#BUT TODAY I BREAK UP A PIECE OF CHEESE

[aerequets]

WILL THE SMELL OF PROVOLONE EVER LEAVE MY HAND? WHAT DO I DO

[wasabikitcat]

Finally drew what comes to mind whenever I see video of the mascot performer out doing the birthday song while the Chuck E. Cheese animatronic is turned off sitting in the dark, still clearly visible to the audience.

(Original meme I'm referencing below)

[burningembers91]

Going Up - Ryu Su-Yeol/K x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels

Follow up piece to:

Chalk and Cheese I'll Bring You Flowers Dinner for Two

Synopsis: When you get trapped in an elevator, you, Ryu Su-Yeol and K discuss your feelings.

You heard Ryu Su-Yeol’s footsteps before you saw him, could tell it was him by the way his feet hit the polished tiled floor of the apartment block lobby. Su-Yeol walked with a calm swagger, every step so effortlessly cool. He tried so hard to be aloof, but he couldn’t fool you, not anymore.

It had been four weeks since your dinner date, and despite his reservations, Su-Yeol had found it near impossible to stay away from you. He was still trying to convince himself that he was better off alone, that you weren’t anything special, but he knew he was lying to himself; and K knew it too. His alter ego was head over heels, so madly in love with you that Su-Yeol almost felt bad for the guy. He knew that sharing a body wasn’t easy; hell, K drove him to the brink of insanity most days, but he knew he wasn’t easy to live with either. If Su-Yeol allowed himself to fade quietly into the background, K could be with you. It was all his other-self wanted, his feelings for you so abundantly clear that they seeped over into Su-Yeol’s psyche and made his heart ache with longing for a girl he knew he wasn’t good enough for. K was good enough for you though; K could give you the love, adoration and devotion that you deserved. K worshipped the ground you walked on, his eyes following you like a lovesick puppy. Su-Yeol couldn’t give you the emotional love you needed, but K would give you everything and more.

You’d seen your handsome neighbour a few times since your dinner together, but it had always been K you’d spent time with. Su-Yeol seemed to disappear whenever you were around, K’s larger than life personality fronting as soon as he soon as saw you. K made you laugh more than anyone ever had, made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. You loved K’s company, but you were desperate to get to know Su-Yeol too. he hadn’t admitted that he had two personalities yet, but you’d made it plainly obvious that you knew. On the rare occasions you’d spoken to Su-Yeol, you tried to bring it up, but he either shut the conversation down or let K front so he didn’t have to speak to you about his biggest insecurity. As you heard his footsteps approach however, you decided enough was enough.

“Su-Yeol,” you smiled. You could tell by the look on his face, the slight glaze in his eye that he was getting ready to fade into his subconscious and let his golden retriever alter take over. But not today; today you’d get to know the other half of the man you were rapidly developing feelings for. “K, I need to talk to Su-Yeol for a moment,” you explained, not taking your eye off the tall, floppy haired man before you. You knew that K was listening, even if he wasn’t standing before you.

Su-Yeol could feel K pushing back, forcing himself further back into the ethers of their shared brain. You were good at this, you knew K would do whatever you asked, and he realised he wasn’t going to be getting away from you this time. Whether he liked it or not, Su-Yeol was going to have to talk to you. “You’ve been avoiding me,” you observed, pushing the button for the elevator. Su-Yeol didn’t respond, coughing slightly to indicate his discomfort with the situation. He usually longed for a break from K, but in this moment, he was silently begging his second personality to take hold. “Have I done something?” you asked, stepping into the elevator as the doors pinged open. “Is it because my laugh sounds weird? Or is it because I cried when we watched Monsters Inc? Oh my god, is it because you saw me sing that Britney Spears song at karaoke? In my defence, I was really drunk…” As the elevator doors closed, Su-Yeol did his best to hide his smile. All those things you’d mentioned, those small insecurities you had, they were just some of the many reasons he and K loved you so much. Your laugh was outrageously loud, and yet so bubbly and contagious. Yes, you’d cried when Sully returned Boo to her bedroom and had to say goodbye. But K was sitting on the sofa beside you, sobbing even harder than you were. If Su-Yeol had been there, he’d probably have shed a tear too but blamed it on non-existent allergies. As for your wildly off-key version of Opps! I Did It Again, you’d butchered the song, but he’d found it wildly entertaining. But he couldn’t bring himself to say any of this out loud.

You stared at him as he stood silent, frustration bubbling under the surface. Why couldn’t he just be honest? K never kept anything hidden, telling you exactly what was on his mind, but Su-Yeol was locked up tight. “Why wont you talk to me?” you whispered, your frustration turning to sadness as he turned his face from you. You only had three more floors until the elevator stopped, and with his long legs, Su-Yeol would easily beat you to his apartment door before you could catch up. You wanted to be with K, and you wanted the chance to get to know Su-Yeol, but if he didn’t let you in, you’d have to walk away. you couldn’t spend your life being shut out by one half of the men you had feelings for.

Su-Yeol opened his mouth, to say what, he wasn’t entirely sure, when a deep groan rattled through the elevator. The sound of metal on metal screeched around you, the noise like giant nails down a chalkboard. You clamped your hands over your ears, the sound reverberating into your skull and down through your teeth. With a sharp judder, the elevator shook, sending you off balance. Su-Yeol caught you, pulling you in close and shielding you with his body as the elevator shook once more, before coming to a stop.

The two of you stood huddled together, too scared to move in case you sent the elevator plummeting to the ground. “Is now a really bad time to tell you I’m claustrophobic?” you laughed nervously, your chest tightening as you tried to not think about being trapped in a tiny metal box, suspended 7 floors in the air. “It’s ok,” Su-Yeol soothed, wishing K would front and take care of you. He wasn’t good with this kind of thing, had never been able to soothe others and make them feel at ease. Pressing the emergency button, he explained the situation to the facilities manager, who confirmed they’d get someone to look into the situation immediately. “See?” he smiled, trying his hardest to seem reassuring. “We’ll be out of here in no time.” Your hands gripped his coat, your knuckles white as you tried to practice the deep breathing techniques you learned in yoga. “Maybe now’s a good time for you to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me,” you said, taking another deep breath as your hands began to shake. “You know, help me take my mind off the fact we’re in a metal crate that could crash to the ground at any minute and kill us both.” Su-Yeol could see you were scared, and he could hear K screaming from somewhere in the vast darkness of his subconscious to comfort you. “Ok,” he sighed, “what would you like to know?”

You’d thought he’d push back more, thought he’d put up more of a fight and you hadn’t had time to formulate a question. You had so many things you wanted to ask, but where did you start? “Do you not like me? I mean, do you not like me the way K does? Romantically, I mean.” K had taken you out several times over the last few weeks, showering you in love and adoration, but the dates had never made it further than your living room. You hadn’t even kissed yet, and you wondered if that was because Su-Yeol didn’t feel the connection with you like K did. “It’s not that,” he sighed. “It’s… It’s complicated.” It still threw him that you recognised him and K as two separate people. Most people just assumed Su-Yeol was a little odd, that perhaps he played up the crazy to intimidate suspects and give himself an edge. You were the first person to recognise that there were two people living in his body. “Is it because of your split personalities?” you asked quietly. You could tell it didn’t bother K, that he was almost proud to share a body with someone he thought of as a brother. But Su-Yeol seemed ashamed, embarrassed even.

Nodding, Su-Yeol forced himself to look at you. He was blown away your beauty whenever his eyes met yours and now was no exception. It was like you peered in through his body to the depths of his soul, somehow managing to see past the cold, harsh front he’d spent so long hiding behind. “Most people think I’m crazy,” he smiled sadly, “I just don’t want you tainted with the same brush.” “I don’t think you’re crazy,” you said softly. “It’s who you are. And I really like who you are. I just wish you’d let me get to know you a little better. I have so much fun with K, but I want to have fun with you too.” You slipped your hand into his, gently squeezing it as you smiled up at him. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide yourself away.”

You stared at each other in the silence of the elevator, the tension between you almost electric. Su-Yeol had spent his whole life desperate to be seen, to be understood, and he’d finally found someone who liked him, just the way he was. He knew K would kill him for kissing you first, knew he’d never hear the end of it, but in that moment, Su-Yeol needed you.

His lips met yours, softly at first, his kisses tantalisingly slow as he gauged your reaction. K reacted exactly as he thought he would, the outrage clear in the way he shouted at him through the void of their shared brain. “Are you kidding me? Unbelievable! Months I’ve wanted to kiss her, but you wouldn’t let me. And now look at you! You traitor!” Su-Yeol smiled into your lips, his alter ego’s harsh words echoing in his mind. “I think K’s a little jealous,” he muttered, tracing the outline of your lips with the tips of his index finger. “Well,” you smiled, “You’re both going to have to learn to share me.”

Your words triggered something inside of Su-Yeol and K, igniting a desire they’d both shared since the day they first saw you. He kissed you again, but this time it felt different. His kisses were more urgent, more passionate and frenzied as his hands roamed your body. You could tell in an instant that it was K kissing you now, that Su-Yeol had retreated and let his other half have what he so desperately wanted. “Su-Yeol was the first one to kiss you,” K growled, “but I’m going to be the first one to make you moan my name.”

He pushed you up against the mirrored walls of the elevator, the glass a cool contrast to the heat of his body. His teeth gently grazed your bottom lip, eliciting the sweetest moan that set their shared body alight. Su-Yeol was quiet, but K knew he was there, could feel him on the precipice of their brain, enjoying the show.

Slipping his hand up the hem of your dress, K toyed with the lace of your underwear, your wetness already seeping through, coating his fingers. “So needy,” he smiled, “so desperate.” You whimpered as if in answer, your fingers encircling his wrist, silently begging him to touch you where you needed it most. K obliged, knowing full well that he would give you anything you wanted. He dreamt of teasing you, but he knew that outside of his fantasies he would never be able to deny you pleasure. He’d leave Su-Yeol to tease you.

His fingers slipped under the fabric of your underwear, sliding inside your slick, wet walls. You cried out against his lips at the sensation, the delicious stretch of his digits inside of you sending a way of electricity through your body. “I want you,” you breathed, “right now. K, please.” The way you said his name, the desperation in your voice was almost too much to bear. He’d wanted to take his time with you, to give you the unrelenting pleasure that you deserved, but one word from you and he was powerless to resist.

Pulling his jeans down, K lifted you into his arms, pressing you back against the mirrored wall. He hooked your underwear to the side, his lips meeting yours in a mix of pleasure and desperation as he pushed himself of you. Your moans of pleasure ricocheted off the walls, filling the tiny elevator as you chased your highs. Your eyes were so bright, you jaw slack as K thrust into you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he brought you closer to the brink. He could feel Su-Yeol trying to front, could tell he was desperate to fuck you, but K was determined to have you to himself for the moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his grip on your hips tightening as he felt himself about to lose control. “Let go for me. I want to feel you let go.” His words were your undoing, your walls clenching around him as you came undone. Watching you come apart for him was all K needed, his pleasure overtaking him as he spilled himself inside of you.

You stayed entwined in each other’s arms, laughing slightly as you came down from your highs. “I think Su-Yeol’s the jealous one now,” K whispered, peppering kisses along your cheek and jawline. “Maybe if Su-Yeol hadn’t played so hard to get, you’d have had me a lot sooner,” you winked.

Beneath you, the elevator groaned to life, rising slowly, if a little unsteadily up to your floor. You didn’t want the moment to end, didn’t want the intimacy that you’d so desperately craved to cease once you stepped out into the hall. “Come home with me?” you asked, “I think it’s Su-Yeol’s turn.”

They took turns making love to you that night, both of them trying to outdo the other when it came to claiming your pleasure. When you finally succumbed to sleep, locked in the embrace of the men who shared a body, you didn’t hear their whispered conversation, didn’t hear K beg Su-Yeol to make it work. They finally had you, the girl of their dreams.

But K could still feel Su-Yeol’s reluctance, could still sense the hesitation. You’d shown tonight that you liked them for who they were, but Su-Yeol somehow still couldn’t see it. “Please let her love you,” K begged, as sleep began to claim them. “Let’s be happy. Together.”

Su-Yeol could see that you and K deserved each other. But did he deserve you? When he shared a body with a man who was so open to the idea of love, Su-Yeol couldn’t shy away. He’d need to learn how to let you love him, or he’d lose you, and possibly K, for good.  

[incorrectbatfam]

Do the batfamily members ever get too into their undercover work? (Undercover in an office and theyre worried about spreadsheets, working in a warehouse and coming home complaining about missing parts)

Bruce: Status updates on your undercover missions. Dick, you first. What have you got down at the docks?

Dick: I haven't confirmed the Killer Croc sightings yet, but more importantly, our catch hasn't been measuring up to last year's. Tuna we're doing okay on, but the salmon population seems to be on the low end. I've contacted the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries but it'll be another 3-5 business days before they can come down and check it out.

Bruce: At least you're doing something to help. Jason?

Jason: Class was okay. I think the kids are warming up to me as their substitute while Mrs. Maloney is out on maternity leave. The average on the last vocabulary quiz was 83.53% so either I'm doing my job right or they need to be challenged. I'm worried about Tristan Lancy, though. He's normally a good student but his grades have been dropping recently and his parents don't seem like safe people to tell. I'll talk to him tomorrow and try to pair him up with a peer tutor if he needs it.

Bruce: Also see if he has any alternate contacts besides his parents. Tim, any updates at the chemical plant?

Tim: If by updates you mean OSHA violations, I could go on all week. We got a batch of new recruits today and they were just thrown into the work—no PPE, no safety training, nothing. This is what happens when you place production over employee well-being. I'm gonna file a complaint after this meeting. Also, I think the union will have something to say about the manager cutting people's lunch breaks short.

Bruce: I see. Damian? Please tell me you found something volunteering at the zoo.

Damian: Depends on how you define "found." While I have not obtained evidence of a mutant larvae black market, I did help some of the animals at the sanctuary make progress with their recovery. Bobo the monkey is healing from his broken arms and we're gradually getting him re-acclimated to climbing higher surfaces. Suzie the black bear was born a little prematurely but seems to be catching up to her peers in terms of growth. Lastly, we got a grant for additional wildcat research and enrichment. As an aside, we are having an educational seminar on European mountain goats this Friday at 3:30 and I expect all of you to be there.

Bruce: I'll put that on our calendars. Steph?

Steph: It's not really undercover work for me, just work. Anyway, yes the newest Batburger location is being used for money laundering. But I really need to vent about the customers for a sec. We don't open until 10 and at 9:30 this morning some moron was banging on our door demanding Jokerized cheese fries. Then right in the middle of the lunch rush, Janie got sick so I had to fill in as the cashier and it was hell. After that, I had to step in between a fight at the drive-thru because the customer claimed we only gave him nine pieces of his ten-piece Robin nuggets and tried to beat up the kid who took his order. And to top it all off, an entire high school hockey team came in five minutes before closing.

Bruce: Cass?

Cass, blowing balloons: Can't talk. Arranging bat mitzvah.

Bruce: Duke, you're my last hope.

Duke: Margie's bringing a peanut butter chocolate cake to the bake sale. I swiped her recipe and we can easily beat her. Her ganache is way too watery and just runs off the top of the cake, which isn't even leveled. She's also trying to do something with a raspberry filling that isn't working at all. It's like she couldn't decide on what to bring. The bake sale committee also asked if we can bring some apple pies because the original baker has to go out of town for a family emergency. I think we'll win if we bring them with some ice cream and a touch of caramel, even though this isn't a contest.

Bruce: Thank you. At least our most critical case has been taken care of.

Barbara: ...I'll save my book launch for later.

[dannystheone]

Merc With The Mouth (Lee DP/ Ler Wolv)

HI GUYS OMG IT'S HERE!

So I watched Deadpool and Wolverine in theaters being a big-time Deadpool fan since 2016 and I fell into the trenches HARD

I was not expecting to fixate on this movie as hard as I have but I wanted to try my hand at it! Now let me be clear, this is no @lovemybluebully work, they really have their finger on the pulse when it comes to these fics, but nevertheless, I'm still excited to share this piece :)

I hope you guys enjoy this is a big thing to take on after having not written in a while so I hope it's well received! Thank you for everything

WARNINGS: SPOILERS! Cursing, gore, violence, general shenanigans, fourth wall breaks

Wolverine snaps on Deadpool in the Honda Odyssey after hours of being a mouthy handful. But how does he deal with the silence that follows?

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

Hours of driving in the dusty Honda Odyssey, not getting any closer to the Borderlands where they were needed, and a jabbering idiot in his ear made Logan's eyeball twitching damn near audible.

The dense corn fields on either side of the Odyssey whipped past as Wolverine's hands clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Deadpool started up another nonsense topic to yap on about after Wolverine told him to shut up for the millionth time. Apparently, no one's ever taught Wade to sit in a comfortable silence.

"So if they fix your world, what's the first thing you're gonna do? Rubbing alcohol shots with a wiper fluid chaser?" Wade quipped. The weight of Wade's words hit Logan's ear like a bullet. It was the first thing Wade had said that Logan paid any real attention to, but this was arguably the most paramount.

Logan took his foot off the gas and slammed into the brake, making the Honda's tires squeal and jolt to a jarring stop. The vehicle shuddered with the sudden movements. Deadpool looked to Wolverine as Wolverine faced him, malice glinting in his eye.

"What did you say?" Wolverine asked Deadpool with chilling calm.

After discovering the ridiculousness that was Wade's so-called 'educated wish', Logan found himself in an uncontrollable rant after the days' past events caught up with him all at once. Once he started his rant, he found he couldn't stop. Everything he wanted to say to Wade that day poured out of him in a stream of hatred. Deadpool stared at him unnervingly with no comment while he raged.

"-Couldn't even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper! And motherfucker I wish I could say you die alone, but it's one of GOD'S best jokes that you can't die! Except that's on all of us!" Wolverine growled, his heart thundering in his chest after he ended his explosive tirade. He looked to Wade expectantly.

"Oh, what? You got nothin' to say, Mouth?" Wolverine spat.

Deadpool swallowed silently, being taken back to the photo that he had shown to Wolverine that had his whole world inside of it. His whole world, in one tiny polaroid. And even though it was that small, he still couldn't save it.

He felt his resolve slowly crumble as Wolverine's words started to sink in. He couldn't save Vanessa in his timeline, and when he brought her back to life she still left him. What if he failed again like he did last time, on an interdimensional scale, with not even a cream cheese spreader in hand to try to defend his loved ones? His whole world, his whole everything, lost? He couldn't defend them from an entire timeline collapsing. Maybe Logan was right-

Wolverine snapped his fingers in Deadpool's face to snap him back to reality.

"Hey, asshole. I'm talking to you. What have you got to say? You've had some idiotic little quip to respond to everything I've said to you today, and now you clam up?" Wolverine demanded.

Deadpool swallowed again and opened his mouth to speak, but he was truly lost. He was really at a loss for words. He didn't think this would ever happen to him, but he couldn't even begin to think how he could respond. Logan got him this time.

Unfortunately for Wade, this pissed Logan off worse than hearing about this 'educated wish' bullshit. Wolverine didn't want to admit that most of what he said was deflection, and he was frustrated and took it out on Deadpool. The more Deadpool was silent about his explosion, the more Wolverine would have to think and actually reflect on what he said to him. Wolverine wanted to fight, to argue now, to get this aggression out. Wolverine shifted in his seat to better face Deadpool and pointed a gloved finger in his face.

"If you think, that this stupid little game of yours with not fucking talking is gonna make me regret a SINGLE thing I said to you in any way, you're sorely fucking mistaken. We're not moving this car until you open your goddamn mouth." Wolverine snarled. Deadpool snuck a glance at the camera for this gratuitous quote from Wolverine but kept his mouth shut.

Deadpool decided to see if he could call his bluff because he was still at a loss for words. What was the point of any of this if everything would be destroyed, leaving him in the dark like his life before his family?

Wolverine growled and unsheathed his adamantium claws, and shoved them in Deadpool's ribs. The Honda Odyssey jostled with the violent movement. Blood began to seep from the wound and crawl down Deadpool's side. The red bled into the shade of Deadpool's suit. Yet, not a peep left Wade's mouth; He stared nonchalantly at the dashboard ahead of him. Nothing Deadpool couldn't handle of course. He's had worse from Vanessa in terms of penetration.

"Why is it NOW that you finally shut up? I said speak, bastard!" Despite the bliss that was Deadpool not speaking, Wolverine couldn't stand the thought of being remorseful of his words, especially in the direction of Wade Wilson. He should be able to say whatever he wanted and not feel guilt twining in his chest like barbed wire.

With an irritated sigh, Wolverine went to take his claws out of Wade's ribs. He jerked his elbow back to take his claws out, but his claws were caught on something. Grunting, Wolverine drew his elbow back more sharply on the next try, but Deadpool's body swayed with him. Now, if Deadpool were on speaking terms, he would allude to Wolverine's inability to pull out. However, he wasn't feeling funny right now.

Wolverine snarled in annoyance and grabbed Deadpool's ribs with his free hand to brace himself and wrench his claws out. Wolverine's fingers pressed into Deadpool's ribs, causing a jolt to pass through the merc. Deadpool snorted, a small sound coming out of his mouth. He slapped Wolverine's hand off his ribs, but Wolverine heard that small exchange.

"What was that? Something to say, Bub?" Wolverine tested. Deadpool stayed silent. Anger flared up in Wolverine as he clenched his fist. He shot forward and gripped his ribs with more force to seize his claws out. Deadpool jolted as he yelped and shrunk away from Wolverine's hands.

"GAH! Hey, no touching, Penn State. I don't have my rape whistle on me today." Deadpool shoved Wolverine's hand off his ribs again, but Wolverine figured this was the only way to get him talking again. Wolverine took his hand and gave Deadpool an intentional squish in his side just below his sunk claws, causing Deadpool to squeak.

"You're gonna talk, asshole. We're not moving until you show me what you thought about what I said." Wolverine needed to know how Deadpool felt about what he said so Deadpool didn't power down on him when it came to saving the world later. He needed to know that he didn't actually take those hurtful words to heart. Deadpool narrowed his eyes at Wolverine and instead tried to yank his claws out of his ribs.

"What is this, a podcast? We already hosted one to promote the movie, where you said absolutely nothing- might I add- and now you care about my opinion? Too little, too late, Fresh and Fit. You don't get my opinion, you just get to drive." Deadpool faced forward again, but Wolverine wasn't having it.

"Alright that's it you piece of arrogant shit-" Well, this was one way to get his aggression out. Wolverine took the claws that were embedded in Deadpool's ribs and used the leverage to drag Deadpool closer to him. Wolverine took his free hand and started scribbling his gloved hand on Deadpool's stomach. Wade squealed and started pushing against him immediately.

"Mahaha! Nohoho no no- wahahait! Thihihis ihihihisn't hohohow I imahahagined it!! Ahahat leheheast rehehead mhyhy AO3 fihihihirst!" Deadpool started giggling and kicking his legs, trying to curl away from Wolverine's offensive hand. Wolverine kept a gruff expression, not knowing all these inane references he liked to use. Logan scribbled his fingers into Wade's side, making the merc squeal.

"Why do you always jabber on about everything I DON'T want you to talk about. All you have to do is one simple fucking thing and you can't even do that." Wolverine grumbled. He didn't want to sit here tickling Deadpool all day, especially when they were on a world-ending time crunch, but he needed a non-sulking competent partner.

"I cahahan't! I'm tohohoo commihihitted to the bihihihit!" Deadpool shook his head as Wolverine continued, his fingers squishing into Wade's skin as he kept a firm grip on him via his claws. Logan had to admit, he couldn't remember the last time he actively tickled someone. Maybe some antics back at the academy, but that was decades ago. Hopefully, he hasn't lost his touch, however, Wolverine wouldn't be surprised if Deadpool had a thing for this kind of stuff.

"You gonna talk now? We've got no time for games." Wolverine asked. Deadpool threw up his hands and gestured to Wolverine squishing his side repeatedly while still laughing, a wordless show.

"Juhuhust stohohohop ahahalready! Thehehese ahaharen't lihihike my heheadcannons ohohf yohou 'ler'ing' ahahat ahahahall!" Deadpool shouted. Wolverine figured maybe a different spot was in order. He went lower on Deadpool's side nearing the top of his hip, and Deadpool's laughter grew louder with the motion.

"Wahahait wait wahait! I neheheed a pahahassword behehefore yohohou goho behehelow the behehelt! Thehe mohohovie is R-rahated but stihihill!" Deadpool kicked the legroom he had in front of him as Wolverine started kneading his hip with his thumb. He always had to be theatrical, no matter what.

"Why don't you just stop wasting our time and say what I want you to say. You said your world is at stake, isn't it? And you're taking up time being an ass." Wolverine gruffed. Logan's four fingers were pressed against Wade's back as his thumb pushed and pressed into the hollow of his hip, which was surprisingly easy to find through his suit. Wolverine drug Deadpool closer with his claws every time he tried to escape.

"I dohohon't knohohow whahat you wahahant mehehe to sahahay! Thihihis ihihihisn't in the scrihihipt!" Despite this being a dream come true for Wade, he did agree that they were wasting time here. He didn't know what it was Wolverine expected him to do though. He wanted feedback for exploding on him like that? He was unclear about Wolverine's goals if he didn't say them aloud.

"Stop talking and just fucking speak! Quit wasting your breath on fucking nonsense!" Wolverine demanded. He moved his hand to Deadpool's waistline above his belt and started vibrating his fingers into the skin. Deadpool snuck a suggestive look into the camera before bursting out in laughter again.

"Yohohou knohohow fohohor beheheing mahahad yohohou're dohohoing behehetter thahahan my rohohohose tohohoy!" Deadpool shouted, his hands trying to push Wolverine's hand down below his belt line while Wolverine kept up his vibrating motion. Wolverine grimaced in disgust and shoved his hand as far away from his belt as possible, which he found was lodged in Deadpool's armpit. He began scratching into the space.

"Fine, then we'll just be here all day, wasting our time, when an entire timeline is collapsing because you don't want to take two seconds to say one fucking sentence." Even Wolverine didn't know what he wanted that sentence to be. He was starting to think even if he did hear what he thought he wanted to hear, it wouldn't be enough to calm his eternal war.

"I cahahan't dohoho thahahat! I cahahan't ihihimprohovise whehen I'm beheheing tihihickled!" Deadpool countered. Being giggly didn't give Deadpool the best coordination or strength for that matter, so trying to get Wolverine's hand out of his armpit was a herculean feat.

"Whyhyhy hahahahasn't Shahawn yehehelled 'CUT' yehehehet?! Thihihis ihihihis rihihidiculous!" Even Deadpool had his limits, and he was coming up on it. Some of his fantasies were much better on paper rather than practice. Deadpool decided to try and get out of this in a way that wasn't physical. Wade swallowed the remainder of his laughs and pointed out the windshield.

"Oh my God! The Bachelorette! The TVA sent Jenn Tran to the Void?! What is she doing here?!" Deadpool put on his best convincing voice as he pointed behind Wolverine. Wolverine followed his pointed hand before inwardly cursing himself. Deadpool took his leg and shot out at Logan's jaw, kicking the mutant in the face. The force knocked Wolverine's claws out of his ribs (finally) and sent Logan into the door of the Odyssey. The Honda wobbled with the movement, Logan looking temporarily dazed.

"Finally, now you'll- Oh God." Deadpool started, but Wolverine recovered earlier than he'd thought. Wolverine held Deadpool's leg in his grip with his leg draped over the center console, a grin crafted of pure malice on Wolverine's face. Deadpool looked at the camera with a nervous expression.

"Chat, on a scale of 1 to 10, how cooked am I?" Deadpool asked before nearly screaming.

Wolverine had plunged his fingers into Deadpool's thigh and kneecap, squishing and prodding the sensitive skin on top and inside his thigh. Deadpool belly laughed when he was just giggling before, unable to truly form words now. Wolverine snorted with a frown and shook his head at the ridiculous display as he continued scribbling and scratching over Wade's thigh.

"NOHOHO! Thihihihis ihihihisn't hohohohow yohohou treheheat Mahaharvel Jehehehesus!" Deadpool laughed hysterically, his leg kicking as the ticklish electricity zapped up and down his thigh.

"Talk and I'll let go. It's really that simple, you're doing this to yourself, Bub." Despite the huge threat the timeline was facing, Wolverine was starting to brighten with this treatment of Deadpool. He didn't think it would get him this bad, and after being an insufferable prick all day, he was starting to gladden at the fact that he could get him back in some way.

"Ihihihif I hahahad it myhyhyhy wahahay, yohohou'd behehe tihihihickling ahaha dihihihifferent bohohohody pahahart!" Deadpool let out. Even when he was getting tickled to death, he had to express his quips. Not being able to be a smartass was the REAL torture.

So they were there for a minute, going back and forth between each other with Deadpool being effortlessly funny and Wolverine muttering in reply. It would be listed out here for you but the author is running out of dialogue and doesn't want to admit it.

"Okahahahay seheheheriously! Ihihihif yohohou dohohon't stohohop I'm sehehetting Dogpohohool on yohohou!" Deadpool shouted, his leg kicking and shaking from its repeated abuse from Wolverine.

"You ready to talk yet? We go any more and you're gonna hurt yourself." Wolverine eventually asked. Deadpool simply nodded, too overcome with laughter, and Wolverine let him go. Deadpool held his thudding heart while he caught his breath, glad that his mask shielded the view of his red cheeks.

"Ha... ah... and I thought Colossus was mean. He at least asks if I'm comfortable and establishes a safeword first. You're just... vicious. I don't even think Blake has explored my body like that." Deadpool took his leg off of Wolverine's lap and slouched in his seat.

"So. What do you have to say?" Wolverine asked. Deadpool's heart calmed as he opened his mouth.

"Well... truthfully... I mean if we had the time and the budget for a segment that lengthy we could have used it for scenes you'd have to open your incognito tab for-" Wolverine shot his hand out at Deadpool but didn't actually touch him, and Deadpool jumped and yelled in surprise.

"What do you have to say about what I said, smartass? No fucking games." Wolverine said with icy calm. Deadpool exhaled loudly and dropped his head back into his seat, looking up at the ceiling of the Odyssey.

"I think you're wrong. I can save my family, my universe, and my timeline because I've done it before. But not without your help. You're right, I did lie to you. I lied and I told you what you wanted to hear just so you could help me, and there's a reason why you're the anchor being and I'm not. I was willing to say anything to get you here, to help me. And I'm... I'm sorry. I am sorry. I shouldn't have done that." Deadpool looked over to Wolverine who was looking at him with a softened expression.

Wolverine took a moment before he slowly nodded.

"Okay. Come on. Let's save your fragile ass timeline and save your world, so you can stay far away from mine as possible." Wolverine said ultimately. Deadpool nodded, pumping his fists into the air.

"Yes! Ketchup and Mustard are back on the road! The fanservice is our savior once more. It's a blue moon when it doesn't work, and those odds only kick up when you're writing for Voltron." Wolverine started the car back up and began to amble down the road once more.

Only a few moments afterward did Deadpool start back up his antics after Wolverine started driving down the road in the Odyssey like nothing had happened earlier.

"Hey, Honey Badger. English or Spanish?" Deadpool asked. Wolverine narrowed his eyes at the question and shook his head.

"The hell are you asking me?" Wolverine asked. Deadpool cackled unexpectedly.

"HAH! I always knew underneath that rugged exterior was a fruit bowl on the inside. The kind of fruit bowl with a single bruised banana and a brown lime in it, with some garlic cloves at the bottom, but still a fruit bowl nevertheless. Oh, you make me happy." Deadpool went and leaned his head on Wolverine's shoulder until Wolverine shrugged him off.

Something about Deadpool's fruit bowl comment nagged at Wolverine. Something about the garlic cloves made him unexpectedly snort. Deadpool looked at him like the god that he was as a ghost of a smile traced Wolverine's lips.

"You really are the Merc with the Mouth huh? You never shut up." Wolverine commented. Deadpool reached over and gave a generous helping of pokes up and down Wolverine's side. Wolverine growled and slapped Deadpool's hand away.

"You touch me again and you lose that hand." Wolverine threatened.

"That's the game, and business is good. By the way, next time let's establish when we're going to do a tickle scene, okay? Danny tends to be insecure about the length of the tickling scenes in their works because they feel they write too much exposition." Deadpool looked into the camera and winked.

"Who the hell are you- you know what, fuck it." Wolverine shook his head once more and stared out onto the open road.

"Don't worry Danny, you're doing great sweetie. And thank all of you for your unending support. You just say the word and we'll get Steve Irwin hear singing his laughter like he's on The Greatest Showman again. We'll see you next time, here in the Borderlands." Deadpool blew a kiss into the camera and waved off the audience.

[mohabbotein]

action potential.

--samira and jack find themselves in an odd limbo of "what are we?" - a game jack feels he's a little too old for.

hurt/comfort, light angst, yearning and pining! wc: 3.2k. cross posted to ao3.

samira sighs, shutting her locker. a warm arm brushes against hers, flush against her skin.

“good night, mohan.”

“good night, dr. abbot,” she whispers.

they linger near each other for a second longer. her stomach coils, twisting and winding and clenching minute by minute. her heart rate’s easily close to 120. her body continues betrays her, heat radiating off of her skin.

differential? jack.

(possibly IBS as well. POTS, maybe? no, it’s definitely jack. jack is the diagnosis.)

jack inhales sharply, jamming his locker open and shoving his worn backpack in there. he’s more careful with the brown paper bag in his right hand (sandwiches he’d made for him and samira because she’s usually starving after shift), except tonight, he’s not fully convinced she’d want a shitty turkey and cheese he slapped on two pieces of white bread.

(admittedly, it’s never just a turkey and cheese sandwich with abbot - and definitely not when he’s putting it together with samira in mind. in this case, it’s also a pickled slaw, some green onions, cilantro, mashed avocado, sprouts, and hot sauce. cooking is a newer venture for him, but samira already calls it fine dining, which satisfies abbot beyond words.)

samira can’t remember the last time she and abbot had an actual meal together. nights blend into days in a way that she’s not used to - she hasn’t seen abbot in weeks just because of their work schedule. consequently, it’s almost like they’ve forgotten how they used to talk to each other. she doesn’t even know how to bring it up to him - that they’re not the same anymore, that this is not the ‘them’ she knew.

was there even a ‘them’ to begin with?

her eyes lower as she tugs at the scrunchy from the back of her head, curls billowing over her shoulders. her hair has gotten a lot longer since pittfest, no longer needing someone else to help her untangle the ends in the back (although she wishes abbot still would).

she moves to leave and he involuntarily reaches out to tuck her loose hair out of her face, the familiarity of his calloused fingertips sending goosebumps down her spine.

“good work today.”

before she can respond, he’s gone.

he ended up keeping both sandwiches for himself.

‘lunch?’

samira glances up at collins as her phone vibrates. she doesn’t know when she and heather became close enough to take lunch breaks together, but she assumes it has something to do with the way heather started observing her and abbot together.

‘i have to chart but i’ll bring my laptop.’

collins is already up, flagging robby down. “we’ll be back in 30.” samira continues to watch her as she turns to dana. “we’ll be in the break room but pagers are forwarded to king and langdon.”

samira tucks the laptop under her arm as she wriggles her locker open. her eyes drift to the locker next to hers, sizing up the scrawled ‘abbot’ on the magnet. she smiles, thinking it looks like chicken scratch.

a crumpled piece of paper with aforementioned chicken scratch floats down into her hand as soon as she swings the metal door open.

‘dinner tomorrow?’

“romantic,” collins hums quietly from behind her.

the corner of samira’s lip lifts as she carefully folds the note, tucking it away in her pocket. “i’m not sure it is,” she murmurs, drawing in a heavy breath.

the break room feels more sterile than usual, the sink surprisingly empty and the coffee pot spotless.

samira feels heather’s eyes on her and she looks up from her veggie wrap.

“what’s on your mind?” heather asks.

“7 south.”

“samira,” heather chastises.

“heather,” samira sings. she's tempted to continue singing (poorly) to cut the tension.

“listen, if it’s abbot -”

“honestly? it is.”

heather opens her mouth, only for it to quickly shut again. the quiet space between them expands like a hot air balloon.

“i mean,” samira starts with deliberation, crunching through the carrots and the lettuce and the bell peppers and goodness, her jaw hurts from crunching so much, “i just don’t think i understand … us. him?”

heather leans back in her seat, stretching her legs out. her feet knock against the leg of samira’s chair, an invitation to elaborate.

“i don’t think he fully understands this. us? i don’t even know if there is an us.”

“he left you a note in your locker.”

“i don’t know how to say it. we’re in this weird gray area right now. maybe he doesn’t want to, like, DTR? it’s not like i asked him to. it just feels like we’re avoiding each other now and i don’t even know why. it doesn’t help i haven’t exactly seen him in a while now.”

heather contemplates for a minute, watching samira intently. she thinks about how samira looks small at this moment, shoulders rounded over as if she could curl in on herself at any moment.

(it reminds her a bit of how she felt with robby.)

“abbot’s an all-in kind of guy,” heather states with some finality, “but i do think this is new territory for him.”

“he’s the largest onion i’ve had to try and peel,” samira mumbles, conveniently leaving out that tears are just another commonality in her relationship with both abbot and onions.

heather’s lips spread into a smile as she hangs her head back, stretching her neck and staring at the ceiling. “maybe you guys should watch shrek together. that’ll get the mood going, then you can tell him to quit acting like an onion.”

“i doubt he’s seen it, honestly,” samira sighs, “and shrek might actually be more romantic than whatever … this is.”

heather looks back up at samira. samira watches back, knowing full well she’s thinking about what advice she can extract, package, and tie in a pretty bow from her (still ongoing) relationship with robby.

“it’s going to be complicated,” heather says in a low tone. “it’s going to be complicated with a lot of ups and downs and roundabouts, but he’ll come around.”

samira swallows the last bits of her food with more difficulty than she’d like to admit.

“you’re used to ups and downs. you’re good at ups and downs, but you need to know when it’s not worth it either.”

she doesn’t need heather to say that he’s full of ups and downs and roundabouts, but isn’t everyone?

dana pops her head in the break room. “we need you guys back out here.”

the door begins to close behind dana as samira giggles, “get out me swamp,” and heather says, “what are you doing in my swamp?!”

this is out of jack’s depth.

there aren’t many things out of jack’s depth, but samira was one of them. he wasn’t quite expecting things to move in any direction, but they have, and now he doesn’t know what to do.

or, for clarification, he knows what he wants to do. he just isn’t quite convinced if it aligns with what she needs.

the alarm on his phone goes off and he sets up his computer on the desk against the window.

“jack, how are you?”

“i’m good, i’m good,” he lies. it’s a courtesy he always gives his therapist at the start of each session before getting right into it. “i feel like i’m in high school.”

his therapist almost spits his drink out. “tell me more, man.”

“i just - ” jack pauses, looking down at his reflection mirrored against the black coffee in his wide-rimmed mug, “i wasn’t expecting anything to happen after, you know, my wife. my expectations were low - different.”

“what were your expectations to begin with?”

“nothing, honestly.”

jack thought he was always going to be a one-and-done sort of guy. he still thinks he might be. it feels almost like a betrayal to her, in a way. to both her and samira, and in some convoluted way, himself.

therapy really changes a guy, because he would have never considered himself or his feelings in the equation until a few years ago.

(jack has also definitely seen those jokes on the internet - ‘what if the worst guy you know is getting validated at therapy right now?’ - and wonders from time to time if he’s ‘the worst guy’ someone knows. it’s a major fear he’s yet to tackle with his therapist, but it’s currently on the bottom of the list all things considered.)

“your wife and this new person you’re seeing,” his therapist begins tentatively, “are different people, with different thoughts, personalities, actions, words. even their relationships with you are different.”

jack knows this, of course. of course his late wife and samira are different. of course his relationships with them are different. his wife is irreplaceable, and samira is an entirely different personality that he can’t even align with any other pre-existing personality in his life. she’s a totally new cast member.

he’s not worried about replacing his late wife in the slightest, but when he poses the issue from samira’s perspective, he realizes he hasn’t really addressed any of this with samira herself.

“i’m worried i’ll hold samira back.”

“from what?”

“seeing other people.”

“have you thought about how she might want to see you too, and not other people?”

no, jack had not really considered this. he’s still resistant to considering it, and maybe he’ll bring it up with her. fret not, he wants to tell his therapist, he’s thought long and hard and still has a few bullet points that require rebutting.

“it might create issues at work.”

“that didn’t stop you from pursuing your wife.”

damn, this guy’s good. jack’s lips curve down, frown deepening. “i came here for validation, man.”

“i’ll validate that you sound like you’re in high school.”

jack rolls his eyes and confirms that he’ll see his therapist next week before shutting the computer down. he stretches, grabs a cup of water, and surveys the food in his fridge. as he slips his wallet and keys in his pockets, he thinks about his own residency, remembering how he needed stability, not uncertainty, more than anything. this also applied when he left the army and when his wife died and perhaps even during some of the hardest ER shifts of his life.

it probably applies now too, but oddly enough, it feels a lot more attainable now than it has before.

“i need you to get it together, samira.”

samira swallows hard at robby’s staccato, a rhythm she hasn’t heard for quite some time. he had seemed to be calmer, more patient, more understanding of her way of practicing these past few months - just because it was different doesn’t mean it was wrong.

maybe she got caught up with the finer details today. maybe he didn’t sleep. maybe gloria was around (gods, what she would do to get rid of management). maybe it was a combination waiting to result in disaster.

she hears him draw in a deep breath, eyes watching her intently. her front teeth almost draw blood from her bottom lip.

“your head isn’t here today. go home.”

go home? go home? she doesn’t need to go home. she still has at least another hour left in her shift. she needs to just keep moving, keep going, pick up more patients (which she knows she can) and - “robby, please, i can - ”

“dr. mohan, can i get handoff for this patient?”

robby looks up as samira turns around. robby’s eyes narrow, a sharp laugh escaping his lips.

“finish up with abbot. we’ll talk later,” robby mumbles, fingers raking through his hair as he moves towards dana.

samira’s eyes stay fixed in place, only startling once jack’s eyebrows lift questioningly at her. it’s not an invitation in the slightest, which numbs the wrinkles of her brain even more. she feels herself watching him, but it doesn’t really feel like she’s watching him.

“5 north,” jack says quietly as she moves towards him. his left leg props up on the workstation, back curved over the tablet resting against his thigh.

(does his right leg hurt at all?)

he waits a moment, staring down at the chart in his hands. when she still doesn’t say anything, he murmurs, “samira.”

“hm?”

“5 north, honey.”

she swallows hard, like tar was just funnelled down her throat. she feels disconnected from her own body as she tries to sound out the right words.

“right. 68 year old male, NSTEMI.” she feels herself malfunction - robby, jack, her stroke patient, whitaker? javadi? where were they —

it’s pure static in her brain.

humiliation? shame?

“focus,” jack murmurs quietly. he looks directly up at her. he feels her drifting, her synapses glitching. he wants to grasp her wrists, to stop her from straying from herself and bring her back down to earth. “keep talking to me. you’re almost out of here. stay focused.”

“i just -”

“i know, honey, i know.”

does he? does he know?

she feels the life drain out of her through the bottom of her feet, knees almost giving out.

“can’t you just come home with me?” she finally whispers.

jack’s heart has been broken before - over and over and over again - and he remembers exactly how it feels every single time. he thinks this might be a new version of heartbreak that he’s never experienced before, watching someone he cares very much for going through the same exact thing he has, without being able to do a thing about it.

jack comes home at 9:30 am - an hour and a half after his scheduled shift was supposed to be over. he makes sure gloria hears of it.

he also mentions changing his schedule for the next few weeks, but ultimately that comes down to whether shen’s going to be a little shit about trading nights or not.

right before he leaves for the day, collins tells him that samira called out. the drive back home feels a little bit longer than normal, but it gives him enough time to decide how long he’s going to sleep and how much time he’ll need to prepare for dinner tonight, among other arguably more important things - such as figuring out what the hell is going on with samira.

he’s slightly surprised to see her asleep on his couch, but he had been wondering when she was finally going to put the open invitation to use considering he told her where to find the spare key a while ago (predictably in the potted plant outside his door - a housewarming gift from robby, also cared for by robby because abbot doesn’t have a green thumb, green finger, or even a green mole on any part of his body).

he sighs. it’s been a while since he’s seen her so unguarded like this.

he plants himself on the floor in front of her, side squishing against the cushion and arm propping up on the sofa. he sets his prosthetic to the side, massaging his thigh. his free hand works through the ends of her hair, gently untangling the curls. he feels an intense heat radiating off of her and presses the back of his hand to her forehead, frowning when he feels the fever.

his joints crack as he gets up and shuffles to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, pulling out tylenol, motrin, theraflu, and sudafed.

“jack?” he hears samira call from the living room.

he pulls out the mucinex too.

“i’m here,” he says, arms bundled with bottles. he presents them to her like a puppy bringing his owner a big stick. “pharmacy to couch, kinda like farm to table. new initiative at the abbot household, but we’re still in our pre-seed phase.”

samira smiles, sitting up to grab the glass of water from jack’s left hand. jack presses his hand to her forehead again for good measure, before plucking out the tylenol and mucinex for her. he puts the rest of the pills on the coffee table before sitting down on the rug in front of her again, placing his hands on her thighs as he steadies himself.

“what can i get you?” he asks gently, looking up at her. “what do you need?”

for a moment, she thinks it’s unbelievably unfair for him to look so good after a 12-hour shift overnight. she chalks it up to the sunlight hitting him in just the right ways. golden hour must have come early today.

“you look tired,” she says bluntly. “i need you to get some rest. i might just stay here for a bit longer before i go home.”

he looks down at the rug, hands gently sliding up and down along the sides of her legs. “you came here for a reason after playing hooky, sweetheart. tell me what’s going on.”

“i just - ” she starts quickly, defensively. “i just, i don’t know. i woke up feeling like shit and you were the first person i wanted to see today.”

she feels naked in front of him, playing offense in a game she’s not very familiar with.

she was good at getting by on her own. she had always been good at getting by on her own. she was good at being by herself, but she hadn’t realized how truly alone she’d felt until she was with jack, and even just being in his apartment by herself for a few hours was a testament to that.

she feels jack blinking up at her and she grows warmer under his gaze. she’s afraid she’ll start sweating any minute now, and the odds are already against her in case she breaks her fever.

“these past few weeks have been tough,” he says gruffly and she snorts. no kidding. “i’ve just been worried that i,” he pauses, lips pursing, “maybe i’m just not the best fit for you, you know? you’re young, you’re still in your residency, you have such a long way to go.”

“are you breaking up with me?”

“no,” jack says quickly, swallowing a smile. “no, i just want you to know what i’ve been thinking about. my therapist thinks i sound like i’m in high school,” he mumbles sheepishly, looking away.

“considering everything, i’d arguably say you’re far out from high school,” she giggles. “actually, i feel like high schoolers would not think as much as you have.”

“crazy, right? let me get you my therapist’s number, i’ll have you vouch for me.”

“as much thinking as you’ve done for us, i have too,” she says proudly, “and a lot of that thinking was just missing you. i know you’re worried about … a lot of things, but they’re things we can work through together, right?”

jack normally thinks he’s very cool under pressure, but right now, he embarrassingly feels the pink tinge creep up his neck and wrap around to his cheeks.

“i know you’re worried about my future or whatever,” she starts - he echos ‘or whatever?’ offensively - “but i respect you so much, i like you so much, and i want to do this. i’ve already run through the worst case scenarios in my head, and i trust that you wouldn’t even let it get there. i’m not worried about this. i’m worried about you, but that’s different.”

he hums. “i have a lot of baggage, samira. i don’t pack lightly.”

“i’ve already got a good look at your go-bag, it’s nothing i can’t handle.”

samira looks at him for a moment before leaning forward, clasping his cheeks between her hands. she presses her lips to his, feeling him smile against her.

“i wouldn’t mind a little more convincing, honestly,” he teases.

abbot has to call out of work that night, and collins ended up going home with a hundred extra bucks.

bonus: jack tries to cook indian food that night. as good as he's gotten at cooking - a therapeutic journey, he argues - samira ends up taking over.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

freaks, together. - m. murdock

hi guys i am not dead ! here's a matthew fic about a reader who is not normal about food and probably has something going on but oh well. i am not exaggerating that almost everything about this reader is based on my experiences so. do with that what you will! word count of about 1.7k! warning: contains a lot of talk of food and the reader has a not normal relationship with food!! nothing graphic, but please read with caution!!

To be fair, it’s not like your relationship with food has ever been normal.

You remember going through all grade levels unable to eat things like bread with seeds in it, eggs were never on your plate at breakfast and tomato sauce—Oh, tomato sauce was a nightmare!

You always, and to this day, loved eating your mother’s spaghetti and meatballs—As long as the spaghetti was on one half of the plate with nothing but butter and maybe parmesan cheese, and your meatballs were on the other side—If your spaghetti touched the sauce from the meatballs, which you liked with sauce, you’d consider the meal ruined.

You recall that in high school, you made yourself a caesar salad every day for lunch—only creamy caesar, with six chicken nuggets cooked in the oven for six minutes, then you’d cut each chicken nugget into three smaller pieces, and you’d pair your salad with ice water, an orange with no seeds, and four chips ahoy cookies. When you’d get home, you’d wash your salad container to use it for the next day.

But, if someone asked you, you’d probably say you’re normal about food. Totally.

And as someone equally ‘normal’ about food, in a different way, Matt Murdock makes the perfect boyfriend.

Matt noticed it on your first date—he notices everything about you—how you took your time perusing the menu, as if you were scared that the date might be ruined if you chose the wrong thing.

He notices that you never make tomato-based dishes, and he notices that for breakfast every morning you get the same breakfast sandwich from the deli around the corner from the firm. He notices that it sits on your desk most of the day if he smells it a bit burnt.

And of course, he notices when you don’t eat. He can’t help it, his ears just pick up on things—

Even now, he hears you across the office, stomach growling.

He checks his watch, noticing it’s half past five anyways. He begins to pack up his things for the night and wonders to himself about what you’d like to do for dinner. Thai, maybe?

He slings his bag over his shoulder after pulling on his jacket and makes his way over to your office, knocking gently.

“Come in,” You call, and Matt opens the door, noticing other signs of your hunger—The way you clench your jaw, the way you grip your pencil intensely, and your rapid heartbeat.

“Hey,” he says, guessing you worked through lunch. “Almost ready to head out?” He wants to say that it’s time to go, that as your ‘senior partner’ (technically, but not really), he is your boss and he demands that you stop working. He wants to say that as your boyfriend, he wants you to take care of yourself before you burn out. But instead, his words give you an opportunity to stop without being pushed.

“Almost,” You respond, not even looking up from your work. Your mind is racing, you’re thinking about the work you’ve done today, the fact that you just want to finish this up before you leave, but your brain begins to warp things as your hunger takes over—

Matt’s probably going to break up with you if you don’t stop working but you need to get this done—He probably finds you annoying with all your weird habits, and so do Karen and Foggy—Karen’s probably mad at you for—

“When was the last time you ate?” Matt asks, and you still don’t look up.

“Had a meeting during lunch, and my breakfast this morning was burnt—” You start to explain, and then you think of something to say that might be good, “But I’ve been drinking water all day and my coffee this morning was very good.”

Matt’s noticed that too—That you’re always trying to counter shitty things about your day, your life, the people in it, with things that make those shitty things tolerable.

“So, you had two, maybe three bites of your breakfast? And that’s it?” He deducts, and you, taken over by something awful because of your hunger, bite back a comment telling him to fuck off and that you know what you’re doing.

Matt waits.

“..Yeah, I guess so.” And your response comes out so deflated that it breaks his heart.

“Okay, then, let’s go get something to eat.” He says, and you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, Devil man, I can’t eat before I finish this assignment.” In your brain it’s less like you’re withholding food from yourself and more like you should get your work done before you take a break, but as soon as the words leave your lips you know you’ve given Mr. ‘I’m a really good lawyer’ the upper hand.

“Can’t or won’t?” He wonders, and he wanders over to the other side of your desk and crouches next to your chair. “C’mon, baby,” he reaches up to find your hand, taking it and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “We can get anything you want.”

You exhale, your shoulders dropping a bit as you concede. You turn your chair so you’re facing your devil in shining armor, ready to be whisked away from here.

“Anything?” You ask. He nods.

“Anything. Burritos, pizza, curry?” he offers. Your face twists as you try to decide—None of this food sounds good to you.

“Okay, I have a request, but you can’t laugh at me.” You start, and he smiles.

“Cross my heart,” and he crosses an ex over his chest. Your own heart melts a bit. “What is it?”

“You need to choose.” And immediately you see his confused look, and you go to explain, “I’m so hungry nothing sounds good right now, can you just pick something so we can go?” His features soften when you give this explanation, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“How does thai food sound?” And your stomach rumbles at the thought of those warm, rich noodles that’ll come in your pad thai.

“Sounds amazing.” You grin. He stands, still holding your hand.

“Alright, let’s go, then.” He smiles. He pulls out his phone to place your order while you pack your things, quietly promising yourself that just because you haven’t finished your work doesn’t mean you can’t eat.

After twenty or so minutes, you finally make it home and sit at the table with Matt to eat your dinner. You’re starving and your food smells so good—Matt introduced you to this Thai place when you first went out, and it’s quickly become one of your favorite spots—Matt loves it because they use all natural ingredients and everything’s so clean that he’s not tasting other people’s meals. And you love it because it’s never too loud, it’s always softly lit, and your meal of choice tastes the same each time you get it.

Yeah, you and your boyfriend have extremely normal relationships with food.

Matt dives into his dinner, and so do you—Those first few bites are glorious! They’re delicious, and just as you had been dreaming about for the past twenty minutes.

Everything is perfect.

Your beloved boyfriend, your darling pad thai, and a long night of cuddling the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. There’s nothing to add, really. Everything is just..

Perfect.

..

….

……

Until you take your sixth or seventh bite and almost throw up.

You were talking to Matt about this time in ninth grade, when you hung out with your best friend for the first time out of school, and how it was Halloween, and—And really, it’s your own fault for letting yourself go for a few minutes without eating..

You take that seventh bite and chew for just a moment too long, because when you swallow, you realize that this food is no longer appetizing, and you’re done with dinner for now. Matt, with his incredible senses and his inability to ignore anything you do, notices the shift in your behavior.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and you hesitate—God, do you hesitate, because your handsome, lovely boyfriend has done everything right. He’s made sure you stopped working at a decent time, he’s gotten you dinner, he even obliged your quirky request to choose where you go to dinner.

“I..” You sigh. “I think if I take another bite I’ll be sick.” You say honestly. Matt looks confused.

“What? You just said you liked it—” And he knows you’re not lying! He would’ve been able to tell!

“I did,” You promise, “It’s delicious, but now it’s been a few minutes since I had a bite, and it tastes different now, and I suddenly feel full.” You slouch in your chair, pushing your food a bit to the center of the table. “I’m sorry..”

Matt hears the defeat in your voice. He knows you’re not just being difficult, you’re genuinely upset about this— He could tell that without his super senses to help him out. His brain begins to work, and he decides on a course of action.

First, He takes another bite of his dinner, as if to show you you’re not ruining his meal.

“That’s okay,” He reassures, “Do you want to just pack it up and have it later if you do get hungry?” He wonders.

“Yes please,” You answer, leaning forward to grab the lid and stick it back onto the container. You really do feel bad. Matt has done everything in his power to get you to enjoy your dinner and you can’t help but sit there, feeling like you have condemned him to a lifetime of dealing with your very normal relationship with food and—

“I’m gonna finish my meal,” He starts, “And then we can go lay on the couch before I have to go out?” He offers.

And this is peculiar. For some reason, you expected him to make a much bigger deal over this than he is-- But you suppose he’s full of surprises.

“Okay,” You say, reaching forward to take a sip of your water.

The two of you continue to talk and yap about anything that comes to mind, just as you do every day. When Matt’s done with his food, you store your leftovers away and find Matt lounging across the couch.

While you were putting your food away, Matt must’ve put his CD player on, playing an album the two of you enjoyed. You can’t help but wander over to him and climb on top of him, resting your head on his chest.

His hand finds the hem of your shirt and dips beneath it, beginning to rub your lower back. You melt into him like ice cream, as if it’s the easiest thing for you in the world to do. And after a couple of peaceful moments, listening to your music, you finally say it.

“I wish I was normal about food.”

Matt’s hand doesn’t stop gently caressing your skin.

“Yeah, I know.” He says softly. “But you aren’t. It’s the way you are. You can do your best to work on it, if you want.”

“Do you ever wish you.. didn’t have your—”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Just once I’d like to ride the subway without smelling everything.” He answers honestly. “But I am who I am. Sure, it’s frustrating, but.. being a freak means I get to hear your heartbeat, and it means I get to protect the people I care about most.”

“Like me?”

He presses his lips to the top of your head.

“Exactly like you.”

“I guess we can be freaks together, huh?”

“For as long as you’d like.”

“Does forever work for you or are you busy?”

“I can make forever work.”

[cathalbravecog]

final daily high roller before april toons! see you tomorrow at the show! ;)

did not expect myself to pull off a "fancy drawing" today, and yet here i am! sappiness below, i suggest my friends read at least parts of it! i apologize beforehand for how long and personal it is.

well by cog, it's been another year, hasn't it? i can't describe how nervous and excited i am for tomorrow! or rather. today. it's 5 am. yeah, this was a bit of a crunch. but i managed to pull it off!

i actually intended 2 smaller pieces (the other being frostroller/selfship based.), each with different messages underneath and meanings. but i guess i'll put a compressed version of both in here. it certainly isn't a massive dedication piece as my dedicated piece from last year - but considering how special this all is to me, attached to this piece - i'll use this place as my Ramble Zone. note, i am very sleepy. if this makes less sense, gimmie some slack! ;p

high roller is like the ultimate representation of corporate clash to me. bold, chaotic, unique, new... something created by the hands of passion. breaking the limits of what can be toontown, just for the sake of it! for fun! to create. to play!

and as we all know by now, corporate clash (and high roller especially) mean a lot to me. but i want to make this more about clash in general.

i never expected myself to get this attached to toontown, or this server for that matter. it's possibly the most intense interest i have had, staying on top no matter what. interests come and go for me alongside it, sure... but toontown i figured is just where i feel safe.

now now, i do have conflicting feelings about the fandom/community that i am vocal about. but by safe i mea just... this game as a whole. the characters. the toons, the cogs. the silly world. and most importantly, as cheesy as a big cheese as it is, the friends made along the way!

i can talk about how much an escapism and comfort media this little world is to me. but it genuinely would not be the same without my friends. the dear friends i made thanks to corporate clash. genuinely some of the best people i have met in my life, that i cannot imagine my life without now.

i cannot even begin to describe how thankful i am. and this is why i want my friends to read this - you!!! all of you. i love you so much. i know i can be a lot, but i cannot thank you enough for... just being there. for being my friends. for existing! you are truly incredible people and have helped me so much.

from being shoulders to cry or vent on, to someone to share countless laughs with, to someone who i just hang out in vc for hours doing nothing at all, to someone who will listen to my passionate infodumps. or someone to help me train drop on an alt. good lord.

i am sure i would have crawled out alright even without any of this. with just the people i knew before, and some other hyperfixation. but i'll tell you out right. i am so happy my life has lead me to these moments. even if it has been genuine torture at times. i would not change it at all just for the fact i get to be friends with incredible people.

i would have been a different person, for sure... and i am just so glad i am who i am right now. there's still so many flaws, but i know i got my friends with me. and it's all thanks to clash! all because i decided to play on a very specific time that allowed all of this!

and now if i may, i'm going to get a little sappy about high roller, as i haven't quite yet. i don't have much time to type left (sleepy.) but i have to gush about my f/o a little bit. obviously, i did not go into clash for high roller. hr happened after and was just... the perfect bundle of chaos and themes for me to get attached to.

i've been a little crazy since day one, but i've hid my feelings behind a lot of shame and fear. but over time, i allowed myself to let these feelings blossom (for better or for worse) and open up more. through this, and the support of my friends, i have learned to be less shameful and... be myself more!! do what i want. i have always been one for that, but sometimes shame just gets you.

high roller as a character makes me very happy, and is The Guy In My Head Who Comes To Me In Clutch.

i am very happy a character like this exists. who matches me and my energy. (or, at least when i am not anxious over something, and have energy. LOL. suppose vibes is the better term! :P)

representation for someone like me is... pretty scarce to find. i know many of this is projection but... seeing a canonical character who kind of just fucks with gender, is typically masc leaning, and is just... ALL OVER THE PLACE? CHAOS INCARNATE? CONFIDENCE INCARNATE? not only is it tropes i like. but it's also just... how i feel like? (hell, frostbite is a lot of those things, they are a flawed, extreme representation of how i'd like to be, and highlighting some of my good traits! while also just... being a fun character. Anyway.)

now i am not going to go into explaining my identity, and my headcanons and how that ties with the canon for... this non canon character. but just what we have makes me so happy. it makes me seen. i don't feel seen like this almost... ever. hr being the way she is, is very encouraging and comforting for me. and entertaining! (well. it is a show host after all!)

it is no surprise that with all this genuine comfort, feeling of being seen, sheer entertainment and his charming nature, i became infatuated quite quickly. if i was less tired i would have more clever words for this. but i just want you to know how much this character means to me. a lot of it IS just. difficult to explain Mental Illness Attachment.

there's one thing that is quite private for me that this character has helped me process, that i bubbled in for my whole life. it is trauma related so i wont go into it. but i cannot believe this is what did it for me. and yknow what? i am thankful.

thank you, clash, my dear friends, and high roller for... just dragging me through shit. keeping me confident. having something to look forward to. because god. life has been hell. unironically one of the main things keeping me going IS looking forward to april toons.

there's definitely more words i wish to say, but at that point i would be repetitive, and my tiredness and brainfog would be obvious. so i'll take care of myself and end it here! pat on my head for being brave about typing all this.

that being said. i love you, clash. i love you, all my friends i have made from this game (and all others!), and of course, i love you, high roller. cant wait to drop 10000 pianos on you. die forever 10000 years That Dumb Duck That I Hate (kiss yaoi sloppy styl I HAVE BEEN ADVISED TO NOT CONTINUE THIS SENTENCE

... oh, you're still here? well alright. you get something, too! have an early work in progress version of the piece!

[blues824]

Prompt 30 with past Lilia if that is possible! And having baby Sliver there just clinging to reader🌸💗

~ @toconolaw | 🌸💗 anon

AWWWWW!!!

You requested: “Baby, It’s Cold Outside…” from the Fluffcember prompt list.

Preface: Reader is human, and is married to Lilia, and is female.

Lilia Vanrouge

Ever since your husband had found Silver in the forest, you had become the child’s mother. You had become the happy family you had always dreamed about, and you wouldn’t change anything about it, especially not as you are feeding a bottle to Silver and Lilia is sitting in the living room armchair in your cottage.

Silver was getting so big. Not too long ago, he had taken his first steps, and the bat fae made a remark about how he would be a fine knight for the young prince. Speaking of, he as well as Queen Maleficia were common visitors in your comfortable domicile. 

You snapped out of your thoughts when you looked at the clock, and you realized that you needed to get started on supper soon. However, you would need to go to the market to get everything you needed. You wanted to keep it light for today, so you were going to make grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. You started writing a list, balancing the pen in one hand and the baby in the other, of everything you would need. 

“Darling, I need to go to the market to pick up a few things for supper. Please don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.” You stood up from your seat at the dining table, carrying Silver to Lilia and setting him in his lap. You placed a kiss on his lips as you headed towards the door, but you suddenly felt something tug on your dress.

You looked down to see Silver, eyes tearing up, clinging onto your skirt.

“No leave, mama!” He said before starting to cry. You picked up the crying child, started to shush him, and you got kind of irked at your husband, going to tell him off, but he was right behind you.

“Dearest, it’s snowing outside, and you could get lost out there. We will be fine without supper, as we have other food in the house,” He took the crying child from your arms, starting to rock him back and forth.

“But I wanted to make tomato soup. I know of your love of tomatoes, and I was going to make grilled cheese sandwiches to accompany it. Plus, it’s something for Silver as well, since he can have a bite of it and start to get used to actual food,” You pouted. However, you felt like standing your ground on the matter.

“Y/N, I said no. It’s cold out there, and the last thing any of us need is for you to fall ill. How will our son cope without his mother?” He lifted the baby’s face up to his, pouting just as Silver was, making your heart break at how brokenhearted he looked… Silver, not Lilia. Speaking of, the child started making grabby hands towards you, his chubby cheeks were so cute.

You took him into your arms, showering his face in kisses as he started giggling, and that’s when you noticed that your husband had placed his hand on the small of your back and started leading you back to the living room.

“You little piece of-” You started, but he placed his hand over your mouth to prevent you from finishing what you were going to say.

“Watch your tongue, dear~ We have a child in our midst…” He said with a smirk. He knew that you would prioritize the baby, as you wanted him to have the best upbringing that you could provide, and whenever you were angry at him, he would use the baby as a shield.

“Fine, you win. But only because Silver doesn’t want me to leave,” You were still pouting, but Lilia sat back down in his armchair. You thought it was all over, when he suddenly pulled you to sit in his lap. You let out a squeal of surprise, and Silver was laughing again.

“My beloved family, with my beautiful wife and my handsome son… What more could I ask for?” He said with a dreamy tone to his voice, leaning in to give you a kiss on the lips.

“...A grilled cheese…” You said with a pout, making him laugh, a beautiful sound to accompany your son’s babbling.

[stayandot8]

Emergency Contact

Genre: comfort fluff, chan's having a rough time

Relationship type: established boyfriend/girlfriend

Important Contents: slight swearing, Chan going through the stages of a panic/anxiety attack

WC: 2.4k

masterlist

The small moments I could sneak my boyfriend away from his work were few and far between. The few times it did work were a perfect storm of my big puppy eyes or a smile with just the right amount of head tilt and his need to get away from it all. Sometimes it was a member annoying him past his limit, sometimes it was his musical ear being drained and needing inspiration from the outside world. Other times, I was just too insistent and he couldn’t resist. Or so he said. But when he sat silently across the cafe table, watching the people pass by, I wondered which it was. 

“Chris?” I nudged his foot with mine, his attention snapping back to me and my plastic cup of motivation to get the day done. His eyes were big, silently asking what I nudged him for then his shoulders slumped as realization hit him. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I know I’m not the best company right now.” His gaze landed on his untouched pastry in front of him. I glanced at it, a sad smile involuntarily creeping on my face. It’s not as though he was usually talkative, but at least he looked at me from time to time. 

“It’s okay, you just seem more distracted than usual. Is it Han again? Do I need to have another talk with him? Or Minnie? Is he making more old jokes? I swear, with all the karma he’s banking, he’ll go gray before you do.” Finally. A chuckle. A small sigh of relief escaped me as I watched him break off a piece of the croissant in front of him. I didn’t even know if he had eaten earlier. “You left before I got up this morning. Or did you sleep at the studio again?”

“I tried to sleep with you for a few hours but I didn’t really sleep that well.”

“Have you eaten today?” His hand stopped, his face dropping. “Christopher.” He looked like a kid who had been caught stealing cookies. “Please tell me this croissant is not the first time you’re eating today.” He didn’t move. “Christopher! It’s four in the afternoon!”

He laughed sheepishly, slightly embarrassed by the pink tint to his cheeks. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose.” He shook his head at his lap. I could only shake my head at him, a mixture of slight disappointment and exasperation clear. 

“Well you know I have to get another for you before you go, right? Even if I have to sneak it in your bag, you’re taking it. Maybe a sandwich too. Or a cake pop…”

“Hey now.” He broke me of my train of thought, that dazzling smile of his making my heart skip a beat. “I can buy my own food, thank you very much.”

“Well apparently not. Now do you want a sausage, egg, and cheese or a smoked ham?”

“I don’t want anything else than what I have in front of me.” He tried to wink at me too, but I was having none of it. 

“Tell me which one you want or I’m getting both. And a cake pop.”

“Baby-” I got out of my seat and grabbed my wallet before he could continue his thought and half-sprinted for the counter, him hot on my tail. Luckily for me, the last person in line had just finished and was walking away, leaving the perfect window for me to rush straight to the girl behind the counter. 

“Hi, can I get both the sausage egg, and cheese and the toasted ham breakfast sandwiches? Thank you.” As the payment terminal flashed with my total and within the two seconds it took to unzip my wallet, Chan had slipped his card on top of the screen. The terminal beeped with the acceptance of payment. I slapped Chan on his arm. Hard.

“Oh you’re so going to pay for that later.” He playfully smirked at me, staring at the screen to avoid my eyes. 

“I thought I just did.” 

*

*Incoming call from: Channie ❣️*

“Hello?” 

Sniffles met me on the other line. My body immediately went still, ready to jump wherever I was needed. My world stopped when Chan was in trouble. Or anxious. Or pissed. Which, all of these emotions aside, he was a generally happy guy so it didn’t happen a lot. But when it did…

“Chris? Are you okay?” I whispered into my phone, trying not to let my voice carry to any prying ears that might be nearby. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk quickly finding a bench off to the side to sit and put my bag down. There were more wet sounds coming from the phone, which only worried me more. He tried to be strong for us, for me and his bandmates. He tried not to let his emotions out too much, but I made sure he knew that I would be there when he did need to let them out. And this was the first time he was letting me in.

“Send me your location, I’m on my way. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be there soon.” I gathered my stuff again, ready to put down my phone to see his location. 

“Don’t hang up.” More sniffles. A little part of me felt guilty for feeling relieved at being needed by him. I had always felt it was me going to him for my big feelings about the world. But this… This was new.

“I won’t. Where are you? Can you tell me where you are?” 

“Studio.” He choked out. I nodded like he could see me and started in a slight sprint, knowing the way from the store I had just left, picking up some last minute shopping for the holidays. Luckily, I hadn’t found much, so I didn’t have many bags to carry while I ran. 

“Chris, I’m on my way. Just stay put, okay? I’m coming. I’m not hanging up. Just breathe for me, baby. Take a deep breath whenever you can.” I heard some small whimpers coming from what sounded like further away, like he had set the phone down away from him. Whether he was trying to hide whatever noise he was making or what, I didn’t know. He hadn’t done a very good job because I heard everything. My veins tightened with the sudden rush of anxious adrenaline washing through me. Some ragged breaths came through the phone as the tall building I was running for came into view. The big letters on the top loomed overhead, like a constant reminder of its founder and the expectations set forth by it. 

Sometimes some of the members would talk about how said expectations were too much sometimes. They felt like they couldn’t be fully themselves under the wing of such close eyes, so they would find ways to channel that energy into other things. Most of the time it was through their music, others it was through vlogs or what they called ‘talkers’ or outings with each other. Concerts were a big thing with them too. They had less supervision on tour, so they felt they could get away with more on the road. Should they ever push it too far, there were always consequences waiting for them here at home, but never so severe that they stopped pushing their boundaries. I guess anyone would feel that way if they had to push down the parts of themselves that made them...them.

Pushing through that revolving door, I waved at the security at the front desk and grabbed my permanent guest badge that Chris had saved for me to come in whenever he was here. As long as he was, I was free to enter. I wasn’t sure what deal he had to cut to get me this pass, but I figured that in my case, ignorance was bliss. Holding the phone to my ear, I pointed to it and strolled/sprinted  past them and into the elevator. 

“Just keep trying to breathe for me, okay? I need you to try and take a breath. You might start to get a little shaky if you haven’t already. But I’m here, I’m getting in the elevator now, I’m coming.” As the elevator dinged open to let out whoever was in there, Han stepped out, head down in his phone and mask up and covering half his face. He looked up and nodded to me, clearly not surprised I was here. If he didn’t say anything to me, then I assumed he didn’t know anything that was happening to the boy on the other end of my phone line. He would’ve been a good one to call seeing as he dealt with this kind of stuff the most to my knowledge. 

Whatever force that pushed him to call me instead of one of his members, I wasn’t going to question it. I knocked softly on the studio door and let myself in. I looked around in the recording room, looking for the same boy I had seen earlier, his familiar black hat and clothing not catching my eye. But what I did see was an open file on the computer, open with the music application and unfinished. I turned once more to see my boyfriend, curled up in a ball and rocking against the wall. His phone was balancing precariously on his knee that was tucked into his chest and his head was resting on the wall with his eyes shut, like he was willing himself to calm down and keep his breathing under control. He wasn’t doing a very good job. It looked like…well, it looked like the aftermath of a panic attack. 

“Chris… Chris, baby, I’m right here.” I shoved off my bag and threw it on the couch, where it landed with a small thud. I tossed my phone on top of it. I knelt down to be eye level with him and placed my hands on his bare knees, his loose shorts had ridden up down near his upper thighs. I thought the skin contact would be better to ground him, letting him feel that I was there if he couldn’t hear me very well. I squeezed his knee with slight pressure, just in case. His cheeks were visibly wet while he tried to breathe through his mouth. I watched his chest try to rise and fall, stuttering on the way out. His lips pursed out as he breathed, his hands latching onto mine on his knees. He gripped them like he thought I would fly away if he let go. I turned my hands over to thread our fingers together and he lowered his knees and pulled me by our connected hands so that I was sitting in his lap. He only let go of my hands when I was fully in and he could wrap himself around me fully. 

I started rubbing his back, letting my nails graze him while my other hand went to the back of his head. He tucked his head into my shoulder until his breath was tickling the tiny hairs on my neck. I kissed the side of his head that I could reach. 

 And we stayed there.

*

“Any idea what brought it on? Or did it just come on out of nowhere?” 

We were still on the floor, not quite as entangled as we were before but I was still in his lap, chomping on the food we had ordered bit by bit. I wouldn’t let him stop until I felt like he had actually eaten what was close to a meal, especially when I saw both sandwiches from the shop we went to this afternoon untouched in his bag. I might’ve had to force the first couple bites on him but a girlfriend had to do what she had to do, especially when he then ‘playfully’ demanded she spoon-feed him herself. He still wasn’t back to himself, but he was getting there.

“No idea.” He said softly, chewing through his thoughts. “Nothing really happened, I just…” He trailed off. 

“It’s okay, Chan. Shit just…comes up sometimes. I know, I get it. These things can come out of nowhere and grip you and not let you go until it’s run its course. Maybe today was just your day.” He nodded in agreement, staring at the wall. 

He had one hand wrapped around my waist, half to keep me steady on his leg and half, what I believed to be the real reason, because he simply didn’t want to let go. But the other hand he was resting on his opposite thigh. Every so often he would pick at his cuticle with one of his fingers but quickly stopped, probably thinking I wouldn’t notice. 

“Do you think it had something to do with the upcoming album? Is it finished?” I pondered out loud. He quickly shook his head though, diminishing the thought. 

“No, the album is done and approved. It wouldn’t be that.” If I had known any better, I would think he was almost offended I would suggest such a thing. And in his normal state, he might have been. “Even the choreography is done. The concept art, the photocard selection, it’s all done. I don’t know what happened.” His voice was slowly getting stronger as he thought what could be the source of his panic. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“You know, not everything has to have a reason.” He shrugged, not really liking that answer. “But I’m happy you called me.” He smiled softly at the floor.

“You were on my mind. You’re always on my mind. I just wanted to hear your voice. That was the only thing I could think of that might help, so I called you.” I couldn't fight my smile at that. And I tried hard. 

“I would’ve been happy if you called anybody instead of facing it alone. You don’t have to face all your strong, negative emotions alone. That’s what we’re here for; your friends and me. We’re here for the good, bad, and ugly.”

“But I knew you would answer. I know… that I can depend on you when I need you.”

“And I’m so happy you know that now. As a fact, not just an idea.” 

His arm grew tighter around me.

“If I ever go to the hospital or something, I’m making sure they call you.”

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 16

word count: 5.0k

i've hidden some small things within my story that make up aspen and harry, have you guys noticed any? 🤭 where should i turn the story to from here? more dates, more intimacy, group activities, etc! let me know & thanks for all the support!

The next day, Aspen had cleared her schedule, wanting to use the free time for something meaningful. Her evening had been a whirlwind of laughter and warmth, spent with Isobel in her bed as they dissected every detail of Aspen's first official date with Harry. Takeout containers littered the nightstand, barely touched, because they were too engrossed in giggling over Harry's sweet words and Aspen's recounting of every look, every laugh, and every moment of connection.

Today felt different. There was a quiet kind of excitement humming in Aspen's chest, the kind that made her toes curl against the floor and her heart flutter every time she thought of surprising Harry. She'd been up early, not out of necessity but because the thought of doing something thoughtful for him gave her a sense of purpose she didn't often feel in her quieter routines.

Her plan was simple but heartfelt: bring Harry lunch. She'd realized, after observing how carefree and spontaneous he seemed, that he probably didn't bother with packing himself meals. He struck her as the kind of guy who either grabbed something quick or skipped lunch entirely. The thought tugged at her, making her want to do something about it.

Aspen had spent her morning channeling her rare bursts of culinary motivation into creating something she hoped Harry would love. The kitchen had filled with the warm, savory aroma of steak bites sizzling in butter, the citrusy tang of cilantro lime red rice, and the comforting, creamy scent of mac and cheese bubbling on the stovetop. Cooking wasn't something Aspen did often, but when she did, she poured herself into it entirely. Each stir, each sprinkle of seasoning, carried her thoughts to Harry—how he'd smile when he opened the container, the way he might tease her for going through so much effort, and how he'd hopefully enjoy every bite.

When the meal was ready, she carefully packed it into a container, sticking a pink sticky note on the lid. She spent longer than she'd admit debating what to write, eventually settling on a simple but warm message:

For my favorite person. I hope you love it! ❤️ —Aspen

The little heart at the end made her blush as she stuck the note firmly in place. It was bold for her, but she wanted to leave him with a tiny piece of her feelings—nothing overwhelming, just enough to make him smile.

Aspen slid the container into her light pink lunch bag, patterned with scattered white stars, and tucked in a bottle of water and a Redbull, knowing he might need the energy boost. Napkins and a fork were added as the final touches. Checking her phone, she noted the time—she had about thirty minutes before his usual break, just enough to pull everything together.

She dashed upstairs, her heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. After rummaging through her clothes, she decided on the grey flared leggings from the other night, paired with her trusty Converse. For her top, she grabbed the shirt she'd "borrowed" from Harry—it still smelled faintly of him, which made her cheeks flush as she pulled it on and tied it in the back to better fit her frame.

Aspen worked quickly, brushing her hair and pulling it into a simple half-up, half-down style. She swiped on a light coat of mascara, just enough to make her eyes pop, and dabbed tinted lip balm on her lips, giving them a subtle sheen. Glancing at her reflection, she smoothed the shirt over her waist, trying to quiet the small voice in her head wondering if she looked okay. It wasn't about being perfect—Harry had already seen her in her coziest clothes—but she wanted to feel confident and put-together.

With her tote bag and lunch bag slung over her shoulder, she took a deep breath, her heart thudding softly in her chest. The thought of surprising Harry, of seeing the look on his face when she handed him the meal she'd made with him in mind, made her smile. It was a small gesture, but one she hoped would let him know how much he meant to her.

As she locked the door behind her and stepped into the bright spring afternoon, the warmth of the sun seemed to echo the warmth in her heart. Today, she wasn't just thinking about Harry—she was showing him how much she cared, in her own quiet, thoughtful way.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The bell above the tattoo shop's door jingled softly as Aspen stepped inside, her lunch bag clutched tightly in one hand. She paused just inside the threshold, taking in the space that felt both familiar and slightly intimidating. The red-accented walls were lined with framed artwork and sketches, a testament to the creativity that buzzed within these walls. Aspen adjusted the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder, her heart racing—not from fear, but from anticipation.

Zayn was the first to notice her. He was behind the counter, flipping through the appointment book, and his face lit up when he saw her. "Well, if it isn't little miss Aspen," he greeted warmly, leaning casually on the counter. "What brings you here today?"

Aspen offered him a shy smile, shifting on her feet. "Hi, Zayn. I, um... I'm here to see Harry."

Zayn's brows lifted, his grin widening with mischief. "Here to see Harry, huh?" His tone was teasing, but not unkind. He gestured toward the back of the shop with his chin. "He's in his office. Go on back."

Before Aspen could move, another voice chimed in—Niall, sitting in the nearby waiting area, sketchpad in hand. "Ooh, Harry's got visitors now? And bringing lunch, too? Look at him, living the dream." His Irish lilt made the teasing even more playful, and Aspen could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Shut up, you two," came Harry's familiar voice from somewhere behind them. He appeared a moment later, his flannel sleeves rolled up, ink staining the tips of his fingers. His green eyes softened the moment they landed on Aspen. "Hey, love," he said, the corner of his mouth curving into a lopsided grin. "You didn't tell me you were coming."

Aspen smiled nervously, lifting the lunch bag a little as if to explain herself. "I thought I'd surprise you... I figured you might not have had lunch."

Harry's gaze flickered to the bag, then back to her, and something warm and unspoken passed between them. "Y'know me too well," he said softly. Then, turning to Zayn and Niall, he added, "Don't you two have something better to do than nose into my business?"

"Not a chance," Niall quipped, earning a laugh from Zayn. "You're the entertainment, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding. Instead, he placed a hand lightly on Aspen's lower back, guiding her toward the hallway that led to his office. "C'mon, let's get out of here before they make it worse."

Aspen's skin tingled where his hand rested, and she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder. Zayn gave her a wink, and Niall mimed a slow clap, his grin wide. They exchanged a look between each other, surprised at Harry's sudden softness. 

She turned forward quickly, her cheeks flushing even more. "They seem... nice," she murmured. Harry chuckled, his voice low and warm. "Nice isn't the word I'd use, but they mean well."

When they reached his office, Harry pushed the door open and gestured for Aspen to step inside first. The space was small but cozy, with sketches pinned to the walls and a desk covered in art supplies and paperwork. A worn leather couch sat against one wall, and the scent of ink and faint traces of cologne lingered in the air.

"Make yourself at home," Harry said, shutting the door behind them. He leaned back against it for a moment, watching as Aspen set her bag down on the desk. There was something about the way she moved, so quietly yet purposefully, that tugged at his chest. And he would be lying if he said his eyes didn't wander lower, lingering on how her gray leggings hugged the beautiful curve of her ass. He looked back up with a small smirk when she turned back to face him.

Aspen glanced around, taking in the little details of his space. It felt so him—creative, a little messy, but warm. She carefully unzipped the lunch bag, pulling out the container and setting it in front of him. "I, um, made this for you," she said softly. "I hope it's okay... I wasn't sure what you'd like, but..."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to lift the container's lid. The smell of the warm food hit him immediately, and his eyes widened slightly. "You made all this?" he asked, looking at her in surprise.

Aspen nodded, twisting her hands together nervously. "I thought... maybe you don't bring lunch with you? And I just wanted to, you know... do something nice for you."

Harry stared at the meal for a moment, then back at her, his expression unreadable. Finally, he smiled—a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "You didn't have to do this," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. "But... thank you, Aspen. Really."

Her heart fluttered at the way he said her name, the warmth in his tone making her feel like she'd done something right. "I just... I wanted to," she admitted, looking down at her hands. "You do so much for me, Harry. I wanted to do something for you, too."

Harry stepped closer, reaching out to touch her arm lightly. "You're somethin' else, y'know that?" he said, his voice low. His touch was gentle, grounding, and Aspen felt her nerves settle slightly under his gaze.

They stood there for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a blanket. For Harry, the thoughtfulness of her gesture was almost overwhelming. He wasn't used to people doing things for him, not like this—not with so much care. And for Aspen, the way he looked at her, like she was the most important person in the world, made her chest feel light and full all at once.

Harry reached down, his hand sliding gently along Aspen's arm as he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't rushed or demanding, just a quiet moment that seemed to still the world around them. Aspen's breath caught, her eyes fluttering shut as her heart raced in her chest. When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on her face, his green eyes warm and filled with something she couldn't quite name but felt deeply all the same.

"C'mon," Harry murmured, his voice low and coaxing. He slid his hand into hers, guiding her toward the worn leather couch against the wall. Aspen followed, feeling lightheaded but blissfully so, her fingers curling around his instinctively.

As they settled onto the couch, Harry unwrapped the container she'd brought him, his brows raising slightly as he took in the meal. The sight of it—the steak bites perfectly cooked, the fluffy cilantro lime red rice, and the creamy mac and cheese—made something tight in his chest ease. She'd done this for him, thought of him enough to go out of her way. He wasn't used to that kind of care, and it both surprised and humbled him.

He took the first bite, letting out a low hum of approval. "Bloody hell, Asp," he said, looking at her with wide eyes. "This is incredible. You've been holding out on me, haven't you?"

Aspen's cheeks flushed immediately, her fingers twisting in the hem of her borrowed shirt. She ducked her head, a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "I don't cook much," she admitted, her voice soft. "It's kind of rare that I actually feel like doing it."

"Well, I'm lucky you felt like it today," Harry said, taking another bite and savoring it. He glanced at her, his grin softening into something more genuine. "You're spoiling me, baby."

The word "baby" made Aspen's stomach flip, and she pressed her lips together to keep from smiling too widely. She couldn't help the warmth spreading through her chest at his words, though, or the way her heart seemed to skip every time he looked at her like that.

As Harry continued to eat, he threw in compliments here and there—about how perfectly seasoned the steak was, how the rice was better than anything he'd had from a restaurant. Each word made Aspen shrink a little further into herself, not because she didn't like the praise, but because it made her feel so seen. She wasn't used to this, to being appreciated so openly, and the intensity of it made her shy.

But as she watched him eat, a different thought began to creep into her mind, one that made her pulse quicken. She wanted to kiss him again. Badly. The way his lips curved into a soft smile as he spoke, the way he licked a stray bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth—it all drew her in, leaving her with a quiet ache she didn't know how to voice. The realization made her blush even more, and she turned her gaze toward the floor, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

Harry, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in her demeanor. He set the container down for a moment, leaning back against the couch as he looked at her. "Y'alright?" he asked, his voice gentle but curious.

Aspen nodded quickly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her leggings. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, though her voice was quieter than usual. She glanced at him, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart stutter. "Just... thinking."

"Thinkin' about what?" Harry asked, tilting his head slightly. He had a feeling he knew, but he didn't want to push her too much. He could tell she was feeling shy, and the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Aspen hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she looked down again, her blush deepening.

Harry couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him. "Asp," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and the touch sent a shiver up her spine. "Y'don't have to say anything if you're not ready. But if i's about me, I'm all ears."

Aspen bit her lip, her gaze flickering up to meet his for a moment before dropping again. "I was just... thinking about... how much I liked—" She broke off, her face flaming as she stumbled over her words. "Never mind."

Harry's grin widened slightly, though his tone remained soft when he spoke. "How much you liked what? The food? Or somethin' else?"

She groaned softly, hiding her face in her hands. "Harry," she said, her voice muffled but filled with exasperation. "You're making it worse."

"Alright, alright," he said, laughing quietly. But he didn't let go of her hand, and the warmth of his touch was enough to steady her nerves. He was patient, waiting for her to speak when she was ready, and that alone made her feel a little braver.

"I was thinking about kissing you," Aspen finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She peeked at him through her fingers, her heart hammering in her chest. "And now I'm all embarrassed, so... yeah."

Harry stared at her for a moment, his chest tightening in a way he hadn't expected. She was so endearingly honest, even when it made her nervous, and he found himself falling for her all over again. "You're somethin' else, Asp," he murmured, his voice soft. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her temple. "Y'don't have to be embarrassed, love. I've been thinkin' the same thing."

Aspen's blush deepened, but this time, there was a small, shy smile tugging at her lips. "You have?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Course I have," Harry said, his tone gentle but firm. "Who wouldn't?"

Aspen fidgeted with her hands as she tucked her legs beneath her on the couch, her blush still lingering as she glanced shyly at Harry. The words danced on the edge of her tongue, but she hesitated, biting her lip as if she wasn't sure if she should say them. He waited, patient as ever, his eyes soft as they studied her face. Finally, she took a deep breath and let the words tumble out.

"Maybe it's the whole... 'I have a boyfriend' thing," Aspen murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I've been thinking about you more than usual. Like... a lot more." She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, her cheeks burning with the admission.

The corners of Harry's mouth curved into a slow, warm smile. His chest tightened at her honesty, and a wave of gratitude washed over him. He knew how much it took for Aspen to open up like this—how much courage it required for her to let him in on the thoughts she usually kept to herself. That bravery was one of the things he admired most about her.

"Y'know," he said softly, setting the half-eaten container of food aside, "you're so brave, Asp. For tellin' me all this. For lettin' me in." His voice was warm, laced with sincerity, as he leaned forward to take her hands in his. His thumbs traced gentle circles over her knuckles, his touch grounding her in the moment.

Aspen looked down at their hands, her lips curving into a shy smile. "It's easier with you," she admitted. "You make it... safe. Like I can say anything, and it'll be okay."

Harry's heart swelled at her words, and a quiet sense of wonder settled over him. He'd never expected to find someone like Aspen—someone who made him want to be better, softer, more present. He gave her hands a gentle tug, guiding her toward him.

"C'mere," he said, his voice low and coaxing. Aspen hesitated for only a moment before letting him pull her onto his lap. Her hands instinctively went to his shoulders for balance, and his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her securely.

She let out a small, breathy laugh, her cheeks flushing again as she settled against him. "This is so unfair," she mumbled, though her tone was more playful than anything.

"Unfair?" Harry repeated, raising a brow as he gave her a teasing grin. "How's this unfair?"

"You're too... you," she said, gesturing vaguely as if that explained everything.

Harry chuckled, his hands resting gently on her waist as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. His lips lingered there for a moment, and he couldn't help but take in the details of her outfit—the way the leggings hugged her legs, the way his shirt looked impossibly better on her than it ever had on him.

"You're wearin' my shirt," he teased, his voice a low murmur against her skin. His grin widened as he leaned back slightly to get a better look at her. "Didn't think you'd steal from me so soon, love."

Aspen's eyes widened, and she quickly tugged at the hem of the shirt, her blush deepening. "I didn't steal it!" she protested, though her voice was soft and her smile betrayed her. "You didn't mention needing it back, and it was... just there, and it's comfortable, so..."

"So y'stole it," Harry finished for her, his tone light and teasing.

She buried her face in her hands, letting out a soft groan. "You're impossible," she mumbled, though the warmth in her voice gave her away.

Harry laughed, his hand sliding up to gently pull her hands away from her face. "Impossible, huh? Guess that makes two of us," he said, his grin softening as he looked at her. His thumb brushed over her cheek, and he leaned in just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

For a moment, the world outside faded, leaving only the quiet hum of their connection. Aspen felt her heart steady, the nervous flutter settling into something warm and sure. Harry's presence had a way of grounding her, of making her feel like she could let go of the walls she'd spent so long building.

"You're somethin' else, Asp," Harry murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. "Y'know that?" Aspen bit her lip, her gaze meeting his. "I think you might've mentioned it," she said softly, her smile shy but genuine. Harry chuckled, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her temple. "Well, I'll keep sayin' it," he promised, his arms tightening around her. "Every chance I get."

Aspen’s fingers moved delicately along Harry’s shirt collar, their slow, rhythmic movements betraying the nervous energy coursing through her. She felt the soft material between her fingers, grounding herself in the moment, but all resolve slipped away when Harry pulled her closer. A small, involuntary sound escaped her lips, blending into a soft giggle as his lips curved into a smirk against hers.

Harry’s hands rested on her hips, his grip firm but reassuring. He tilted his head up to meet her lips, their familiar softness igniting a warmth in his chest. It had been too long—much too long—since he’d kissed her like this, and the moment felt like a long-awaited reunion. The cool press of his lip ring against her skin sent a shiver through her, its gentle nudges against her teeth a comforting reminder of their closeness.

For Harry, kissing Aspen always felt different—more intimate, more profound. Her lips molded perfectly against his, and the subtle gasps she made only fueled his desire to savor every second. It wasn’t just the act itself; it was the way she melted into him, the way her quiet trust was woven into every kiss.

Aspen slid her arms around his neck, her thumbs brushing lightly against the soft curls at the nape of his neck. The sensation made him hum low in his throat, the sound reverberating between them. Her touch was featherlight, reverent, and it made Harry feel cared for in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

Their kisses were slow and tender at first, each one a quiet confession of how much they’d missed this. But when Aspen tilted her head slightly, granting him better access, Harry’s lips parted. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, and Aspen’s breath hitched. Without hesitation, she parted her lips, letting the kiss deepen.

The moment their tongues met, Aspen’s body instinctively leaned closer, her movements shy yet intentional. The languid motion of their tongues moving together sent a warmth coursing through her, spreading from her chest to her fingertips. Her thumbs brushed gently over the curls at the base of his neck, grounding her in the moment.

For Harry, it was as if time slowed. Every touch, every small sound Aspen made, was etched into his mind. His fingers tightened slightly on her hips as he sat up straighter, his head tilting to match the new depth of their kiss. The soft noise Aspen made from her nose—a quiet exhale laced with pleasure—sent a jolt through him. He didn’t want to stop, but the need to taste more of her overwhelmed him.

Reluctantly, Harry pulled away from her lips, but he didn’t stray far. His lips pressed gently to her jawline, tracing a line of tender kisses down to the side of her neck. Aspen tilted her head instinctively, granting him better access, her cheeks flushed with a deep blush that spread all the way to her neck. The warmth of his mouth against her skin made her dizzy in the best way, and she let her eyes flutter shut as she leaned into his touch.

Though this was only the second time Harry had kissed her like this, the intensity of it all overwhelmed Aspen in the best way. It wasn’t just the physicality of it—it was the way Harry’s touch felt deliberate, the way he seemed to cherish every inch of her. She buried her manicured nails gently into the curls at the back of his neck, her fingers tightening slightly as she let herself sink further into the moment.

Harry’s hands shifted, his fingers splaying out over her hips as they began to wander. He tested the waters carefully, his hands slowly moving toward the curve of her ass.

“This okay?” His voice was low, thick with want but tempered with care, his words murmured between kisses as his lips lingered against her skin.

Aspen’s breath caught at his question, but she nodded, her voice soft yet assured. “Yes,” she whispered, her tone trembling slightly but filled with trust. When Harry kissed that one particular spot on her neck, a breathy whine escaped her lips. “Yes, it’s okay,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry hummed in approval, the sound vibrating against her skin as he kissed her again, focusing on the spot that had made her gasp. His fingers moved lower, trailing over the curve of her ass before gripping gently, pulling her closer against him. She fit against him so perfectly, it almost made his head spin.

“You’re perfect,” Harry whispered against her skin, his lips brushing against her collarbone. He pressed wet, lingering kisses there, his teeth grazing her lightly, just enough to make her shiver. Aspen’s hands tightened in his curls, her soft breaths quickening.

The next sound she made was different, not quite a whine but unmistakably a moan. It was quiet, shy, as if she hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but it made Harry pause for a moment.

She had moaned for him, on his lap, in his office, because of what he was doing. 

Harry groaned softly against her neck, his lips trailing wet kisses along her skin. The nip he gave to her sweet spot drew a quiet gasp from Aspen, followed immediately by a soothing kiss that made her body relax under his touch. She felt warm, wrapped in the cocoon of his arms, and completely consumed by the moment—until a sharp sound jolted her out of it.

Her eyes shot open, her ears now hyper-focused on the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the door. Panic shot through her like lightning, and her hands quickly slid down from Harry’s neck to his shoulders. She gave him a gentle but urgent push, scrambling off his lap and onto the seat beside him.

Harry blinked in confusion, leaning back against the cool leather as he tried to process what had just happened. His brows furrowed deeply, his green eyes clouded with concern. Had he done something wrong? The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Asp?” His voice was low, tinged with worry as he studied her flushed face. “What happened? Did I—.”

Before he could finish his thought, Aspen shook her head frantically, her soft voice rushing out a series of breathless “no’s.” She was practically vibrating with nerves, her fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt when the door swung open.

There, standing with smug grins and bags of crisps in hand, were Zayn and Niall.

“We just came to check on how your homemade lunch was,” Zayn began, his tone dripping with mock innocence. His gaze flitted between Harry and Aspen, taking in their disheveled state. His grin widened. “But it’s very clear you need some alone time.”

Niall snickered beside him, not bothering to hide his amusement. Harry ran a hand through his wild curls, his face twisting into a scowl.

The picture Zayn painted wasn’t far off. Harry’s hair was a mess, his lips red and slick from their kisses, and Aspen’s face was a shade of crimson that matched the heat she felt radiating from her cheeks. They probably looked the part of being “busy,” and that only added to Harry’s irritation.

“Don’t you dipshits know how to knock?” Harry growled, his voice sharp as his glare bore into them. “Get the hell out.”

Zayn and Niall didn’t seem phased, their laughter echoing as they backed out of the room. They continued to crack jokes through the muffled door, their chatter trailing off as their footsteps faded.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of Harry letting out a long, exasperated sigh. He leaned back and turned his head to Aspen, his expression softening the moment he saw her face. She was burning red with embarrassment, her wide brown eyes fixed on the closed door as if willing it to lock on its own.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as he reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. His fingertips lingered against her cheek, his touch gentle and grounding.

“That was somethin’, huh?” he said, his lips curving into a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry 'bout that, love. Was what I was doing okay? Didn’t scare you off, did I?”

Aspen let out a shaky breath, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she tried to gather her thoughts. Slowly, her eyes peeled away from the door to meet Harry’s.

Her gaze took in everything about him—his unruly curls, his lips still glistening and swollen from their kisses, the cool glint of his lip ring catching the light. He looked confident and composed, as if the interruption hadn’t rattled him at all. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly handsome he was, and the realization only made her blush deepen.

“No, no…” Aspen’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper as she tried to convey her feelings. “It was good. I liked it. Really… liked it, H.”

Her words were sincere, and though her tone was laced with shyness, it carried a weight of gratitude. She appreciated how Harry always checked in with her, how he never took her silence or hesitation as anything but a reason to ensure her comfort.

Harry’s heart swelled at her honesty. He knew how much courage it took for her to open up, and every time she did, it felt like a gift. His lips curved into a small, lopsided grin as he hummed in approval.

“Mmm.” His fingers wrapped gently around her ankle, tugging her closer with ease. “Yeah?”

Before Aspen could process what was happening, Harry guided her down onto the seat, coaxing her to recline fully. She felt her heartbeat thunder in her chest, each pulse so loud she swore it echoed in her ears.

Her breath hitched when Harry nudged her thighs apart with his knee, settling himself between them. The closeness made her head spin, her fingers instinctively reaching up to tangle themselves in his curls at the nape of his neck once again.

Harry’s grin widened, playful and teasing as his gaze roamed over her. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with amusement as he kissed her shoulder and worked his way slowly up the side of her neck.

“’Cause I wasn’t done.”

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 11

We're back! Finally after four months we're back! I appreciate your patience, I promise you all, the really good stuff I've been dying to write is coming up real soon. I've also updated the masterlist to include some of the fanart I've gotten in the meantime and a couple oneshots/requests.

(To the anon who requested the fic about sick Helina I WILL eventually write it, I promise, it's still in my inbox)

No warnings today, really. I hope you all enjoy!

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris @antartzz @your-local-furby

The clacking of keys slows to a stop, and the office is momentarily quiet, save for the winds outside the window. You take a moment to stretch, your spine aching from your horrific posture the past few hours. You sit up straight and let your eyes scan over the freshly typed ink. 

I can only imagine how he looks right now, but I know for certain he’s looking at me. I know the warmth of sunshine shining on my face, and how his hand wraps so protectively around mine. I feel the smile on his lips when he brings my knuckles to them.

I feel my heart blooming in my chest, a symphony of words too loud and too many to come out all at once. I want to sing his praises, chant in holy prayer, make the world my stage for a performance no composer or director can ever match, but tonight’s antics have left me too tired.

Instead, I lean in close, and I tell him I love him. 

Gently, you begin the process of removing the page from the typewriter. You pull it free and smooth out the paper. Your hands move to the top of the page and you rip it in half. You turn the ripped pieces to the side and rip them into quarters, then eighths, so on and so forth until you have a little pile of homemade confetti sitting on your desk. At that point, you place your head in your hands and let out a frustrated yell.

This is the End. The finish line is within sight, and it feels like every time you try to write the final lines to this book, you’re finding new ways to trip and fall face first into the dirt in this proverbial race. Endings are always the worst part of writing any story, and you still haven’t figured out how to actually end this story. You know how and where it ends, you’ve known for years, but your efforts feel fruitless. The words you thought sounded great in your head read like nonsense when physically typed, and do not give justice to everything else you have written down. You love your other books, you do, but with those ones, they were more formulaic, more cliché, simpler. They were not unique, and your readers did not care so much as they could imagine themselves in the arms of a loving gentleman or prince or noble or whoever they wish would love them. This book is different, and as such, there is high reward and even higher risk if the audience gets to the end and is greeted by disappointment.

Or maybe, and this is a very big maybe, you have spent too much time writing and not enough time sleeping or eating? A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B. All this to say you are in desperate need of a break.

Your father is at work and your mother is out of town for the day to visit your extended family. You like the peace and quiet it gives, especially considering last week’s public spectacle with your father. He hasn’t said a word to you, not since the argument was recounted in the paper (though it did not make the front page, thankfully). You heard your mother scolding him for making an ass of himself by nearly brawling with his own son for days, though she didn’t say much about how it started because he threw a fit over homosexuality. You think she should have maybe focused on that a little more, but you’re not in the mood to bring that up again.

It should be break time for the staff, so the kitchen is empty. You use the opportunity to make yourself a late lunch, or really late breakfast. It’s a simple sandwich that’s mostly ham and cheese, though it’s tempting to grab some of the pastries your mother bought as an apology on your father’s behalf. You’re saving those for after you finish your book.

You’re halfway through scarfing your sandwich down when the kitchen doors open. You look over and see Colleen, looking mildly frantic and then shocked when she sees you leaning against the counter with a sandwich. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here. I was worried when you weren’t in your study.”

You swallow. “What is it?”

You’re biting back into your sandwich when Colleen informs you “Lord Pantalone is here.”

“... Wha?” you ask, with your mouth half full.

You see the man’s face as he peers over Colleen, smiling as he is one to do. He says nothing, simply waving. You barely avoid choking on your food, and don’t imagine the sight of you narrowly spitting up a half chewed lump of ham, bread and cheese is a flattering site. You swallow the lump down, and it’s not a pleasant feeling. 

You stand up straight, face flushed. “Regrator! I… did not think you would be here!”

Pantalone laughs, taking in the sight of the kitchen. “Good afternoon to you too,” he says, “I hope I’m not interrupting something?”

“No, no, not at all,” you say. It’s not lost on you that you probably look terrible right now. Your clothes are clean, but entirely too casual for a meeting with Pantalone, you haven’t slept, haven’t shaved in a few days and wait, shit, when was the last time you showered? You think it was a couple nights ago, but you secretly fear it’s actually been several weeks. (You know it hasn’t, but your unkempt appearance in front of a pretty man is making you internally panic.)

You offer a very clearly tense smile. “So! What brings you here?”

“I was curious as to why you haven’t replied to any of my letters,” he explains. “I know you’re busy with your book and all, but I figured surely we have enough rapport that you would write me back.”

“... What?”

He tilts his head. “My letters. The letters I’ve sent you.”

“I genuinely do not know what you’re talking about,” you reply, “I have not received any letters, and no one has mentioned anything about you sending us mail.”

“How strange,” he remarks, “I have my staff personally deliver it all, so it’s odd you haven’t received any of it…”

You conjure the mental image of either your mother or father, possibly both, angrily sorting through the mail and confiscating anything that has your name on it. That’s something you’re going to have to bring up at some point, or you can just snoop through their room. You’re fairly certain you know the safe’s code, but it’s not like it would be hard to guess if you didn’t know. You’re one of five siblings, after all, one of your birthdays has to unlock it.

You put a pin in that for later. “So… is there anything specific you need me for? Since I haven’t replied to any of your letters.”

“Well, I had cleared my schedule to invite you for tea,” he says, “but I can assume by your appearance that we’ll have to reschedule?”

Ouch. You force out a laugh. “Yes, today is unfortunately not a good day for me.”

“Clearly.”

“Can I offer you anything?” you ask. “I’m not sure what we have as far as tea goes, that’s more my mother’s thing, but ah…” 

Pantalone watches the figurative light bulb go off in your head, and you immediately begin rummaging through the cupboards. He looks to the maid next to him, silently asking if this is normal, and even she seems confused by your behaviour. There’s something mildly amusing about it, so he continues observing you.

“I just got these yesterday,” you say, then turn around holding a small dish in your hand. Sitting in the centre is a small fried cake with some sort of cream and jam swirled on top of it. You walk over and offer it to Pantalone. “Here, I hope a little vdolek will suffice as an apology for not writing to you.”

Graciously, your unexpected guest accepts your offering. “Why, thank you, my dear writer.”

You don’t see Colleen slip out of the kitchen, but you’ve also forgotten she was there to begin with. Pantalone brings the little pastry up to his lips and bites into it, humming cheerfully. He licks some of the cream off his lips and you turn your attention back to your lunch lest your mind linger on that image too long.

“Delightful,” he comments, “I’ll have to get some next time we meet. I know a marvelous blend of black tea to pair this with.”

“S-Sounds good.”

Get it the fuck together.

There’s a minute or two of quiet as the two of you finish eating. You hear Pantalone set the dish down, and you’ve now grown very familiar and very fond of how audible his smile is. “So, how is the book?”

“You’ve got better eyes than me,” you joke, gesturing to yourself, “I think you can tell how it’s going.”

“They’re really not that much better,” he says, pointing at his glasses.

“They’re correctable.”

“Fair enough, now do you mind answering the question?”

“It… It’s going.”

Pantalone gives you an odd look. “Going? Good or bad?”

“It’s going to kill me,” you tell him, “I am right at the end, and I’m stuck on the last few lines and have been for two days now.”

Pantalone smiles sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that. What is it specifically that you’re stuck on?”

“I just can’t think of anything that isn’t really underwhelming compared to the rest of the story,” you explain, “it either brings down the quality of the story as a whole, or it feels like the story just stops rather than ends.”

You feel Pantalone studying your appearance, and once again feel self conscious. It doesn’t help when he smiles cheerfully and says “I think you’re well overdue for a break.”

You shake your head. “I am this close to the end, if I stop now I’ll lose the little momentum I have.”

“And how is that working out for you?”

“It hasn’t stopped me yet.”

“In all seriousness, you really should take some time to adequately rest,” Pantalone tells you. “I am very much the pot calling the kettle black, but my occupation has much higher stakes. You don’t gain much from all-nighters or working through your meals compared to me. Or, rather, I suppose it’s more accurate to say I stand to lose a lot if I don’t put all my effort in, but that’s all semantics.”

“Thank you, mom, I’ll remember to eat my veggies too.”

Pantalone chuckles. “Goodness, you’re rather petulant when you’re tired.”

Your face flushes again. You look at the ground, and imagine this isn’t helping the petulant accusations. Shaking your head, you look back up at Pantalone and stand up straight again, like a good and mature host would. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” you ask. “I’d be happy to spend time with you but I do have a deadline to meet in a few days.”

“So eager to kick me out,” he teases, “but I guess I won’t take it too personally. I suppose I did drop in rather unexpectedly for you.”

You make your way out of the kitchen, Pantalone following behind you. “To be honest, I don’t think I would have been able to meet up anyways if I did know.”

Pantalone looks over his shoulder and sees the maid from before standing next to the door, clearly listening in. Her face flushes, and she promptly walks the other way while you are none the wiser. “That’s a shame. I was rather looking forward to talking to you without your family interrupting.”

“You can still do that,” you tell him, “just not for long. Deadline aside, my mother will have an absolute fit if she hears you came by.”

“Then I’ll make it quick,” he states, “I want to know more about your typewriter.”

You pause, and turn around. “My typewriter?”

“It’s been on my mind for some time now,” he explains, “I recognize the brand as we use their typewriters at the bank, but I’m not familiar with that specific model. Now granted, I don’t typically use typewriters, so I’m sure there’s a gap in my knowledge there, but in the times I have gone looking for new typewriters, they’ve never had that model as an option.”

Moments ago, you looked tired, frustrated, and drained. Your appearance is still a little unkempt, but you noticeably perk up as soon as Pantalone explains himself. The bags under your eyes are dark, but the fatigue has faded. Your posture, slightly hunched from your time at your desk, has straightened. You smile.

“Oh, that’s because mine is from a now discontinued line,” you explain, then pick up your pace. “I believe there was also a limited stock of them, but I don’t think they were necessarily limited edition. They were just very expensive to buy and even more expensive to make, not to mention they required very brand specific tools and repairs, hence why the line was eventually discontinued some… twenty-five years ago?”

“Fascinating.”

“That’s what I can recall off the top of my head, anyways,” you tell him as you begin climbing the stairs to the second floor. “There aren’t very many of them around now. They were difficult to repair as is, but they don’t even make the parts for them anymore. The only way you can fix them is if you somehow find another one that hasn’t had the part you need harvested. Despite that, it works beautifully when it’s in good condition.”

“It sounds like more hassle than what it’s worth,” Pantalone comments, “but I suppose it must have some value among collectors. My question is why you would use such a delicate piece of equipment as opposed to anything else.”

You reach the top of the stairs, and turn to address Pantalone. “Why would I need a new typewriter when mine works fine?”

“I respect that approach,” he says, “what I meant was there are surely better typewriters out there, ones that aren’t a pain to maintain and completely useless if something breaks. Why not use one of those ones?”

“... Sentimental value.”

Pantalone raises a brow. “Oh?”

You guide the man to your study. You push the door open, and he takes a moment to observe the crumpled pages littering your floor. The door clicks behind him. You take your seat at the desk and motion for Pantalone to come close. He does, standing right behind you. Before you can continue explaining the story, you see his hand reach over and pick at the pile of ripped up paper in front of your typewriter.

“Ah, sorry. Forgot to clean that up.”

“I love him.”

“What?”

Pantalone hands you the torn scrap of paper, which sure enough reads I love him. You laugh. “A-Ah, right.”

“So about the sentimental value,” Pantalone says as you begin sweeping up the ripped pieces.

“This belonged to my grandfather,” you tell him as you dump the pile into the trash, “my mom’s father, he’s where I got my condition. He got the typewriter as a gift from a friend in Fontaine, I believe. He died two years later, before I could meet him. A couple years after I got diagnosed, my grandmother found it, and gifted it to me as a memento of sorts, and I’ve used it ever since.”

“Really now?”

“My grandma said he’d want me to have it,” you say, “and she smacked me when I made a joke about him giving me his bad eyes too. Lightly, of course, but still.”

“You were making fun of her blind, dead husband,” Pantalone remarks.

“If what my family says about him is true, he would have made an even worse joke,” you retort. “I’m giving my nephews and nieces permission to make fun of me if they have it, my grandfather would probably do the same.”

Pantalone chuckles. You turn your head to continue speaking to him, and see he’s looking at you instead of the typewriter. It sort of catches you, mostly because of his eyes. You didn’t really notice it when you met him for tea, mostly because you were more focused on the feel of his fingers holding your face and how close he was, but his eyes are really, really pretty. The light from your window hits his face just right, making his eyes shine like gemstones.

You realize you’re staring again and snap out of it, and you doubt it’s all that subtle. “I am also giving you permission to make blind jokes around me.”

He gives you a bewildered, but amused look. “What? Now why would I want to do that?” “Because they’re funny,” you answer, “that’s why I make them.”

“Yes, but you’re actually blind, or going to be blind.”

You lean back in your chair a bit. “I promise you, whatever you think of, my siblings will have said something infinitely worse and gotten away with it,” you say, “excluding Adéla and Gala, my younger sisters. Gala feels bad making fun of me, and Adéla means what she says.”

(Which is rather hypocritical of her, if you’re to believe your siblings’ words about her getting her son tested for your condition. That and her ongoing pregnancy might be why she hasn’t tried picking a fight with you in a while.)

“If you insist,” he says, “but I suppose I should get going now.”

“Oh, wait, really?”

“You said before that you have a deadline, no?” Pantalone asks, his expression almost curious until you see the way the corner of his lips twitch, how his eyes seem a little too knowing. “It wouldn’t be right to keep you from your work. Hopefully we can better coordinate a visit or outing some other time.”

The only thing stopping you from insisting that it’s okay for him to stay a little longer, really, please stay, is the knowledge that your parents will eventually be home and Pantalone’s presence will cause absolute chaos. That, and the fact you look like shit. Probably worse than when he gave you the letter from Guuji Yae, because you were clearly hungover, but at least you had cleaned yourself up. 

You swallow.

“I wish you could stay a little longer.”

Pantalone tilts his head.

“... but yes, we should, ah, probably pick this up another time.”

He smiles, entirely too knowing for your comfort. “Hopefully next time you actually get my letters.”

You bid Pantalone farewell, but he is already leaving your office without another word. He opens the door, and you briefly see either Colleen or Adelaide staggering back before the door closes.

You load a fresh page into the typewriter, and you stare at it. You stare at it like that is what is going to make the words appear, and somehow you’re always disappointed when it doesn’t. You wish you didn’t rip up the last page now, just so you can make sure you won’t write something as equally terrible.

After some time, your office door opens again. You step into the hallway, now vacant and cold. There’s a weight in your stomach, a growing pit of anxiety as you begin walking down the hall. You pass your room, then Gala’s room, then the bathroom, your siblings’ old rooms, and stop when you reach the door at the end of the hall. The master bedroom, your parents’ room.

The door opens when you twist the knob and push forward. You shiver as cooled air passes you. The fire must have gone out some time ago. It doesn’t stop you from entering though, not when you have a pretty good hunch on why you mysteriously haven’t gotten any letters from Pantalone. 

You waste no time in investigating. You spy an old painting hung up on the wall depicting a younger version of your mother and father on their wedding day. You carefully pull it down from the wall, revealing their safe. You don’t remember what the code is, just that it’s one full turn left, one full turn right, and then left until it’s the last number. You’re fairly certain it’s either their anniversary or one of their children’s birthdays. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be proven wrong. Brow furrowed, you try to think of something else they would use for a code. You consider the day they met, or the day they fell in love, but you have no idea when that would have been. You consider your grandfather’s death date, but that’s entirely too morbid. You’re about to start twisting the dial in any direction until you hopefully hear a click, and then it hits you; they’re grandparents. You quickly try your nephew’s birthdate, and you hear a distinct click sound unlike the turning dial’s. You pull on the handle, and it opens.

You almost celebrate until you see there aren’t any envelopes or letters addressed to you. You see photo albums, some jewellery and trinkets, as well as a few other odds and ends of sentimental value, but no letters.

You sigh, and begin putting everything back in place. Maybe it’s hidden in the study or something, or maybe in your father’s desk at work. You’ll have to ask Lydia to have a peek, though there’s a good chance she would have mentioned that to you already. You’ll still ask her about it next time you see her.

You’re hanging the painting back up when you feel another shiver up your spine. Usually the staff try to keep the fireplaces lit throughout the house to keep everyone from freezing, but for whatever reason, they’ve forgotten your parents’ room. You decide to do that yourself, as your conscience is making you feel guilty about snooping.

You sigh, crouching down in front of the fireplace. You grab the door handles and pull the doors open, seeing the charred remnants of firewood long gone cold. You pick up the fire poker and begin prodding at the wood until you catch sight of something sticking out of the ashes. It almost looks like kindling, but your gut tells you to investigate further.

You reach inside, and you immediately know it’s paper. You pull it from the ashes and sit back. It looks like the corner of a page at first, and then you realize it’s part of an envelope. You flip it over, and your blood runs cold.

You recognize that address. Not too long ago, you were invited to afternoon tea at that exact location. You realize there’s still a bit of paper inside, and you pull it out. The paper falls apart in your dirtied hands, but you can make out the first few characters of your name in familiar handwriting. You feel sick, you feel angry. You don’t know which one of your parents is responsible for this, but this is too far for either one of them. 

It takes you a few moments to compose yourself. When you eventually get off the ground and storm out of your parents’ room, you make sure to leave the burned remnants of your letter in an obvious spot for your parents to find it. You leave ash on the door when you slam their door shut. You want to scream, you want to ask what the hell their fucking problems are, but they’re not here right now. You have new energy to burn, new emotions you need to vent in some way, but most importantly, you have a book to finish, and you’re going to finish it.

[burningembers91]

Dinner for Two - Ryu Su-Yeol/K x Fem!Reader

tagging: @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels Follow up piece to:

Chalk and Cheese I'll Bring You Flowers

Synopsis: Forced to attend the date that K arranged with you, Su-Yeol is determined to break things off for good. But the more time he spends with you, the more he realises why K likes you so much.

A/N: The ending of this fic is based on this ask

Ryu Su-Yeol had resigned himself to a life with K long ago. He was mostly used to his antics by now; he could handle the childish arguments, could deal with his alter ego’s insatiable and sometimes insane lust for justice, but this time he had gone too far. He hadn’t found out about the date until it was too late, K making sure to leave a sticky note somewhere Su-Yeol wouldn’t notice until he returned from work. It was hidden under one of his dumbbells, scrawled in K’s handwriting: We’ve got dinner plans tonight with the beautiful girl next door at 8pm. Don’t be a dick!

If Su-Yeol could have punched K, he would have. He knew he’d fronted last night, had begged him to explain everything that had gone on, but K was being tight lipped, and now he knew why. “We cannot go for dinner with her,” Su-Yeol sighd, “I’m going to cancel.” “You can’t cancel!” K cried, “She’ll be devastated. We really hit it off last night; I think it might be love.”

Su-Yeol could feel the migraine starting to form, the dull, throbbing pulse right in the centre of his forehead. “It’s not love,” Su-Yeol sighed, “It’s… pointless. I’ll just go over and break the news to her gently. I’m sure she’ll understand.” He could feel K trying to front, could feel his other personality sinking his fingers into the very core of their shared brain, desperate to take over. But Su-Yeol wasn’t having it; K had gone too far this time, and someone needed to maintain order. Yes, cancelling a date 30 minutes before it was due to start would make him look like a bit of a prick, but he’d never had a problem being the bad guy before. If things got bad, he could always move. It wouldn’t be the first time Su-Yeol had had to relocate after pissing off a woman.

He knocked on your door, piecing together some bullshit excuse about why he couldn’t attend. His body tensed, automatically anticipating the slap he was sure to receive, but then you opened the door and Su-Yeol forgot how to speak.

You were a vision in a burgundy off the shoulder dress, your makeup soft and glowing. Your perfume smelled like orange blossom and honeysuckle, and for a split-second Su-Yeol understood completely why K was so head over heels for you. “K! You’re early,” you smiled, “come in!” K? Why the hell were you calling him K? Su-Yeol made a mental note to have a serious word with his troublesome friend. “It’s uh… It’s Su-Yeol,” he corrected you, laughing awkwardly as he looked around your place. It was nice, the space enveloping him in a warm, cozy hug. Your apartment felt like home, unlike his place which was devoid of anything other than basic furniture and eye-wateringly expensive art.  

“Really?” you looked at him confused. “Yesterday you told me to call you K.” “Right!” Su-Yeol laughed again; why the hell couldn’t he stop laughing? “It’s just… I prefer Su-Yeol.” You looked at him like he was crazy, your brows furrowed as you took him in. He was dressed in muted colours today, his beige two-piece suit and cream turtleneck so far removed from the crazy leopard print number he had on the night before. “If I didn’t know better,” you smiled, popping the cork on a bottle of wine. “I’d say you were two different people.”

Su-Yeol laughed again, loud and brash as he figured out how to respond. He had two options; make himself look crazy or make himself look like an asshole. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snorted, “no one can be two people.” You handed him a glass of wine, your eyes scanning his chiselled features. This man was such an enigma; no matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t figure him out. There was no way the man standing in front of you now was the same man who fixed your boiler last night. Everything about him was different, from the way he dressed, to the way he carried himself. “If you insist,” you winked. “Make yourself at home. I need to finish getting ready.”

As you headed into your bedroom to finish up, Su-Yeol took a seat on your sofa. It was a plush, cream number, the cushions caressing his body as he sank down into the soft material. Your living room smelled like lavender, the soft glow of your table lamp instantly relaxing him. There were photos of you and your friends dotted around the space, and Su-Yeol was finding it hard to ignore how gorgeous you were. He felt instantly at ease in your home, a far cry from how he felt in his own apartment. He could definitely see why K was so drawn to you, but Su-Yeol simply couldn’t allow this to continue. He was too fucked up for someone as good as you. He let his head fall back into the soft cushions, taking a sip of wine as he examined the titles on your bookshelf. You had good taste, and that only served to annoy him more. From everything he’d seen so far, you were his dream girl.

“Ready,” you smiled, coming back into the living room. Su-Yeol could only stare, once again completely dumbfounded by you. He’d always known you were pretty, but tonight you’d taken his breath and words away. It was going to be harder to end things than he originally thought. He’d treat you to a nice dinner, and then he’d cut you loose.

K had done the honours of booking a shockingly expensive restaurant, much to Su-Yeol’s pain. Your table was right by the window, on the top floor, with the most stunning views of the Seoul skyline. Even he had to admit, it was incredibly romantic. It was just too bad it wasn’t going to last. After placing your order, you sat back and chatted, and Su-Yeol tried to so hard to find a fault with you, one tiny downside to your perfection that he could use as an excuse to run away. But there was nothing. You were intelligent, witty, hilariously funny and as beautiful inside as you were outside. Time seemed to stand still, and you barely noticed the other diners leaving, didn’t realise the waiters were all patiently waiting for you to pay your bill and leave so they could close for the night.

As Su-Yeol reluctantly walked you home, he was forced to admit that K had got it right. You were simply perfect in every way. He wanted to invite you in, to peel that burgundy dress from your body and fuck you until you screamed his name. But he couldn’t do that to K. His alter ego may have been an extension of himself, but K was still like a brother to him. If K didn’t love you, it would have been fine; but Su-Yeol knew how much he cared for you and he didn’t want to hurt him by taking advantage of you. He also knew that K was desperate for him to care about you too. But there was too much baggage on Su-Yeol’s side, too much anger and hurt, too much bitterness in his heart.

“I had a lovely time tonight,” you said, arriving back at your door. You stood on your tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight… K and Su-Yeol.” You left him standing there dumbstruck long after you’d closed the door. For the first time in his life, both of his personalities had been recognised. He wasn’t sure how you knew, but you did.

Su-Yeol lay in bed that night, bickering back and forth with K as he usually did. “She knows about us both!” K cried, “this is incredible! She’s incredible!” Su-Yeol rolled over, pulling his pillow over his ears to block out his overly enthusiastic other-half. “She is,” he agreed, “but we can’t be with her.” “Why?” He could feel K’s disappointment, could feel the ache in their shared heart. “She makes us happy. She makes you happy, and nothing does that.” “You know why,” Su-Yeol snapped. “I can’t be with anyone… Me and people, we don’t mix.”

Su-Yeol could feel the hurt and anger welling inside of him, could feel K’s frustration mixing with his own pain. “You could be with her,” K whispered sadly. “We both could.” Su-Yeol admired K’s positivity, but yet again he was forced to be the pragmatic one. How would you cope, being in a relationship with a person who had split personalities? What would your friends and family think? People would make fun of you, would call you crazy and Su-Yeol didn’t want that. It was hard enough that people thought he was insane; he didn’t want you tainted with the same brush.

And yet, he found himself picturing life with you and K, the three of you in your cozy, lavender-scented apartment. In an ideal world, the three of you would be happy.

In an ideal world, Su-Yeol and K would love you, together. But would you love both of them?

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

can i just say that i am OBSESSED with your Alfie series. literally cannot get enough of it. Also!! Was wondering if you could write a fluff piece were reader gets injured and alfie comes to her rescuee? Your writing is so good <3

Hi my love! This ask was so so sweet! I am so glad you like the series, it was so much fun to share it with you guys, I know I tell y'all all the time but it's true! My heart is just so full I can't help it! And of course I can write some fluff! You know I love it hehe. I'm sorry this took a while but I hope you like it! This was actually inspired by my Thanksgiving fiasco this past year lmao. I was in charge of the turkey, mac and cheese, dessert, and potatoes. My little brother was my sous chef and I completely cut my thumb open and my brother almost passed out lmao. Anyway, sending all my love to you! - Mo

Ouch

Alfie Solomons x F!Reader, fluff, Warnings: injury, mentions of blood

There is something so soothing about the kitchen. When the world is so chaotic and cold and uncertain, the kitchen is a haven. Here it’s safe and warm and systematic. The chops and bubbling of the stove are so rhythmic, any harshness of the day just falling off your shoulders in waves. Because here you could understand and set the temperature. Here you could control the outcome and be free. Even if you were trying something new, you could be confident in the knowledge that it would always have a good outcome. It was your favorite part of the day, just cooking with Alfie. You on one side with Alfie on the opposite, working separately to jointly create beautiful.

The only problem that came with cooking, was that it was a little too peaceful. You became too relaxed. And as Alfie was apt to remind you, it wasn’t good to be too relaxed around knives and hot stoves. But it was too easy. The steady hum of the fire and boiling. The pattern you’ve gone through many a time. Your body would take over like a dance from your childhood. Your hands knew what they were doing. Your mind could take a break. And she would wander. Things to be completed in the office tomorrow. That new quilt you were making for your mother. Alfie needing a haircut.

Stir.

I need to make time for that book this weekend

Pour.

Alfie looked so handsome today if it weren’t for that awful stain on his shirt

Stir

Mama and Papa asked us to come for Shabbat this week. I need to tell Alfie.

Chop

We should go to the park this week

Chop

I wonder if we can visit Rabbi Reuben as well

Chop

Alfie’s birthday is also coming up

Chop

I’m so excited for his birthday surprise

Slice

“AH!!! Oh God ah!!”

A long and deep line blossoms on your palm. Far too entrenched in your mind, you were completely missing how the knife was getting closer and closer to your hand. You quickly grab a nearby dish towel, tightly wrapping your hand to catch the trickle dripping to the wood on the floor. Alfie is quick to you though, loudly dropping the cutlery and bowl he was holding. "Shit! Sweet heart you alright? What d'ya do to yourself?"

"Nothing nothing Alfie darling! Just a little scrape I'm sorry!"

Alfie peered at the slowly soaking dishtowel and raised his thick blonde brows at you. Mustache quirking, indicating that once again, you are a terrible liar. Gently but without holding room for argument he unraveled your makeshift bandage as you winced. His mouth furrowed and grumbled, "Ah shit treacle. This is why I always tell you right? You can't be all day dreaming when you're working in here! You insist on not letting me help ya, and then there you go fucking filleting yourself!"

Cool tears start trickling down. It burned with the introduction of the air and the embarrasment of getting a nasty cut. Alfie sighed, wiping your tears with one hand has he cradled your injury in the other. If there was one thing he hated most in the world, it was seeing you cry. "Aw my dove, no tears yeah? Not too bad ain't it? Why I don't even think it'll need a stitch I wager. Just a little alcohol on it and a bandage and you'll be right as rain. C'mon my angel, let's get you better aye? Dinner can wait a few minutes."

Despite having a terrible temper and being completely and utterly impatient... Alfie Solomons was an incredibly gentle and tender nurse. Stern. Always stern. And teasing. And scolding. But gentle above all else. You winced and shed a small tear when Alfie poured the clear and horrendous smelling alcohol on your wound. He tutted and kissed your temple all the while telling you, "Maybe this'll teach you eh? Nothing like a war would to make you more smart about your surroundings."

You thanked your lucky stars you didn't need a stitch at all. Despite the blood it was really a shallow cut. Alfie wrapped your hand skillfully. Pressing a kiss right over the bandage as the final salve. As you whispered a chaste thank you, Alfie pulled you into his chest saying, "Now listen my dove. I don't like to baby you. You are a grown woman and I'm not one to tell woman how to conduct herself or her affairs. But I get worried about you. Always drifting off somewhere in that pretty head. Not watching yourself. Not wanting help. You have got to let me help you my darling. Yeah?"

You nod, kissing him to assure him that you are ok. He chuckles kissing you back. Pushing you to the dining room chair he teases you further, "Now my dear patient, it is imperative that you sit there and keep that hand elevated. Lots of rest of relaxation yeah?"

"Alfie! I have to finish dinner!"

"No I'm sorry treacle but it is the doctor's orders! Can't have you losing a finger next can we?"

You laugh and argue with him, eventually get him to compromise to allowing you to fill a pitcher with water and set the kettle on. No matter what the others of Camden said, they could never say that he wasn't a good man.

[xirayn]

Long distance Stonathan as requested by @fortnightdjo

---

"So when are we going to meet this imaginary boyfriend of yours, Country Club?"

Steve finishes mixing the bloody mary Rosanne Thorne always ends her night with, though the sun will be starting to peek over the New York City skyline by the time Steve gets home. It has been over a year since he started working at The Back Door and the performers have been asking that same question since they learned he was taken.

The drink is garnished with a skewer of cornichons, salami, and cheese kept on hand specifically for nights Rosanne is on stage.

"Once he gets his acceptance letter," Steve answers as he slides the drink over. He goes back to cleaning, smiling to himself at the thought of finally adding the last piece to complete the life he's built for him and Jonathan.

Back in Indiana, Jonathan is attending community college a short drive from Hawkins. Steve understands why. His family might not need him to help pay for bills anymore and Hopper is there to be the 'man of the house', but Jonathan has been too responsible for his family for too long to just leave. So, Steve made an offer: he would be the carrot at the end of the stick and move to New York City while Jonathan earned what credits he could transfer to NYU. If Jonathan still couldn't leave after a few years of seeing his family was alright without him, Steve would move back with life experience beyond a small, midwest town and an interdimensional hellscape.

Rosanne takes a long sip of her drink, considering Steve in a way he got use to sometime back in high school. "Well, if you decide you want a real boy, I called dibs."

Steve chuckles. "You'll be the first to know."

On his walk home, Steve wonders if the crowd and noise will be too much for Jonathan or if he will like the anonymity of being just another face. There is definitely an appeal to it. Safety, as well, since Steve is more concerned about the military or KGB tracking him than he is pickpockets.

There is a padded envelope in his mail. Excitement breaks through his growing fatigue and he practically runs up the three flights of stairs leading to his one bedroom apartment. It's small, but as much as he can afford within a reasonably walking distance of NYU. He calls Jonathan. As the phone rings, he opens the envelope. A groggy voice greets him.

"Don't you have class, Byers?" Steve teases. He presses play before getting a bagel to pop into the toaster. David Bowie croons about changes through the stereo.

"Fuck you, it's Sunday," Jonathan yawns.

"Church, then." The scoff on the other end of the line makes Steve chuckle.

He listens to Jonathan's usual morning grumbles. They talk for a few minutes every few days between Steve going to sleep and Jonathan waking up since long distance calls are expensive. It also allows Steve to check in. Jonathan is likely to skip meals or sleep if not reminded.

"I'd rather love you then be saved," Jonathan says and Steve melts a little. Before can respond, however, the song changes. He recognizes it immediately.

'Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today'

"You got in," he murmurs in realization. Frank Sinatra continues to sing as Steve repeats, louder, "You got in!"

"I did." The sleep has left Jonathan's voice. Steve can picture the amused quirk of his lips and affection in his eyes along with the shy way he ducks his head whenever someone is happy for him. "Do you still have room for me?"

"I think I can find some."

[justastraymoa]

ADVENTURES WITH CHEESE EXTENDED EDITION PT 6

My dream job was currently a nightmare. Several sudden changes in upper management prompted a full audit of the system and all our work. It was chaotic and messy. Add on top of that the new management all had their own ideas they wanted to implement. Different ways to make the team “work more efficiently”. Which was causing delays in all the work and unnecessary stress to all the employees.

I had worked no less than 13 hours a day for the last two weeks, even going in on the weekend to make up some work. And I wasn’t the only one. The office was never empty at this point.

I was exhausted and ready to collapse at any second. So, I finished up my current project and packed up to go home. Determined to take tomorrow off no matter what. I wasn’t going to answer any calls or texts or anything at all. I earned this day off with my own blood, sweat, and many, many tears!

When I walked into my room to find my favorite plant destroyed and the dirt from the pot all over my bedroom floor, I was ready to burst into hysterics.

Cheese was laying among the dirt without a care in the world, grooming his paws. Pieces of my precious plant leaves were scattered around him like he had shredded it then rolled around in its corpse.

I sighed and dropped my bag onto the floor. So very done with this week.

I loved my boys dearly, but ill be damned if I let them go back on this grounding! I am done with this bratty behavior from Cheese! He had never messed with my plant before, and I don’t know why he decided today of all days was a good day to break my heart.

I spent years carefully propagating that plant over and over, so it was nice and long and bushy. It took several years to get it as amazing as it had been. It was my pride and joy and I loved to spend time carefully trimming off the dead leaves and making sure it stayed green and healthy.

I even went so far as to kick Cheese out of my room and shut the door. He would run out anyways when I turned on the vacuum to clean up the mess he made, but it still made me feel a little better to let him know just how upset I was with him.

It took 30 minutes to clean up the plant corpse, and I carefully went through the remains to see if there was anything I could use to try and propagate and start the process all over again. I liked bringing a little green into my city life and I am just stubborn enough to be willing to start from scratch to get it again.

Chan came home somewhere near the end of clean up to help before engulfing me in a hug and curling up on my bed with me.

“Go to sleep. You haven’t slept at all this week, and you are exhausted.” he said lowly tucking my head under his chin and rubbing my back.

“I have things I need to get done.” But I did not move to leave his warm embrace, body automatically relaxing under the weight of his arms around me and the sound of his heartbeat and breathing under my ear.

Chan hummed making my head vibrate slightly and eardrum tickle. “It will still be there when you wake up. Sleep.”

With a deep, drawn-out sigh I gave in to his gentle demands. Let someone else take care of me for a few minutes. It felt good, and I was secretly glad that Chan came home early just to make sure I was okay.

I woke up a couple hours later, still in Chans arms as he played on his phone behind my back quietly. I could hear the others chatting and banging around in the front entry as they got in.

With a deep yawn I stretched before curling back up into Chan, not yet ready to be awake. Chan for his part left me be, running my back idly and kissing the top of my head for a few minutes while I woke up.

“You really upset your mother today, Cheese. Why are you being mean to her?” I could hear Lino near my still closed door as he most likely picked Cheese up for his first cuddles of the night. “She grounded you and everything! You have some sucking up to do.” His voice got quieter as he walked away from the door.

“You ready to get up yet? You know they are just going to come in here in a few minutes if you don’t go out.” Chan asked quietly petting my hair. I whined in response.

Chan allowed me to hide for a few minutes more before getting us both up and moving.

I think it was more likely that Cheese was screaming his dislike for the terms of his grounding. He hadn’t had any treats all day and he had been stuck in the house with no special trips or car rides to speak of. He was upset.

But the boys have been respecting my declaration of grounding as far as I was aware. Even if Lino kept giving me dirty looks when Cheese came up to him and started meowing pathetically.

I lasted for the entire day before my anger wore off and the meows and glared started melting my heart and resolve.

“Fine! He’s not grounded anymore! Go crazy!” I snapped finally. Immediately all 4 boys dived for the treat tin we had sitting on the kitchen island making me roll my eyes. They were so whipped for my cat it was crazy,

Cheese spent the rest of the night getting treat after treat and going feral.

Cheese had spent half the night zooming around the apartment keeping me up. Apparently, no one else was bothered by it though. Bin aside, no one had even mentioned it.

But it was no wonder that he was all cuddly and sleepy with Chan now. He wore himself out being hyped up on cat treats!

At least be probably burned all the extra calories those treats had.

Still Chans comment brought a smile to my lips. Cheese has saved me many times over the years. He had been there when I was sad to cuddle me and loved me to cheer me up. He had been there to make me laugh when I wanted to scream. And he was there when I was scared and alone in the big city, away from home and my parents for the first time in my life and at a complete loss at what to do.

And lastly, he brought me, Chan, Bin, Lino, and Hyune together.

A/N: Two in one night! Though I feel like this one is kinda short too so yeah. Also, I changed the order this original post was in to fit the storyline a bit better. I hope you don't mind.

Thank you for reading and interacting. Or just reading or just interacting, if that’s your thing. I hope you enjoyed this little Cheese adventure!

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