked him if she could see how he did it because she hadn’t seen his blueprints before. He complied, taking a pencil and a piece of blank paper from the stack and looking at Calypso questioningly.

“What do you want me to draw, then? I may have some experience on this but even I need some ideas first…”

“You can draw whatever you like. How about Festus?” Calypso requested.

“Festus?” Leo tapped the pencil against his chin for a moment, considering Calypso’s request. “Hmm, as you wish, Sunshine.”

He started making fast, swift motions on the paper and it didn’t take him very long to finish the sketch. Sure, the lines were a bit rough, but Calypso told him she was very impressed by how accurately he remembered even the little details, such as a dark spot on Festus’ back, how the tail curved when he was happy, and how he was missing a tiny piece of the tip of his left ear.

Leo felt a bit embarrassed by the praise. “It just comes with me hanging out with him so much. Nothing more to it, really.” He looked at the sketch for a moment. “Hold on, I feel like this is missing something. Can you look towards that window for a moment?”

“What, why?” Calypso asked, but turned anyway.

“Just adding something real quick,” Leo replied and started sketching again. He wondered if it was the lighting of the room but he thought Calypso’s cheeks seemed a bit darker than usual and she kept looking at the floor shyly. When he realized that he’d probably feel the same way if she was drawing him, he himself got flustered and decided to try to finish the drawing as quickly as possible. Within minutes he had drawn her next to Festus, playing with him, wearing the same holiday sweater and jeans she currently was.

“Can I see?” Calypso asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Leo gave the picture to her. “It’s not detailed or anything but I tried.”

Calypso kept staring at it for a moment. “Leo… this looks great! I mean, I don’t think I am that pretty but I am quite amazed that you managed to do this that fast!”

Leo wanted to say that there was no way the picture did her justice but he knew that would be a never ending debate so instead he told her: “It’s the experience, Sunshine. When you draw hundreds of blueprints you learn to be fast.”

Calypso turned her attention to the drawing again. “Can I get it?” she asked after a while.

“Why?”

“Because Festus looks cute, you weirdo. That’s a good enough reason, right?”

“Fine, you can have it. I’m not sure where I’d put it anyway.” Leo shrugged. He wasn’t sure why Calypso possibly hanging the picture on her wall made him feel a bit weird. In a good way, though.

Once the two of them left the garage, Leo pointed at a smaller building next to the ‘main’ one. A couple of pointy ears were peeking from the upstairs windows. “That’s where our foster animals live. I think the kid me wished on some level that I could have a pet but my mom could never afford one… but Jo and Emmie have been fostering rescue cats and dogs even before I got here. One of them was Festus’ mum; she was pregnant when she arrived here. When she had her puppies, I noticed that one of them was a bit of an outsider and we instantly formed a bond. Jo and Emmie allowed him to stay here even though he sure would have had adopters.”

“That was really sweet of them,” Calypso commented. “Can we see who’s in there right now?”

“Sure but we should probably let Emmie know about it because she’s pretty strict about who can go in. She may ask us to wear ‘bunny suits’; some of the animals may be sick and we don’t wanna spread the bugs around.”

“No problem, let’s go see her then.”

When Emmie heard what Leo and Calypso were about to do, she promised to stop her Christmas chores for a while so she could show them (mainly Calypso) around in the rescue house. Currently she was fostering two young puppies who had been found on the streets without their mother, a mother cat with her 4 kittens who were getting close to their adoption age, and an older cat with some kidney issues who seemed to however adore the little kittens.

Leo was watching Calypso’s reactions closely as Emmie was introducing her to the kittens. Soon one of the braver kittens climbed on the girl’s lap, giving her a tiny ‘meow’ and then started nuzzling against her sleeve.

“Aww, look Leo! He loves me,” Calypso exclaimed, smiling widely as the kitten started purring loudly on her lap while she pet him. ‘He’s not the only one,’ Leo thought in his mind. Aloud he asked: “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I guess because I’ve never really handled cats so I didn’t know how they’d react to me…” Calypso noted more seriously. But then the happiness returned to her face. “You know, this one reminds me of you! He also has long, black hair like you and fierce eyes.”

“Fierce?” Leo raised his eyebrow. “That’s what you think of me?”

Calypso seemed to want to explain but with Emmie in the room she didn’t go to details. “Um, maybe? Hey, look! Another one is coming!”

This time a small ginger kitten was approaching her and Calypso extended her arm so the kitten could sniff her. The group kept making small talk about the cats in the room and continued snuggling them, but Leo’s eyes were on Calypso the whole time. He could see how happy she was about such a simple thing as kittens and it made him feel lighter, warmer again, even though he had just remembered some very bad times a few moments earlier. Maybe all of it had been meant to happen, he wondered briefly. After all, it led him here, to his family… and Calypso.

common (coffee) grounds

Author: Dina.

Word Count: 3425

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x deaf!female reader

Warnings: fluff, and like... hearing impairment for the reader. smut (stay safe, people).

A/N: so I really like this one. I loved writing about sign language, especially because I'm learning it currently because of a hearing impaired woman at my uni. that makes this a lil more special.

Summary: He never visited any of the coffee shops in the morning. There was too much of a rush. But when he finally gives in, he's met by something that might just change his life for good.

You had been working at the coffee shop for many years. Your boss adored your ability to bring a smile to people’s faces, whether it was with your bubbly personality or your cute drawings on their cups. He’d given you a spot at the counter, even though you were unable to hear. You could still talk and that’s what made you special, he said.

Some of your regular customers even learned to sign just so they could make you smile, even though you always had a smile on your face. Sometimes they would ask you how to sign certain things, to get it just right.

One day, a stranger was suddenly standing at the counter, mumbling away, eyes locked on his phone.

‘’Excuse me, can you look at me while you talk?” You offered him a small smile when he looked up at you, dumbfounded.

“Excuse me?” he felt his frustration build up, sighing as you stood there, a smile on your face.

“Can you repeat your order for me, please?” You smiled again and he eyed you intensely.

“Just a medium black coffee please.” You read the words off his lips and you smiled, finding a paper cup and the pen on the counter.

“One medium black coffee, and the name?”

“Bucky.”

You nodded and wrote the name down, handing the cup to your coworker, Nat.

“$3.60 please” You said with a smile, and found his eyes watching your every move. He handed you the money and watched as you put his change into the register. You smiled again when you turned your attention back to the customers again. He left the counter with a huff, still eyeing you while he waited for Nat to finish his coffee.

Nat noticed his staring immediately. “It’s getting creepy,” she smirked as she handed over his coffee.

“What’s her deal?” Bucky huffed, grabbing the coffee from her hand.

“y/n? She’s deaf.” Nat shrugged and Bucky looked between the two of them. “Before you start, she doesn’t want your pity. The people who come here usually know. You’re new here, huh?” Bucky nodded as you handed over another cup to Nat, smiling when you saw Bucky still hanging around.

“Nat, I have to run out back and grab some more syrup from the cabinet.” your voice broke through their conversation, and Nat simply nodded as you left for the back.

“So, um..” Bucky cleared his throat, acquiring Nat’s attention. “How do you say ‘I’m sorry’ in sign language?”

She let out a soft chuckle before bringing one of her hands up to the middle of her chest, moving it in a circular motion. Bucky repeated it back and she smiled with a nod of approval. He smirked back, looking at his watch before taking one last look at the door where you had walked through. Guess that apology has to wait until tomorrow.. he sighed as he looked at his watch again, thanked Nat and left.

The next morning, he was standing by the counter again, a smile on his face, ready to apologize. He’d come in earlier than yesterday, so he would have time to spare before going to work. You greeted him with a smile. He was undeniably pretty. “Hi! Same as yesterday?” you happily asked as you picked up a medium cup.

“Hi, y/n.. Yes, thank you.” Your heart jumped as you read his lips. He knew your name? He felt his heart pick up the pace as you wrote his name on the cup, hand shaking slightly before you handed it to Nat, turning back to him afterwards.

“Anything else today?” you smiled, and he nodded. You watched as he cleared his throat before he looked behind him, seeing no one is in the queue at the moment. You noticed how nervous he seemed before he finally pulled his hands out of his coat pockets.

“I just wanted to say…” he laid his clenched hand on his chest, rotating it clockwise. “I’m sorry. For yesterday. I didn’t know.” you nodded and smiled widely, appreciating his apology. “And a blueberry muffin, please.” you giggled and nodded, packing it up for him, handing him the brown paper bag.

“$5.60 today.” you smiled as you entered his order into the register, watching as he handed over the money. He left your side of the counter to wait for his coffee, eyes still glued to you as you took more orders.

“Loverboy, your coffee is ready.” Nat sighed, handing him his cup. “You’re starting to creep me out. It’s your second time here, and it seems like you’ve already fallen in love.”

“Have not. I just think she’s… beautiful. And interesting. I’d like to get to know her.” Bucky told Nat, still watching you.

“I might have to start charging if you keep that up.” Nat said jokingly. Bucky laughed as he bid her goodbye, catching your attention, waving goodbye before he left for work.

three weeks later

“Hi Bucky! Same as usual?” you smiled as you saw him approach the counter. He nodded and smiled widely, heart pounding vividly at the thought of you memorizing his order. You didn’t even need to tell him the total anymore, he always had the change ready for you.

“You look beautiful today.” he said as you’d turned your attention back to him, smiling. He felt his heart beat faster as he watched the blush creep up into your cheeks, your lips tugging into a smile.

“Thank you.” you said as you handed over his blueberry muffin, sealed inside a brown paper bag.

“I need to quit these. I’ve gained some pounds…” he smiled as he accepted the bag, offering you a wink.

“Well, I can’t tell. I think you look really good.” you said and smiled as you turned to Nat, watching as she pretended to stick her finger down her throat, faking a gag.

From that day on, you signed a heart after his name.

“Nat, I really want to ask him out. But what if he doesn’t want to?” you signed to Nat during your weekly girls night. “What if he says no? Then I’ve humiliated myself.”

“You’re being stupid. He’s smitten. He really likes you. He has liked you since the first time he was in the shop.” she signed back and you sighed.

“Are you sure?” you knew you weren’t. There was always something scary about asking someone out while being hearing impaired… You’d tried dating before, but you had given up after your first try of a date. Your date had left you during dinner to use the restroom, never to return.

“Cross my heart. You can kill me if I ain’t right.” Nat joked and you let out a laugh. Alright.

When you saw him in the shop the next morning, your heart skipped a beat. This was it.

“Good morning y/n,” he smiled when it was his turn. “I don’t have much time to chat today. It’s already hectic at the office and it’s not even eight yet.” he smiled as he laid 5 dollars on the counter.

You tapped in his order, packing his muffin before picking up a medium cup. You had a mental battle with yourself before silently writing ‘Date? +1 (917) XXX-XXXX’.

You watched as Nat took the cup, eyeing over it before winking at you. You took a deep breath as you handed him his change and the paper bag with a smile.

He left with a soft wave, and you finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“What’s this? Secret girlfriend I don’t know about?” Steve teased him as he eyed Bucky’s cup.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“Just the writing on your cup. You got a girlfriend I don’t know about?” Steve pointed and Bucky picked up the empty cup quickly. He hadn’t even noticed. He’d been too occupied with everything that had been going on at the office. He felt a smile spreading over his lips, quickly fishing out his phone, sending you a text.

‘I’d love to. It’s a date.’

“Probably. I hope so.” Bucky told Steve, leaning back into his chair. Steve smiled triumphantly, muttering a finally.

“I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror.” he said with a nervous smile, and you let out a small giggle. “It would go something like this,” he said, before signing something that definitely wasn’t asking for a date. You let out a small snort as you realized what he was signing, trying to hold your facade.

He looked up at you, eyes fearful that he had said something wrong. When he saw your face, he broke into a smile.

“Okay, what did I get myself into?”

“Nothing much. You just signed something along the lines of…” You signed what he had signed to you, emphasizing the meaning behind the words silently.

Are you empty on Friday?

He blushed vividly as the words left your mouth, face growing pale from fear.

“I think what you meant to sign was available,” you showed him how similar the two were and he nodded.

“Well, good thing you beat me to it.” he laughed as he grabbed your hand, placing a kiss on the back of it.

“Can I ask about your hearing loss?” he swam into the deeper waters, ready to retreat as quickly as possible. You cleared your throat before you nodded.

“I was eight. I got sick with meningitis. It’s what caused me to lose my hearing. I had to accept it and I went through a very difficult time. My parents and I have always been close, but my hearing loss only brought us closer. But now, I’m beginning to stand on my own legs.” you said as you intertwined your fingers with his.

“I’m sorry to hear about that. But I’m happy you’re close with your parents,” he said and smiled at you. A few moments passed before he spoke up again, the subject now changed.

“I’d love to take you on a walk through Central Park.” he said and you nodded with a smile as you both got up, pulling on your jackets. He opened the door for you, and you happily walked out, grabbing his hand in yours.

As you were walking toward the park, you kept stealing glances at him, imagining his body under the layers of clothing, his muscles.. abs.. thighs..

You soon realized he’d caught you staring. You quickly turned your head around and looked at the facades of the buildings, cheeks reddening.

Bucky pulled on your hand and you turned your head slowly.

“Are you okay?” he said with a smile.

You let out an awkward laugh before nodding. “Oh, I’m fine.”

Bucky laughed, smiling widely. “Why the red face then? I saw you looking. Something on my clothes?”

You blushed again, hand coming up to cover your face. “No, no.. you’re fine…”

Bucky nodded his okay as they walked into Central Park.

The two of you strolled down one of the pathways, hand in hand. Bucky pulled you close as you stopped by the iron fencing around one of the lakes. You felt his eyes on you as you watched the swans floating silently on the lake, lifting your shoulders to bury your face deeper into your scarf.

His hand came up to graze your chin and you looked up at him, smiling as you saw the look in his eyes. He looked down, eyes on your lips before leaning in, kissing you softly. Your eyes widened in surprise as your lips met his, but you gave into his soft lips quickly and kissed him back. You felt his arm sliding around your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. Warmth blossomed through your body. You smiled against his lips as he pulled back slightly, drawing in a breath.

When you opened your eyes, his blue ones were gazing into yours. You smiled widely at him, grabbing his hand in yours. “Follow me home?” you asked, letting your intertwined hands sway between the two of you. He nodded and you led him out of the park, walking the familiar route to your apartment.

Once outside, you faced him with a smile.

“So, this is me.” you said, grinning up at him.

“I had a lovely time today.” he said, cupping your cheek before leaning in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss. “I… uh… I’ll text you.” he told you as he pulled back, skipping down the street quickly, disappearing around a corner. You sighed, hand coming up to touch your lips where the pressure of his still lingered.

“Nat, I had a wonderful time with Bucky.” you signed to her over the facetime call, a wide smile creeping up on her lips.

“Go on, I wanna know everything!” Nat signed back, clearly overly excited about the whole situation.

“We had coffee at a small cafe, and then we went for a walk in Central Park.”

“Did he kiss you?”

You smiled and felt a blush warming your cheeks before you nodded. “Yes!” you signed, nervously biting your lip.

“Well? How was it?” Nat looked overly excited, encouraging you to keep going.

“He’s a great kisser..” you signed and smiled at the memory. “I think… I’m falling for him.”

Nat’s mouth fell open dramatically, and you let out a laugh “Whoa, hold up! Don’t you think you’re exaggerating? You barely know each other!”

“Stop, Nat, you set this whole thing up! Don’t pretend you don’t want me to find a guy.” you sighed as you signed the last sentence. She agreed and your lip tugged into a half smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Nat nodded before blowing you a kiss through the screen, hanging up. Bucky’s name appeared on your screen along with a text.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you. Any chance you’re empty tomorrow after 6?’ you laughed as you read over his text multiple times. Another text popped up shortly after. ‘I’d love to take you out for dinner’

‘Yes, that sounds lovely. See you tomorrow at 6, Bucky.’ you texted back, before sending off another, ‘I’ll be at the shop, waiting for you.’ you bit your lip as you fell back against the covers, covering your face with your pillow as you let out a squeal.

Bucky surprised you by taking you to your favorite restaurant, letting you pick your favorite white wine and your favorite seafood plate with sauteéd vegetables.

Bucky showed you his improved signing skills, and you felt your heart jump in your chest as he signed you look so beautiful tonight.

He walked you home like he’d previously done, kissing you every time you stood by a red light, waiting to cross the street.

As you got closer to your apartment, you started thinking about how you wanted the night to end. Bucky in your bed would be a nice sight.

On your doorstep he leaned in to kiss you goodbye.

“Any chance you’re coming in tonight?” you smiled as you pulled away from his lips, holding onto his hand. His lips tugged into a crooked smile before he nodded. You unlocked your front door, leading him up to your floor, letting you both into your apartment.

You shut the door behind you, shrugging your coat off before hanging that and your scarf on a hanger. He followed suit, eyes following you as you ventured around your apartment, placing some books back into your bookcase.

You felt Bucky’s hands sliding around your middle, pulling you closer. You giggled as you turned to face him, watching as he leaned in, placing another kiss on your lips. His tongue grazed over your bottom lip and you let him in, your hand coming up to clasp the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

You gathered some courage, your other hand finding his, laying it on your covered breast gently, sighing against his lips.

He pulled back from your lips, eyes scanning over your features. You pulled him into your bedroom, thinking about the outcome and it only made you smile. You pulled him close yet again, kissing him desperately.

He reached down and grabbed the bottom of your shirt and lifted it over your head, taking in your barely covered cleavage. He caressed one of your breasts, squeezing slightly and you let out a moan, arching your back. He trailed his lips down your neck, along your collarbones, kissing and sucking on the soft skin. He unclasped your bra, letting it slide down your arms, landing by your feet.

You pulled back from him, grabbing the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. You laid your lips against his collarbone, kissing down his skin lightly, peppering kisses down his torso. Your hands found his belt, unbuckling it quickly, zipping down his pants, pulling them down his legs along with his boxers.

He watched you intensely, heart beating unbelievably fast as you pushed him back on your bed, unzipping your jeans before pushing them down, panties along with them. You climbed over his legs, straddling him, leaning in to kiss him deeply as you ground your core over his erection. You felt his jaw flex, smiling as you felt his hands grasp onto your hips tightly.

You reached over to your nightstand, pulling out a condom. He watched as you ripped open the packet, sliding the latex over his length before leaning in to kiss him again, your hand pumping him gently.

You lifted your hips, aligning him with your entrance. Sinking down onto him, you watched his face, his hands sliding up and down your back gently, eyes lazily watching you. You moaned as your hips met his, his cock completely sheathed inside you. It was one of the most angelic sounds he’d ever heard.

He watched as you rode him slowly, eyes locked on your breasts bouncing so lovingly in the soft evening glow. He felt his heart beat faster as he admired how your hair fell over your face, slightly concealing your half-lidded, lust blown eyes and your slightly parted lips. He grasped your head in one hand as he sat up, the other one coming around your waist to further your movements.

His lips attached themselves to yours, the newfound angle of his cock inside you making you shudder. Your hands came up to grasp his shoulders as you moved your hips against his, your clit grinding against his pelvis gently, leaving you breathless.

You could sense his moans with the way his chest rumbled against yours, drawing a smile to your lips. You felt his hand sliding down, both now grasping onto your ass, taking control of your movements, moving you just a tad quicker. Your teeth bit down into his shoulder, hands gripping the skin of his shoulder blades tightly as you came around him, soft moans emitting from deep within your throat.

You felt as his arms slid around your middle, tightening as you felt him shake beneath you as he reached his high, his lips leaving open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder, his hands rubbing your back calmingly. You pulled back from his embrace, leaning in to kiss his lips before laying your forehead against his.

“That was… amazing, Bucky.” you sighed, pulling back to look at his face. You were met with his dazzling smile, eyes tiredly looking at you. His hand came up to stroke your cheek, pulling you in for another kiss.

When morning rolled around, Bucky woke up to a delicious smell filling his nostrils. He got up, rummaging through the pile of clothes, pulling his boxers on, unable to locate his t-shirt. He rubbed his eyes as he ventured out into your living room, following the sweet smell hanging in the air.

He found you in the kitchen, your back to him, his t-shirt covering your frame, coming down to just under your butt. He watched you for a long while, admiring the way you flipped the pancakes like you’d done it a thousand times before.

You jumped when you turned around, finding Bucky shirtless at your kitchen island.

“Guess that’s the downside of not being able to hear anything.” you laughed, turning back to the stove to grab him a couple of pancakes, handing them to him with a smile.

“I could get used to this,” you read off his lips. Turning around, you mentally threw yourself a party, biting your lip not to let out a squeal.

Permanent taglist: @what-is-your-wish​

add yourself to my taglist here

oooo how about 5 for the kiss promts??

thanks anon! I really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope y'all like it.

prompt: Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

BAZ

My father gave me the Jag before I returned to Watford for second term. 

He said he was going to give it to me anyway, as a graduation present, and that I might as well start using it. (Personally I think he just likes the idea of me having a getaway car, on the off-chance everything goes to complete shit again.) (Unlikely, with the Mage dead.) I’ve not told him how often I use it to travel down to London. To see my boyfriend. To see Simon. (I think he might suspect, anyway, but he’s not said anything.) 

I’ve come down from Watford as often as I can this term; I can’t help myself. It used to be bad enough, being apart from Simon during holidays. Now that I have him, truly have him, it’s been near torture just being without him for a few weeks on end. A few days, even.

I try to give myself some credit. Try not to think of myself as weak.

I’m not weak. I’m just sick in love. And Simon needs me, besides. (Which I can barely bloody believe, sometimes.) 

He has Bunce, of course, and her family. And he has me, too, in a way; we talk on the phone every night, now that the Mage’s ridiculous mobile ban’s been lifted at Watford. (I’ve been using an old mobile of mine, since the bloody numpties destroyed my other one. I’ve a mind to buy myself something nice and new for graduation.) (I don’t need something nice or new to talk to Simon. Just something that’ll let me hear his voice. Something that’ll let him hear mine. Something he can send me ridiculous YouTube videos on, not to mention all the criminally good-looking selfies he’s been wont to send these last months.) (If I didn’t know better, I’d take it as a personal attack. Here I was thinking I spent a lot of time wanking feelings away at age fifteen, sixteen. I’ve been putting my younger self to shame, but that’s alright. I’m not trying to free myself from him anymore.) (It’s better, this way. Much better.) 

Come to think of it, maybe it is a personal attack. Just a more entertaining (and arousing) form of antagonism. (I do my best to give as good as I get, in any case.)

Bunce’s Hounslow neighborhood is familiar to me by now. The pull in my gut as I turn onto her street is familiar, too. It almost feels like the first time I met Simon, when the Crucible drew us together. (Fuck, I’m in deep, comparing this to the bloody Crucible. Aleister fucking Crowley.) (I was doomed from the start, really, all thanks to a fucking magickal bowl.) (I do thank it, honestly. Sometimes I wonder what school would’ve been like, if Simon and I weren’t roommates. The possibility alone terrifies me, and also I’m certain the last seven years would’ve been woefully predictable and a lot less entertaining.) (Less painful, too, I suppose, though I got what I wanted in the end. It was worth it, for that.) 

I pull up to the Bunces’ house, kill the Jag’s engine. The swell that rises in my chest is pleasant and petrifying all at once, because maybe, just maybe, this is the time Simon tells me it’s all been a mistake. That’s he’s done with me.

No, I think, and I remember all the late-night phone calls, Simon asking me to talk to him until he falls asleep, all those pregnant pauses at the ends of our conversations, and me saying I love you, I love you, I love you in my head and wondering if he’s thinking the same into the silence. The way he breaks that silence with anum or a huffed laugh. The way he tells me everything, when he wants to talk—like how Bunce’s little sister thinks he’s a Pokemon, or how he’s looking into courses for uni next term, finally, or how he’s made a batch of scones for me to try on my next visit (the scones never make it that long, but that’s alright). The way he tells me nothing, when he’s a million miles away, but still insists I stay on the phone. 

I undo my seatbelt. Open the door. 

I'm barely out of the car when I hear him. "Baz!" he shouts, and it doesn't matter how often we talk on the phone (or don’t talk at all), because nothing can compare to the sound of him now. He's right here. And he's grinning at me, which is absolutely lovely to see. It's not often I see him smile, not since Christmas, but it's been more lately, somehow, like he's coming back. Coming back to me.

He jogs down from the front door, across the drive, and before I know it he's plowed into me, his arms flung around my neck, his invisible tail coiling down my thigh. (There's one perk of being a vampire, I suppose; at least I'm strong enough not to be bowled over.)

He does manage to knock the wind out of me, however.

"Crowley, Snow," I say, but there's no venom in it. He just huffs into my neck as I pull him closer, let myself feel the sweet, burning heat of him against me. 

And then he's pulling back, almost too soon, grinning up at me crookedly, almost drunkenly. Grinning at me. Forme. The sun has kissed him golden since the last time I was here. He’s very nearly glowing, and if he wasn’t intoxicating before, well. 

I've memorized his face by now—of course I have—but that doesn't keep me from trying to count the freckles scattered across his nose. Because I'm close enough,finally. Close enough to touch him. Close enough to hold him. Close enough to know that'd I'd be here for hours if I truly tried to count every mark on his tawny skin. 

Snow doesn't let me get very far with the counting, anyway. No, he has better plans, apparently, because he's pushing me back against my car and pressing his lips to mine. 

We've kissed, since Christmas, but not like this. It's been pecks, mostly. Deeper, sometimes, soft and slow and sweet. But it's not been this, so heavy and heady and passionate. It's not felt like Simon's chasing the taste of me, not since that last night in my room in Hampshire. I'd started thinking that I'd imagined it, and then I'd swallow my shame, because Simon's been put through something trying and terrible. We all have, really, but him most of all. I don't forget that. There's no way I could.

I think, faintly, that we're doing this in public, right in the street, where anyone could see. I don't think I've ever cared about anything less, and Simon doesn't seem the least bit bothered, either.

So I let him in. Let him kiss and lick and suck at my lips. I let him take what he likes, and when he tilts his chin against me, I open for him. I think that his tongue has no right to feel this good against mine, but also it has every right. I'd let Simon Snow take me apart right here, if he wanted, right here in the middle of this quiet Hounslow street because Crowley, I want him. I think I've never wanted anything as much as I want him right now.

I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer, flush with me, as close as I can bring him, and he gasps against my mouth before tangling one of his hands in my hair. I think for a moment—no, I know—that he wants me, too. Simon isn’t the best with saying things in words, but the way he’s pressing close, so close, and the way he’s cradling my head in the broadness of his hand, the way his other hand catches at the dip of my waist and squeezes, the way his tongue is sliding wet and hot and sweet against mine…

He’s the only person I’ve ever kissed, but I know this isn’t how you kiss someone you don’t love. 

Simon Snow loves me, too, I think. It’s the only option, really, no matter how absurd it may sound. I should tell him, soon, tell him how much he means to me. Tell him that I love him, that I’ve loved him for a long time. That every time I think I can’t love him more, I prove myself wrong. 

I’ll tell him, soon. But not today. Not right now. Because his mouth is killing everything I’m trying to think. (He has a way of doing that, and I don’t mind. I could never mind, not when it means I get to have Simon Snow’s lips on mine.)

All I can hear is the sound of our mouths moving together, our breaths against each other's cheeks, the quiet sighs Simon's drawing from me, and the ones I'm drawing from him—

"Oi!"

And the sound of our lips breaking apart as Simon pulls away. A rush of surprised air. 

When I open my eyes, he's flushed. I'm not sure how much of that's from kissing me, and how much is due to the fact that Bunce is stood at her front door, arms crossed as she gives the two of us her best exasperated look. (She’s perfected it, I’ll give her that.)

"Hello, Bunce," I say with a raised brow and a smirk. I keep my hold on Simon's hips, give them a squeeze.

"Hello, Basil," she says. "You done groping him in the street now, or should I leave you to it?"

I glance at Simon. His cheeks are burning hotter, and he's pulled his swollen bottom lip between his teeth. 

"What about it, Snow?" I say, softly. "Fancy a drive?"

His lips quirk back up into a grin, and I know what he's thinking. I'm thinking it, too, that I'd like to drive us out somewhere quiet, somewhere secluded, somewhere out of the city. Somewhere I can put the Jag in park, and push my seat back. Somewhere Simon can crawl into my lap and snog me until my mouth is sore. 

"We'll be back, Bunce," I tell her. She's not so far away that I can't see her quirk an eyebrow at me. "We're going for a drive."

💛💙

Fallen too Far [M]

Foreword: I knew I wasn’t allowed to feel this way towards Baekhyun. He was my sugar daddy, while me? I was just his baby girl. But, when you spent nearly every day with someone like him, falling in love was inevitable. And now that my feelings were off and running, there’s no choice but to go along for the ride.

Genre: daddy kink, fluff, romance, one-shot.

[M]: whipping (ish), dirty-talk, rough sex, orgasm denial.

(gif credit : @/kamikoy)

I was in the middle of cleaning the dishes when their laughters entered the kitchen for the umpteenth time that night. My bottom lip juts forward in a pout, and I carried on scrubbing the dirty pan, more vigorously now.

Two days ago, Baekhyun’s best friend paid a sudden visit to surprise him for his birthday. Out of panic, he’d introduced me as his housemaid since he wanted to keep our ddlg relationship a secret. That was how I ended up here, in the kitchen, doing chores like a maid would.

I was hurt, of course. He could’ve introduced me as his girlfriend, or a friend at least, but a maid? Do I mean so little to him?

Sometimes, I wondered if I was still just the sugar baby to him. While he still had a headache from half the thing I did to get his attention, I knew for a fact that I made him happy, just as he made me happy too. And to me, he wasn’t just the Daddy anymore. He meant so much more than that. We’d been in this relationship for nearly six months, and when you spend that much time being pampered and coddled by someone like Baekhyun, falling in love is inevitable. No matter how hard you try to stop your feeling from growing, you just can’t, just like how you can’t stop your heart from beating.

I knew I wasn’t allowed to feel this way towards him, that was part of the agreement. If Baekhyun ever found out, my contract might be terminated and he would have to look for a new sugar baby to replace me.

Just the thought of losing him made me sick in the gut.

I suddenly felt angry at myself for letting my feeling build when there was clearly no foundation to stand on. More than that, Baekhyun had made it clear from the start that he wanted no emotional attachment between us. There was no way he’d let our relationship evolved into something more than what we had right now.

My mind was getting carried away by thoughts that I didn’t realize the plate had slipped off my grasp. Until the sound of breaking glass hit my ears, and I flinched backward in shock.

“Oh crap.” I muttered softly, my gaze dropping to the shattered glass on the floor.

“What the hell happened?” Baekhyun’s voice burst into the kitchen a second before he did. His brows furrowed when he found the wreckage I’d caused, then his gaze flew to me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, and without much thought, dropped to my knees and started gathering the mess.

“Don’t touch that—“

Too late.

Just as the words fell from of his mouth, I felt a scrape on my finger that made me wince, and my hand drawing away in reflex.

“Shit. Are you bleeding?” Baekhyun asked as he hurried towards me. “Give me your hand.” He dropped to his knees and took my hand in his for inspection. There was a splinter of glass in my forefinger and I saw blood slowly trickling around the shard. He sighed, looking at me now. “See what happens when you don’t listen?”

This was the first time he talked to me since his best friend’s arrived. Part of me was glad to finally get his attention. I’d been so deprived of it these few days. But it irked me that he was looking so unhappy.

“Why are you getting upset when I’m the one who is injured here?” I protested.

If Baekhyun was surprised by my outburst, he didn’t show it, instead his eyes softened at me in such a way that melt me through and through. “Does it hurt a lot, baby?”

He called me baby in that voice of his, it was taking every ounce of restraint to stop myself from hugging him right there. If only we were alone...

“Baekhyun oppa, is everything okay?”

And there she is...

We brought our gaze towards the owner of the voice, Jisoo. She stopped at the doorway, glancing between me and Baekhyun before landing his gaze on our hands.

“Oh dear,” she grimaced at the sight of blood on my finger. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” I gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Baekhyun opposed with such a firm tone that it startled me, and I caught the confusion in Jisoo’s expression as she watched us.

I gave Baekhyun a look, my brows drawing together as if asking What the hell are you doing?

Much to my relief, someone’s phone started ringing. “That’s mine,” Jisoo announced before dissappearing into the living hall, leaving me and Baekhyun behind.

“Are you trying to blow our cover?” I asked in a loud whisper, glancing furtively over his shoulder to make sure no one heard us.

“You need to get your hand treated.” He said, gently pulling me up to my feet. “Get in your room and wait for me there.”

“No need. I can handle myself.” I peeled my hand away from his grasp, only to earn a warning glare from him that made me swallow in retreat. “W-what about the dishes?” I gestured towards the sink.

“I said get in your room, do you hear me?” Baekhyun said, his voice exerting dominance; his expression so deadly serious that I had no choice but to submit.

“Yes, Daddy.”

While waiting for Baekhyun, I sat in bed and checked the payment statement I’d just receive today. Uni was reopening in three weeks time, which mean my tuition fee was due soon.

I reached for my phone and clicked on the ibanking app to view my account. Once the page loaded, I blinked and blinked and blinked, surprised by the increasing digits in my savings. I didn’t have to check my transaction history to find out who the sender was. Baekhyun must’ve read the letter before I did, seeing that the envelope was unsealed when I found it on the coffee table this morning.

I felt a mixed of gratefulness and unease in my chest. Ever since Baekhyun made me his baby girl, I didn’t have to worry about not having enough to pay for my bills, rent, or anything. He made sure I had everything I needed, even things I didn’t need—frivolous things. My monthly allowance was thrice as much as my earnings back when I used to take up three part time jobs. I’d resigned as per Baekhyun’s request since he wanted me available every time he needed me, especially during the weekend. He wouldn’t meddle with my uni schedule though. In fact, he was very supportive of my study, which was why this arrangement was beneficial for me. Because not only did I get focus on my study, I get to also spend more time with Baekhyun.

However, this arrangement was a temporary thing.

Sooner or later, as much as I hate to admit it, Baekhyun would get bored of me and leave, like he did to his ex baby girls. And when the day came, I would have to take up those jobs again to fund myself. Or maybe, looked for a new Daddy to sponsor me. Though I doubt I would get over Baekhyun so easily. I’d be so heartbroken for months, years or forever maybe.

I threw my phone along with the envelope across the bed and curled on my side holding one of my plush toys. Funny how heartache can make you feel so...lifeless.

A short moment later, I sat up at the sound of the door opening. Entering the room was Baekhyun, holding a first-aid kid in his hand. He was still wearing his work attire, minus the jacket, just a white dress shirt with the top buttons undone. We stared at each other, and the softness in his gaze told me he wasn’t as upset anymore. My lips stretched up into a smile, and as soon as the door was closed and locked, I rose from the bed and scurried towards him like a puppy would when their owner returned home.

“Daddy!” I called out sweetly, my arms stretching out to pull him into a big big hug. I heard his low chuckle sounding above my head as I nuzzled my face into his chest. Two days of being mentally apart had made me so deprived of his touch; his affection; him. “I really really miss you.”

His lips brushed over my hair and he pressed a long kiss on the crown of my head. “Come on baby girl,” he whispered, “let daddy take care of your wound.”

I glanced up at him. “What if Jisoo finds out you are here?”

“She just went out.” He said, and I can’t stop my smile from widening. He chuckled at my excitement before saying, “Get on the bed.”

Feeling mischievous, I buried my face in his chest and shook my head. “Don’t want.”

“What do you mean don’t want?” He said, to which I simply giggled. “Are you trying to be naughty again?” this time he was pushing forward so I was walking backwards with my arms clinging onto his waist. Our giggles filled the room and we drew to a halt when the back of my knees touched the bed.

“Sit down.” he ordered softly.

I peered up from his chest, smiling sweetly at him and asked, “Can I sit on Daddy’s lap?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Where’s your please?”

“Please?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

Baekhyun eventually gave a mild nod in approval. I beamed as he lowered himself on the bed, setting the kit aside before tapping on his thigh to motion me to sit. But as soon as I sat my bum on his lap, he faked a low groan in the back of his throat. “Ugh, so heavy.”

“Daddyy!” I whined, pushing at his chest playfully. “You’re so mean.”

He simply grinned as he extended a hand towards me. “Let me see your hand.”

I gave him my injured one and he held it up to his eye level to examine. Though the cut was deep, the blood around the gash has dried up, so it wasn’t as painful anymore.

“I just need a plaster.” I told him.

He shook his head as he stared at my finger. “Daddy needs to clean your wound before it gets infected.”

My face turned pale at that. “Are you going to use that...uh...that liquid thingy that stings a lot?”

Baekhyun chuckled at my description, staring at me now. “Peroxide you mean?”

I made a pout with my lips. “It’s going to hurt so bad.”

“I know, baby.” He sighed, eyes filled with concern at my apparent distress. “Just bear it for a while, okay?” I gave a meek nod, and he smiled softly at me. “Good girl.”

I tried not to cower while watching Baekhyun dug into the first-aid kit as he gathered things he needed to dress my wound. He looked at me again once he was done soaking the cotton ball. I was already grimacing before it even started. His free hand came to rest on the back of my head and he caressed me there, “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

With reluctance, I offered him my hand and looked away when I saw that he was about to start. Shortly after, I felt the cotton gently swapping over my finger. It didn’t hurt at first, but as soon as the liquid penetrated into my skin, I felt the painful sting that made me squeeze my eyes close and winced. Tears began to well in my eyes, and with another swap, they rolled down my cheek like a waterfall. I buried my face in his chest as I weep quietly.

“I’m almost done.” Baekhyun murmured, brushing of his thumb over my palm to soothe me. The pain was beginning to ease, and my crying was slowly drawing to a halt. I kept my face planted in his hard chest to hush my shuddering gasps. After he was done wrapping a plaster around my finger, his arms went around me and I felt his soft lips on my temple as he pressed a kiss there. “It’s okay now.” He whispered.

I lifted my head to reveal my tear-streaked face. He chuckled, shaking his head at me as he cupped my cheek with both hands, “You’re like a baby, you know?” he teased, wiping away the remnant of tears that lingered under my eyes.

“But I am your baby.” I argued lightly.

“You’re right.” he huffed with a soft smile on his face. “My naughty little baby.”

I wrinkled my nose at him without disagreeing because he wasn’t wrong. I can be very naughty sometimes.

Baekhyun continued brushing my wet cheeks with his thumbs, his warm eyes studying every inch of my feature. But later, as if something struck him, he narrowed his eyes at me. “You can’t be doing this deliberately to get my attention, right?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Did you hurt yourself on purpose?”

My frown deepened. “Why would you say that?”

He lifted his brows to his forehead, “You’ve pulled this stunt before, remember?”

Ah...right...

I’d once faked a sickness just so he would take the day off to take care of me. He had an important meeting that he cancelled because of me. I remembered how furious he was when he found out I was lying. My buttcheek paid a high price for that mistake and the lesson was received loud and clear.

Baekhyun tapped on my cheek to pull me out of my daze. I blinked at him, and presently, his expression had grown more serious. “Did you or did you not hurt yourself on purpose?” He asked again.

I sulked, looking away unhappily. Although he has every right to be suspicious since it happened before, my feeling was still hurt because he didn’t trust me.

At my prolonged silence, he grunted. “Are you going to answer or do I have to put you over my knees to find out?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, it was an accident.” I mumbled reluctantly, still not looking at him.

“I can’t hear you, little one.”

In the heat of the moment, I threw him a glare. “I told you it was a fucking accident! Are you deaf or something?” I yelled, not realizing what I’d done until I saw the fierce, warning look on Baekhyun’s face. Oh God. I pressed my lips together and dropped my gaze submissively. The silence that stretched made my heart thrummed with fear. I felt his gaze on me even though I wasn’t looking at him. He must be thinking of a severe punishment for me, knowing how much he hated it when I cursed.

And I was right...

“Get up.” He ordered, and I scrambled off his lap in no time. Once I was standing up, he stared up at me. “Clothes off and stand against the wall. You have five seconds.”

Baekhyun began the countdown as I hurried to do as told. The second he hit one, I was already standing with my back against the wall, bare-skinned from head to toe. He pierced his dark gaze onto me as he bent forward to rest his elbows on each side of his knees. I gulped, and my fingers started to fiddle with themselves. The man might look calm on the outside, but the dark aura he exuded told me he was anything but. He was so fucking pissed, I can tell.

“Tell me what you did wrong?” He started gruffly, his eyes never left mine.

“I raised my voice at Daddy.” I admitted.

He raised his brows. “That’s all?”

“–and curse too.” I added.

He hummed. “Tell me how should Daddy punish you then?”

“You…” I hesitated, “you should spank me.”

Baekhyun chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head in disagreement. “I don’t think spanking works anymore.” He lift himself off the bed and stalked toward me. “You’ve been spanked so many times yet you never seem to learn your lesson.”

I gasped when he started unbuckling his belt in front of me. God, is he going to whip me with that? Although Baekhyun had always been strict with his punishments, he had never used a tool to hit me before. My punishment had always been a spanking, or sometimes he’d make me come so many times I had to beg him to stop because I couldn’t take it anymore—something he called overstimulation. I don’t know if I can handle being whipped.

“D-daddy…” I whimpered when he looped the leather around his hand. He looked at me again, and my heart rate accelerated in that second. “Are...are you going to hit me with that?” I asked timidly.

He hummed, and I let out a shaky breath when he swayed his hand back in preparation. “Next time you think about misbehaving again,remember this—” He grunted, whipping the leather strap across my thigh with force, causing me to cry out in pain.

His own breathing was heavy, and he had his lower lip caught in between his teeth as he daggered his dark gaze into mine. Is it wrong to think to think that he looked so hot when he is angry? Is it wrong for me to be turned on right now? I felt a little giddy inside, and I can’t help the growing slickness in between my legs.

“Does it hurt?” he asked me, and I gave a timid nod. “Good,” He said, swaying his hand back again. “That’ll teach you not to be so fucking rude to your Daddy.” He drew in a sharp breath before swinging his hand forward again. I shut my eyes close and whimpered at another hard slap that landed on the side of my thigh.

There’s a beat of silence afterwards, and I kept my eyes closed. But they flew open in a snap when I felt a rough grip on my chin. One blink at his handsome feature, our body collided and his mouth came slamming down on mine. His tongue swept into my mouth, and he made a low grunt in the back of his throat as he bit down on my lip. Hard. The pain made me whimper, and his grip around my chin grew tight. His mouth tugged at my upper lips, and he sucked on the flesh before thrusting his tongue through my opening to attack mine. There was nothing gentle about the kiss and as strange as it sounded, I was so immensely turned on by this. I grabbed onto his biceps, holding on for dear life as his mouth continued to assault mine.

Much to my discontent, Baekhyun broke the kiss and drew back to meet my eyes. We were both breathing heavily, and I watched him as he began unwinding the belt that was wrapped around his hand. Is he done with me? I thought to myself.

As if answering my silent question, Baekhyun seized my hand and began fastening the strap my wrists. “Lift your arms.” He ordered once he was done tying me up. I was puzzled, but I did it anyway. He then pushed his knee in between my thigh and nudge them apart, all the while staring at me. “I’m not done punishing you.”

I shivered at the way his gaze smoldered for me, like he was angry and turned on both at the same time. I expected my punishment to be a spanking, instead, he slipped a hand in between my legs and without warning, pushed two fingers into my wet cunt. “Daddy...” I moaned, my walls clenching tightly around his thick digits.

“Fucking slut,” He bit out harshly. “Did you enjoy being punished that much, huh?” He withdrew his fingers slowly and lift it up to show me his juice coated digits. “See how bloody wet you are?” I visibly blushed, and that made him sneer. “Open your mouth.” He commanded. And when I complied, he brought his fingers closer to my opening. “Suck it clean.” 

Like an obedient pet that I was, I did as he told me to. Tilting my head just slightly, I took his fingers into my mouth and flicked my tongue around them to lick away my own wetness. I felt a little scandalized at the fact that I was tasting myself, but I can’t deny how insanely hot this actually was.

Baekhyun gnawed on his bottom lip as he watched me, his pupils dilating at the sight of me sucking on his fingers so eagerly like they were his cock. His own breathing was growing heavier by the second, and as if his control snapped, he withdrew his fingers abruptly and dived in to kiss me again. Just like before, his kiss was rough and punishing. However it didn’t last long this time. I whined in protest when our lips detached, which resulted in a hard slap across my breast that caused me to yelp.

“Quiet.” Baekhyun growled, and I had to clamp my lips together to stifle my whimper. “I told you I’m not done punishing you.” He said. His other hand went to unzip his pant, pulling it down so his erection bobbed freely.

I gulped, my inner walls clenching and unclenching on its own accord at the sight of his thick cock.

“Eyes on me.” He ordered, and I lifted my gaze to meet his fierce one. He stepped closer and moved a hand up to rest on the nape on my neck, his thumb applying a light pressure to my windpipe. I choked slightly, and held my breath when he positioned his cock to my pussy, “You are not allowed to come unless I said so.” He said, rubbing my wet slit with the tip. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He barked.

I drew in a shuddering breath before muttering, “Y-yes, Daddy.”

With that, Baekhyun grunted and slammed his cock into me with such strength, my head flew back against the wall with a loud cry. He hissed through his clenched jaw at the way my walls squeezed tightly around his thick length. “Always so tight for Daddy.” He leaned in to press his lips against mine while his cock withdrew slowly. He gnawed on my lower lip, tugging at it before letting go and burying his cock deep in my pussy again. I let out a long moan, tears teasing my eyes at the sweet pain he was granting me.

“Tell me who’s this pussy made for?” He whispered huskily over my lips. 

“Daddy,” I whispered back in a shaky breath. “Just for Daddy.”

“That’s right.” He pulled out of me again. “It’s made just for Daddy to fuck.” He growled and thrust all the way in, filling my cunt with his thick shaft. I screamed in pleasure and my mind went blank for a beat. “Do you like having Daddy’s cock in your pussy like this?”

When I gave a jerky nod, his lips twitched into a dark smirk and he put more pressure to his grip around my neck. I gasped softly, and he began ramming his cock in and out of me, grunting hard with each thrust. My breasts bounced freely, and he dipped in to take my nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue around my bud. It wasn’t long until my inner muscle started to throb around his dick at the heightened pleasure.

“D-daddy...” I moaned. “Can I–can I cum? Please?”

“Don’t you dare cum.” He warned, clenching his jaw tightly as he continued pounding into me mercilessly. The slick noises of his cock leaving and entering my wet cunt blended with the sound of our lewd moans. If someone was home, they’d be able to hear us loud and clear.

When my arms started to turn sore, I dropped them so they were circled around Baekhyun’s neck with my wrists still tied together. He bent down to carry my wobbly legs, wrapping them around his hips before pistoning into my wet cunt again. I cried out loud. This new position caused the tip of his cock to hit me precisely on my sweet spot. I was on the verge of my orgasm, I can feel it. And it felt like the knot in my stomach could snap anytime soon.

“Daddy, I-I can’t take it anymore, please let me cum...please.” I begged desperately, not able to withstand it any longer.

“No.” He rebuffed in a low growl, his length sliding out of me abruptly, causing the building pressure to fade away. I whined. “Only Daddy gets to cum today. That’s your punishment for being naughty.”

And Baekhyun meant what he said about not letting me cum. Over the next hour, he continued pounding his dick into me senselessly. I’d lost count of the number of times he orgasm inside me, and the number of times he denied my orgasm. My womb was so loaded with his cum, they were dripping out of my pussy and down my thighs. I felt full, yet unsated. It was frustrating. A damn torture.

We migrated to the bathroom once Baekhyun was done fucking my brain out without letting me cum at all. I sat on the toilet seat cover, facing him who was kneeling on one knee in front of me. He held a washcloth in his hand, and he glanced up at me while wiping away the remains of cum on my chest. I raised my brows at him because he was giving me a very long stare. Seemed like he was contemplating something in his mind, so I waited.

“I’ve been thinking,” He finally started, “Maybe you should go somewhere for a while.”

What? Go somewhere? I blinked at him, puzzled. And my mind went to the worst scenario. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” I asked in a frown.  

His brows furrowed. “Don’t be silly, little one.”

“Then?”

“I just thought you should go on a trip...enjoy yourself before uni starts again.”

“Where would I go?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere you want. Daddy will pay for it.”

“Will Daddy come with me too?” I gazed at him expectantly.

He shook his head. “I can’t. I have work to do.”

My shoulders deflated in disappointment. Why did I even bother to ask? The answer was always the same. I can’t. I’m busy. We can’t be seen together. He wouldn’t even go on a dinner or movie date with me. Our dates were always here, in his penthouse. It had been six months yet I still had no clue what Baekhyun did for a living. He could be a serial killer or a drug lord, who knows? He was very secretive when it comes to his personal life, and it sucks that he knew literally everything about me yet I knew almost nothing about him.

But who am I to complain? I am just his sugar baby, his toy to play with, nothing more. And it’s killing me that I love him, but I can’t have him. 

Y’all I just want to talk about one of my best friends because I really appreciate him and his friendship. 

Like I have mentioned him before. He and I constantly get shipped together. He is a year younger than I am. We’ve known each other since I was in first grade and he was in kinder, so we were TINY. We weren’t really close in elementary school because of the grade difference, but we knew each other and he basically lives across from my grandmother’s house. I remember his mom would see me and she’d send me to take things to him in class. In junior high we hung out because he was friends with my friends, too. And in high school, it was the same thing. We had a couple of conflicts that we resolved, which was good, but other than that, our friendship has been really fucking nice. In high school, I remember I went to pick him up from his class for an assembly and we got locked in the damn classroom and we were so close to screaming, we’re fucking useless. Anyway, I guess we made it out because here we are lmfaooo. All of our friends and us would sit together and from that big group, seven of us stayed in our main best friend group (the group chat is called Familia, but I asked him to take me out because messages give me anxiety rip). 

Anyway, he is very attentive to what my friends and I say and he has a good memory for things. He looks out for me when I don’t because I have dumb bitch energy and I’m an anxious bisexual fuck, so he knows that SOMEONE has to look out for me because if he doesn’t, our other friends will, but not as like...well as him, I guess. But YEAH. I have had to go on a gluten-free diet in the past because bread and other flour/baked foods would make my stomach cry. I’m also lactose intolerant. I don’t drink coffee and I love tea. I’m a lightweight so I can only have one drink per hangout because I get tipsy out of nothing tbh ridic. And there’s other details that he just remembers like he has it written on an index card or some shit. Which is NICE. So whenever we are going to eat something that has bread/cookies/cake/baked goods, he looks at it first and then reminds me “This is a cookie. Do you still want it?” And I’m like “Yeah give it to me fuck it.” Or he tells me “this frosting has milk, so bring your pill to eat dairy.” He is the only friend that’s done this and I honestly appreciate everything he has done for me and my life’s preservation because I, for one, do not give a fuck about my health sometimes and just go “fuck give it to me”, but then he pulls a stop sign on me like “you dumbass this is gonna fuck up your stomach.” He has also been there for me during very dark times like my past 5 years of depression and anxiety, me distancing myself, my suicidal ideations, my grandfather’s death, and me going through a lot of shit because of my sexuality. Like when I need to talk, he’s there. I will never forget that. And I told him this last night, that I’m really glad we’re friends and that he’s the only one out of our group that keeps in touch with me because I struggle with communication. Like if anyone has ever messaged me, you know I can go days or weeks without answering. He knows and understands, though sometimes jokes to not ghost him (I don’t do it on purpose!), and he sends me messages and doesn’t pressure me to answer him. 

What strained our friendship the most was how everyone would ship us (still ship us???). We are very close. We hug. We’ve called each other dumb nicknames to fuck around like “My love” and “My life”, but we know we’re joking. We sit together, or side by side all the time. That is our place. And he is the only one whom I feel comfortable sitting on my left side. I am blind from my left eye so I always always feel uncomfortable when someone sits/walks on my left side because I can’t see them. He is the exception because I can hear him and he also draws my attention before anything so he doesn’t surprise me. Anyway, yeah we also tend to share food/drinks. We also hold eye contact with one another like we are very attentive to each other. I guess we give off that ‘couple’ vibe?? But we are just really good, close friends and it honestly killed me whenever someone would bring up the ‘dating’ topic. Like we went with it for a while. When we would get asked if we were together, we would say yes. We would pretend and we didn’t need to do much to pull it off because people already thought we were together. Until he asked me to tone it down and I just went ahead and stopped because it was getting to me as well. It sucked. I really hate how society just thinks that if a guy and a girl are close, they are a couple. Even my aunts thought we were together. My aunt asked me all the time if we were a thing and I was like “No.” Even my own mother wanted me to date him. It was too much. I had to spend time away from him. I actually needed space. I was not comfortable and I had to just spend time away so that I could like feel like myself. I think about that and I honestly feel my stomach churning. I never liked him in a romantic way. I thought I did because everyone would tell us this and that and God, I wish people would just shut up. I doubt he ever liked me like that, either, which is a GOOD thing. If I remember correctly, he told me he didn’t like me like that (???) because I was with my boss when I mentioned it and I had to talk to someone about it and my boss was like ‘well it’s good you know now’ and I was really happy about it! (I think this was the first time I went ‘I’m ace/aro’, but never acknowledged it until later). So yeah. So don’t ship people please. It feels like hell tbh. 

Our friendship is still Gucci and we still go out, though I noticed that since I left for uni I’ve been distant because of my poor communication skills. But he knows I’d never forget him. It’s kinda hard to do so when he lives two blocks away from my house lmfao. And right in front of my grandmother’s. I really hope we can remain good friends in the future. It’s just really nice to have someone like that in my life. I just started thinking about this because I gave him a Christmas present last night and he got me something, too. And even though we were going out with friends, I only got him and another friend a gift. I don’t have money right now, I’m flat broke and I’m waiting for student loans to save me because that pays rent and groceries. But I got him and our other friend something because they’re just real MVPs in my life, but moreso him. Idk I just wanted to talk about him because he’s a great human being and a wonderful friend and I hope good things happen to him. 

10 and 13 please please please 😌

@poppy27 and all who requested 10 and 12 here they are! I combined them since they are related. And a bonus slightly creepy but sweet Simon one.

and yes I’m still working on #13. That’s been the most challenging one so far!

10: What sorts of things would they give each other “just because”?

12: Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

1.

Baz

One of the particulars I noticed about Snow, that first night in our room, after the Crucible had encumbered me with him (burdened me with his mole-dotted skin, ordinary blue eyes, bronze dusted hair) was how few possessions he had brought to Watford with him.

Worn trainers on his feet. A scant number of ratty t-shirts. A few threadbare trackie bottoms. That fucking red ball.

That was it. Not another bloody thing.

It’s not like I brought much with me. Uniforms, text books, notepads, writing utensils—all were provided to us.

I’d packed some clothes. Pajamas, of course. A few favorite books. A tiny, contraband iPod Fiona had lent me the summer before (discreetly hidden in the depths of my closet, thanks to the Mage’s ludicrous ban on electronics.)

Over the years more items traveled to Watford with me. More books, naturally. Some family photographs (Mordelia was an exceptionally ugly baby) (She’s marginally better now) (it would be devilish hard to look any worse.)

By fifth year there were posters, meticulously confined to my side of the room. Some abysmal drawing Mordelia had made for me that I kept spelled to the wall. A whole shelf of books.

And Fiona’s old lava lamp, for the sheer ridiculousness of it (it was mesmerizing) (and retro) (and I liked to spell it different colours.)

Snow never added anything. Other than larger sizes of the items he’d brought with him initially. And a winter coat. A few nice jumpers, after he started spending Christmases with the Wellbeloves.

No personal effects. No books. No photographs.

At least he got rid of that fucking ball.

It took me years to understand. To realize he went into care every summer, wasn’t with the Mage as I thought. To recognize that he couldn’t afford or even really risk owning anything of value.

It was much the same when I helped him move into the flat with Bunce earlier this year (I did help, no matter what Snow says) (I supervised) (Someone had to.)

Most of their furnishings were tatty cast offs from Bunce’s family home.  Some mystical wall art that she had found in Camden. A mismatched selection of mugs and tableware. Typical uni apartment.

But Snow’s bedroom was so sparse. Just like his side of the room had been at Watford. A bed. A desk. A lamp on a rickety nightstand. A dresser with virtually empty drawers.

Blank walls.

It’s not like that now, no thanks to Snow.

It’s not like he doesn’t have money. Bunce finally convinced him to do something with that sack of leprechaun gold. I took him to a Normal bank, helped him open an account and the bank helpfully converted the gold to legal tender.

It’s a tidy sum. Enough for him to indulge himself a bit.

He doesn’t.

So, I do.

It started before he moved to London. Those weekends second term, when I would visit him at the Bunces.

When he was all long silences and thousand-yard stares.

I held his hand and tried to distract him. Dinner dates. Film nights. Clothes shopping.

I bloody adore taking Simon clothes shopping. He has no idea how fucking attractive he is. Buying him fitted shirts and tailored jeans is as much a gift to myself as it is to him.

I can’t help it.

I think of him when he’s not with me.

I’ll walk by a shop and see a shirt that reminds me of the color of his eyes.

Strolling through a bookshop I’ll find a title I actually think he might like.

A peculiar trinket will catch my eye at a street market and I know he’ll be captivated by it.

I buy them all for him.

Even my old lava lamp has taken up residence on his dresser.

Bunce says Simon’s room looks like a tatty shop stall from Spitalfields Market. It looks nothing of the sort. She’s prone to slanderous hyperbole.

What it looks like is home.

2.

Simon

I’m not sure what I love best about living in London. Rooming with Penny. Getting to see Baz every day (and most nights) (almost like when we were roommates) (but better.) Going to uni. Exploring the city. All the food.

The variety of food is astonishing. There’s posh restaurants and so many curry take-out shops. Neighbourhood pubs. All the street markets.

I don’t know if I like Borough Market or Camden Market best. Or Maltby Street. Or Brockley.

I love them all.

I’m only taking two classes per term this year. My therapist thought that would be plenty, with all that I’m trying to sort through right now. Uni’s been very understanding and accommodating about it all. My therapist sent a letter and spoke with the dean.

Professor Bunce mentioned Metropolitan first, when I was still living with them. Said she knew they had some pathway that wasn’t full-time to start.

But I think Baz’s father had something to do with it too. Baz had dragged me along, to their family lodge near Oxford, for a weekend visit soon after he’d left Watford.

I hadn’t really seen the Grimms much since I’d run away from them, the night the Humdrum had attacked Baz. The night I’d extinguished all the magic for miles around their home.

Well, I’d seen Mr. Grimm, at the Coven meetings investigating the death of the Mage. He’d not said much to me, just gripped my shoulder a few times and said “Simon” and nodded at me.

It wasn’t much. But it helped. Helped to know he didn’t hate me for the hole in Hampshire. For driving them all out of their home. For being with his son.

It was just a quiet encouragement, something I’d never expected from him.

But when Baz took me to Oxford with him, to tell his father he would rather be staked than go to uni there, to tell his father he was moving to London with me, I was anxious.

I was going bloody mental.

So of course, being me, I started babbling on at dinner about moving to London, living with Penny, our fourth floor flat, what my therapist had said about uni. Just nattering on, face turning red, hands shaking but unable to stop the fumbling words coming out of my mouth.

Baz, the prat, just looked at me with one eyebrow raised and a half-smile. Bloody twat. He could have cut in and stopped me any time.

Mr. Grimm looked a little glassy-eyed and Daphne had a fixed smile on her face. I finally took a large swig from my water glass and stopped talking.

“That’s … that’s very interesting to hear, Simon.” Mr. Grimm’s face was impassive. “Have you thought about where you might like to study?”

“London’s got so many options,” Daphne added helpfully.

“Uh, Professor Bunce mentioned Metropolitan. Said it’s got some flexibility, with part-time programs and such.” My face was flaming. Baz’s hand slipped into mine and I could breathe a little easier.

“I’m familiar with it. Sebastian is there, Baz. You remember him?”

And then they’d moved the conversation on and I’d slumped back in my chair and taken another helping of pudding.

But a few weeks after I applied to Metropolitan I received a letter from a Mr. Sebastian Palmer-Lloyd, informing me that I was approved for a part-time pathway and providing information on a scholarship he felt I was qualified for, if I filled out the appropriate paperwork.

I think Mr. Grimm arranged it all.

I haven’t dared ask him or attempted to thank him directly.

Baz said not to worry about it, when I asked him what to do. Said his father wouldn’t want me to mention it. He had an odd expression, when I told him about the letter. A distant, fond look.

I don’t think it was for me, though. I think he was thinking of his father.

So that’s how I ended up at London Metropolitan. With only two classes per term. I got that scholarship. I’ve got tutors and a foundation year advisor who stays in touch with my therapist and is surprisingly helpful to me.

Which means I’ve got a fair bit more free time than Baz and Penny.

Which is why I’m wandering through the market on this blustery Thursday. I’ve had a kebab and an ice cream so far. There’s a stand with baked goods that look wonderfully appetizing. Might take some home for later.

I’m strolling along, eyes darting from the food stalls to the art displays when I see the table across the way. The wind’s picked up and my ears are getting a bit cold. It’s not even the end of October. It’s shouldn’t be this blustery yet.

The table is covered with woolen hats and mittens and scarves. Bright colors, soft jewel tones, dark greys and browns. They’re soft and thick and look so very warm.

I don’t wear gloves much. Or hats. Get too hot still, even without the magic. I’m like a personal space heater, Baz says.

Baz gets cold. He’ll whinge about it tonight, how the temperature’s dropped today. But he still doesn’t do a bloody thing about it. Still wears his posh tailored wool coats, his thin leather gloves. He wears scarves but only because he thinks they make him look mysterious and aristocratic. He looks bloody gorgeous in them but I’ll not tell him that.

I will. I have. I can’t help myself.

Baz won’t wear a hat. He wore the boater at Watford because it was required (he loathed it) but once we didn’t have to wear them anymore he wouldn’t wear any type at all. Not even in the frigid depths of winter. Thinks they make his hair look bad, the tosser.

He’ll wear gloves but the ones he has now are useless. Thin leather ones, no good at keeping his fingers warm at all.  I should know. I hold his hand constantly.

I thought he had lined ones, when we were at Watford. I’m sure of it. I remember seeing him putting them on before he’d go to his violin practice. Cashmere lined, I’m sure.

They must be at his place. I’ll have to see if I can dig them up when I’m over there next. It’s only going to get colder.

I run my finger over a pair of mittens. They’re so many—simple knit ones, ones with a flap you can flip over to free up your fingers, ones made from cozy old jumpers and lined with fleece.

Mittens would surely keep Baz’s hands warm.

I find a simple charcoal grey pair with a thick, warm lining. They’re trim and neat, subdued and sedate.

He’ll still find something to complain about but at least his hands will be warm while he does.

3. Bonus Simon slightly creepy ficlet

Simon

Taking only two classes means I’ve a lot more free time than Baz and Penny.

I don’t have class today but I’m up early, as always.

Baz spent the night at his place. Had a paper due today so he didn’t make it over. Probably for the best. He doesn’t have class ‘til noon today. We usually just stay in bed all morning when he sleeps over on Wednesday nights.

But I’ve got plans for the day and an early start is what I need.

London is the best place I’ve lived, other than Watford. There’s so much to do, to see, to explore.

It’s not great for hunting though. At least not for the kind of hunting Baz does. The non-human hunting.

London’s probably more like an all-you-can-eat buffet for the regular vampire types.

But Baz isn’t a regular vampire. He argues with me about it but he’s more human than vampire. Always has been. All that rubbish about being half-dead. It’s all rot.

He’s basically a human with a taste for blood.

But it’s a bit sparse here in the city for him. There’re rats, yeah, but not as concentrated in one place, like they were at Watford.

Places where they do congregate aren’t places I want Baz going to alone. I know he’s got super strength and super speed and whatnot but I still don’t fancy him lurking in Hackney in the middle of the night.

London’s not even in the top twenty rat-infested areas of Britain (yes, I looked it up) (Research.) There are some right big ones in Hackney but it doesn’t even make the list.

There’s a fair amount of birds but they’re a bit dodgy to catch and Baz isn’t too fond of them. There’s deer in Richmond and Greenwich but it’s not that easy to drop a deer in the middle of London, even at night. There’re people around all the time.

You can find badgers in some of the parks but Baz says they’re an endangered species so they’re off limits. That’s taking it a bit far if you ask me. What’s one badger, here and there?

Baz draws the line at bats too. I tease him about that. He’s just too fastidious. Drives me mental. He’s got to feed somehow.

Odd thing is he’s not needing to feed near as often. He used to feed almost every night, he would, at Watford. But since last term he can go two days or sometimes even three and not be worse for the wear. I’m not complaining, mind you, but it’s odd.

Maybe the whole Numpty incident reset his vampiric metabolism? I don’t know. I’m no expert on vampires.

Probably more of an expert than most. On one particular vampire.

So anyway, feedings have been a bit chancy for Baz now that he’s in the city. He’s made do with rats and pigeons, the occasional deer if he can manage it.

He lets me go with him, mostly, now. At least when he hunts for deer. I’m good at lookout, making sure no one’s about, distracting people if I need. Gives him a few moments undisturbed it does.

Even with his altered metabolism it’s still not ideal. He needs a more consistent supply. He’s got a heavy class load. He can’t be out all night trying to feed.

Tried dried blood. I found it on Amazon, of all places. It’s mainly for making blood pudding. Thought it would work all right.

Baz hates it. Made him gag, it did. Says it smells funny and has a chemical aftertaste. Probably all the preservatives. Used it in emergencies a few times, like when it snowed for three days straight in February.

I found some in an Asian market. In the freezer section. I swear to Merlin I had no idea you could get frozen blood in a grocery store.

I’d actually found the place on some Reddit forum on blood pudding. I keep having to clear my browser history. Don’t know what my classmates would think if they saw the searches for blood products on my laptop. Think I’m mental or part of some cult, I’m sure.

The frozen blood wasn’t much good either. Something about the freezing process and coagulation and whatnot. Baz and Penny went on and on about it. I couldn’t follow it all. Just crossed frozen blood off the list of options.

This one Asian market in Catford had fresh blood. Thank you, Reddit. I got a tub of it and brought it home on the tube. Lid must have loosened up at some point. Ended up with the front of my shirt all soaked in it. Looked a nightmare I did.

Walked into the flat and Penny took one look at me and started shrieking about Goblins.

I haven’t seen Baz look that frightened since … since the whole Weeping Tower incident.

He looked terrified. Face shades paler than usual, nostrils flaring, pupils blown, eyes wide and fixed on the bloodstain on my shirt. His fangs popped (I can tell) (His cheeks puff up.)

And then he was right there, running his hands over me, searching for a wound or injury or some such. Got blood all over his hands, patting me down like that.

It took some time for everyone to settle. I hadn’t realized what I looked like, big blood stain in the middle of my chest and splatters of blood on my hands where I’d snapped the lid back on.

Thought I’d been attacked, is what they thought. The Goblins still think I’m fair game so I suppose Penny and Baz had a point.

I put the tub of blood in the refrigerator and went to take a shower. I think Baz burned my shirt. I don’t know why they didn’t “out, out damn spot”it. That should get blood out.

I kind of liked that shirt. But I don’t think Baz or Penny were quite rational at that moment. It’s their biggest fear for me, played out, now that I don’t have magic anymore.

Took me half the night to get Baz settled down enough to try the blood.

Better than the dried blood for certain. Better than the frozen too. Not sure how I was going to manage transporting it back and forth from Catford without another disaster like this one.

Got a big thermos is what I did. Went back a week later but they didn’t have any in stock. Finally got some a few weeks later and transported it home without incident. Thermos did the trick.

Their supply isn’t that reliable. I’m on their list to call when they have it now. The owner thinks I’m some private chef who specializes in blood sausage. The language barrier helps keep them from asking too many questions.

So that’s what I’m up to today. I’ve got a list of butcher shops I called Monday that said they get fresh blood every so often. I’m going round to see if they look reputable and clean. Won’t be getting dodgy supplies for Baz.

I’m hoping if I find enough suppliers I put them in a rotation of sorts. You know something like Catford first Friday of the month, Ealing every other Thursday, Camden on alternate Tuesdays. Something like that. So I’ve always got a supply on hand for Baz.

Keep him from having to prowl around as much at night, especially once it gets cold again. Keeps him out of the dodgier neighborhoods too.

It’s almost six by the time I get home. I’ve got a list and dates and I’m going to put it on a spreadsheet to keep it all organized.

I’ve got two thermoses in my backpack so that’s all right then. I tuck them into the small refrigerator under my desk and head to the shower.

It’s almost eight by the time Baz texts me that he’s on his way over. I’ve got the spreadsheet all done and put the pick-up reminders in my phone.

He’s going to fuss about it all. Baz doesn’t deny it, like he used to, but he still hates talking about it. So I won’t say much. Just tell him I’ve found a steady supply and leave it at that. He doesn’t need to know the details.

That I went all over London today to find reputable distributors. That half of London thinks I’m a blood sausage specialist. That I set up a schedule for myself of when to get the blood. That the frig under my desk isn’t just there because I get hungry all the time.

Baz does so much for me.

I just want to do something for him.

Baz

My heart is pounding in my chest and I can't catch my breath. Simon is staring at me and I can't speak.

I've completely lost the ability to form coherent sentences and I can sense the anxiety rising in him at my continued silence.

This boy. This absolutely fucking gorgeous nightmare of a boy.

He's been fussing with different ways for me to feed for weeks now but I thought he'd finally given it a rest.

But no. I should know by now that Simon Snow perseveres and digs his heels in when faced with a conundrum.

I'm the conundrum.

I know the enormity of what he's done for me. He's minimizing it all, not telling me what I know is true.

That he's traipsed the length of London, personally scrutinizing these butcher shops. That despite his utter loathing of Excel he's put the effort in to make spread sheets--spread sheets, for Merlin's sake--to keep track of dates and times and locations. That he's volunteered himself to pick up the blood, so no one becomes suspicious of me.

Simon’s done all this for me and I'm speechless.

He’s said he loves me. I know he thinks he means it. I want to believe that Simon Snow loves me as desperately, as passionately, as absolutely as I love him.

But I've never really let myself believe it. Not until now.

And it makes me love him even more than I already did, if that's even possible.

I can feel the tears coming on so I grab Simon's shoulders and pull him towards me, burying my face in his neck, my arms tight around him.

"I love you, Simon Snow."He relaxes in my arms and pulls me closer.

"I love you, Baz."

And I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, just how much he truly does.

SOCIOPATH WALKS OUT OF A THERAPIST’S OFFICE

Today I received a letter saying I had been discharged -- without my request or input -- from therapy.  Let me rewind a little.  As those of you who follow this blog know, I have been receiving therapy for just a few weeks. We have barely left the assessment phase, so whilst my therapist has been very good at listening to the traumas I have experienced and throwing in his two cents here and there, we haven’t so much got into the crux of therapy, as we have identified what the therapy is for, and what it was for was: 1. I have a lot of baseline and situational anger and contempt (his words, but I do tend to agree) and whilst I don’t want to give into forgiveness and adopting a mindful, wellness-y kind of mindset which would be insincere for me, I would like to stop being so constantly exhausted by my own rage, and stop being so at the behest of the contempt I feel constantly whirring in the background. 2. In order to do that, I need to confront childhood trauma head on, deal with it, talk about it, make sense of it, draw a line under it, move on. My old therapist from years ago (who discharged me after two and a half, almost three years, not long after my ASPD diagnosis, but we’ll get to that...) once described trauma as being like a big old blanket, in that if you shove it into the airing cupboard all crumpled and hurried, it’s going to ping out from time to time and trip you up and you’re going to have to angrily just shove it back in there, and it’s going to happen again and again. If you fold it neatly, it will stay there and not bother you, and will only come out if you specifically go in to fetch it. My current therapy was to learn how to fold that big blanket.  3. I love my son and my husband with all of my heart, and I want to treat them fairly and lovingly. In order to do that, I need to be a healthy person, so therapy was about untangling the threads of who I am, so that I can have enough insight and awareness to know what I need and when I need it. If I know that, then I will better know what my son needs and when he needs it. In short, I don’t want to become my mother.  And we did uncover some things. We spoke about a specific trauma, one that sticks out the most amongst everything, and going into that was like opening a Pandora’s Box of feelings, some of which I didn’t know the name of, and whilst it was very hard to hold it together without relapsing into some extremely antisocial behaviours (random people who I don’t know don’t need to hear any diatribes about What I Really Think About People Like You, and that’s not empathy talking, that’s a desire to not be seen as someone small and pathetic), it was cushioned by the fact that I knew I had a therapist now, and whatever intense, primary emotion took over my brain and my body whilst these old thoughts came to harry me, I could go to therapy that week, and mention them to someone who I was assured was there to help me. I had to agree to trust this man, and he had to agree to trust me. I was given conditions before my behaviour demanded them: “there are ways I won’t be spoken to” was said, before I’d ever slipped away from respect and courtesy, “some of this will trigger anger in you and you need to trust that I’m not trying to hurt you” was said too. Most importantly, I was told: “the relationship we have in this room will come to be the prototype of the relationships you have outside of this room. If you can be vulnerable and trusting in here, you will have a new blueprint of how to behave out there”. Sound logic, I thought. He’s into attachment theory and I guess I am too -- the relationship I had from my primary caregiver growing up was inconsistent, punitive, cold, dismissive and contemptuous, and that’s how antisocials get this way, most of the time. We didn’t learn the things that non-sociopaths would consider to be markers of goodness and humanity. Therapy is where you try to learn those things.  In my first few weeks, my therapy was on a day where I attend university to do my degree in psychology (finally, eh?). I told the therapist it wasn’t possible for me to attend those days without my performance at uni being compromised. I was told, in the kindest way possible, look do you want therapy or not? Because I’m in the UK and poor, I’m receiving the therapy through the NHS. Waiting lists are long and you take what you can get. I was lucky to get therapy in the first place. Still, I missed a few, and the day was finally changed. I didn’t miss any more sessions because I didn’t need to, and was told that I couldn’t miss any more unless it was a medical issue. Then, I got the flu.  Now I don’t know if you’ve had the flu, you probably have. It’s that kind of virus where your throat is on fire and your bones are aching and every muscle hurts to move and you feel you’ve been hit by a city bus for a week. I couldn’t get into therapy, but given our agreement about medical absences, I thought we were good. Nobody called to gripe about this absence, and my next appointment was in just two days from now. Then I got a letter telling me I was no longer receiving therapy, citing “competing demands in [my] personal life” -- a decision that has been made for me. “I want to assure you this is not a decision I have taken lightly. I have no doubt that you wanted to engage in therapy”. I tried to call to smooth things over and explain that a sick note is making its way to them to excuse my absence, but guess what? My therapist is on leave. Because he’s allowed time off from his demanding personal life.  And now I have some thoughts.  As mentioned earlier, I study psychology. My initial degree was a major in psychology, and a minor in psychotherapy. I was going to become a therapist, if you can imagine such a charade, but one semester into my studies I realised through “self reflection” and a practical exam where I had to give therapy for ten minutes to prove what i’d learned, that I straight up don’t have the empathy. I should’ve known to begin with, but I don’t. I couldn’t do it, or feel it, I had this man sitting in front of me (a classmate) talking either candidly or in character, I didn’t care to really speculate, about feeling like a failure, letting himself down. My instinct was to try to show him the things in his life that were good, snap him out of it as gently as I could but at least get him to stop talking and having those thoughts, and I was given the feedback that I shouldn’t try to hurry someone out of feeling bad, I should sit with their feeling, let them feel their feeling, reflect it back to them, show them that I’m feeling it with them. I pretended in the re-exam in order to pass, but the whole time I felt myself knowing just how on display I was, and how this was different to performing empathy in day to day life; this was real, applied, intense and unwavering empathy I had to show. I passed, and I dropped the module so that next year it will be replaced by forensic psychology. I don’t have what it takes, and I’m ok with that. But my therapist knew he had what it took. He did the schooling, got the MA, has a background in social work, he sat with pain and shared his pain and learned and cared and earned the title of Psychotherapist through the kind of work I shirked from at the first hurdle. Not only does he experience empathy, but he made a career out of it. And in that room, I was encouraged to trust him, though he could not trust me to be ill, and could not empathise at all. I admire the pretence perhaps, but I am resentful of its consequence. He has so much empathy, he thought it would be a good idea to coax traumas out of me, and in turn the trust that I would speak and confront them knowing they would finally get folded away. His attachment theory deal encouraged me to re-learn what interpersonal interactions really are, the good that people really have, the contempt I’ve been wasting. And all I have learned from him is the same I have learned since being very small: you can’t trust people. There’s no such thing as help. There’s no such thing as selflessness. There’s no such thing as empathy. There’s no such thing as trust. I am someone who does not need love. I am someone who must not ask for help. The only way to not be weakened by my trauma, is to be strengthened by it. Weakness is to talk, talking leaves you open to exploitation. Vulnerability is a curse. It’s a dog eat dog world. It’s every man for himself. And it’s funny because just last week I wondered if the mood had changed. Sociopaths, whilst hilariously low on affective empathy, can read a room, a tone, a palpable shift at the very least. I don’t know if this is because of years of studying human performance, or a hypervigilant hangover from an abusive childhood where tone-reading was essential and could be the thing that stopped you getting a beating, reading the mood and charming your way out of it before it got violent, it may even be something neurobiological, who knows. But I sensed something else. We’ve never said the words, antisocial or otherwise, but it’s known. And I think last week, he knew that he knew. Now I don’t want to get all paranoid, but I know this story very well. Sociopath walks into a therapist’s office. Sociopath is encouraged to walk right back out again.  And I wonder if the diagnosis of ASPD is a morally correct one. Why diagnose a mental illness to begin with? Well, usually because it’s causing the person distress, and could be treated to improve that person’s quality of life. But what’s the treatment for ASPD? If threadbare research has kind of sort of perhaps but maybe not “proven” that antisocials don’t respond to therapy, then is the correct way to test this half-baked theory to in fact remove that decision away from antisocials? And how many times have I heard antisocial friends tell me they’ve been refused therapy, or spoken to like shit in therapy, or dropped from therapy when their diagnosis became apparent? Is it ethical to diagnose antisocial personality disorder if you have no desire or intent whatsoever to help that person? Who is that diagnosis helping, exactly? Because there are no medications licensed, and there’s no inpatient treatment, no therapy, nothing at all unless you’re willing to pay through the nose for what is essentially guesswork. It is known that if two people commit the same crime but one of them has ASPD, that person will receive a harsher custodial sentence. Not because of what they’ve done, but what they might do in future. Is the diagnosis of ASPD a morally sound one? Who is it protecting? What purpose does it serve? I have said this before and will repeat it until my bones seize completely: antisocials are just as likely to have come from trauma and neglect as those with BPD, and cPTSD. Antisocials have extremely high rates of addiction. Antisocials are just as likely to commit suicide as borderlines, a figure we can agree is very high. But who cares about a dead sociopath?  Who cares about a living one? And if I get my therapist back, what then? What will therapy look like now I’ve lost respect and trust for this person? When they say that sociopaths don’t respond to therapy because “They’ll always just try to analyse the therapist, that’s their problem”... perhaps, yes. Because if you poke a hungry bear with a stick over and over again, the bear might bite you, even despite what studies have said about bears in captivity secretly not wanting food, based on a sample size of two bears who ate their gatekeepers. 

I Want Us

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762390

Word Count: 3017

Summary: Snowed in hotel rooms and promises for the future (POV Simon).

Carry On Countdown 2018 Day 3: Abroad

“Granted..” Baz mumbles, pushing the curtain back as he peers out over the city to, watching the snowflakes begin to settle. “We probably should’ve considered the fact that we’d booked to visit Penny in Chicago during the middle of winter…”

I page through the telly’s channels, head resting in my palm as I scroll. The screen flickers to life between each page, a split couple seconds of sound as the title roll through. I stop at a local news station, dropping the remote beside me as I sit back.

A cheerful woman in a tight dress is rambling off about the weather, somewhat insultingly upbeat chimes playing as she goes on about snow totals and how much it’ll be. A lovely four feet in total over the next few days, and it’s coming in thick. Lovely.

Beside the bed, Baz flops back into a seat as he scrubs his face, hands laying above his eyes as he sighs. He peers over his fingers, glancing at me with a tired expression. I swing my legs over the side that he’s on, watching him as I tug my hair back.

“So much for meeting up with Penn, huh?”

“She did answer my text,” he begins, pulling out his phone and unlocking it with a swipe. “Said she’s snowed in for at least the next three days, especially as the storm rolls past.” He thumbs over the texts before glancing at me and sighing. “At least we booked the room until Friday.”

My hand reaches out to wrists, locking around one of his hands as I tug it towards me. He sets down his cell and keeps an eye on our joint movements, watching our locked hands travel to my lap. “Suppose we’ll just spend the next week going mad in a hotel room.”

“Sounds an awful lot like hell; you’re a tit and a bore to spend time with.” There’s no bite to his voice, and when I catch his eyes, he’s grinning at me like some lovesick fool.

“A nightmare to be around,” I reply softly, tugging his hand closer and causing him to lurch forward. I lean in, pecking his cheek before lacing our fingers together. Automatically, he leans into it, eyes shutting as he lingers against me. It takes a full few seconds before he pushes himself up and settles back on the bed beside me, hand trickling down my back and pushing the fabric away from the split between my shirt and my jeans. His hand settles against my skin as he kisses me, his other hand flying to my cheek and tracing patterns onto me.

Our knees bump as I nudge closer on my hip, body turning towards his. My hand captures his hair, pushing in under the bun he’d put up for the flight and tangling in the somewhat strained strands as I pull his head closer. He does that little thing I like with his tongue before he pulls himself back and leaving me to whine out a complaint as his eyes traveling down my face and neck. He latches himself on it.

Baz seems to hyperfixate on my neck; he once told me that he used to think about it so much that it just feels unfair to not kiss it now. Every time he dives for my neck, I think back to sixth year; to him staring at me from across the room. I used to think he was plotting my death, but it was actually him tracing out where his mouth would go if he only had the opportunity.

The hand pressing to my back trails down towards my tail, tugging it out of my jeans and wrapping it around his wrist as he presses onwards. I let out a noise, tucking my face into his messed hair as his lips kiss up and teeth graze my earlobe.

Oh shit. I push him away, slightly tense as I stare into him. “How’re you going to feed if we’re snowed in?”

He blinks, startled by my abrupt stop. “I didn’t quite think of that,” he says in a bit of a daze, his eyes wide. “ I could try to hunt off in some nearby alley. It’s unceremonious, but city rats are blood nonetheless.”

“Why would they go out into the snow?”

“There’s always dumpsters, Snow.”

I make a face. “You’ll dumpster dive?”

He slowly untangles his hand from my tail, fingertips running along it as it slides from his arm. “I’ve done it before, and I can always shower after. I’ll just wear your clothes while I do it.” I smack him on the arm, my eyebrows drawing together.

“Excuse me for being concerned about your wellbeing,” I grumble, frowning at him. “I haven’t got much else, besides Penny and the existence of dinner, so I’ve got to look after you.”

His face goes borderline soft at my comment, gaze losing its edge as his thumb traces my jawline. “Sorry,” he says back in a murmur before going silent. He’s thinking.

I think that’s my favorite expression of his; in thought. Not because he’s quiet then or anything (despite it being an added bonus), it’s just that he always looks so deeply into my eyes whenever he’s thinking, even if it’s not me on his mind. Hell, even in the first few years of uni, he’d get particularly stuck while working and just come up to look at me, lock his arms around my waist, and stare. At first I was a little unnerved, but it got to be endearing. I’ve never asked him why; I should probably ask him why.

“Why do you stare at me when you think?” I ask. It comes out as a whisper, barely even loud enough for any normal person to hear.

He snaps away from whatever’s going on in his mind at the sound of my voice, raising his eyebrows as his head tilts. “I’m… sorry?”

My hands busy themselves with untying his bun, shaking out the strands so I can run my fingers through them properly. “Whenever you’re thinking, really thinking, you stare at me. Like, really hard. It’s almost like there’s a puzzle on my face, and you’re trying to solve it. Then you usually just hug me and kiss my cheek before actually going on with whatever you were doing.” I tug at a little knot, feeling it come undone with ease. “I don’t dislike it, I’m just wondering.”

He stays silent for a moment, head staying tilted as I play with thick sections of his hair. “You’re calming,” he says after an eternity of staying shut, eyes flicking around my face as he speaks. “You used to be chaos to even witness, but now I just like to stare because I’m allowed to. It feels good to. It’s nice, having a single constant in my life that I used to be so scared to look at, but is now mine to keep.” Both of his hands rest against my sides, thumbs rubbing the fabric.

It takes me a minute, clearing my throat as I nod. “I… wow.”

He chuckles warmly, leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek and staying with his lips brushing against my skin. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs before pressing another kiss down. “I don’t really expect an answer.”

We sit there in silence, my hands woven around his locks as I nod again.

As he pulls back, he shifts in his seat before easing my grip away from him. “I need to hunt before it gets too bad.” Standing, he fixes his shirt and trousers. “I won’t be long; get comfortable while I’m out. We’ll be in here for an awful while.”

I watch as he goes, making sure he has a room key and his phone. He swoops down, pressing a kiss to my head before excusing himself. I don’t watch, listening as the door clicks shut behind me.

The windows stay shut as I undress. I steal glances of myself through the mirror, getting caught in the reflections.

The spells on my wings wore thin; they’re visible now, clear as day and fully exposed. I extend them once, letting them stretch after hours of being bent together and getting all stiff. It’s sort of like when you’re sitting for too long and your legs get all numb or prickly and wobble a bit. That’s my wings. It’s weird; some limbs I didn’t think I’d asked for, but oh well. Here they are.

My jeans change out for my sweats, leaving everything else discarded (including a top) away into the luggage. After a minute of clueless searching, I find the hotel’s binder in plain sight, sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch.

I flip through, scanning room service and trying to figure out what’d be best to order (because it’s either this or delivery and I do not have the energy to deal with a proper delivery service right now).

By the time Baz makes it back, I’m sprawled out on the bed and carefully reading each option in the menu, scanning the tiny details and the serving hours to everything (I’ve read it three times already, but I’m just making sure). He creeps in as silently as possible, but I lift my head to greet him and give him a loose smile as the exhaustion from an eight hour flight hits me (well, that and the jetlag). The shades remain drawn, keeping the room at a controlled darkness as I stare up at him through lamp-light.

He gives me a smile back, slowly stripping off his blazer, then following his shoes, socks, trousers, shirt, all down to his boxers, to which he grabs trackies and a tee shirt to replace them with. Without a word, he steps off into the bathroom, and I hear the shower turn on.

I never quite ask where he hunts, even at home. Partially because I’d rather not intrude on something he’s not that keen on sharing, but also because I feel like I’d be a little grossed out thinking of where he’d need to hunt to stay hidden enough. There’s clearly a reason why he showers after every hunt, so I don’t pry. I just leave it and welcome him back warmly when he comes to join me.

He wraps himself around me from behind, face settling on my nape as he reads quietly. It’s a bit of an awkward fit; his arms always have to rest around my lower sides, and my wings have to fold in so he can look around them, if he wants to, but we make it work. We’ve always made it work; we make everything work.

His wet hair drips onto my shoulders, face pressed to my skin his arms lock tightly around me. He smells like travel body wash.

“What do you want?” I ask, a hand settling against one of his.

I can feel his exhale against me, his body caving towards mine as he peers at the list. “The baked chicken sounds fine.” His fingers push apart, letting mine fall into place between them as I sigh, relaxing against him.

We spend a few moments slumped against each other, my time occupied by listening to his breathing and his continuous calming rise and fall of his chest against me. It isn’t until my stomach growls that I actually pull back, leaning across the bed to dial up the number provided on the sheet to order, giving them our room before hanging up and turning towards Baz. Silently, I tuck myself into his neck and cuddle shamelessly up to him, his hands dragging up and down my bare back.

There’s nothing I’m more thankful than for silence. At the beginning, I was afraid of scaring him off with how much I prefer just staying like this. How much I prefer not talking, but he accepts it all. He accepts being my comfort spot, being a nice extended period of not speaking, but rather just being there. He accepts it all.

I don’t know how I ever got so lucky.

I doze off before the food gets there, and I’m startled by the knocking. Sleepily, I peel myself away and let him get the door as I stand out of clear sight (because Normals usually give me strange looks; these wings look like ridiculously good prosthetics and it’s always odd to be asked why I’d be wearing them decoratively for absolutely no reason). Baz exchanges quick pleasantries with the worker before bringing in the food and resting it over the coffee table. Once it’s safe, I step out and just flop onto the floor, digging into my own food and sighing happily.

He mirrors me, sitting across the table on the floor with his legs outstretched underneath and bumping into mine innocently. We exchange smiles as we tuck into our meals respectively, hands outstretched between us and meeting to hold.

I finish my plate a good while before he does, and I’m a little more than guilty of stealing bites off his.

He lets me, though. He always lets me. I think I can get away with just about anything with him.

As he’s finishing up, I drop his hand and go to turn down the bed for us, fluffing the pillows as I yawn. Despite it only being about six (the sun’s properly sunk out of view now), the midnight feeling of London still tugs at my mind. It’s clearly getting to Baz too, his bites slowing down to sleepy nibbles.

Never really dropped the habit of chewing with a hand over his mouth. I don’t dare stop him; we all have our little comforts, and if it helps him feel better, I can’t intervene.

“Come on,” I whisper as he swallows down his last bite. “I’m lonely over here.”

He pushes his plate and silverware forward, hand still locked over his face. “Shouldn’t we clean?” It’s muffled.

Shrugging, I snag him by his bottoms once he’s standing close enough. I give him a quick tug onto the bed. “We can do it tomorrow, I don’t feel too strongly for cleaning right now.”

He rolls his eyes, keeping his mouth tightly shut as he cuddles up to me wordlessly.

We press up to one another, falling into our usual sleepy silence, which almost convinces me that he’s fallen asleep before he lets out a quiet “What are we doing, Simon?”

It’s like I’m blindsided by a truck. “What are we… what?”

Slowly, his head lifts with his shoulders from me. “I mean,” he starts, “we’ve been together for years now, but we just don’t talk about the future. Albeit, I didn’t quite think there was a real future a couple years ago, but now here we are. So… what now?”

I blink, jaw open.

It’s one of those things I don’t think about. Not because the worst case scenarios, but rather a “Take life by the balls” sort of reasons.

If you don’t plan for the future, you’ll never be disappointed about the consequences.

“I… I don’t know.”

He rolls his eyes, mumbling something along the lines of a quick “Of course” before exhaling and shaking that thought clear. “I phrased it wrong,” he says gentler, catching my eyes. “What do you think you want in the future, Simon?”

My hands stay flat against his back, my mind searching before I speak. “A nice place where you can hunt without being as afraid of people catching you. Maybe a backyard, so we can have pets to run around there. I… I guess I always wanted the domestic bullshit; sounded so sweet compared to what I had growing up. “ I stop, chewing on my lip. “I want us. You. Like, I can see you sitting there with me, doing this… thing. Whatever we want. Us being us.”

He ghosts his hands over my chest before settling against my shoulders, thumbs grazing my collarbones. “Us being us?” he repeats, as if for confirmation. I nod without a second thought.

“Good.” He comes out short, but his voice is gentle, resting in the air only between us. “I want an us too. I’d sort of hoped we’d have an us, after all. Not like it was that bullshit Watford Curse if we did break up, but in the way that I love you, and I always have.”

I grin at that, nose wrinkling as I whisper back an “I love you too”. His soft smile in response is all I need to really relax, exhaling slowly as I stare at him. He’s right. It is calming. “How do you feel about living in the countryside?”

He shrugs somewhat like I would, closing his eyes. “I’m happy wherever you are, but you shouldn’t feel the need to just move out there because of me.”

“It’d make me happy to have you comfortable,” I run a hand up and down his spine, “that’s what I want.”

His smile spreads farther across his face, head leaning forward and resting once again against my shoulder. “What… about a family?” he whispers.

“As in, children?” He nods. “I… suppose I haven’t thought of it? I mean, when I was with Agatha, it felt expected. Now, though, I don’t give a thought to it; mainly because I don’t feel that ridiculous pressure anymore. That’s all. But I wouldn’t be opposed.”

He keeps pressed against me, holding me around my waist. “I’m just curious, that’s all. Not proposing anything yet.” He nuzzles more into my skin, yawning against it. “However ‘us’ is, I’m happy with it. Us is us, additions option.”

I giggle at that, tugging him closer as I yawn back .”Additions optional,” I agree sleepily. “Okay, I’m… I’m gonna sleep. I’m tired.” He gives me back a laugh; a lazy, tired laugh.

“Okay, my love. Sleep tight,” he utters against me, to which I respond with likewise as melt into our bed. We stay blocked out from the unfamiliar world outside, covering quickly in a heavy blanket of snow.

the real super secret chapter

okay here’s the art school au blurb with the link and the whole thing

this isn’t an epilogue so much as it’s a continuing blurb, which I hope to do more of, within the bounds of that fic. I hope to do some featuring penny and agatha as well :)

read it here on ao3

words: 2,040

SIMON

I genuinely don’t know how I let Baz talk me into this. Maybe it’s just because I’m weak. Weak when it comes to him, absolutely. And I’ve never been good at saying no to anyone.

When he asked me, I was actually flattered. He’s always shy with me, especially about this, and I thought it’d be a nice way to maybe make us more comfortable around each other.

“It won’t take that long,” he’d said, looking sheepish as he sat across from me at our table in Penny’s bakery. We were waiting for her to get off, so we could go see a gallery a town over for an artist that she loves. “It might be a little awkward, but I think you’d enjoy it in the long run. Maybe. I understand if you don’t want to though -”

“Baz,” I’d said, cutting him off and reaching across the table to grab his hand. “I’d love to. Just tell me when, and I’ll be there.” He’d smiled, and everything was grand.

So that’s how I find myself, a few days later, completely nude, hunched over in a chair in Baz’s sitting room. I can feel my legs starting to shake, and the crick in my neck is already so sharp I’m worried I’ll never be able to straighten it again. There’s a very bright lamp shining up at me from the floor, which I can’t imagine looks very good but Baz had seemed satisfied when he’d placed it.

He’s a few feet away, perched stiffly on his stool and his hand brushing in quick, constrained strokes across a canvas. It had taken him nearly an hour just to sketch everything in, and we’re already pushing into two.

Every time I try to say something, he shushes me. I want to snap that I can talk without moving the rest of me, but I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m just antsy. He’s got music playing over his speakers, soft indie music that I don’t know very well, and I’m brimming with pointless chatter. I want to focus a little less on my aching limbs, or the fact that I’m posing naked for my posh painter boyfriend, who’s only been my boyfriend for two months.

It’s been great, don’t get me wrong. He’s pretty fucking singular, and if I’m being honest, I’m a little obsessed with him. I think he knows it. But he eats it right up, smug git that he is. And I think he’s a little obsessed with me too, so it kind of balances out.

His aunt randomly showed up to visit at the end of December, just out of the blue, no warning. He’d decided to stay here with me for Christmas, instead of returning to his family’s manor (that’s what he called it - Pitch manor. I think he’s richer than I realized, considering his career choice), and his family was apparently none too happy about it. So Fiona just appeared, banging on his door on Boxing Day and demanding he visit with her.

As it turned out, he hadn’t actually told his family why he was staying, just told them he wouldn’t be home. Fiona lamented this to me after we were introduced (me as “Simon, my friend from school,”), really laying it on thick (“So ungrateful! We’re his family! What would my poor late sister say?!” - fun way to discover his mother’s dead), but Baz just rolled his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Fiona,” he said, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from me and crossing his legs. I tried to make it look like we hadn’t just been curled up there together, kicking the blankets off and folding my legs beneath me. “Can you blame me for not wanting to deal with Malcolm and Daphne? They’re exhausting at the best of times, and I just didn’t feel like it. Alright?”

Fiona’s eyes moved slowly to me, and I immediately felt a thrill of fear go up my spine, which was ridiculous, but she’s kind of scary, with this mad white streak of hair tucked into her ponytail and a nose bridge piercing. “Oh, no,” she said, smirking and sitting back in her seat, “I can’t blame you at all. Not one bit.”

Baz didn’t seem bothered, unshakeable as he is, but I was quaking. I also didn’t know if his family knew he was gay. Fiona seemed cool, but Baz is cagey at the best of times, and we’d only been together officially for about a week at that point.

“So, Mr. Snow,” Fiona began.

“Just call him Simon,” Baz snapped at the same time that I said, “Yes ma’am!?” He glared at me like it was my fault his aunt looked like she could murder me with her pinky finger.

“Simon,” she simpered, waving a hand in the air and still smirking, and I thought sneers might be hereditary. “What’s your concentration in, Simon?”

I honestly couldn’t tell if she was mocking me or not, but when I glanced at Baz, he gestured at her tiredly and nodded. “Well - my degree’s in digital animation, specifically 2-D. I do a lot of cartoons otherwise, comics and stuff, but I’m planning to work in animation after uni.” She actually seemed pretty interested and asked me some more about my work, and told me she’d love to see something of mine sometime. I agreed happily, and I could tell Baz was kind of impressed we were getting along so well.

She’d brought a Christmas gift with her (a new mug, this one printed with the words ‘Don’t touch me, peasant’ on the side, which I thought was actually fitting), and told me she would’ve brought me something if she’d realized Baz’s new friend was so chill. Baz actually had a gift for her too, a couple of old vinyls wrapped really nicely, and she seemed pretty excited (It took me a while to decide whether or not Baz actually likes his aunt - I finally determined that he does, but it seems like his family doesn’t really know how to express any emotion other than disgust or cruel amusement).

When Fiona finally left, with a few parting jokes and another heavily sarcastic friend comment, Baz slumped down on his couch and groaned very loudly. I dropped down beside him, grinning, and kissed the side of his jaw because I hadn’t touched him once during the hour or so Fiona had been there.

“I take it you didn’t tell your family about me,” I said drily, and he looked at me sideways.

“My family knows I’m queer,” he said slowly, squeezing my hand tightly like he needed an anchor, “but my father isn’t exactly the most accepting. Fiona is, and so is Daphne, for the most part, but I find it easier to just… not bring it up.”

I rested my head against his shoulder, and he leaned his head against mine, and we sat like that for a bit. “I think Fiona figured us out,” I said after a while, and he snorted.

“She’s a Pitch, unfortunately, so she’s sharper than I’d like. All of my mother’s family is.” I nearly started in on him about his mother, curious about what had happened to her, but I decided that was a discussion for another time.

Now, leaning over in my chair, I let out a small whimper as a sudden twinge of pain goes up my arm. The sound startles Baz, who jerks his hand away from the canvas and blinks at me.

“Are you alright, Simon?” he asks, leaning forward on his stool. His eyes flick to the clock, then widen. “Jesus fuck, we’ve been here nearly two hours - you need a break, come on.”

“I can move?”

“Christ, yes, I’m not trying to kill you.” I slowly push myself upright and try not to groan as I let my sore muscles stretch. Baz watches me for a moment, then seems to remember I’m naked and looks away, blushing to the tips of his ears.

He’d been like this earlier, telling me to strip down but staring at his phone until I was seated. He told me to sit leaning over my legs with my elbows resting on my knees, looking down, and it basically concealed everything. We both stopped blushing after the first half hour, at least. I’d thought it would be more embarrassing, but I remembered the live models I’d drawn in my drawing classes - it had just been tiring, not even remotely sexual, and this was much of the same.

“Can I see it so far?” I ask after I put my pants back on, as well as a dressing gown of his, because his apartment is frigid.

“Absolutely not,” he replies, but I walk over anyways, sliding around behind him before he can stop me. I don’t know a lot about oil paints, I only had to take Painting I, but I’ve been slowly relearning everything while I’ve been around Baz more. He hasn’t done much so far, only blocked in a lot of the colors for the backdrop and the base for me, but it still looks amazing. His blending is so smooth, so precise, while still retaining that touch of a deeper feeling. He blows me away.

I loop my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his cheek and grinning. Baz is grumpy I’m looking at the unfinished painting, but his hands come up and hold my wrists, his thumb passing across the surface of my skin. “It looks amazing so far.”

“You’re supposed to say that,” he grumbles, but I can tell he’s pleased.

“Yes, I am, but it’s also very true,” I say, straightening and stretching again.

He swivels to look at me, tilting his head. “You’re not too sore, are you? We could always stop for the day. It takes so long to dry, we can do more tomorrow.”

I shake my head, dropping my hands to his lap and leaning over him. “I just need a few minutes. I don’t know if I can do a whole lot more, but another hour or two shouldn’t be bad. Maybe another break somewhere in between.”

Baz nods solemnly, and I capture his lips for a quick kiss. I’m getting to know him more and more, and I know that while he likes the kissing, a lot of the time he’s too anxious to in go for one himself. We’re working on that.

“How about some tea?” I ask as I step into his kitchen, fiddling with the kettle without waiting for a response, which is just a soft grunt of approval from the next room. While the water heats, I go back to Baz and crouch in front of him, where he’s still staring at his canvas, a little lost. He usually looks like this when he paints, but it makes him so soft, and I love it.

I gently take his right hand in both of mine and he looks down at me with that little head tilt I associate with him. “Is your hand hurting?” He cramps up a lot, and usually works through it, but I like to help when I can. I press my fingers into his hand, starting at his wrist and working out toward his palm with my thumbs, then slowly up his forearm. His eyes close, a wince now and then, but I know it helps.

“Thank you,” he whispers when we hear the kettle whistling, and I stoop to give him another kiss before hurrying back to the kitchen.

We drink our tea quietly at the table, after I drag him off that damn stool, and I still get a thrill just looking at him. As far as first boyfriends go, I think I sort of hit the jackpot, even if he is a bit of a bristly neurotic a lot of the time.

A few more minutes, and we return to our places. I strip in the most dramatic way possible, basically a strip-tease, and I can see him snickering, even though he’s trying to hide behind his canvas. We settle back into an easier silence, his music filling the space between us.

Midnight musings

Hey @taylorswift

It’s currently 11.53pm. I will be seeing you in Melbourne in 20 days. I am so excited I can barely sleep. But I need to tell you how much you mean to me. I know this will come across as a sob story and I truly do not want it to come across that way, but your case last year, where you spoke for so many of us against sexual assault means so much to me.

So. Here goes.

I was in a long term relationship. It was messy and toxic. In Australia we have certain criteria for what comes under the umbrella term “family violence.” This includes, but isn’t limited too, physical violence, emotional abuse and/or manipulation, financial abuse and rape. If you had the list of criteria I could tick every box for what I experienced. He would keep me prisoner in my own home. Force himself on me. Gaslight me. Make me feel like only he could ever love me. Would say I looked like a whore if I ever wore makeup. He wouldn’t even let me see my family. I had to rely on him for everything, including food. When he hit me, it was my fault. It got too much when he left our 3 month old baby in the bath by himself and refused to allow me in the bathroom. That was the worst night of my life. If my baby hadn’t been born I’d probably still be there or dead. But when my son was put at risk that was it. I had to get out and protect my child. I still see him every single week... and it’s torture.

But no one believes me. There is no evidence. Only his word against mine and his carry’s more weight because he was diagnosed with Aspergers in his teens. It sucks. I tried to get justice for myself, but it never happened and I was always told that bringing these charges against him just makes me look bad. Especially as there was a custody battle over our son. “How dare she make claims about rape and assault against someone with a mental disorder! She’s just saying it to get the kid full time. What a bitch.” I heard someone say that. It was gut wrenching. Your victory was amazing for people like me. I’m so glad they believed you Taylor.

I am still suffering mentally from that relationship. It ended in 2013, and my son is about to start his first year at school in January. He was diagnosed with Autism and ADHD last year. That was tough, but he has therapy every week and he is understanding things much easier. His favourite song is “I don’t wanna live forever.” We’ve had him listen to all of your discography and he says he loves them, but that’s the only song he has on repeat lol. My future husband has a back injury so he can’t work and even struggles to hold our 1 year old daughter. We are both at uni in order to make something worthwhile with our lives. My partner is working towards a career in IT and I am doing a Bachelor or Criminal Justice with a minor in community health and services. I hope to work in child protection next year, and eventually as a counsellor in the court system.

So why am I telling you this? Why am I putting this online for everyone to see? Because you mean something very special to me Taylor. When I was trying to put myself back together again after I left my ex, you released 1989. I was born October 19th, 1989. Your album made me feel all the feelings. Your album pushed me to enjoy the smaller moments of my life. Your album made me feel strong and powerful in myself. But most of all, 1989 helped me to trust again. I deal with depression and anxiety after my relationship, but I found relaxation in art. I love to paint. My favourite artist is Jane Davenport and I swear I have an addiction to art supplies! Mostly just an addiction to her art supplies. Rainbowitis she calls it. I call it a debt waiting to happen lol. I’m far too poor to afford her amazing supplies, but one day I hope to earn enough money to fill up a studio with all of her gorgeous supplies. I will draw and sketch and paint and just create for hours when I’m feeling anxious or melancholy. All because of you. I used to feel guilty for wanting something for myself. You taught me to shake it off! Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t be able to love or trust anyone without you. I still can’t look at myself in a mirror but I dont plan to rush that.

If I ever got to meet you Taylor, I think my questions would revolve around your fav art supplies/brands and if you have a favourite painter. I mean do you take a sketchbook with you or do you art journal like katherine hiegl and Jane Davenport. I’d want to show you my fav art youtubers. I feel like I know you. I feel like you are that one friend I know will always support me. Always tell me the truth. The kind of friend that won’t turn their back on me when I make a mistake. I only hope I can be that kind of friend to you. Our relationship is different, but it’s special. We don’t need to sit down and have coffee every Saturday morning. Ours is a deep mutual respect. I am so proud of what you have become, of how happy you are.

When I saw the videos of you online, where you were scared, my heart broke. I know how it feels to be truly afraid for your life, and the lives of your loved ones. That fear feels so encompassing at times and I am so sorry that you have had to experience it. You don’t deserve that. If I could Taylor, I would move mountains to protect you, because you mean so much to me, and millions of others like me. We will stand by you and protect you. We will forever love you. We will stay.

P.S. it’s 12.40am on the 6th of October 2018... I can’t believe I’m going to your concert in 20 days!!!!!!

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 3

aka Caleo uni AU

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Calypso gets a new friend and notices that maybe her flatmate isn't that bad after all.

A/N: Time to introduce Annabeth! I will slowly be adding more of the familiar characters, in the next chapter there will be more (but who, may that remain a secret for another week).

As usual, thanks to my friend Cris for betaing! And thanks to everyone who's been commenting, know that your comments really have motivated me to continue this fic! Please keep them coming :)

And now, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Characters in this ch: Calypso, Leo, Annabeth

Words: 1300+

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort (in the future chapters)

Warnings: none

previous chapter / next chapter / AO3

...

It was the morning of Calypso’s first day at the university. The first week would mostly be orientation, meaning getting to know her fellow students, the professors, the campus, her program and so on a bit better. She was feeling quite nervous because aside from Leo she hadn’t really met other students living in the area yet, and if she was honest with herself, her friend making skills weren’t the best. Due to the circumstances at her home, she had never had a close friend, and her relationships tended to end after a couple of months for various reasons. But this was finally a good chance to find other people interested in the same topics as she was, and she didn’t want to blow it up.

As she was making herself breakfast, her roommate showed up and sat down on a chair next to her, leaning his chin against the backrest. His fingers were tapping against the hard wood of the table like Calypso had already seen them do a few times in the past few days. The boy never seemed to be able to sit still.

“First day in this university, huh?” Leo asked. “You nervous?”

“What do you want?” Calypso asked suspiciously, not answering his question. She wasn’t feeling like opening up about her nervousness to this boy who for some reason made her feel even more restless. It was almost as if his nervous energy was contagious.

“Listen,” Leo started, now looking at her directly and stopping the tapping for a moment. “I know we haven’t exactly started off great, but we’re still going to be living together for a while so I thought we should at least be even. So. I fixed your desk.”

“I don’t want to owe you anything,” Calypso said matter-of-factly.

“You’re not owing me!” Leo exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air for a bigger impact. “I… well, Festus, but it was my fault… broke it so I thought it was the appropriate thing to do. But if you are too proud to…” His voice started to rise a bit. He had not expected Calypso to be that stubborn.

“Okay,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder briefly to stop his rambling. “I’ll accept it. Thanks. I guess.”

“Not exactly the reaction I was expecting but I’ll accept it,” he mocked her tone and earned an angry look from Calypso. “I was hoping for something more like ‘thank you so much, my favorite roomie, you’re the best!’” To avoid another lash from her, he quickly changed the subject: “Anyway, I also wanted to tell you that we should probably take weekly turns with cleaning the common area, like I did with Jason. I can take this week if you want to.”

“No, I can take it.” Calypso said with a tone that meant this won’t be discussed further.

“Is there anything you can’t make an argument about, Miss Sunshine?” Leo stared at her with frustration while his hands were reaching for the chips from a bag he had left on the dining table the other day.

“You make it rather easy, Valdez. Also, who eats chips for breakfast?” She shook her head with disapproval. “Manners,” she mumbled under her breath before turning to put the milk back into the fridge. “Now, I’d like to finish my breakfast so if you excuse me…”

She took her bowl of cereals and an orange with her into her room and closed the door behind her.

…

“Don’t forget to get your books for next week, we’re already going to start with…” A professor announced at the end of his long lecture. The rest of his speech was drowned by the sound of the students starting to get up and collect their stuff to leave the class.

“When I signed up for this, I was not expecting them to have full blown lectures on the first day,” a blonde girl behind Calypso noted. Unlike Calypso, who felt overwhelmed by the amount of information she had just received, the other girl seemed almost bored as if she already knew everything they had been told.

“Yeah, me neither,” Calypso admitted, realizing that the girl was talking to her. “But I guess that’s university for you…”

“Right,” the blonde agreed. “Anyway, what’s your name? I don’t know anyone in this group yet but I’d like to change that.”

“Oh! I’m Calypso. Calypso Astal,” she gave the girl her hand to shake. “You can call me Cal, though…”

The other girl took it and shook it firmly. “Annabeth Chase. I’m actually an architect student but I’m also interested in history so I decided to make it my minor subject. I guess that means I’ll be seeing you a lot this semester!”

“Oh, that’s cool!” Calypso exclaimed. “I like drawing too but I doubt I would actually be good enough to design buildings.”

“There’s a lot that you need to take into account when designing,” Annabeth agreed, “but practice makes perfect.” As the girls passed a window that showed them the beautiful old main building of their university, she gestured at it and added: “One day I’d love to design something that will make people stop and say ‘hey, did you know this building was designed by none other than Annabeth Chase?’”

“To be honest, I haven’t thought that far,” Calypso admitted. “This is all still so new to me, I’ve been…” She decided she didn’t want to reveal her home circumstances to someone she had just met so she changed her approach: “well, there’s a lot I still want to experience so I have not devoted myself to just one path yet. I came here because I needed to get away, and history was an easy choice because I’ve always been interested in it. I still don’t picture myself researching the past events for the rest of my life.”

Annabeth nodded understandingly. “I think a lot of people of our age feel that way. My boyfriend… Well, now he’s having a swimming career but we both know that isn’t gonna last forever so I’ve been trying to get him to think of other possibilities for when he no longer feels the passion for competing. But he doesn’t see it the same way, he says I always plan too much ahead. Which I guess may be partially true,” she chuckled and rubbed the back of her head awkwardly, feeling she may have revealed a bit too much.

“Yeah. I like to go with a similar ‘go with the flow’ attitude as well.” In her head Calypso added: ‘because of what happened at home’.

“Anyway,” Annabeth decided to change the topic when she noticed Calypso had gone quiet. “This is a bit of a random question, but are you familiar with this town yet?”

“No, not yet.” Calypso shook her head. “I moved here only a week ago.”

“In that case, would you like me to show around some day?” Annabeth asked, opening her phone calendar. “I’d have time for example tomorrow.”

“Oh, sure, that would be great!” Calypso said. “Definitely beats listening to my roommate’s tinkering all day long.”

“Tinkering? You wouldn’t happen to be flatmates with Leo Valdez?” Annabeth connected the dots. The campus wasn’t that big and he had heard some stories through her boyfriend about one very enthusiastic mechanic.

“Unfortunately, I am. How did you know?” Calypso asked curiously.

“Oh, he has a bit of a reputation here,” Annabeth said mischievously. When Calypso looked at her suspiciously, she added: “I’m just kidding, my boyfriend is good friends with one guy named Jason who used to be Leo’s flatmate. I’ve never met him but I did keep hearing that he was constantly building something in his room. And also, Leo likes making a number of himself so he has put plenty of flashy ads on the uni bulletin boards telling about his mechanic business.”

“I guess I should have known that,” Calypso facepalmed.

“You don’t seem to like him very much, do you?” Annabeth asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Um…” Calypso wasn’t sure why she was revealing all this to a stranger, but it just felt right. “Our chemistry just… isn’t working. We’re very different and…” She tried to think of other reasons for their issues, which turned out to be harder than she expected. She realized that she didn’t really know him yet. “Uh, his dog broke my desk on the day I moved in and I’ve been mad at him ever since. He did apologize but… something about his attitude irks me. I don’t even know what it is.”

Annabeth’s mouth curled up a bit in amusement. She wanted to say that sounded a lot like her relationship with her boyfriend Percy had started. “That happens sometimes. Maybe… give him another chance, though. I mean, I don’t really know him or anything but sometimes the first impressions aren’t the best ones. You haven’t been living together for a long time yet, so there’s probably a lot you don’t know about him.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I feel kind of silly for complaining about that to a stranger. But thanks for listening!”

“No problem! Listen, I should get going now because I have a meeting with some architect friends but I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah! You bet!”

The girls quickly exchanged their phone numbers before separating to their own ways. As Calypso was walking towards her flat, though, she felt a small smile spread on her face. Maybe she had just made her first friend.

..

When Calypso got inside, to her surprise she found her broken desk waiting for her near her room. Only, it wasn’t broken anymore. She had wondered where it had disappeared after the incident but hadn’t really given it too much thought considering the state of the desk, thinking that Leo might have taken it to a recycling center or something. However, it turned out he had done a lot more than that. The broken board had been replaced with a new one and he had also sandpapered the surface, painted it and varnished it so it looked better than it had looked when it was brand new. Calypso could only stare with an open mouth at the fine job he had done. Once she had finally recovered from the surprise a bit, she yelled:

“Valdez!”

“¿Sí?” he peeked from his room, not sure what to expect. To his surprise, he saw the first genuine smile he had seen on her face.

“Would you like to help me to carry this into my room?” she asked in a friendly manner, still smiling. Leo took that as a win and agreed to help.

When they were done, Calypso did another thing that surprised both herself and him: she gently touched his arm and said: “Thanks. It looks good. And I mean it.”

“Leo Valdez, always ready to help.” He made a silly bowing gesture that made Calypso snort.

“You know, maybe you’re not quite so bad after all.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time,” he said, but there were no ill feelings behind his words.

“Now go before I change my mind,” Calypso said playfully. Leo gave her his signature grin and as he left the room, he felt he had finally managed to crack her cover a bit.

Treaty Line

A/N: Holy fuck, am I really posting a fic? Sorry guys, uni is kickin’ my butt, but have this stupid, short angsty thing I did to give myself a break. 

Pairing: FAHC! Michael Jones x Reader

WC: 1693

“Can we talk about it?”

He doesn’t meet your question, let alone your eyes. Tracing ruts into the grain curling through the table, fingers tugging on the splinters left by wood guzzling up the passing rain of a happier morning. Of an easier time in a section of the park the two of you adorn almost every day, bathing in the cold sun until you’re forced to part ways, lives pulling you apart.

God, you wish it were raining now, at least then there’d be something to fill the silence. Something to drown out the sound of your racing heart and the throb of rejection drumming in your stomach. Repetitive, nauseating. A winter night that froze with the whiplash of the day’s events, emotions tumbling into chaos as the world screeches to a stop. Stuck in this moment. Stuck with him.

“Please, Michael. I need you to tell me it’s alright.”

But he still refuses to acknowledge your existence, the words he spits joining your guilt pooling across the floor. Despair feeding the grass, seeping through the pathway stones. You can almost hear it hiding in the trees, gentle rustling nagging at the hairs dusting your skin, running over your scalp. “Why the fuck would it be alright?”

You don’t know how to answer, left to stare at the nothingness dancing from your lips in the cold, biting air. Of course it’s not alright. You doubt it ever will be. Somehow you find your voice, but it’s not much. A broken whisper that sounds far too close to a cry, almost lost on the wind that tears through your clothes as though you aren’t really wearing them at all. “I don’t know.”

“Am I ever going to get a straight answer from you, Y/N? Or are we hiding everything now?”

You were wrong, it’s not the air that bites. It’s him. The accusations in his eyes. The scalding soup of denial and betrayal and anger. Simmering in confusion, bubbling with bitterness; and with each bursting dome it gets worse. His mind more and more made up. A friend drifting further and further away.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I don’t know where to start. If you’d just listen, maybe-”

“Listen?” You can hear the growl rattling in the back of his throat, eager to crawl across his tongue and hang from his lips - but he does he best to hold it back. Instead he rockets from his seat on the park bench, glaring down at your fragile figure shrinking away. “You want me to listen to how you lied? To how you went behind my back?” He’s pacing down, wringing the night’s neck between frigid, unruly hands. He makes no attempt to hide the snarl. “About how you knew what you were doing, but decided to hurt me anyway?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like, Y/N?” He stops his pacing, and the anger you expect him to turn on you is replaced with defeat. Watery eyes and a face so pale the redness of his nose glares. “I thought it all mattered. I thought I mattered. More than the fucking crew who’s been screwing us for months, anyway.”

“You do matter, Michael.” You want to reach out, clutch his collar and shake until the trembles rocking your body subside. Want to hold him until it’s all alright and the din of the street fades into nothing. An involuntary hand twitches towards him, fingers calling out for his comfort, but he swats them away. “You matter so much.”

“Apparently not.” His arms cross tightly, blocking off this chest. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have been on the other side of the fucking treaty line. With them.”

You bristle, and it takes all you have to keep the rise of your hackles from curling your top lip. Instead a steady needling scratches the back of your neck, burrowing between your shoulders as he lets off a defiant sniff you almost feel sorry for. But it hurts, the accusations he hurls, the blatant disregard. Hurts enough for your self loathing to shift.  “You wouldn’t understand.”

At this he laughs, harsh and bitter. Incredulous, his eyebrows shoot beneath copper curls, the usual cheek that graces his face brightly almost returning. But his eyes stay flat. “You’re right, I don’t.” He returns to his pacing, the bottoms of his jeans wet with the grass. “I don’t understand how I thought I could trust you. How I thought you and me could be-”

He stops, catching the words he’s never had the courage to say, and certainly doesn’t have the will to now. Angry hums take their place, his face scrunching like the fists he holds by his sides. “Why did you pick them over us?”

This you have an answer to, though it’s not one you’re comfortable admitting. Never one to play the damsel, but helpless all the same. “I didn’t have a choice. If I left they’d-”

“What, kill you?” He laughs again, hollow.

“-Kill you.”  

Michael physically stiffens, caught off guard. You take the opportunity to draw in a shaky breath, the feeling long since lost in the fingers you delve into your pocket. From it you retrieve a hefty envelope crammed so full that the sides threaten to split. It thunks onto the park table beside you, taking with it the last of your patience. Then you roll up one of your sleeves, exposed skin stinging as fresh welts greet the open air. At the sight he pales, looking ill  while you roll up the other. The same red marks screaming angrily across your body, flesh wrinkled and twisted with the shape of the hot pokers that had been pressed against you only days before. The same goes for your stomach, body blotched with brutish blues and yellows beneath your clothes. You don’t know how noticeable it is in the bathing of the street lamps, but know by his horrified expression that it’s obvious enough.

“I couldn’t leave my crew because they’d kill the Fakes if I did. Everything they did to me,” you yank your clothes back into place, “they’ll do to you. That file?” You motion to the envelope, and this time he shifts his gaze to the offending bundle of paper. “It’s everything they have on you and your crew. Well, all that’s left that is. I managed to destroy most of it before they got hold of me, and did all of this.”

Michael tries to turn the information over in his head, confusion obvious. It takes a minute but eventually he admits that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“They found out that I was friends with you. One of the guys, Todd I’m guessing, must have been tracking me for weeks. Should’ve realised, I was an idiot for not being careful. Remember the night you told me that you were a part of the Fakes? It was when Los Santos did those stupid light shows and had the market stalls. We sat by the pier and ate peanut butter everything until I nearly puked?”

He remembers, there’s no way he can’t. It was arguably the happiest night he’s had in years. The way the flashing string lights had danced with the colours shining in your hair, dusting your shoulders and bobbing across the water. He always remembers of that night, of you swinging your legs as they dangled off the wood, the gentle smile that crossed your lips and the way his hand itched to hold yours. “We ate a fuck tonne of pizza.”

“I told you not too.”

Michael pulls a face, exterior defenses thawing a little. He’d fought against your reminders of his lactose intolerance, eagerly eyeing up the cheesiest pizza either of you had ever seen. He regretted it, but that’s something he’ll never admit. You smile, though barely.

“Well, they’d heard you. The next day they… questioned me. I told them I was running some undercover ops after they finished trying to beat out my teeth and I had time to talk. Told them that I was trying to get access to the Fakes so I could rob you blind, and hadn’t told them because I wasn’t sure it would work. They believed me, for the most part. But I started noticing your files growing, so I decided I’d try and leave. Wanted to take all of the info with me too, but they smelt a rat. They brought me in again the other night, made sure I knew what would happen if I decided to consider changing sides. To me and to you. I stood on that line and put a gun to your head so they wouldn’t kill you.”

He doesn’t know what to do, hands working the air and eyes searching for something to fuel his anger. He finds nothing, only able to take in your distraught expression while gathering your guilt from the floor to claim it as his own. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You smile, happiness breaking through the dreariness of the night and colouring his cheeks a pleasant pink. “Because you’d have gone running in and gotten yourself killed. And after all the effort I put into keeping you alive, I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

He can’t deny it, but for a moment he looks as though he wants too. Instead he takes a tentative step forward, uncertain. “I, err… I guess I’m kinda being an asshole, huh?”

“You think?”

Then relief washes your cheeks with tears, nervous laughter muffled in his shoulder as he pulls you against him. His apologies join the clatter of your head, words tangling in your hair. You breath him in, smoke and sorrow catching in your lungs and stumbling over the fingers gripping his jacket to stop him escaping; not that he has any intentions of doing so.

“So, are we friends again?”

He laughs, but you’re almost certain it’s a distraction from crying. “Not even close. But,” he pulls back, smiling warmly down at you as though the past day hasn’t sent the two of you in spirals, “we can rebuild as long as you pay for dinner.”

My Prince, Chapter Ten

Read previous chapters here!

I always thought it was weird that you could hear the rain before you saw it. What begins as a small pit, pit, pit against roofs of cars or buildings soon becomes a wall of water in a matter of seconds. But you always hear it running towards you on the pavement. And at that moment, the saying “When it rains, it pours” had never been so literal.

I walked out of Kensington’s gates in a daze. I didn’t even feel the rain soaking my clothes. I didn’t even recognize if it was cold or not. It must have been. It was only the first week of April. I wished this were all an elaborate April Fool’s joke. Sure seemed like one.

I forced my legs to move forward each step. I have to make it to the tube and back to work. I have to – I have to tell everyone…

It’s liver cancer, she said. Terminal. The sentence echoed around my now-empty-feeling brain.

Somehow I made it back to Buckingham. I didn’t remember scanning my Oyster or stepping onto a train, but I made it.

I knocked on William’s door, and he called for me to enter.

He stared at me oddly until I realized too late that I was still soaked.

“No umbrella?” he joked, but when he sees my ghostly expression, his smile fades. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t – I don’t know–” I mumbled, unsure how to even form everything into words.

“Come in, Carolina.” He stood from his desk and walked around it, helping me into a chair. “Is everything all right? Is it the Prince?” When I finally am able to read his expression, I see pure terror. He probably thinks there’s been some attack. He’s about ready to call in an emergency when I place a quick hand on his arm to stop him.

“The Prince of Wales is fine, William.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

I tell him what my mother told me – she’s at late stage liver cancer, far too late to do any treatments. She sits on a transplant list, but with her history and background, the odds are slim to none.

“She’s been admitted to The Shakespeare Hospice in Stratford-upon-Avon,” I concluded. My voice didn’t sound like mine.

William’s face is brimming with pity, but I don’t want it. For so long, I pushed my mother away and now… I’m sad? She was never much of a mother to begin with, but that phone call shattered something inside of me I didn’t know existed anymore.

“You take as much time as you need off, Carolina,” William finally said. “Definitely take the rest of the day. I’ll give your photos to Jude to complete.” Another pause. “Miss Pearson, I know you and your mother weren’t close… but I think you should see her.”

I only nod my head. “I know.” Better late than never, eh?

William slips the camera bag’s strap off my shoulder. When I stand, he surprises me by pulling me into a deep hug. I don’t think I cried yet – it was hard to tell tears from rain outside – but I squeeze my eyes shut and let a couple fall.

When he let me go, he said in the softest tone, “Take a week, a month – however long you need, yeah? Your job will be here waiting for you. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Thank you,” I croaked.

The rain outside let up a bit by the time I exited the palace. I called Pip on my way to the tube station to give her the news. She offered to leave work but I convinced her to stay. I told her I wouldn’t leave until the morning anyway, so I’d see her back at the flat that evening.

Back at my flat, I stared at my empty suitcase for fifteen minutes. I hadn’t been back home for close to a year. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone for. I didn’t know how much to pack. I didn’t want to pack, and I really didn’t want to go back home. But I knew I had to. Plus, this distance would be ideal. I wouldn’t have to see Harry’s face, even though the image of his panic was stuck in my mind forever.

Stop thinking about him.

I can’t.

He’s not the priority.

Neither is she.

She is right now.

I didn’t even realize how late it was until Pippa’s keys were scratching at the door and it swung open.

“Oh, babe,” she cooed, dropping her keys and bag and wrapping me in a hug. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

I mechanically hugged her back and said, “Thanks.”

“You need help?” She pointed to the empty suitcase.

In reply, I sigh and slump down onto my mattress. “I don’t even know what to pack.”

“Well, it’s beginning to get warmer so maybe just a few light jumpers and–”

“That’s not what I mean, Pip. I mean… I don’t even know how long I should go. A week? A month? How long does it take to put someone’s affairs in order? How strange of a saying is that – put someone’s affairs in order. What does it even really mean?”

“Whoa, okay, calm down there,” she said, turning to me and placing her hands on my arms. “Sit down.”

Robotically, I sat on the edge of the bed.

“You should always pack more than you think you might need, yes? It’s better to have too much than too little. I’ll help.”

We took the next two hours filling the suitcase to the brim. In true Pip style, she was adding more things well into the night that she thought I might need. I was still in a daze so she cooked us both dinner, made me some tea, and shuffled me off to bed early enough to catch the morning train.

For the entire three-hour journey north the following morning, I couldn’t sit still. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Nothing felt right. Sitting on the seat felt like I was doing nothing, and I felt like I should be doing something. I tried playing soft, instrumental music through my earphones but nothing worked to calm me down. I was anxious to arrive, yet dreading it at the same time. I didn’t know what to expect when I got there.

I had about a dozen texts through the night and into the next day from Jude, wondering how I was and if I was holding up all right. I didn’t respond to any, mostly because I had no idea how to respond. I didn’t know my emotions. I felt everything yet numb at the same time.

When the train arrived at the Stratford-upon-Avon station, I dragged my suitcase off as slowly as I could. I hadn’t stepped on the concrete platform in what felt like years. Of course, the air was the same as in London, but everything felt different here. It was always so quiet compared to the city.

I knew the first thing I had to do, and I dreaded that more than anything.

I had to go home.

I lugged my suitcase the ten-minute walk from the station to the townhouse I called home for eighteen years. The familiar street brought back memories I wanted to keep at bay forever. Most of them consisted of me running away from our house, tears welling in my eyes. Some of them were of me peering down this very road, on the phone with emergency services, wondering where the ambulance was when I thought my mother had overdosed. The neighbors hated when I did that.

It was one of those streets where every house is attached to the one next to it, and each one looked like an exact copy of the last. The only defining feature in each one was when a door was painted a different color or had different lace curtains in the window. I could always tell which one was mine – third from the last, on the left, with a red door that had begun to chip years ago. Now, it didn’t even look red. The door itself looked like, with one blow of wind, it would crumble in on itself.

I turned the key in the lock, surprised it still worked. I don’t even remember the last time I used it. Six months ago? A year? I was also surprised to see the door was even locked. Usually, she forgot to lock it.

Inside was as musty as ever. I didn’t miss the smell. She never opened the windows. She never bothered with heat or aircon; always mumbled something about companies stealing her money. The only ventilation the house ever received was her opening and closing the front or back doors. The smell of old cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, attaching itself to every surface.

I closed and locked the door behind me and switched on the lights. They flickered for a moment, but then the yellow light filled the doorway. It opened to a small hallway with carpeted, stained stairs leading up to the second floor. The door on the right lead to the decrepit kitchen that leads to the dining room and to the back door. The door on the left went into the living room and first-floor bathroom.

I climbed the stairs to the top floor, turned down the hallway past the bathroom and spare bedroom – which had always instead been storage of random objects she never could seem to get rid of – to the familiar door at the end of the hall. I could spot it anywhere. It was covered with stickers and drawings I’d made when I was little. Over the top was a handwritten sign by me declaring for everyone to stay out. I remembered closing it for the last time when I moved out for uni all those years ago. I told myself I’d never come back. Besides the required holidays, I never did. Until now.

I turned the old, rusted knob and walked into the room. Everything was the same. The same pink bed sheets and quilted cover, the desk littered with photographs I took a lifetime ago. I chucked my luggage onto the bed and unpacked the entire thing. Really, I was buying time until I had to be at the care facility. Hospice just seemed like a cruel word. Nothing about it seemed comforting.

I went back downstairs to look in the kitchen for food. I didn’t want to touch anything – every inch was covered in some sort of grime or dust. It didn’t look like anyone had been in the kitchen in months. Maybe she hadn’t.

I cracked open the fridge and frowned. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was completely empty. I guess I should have been glad I didn’t find some old, rotting food. But there wasn’t even a pint of ice cream in the freezer. It was almost noon, and my stomach was grumbling.

I reached under the sink and pulled out the plastic Tesco bags. I grabbed my purse again from upstairs and walked to the Tesco up the road. I guess one upside to living outside of a city was that the grocery stores were so much bigger. Since I didn’t know how long I’d be staying, I stocked up on all the foods I could fit in the two bags. I also bought a few cleaning supplies. If I was going to be staying in that god-forbidden house, I may as well try and make it presentable for whoever would buy it next.

After I ate lunch, I knew it was time. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I searched for the location of the hospice and was disappointed it was only a 20-minute walk away. I spent the time on the walk wondering what I would say to her. What could I say to her? I had nothing to apologize for – she made my life a toxic hell; I had to escape. Turning around and coming back just never seemed like an option available to me. It would only cause a spiral of events. Someone needed to break the cycle. I wasn’t sorry it was me.

Through the trees beginning to bud for spring, I could see the building with the sign reading “THE SHAKESPEARE HOSPICE” on the side. I followed the signs for the entrance and paused for a second outside the front doors.

Walk in. Do it.

Inside, I knew, everything would change. From here on out, my life was going to be different. Soon, I’d be an orphan. Well, sort of. I had no clue the whereabouts of my father nor did I care. I didn’t even remember what he looked like anymore. Maybe he was dead.

I walked through the doors, and a lady with a kind face greeted me. “Hi, can I help you?”

I glanced around the room. It looked like a regular urgent care waiting room. Yellow walls, inspirational posters, old magazines on tables with unknown stains and watermarks. It smelled like bleach.

“I’m looking for Mary Pearson,” I replied.

“Alright, give me one second to look her up. Are you family?”

I nodded. “Uh, yeah. I’m her daughter.”

“Can I just have you sign in here, please?” She pointed to the clipboard in front of her and handed me a pen.

I scribbled down my name and the time of my arrival. She also handed me one of those large stickers that said, “HELLO, MY NAME IS _________” along with the logo of the hospice.

“Right, so–” she peered down at the sign-in sheet “–Carolina, your mother does have a few outstanding fees that will need to be taken care of before the month is out, but you don’t have to worry about those now since it’s only the beginning of the month. I can give you those papers when you leave if you want.” I nodded. She pulled out a paper anyways, but it didn’t list numbers on it. “This is a map of the grounds.” She took the pen I had just used and pointed it on a spot. “Your mother’s room is 007, so right down that hallway. Take a right, and it’ll be the second on the left. Visiting hours are until 5, unless under special circumstances.” She didn’t have to say what those “special circumstances” where – death. “Do you have any questions?”

“I’m sorry, you said she has outstanding fees?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, but you don’t have to worry about those right now.” I knew she was trying to be polite, especially under the circumstances of her job at a hospice, but her smile was driving me insane.

“I’m just confused. How long has she been here? If she only just got here, how­–”

“Oh.” Her smile finally fell. But now that it did, I wanted nothing more than for it to be back. She looked sad. “I’m-I’m so sorry, I thought you knew. Mrs. Pearson has been here since the beginning of last month.”

A rock fell in my stomach. She’d already been here an entire month. Who knew how much longer she would have? I figured she had called me when she first got here. But… she had been here an entire month already. I didn’t know much about hospices, but I knew they were the last stop for anyone who was admitted. They didn’t tend to last long.

“Of course I knew,” I lied. “I just assumed the NHS would take care of it.”

She smiled sweetly again, but smaller this time. “Some, not all, I’m afraid.”

I swallowed, nodded, and took the directions she gave me to her room. I turned right at the end of the hall, and sure enough, I saw the room number 007 greeting me two doors down. The door was closed, which I was thankful for. It gave me the time to pluck up enough courage to reach for the handle and turn it.

What I saw almost made me gasp. The woman in the bed, I knew, was my mother but looked nothing like her. I had Googled the effects of liver cancer, but nothing could prepare you for the real thing. Her skin was a sickly yellow color, her hair was greasy and matted, probably from not being able to shower from feeling ill or having too little strength, and, most surprising of all, her abdomen. Whereas I expected her to be skin and bones, her abdomen was abnormally swollen. She looked nothing like the mother I knew. I even double-checked the room number to make sure this was the right one. It was.

I trepidatiously walked into the room. She was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her. I didn’t want her to see the horrified look on my face. She had all sorts of IVs stuck in her, along with an oxygen line and a feeding tube leading into her nose. Her mouth was slightly parted in her sleep state. I noticed her lips were chapped. Something about this room felt suppressing, despite the large window and brightly colored walls.

I set my bag down on the floor and grabbed a chair to pull closer to her. I didn’t want to touch her, still afraid of what I saw. I watched her chest rise and fall, just to make sure she was still alive.

I hardly noticed when a man walked into the room until he spoke my name.

“Carolina?”

When I looked up, I noticed the familiar face looking down at me. I didn’t know what emotion I was expressing, but it quickly changed to shock.

“Callum?” I gasped. “What are you doing here?” I asked, stupidly.

Callum was someone I knew growing up in primary and secondary school. We dated for a couple of years on and off before we both parted ways for uni. We hadn’t spoken since. Now, here he was, wearing a doctor’s lab coat and holding a clipboard.

“I work here,” he replied. Duh. “It’s good to see you.” He offered a kind smile – one, I found, I could not return, no matter how much I wanted to.

I fumbled for words. “I, uh, yeah, you too. Wait – you’re a doctor? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

“Sort of. I still am. I just started vocational training here in autumn.”

“Wow, that’s-that’s great. Good for you.” I attempted a smile. It was weakly received.

He stared at me for another second before shaking his head slightly. “So, um, Mary – your mother – is one of my patients. Car, I’m so sorry.”

I glanced down at her decrepit figure and shook my head. “No, don’t be. This was a long time coming,” I muttered lowly. I kept my eyes off of him. I knew the look he was giving me. I didn’t want the pity.

“She’s on some heavy sedatives for the pain, but I could wake her if you want?”

I sat back in the chair, shaking my head again. “No, that’s alright.”

“Listen, I know you probably want some time. Whenever you’re ready, we can have the talk about where to go from here.”

I look back up at him. “What do you mean?”

He looked a bit uncomfortable. He shifted his weight on his feet, glanced at my mother, and then back at me. “I mean, just the logistics. The update on her health, what the protocols are, all those types of things.”

I pursed my lips into a thin line. I pressed them tightly together, it almost hurt. Almost.

“We can now if you want,” I said. “How long does she have?”

Callum pulled over another chair to sit on the other side of the bed from me. “Well, since she was diagnosed last November–”

“Wait, November?” I gasp.

“Yes,” he answers slowly, unsure.

“I had no idea,” I whisper, looking over at her unconscious figure again. She had been sick for months, and she said nothing. Then again, I didn’t call her either. Not even on Christmas Day.

“Like I said, we can talk about this another time if you want.”

I looked away from her before I let the tears form. “No, let’s do this now. I need to be prepared.”

He was staring at me, probably debating whether or not to speak. Eventually, he began, “She was diagnosed last November with stage four liver failure. End-stage, as it sometimes is called. Considering she’s held on this long says something about her, I think.” I scoff. He ignores me. “However, seeing her health now, I’d say it’s not much longer. A week, maybe two at best. We’re keeping her comfortable, so she doesn’t feel any pain.”

Lucky her, I wanted to say.

“What happens… after?” I asked.

He didn’t have to ask me to specify. He knew what I was asking about. “We’ll send her to the funeral home of your choice, where you can decide the steps from there. Do you know if she has a Will?”

I let out a small, sad laugh. “I haven’t a clue. I don’t think she even has one if I’m to be honest. She doesn’t seem the type.”

Callum gives a curt nod. “Then it’s up to you to decide what to do when the time comes.”

I run a hand over my face, rubbing my eyes deeply. “Great,” I say sarcastically.

I keep my hand over my face. I don’t want to cry. I don’t even love the woman. But something attaches me to her. She is my mother, after all. At one point, I’m sure, there was love between us. I don’t hear Callum get up or leave, so I assume he’s still in the room, silently watching me.

“I can help, if you want,” he said softly.

I removed my hands. I saw the pity on his face I didn’t want to see. “Thanks,” I offered in reply, then added, “but I’ll be fine.”

“How have you been?”

He always had sweet eyes. They were the softest shade of blue. They reminded me of the wool scarf I got for Christmas one year when I was eight. I wore that scarf every day that winter. I was so glad it was a deep shade of blue because it became ratty rather quickly from its everyday use.

He was a thickly built man since he played rugby every year in secondary school. I imagined he continued to play at uni, too. After our final and official break up, I knew I would miss his arms the most. They always seemed to fit around me perfectly. He would kiss my shoulder when he thought I was asleep. He always loved running his fingers through my hair. He was the warmth I needed; the warmth I never had at home. I guess, in a way, he was my home during those times.

“I’ve-I’ve been fine,” I stuttered, trying to put the old memories out of my mind. I had to look away from him and focus on a loose strand of string on my coat.

“I hear you’ve been living in London. How’s that?”

I laughed. “Hard.” I paused. “My flatmate, Pippa Wellington, you remember her, right? – God bless her – has a stable job so she’s been paying the brunt of the bills. But I actually just got a real job for the first time, so I hope to change that soon.”

“Oh yeah?” He sounded genuinely excited, so I had to look up. His smile was blooming, accentuating his tiny dimples in his cheeks. I guess I always had a thing for guys with dimples. “What job is that?”

For some reason, I started going red. “Um, I’m actually working for the palace. I’m one of the royal photographers.”

Callum sat back quickly in his chair as if someone knocked him back. “What! That’s amazing! Have you met the family, then?”

The string on my jacket had never been so interesting as that point. I was doing anything not to meet his eyes. I had been successful up until now about not thinking of Prince Harry. “Yeah, I have. I’m Prince Alfred’s photographer, actually. Weird, huh?”

“That’s…” He shook his head. “That’s amazing, Car. Really. I’m proud of you.”

I nodded, finally glancing up at him. “Hey, you too, you know. You’re a doctor! Like, a proper doctor.”

“Almost,” he adds, cheekily.

“Almost,” I said, raising my hands. “Sorry. Almost a doctor. Last I recall, you wanted to be a musician.”

“Yeah well…” He trailed off, glancing down into his lap. “Strange how things change, huh?”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence fell between us then. I wondered if he was thinking about our past as well. The nights I would come running to his house, tears streaming down my cheeks because I couldn’t afford dinner and my mother was passed out.

He cleared his throat suddenly and stood from the chair. “Listen, I’ve got a few other patients to get to. If you’re free, we could grab a drink tonight or sometime? I have a feeling we have a lot to catch up on.”

I nodded, more enthusiastically than I intended. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”

“It’s good to see you, Car. I’m sorry it’s under these types of circumstances.”

I stood from my chair, and we awkwardly shook hands over the bed. “Good to see you, too, Callum.”

“I’ll call you,” he said as he exited the room.

I wondered if he really would.