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mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 19 hours ago

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"Real Man"

Older Au Chapter 3.

THIS IS A MATURE STORY. IT HAS SOME SEXUAL SENCES, IF YOU DONT LIKE DON'T READ. Ok yall ik i said i was gonna post this last night but i hated it so i rewrote it! if it sucks don't say anything pls. sorry if it's repetitive, lmk whose team ur on!!! And what you want to happen next. comments, reblogs, likes and kind asks are always appreciated. If this one random anon keeps sending theses crazy things, i'll have to remove anon asks, which I dont want to do. I love my anons, so pls be nice. Send in asks, I miss yall, I've been sooooo busy with school lately and I havent had time to get on here. THIS IS MY 1ST TIME WRITNG ANYTHING LIKE THIS SO LMK HOW IT ISSSSS

WHY AM I GETTING THE FEWLINF EVERYONE HATES THIS??? IM ABT TO DELEYEB TS NGL 😭

Six months had passed since that night—the night you let Slade’s words sink into your skin like venom and made the choice that changed everything. For better and worse.

You hadn't accepted his offer easily. Not after what happened with Two-Face. That betrayal still sat in your chest like a dull ache, a constant reminder of how easily people could take what they wanted and leave you with nothing. You had sworn not to trust so easily again, not to let yourself fall into another cycle of being used and discarded. So when Slade made his offer, you hesitated.

"You're smarter than this," you had told yourself that night. "You know what happens when you trust the wrong person. You know what men like him want."

And yet, here you were. Living in his world.

Not as a prisoner, not as a puppet, but as something more. The lines were blurred, shifting with every glance, every order he gave that you didn’t question, every moment that stretched too long in the dim glow of your shared space. Because that’s what it was now, shared.

The apartment Slade had set up was far from a safe house. It was huge and spacious, Slade wasn't a cheap man. It felt lived in. Your things mingled with his, your scent lingering in the air. You bought vases and filled them with flowers, you organized the kitchen and bought him real groceries, not just canned food. You hung pictures you developed of you and him. Ones he didn't know you took. You roped him into painting your room a baby blue, a color he swore he hated, yet he still slept in your room every night. It was comical to see such a large man laying in a pastel colored room on your floral bedsheets, the last man you let into your bed was equally large. But we don't talk about him.

Slade cared for you deeply, or at least tolerated you. At first you were always at each others throats, each person throwing a more cutting remark than the other. When your arguements got so bad that you began to ignore him, he brought home women, made sure he heard them moaning through the walls till you snapped and began screaming.

You hated Slade Wilson

But after the first month things began to change, Slade never said anything about it, but you caught the way his eyes would darken when he returned from a mission, his gaze sweeping over you like he needed to confirm you were still here. Like he expected you to disappear.

You leaned against the counter, watching him from the corner of your eye as he cleaned his weapons. The rhythmic motion of his hands, the way he handled each blade with the kind of care most reserved for something fragile, it was almost mesmerizing. Everything he does is.

“You’re staring,” he said, not looking up. God, he's so smug.

You scoffed. "No, you are. I don't stare at creepy old men. In fact, it's usually the opposite."

His lips curled into that knowing smirk, the one that made something tighten in your chest. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

The nickname used to irritate you. Now, you weren’t sure what it did. All you knew was that it made your heart race the way only one person had before. He used to call you sweetheart too.

Slade’s presence in your life was suffocating, an unshakable force that wrapped itself around you, squeezing tighter with every passing day. He was cruel in the way he trained you, brutal in his expectations. If you failed, he had no patience for it. Slade trained you for greatness and he wouldn't tolerate anything less.

“You call that a punch?” he sneered one evening in your early days of training, after you had barely managed to land a hit on him. “Pathetic. I’ve seen senior citizens put up more of a fight,"

Gritting your teeth, you launched at him again, only for him to sidestep effortlessly. A sharp pain bloomed across your ribs as he shoved you down, hard. The thing that you loved and hated most about Slade was that he treated you like an equal. He didn't see you as his younger, fragile, kind-of girlfriend; he saw you as an equal opponent.

“You hesitated,” he said, standing over you. “That hesitation will get you killed.”

You spat blood onto the mat and glared up at him. “Or maybe I just don’t care if I live or die. Nothing is ever really this serious.”

Something flickered in his eye, dark and unreadable, before he crouched beside you. His fingers dug into your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. He didn't understand your humor sometimes, considering he's old enough to be your father.

“Oh, but you do, you want to survive. To be great, ” he murmured, voice dangerously soft. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

He let go of you with a sharp shove and stood. “Get up. We’re not done.”

The tension between you both had only grown over the months. Slade had a way of pressing in, invading your space without ever needing to touch you. Sure you guys fucked almost twice, sometimes three times a week, but there was that small sliver of confusion and hesitation.

Sure, he slept in your bed ever night now, called it "our room," and sure you stayed up waiting when his missions would take too long. Yeah, you would run and jump into his open arms, feeling nothing but content as he kissed your forehead and took you to the bed, it's normal that ya'll didn't even have sex some nights, that you just cuddled.

Sometimes, you swore he was waiting, waiting for you to be the one to close that final inch between you. But you never did. You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Instead, you fell into a rhythm. Training. Fighting. Learning with him and laughing with him. He pushed you harder than anyone ever had, demanding perfection, never letting you slip back into old habits. He didn’t coddle you like they did. He didn’t pretend you were something delicate. He made you strong.

Most nights, after an exhausting day of training, you would sit on the brown leather couch cuddled up to him with your head on his chest and his arms around you, the dim glow of the television flickering between you. Slade wasn’t much for small talk, you talked enough for the both of you, but the silence between you felt... comfortable, almost warm

“Why did you take me in?” you had asked once, voice barely above a whisper.

He had taken a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving yours. “Because I saw something in you,” he finally answered. “Potential. Something you’re too afraid to admit to yourself.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you wondered if there was truth in his words. You liked that he believed in you, no one had done that before.

Then there were the other moments. The ones that made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge. The way he stood too close when showing you how to hold a blade properly, his breath warm against your skin. The way his hands lingered too long when correcting your stance. The way his gaze dropped to your lips before he forced himself to look away.

Neither of you ever acknowledged it. You weren’t sure if you wanted to. It's completely normal for your teacher/mentor/enemy to sleep in the same bed as you every night. It'd be weird if you didn't make breakfast and dinner for the two of you. It'd be weird if you didn't know his favorite foods and if he didn't know how to braid your hair. It'd be even weirder if he didn't make you coffee exactly how you like it and help you put away the dishes.

Slade had become an inescapable presence, his control over you extending far beyond training. He knew where you were at all times, had a way of appearing when you least expected it, his eyes always sharp, always knowing. Some nights, when you tried to slip out for air, you’d find him already outside, leaning against a wall as if he’d been waiting for you. He let you do what you wanted, think you were free, but he was always watching you.

If you were singing at a bar, you could count on him to be in the crowd. If you met with Selina at a restaurant you could count on him to drive you home. Slade was always there. Selina thought it was strange, you took comfort in it.

“You really think you can go anywhere without me knowing?” he had mused once, a shadow of amusement in his voice.

It should have bothered you. Maybe it did. But part of you had started to crave it, the way he made you feel like you belonged to him, even if neither of you would ever admit it.

Slade had been… watchful lately. More than usual. He came back late from missions, missions he didn't let you come to, sometimes with a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before. He was hesitant to let you go and preform at bars, sometimes convincing you to just play the songs on your guitar in the living room and run your fingers through his hair as you both laid on the couch.

There were the calls—brief, coded. You were offended, Slade told you almost everything these days but somehow no amount of sweet talk and bedroom eyes could get him to budge this time. And then there were the other things. The subtle shifts in the city’s underworld. More movement in Gotham than usual. The quiet whispers of old ghosts stirring, names you hadn’t spoken in almost a year.

Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Bruce.

You saw it in the way certain streets had too many eyes. As if waiting. As if listening.

And then there was the whisper of something else. Something darker, something clawing at the edge of your awareness. A name that had once sent a thrill through you, now only bringing unease and resentment.

Harvey Dent.

A name you hadn’t spoken in months, yet it clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t shake. A man you couldn't bare to even think of. A drink left for you at a bar you hadn't performed at in weeks, a coat draped over the back of a chair that looked too familiar.

Slade noticed before you did. “You’ve got a ghost,” he murmured one evening, the flicker of a knife between his fingers. “One that doesn’t know how to stay buried.”

You didn’t ask him what he meant. You didn’t have to. You already knew. You just didn't know why. Had he finally seen through Tiffany, now that it was too late?

At first, you didn’t question it. Slade had always been territorial—watchful, overbearing when he wanted to be. He had a way of controlling things without seeming like he was. That was how he worked.

So when you first noticed the shifts, you didn’t react. Your schedule changed, but not because you changed it.

You used to go out when you wanted. Walk the streets when they were quiet, feel the Gotham night press against your skin, the air cold and sharp. Not anymore.

Things began to change this week. Now, every time you thought about leaving, something stopped you.

The fridge was always stocked, eliminating any reason to step outside. Your favorite food. Your favorite drinks. Little things appeared when you needed them; new clothes, supplies, anything that might have made you leave for even a moment. Things you mentioned only in passing, like the new lipstick you wanted or a pair of vintage heels or a new bag.

If you reached for your coat, Slade would speak before you even touched the door. Asking where you were going, trying to be casual.

It was never a command. Never outright control. But the implication was there. And every time you hesitated, he won. If you needed to leave or just wanted to go out, he would come with; a silent yet protective figure always in the shadows.

The night was quiet, the kind of stillness that should have been peaceful but wasn’t. The apartment smelled like old wood and gun oil, the faintest trace of smoke lingering from Slade’s cigar earlier. You had just stepped out of the shower, skin still warm from the heat, hair damp as you walked barefoot across the floor in your towel.

Your hand brushed against the pretty golden door knob absentmindedly.

And then you froze. Something was different.

Your fingers curled around the lock, tracing over the new ridges, the reinforced structure. The weight of it felt wrong.

It wasn’t your lock. Not the cute one you insisted on buying at the antique shop that Slade hated. It didn't match the walls.

Your stomach twisted. You turned slowly, your damp hair clinging to your skin as your mind raced. This wasn’t an accident. You hadn’t imagined it. Slade had changed the locks. The thought sent something icy down your spine. Alarm bells blared in your mind.

You tried to shake it off, tried to tell yourself it was nothing. Maybe it was security. Maybe he just wanted better protection.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t it. Because he didn’t tell you. Because Slade never did anything without a purpose. Because Slade Wilson didn't need a lock to keep people out. And because you hadn’t noticed until now. You took a slow, steady breath and turned toward the living room.

Slade was there, like always, seated in his usual chair by the window, sharpening a knife. The sound of steel against whetstone was rhythmic, deliberate. His posture was relaxed, but you weren’t fooled. His fingers were too steady, his shoulders just a little too still.

He was waiting. Watching. Like he had already predicted this moment, like he was ready for an argeument. You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, heart pounding too fast, not caring if you were in a towel.

"Planning on keeping me in a cage?" you muttered.

Slade didn’t pause. Didn’t even look up. “Planning on keeping you alive.” The words were so smooth, so easy, that your stomach turned.

Your breath caught. Because he wasn’t hiding it. He wasn't denying it. Not anymore. This wasn’t a mistake. This was intentional.

You forced a laugh, though it felt hollow in your throat. “Right. Because I’m just so incapable of keeping myself safe. Even after all the training we've done. Even with my literal super-human abilities.”

Slade finally looked up. His eye locked onto yours.

There was no humor in his gaze. No smirk, like he usually had on while teasing. Just that slow, assessing stare that made your pulse stutter.

"If I thought you were capable of that," he murmured, voice quiet, too quiet, "we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

Your chest tightened. Because the way he said it sent something sinking into the pit of your stomach. This wasn’t just about protecting you. This was about making sure you never left.

Two days later, you decided to test it. Just to see what would happen. Slade had stepped out—or so he wanted you to believe. The moment you heard the door shut behind him, you moved.

Your fingers curled around the knob.

Turned it— but a large, scared hand beat you two it

"Going somewhere?"

Your entire body locked up. You gulped and licked your suddenly dry lips, he had you cornered with one hand on the knob and the other caging you in as he towered over you. His voice was smooth, calm—too calm. You turned slowly, pulse thrumming in your throat. Slade stood right behind you.

The door was still closed.

Your heart stuttered. You hadn’t heard him come back. Hadn’t even realized he was there. So much for super hearing. Nothing worked on Slade Wilson. You kept your expression neutral. Didn’t let him see the panic creeping up your throat.

"Didn’t realize I had a curfew," you muttered with an uneasy grin, trying to start your usual banter. Slade didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just watched you.

“You don’t.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. But he didn’t move. Didn’t step aside. Didn’t let you leave. The silence stretched too long.

Finally, you forced a smile, tilting your head. “Then I’ll be back in an hour.” Nothing changed in his expression. But you could feel the weight of his stare. Then he tilted his head, eye dark and calculating.

“It's not safe out there anymore. Not for you.”

You blinked. Something in his tone shifted.Not amusement. Not control. Something else. Something darker. Like he was waiting for you to figure it out.

Your stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t even move.

Just let the question hang in the air, stretching the silence tight between you. And that’s when it hit you.

He wasn’t stopping you because he was afraid you’d leave.

He was stopping you because something else was waiting outside.

Something he wasn’t telling you about.

Your mouth went dry. Slade finally let out a slow, amused breath, pushing off the wall.

And then—

He stepped aside. A challenge. Daring you to open the door. You hesitated. And that was all it took.

The moment you hesitated, you lost. Slade smirked, shaking his head like he had already predicted every move you would make. "Let's get to bed." He rasped out, looking at you with dark, seductive eyes.

And then he turned, walking past you like the conversation was over. Because it was. Because he knew you wouldn’t leave now.

The next morning, the locks changed again. The windows were reinforced. Your pretty pink curtains replaced with black shutters. Your phone stopped working. You couldn't call Selina. Every excuse to leave was removed before you could even think about it. You tried not to panic. Tried not to question it.

But Slade was closing the walls in. And you weren’t sure if it was to keep someone out—

Or to keep you in.

The first time, you thought it was a coincidence.

You had slipped into a bar down the street, needing to breathe, needing something normal.

The moment you stepped in, your stomach turned. Something familiar. Cologne. Not just any cologne. Expensive. Sharply tailored. The scent of whiskey and authority.

You froze.

Your mind screamed at you. It’s just someone else wearing it. It’s just your imagination. And then you saw it. A glass at the bar. Untouched. Neat. No ice. A double pour. your breath hitched.

Harvey’s drink.

It wasn’t until you came home that you truly realized. Because that’s when you saw the rose.

A single red rose on the kitchen counter.

Waiting for you. Your entire body went cold. It wasn’t from Slade. It couldn’t be from Slade. Slade would never bring you roses, he wasn't a gentleman. And he knew you liked hydrangeas and peonies now.

You turned slowly and nearly threw up.

Slade was already standing there. Watching. Waiting. His jaw was tight. His fingers twitched at his side. He didn’t say anything. And that’s when you knew,

He had seen this coming.

“Where did that come from?” you asked, voice thin. Why was he doing this? Was shattering your heart not enough? Did he want to ruin things with you and Slade?

Slade didn’t answer. Instead, he walked forward, plucked the rose from the counter, and rolled it between his fingers. Slowly. Deliberately. Then, he crushed it.

Your stomach dropped. The petals crumbled to the floor. His voice was dangerously calm. "You tell me, sweetheart."

For the rest of the night, he didn’t let you out of his sight. Not directly holding you hostage, but you felt it. The way he lingered in doorways. The way his hand ghosted too close when you passed him.

Like he was waiting. Waiting for you to ask. Waiting for you to figure it out. Waiting for Harvey to stop playing games and make a real move.

You weren’t sure when it had happened; when you had stopped keeping track of time, stopped caring about the difference between one night and the next. Slade made sure you had no reason to count the days. He made sure you had no reason to want anything. You woke up every morning in his arms and went to bed satisfied and well loved. It wasn’t a prison but it wasn’t freedom either. It was something in between. A limbo of his design. A small slice of heaven in hell.

You were happy. But something was off, Slade was being more paranoid and he got less subtle about it each day.

You weren’t trapped, not physically. Slade let you leave the apartment. You weren’t chained to the walls, weren’t locked in a room. He took you out on missions, let you get your hands dirty alongside him, let you breathe in the crisp Gotham air under the cover of night. In some ways, those nights were the only times you felt alive, other than when you were with Slade. The weight of a blade in your hand, the burn in your muscles from the chase, the sharp adrenaline rush of the fight, of using your powers on someone they affected; it reminded you that you still existed outside of this quiet game he played with you. Because that’s what it was. A game.

Slade never said it outright, never told you he was keeping you on a leash, but you could feel it tightening with every passing week. At first, it was small things. The way he subtly redirected missions away from Gotham’s city center, keeping you to the outskirts, where the shadows were deeper and the chances of running into familiar faces were slimmer. The way he always made sure you stayed close during a job, always just within arm’s reach. It wasn’t just protection. You knew better than that. It was control. He was testing you, waiting to see if you would try to slip away, if you would give him a reason to remind you just how easily he could pull you back.

You weren’t stupid. You knew the real test wasn’t in the field. It was what happened after.

After the job was done, after the adrenaline had settled into exhaustion, after the long, banter filled walk back to wherever Slade had decided to keep you that night. It was in the way he never let you wander too far. The way his hand would hover at the small of your back without quite touching, guiding you down the streets like he was the one who decided where you went. It was in the way he never left you alone for too long.

At first, you told yourself it was coincidence. Slade was always working, always had something that needed his attention. But then you started to notice the patterns. You ate together, you slept together, trained together, hell; you even showered together. You were never alone for more than a few hours. If he had business elsewhere, you were given something to occupy your time—training, surveillance, a task that kept you exactly where he wanted you.

You tested it once again, just to see what would happen. After he had left for what you thought was a routine meeting, you had grabbed your coat and made your way to the door. You weren’t even thinking about leaving him, not really. You just wanted to see if you could. If there was still a part of you that could step outside without feeling the weight of his presence pressing against you.

Your fingers had just curled around the doorknob when you heard his voice. Low. Even. Inevitable.

“Going somewhere?”

You were getting de ja vu. This happened last time too. You had swallowed hard, pulse spiking in your throat as you turned. He was standing right behind you.

You hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t heard his footsteps. He was just there, watching, waiting. The worst part was that he wasn’t even angry. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you, wasn’t raising his voice or blocking your way. He didn’t have to.

Slade had simply leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eye scanning you with that sharp, unreadable expression that made your stomach twist. “Didn’t realize I needed permission,” you had said, forcing your voice to stay steady. You wouldn't let him control everything, not another man would be in charge of your life.

“You don’t.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he had already solved. “Just wondering if you really think it’s safe out there.”

Not this odd shit again.

That made you pause. The way he said it. Not like a threat. Not like he was trying to scare you into staying. He said it the same way as last time. Like he already knew something you didn’t.

Your grip on the doorknob tightened. “What are you talking about? You said this last time.”

Slade didn’t answer right away. He just let the silence stretch, let you feel the weight of your own hesitation. Then, slowly, he took a step back. Another challenge.

“If you want to go,” he said, gesturing toward the door, “go.”

Your breath caught. You should have. You should have walked out.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew that if you did, if you stepped outside now, you wouldn’t just be walking into Gotham. You would be walking into something else. Something waiting.

Slade knew it. And now, so did you.

You swallowed hard, stepping back from the door. Slade huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head like you had just proven his point. Then, without another word, he walked past you and disappeared into the other room. That was the moment you knew, whatever was waiting for you out there was worse than what was waiting inside. You just didn’t know what it was yet.

You found out a week later. A part of it, at least.

The envelope was waiting for you when you returned from a job with Slade, slipped under the apartment door like a whisper of something you had tried to forget. You had bent down, fingers hesitating just for a second before picking it up. The paper was thick, expensive. No return address. No markings. But you didn’t have to open it to know who it was from. The sharp smell of cologne gave it away.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising in the back of your throat as you tore it open, your hands gripping the edges a little too tightly. The letter inside was simple. Only four words.

You won't forget me.

Your breath hitched. Your hands trembled. Because the worst part was, he was right. No matter how much Slade consumed you, or your occasional fantasy about Clark; he also stayed on your mind

You barely had time to process it before you heard the apartment door shut behind you. Your fingers snapped the letter closed, chest tightening, but it was too late.

Slade had already seen.

His expression didn’t change, but you could feel it. The shift in the air. The way his shoulders set just a little too still, the way his single eye flickered from your face to the envelope with something dark and unreadable. He stepped forward, not rushing, just closing the distance between you with the kind of inevitability that made your breath come short.

You turned, but before you could move, his hand shot out. Not rough, not gentle like usual, just firm. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting you in place.

“Let go,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached for the letter.

You pulled back.

Slade’s grip tightened. “Let me see,” he said, his voice low, controlled. He wasn't used to you denying him these days, not when you loved him.

Your stomach clenched. You didn’t let go, but it didn’t matter. Because Slade never asked twice.

With one sharp tug, he tore the letter from your grasp, unfolding it with a lazy flick of his wrist. You watched as his eye scanned the words, his jaw tensing, his fingers tightening around the paper just slightly.

Then, finally, a quiet chuckle. A dark, amused sound. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Your breath hitched. Slade looked at you now. Expression unreadable.

“Do you miss him?” Your heart stopped. You denied it, but you could see in Slade's eyes that he didn't believe you. In the way he turned away from you that night. You didn't blame him, you didn't even believe yourself.

Harvey always knew how to play the long game.

Small things began to shift in your life and you knew who was behind it. The song on the radio. A scarf. A photo photo. They were never coincidences, he didn’t believe in coincidence. The man was calculated, meticulous in his pursuits. When he wanted something, he played patient, steady, unyielding, watching from the shadows, striking when you least expected it.

Slade was the same way, but Slade never needed patience. Slade took what he wanted. Harvey waited for it to come back to him.

The jazz playing in the bar was nothing, just white noise in the background while you sat beside Slade, nursing your drink, your head still fogged from the last mission. You weren’t thinking of anything other than how good it felt to finally sit still.

Then, days later, the scarf appeared. Neatly folded on the couch, like a gift wrapped in silence, waiting for you to pick it up. You hadn’t touched it at first, just stood there, staring at it, fingers twitching at your sides. It was a trick of the mind, an old memory manifesting in a way that didn’t make sense.

Except it wasn’t.

He had been here. Or close enough to touch. You should have told Slade. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. And then, the photo. A photo Selina took of you and him dancing at the Pink Pony Club. It smelled like him too.

That was what shattered the illusion of security, the idea that you had control over this. The moment you saw it, you knew.

Harvey had always been a sentimentalist, clinging to memories long past, treasuring things most people would discard.

You, once upon a time, had been one of those things. And now? You weren’t sure. You weren't sure what he wanted, especially since he had Tiffany. You had placed the photo down carefully, afraid to crumple it, afraid to acknowledge what it meant.

You had kept your movements neutral, your breath steady, but Slade had been watching. His presence in the other room was a solid weight pressing into your chest. The shuffle of files, the slow deliberate sound of metal being set down, he was waiting.

He had noticed. Of course, he had. Slade noticed everything. And yet, he didn’t say a word.

You lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, feeling Slade’s presence next to you like a silent storm waiting to break. He wasn’t asking. He was waiting for you to give yourself away. To tell him the truth, to trust him like he trusted you.

Slade had been watching you too closely, keeping his invisible leash tight without ever pulling. That was the way he worked, he let you think you had freedom while keeping you within his reach. If you had tried to leave through the door, he would have known.

So, you didn’t.

You waited, feigned sleep, forced your breathing into something slow, even, something convincing. You heard him move in the other room, heard the creak of his chair, the slow inhale of a cigar.

You moved the moment he shifted. Window, not the door. Silent steps. A fire escape that groaned beneath your weight. By the time Slade glanced back toward the couch, you were already gone.

Harvey knew you would come.

You knew that from the moment you stepped onto the rooftop, the Gotham skyline stretched out behind him like a kingdom.

He turned before you could say anything, a slow, easy movement, his face shadowed beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. And then, he smiled. Not a smirk. Not the sharp, dangerous grin you had been expecting. It was something softer. Something more desperate. Like a man in the desert coming across a well.

“Took you long enough, didn't think you got my message. I started thinking that maybe the note didn't reach you.” he murmured. The message he left in the women's bathroom at a bar you and Slade frequented.

Your throat felt tight. You felt hurt all over again. Like someone reopened the wound of his betrayal. Like the same broken girl Slade took in six months ago. You came here for closure. So that it wouldn't hurt when you said his name or sang the songs you wrote for him. “How did you find me?”

What did he want? To torture you? Rub salt in your wounds?

Harvey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I never lost you.”

Only Slade called you that now. The words made your stomach twist, a cold knot settling in your chest. You should have walked away then. But you didn’t. Because you had to know.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you haunting me? Not letting me move on?” Your voice shook as you said it. This conversation was long overdue.

Harvey’s fingers gripped the railing, his knuckles white. “Because I need you to listen to me. Just once. Just this once. Hear me out.”

Your heart hammered. Hear him out? He could've started with an apology.

“You think I’ll forgive you?” you spat. You would, because when you looked at him, you still felt the same warmth you did all those months ago; only this time it was mixed with resentment and longing.

He flinched. And for the first time, you saw it—the raw, desperate emotion that he had always hidden behind sharp words and confident grins. The mask cracked, just for a second.

His voice turned rough, unsteady. “I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know that. But I need you to hear me out.”

You shook your head, stepping back, but he reached out—not touching, not yet, but close.

“You don’t know what’s happening,” he continued, his voice dropping into something urgent, pleading. “Your family—Tim, Dick, all of them—they’re figuring it out. They’re finding out the truth about Tiffany. They'll realize what she's doing, like I did.They'll know soon, maybe not today or tomorrow; but soon. They'll realize she's been using her powers on them like she did to me.”

Your breath came too short. No. This was not happening. Not when you were finally happy again. Not when you think you've fallen in love with Slade.

“No,” you whispered.

Your vision blurred. It was happening. Everything you had tried to scream about for years, everything they had ignored, it was going to come to light. Harvey’s fingers brushed your wrist.

Soft. Careful. Like he was trying not to scare you away.

“And when they realize what they did to you,” he murmured, “they’re going to come running. Crawling back like I am.”

Your stomach twisted.

“They’re going to act like they care,” he continued, voice soft, insidious. “Like they’re sorry. But they’re not. Not like I am. You know that, don’t you?”

Your lips parted. You hated how much sense it made. Hated how deep the doubt had already burrowed into your skin. Hated how genuine and honest he was being, you could sense it. Harvey tilted his head.

And then, voice lower, almost fragile he said, “You don’t have to go back to them.”

Your stomach dropped. You stepped back. “I’m not going back,” you said, voice shaking. Never.

Harvey swallowed hard. And for a moment, you thought he might break, that the weight of what he had done, what he had lost, might finally crush him. But then, he looked at you.

And you saw it, the shift. The danger. Not Two-Face. Not the cold, calculated criminal.

Just Harvey Dent. The man who never let go. “You think you’re free?” he murmured.

The words sent a chill down your spine. Harvey smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “You think he just let you leave?”

Your chest tightened. You tried not to show the flicker of doubt, the small crack in your resolve. But Harvey saw it.

And then, voice so soft, so dangerous—“He’s not going to let you go either. He'll keep you locked up. I won't.”

You should have never gone to him.

You had known it was a mistake the second you saw him standing there, leaning against the rooftop railing, the glow of Gotham’s skyline making him look almost human.

But you had gone anyway. Because Harvey had always been a mistake you kept making.

You clenched your fists, how dare he talk about Slade? What right did he have to tell you who to trust. "Yeah and I'm gonna take advice from you. That's rich."

He softened immediately, his regret and remorse so obvious; yet he refused to apologize. You wanted to hit him, hurt him like he hurt you; yet when he stood in front of you in the moonlight, your treacherous heart still beat for him. Your heart didn't want to hurt the man who showed you what love is. The man who picked up the shattered pieces your family and Clark left and rearranged them beautifully. It didn't care that he broke them again; he could fix it.

“I made a mistake. I paid for it, I know the truth now.” He said steadily stepping closer, sensing your reluctance.

Your pulse pounded. “What do you want from me?” You were here for answers, not to rekindle an old flame. Not when you were starting one.

Harvey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing from you. ”

The words hit you too hard. You understood what he was implying, what he wanted. You knew he would come crawling back someday, you just didn't expect it so soon

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Why?”

His smile faltered. His hands curled around the railing, gripping it like he needed something solid to hold on to.

"You know why. But that's not what i called you for. I called you to warn you about your family and Tiffany,” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. More desperate. “I can throw them off for a little while, lead them off track and make sure they don't know the truth. If that's what you want. But once they know the truth, they won't leave you alone. Certainly not with him.”

You hated the way your chest tightened with affection at his consideration. You hated that you were here. You hated that he still had a hold on you. You hated how he talked about Slade. You hated hearing him say Tiffany's name, it brought back so much hurt and hatred.

“I don't care about them Keep them away for as long as you want. You know I'm not here to hear about them or your whore.” you said viciously, your eyes shining and your teeth sharpening.

Slade would be proud.

Harvey didn't react to your fangs, he wasn't afraid of you. He came closer and grasped your hand, his eyes so heartbroken that it gave you satisfaction, only for a minute.

His voice cracked slightly. “Nothing I do or say can make up for what I did.” His jaw tightened. “I know that.”

You should have walked away. But you didn’t. Because Harvey’s voice dropped lower, his words curling around you like a trap you should have seen coming. “But I need you to know something,” he whispered.

You swallowed hard. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, watching your reaction. “She wanted to be you, she tried so hard.”

Your breath hitched. You knew this. But hearing Harvey say it made you feel so much better.

Harvey’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “But she never could.”

Your stomach dropped. Why did this have to happen now? Why now when you finally forgot about him?

“She dressed like you,” he continued. “Talked like you. Watched the way you moved. The way you laughed.” His voice hardened. “The way you loved.”

You shook your head, backing away. You couldn't take this anymore. You wanted to run back into Slade's arms, where nothing could touch you. “Shut up.”

Harvey didn’t.

“She wanted to take everything from you.” His expression twisted. “And maybe, if I had been a different man, I would have let her.”

Your skin crawled at the thought. Harvey let out a breathless laugh, bitter and sharp. “But I couldn’t. I had to go digging, looking for clues.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “Because she wasn’t you. No matter how hard she tried to be. No matter how much she played with my mind, she could never replace you.”

You hated him.

You hated that you believed him.

You hated how you still loved him.

Harvey exhaled sharply, tilting his head, watching you with something frighteningly raw. “Every time she touched me, every time she tried to take something that wasn’t hers—” his voice dropped into something dangerous, low and dark and broken— “I was thinking of you.”

Your breathing came too fast.

Harvey stepped closer.

“Every time I kissed her,” he whispered, “I wanted it to be you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Stop. I don't care.” Lies.

“She wasn’t you,” he repeated, voice almost pleading. “She never could be.”

Your throat closed. Your eyes watered and your teeth burned with unshed venom just thinking of his betrayal. Why was this happening.

Harvey’s fingers ghosted over your wrist. Not touching, not quite.

“I never wanted her, not really” he murmured. “Not once.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. This was all you wanted to hear, all you wished for for so long. So why did you feel trapped. Harvey’s voice dropped even lower. He moved even closer

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

You forced yourself to look at him.

“If you don’t care,” he whispered, eyes burning, “why are you still here? Why do you want answers so bad? Why do you still look at me like that?”

You shouldn’t have come.

But you hadn’t been able to help yourself.

Because Harvey always knew what to say, how to linger in your mind like an open wound that refused to heal.

And now here you were, standing under the dim glow of the rooftop’s city lights, your eyes watering, the weight of his gaze pressing into you, sinking into your bones like something familiar, something dangerous.

You forced yourself to keep your stance steady, your pulse even. “You don’t get to ask me those questions.”

Harvey let out a breath, almost a chuckle, but there was no humor in it. His hands curled around the railing as he moved away from you again, gripping the cold metal like it was the only thing keeping him from reaching for you.

“Do you know how many times I told myself you were gone? That I lost you, ” His voice was steady now, but there was an edge to it—something dangerous. “How many times I tried to let you go, to let you move on?”

Your chest tightened. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something else, something more dangerous. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me. I didn't want you to regret your choice. I didn't want anything but happiness for you. No matter how much you hurt me.”

Harvey’s fingers twitched.

“No.” His lips pressed together in a thin line, he knew the truth, that you always wished the best for him. “No, you didn’t.”

The wind curled between you, cold and sharp, carrying the weight of everything unsaid. You should have turned away. Should have walked back the way you came.

But then Harvey laughed, a bitter, broken sound.

“She used her little snake charm but somehow,” he continued, “after a week I was thinking of you. I never loved her. Couldn't even bring myself to like her, honestly.”

Your stomach dropped. It was a gut punch, sharp and unforgiving. He saw it—the flicker of emotion in your face, the tightening of your jaw, the way your breathing caught for just a second too long.

And Harvey, Two-Face, the man who never let go, moved forward, voice soft, eyes burning.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I never stopped loving you”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “Shut up.”

He ignored you. Again.

“I love you so much,” he said, voice low. “You love me too or you wouldn't be here.”

“I said shut up.” He was right, he always is.

Harvey smirked, but there was nothing victorious in it. It was almost self-loathing.

“I never loved her,” he whispered again. He was making sure you knew.

“She wanted me to,” he continued. “She wanted to take everything from you.” His jaw tightened. “And maybe, if you had been a different woman, I would have let her.”

The thought of it made your skin crawl.

Harvey, Tiffany. Together. The ultimate betrayal.

“But I couldn’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “Because she wasn’t you.”

He kept repeating it, trying to speak his remorse into your heart directly. You hated how much it affected you. Hated how your chest ached, how your mind burned with the thought of what could have been. You shouldn’t care. But you did. And Harvey knew it.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, forcing steel into your voice. “You used her, just like she used you. You wanted to spy on Bruce and I wouldn't do it.”

Harvey let out a sharp breath. “Yeah.” His eyes met yours. Unflinching. “I did.”

There was no shame in his voice. Just cold, simple truth. No regret anymore. He didn't regret using her, he regretted hurting you.

“But it wasn’t revenge, sweetheart,” he murmured, his Gotham accent slipping in the angrier he got. “It was survival. She had me under her little spell at first; when that stopped working, her little dream team made sure I never stepped outta line. Never came crawling back to you, never told anyone the truth. But I'm done with them now.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Harvey stepped closer.

“Every time I kissed her, every time I played along, I was thinking of you.” His voice dipped, lower, darker. More desperate. “Every time I called her by her name, I wanted to say yours.”

Your breathing came too fast. This wasn’t fair. Harvey was not supposed to be able to do this to you. Not anymore. He was supposed to be dead to you. He had killed himself in your mind the day he let himself be used, the day he betrayed you.

And yet—

Yet.

You couldn’t move.

Because deep down, a part of you knew—you had thought of him, too. When you weren't with Slade, Harvey consumed your thoughts.

Your stomach twisted as he stepped closer again. “You’re smart, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You always were. Choose carefully.”

You swallowed hard. This wasn't about your family anymore. This was about him and Slade.

“You don’t have to go back to them.” He repeated himself again trying to convince you. His words settled in your bones, heavy, unshakable.

You clenched your jaw again. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Harvey’s eyes flickered, something dark and pleased curling at the edges. And then, voice low, almost dangerous, “Then why are you still with him?”

Your breath hitched. Slade. Your body went rigid.

Harvey took another step closer. Your noses almost touched and you nearly threw yourself into his arms.

“You think he's better than me?”

Your chest tightened. Doubt crept in. You had been so careful. So quiet. Hadn’t you? Harvey saw it. And he smiled.

A slow, knowing smirk. “He’s not going to let you go, he won't give you a choice. I don't blame the man, if I hadn't fucked everything up; I wouldn't let you go either.”

Your stomach dropped. The realization hit you all at once, suffocating, crushing. You hadn’t been careful. You had been playing into Slade’s hands all along.

Because Slade always knew. And if he hadn’t stopped you?

That meant he was letting you dig your own grave. A shiver ran through you.

The moment Harvey’s voice dipped, the second his fingers ghosted over your wrist like a lover’s touch—you should have walked away. But you didn’t. Because part of you needed to hear him say it. Needed to hear him tell you what you already knew.

That he still wanted you. That he never stopped. That you were never meant to be replaced. And it felt amazing to hear the regret in his voice and see the pure longing in his eyes.

The wind curled between you, cold and biting, but Harvey’s presence was stiflingly warm. He was watching you the way he always had; like you belonged to him, like the months between you hadn’t changed a thing. And for the first time all night, you let yourself look at him.

Really look at him.

The scars on the left side of his face had deepened, his two-toned gaze more piercing than before. The weight he carried in his shoulders was heavier, more defined. He was still Harvey, but he wasn’t just Harvey anymore. He had become something darker, something rough around the edges, something broken in a way that made you feel like a piece of you had broken along with him.

You swallowed. “I have to go.” Before you did something you couldn't take back.

Harvey exhaled, slow and deliberate. He nodded, but he didn’t move. He didn’t stop you. But he wasn’t letting you go, either.

“You’re going back to him.” It wasn’t a question. A statement, like he knew it was coming

Your pulse stuttered. “It’s not like that and you know it.” You still felt the need to defend yourself, even though you knew you didn't owe him an explanation.

You still loved him, that much was clear.

Harvey let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Sure it isn’t.”

You took a step back. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t say anything to stop you, but his presence curled around you like a shadow, wrapping itself around your spine, keeping you anchored in place. And then his voice dropped. Low. Certain.

“I’m letting you walk away. But I'm not letting you go. Not when we still love each other.”

Your throat tightened. He wasn’t chasing you. Not yet. But you felt it. The promise in his voice. The inevitability. You didn’t respond.

You didn't deny that you still loved him, it was like a child insisting they didn't eat cookies when they have crumbs all over them.

You just turned and forced yourself to walk away.

The apartment was silent when you returned. Slade was waiting, seated in his chair, drink in hand, legs spread, glaring at the walls. He didn’t turn when you entered. Didn’t move when you stepped further inside, carefully shutting the door behind you. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

You slipped off your shoes, moving slowly, watching him, waiting. Nothing. No reaction. Just that unshakable stillness. The kind that had always been more dangerous than his anger.

You took a steadying breath. If you didn't speak first, he wouldn't speak at all. “Slade—”

“I knew you’d come back.”

His voice cut through the room, sharp and even. Your fingers curled at your sides. “Of course I came back.”

Now, he looked at you. Finally. And when he did, it felt like a blow. That single eye, cold and assessing, swept over you, taking in every detail, every movement, every breath you tried to keep steady. Then, his lips curved. Slow. Controlled.

“Did he tell you what you wanted to hear? Make you want to run into his loving arms again?”

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t let it show. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Slade exhaled through his nose, the faintest huff of amusement. “Don’t insult me.”

Your jaw tightened. Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. You weren’t sure if you were waiting for him to snap, or if he was waiting for you to confess. Then, finally—Slade leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, voice lowering into something dangerous.

“Tell me something,” he said lowly.

You didn’t move. “What?”

Slade tilted his head, watching you like he was already playing out the end of this game. “Did you hesitate?”

The words hit harder than they should have. You swallowed. You could lie. You could tell him what he wanted to hear. But it wouldn’t matter. Slade always knew. And that was the worst part.

Slade was quiet for too long. Then—he sighed. Tired. Expectant. And that was worse than anger. You hated when he treated you like this, so indifferent. You liked his anger better, at least then you could get a reaction out of him.

“Take off your coat,” he said. You hesitated. Slade’s expression didn’t shift. “Now.”

Slowly, carefully, you did as he asked, slipping the fabric from your shoulders, letting it drop onto the chair beside you. Slade’s eye flickered toward it. Then, back to you.

You weren’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe he was looking for something Harvey left behind. Something you didn’t even realize you had carried home with you.

Then, after a long pause—Slade smirked. And it wasn’t kind like the ones you've grown accustomed to.

“You don’t even realize it, do you?”

You stiffened. “Realize what?”

Slade leaned back again, completely relaxed. Like he had already won. “You'll know soon.”

Your breath caught. Where was he going with this? You hated when he spoke like some ancient being and he knew that. He was gonna be insufferable these next few days; he always is when you do something he doesn't like.

“Doesn’t matter where you go,” he continued, his voice so damn certain. His smirk widened, mocking. “You’ll always come back to me.”

Your chest tightened. You hated him. Because he was right. He knew you hated it, too.

You lay awake that night. Not because you couldn’t sleep. Not because Slade was in the other room, making you sleep alone for the first time in months, still awake, waiting, watching, knowing.

But because you couldn’t shake the way Harvey had looked at you before you left. Not angry. Not resentful. Just patient and remorseful. Like he already knew something you didn't.

Slade never brought it up again. Not directly. You weren’t sure if that was worse. You weren't sure if you wanted him to scream at you and demand you never see Harvey Dent again. You would rather anger than the silent treatment.

He didn’t demand answers. He didn’t press the issue. He simply carried on as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t watched you walk through the door smelling like another man’s presence.

That should have been a relief. But it wasn’t. Because Slade didn’t let things go. He let them fester.

It was in the way he touched you now, more deliberate, more possessive. The way his hands lingered a little too long on your waist when he passed you in the kitchen, the way his fingers grazed your wrist, as if reminding you that you were still there, still his.

It was in the way he watched you. He had always been observant, but now it was different. Sharper. He wasn’t just looking at you, he was reading you.

Every twitch of your fingers. Every slight shift in your breathing. Every time you looked over your shoulder without realizing it. You had brought something back from that rooftop, and Slade knew it.

And still, he said nothing. Instead, he tightened his hold.

It was late. The apartment was quiet, but neither of you were asleep. Your back pressed into the cool sheets, heartbeat steady but too aware of the man beside you. It'd been three days since Harvey and Slade was finally sleeping next to you again, but you knew he wasn't truly letting things go.

Slade’s fingers traced slow circles against your wrist, his grip loose but present. “You haven’t been sleeping,” he murmured.

You exhaled, shifting slightly beneath his hold. “And you have?”

A quiet chuckle. “I sleep when I need to.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the dim light of the bedroom. “And when do you need to?” You missed teasing him.

Slade’s smirk was lazy, knowing. “Whenever you’re not around to keep me entertained.”

You rolled your eyes, but he didn’t let you pull away. His grip tightened, just enough to remind you he was there.

“You think too much,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Keeps you restless.”

“Maybe I like thinking,” you shot back booping his nose. You lived to annoy him, to push his buttons in a way only you could get away with.

Slade hummed, shifting to prop himself up on his elbow, still watching you. His fingers trailed down your arm, you would've though he was trying to start something if his movements weren't so slow and calculated.

“What are you thinking about now?” He said reeling you into his trap, his eyes hard. You hated when he tried to trap you. Your pulse skipped. Nothing you said would be the right answer.

Slade’s lips quirked up slightly, but there was something in his expression—something darker, something expectant.

“You can say it,” he mused. “Say his name.”

You were tempted to do it, moan Harvey's name just to piss him off, but that was a line even you knew not to cross. You rolled your eyes, "God, just let it go Slade. It wasn't important."

Why couldn't he just let this go? Slade smirked, mocking. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t break his gaze. Didn’t look away. Because he knew. He always knew. Nothing goes over Slade Wilson's head.

The next morning, you woke up to a message. Not a text. Not a voicemail. A gift.

The small wooden box sat on the kitchen counter, neat, precise. Like it had been waiting for you. Your blood ran cold. You hadn’t heard anyone come in. You hadn’t even felt him. But Harvey had been here. You swallowed, fingers brushing over the lid before carefully lifting it open.

Inside was a single playing card.

The Two of Hearts.

And beneath it—folded carefully, as if it was meant to be unwrapped like some kind of sentimental treasure—was the same scarf he had left before.

Except this time, there was something else. Perfume. Your perfume. It smelled like you and him. Like Harvey had held onto it. Like he had kept it close. Your stomach twisted.

Harvey had been here. And you hadn’t even noticed.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the box, breath coming a little too sharp, too shallow. The walls of the apartment felt smaller. You didn’t hear Slade approach, but you felt him before he spoke.

His voice was smooth, dangerous. “Something I should know about?”

You forced yourself to breathe. “No.”

Slade leaned against the counter, eyeing the box like he already knew exactly who it was from. And then—he laughed. A quiet, amused sound, as if this was a game he had already won. “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he said, in the same tone some used when regretting not buying a book before it sold out.

Your stomach dropped. Slade tilted his head, eye still locked on you. “But you wouldn’t have liked that, would you?”

You said nothing.

Slade smirked, shaking his head. “Soft spot for old flames.” He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist. “That’s your problem.”

You clenched your jaw, jerking your arm away. “And what’s yours?”

Slade’s gaze darkened. “I don’t have problems.”

You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. Always with the tough guy persona, honestly it must be tiring always acting untouchable. “Right. Sorry, I forgot. Because you don’t feel anything.”

Slade didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, unreadable. His hand reached for your jaw, firm, demanding. His thumb traced your cheek, slow, deliberate. And when he spoke, his voice was quiet.

“I feel plenty.” You swallowed. Slade smirked. “You just don’t like what I feel.”

You stepped back before you could do something stupid. Something that would make you forget about the box on the counter, the scent of Harvey still lingering in the air. Something that would make you forget that you weren’t sure who you were more afraid of losing.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Harvey was right. They were going to find out the full truth soon. And when they did, they would come for you.

Now, a week after your meeting with him, your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Message after message, call after call, each one from Tim Drake-Wayne. All asking you questions about Tiffany, about yourself. About where you were.

Your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled through the texts, hands shaking, stomach twisting itself into knots so tight you thought you might be sick. Of course Tim was the first to figure out something was wrong. He was about five years too late though.

Tim: We need to talk. Please answer. I have questions. About Tiffany..

You could barely breathe. He wanted to investigate, to look deep into Tiffany. Now?

Now, after years of pushing you aside, after ignoring every cry for help, now he wanted to take your warnings seriously.

Your eyes burned, fingers tightening around the phone, your mind screaming at you to respond, to finally say all the things you’d held in your chest for too long.

But you didn’t. Instead, you turned the phone off. You shoved it under the pillow, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to push away the tears, trying to ignore the way your chest ached with something ugly and desperate.

The moment you walked out of the bedroom, you knew he had seen.

Slade was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, gaze heavy with something unreadable. The phone was still buzzing beneath the pillow in the other room, and somehow, you knew he had heard it.

He had been waiting for this. You swallowed, standing stiffly near the doorway, trying to pretend like everything was fine. Slade didn’t say anything at first. He just watched.

“Took him long enough,” he mused, his voice casual, controlled.

You rolled your eyes. He's been bitchy ever since the whole Harvey thing.

Slade’s eye flickered to your hands, still clenched at your sides. “And let me guess—you ignored him.”

You hated how easily he could see through you. You glared at him, jaw tight. “None of your business.”

Slade chuckled, shaking his head, pushing off the counter and closing the distance between you in slow, measured steps.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was lower now, smoother, curling around your spine like a threat disguised as affection. “Everything about you is my business.”

You tensed. Slade reached up, tracing a gloved finger along your cheek, tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“He’ll keep calling,” he murmured. “He’ll keep begging. He'll figure it out and tell the rest of the little squad and they'll all come running back. Just like your dear old Dent. ” His lips curled into something mocking. “That’s what they do, isn’t it? Make mistakes because they know you'll forgive them?"

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. Not to hurt you, just enough to remind you who was in control.

His thumb brushed over your lips, slow, deliberate. “What are you gonna do?”

Your breath hitched. Slade leaned in slightly, voice dropping even lower. Dangerous. “Do you want Tim to tell the others? Want your family back? Want him back? Even after he fucked your sister while you were lying sick in your bed?”

Your throat tightened. He was toying with you. Mocking you, trying to hurt you. Making you say it. And you didn’t want to say it. Because you didn’t know. Your family had been your world.For so long, all you wanted was to be seen.

To be loved.

To be something more than just a ghost standing in the background, watching them fawn over someone who had stolen everything from you. And Harvey gave that to you, before he betrayed you.

And now, he was sorry. Soon, they would all know the truth and be sorry.

The emotions clawed at your throat.

You wanted to scream at Tim. Tell him it was too late. Tell them that he could never fix this. No amount of investigating and apologies could make up for years of neglect.

But another part of you, the part that still ached for their love, the part that still wanted them to prove you wrong,

That part whispered, “What if?” What if when they found out the truth, they would love you? What if this time, they actually stayed?

What if this was your chance to finally have the family you always wanted?

The war inside your head made you dizzy. And Slade knew it. He was still holding you, still keeping you rooted to him, while your world spun out of control. After a long, suffocating silence, Slade finally sighed. “You’re a mess.”

You glared at him, pushing away from his grip. “Fuck you.”

Slade chuckled, unfazed. “You do it almost every night.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "You're a child, you know that?"

You turned away, grabbing a glass from the counter, hands still shaking slightly as you filled it with water. You weren’t thirsty, but you needed something—anything—to keep yourself grounded.

Slade leaned against the counter again, watching you with amusement, but something deeper lurked beneath it. Then, in a voice so casual it almost didn’t register, “I’ll make him stop. I'll make them both stop.”

The glass almost slipped from your fingers. You turned sharply, eyes wide. “What?”

Slade shrugged, like it was nothing. “You don’t want to deal with them. You don’t want to make a decision. So I’ll make it for you.”

Your breath caught. Slade never dealt with things peacefully, he got rid of problems permanately. “You can’t just—”

“I can.” His smirk deepened. “And I will.”

Your stomach twisted. Because the worst part was; you weren’t sure if you were relieved or horrified. Because Slade was right. You didn’t want to make a choice. You wanted someone to do it for you.

And Slade was more than happy to take that burden.

The first thing you noticed the next morning was the silence. No more buzzing. No more messages lighting up your screen. Slade had done it.

He hadn’t waited for you to argue. Hadn’t given you the choice. By the time you checked your phone, every number had been blocked. Every contact erased like they had never existed at all.

And maybe that’s what Slade wanted.

For them to be nothing but ghosts in your past. A clean break. A fresh start. So why did it feel like your chest was splitting open?

You had spent years craving their attention. Years begging for even a scrap of love. And now? Now you had the chance to get it. And you ignored it. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t need them. That you had spent too long chasing something that was never meant to be yours.

And yet, as you stood in the quiet of the apartment, phone gripped too tight in your hands, you ached. Because you had wanted them to fight for you.

Slade had left that morning, his usual teasing smirk in place, but there had been something off.

Maybe it was the fact that his mission was dragging out longer than expected.

Maybe it was the way his fingers had lingered under your chin before he left, thumb brushing over your jaw like he was making sure you were still his.

Or maybe it was the way he had muttered, “Be good while I’m gone, sweetheart.” as you kissed him goodbye.

Like he already knew you wouldn’t be. Like he already knew something was coming. The apartment felt too big without him. His absence wasn’t something you should have noticed.

But you did.

It was in the empty space beside you when you sat on the couch. The extra portion of dinner you made out of habit. The lack of footsteps behind you. The missing weight of his presence pressing against your world, keeping you safe.

It was the first time in months you had been truly alone. So you did the only thing you could think of.

You took a nice, long, hot, shower, trying to dull the ache below your hips. You and Slade had sex last night, but somehow you were already wanting more. It was like your body could sense his absense.

You stood under the hot water, letting the steam curl around your skin, letting the heat scald away the thoughts clawing at your mind.

Maybe Slade was right. Maybe it was easier to just let go.

There was a sound. Soft. Distant. A creak where there shouldn’t be one. You wouldn't have heard it, wouldn't have sensed the body heat if you didn't have your powers. Your heart stopped. You turned off the water immediately, listening.

Nothing.

Maybe it was just—

Another creak. Closer this time. You swallowed, pulse hammering, every nerve in your body screaming at you that something was wrong. Slade was gone.

No one should be here. But you weren’t alone.

The second you stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your damp skin, fangs reader and a knife in your hand, you felt him.

The shift in the air. The weight of someone watching. And then, his voice.

“Gotta admit,” Harvey mused, voice smooth, mocking, as if he had any right to be angry “didn’t think you’d be the type to shack up with a guy like him.”

Your stomach dropped. You turned sharply, eyes darting across the room, breath catching in your throat when you saw him.

Sitting on your bed. On Slade’s bed.

Harvey was leaning back against the headboard, one leg crossed over the other, looking far too comfortable. Like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t the intruder in this equation.

Harvey sat there like he hadn’t broken in, hadn’t shattered what little peace you had left. The moment you stepped out of the shower, still dripping, wrapped only in a towel, you knew, he was waiting for you.

Your fingers clenched around the towel’s edge, jaw tight, pulse pounding.

"You’ve got some fucking nerve," you muttered, stepping further into the room, closing the distance between you and him.

Harvey leaned back against the pillows, one arm draped lazily over the headboard, watching you with something smug, something knowing.

"Had to see you," he said simply. Like it was normal. Like it was nothing.

Your stomach twisted. It was never nothing with Harvey.

"And let me guess," you bit back. "You just let yourself in."

His smirk widened. "Door was unlocked, it’s not breaking and entering if you used to live together."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Bullshit. That’s exactly what it is, Dent. We don't like together anymore. Never did officially either."

Harvey didn’t flinch. Instead, his gaze slid lower. Over the damp strands of your hair. Over your throat. Your collarbone. Your bare legs.

You knew that look. It made something ugly stir inside you.

He looked at you, gaze slow, deliberate, taking in every inch of you. The damp strands of hair clinging to your skin. The way the towel barely covered enough to keep you decent.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Don’t stop on my account. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

Your fingers clenched around the towel, pulse thundering. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Harvey let out a quiet chuckle, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Relax, sweetheart. Just thought I’d drop by. Say hello. You wouldn’t answer your phone, so I figured—” he spread his arms in mock innocence, “—why not pay a visit?”

You hated how calm he was. How easy he made it look. Like he hadn’t just broken into your home. Like he hadn't broken your heart. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, heart hammering against your ribs. Slade was gone. Gone.

No one was coming. But you could handle yourself. And Harvey knew it. His eyes flickered down your body again, this time slow, calculating. Looking at all the marks and love bites Slade had left the night before. “You always did have a thing for older men,” he mused.

Your jaw clenched. Low blow.

Harvey smirked. “What’s the matter? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Thought you could just run off and play house with Gotham’s favorite mercenary and I’d let it slide?” He tsked, almost disappointed. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

You glared at him. Where did he get the audacity? “You don’t own me. Especially not now. Especially not after what you did. Your apology didn't change anything. You've got no right to be here.”

Harvey’s expression darkened, but only for a second. Then he grinned. “Funny. That’s exactly what I was thinking about him.”

Your stomach twisted. Because you knew what he was doing. He wanted you off balance. He wanted you to doubt. It was working. Because a part of you—a part you hated—was already wondering what Slade would do when he found out. Because he would find out. How jealous would he be? Would he finally drop the whole nonchalant act, ask you to be official?

Harvey’s smirk widened. “You think he’s coming back soon? You waiting for him? That's real cute princess.”

Your throat tightened. “He'll be back tomorrow.”

Harvey shrugged, stretching out like he had all the time in the world. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How missions can just drag out longer than expected?” His grin turned sharp. Cruel. “Would be a real shame if something happened to keep him… occupied.”

Your blood froze. Harvey watched you, waiting for the realization to sink in. He knew. He knew Slade wasn’t coming home anytime soon.

Your fingers curled into fists and suddenly you were on top of him, fangs bared, “What did you do?”

Harvey simply leaned back, enjoying himself and the view of your almost naked body on top of him. He turned his neck, as if trying to give you more access to him.

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “Now, now. Don’t go blaming me. I didn’t lift a finger.” His grin widened. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who did.”

Your breath was coming too fast, too shallow, panic creeping up your spine. Slade was gone. Harvey was here. You were trapped. And Harvey knew it. Your pulse pounded. Slade was gone. Harvey was here.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pinning him down harder against the mattress, your fangs bared, breath coming in sharp, furious exhales.

"What did you do?" you hissed again, voice low, dangerous, shaking with barely contained rage.

Harvey smirked up at you, completely unbothered. His eyes gleamed with that same smug amusement, like he was playing with his food.

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmured, voice infuriatingly smooth, teasing. "No need to get all worked up."

You pressed your thighs against his sides, pinning him harder. "Answer me, Harvey."

He let out a slow breath, his smirk twitching, dark amusement flickering across his features. "You always were so determined. I love that about you."

Your fingers tightened, nearly scratching his back, sharp acrylics pressing into his skin through the fabric of his white button down. You didn't want to hurt him, not badly at least.

"Tell me why Slade’s mission is taking so long," you demanded, your weight pressing down on him, your legs gripping him tighter.

Harvey’s hands moved then; sliding slowly up your thighs, gripping just hard enough to make your breath catch.

"You really think I’m gonna make this easy for you?" he murmured, voice dropping to something lower, something thicker with something he wasn’t bothering to hide.

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping down your spine, twisting through your limbs. He knew. He felt it.

His smirk widened, his hips shifting beneath you just slightly.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard. Throbbing. Pressing against the thin fabric of his slacks, against the barely-there barrier of your towel. You nearly moaned, stop being a slut, you tried to tell yourself.

You froze, just for a second. And Harvey noticed.

You were straddling him, baring your venomous fangs. You could kill him. And he was hard. You could feel it, it was impossible not to, thick, twitching against your inner thigh, pressed right against you.

Your powers didn’t help. They never fucking did. The second you got close enough to feel body heat, it was over. It was a constant hum under your skin, that ache, that need, clawing at your sanity. Your towel barely clinging to your damp skin, the heat of his body seeping into yours, you didn't know how much longer you could hold on.

He let out a low, pleased chuckle, his good hand settling on your waist, just barely gripping. "Didn’t know you missed me this much, sweetheart. Thought you were over me?"

Your nails dug into his chest even harder, but he didn’t flinch. He never fucking did. "Tell me where Slade is," you demanded.

Harvey hummed, mocking. "You sure you wanna talk about him right now?" His fingers flexed against your skin, his smirk widening as he shifted slightly beneath you again. "Because from where I’m sitting, you got bigger problems."

Your breath hitched, and you hated it. Hated the way your traitorous body reacted to him. Hated the way he felt so familiar.

His gaze flickered, taking in the flush on your skin, the way your thighs squeezed involuntarily around him. He felt it too. The heat. The tension. The pull that never really disappeared, no matter how many times you had tried to convince yourself that you were done with him.

"You always were greedy," Harvey murmured, tilting his head, eyes dark with something wicked. He was loving this. "You just can’t get enough, can you?"

Suddenly, you were angry at him again. You remembered Tiffany. Your grip tightened around his wrists, holding him down, pressing harder into him, and his smirk twitched, just slightly.

Good. Let him fucking squirm. "You still think you have control here?" you whispered, lowering your head, your breath grazing the sharp line of his jaw.

His breathing faltered. Just for a second. Just enough.

Then, just as quickly, his lips curled again, sharp and taunting.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice deep, smug, full of sin. "As long as youre on top of me or under me, I don't give a shit who's in control."

Your entire body tensed. Your nails dragged down his chest, slow, teasing, right over his shirt. You could feel his heartbeat pounding beneath your fingertips, fast, erratic, out of sync with the smug bastard act he was putting on.

He was burning for you. Just as much as you were for him. But you weren’t going to give in.

"You still think you can do whatever you want to me?" you whispered, leaning in, letting your lips hover just over his.

Harvey’s eyes flickered. A muscle in his jaw ticked. And for the first time since he had shown up, his smirk finally fucking dropped.

You grinned. Then you moved your hips and ran your fingers up and down his chest.

Harvey cursed sharply through his teeth, his grip on your waist tightening instantly, fingers digging into your skin like a vice. His dick twitched against you through his slacks, so fucking hard and aching that you could almost feel the pulse of it.

You let out a slow, breathy chuckle. "Guess you do still want me, huh?"

Harvey’s breathing was uneven. "Careful," he rasped, voice lower, darker, more dangerous now. "You’re playing a real stupid game, princess."

"Why?" you taunted, grinded your hips again, watching the way his fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to snap. "Because you can’t handle it? Because you can’t handle me?"

It was fun being in control. Slade never let you do whatever you wanted to him, barely ever in the bedroom. You loved control, especially when it meant having a man at your mercy beneath you.

Harvey’s eyes flashed. Then, he flipped you. Fast. Brutal.

You barely had time to react before you were the one beneath him , your towel barely hanging onto your body, his hand locked around your wrist, pinning you down, his body hovering over yours, pressing you into the mattress.

His breathing was hard, uneven, tense.

"You really think I don’t know what you’re doing?" he murmured, so close now.

Your chest heaved. You got too cocky, too confident, and now you were paying the price, "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Harvey laughed softly, mocking, brushing his nose against yours. "Liar."

You swallowed, pulse hammering.

"You love this," he said, voice like gravel against your skin. "The attention. The desperation and groveling. You love seeing me beg. The way you talk like you want to kill me, and the next second," his lips ghosted your cheek, his cock pressing hard against your thigh, "you’re grinding against me like a fucking addict."

Your breath hitched. His grip tightened.

"He ever let you get on top?" he murmured, lips just barely grazing yours.

Your stomach twisted. "Don't."

His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Did you think about me when he had you at first? Did you close your eyes and pretend it was my hands on you even after I broke your heart? Should I tell him that?"

Your nails dug into his shoulder, your body betraying you, the heat between your legs only getting worse, stronger, overwhelming, unbearable.

"You wish," you rasped, but it sounded too breathless, too shaky.

Harvey smirked. He knew. "Say you don’t miss me," he challenged.

You clenched your jaw, turning your head away, trying to ignore the way your body burned beneath his.

"Say it," he demanded.

You tried to, but the words wouldn't come out.

Harvey hummed. Then, his fingers slid lower, trailing along your bare thigh, teasing the hem of the towel.

"Yeah," he mused, smug and cruel. "That’s what I thought."

His fingers flexed against your thighs, his grip tightening.

"Little desperate, aren’t you?" he murmured, his voice thick with something smug, something rough.

You scoffed, but your heart was hammering, your body betraying you. "If I was desperate," you whispered, leaning forward until your lips were just barely brushing against his, taunting, teasing. "You’d already be inside me."

Harvey let out a low groan. He flipped you back around, giving you full control. Letting you be on top. You lost yourself for a moment, lost the plot. You melted into him and began kissing his neck slowly and unbuttoning his shirt as you slowly moved against him. But then, you saw the picture frame you hung of you and Slade, right behind Harvey.

Slade made you take down all the photos whenever he went away on a mission, in case someone broke in and saw them, and decided to hurt you to get back at him. It was the only one you refused to remove.

It was of you and him, two months ago. Slade had a mission in Paris and he let you tag along, after you were done, you made him go to an ice cream shop. Some sweet old man asked if you wanted a picture together, Slade wasn't smiling, barely even smirking, but you could see the happiness in his eyes as he had his arms around your waist, looking down at you.

You felt nauseous, all the arousal you felt was gone. You were a whore. How could you do this to Slade? You stopped moving as your eyes watered, what if Harvey had done something to him?

Harvey's hands snapped up, gripping your hips, grinding you down onto him. He wasn't gonna let you stop now.

"Fuck, baby, I forgot how good you are at this. Don't stop, please." he exhaled, almost begging, his jaw tightening, his cock pulsing against you.

You bit your lip, trying to fight the heat clawing through your body, the way your nerves lit up at the sheer pressure of him beneath you. It felt so good. You were horny again. But you could use this to your advantage, Harvey wanted you even more that you wanted him.

"Tell me," you whispered, rolling your hips just slightly, torturing him. "Tell me what you mean when you say Slade's occupied.."

Harvey’s smirk curled, his hands dragging you down harder, making you feel every inch of him. " What’s it worth to you?"

Your breath hitched. Harvey’s fingers trailed up your back, slow, possessive, teasing. "You wanna make sure your merc comes back in one piece?"

You swallowed hard, your body thrumming with frustration, anger, something else. All control you had was slipping, your powers were making you horny but they weren't working. Harvey wasn't listening to what you told him to do.

"Make me happy, sweetheart. If I’m happy," his smirk deepened, his voice dripping with dark amusement. " the bastard stays alive."

Your chest tightened, heat roaring up your spine, burning you from the inside out. You hated him. You wanted him. You needed to keep Slade alive. Harvey’s hands slid lower, his thumbs tracing slow, burning circles into your skin.

"Make a decision, pretty girl, his flight leaves soon." he murmured, his dick twitched against you, heavy with need. God, how could he be horny while threatening your teacher/ mentor /situationship's life?

You couldn’t lose Slade.

So you kissed him. Hard. Desperate.

Harvey groaned against your lips, his hands flying up to grip your waist, dragging you down harder against him, practically trying to merge your bodies together.

"That’s my girl," he muttered, his voice rough, victorious, possessive.

Your stomach burned with shame, with need, with something twisted and terrible. You hated him. You loved him.

You needed Slade to live.

But you couldn't do this to Slade, couldn't betray him on the bed you shared every night. He would be livid, what would he do in this situation? Probably kill Harvey. But you weren't Slade, you weren't as brave or as cruel as him.

So you did what you do best: You ran.

You jumped off of Harvey, punching him in the nose, still only in your towel that somehow stayed on, and shut the bedroom door in his face. You had powers, you were faster than Harvey, maybe even stronger than him. You made it to the front door in seconds, but your heart dropped as you saw the three new deadbolts.

Fucking Slade. You debated letting him die at that point.

Suddenly, you felt him behind you, grabbing you and pinning you against the door.

“Goddamn,” He laughed, amused, mocking, “you really thought that would work?”

You snarled, struggling harder, but he didn’t budge. His grip only tightened.

“Let me go, Harvey.”

His breath hitched at the way you said his name. Not Dent. Not Two-Face. Not some alias meant to keep distance. Just Harvey.

And it made something in his chest clench. His fingers flexed, his other hand dragging up your spine in a slow, deliberate motion, making you shudder.

“You always run, don’t you?” His voice was low, smooth—but there was something dangerous beneath it. “Always running from someone.”

His grip tightened on your wrists, pressing them into the wall, “From them. From me. From yourself.”

You hated how well he knew you. You hated that he was right. You hated how he got you into bed willingly even as the guilt ate you up. You hated how good he made you feel, how you couldn't bring yourself to say no. If you did, he would stop, and you didn't want that.

"Don't act like you don't want me now. You were all over me not even a minute ago." He sneered, as he ripped off your towel like it offended him.

You didn't know how many times you came, or how long you went for. You felt so good, but somehow you've never felt worse. Even as Harvey made you scream his name, you thought of how Slade would react.

You felt even worse as the night wore on, and instead of rough sex, you began to make love. Harvey buried his face in your neck as he muttered apologies, still buried inside you, and swore he would make it up to you.

You began to cry, it felt so good. But it was so wrong, so disgusting.

And you knew you never felt true regret until you woke up the next morning in Harvey Dent's arms, naked on the bed you slept on with Slade Wilson.

WHAT YALL THINK?? 1-10?? ALSO COMMENT DOWN BELOW TO BE ON THE TAGLIST FOR THIS STORY

#yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batman #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere bruce wayne #yandere x reader #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere dick grayson #yandere harvey dent #yandere slade wilson #platonic yandere batman #yandere jason todd x reader

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strawbearyxx · 2 days ago

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⊹˚⋆ જ ꒰ in-ho as your bf ꒱ જ ⋆˚⊹

warning, he’s toxic asf i can’t imagine him being a good bf

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

~ stares at you all the time, everyone else thinks it creepy but you lowk love it

~ obsessive over you and insanely possessive

~ will try to control you whether you like it or not, you’re too scared to disobey him

~ his kisses are always filled with desire, seeking to claim you as his own

~ would kill anyone who he thinks is a threat

~ makes you cry so he can be the one to comfort you and wipe away your tears

~ “i’m sorry baby, i’m here okay? shh, we’re alright, don’t cry now you know i love you”

~ spoils you and gives you every material thing you’ve ever wanted

~ controls who you can see, when you can see them, what you can wear, etc.

~ has moments where he seems like he’s going to stay sweet to you, but it never lasts long

~ loves leaving marks on you and doesn’t let you hide them

~ makes you tell him you belong to him after an argument

~ has you wear showy outfits just for him to see, buys you a tonnn of clothes you’re never allowed to wear outside

~ loves punishing you for doing something wrong, he makes up new rules all the time to get more chances to

~ the second you cry to someone about him, they disappear

~ sends the salesman to follow you when you’re out

~ his touch is possessive and he's always holding your waist when you're around other people

~ you can't help but give in to his desires because he's so tempting

~ "you're mine, you know that? no one, and i mean no one, is allowed to touch you like i do. say it now, tell me you're mine"

~ acts like he worships you sometimes to give you a false sense of security

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

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slut4thebroken · 2 days ago

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Reasonable

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Stepdad!Lenny Miller x reader

Summary | You break one of his rules, so he punishes you.

Warnings | Smut, dubcon?, “incest”, fucking machine, overstim, forced orgasms, bondage, slut shaming?, abuse of power lowkey.

Words | 690+

Notes | Idk I barely edited this tbh

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 22: fucking machine

You heard the door open, and his footsteps, then you saw his dress shoes approach your head from where you laid on the floor.

“Learned your lesson yet?” He asked casually.

“Please,” you sobbed, voice raw from all the moaning and crying. Your knees and shoulders ached from being against the floor for so long and your wrists were throbbing from each time you tried to pull away. You don’t even want to know where he got something like this, but your ankles were attached to the sides of the machine and your arms were extended behind you with chains connecting the cuffs on your wrists to the device, keeping you from moving away from the dildo as it pistoned in and out of you.

He sighed and you heard his footsteps again as his shoes disappeared, moving behind you. When he turned the speed of the machine down, your whole body sagged in relief. Then he finally turned it all the way off and you felt like you could actually breathe again. The orgasm that was approaching was starting to fade now, but you’d rather get a break than come again…

“Thank you,” you gasped out, “thank you— I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

You whined, not wanting to say it out loud. But you knew you had to if you didn’t want this punishment to get any worse. “I’m sorry for having a boy over without permission…” He barely waited a second before landing a sharp smack on your ass, warning you to do better. “I’m sorry for.. having sex with him.” You whined, bottom lip quivering.

“I like to think I’m a fair man. The rules I gave you— that you have to follow so long as you live under my roof— seem pretty reasonable, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir.” You said quietly.

“No boys, no sex, no drinking or smoking, and curfew at 1 am.” He reminded you. “You may be an adult, but you still live in my house. And my house has rules.” You squirmed nervously, starting to think that he didn’t actually come in here to finally end this… punishment.

“Now, I don’t know if this is the first time or if it’s just the first time you got caught, but I don’t tolerate disrespect.” He suddenly turned the speed back up, making you cry out. “Hopefully you learn that sooner rather than later, for your own sake.” When he turned it up even more, you let out a mix of a scream and a moan.

“S-Sir, please.. I’m sorry!” You gasped out, struggling to breathe from the intensity of the fucking machine. “I’ve learned my lesson.” You added with a pained whimper.

“You haven’t.” He said conclusively, forcing a choked sob out of you. “Not yet, at least. But I’m sure after a couple more hours, you’ll start to make some progress.”

“Please!” You cried, tears streaming down your cheeks. Over the sound of the machine, you could hear the obscene, wet squelch of your pussy. You’ve already come twice after less than three hours of this— and without any stimulation on your clit either— so your juices were gushing around the dildo, leaking onto the floor between your legs.

“You were the little slut who decided you wanted to be fucked. I’m just giving you what you wanted.” You sobbed out a moan and shook your head, unable to protest any other way.

Despite how badly you wanted him to turn it back off, you were barrelling toward your orgasm because of the stimulation, and now his words.

Your whole body stiffened and the sounds caught in your throat before the knot of arousal in your stomach finally snapped. You practically screamed at the intensity, barely able to take it, and you could faintly hear Lenny sigh. Your body was trembling and tears were streaming down your cheeks, staining the floor below you.

“Sir, please!” You sobbed brokenly, feeling the overstimulation start to kick in once again.

“I have to stop by the office. When I come back, I’ll decide whether or not I think your punishment has been sufficient.”

#lenny miller smut #lenny miller x reader #lenny miller #cillian murphy #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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sematarygirls · 3 days ago

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GONE GIRL. masterlist

if you know the whereabouts of this person, please call 911 or contact the kildare county sheriff's department at 252-290-6688

NAV ! Part Two. Part Three. Part Four.

Excerpt from Y/N L/N's Diary

July 18th, 2023,

Step 9: Make Amends Except When To Do So Would Injure Them Or Others.

I've been stuck on this step for a while, wondering if making amends would do more harm than good. Does "injure" encapsulate emotional injury, damages that have repercussions that can't be undone?

I think I have to come clean, to tell the truth, and make things right so I can continue on my journey to better myself. I've done a lot of bad things and hurt a lot of people, and I don't want to be that person anymore. I want to be better.

Sometimes I think about disappearing, just leaving and starting over where no one knows my name, but I know running away isn't a solution; it's avoiding my problems and putting a bandaid over a bullet wound. If I'm going to take my recovery seriously, I need to work my program.

But there's this other part of me that's scared, terrified even, of what will happen when I come clean. I've lied to the people I care about most. I've done things that will hurt people if they ever came to light, but I know they will, whether I want them to or not. The best thing I can do is own up to it before it gets out some other way.

The hardest part is knowing how much this will hurt him, how angry he will be. I love him. I wish I could take it all back, but I can't. The only thing I can do is move forward and hope that he won't hate me forever.

I'm scared of what's coming, and I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.

notes .ᐟ kind of a short part, but very cryptic 😏

taglist .ᐟ @lovemesailor / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 / @riaras-everthroner / @memoirofasparklemuff1n / @rafeysangelbaby / @starkeying / @stayonmars / @mileyraes / @davinashifts333 / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @or-was-it-just-a-dream / @elvislover1967 / @maybankslover / @sereneera / @venicebiatxh / @izurelia / @starkeysswife / @drewstarkeyspecs / @rafeysbangs / @jeonjungkaka / @laniirackssss

୭ৎ

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sdmnpact · 2 days ago

Note

Heyyyy can you plz do a fan fic of George Clarke x reader where they look after the readers little cousin for the day and they go out to different places

Day Out.

George Clarke x Reader ff

~~~

Are we still on for today? 😘

You received that text from your boyfriend George Clarke, you love the boy to pieces and today you two had a whole date planned. He had spent so much time planning such a lovely day out for the two of you. Unfortunately or maybe not so unfortunate your aunt had just asked you if you could babysit your cousin.

As much as you would love to go out with George, you know your aunt needs your help and of course you love your cousin so you couldn't resist seeing them.

Sorry baby, my aunt needs me to watch my cousin, y/c/n. Remember them? Raincheck?? 🥰

You sent back. You were hoping he wouldn't be upset by this as he knows how much you love your little cousins. You looked at your phone screen as bubbles appeared then disappeared repeatedly.

What if we take them along with us? 👀

You didn't hate the idea. Your cousin hasn't met George yet and you don't know whether they'll be fine with it or not but who knows maybe it'll be better than you think.

Alright then xx

>>>

"Okay now, his name is George and he's a really nice guy, I think you'll like him." You explained to y/c/n who was hesitant on meeting this guy. You looked in the rearview mirror to see them still slightly discontent with this situation but you know that once they meet him, they'll love him.

You finally arrived at George's flat, calling him to come out. He came out with a backpack on holding a small plushie. You narrowed your eyes, wondering where he pulled that from. You watched at he walked up to the back window.

"Hey there." He said waving the plushie in y/c/n's face. You saw their face light up as they reached for the plushie as George smiled widely. He gave the plushie to them as they laughed happily. You 'awwed' at the sight watching as he got into the car.

"That was sweet." You grabbed his hand. He leaned forward and gave you a small kiss on the cheek. "Well, I'm only sweet." He winked at you as you let go of his hand and rolled your eyes. He laughed as you began driving. "So where are we going anyways? Shouldn't you be the one driving?" You said driving aimlessly. "Well it isn't that far from here, I'll drive after this." You nodded as he pulled up the maps on his phone.

You finally arrived at the destination, an outdoor mini golf course. "Mini golf? Is this what you had planned for us?" He nodded smiling from ear to ear. "Only the finest for ma' lady." He is such a dork, but he's your dork.

All of you went up to the putting booth and grabbed your equipment. Y/c/n seemed so happy to be there. "Yay golfing!!" They shrieked as they ran to the first hole while you walked side by side with George. "They're so cute!" He gushed as you grabbed his arm. "I know, they're just like me" You batted you lashes at him as he playfully shoved you off.

"I'm gonna beat both of you!" Y/c/n shouted grabbing the club in their tiny arms. "Is that so? Well, I'm the golf master!" George said getting his club ready. You chuckled to yourself as you watched them playfully fight with their clubs.

"Okay, settle down, let's do this."

You know George is a big softie but you've never seen him like this. When he's around children, he sort of turns into a big teddy bear. You watched as he would playfully tackle your cousin, hugging them in his arms or helping them putt when they couldn't get the angle right.

You couldn't even concentrate on the actual game but rather George's interactions with y/c/n.

"Y/N! It's your turn!!" Y/c/n shouted at you as you were caught up watching George.

"Distracted, are we y/n?" George smirked. You shot him a little glare but sent a cheesy smile to your cousin.

You set yourself up for the shot, taking your sweet time aiming the putter.

"Any day now" George teased as you just shook you head, finally striking the ball, getting a whole in one.

"Was that good enough for you?" You said a bit sassy, swishing your hair at him. He playfully rolled his eyes coming over to grab your waist.

"You're actually really annoying" He towered over you, the breeze sending a whiff of his cologne, you basked in his musky scent.

"You're one to talk, so obsessed with me." You chuckled lightly pushing past him.

The three of you continued your game of mini golf, with y/c/n taking first place at the will of George who you watched purposely throw the game so your cousin can win after you explicitly told him not to. Of course that meant you got second place and you couldn't not rub it in his face.

After mini golf, George planned on having a picnic for you two at a botanical garden but since your cousin has gone along, he decided a park would be more suitable.

You guys arrived at the park and found a nice spot on the grass underneath a giant oak tree.

He laid out a large blanket, unpacking all the food he had packed for you guys. Sandwiches, crisps, fruit, juice, gummies. He had packed a whole meal for you lot and you couldn't have been more appreciative of the thoughtful man that sat in front of you.

"Here you go baby, just how you like it." George laid out a plate in front of you filled with your favorites.

"You're so ridiculously sweet." You teased, pinching his cheek making him blush a bit.

You watched as your cousin went off to play on the playground. "Be careful!" You shouted making sure they don't injure themself.

"Calm down, mom, I think they'll be alright." George chuckled taking a bite of his food.

"I just wanna be cautious, if there is one scratch on that little head, my aunt will have my ass on a swivel."

"Don't worry, everything will be fine." He reassured, getting closer to you. He sat behind you, wrapping his arms around your body. He planted a soft kiss on the top of your head.

You sat there for a while in his arms watching your cousin play on the swing set. "You fancy having one, one day?" He asked you suddenly making your eyes go wide with shock.

You have been dating for quite a while now and seeing as basically all your mates are having babies, you can't say you haven't thought of having one with George.

"With who?" You joked earning a smirk from him.

"Of course, I'd like to have one, one day. I need to find Mr. Perfect first." You continued.

"What if you've already found him?"

"Then I'm the luckiest person in the world." You looked up towards him, the sunlight beaming through the leaves down on his face showing just how beautiful he is.

You enjoyed spending time with him, safe in his arms. You loved him deeply, and you made sure that you always showed him that.

After a while you both laid back on the blanket looking up at the clouds.

"Look at that one." He pointed out. "Looks like a heart. It's almost as big as the heart I have for you."

You looked at him and he turned to look at you. "I love you, so much."

"You know I love you with my entire being." He replied back brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

You brought you hand to his face, brushing your thumb against his cheek. It was a moment of bliss. Just you two in this vast open world, without a care in the world except each other.

"Y/n!" Y/c/n yelled as you sat up, forgetting about them for a split second.

"What's up?"

"Can we get ice cream?" They asked pointing to the truck that pulled up near the playground.

"Of course, come on, I'll take you." George said standing up, grabbing their hand. "Get your usual babe?" You nodded as a reply.

He walked off with your cousin, hand in hand. Seeing George with a small child was making you go crazy with happiness. You know that he will be the best dad ever.

~~~

After you enjoyed your ice cream. you got a text from your aunt telling you that she was home.

"Your mom wants you home now? Shall we go?" You said brushing your cousin's hair.

"NO! I wanna stay with Georgie!!" They yelled grabbing onto his leg. "Aw it's okay, we'll see each other again, next time I'll plan a better day out for all three of us." He said picking them up.

Your cousin hugged him tightly, not wanting to let him go.

He walked like that to the car and placed them in the backseat.

You both got in the car and you began driving towards your aunt's house. George grabbed your hand, shooting you a toothy grin. You shook your head at him as you looked back towards the road.

You finally arrived and got out to greet your aunt.

"That's your boyfriend?" She asked as she walked up close to you. You two watched as your cousin said their goodbyes to George.

"Yeah, he's a sweetheart." You gushed.

"He's a keeper, make sure to tie that one down."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to do that." George said holding y/c/n as he walked up behind you.

"Thank you and nice to meet you." She said taking y/c/n from him, shooting him a smile.

"Nice to meet you too." He said as she winked at you, walking back inside the house.

George grabbed your hand as he led you to the car, opening the passenger door for you.

"Thank you, but you're driving? Where're we going?"

"The night's still young."

---

A/n

This is such an adorable idea!! I hope you enjoyed it!!

#george clarke #george clarkey x reader #george clarke x reader #george clarke fluff #george clarke imagine #fanfic #british youtubers #george clarke fics #george clarkey

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ready-to-read7 · 23 hours ago

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Prompt #10

(Okay it’s not often when I find Danny interacting with the superfamily I’m not saying it’s rare is just difficult for me to find for some reason, and I know this wouldn’t make sense story wise since Maddie was the one who grew up in a small town/farming town but I would like to think Jack being the biological son of the kents would be like incredible)

Jack Kent was a large and rambunctious boy who loved his family deeply, so when his parents one morning entered the dining room with a baby boy in their hands he was over the moon, he spend every moment bonding with his new baby brother, and was even more happy to learn that his brother was like him, un-humanly strong.

But years later after what happened to Vlad he felt horrible for what happened he blamed himself for some reason ( I honestly do not know how Vlad became ½ ghost besides the fact that it happened in college or University) so when he was old enough he moved and lost contact with his family since he did not want his parents or baby brother have to deal with the insanity that happens with his research they were obviously invited to his wedding but that happened before he lost contact with them.

Years later Jack is happy, Danny had told him about the accident in the lab and that he became half ghost, he was devastated to learn that he had been hunting his own son but he did his best to make up for it and to learn that he technically had two more kids made him even happier, he was obviously furious with Vlad how could he do this, how could he hurt his son but he was happy about the existence of dani/ Elly. and learning that there was an evil alternate future version of his son trying to reform but needed a physical body was surprising but gosh damn that was still his son and he was going to help. And by stealing a bit of Vlad’s technology they were able to make a slightly altered and older body for dan.

So now Jack and Maddie had jazz, Dante/ dan, Danny and Elly, and he couldn’t be happier with his family but there was something that could make it better, something he could do so for the first time in years he decided to call his parents.

Martha was ecstatic to hear from her eldest again it had been so many years and she never truly knew exactly why he lost contact with them, but here he was on the other side of the phone calling her she almost broke out in tears, they had a long conversation about how Jack was sorry for losing contact and about the reason he did, Martha was being quiet and listening and giving reassurances but her calm attitude immediately disappeared when Jack mentioned his kids she immediately wanted to know how many, the genders and everything, Jack obviously didn’t want to go in to them more specific details on two of the kids so Jack avoided those topics, but he would tell enthusiastically about each of his kids, by the end they would arrange a day for Jack and his family to come visit and Martha would tell Jack that she would also call his younger brother to bring his family so that they could reunite more specifically planned a little surprise dinner so they can surprise Clark.

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cinnamontoastcrunch-15 · 1 day ago

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OKAY this was initially meant to be for the wolfstarmicrofic prompt unrequited (10th Feb), but then I got too into it, it's well over 1,000 words, and I gave it a day to figure out how to end it. It's now a oneshot that doesn't currently have a name (bear with I'll figure out what to call it haha)

Remus is in love with Sirius.

Everybody knows it. His friends, most of the students, the teachers, even Sirius himself. After one drunken confession that involved a lot of him crying and apologising, and Sirius pulling him into a hug to assure him over and over that it doesn't change anything between them, Remus has reached a pretty solid conclusion.

Sirius doesn't love him.

In all honesty, it's exactly what he had expected, and why he'd kept it a secret for as long as he had. Thankfully, Sirius wasn't lying when he said it wouldn't change anything. If anything, Remus has felt a hell of a lot lighter since everything happened. Sure, all of his friends know that he's hopelessly head over heels for his best friend, and that it's embarrassingly one sided, but none of them are judging him for it. They're all being really nice about everything. It's gotten to the point that Remus can make jokes about it and have his friends laughing, rather than halfheartedly trying to conceal their pity. It's a welcome relief, even if he still spends an unhealthy amount of time crying with his curtains closed around his bed.

Still, peaks and valleys.

Everything feels a little lighter than it did before and, hey, at least he knows where everybody stands now.

Well, he thought he did.

As it turns out, all it takes is a poorly timed joke to flip Remus' world on its head.

He's just chatting with Mary, walking back from class. In all honesty, he'd thought that his friendship with them would be ruined after they found out that he's in love with their ex, but honestly? It feels like they've gotten much closer since the whole thing came to light.

As the two of them get into the common room, it's as though Sirius just... appears in front of them. He makes Remus jump a mile, much to Mary's amusement.

"Hi. Hey. Could I, er... could I talk to you about something?" Remus watches Sirius' brow furrow in that way of his, and he knows that he's going to say yes. The ominous implications of needing to talk make him feel a little bit sick, really, but he's not going to say no to Sirius. He can't bring himself to do it. Especially not when he seems so... nervous.

"'Course." He turns to Mary. "See you around?" They nod, before turning to Sirius.

"Meadowes." Sirius nods at them.

"Black. Listen, hurt his feelings and I'll do something Azkaban worthy." They jab a finger at his chest, and everyone knows that they're not joking.

"Got it," he says, quickly raising his hands. They release him, then, shooting Remus a kind smile before disappearing upstairs. Sirius turns to Remus, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Remus says, shrugging sheepishly. "They're still in the whole... feeling sorry for me phase."

"Ah. Right." The two of them start to walk up to the dorm together.

"It'll pass," Remus says gently, not missing Sirius' sudden uncertainty. "Everyone was like that at first, remember?"

"Yeah," Sirius nods. "Merlin, it was a sad few weeks, wasn't it?"

"Well, unrequited love is terribly depressing," Remus quips, hoping to draw a smile out of Sirius. Instead, Sirius gets into the dorm with clenched fists. He stops in his tracks, unclenching his hands and pressing the heel of his palm to his eye. He isn't facing Remus but, based on the shaking of his shoulders, Remus can tell that he's fighting tears. "Hey, what's...?" Sirius crumbles, burying his head in his hands and outright refusing to turn around. "Sirius... hey, c'mere."

He quickly moves in front of Sirius and pulls him into a hug without really thinking, hoping that he can hold him through whatever crisis is going on in his head. Thankfully, Sirius relaxes into the hug, tension leaving his body as he cries into Remus' shoulder.

"I'm- I'm so sorry," Sirius gets out, slightly muffled in Remus' shoulder.

"Sorry for what?" Remus asks softly, confused. "Last time I checked, you haven't done anything wrong."

"I- Moony, I'm- awful, I'm so awful." He holds Remus a little tighter, as Remus tries his level best to figure out what's going on.

"You're not awful," he says simply, firmly, hoping that it's enough to at least slightly dispel the panic that seems to be gripping at Sirius.

"I am. Fuck, I really am. I- I don't want to- I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," Remus answers, even more confused than he was before. Sirius untangles himself from the hug, quickly wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath. "What's going on?"

"Remus, I- I don't know how to say it."

"Whatever it is," Remus starts slowly, carefully, "I promise I won't be pissed off."

"...You will be," Sirius says quietly. Remus practically wants to shake him, tell him that there's literally nothing that he could do that would anger him.

"I promise you," he says again, as Sirius looks up and meets his eyes. "I won't be." Sirius nods, taking a deep breath.

"I... well, Remus, I- I'm..." He stops himself, screwing his eyes shut. "I'm in love with you," he exhales in a rush, and-

What?

Remus' eyes widen, as Sirius chances a glance at him. For a second, Remus can't actually think. Every thought seems to have run out of his brain, his voice dying out, anything other than shock bolting from his system.

"I- I think I have been for a while, I just... I don't know, I was so scared. Hell, I still am pretty scared," he says with an empty laugh. "I just... I'd been pushing down this part of me for so long, I don't think I was thinking about how I actually felt when you... I was more thinking about making sure you knew that I didn't want to stop being around you. I mean... it took me until a few weeks back to even start thinking about what I want, which... it isn't fair on you, Rem, and-"

"You love me?"

"...yeah."

"You're in love with me."

"Yeah."

"This isn't a joke, is it?" He asks suddenly.

"What? No! No, it's not a joke."

"Because it's not funny."

"No, it's not funny. It's not a joke."

For a second, they just look at each other, both boys desperate to find something to say.

The issue is, no words are coming to Remus' head.

He needs to do something, though. He can't just leave Sirius standing here after that. Honestly, a big part of him feels like this is all just a dream, one that he's about to wake up from and mourn for a long time. There's no way that Sirius...

Fuck.

Sirius loves him.

This whole time, Sirius has loved him. He feels like he should be somewhat frustrated, after all of the time spent heartbroken, but he can't bring himself to be. Not at Sirius.

Eventually, Remus reaches his limit with the silence. He can't take just standing here with what he knows now. Words clearly aren't an option anymore, so Remus opts for the easiest option.

He pulls Sirius in by the jacket and kisses him.

After the initial surprise, Sirius positively melts. His hands reach out and cup Remus' face, as Remus winds his free arm around Sirius' waist and tries to tell himself that he isn't dreaming. This is real. Sirius right in front of him and tangible. Sirius kissing him like he's more important than oxygen.

Sirius kissing him.

After what feels all too short, both of them break apart, interrupted by the need to breathe. Remus wouldn't be able to fight the smile rapidly spreading across his face even if he wanted to. Thankfully, Sirius has a very similar smile infecting him.

"I love you," Remus says, watching Sirius blush more than he'd ever seen him blush before.

"I love you," he says back, and Remus gets the strongest urge to kiss him again.

Sirius beats him to it.

#this was an accident #i have a list of oneshot requests and ideas that i usually turn to #this one just #happened #whoops #ANYWAY #wolfstar #sirius black #wolfstar oneshot #marauders #remus lupin #remus x sirius #young marauders #moony x padfoot #atyd marauders #marauders oneshot

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moni-logues · 6 hours ago

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Pairing: Wooyoung x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: (childhood best) friends with benefits-to-lovers

Summary: When you had to return home to care for your terminally-ill arsehole of a father, your lifelong best friend was there for you. He wanted more and, when all the dust had settled, you realised you did, too, but were you already too late?

Word count: 19.8k

Content: wooyoung is bi (and in love with reader), terminal illness and death (reader's dad), a scene where they joke about suicide, a scene where they briefly touch on child abuse (vague, nothing specific, no actual abuse happens), difficult relationship with reader's father (he is rude in one scene but it's said outright that he was a bad dad and reader and her sister (and their mum) have difficult feelings after his death, including gladness and relief), multiple orgasms, oral sex (f. receiving), piv sex (protection unspecified), cameo roles for hwa and joong, yunho is a stand-up guy, some emotional constipation,

A/N: this is for @eoieopda; there is no one with whom i would rather share a wife (wooyoung is our wife 🔪) i feel like i must surely have missed some content warnings but i can't think what so pls lmk if you spot something. unbeta'd

Like That

You walked, head down, hands in pockets, less because the weather was cold (though it was) and more because you wanted to disappear into yourself, make yourself small and compact, as if it could keep your jangling collection of nerves and memories from pulling you apart. You wanted to squish everything down, compress it, make it solid and tangible, so maybe then you could pick it apart at your own pace; right now, it felt like everything was simultaneously running towards and away from you.

“Hey! HEY!”

He, though, he was definitely running towards you. Wooyoung jogged across the road and didn’t give you time to release your hands before he was enveloping you, crushing you, in a tight hug. Then he was pushing you backwards, a stern look on his face.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back!”

You shrugged. You had actually, very deliberately, not told anyone. Denial, perhaps. Stupidity, you realised now.

“Surprise!”

“What brought you back? Miss me too much?”

You looked down, bit your lip, braced yourself like just before a piercing—knowing the pain would be so brief, dreading it anyway.

“Well... my dad... Y’know.”

His face softened, hands squeezing your shoulders before dropping, catching your hands and squeezing there, too.

“Yeah, I heard about that. I’m sorry, princess.”

You shrugged again, not really capable of more.

“We’re on our way for drinks; wanna come?”

The very last thing you wanted was a welcome committee plied with booze. You shook your head.

“Not really in the mood.”

“Ok, do you want to come over later?”

You weren’t a hundred percent sure that you hadn’t been heading to Wooyoung’s specifically for his and your tried and tested brand of casual sex, but having the option presented to you made you think twice. The release might have been nice but all the stripping and intimacy that came before it made you shrink further into your coat.

“Can I come over if I just want to cuddle?”

Wooyoung feigned offence.

“Are you trying to call me some kind of slut? Who only lets his friends over if they agree to fuck him? How very dare you, darling.”

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close again, pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Of course, you can come over,” he continued, voice softer now. “You can let yourself in whenever and I’ll let you know when I'm on my way home?”

You withdrew from his embrace and nodded.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Wooyoung offered. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too.”

“Oi! WOOYOUNG! HURRY THE FUCK UP!”

Wooyoung flicked the Vs behind him and grinned at you.

“That’s my cue. I’ll see you later, ok?”

He hugged you a third time, kissed the corner of your mouth and jogged back the way he came, throwing a ‘love you!’ over his shoulder.

Casual sex with Wooyoung was—well, to call it expected felt wrong somehow, but it was just what you did. Whenever you made it back to your hometown, there he was. He had been your best friend, light of your life, for decades and though he was far from your only hometown friend, he was the only one you did this with.

It had begun, as these things often do, with a break-up and a lot of alcohol, some years ago now. You didn’t remember whose idea it was, who kissed whom first; none of those things mattered because you were, as you always had been, on the same page. You knew him like the back of your hand; knew every secret, every embarrassing tale, every dream, every nightmare, every food preference, every favourite everything and he knew you the same. There was no one on earth you trusted more than him; there was no one else whose bad moods and bad smells and annoying noises and fidgety sleeping you would tolerate. It was easy and familiar and comforting. It was also good.

You had never thought to ask him but, for you, it was the best you’d ever had. You assumed that was because Wooyoung was inside you long before he was ever inside you. You had grown up together. Your roots were twisted together. Your souls made of the same stuff, that kind of thing. He could read you better than any boyfriend because he had the advantage of experience, years and years of it stretching back to before you could even remember. He was around before you could form memories, before you could string a proper sentence together, before you could walk.

You hoped it was the same for him. Tried to decide if you wanted to pull at that thread, ask him about it. Wondered how upset you’d be if he answered differently—perhaps not at all because it was Wooyoung and he could just tell you how to be better and it wouldn’t be embarrassing because it was Wooyoung. In fact, even if you weren’t the best, you knew you did a decent job because he would certainly have told you otherwise. The man was not backwards about coming forwards. That was a comfort.

You did not think about the ways in which it just so happened that every time you came back here, you were single. It wasn’t deliberate. Genuinely. You didn’t buy a plane ticket home and then cancel all your dates. Didn’t end a burgeoning relationship because there was some other guy, 12-hour plane ride away, whom you got to see maybe once year, that you wanted to sleep with instead. It wasn’t like that. You just happened to be unattached when you came home.

The same was true of Wooyoung. In fact, to your knowledge, he had only ever brought one girlfriend home. When you were at separate universities, but home for the summer, he had brought her to stay; a drama student from Busan who was nice enough if a little uninspiring. The change to your dynamic set things off-kilter at first. You and Wooyoung were peas in a pod, attached at the hip, Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum (as you were not-so-affectionately known); throwing a third person into the mix made things awkward. You tried not to reference every shared childhood memory, every private joke, not wanting to leave her out; you were physically distant, knowing that if you stood within two feet of Wooyoung, you’d be touching each other in some kind of way; you were slightly disturbed watching him walk home with her, prioritise her, search for her face first when he laughed.

He stayed with her throughout the rest of his degree and they broke up upon graduation with her returning to Busan and Wooyoung, home. That was the last you’d ever seen of any of Wooyoung’s partners or even dates because they didn’t often make it past that designation.

You, after graduation, moved a little farther than Busan: London. A graduate scheme that you’d applied to on the off-chance, that you never expected to get. You had worried, not so much about missing Wooyoung while you were away, but that it would change things when you were together. That the distance and the time-zones and the distinct lack of shared experiences between you would ruin what had taken twenty years to build. Your worries were unfounded and coming home to Wooyoung felt like slipping into the most perfectly worn-in shoes that had moulded to the exact size and shape of your feet, that you could wear for hours and not even notice, that only got more comfortable the more you wore them.

Sex hadn’t changed that, either. It could have. You had certainly seen it take down lesser friendships but you and Wooyoung weren’t like that. Physical intimacy didn’t feel weird or awkward, not even the first time. It was the last boundary between you and passing it was as easy and effortless as slipping into sleep.

You let yourself into his apartment and breathed your first sigh of relief. It was as familiar to you as your own home—even more so now that your parents’ living room housed a hospital bed and machines that would soon beep around the clock, had strangers coming in and out of it all day, would soon have another living it: your dad whom you could not believe was really your dad, the same man who had always towered over you, larger than life, now small and frail and yellowed. You had visited him in the hospital earlier and tomorrow he would be coming home, would receive all his care from the comfort of his own house. You didn’t read into that. Tried not to anyway.

You sank into the sofa and turned on the TV, content to let your brain rot for the rest of the evening, needing nothingness and emptiness and quiet.

When your eyelids drooped, you took a spare toothbrush from the bathroom cupboard and brushed your teeth, took a T-shirt from a drawer and climbed into bed. It smelt like Wooyoung—his shampoo across the pillows, laundry detergent and perfume on the sheets. You conjured up the warmth of his body, too, remembered the weight of his limbs across yours, his breath washing across your chest, hair tickling your chin. You checked your phone, wondering when he would be coming home. Not soon enough.

You stared up at the ceiling. The room was no longer dark because your eyes had adjusted and you could see it all: the clothes he had left draped over the chair at the dressing table; the wardrobe door slightly ajar; the jewellery chosen and then abandoned at the last minute, glinting in the sliver of moonlight that came through the curtains. It made you ache with missing him, missing life here. The nights out you weren’t on, the nights in without you, the new clothes and donated old ones, the arguments trying to convince him to pick just one thing with some colour to go in his bedroom. Your bones felt hollow.

You checked your phone.

[01:18] wee🚨woo🚨: omw 😘😘😘

So he would be home soon. You rose from the bed, turned on a lamp and squinted against its brightness. Walked out into the living room and turned on a lamp there, too. Decided to take an interest in his bookshelves—not full of books, never: thingamabobs, tchotchkes, albums, a candle you sniffed at and regretted (it had never been lit and you wondered why he even had it). More signs of life. Signs of him. Things he’d moved from his parents’ house way back when, things you hadn’t seen before that nevertheless seamlessly slotted into your picture of him.

When he came in, he slipped his arms around your waist, rested his chin on your shoulder, smelt faintly of booze and second-hand smoke.

“Admiring all my books?” he asked and you could see his grin without having to actually see it.

“I’m stunned, truly. I had no idea you’d learnt to read.”

He laughed, swayed you to one side and back again.

“I am extremely smart and well-read, you know.”

“Neither of those things is remotely true.”

He bit down on your shoulder with a growl.

“My princess is so mean to me even when I love her soooooo much.”

“That’s right, donkey.”

A nickname you hadn’t used for a long time, but the lingering scent of his night out wasn’t not reminiscent of a barn animal. He whined.

“You know, if I’m donkey, doesn’t that actually make you the dragon?”

You shrugged, jostling his head and earning another whine.

“I mean, I guess, but I think I’m pretty cool with being the dragon... And you know, if I’m the princess, doesn’t that make you an ogre?”

His teeth closed against your ear with another growl.

“Always so mean to me. Why did you come back here again?”

“No real reason, just my dad is kind of dying.”

His teeth turned to lips, pressed into your hair, down your neck.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. God, no- not, no I don’t. I don’t even want to think about it.”

He held you a while longer, his weight heavy against your back but warm and welcome. Then he kissed you once more and removed himself.

“Ok, I’m going to wash up.”

You returned to his bed, happier this time, knowing he was just minutes from joining you. They passed quickly and he was hurriedly pulling you closer, refusing to sleep in clothes no matter how cold it was, leaching the heat from your body. He would turn over soon, preferring his right side, and you would have your space back, but, for now, this was nice. This was familiar. This was the sort of feeling you should have felt when returning home but which was pointedly absent in your own house.

“Good night kiss, please,” he mumbled, sounding half-asleep already.

You kissed him and he turned, his back to you.

“Night, princess. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

But you still couldn’t sleep. You could feel Wooyoung beside you, his warmth, his weight on the mattress, and you still missed him. You prodded a finger into his back and he groaned.

“Woo... Wooyoung... Hey!”

You shook his shoulder and he rolled onto his back with another groan.

“What?” he asked, barely more than a grunt.

“Do you want to make out a little?"

His chuckle was dark as he turned towards you, placed his lips against yours.

“Knew it,” he said. “I’m irresistible.”

You pushed him away.

“Not irresistible, actually. I still don’t want to have sex.”

He kissed you again and you could feel him fighting his grin.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

The problem was that he may have had a point. With his tongue in your mouth, you still missed him. Your bodies pressed together, heat warming from the inside, it wasn’t quite enough. Wooyoung was hard, trapped between you, and it made you want it, him, made you crave the stretch of him inside you, made your walls flutter, and your stomach swoop.

“Woo,” you began, pulling back a little, shifting your hips slightly, unconsciously fidgeting.

His hips shot backwards in a flash.

“Sorry,” he said, slightly breathless, reaching down between you to adjust himself. “I know we’re not having sex, but y’know, sometimes the body doesn’t get the message-”

You laughed.

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

You pulled his hips forward again, hooked your leg over him. Kissed him, because you couldn’t resist, before speaking again.

“I actually do want to have sex, please.”

He pulled you closer, slotted his lips against yours, slid his hand into your underwear to grasp at your backside, rutting his hips into you.

“Fucking knew it,” he mumbled, mouth moving on yours. “Told you I’m irresistible.”

You sighed, performative.

“If you tell me you’re irresistible one more time, I’m going to change my mind.”

“Well, if you tell me I’m not one more time, maybe I’ll change my mind.”

You didn’t think he would, because he was always bluffing and you always called him on it, but this time, it wasn’t worth the risk. You were impatient now, had flown too close to the sun.

“How about we just change the subject?” you suggested.

He laughed again, low and wicked, then pushed you onto your back, hands already pulling at your underwear, shuffling down the bed to take it all the way off, to discard it on somewhere on the floor with his own. Then his body covered yours again and his fingers were dipping in at your entrance, tracing through your folds. You stopped him.

“Don’t waste time,” you told him. “Just fuck me, please.”

He closed his eyes, folded his lips into his mouth, and you knew he wanted to say it, could feel it on the tip of his tongue—almost irresistible—but he nodded and swallowed it down, pressing his forehead against yours for a second, to recover from the effort of not being a little shit for one whole second.

The jokes were all forgotten when he slid inside you, home for the first time in a long time. You couldn’t believe you had considered not doing this. That you had thought you would be content to lie beside him and forego the opportunity to feel him move inside you, to taste him, to touch him, this man who was the cool side of the pillow, and the warm patch of sunlight on the ground, your other half.

Now more than ever, you needed this. The certainty and security of it. The way it never changed, not even though you did or he did, not even when you moved thousands of miles away, not even when you returned.

You left early the next morning, amidst sleepy protestations. You hadn’t even unpacked and that was the least of your tasks. You shouldn’t have stayed out all night. Regretted having done so as you braved the bright, brisk morning, leaving a body-warmed bed behind, a body-warmed bed which still housed your favourite person in the world, your favourite person whining that he didn’t want you leave. It made it all the harder to go home, to contend with sights and smells and sounds that didn’t belong there.

You oscillated between hope and despair. One moment, you were sure your dad would die, would go before you’d hung up your clothes, and make this all a waste of time. Flying thousands of miles, abandoning the life you had set up elsewhere, to care for someone to whom the care would mean nothing, do nothing, stop nothing. The next moment, you felt confident, sure that you were in the right place, that everything was going to work out just fine and you’d be able to go back to London soon (ignoring the practicalities of doing it, the bureaucratic rigmarole that almost took you out the first time). He would get better. Everything would go back to normal.

Your sister had come, too. Only as far away as Seoul, she had nevertheless returned with you. You wondered what you would do for money if this dragged on—if your dad’s life dragged on. Ugly thoughts. You couldn’t shake them.

“Enjoy your sleepover?” Jia asked as you shut the door behind you.

Snippy, annoyed already.

“Yes, thank you,” you answered mildly, tired already.

Months of this stretching out before you.

“Where’s Mum?”

“Making porridge in the kitchen. Asking where the hell you are.”

“Sorry.”

Your mother was fretting over the rice cooker. There was a pile of paper next to her—instructions, guidance, warnings, information, more than any average person could be expected to understand and digest.

“Oh, good, you’re here. Has Jia shown you how the bed works? Where everything’s being kept? I’m so sorry, love, I know you’ve barely touched down but your father will be back soon and we need to make sure everything is ready.”

You nodded and touched a hand to her arm. This would be worse for her than anyone; she was already running herself into the ground. Truthfully, you came back to help her more than your dad. This had been her life for over a year, watching her husband get sicker and weaker and less like the man she knew. It hurt your heart to think about.

It was a rough day. Really rough. Finally over. You sat heavily on your childhood bed, your suitcases open and rifled through before you. Of all the ways you imagined returning to Ilsan, this was not one. It was horrible to have to care for your father. It felt unnatural for him to be so weak, to require so much help. He was still stubborn and you were grateful for his attitude, his impatience, for so many of the things that had made your relationship tricky until now. Now, they were welcome signs that he was in there somewhere, still. That not everything had changed. The days began to stretch out in front of you: this, this house, these people, all day, every day, until your dad got better or died.

You scrubbed at your face and fell onto your side, not bothering to change, not bothering to brush your teeth. You felt tired all the way through your bones.

It had been another long day. They were all long. It didn’t get easier—not even after you got used to the routine, got better and faster at every new thing you had to do, not even with your sister’s help and your mother’s. It got harder. The personality you had initially been relieved to see still alive and well in your father made it harder; his impatience and anger had cause now and you couldn’t snap, couldn’t shout, couldn’t slam your bedroom door, couldn’t storm out of the house. It didn’t matter how hard it was for you, not really, because he was the one in pain, in discomfort, battling the shame and embarrassment of his weak body and his inability to care for it himself.

All of your days, you felt irrelevant and small, all the while feeling the immense pressure and burden of just how important you supposedly were. Needed but not wanted. Until you crawled onto Wooyoung’s sofa or into his bed. The relief and comfort you felt in his company was palpable. It was the only thing that got you through the day.

You stood at the sink, rinsed the final dish, and handed it to Jia, who was drying. You dried your hands and picked up your phone, your mind already at Wooyoung’s and your body soon to be, too.

“You’re not seriously leaving again, are you?” Jia asked, in a hissed whisper as your father slept in the next room.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not seriously leaving again? When was the last time you actually slept here, in your house?”

“It’s not my hou-”

“You know what I mean. You can’t keep going to Wooyoung’s.”

“Why not? He doesn’t mind-”

“I mind!” her voice too loud, mouth snapping shut before she opened it again, back to a whisper. “You’re not the only one who gave up your life to come back here, you know, but we don’t all have a Wooyoung to run off to. What if something happened overnight? It would be all on me. Have you considered that for even a second?”

Your face burnt with shame. No, you hadn’t considered that. You had been so desperate to get out, that you hadn’t considered anyone else. You had thought your duty done: dad asleep for the night, monitors beeping, everything stable, safe.

“Well, nothing has happened, has it?”

You were in the wrong, aware of it, but desperate not to have to give Wooyoung up when he was the only thing keeping you afloat.

“As if that’s the point!”

Jia huffed and flicked her hand at you in dismissal.

“Do whatever you want.”

She walked past you and up the stairs, leaving you in the dark kitchen alone.

[21:57] You: can you come here instead tonight?

[22:01] wee🚨woo🚨: is that ok?

[22:01] You: you don’t have to if you’d rather not

[22:02] wee🚨woo🚨: that’s not what i mean. with your dad and everything

[22:02] You: he’s already sleeping. you won’t disturb him

You could feel his reluctance through the phone, wanted to let him off the hook, couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

[22:04] wee🚨woo🚨: i can come. i'll be there soon

You sat on the stairs, looking at the door, like a pathetic dog waiting for its owner. When he arrived, you ushered him quickly upstairs to your bedroom.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this room,” he said, looking around at the decor, entirely unchanged from when you were a teen. “Still got the hots for Lee Minho?”

“Duh.”

“How come the change of venue?” he asked, sitting on your bed.

“Sorry,” you replied, joining him. “I’m sorry I’ve been coming over all the time and-”

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I told you: mi casa es su casa, mi principesa. And I don’t mind coming here, either. Just wondered if something had happened.”

“Jia made the point that I’m absconding from my responsibilities by always being out overnight, but I... I was already expecting to see you and I couldn’t just... not see you. I’m cheating the system.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“Well, I can come over more if you want, if that works better. Jia is also welcome to stay at mine if she wants, too.”

You did not like the sound of that.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to start fucking my sister.”

Unable to verbalise his outrage at the volume he desired, he expressed it physically, rising from the bed with his arms outstretched, his mouth wide.

“Why would I do that?!”

“I’m saying you’re not allowed to offer her the same deal I get.”

He snorted, tried not to laugh, rolled his eyes.

“No one gets the deal you get. You’re special.”

“Good.”

It was a tight fit in your childhood bed and, even pressed up against the wall, Wooyoung was on top of you.

“I can’t help but feel like you’re going to hate this,” he whispered to you in the dark, his limbs lying across your body.

Ordinarily, you would; ordinarily, you wanted space when you slept. You liked to be able to sleep as if there was no one else in the bed with you. Recently, however, you’d been craving closeness. Found that you preferred lying with Wooyoung’s weight against you, the warmth of his body, even the moments of wakefulness when he fidgeted, when he found a different position from which he could still touch you.

You shook your head.

“No, I like it,” you replied, clutching his arm with your hands, turning your head not to kiss his hair exactly, just press your mouth against it, smell his shampoo.

“Remember that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of friendship law.”

“Noted.”

You woke late, silently cursed yourself for forgetting to set the alarm, and snuck out of the room without waking Wooyoung.

Downstairs, your mum and sister were already up; your dad had already eaten breakfast and had his first round of medication. You took a deep breath before you entered the room—you were already not pulling your weight and this felt particularly egregious.

“Morning!” you greeted, trying to seem positive, normal.

“Where’s Wooyoung?” your dad asked immediately and you stopped short, not sure how he knew he was here.

“Uh, still sleeping.”

Your dad rolled his eyes and tutted.

“You fucking young people are so lazy. Sleeps in my house and he’s not even going to get up and greet me?”

“I’ll go and get him.”

Your feet were leaden as you went back up the stairs. Your father was not in a good mood and that was bad enough under normal circumstances. You dreaded what he would say to Wooyoung’s face. You wondered if there was any way you could sneak him out, save him from whatever accusations your dad would throw his way. He wasn’t usually as bad with men, but Wooyoung had always been the exception to that rule; you had sometimes wondered if his friendship with you had tainted him somehow, made him less than other men because he was important to you. You paused outside your bedroom door and whispered up a quick prayer in case anyone was listening.

Wooyoung was stirring as you entered and he twisted to look at you with hair askew and squinted eyes.

“Morning,” you greeted, soft this time, kneeling beside the bed and brushing the hair from his face. “I have bad news.”

He groaned, let his face fall back on the pillow.

“Already? I've only just woken up!”

“My dad wants to see you.”

You felt his pause, the tension settling in his body, then he pushed himself upright and rubbed his face.

“Ok, can I wash up first?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll put coffee on?”

“Yes, please.”

Time slowed as you returned to the kitchen, flicked on the coffee machine, found a mug, all the while listening carefully to hear the creak of the stairs. You were used to your dad—even now, with the strangeness of once again living under his roof—but you weren’t sure if Wooyoung remembered. If he knew what to expect. If he was dreading this as much as you were.

As soon as you heard his feet on the stairs, you abandoned the coffee brewing on the counter and joined the group in the living room as Wooyoung dipped into a bow.

“-nice to see you again, sir.”

Unfailingly polite.

“Nice to see me like this, is it? Nice to see a dying man?”

Wooyoung had more poise and grace than you had ever managed. You had asked him before how he did it but he’d never been able to give you an answer that helped.

“No, of course not; that’s not what I meant. I was very sorry when I heard.”

Still polite, deferential; you wondered if this was how he sounded at work, trying to convince children to behave, to deal with strops and tantrums and disgruntled parents.

“And are you two still messing about with each other?”

Everyone in the room froze momentarily as if time had stopped. Everyone knew to what your dad was referring and no one could believe it. Wooyoung’s mouth opened and nothing came out. Jia had her face turned away—even money that she was horrified that her sister’s sex life was being discussed or that she was trying not to laugh. Your mum was pretending to be busy, looking through care sheets and double-checking medication.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to buy time to think of an actual response.

“I’m talking about you throwing yourself at the closest man who’ll take advantage of your lack of self-respect,” he answered. “In my day, you got married first and women were still worth respecting; you just slut yourself around. He’ll never marry you if you keep giving it away-”

“Dad.”

Your skin was crawling, an embarrassed heat burning through your blood, making it rise to the surface, making sweat prick in your scalp. No one ever discussed you and Wooyoung. At least not with either of you around. No one. Not even the two of you. It became and then it just was and that was that. No questions asked. No investigations opened. No prodding, no poking. You hadn’t really ever thought about that, and now was so not the time. Not for so many reasons, not least of which was just how much you needed him—needed him in exactly the capacity you had him: your best friend and the best sex you’d ever had.

If your dad brought this house tumbling down, it would be another thing to never forgive him for and it was too early for those sorts of thoughts.

“Not that you want to marry him anyway. A schoolteacher is a woman’s job, son. How do you expect to provide for a family with a job like that? No self-respect, either of you-”

“Ok, Dad, that’s enough.”

And you were momentarily grateful for his ill health; relieved that you could walk out and he couldn’t follow. You took Wooyoung’s hand and led him out of the room, face aflame with shame, embarrassment, guilt. You went back into your bedroom and stood facing away, head in your hands.

“Sorry,” you said, muffled. “Sorry, sorry, I did not know he was going to start shit like that.”

And it was so much worse than you’d expected: the embarrassment digging into you, eating through your flesh, burrowing into your bones. You’d forgotten this. It was one thing in front of your mum and sister, who were also on the receiving end of it, who were used to it, who knew who your dad was and the things he said. It was different in front of someone else, even someone as much like family to you as Wooyoung. You’d forgotten the deep, heavy cringe of shame that was doubling you over.

“It’s ok,” he replied and you could feel the pause drawing out of him, the words trailing it. “Uh, he was...” Wooyoung’s pause was lengthy and you dreaded the end of his sentence. “A lot like I remember.”

You nodded.

“Yeah, he really...”

You were at a loss for words because you didn’t know how you could describe your dying dad as an ‘arsehole’ (or worse). You didn’t know how you could criticise him when you’d probably be angry, too, if your life was being cut short, if you were wasting away in front of your family. You didn’t know, now, anymore, how to hate him as much as you used to.

“He’s lost a lot of stuff and one of those things was his inhibitions—which I actually did not realise he had in the first place. Never hesitates to say what before he would’ve saved for an argument.”

Wooyoung wrapped his arms around you—tight and long enough for you to start to relax again.

“I’m sorry for what he said,” you began and then continued, even though you could feel Wooyoung shake his head. “I didn’t know-... I didn’t even know he knew we slept together? And I certainly would never have expected him to give a shit about it. I don’t-. I’m not-... I don’t think we should get married.”

Wooyoung’s laughter took you by surprise—and him, too, judging by the force and volume of it.

“My god, princess, you break my heart. Here I was, about to get on one knee.”

“I just me-”

“I know, I know. Your dad talks shit—I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it’s like this.” His voice was soft and calm and licked carefully at your wounds. “I know what we are and we’re both happy, right?”

“Right.”

“Then it’s ok.”

You twisted so you could hug him back, once again desperate for proximity, for the pressure and weight and heat of your favourite person, your security blanket.

“You don’t have to come over again,” you said quietly after a minute.

“That’s up to you. I’ll be wherever you need me.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so needy recently.”

“You know you’re my friend, right? I’m here to be needed. I quite like to be needed by you, in fact.”

“Oh, that’s right,” you said, peeling back a little to look at him, never happier than when an opportunity to tease arose, “you are the needy one.”

His eyes flattened and he playfully shoved you away. Equilibrium returned and you prayed you would not have to be confronted by your father about Wooyoung again.

In the afternoon, you walked to the bakery nearby and bought your sister a coffee and a croissant. You presented these to her in the kitchen.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. I... I don’t really have an excuse; this has just been so shit that I kind of forgot that you also gave up your whole life to be here, too. By the time we get to the end of the day, I’d honestly rather pull my own skin off than stay here, but you’re right. I shouldn’t go all the time; it’s not fair to you.”

Jia shrugged and pulled at the pastry, picking a piece off to pop in her mouth.

“I get it. It’s not as if London is on the subway; I can at least go and visit for a day or something if I want.”

She ate more croissant, took a sip of coffee. You waited, knowing there was a more. She sighed.

“To be honest, I don’t care if you go and stay at Woo’s; I just... like you said, this is shit and I don’t have somewhere I can escape to like that. All of my friends moved to Seoul. It’s been... it’s been fucking lonely, actually. I missed you.”

A lump formed in your throat. She had been barely 18 when you left the country, left your baby sister behind. Guilt grabbed you by the neck.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice a mere whisper. “I’ve missed you, too. We... We should be in this together and I’m not holding up my end of the bargain. I’ll do better.”

“I get it... But thank you.”

“Woo did say you are welcome to stay at his, if you want.”

“And risk overhearing my sister have sex? I don’t fucking think so, thank you.”

You laughed, shocked by the relief, and snatched the croissant from her hand. You took a messy bite and spoke through it.

“Don’t think for even a second that that would ever happen. I solemnly promise that we would never, ever do that if you were also in the apartment.”

Jia leant across and took the croissant back.

“Well, tell him thanks. I might take him up on it.”

“And I swear, I won’t go over there so much,” you promised though it was only partly for Jia. You felt it too much: your reliance on him, the way his absence held you throughout the day, exploiting cracks, hollowing you out. He had said he liked to be needed; he had said his house was your house; he had done and said all the right things but you knew what it was like to have your whole life taken over by someone else; you didn’t want to do that to him, to set up a minor chain reaction that felt fragile, volatile, that might change things between you.

“Fuck!”

Your hips bucked, lifted from the bed, as your toes curled, Wooyoung sending you hurtling into another orgasm with his face between your thighs. When he didn’t stop, because it was always a personal challenge to him to see how far he could push you, how many times he could make you come before you pleaded with him not to, you clamped your legs around his head, twisted until he toppled over sideways, laughing with a wet, sticky mouth. He pressed this against your hip, leaving shining kisses over your torso, crawling back up to your mouth.

“Turn over, princess.”

You did your best—limbs lead-heavy, breathing still gasped, bones feeling weak—to roll onto your front, hips high and head low. Wooyoung bit down on your ample flesh, teeth sinking in hard, sure to leave a mark, which he almost always did, as if signing his artwork, a rough circle of jagged indentations to say ‘Wooyoung was here’, though no one else would ever see it.

With the tip of his cock poised at your entrance, your stomach swooped, suspended over the lip of a lift hill, waiting for the drop. You remembered, as he pushed his hips forward, slowly, a wordless moan humming in his throat, that he was the best you ever got it. That no one could make your legs shake as quickly as he could; no one else had ever made you come from penetration alone (a thing you hadn’t thought possible); no one else’s body had ever felt as in sync with yours as his. He responded to your body as if it were his own, with no delay, no mistakes, with an intuition harvested from years of knowing you, years now of doing this, honing it into an artform.

You had to know. Was it the same for him?

“Woo, I have a question...” you called weakly, head swimming as he reached underneath you, fingers pressing against your clit until you mewled.

You clutched the bedsheets with tight fists and your cunt clutched at him, too, fluttering, spasming, until he was holding his breath, fucking you through another high with gritted teeth. Your brain scrambled for a moment but when it returned, it settled back on the same question.

“I have a question,” you repeated, throwing a hand behind you, searching for him, pulling him closer.

“Are you ok?”

He slipped out of you, let you drop your hips to the mattress. Leaning on his elbows, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, held you gently at the waist.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just... What’s the best sex you’ve ever had? I mean, who? Who is the best?”

Buying time, he kissed your temple and your cheek.

“Is this a test?” he asked.

“No. It’s just a question.”

He sat back on his heels and you twisted to look at him: his eyes were narrowed, looking at you with playful but, you thought, unwarranted suspicion.

“It’s just because,” you explained, still panting, heart still hammering in your chest, “for me, it’s you. You’re the best I’ve ever had and... I don’t know. I just wondered.”

You registered the surprise on his face and then he was flipping you over, onto your back, pushing apart your thighs before pushing into you. Then he was leaning close, kissing you, and in the milliseconds your brain snatched to think something coherent, you took this as his answer: it’s not you but I don’t want to tell you.

“It’s you,” he said, as you were nose-to-nose, before kissing you again. “For me, too, it’s you.”

An unexpected relief flooded you. You lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist as he continued to fuck you, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed against each other. It was as you had hoped but did not expect—though you could have, really, because it was Wooyoung and if you felt it, he felt it. If you knew something, he knew it, too.

“I love you,” he gasped, hips moving faster now, body strained with effort as you squeezed, tightening yourself around him until his rhythm faltered, until he came with his teeth deep in the flesh of your neck, stifling his groan.

“Love you, too.”

You had just barely sunk beneath the surface of consciousness, could still just about see the sun breaking on the water above you, when Wooyoung called your name. You answered with a sound, somewhere between a moan and a hum. He called again.

You were breaking the surface of wakefulness yourself now, awake in mind but your body not quite able to lift the muscles required to speak. You hummed again.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Wooyoung asked.

You blinked, head above the water, body below.

“What?”

“Did you mean what you said? About me being the best you’ve had?”

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I have meant it?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. Sometimes, in the moment, people say things they don’t necessarily mean.”

“Is this you trying to admit that you didn’t mean it?”

“No.” His answer coming so quickly, you had barely finished the question. “I meant it.”

“I meant it, too.”

His sigh of relief brushed over your shoulder.

“Ok, good.”

“Congrats to us,” you said, hunting for his hand in the dark to give it a congratulatory pat, “on the great sex.”

“On the best sex,” he corrected.

“On the best sex and the best friendship.”

You could have asked for nothing more.

Wooyoung did not reply and you thought nothing of it.

You let yourself into Wooyoung’s apartment; he was carrying a plate to the kitchen counter when you appeared in his hallway.

“Hey, can we have sex?” you asked as you shrugged out of your coat, shoes already kicked off.

“Uh, hello to you, too. Do you want dinner? There’s plenty left.”

“No, I want to have sex. Like, right now.”

“Right right now?”

“Right now!”

And you continued undressing, coat hung up on a peg, cardigan discarded on the sideboard, fingers at your jeans, unbuttoning, moving all the while towards his bedroom.

“I guess I won’t be having seconds, then.”

It had been almost a week since you had seen him for reasons you did not want to discuss. What you wanted was the all-consuming physical experience of being railed to within an inch of your life. Over and over and over again. You wanted Wooyoung’s cock to stuff you full, so full that you couldn’t feel things like sadness, or anger, or grief; you wanted to be taken over, taken outside of yourself, outside of life, just for a little while.

You were naked and waiting by the time he entered the room and you leant forward to pull him to you, undressing him because he wasn’t doing it quickly enough himself. When he was finally naked, too, halfway to kneeling on the bed with you, he grabbed your wrists, held them still and looked at you. He was searching your face for answers to questions he wouldn’t ask—because he knew you wouldn’t tell him—and you didn’t know what he saw or what he felt about what he saw but he dropped your arms and cupped your face, kissing you softly.

“Not like that,” you reprimanded. “I need you to fuck me like crazy, ok?”

Wooyoung was good at following instructions. He liked to push you to the edge, but liked to be pushed, too, and you needed that tonight. You weren’t interested in the pleasure of it; you just wanted the distraction, so you didn’t let him make you come, didn’t let him fawn over you, didn’t let him stop. You just needed him as fast and hard as he could go, as many times as he could manage. The first time you had asked him about his refractory period, he had asked ‘what refractory period?’ and you’d thought it was a genuine question until he grinned, pinned you down on his bed, and shown you just how rhetorical it was. His stamina was leagues beyond anyone else you’d ever been with and you were counting on it to show up tonight.

It was, however, after only the second that he collapsed onto the bed beside you and didn’t let you push him onto his back for more.

“Hey,” he said, on a puffed exhale. “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Well, right now we are not having sex if that’s what you mean.”

“You know what I mean. This isn’t doing anything for you and it’s not fun for me if it’s not fun for you.”

“Not fun at all?”

He grinned, still breathing heavily.

“Ok, it’s a little fun, but seriously. You’re not letting me touch you.”

As if to illustrate his point, he slid his hand across your stomach, squeezed at your waist.

“Come on,” he continued, “let me make you feel better.”

You considered it for a second, until you felt the swell of everything you were trying to keep at bay.

“No.”

And he let you turn him then, let him seat yourself on his cock, let you fuck yourself on it as he whined beneath you. When he was this sensitive, it went one of two ways: he came quickly, shaking, trembling, and was out for the count; or he pushed past it—the hypersensitivity, the overstimulation—he rallied and he wouldn’t need you bouncing on top of him; he would flip you over and bend you in half, hold you up as your own body flailed with pleasure. He would go for multiple rounds more, until he could barely walk the next morning, until you couldn’t either. You needed that kind of obliteration.

But luck was not on your side. His thighs shook. His face screwed up tight, teeth deep in his bottom lip. He was gasping for breath, tiny mewling noises sounding in his throat as you rested your palms heavily on his chest, dug your nails into his soft skin, slammed your hips down onto his, the effort burning in your thighs, sweat dripping from your brow. You could see it, Wooyoung’s effort, that he was trying to fight it; could see it in the strain of every muscle, feel it in his chest and abs, in his thighs, in the pressure of his hands as they grabbed at your legs. You wanted to tell him it was ok, to just let go, but you needed this. You needed more. You needed this to last forever.

It didn’t.

He came with a hoarse groan, a low, deep rumble that left him spent. His hands released you, shaking as he pushed his hair from his face. You fell sideways, rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling, wondering what you were going to do now, how you were going to stop the feelings that were already bubbling to the surface again.

Wooyoung pressed a kiss to your shoulder, turned into your side, an arm wrapping around you.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Please what?”

“Please let me give you what you need.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You need it.”

You looked at him, his eyes sparkling in the dim twilight. He always knew what you needed. He always took care of you. You didn’t want it; didn’t want the release of everything that was bottled up inside you, didn’t want relief. You just wanted it all to disappear. Wooyoung could do that. He could do that for you, even if it lasted only a second.

You nodded, whispered an almost silent ‘ok’.

He kissed you, softer even than his first kiss that evening, and drew that softness all over your skin. His fingers, too, were gentle at first, tracing over you, featherlight, dipping into the mess he’d made inside you before retreating, returning, retreating. This was part of his stamina, too: that he was spent but still had the patience to work you over slowly, to keep you from burning up or boiling over. He made you hot, blood shimmering under your skin until it shivered with goosebumps. He made your guts churn with, first, anticipation and, then, pleasure, the soft, wet pressure of his mouth against you. He made your body twitch, little tremors shaking from head to toe. He brought it all to the surface—all the things you didn’t want. Everything you had choked down, had stuffed down inside you, had tried in vain to fuck out of yourself, it was rising like steam: the air was wet with it, so wet you struggled to breathe. Your heart kicked in your chest, your orgasm close but panic closer, tears threatening on your waterline. He was right, it was what you needed, but you wanted to run from it. Wanted to kick your legs and outrun it all but, instead, they were held wide, Wooyoung’s arms tight around them. You couldn’t run from it, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hide from the white-hot rush of your climax as it crashed over you, knocking you out of your brain for a moment.

For just a moment.

Then you were crying, sobbing really, gasping in the air that still felt too thick, too wet to breathe. Wooyoung held you, hushing gently, cooing reassurances or platitudes that you couldn’t hear but it didn’t help. You couldn’t stop.

You cried for so long that night had fallen by the time your breathing evened out. Your bodies cooled, Wooyoung had pulled the bed covers up around your shoulders but you still shivered.

“Can you tell me what’s happened?” he asked, for the first time requesting some explanation.

“My dad is dead,” you croaked.

You felt his kiss in your hair, his arms tighten around you, the tension in his following breath.

“I’m sorry, princess.”

You shook your head.

“I’m not.”

And you took a deep breath in that shuddered, your stability wavering already. You lay on your back and covered your face, realising again that Wooyoung was right. You needed to release this.

“I just don’t see the point,” you confessed, your voice tight with more tears. “I came all this fucking way; me and Jia dropping our whole lives and- and this whole time I thought-... I really thought like, he was fucking dying, right? He was dying! Who’s going to be a cunt when they’re dying? But he is! Of course he fucking is! And why did I bother? Why did I do all of this if he was just going to fucking die anyway! And why did I bother when I don't even care? I’m not sad; I’m fucking angry! And I can’t take any of it back! I can’t do anything now because he’s fucking dead and it’s too fucking late to tell him he’s a piece of shit.”

And more. Every unpleasant thought you’d had over the past two months, every feeling that made you evil and unkind came tumbling out. The things you wished you had said to him, the things you wanted to scream at him now, the things you wanted to scream at yourself. All the anger that you had stored away while you lived in London hadn’t shrunk—it had grown; it towered over you now and you lay, helpless, at its feet. Anger and so much guilt.

Wooyoung let you talk—rant, vent, ramble, and cry—until you, too, were spent. Your chest heaving, eyes wet, mouth dry. He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“Want to know something stupid?” he asked.

Another distraction technique. You nodded. He turned onto his side and looked at you as he spoke.

“Ok, so there’s this guy. He’s had this best friend for-, well, for his whole life, actually. They met before they could even form memories; been friends forever. That kind of deal. You know what I mean.”

A quiet, ominous note sounded in the back of your head.

“The last few years,” Wooyoung continued, “they’ve been sleeping together. Very casual, nothing serious, on and off, no big deal... Except for the fact that he’s totally, completely, out of his depth in love with her.”

Your insides turned cold. You knew you should say something but couldn’t find a word to say. Wooyoung looked at you, a sweet, apologetic smile on his face. But he couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him.

“You-,” you started but couldn’t finish.

He nodded.

“I-,” you tried again.

Floundering because it was like dancing on a knife edge. Because your head was already a mess and this had knocked you sideways.

“It’s ok,” he said. “I know it’s not like that for you. I’m fine with how things are. I’m happy with it; I don’t want anything to change between us. I’m just... telling you.”

“I-”

“I mean it.”

You shook your head. Took your hand from out of his and scrubbed both across your face. It would have been easy to freak out. Part of you wanted to. The problem would’ve been that the person you went to when you freaked out was Wooyoung and he was already there, saying all the right things. Sure, dropping a bombshell like ‘I’m in love with you’ but also, ‘I’m happy with this; I don’t want things to change’. You didn’t want things to change. You could not cope with more change. Especially not when it came to him. He was your still point in the ever-turning world.

“Woo,” you breathed, voice shaking. “I do love you...”

“I know. I know you do. And I know it’s not like that. It’s ok.”

“Is it?”

He placed a hand against your cheek, brushed his thumb across it. You closed your eyes.

“I’m in love with you,” he continued, “but I also just love you. I love being your friend. I love getting to be with you.”

“I love you, too,” you answered, truthfully, in the way you always had.

“I know.”

“You really don’t want things to change?”

And your hand was over his, holding it there, terrified that all of this would be taken away from you.

“I really don’t.”

“Ok.”

You lapsed into silence and you knew that you were both dirty, in need of a shower, in need of a little space, but you didn’t dare move. Your feet still felt the sharp, thin blade of the knife-edge they were dancing on.

“Why did you tell me?” you asked a few minutes later.

Wooyoung shrugged gently.

“Felt like the right moment. Wanted to steal your dad’s thunder, y’know?”

And it was a blessed relief that he could still make you laugh, that you could still laugh, that he could laugh at this, too.

“You’re living back here now and I figured the cat would get out of the bag somehow, so I should probably be the one to tell you but, with everything that’s been going on, I didn’t want to burden you with it.”

“So you chose now, the worst possible time?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “But you’re not crying anymore.”

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound firm but your voice still wavered, “don’t think I don’t have more in me. I can cry if I want to.”

He erased the space between you, once again taking you in his arms, holding you tight.

“Of course you can,” he whispered with his mouth pressed into your hair. “You can cry all you want; I’m not going anywhere.”

He took you home the next morning and you held his hand the entire way, unable to let go.

“Do you need me to come inside?” he asked when you stood outside your front door, though you both knew that he couldn’t, that he had to go to work.

Knew, also, that this was something you had to do with your mum and your sister, the three of you. You shook your head.

“No, go to work. It’s fine.”

He watched you carefully and you averted your eyes, didn’t want to see him seeing through you. He gave your hands a squeeze.

“Ok. Let me know if you need anything?”

You nodded and he opened his arms to pull you into a hug. You held him tight for a few seconds too long and, without being able to say why, kissed him on the mouth as you drew back. Ordinarily, anything that went beyond the platonic was kept to the bedroom, neatly contained within sex. It wasn’t something you had ever explicitly discussed; it just happened that way and it made sense to you, made it cleaner, easier. But that morning you couldn’t stop yourself; you needed a little more of him to get you through the day—you knew there was nothing clean or easy waiting for you on the other side of the door. It was just a reflex, you told yourself. Comfort-seeking. Totally normal.

Wooyoung did not react as if you’d done anything out of the ordinary. He told you he loved you before he left as he always did, waving a hand behind him in acknowledgement when you returned it. He turned back as he was about to disappear around the corner. He waved again and you waved, too, waiting for him to leave. He stood, waiting for you to go inside. You shooed at each other. Neither moved. He held up three fingers and gestured between the two of you. He counted down and when his fingers made a fist, you opened the door. The corner swallowed him up.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. It was still early but usually there would be activity, noise—the beeping of your dad’s monitors a sound you hadn’t realised you’d got so used to, but the silence they left now was suffocating. Jia was sitting at the kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, still steaming. She was staring into space.

“Where’s Mum?” you asked as you sat down opposite her. Then you immediately stood again to make yourself a drink, to keep moving, to make some noise in this mausoleum of a house.

“Upstairs.”

“Asleep?”

“I assume so.”

You finished making tea, took your seat opposite her again, and you looked past each other—her at the wall, you at the sky out the kitchen window. You didn’t know what you were supposed to be doing. How you were supposed to be feeling. You had never done this before.

You assumed that your mum would wake up and take charge. That she would know what to do, since her parents and your dad’s parents had all died already—she'd done this sort of thing before. There was guilt needling you for this assumption, for being so ready and willing to let her take the burden when it was her husband who had died, the partner she’d had for more than thirty years. Even if he was a dick, she had loved him, hadn’t she? You thought about how you might feel in her shoes. Thought about how you would feel if Wooyoung died. You decided you would let your mum stay in her bedroom as long as she wanted and you would ask nothing of her.

It didn’t matter either way because your mother did not appear. Not into late morning and not after lunch. Jia checked on her, offered her food (which she rejected) and a drink (which she drank). She did not say anything, Jia reported. You checked on her later in the afternoon and found the same.

“What are we supposed to do?” you asked as you re-entered the kitchen, your mum’s empty glass in your hand. “I thought... I thought she would know what to do.”

“So did I. How are we supposed to know? It’s not like we’ve done this before.”

You fell into your chair opposite her and pulled out your phone. You typed ‘what to do when someone dies’ into the search bar and asked Jia to find a pen and paper. The resulting to do list was long and overwhelming and full of question marks. But you had no choice. No one else would do this if you didn’t.

There was a knock at the door sometime shortly before the sky had darkened completely. You frowned at Jia who frowned back at you and shrugged. A wellwisher? Had news got out already? You braced yourself behind the front door and the deep breath you’d taken in came whooshing out in relief when you saw who stood on the other side.

Wooyoung.

“I brought food,” he said, stepping in and kicking off his shoes, heavy bags drooping in his hands. “I didn’t think it would be high on the priority list.”

It hadn’t been and, hearing it mentioned, you realised that you were, in fact, hungry.

“Thanks.”

You followed him into the kitchen, got out plates and cutlery.

“Wooyoung, how many people did you think were here?”

With four plates heaving, there were still bags untouched. He smiled.

“It’ll keep; I wanted to make sure you had enough for tomorrow, too.”

You flushed, suddenly hot, tears pricking in your eyes.

“Thanks,” you said again, but whispered this time, caught in your throat.

Jia left her plate on the table and took one upstairs for your mother. You looked at Wooyoung, feeling suddenly helpless. He opened his arms to you and you went to him gratefully.

“Bad day?” he asked, knowing the answer but knowing also that you needed prompting.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“I can help.”

“Please.”

Your mother didn’t eat but the rest of you did. With business hours over, there was nothing else you could achieve, nothing that could be crossed off your to do list (still full, no check marks). You sat at the kitchen table, hand in Wooyoung’s, plates stacked by the sink. Wooyoung rose first.

“I’ll do the washing up; you guys go and sit down.”

You and Jia were both halfway out of your seats, mouths open to protest his doing the chore but you both halted, looking at each other. Wooyoung had meant go and sit in the living room, where the chairs were comfortable, where you could relax. You hadn’t been into the room since your dad had been taken to hospital four days prior. Neither of you had so much as opened the door to it. He hadn’t died in there but it still felt haunted. You had left a message with someone, somewhere in some hospital department, about getting all the equipment taken away but, for now, it was all still there. The bed with sheets still on it, crumpled and probably stained. The monitors, black and silent now, when they had for so long been constantly bright and beeping. The little things, too: charts, paperwork, pads, pill dispensers. The entire room was littered with your father, filled with him, keeping you out.

Wooyoung turned, already at the sink, elbows-deep in suds, and looked between the two of you.

“Ok, you guys make the tea,” he suggested. “And one of you come and dry.”

When it was finished, you and Jia took your places at the table, hands instinctively seeking heat, cupping your mugs of tea.

“Is it ok if I go in there?” Wooyoung asked and you didn’t have to ask for clarification.

You both nodded and he left the room.

He came back with sofa cushions, all of them. He placed them on the floor next to the kitchen radiator and sat down, gesturing to you both to join him.

“Not ideal, but it’s a little softer and warmer down here, right?”

You sat as close to him as you could without placing yourself directly in his lap, curled yourself into him, closed your eyes for a brief moment of comfort when his arm came around your shoulders and held you tightly there.

It had been quiet all evening – quiet all day, actually – but, on the floor of the kitchen, Wooyoung talked. He was never out of things to say and he worked with small children so he was an endless font of silliness, of sweetness, of funny stories about infuriating parents and their monstrous/angelic children. The three of you managed to laugh and then Jia talked and you talked and it was all almost normal. By the time Jia rose to go and get ready for bed, you felt light.

“Thank you,” you whispered, resting your head on Wooyoung’s shoulder and closing your eyes, savouring this feeling, bright and warm but with darkness at the edges, encroaching.

“Of course,” he replied, kissing your forehead, rubbing your back. “Do you want me to stay?”

Yes, obviously, you wanted him to stay but, at that very moment, you remembered that he was in love with you. Thought that maybe he shouldn’t stay. Maybe you should try to do this part—the sleeping, the unconsciousness at least—on your own. You shook your head.

“No, it’s ok. I’m going to stay but you don’t have to. Get a good night’s sleep; you must be tired.”

He grinned.

“You kicking me out?”

You grinned back.

“Yeah.”

“Alright then.”

And he moved to stand, offered you a hand to help you up, moved around the kitchen to tidy as if it were his own, familiar, comfortable. You tugged on his shirt to stop him.

“You’re fussing,” you accused. “I can do that.”

He hesitated with a tea cup in his hand, then he placed it back on the side he’d picked it up from, admitting defeat with two hands lightly raised. You walked him to the door and hugged him for minutes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Mhmm,” you replied, sound muffled with your face buried in his neck.

“Ok, well I’ll be back tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

And you did it again, kissed him goodbye. Hadn’t planned to. Hadn’t expected to. Again, he reacted as if it were normal.

“Love you,” he whispered with his hand on the door handle.

“Love you, too.”

As you climbed the silent stairs in your silent house, you replayed the scene a thousand times and, every single time, you changed your mind and asked him to stay. He had said he didn’t want anything to change, hadn’t he? So you should have just asked, just taken whatever he was willing to give. Especially if he was going to let you kiss him like that. That was new; sleepovers were not.

You slipped into your empty bed with tears in your eyes.

Tomorrow, you would ask him to stay.

Jia was on the phone to the bank, trying to explain that your father was dead and the accounts needed to be—well, neither of you knew, that was the point of the call. Your dad was dead and that certainly should have meant something to the bank but no one was willing to help. They wouldn’t even confirm they had accounts in your dad’s name, because Jia wasn’t the account holder. She tried to explain that the account holder was dead but they were stuck in a loop. They’d release no information and take no action based on the information Jia gave them because they weren’t allowed to. She was in tears, desperately asking for guidance, asking not to be transferred to someone else, to have to go through the entire conversation again. You took the phone from her and hung up when she could no longer speak.

“I just-” she began, some minutes later, still crying.

She looked at you, her eyes red, wide, and watery.

“Would he have bothered doing this for us?” she asked.

“What?”

“If we had died, would he have fucking bothered? Or would he have just made Mum deal with it all? The fucki-”

Her voice broke and you let her recompose herself.

“The fucking shit that we have to deal with. Our whole f-fucking lives. Sometimes...”

She crumbled again and shook her head, ducking it between her arms on the table.

“Sometimes, what?”

But she shook her head.

“I can’t say it.”

“You can say anything to me... Or, look at this way, if you can’t say it to me, who can you say it to?”

She raised her head and looked at you again; you saw your own desperation reflected back.

“Sometimes I wish... sometimes I wish he was actually abusive,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

You crumpled, dissolving into tears yourself, nodding, reaching for her.

“Me, too,” you admitted with a rush of relief. “Like-”

“He was such a dick, but yo-”

“-whenever you say that to people, they ask why-”

“-and you try to think of examples! You try to show th-”

“-em but it all seems so stupid an-”

“-d trivial! And people don’t get it. They-”

“-act like you’re being unreasonable. Maybe we are unreasonable-”

“-but if he had hit us, like, even one time-”

“-no one would say anything! They would understand then!”

“And I don’t- obviously I don’t wish that-”

“I’m grateful he wasn’t, obviously-”

“And I feel so guilty-”

“My god, guilty for fucking everything!”

“Maybe it was easier for you, because you were far away, but I... Mum used to ask me to come for dinner so often and I just made excuses and didn’t go because I didn’t want to see him-”

“Every time I came home, I thought it might be better. I had this stupid belief that he would be better-”

“And now, especially? Not now, I mean this time. This time we gave up our whole lives to come back here for him and he was-”

“WORSE. He was so horrible-”

“-Such a fucking bastard-”

“-and now we have to do all of this and I’m so... I’m so-”

“Angry.”

“Angry. And then I feel guilty for being so angry with him because-”

“-because maybe it wasn’t really that bad-”

“-but it was bad, right?”

You rose from the table and hugged her tight. Never had you been more grateful to have a sister. Someone who got it. You wished she didn’t, wished that she could be the confident, care-free 18-year-old that you left behind but-... But she probably hadn’t been that even then.

You had never really talked about your dad. You’d bitched a little together. Occasionally waded in in defence when one was arguing with him. But you��d never really talked about what it was like to have him for a father and what you felt about it and him and your childhood and the ways it had affected your lives afterward. More guilt crept in: guilt for leaving, abandoning her when she was just starting out in adulthood. Maybe if you’d stayed, you would have had these conversations already. Maybe if you’d talked, this would be easier.

Maybe now it could be.

“Woo?”

He wasn’t asleep, was still tracing his fingers in light patterns on your side.

“What?”

“When we die, I want to go first, ok?”

“What?”

“When we die, I want to die first.”

He lifted his head then shifted to lean on his elbow, looking down at you.

“So I have to be the one to go through all the pain and suffering of losing you?”

“Yes.”

“No deal.”

“Well, I’ve already decided. You’re not allowed to die first.”

“There’s only one thing for it then: double suicide.”

“It’s not double if one of us dies and then the other one kills themselves.”

“Yes, but then that’s someone dying first, isn’t it? If we have to go at the same time, there is only one solution.”

“Double suicide.”

“Shit. How do we pull that off?”

“It’s going to be tricky because we want to live very long, happy lives first.”

“So we’re going to be infirm is what you’re saying?”

“Yes, but if we’re really old and ailing, maybe we’ll have all sorts of pills we can take.”

“Just all down the hatch at once?”

“And then cross our fingers.”

“Deal.”

At the weekend, almost a week since your father had died, you and Jia were discussing what to do about your mother. She ate minimally—only when either of you insisted, forcefully, that she at least take a bite—and still hadn’t left her bedroom. Beyond having her sectioned (which seemed extreme and unnecessary), you had no ideas.

“Can I try?” Wooyoung asked when you relayed the problem to him.

You and Jia shrugged at one another. Couldn’t hurt. Wooyoung took up a plate of food and a drink. He did not return for some time; when he did, the plate was almost empty.

“You didn’t,” Jia gasped, spotting him first as he walked through to the kitchen.

He nodded.

“She ate that?”

“Yep.”

“My god, you’re a mother whisperer.”

“Is she... ok? I mean-”

“Yeah, what do we do? Does she nee-”

“Can we help?”

Wooyoung took his place next to you at the kitchen table, slipped his fingers between yours.

“She feels guilty,” he said. “To the point that she’s been paralysed by it. She said she feels worse every day because she knows that the two of you are trying so hard and she’s being so difficult-”

“-It’s not difficul-”

“-Her husband died; it’s understandable.”

“It’s not just this part,” he continued. “She realised, when your dad died, that it would just be the three of you and she’d finally have to face you.”

“Face us? What does that mean?”

“She knows your dad was not a good dad and, often, not a good person, either. It’s one thing when you make a decision for yourself, but it’s another to have brought the two of you into the world and made you grow up with him-”

“It’s not her fault, though.”

“Would she rather we were never born?”

“No, not that at all. But she has had so many years of being distracted and sweeping it under the rug and having other things to worry about: raising you, and then you both moved out so it didn’t seem as much of an issue, and then taking care of him. Now she doesn’t have any of that and she has to sit with the decisions she made in her life and decisions she didn’t make and that includes having children with him and not leaving him and, in her mind, not doing all the things a good mother should have.”

“But she was a good mum,” Jia argued, voice quiet with thick emotion.

You nodded, tears burning in your eyes, stomach churning. She had two kids to raise and never quite enough money or support to do it; she did her best. You might have blamed her when you were younger, wondered (screamed viciously in your head about) why she never left, why you couldn’t all have just left him, why she chose to have children with someone who so clearly did not want them. You were younger then, though, and things seemed simpler. Now that you were older, you understood. It wasn’t her fault.

It was also strangely comforting. A little schadenfreude knowing that she was aware of it, what he was like, that she knew, that she would understand how you felt, feel it too. You had assumed that she was grieving in the normal way, the one where you missed the person and couldn’t imagine the rest of your life without them and felt the enormous hole they left in your life like a wound that would never heal. It hadn’t occurred to you that maybe she was having difficult feelings about it, too. Was part of her relieved, too?

You felt a strong wave of sympathy for her and another of anger for your dad. That he had maybe ruined so much of her life. You and Jia were young and had so much time to live without him; your mum had spent the majority of her life with him. How miserable had he made her? You didn’t know. How happy had she ever been? You didn’t know.

You realised then, as you had with Jia just days prior, that you should have all talked about this more. If you’d all been more open about your feelings, maybe things would’ve been better. Maybe, even, possibly, over time, if you’d all communicated better about what a prick your dad had been, your mum would have left him. Maybe you could’ve banded together instead of isolating yourselves into little pockets of misery.

You put your head in your hands fighting the sob stuck in your throat.

“So fucking stupid,” you whispered, referring to all of it, all of you. Everything.

“She said she’s going to try tomorrow,” Wooyoung said. “She’ll come and try to help. She wants to try; she’s afraid you’ll be angry, disappointed in her.”

“We won’t,” Jia answered. “We won’t.”

Your mum did appear and you talked and you cried and no paperwork of any kind was done, but you felt closer to her. The three of you around the kitchen table felt more like a family than you ever had. You felt more capable of dealing with everything with your mum behind you. You even began to feel tentatively positive again.

The process of dying can be short or long. The process of grieving is always long. There were so many things to pay for that you dad had not saved for; there were debts in his name that your mum was now responsible for; there were so many people coming by to say how sorry they were, not knowing that they were probably sorrier than you were.

The funeral was the worst of it. Publicly mourning for a man you could hardly stand to think about. A man who, if he stood in front of you, you wouldn’t have hesitated to hit. The part of you that was relieved he was gone was in revolt—livid that he continued to take up so much time, effort, and space, that there was no relief. Not yet.

It would end, eventually, you knew it would. Things always ended. You just weren’t confident about your ability to make it that far.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” you said, lying in Wooyoung’s bed, fighting with every ounce of yourself to just get up and start the day.

Wooyoung came back and lay beside you, already dressed, almost leaving for work. He kissed your cheek and you turned your head, wanting his lips on yours.

“It’ll get better.”

“Will it?”

“Promise.”

And he sealed it with another kiss.

“We’re going to have fun tonight, right? That’ll be better.”

“Maybe.”

“And if you want to stay in bed until then, that’s fine.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said with a shrug before moving to get off the bed.

You clung to him.

“No, please!”

“I have to go to work!”

“Five more minutes.”

“Ok, five more minutes.”

The pub was packed and you were grateful that your friends had snagged a table because a night spent standing with a pint in your hands was not what you wanted. You’d been back in Ilsan for months but this was the first you’d seen of most of them. Your fault, of course, and Wooyoung had had to drag you here, but now you were grateful that he had. You had missed them. Missed them growing up into actual men and women, not the youthful-cheeked babies you had left behind. You supposed the same applied to you, too.

You had been reluctant to go because you had the stench of death on you. You’d get all that pity and sympathy; the sad smiles with the sloping brows; the awkwardness whenever anyone mentioned their own parents, or London, or illness, or anything that might in any way remind you of the thing you couldn’t forget if you tried.

You had underestimated your friends. They weren’t the next-door neighbour or the ladies from the WI your mum attended. They were your friends and they knew you and loved you and loved to give you just as much shit as they ever had. You were overwhelmed by the relief you felt in their company and the alcohol buzzed in your blood, bubbly and warm.

Even when Wooyoung left early (because it was a school night), you stayed. You walked him out to the street and, as you always did now, kissed him goodbye. Neither of you had mentioned it. You hadn’t meant to start anything when it happened the first time. Hadn’t meant to make it a habit, but it had easily become one and you didn’t want it to stop.

You returned to the table (the crowd thinner now because Wooyoung wasn’t the only one who had to work the next morning) and immediately sensed tension.

“Ok what was that?” Hongjoong asked as you were still sliding back into your seat.

“What was what?”

He gestured to the door as if it were obvious.

“What?”

“What was that?” he asked again, slowly, as if you were stupid.

“What was what?!”

“Ok, I don’t think this is going anywhere,” Seonghwa interrupted. “We wanted to ask you what’s going on with Wooyoung.”

“Oh, is something going on with him?”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and pursed his lips; you knew he was biting his tongue.

“With you and Wooyoung.”

“Nothing’s going on with me and Wooyoung-”

It was instant, your denial, the same way it had been when Jia had inquired about the ‘change’ in your relationship earlier in the week.

“You need to stop it with the stupid act or I’m going to lose it.”

“It kind of seems like you already have, Hongjoong. What have I done?”

All that bubbly pleasure you’d just been feeling was turning flat, souring in your sinking stomach.

“You know he’s in love with you, right?” he demanded, eyes boring into you.

“Yes... Kind of a risky move for you to say that if you thought I didn’t know.”

“I know you know; it seems like maybe you could do with the reminder though.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know that he’s in love with you and you know you’re not in love with him but you’re perfectly happy to play pretend, is that it? Happy to play house with him, hold his hand, act like his girlfriend as long as you don’t actually have to be his girlfriend?”

You wished you had stopped one or even two drinks ago. Your surprise left you unarmed and your brain was not at its sharpest. You had done your best not to think about it—Wooyoung, his feelings, your relationsh- friendship. You had been leaning on him particularly hard recently, that you knew but, well, there were reasons for that.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” you insisted. “I swear I don’t understand. He’s just been there for me; there’s kind of been a lot going on.”

And it was supposed to be your defence, but Hongjoong’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, right, there has, but it’s kind of funny that none of us know about it, huh? Why is this the first time we’re seeing you since you came back months ago? Aren’t we your friends? Did you even think about giving any one of us the opportunity to ‘be there for you’? I’m guessing no. Because we aren’t the one who fuck you, right? We aren’t the ones in love with you, who’d do anything for you, wh-”

“Hongjoong...” Seonghwa’s voice was soft but carried a warning note.

Hongjoong ignored it.

“You don’t have us wrapped around your little finger so we’re of no use to you, is that it?”

“No.”

You wanted to say more but you didn’t want to cry in the pub in front of everyone. You were mortified, not least because you knew at least part of what he was saying was right.

“I get it,” Hongjoong continued. “Woo’s a great guy and you’re fucking lucky to have him, but if you aren’t in love with him or you don’t have feelings for him, you need to fucking stop because it’s not fucking fair. You are taking advantage-”

“I do love hi-”

“Fuck off! If I say I love you, you know I’m not telling you I’m in love with you. It’s different. Wooyoung told you how he feels and he never expected anything from you—he has never asked for anything from you—but here you are, playing with his feelin-”

“I’m not playing with his feelings!”

“Aren’t you? Because you’re doing a really good job of behaving like you’re his girlfriend and if you don’t have any intention of actually being his girlfriend, then what you’re actually being is a cunt.”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa cut in, placing a hand on Hongjoong’s arm. “Go and get a drink.”

But Hongjoong was already out of his seat, stalking off, leaving you stunned, a little sick.

“Sorry about that,” Seonghwa started. “He’s a little worked up.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any feelings for Wooyoung?”

You had loads... but you weren’t sure if any of them were the kind he felt for you.

“I don’t... know.”

“It’s ok. It’s been a bad time since you got back, I know. We’re just...”

“Concerned,” San chipped in.

“We have obviously known for a long time about his feelings for you and, while you were living in London, it didn’t really matter because there wasn’t any way you could be together even if you did want that, too, but, now that you’re back, we... Well, we’ve always kind of assumed you would get together at some point and we just want to... check if that’s what’s happening.”

“Has Woo said anything to you?”

Seonghwa shook his head.

“No, this isn’t coming from him. We've asked after you, obviously, because we wanted to know how you were doing—we missed you—but he hasn’t said anything about your relationship or his feelings or anything like that and we haven’t seen you so we don’t really know what’s going on.”

Seonghwa was being leagues nicer than Hongjoong had been but it was making you feel worse. It was one thing when it was just Jia; she was your little sister and it was her job to be annoying and you could dismiss her questioning as just that. It was a lot harder to dismiss coming from your mutual friends. If, in one evening, they had noticed things had changed between you, could you deny it any longer? Would you actually have to face up to the things you’d been hiding from?

“Nothing’s going on,” you repeated, weakly, quietly. “I’m not... I’m not trying to hurt him.”

“We know. We kn-”

“Hongjoong doesn’t seem to.”

Seonghwa shot a glance over to the bar where Hongjoong was standing, shredding a beer mat.

“He’s just being protective and he’s a little hurt.”

“Hurt?”

“I don’t agree with his delivery or timing but we have missed you and you’ve... pretty much ignored all our attempts to reach out to you.”

You hung your head in shame. He wasn’t wrong. You just hadn’t wanted to answer any questions, to be visible to anyone else—to have all your problems made visible to others. It was the same thing that meant you didn’t tell anyone you were moving back in the first place. You didn’t want all of your deepest-seated problems rising to the surface of other people’s awareness.

Hongjoong returned with two shot glasses. He waved one under your nose.

“I love you, ok?” he said. “Just stop being so fucking stupid.”

You nodded, fingers tentative on the shot before you. Hongjoong pouted.

“You aren’t going to say you love me back?”

You didn't really feel like giving into the fun, but you knew he had a point and you also knew that he would apologise properly in the morning. It would be churlish to reject this attempt to smooth things over.

“I love you, too,” you duly replied, exaggerating your exasperation, faking a smile, taking the shot.

When you crawled into Wooyoung’s bed later that night, he rolled over, searching for you in his sleep. You were wide awake, even with two more shots sloshing amongst the beer inside you. He loved you. He loved you but things between you felt the same as they ever had been. Your feelings hadn’t changed since the last time or the time before that or the time before that.

Maybe you were in love with him. Maybe this was what it felt like to be in love. You’d had relationships; you thought you’d been in love before. Maybe you hadn’t been. Maybe this was love. You considered your options: separate yourself from Wooyoung (to what extent you didn’t know) or commit to him. There was only ever going to be one answer to that question.

You were sticky and sated, sitting in Wooyoung’s lap, feeling his heartbeat slow under your palm.

“Woo?”

“Yeah?”

Your own heartbeat skipped, picked up the pace because you had thought about this conversation a lot (the conversation and what might come after it) but it hadn’t made you less nervous.

“I want to be with you.”

His chuckle was a puff of air.

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean... I want to be with you.”

You sat up straight, looked him in the eye, so you could track his reaction as you continued.

“Like, actually be with you. Be us... Be your girlfriend.”

You expected surprise, hesitation.

He closed his eyes, teeth biting his lip from the inside, and nodded. You waited for him to speak. He sighed.

“I don’t... I don’t think you do,” he said.

He was looking at you, straight through you. You might have been naked already but now you felt exposed.

“Yes, I do. I do. I wan-”

But he was shaking his head again and you stopped.

“I love you,” and it hurt, somehow, to hear it this time. “And you know I... You know I would want that. To be with you. Properly. But...”

He didn’t usually hesitate this much when he spoke. Wasn’t usually this reluctant to tell you how he felt—to tell anyone how he felt. His fingers were fidgeting on your thighs, dancing and tapping. He looked at you and looked away and then back at you.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This wasn’t supposed to hurt. Him. Or you.

“Wooy-”

“No... I get it. I know why you... I know you don’t want me. You want security and stability and I can be that for you; I am that for you and I’m glad to be. But you don’t want me like that, princess. You’re not in love me with me, are you?”

How you were the one with tears in your eyes and not him was beyond you. You had told yourself that yes, you were. You were in love with him. If everyone was accusing you of acting like his girlfriend already, and you already loved him, already slept with him, already spent most nights in his bed, then weren’t you in love with him?

You opened your mouth to say it, to insist that you were, that you wanted more, more of him, but he was looking at you, through you, like he always did. Eyes so soft and warm and dark. Arms solid and secure and wrapped around you now, keeping you safe. His heart, enormous, sensitive, yours. There was a growing sense of panic in you now, that this was going sideways, might ruin everything. That maybe this could cost you him. That he would pull away. That you would lose him. And then you would lose your mind altogether.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. “It’s ok.”

And he was the one comforting you as you leant forward into him, tears spilling, streaking down his chest. He was the one rubbing your back and pressing kisses into your hair. Because you couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell him that you were in love with him because you didn’t know if you were. Didn’t know if love really was this desperate and panicked and needy and selfish. Didn’t know if you could bring yourself to drag him down with you.

When Wooyoung got up the next morning and got ready for work, he let you pretend to be asleep. Left the lightest of kisses on your cheek and shut the door as quietly as he could. You waited a minute or two to be sure he was out of the building and then you scrambled to leave yourself. You were mortified, still. So embarrassed but also ashamed. You felt foolish and cruel. All the things Hongjoong had accused you of. Your cringe was physical when you thought about Wooyoung telling them what had happened, what you had said.

You didn’t hear from him for hours. Hours in which you worried that it was over, in which you convinced yourself that you would never hear from him again, that just like that your friendship was over. You were supposed to be applying for jobs, now that your dad was dead and buried, but you stared at your laptop screen, unseeing. You could only think about Wooyoung. You checked your phone every thirty seconds, just in case. You opened your message thread, in case he sent one but you didn’t receive a notification. You tapped your thumbs on the screen, waiting for the magic words to come to you. The words that would take everything back, make it right again.

It was agony. It was terror. It was too much to keep to yourself, despite your shame. You told Jia everything and, by the time you had finished, you were on the verge of tears, on the edge of panic.

“What if I’ve fucked it all up?” you asked, choking on your words.

“Woo’s not like that. He hasn’t messaged you because he’s at work. Politely, dear sister, get a grip. Besides, I feel like you’re missing the point. You told him you wanted to be with him and he told you you aren’t in love with him. Which one of you is actually right?”

“I don’t know... Both, maybe, in a way... I don’t know.”

“Sounds like maybe he’s right then. You should probably know if you’re in love with someone, especially someone you’ve known since you were like, one, and have been sleeping with for years. If you don’t know, then you don’t.”

“But I-”

But you were terrified of losing him. He had been your life raft throughout it all. He had kept you afloat. Without him, you would have gone insane. Without him, the last few months would have been unbearable. Without him, you would never stay, but if he was here, you’d already decided you would never leave again. You needed him. Even now, when life was approaching some kind of normality. When the consequences of your dad’s life and death were still being felt but you could at least use the living room again. Things were getting better but they weren’t good. Wooyoung was. He was the best thing you had.

Your panic subsided when Wooyoung showed up after work, as usual. He acted as if nothing had happened, except he didn’t kiss you to say hello, and didn’t hold your hand, and only gave you a kiss on the cheek to say goodnight—even though you’d been kissing goodnight on the mouth for years.

As the days wore on, things settled. Your anxiety about the situation melted in his warmth, which was the same as it had ever been. You wondered what was going on in his brain, in his heart, how he could allow this, how he could stand it. You lay, naked in his bed, listening to his deep, slow breathing, thinking: if I were him—if I were in love with my best friend—there's no way I could stand this proximity for so long.

The thought cut you like a knife and you sat up, sharply. Fuck. You sank down again carefully, hoping you hadn’t woken him. If. If. You weren’t. You really weren’t in love with him. And he knew it before you did.

For as long as you lived, even as a friend, you would never deserve Wooyoung.

When morning came—the weekend, a lie-in—you got up first, left the apartment and returned with overpriced coffee and pastries.

“Woo,” you called softly, kneeling on the floor beside him as you placed his coffee and his croissant on the bedside cabinet.

“I smell coffee.”

“I bought coffee.”

He winked one eye open, looked at you, and swivelled it to his treats. A grin spread across his face as he stretched and rolled over.

“Oh, treating me like a princess! It’s about time.”

You stood and he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you onto the bed. He kept one arm around you as he reached for his drink.

“What have I done to deserve this?” he asked, humming in satisfaction after his first sip.

“Nothing. Just being you.”

“Are you ill?”

You punched his arm—carefully, so he wouldn’t spill.

“Can’t I do something nice for you for once?”

“You can. In fact, I encourage you to do it often. Every day, if you want. I’d be fine with that.”

You rolled your eyes and settled down, tucked under his arm.

“I wanted to say something.”

Wooyoung was good at not letting his tension show, but you couldn’t miss the second’s pause in his body, the still moment before he let it go again.

“You were right,” you said.

“About?”

It was, again, to your shame that you couldn’t quite meet his eye when you said it.

“I’m not in love with you.”

“Ah.”

You told yourself you didn’t feel the kick of his heartbeat under your palm.

“I... I love you more than anyone. So much. I feel like... I feel like I love you like my life depends on it.”

He nodded.

“That’s not the same thing,” you continued.

He smiled, exhaling a puff of laughter through his nose.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not the same.”

“I’m sorry.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“You don’t have to be sorry, darling. It’s ok. I told you: it’s ok.”

- Six Months Later -

Normality had found you. Routine. A settled feeling rooted in you now that you were back where those roots first found soil. An apartment of your own. A job. New friends as well as all the ones you had left behind. Counselling because you decided you needed it. It had helped a lot with unearthing things long buried in you.

Like your love for Wooyoung. Like your being in love with him. The fissure that opened in you when you first mentioned his name in a session—long after you’d started. You had been so determined to keep things about your father and your childhood and determined to keep Wooyoung out of it. You had done so much of the work tiptoeing around him, until your counsellor, Suzie, called you on it. Told you that she knew there was something you were holding back. You spoke his name and burst into tears.

Because you had been so sure that you weren’t in love with him. You told her all of it—the entire, wretched, embarrassing account of how you’d kicked him while he was down—and reached the sure conclusion that it wasn’t love. Not like that. But the further down you dug, the deeper into your life she probed, the more wrong that felt.

It had always been Wooyoung. You had just never allowed yourself to admit that. Because he knew too much. He was too good to you. He indulged you like a spoilt child but—and it had surprised you so much when Suzie said it that you had stopped crying—you didn’t believe he really was in love with you. He couldn’t be because you didn’t deserve it, not someone like you with someone like him. You couldn’t explain the belief in light of his behaviour (nor his behaviour in light of your belief), but for you it was true and you were left with remnants of something that might have been everything you’d ever wanted: your love for him, your belief that you could never be good enough for him, and his friendship.

He was already seeing someone else by then. That wasn’t a surprise. You had said you weren’t in love with him and he wasn’t going to just sit around and mope about it. He had needs. Desires. A life. Now a boyfriend... Maybe boyfriend—you weren’t sure if they’d had that conversation yet. Whatever Yunho was, he was the person that kept you out of Wooyoung’s bed. You did nothing about it because you had no right to. Suzie did not agree with you on this but could not (would never) force you to do anything you didn’t want to, so you agreed to disagree.

“You know if you’re in love with him, you just have to tell him,” Hongjoong said, sitting himself down across from you.

No hello. No hi. No greeting of any kind.

“What?”

“Wooyoung. If you’re in love with him, you should tell him.”

You spluttered. Tried to find some plausible denial. Tried to not be overwhelmed with embarrassment that he knew—you didn’t think anyone knew outside the walls of your counselling sessions. You thought you had been doing a good job at keeping your feelings to yourself.

“We all know,” Hongjoong said, casually confirming your worst fears.

“Wooyoung?”

“No, not him! Wouldn’t believe it if we told him any-”

“You cannot tell him!” you hissed.

“We’re not going to! I’m just saying.”

“Oh my god, Hongjoong. You’re not just saying anything; you are exposing me in public right now! And he’s right there!”

You jabbed a hand in the direction of the bar where Wooyoung was waiting to buy drinks with, yes, Yunho—who was lovely and tall and polite and made Wooyoung laugh and whom you could not hate even if you wanted to.

“He can’t hear us.”

You put your head in your hands and then flapped them open like window shutters to look at Hongjoong.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you’re being all moony-eyed and obvious about it and, if you don’t do something soon, he’s going to get serious with that guy.”

“That guy has a name.”

Hongjoong shrugged.

“Yeah, but he’ll be out of the picture pretty soon, won’t he?”

“Will he?”

“Yeah, once you tell Woo how you fee-”

“SHUT UP! I’m not going to do that!”

“Or consider this: you do it.”

“No.”

“How about doing it?”

“No.”

“Ok but, what if... you did it?”

“No!”

“Or you could do it.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“NO.”

“YES.”

“Yes what?”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide as saucers, as Yunho took a seat next to Hongjoong and Wooyoung beside him.

“Yes what?” Wooyoung repeated.

“Yes, she’s an idiot,” Hongjoong said, looking at you, challenging.

Wooyoung laughed.

“Sounds about right.”

“Hey!”

He blew you a kiss and you pouted, digging into your performance and kicking Hongjoong under the table.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about telling him. You had (at Suzie’s encouragement) and, every time, it brought you out in hives. It wasn’t even the fear of rejection (not exclusively anyway). It was the foolishness of it all. Having hurt him only to come crawling back, on your knees, to say that you were wrong. You couldn’t beg forgiveness. You couldn’t ask him to take you back. Not before he met Yunho and certainly not now. He deserved something better even before Yunho had appeared.

You were standing at the bar later that evening when two arms slipped around your waist and a head rested on your shoulder.

“Hello, you,” you said as Wooyoung moved sideways next to you, his hand resting on your back for just a second before falling.

“Hello. Buy me a drink, please.”

You scoffed.

“Since you asked so nicely...”

“I said please and everything!”

“Does Yunho want one?”

Wooyoung shook his head.

“Nah, he’s good.”

“Is he now?”

He bumped his hip into yours, lips tight to try to contain his smile.

“I approve by the way,” you told him.

“You approve?”

“Yes, of Yunho. I approve. You guys seem... good.”

“I’ll let him know he’s finally passed, shall I?”

“Yeah, would you? That’d be great. I can have the certificate sent out to him tomorrow.”

Another hip check, an unconcealed smile.

“And what about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Dating? I know they won’t be The Best You’ve Ever Had but worth a shot, right?”

He was waiting for the blow—a smack on the arm or a shove—but you grinned back.

“And does Yunho know he’s not the best you’ve ever had?” You clutched your heart in dramatic performance but your stomach genuinely sank. “Or have I been dethroned?”

Wooyoung raised his nose, ignoring you, pretending he hadn’t heard, tongue working the inside of his mouth.

“Great! I’ll go and let him know!”

He grabbed your arm.

“Do not tell him that-”

“Woo, what kind of idiot do you think I am?!”

“Exactly the kind of idiot you are, princess.”

Your retort was interrupted by the arrival of your drinks, which Wooyoung paid for, picked up, and carried back to the table.

That was the thing. Being friends with Wooyoung was joyful, the greatest joy of your life, and you couldn’t risk that. You’d rather be his friend than nothing at all. Especially since he was happy now, had someone who made him happy now. Even if it wasn’t you.

yunou._.u: hi! I hope it’s ok to be messaging; I was hoping we could meet. I'd like to talk to you about something.

You looked at the instagram notification once, twice, then opened it to be sure you were seeing things right. You clicked on his profile and regretted it instantly because the very first photo was Yunho with Wooyoung. They looked sickeningly happy.

You: sure. When do you want to meet?

yunou._.u: is today ok? After work? I finish at 6

So there you were, approaching a cafe with your stomach in knots, about to meet Wooyoung’s not-quite-boyfriend for who knew what reason. Your only guess was something birthday-related; November wasn’t exactly soon but maybe Yunho was an extravagant kind of guy who wanted to whisk Wooyoung to some tropical paradise (during term time?) or have something custom-made. You hoped it was that, because that would be easy.

You spotted Yunho as you entered—he stood and raised a hand, a little shyly.

“Have you ordered?” you asked.

“No, I was waiting-”

“Sorry, I got a li-”

“No, no, it’s alright. We can order now.”

You stood at the counter in silence, staring at the drinks board unseeing. Yunho insisted on paying for yours, too, and your heart ached because he really was such a nice guy.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” he said as soon as you had sat down again. “This conversation might be a little awkward but I really want to make sure that everything is cleared-up.”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised.

“I’m sorry for my directness but do you have feelings for Wooyoung?”

Your eyebrows would’ve shot right off the top of your head if they could have.

“I-... I-”

“He told me that he used to have feelings for you-”

‘Used to’. Ouch.

“-and I am choosing to believe him when he uses the past tense, but if you have feelings for him... I know I can’t compete with you and I don’t want to.”

You were stunned into silence. You didn’t know whether or not to be honest. Would honesty ruin what Wooyoung had with Yunho? You didn’t want that, you really didn’t. You wanted him to be happy and you had firmly convinced yourself that being happy with you was not an option. He had moved on. The proof of that was sitting right in front of you.

So you couldn’t say yes.

Nor could you bring yourself to lie.

“We’re just friends,” you replied.

Yunho smiled.

“I know and if that is your answer then I will accept it. I really like Wooyoung; I’m serious about this relationship and I’d like to ask him if he is, too, but if there’s any part of you that cares for him as more than a friend, I would really appreciate the heads-up. You and he have known each other a very long time and, like I said, I know I can’t compete.”

You were curling inwards with shame, knowing that you had the answer but not able to say it out loud. You couldn’t admit it to him, couldn’t break his heart and maybe Wooyoung’s, too, just for the sake of your feelings—feelings that were too little, too late.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho said when you still did not respond. “I didn’t mean to ambush you with this and, really, your feelings aren’t my business as such; you don’t have to tell me-”

“-I...”

It was there, in your chest, rising in your throat, this pressure, to say it, admit it, but there was pressure to hide it, too, to not expose yourself to ridicule, to despair. Yunho looked on, patiently waiting, sipping his coffee, as you stared back with pleading eyes.

Yunho smiled—kind. Sad. He nodded.

“I understand. Thank you... and thank you for meeting with me. I really appreciate it.”

He rose from the table.

“I’ll see you around,” he said in parting, taking his half-empty mug to the return station and leaving you with yours, shell-shocked and sick, at the table.

“... I felt like I was going to vomit,” you whined from your seat on the floor, grabbing onto Hongjoong’s leg like a life raft. “What am I supposed to do?”

He laughed from above you on the sofa.

“Man, Yunho has class. That was a fucking classy move.”

“Yeah, I get it: he’s great! How is that helping?”

“I’m just saying. If he and Woo do break-up, he’s gonna need a rebound... Might just have to make myself available to him-”

“Hongjoong! You’re fucking gross! You can’t go around scavenging your friends’ exes!”

“Why not? Motherfucker is tall and, rumour has it, well hung.”

You twisted and gave him a vicious slap to the thigh.

“HONGJOONG! As if I needed to hear that! You are disgusting! You cannot sleep with him!”

“If he’s up for it, I can do whatever I want! Woo will be too busy up in your guts to notice-”

“Oh my god, I am leaving. I hate you so much. This is why I avoided you for months.”

But Hongjoong grabbed your wrist as you tried to leave and pulled you down onto the sofa with him.

“I don’t know what you want me to say that I haven't already fucking said. I think you should tell Wooyoung how you feel; Yunho knows and he’s made it pretty clear that he’s gonna bow out for you so, if you don’t tell Woo, he’s just gonna be heartbroken for no reason, isn’t he?”

You leant into Hongjoong, who was right even if you didn’t want him to be.

“Please don’t tell him,” you begged for what might have been the hundredth time.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you fucking loser.”

“Don’t be mean to me.”

“You deserve it.”

You slapped him on the chest.

“See what I mean?”

You flopped onto your sofa, intent on vegetating for the rest of the evening. It was Friday so all the chores you had left could wait. There was nothing between you and your umpteenth rewatch of Parks and Rec.

Until Wooyoung strolled through your door.

“Who let you in?” you asked.

“I did, princess. That kind of thing can happen when you give someone the keys to your house.”

He fell onto the sofa on top of you and pressed a kiss to your cheek before sitting upright and pulling you that way, too.

“What do you want?”

“I can’t just want to spend time with my favourite person?”

You didn’t argue with that because you hadn’t seen him all week and, it might have been a slip of the tongue, but it felt too good to be referred to as his favourite.

“I broke up with Yunho.”

Your jaw dropped and your stomach fell with it. He broke up with Yunho?

“No!”

“Yep.”

“Woo...”

You cupped his face and his hands circled your wrists, gently pulling them down, slipping his hands into yours.

“Why?” you asked, with some trepidation.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; his lips pursed to stop it.

“I spoke to Hongjoong...”

Your mouth dried, heart sped. Hongjoong was like Fort fucking Knox—if he wanted to be, if he thought the secret worth keeping—but he was also a fucking meddler and you should have known better. Of course he spilled the beans when it was your feelings at hand, but he hadn’t done the same when it was Wooyoung’s—hadn’t given you any warning of that bombshell. You would’ve liked to have been angrier but your anxiety drowned it out. Wooyoung knew. He knew.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Wooyoung asked, no reproach, no accusation in his tone.

“How?” you choked. “How could I tell you?”

“Well, there are plenty of options. You could have started like this: ‘Hey, Wooyoung, guess what? I’m in love with you!’; or ‘Listen, donkey, I know you have a boyfriend and this is hilariously shit timing and everything, but I have feelings for you’; or, an absolute classic that everyone loves, a boombox outside my window and you shout ‘Wooyoung! I love you! Be my boyfriend!’... Take your pick.”

Curling in on yourself again, embarrassed and ashamed, raw with vulnerability; you could not meet his eye.

“Hey,” he called, so softly, with a gentle tug on your hand when you did not respond. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His face, downturned, hurt but trying to look like he wasn’t. You hated that you were the reason for that face. You couldn’t stop the tremor in your voice as you spoke.

“Because I wanted you to be happy.”

“Did you not stop to think that you make me happy? You know this.”

“Yunho...-”

“Is not you.”

“Hongjoong wants to fuck him, by the way.”

A swerve but you didn’t know what else to say. You and Wooyoung had crossed all sorts of line together, but you could not get yourself across this one.

Wooyoung sagged, sighed.

“Yes,” he said wearily, with an eye roll, “he made that disturbingly clear.”

“Do you think he will?”

Wooyoung shrugged.

“As long as I don’t have to hear about it, they can do what they like... You’ve changed the subject. Did you not want me to know?”

“I didn’t want to get in the way of you and Yunho.”

“Do you not want to be with me?”

When you pressed a hand to your chest this time, it had nothing to do with dramatics. It hurt, that he doubted, that you had made him doubt, that you were still, sitting and talking as you were, making him doubt.

“I do... Fuck, I do. I just...”

If there were ever a time for putting on your big-girl pants and being honest, this was it. Still not able to look him in the eye, you looked somewhere just over his left shoulder.

“I’ve already let you down before. I don’t want to do it again. I’m-... If... if this doesn’t work out, I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“Who says it won’t work out?”

“I don’t know, statistics?”

Wooyoung almost laughed.

“Only three types of lie in the world, princess: lies, damned lies, and statistics. I’m not going to force you, th-”

“Please do! Please force me!”

And it was you holding him by the wrists this time, up on your knees, exclaiming, because you couldn’t push yourself over the line, needed him—as you always needed him—to help. He laughed.

“You’re truly pathetic, you know that?”

“Yes, I know... Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please kiss me.”

He did just that. He tasted sweeter than your months of remembering, lips softer than the landing your heart descended into. Yours, again, only yours.

“I love you.”

You were so happy at that moment that you even forgot to be angry with Hongjoong.

You would remember later, but for now, it was all Wooyoung.

#ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #ateez fanfic #wooyoung fanfic #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fanfiction #ateez fanfiction #jung wooyoung x reader #atz fanfic #atz x reader #atz smut

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bluespace-writer · 2 days ago

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Hi. I want to make a suggestion: Their s/o goes completely missing. How does the mercs react?

If not all mercs, van I suggest Sniper, Soldier and Engineer?

TF2 Mercs reacting to s/o going missing - [platonic, romantic]

> With five mercs (Sorry I didn't do all of them): Scout, Solider, Sniper, Spy, Engineer

Scout:

> Scout is the first one to notice your absence. He walks around the base looking for his bud but when unsuccessful his first thought will be "Ah, they probably went on a mission or something" and goes back to continue his activities

> When some time passes Scout starts to worry. Sure he could understand that some contracts are hard to finish but everyone were always back before day ends. And you are still not back.

> He can't stand it and decides to look around the base trying to find you. Unsuccessful after his research Scout is getting more worried

> I imagine him runing around from room to room, asking some guys about you only to hear that you still aren't back. Oh boy where are you?

> His reaction that you are missing next day fills him with worry. Why? How?! Where are they?! Why did they disappeared??

> First one to volunteer to look for you

> If you are his partner or if you have crush on each other be ready to be swarm with hugs and worried fast talk after this

> After you are found his first reaction is to put his arms around your shoulders and ask milion questions. Where were you, etc. Now he won't leave you for a whole week. "What? Noooo I wasn't worried about you, but don't disappear like that!" won't admit it but he missed you. A lot.

Solider:

> He won't see your absence at first, it will take some time for him to realize there was supposed to be 10 and not 9 people around

> He will shrug it off thinking you are just away

> He is going to find out you are missing only when someone points out your absence to him in person

> "SHALL KNOW NO FEAR MAGGOT!! MISSING WILL BE FOUND!!" He screams out loud, while running to the next room to look for you

> Alright.... it's been some time now. Where are you?... He is going to miss you buddy. He cares for his team, and is actually worried.

> When you are found he will lecture you how to not get kidnapped or lost again. That especially applies if you are his partner (you won't escape crushing night cuddles)

> Give him love, he missed you a lot, even if he doesn't show it

Sniper:

> He notices your absence after a while. Does it make him worry about you? Nope. He is going to come back to him van or practice his sniping skills not thinking about your disappearance too much. You all have a lot of work to do after all

> Hours will pass before he finnaly decides to look for you. Just to see where you are so he wouldn't have to think about it anymore

> When checking your most visited spots don't bring him any luck he'll ask some of teammembers about you.

> When it brings no luck he decides to look for you on his own. Come on.... where are you mate.

> After you are back safe and sound expect him to be not far away from you for.... three or more days, watching you from far away. Just to be sure you won't disappear without a word.

>If you are in relationship with him, he won't show any signs of beeing worried, but privately he'll give you a hug, or hold your hands close to his face

> He missed you... and he is glad you are back

Spy:

> He know you are missing before anyone does.

> He know his teammates well, from their activities to schedules and habits. He is a Spy after all, his job is to mimic people.

>When you are not doing something that according to his observation, you were supposed to do, he is going to look for you (invisible of course)

> Strange.... you are not here... not in your favourite spot... not around your favourite people. This.... is bad news.

> He let's everyone know you are missing, volunteering himself to look for you

> Back at the base he isn't going to stick around you very long. Just long enough to know you are well. He is kind enough to make you a drink

> When you are that one special person close to him, know he is going to take you to his room to give you best treatment you have ever received in your entire life. He will ask questions, how, who, what, why's and all that. Be patient with him, he wants to know details.

> Kisses on cheeks and hands, to let you know he missed you

Engineer:

> He is a busy man, but he is observant one too and is going to notice you aren't around.

> Will ask around first instead of looking for you by himself. When answer won't satisfy him, this is when he'll look for you.

> Is the first one to rase the alarm to let everyone you are missing

> Come on.... where are you?? It isn't like you to just be gone for so long...

> He is the one to find you and bring you back safely. Is the one to give you check up alongside Medic

> Expect him to ask you a lot of questions, just to be sure you are feeling alright. Will not leave your side for a while and is going to check on you from time to time bringing cookies or something to drink, like water or tea

> "Darlin' stay with me will Ya? Just... want to be with you" He is sweet one, wanting best for his partner, in the romantic way too. He doesn't want you to be missing again when he is being distracted with his work. Hold his hand and kiss him! He wants to be sure you are save dear...

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actual-changeling · 3 days ago

Text

scully just keeps walking. without looking. walking faster in heels than anyone should be able to. her coat is a bellowing shadow behind her, and her hair a flickering wildfire as cars rush by.

it's a busy street, he knows it's a busy street, he should have known better than to push until she fled. everyone around her is unreal, dizzyingly blurry, and she is sharp and bright in a painful kind of way, like an open wound bleeding wet onto the asphalt. like the sun suddenly breaking through the clouds, blinding you as it burns itself up to live.

he cannot take his eyes off of her, her rage smudging her outline like charcoal, her tears finding tracks through the pain covering her skin like ash.

mulder is right behind her—he has to be—with one hand stretched out, his fingertips gaining form as they reach for her. he is afraid he will run through her like smoke, that he will watch her disappear from the world in a cacophony of screams and screeching breaks, that in running from him he chased her to her death.

she turns in the middle of the crossroad, stopping and becoming a stone in a white water rapid; the crowd parts around her like the sea in front of moses.

to him, she is everything, should be everything. to the world, she is nothing.

to herself, she's a figure of broken glass struggling to keep itself whole.

when his hand wraps around her wrist, he feels her pulse beating desperately to escape, but she doesn't move, doesn't speak a word, simply watches him watch her burn.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have—"

they're a car crash waiting to happen.

"yes, you shouldn't have."

except that he did, again and again and again.

i love you.

too late, too early, too loudly and not loud enough. wrong place, wrong time, never to be said at all. he told her a week ago with saltwater in the back of his throat, and she disappeared into the sea then, too.

the street empties, and she slips from his grasp, slowly and then all at once. silently, mulder follows her just closely enough to die with her if the world were to turn on her.

———

me? writing angst? exactly what i should be doing, it's been too long.

#alex writes x files #the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #txf s6 #txf ficlet #msr ficlet #flash fiction

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rcmclachlan · 2 hours ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely @beanarie!

Here's a snippet of something I started writing yesterday. It hit me out of nowhere, and once I came out of the fugue state, I discovered I'd written 4,000 words.

The premise: Buck is in the middle of making room for his stuff in Tommy's closet when he finds an old phone hidden in a shoebox. Unexpectedly, it starts ringing.

"Sorry, but I don't negotiate with terrorists," Tommy says, then chucks the hornworm into the bucket by his feet. It lands inside with a muted thunk. There must be a bunch more of the little bastards in there.

"USA! USA!" Buck chants, pumping a fist into the air as he gets closer.

Cracking up, Tommy dashes the back of his gloved hand across his forehead. All it does is smear dirt and make him look rugged and disgustingly sexy. Buck wants to lick every drop of sweat from his body.

"Done already? Please tell me I got to keep at least three hangers."

"Is there a henley shortage coming that the rest of us aren't ready for? Jesus." Buck holds up the Nike box and says. "I, uh, found this. Or it found me? It started ringing out of nowhere and scared the living shit out of me."

The moment Tommy claps eyes on it, something fascinating happens. Every muscle in his body visibly tenses, like a wave that starts at his jaw and washes its way down, leaving quiet devastation in its wake. In a single almost fluid motion, he straightens up from his lean and folds his hands at the small of his back. Shoulders back, chin up, feet apart. Parade rest.

Buck's eyebrows hit his hairline. "Tommy?"

"It started ringing." It's not a question or even an accusation. Tommy says it like a simple statement of fact, his voice is flat as a board, the edges sharp enough to draw blood. "It just... started ringing."

"I, uh, yeah?" Buck holds out the box to him, jostling the phone inside, but Tommy doesn't move to take it.

In fact, Tommy does nothing. Tommy says nothing. Buck has to squint to confirm that he's even breathing.

After the most terrifyingly silent thirty seconds of Buck's life, Tommy shifts his gaze from Buck to, oddly enough, the sky.

"Did you answer it?"

"No, of course not!" Just because they're on rock solid ground now doesn't mean there aren't still fault lines beneath the surface. He at least thought he knew most of them. "I-I wouldn't, I swear. I just let it ring."

Tommy's nostrils flare. If his lips were any thinner, they'd probably disappear.

"Um, I'm sorry. I know you said I could have free rein, but I didn't mean..." He has no idea how to end that sentence. He didn't mean to do what? Dig up something that Tommy obviously tried to bury? Make room for himself in Tommy's closet? Make room for himself in Tommy's life in the first place?

A moment passes, and then the statue that was once his boyfriend shivers back to life. Tommy closes his eyes, exhales, and steps forward to take the box from Buck's trembling hands, tucking it under his arm. He wraps the other around Buck's waist and draws him close for a kiss. Buck pushes into it gratefully.

"Sorry," Tommy says against his mouth, then pecks it again before drawing back. "Sorry, I'm being an asshole. Get that look off your face, you did nothing wrong, okay? I was just... surprised to see it. I forgot it was even in there."

"What is it?" Buck mentally slaps himself. "I mean, I know it's a phone, but who was on the other end of it?"

Tommy doesn't answer right away. Instead he looks up at the sky again for a long moment, a strange smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. When he looks back at Buck, his pupils have shrunken to pinpricks. "Think of it like, uh, an old war injury acting up. It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Is it something for you to worry about?"

No pressure tags: @dadvans, @liminalmemories21, @screamlet, @setmeatopthepyre, and @leashybebes

#wip wednesday #bucktommy

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yourabsolutemother · 2 days ago

Text

At sundown Chapter 3

!!MDNI!!

Previous Chapter Here

Poly!141 x reader (omegaverse)

===

A/N: I know this took so long guys, I'm sorry lol. I busted out the rest of chapter two in one night, it was kinda crazy. It was also way longer than I had originally planned, but who's complaining? Let me know if Johnny’s accent is too hard to read, sometimes this translator does some crazy things. This one’s kinda all over the place but it’s kinda for a reason. Last thing! Let me know if you like the beginning of this, I kinda really hate it but I didn’t know what else to do

CW: Military inaccuracy, accent inaccuracy, possible lore inaccuracy, kitchen working inaccuracy, typical a/b/o sexism and classism, cursing, slightly suggestive, reader is referred to as they/them but is afab, but reader is referred to as a woman sometimes (I try my best to make it gender neutral but I’m not the brightest), everyone is kinda being unfaithful, cursing, Simon is mean ya know, slight stalking, a man being a creep, yelling/arguing, reader kinda has a panic attack, yelling

Chapter overview: Soap does some questionable things at the grocery store. Ghost and Price are grumpy

WC: 11.3k

===

Another new day in this hellhole you call a job. They have you running around like you’re the only one who knows what's going on. Sometimes you feel like you are the only one who knows what they’re doing, only to have some random person that’s never bothered to introduce themselves to you mansplain how to use a garbage can. Your boss even went as far as to make you drive an hour out of town to buy bulk ingredients, stating they needed too many things to be open. Of course you were the one they sent, instead of the person who’s literal job description is just that. And of course when you got back, it was your fault that the restaurant didn’t have enough servers. ‘Shouldn’t have taken so long’ was their excuse when you pointed out it was in fact their fault, not yours. You can wrap your brain around how people can be so ignorant and selfish. It feels like there are way more bad people in the world than there are good. It makes you wonder how much more the world could take.

By the end of the day, you’ve been cursed out by three tables, crayons thrown into your lower cut shirt by gross 11 year old boys whose moms have never taught them anything valuable a day in their life, belittled and more. You have serviced enough tables to make at least $300, but you’ve only made $150. Nobody is on your side today, the universe isn’t on your side today. But when is it ever? You’ve disappeared into the freezer to cry your eyes out too many times today to count. You know your manager will go through the cameras at the end of the day, which he does just to point things out about you, and you are going to get a call when you get home. Which you have told them repeatedly not to do, you don’t want to be bothered by work when you aren’t even there. Of course, they ignore this and constantly call and text you. One time, they threatened to fire you if you didn’t answer their calls, after one night when they couldn't find something and they deemed you the only person who knew where it was. You didn’t even know where it was.

Right now, you are putting the ticket in for your last table when a new coworker of yours comes over and leans against the beam that is near the computer. “Saw you running around like crazy today.” Is all that he says, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes scan your body up and down, finally landing on your face. His eyes had lingered at your tits for a bit longer than you’d like and you remind yourself to never wear a shirt like this to work again. His British voice echos in your head like it is empty, your brain trying to find the right words to say. What would agitate him the least. He is met with your downturned eyes as you turn your head towards him. The scent of an alpha hits you immediately and you’re left frozen for a moment. You can’t just ignore an alpha.

Your hands start to shake as you pull the customer receipt out of the printer, grabbing a checkbook from the box right next to you. You let out an awkward laugh as you nod your head, sliding the receipt into the pocket on the inside. “Yeah, Jared needed some things done ASAP and I was the only one available.” You explain, looking at the small passage between this random coworker and where you need to go. “My name is Tyler by the woy.” He says, his tone sounding rather thirsty. You aren’t stupid, you know what he wants from you and you want nothing to do with it. Especially from an alpha.

You stiffly nod and start to move towards the small gap next to him, watching as he unfolds his arms. Your heart clenches in your chest as he reaches for you and firmly grips your shoulders, it's obvious he didn’t mean to grab you so hard from the way he loosens his grip and kinda pats where he grabbed. “You can’t just walk away without telling me your name.” He points out, trying to hide his aggression under a facade of a ‘nice guy’. You can see through his fake smile, through the facade he puts on. You know his ploy all too well and you aren’t about to fall for it. Be nice to the girl, make her fall for them, then reveal what a heart crushing, soul changing piece of shit they are. Not on your watch, at least as much as you could help it.

Despite how confident you are in your own head, on the outside you look like a mess. You are hunched over with your checkbook in hand, trying hard not to look at the alpha who is way too close for comfort. “Come on, Hun. Such a pretty little omega like ye must have a beautiful name.” He presses further, ignoring the quiet whimper that manages to escape your mouth. He can feel the fear radiating off of you and it intrigues him, his pupils dilate with interest.

“Omega!” Jared shouts from his office at the very back of the kitchen, right next to the back door. He loves to slip in and out of the building without telling anybody what's going on. It doesn’t matter too much when he’s coming in without notice, all we can do is accept the rest of the shift is going to be shit and get on with our lives. But when he leaves without telling anyone that he’s leaving, it can majorly fuck the place up and it has multiple times in the past. On one occasion, he knew someone from corporate was coming in to pose as a customer, but assumed at six o’clock that he ‘wasn't going to show up’. He left and the guy he was supposed to be waiting on showed up in the last hour our dinner courses were served in. We went to go find him only to find out that he wasn’t even there anymore. Corporate was pissed and took points off of whatever tracking list they have for their franchisee owners. It doesn’t stop him from continuing to do it.

You have never felt more relieved to hear Jared’s voice in your life. Your head perks up, looking over the shoulder of your new coworker in the direction of Jared's office. You nervously glance between there and the alpha that is looking at you expectantly while stammering. “I gotta go.” Quickly squeezing between him and the wall to get to Jared, checkbooks still in hand. You can feel the kitchen workers and Tyler's eyes on you as you scurry hurriedly to the back of the restaurant. “Yes, sir! I’m coming.” You can feel the anger coming from behind you, coming from the alpha that you’ve caught the attention of unknowingly.

Jared’s office is tiny, not meant for someone to be in there for very long enough. It looks like a big closet with a desk to the right of the door, three filing cabinets completely lining the back wall. Outside of the office, if you’re standing facing the office, the door to the back of the restaurant is to the left. Jared is a very large, very intimidating alpha. He is the only one that you ever really talk to, since you have to. You kinda just switch off your brain when you are talking to him, retreating into your mind to a time when you were forced to be around them for hours on end.

“Now tell me why in the hell you are spending all this time in the kitchen fucking checking out tickets, lollygagging around while these people are waiting!?” Jared’s loud and booming voice invades your ears and makes you wince, your head immediately lowering in a sign of submission. The feeling of relief you felt only moments ago from being pulled away from Tyler was quickly sucked from your body. “What- no of course not, sir.” You stammer out. It’s like a flip gets switched when you’re in arguments, you can’t seem to formulate the correct words to help your case. It is very rare that you are able to get them to start to believe you, but you also fold when they start to interrogate you. It just makes you so nervous that you can’t think straight and your brain gets all scrambled.

“Then why have you been back here for three minutes doing one thing!? Huh!?” He screams at you as you start to take sharp intakes of air. You are trying not to burst out into tears as he stands up and steps towards the edge of his desk. You are used to crying in front of him, embarrassingly so. Everyone here tends to make jokes about it ‘behind your back’ while literally right behind your back. “It’s a privilege for you to work here.” He reminds you, stalking toward you. Your brain goes empty and all you can think about is keeping yourself safe from the angry looking alpha that is coming right towards you. “Look around!” He barks, speaking rhetorically. “There isn' a single omega tha' works for me, you are the only one. You are so easily replaceable I won' even thinky twice abou' i'.” He growls as he towers over your shaking form.

You are holding the checkbook close to your chest, the checkbook you have yet to bring to the customer, looking up at as tears start to roll down your cheeks You are terrified that he is going to lunge at you and hurt you, but you know that you’re hopefully somewhat safe since there is a camera pointing right at the doorway you’re standing in. All you can do is nod, your wide eyes staring up at Jared as he continues to belittle you. Talking about how quickly he could fire you and all the things you have already done that he almost fired you for. He doesn’t hold back on his insults either, he cuts deep and on purpose too. He never once acknowledges the fact that you did things that aren’t on your job description for free today and on most days, but you aren’t about to bring that up to an alpha that is screaming in your face.

“now qui' your fuckin’ crying and ge' back ou' there!” He shouts, pointing over your shoulder towards the dining room. “And if i ge' a single complain' tha' you are crying, you’re fired!” He shouts again as you turn and scurry away from his office. You struggle to keep your emotions in check as you wipe your face of tears and prepare yourself for the trip to your table. You speed walk to the doors of the kitchen, with your head low so the kitchen staff can’t see the tears that they know are running down your cheeks. You take a deep breath once you are there and push through the door, your face immediately brightening up.

You spend the next three hours doing the most random tasks that you could ever think of, at Jared’s request of course. He didn’t stop the hosts from sitting people in your section while you are doing these things, in fact it feels like he told them to give you more. When you look around you can see that there are empty tables in other sections for way longer than they should be open. While in your section, a table would leave and it was like the busboy was waiting for them to leave, then a host would fill the table not even a minute later. You are in a constant battle between greeting customers and giving their checks, making your brain scramble from the switching. On top of that you have the weird ass requests that Jared is assigning you one after another.

Instead of hanging out in the kitchen like you normally would have when you have some downtime, you go to your jacket and get the emergency stash of cigarettes that you save specially for days like this one. Where you can’t see an end to your suffering. You grab your lighter as well and make your way to the back door, hoping Jared isn’t in his office so that he wouldn’t see you. It’s not like he is going to stop you from going on a smoke break. You hope. Thankfully you are able to get past the office and out the backdoor without any commotion from Jared, the cold air biting at your cheeks. It is cold outside, but you don't want to bother putting on a jacket when you are only going to be out here for a few moments. Hopefully the cold air will refresh your brain and the rest of your shift won't be as miserable. Unlikely. You put the cigarette in your mouth and hold the lighter up to the stick, watching and inhaling as the paper starts to burn. You’re able to put the lighter back in your pocket and take a drag before you hear the door open and a voice speak to you.

“Pretty omega like you shouldn’t be smoking, gonna ruin your pretty body.” The creep Tyler speaks out, his breath fogging in the air. You stop yourself from scoffing and just shrug, not even bothering to look at him. Your brain is far too overworked to even pretend to like someone right now. Shock fills your body when you feel Tylers fingers grasp the cigarette and take it from between your lips. You slowly turn your head to look at him, your hand still up like you are holding the cigarette and your eyes filled with a fiery anger. Tyler doesn’t seem to notice the anger, or maybe doesn’t care, he just smirks at you. Your eyes follow the cigarette as he drops it to the ground and snuffs it with his foot. “Just lookin’ out for you, hun. I’m sure you understand, it's my place as an alpha. Just like it's your place as an omega to obey and do as you're told.” He mansplains away while you play with the lighter in your pocket, wishing you could do something to him. He continues to talk to you, but you aren’t listening. You’re looking at his face, almost through your eyelashes, with the most uninterested look on your face.

“Look, babe.” The nickname slipped off his lips like nails on a chalkboard, making you want to immediately want to sock him in the face. “I know that you are mad at me for putting out your cig, but you gotta understand-” You cut him off with a hand to the face as he tries to reach for a piece of your hair. “I completely understand, there is no reason to speak to me like I am a child. Thank you very much.” You tell him, walking in front of him to go back inside when he grabs your wrist. “I don’t think that’s any way that you should be talking to an alpha, Hun.” He says through clenched teeth, trying to keep a charming smile on his face so that you don’t see him for who he actually is. “I mean, some of these alphas will seriously reprimand you for something like tha’.” He tells you as his grip slightly loosens up when he realizes how aggressive the grab may have seemed. He has to make sure he holds up this fake personality so he can lure you in, he doesn’t know you know. You can tell that when he says ‘some alphas’ he really means himself.

You don’t know what comes through you, the way that he has treated you, the first time ever meeting this man, and he has the audacity to act this way. It has you seeing red. You rip your arm out of his grip and walk away back inside. You’d rather not have a smoke break then be around this douche. “I have a pack.” You lie over your shoulder, glaring at him as the door opens and you step inside. The anger is deep in your chest, threatening to bubble out like it is a volcano waiting to erupt. You have to take deep breaths so that you don’t flip out.

As soon as the door closes behind you, the confidence stays outside apparently, because you can feel your chest tightening. You cover your mouth with a shaky hand and hold the spot he grabbed with your other. It was the first time in a long time that an alpha put their hands on you. You felt the aggression in his grab and then the way that his fingers loosened once he realized he was going to give himself away. Your moment is cut short by a noise coming from Jared’s office and not wanting anymore trouble with any alpha’s today, you are quick to scurry to the handwashing sinks. You wash your hands and make your way to your purse so you can spray yourself with perfume. You don’t want to go back to the dining room smelling like smoke. Luckily the spot they make you put your stuff is far enough away from the kitchen that you don’t have to worry about contamination. They probably planned it that way.

You take a moment to breathe before you are forced back into the muskiness of the restaurant. Even when alpha’s wore scent blockers, there was still this mucky scent. You find it repulsive and have to hold back your gags sometimes with how bad it is. You force a fake smile on your face and exit the kitchen, walking around your large section to see if anyone needs anything, to catch up on the lost time during your smoke break.

While you’re at one of the tables, a pack omega looks at your arm and nudges her beta, whispering something into their ear while motioning to your arm. You don’t notice the way the beta’s eyes become worried upon seeing the light redness that is forming on your arm from where Tyler grabbed you. “Hey, darling.” The beta greets you, cutting you off from a conversation with their alpha. Your eyes go to the beta’s, filling with dread as someone cuts off an alpha. “You’re not being..hurt at home, right?” They ask, their fingers brushing over the newly formed patch on your arm that is obviously someone else's doing. You are a little confused why they are so concerned over such a small injury, if you can even call it that, but grateful they were looking out for people. Your eyes go back to the alpha and he’s looking at you like he is waiting for an answer as well, not even bringing up the fact that his beta just interrupted us. It only serves to confuse you more.

The alpha raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘spit it out’, but for once from an alpha, it doesn’t feel mean. The worried look he tries to bury in his eyes is obvious to you, you aren’t used to it from people like him. You stutter for a moment before you take a deep breath and sigh, trying to collect your thoughts. “I ran into one of the shelves in the kitchen and I bruise easily, is all..” You tell them nervously, not liking the feeling of all three of their eyes on you. It feels like they can see right through your lie. Your eyes cast down, but you can tell they are scanning your face to try and find any reason to not believe you. They stare at you for what felt like two minutes, it is closer to 10 seconds in reality, before the beta sucks on their teeth. “I believe them.” They tell their alpha, sitting back in their seat and taking a sip of their to-go cup you just gave them.

You feel like your face is lighter, like 10,000 pounds had been lifted from your chest as the alpha nods in agreement with his beta. “Okay, we believe you..” He says skeptically, his eyes squinting at you to try and get you to break. But you stay strong and smile warily at him, feeling uncomfortable under an alphas gaze. Your eyes widen when the alpha grunts and rubs his shin, his gaze shooting towards his omega across from him. “'eave her alone , you're scarin' the poor thin’.” Her Geordie accent slipping off her tongue like butter. You can hardly understand her, but her pack seems to have no trouble. The alpha almost pouts and huffs at her. “Just making sure they’re alright.” He grumbles, you can tell he kicks her under the table but much softer.

The beta rolls their eyes at their pack's antics and pulls their card out of their wallet, handing it to you in between two fingers. “Don’t be scared of Jessy.” The beta tells you kindly, their smile radiating as you take their card. “He’s a big teddy bear.” They continue, their eyes going to their alpha who is still ‘arguing’ with the pack omega in a hushed tone. You take that as your cue to leave and weave your way back through the crowd to the kitchen. You pray that Tyler isn’t in there, waiting for you like a creep

Once back in the kitchen, you are lucky to see that Tyler isn’t currently in there. You glance around a few times, as if trying to scope him out like he is hiding somewhere. You aren’t going to take any chances with a guy like him, he gives you the weirdest vibes on top of just being a garbage person. You don’t waste anymore time and check the table out, you feel like you’re moving faster than you ever have before when checking out a table. The idea that Tyler can come in here at any moment and try something with you again, and no one would care or stop him, is plaguing your mind. You can’t stop thinking about all the different ways that things can go wrong with a guy like him. He can end up doing horrible things to you and there is nothing you can do to stop him.

You scramble out of the kitchen as soon as you are done, booking it to the table, whose card and check you have. You have to angle your body to the side to fit through a few gaps between people, holding the checkbook close to your chest so no one can try to take it from you. Which has happened in the past, their whole meal came out of your paycheck along with the fee for having to get a new card. But luckily you get to their table without any problems. Setting the book down on the table you smile, a little warrily, at the alpha at the table. “I hope that you and the rest of your pack have a good day.” You say softly, hoping the others don’t take it as you trying to flirt with their alpha. That is the last thing you want from them.

The alpha looks at the check and then back at you with a confused look on his face, making your chest tighten for the hundredth time today. “Who gave you their card?” He asks, his face dropping into a more serious look, his voice dropping as well. You freeze, your mouth opening and closing almost like a fish as you try to fight through the fear that came along with seeing the sudden change in his demeanor. “Um, your beta did, sir..” You reply, your voice meek. You’re scared that the alpha is going to lash out in front of you, start yelling at his beta for paying for the meal without his knowledge. Jessy’s eyes shift to his beta, his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. He just stares at him like that for a few seconds, glaring into his soul before his face lifts a little. “How many times have I told you, Malakia. I pay for everything and you guys just sit back and be pretty.” He complains, reaching over and flicking his beta on the arm. “How do you even have money in your card?” He asks, his eyes squinting in suspicion.

You take a sharp breath in and force a smile on your face as you try and calm your nerves. “Well, I hope you three have a great rest of your day.” You say, lacing your fingers together in front of you as you bid them farewell with a small nod of your head. You turn and walk briskly through the crowd, not wanting to intrude in their conversation about their finances. It was always the worst when couples or packs would talk about personal things in front of you. It happens why more than you were comfortable with. People even go as far as to talk about their sex life in front of you. Sometimes it feels like they're doing it just to make you uncomfortable.

You push through the swinging doors of the kitchen and are met by Tyler grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, darlin’” He greets you, stepping out of your way only to redirect his path to follow you. Your head lowers a little bit and you side eye him a bit, trying to put off the most uninterested vibe you can muster. You are wearing scent blockers so he can’t smell the souring of your scent, but you can feel it. Your chest always feels tighter and it feels like you are breathing smoke, thick air that makes your throat burn somehow. “It’s the end of my shift and I don’t have any more tables, I can’t stay to help you with anything if that's what you’re wondering.” You dismiss him entirely, your eyes watching in front of you now as you make your way to the lockers. “Actually, Jared wanted me to let you know that you need to stay for a double.” He says, his tone sounding overly remorseful, like he is actually mocking you. You can’t see his face, but you know that he has a dumb smirk on his face, watching as the horror dawns on your face.

Your head snaps towards him and you make eye contact before you have to look away, you ignore how you caught a glimpse of his smirk falling when you looked at him. “I already worked my double this week.” You explain to Tyler, your voice sounding a little frustrated. “I’m already working overtime, I don’t want any more hours.” You sigh out, your shoulders slouching in defeat. “Well, someone had to go home because they had a headache. We need someone to cover their spot.” He tells you, not budging on the subject. You don’t understand how someone who was so new already had so much more power and authority over you. “Who left?” You ask quickly, already knowing Jared screwed you over on purpose. You are his least paid employee, he loves sending people home and making you stay later so he doesn’t have to pay as much. “Ace.” He tells you. “It had to have been going on for an hour, he had to go home.”

You have to hold back a laugh of disbelief, nodding your head. Ace is a beta, of course he is allowed to go home like that. They would have killed you if it had been you that asked to go home because of a headache. “Whatever.” You mumble out as you turn on your heel and head to the host station to figure out what section is yours now. Tyler is left smirking at your displeasure, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. It is like it is burning holes in your skin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're practically in tears by the time that you get to your car, your shoulders are raised and your head is lowered so you can warm your cheeks with your jacket and scarf. You are quick to unlock your car because you had rushed out of the building to avoid Tyler being able to follow you. He unfortunately was also working a double tonight so I couldn’t get away from him, he was basically your shadow the whole night, following you around like a lost puppy at any chance he had. Expect it wasn’t cute and he was being so passively rude the entire time. You wanted to strangle him by the end of the shift, but that would get you fired and also arrested, so you resisted. As you’re getting in your car, you hear his grating voice from across the parking lot. He is just coming out of the building and he was quick to find you. “Hey! I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye! You ran off before I could say anything!” He is shouting from across the parking lot.

You’re glad that you had hair over your ears so later you can blame you ignoring him on the fact that you had earbuds in and couldn’t hear him. You quickly get in your car and sling your bag into the passenger seat of your car before you back out of the parking spot. He’s only halfway to your car before you start driving towards the exit, you’re glad because you wouldn’t put it past him to jump in front of your car to stop you from leaving. Luckily he doesn't have the space and just stands there staring at your car as you drive away, an almost shocked look on his face. You laugh at him and turn onto the road, driving towards home.

You’re almost relaxed as you’re driving home, as relaxed as an unmated omega could be in a world where they can hardly survive. But the feeling quickly leaves when your eyes spot the sign for the grocery store that you pass everyday. You groan out and hit your back on the seat a couple times before you change lanes to get into the turning lane for the grocery store. You totally forgot that you need to buy some things and you can’t put them off any longer, so you reluctantly find a parking spot and park your car.

You’re parked next to a car that has someone in it still, so you keep your eyes down as you get out of your car and walk in front of it since it's been backed into the parking spot. You can tell that the person inside the car looks up at you and watches you pass in front of their car, but you don’t think much of it. You would have done the same thing if someone had walked in front of your car. You don’t look up from the ground until you are inside of the store, in the cart lobby. It’s still cold in here despite the hot air that you can feel blowing from the vents. You always wondered how the workers that got them from the parking lot got them into the building. With how long they make the cart trains, it seems impossible.

You don’t realize that the person in the car you just passed was actually your neighbor, and he was now following you. Soap’s eyes are on you as he gets out of his car, walking a little far behind you so that you don’t think that someones following you. He’s not following you, he’s just… making sure you’re safe, making sure that you’re taken care of. He doesn’t want anything to happen to an unattended omega, he’d do it for anyone. He wouldn’t and he knows that, but he doesn’t want to feel like a freak as he watches you set your bag in the small cart you grab and make your way inside. Soap enters the lobby not too long after you did, you’re now inside of the store, and he completely ignores the cart that he needs to grab. He’s supposed to be getting groceries for the pack for the week and he’s not doing a very good job so far at doing that.

He follows you into the produce section, which is where you enter the grocery store. He watches you as you go over to the fruit section and start looking at the veggies on the shelves. You have to stand on your toes to look at the top shelves on the produce section, as it is just out of your eye sight. He pretends to look at the lettuce on the opposite side of the small section of the produce, angling his body so that he can easily see you without looking like he is actually looking at you. He wishes that he can go up to you, take your cart and do all the shopping for you. So that you wouldn’t have to lift a finger when you are so obviously tired.

Soap’s eyes soften as he watches you bow your head and quiver as a yawn rips through you, forcing its way out of your body. He usually thinks that people are unattractive when they yawn, but you look so cute when you do it. The way that you face scrunches up and the way that you can’t stop your body from shaking because of your yawn. He has to force himself to look away before someone, or you, catches him staring so intensely. He shakes his head and walks around to the middle isles, of course picking the one that is closest to where you are standing.

Soap can’t help but feel guilty as he goes through the store, following you from a distance so that you don’t get suspicious that he is following you. He watches as your hair slides down your shoulder, your arm reaching up to grab a bell pepper on the shelves. The way that your hand wrapped around the pepper. Because you are an omega, you are smaller than him and it shocks him to see the difference. He zones out while daydreaming about laying in bed, holding you close while he compares hand sizes with you.

He quickly snaps out of it and shakes his head, a cringe creeping onto his face. He can’t remember the last time he thought about something so sappy before. He looks back at where you just were, only to be met with some random man in your place. He freaks out for a moment before he gets a grip on reality. You probably just moved onto another section while he was distracted. After a quick glance around the store that he can see, he sees you at the bakery looking at some of the breads that they had left. This grocery store isn’t the best about freshness, they are too focused on having cheap prices to worry about the freshness of their produce and baked goods. That being known, the store is never really short on bakery items because getting the processed kind is cheaper and it lasts way longer. It just makes you feel special and you get the ‘fancy’ kind sometimes.

Soap walks over to the bakery and looks at the cheese that is on a display across from where you are standing. He stands on the other side so that he can look over the top of the display to look at you, and he can pretend he is looking at the cheese pretty easily. He holds a random piece of cheese in hand so that he isn’t caught following you around the store with nothing in his hands. He doesn’t know what kind of cheese he is holding, like it matters. All that matters to him at this moment is making sure that no alpha would put their filthy hands on what he has subconsciously decided he is going to protect. He can’t help it, your scent has helped him through nights when he is being stubborn and not sleeping with the pack over something silly that is bothering him. You may not know it, but he owes you.

You pick up a loaf of bread, looking at it for a moment before grabbing a bigger loaf. His gaze hardens at the thought of you having a pack. Having someone that won’t be able to protect you as well as can. All Soap can think about is how much better he can take care of you. To him, it seems like the people who he assumes are your packmates don’t take care of you. Anytime that he sees your roommate or Jasmine, he can’t help but scowl. He despises them for what he believes they have done to you. You deserve to be treated like you’re the last omega in the world, like the ground that you walk on is sacred. He’d make you feel like you are everything. Because you are.

He follows you around to the back of the store where the seafood is, and down one of the aisles that's across from the seafood counter. There are long freezers in the middle of the main aisle at the back of the store, Soap stands at the end cap of the one across from the aisle you are on. You’re looking at the chips, looking over the brands on tortilla chips. One hand is twirling a piece of your hair between a few of your fingers, your wrist twisting as you exchange the hair between your fingers. Your lips are formed into a pout as you try to figure out which brand is the best for you to buy.

Soap is ripped from his thoughts by his phone ringing in his pocket, which he ignores. He doesn’t want to look away from you, it is like he is in a trance. You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and slightly bend over to grab a bag of chips, putting it in the cart before moving down the aisle. You walk slowly down, your eyes scanning the shelves for anything that might catch your eye. You tend to forget things if you don’t write them down, but you can never really remember all that you need in order to write it down. Most of the time, you just end up walking through the store and hoping you get everything that you need. It almost always ends with not having half the things you went for, and having tons of things that you’ll use or eat. It is why Jasmine always does the shopping. That and she has more money than you do.

You hear a groan coming from the other end of the aisle, you turn your head and see a familiar face. Your neighbor. But this time, you don’t feel as panicked as before when you’ve noticed him from your driveway. Being this close to him, you can tell that he’s a beta, not an alpha like you had expected. It surprises you, since he is so tall and had the muscles that he did. Most beta’s are like a mid size, not as small as omegas but not as big as alphas. Your neighbor broke this standard way further than you have seen anyone do before. He is a sight to see. You can help but feel an appreciation for betas his size, you hoped he’d make a wonderful beta to a woman alpha. You always love to see it, two people who are not the norm find normalcy in each other's weirdness. That is love to you, it's what it is all about.

On the other end of the aisle, Soap pulls out his ringing phone and looks at the caller I.D. seeing the words ‘captain’ on his screen. He swipes his thumb over the green answer button, bringing the phone up to his ear. “I'm shopping, John. What's botherin ye?” He grumbles into the phone, looking at the chips in front of him before turning his attention back on you. He is annoyed that John is interrupting him when he is so engrossed in watching you. He just needs to make sure that your shopping trip isn’t ruined by anyone, he wants you to have a nice peaceful time. He wants to be there for you, because he cares. “Did you hear me, Johnny?” A gruff voice echoes from the other side of the phone, breaking him away from you once more.

All John gets back from Soap is a distracted sounding “Aye.” followed by the sound of shuffling and a muffled “Excuse me.” of Soap squeezing by an older lady on a motorized shopping cart that almost blocked his path to follow you. Luckily he quickly turned his body and made it through. He keeps his eyes on you, drilling into the back of your head as you make a right turn to go up the next aisle. “Johnny!” John barks from the other side of the phone, annoyance evident in his voice. “Wha' the hell are you doing? Are you even listening to me?” He asks, his tone accusatory towards Soap.

Soap huffs and backs off of you for a moment, remembering quickly that his mate is more important than the omega next door at this moment. He can make sure you’re safe once he is done talking to his alpha. Who is not only the reason he has a job, but is the reason he keeps it. John has single handedly saved Soaps careers more times than he can count at this point. It is honestly laughable. “I’m sorry, i'm here. Whit were ye saying?” He asks, taking a moment to look at the kitchen tools that are at the end of this aisle. He knows Gaz would appreciate new cookware, he always does “Ghos' needs you to come home soon, he doesn' seem very happy with you. Something abou' no' keeping your promises.” John explains to Soap sounding a bit frustrated with him, rightfully so. Soap lets out a long sigh and nods his head, which John obviously isn’t even able to see. “Bastard niver forgets anythin’.” He grumbles under his breath, which John heard and responded to with a low warning growl.

The last few days, John and Ghost have been way stricter than they had ever been. Soap and Gaz are hardly allowed to touch each other without their approval. It bothers the two betas because they know that it isn’t normal behavior for their alphas, but they don’t know what to do to help. They’ve tried everything they can think of at this point, they are out of ideas. Soap tried acting more submissive, but they got upset that he wasn’t acting like himself. Ghost complained that if he wanted someone submissive, he would’ve chosen someone smaller. He feels like submission did Soap's physique wrong, didn’t show off his body the way that Ghost liked, the way that Ghost knows Soap deserves to be seen. Gaz had tried sparring with them, that ended with his face smushed against the floor for an hour while the alphas had their way with him, consensually of course. They didn’t feel any better after any of these attempts, it usually only fueled them to make them more agitated than before. It makes the betas feel as though they aren’t good enough at their roles, that they aren’t worthy mates and aren’t worthy of their title of beta.

“I'm sorry, cap. I'll be home soon. The store is crowdit today.” Soap fixes his tone quickly, making a mental note that he’ll deal with those consequences when they arrive in front of him. “That’s better. Be safe.” John dismisses him, not even waiting for a response before hanging up the phone. Soap is left standing in the kitchenware and baking aisle, looking at stuff that he doesn’t even know what half is. He clears his throat to keep his emotions in check, swallowing a few times to control his tears. He doesn’t feel like he should be so emotional over something like this, he knows they’ll be okay, they always are. But they all know the risks of having a pack with more than one alpha that also doesn’t have an omega. They know that their relationship is fragile and that they have to be careful, they have been careful. Soap just needs things to be better again.

He sighs and makes his way to the opposite side of the aisle, at the back of the store. He grabs a bag of gummy bears off the shelf while he makes his way to find you. While he’s walking, he can’t help but realize how weird he is acting. He kept looking down the aisles like he is looking for someone he knows, someone who actually knows he exists. He remembers the times that you have scurried away from him, looking all scared and panicky. But his heart really clenches when he thinks about his pack. His pack is struggling and here he is getting so distracted by some random omega that he can’t even shop for his family. He groans and shoves the bag of gummy bears on the shelf before booking it out of the store. His pack needs him right now, more than you need his protection. You've done it countless times before, you can do it again.

He serves through the crowd, shoulder checking a few people on the way to the entrance of the store. He can hear the people scoffing and confronting him about running into them. He doesn’t give them the time of day as he books it through the door and towards his car. He practically tore his car out of that parking lot, he wouldn't be surprised if there are black tire marks on the asphalt where he had driven. The whole ride home, he can’t stop wondering if he is a bad mate, oogling over someone that isn’t in his pack and lying about it straight to his mates faces. Someone who he hasn’t even had a conversation with yet. He had spent well over half an hour stalking you through a grocery store under the guise that he was protecting you. While his actions were commendable, they aren’t when you don’t even know the person, especially when that person has run to hide from Soap in the past. He wasn’t painting a pretty picture for himself, but he can’t seem to bring himself to let go of you. The thought alone of leaving you to your own devices and not knowing if you are safe and cared for sent a shiver of unease down his spine, making him cringe and grumble.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your hands are numb by the time that you pull into your driveway, having to go to the grocery store by yourself and then having to drive home took a toll on you. You had almost cried on your way home but had to stop yourself so that you could actually see the road. Jasmine wasn’t able to go grocery shopping for the two of you because she was busy, and your roommate buys his own food. You usually go with Jasmine and have her to lean on, but she couldn’t so you were forced to go by yourself this time. But after a few deep breaths, you are able to calm yourself enough to get out of the car, making sure to pop the trunk before you close the door.

When you’re rounding the corner to the back of your car, you make eye contact with the man from the store, your neighbor. Since you were able to catch his scent in the store, you knew that he isn’t an alpha. And while this does lower your anxiety around him, he is still a stranger. His eyes look a little tired, glistening around the edges as his eyes scan your face. You can tell that something is bothering him, but it’s not your place and again, he's a stranger. But his tired face turns excited at the sight of your eyes meeting his, starting to make his way over to you. He walks like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just been sulking before he saw you.

You return his smile with a cautious wave, holding onto your bag that is slung over your shoulder. “Hi, neighbor!” He greets you cheerfully, stepping a bit into your personal space while he juts his hand out for a handshake. You start to smell freshly cut grass and are confused, no one had cut their grass today, it had been too cold in the past few weeks to even consider it. You’re confused for a moment before you realize that it’s your neighbor. You are closer than you had been in the store and now you are able to get a good read on what he truly smells like. His scent is so comforting due to him being a beta, that your hands start to gain feeling again. You look at his hand and then back at him, like you don’t know what to do, but quickly take his hand for a handshake. “Hello.” Your voice is soft and meek, like you are too afraid to speak too loudly at him.

Soap can’t stop beaming, his smile is bright and goofy. He’s just so excited to be able to formally meet you after spending so much time daydreaming about what you’re like. And after he stalked you through the store. He wasn’t expecting you to be so shy once he’d put himself out there for you, but he finds it adorable. He finds everything about you adorable. From the way you slightly rock on your heels, to the way that your eyes shine in the sunlight when you look at him. He can’t stop staring at your face and memorizing every detail.

He gets snapped out of his thoughts by you clearing your voice, your eyes shifting to the ground as he reels back into reality. “Neit help wi thae bags?” He asks, already reaching out to grab a bag from your open trunk. You try to protest, but he’s already taking bags into his hands. “You really don’t have to do that.” You tell him, your voice coming out a little rushed as you watch the beta get all of the groceries out of your car. “Really, I can do it.” You rush out as you try and slide your smaller fingers under his fingers to grab the bags from him. He only shushes you and steps back to walk away. You quickly close your trunk and follow him with quick footsteps so you can keep up.

When your fingers touch his, he swears he feels his pupils widen. Your skin is so soft and warm against his calloused skin; your touch is so light despite the fact that you are trying to snatch your grocery bags out of his hand. He tries to compose himself as he brushes past you and towards your front door, he can feel the heat in his body threatening to raise to his skin to make him blush. You’re trailing behind him, a worried look on your face as you try and convince him that you don’t need his help. He doesn’t listen though, he ignores you as he stops in front of your door, waiting for you to open it.

You look worried as you shakily get your house keys out, sliding the key into the slot. Through your worried thoughts on how you are going to get him to not come into your home, he spoke up. “I’m no comin i, stop worryin. A can smell it on ye.” And you can feel your body relax as you open up the door. You’re usually not so quick to trust, but there is something about this beta that is different. He just feels so welcoming and warm, you can’t help but want to get to know him more. But you know that he comes from a unique pack, and you know that his alphas would not be happy if he comes home smelling like the omega next door.

Soap sets the bags just inside the door and watches as you step inside as well. He can tell that your movements are very calculated around him, like you are making room for him instead of making room for the both of you. He can tell that you are fragile, he doesn’t blame you. He can only imagine how hard it must be to live in a world that is rooted against you. You are considered the lowest of the low in society, but not in his eyes. In his eyes, you are perfect. He can tell that you aren’t comfortable in your own skin, but he thinks you were sculpted by the gods, inside and out.

You grab the door and swing it closed a bit, standing just at the opening to say goodbye to your helpful and handsome neighbor. You’d rather close the door in his face and go hide in a closet for two hours, but you have things to do and that would be rude. So you muster up the courage to actually speak to him again. “Thank you for helping me, you really didn’t have to do that.” You tell him softly, having a hard time looking at him in the eyes. You feel your eyes widen as his fingers go under your chin and tilt your head up to look at him. “Come on now, ye don’t have tae hide from me.” He reassures you as he retracts his hand, a soft and crooked smile on his face. “An it wis na problem, an omega like ye shouldn’t be doin things like thon.” He tells you, and you can tell that he doesn’t mean it in a mean way. He means it in a supportive way.

Soap glances over his shoulder and lets out a little huff, his fists clenching a bit at his sides before he looks back at you. “e let me know gin ye iver neit help. Okay, little ane?” His voice is serious, like he would be offended if you didn’t come over and get him the next time you need something. You nod and start to close the door, giving him a polite wave before slowly closing the door. Once the door was closed, you turned and pressed your back against the wood, your eyes scanning the house before you. Your roommate isn't in his normal spot anymore and you can hear Jasmine’s footsteps making her way down the stairs to help you unload the groceries.

“I heard a voice.” She states as she steps onto the hardwood with her sock covered feet, padding over to you at the door. “Sounded like a man.” She adds, wiggling her eyebrows at you. Your face immediately erupts into a blush, shaking your head dismissively as you stutter over your words. You don’t know what you can say that will be able to save you here. “It was the neighbor, he wanted to help me carry the groceries in.” You tell her, your voice shaking a bit more than you are comfortable with. You quickly bend over and gather a few bags into your hands and carry them to the kitchen, hoping that you can get away from Jasmine’s interrogation. Jasmine follows you with the rest of the bags and continues to pester you about it. You should’ve known better, she never gives up.

“Come on, you never talk to anyone and I heard you speak more than two words.” She exclaims just loud enough for you to hear, not wanting the mysterious roommate to hear your private life. You purse your lips and start to unload a bag. “We saw each other in the store, he’s a beta.” You tell her with a shrug, your voice quiet. You are caught off guard when she takes the cans you have in your hands into hers and pushes them to the side. “Spill.” She demands, her eyes squinting at you as a blush forms on your face.

“I don’t know, Jas. I felt comfortable around him..” You tell her, rocking slightly back and forth on your heels. “..I guess he’s cute, but he has a pack already.” You explain, continuing your train of thought. “He has two alphas. It would never work out anyways.” You say dismissively, shrugging her hands off of your shoulders. She has a smirk on her face, feeling victorious finally getting the information out of you. “You never know, hun. Things could turn around in the end.” She tries to perk you up, not wanting this to discourage you from going after you want. This is the first time that you’ve shown interest in someone other than people from the tv shows that you watch. She hopes that if things end up not working, that it won’t stop you from forming a bond with someone in the future. She knows how hard it can be to not get what you want so badly, and being so close to having it too.

The room is silent, other than the sound of bags rustling and things being put away, as you clear the room from the grocery bags. It doesn’t take the two of you long to unload the groceries since you didn’t get too much. Being inside of crowded stores by yourself makes it feel like your head is full of water, everything becomes overwhelming so you can’t stay long enough to get a lot. “Thank you for getting the groceries.” Jasmine says as she wraps her arms around you, squeezing tight to give you some compression. She can tell that you had a rough day, and then having to go to the store on top of that made it that much worse. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t go, work went on later than I thought it would.” She apologies, her voice muffled by your head as she presses her relaxed lips against your head.

You can feel the tension from the day start to leave your body as you are comforted by a familiar beta. You can tell that she is projecting her scent to help you calm down, her enhanced cinnamon scent almost burning your nose. While Soap helped you calm down after the store, he wasn’t able to wipe that discomfort from your body like Jasmine can. You are forever grateful for having her in your life, she has become your rock in the last years, helping you become the best version of yourself while supporting you when you mess up along the way. She is the best friend that everyone wishes they had, it felt like a miracle that your two paths crossed and intertwined. “It’s the least I could do, you are so helpful to me all the time..” You mumble as you tuck yourself against her as she holds you tight. It feels like she is squeezing all the worries out of you.

The two of you stand like that for a long while, only pulling away when a loud shout is heard through the wall. It is the booming voice of an alpha, it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your eyes widen. Jasmine covers your ears quickly and smiles reassuringly at you as she waits for the alpha next door to stop. Your hands go to cover her hands with yours, pressing harder on her hands to block out the sound further. It takes a few minutes, but they eventually calm down and Jasmine uncovers your ears, brushing some hair out of your face. “You’re okay.” She reassures you. “Sounds like he was upset that his beta wasn’t spending time with him.” She explains, pulling away and stretching her arms a bit.

You start to feel guilty, knowing that you had taken up some of this beta’s time, this beta that has an alpha. You look at the ground and you can tell that your scent sours again when Jasmine cups your face. “It isn’t your fault.” She tells you firmly. “He shouldn’t have helped you if he knew it would upset his alpha. That isn’t your fault.” She states, pinching your cheek to get you to perk up. You grumble at that and swat away her hand. “What have I told you about pinching my cheeks?“ You huff as you push her hands away further. Jasmine just smiles, relieved that she was able to help you calm down so easily. You cock an eyebrow at her as she just continues to smile at you, making her throw her hands up in surrender.

Jasmine feels bad that the only person that you seem to show an interest in has two alphas. She knows how hard it is for you to function when there is an alpha around, having two in the same household with you seems impossible. She’s tried her best in the past years that you two have known each other to get you to open up around alphas. But, your past with alphas is hard to forget and there seems to be nothing that Jasmine can do to make you feel better. She gave up eventually, and ended up just accepting the quirk that you have. You are able to make it through life without it being too inconvenient for you, while it is hard and sometimes frustrating when an alpha doesn’t get the hint.

You can feel your ears perk up slightly when the roommate comes out of his room and comes to sit in his normal spot. You squint your eyes and then give Jasmine the side eye as if to ask ‘what’s with him?’ She shrugs her shoulders and rolls her eyes and motions for you to come closer. You’re standing near him, and the roommate, who you still don't know the name of, has given Jasmine no reason to trust him. You are quick to listen to Jasmine, not questioning her for a second. You step towards his and grab her hand for comfort.

He’s never once tried to help in any of the house responsibilities or tried to help either of the two of you with emotional needs, which isn’t quite normal for a beta that is in such close quarters with other people. Most betas and omegas take on the responsibility to help in these kinds of situations, even if they are not in a pack together. The place that you live in will be peaceful if you take care of the things inside of it. The only exception to this unspoken rule you can think of would be if he is in a rival pack, but he lives with two random strangers and doesn’t have any marks on his neck so he’s not in a pack. Nothing about this man makes sense to you or Jasmine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soap watches as you turn slightly and the door closes softly, he can’t help the smile that covers his face. He can tell that he makes you a little nervous, but he can’t help himself from teasing someone as cute as you are, even just a little bit. He turns on his heels and walks with a newfound energy towards their side of the conjoined building. He walks across the top of the driveway, having to squeeze his muscular body between the garage door and car that was parked there. It was probably Gaz's, the man never drove his own car, he either had the others drive him, or borrowed one of their cars for the day. It was frustrating, but the three of them can’t resist that slight pout that comes to his pretty lips when they get upset at him.

Soap reaches the door and pushes it open, smiling as he enters the house, stepping into the small entryway that has only a table and a mirror. The boys were never too keen on decorating, only doing what they needed. He closes the door behind him and he doesn’t even make it five five steps into the kitchen before he feels a hard chest against his back and an angry puffing breath against his ear. From the vanilla and mahogany scent turned moldy, Soap could tell that it is Ghost that is angrily making himself known. “Care to explain why you smell like an omega?” Ghost growls out, his hands going to grip Soaps elbows tightly. “Why..” He takes a deep breath. “It’s recen’.” He growls lowly.

Soap feels panic rising in his chest, feeling as though he’d been caught. If it were normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be so nervous that Ghost was mad. But he’s been flirting with you, trying to touch you when he shouldn’t even really be talking to you with how worked up the boys have been recently. “Um.., yeah.” Soap hesitated, his voice coming out a little squeaky at first. “She wis takin the groceries inside aw bi herself.” He explains, trying to move his arms so that he can reassure Ghost with his touch. Ghost doesn’t budge, he only lets out a warning growl to let Soap know that he is exactly where he wants him to be.

Ghost can feel his anger growing and swelling inside of his chest, he feels like he can’t control himself. He huffs and puffs for a moment, his grip tightening on Soap’s elbows. “Are you fucking kidding me, Johnny?” Ghost asks, making Soap’s heartbeat pick up. He knows that Ghost would never hurt him, but after seeing what he’s like when torturing someone for information and on top of his guilt behind the situation, Soap can’t help but get nervous around him when he’s this angry. “You barely fricking greeted me when came home from training the other day because you had to take care of price. Which is fucking peachy. Bu' then you go on a date with him so he can ‘make i' up to you’! meanwhile, i’m over here pulling my damned hair ou' because i can’' ge' a single piece of attention from either of my betas!” Ghost rants, his voice increasingly getting louder the longer he talks.

His grip on Soap’s arm is tightening with every second that passes, starting to become painful. “Ow, Simon..” Soap quietly complains, trying to softly tug his arms out of Ghost’s grip. Ghost immediately lets go and starts to pace around, his hands going to his hair. Soap turns around to face him with a worried look on his face. It isn’t normal for Ghost to act like this. “Then you go to the store to buy food from the store, your alpha even called you while you were quite! no' only did you hardly pay attention to him while he was quite talking, you came home empty handed!” He shouts, stopping to point a finger at him accusingly. “And then you come home smelling like the omega nex' door! because she needed help!” He mocks. “She has a pack literally inside her house!” Ghost reminds Soap

All soap can do is stand there with a guilty look on his face, nodding along with Ghost’s yelling. “You better hurry your sorry arse to Price's office.” Ghost growled, his voice low. “You better be thankful he’s dealing with you, i wouldn’ have gone so easy.” He tells Soap, glaring at him as he slithers around him and scurries up the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @Horny-bish @Wizzdot @the-loneyest

Please put your age in your bio if you want to be added :)

A/N: really sorry about the wait this time guys. I had this all planned out and was working on it nonstop just for my dog to stop walking. It was crazy. She’s doing a lot better now, she’s pretty wobbly on her feet but we don’t have to help her walk anymore.

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littelovelunette · 3 days ago

Note

what about a navy! sevika x farmer! reader where the both of them are on the edge of their relationship because sevika won't prioritize her wife because reader wants to start a family before reader eventually goes out to her garden in the middle of the night.

sevika then follows her wife to the garden to she apologies and beg for forgiveness before they eventually got really really breeding kink, praise kink intimate on the grass in the garden in the middle of the night

Little You's, Little Me's, but Janna, Little You's...

Navy! Sevika x Farmer!Reader

Contains smut, angst, breeding, praise kink, lovey sex, impregnation, possible depressed!reader, modern au, Sevika G!P

With the basic supply and demand of fruits and vegetables during spring, you're always on your feet running errands and supplying food.

It gets tiring after a while especially when after a particularly heavy night even when you come back there is no loving wife of yours to greet you, hold you, sleep with you or even have sex with at this point.

Beyond frustration.

And you knew perfectly well this was because Sevika didn't want kids and you did, so whenever you guys would talk now it'd get awkward because of that. When you both met you both had planned out your entire future together but now it all seemed in shambles. The woman you had married, who once said she loved children, didn't anymore.

Your marriage was at an all time low, Sevika was so busy with her work and missions that she was barely even available anymore and it made you so sad.

At the beginning you had thought she was cheating but then you both had a huge fight about it, it's been distant since that one fight.

Today was your anniversary and this was the first anniversary you spent without Sevika, sitting by the staircase in front of the front door, praying to Janna she comes back tonight because you have so much to ask. Does she even love you anymore?

The door clicks at 3 AM and Sevika slips in. She sees you at the staircase and sighs.

"I know I'm sorry." She said her voice nonchalant which made you further mad, she averted her gaze.

"You don't sound sorry," You retorted angrily, "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

"What do you want me to say?!" Sevika yelled back, her voice booming, making yours seem like a puppy's bark, "I'm not bending backwards and apologising for no shit, you know very well what my job expects of me, and if you can't handle that maybe you should buy yourself some maturity!—"

"All this just because I wanna settle down? I'm not getting any younger, Sev..." Tears appear at your eyes and you say nothing as you stormed upstairs and into your shared bedroom, curling up in bed. You felt miserable now.

You waited for her to come in the bedroom and comfort you but you didn't hear her walking in so after you got up and looked around, the bedroom was still empty. It made you feel even more hopeless than before.

You could hear the faint snoring, Sevika was probably sleeping on the couch. You stayed there curled up in bed, leaning against the bedframe with tears pricking your eyes. You could feel the warmth of the tears falling down your cheek, it's been a while since you've felt any sort of warm anyway.

2 days pass, it's been the same except now you don't even get up to water your garden, nurture the plants. You just stay in your room, eat in your room, sleep in your room and sulk in your room. You wanted to cry, scream and just disappear but you also loved Sevika so immensely that it was eating away at your whole being at this point.

It was late at night and you couldn't hear Sevika snoring from down the hall, usually it was the white noise that helped you sleep but today you didn't even know if she was home.

Body too tired to move from mental exhaustion but you forced yourself out of bed, almost stumbling into the wall as you walked down the hall. Your eyes squinted in the darkness and finally found the doorknob, you opened it and a small gust of wind greeted you. You sighed again, heart heavy, you just wanted Sevika.

You walked outside and sat down on the grass, curling up there.

A while later, you hear the crunching sounds of the grass signalling Sevika either stepped out of the house too and into your garden or some mindless killer had broken into the fencing and would kill you.

Whichever it was, you didn't really care. Still staring into nothingness. You felt the figure kneel down behind you, "Baby," came Sevika's soft voice, "I'm so sorry I shouldn't have said all that."

You turned to look at her, eyes tired, face sunken.

"Love," Sevika gently held the side of your face, "Baby, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean what I said. I'm just scared. I'm being a little bitch but I'm so fucking scared that I won't be able to give my little ones enough time. I already don't give you time and—"

"Mm, it's okay," you said, looking away at the ground.

"No, it's not okay, I'm ready now. I'm sorry for being so cowardly, I couldn't even tell you, I thought you'd assume I'm weak."

"It's okay," you said now cracking a small smile as Sevika leaned in and kissed you, "Mm..." The kiss deepened, your body pressing into hers as you both kissed.

"I'd love to see little you's, little me's running around. Oh but Janna, little you's," Sevika said, her voice a little dreamy before she continued kissing you making you moan a little in her mouth, that gets her immediately hard.

Her hard cock pressing against your clothed sex through her sweatpants but she doesn't stop kissing you. Sevika nips at your jaw, and your neck as she moved lower. Her hands slipping beneath your blouse as she palmed your breasts. She was being soft and slow. Something you've rarely seen during sex.

You tilt your head back giving her better access to continue her ministrations, (I sound like c.ai)

"Doing so well, my baby," Sevika muttered as she tugged her sweat pants down just enough for her massive erect cock to slap up against her stomach, oozing precum.

"Stuff me with your cum," You cooed in her ear which was probably tearing away at any forming hesitations in Sevika's head. She didn't need telling twice when she pushed your panties to the side and penetrated you. Her cock slipping in your slick wet folds with ease, buried snuggly within you.

"You look so beautiful like this, taking my cock so well," Sevika mumbled, she would always go pussy drunk whenever she was inside you mainly because you were so lewdly wet and your pussy was so tight.

Sevika pistoned her hips, pushing deeper into your cunt with each thrust, hands coming down to roll and twist your nipples between thick fingers that didn't hesitate going down your throat too, making you choke and drool.

"S-Sevika..." You whispered and then moaned loudly as she got a little faster.

"That good, yeah, baby? You like it? Want more?" Sevika cooed and you nodded, barely able to make sense out of her words as she thrusted in and out. Your juices coated her shaft completely, you needed more of her.

"Sevika, Sevika," you continued babbling her name and moaning softly with every kiss of her dick to your cervix, it felt far too good.

"Gonna cum in this pretty pussy," Sevika panted out, kissing you deeply. As she gave one ast thrust, you could feel your pussy filling up with her warm semen. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, she didn't pull out though, she stayed inside for a bit before she slowly pulled out, letting your panties back on your vagina.

"They'll get soaked," you whined.

"I don't care, keep it inside," Sevika kissed you again.

Sevika picked you up bridal style and took you to the bedroom, letting you lay down as she cleaned herself off and then you too, running you a warm bubble bath.

"I'm so sorry for fucking up our anniversary," Sevika leaned in, kissing your forehead and stroking your hair gently as she helped washed your sore body.

"It's okay," you said with a tired smile, "I'm just really sleepy..."

"I know," Sevika gave you a half smile before picking you up, drying you off and putting you in bed, tucking you in. She got in bed too beside you and held you close.

"Soon... We'll have a little human all to ourselves," Sevika thought out loud to herself, looking at your already asleep face, "Sleep well, love."

#arcane #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika my love #arcane sevika #sevika i love you #sevika is my wife #sevika is so much more then a henchman #sevika x reader #wlw #soft sevika #sevika save me #sevika sevika sevika #sevika supremacy #sevika my wife #sevika icons #sevika imagine

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ohmybueckers · 3 days ago

Text

Never Strangers: Chapter Three

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: binge drinking, I think that’s it???

Authors Note: heyyyyy guys. Sorry this chapter took a hot second to come out and sorry it’s a lot more filler than other chapters - a LOT more was supposed to happen in this one, but I realized I could cut them into two and get this one posted faster. Which means 1. chapter four will come out a lot quicker than this one did and 2. it will be a lot more exciting than this one (based on the ending you can see why). anyways xoxo enjoy!

“No fucking way!”

Brooke braced herself on our kitchen counter, examined my phone like she had never seen one before. I was very aware of the fact my behead was still intact and I hadn’t even washed my face this morning, but I knew Brooke would classify this as an emergency that needed attending to ASAP.

“There’s no way,” I groan, wondering how my mission of avoiding Paige and all feelings associated with her at all cost had blown up in my face less than twenty four hours after getting here. “How does she even know?”

Brooke looked equally puzzled, her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowing before her posture straightened comically fast like a puppet. She shouted, “Adria!”

I was still confused, now even more so. “What?”

“Her story from last night must have gotten to KK, which somehow made it to Paige.”

In recent years I have become what my friends have lovingly referred to as “chronically offline” - it had to have at least been 2 days since I had opened Instagram, and I certainly didn’t follow the younger girl last night. Safe to say I had zero clue what she was referring to. “What story?”

Brooke grabbed her phone from the kitchen countertop, typing quickly before shoving her phone back in my face. Sure enough, Brooke and I were the stars of the story, both holding our glasses and wearing big smiles (certainly a symptom of the cheap wine). How Adria managed to find my account to tag me, I was not sure. All I knew is that Paige most likely saw it, and that a shameful part of me was at least a little happy that I looked good in the photo.

There was certainly no erasing Paige’s memory, so this text was mine to tackle. “Alright, how do I even respond to this?”

From the way Brooke looked at me, you would think I just suggested transferring again. “Respond? You’re kidding, right?”

I shrug, not exactly enthused by the idea of interacting with Paige on my first full day, but not enjoying the alternative either. “I mean, she knows now. It’s kinda rude to not say anything, isn’t it?”

“What’s rude is talking to a girl as if she’s your girlfriend, treating her like your girlfriend, and then disappearing out of nowhere and lying to her about it. You know exactly why she’s trying to hit you up again,” Brooke grabs my shoulder with care, a gesture I leaned into, “If she thinks you’re easy enough to let her in again, you gotta show her she’s dead wrong.”

My mind felt like it was destroying itself trying to figure out the truth. Part of me wanted to listen to Brooke, who had never once led me astray in her advice and had enough experience with fuck boys to know how they tick - even if the fuckboy in question was actually a girl. Everything she was saying matched the image I had built up about Paige in my head for years.

Once my heartbreak molded into anger, it became a hell of a lot easier to get over Paige, at least enough to date other people at Minnesota. Anger became comfortable for me - except the occasional nights I spent alone in my dorm, looking back at old photos I couldn’t bring myself to delete permanently from my ICloud. Nights where I wondered if I actually had it all wrong, and if somehow I let myself get too comfortable hating Paige to consider any alternative to what was my truth. Was it pathetic to hold on to a grudge from over three years ago? I really didn’t know sometimes.

I shut my phone off, reassuring Brooke that I was not going to fall back into Paige, which she seemed to accept fairly easily. Brooke ultimately just wants what’s best for me, and the last thing I wanted was for her to spend her last year at UConn worried about me. She had the LSAT to focus on, not my situation with my ex.

Which is why I conveniently forgot to inform her when I decided to respond to Paige that night, waiting until the sun had set and nearly twenty four hours had passed before sending a simple “yes”, throwing my phone on my bed and taking a long shower before I could decide I made a grave mistake.

———-

The first day of classes came quick, which I was thankful for - there’s only so much time a girl can spend in her poorly air conditioned apartment, and it’s not like Storrs had that much going on when school was not in session. What I was not thankful for was my packed Monday schedule, starting with an 8am economics lecture that I wouldn’t have taken if it wasn’t the last one available to satisfy a requirement, and ending with general chemistry (again, would not take if I didn’t need to squeeze a science credit in).

If my 3 alarms weren’t enough to wake me up, I could rely on the sun blazing through my apartment at 5:30AM. After making a mental note to finally order some curtains, my full morning routine commenced, the one I saved for special occasions (or for when I simply could not fall back asleep): 20 minutes of pilates, followed by a citrus scented shower, a full makeup routine, and styling my nearly black hair in loose curls.

By 7:30 I was ready to begin my walk to the business school, smoothing out my floral sundress and hoping it would instill some confidence in me. I would probably lean back into wearing jeans within the next week, but I still had some belief in my mom’s insistence that dressing well on any first day or impression mattered. I guess it did make me feel pretty, in a “belongs more on a Hollister catalogue than a college campus” kinda way. The dress did not fix the way my my first day nerves seemed to wreak havoc on my body, causing me to barely shove a protein bar down my throat before my body decided that was all the breakfast it could handle.

If I were still in Minnesota, my walk to classes would have been a whole lot louder. It was not often I had a commute where I didn’t curse the incompetence of Minnesota drivers. This was not the case in Storrs, partially because there were no drivers. Aside from the shuttle that passed me as I turned onto Alumni Drive, the only sound to accompany me was Beyoncé serenading me through my headphones. While Minnesota was simply a college with a large city unrelated to it, it was evident that Storrs would be almost nonexistent without UConn - if Minnesota was a city school, this felt almost like summer camp in comparison.

I didn’t know exactly what to make of it yet, but I promised myself I would keep an open mind. I had to. There was no turning back now.

———-

The day ended up being just as exhausting as I anticipated, potentially even more so. I’m used to liking first days. The idea of a new start each semester usually feels exciting, but this time I may have bit off more than I can chew. Syllabus week at Minnesota was a breeze, my calendar filled with classes where we just went over standard course expectations followed by frat parties I pretended to have interest in. The second my economics professor began lecturing after covering the syllabus for a measly 10 minutes, I knew he did not roll that way.

I genuinely have no idea how I made it through my high school schedule every day: multiple AP classes, followed by an afternoon job tutoring middle schoolers, with mock trial practice shortly after. It’s a miracle I found time to actually have a social life. Clearly my stamina had depleted severely, as by the time I stepped into my history discussion (seriously, who holds discussion when there isn’t anything to discuss yet), I had already made an emergency stop for coffee and was contemplating whether it was possible to take a nap in my thirty minute passing period before my chemistry lecture.

I made quick stop in the bathroom to fix my mascara and ensure the concealer under my eyes wasn’t crumbling (it was). Leave it to a hot September day and a bathroom with yellow tinted lighting to deplete my confidence: my once voluminous curls fell flat to my face, frizz accumulating at the roots. My concealer which had been matched to fit my warm skin tone now made me appear sallow, and my eyes were not fooling anyone - I was truly, undoubtedly tired. Not much I could do at this point other than use a generous amount of travel size dry shampoo, wipe the remnants of my mascara from under my eyes, and hope that the lighting in my discussion wasn’t as harsh.

I stepped into the classroom and was quickly overwhelmed by the size of it - not because it was too big, but because it was intimately tiny. I had been comfortable in my two previous classes, the large lecture halls allowing me to fade a little into anonymity - just another body struggling to stay awake as my professor explains the importance of studying economic law in the most monotonous tone possible. Looking at the long fake wood table and the twelve chairs, four of which were filled, I realized my streak of avoiding introductions had ended.

After a quick scan, I chose to set my stuff down next to the person who scared me the least: a tall girl with pin straight long black hair, dressed in black baggy cargo pants and an oversized SZA shirt, complete with silver rings on her fingers which were currently in use scrolling her laptop. I offered a customary closed mouth smile as I sat down and set my book bag down on the table.

There was a short pause where the only sound to hit my ears was the hum of the far too harsh overhead lighting as I took out my laptop, before I heard a deep voice ask, “long day, huh?”

As I turned to face the girl and processed her statement, it was evident that my attempt at looking put together was no longer working, especially now that the humidity had done a number on my hair. To be fair, I did feel like I was about to crash. “Tell me about it,” I replied, face flushed. I began to wonder if I should have sat next to the frat boy who was scrolling on UConn’s barstool account instead.

Maybe she took pity on how embarrassed I looked, because the smirk was erased from her tanned face and was replaced by a look of sympathy. “Hey, I don’t blame you. My 8AM econ lecture was brutal.”

The gears turned in my brain before I realized just what she had said. “Wait, which econ class?” After the taller girl recited a number from the schedule on her lock screen, I grinned. “We’re in the same lecture!”

“I cannot believe he would teach that much content on the first day.” She rolled her brown eyes, “Ok, let me guess. History and economics classes, leather planner… you’re pre-law, aren’t you?”

I mean, she technically wasn’t completely wrong. “Yes?”

“Then why haven’t I seen you try out for mock trial?” She asked, a perfectly shaped brow raised high and the Colgate smile smirk returning to her face. Her voice was low and teasing - definitely the flirty personality type. I could recognize it all too well.

Not wanting to explain my long and complicated history with the organization, I settled for the easy answer. “I just transferred here.”

“Well, we’ll be at the org fair if you want to sign up for a tryout spot,” She smiled, “Just tell them that Alex sent you.”

“Going to take a wild guess here and assume you’re Alex,” I quipped, though I will admit the effort did bring a small smile to my face. “I’m Maya.”

“See! I can already tell you’re clever enough for us,” Alex joked, a ring clad hand bracing her head on the table as she stared at me. I noticed the way she scanned me, her eyes falling down to the v neck of my dress before tracing back up to my smile. I suddenly felt the need to smooth out the bottom of my dress against my legs, my hands feeling very sweaty.

Before I could respond, the TA announced the start of the period, and both of our heads turned to the front. The rest of discussion was spent typing notes on when my paper was due and what constitutes academic dishonesty, all while trying to ignore the way the girl next to me kept shooting looks my way.

————

The one benefit of my packed Monday/Wednesday schedule was that my weekend was essentially four days long. I had two classes on Thursday, both criminally early, but it meant that I was done by noon and ready to enjoy a few days with nothing on my agenda… at least once I finished all of my assignments my professors had mercilessly assigned on the first week.

A groan left my lips for what had to have been the third time in ten minutes as my eyes squinted to make out my general chemistry textbook. I had read the same paragraph around 5 times now, and each time I seemed to understand it less. Even though Adria invited me to study with her on the patio of her favorite coffee shop, I was sure she was about to tell me to leave. “I don’t know how I did AP Chem in high school, this is like a whole other language to me now.”

Adria laughed, looking up from her organic chemistry book (the contents of which I’m pretty sure would give me an aneurysm). “Not a STEM girl?”

“Definitely not a STEM girl,” I shook my head, unsure why the version of me who picked her schedule over the summer decided taking a notorious weed out course was a great idea. Taking a quick sip of my matcha, I added, “But I don’t know if I’m necessarily a law girl either. Been a real pain trying to figure it all out.”

“You will, I promise. Besides, I can always tutor you,” Adria reassured me softly, a gesture that would be a lot sweeter if there wasn’t a tiny voice in the back of my head nagging me for needing a pep talk from someone so much younger than me. If Adria can have everything figured out, why can’t I? “Enjoying UConn so far though?”

“Yeah, it’s been okay! I’ve met some nice people in my classes,” I think about how Alex quickly spotted me yesterday morning in lecture and gestured to have me sit with her and her mock trial friends. Turns out sitting through an 8AM lecture on law and economics was a lot easier when you had a friend next to you. “I think Brooke wants to go to bars this weekend though, and I just know the lines are going to be awful.”

Adria lit up at this. “There’s a party being thrown by members of the mens basketball team tomorrow - someone basically rented out Huskies. I got access to one over the summer and it was a ton of fun - you should come!”

My mouth opened, trying to form a response. On one hand, it’s not like I had any concrete plans yet, and staying in on the first weekend after classes just felt wrong. But the words basketball rung in my ears like an unwelcome echo. Brooke’s warning that Paige was everywhere on campus rung true already, already overhearing her name in conversations more times than I could count. Seeing her and possibly talking to her? That was a whole other ball game, one that I weren’t sure I was ready to play. It wasn’t even necessarily that I wasn’t over her yet, but rather that we hadn’t spoken beyond a couple of short text exchanges in years (the most recent of which Paige hadn’t even responded to). Running into her was bound to be awkward, and I was determined to avoid the discomfort.

“Oh Adria, I don’t know…”

Adria cut me off, her voice insistent and almost desperate. “Please come. Brooke usually ends up leaving with some guy and I don’t want to be alone. All of my other friends can’t come, they have to be dry for sorority rush.”

I scoffed, though there’s no bite as I joke, “So you’re saying I’m your last option?”

“I’m saying I saved the best for last,” Adria gave a sheepish shrug. “If it helps change your mind at all, the women’s team won’t be there. KK said they were all going to Ted’s.”

I knew that there was no point of basing my choices at UConn based on whether or not I could run into Paige, but I would be lying if I said the reassurance wasn’t helpful. “I guess I could be convinced.”

Adria clapped, her smile big enough that agreeing already felt like the correct decision. “You won’t regret it, I promise. Pregame at yours?”

————

If there’s one thing I learned after two years going to college in the midwest, it’s how to throw a damn good pregame.

I felt the bass of my music from my JBL speaker course through my body as I set a shot glass back down on the faux granite countertop, wincing as the cheap tequila flowed down my throat. Brooke, Adria, and Brooke’s friend Marley stared at me, a mix of both amazement and slight concern on their face. On nights out, I have been known to pregame heavy, especially nights where I don’t know most people there. For one, it means I spend less money, plus it gives me some much needed extroversion to make it through the night.

“Damn girl, I did not know you could drink like that,” Brooke whistled, sipping on her High Noon tenderly. Her and Marley had other plans for the night, some frat event. Brooke claimed the only reason she would be caught dead at a frat as a senior is because Marley’s boyfriend was the president and so they got special treatment, but I had my suspicions she might have a frat crush of her own.

I felt the buzz as the four of us left our apartment, Adria and I running to catch our bus in order to avoid the thirty minute walk. In my alcohol induced giddiness, I noted how the sky faded from a bright blue into a mosaic of purples, pinks and yellows as the sun set over the lush trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Adria’s phone face me as I gripped the pole, looking out the window of our bus with the amazement of a kid in a candy store. I had spent the past week unsure of what to make of Storrs, but it felt almost romanticized in this moment.

Unfortunately, the picturesque moment did not carry into Huskies, an establishment that was far more of a restaurant than a true bar. A tennis game played over the TV, paired with the speakers blasting Drake as we were surrounded by a sea of girls with bleach and tones and Princess Polly crop tops. The basketball players seemed almost allergic to mingling with their invitees: aside from one or two attempting to chat up one of the girls, they all stood at their own table sipping beers and looking like they would rather be anywhere else.

Adria ordered us drinks as I snagged us a table. Soon enough we stood side by side, sipping on Captain Morgan and Coke and a tequila sunrise respectively, unsure of what to make of what we were seeing. “It was a lot more exciting over the summer, I swear,” Adria looked apologetic, “Maybe it’s just one of those things where we have to get drunker?”

I was making a mental note to take two Tylenol before bed for the sake of my tomorrow morning self when a man’s voice emerged from the crowd.

“Adria, you made it!” A pale man with floppy brown hair and impossibly long legs emerged, grin on his face as he wrapped Adria in a side hug. She returned the hug and the smile while brushing a braid away from her face, though hers seemed more forced. She finally pulled away when he began rubbing her arm, her face lighting up upon making eye contact with me.

“This is my friend Maya, she just transferred here.”

He grinned, reaching a hand out to shake hers with a firm grip. “Hey, I’m Noah. You made a good choice!”

“He plays for the team, I think he might be a bit biased,” Adria remarks, earning her a shocked look from her friend who quickly turned his attention away from me and onto her.

“Me and some of the guys were going to play some darts, you wanna be my partner? I’m sure we can find a partner for Maya as well,” Noah gestures to me without turning his head, as though I am an afterthought. While it’s not like I’m dying to play drinking games with a group of NBA hopefuls, it wouldn’t hurt to at least act like I’m there.

Adria clearly did not want to play as well, as she stuttered out some half-assed excuse. “I think we’ll stay here! Don’t want to risk, um, losing this table.”

Losing this table? Looks like I also needed to make a note to teach Adria how to lie. It was beyond obvious that Noah wasn’t buying it, but I guess he was choosing not to be confrontational. With a cough, he replied. “Right, um, well I’ll catch up with you later tonight then!”

The second he was well out of earshot (not that far, considering the volume they were playing Passionfruit at), my interrogation began. “Who was that?”

Adria looked down at her drink, looking uncharacteristically unconfident. “That was my in to this bar. We met over the summer.”

I nodded, watching as Noah stopped to chat with a mix of guys and girls under the flashing blue and pink lights. “Well I’m pretty sure he wants to get with you.”

“Oh trust me, he’s tried.” Adria deadpanned, evoking a laugh from my glossed lips. “He’s still a good guy, and I like being his friend. But I’m not into him like that.”

“Is it KK?”

Adria bit her bottom lip, and for a moment I feared I had gone too far, like we weren’t quite at the point in our friendship where that wouldn’t be a sensitive subject. I was ready to retract my question when she spoke softly. “We’re not exclusive… at least I don’t think so. I haven’t been with anyone else, but who knows if she has.”

Man, Adria really liked this girl. Some part of me was thankful to give some advice to her for once, although it’s not like my history gives me the authority to give relationship advice. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“Absolutely not.” She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I’m way too scared to hear the answer.”

I felt a pang in my chest, relating to that feeling all too well. I’ve always had a tendency to protect my peace too hard, avoid asking questions to escape conflict - through the years, I’ve discovered it almost never ends well. “But do you think you might be hurting yourself more by not knowing?”

Adria took a pause, staring off as Noah and his friends began frat flicking to some song that did not warrant that at all. “I am not drunk enough to think about that right now.”

We both laughed, silently agreeing to down the remainder of our drinks at the same time. The ice had melted well with the remainder of my sunrise, dulling the burn of the tequila. This was probably a good thing - I’m pretty sure my tolerance was lowered over the summer, because I felt my body get warmer than anticipated despite the air conditioning working overtime. Adria set her drink down on the table, turning to me once more. From the glint in her eye, I knew she was about to return my line of questioning. “What about you? Are you looking to get set up, because I’m sure that’s the reason those guys invited all of us here in the first place.”

“First of all, I’m gay,” I began, examining the crowd in front of me. “I’ve been here like a week, haven’t really had the time to think about hooking up with anyone.”

“Well, what’s your type?”

I thought for a moment about my (limited) history. “Tall, athletic, nice eyes…”

“Paige.”

I rolled my eyes, though I would be lying if I said the blonde was not included in my thought process. “I mean it, I’m done with her.”

“No, no. Paige. Right over there.”

It felt like my heart plummeted to my ass, the effects of the alcohol consumed unable to keep me cold as a chill rushed through me. Before my brain could tell me not to look, my head snapped to the front. Two girls now stood at the front of the bar, talking to the male players. One girls laugh cut through the crowd, and I saw a small smile erupt in Adria. That must be KK. The girl next to her, hands shoved in the pockets of her cargo pants, didn’t even need to say or do anything. I could tell Paige Bueckers from any crowd.

---

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#uconn wbb #paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers fluff

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