#I’ll come back to this I need to let it simmer on the back burner for a bit

[kingofanemptyworld]

christ now I’m seriously thinking about the fey court alien stage au. where the aliens are fairies and the contestants are human children who were swapped out with changelings, whisked back to the court to be raised for fey entertainment. the fey are fond of music, for them it inherently carries its own sort of magic. humans raised in this realm must learn to perform to survive — not because they’re necessarily in competition with one another, but because you must adapt to the court, physically and mentally, to live in it. where am I going with this? stay tuned and we can figure it out together

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You know, all I want is to spend some time with Nikto on his off-days and have him read Dostoyevski to me, if you don't want to make this like a single fic you can maybe incorporate it into "ravishing allure" some time later 🥹

"…and there can be no love otherwise."

PAIRINGS: Nikto x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: If anyone could make the bad days better, it was Nikto.

WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: Stress from work/life, lack of sleep, mostly fluff, comfort, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There were times you wondered if putting up with your job was really worth it. Sure, you needed the money to pay rent, food, and bills, among a laundry list of others that just seemed to never end, but was the cost of your sleep the metaphorical soul you had to hand over? 

Every day you came home tired to your little apartment—neighbors loud and the light in the bathroom flickering because the electrician had never shown up to fix it. Tired, but unable to fall asleep until everything else was done. So, you’d make dinner, clean, shower, sit down to mindlessly watch a show on TV for half an hour, and then stumble into bed. 

Only to stay awake and stare at the ceiling. 

You can’t say why you do it, thinking over the things you did wrong and the awkward conversations you have with coworkers; you shouldn’t care about it—really, you shouldn't. Yet you can’t stop your brain from slipping like a slide to every instance, every millisecond where you felt the air of the interaction change. Side-eyes and confused looks. 

And then at six o’clock, you’d drag yourself out of bed with bags on your face and a drained expression to do it all over again. 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” 

“Oh, of course, we have some in the back—I’ll go grab it for you.”

“Thank you! You have a good day now, Sir. Come back soon.”

It just felt fake. Greet, help, take money, wave and smile, repeat, repeat, repeat. But maybe today would be slightly different, by the second pair of shoes that were placed in your apartment entry as you slowly opened the front door. 

Boots—black and set an equal distance apart with a cleaned surface despite the places they’d been and what they’d probably stepped through. They were neatly situated under the small bench you had for convenience, and you blink at them as you softly shut the door and lock it. A large, and matching in color, jacket was folded and placed atop the flat surface—keys sitting in an indent. 

Nikto, ever the neat and tidy one. He must be back then. 

While the two of you didn’t live together, the bear of a man had made a habit of coming over when he returned from deployments with KorTac—you’d given him a key the second year you’d been together. 

Your ears faintly twitch to the sound of cooking, nose moving just a second later to the scent of something on the stove. Clinking pans and silent footsteps. He knew you were here, sure as anything. Weakly sighing, you shift out of your jacket and shoes; tossing them in the general direction of the bench as you rub at your eyes and drop your purse to the floor with a slap of canvas. 

How do you explain looking like shit? 

Shuffling into the kitchen, you undo some of the buttons on your blouse to let yourself breathe, dress pants running along the carpet as your feet pad like a hound’s slapping paws. Vision blurry and eyelids threatening to close on you, you find the tall man in front of the stove, moving something in a pan with sizzling oils with the wide flex of his shoulders.

On another burner, there’s a large pot of simmering water—the counter has already been cleaned up of flour and mess, a tidy pile of dirty items sitting in the sink to be washed. You stare for a second before you grumble a hello, forcing your body to sag into his back as you walk over and slap your forehead into his spine. 

Nikto grunts lowly in response and continues what he’s doing. 

While it wasn’t rare to find him in the kitchen—in fact, you prefer it when he cooks—but usually when he got back you opted to order supper. He always insisted, gruffly, that he wasn’t tired, but you just wanted him to relax.

It was fun to baby him. 

“Didn’t know you were going to be back today,” you whisper into him, arms hanging by your sides. 

“We were released early,” his voice is deep and harsh—a bark of his Russian accent and rasp. Every word is thought out and said with purpose. “Conflict in schedule.”

You hum lowly, and it’s immediately after that Nikto stiffens, back going straighter. It’s the fact that you don’t even notice that you’ve completely screwed up your own routine that tips him off; how your change in pace had made him initially suspicious as he’d heard you enter the apartment. 

You hadn't commented on his eyes. Hadn’t tried to get him to turn around to see them. 

There was a running gag that Nikto tolerated—you’d grab him carefully by the chin and tilt his blank eyes to you in all of their icy glory. Sparks of glass and chilled storms inlay near the pupils. You’d stare, smile, and then say, “Yup, he’s still in there.” 

Even if you couldn’t see it under his balaclava, Nikto’s lips would part and he’d study your face for a minute in silence, before lightly bonking his forehead to yours. A strange and unique kiss that only he could perfect in his intimidating way. 

You hadn’t even attempted that. 

Nikto puts down the fork he was using to push around the fried potatoes and mushrooms; Pelmeni still simmering in the pot for another five minutes. The cut-up dill and melted butter on the counter are pushed from his mind with a purpose in his veins.

“What is wrong with you?” Nikto turns and you stifle a fatigued snort as you look up at him. It wasn’t his fault, of course. English isn’t his first language, and you found his broken, or sometimes bare-bones blunt, sentences to be endearing.

“Such a way with words, hm?” You can’t help but tease, and you can see the annoyed furrow of his brown brows, nose huffing a breath. “Just tired, Nikto.” Your words make his gaze slide along the very visible bags and the red veins of your eyes. 

He mutters something in Russian under his breath, lids narrowing on you as he grasps your shoulders and moves you back so he can look you up and down slowly in a near clinical breakdown of atoms. As if he can peel back clothes and splay nerves to light. 

“You look horrible…Sickly.” You can see the brain working as your lips go into a line to stay off your loud laugh. “Like dead woman walking.”

He was so much better with actions than words, this beast of wide shoulders and shifting thighs that could crush your bones to dust in an instant. You liked that about him—you never had to guess when he was being genuine or not.

“Work’s been rough,” you chuckle lowly, sliding on a fake smile that doesn’t fool him for a second. “Nothing I can’t…figure out, okay? Thanks for making supper, I love when you cook.”

Nikto’s eyes soften just a smidge, his hands holding your flesh just the littlest bit tighter. His expansive chest rises and falls in a heavy sigh, the bulk of his stomach and pecs visible under the tucked black t-shirt and his spare cargo pants.

Without a word, you’re being lifted with little more than a huff of, “моя нежная девочка… keep awake.”

You squeak as you’re settled onto his shoulder, hanging off like a sack of grain as his arm wraps over the top of your tailbone—large other hand on your thigh and fingers firmly grasping your skin. 

“Nikto—!”

“Hush,” he grunts, a bark of a chuckle wafting out as your hand playfully hits his back with a pathetic slap. The man raises a brow, smirking under his face covering. “What do you expect to do with that, girl?” 

“To let you know,” you poke at his spine and he shifts your farther down his shoulder in retaliation as you scramble and grasp at his shirt; giggling as your head sways to his steps. “That I won't go quietly!” 

“Good to know,” he grumbles. “I would want nothing less, eh?” 

His hands make sure that you don’t fall, even if you were to start wiggling or slipping.

You go limp and let him carry you into the living room, face burning with appreciation as your limbs let themselves rest. Nikto slings you back over his shoulder and drops you to the couch as you laugh, head purposely hitting the pillow as your chest rises and falls with breaths. 

The man stares down at you as you chuckle in gasps, always one to stare at any chance he gets. His arms crossed at his chest, feet apart, and shadow slipping over you from the overhead light. You gaze up silently, a smile on your lips, and quizzically raise to your brow.

“Stay,” is what he says to you, icy vision sliding down your body with a hum of approval. He sends a teasing slap to your thigh before striding back into the kitchen, narrowly missing your leg kicking out at his arse. 

Nikto scoffs at your attempt and disappears.

Normally you’d run at him and jump on his back, hanging off like an animal, but being as fatigued as you are, you call a mumbled curse at his name and curl sideways. Your face nuzzles into the pillow, smiling lightly before you let your eyes momentarily close.

You must have taken a quick nap because it seemed not even a second later that you were being shaken awake by a hand on your arm; spreading up to run over your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Милая.” You sigh, vision blurry and your head pounding. A strong scent hits your nose and you perk—rubbing at your eyes and face. “Eat.”

A plate of fried potatoes with mushrooms and another bowl of Pelmeni are on the coffee table, and the former is shoved into your face by a strong hand, the small dumplings topped with melted butter and dill. 

“Pelmeni,” Nikto states in a monotone, blinking at you as if you don’t know his own culture’s food by now. He made them often enough, which was why you liked him so much—food was truly the way to your love.

You’d taken up baking some of Nikto’s favorite desserts once, had failed horribly, and left most of the kitchen work to him—but the funny thing was that whenever you did bake, the man still always cleaned his plate. You’d never seen him turn down your food, even when you could see his eyes scrunch with restrained aversion.

“Да,” he would grunt out, “good.” It was so strained you always laughed so hard your lungs hurt after. On the off-hand, Nikto’s skills in the kitchen were enough to get you to sell your car for just another bite. 

Sitting up, you carefully take the bowl and look up at him, smiling deeply. 

“Thank you, Nik.” The man hums and turns his head away, still unused to outright affection even two years in. “Nikto~” you draw out his name, tilting your head to the side and trying to catch his gaze again. 

“Silence, woman,” he growls with no real heat, huffing before carefully placing his forehead to yours again as you expected him to. You giggle and stare into his eyes smugly. 

You knew what he was waiting for. Your blood runs hot, face going into a picture of care. His blues blink at you as snowflakes mingle with mist; a mix of cold and desolate landscapes that offer no reprieve from harm besides the small glint of fire they gain when they lock with yours. 

“Yup,” you whisper, and Nikto’s shoulders loosen as he presses more deeply into your skin. “He’s still in there.” 

He stares intensely, and the faintest of twitches under his balaclava tell you all you need to know. 

Nikto makes sure you eat your fill and when you’re done he takes the dishes and washes them while you shower and get into pajamas. Sluggish, but warmed by a full stomach and your boyfriend’s care. You come out to find he’s already reclining on the couch, book in hand as the other bends behind his neck. Lights were low and the heat turned up. Nikto opens his side to you and your body snuggles next to him—it had taken a long time to earn his trust like this; to be near him and to freely give affection.

It would be longer still until you saw his face, but you can live with that. There was no rush, and you knew it was a large soft spot even if he’d never shared the details as to why.

You sigh deeply and Nikto grunts, moving his arm behind your back and keeping you to his chest as he reads. 

This is a common sight from him, and he begins reading to you in his mother tongue from the works of Fyodor Dostoevsky, the grit and gravel of his voice sliding into words and sensations as you practically feel it coming from his chest and throat. Your head situates itself under his chin, feeling his free hand playing with your hair until you go brain-dead except to the way he feels and sounds. Harsh words had never been more gentle.

Halfway through he switches to English, his sentences now more slow and thought out and your lashes flutter; breath soft as you take in his scent of oakmoss and amber. His heart beats steady and true. 

“‘To love is to suffer,’” he reads, fingers rubbing circles into your clothes and letting you sleep as the day grows faster into a cold night. He glances down with easy eyes, gripping you just a bit closer as your body entirely goes limp in his embrace. “‘...And there can be no love otherwise.’” 

He silences himself and watches for a moment before he closes the book, dropping it silently to the coffee table and staring past you at the ceiling. The man feels your warmth bleed into his scarred and damaged skin and whispers something akin to vindication.

Nikto listens to your steady breathing and holds you. Steady. Noiseless. 

He grunts to himself and only presses you closer.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[indifferent-depravity]

TW: dub-con, ignoring a safeword, heavy impact play

Minors DNI 18+

A/N: daddy's back baby! don’t forget requests for everything are open so if you’d like to see anything from me feel free to drop it in my ask box :)

buy me a coffee!

help me escape abuse

my Etsy shop

~~~

The acrid smell of burning fills the kitchen, smoke curling above a pot long forgotten on the stove. You push through people, shouting as you reach the stove, “Shit! Shit shit shit shit!” You fumble with the knobs to turn the burner off, ignoring the heat burning your hands as you drag the pot off the stove.

You grimace as you assess the damage, a thick burned sludge at the bottom of the pot is all that remains of the once-perfect demi-glace. “Chef!” You freeze at the sound of Carmy’s voice, giving him a sheepish look as he stops next to you. Anger radiates off his body, mouth pressed in a firm line, “what the fuck did you do? You had one fucking job!”

“Carm, I-I’m sorry, I must’ve bumped the heat too high before I went on break. I-I can start-” he holds his hand up, eyes hard as he glares at you and your voice catches in your throat.

“It’s too late! I had that simmering for 12 hours!” You open your mouth to defend yourself and he shouts, “I want you out of my kitchen! Go! You fucked over the whole service, I don’t want to see you!”

You flinch, casting your eyes to the floor as tears fill your eyes, “I didn’t mean-”

“Now Chef! I’ll deal with you later.”

You nod and quickly flee the kitchen, heart pounding as the door to the restaurant closes behind you.

~~~

Your head snaps up as the door bangs open, “C-Carmy, I’m so sor-”

Carmy shakes his head, mouth pressed in a firm line as he crouches to undo his boots. His voice is dangerously calm when he speaks, “I don’t want to hear it. Do you know how much you cost us because of your fuck up? I couldn’t make half the beef I ordered for this specific service.”

You nod, picking at the skin around your thumb, “I-I know, it was just an accident and it’ll never happen again. I promise.”

He nods and swipes his tongue across his lips, hands moving to his belt, “We’ll just have to make sure, won’t we?” Your heart stutters in your chest, ice filling your veins as you watch him slowly pull his belt free of his jeans.

“C-Carmy, no...” Your voice is shaky as he stalks toward you, twisting his belt in his hands.

“The punishment needs to fit the infraction, honey.” You shake your head, backing away from him. Carmy laughs icily, a dangerous fire filling his eyes, “Don’t run from me, just take your punishment like a good girl.”

“No! I already said I’m sorry!” you plead, inching your way around him toward the door. His face morphs into an angry scowl and he strides toward you, your breath catching in your throat. You trip over your feet in your haste, grasping at the wall to stay upright and away from him.

Your hand falls from the wall as you reach the bathroom and you bolt into it, slamming the door shut just as Carmy comes into view. You fumble with the lock, tears obscuring your vision as his voice filters through the door. “Hiding, really? I thought you were better than this, honey.”

The knob twists as he tries to open the door, letting out a strangled shout as you manage to get it locked in time. You let out a shriek as he slams his fist against the door, backing away as far as the room allows, “You-you need to calm down! We can just talk about this like adults!” You call through the door, voice weak with fear as the door rattles against his fist.

He goes silent on the other side of the door and you take a deep breath, trying to settle your racing heart when the door bursts open, anger darkening Carmy’s features as he pushes into the room. You scream, holding your arms out to keep him at a distance. He easily knocks your arms out of the way as he grabs your hair in a vice grip, forcing your head back. He speaks through gritted teeth, nostrils flaring with anger, “You just made this worse for yourself, you know that?” 

Your lip trembles as you silently plead with him, hands coming up to cup his face, “C-Carm, please, I know you don’t want to do this.”

He shakes his head with a mirthless laugh that sends a shiver down your spine, “You don’t know what I want, bitch. What I wanted is for you to be a good girl and accept the punishment I deemed fit to give you.”

You shake your head against his grip, “N-no, I need you to stop! R-red! This isn’t funny anymore!”

Carmy releases your hair and for a moment you see your Carmy, the Carmy that would never raise a hand to you. He’s gone in a flash, replaced with cold fury as he loops an arm around your waist and hauls you out of the bathroom, unimpeded by your fight against his grip.

“Carmy! Let me go!” You shout, digging your fingers under his arm, trying desperately to escape his grasp.

“Oh no, you’re not gonna get out of this, honey!” He chastises, dragging you toward the bedroom, “I gave you too much leeway and now I’m going to fix it.” He throws you onto the bed, catching your ankle before you can scramble out of his reach, and brings his belt down across your ass.

You yelp and kick out, catching Carmy in the stomach. His breath leaves him in a wheeze but his grip stays firm around your ankle. He huffs out a laugh and climbs on top of you, “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you!” He teases, pinning your legs down with his body weight as he brings his belt down harder.

You sob as a throbbing ache blooms under his belt, twisting your fingers in the bedspread. He pays your pained noises no mind as he peppers your ass with harsh strokes of his belt, your jeans doing nothing to dull the blows.

Carmy is breathing heavily when he finally tosses the belt to the side and leans over you. He grips your hair, forcing your face towards his, “Do you understand why I had to do this, honey?” You nod and let out a hiccupping sob, tears leaving scalding tracks down your face.

“I-I’m sorry,” You gasp and just like that he’s back to being your Carmy, softening his grip and gently carding his fingers through your hair. He leans in and kisses your cheek softly, shifting his weight off your legs.

“We’re almost done, okay? Just one more thing so you remember not to make the same mistake again.” You nod, taking in a shuddering breath as he slides down your body. You remain lax as his hands move around your waist and pop open the button of your jeans, gently pulling them down your legs.

Carmy’s hands are gentle as they smooth over your thighs, pulling them open to make room for his hips. His fingers prod your core, a quiet whine escaping your throat as the rough calluses catch deliciously on your clit. He shushes you as two fingers slowly sink into your cunt, stretching you for his cock with quick precision, “This isn’t for you, honey. I’m going to use you, cum in you, and then all will be forgiven.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers disappear as quickly as they appear, the sound of his jeans being unzipped filling the room.

~~~

You’re still laying in the same position when Carmy comes back into the room, carrying a wet washcloth. He kneels next to you and starts gently wiping his cum from your thighs. You flinch, mustering enough strength to shift away from his hand. He sighs, resting his hand on your hip as he tries to continue cleaning you up, “c’mon honey, let me help you.”

You shake your head, mortified tears burning your eyes as you shift away from his touch again. Carmy scoffs and tosses the wet cloth on your back, standing to his full height. “Fine, don’t accept my help. I’m going for a smoke.”

[coldshrugs]

getting better

pairing: alma greene/mason (featuring felix)

word count: 880

rating: T; language

note: a prompt for @wayhavensummer 8/15: cooking. alma is sick, and mason really should've texted nate instead.

💗---💗---💗---💗---💗

"I think it smells... okay so far." Mason stirs the simmering pot in front of him. It does not smell okay, and he sure as hell isn't going to taste it.

"Wait, add some of this—"

He blocks whatever Felix is trying to add. If he smells one more half-boiled vegetable, he'll lose it.

"No," he says, barely above a whisper. "It's got like five things in it already."

Felix doesn't know how to whisper.

"Wow, a soup with five whole ingredients. Let me tell you something, chef of the century, a little salt won't ruin your sad vegetable water."

The salt shaker flies across Alma's kitchenette, smacked from Felix's grip before he can sprinkle it in. It bounces across the counters, as if in slow motion, and their teeth clench tighter with each clang and clatter before Felix hurls himself across the space to stop it. He plucks it out of the air before it meets the wall.

Mason glares. "If you wake her up—"

"You did that! You understand the noise was the direct consequence of your action, right? Tell me you understand."

Being right doesn't make him less annoying. Mason leans against the counter, groaning into his hands.

"I know. I fucking know, okay?" He flings a dismissive hand toward the pot of soup that, yeah, looks a little miserable, even by his standards of food. "I just... What the fuck am I doing?"

"Making soup for your sick..." Felix winces in place of a label. The label. "Shit, I'm not actually sure what you guys are. Friends-with-benefits: hard mode? Extra-codependent fuck buddies? Dating?"

Mason leans his head back, long hair brushing the countertop, and groans again. Quieter this time, keenly aware of Alma's stifled breathing one room away. His ragged exhale carries through the singular, whispered word, "girlfriend."

It's... new.

Not just the label. The everything. The feelings, the proximity, the talking, and most of all, the fact that he doesn't hate any of it.

"Girlfriend," Felix starts, and the grin he's struggling to keep in check is far more giddy than Mason cares for. "She's your girlfriend? Our Alma is your girlfriend? When—how? Tell me everything!"

"No." He resumes his place at the stove, ladle in hand, frown firmly in place to ward off further questioning. God, this soup looks gross. "Okay, chuck some of that in here if you think she'll like it."

Felix frowns too, but adds a few shakes of salt.

"Fine, so you won't give me details. That's cool, I get it." He crosses his arms. "You care about her, and that's got to be terrifying for you."

"Terrifying?"

"Yeah. I mean, she's a human, which comes with all sorts of unfun life nerfs. That's why you're here now, right? Because she's sick?"

It's just a cold. She's been in and out of a low fever, sneezing pretty frequently, and right now she's wasted on night-time flu medicine in the middle of the day. She only had the one kind and refused to let him run out for the non-drowsy stuff.

He texted Felix for a resupply on medicine and tissues, and then shortly before falling asleep, Alma mentioned she was hungry. So here he is, stirring carrots and celery in salt water, under interrogation by his loudest friend, while the person occupying this unfamiliar space of "girlfriend" is one sneeze away from a nosebleed.

"I'm not scared." He turns off the burner. "She's gonna be alright. She's handled worse than a cold."

"Mason?" The tiny, nasal-y voice sounds miles away through the closed bedroom door, even with hypersensitive hearing.

Felix rubs his hands together, all traces of his previous frown forgotten. "Well, let's see you in action, Mr. Commitment."

Oh, he hates that.

Grumbling his distaste just loud enough to make the point, Mason spoons his concoction into a bowl and heads toward Alma's room.

Two light raps on the door before opening it. Cocooned in blankets, she turns over to watch him enter, disturbing the cat in the process. She's wrecked. Red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks, hair sticking out of her bun, nostrils flaky from blowing her nose, lips crusted at the corners. He swats away a few used tissues to sit on the edge of the bed, places the soup on the nightstand.

Felix leans against the door, and Mason can feel his disgusting glee from here.

"How're you feeling, sweetheart?" Mason pushes a few stray curls back from her forehead. It feels like the fever broke during this nap, thank fuck.

How many minor illnesses has Alma nursed herself through? She told him not to bother waiting this out, assured him he had more important things to do. Sure, she could handle this alone, sleep through the worst of it and try to get work done during the rare moments of lucidity. Holding herself together with acetaminophen and cough drops and the lie of "I feel fine." But Alma smiles, sleepy, squinty, grateful he stayed despite her protests, and where the fuck else was he supposed to be? This is his person.

It's new. It's everything.

"Like shit," she croaks. "Is that... Felix?"

Mason rolls his eyes as Felix waves from the doorway.

"How's it going, Alma? We made you some 'soup.'"

Alright, maybe the air quotes are justified.

"Soup? I could eat." Alma struggles to prop herself up on her pillow, so Mason grabs another one and helps her into an almost vertical position. She sighs with something close to comfort, "thank you."

Mason places the bowl in her outstretched hands, and forces himself to look away from her reaction.

"This is..." Alma mixes the clumps of chopped veggies with her spoon, doing a terrible job suppressing a painful-sounding giggle, "very clear. You know I have canned soups in the cabinet, right?"

"Canned soup!" Felix howls from the doorway, nearly doubled over. His infectious laugh spreads to Alma and makes her cough. "We could've avoided the nightmare broth altogether?"

"I'll eat your soup, Mason." Her hand brushes his arm and, for a moment, he's reassured.

She shoos away the cat and gives the spoon a testing sip. All three grimace before the verdict.

"Not bad, I guess. Needs more salt."

[xofanfics]

Selfish - Part 16

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Genre: angst, fluff

Pairing: Jun x Reader / Chan x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: You love them both and you’re torn. But…what if you didn’t have to choose?

You felt like Chan was avoiding you and you didn’t know why. He ended up changing his flight and staying in Jeju for an extra day, saying he wanted to spend more time with his family. You understood but it felt a little out of the blue. So you flew back to Seoul with Jun.

It’d been a week since you’d been back and you barely saw Chan. You’d eaten at a restaurant for dinner and he declined your invitation to sleep over at your house. He said that he had work to do but he’d never declined one of your invitations and, in the past, having to do work never stopped him from coming over. If anything, he’d just bring his laptop and books with him, at least wanting to be in your presence. But you didn’t want to complain or come off as petty over this. Chan must’ve just wanted more alone time. Maybe he was stressed about work or school or both. But part of you felt hurt because, normally, he’d always come to you during those times. Something changed but you weren’t sure what. 

You weren’t going to lie, you’d been in a weird mood since. You hated feeling like he was mad at you or something. So, Jun suffered a bit too. And you felt bad that you couldn’t give him your all. And he knew that there was something off with you. The trip you thought was supposed to be relaxing ended up not being as relaxing as you would’ve hoped, especially given that Chan had joined unexpectedly. You supposed that it caused a little turbulence in your lives. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything, you wondered. Maybe you should’ve just kept the trip as one with Jun. But, then again, it seemed like everyone had a good time. And you knew that Chan wasn’t there the whole time but you also knew he hadn’t seen his family in a while. It was hard to tell how everyone felt truly. Was this all just a facade?

It was nine o’clock and you knew that Chan was working at the cafe tonight. You figured you’d just show up with chocolate covered strawberries and hope that you could convince him to let you sleep over. You missed him and you missed falling asleep in his arms. 

As you walked toward the cafe, you could see him through the window. There weren’t any customers at this point. He was wiping down the tables, from what you could see. And he looked handsome while doing it. He looked concentrated, his eyebrows furrowed the same way they did when he was frustrated or thinking. When you knocked on the glass, you could tell that he wasn’t expecting you. He took out his Airpods, surprised. He opened the door, letting you in before locking it again. “What are you doing here?” he asked, little to no emotion in his tone.

“I miss you,” you said, a little taken aback by his tone, or lack thereof, “and I wanted to see you. I feel like you’ve been avoiding me…”

Chan turned around, heading back toward the table he was cleaning. “You could’ve called me.”

“I wanted to surprise you...but it doesn’t seem like you’re happy to see me so maybe I’ll just go…” You took the box of chocolate covered strawberries out of your bag, placing it on the table. “Enjoy them.” You turned on your heel to leave and, just before you got to the lock, Chan’s hand was wrapped around your arm.

“Don’t go.”

Tears were starting to build up in your eyes. Chan was usually the one that always greeted you warmly, the one that always showered you with love and affection, the one who always seemed to know what you needed no matter the time or place. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears.

“Baby,” Chan said, frowning at the sight of you tearing up. “Please, I’m sorry…I’ve just been in this weird space lately. I don’t mean to take it out on you...”

You raised your brows. “What do you mean?”

“There’s just…something that happened to me recently that made me rethink things.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

You shook your head. “You’re the happiest person I know…and I know when you’re not being honest with me.”

Chan looked down. “I know. I just…don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Does what happened have something to do with something I did?”

He shook his head. “No, no, it’s not that…'' 

To be honest, Chan was tired of keeping this secret. It was hardly his to be carrying on his shoulders like this. This was all Jun’s fault. Why was he the one to be suffering when Jun was the one living stress-free? Why was it that he was still protecting Jun like this? Chan was the one who was done dirty and he was sick of putting everyone else first. Even if you were hurt by this information, you deserved to know the truth and to not sleep next to someone who hadn’t been completely honest with you. 

“So what is it, then?”

“I want to close up first. I’ll be done in five. We can talk as soon as I close the cafe.”

And within those few minutes, your mind started racing. You didn’t have the slightest clue what Chan wanted to talk about. It seemed like he was going through something and, on top of that, he’d even distanced himself from you. Did what he was going through have to do with something you did?

Chan closed up the cafe and locked the doors. “Okay, let’s go.” You started walking toward Chan’s building, which was about a ten minute walk from the cafe. 

As you started walking around the corner, Chan said, “I haven’t been completely honest with you…” You bit your lip, expecting the worst. “Remember when I said I had family stuff to deal with in Jeju?” You nodded, unsure of where this conversation was heading. “That wasn’t true.”

“So why did you leave? I thought you were having a good time…”

“Well you know we’d all been drinking. Jun had been drinking the most and I saw that when he went over to the bar by himself. I went over to bring him back over to the dance floor with us while you were in the bathroom. He said some things that made me uncomfortable even though I was doing my best to be friendly and include him in everything…” Chan let out a sigh. “He implied that the only reason he agreed to me coming on the trip was to make you happy. He basically didn’t want me there. He got angry and told me that I’m your favorite and that he never gets time alone with you, which is ridiculous. The part that made me upset was the fact that he basically lied and put on this pretend act. If he wasn’t okay with it, he could’ve just been honest and said no. I-I don’t know how to feel. I can see him trying to push me out. I had to leave because I didn’t want to ruin the trip, so I kept my distance and let him have his time with you...which, I guess, was his plan. And it worked.”

Tears had been building up in Chan’s eyes as he told the story. He’d kept a lot of it in up until now and, honestly speaking, it felt nice to be able to be honest with you. He hated the situation that he was in. He felt more secure about being in this polyamorous relation ship with you and Jun but Jun didn’t seem to be okay with it at all. And it hurt him because he felt like Jun had basically pretended to be cordial with him. Chan wondered what you saw in him. What Jun did just seemed so...evil. Was Jun finally showing his true colors? Would you forgive him yet again?

You stopped him to pull him into a hug. “I...I didn’t know…”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong, babe.” Those words were comforting and, with them, came a few tears. You could hear it. “Thank you for telling me...and for trying to protect me. You don’t have to hide things like that from me, I promise. I love you so much, Chan…”

He pulled away from you and you wiped his tears with your thumbs. He smiled and said, “I love you, too, Y/N…”

*

You left Chan’s house in the morning feeling a little confused and, by the time work was over, you still felt frustrated. You didn’t know what to think of the situation with Jun. It seemed like there was some turbulence in the relationship and you weren’t sure what to do next. Of course, you needed to bring this up with Jun. You couldn’t sit back and let this simmer on the back burner. 

You opened the door to the nail salon. Na-Ri was there a little early, waiting for you. “Well, well, well, look who it is...The person I’ve hardly heard from since you got back.”

“Sorry,” you said, chuckling. “Things have been kinda crazy.”

The two of you checked in for your nail appointments and headed to the back of the salon to get your pedicures done. When you got settled and dipped your feet in the warm water, you turned to Na-Ri. “You won’t believe what I just found out...”

Na-Ri looked over, putting her phone down. “What’s up?”

“Remember when I said we went to dinner that first night in Jeju? The three of us? Well, everything was fine up until we went to dinner. That’s when things started getting a little weird. Actually, no, things were a little weird before that but I didn’t put two and two together at the time…I think it started when Jun fell asleep at the hotel. Me and Chan stayed up for a little bit and then we fell asleep, too. When I woke up Jun was gone and I think he might’ve been feeling jealous that me and Chan fell asleep together. Then he just got really...drunk at dinner. If we had ordered another bottle of wine, I don’t think Jun would’ve made it to the bar.”

You continued your story as you flipped through the catalog to decide on what colors you wanted. “I always try to make sure I spend enough time with both of them. Next thing I know, I go to the bathroom and then when I come back, Chan is telling me he has family issues to go and take care of and that I should stay with Jun. At the time I thought it was kind of weird and random but, at the same time, it could’ve been true so I believed it. In the past, his dad collapsed from overworking, so it was believable. Anyway, I went back to the hotel with Jun and he just acted like everything was normal after that.”

Before you could continue, Na-Ri stopped you. “Did Chan invite himself on the trip?”

“Not exactly. I was talking to him and I told him what we were doing. I guess he kind of implied that it sounded like fun and he wanted to go. So I asked Jun about it...and that’s when the lie started...I asked if Chan could come with us because I thought that it would be a good idea for us to bond. And it was supposed to be Chan’s weekend with me so I felt bad. Anyway, Jun said it was fine and that it was okay. If he didn’t want him to come, he could’ve just said no…”

Na-Ri said, “What the hell? Where’s the communication?”

“Exactly…”

“Have you talked to Jun about any of this?”

You shook your head. “I just found out last night.”

“Good luck. I don't know how you do it. One man is enough problems for me.”

You chuckled. “I don’t know how I do it either…”

“Maybe it was too soon to try this kind of relationship...”

You let out a deep sigh. “We’ve been doing this for months...I don’t know how much longer he could possibly need.”

“Well if you think about it, you haven't really done anything together, with just the three of you. So maybe it was a bit much to go on a trip together. I think it’s something you have to ease into. Like going on dates together, to the movies, to the amusement park, and stuff like that. Cause it seemed like everything between them was pretty much fine–well, neutral–before this. I don’t think he gets jealous until Chan is physically there...and, I mean, that’s not good either.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll have to work on that if this is going to work.”

“Yeah, it’s the next step in the relationship. You got past the beginning stages so now the next step is for them to be more comfortable around each other and to do more things together.”

Na-Ri was right. You were still angry with Jun and the fact that he hadn’t been honest with you or with Chan. Jun’s selfish actions had hurt you but, more importantly, his actions hurt Chan. From what you could see, Chan had been trying to be friends with Jun. He’d been putting in effort, only to be rejected by Jun in the end. And Chan knew that feeling all too well.

It had been months since you came up with this arrangement and Jun was acting more like a child than an adult. But you couldn’t help but feel like part of what was happening right now was your fault. Since this was your idea, you should’ve had a better plan. But you weren’t an expert and neither were Jun or Chan. Was it too much to expect this much from them? 

You probably should’ve been trying to do more things together rather than keeping things separate. Keeping things separate wasn’t realistic and, obviously, it wasn’t working. The relationship was going to have to undergo some changes if there was going to be any chance of survival. You needed to figure things out but, first, you definitely needed to talk to Jun.

*

When you asked Jun if you could have dinner later, he thought nothing of it. He answered your message, of course, suggesting that you come over to cook. But, strangely enough, you declined saying that you’d rather go out to eat. It was a little surprising since you usually enjoyed making dinner together but he thought little of it. He told you to meet him at your favorite restaurant to have some Taiwanese noodle soup.

He waited for you inside, browsing the menu. He’d been here once with you but, as far as he knew, it was a place that Chan had introduced you to. Sometimes Jun couldn’t help but feel like you had more in common with Chan than you did with him. Jun pushed the thought out of his head. Those small insecure thoughts were beginning to annoy him a bit. He was starting to feel bad about the things he’d said to Chan. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh. Maybe he should’ve been more mature and accepted things as they were rather than mope about the things he couldn’t change.

Was this kind of relationship for him? Was he too in over his head? Was it even meant for the two of you to be together right now, with or without Chan in the picture? He loved you, without a doubt, but sometimes he wondered if all of this was worth it. He missed when things were simple, when it was just the two of you. Before you’d even met Chan in the first place. Part of him wished he never accepted that job or went to Japan. But maybe everything that was happening to him now were things that needed to happen. 

You came into the restaurant looking a little stressed, bringing Jun into a state of distress. Were you here to break up with him? Had you finally had enough of his shit? You sat down across from him and said, “Hey.”

Normally, you’d embrace him. You’d reach across the table and brush your fingers against his hands. You’d lean over for a kiss, something. But you weren’t doing that. Jun’s heart dropped. Something was definitely wrong but he wasn’t sure what. 

Jun tried to lighten up the mood. “Are you okay? How was your day?”

“I’m okay. My day was decent.”

Jun nodded. “Your nails look nice,” he said, glancing at your hands. “This color looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip of water. “Look, can we talk about something serious?”

“What’s going on?”

“Chan told me everything…”

Jun looked down. Of course, he knew that he was in the wrong. Deep down, he’d known that this day was coming. How could he think a secret this big would stay a secret? He’d wanted to come clean and apologize about it, mostly to Chan because he’d done nothing wrong in the situation. In any case, Chan was merely a victim of Jun’s insecurities. 

Jun didn’t say anything so you did. “If you wanted it to just be us, why lie to me? I would’ve understood.”

Jun let out a deep sigh. “I don’t have an excuse for why I did it…” He looked up at you, finally. There was so much hurt and disappointment in your eyes, he could barely stand to see it. “I just couldn't bring myself to see you disappointed so I lied and I tried to convince myself that I could do it but I couldn’t...Then it got too late to say anything, so I just tried to swallow it. And I became a person I couldn’t recognize by the end of it all…”

“You hurt me, Jun, and you hurt Chan, too…”

Jun nodded. “I know…”

You reached for his hand, taking it in yours. “It’s okay to feel these kinds of things but it’s not okay to act like that. We agreed to this relationship and for it to work, the three of us have to have some type of communication.” 

Jun said, “I’m sorry…I’ll also apologize to Chan. I’ll talk to him tonight. I really am sorry, Y/N...”

You looked him in his eyes, almost as if you were staring into the deepest, most vulnerable parts of him. “I need to know if you’re all in.”

Jun squeezed your hand in his. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid of losing you. But he nodded, continuing on through these unknown waters.

*

After dinner, you went home despite Jun’s suggestion of coming over. He understood and he wanted to give you your space but he couldn’t help but feel like there was suddenly this giant rift in your relationship. It was his fault, he knew. But he missed you. He missed the way things were, just before the trip. So much had changed and it’d only been about a week. One of the ways he usually made himself feel better was to find comfort in your arms. When he had a hard day, he’d go over to your place or you’d come to his. And you’d hold him in your arms, running your fingers through his hair. But again, that wasn’t an option for him right now.

He knew he needed to apologize to Chan soon. If he didn’t apologize soon, he’d lose the nerve to do it and you’d be more disappointed in him than you already were. He took out his phone and called Chan, anxiety filling his chest. It rang five times and, just when he thought that maybe he should just hang up and forget it all, Chan answered. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, I was wondering if you had time to talk.”

Though Jun couldn’t see him physically, Chan was rolling his eyes on the other end. “Sure. Do you mean over the phone or in person?”

“We should talk in person, no?”

“Okay. Where do you want to meet?”

“I can meet you near your place.”

“Okay. There’s a bar a few blocks away. I’ll send the address.”

The call was over and anxiety washed over Jun. He had no idea how to start or what to say. There was nothing he could say to take back those shitty things he said to Chan and there was nothing he could say to justify them. He was immature, insecure, all of those things. He hated that he put himself in this position and that he had to even apologize in the first place, but he knew that he couldn’t just sit quietly.

As Chan got ready, he felt very irritated. Of course, you’d already told him how the conversation with Jun went. He even felt annoyed at that. How many ways did that man have to show you that he wasn’t ready for this kind of relationship? It was so frustrating to sit back and watch Jun hurt you both. These feelings were no longer coming from a place of insecurity or jealousy; it was a place of genuine concern. It seemed like a good idea at first, but maybe this kind of relationship was beyond the three of you. Chan had done online searches trying to figure out how he should go about things but he always ended up in a loop where his question was too specific or there were too few answers for him to make an educated guess. 

With the current state of things, he at least knew that he’d at least attempted some research. Had Jun even bothered to do research on what it meant to be in this kind of relationship? Chan knew that there were different types of people but he could see that Jun wasn’t the kind of person that could handle this. Once upon a time, Chan wasn’t either but he’d like to think that he’d grown since then. If being in a relationship with you and Jun had taught him anything at all, it was patience and he’d even gained a bit of maturity. At the end of the day, you needed a man who was mature, a man who made you feel secure and who felt secure in himself. Of course, Chan wasn’t perfect and he had moments where he felt insecure but, overall, Chan liked himself and the person he was becoming. He was becoming a better man, not only for you, but for himself as well.

When Jun entered the bar, Chan was already there. He was sitting by himself, having a cocktail. From the looks of it, it was dark liquor. It was one of those nights and Jun understood. Hell, he figured he’d order one for himself. He greeted Chan with a nod and sat down in the seat next to him.

“Hey,” Chan said, taking a swig from his glass.

“Hey,” Jun replied. He turned to the bartender. “Can I have the same thing?” he asked, referencing Chan’s nearly finished glass. 

Chan downed the rest of his drink, sliding the glass toward the bartender. “And can I have another?”

A moment of silence passed before the bartender returned with both drinks. Jun let out a deep sigh before he turned to Chan. Chan didn’t look up, though, and understandably so, Jun supposed. 

“I’m sorry for those things I said back in Jeju. I was completely out of line,” he started. “I know I can’t take any of it back but all of this happened because I wasn’t being honest. I wasn’t being honest with myself and I took it out on you instead, thinking you were the problem when I was the problem. I drank too much and I felt frustrated. I should’ve been honest with Y/N and told her I wasn’t comfortable.”

Chan nodded. His feelings about everything began to rise to the surface. “I’m not going to forgive you right away but I’ll accept your apology for now…” Jun didn’t say anything but nodded instead. He didn’t know what to say next. Was there anything left to say? Was the conversation over? Was this one of those instances where the conversation could’ve just been a phone call? Just when Jun thought that the conversation was over, Chan spoke again. “You know what was most upsetting about all of this? I thought we were finally at a point where we could be friends…I thought wow, we’re actually getting along.”

Hearing that made Jun feel even worse than he already did. He wanted to be able to be friends with Chan too but his insecurities were holding him back. In the ideal situation, the three of them would get along. In the ideal situation, he and Chan would be sitting at this bar having a drink together, laughing and sharing stories, while you were at home with no worries about whether or not your boyfriends would get into a fight. There wouldn’t be all this drama and conflict surrounding the relationship, for God’s sake!

Jun wanted to say something comforting. He wanted to tell him that he did want to be friends, believe it or not. But he couldn’t find the right words. The words, for some reason, wouldn’t leave his mouth. “I’m sorry…again.”

Chan was frustrated because it seemed like he didn’t even care. Was Jun here because you made him or was he here apologizing on his own accord? It was hard to think of him as a decent person after all the drama and lies about Malai and more recently, their Jeju trip. This was his second strike, in Chan’s eyes. If he did something else, Chan wouldn’t be able to forgive him. He couldn’t read Jun’s mind but it would be nice to know what he was thinking.

He said, “I don’t think you’re serious about this relationship. Have you considered it at all? If you’re serious about being with Y/N, you’re going to have to work harder. and I’m more than willing to support her to make this work. But if you’re having doubts or don’t think you can work with us, then you should leave us alone. Y/N is my priority. Why isn’t she yours?”

***

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[marjansmarwani]

that’s alright, my heart is okay

2.8k || ao3

The Reyes come to dinner, Owen shows up late (with the limes), and TK has some words with his father. But most of all: Carlos has a victory, and TK and Carlos share some moments. -------- A 2x11 coda

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

Yes this coda took me forever to write, but here it is: the dinner scene I wish we had gotten to see. 

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

It was the third muttered curse that brought TK into the kitchen. The first two had caused him to look up from where he was setting the table, but the third slightly louder and forceful “fuck” from his usually even-tempered boyfriend grabbed his notice. 

“Anything I can help with?” he asked as he stepped into the kitchen area, surveying the scene to locate the subject of Carlos’s ire. 

“No,” Carlos responded, voice weary and full of frustration. “I just can’t get this damn sauce to thicken.” 

“Maybe add more cornstarch?” TK suggested. “What?” he said defensively when his boyfriend tossed him a surprised look, “I pay attention! How could I not,” he added, stepping closer and placing his hands lightly on Carlos’s hips as he closed the distance, pressing himself against the other mans’ back, “watching you in the kitchen might just be one of my favorite pastimes. It’s really something to behold.” 

He was rewarded by the sensation of Carlos’s body shedding some of its tension at his touch and a slight shiver as TK’s words brushed across the exposed skin of his neck. He pressed a light kiss on the side of his neck and watched as he took a deep breath. 

“You’re right, that should help. Could you grab it for me?” 

TK pulled himself away from Carlos to cross to the cupboard with the backing ingredients. He grabbed the box of cornstarch and headed back to Carlos, stopping short and holding the box just out of his reach. “Only if you relax,” he said and Carlos raised an eyebrow. 

“Is this a negotiation?” 

“Yes,” TK confirmed. “I hate seeing you so tense. They’re your parents, Carlos. They love you and that’s not going to change, no matter how runny the sauce is.” 

“I know that,” he admitted, looking back down at the pan simmering on the stove. “I just want everything to be perfect. It’s their first time officially meeting you, and I want them to love you as much as I do.” 

“I hope not,” TK quipped, “that could get awkward.” When Carlos didn’t return his grin, he sobered. “I get why you’re nervous,” he admitted, “I’m nervous too. But stressing over the food or swearing at your stove isn’t going to change that. All we can do is relax and be ourselves because that’s who we want them to see. Us, just like we always are. We make a pretty good team, remember?” 

Carlos turned down the burner and stepped closer, wrapping a hand around the arm holding the cornstarch and pulling it down so he could step closer to TK, “We do,” he asked with a soft smile, “don’t we?” 

“Always have and always will,” TK confirmed. “Besides, if we can handle my parents, we can handle anything.” 

Carlos chuckled and leaned forward, stealing a kiss before he stepped away again, holding the cornstarch. “There is that,” he agreed. 

---------

Carlos is surprised by how normal it all is. 

From the moment his parents arrive, they fall into a rhythm. His mother apologizes for messing up TK’s name that one time, his dad gives him shit about it. TK jumps in, tossing him a teasing smile and then they’re all smiling. There is the brief crisis of the limes but TK swoops in, saving him from his own anxiety as he so often does. From there though, things go smoothly. He watches, a fond smile on his lips as TK patiently answers all his mother’s questions about growing up in NYC only to turn the tables and get her going about stories of his own childhood. He fakes a scowl when his boyfriend grins at him after a particularly embarrassing story, but he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s pretty sure it’s impossible to feel anything but complete bliss at this moment: watching his parents banter and laugh with the man he loves in the home that they share. It felt so surreal, but also so right. 

After a few more stories though, he felt the need to stand up for himself: “Mami,” he protested in a tone just short of a whine as his mother finished telling TK of the time he had run through the family bbq naked at the ripe age of 2. “Really?” 

“It’s cute!” she defended, and he shot a look at TK when he snickered. 

“Oh c’mon Carlos,” he retorted, grinning at him, “it’s not like you haven’t heard all the embarrassing stories from both my parents already. It’s only fair that I get some from your childhood as well.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes, but he had to concede the point. Both Owen and Gwyn had been more than willing to share stories from TK’s youth during their time spent at the Strand house - there had even been pictures involved. But the mention of TK’s parents brought something else to mind. 

“Did your dad say where he was on his way from?” he asked lightly, not wanting to cause any undue worry, “it’s been a while.”

Too long for the two mile distance between the two homes, he added to himself. 

Though he didn’t verbalize his concern he could see TK coming to the same conclusion as he frowned and glanced at the clock on his phone. He bit at his lip before he rose from the table, phone in hand. “I’m going to call him real quick,” he said, “excuse me.” 

He stepped away and Carlos tracked him with his eyes, well aware of the panic TK was trying to hide. TK placed the call and Carlos pulled his eyes back to his parents who were both watching him. 

“¿Todo bien, mijo?” his mother asked softly. 

“Sí,” he responded quickly but when his dad raised a skeptical eyebrow he sighed, “Owen had surgery a few days ago, and TK’s worried. He’s not exactly known for taking it easy and TK is concerned he’s going to push himself too hard.” 

“What kind of surgery?” his father asked. 

“To remove the last of a tumor from his lung,” Carlos responded absently, his gaze turning back to TK who was lowering the phone from his ear with an anxious look. He got up from the table, crossing over to where TK stood in the living room. 

“Hey,” he asked gently, “what’s going on?” 

“He didn’t answer,” TK told him, looking at him with fearful eyes. “Carlos, what if…”

“No,” Carlos said firmly, “don’t go there, Ty.” 

“I can’t help it. What if he tried to do too much and put too much strain on his lungs? What if…”

“Try calling him again,” Carlos urged, “maybe he just didn’t hear his phone the first time. If he doesn’t pick up, we’ll figure something out.” 

TK took a deep breath and nodded, tapping at his phone again and lifting it back up to his ear. Carlos watched anxiously as it rang, heart sinking when the voicemail picked up again. TK met his eyes and Carlos hated that they were so full of fear. 

“Okay,” he said evenly, “we can go over there, just to make sure everything’s okay.” 

“But your parents…” 

“Will understand,” Carlos said firmly. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure everything’s fine. It’s probably just a simple mix up.” 

Before TK could respond the phone in his hand began to vibrate. He barely gave the screen a glance before he answered it, speaking quickly into the phone, “Dad? Are you okay?” 

“Of course I am, sorry I missed your calls. I just got tied up while running errands, I’m on my way now. I’ll see you all in a few minutes.” 

TK hung up the phone and looked at Carlos, who gave him a smile, “See,” he tried, “he’s fine.”

“Is he though?” 

“What,” Carlos asked, “you think he’s lying?” 

“You don’t?” 

Carlo had to concede that it all did sound fairly suspicious, but there was no point in dwelling on it now. “He’s on his way here and we can figure it out then,” he said instead. “It’s going to be fine.”

TK took another deep breath, chasing away the last remnants of panic before he nodded, squeezing Carlos’s hand. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, “and we should really get back to your parents, we’re being rude.” 

Before Carlos could so much as protest, TK was crossing the room and sliding back into his seat at the table, a wide and bright grin plastered on his face; masking the anxiety Carlos knew was still roiling through him. He followed suit and the easy conversation flowed between them - TK as it’s eager facilitator - until there was a knock on their front door a few minutes later, as promised. 

Carlos watched as TK crossed to the front door, opening it to reveal his father, holding a bag of limes triumphantly. 

“I hope this means Margaritas,” he said jovially, his bravado never wavering under TK’s analytical gaze. He offered no explanation for his prolonged absence and after a moment, TK seemed to accept the inevitable as he stepped aside to let his dad in. 

He gave no indication that he was anything less than perfectly content as he facilitated the introductions, but when Carlos caught his eyes out of the gaze of the others he shook his head and Carlos understood: he wasn’t letting it go, but he would wait. He was almost certain his boyfriend had zero intention on letting his father leave their home tonight without answers. 

So he followed suit, squeezing TK’s arm in silent support as they passed in the kitchen; following along as he made conversation. Despite the tension it was still an enjoyable night and Carlos was still marveling at how easy this all felt. It felt as if it should have always been. This was further reinforced as his mother insisted on joining him in the kitchen to put the final touches on dinner. 

As they stood side by side, transferring the food from the pans to platters she leaned into his space, placing a hand on his wrist and squeezing it gently. “I like him Carlitos,” she whispered, eyes on the group at the table, TK laughing at something Gabriel had said. Carlos followed her gaze and could help but smile wider when TK met his eyes. 

“I like him too, Mami,” he agreed, “an awful lot.” 

She smiled at him, eyes moist as he patted his wrist again, “I’m so happy for you, mijo. All I’ve ever wanted for you was to find someone to love you as much as you love them.”

Carlos turned to his mom, meeting her eyes for a moment and seeing the moisture in them. He gave her a smile and set down the dish he was holding, placing a hand on top of the one resting on his wrist. 

“Me too,” he agreed, “and I did.” 

---------

Eventually, they parted ways for the evening. 

The Reyes left first: Andrea with a kiss for both the boys and Gabriel with a hug for his son and a handshake for TK. Carlos saw them to a door and with a wave in Owen’s direction, they were gone. 

Carlos shut the door behind them and silence fell over the living area as TK looked to his father. He tried for a smile, but TK didn’t return it. 

“Are you going to tell me what you were really doing? What actually happened?” he asked instead, and Owen froze. TK could feel Carlos coming up behind him, silently offering support but he didn’t pull his gaze from his Dad’s face. The silence stretched on and eventually, TK shook his head. 

“Thanks for bringing the limes, I guess,” he muttered, turning away. 

“TK…” 

“What, Dad?” TK asked, his tone exhausted. “Are you finally going to tell me what’s going on? Are you finally going to listen? Because if not, I don’t think there is anything more to say.” 

He turned and walked to the door, feeling both Carlos’s and his dad’s eyes on him the entire way. He opened it and turned back, eyes seeking his father once more.

“I think you should leave, dad.” 

“Son,” Owen began again, walking towards him. 

“You’ve made it painfully clear that what I think isn’t important. I just want you to be safe, to do what is best for you but it’s like talking to a brick wall!” he exclaimed, causing Owen to freeze and Carlos to step closer. He closed his eyes and took a breath - yelling wasn’t going to help anyone. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself,” he said instead. “But I want to help you, dad. I just want you to be safe.”

“This is about something bigger than you or me, TK,” Owen said instead and TK had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. 

“It always is, isn’t?” 

He watched as his dad’s expression faltered. Then he shook his head and walked towards the door, pausing next to TK. He glanced at him and for a moment looked like he had something to say. TK waited but a moment later Owen shook his head and stepped out their front door into the night. He took one step down the path before pausing and turning back. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow” he said, and TK wasn’t sure if it was more a promise or a question.  

“I guess that depends on what you have to say.” 

With that TK shut the door, pressing his forehead against it and closing his eyes. He stayed like that for several moments, until he felt the warm weight of hands on his shoulders, rubbing soothing patterns against his skin. 

He opened his eyes and turned so he was facing Carlos, who was studying him with concern. 

“I’m okay,” he told him softly. “He’s just…” 

“Frustrating? Stubborn?” Carlos offered. 

“Infuriating,” TK concluded with a groan and a shake of his head. 

Carlos hummed sympathetically, “But he’s also your dad, and I know how much you love him and care about him.” 

“I do,” TK agreed, “which makes this even more frustrating.” 

They were quiet again as they each considered the implications of the last few minutes before TK flopped forward with a groan, burying his face in Carlos’s chest. “I’m sorry he ruined dinner with your parents,” he muttered into the material of his boyfriend’s sweater. “I know how important this was to you.” 

Carlos laughed lightly and wrapped his arms around TK, “He didn’t ruin anything.” 

TK pulled his face from Carlos’s chest to give him a dubious look and Carlos continued, “Yeah, maybe he could do with a second impression,” he conceded, “but he didn’t ruin anything. They came and we all had dinner together. My parents and the man I love all ate dinner together in our dining room, and it was fine. Better than fine actually: they really like you.” 

“You think so?” TK asked, unable to keep the uncertainty from his voice. 

“I know so,” Carlos confirmed. He grinned at TK for a moment before his expression shifted and he reached out a hand to caress TK’s face.

“I never thought I’d be able to have this,” he admitted. “For so long I figured it was either my family or whoever I decided to date, never both. But,” he added, a smile spreading across his face, “someone very smart told me that nothing ever stays the same. Turns out, they were right.” 

“This person was very smart, you say?” TK asked, a grin breaking through the cloud of emotions. 

“And handsome,” Carlos added. “and kind and a terrible cook, but I won’t hold that against him.” 

“I think their cooking skills have likely improved,” TK quipped, playing along. “But you better be careful Reyes, they sound like they might just be a keeper.”

“They are,” Carlos agreed, “and I intend to, for as long as they want.” 

“I can’t speak for this mystery man,” TK replied, “but I think the answer to that might be the same. I don’t think he has any desire to go anywhere else either. I think you might be stuck with him for a long time.” 

“That’s good,” Carlos agreed, leaning forward to press a soft and gentle kiss to TK’s lips, “because my parents kind of like him; I think my mom would be upset with me if I let him slip away.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” 

Carlos hummed, pulling back just enough to see TK’s face; to memorize this moment of all of his childhood fears being proven wrong. It had happened in small bits each, a little at a time, but this moment — a kiss shared in their living room after dinner with his parents — seemed to be the culmination. He never wanted to forget it. “No,” he agreed, a smile on his face as he ran a thumb over TK’s cheek, “we can’t.” 

[tanyawritesstories]

Slip Up | Hardcase x Reader

I'm going on vacation soon so here's a fic before I go. I've still got zero motivation and ideas, that's why I have not put out a fic in so long, I'm sorry to everyone. I hope you enjoy this one 😊

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, shower sex, biting, accidental creampie, no birth control, fluff, playful banter, mischief, Kix knows too much

•••

You knew you should probably get the bedroom decorated like you planned but you were afraid to leave the kitchen with food on the stove. You were still a rookie at cooking and given that you were making Hardcase's favorite, so it would be ready when he came home, made you not want to take your eyes off of it.

He had been on the front for a month, and you wanted him to return to a nice dinner and some much needed relaxation. You had pulled out all the stops for your favorite trooper and boyfriend. You spent your last paycheck on new silk sheets you thought he'd like and some comfy civvie clothes for him to wear around your apartment. Going a little over your normal budget buying the ingredients for his favorite meal, that you were desperately trying not to fuck up.

You didn’t have an exact time that he would arrive but you knew it was sometime tonight. He had commed you earlier and told you he was coming home. He then proceeded to send you messages every time something interesting happened. He had sent you around 36 of them. Telling you when they went into hyperspace, what he had to eat, approximately how long they had before they reached Coruscant air space, and giving you every detail of the arm wrestling competition that Jesse had started. You missed him.

During your momentary lapse in concentration, you had failed to notice that the food had started simmering a little too much. You realized it just in time to sweep the pan off the burner and save it from utter destruction. You finished the dish without any further mishaps and set it in the oven on a low temperature to keep warm. Only then were you able to relax and get to setting up the bedroom the way you pictured it in your mind.

You put the new sheets on the bed and dimmed the lights to a warm hue. You also lit a small scented candle to complete the atmosphere. You had turned up the heating device so your apartment was a tad warmer than usual. Hardcase always complained about how cold it was in space and he preferred your apartment warmer.

You had just finished setting the table when you heard the door open. You turned and saw your boyfriend toss his helmet and backpack to the ground before running towards you. He picked you up and spun you around, huge smiles on both of your faces. He pulled you into a tight embrace once he set you back down and you did your best to hug back just as tight. You pressed kisses to his entire face before kissing him hard on the lips. You finally parted, panting and happy to be in each other's presence once again.

"I missed you," you breathed. He laughed, "I missed you too, doll. More than you know."

"I think the 39 messages you sent me are a good indication," you laughed back. Hardcase kissed you again and you held each other until you were both content to let go. "It smells good in here, are you cooking something?" He asked. "Your favorite," you beamed at him, watching the joy spread across his face. "Please tell me it's done already, I don't know how long I'll be able to wait knowing that you're making my favorite." You nodded, "It's in the oven staying warm. Go sit down and I'll bring it out." That was probably one of the only times Hardcase would willingly let you out of his arms.

You journeyed to the kitchen carefully retrieving the dish and bringing it out to the table. Hardcase was fidgeting in his seat, like he always did when he was excited. He had gotten a slight handle on it since you started dating but ultimately it wasn't something he could get rid of, and you didn't want him to. You loved how energetic he was, how even little things like his favorite food could make him so happy he couldn't sit still. It was goddamn adorable and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

You served him first, far be it from you to keep him waiting, before helping yourself. You watched him take his first few bites and literally moan at how it tasted. "It's s'good," he said with his mouth full. You chuckled at him and watched as he shoveled more food into his mouth. He was happy and so you let his iffy manners slide. "Kriffin' fantastic," he mumbled between bites.

By the time you were both done he had eaten about three quarters of it and was finally full. "Thank you for making that, babe. It was delicious," he said, patting his belly at the same time. "You're welcome, my love." You stood up and started gathering the dishes when he jumped out of his seat and all but yanked them from your hands.

"Nah, I'll do the dishes. You made dinner, it's only fair that I clean up," he insisted. "Babe, you just got back, you should be relaxing, not working. I'll do them," you replied. "Nuh uh, you're not doing the dishes," he said walking into the kitchen. You laughed and followed him, "I will do them, you need to relax. I bought you some fancy soap, go take a nice hot shower while I do this," you said while reaching for the dishes. He pulled them away from your hands. "No," he said, a teasing and childish tone in his voice, "I'm gonna do it."

"Babe," you whined, "let me do something nice for you." Hardcase set the dishes in the sink and shielded them from your grabby hands. "You already did something nice for me, let me do this. Don't make me tickle you," he threatened with a smile. You made a dramatic gasping sound, teasing him back, "you wouldn't dare."

"How about," he turned the sink on and put the plug in the drain, "We let the dishes soak and you and I shower together?" You thought for a second before dragging your arms around his neck. "That sounds delightful." He pecked your lips and turned you around in the direction of the refresher. He lightly smacked your ass when he thought you weren't moving fast enough and you giggled. You gifted him the new casual clothes you had bought him and set them on the vanity, along with some comfy clothes for yourself.

Hardcase got in the shower first, adjusting the temperature until it was perfect before beckoning you in. You stripped and joined him, hugging him from behind once you got in. You hummed happily, pressing your lips to the bruises and scars on his back. He turned around in your arms and held you back, kissing the top of your head. You stayed still, holding each other under the warm cascading water. Just enjoying the feeling of one another’s skin and comfort.

But with Hardcase, there wasn’t peace and quiet for very long. He tilted your chin up and kissed you passionately, you snaked your arms around his neck and pressed yourself impossibly closer to him. He moved his hands down to your ass and began kneading and squeezing it. Hardcase was definitely an ass man and he loved to play with yours. A few moments later you felt his hard length poke at your thigh. You pulled away and smiled at him, biting your lip. “Someone’s eager.”

“Can you blame him? If you were seeing what I’m seeing right now, you would understand,” he chuckled. Hardcase brought his lips back to yours as he hoisted you up and pressed you against the shower wall. His lips journeyed down to the side of your neck and began leaving bruise-worthy bites and suction marks. You had wrapped your legs around his waist to keep yourself up and now slowly began moving your hips to grind against him, small gasps and whines leaving your swollen lips.

Hardcase groaned into your neck and his tongue traveled across your collarbone, licking up the water droplets that had stopped there. He paused for a second to take in the feeling of your warm, wet folds sliding deliciously across his cock. “Are you wet enough to take me, sugar? Don’t know if I can wait any longer,” he sighed out. You took one of his hands and spit into his palm before directing it down to your cunt. He slathered it all around your hole and slid two fingers easily inside, scissoring you just to be sure. He removed his fingers and licked them clean, afterwards lining himself up and thrusting all the way inside.

You let out a noise that was a mix between a moan and a scream as Hardcase immediately set a brutal pace. “Fuck, sugar, you feel fuckin’ amazing,” he growled into your neck. You dug your nails into his back and moved your hips in time with his fast paced thrusts. Hardcase had you at the precipice of an orgasm in what felt like seconds, he knew just how to work your body into submission. You nearly screamed when he hit that special spot inside you that made your vision blurry and your toes curl up.

“Oh, ‘Case baby, I’m gonna cum, fuck!” You squealed, unable to hold back any longer. Your high crashed over you hard, your walls clenching around your boyfriend’s dick. It took every ounce of restraint Hardcase had in him not to come with you and to just stay seated inside until you came down from bliss. He pulled out and shut off the water, setting you down on wobbly legs. “Sorry, babe. I wanna continue this on the bed, that ok? Wanna lay you down and make love to you properly.”

“Ever the gentlemen,” you smiled, you brought him into a heated kiss and exited the shower. “Hurry up,” you whispered as you brushed by him, spanking his ass on the way.

You quickly dried off and abandoned the clothes you had got out, instead laying down in the center of the bed. The new sheets you had put on felt lovely against your skin and you had the passing thought that maybe you should have bought some lingerie too. However you quickly dismissed the thought, knowing that Hardcase would just rip it off anyways.

You didn’t have to wait long, Hardcase sauntered out of the refresher, a hand lazily stroking his cock. You took in the impressive sight of him standing at the end of your bed, tall and muscular, the blue lines weaving intricate patterns across his chest. He was gorgeous. You could feel your body heat back up and your juices leak out of you.

“Kriffin’ hells, you are something to behold, sweetness,” he said. You smiled temptingly and beckoned him forward. He got on his hands and knees and crawled up till he was hovering above you. “Hello trooper,” you said cheekily, “Care to show a lady a good time?” Your question was silently answered when Hardcase circled his fingers around your clit. You gasped and grabbed onto the sheets in a death grip. Hardcase moved his head down to your breasts and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Your other hand flew to the back of his head, urging him to keep going.

He once again slid two fingers into you up to his knuckles and began pumping them, his thumb now giving your bundle of nerves the attention it needed. The only noises spewing from your mouth were gasps and moans of varying volume, with his name mixed in. Hardcase turned his attention to your other breast, licking over your nipple before sucking that one into his mouth and giving it the same treatment as the other.

You were aware he hadn’t cum yet and was probably hard as a rock from all the stimulation without any release. “Hardcase, I need you inside me, now.” He released your nipple with a lewd pop and kissed you, bringing his tongue into your mouth. “Anything for you, babe,” he said. He reluctantly took away his fingers, this time bringing them to your mouth and you sucked generously on them. He lined up and slid inside slower this time, relishing the way your walls fluttered around his cock. He let out a guttural groan and tried not to move right away, but his erection was almost painful and he wanted to cum badly.

“I know you need to cum, baby,” You said, taking his face in your hands, “Fuck me as hard as you want, you deserve to be greedy.” You could swear you heard a whine come from his throat as you watched his eyes darken as he was given permission to ruin you. Hardcase pulled out almost all the way before he slammed back in, causing you to yelp. He stilled for a second, thinking he had hurt you until you assured him that he didn’t and you would tell him if it became too much. After that, he was gone. He gave in to his impulses and set an energetic and bruising pace.

“Holy maker do you feel good, squeezin’ me so tight even when I’m goin’ so fast,” he praised. You moaned out his name and clawed at his back, definitely leaving scratch marks. Your actions caused Hardcase to growl in your ear, sending you hurling towards your next orgasm. “Hardcase, I’m close,” you warned through a moan. “Me too, baby, me too,” he sighed, locking eyes onto yours, “Where do you want it?” “My mouth,” you answered, sticking your tongue out. He closed his lips over your tongue and playfully nibbled it. He moved one hand down to your clit and furiously rubbed, his actions sending you over the edge and he released your lips to hear you scream his name. Your nails dug into his back once more and your back arched off the bed, your silky walls clenched around Hardcase so tight he couldn’t contain himself. He thrusted a few more times and stilled as he shot his hot seed deep into your pussy. You were so blissed out you didn’t even register that he came inside you. Hardcase rested his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily, it was several minutes before you both settled down. Only then did the realization hit you.

“Hardcase?” He hummed in response. “Did you just cum inside me?” You felt his eyelashes skim across the skin of your neck as his eyes opened wide in horror. He sat up quickly and pulled out of you, seeing his cum slowly dripping out of you. “Aw shit, I did,” he said, running his hands down his face, “I’m sorry, baby.” You hid your face in your hands and groaned desperately, “What are we going to do? I’m not on birth control!” His hands ran up and down your arms soothingly. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you some.” “How? I need to take it as soon as possible and I have no idea where to get any,” you sighed.

Hardcase thought for a minute. “Hey, I have an idea. I’m taking you to the barracks.” You looked confused, “The barracks? Why?” Hardcase climbed out of the bed and set about getting dressed in his blacks, tossing you some clothes in the process. “Kix has some of every medication in existence in his medbay. I can keep the boys occupied while you sneak in and rummage around for some.” You donned the clothes, looking concerned, “Babe, isn’t that stealing from the Republic?” Hardcase paused and appeared to be thinking. "Technically no because we are using them to provide civilian aid," he finally said. You sighed.

"Just make sure I don't get caught."

~~~~

You looked through the numerous boxes with various medication names on the front. You still hadn't found any birth control, or anything remotely like it. Hardcase was keeping his brothers distracted while you searched through Kix's supplies. You felt bad raiding it like this and tried to put everything back the way you found it. It was taking a while and you hoped Hardcase had the situation under control out there.

You were so deep into your search you didn't hear the door open.

"Y/N?"

You stood up as fast as you could, kicking the drawer you were looking through closed with your foot. You plastered a fake smile on your face and leaned against the desk. Kix stood just inside the door, a very suspicious look on his face. "What are you doing in here?"

"Umm, nothing just.. organizing." That was the worst excuse you could have possibly come up with. The medic raised an eyebrow suspiciously. There was no way he believed you. "Were you looking for something?" He prodded, beginning to walk towards you. "Mm, yes! I think I left something here last time.."

"You never came by the medbay when you were here last," Kix concluded. You looked to the ceiling, desperately trying to come up with something. "What's that?"

Your gaze swiftly returned to Kix as he walked to stand next to you. "What?" He turned your head to the side and appeared to be looking at something on your neck. His inspection was followed with a sigh as he turned your head to meet his eyes.

"Did Hardcase accidently cum inside you again?"

Your eyes widened in horror and you smacked Kix on his armored shoulder, which hurt you more than him. "Kix!" The man shrugged like it was no big deal. "What? He mentions it sometimes, not my fault he can't keep his mouth shut, he likes to brag about you." A small smile found its way to your face and you heard Kix sigh again.

"I saw the marks on his neck and figured you two had been at it again, so I snuck away and grabbed these," Kix explained, holding out a pill bottle, "I was going to bring them to him to give to you when I heard noises coming from the medbay and decided to check it out."

You had been looking at the floor in embarrassment until he mentioned the pills. "You went to get them specially for me?" You asked hesitantly. Kix nodded with a smirk, "How else do you think he got them for you all the other times?"

A smile broke out on your face and you hugged Kix, murmuring a thank you into his shoulder. He patted your back. "I would ask for a favor in return, but I don't think Hardcase would like sharing," he said with a smug grin. You gave him a strange look and he shrugged it off, handing you the bottle of pills.

"Take 'em, the last thing we need is miniature Hardcase's running around. One is bad enough."

[satendou]

⟼  roundabout

 next: full circle | ½

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: osamu/reader

⇢ au: aged up!au

⇢ summary:  osamu leaves you and learns the hard way how much you meant to him

⇥  masterlist

⇢ warnings: angst, breakups, cheating

⇢ word count: 5794

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: :)

“You’re telling me,” you said, leaning back against the counter as you stared at Osamu, “that you’re breaking up with me so you can get back with your ex? That’s the gist of this right?”

He looked off to the side, crossing his arms in front of him before nodding. Coward.

From the outside, anyone would think this was just another casual conversation. Dinner simmered on the stove beside you, the smell soured in the wake of his words.

“Look, ’m sorry. I didn’t mean--” he started, still inspecting the floor as if he were expecting it to offer support as he broke your heart, but you snorted, stopping him.

“You know, I don’t really think I wanna hear this. I mean, you didn’t mean to hurt me? Is that it? Miya, you can’t break up with someone for your fucking ex and expect it not to hurt,” you said, and the amusement in your voice shook him.

His usually lazy brown eyes were wide as he watched you turn your back to him, stirring the food before it burnt. You weren’t reacting the way he had thought you would, but then he supposed he hadn’t known what to expect when he came in planning to break up with you. He was ashamed to admit a part of him had hoped for tears, with you begging him to stay. Annoying him would have made it made it so much easier to walk out the door.

But your quiet acceptance was a blow he hadn’t prepared for, and it made him feel even scummier for doing it to you.

And he deserved that.

“You can get your stuff out, if you’re ready,” you said, turning the burner off. Covering it with a lid, you moved the pan off the coils and pulled out your phone, checking the time. Your best friend should have been home by then, and you texted her to tell her that you would be coming by. “I’ll leave for a while. I don’t wanna see you when I get home, so make sure you’re gone.”

The tightness in your chest increased as you slid your shoes on. It had only been thirty minutes since you got home and now you were leaving again. You refused to cry in front of him-- he didn’t deserve that from you.

There was a petty voice inside of him, itching to pick a fight as you gathered up your wallet and keys, hand on the doorknob before turning back to him. His chest felt like it was on fire, hands balled into fists at his side as he stood in the living room watching you. The way you acted so callously made him wonder if you even cared.

“You can leave your key on the table,” you said, gesturing vaguely towards the coffee table. 

And then you were turning the doorknob and Osamu took a step forward, heart hammering as a question tumbled out of his mouth. It wasn’t a fair question and it was selfish, he knew that, but your coldness was killing him and he had to know.

“You don’t seem to care, _____. Did you even love me?”

Your laugh was cold and empty and the tears stung your eyes against your will, and when you turned back to look at him he finally saw the agony in your eyes. 

“Of course I did. Did you?”

And just like that the door closed on him, on you, and on your relationship.

You hadn’t heard from him since that, so why was his name lighting up the notifications on your phone? You pondered that question as you stirred your coffee, trying to ignore the sting of hope in your chest as you read his text. It was...strange, like he was dancing around something under the pretense of being polite.

‘Hey, I know you probably don’t wanna hear from me but Atsumu mentioned you got that promotion at work, so I just wanted to congratulate you. I know how hard you worked for it.’

It was stiff and polite, all proper grammar and punctuation, so unlike how he usually was-- or rather-- how he used to text you. You quirked a brow, wondering what he would care for anyway.

Screenshotting it, you sent it to Atsumu and to your best friend, both with a thinking emoji.

Atsumu responded with a shrug, but you knew he knew more than he was letting on. He was clearly trying to keep something from you, but you ignored the urge to pester him about it. You were still trying to heal from the breakup and getting involved in Osamu’s business would do nothing to help.

Miyu, on the other hand, sent several unfriendly emojis and a particularly violent meme, asking what the hell his problem was, and you smiled. Turning back to the window, you set your phone down on the table and sipped your drink, enjoying the cloudless summer day.

--

Osamu looked at his phone for the umpteenth time as he sat across from Kana, who was buried in her own phone while she giggled, before locking it and setting it down on the table. He turned to watch the people bustle up and down the street, trying to ignore the dashed hope sitting like a rock in his gut.

--

The next text came a few days later while you were lounging in the tub, waiting for Miyu and your other friend Hanaka to show up for a girl’s night. They had been a source of immeasurable comfort over the last few months and you were beyond grateful.

Your phone dinged and you picked it up, expecting to see an arrival text, but once again Osamu’s name flashed, causing you to frown.

It was an apology text this time, for his previous text, and you opened it to read it in full.

‘Hey, I’m sorry about the other day. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to message you. I’m the last person you want to hear from, and I know that, but you deserved that promotion. I hope you have a good night.’

Same stiff and formal text, and you pursed your lips before locking it again. You really should have just blocked his number but, even as your finger hovered over the button, you couldn’t bring yourself too. The irrational part of your brain liked that he was still thinking about you and the petty part just liked leaving him on read.

Later, when you were out of the tub and Hana was in the middle of painting your toenails, you brought it up, showing them the message.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hanaka snickered, carefully laying a french tip across your toe. 

Miyu, on the other hand, snorted, glaring at the text on your screen. “Serves him right. We all knew Kana was a terrible person. I bet she’s cheating on him now and that’s why he’s texting you again.”

That thought made you frown, and Hana spoke up as she set your foot down on the floor again. “It isn’t your fault, _____. He made his decision, he has to live with it. I guess you should just consider yourself lucky that he broke it off with you before he did anything with her. I’ll give him credit for that.”

Miyu blew on her nails, her tone softer as she said, “Yeah, but he’s still an idiot. But I know that look, _____. You should be careful. Is he gonna run back to you and then leave you again the minute Kana begs him to come back?”

You had been hovering over the keyboard in his messages, considering a reply, but her words struck a chord in you and instead you locked your phone, muting it and putting the messages-- and Osamu-- out of your mind for the rest of the night.

--

Osamu sighed as he watched Kana getting ready to go out. She wandered around the bedroom in a sequined dress and heels, her hair done up and makeup applied, just hunting for her wallet.

She let out a triumphant noise when she located it and turned to look at Osamu, giving him a coy smile. “Bye, ‘Samu. Love you, don’t wait up.”

He hadn’t been invited out that night, and he checked his phone again, discovering a text from Atsumu inviting him to dinner with the Jackals, and he grabbed his jacket with a sigh.

You had left him on read again that night.

--

At work a few weeks later, you received a text from Atsumu, asking if you had decided if you were going to go to a party they were throwing in celebration of several people getting signed onto the national volleyball team. It was that weekend and you had yet to decide, knowing that Osamu and Kana were going to be there.

Hana peered over your shoulder at the text and hummed. “I...kinda think you should go. You shouldn’t distance yourself from the rest of them because of him. They’re your friends too.”

She was right. Of course she was right. They had been supportive of you after the breakup as well, with Sakusa even texting you-- because Atsumu and Bokuto told him to, of course-- that he didn’t want you to “leave the friend group” because of Osamu.

You sucked your lip between your teeth, nibbling the skin as you thought about it. As if you hadn’t been doing that for days anyway, mulling over the pros and cons of going but never reaching a solid decision. Ultimately, you locked your phone after telling him you would have a decision by the end of the night. It was the best you could do, and Hana returned to her own desk shortly after that.

You were in the middle of eating dinner when you received your third text from Osamu and read it with a mouthful of noodles.

‘You shouldn’t distance yourself from the others because of me. I won’t bother you, so tell Atsumu yes. He’s driving me insane.’

You couldn’t help but snicker at that, knowing Atsumu was still pissed about what happened between the two of you. He had called you not long after Osamu told him what he had done, going on a tirade about how his brother was a piece of trash and he was there if you needed to talk.

He could hear that you had been crying and his heart went out to you, but you had told him you needed to go. It had been a while before you looked at him without flinching or hanging up the phone after only a minute, and you had apologized profusely for it. But he understood-- one of the troubles with being a twin was when one was a bastard, the other got in trouble for it too.

You hadn’t held it against them when they forgave Osamu, though Atsumu assured you it was only after cold-shouldering him for a month to let him know they were not happy. None of them ever liked Kana, and had even thanked you when you seemed to revive Osamu after she left him the first time.

None of them could have guessed he would pull something like that on you, though.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard before you finally replied with a simple thanks.

--

Osamu’s phone lit up and he glanced at it, his hands occupied with molding rice balls, and he almost dropped it back into the bowl when he actually saw your name on his phone.

It was only one word, but something in him eased when he saw it.

He smiled as the screen shut off again, then it fell as he remembered he was going to the party with Kana.

--

The evening of the party, you met up with Hanaka and Yuki outside the club. The team had gone to extremes, renting out a whole club for the party. The music was thumping when you got inside and with the lights down low, you could hardly make out anyone inside.

Yet somehow, Bokuto was still able to pick you out, calling your name loudly over the low beats and pushing his way through the crowd to pick you up in a strong hug. Hana and Miyu smacked his arms as he wrapped them up as well, then you were being led towards the open bar along the wall.

“I’m so glad you came, _____,” Atsumu yelled when he saw you with Bokuto. He was quick to pull you into a hug, kissing the top of your head. You could tell he had already been drinking and he was quick to fix up your favorite drinks, pushing them into your hands. “We’ve really missed you, you know?”

You had to yell to be heard over the music and gave it up after a few minutes, letting him and Bokuto guide you out onto the dancefloor. Pinned between Miyu and Hana, you let yourself get lost in the music and the sway of their bodies against yours. There were more people than you expected there and, when your drink ran out, you had to push your way through the crowd to get to the bar again.

The room was hot, the alcohol coursing through your body only serving to make you warmer. You passed Atsumu, who was wrapped around someone you had never met before. He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes.

As you made yourself a new drink, you casually looked around the club, taking in the familiar faces that you could actually make out. The flashing lights were wreaking havoc inside of your buzzed brain, everything taking on a fuzzy haze even when you tried to concentrate. 

Your heart fell from your chest down into your stomach when you caught sight of Osamu making his way towards the bar.

He was looking over his shoulder at something and froze when he turned back around, locking eyes with you. His lips parted and you could see the surprise evident on his face, his lazy eyes widening a little more as his steps quickened. 

Then he stopped. His whole demeanor changed, his eyes darkening as a frown marred his handsome features. You knew him well enough to recognize the guilt etched into his features, his shoulders hunching as he tried to sink in on himself. You gave him a little wave, your heart thumping in your chest.

In the weeks after the breakup, you had locked all the photos of him in a vault app and let Hanaka put the passcode on it to keep you out of it. When she asked why you didn’t just delete them, you expressed a hope that one day you would be able to look back on them without hurting, and you would know then that you were healed. She seemed to understand and her nails tapped the screen of your phone as she input a password.

Not seeing his face and not thinking about him had obviously dulled your memories because the sight of him felt like a punch to the gut. 

If you thought he was surprised before, it was nothing compared to how he looked when you actually waved at him. Your heart was pounding, blaming the alcohol on your reaction. If you expected him to take that as permission to approach, you weren’t sure if you were relieved or upset that he didn’t.

He hovered in the space between you, looking between you, the bar, and the crowd. Your anxiety eased the longer it remained between you, relief overwhelming the unwanted hope that bubbled in your stomach. Clearly he meant it when he said he wouldn’t bother you, and you gave him another small wave before disappearing into the crowd with your drink.

He watched you go with a forlorn expression, guilt eating at his insides all over again, but he was happy that you seemed well enough. You had acknowledged him, which was the last thing he had expected after the cold goodbye you left him with that night.

“Osamu,” a voice said from behind him, and he turned to look at Kana behind him. She was stunning as usual, her hand warm on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head in answer, glancing at where you had disappeared amidst the gyrating bodies. If Kana knew that you were here and that Osamu had seen you, she would get extremely pissy and jealous, which was the last thing he felt like dealing with. On top of that, he knew that Kana would go out of her way to find you. She was spiteful like that, even though you had done nothing to either one of them.

“Nothin’, babe. Just got a little dizzy. I’ll get yer drink, just go back to the table,” he said, pulling his arm from her grasp. If she noticed how cold he was, she said nothing about it as she returned to the group-- of her friends.

None of his friends had joined them and, since you were in the middle of them, he couldn’t either. As much as he wanted to be with them, he would keep his promise to you, keeping out of your way to let you have fun.

With one last glance around, he returned to his table to find Kana and most of the others gone. The ones that were left kept glancing from him to the dancefloor and whispering.

He sighed and picked up the drink, downing it on one long breath before falling back against the booth seat. Staring into his now empty glass, he wondered about all the choices he made up until then.

--

You woke up the next morning with a wicked hangover, the room still spinning even after several hours of sleep. Rolling over to pick up your phone, you found there were a dozen text messages from the others, the group chat blown up with praise from the party and complaints about their hangovers that morning, but that wasn’t what caught your attention.

There were a series of texts from Osamu and your eyebrows raised higher and higher as you read them, your heart hammering away in your chest.

‘i know i keep texting u nf i don’t jnoq wh y’ ‘u look e d goo tonogjt’ ‘it’s funny’ ‘i thin kksna is cheating on m e’ ‘not that u shuld care right’ ‘atymi thunks im an idipt anf he’s right’

‘i miss you’

The timestamps between the first five and the last one was almost an hour’s difference and you were just starting to process them when another text slid in. It was short, just one word, but it spoke volumes in the emptiness of your bedroom.

‘sorry’

You stared at it for a while longer, just processing everything you were feeling. There was a raging pain where your heart beat, threatening to come out of your chest every time it hit your ribs. You couldn’t think clearly, too many thoughts swirling, making your head throb in time with your heart. What had you done to deserve any of the things that had happened, were still happening to you?

You should’ve just blocked his stupid number because you wouldn’t be dealing with the confusing pain his drunken messages brought. A part of you wanted to believe him-- a part you considered stupid but were unable to ignore. The Osamu you had known, had loved-- still loved, much as you wanted to deny it-- seemed to come out in those texts, and that was a dangerous thing.

Groaning, you rolled over onto your back, reading over the texts again. You were balancing on a tightrope of emotions, dangerously close to giving into the desire to reply.

The typing bubbles showed up again, stopping and starting and stopping again for almost a minute. You held your breath, wondering what he was typing.

‘i’m sorry. i keep messaging you even though i told ya i’d leave ya alone. but i can’t help it. ik what i did was stupid and whta i’m doing now is even dumber but dammit’

You locked your phone even as the bubbles popped up again to roll out of bed, hearing it ping from amidst your blankets as you stumbled towards the bathroom. Your ears were ringing, your head was throbbing, and now your heart was pounding with nerves. You dug through your medicine cabinet for aspirin, listening to your phone go off for a third time.

You couldn’t handle it, whatever he was doing or trying to do, leaving your phone on your bed as you went to the kitchen. Starting up a pot of coffee, you hovered over the sink, sitting somewhere between throwing up and not. You startled yourself when a sob ripped from between your lips.

Sinking down to the floor, you leaned back against the cabinets, wrapping your arms around your knees as you cried. Your tears spilled over your arms and ran down your legs, your nose stuffing up and running. It was several long minutes before you finally quieted, the sound of the coffee pot beeping filling the silence that followed. Your ears were ringing again as the room spun, the nausea from earlier welling up tenfold with the increase in your headache, and you ran to the bathroom.

“Goddammit,” you muttered, your sinuses on fire. After rinsing your mouth out with water, you gulped down a second glass, staring at your disheveled appearance in the mirror. “What should I do?”

You were not about to get in between whatever was going on with Osamu and Kana, but the soft spot you still harbored for him was almost too loud to ignore. Digging your phone out from your sheets, you found 2 more texts from him.

‘i know i don’t deserve your forgiveness. i don’t know what to do’ ‘i don’t know what i want from this but please’

You groaned and unlocked your phone, holding your head in your hands as you stared at the screen. Tears stung your eyes again, your mouth dry as you typed your reply back and then called Hana.

‘I’m sorry, Osamu. I can’t help you.’

--

You still didn’t block him after that. The part of you that still cared was worried for him and you wanted him to be able to reach you if he actually needed you. After making Hana promise not to tell anyone else what he had said in his texts, you talked it out, explaining the myriad of feelings that were impossible to sort out. She praised you for being strong and not giving into him, remind you he had made the decision to leave you, not the other way around.

You had cried some more before then deleted the thread of messages again, unable to stand the temptation to look at them again. Things were, for lack of a better word, fine after that. You settled back into your post-Osamu routine, trying not to dwell on his pitiful messages or be reminded of him by mundane things. Atsumu didn’t mention anything new happening, so you assumed he was still with Kana.

A month after that fiasco, he hadn’t texted you again. Some nights you laid awake, staring at your ceiling, trying to ignore the hope that he would and the temptation to message him first. Whatever Kana was or wasn’t doing to him or behind his back wasn’t your problem or your concern, and you had to keep telling yourself that as you set your phone down on the nightstand that night.

Rolling over onto your side, you stared out the window through the small gap in the curtains, a small beam of moonlight filtering through and highlighting the empty side of the bed. If you closed your eyes, you could picture Osamu there, scrolling through his phone and laughing before showing you whatever it was. He always smelled so sweet and warm, like the confections he baked at his restaurant and you reached out to touch his pillow. It no longer smelled like him after so many months and a few tears fell, soaking into your own as you recalled how he would look at you. It was always filled with so much softness and warmth before he would pull you in close, resting his chin atop your head.

You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until there was a loud noise from somewhere in the apartment, causing you to jerk up into a sitting position, staring blearily at your door. Your eyes stung from your earlier crying, your skin still sticky from laying on your wet pillow. You rubbed at them while another round of knocking rang through the unit.

Suddenly nervous, you tiptoed down the hall towards your front door, pausing until a voice came amidst another flurry of knocking.

“_____, please, let me in. I--I need ya.”

It was Osamu, and the whole room spun in the dark as you stood staring at the door, unable to process the whole situation. Your pulse was thundering in your ears, your fingers and toes going numb as panic shot through you.

There was more knocking, gentler this time, and then a soft thump.

You stumbled towards the door and swung it open, causing Osamu-- who had apparently let his head fall to the door-- to pitch forward, stumbling into your apartment.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered, watching him catch himself from falling. He stood up straight and ran his hands through his hair, eyes wide and frantic in the soft light from the hallway.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know where else to go-- Kana confessed to cheatin’ finally and I left and just-- ended up here,” he said, falling to the couch. You turned on the light and stood there, uncomprehending.

“You could have gone to Atsumu’s or-- or Bokuto’s or-- literally anywhere else,” you said, still standing by the lightswitch.

Osamu groaned, raking his fingers through his hair again before lacing his fingers behind his head. His face was hidden in his arms, knuckles white with tension. “I know, I know but I-- I know it’s fucked up but I wanted to see you.”

The room fell into silence again, punctuated by Osamu’s heavy breathing while you lifted a hand to your mouth, staring first at him then down at your feet.

“Osamu, please, I can’t--” you whispered, and his head snapped up to look at you.

There was agony in his eyes as he tugged at his hair, standing up. You stepped backwards and met the wall as he advanced on you, hands raising as he came to stand in front of you, cupping your face. “I know, I know it isn’t fair. But I need ya to believe how much I missed ya. I made a mistake and I don’t know if I can ever make it up to ya. But you are the best thing that’s ever happened ta me, and I know that now. I should have known before, and ‘m sorry.” Tears were spilling down your cheeks as you stared up at him, lips parted as you sniffled, and he pressed on. “I’ve been thinking about ya everyday for months. Everything Kana did, I compared to you. How she dressed, how she cooked, how she talked, I couldn’t help it--”

“Then why did you leave? Why did you cheat on me with her, if you thought so highly of me?” you whispered. His thumbs rubbed at the tears, wiping them away slower than they were falling. You sounded so confused and hurt, shrinking in on yourself as he crowded you against the wall. He didn’t care if you kicked him out and told him to never bother you again, so long as he never had to see you like that again.

His throat closed up and he just stared, taking you in. Even crying, even hurting because of him, you were beautiful. Every time he thought of you, it was the image of you walking out of the door and his life, eyes cold and devoid of the love you had once looked at him with.

“Because I’m an idiot. I know I am, I knew it the instant I let ya walk out the door. But I was too stupid, too damn prideful ta ask ya to forgive me. And I’m a selfish bastard for asking ya now, but I can’t stop thinkin’ about ya,” he whispered, his hands sliding back into your hair. He tilted your head further back, eyes dipping down to your parted lips, but refrained from the intense urge to kiss you. He couldn’t, not until you said he could. “I’ll work everyday to make ya trust me again, I swear it, _____. I’ll prove to ya I love ya, just-- please*.”

“I--” you whispered, wrapping your hands around his wrists. Did you want to push him away or pull him closer? The two sides warred with each other, causing you to just stand there in confusion as you stared up at him. His rich brown eyes were glittering, and you searched for any sign of dishonesty in them, but all you found were tears. “I don’t know, ‘Samu. What happens if Kana comes back? If she says she wants you again? How can I trust that you won’t do this to me again*?”

He was already shaking his head, black locks flouncing with the movement, his hand tightening on your cheeks. Panic warred with hope in his chest as he moved impossibly closer, pressing his body to yours as he said, “I promise, I promise, I won’t. I’m done with ‘er. I told ya, I’ve not stopped thinkin’ about ya since I left. I thought-- I thought things would change once I settled down with ‘er but-- they didn’t. Even when things were...okay, it was always you. Maybe that’s why she cheated on me, I don’t know. It doesn’ matter ta me anymore, she can do what she wants. All I want is you.”

All your thoughts were swirling and colliding inside your head, overwhelmed by everything he was saying. Osamu was begging for your forgiveness, looking at you with such raw need and hurt that you couldn’t stop hope from blooming in your chest. But you tamped it down, not yet letting it take root. You couldn’t, wouldn’t let yourself fall victim to it yet, not when you were still so unsure.

Reading the indecision in the way you looked away from him, he whispered, “I know it’ll take time, and I’m willin’ to earn ya back, I swear I am. But if ya don’t want to, I’ll understand. I’ll walk out that door right now and never bother you again.”

“You mean it? If I tell you to get out, you’ll go?” you asked, watching the pain flare up in his eyes, washing the hope away. His shoulders slumped and he nodded, his hands slipping free of your hair. The way he backed away from you, looking so lost, caused your heart to thump and you stepped forward, closing the distance again. “Osamu, I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay, please. At least for tonight, I want--”

I want to be wrapped up in your arms tonight, I want you to love me the way you did before, I want you, you thought, finally letting that hope blossom in your heart. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe you would change your mind tomorrow, maybe he would change his mind tomorrow, but right then and there it didn’t matter.

Even if it’s only one last time.

He groaned and dragged you forward, crushing you to his chest and enveloping you in his arms. The familiar smell of confections filled your nose and your legs trembled as he dragged you down the hall to the bedroom while you clung to him, hiding your face in his shirt as your heart raced. If it was a mistake to let him stay, then you were willing to pay the price come the morning, but it felt right as he fell to the bed with you.

He pulled you to his chest, pressing your nose into the column of his throat as he hid his face in your hair. It remained silent between the two of you, the only sound in the room the creaking of the ceiling fan and your quiet breathing as you processed each other’s presence.

“Will you be here in the morning?” you whispered when it grew to be too much. “If-- If she* messages you, are you going to leave?”

Your heart skipped a beat when he pulled away and stared down at you. 

He took in your pale face in the faint moonlight, features pinched and drawn, eyes bright with fear. He rolled over onto his back and pulled you forward onto his chest, arm wrapping tight around your waist to keep you there. Into the dark, he whispered, “I know ya won’t believe me right now, but I’ll be here when ya wake up. I’ll go get my stuff from her place and go stay with ‘Tsumu while I figure out how I’m goin’ ta win ya back. I won’t let ya down again, _____.”

You continued to stare through the small gap in the curtains, listening to his heart beat erratically in your ear. You wanted to believe his words, wanted to believe you would wake up in his arms tomorrow morning, and hesitantly let yourself relax. It was a gamble, you knew that, in the same way you knew that if he was gone, you would fall apart all over again.

It was a stupid risk, but as your eyes closed, you let yourself believe in him, just one more time. 

He felt your breathing even out and carded his fingers through your hair as he stared up at the ceiling, holding your head to him as his heart filled with hope. He would prove he meant it, he would earn you back, and he would never, ever* put what he had with you at risk again. Rolling back onto his side, you tried to squirm away only to be pulled back into his arms. Unwilling to let you go, he chuckled when you grumbled before curling into him once more

He sighed as his eyes closed, soaking in the warmth and letting the familiar smell of you envelop him as he fell asleep. Tomorrow you might change your mind, so he would hold you close while he could and let himself hope before it was ripped away from him for the final time.

⇥  masterlist 

⇥  taglist: @sluttony​, @visaintes​, @yunhosblackgf​, @super-noya​, @byebyes-world​, @newfriendjen​, @atsunakaashi​

[marlahey]

under the same roof part three: all the time you need

a harry styles rpf part three of six written by annie and aj (marlahey and formerly harryonstage) ratings/warnings: disaster gays, endangered ovaries from dad!harry, women aggressively supporting women notes: enter the rest of harry’s family unit! in case anyone’s curious, annie tells sylvia to give her dad a kiss in vietnamese, to which he responds, good girl. before anyone comes for me, there will be plenty more opportunities for bed-sharing to come. side note: aj always pictured olivia coleman as officer warren.  masterlist | part one | part two | part four (21.12.20)

............................................... • saturday, 5th january 9:18 am • The second time you’re roused from sleep, sunlight illuminates Harry’s room. You lift your head, squinting, but more quickly you recognize where you are.

Harry is nowhere in sight, but a fresh glass of water is within reach on the nightstand, and a cardigan knitted with primary-colored patches lies folded at the foot of the bed. After slipping your arms through the loose sleeves, you take a few gulps of water and make sure to shut his bedroom door quietly on your way out. You hadn’t spent much time in the living room as per Officer Warren’s instructions to avoid the windows, but you can see into it from the hall. And since there’s still no sign of Harry, you take a minute to discreetly look around at the place he and his daughter call home. His flat is obviously larger than yours—he has two bedrooms versus one—but the morning light seems to stretch the space even further, like an open armed welcome. The atmosphere bustles with a little dose of chaos. Two brimming bookshelves span one wall of the living room, and plants line the windowsills. A half-sized Christmas tree stands off in the corner, wrapped in twinkly lights and strings of popcorn. A white fender guitar decorated with various stickers stands with a speaker beside the couch, and records tile the wall behind it: Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, The Stones, The Cars, Hello I’m Dolly.  There is ample evidence that a child lives here, too. The walls are dotted with drawings in watercolor, crayon, and sparkles. You can see pieces of Lego strewn out on the carpet; they must be from that towering box Harry had towed into the lift a week before Christmas. A small smile tugs at your lips as you follow the smell of espresso into the kitchen. You find Harry leaning against the counter looking contemplative, holding aloft a cup of coffee that he seems to have forgotten about. He’s wearing the same shirt he’d slept in, but thrown on a pair of joggers. You bid a quiet, “Good morning.” He inhales sharply as his head whips toward you, his drink sloshing over the edge of his mug slightly. “Jesus, sorry,” he laughs softly, shaking his head at himself. You watch as he wets a dishrag and cleans the small mess. “Not really used to company my age.” “Oh… Sorry.” “S’alright.” His voice is covered in sleep; it almost sounds like he has a cold. “Coffee?” You hum appreciatively. “Love some.” “Were you able to get some sleep?” he asks, pulling a mug from the cabinet. “Enough, yeah.” All you can think about is waking up locked in his embrace, on the still-dark cusp of sunrise. “Thank you for letting me, um…” “Course. Cream?” “That’s great, thanks.” Harry nods over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “It help at all?” How are you supposed to answer that? “The real bed?” he clarifies, like it is at all necessary.  You listen to the spoon clink rhythmically against the ceramic, and settle on “I think so,” as noncommittally as possible. “How did you sleep?” “Very well.” In passing you your mug, Harry catches your eyes for the first time today in a way that feels like not an accident. “More importantly, how are you feeling about everything else?” You shrug, eyes glued to the cream swirling in your coffee. “Better, a little.” “That’s good.” “What about you?” you ask. “You’ve kinda been through the wringer, yourself.” “I’m good, yeah.” Harry pushes up his glasses. “I was thinking—if you don’t mind—I’d like to come with you to the police department this morning.”  “No, no, Harry.” You wave away the offer. “Don’t worry about that.” “No, really. It might make more sense. I saw him in the hall last night, and I was with you in the lift. They might need to ask some questions of both of us.” You consider this a moment. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” “I don’t have to,” Harry counters. “I want to. I want you to, y’know… ” he trails off. “I want them to get this guy.” You blink at him. There’s a strange feeling in knowing that Harry has clearly thought about your wellbeing beyond the night that you’ve effectively been trapped in his flat. Regardless, it’s too early for a battle of wills, and he has a point. You slouch against the fridge. “Alright. Well… I still have India’s car so I can drive us,” you concede. A smile lights Harry’s face. Suddenly your stomach rumbles so powerfully and for so long that it interrupts the conversation. You cover a small, mortified laugh with both hands as Harry’s eyebrows raise. “Well,” he begins, exaggerated. “Let’s take care of that… You take the first turn in the bathroom, I’ll fix us some breakfast.” “You sure?” “Go ahead.” He grabs a skillet from the drying rack, turning on one of the burners. “Thank you, Harry.” “It’s no problem.” You wash your face with something you find above the sink and brush your teeth on auto-pilot before considering your bundle of clothes from the night before. Your cardigan lays at the top of the stack. Four of your fingers fit through the gaping hole in its collar, and dirt covers one of the sleeves. You hadn’t forgotten about the shape it was in last night, but you didn’t consider it a problem until now, as you hold it up in front of you by the shoulders, frowning. You try to tame your hair with a purple, sparkly brush to no avail, so you take a quick look around to see if Sylvia has any spare barrettes or pins. Thankfully there’s a single hair tie floating in the bottom of your purse. You shrug back into Harry’s patchwork sweater—oddly comforting in how fully it swallows your shoulders and hands—and slip back out to the kitchen, where Harry plates grilled tomatoes and bacon. “We’re about ready to eat.” Harry turns the stovetop down to a simmer as the toaster pops. “How do you take your eggs?” “Sunny side up, please.”  He salutes you with his spatula, attention already returned to the pan.  “Can I help with anything?” Harry nods to a drawer. “Yeah can you pass us a couple napkins from just there? I’ll be right back,” he rushes, already halfway out of the kitchen. You pull a few paper napkins from their packet as he returns with two chairs that you recognize from his small wicker table. “Blinds are open in the other room, thought it might be best if we just eat in here.” He sets the chairs apart, facing one another. “Now this is living,” you deadpan. Harry laughs lightly as he gestures for you to sit. The two of you get adjusted with your plates on your lap, and your knees almost bump in the small space. “This is great, Harry. Thank you.”  “I’d make you bubble and squeak, too, but we’re fresh out and Sylvia hates beans so we don’t keep them on hand. So technically...” Harry lowers his voice to a whisper. “S’not a full English fry up.” You can only smile around your mouthful, unexpectedly endeared. The rest of breakfast passes in silence. You shouldn’t have slept on an empty stomach; you’re ravenous from skipping a meal last night.  He looks up at you eventually, a touch more serious than before. “Shall we think about heading to the police station soon?”  You dab your mouth with your napkin and nod. Harry stands from his chair and reaches an open hand down to you for your plate. “No, no,” you nudge him away with your elbow. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”  “Let me deal with these. You’re a guest.” “I’m a captive.” “No you’re not! You’re—” He breaks off, hesitating a moment before plunging on with an amused slant to his lips. “You’re my sort-of friend.” Your assumption he hadn’t overheard that comment to your mother last night on the phone was clearly in vain. You press your lips together against any inadvertent reaction. Your head swivels toward him, eyes full of lighthearted reproach. “Look, just let me do the dishes to give myself the illusion that I’m not just a freeloader here. Besides, I’m already ready to go.” "Fine,” he caves disapprovingly. “I’ll get myself sorted and be out in a minute.” “Take your time.” While Harry is preoccupied, you finish slotting the clean plates from breakfast carefully into the drying rack and pull out your phone to message India. Hey, I have a lot to update you on but it’ll be much easier to explain in person. I still have your car and I need it for one thing this morning but I promise I’ll fill the tank ASAP. It’s about the guy that’s been following me. Just know that I’m safe and everything’s okay. I’ll call you when I can. Love you. Send. That’ll have to do for now. Harry returns in jeans and a sweater. It’s still strange to see him so dressed down. “Ready?” he asks. “Yeah. You mind if I wear this to the police station?” you ask, pinching the fabric of his cardigan. You feel the urge to explain yourself—the hole in your sweater, the grime—but Harry’s already shaking his head. “Not at all. Do you maybe want something a little less… loud? I don’t even wear that one out, myself, really.”  You consider the bright cacophony of color like it’s brand new to your eyes. Loud is right. “Yeah, that’s not a terrible idea.”  Harry’s lips twitch. “C’mon then. You’re welcome to pick anything you’d like.” Pick? You nod because you’re worried the surprise is painted on your face. “Okay.” Harry leads you to his bedroom again, and over to the large wooden wardrobe.  He pulls the double doors open and you cannot help yourself from gawking a little. You’re taken by all the exquisite patterns and intricate textures of the suits, but it’s oddly wistful to run your fingertips along all of them hung in a row. You smile privately, a bit removed. “What?” Harry laughs from behind you. “Nothing!” you reply, glancing over your shoulder before saying more softly, “I just recognize some of these.” “Oh, thought you were sizing them up. My mates all take the piss… They say my suits are eccentric.” He rolls his eyes, reciting the insult like he’s quoting their words verbatim. You turn back around to his closet. “I think they look nice—I think you look nice in them.” You take a step back and crane your neck to the shelf of folded sweaters above the hanging rod. The extensive array of muted wool and cotton is a bit overwhelming. You spot the planet sweater he’d worn the first time you saw Sylvia, the oversized yellow one that reminded you of Charlie Brown, the black one with half a red heart and the letters, NY in bold white text… It takes a minute of jogging your memory before you can recall him wearing something more plain. Harry doesn’t own a lot of plain. You still can’t quite reach the shelf up on your tiptoes, but Harry is at your side immediately. “The brown?” He tugs it from the stacks and passes it down. “Yeah, thanks.” You examine the camel colored fabric with tiny flecks of black thread, and run your hand along the smooth purl. “This should do.” You tug the sweater over your head; it’s boxy, your arms aren’t long enough to fit, and it isn’t doing any favors for your shoulders. You have to roll the sleeves up past your wrists before the outfit can half pass as something you purposely wore out of the house. You spin around to face him. “Does it look normal?” Harry’s jaw flexes as he gives you the up-down. You fiddle with one of the sleeves. “Yeah,” Harry says stiffly. “Looks normal.” It’s bizarre walking through the level six hallway; it’s identical to your own, but the last time you’d been here, everything down to the carpet and light fixtures had been tainted by your deafening fear. What’s more is that riding down in the lift with Harry feels entirely different now. You see it all from his perspective, and try to visualize what you look like to him most mornings, standing in the corner with your school bag and a book tucked beneath your arm. The lift picks up a few people on its way down, but by the time it reaches the garage, you and Harry are alone. You catch his eyes in the reflection of the doors a second before they open. He clears his throat. “I know it’s probably… we’ll be fine, but stay close, yeah?” You look up at him and nod. It’s easy to keep to your word. Harry guides you to walk in front of him the entire way as your eyes scan the shadows in between the rows of cars. You’re sure you will never be able to see this garage quite the same way. “It’s the old Volkswagen.” “I see it.” You’re so out of it that you almost try to get in on the passenger side. It’s the kind of slip up that Harry might have teased you about, but he’s quiet and looking around, too. You pull the jacket you’d left on the seat last night into your lap, the two of you strap in, and you cannot pull out into the street fast enough. The mustard yellow envelope in the back seat is an unwelcome passenger, visible in your rearview mirror.  Who else knew about these photos? How many are there that weren’t in your envelope? Are they online somewhere? Would they follow you to law school? Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as you grind your teeth. “Alright?” Harry asks. His voice brings you back down to earth. He’d asked you that question when you pricked your finger on the poppy in your jacket pocket. He’d asked you in his bed on the most terrifying night of your life. And he’s asking you now. You nod. “I will be.” • saturday, 5th january 10:42 am • In the parking lot behind Lavender Hill Police Station, you’ve killed the engine but remain in your seat. Part of you is still reluctant to have Harry come along; keeping your composure in front of the police feels hard enough without the prospect of him being there, too, but maybe that’s the one thing that will get you through this. “Sorry.” You shake your head, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been sitting motionless at the wheel. Harry’s gaze is unperturbed. He watches you push anxiously at the sleeves of his sweater. “Take all the time you need.” It’s the same phrase the initial officer who’d taken your statement all those weeks ago had used. It’s what Officer Warren had said to you on the phone last night, and you’re so tired of hearing it. You don’t want to have as much time as you need to feel calm or steady or normal again. You want your time back. You want to reclaim all those extra seconds spent checking over your shoulder, the minutes lost to changing your routes, and the hours spent staring up at the ceiling when you should have been asleep. Rationally, you know that there will be time to relearn how to walk down the street and feel at ease, and plan that trip to Brighton you and India have been talking about for months. There will be time with Harry that isn’t this… stuck in a cramped space, crushed by the weight of your own fear. You hate the way you felt with him in the lift this morning; you want that back most of all. “Faster we get in there,” you say—half to Harry, half to yourself, “the faster we’ll get to leave.” Harry nods. “C’mon then.” The heather grey of the building is no less intimidating than it was in October, but at least this time you don’t have to pull the heavy glass doors open on your own. Inside, you speak with the woman at reception, who gestures for you to sit in a small waiting area just beyond the desk. People in uniform bustle back and forth. Harry’s leg brushes against yours as you sit. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You have no sense of how long you sit waiting—this doesn’t feel like a place where it’s appropriate to play Solitaire on your phone. You can feel Harry looking at you periodically, but you don’t glance back until a woman with a familiar voice appears before you. She ushers you to follow with a quick, professional smile. Harry doesn’t quite offer the same, but you’re reassured anyway. “I’m Officer Warren.” She stops at a desk with an empty chair beside it. You take care to shake her hand firmly, introducing yourself with all the confidence you can scrap together. “Are you comfortable sitting here?” “Yes, this is fine.” If either Harry or Officer Warren notice your voice is an octave higher, neither of them make any sign. “Good.” She reaches past you to shake Harry’s hand too. “Harry.” “Nice to meet you both. We can also find a conference room, if you’d like somewhere more private, or if you’d both like to sit.” Harry speaks up when you don’t right away. “I’m fine standing.” He looks exactly as he had in the car—calm and willing to take your lead, so you sit before you can change your mind. Officer Warren smiles again, clearly trying to put you at ease. You wish it was more effective. “Right, well I won’t take up too much of your time. Since I took your statement last night, I’ve already got a copy of the transcript from our conversation over the phone, and you won’t need to go over all of that again.” Your shoulders cave a little in relief. Harry’s fingers hook gently over the top of your chair. “Okay.” “But,” she continues, “there is the matter of how to proceed. What we talked about regarding your flat still stands… it really isn’t safe for you to remain there, especially since the suspect seems to know which one is yours, and we still don’t have a clear idea of where he is now, or how he was able to access the car park in your building in the first place.” “So…” You shake your head, in either confusion or denial. “I can’t even go home?” “I’m afraid not, for the time being.” Her eyes are soft, regretful. “Not if he knows where you live. Not if there’s a chance he could get more photographs, or try to break in again.” Your stomach twists. “Were you able to figure out who he is?” You’re not even sure you want to know. Officer Warren’s mouth pinches apologetically. “Not yet. We have a couple technicians working on the security footage and the photos you’ve turned in, so hopefully we’ll be able to get something from them. The car he was driving had no plates. You haven’t seen any sign of him since we spoke last?” You shake your head, and she glances up at Harry as if to confirm. “Alright, that’s a good sign at least. He knows we’re watching, now. On the other hand, there’s a chance he’ll carry on, but be stealthier about it. Is it possible for you to physically stay inside, completely out of sight for let’s say, a week?” “I mean… where?” “Do you have somewhere else you can stay for the time being? With a friend?” You open your mouth, but the “Yes,” is not your own. You force yourself not to turn back to look at him; Harry’s fingers touch your shoulder again. “Yes, she does. She can stay with me. We live in the same building after all, so it’ll hardly be disruptive.” Officer Warren gives him a long look. You can’t tell if she approves or is displeased with him for speaking for you, but now that the initial shock has worn off, gratitude washes over you. Asking India to stay with her indefinitely would have been out of the question; there’s no way you’re endangering your best friend any more than you already have. You’d be putting her in a position where she couldn’t say no. She has four roommates. She doesn’t even know about the photos yet.  “That works,” you hear yourself say. This will only be for a few days, you reason—it’ll buy you just enough time to find your feet. By then, you can sort out a longer-term place to stay if the police still haven’t found the man. Officer Warren is speaking again, and it takes effort to actively refocus on the conversation. “The objective here is to make it seem as though you’re gone. On holiday. He’ll be keeping an eye on the building, no doubt, so he’ll notice if the car is gone, or your flat is empty. Is there any way you can take your classes remotely?” You find you can barely speak, so you just nod instead.  She leans in a little, her eyes finding yours more carefully. “I know it’s frightening, but you’ve been incredibly strong. This won’t be forever. In the meantime, we can send an officer back with you this afternoon so you can gather a few of your things.” You nod again. “Do you have any questions for me?” You force yourself to say, “No, thank you,” which Harry echoes. Officer Warren nods, almost perfunctorily, and stands. “If you wait here just a minute, I’ll introduce you to the officer who’ll take you back to your flat. You’ll be in an unmarked car, and we can arrange for yours to be retrieved.” “Thank you. I’ll call my friend now,” you say. “Maybe she can… I'll have to ask her to look after my cat. And it’s her car, anyway.” Officer Warren nods, apparently satisfied.  You shake her hand again, though your mind is stuck on this won’t be forever. As you rise from the chair, you feel the gentle pressure of Harry’s hand on the small of your back. When Officer Warren returns with another uniformed policeman, you don’t want to move, but your legs carry you anyway. Harry’s gaze finds the side of your face periodically like a lighthouse beam while you call India from the backseat of the police car. After reassuring her again that you’re fine, you gloss over the details of staying in Harry’s flat. You can tell even in her silence that she’s not going to let you off the hook that easily, so you start rambling about what to do with Chowder before she gets the chance to say something embarrassing while Harry is sitting right there. “Of course I’m taking Chowder,” she says before you get the chance to phrase the question. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll get in a cab right now. Do you need help packing up?” “Yeah sure, thank you. But what about your car?” “I’ll take the keys from you and get it after. Honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s gonna get stolen from the bloody police station.” It’s a stupid joke but you’re comforted a little anyway. “Okay.” “Be there soon. I love you.” “Love you too.” Harry glances over at you. “Everything okay?” “Yeah.” You smile a little and for the first time in ages, it doesn’t feel forced. “She’s gonna meet us at home and take Chowder for me.” “That’s great.” “I know,” you reply, a little distant. “Harry, thank you for coming with me… It was nice not to have to, y’know, do that alone.” “That’s alright.” His voice is equally gentle. “We’re gonna… They’re gonna find him. And they’re gonna fix this, and then everything’s gonna go back to normal.” You aren’t sure which of you he’s trying to reassure, but Harry meets your eyes and you nod. Back at your building, you meet up with India. “Think I might just pop home, if that’s alright,” Harry says, going in for the sixth-floor button on the keypad. “I told Annie a bit about what’s going on, but I owe her an update.” “Of course.” You look up at him in the reflection of the doors. “We’ll see you down there.” It’s your first time seeing the dent and scratches on the door to your flat in person. You shiver, turn the key, and push the door open.  “Chowder!” you shout as a flash of orange darts through your legs, meowing down the hall. The officer’s hand lands reflexively on his baton as your cat scares all three of you half to death. Once you manage to corral your cat back to your corner of the hallway, you struggle to keep him still in your arms. “Indy, his crate is under my bed—” “Hold off a minute, I’m going to do a quick walkthrough. I’m sure everything’s fine, but wait out here.” The officer leaves the door cracked open behind him. India offers a small, encouraging smile when you flinch at the sound of him announcing himself in your apartment. You stroke between Chowder’s ears; he is heavy and warm in your arms, and his fur sticks uncomfortably to the sweat on your palms. “All clear.” The officer reappears. “Let’s try to be quick about this.” India immediately ducks through the door following him, but you have to take a deep breath before stepping through the threshold. The place looks completely untouched. Had you been expecting company, perhaps you would have thought to clear the dishes from the sink or remove your laundry from the drying rack. After coercing an unusually talkative Chowder into his travel crate, you and India work as a team to stuff as much into your duffel bag as will fit. Shirts, bras, and pants hurtle past your head. “Indy, I’m staying at a neighbor’s for a few days—what on earth am I going to need this for?” You hold up the silk, strappy dress that just landed on your neatly-folded stacks, shooting her a disapproving look. “I’m just grabbing and throwing!” “Well just, y’know… let’s make sure we’re not speeding through this at the expense of packing with a little common sense.” “I’ve got this,” India says, waving down at the open duffel. “Go sort whatever toiletries you need, yeah?” Thankfully you’ve stayed overnight at her place enough times to warrant a travel case of essentials that lives under your bathroom sink. There’s makeup cluttered all over the counter. You stare at it a moment before rolling your eyes at yourself. “We should probably get going.” The officer’s voice from the other room startles you both as India zips up your duffel. “Are you two about ready?”  As you stick your head out of your bedroom, the officer is peeking through the blinds across the street. “Yes,” you reply. “We are.” Overnight bag and Chowder in tow, you clamber back onto the lift. “Did you get your toothbrush?” “Yes.” “Face wash?” “Yes.” “Pillow?” “Indy, you saw me putting it in—” “Towel?” “Yes.” “Phone charger?” “… Shit.” Ding. The officer steps out with you on the sixth floor as you thank him, and bid a quick goodbye once he reassures you to call if you need anything or, of course, if anything happens. India turns to face you next. “He’s this way.” You nod down the hall, and she leads. “It’s right at the end. The one with the wreath.” The doors of the lift close. You don’t want to think about the last time you’d been walking down this corridor and heard that sound from behind you. India moves aside holding Chowder’s crate by the handle, and the shopping bag full of his supplies as you step up to the welcome mat with your things. Harry swings open the door to his apartment after the second knock, immediately taking the duffel bag from off of your shoulder. “Oh, Harry, you don’t have to—” “I got it.” India elbows you in the ribs. Harry turns to carry your bag to Sylvia's room, and when you look behind at her, her eyebrows are raised above an animated smirk. “Don’t,” you whisper through gritted teeth. She raises a hand in defense as Harry returns before reaching out to accept his offered hand. “Hello, I’m India.” “Harry.”  “Pleasure.” He flashes her a warm smile. She nods appreciatively as they shake hands—at you, however, instead of Harry and your cheeks ignite. “Okay great. That’s settled then. Shall we—um… Indy?” You cut in, then turn to her, nodding to the door with I’m going to kill you in your eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Harry!” “Cheers, dear. You as well.” Harry’s attention returns to you for a moment. “I’ll just be…” He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. You step out into the hall with India. Chowder meows from the crate in her arms and she almost drops him. “What,” you hiss, “was that?”  She ignores your tone, then says your name like it’s a plea. “Call me if you need absolutely anything, or text me—no matter what time it is. I’ll drop everything and come straight to you.” “I’m sleeping two floors below where I usually do, Indy, I’m not dying.” “I know, I know… How’s a Skype dinner tomorrow night? I’ll order us a take away.” “Definitely.” You wish you could squeeze her in another tight hug, but Chowder’s crate impedes you. “Thank you.” “Love you, babe.” “Love you too.” She looks unsatisfied. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. Text me when we’re eating, okay?” You begin to walk backward into Harry’s apartment and blow her a kiss. “I will… Bye!” “Please don’t kill my cat!” You lean on the door frame, watching India’s silhouette shrink as she heads back down the hall to the lift with Chowder. You sigh and close the door, but as you turn around, your hand rushes to your chest in a gasp; Harry is standing just behind you, rubbing his face. “So I’ve just rung Annie while you were upstairs… ” He steps aside to give you a clear path through the hallway. “Oh?” “I’m sorry—they’re just coming,” he rushes, sounding a little panicked as you step into Sylvia's room. You set your phone and laptop down with the rest of your things. “They insisted ‘cause they’ve got a spare mattress, and I told them you needed a place to crash for a bit and also that you stayed here last night so… yeah. You don’t have to be here for that. When they come—oh, and they probably have Sylvia, too, if that’s… ” Harry trails off.” “Wait, I’m sorry.” You close your eyes and shake your head. “Annie? You mean—” “Sylvia’s mum, yeah, and um… her fiancé, AJ.” Harry tilts his head down, as if to gauge your reaction. “And they want to give… they have a spare mattress? But you already have a mattress.” “That’s what I said!” Harry gestures wildly. It must have been a lively phone call. “Oh, well that’s… awfully kind of them,” you begin, trying to keep up. “Would it be easier if I wasn’t—” “No.” He’s clearly surprised at his own volume as he cuts you off. Harry literally leans back, hesitating. “I mean… stay. They’d love to meet you. They’re my family and you’re…” His eyes flit back to yours and hang on. “You’re obviously gonna to be staying here a bit, and they drop by all the time so I jus’ don’t wanna overwhelm you, is all.” Suddenly, it’s your turn struggling to look at him. “Well, I—” “H, open the door! This is heavy!” a voice bellows from beyond the front door. Harry’s eyes shut momentarily. “Coming!” he calls. You stand there, in the doorway to Sylvia’s room, stunned at the pace with which this is all unfolding. Harry jogs to the door. You poke your head out as an explosion of noise disrupts what had before been so peaceful. A child’s high-pitched shriek rips through the flat, followed by a long, labored groan from Harry as Sylvia barrels into his arms and he crouches down to lift her. “How’s Daddy’s girl?” he greets. Sylvia simply continues screaming and tries to bend over backward out of his arms. “Hi, Harry.” A striking woman with jet-black hair waltzes in, carrying a large dish of food wrapped in tin foil, seemingly unphased. Harry shifts Sylvia to one arm, bending over to greet her in a side hug and quick kiss to the cheek. “Hi, love.” What appears to be a twin sized mattress with twig legs follows in suit, grunting softly. “Still heavy.” “Right, sorry.” Harry hands Sylvia off to who you assume is Annie as he hurries to take the mattress, revealing a second, much taller woman with sunglasses atop her blonde head of hair. She’s wearing red lipstick and bright suede pumps. “There we go,” she sighs. “I need a fag.” Harry almost takes out a light fixture as he hauls the bed. You press yourself up against the wall as he offers a quick, “S’cuse me,” and passes you to Sylvia's room. The two women look at you as simultaneous smiles light their faces. “Hi!” “Hello!” Sylvia waves at you, too. “Guess this one doesn’t need an introduction,” the dark-haired woman laughs, approaching with a hand extended. You notice that she’s the one wearing the ring. “I’m Annie.” “It’s great to meet you, Harry has spoken so highly of both of you.” You turn to the other woman after introducing yourself. “AJ.” One corner of her mouth quirks up. “It’s a pleasure.” “Thank you so much for the mattress, ” you begin, wringing your hands. “It seems like everyone’s done so much to help me in the past few days… It’s really meant a lot.” AJ tilts her head to look at you with a more meaningful gaze, and Annie steps forward to rest a hand on your forearm. “Harry hasn’t gone into a terrible amount of detail but… we’re so, awfully sorry for what’s happened to you.” She squeezes gently, her fingers in the crook of your elbow. The strange familiarity of the gesture disarms you. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, and with your family so far away—I just… we heard about what was going on, and that was it. We had to help.” You nod and suddenly have trouble swallowing. There’s just something different about discussing this with women. “Harry’s air mattress,” AJ chips in, sardonic, “belongs in an incinerator.” “Hey!” His voice comes muted from the open door of Sylvia’s bedroom. Now that you’ve seen the both of them together up close, you realize how wrong you were in thinking that Sylvia only took after her father. Annie’s features are evident in her daughter’s deep, brown eyes, her nose, and the high angles of her cheeks.  “Well,” Annie starts, raising her eyebrows at everyone, “we’re obviously feeding you.” You laugh in disbelief. “No you’re not!” “We are!” She smiles as she sets Sylvia down, who weaves through everyone’s legs to her bedroom. “And relax, it’s already cooked so there’s no use in turning it down.” AJ pulls you in for a side hug, which you were grossly unprepared for. “Thank… you.” In your bewilderment, it’s all you can manage to say as Annie removes the tin foil from a full pan’s helping of chicken and vegetables. “Isn’t this supposed to be tomorrow’s roast? The Sunday roast?” Harry appears in the kitchen with Sylvia on his hip. He frowns, poking his head over Annie’s shoulder as she preheats the oven. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies. They lock eyes. Something tender passes between them; part of you feels like you should look away. “Annie… ” Harry says, softer now. “You didn’t have to do all this.” She ignores him, setting the timer on the oven as AJ slides a small mountain of tupperware into the fridge. The kettle starts to scream. You hadn’t realized someone started tea. You’re not sure what to do besides stand by the sink and stare. AJ rushes over to fill four steaming mugs, portioning different amounts of cream and honey into each. She turns to the few stray dishes in the sink, beginning to wash. “AJ, stop tha—” “Harry, relax would you?” She whips his leg with a dish towel and he relents. “Why is she staying in my room?” Sylvia pipes up from Harry’s arms. He looks across the kitchen at you, and then down to her. “Well see, bug, Daddy’s got a friend who’s gonna stay here for a little while.” Harry points at you and twists so she has a better view. You wave your fingers at her, and Harry asks Sylvia if she can say your name, but she simply buries her face into his sweater. “Like a slumber party?” “Um—” Harry falters. “Sort of, but not quite.” “It’s a grown-up slumber party?” AJ chokes on her tea. The tips of Harry’s ears go crimson.  “Honey, it’s like when Auntie Kristen comes over to Mummy and Mum’s to stay on holiday,” Annie salvages. Harry’s shoulders visibly relax.  Sylvia tugs at the collar of Harry’s sweater. “How long?” she begs. Your heart falls. “‘M not sure, Vi.” Harry moves some hair from her face as she pouts, then kisses her forehead. “Not forever.” “This’ll be good for you, Harry. You need more friends.” Annie pinches Harry’s side before turning to you with a smirk. “Maybe you can finally start hanging out with people your own age.” You shrug to play along, pursing your lips against a smile. “I mean… ” “Harry doesn’t go out much.” Annie’s comedic whisper fills the room as she carries your tea over to you. “Neither do you!” Harry retorts, frowning playfully over his shoulder, attempting to smack her; she narrowly dodges. “Yeah, just the one time,” AJ deadpans, pointing between them and then nodding to Sylvia. “Jesus Christ,” Harry breathes before they break into laughter. You can’t help but join in. Sylvia’s head swings from parent to parent, smiling in oblivious delight. “Alright, alright,” Annie wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Just leave the roast in there until you’re ready to eat. We should get going soon.” “Have you got sheets that fit the bed?” Harry asks, bouncing Sylvia on his hip. “Right!” Annie’s eyes go wide. She turns to AJ, “Darling, you mind popping down to the car to get those?” “Since I already hauled up the mattress, am I allowed to play the gender card?” AJ throws eyes at Harry. “Hands are full,” he replies cheerfully. He holds one of Sylvia’s arms up to wave. “Fine,” she relents, plucking the keys from Annie’s back pocket. “Thank you!” Annie calls after her. AJ simply waves a hand behind her head. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while later!” AJ begins to walk faster. Harry shoots Annie a jokingly scandalized look with a hand covering his gaping mouth. She squints at him and rolls her eyes. He puts Sylvia down, whispering in her ear as he points to the miniature arts and crafts table in the living room.  Sylvia takes a seat on the colorful stool, her tiny features already pinched in concentration as she finds a crayon and begins to draw. Harry crouches at her side, watching her for a moment before kissing the top of her head. He breezes past you before you hear the bathroom door lock shut and now it’s just you and Annie alone together. “I love Harry, but he’s a man and he doesn’t know anything.” You shouldn’t laugh, but you do. “We live ten minutes away. If you need anything at all—anything, I mean it, please call us. Mine and AJ’s mobile numbers are both on the fridge.” “Thank you, Annie.” She hesitates, playing absently with the tag of her tea bag before nodding to the living room. “Let’s sit.” You have a seat on the couch; Annie takes the small leather armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Her eyes are warm. You see a flash of that expression that had passed between her and Harry. “He is a good man.” Annie’s voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “One of the best I’ve ever met… You’re in good hands, I promise.” There isn’t a chance for you to respond as the sound of the faucet running in the bathroom interrupts. Harry re-enters the living room, his eyes flitting between yours and Annie’s with a curious look on his face. “Am I interrupting something?” “Course not, lovely. We’re just waiting for AJ with the sheets,” Annie replies. She must be killer at poker. AJ slips through the door with a folded bundle of checkered sheets nearly covering her face. “Miss me?” She perches on the armrest of Annie’s chair upon returning from Syvia’s room, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. You are acutely aware of the warmth of Harry’s leg against yours, suddenly too nervous to shift and potentially draw attention to it. Though you try hard not to, you can practically see the silent conversation happening between the three other adults in the room; if you had to guess, it’s probably about you. You categorically refuse to look at Harry, so you’re left with AJ’s nearly imperceptible eyebrow-raising, and a curl of Annie’s lip that seems to be a question and a confirmation all at once. The three of them are a little… too quiet. “Well we should be off then,” she says, drawing her hands together in a clap. “Someone needs a bath tonight.”  Sylvia hurries over and locks her arms around Harry’s legs. He scoops her up like she weighs absolutely nothing. “C’mon now, angel,” he murmurs, glancing over his daughter’s head to look at you with a vaguely resigned expression. “Gonna see you tomorrow, aren’t I? Gotta be good for your mums.” Harry fixes Sylvia’s wobbling lower lip with a stern look. “Hey, now. What’s this about? S’not any different from Mummy’s normal turn with you, right? You know you’ve got too much love pumpkin, we gotta share ya.” Sylvia mumbles something too soft to make out; Harry ducks his head close. “Tell me?” You don’t catch all the words, except, “stars.” His face crumples a bit. “Oh honey, of course you’ll still have your bedtime stars. They’re not going anywhere. Nobody’s gonna take your stars.” “And that sounds like the beginning of a meltdown,” Annie says, standing quickly and pulling Sylvia from Harry’s arms. “Best be on our way before she tests all our eardrums.” Sylvia momentarily seems like she might reach back for him, but then she looks at you as though by accident, and shrinks back into her mother’s arms. Shame knots in your stomach as the two women head for the door. Sylvia peeks over Annie’s shoulder as AJ slings her purse over her arm with the car keys in hand. You busy yourself clearing the empty mugs of tea in some small attempt to give them privacy. “Come ‘round about six, yeah?” Annie says as AJ waves at you and disappears first out the door. Harry is sliding Sylvia’s arm through the second sleeve of her coat. His and Annie’s teamwork seems fluid and practiced. “Sounds good.” He tugs her tiny knit hat more securely over her curls. “Love you, bug.” “Hôn ba đi, Vi.”  You have no idea what Annie’s just said to Sylvia but Harry leans forward to receive his daughter’s kiss, placing an audible one on her forehead in return.  He says something else to Sylvia that’s not English. That deeply tender look in Annie’s face returns. Harry’s hand falls to her waist and she touches his jaw to place a quick peck at the corner of his mouth. “Call us if you need anything.” She turns back to you. “You too. Our numbers are—” “On the fridge,” you finish with a smile, waving. “Thank you, Annie.” Harry shuts the door behind them and the flat falls silent for the first time in what feels like ages. You hear him laugh once before he turns to you. “Sorry about that.” “No. Harry, I should be the one apologizing. Sylvia’s so upset, I feel awful.” Harry looks from you to the door and back again, shaking his head as he moves towards the kitchen. “Oh no, don’t worry about that. She was mostly tired, is all. Happens all the time.” He pauses before joking, “Sorry you had to hear my really terrible Vietnamese.” You watch as he begins to rifle through the cabinets. “What are you doing?” “I’m sure I left it in here somewhere—aha!” He holds an empty mason jar aloft before grabbing a sharpie and the magnetic pad of Hello Kitty sticky notes from the fridge door. Harry scrawls quickly, the cap of the pen between his teeth, before sticking a note on the glass and holding it up for you to read the big, block letters. APOLOGIES.

[putas-in-suffering]

Stir the Pot

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 18+ older

Warnings: Language, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, Domestic Miguel (he’s out here ready to steal your girl)

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: Miguel cooks for you and the act of service has an immediate effect on your libido. 

A/N: Here’s another treat for our sucias in celebration of our recent follower milestone! We have our favorite Cartel Daddy showing off his culinary skills and that romantic side we know he has. He’s sweet, soft, and ready to take care of his queen. The man has range and we like to show it. We hope you guys like it! Enjoy and share with your fellow sucias! Feedback is the preferred drug for our addiction and greatly appreciated. 💖💖

“What?”

You found herself smiling wider at the way your lover questioned you, his chocolate eyes pools of obliviousness. He looked adorable standing at the stove, wooden spoon in hand as he stirred the simmering sauce. You bit your lip, trying to control the fluttering of butterflies that had decided to take up residence in your stomach.

“What?” You threw back, trying for innocence but knew you had failed.

“You have that look in your eye.” Miguel noted, his attention back to the pots of pasta and thick red sauce.

You scoffed at his observation, swinging your legs from your seat atop the cool marble countertop. The aroma of garlic and basil permeated the kitchen, the bitter taste of red wine still on your lips. There was music playing from a speaker somewhere in the house, the outside breeze flowing gently through the open glass door off the back patio. It was a perfect night. Something you hadn’t realized you’d needed until now.

“What look?” You questioned, faux innocence dripping from your words.

“Like you’re thinking something...indecent.”

You laughed at his choice of word, but didn’t bother to deny it. He knew you well.

You popped a piece of garlic bread into your mouth as Miguel turned the burners off and walked towards you, the wooden spoon held carefully in his hand. He stepped between your legs and held the red-dipped end to your lips, wordlessly directing you to taste.

You dutifully did as he requested, carefully wrapping your lips around the spoon and warm sauce. The burst of flavors on your tongue made you hum in approval.

“S’good.” You remarked as you pulled away.

Miguel���s set the spoon on the counter, his other coming up to gently wipe away the drop of red at the corner of your lips. You smiled, widening your legs so that he could fit. His touch traveled the length of your thighs, shifting the hem of your sweater dress up as he went.

“You cook for all your lady friends?” You teased as your arms encircled his neck.

“Only the ones I wanna marry.” He retorted dryly as he grabbed your left hand and brought it to his lips, fingering the engagement ring that sat nestled on your finger.

“Lucky me.” You quipped, hovering over his bearded mouth. The wayward strands of gray in his hair made you swoon, the show of age an aphrodisiac.

“You have no idea.” He whispered, nibbling at your lips.

His hands continued their exploration of your lower half, diving in and out of the space between your thighs. You shivered at the feel, the moment quickly turning passionate.

Your mouths met seconds later, tongues clashing in an erotic display of love and lust. Your fingers threaded through his dark hair, ruffling the perfectly coiffed strands.

“Guards?” You asked once you broke apart from his insistent lips. His mouth moved over your neck and collarbone, showering the naked expanse of flesh with kisses.

“Sent them away earlier.” He mumbled into your neck, teeth scraping near your pulse point.

That was all the reassurance you needed to let him continue.

You moaned, edging your hips closer to his crotch in a silent plea. He caught the action and you felt him smirk against your flesh in response.

“Qué es, mi amor?” He teased, a long finger tracing the moistening crotch of your panties.

“I need you.” You breathlessly confessed, trying to urge his finger further. He wouldn’t budge.

“Need me to what?”

“Touch me.” You answered, gripping his wrist and pushing him closer to your throbbing core.

“No te preocupes. I’ll take care of you.” He soothed, lips tenderly kissing your temple and cheeks as he finally slipped passed the elastic of your panties. “I always do.”

“Mmmm,” You moaned in agreement of both his words and actions.

His finger slid along your soaked slit, teasingly dipping in and out of you. You dug your nails into the knit black sweater he wore, uncaring of the indentions you were sure to leave in his shoulders. He shallowly fucked you that way, his thumb finally joining the assault and ravaging your clit.

“You always get so wet for me. Don’t you, amor?” Miguel prompted, finger dancing in the wetness beyond your walls.

“Yes…”

He removed himself from your clutches, a pout forming on your lips as he did. You watched with hooded eyes as he brought his glistening finger up to his lips and sucked the digit clean, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“S’good.” He flashed a sexy grin as he threw your words back at you.

“Better be.” You challenged with a smirk, reaching for the buckle of his belt. He stood still as you worked your hand beneath the waistband of his slacks and briefs. Your flesh met his, hard and ready. You could practically feel the blood pulsing in your hand, your thighs quivering in anticipation.

You watched as Miguel’s jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down a groan.

“No, no,” You tutted, peppering his chin and lips with kisses. “Let me hear you, baby.”

His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs as your hand worked him over. You felt a dot of liquid against your palm as he began to lazily thrust into your hand. You smiled, a sense of pride warming you from the inside out.

You ran your thumb over the lubricated head of his cock, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth when he finally released a low growl.

“Dirty trick.” He accused, attaching his hands to your waist.

You yelped when he pulled you forward along the counter, his hands eagerly pushing your dress over your hips. You released him and lifted your ass so that he could remove your panties, barely getting the fabric down your legs before he was lining himself up with your entrance.

He slowly pushed in, his eyes watching your face closely as you took each inch. You stiffened when he bottomed out, his cock hitting the natural barrier within you. Your pussy gripped at him in excruciating pleasure, the sensation making you feel full beyond belief.

“Ohhhhh…” You moaned, burying your face into his cologne-scented neck. He was unmoving inside of you still, but it was enough. Perhaps even too much.

“Okay?” He asked, placing a kiss to the side of your face.

You nodded, legs wrapping around him as you shifted your hips, urging him to move. He took your cue and pulled out before plunging back in. The slickness of your walls eased his re-entry, the sound echoing around you.

Miguel’s grunts mixed with your gasps as he fucked you, his rhythm sensual and seductive. His mouth sucked at the tops of your heaving breasts while your eyes and head rolled back in bliss. His hand drifted to your clit, fueling the flames of desire that already held you captive.

“Right there.” You encouraged, trying in vain to get closer than humanly possible to him.

His hands were everywhere. From your heaving breasts to your supple thighs. He held you steady as he increased his pace and worked to send you over the edge.

“Cum for me, baby.” He demanded, the soothing lilt of his voice a contrast to the hungry thrusts of his hips.

You whimpered when he sped up the assault on your clit, forcing you to succumb. Your climax washed over you in a powerful surge of simultaneous darkness and bright light. You felt as if you were free floating as you anchored yourself to Miguel.

It took him only three more thrusts before he was joining you. The spasms of your pussy seduced him into oblivion, prompting him to paint your walls with his release. Through the fog you registered the warmth of him coating you, relishing the familiar yet thrilling sensation. You both gripped each other tightly as the coils released and your bodies gave themselves over to ecstasy.

Seconds passed and the only sound that could be heard was the exhausted breaths that poured from your lungs. Your foreheads met in a tender embrace as fatigue began to take over.

The growling of your stomach interrupted the romantic moment, making you both laugh.

“Hungry?” Miguel asked with a raised brow.

“You’re supposed to be feeding me.” You playfully accused, your arms encircling his neck once again.

“Oh, how careless of me...gotta keep mi reina happy, verdad?” He teased as he hovered over your lips.

“You do.” You insisted, giggling into the kiss when his fingers lightly tickled your sides.

Any thoughts of a formal sit down dinner were forgotten as you both ate from one heaping plate of spaghetti and shared a bottle of wine. You remained on the counter while Miguel stood between your legs, the both of you taking turns feeding the other.

It was nauseatingly sweet and domestic. But you’d have it no other way. Miguel wore the look of bliss far too well. And you wanted to indulge in this version of him for the rest of your lives. Pasta and all.

Sucia Tag List:

@marvelmaree

@visintaes

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@aquarius-smr-writing

@glimmerglittergirl

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@mayans-sauce

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@awildcur​

[lluvguts]

all better // reddie

pairing: teen!richie tozier / eddie kaspbrak

genre/warnings: fluff and angst, trauma, h/c

word count: 2111

summary:  Eddie has a bad day and Richie does his best to cheer him up.

check out my ao3

It’s just Richie’s front door.  

But no amount of convincing worked for Eddie’s mind as the sight of it warped into the small door in the sewer...With the grotesque face of the leper staring back at him. As he stared at the Tozier’s oak door he swore he saw a thick trickle of blood seep from the threshold and hear the sound of sickly, rasping breath from inside the hollow door. Just a few more moments and he’d be face to face with It..

It’s dark out, he told himself. That’s why I’m seeing things. But I’m here, Richie’s here. I’m safe. No need to be scared.

But that didn’t stop the nightmares that assailed him all night long—ever since they defeated It—keeping Eddie wide awake and strangled in worry for what could be lurking in the murky blackness outside. Eddie’s mother had caught on to his insomnia since the first week, making him take all sorts of supplements and medicine claiming to be a “sleep aid.” They did nothing to keep the images at bay. The noises. He only slept well on nights when Richie snuck over, or when Eddie drove to his house.

Richie could never know.

Eddie shook his head and knocked again. His eyes searched the window with its drawn curtains. I did tell him I’m coming, right?

But then the lock swung back and the door opened, showing the face that soothed all his worries. Richie grabbed Eddie’s arm and brought him in for a hug. He was suddenly pulled into Richie’s open chest and the familiar stink of cigarettes and black tea consumed him. It was a bold and comforting smell, one that Eddie loved. It made his nerves settle and for Eddie was unmistakably Richie Tozier.

“You look like shit, Eds,” Richie held him tightly, “On the phone you said it was a bad day, right?”

Eddie nodded against his shirt and they pulled away. I’m not entirely wrong. It was a bad day. He just doesn’t need to know exactly why. And that was the great thing about Richie: he didn’t need an explanation. He was more than happy to let his boyfriend curl up in his arms, his face still burning from fearful tears while Richie whispered little jokes or Voices in his ear until Eddie wiped his eyes and laughed. Most of the time they weren’t even funny.

“That’s alright, Eds. I’ll fix us some dinner, yeah?”

“You can cook?” Eddie followed Richie into the kitchen and sat on an island chair.

Richie pouted at him, his lower lip sticking out. “Don’t be hateful, sweetheart. Of course the Trashmouth can cook.”

“What’s on the menu then, Chef Tozier?”

“You’ll see.” Richie laughed and rummaged through the pantry.

Eddie glanced around the empty kitchen, not a single sound filled the house—except of course for Richie banging around looking for a stove pot.

“No parents?"

"Nope. My folks are out of town for the weekend, some family thing.” Richie said, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand.

“And they left you alone?” Eddie asked, unable to help the smile that drifted into his voice.

“I’m seventeen. I don’t need constant supervision.” Richie growled.

Eddie pointed to him. “Yet you were about to pour marinara sauce into a pasta strainer.”  

“Okay, scratch that. I’ll always need you, Eddie my love...Plus I promised them I wouldn’t burn the house down.”

“What on Earth are you doing with all that?” Eddie caught sight of two boxes of macaroni, lettuce, and red sauce.

He tried to stifle his giggling, but it was useless. “Rich, are you trying to make spaghetti?”

“Maybe.” He replied defiantly with an embarrassed blush.

“With iceberg lettuce?”  

Richie inspected his ingredients again with his eyebrows raised, his eyes looked more doubtful now from beneath his glasses. “..That’s a thing, right?”

Eddie sighed and joined him at the counter. “You’re hopeless, Richie. Give me that ladle,” He loosely gestured to the wooden spoon next to him while putting back the lettuce.

“This is the wrong type of noodle.” Eddie held up the box of pasta while the marinara sauce simmered on the stove—the one thing Richie had done correctly.

Richie snorted and put his hands on his hips. “Not everything can be perfect like you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and let Richie’s arms snake around his waist. “Okay, fine. Macaroni it is.”

He waddled over to the sink—with Richie still attached from behind—to pour water into the pot. As he let the faucet run Richie bent down and kissed his bare neck softly, his glasses poking into his skin.

Eddie stiffened. “What was that for?”

“For helping me with dinner. For being cute. Why, can’t I kiss you just because?”

“Of course you can. You’re just..distracting.”

“Oh? You mean like this?” Richie laughed and placed a trail of teasing kisses up his neck, making Eddie grip the handles of the pot tighter while he fought to breathe. He knows just where to kiss me.

“Am I distracting you now?” His mouth rested just above the space between Eddie’s jaw and earlobe, his warm lips and breath tickling him. One of Richie’s hands drifted down toward his pants and Eddie stepped on his bare foot.

“Cut it out Richie,” Eddie gasped. He realized in his daze that the pot of water was about to overflow and quickly shut it off. He carried it to the stove and set it to boil, then poured in the macaroni noodles.

He turned to him. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Richie returned his hands to his sides and smirked. “Awe, shucks. To think I have that effect on people.”

“Only me, dipshit.”

“And that’s just fine,” Richie pecked his cheek and hugged him again.

“Feeling any better, Eds?”

“After some dinner I will be.” Eddie replied while wrestling out of the bear hug to set two plates on the tile counter. Richie drained the pasta and Eddie turned off the burners.

“Like mother, like son.” Richie said philosophically at the sink.

“Be quiet,” Eddie gave his chest a playful shove and handed him the food. They sat at the table on opposite sides, and just as he was about to eat Richie stuck his fork at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting you try some!” Richie pushed the fork further towards Eddie’s mouth.

“I have some right here,” He gestured to his own full plate, “And you’ve been eating off that already.”

Before he could pull his fork away a few stray pieces of macaroni slipped off the fork and fell across Eddie’s shirt, staining the front with oily red sauce. Richie’s eyes widened, and he drew the fork back guiltily.

“Gross!”

“Oh, shit. Sorry Eddie! I’ll go get one of mine!” He hopped off the chair and dashed up the stairs. Eddie took the chance to eat some of the “spaghetti” before Richie returned with a fresh shirt.

“I am not wearing that,” Eddie said firmly, picking the noodles off his lap and into his empty plate.

“Just take that off and put on mine. It’s mostly clean, don’t worry. I’ll wash yours.” Richie held his shirt out to him, waiting with closed eyes for the dirty one. Eddie diverted his eyes and pulled his shirt up over his head. He threw Richie’s on hurriedly, his face was red the whole time. God, it smells just like him.

“Okay, you’re good.” Eddie told him and he opened his eyes. Richie examined him wearing his own clothes then flashed a grin.

“Why do my clothes look better on you? And the Cutie Award goes to..”

Eddie thrust the stained shirt at him. “My ass.”

“He’s not wrong, folks!” Richie shouted into the empty hallway as he went back upstairs to the laundry room.

“You want me to clean this up?” Eddie called. Richie had left a trail of dirty dishes and stray pasta noodles in his wake as they had cooked, not caring to pick up.

“Just come up here! We’ll do it later.” came his reply. By “later,” Eddie knew he meant “tomorrow.”

Eddie headed up the stairs and sat on Richie’s bed, waiting for him. Even without him there—just for a few seconds—the thoughts came racing back, like a flip of a switch, no matter if things were happy and easygoing minutes before.

He was no longer in Richie’s room. He was on the burning asphalt with a broken arm, he was running through the yard of the Neibolt house, desperate and out of breath. He was staring directly in the face of Henry Bowers, his entire arm engulfed in flames as searing as a hot iron with Patrick’s spit stuck in his eyes. He was reliving every memory.

“...Eds? What is it? What happened?” Richie appeared in the doorway but Eddie could hardly see him through the haze; he only heard his footsteps thundering in his head as he came to his side, taking his face and forcing him to look into his chocolate brown eyes.

“Eddie? Talk to me, please,” Richie was pleading, sitting down next to Eddie and keeping his hands placed firmly on his shoulders, helping to relieve his staggered breathing.

“It hurts,” Eddie said weakly but his words got choked up in a fresh wave of tears.

“Where, baby? Where does it hurt?” He searched his face and scanned his body frantically.

“God, Richie. My head..the memories, it hurts so much. They never went away,” He cried, truly feeling every ounce of that childhood pain. Richie grabbed his sides and pulled him into his lap, his face set into a hard, serious frown that left Eddie startled.

He’s always been there for me.

“N-no,” Eddie tried moving away, “I’ve been crying..It’s gross, Rich. Let me go wash my face or something.” He sniffed loudly.

“Shhh,” Richie shook his head and held him more fiercely, Eddie could feel the beating of their hearts together against his chest. He closed his eyes and counted each rhythmic thump of Richie’s heartbeat until he could breathe again.

He brought his face to Eddie’s cheek, wet with tears, and kissed him.

“Let me make it better,” Richie whispered. He moved his lips to tenderly kiss every spot on Eddie’s face: each tear, his pink nose, his eyelids.

“It’s gone, we killed It, everything’s alright now,” He kept his lips pressed to Eddie’s temple, and as he did the ache there subsided, “You’re safe with me, Eds.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh. “You’re such a sap, Richie.”

“Only for you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes with Richie running his hands through Eddie’s hair. He loved when Richie did this, when his gentle fingers sent shivers down his spine. His comforting touch made different tears slide down Eddie’s face.

“Is it still there? Did the nightmares go away?” Richie asked with another twinge of concern when he felt Eddie crying quietly again into his shoulder.

Eddie tucked his face into the crook of his neck to hide the embarrassment and mumbled, “No, they w-went away.”

“What’s wrong? Why are you still crying, Eddie?” Richie leaned against the headboard so he could see the smaller boy’s face and he cradled the back of his hair.

“I’ve never had someone be so..kind to me before. Not like this. No one would ever do the things you’re always doing for me. I-I don’t think I deserve it.”

Richie lifted Eddie’s legs up higher so he was more comfortable and the smaller boy snuggled in. He spoke with his chin resting on top of his head, “I know I’m kind of an ass most of the time, but I don’t mean to be. I’m always looking out for you Eds, even when you think I’m not...It’s cause I love you.”

Those three words silenced everything and left Eddie blissfully calm—despite his frantic heart.

He loves me?  

Eddie questioned it as soon as he said it, but after thinking it over he knew Richie wasn’t lying.

Who else would clean me up after a panic attack, or wake me from a nightmare, even if I was covered in sweat and tears and who knows what else? Who else would hold me the rest of the night, even if it meant he didn’t sleep?  

“I love you too,” Eddie said against his neck. And then, after a thoughtful pause,

“But don’t call me Eds.”  

[angerstagram]

monster among men // calum (SMUT)

boxer!calum

Pairing:  Calum + Y/N

Words: 4.6k

Rating:  X. For, you know, sex.

Description:  Calum is your long time boyfriend but he’s also a boxer. When his trainer says the two of you can’t have sex before the big match, you find that much easier said than done.

Warning: Oral sex, mentions of violence (for sport).

Author’s Note: I wrote this in one go and haven’t edited it!! Please forgive the typos. Stay tuned for a part two!

——————————————

Calum threw one last punch at the now well-abused punching bag, watching it swing slowly back and forth—toward him, then away, then toward him again—and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The air in the gym was thick with sweat and dirt as men all around him trained against sparring partners, trainers, or a giant bag of sand, like him.

His trainer, Sal, came up behind him and squirted some gatorade in his mouth before helping him remove his gloves. “That was great, Cal. Your form is better than 97% of the guys in here.”

Calum smirked. “My form is better than 100% of the guys in here and you know it, Sal.”

Sal smiled at Calum but refused to boost his ego. “Well your form isn’t gonna win you a belt, Cal. Not on its own. I need you to keep up your power all the way to the last punch.” Sal was talking excitedly with his hands now, throwing fake punches at the air as though it were 1987 and he was back in the ring.

“Don’t worry about my power, Sal. Just get me in the ring and I’ll take it from there.” Calum wiped the towel Sal handed him against the back of his neck and then over the planes of his chest where little beads of sweat had gathered.

“Alright, big shot.” Sal gestured his head toward the ring and Calum climbed in, letting Sal strap the gloves back on once he was inside.

Sal slid on a pair of punching mitts and held them in front of Calum’s face. “Focus on me, Cal. Right here.”

Calum started throwing punches and Sal met them every time. Every time Calum dropped his guard, Sal would take advantage and hit Calum in the face with a mitt until Calum’s cheek was red and starting to swell.

They went on like that for the better part of an hour, before Sal finally let Calum take a break at the edge of the ring.

“It’s that girl, Calum. She’s inside your head. It’s all well and good to get laid when you don’t have a belt on the line. But if you’re spending all your time thinking about what little date you’re gonna go on and picking up a nice bouquet of pansies or some shit, you’re head ain’t gonna be where it needs to be.”

Calum knew that Sal was trying to rip him up and make fun of him by playing on age-old stereotypes, but Calum could’t even hear him.

As soon as Sal mentioned flowers Cal could smell your perfume. He could feel your skin under his fingertips, the soft give of your hips as he squeezed them. It was as though you were standing right in front of him, his mouth pressing soft kisses to the nape of your neck as you worked in the kitchen. He was pulling your back to be flush with his chest, the shape of your ass pushing deliciously into his —

“You’re not even listening to me, are ya?” Sal’s voice cut into Calum’s reverie and suddenly he was whipped back into the gym.

“I get it, no girls before the match. I hear you, Sal.” If the guys wanted to believe that Calum was a womanizer who was bedding a different woman every night, he would let them. But he wouldn’t jeopardize this match for anything.

————————————————

Calum was really, truly planning on staying strong until his match. But then he got home and you were standing there wearing one of his cotton t-shirts, barefoot and swaying your hips in time to the music playing through the stereo. Everything smelled amazing, the food you had simmering on the stovetop, the candle lit on the coffee table, the summer breeze drifting in through the open windows.

He slipped off his shoes and padded into the kitchen while you faced away from him. He knew you didn’t hear him come in over the sound from the stereo, so he had the advantage as he walked up behind you and gave you a playful slap on the ass.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, dropping the spoon into the sauce you had been stirring and letting out a yelp. “Calum Thomas!” you explained, licking the sauce off your thumb where it had splashed when you dropped the spoon.

“Hmmm,” Calum let out a low hum as he nuzzled his face into your neck, just as he had imagined earlier. He let out a soft sigh, the sound of a man who was exactly where he wanted to be after a long day. “Hey, let me have a taste, too,” he murmured, turning your chin between his fingers and kissing you deeply.

You twisted yourself in his arms so that your back was to the stove and your chest pressed against his. You loved when he came home like this; worked up from a day of hard exercise, hair still wet from his shower at the gym, the muscles in his arm thick and corded under his t-shirt where you traced your fingers.

His mouth wandered down your neck, his open mouth warm against your pulse points. You were breathing heavier now and he knew it, pressing his palm against the small of your back and drawing you impossibly closer to him.

“So, um,” you tried to string a sentence together as the feeling of his lips on your skin scrambled your thoughts. “How was work?”

Your little joke passed over him without laughter, his focus unyielding. He was always so focused on whatever task was at hand that he often couldn’t see or hear the world around him. Times like this, that trait came in handy.

You laced your fingers through his wet hair and scratched softly at the back of his head, bringing his focus briefly back to reality. Calum raised his face to yours again and smirked against your lips. “Work was great, sweetie. And how was your day?”

Calum loved playing pretend like that. Pretend like you two were a normal couple; that he had a normal 9-5 job pushing papers behind a desk in a suit and tie and you drove a mini-van or some shit. A joke that made it seem in moments like this that he wasn’t in physical danger 95% of his day and you didn’t spend thousands of hours of your life scared that one wrong punch would be the end of him.

But you couldn’t think about that now, not when he was hooking his hands around the backs of your thighs and hoisting you over onto a clear spot of the counter. Not when he was standing between your open knees and pulling you closer to his chest again, his arms circling your back and his mouth hot and needy against yours.

His kisses were urgent and all-consuming, pulling the breath of you and energizing you all at the same time. You didn’t realize he had pulled your hair out of it’s ponytail until you felt it cascade down your back. He pressed a kiss behind your ear and bit it lightly, causing you to laugh at the aggression.

“What’s gotten into you, Hood?” you asked breathlessly, teasing him for his ability to go zero to ninety in 3.5 seconds. Something in the tightness of his back and the set of his jaw told you something was up, though. “At least let me turn off the sauce so it doesn’t burn.”

Now he was laughing at you, his chest rumbling against yours. “I’m doing some of my best work here, babe, and you’re thinking about the sauce?”

“I just don’t want it to burn! I’ve been building these flavors for an hour, Cal.”

He didn’t stop laughing, but humored you by reaching over and switching off the burners. “Happy now?”

“I’ll be happier when you tell me what’s going on,” you said softly as you rubbed circles against his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the muscles there.

He dropped his forehead against yours and pressed a light kiss to your lips. He knew he would have to bring it up sooner or later, but he didn’t think he would have to say it so soon. “I, um, well.” He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck as he searched for the words. “Basically, Sal thinks that we shouldn’t, um.”

You dipped your head, searching for his eyes. Trying to follow along with his train of thoughts going nowhere. “Sal thinks we shouldn’t what, Cal?”

“Sal thinks we shouldn’t be, um, romantic before the championship match.” Cal almost looked like he was blushing. For someone that was so confident and uninhibited while you were actually being romantic, he often had a hard time talking about it when you weren’t.

Your face was deadpan as you looked at him. “Sal says we can’t fuck before the match,” you paraphrased in an unenthusiastic voice.

Now he was definitely blushing, the color rising in his cheeks and spreading to his ears. “Um, well, yeah.”

“The match that’s in three weeks.”

“Uh huh.”

“Your trainer, a man who hasn’t had a wild night of passion in over a century, says that you and I cannot fuck for 21 days.”

“Yeah.”

“And that will do…what exactly? It will help your form?”

“No, my form is great, actually. It’s my power on the last punch that needs work,” Calum replied, genuinely not realizing that you were being sarcastic.

“Then why the fuck did you come in here and start kissing me like that, jackass?” You swatted at his shoulder and dropped your head to his shoulder, huffing at the injustice of it all.

Calum laughed at your frustration, rubbing calming circles into the small of your back again but you pushed against his shoulders.

“You really can’t touch me if you don’t want me to jump you right now, Calum.”

The look in your eyes made him see you weren’t really joking. Calum felt a sudden rush of conflicting emotions; half feeling guilty that he had done this to you, and half feeling proud that he had a girl who wanted him as badly as he wanted her all the goddamn time.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, love, I shouldn’t have done that. Maybe I wanted a little something to tide me over.” He was smirking now, leaning in to give you another kiss but you turned your head to the side in defiance.

He tossed his head back in defeat, taking a step back and throwing his hands up to signal that he wouldn’t pressure you.

But that’s not what you wanted, either. It was very confusing, really. He had worked you up and then left you high and dry, so you were just as much want and need and greed as you were angry and annoyed.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back against you, shifting forward on the counter. “If you want to tide me over, I’m gonna need a little more than that,” you said against his lips, sliding your hand down the front of his shorts and palming him over his underwear.

Calum groaned and bucked involuntarily against your hand before grabbing your wrist. “Baaabe, we can’t,” his voice almost a whine.

You slipped your hand back out of his shirt obediently and placed it back on his shoulders. “Fine,” you conceded. “I guess I’ll just have to go take care of myself. You can finish up dinner, right?”

Giving his shoulders a light push, Calum stepped back, surprised. You slid off the counter and began walking out of the kitchen toward your bedroom before feeling his hand grab your wrist. “C’mon, baby, don’t be like that.”

He pulled your wrist to turn you around, holding your hand to his cheek and pressing his mouth where it met your wrist. He held it there for what felt like forever, the worlds slowing down and your heart speeding up as you concentrated on the feeling of his lips against your palm. He was looking at you from under his criminally long lashes, all dark lines and tan skin with a single wet curl hanging over his forehead.

“We can do this, together, I’m sure,” he murmured into your skin. “Now can we please eat this beautiful dinner you’ve worked so hard on?”

Breathing in through your nose and blowing out through your mouth, you focused on both calming down and cooling down. You really wished this place came with a goddamn air conditioner.

“Fine. You make the salad.”

————————————————————

A week went by like that. The tension growing thicker each day. Waking up next to Calum and feeling the shape of his body against your back, your front, your legs twisted between each other’s or splayed like snow angels. No matter the position, you woke up hot, every inch of your scorching where it touched his.

It really shouldn’t be this hard. You had been celibate voluntarily or involuntarily, for months at a time not that long ago. You were an adult who could survive a simple 21-day stretch without sex.

But that was all before you met Calum. Before you had been with Calum; known the way his body could make yours feel. Before you knew the way he could play your body like a fine-tuned instrument, his every touch lighting a fire inside of you that threatened to melt you from the inside out.

And it was in moments like this, when the early morning sun was streaming in through the curtains and causing a cold yellow light to dance over his golden skin that you felt so acutely what he could do to you. You lay awake just staring at him. At his long, black eyelashes curling so beautifully over his closed eyes. His messy morning hair curling haphazardly over his forehead. His strong jaw line creating a line that led down his neck to the shape of his collarbone where it stood out over the swell of his bare chest.

His breathing was slow, the rise and fall almost lulling you back to sleep. But then he spoke. “You’re being creepy,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you replied innocently, swiping his hair off his forehead and running your finger down his cheek to his jaw.

“Staring at me looking all sexy and asleep isn’t going to help your predicament, see cheeks,” he joked as he slowly came into consciousness.

“How do you do that without opening your eyes?”

He turned his face to press his mouth to the pulse in your wrist, one eye peeking open to stare at you in the morning light. “I’ll tell you one day.”

You curled into his side, setting your chin into his shoulder to stare at him up close. “I think I’ve been rather good, actually. I haven’t pressured you even once, even when I really wanted to jump your bones.”

He laughed, curling to face you on his arm, your bodies forming two parentheses barely overlapping each other under the mustard yellow sheets. “You’ve wanted to jump my bones, hmm?” He ran his hand down your back to your underwear, teasing the skin just under the hem of his cotton t-shirt that you had worn to bed.

“Of course,” you said, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “When you come home all sweaty from the gym in those short ‘80s shorts. How could I resist?” Your voice was joking but you really weren’t. Those were the times you really felt like no championship would be worth dying a slow, horny death.

“Well you’ve been very patient.” Calum pressed a kiss to your forehead. “How long has it been, anyway?”

“Eight days,” you replied too quickly.

Calum noticed your eagerness and laughed. “Eight days. Hm. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Your heart skipped a beat but you didn’t let yourself get your hopes up. Not after yesterday, when he had texted you I have a surprise for you when you get home ;) and you arrived home prepared to see a naked Calum covered in whipped cream or something….only to find him with an extra-large pizza from your favorite restaurant. Granted, that had been a pretty good surprise. But it didn’t change the fact that you only thought of him a tease with no action to back up his big talk.

“Oh I’m certain I deserve a reward,” you replied, giving him a playful slap on the ass.

“Whatever shall we do about that?” he whispered into your ear. Goosebumps rose everywhere his breath ghosted over you.

Calum rolled you onto your back, throwing his leg over your waist to rest his full chest against yours. Maybe you could get excited, after all.

He pressed small kisses against your neck, nipping at your skin to make you gasp. When you moved your hands to twist them through his hair he grabbed them and pressed them to the pillows above your head, twining your fingers together and making your breath come out unsteadily.

He kissed you deeply, the air leaving your lungs. Suddenly your entire body was nothing but a pile of unmitigated need, a live wire that sparked everywhere his mouth touched. And his mouth on yours made you feel like he was breathing your life into your lungs and pulling it back out all at the same time.

It was an effect no man had ever had on you before. The ability to turn you inside out like this. Was it because you were in love with him? So completely in love with him that it made the want and the need and lust and sex and love all mix up with each other in your mind until they were a single force driving you toward peak after peak.

And he had barely even gotten started. He had you pinned between his strong arms, the muscles in his bicep flexing as he held himself over you. He ground his pelvis into yours, your back arching to meet each delicious thrust. God, he hadn’t even really touched you yet.

Calum held himself above you to watch the effect his actions had on you. The way your eyebrows furrowed together as he rubbed against you. The way you shivered when he traced one finger up your arm and over the swell of your chest to cup your breast over your shirt.

“I feel like I’m in high school,” you murmured. “Dry humping my boyfriend while his mom watches TV in the living room.”

“My mom is here?” Calum looked over his shoulder as though he would find her standing right behind him.

You laughed and used his distraction to push him onto his back. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.” You peeled his t-shirt off of you and threw it on the floor, immediately forgotten.

Calum drank you in above him, pupils blown out with lust, watching you closely to see what you would try to do next. His body looked relaxed but you knew that in reality he was like a predatory cat preparing to strike. That his lazy exterior could spring into action before you could realize what had happened.

Not wanting him to steal your pleasure from you, you acted before he could. First you slid your fingers down your panties and gathered some of the wetness that had grown there before rubbing your fingertips slowly over your clit. Your mouth pouted open into a gasp, reveling in the sensation, grinding harder as you chased that pleasure.

You slapped your other hand to his chest, your fingertips digging crescent moons into his bronze skin as you rolled your hips over your hand, and by extension, his growing erection.

Calum sat up suddenly. His face was still relaxed, but the speed with which he moved gave away how much your action had affected him. He pressed his chest flush with yours and kissed you hotly.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he pulled your hand out from your panties and pressed your fingers into his mouth. His tongue laved slowly over your fingertips, drawing a long moan from you, the air between the two of you growing thick and electric.

“God, you’re killing me, Cal,” you moaned. He ran his fingers down to your hips again, digging into the flesh and rolling you against him. Back and forth, back and forth, rolling you quickly toward an orgasm thanks largely to how long it had been since your last one.

“Do you,” Cal pressed a kiss to the base of your throat, “do you touch yourself when I’m away?” Calum’s voice sounded genuinely quizzical, as though he were discussing the weather or asking you for directions.

“I, um.” Your brain was short circuiting as he pressed you harder and faster against him, your wet panties rubbing against your clit like a tongue. He pressed another kiss to your bare chest, nipping you just under your collarbone before taking a nipple into his mouth.

“Well? Do you?” He repeated, his hot breath causing you to shiver where it met your pebbled nipple.

“No. Um.” The screws were coming loose in your brain. Everything you wanted to do with him, do to him, were flashing over the inside of your eyelids as he drew you to your peak. “Not since, um, not since you said we couldn’t, oh god.”

Calum pulled away and you whined at the loss. He was looking at you intently, as though trying to judge if you were being serious. “You mean that?” He slid his hand down the back of your panties and slid one finger inside you easily. You gasped at how unexpected it was and moaned as he used that hand to pull you back and forth into the grinding motion he had you in before. “You really haven’t had an orgasm for over a week?”

“Yeah, I mean it,” your voice was increasing in pitch and your eyes were shut tight. “Fuck, Calum, don’t stop.”

But Calum did stop. At least, he stopped long enough to throw you onto your back and slide comfortably to rest his head just above your mound. “You’ve been an even better girl than I thought,” Calum praised, his voice still gravelly this early in the morning. “Now let’s see about that reward.”

Calum pulled your underwear off quickly and pressed his tongue flat against you, licking a thick stripe from your opening to your clit. You keened loudly, your back arching when he finally gave you what you needed.

He didn’t intend to tease you. He really did want to reward you for your patience. But it was just so much fun to watch you writhe and moan under him as he teased one finger around your opening and licked figure eights just below your clit.

You were panting as the air of the room pressed heavily against your skin. If fucking Calum was a religious experience, having him eat you out was like leaving earth and going straight to heaven.

“Fuck, Calum. I can’t.” You had been so close to your climax before you felt your mouth on you that your brain was disconnecting.

Finally, he took mercy on you. Diving in to eat you like his last meal. He slid one finger into you, just up to the second knuckle, pressing up against your front wall as he flicked his tongue against your clit.

You bucked up into his face and he didn’t even bother holding you down, just tucked one arm under your thigh to steady himself before shoving two fingers into you up to their base.

He pumped his fingers into you steadily, pressing his tongue flat against you. He alternated his pace, pumping faster when he slowed his tongue and flicking his tongue quickly when he slowed his pumps.

“Oh my god, Calum. Fuck, I—,” you blubbered as your soul left your body. You curled your legs over his shoulders, your thighs shaking as you sprinted towards the high you were both chasing. All the want you had built up for a week had created an ache stronger than you even realized, and the beginning of your orgasm was like stretching an atrophied muscle. “Goddamn it that feels so fucking good.”

When he knew you were going to fall over the edge, Calum slowed his tongue and hooked his fingers to press firmly against your g-spot. He tapped them rapidly against that spot as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

A tear rolled down your cheek as you reached your peak. You clamped your knees against his ears, locking him in place as you finally fell over the edge. Your entire body shook as the orgasm rolled from where his fingers still tapped inside you out to your fingers and down to your toes.

Even as you reached your peak he didn’t stop, pumping his fingers and scissoring them to rub against every wall, running his tongue over you until there wasn’t a nerve left below your waist that he hadn’t annihilated.

It was like his fingers were fucking the air right out of your lungs. Connecting the two of you and unraveling you all at the same time.

“C’mon, baby. I know you’ve got another in you.”

And he was right, really. Except it wasn’t exactly a second orgasm as it was a second wave of the first that had never stopped. He stayed like that for a long time, never letting you come down, pulling one after another from you until you had to shove his face away.

He kissed his way back up your body, holding his hand still against your mound as you came down, its warmth soothing as your body shook.

Finally he pressed his mouth against yours and you could taste yourself. You didn’t have the energy to kiss him back. Your lips just hung open as your breath came out in small pants. He rolled over onto his side and pulled the sheet over both of you.

“You are really fucking good at that,” you said finally, flinging the back of your hand against his chest.

Calum nuzzled his nose against your ear, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Only the best for my girl,” he laughed, taking the compliment in stride.

You glanced down at the tent in the sheet where it lay over his waist. “Just, uh, just give me a minute. I’ll get right on that.” You gestured lazily toward his obvious erection.

“No, no. Today was about you.” Calum rolled you so that he was spooning you and ran his hand over the back of yours, twisting your fingers together. “I still need to wait until after the match.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck and breathed slowly through his nose to try and bring his own body temperature down. Your thoughts were becoming coherent again.

You turned your head to look at him, really look at him. You kissed him deeply, trying to convey to him the feeling that had overwhelmed you. “I love you, Calum. So goddamn much.”

He smiled but he didn’t laugh. The light danced in his eyes where they crinkled at the corners. He kissed you again and brushed his nose against yours. “I love you, too. Now go back to sleep.”

[youngbloodlisk]

[1800] // Kim Sunwoo

"You're so sexy when you're domestic."

word count: 1560

- straight up dom kim sunwoo smut

- my first time writing smut so sorry for how awful this is lol oh well

- rough but caring sunny boy

- implied future voyerism w eric

- consent checks bc yknow what turns me on more than most anything? CONSENT CHECKS

I jump and almost drop the cutting board full of diced onion in my hands when Sunwoo slides his arms around my waist, clasping them together in front of my body as he presses himself into my back and sways lightly.

"Hey, baby..." He whispers in my ear.

"Hey, how was work?" I slowly continue cooking, carefully using the knife to slide the diced onion off the board and into the simmering pot on the stove.

"Frustrating... it's a long story, I don't really wanna talk about it. Is that okay?"

"Of course, hon." I give him a loving smile and he sighs with satisfaction, burying his head in my neck.

We stay there for a few minutes, me chopping vegetables and swaying with him as he just breathes slowly and deeply into my skin.

Suddenly I feel his tongue on my neck, wet and rough, and my body lights up.

"What are you doing-"

"Shh..." He sensually hisses before placing his mouth back onto my neck, soon finding himself lightly sucking on my skin.

It's becoming continually harder to focus on making this soup.

A small moan escapes my mouth and Sunwoo mutters a deep, rough...

"Oh, baby."

He grabs my hips and turns me to face him, before he reaches behind me and turns off the stove burner.

"What about dinner?" I question.

"That's a problem for later, right now I just wanna-"

"Sunwoo, that was really hot of you, but if we let it cook while we have fun then it'll be ready about when we're finished and all cleaned up. Turn the stove back on." He sighs and reaches to turn the burner back onto a heat level of 4.

"You're so sexy when you're domestic."

"Thanks. Now what is it you wanted to do to me?" I look up at him with innocent, yet dark eyes. The ones I know drive him crazy. And yeah, maybe that's my intention when I use them.

My attempt proves successful when he smirks and looks at me like a wild animal looking at it's next meal.

He picks me up, takes me to the living room, and tosses me onto the couch.

He never has been one for kitchen pounding, but no way is he gonna make it all the way to his bedroom before pulling my clothes off my body.

Speaking of which, it isn't a mere 10 seconds later before my shirt and shorts are being tossed across the room like rags.

Sunwoo stops and takes in my lacy, almost entirely see-through black set.

"For me?" His ego boosts, knowing the answer full well.

"Who else?"

"I don't know, you've said Eric's kinda hot before." He cocks an eyebrow. "You wouldn't do something like that right? Go be a slut for Eric?"

"Not when I have you."

"You better not, baby. He can only see you like this with my permission..." He moves me so that I'm fully laying on my back on the couch and begins to slide my underwear down, with the slowest movement of his entire life.

The implication that Sunwoo isn't opposed to Eric viewing me in this extremely risqué position, only requiring Sunwoo's permission for it, causes my eyes to roll back and an embarrassing whine to leave me.

"Oh? My baby likes that idea?" He finally pulls my underwear off of my body entirely and tosses them aside with my other clothes. "I'll have to bring it up to Eric sometime... But tonight, you're all mine. For my eyes only, and for my tongue only." With that super cringe, cheesy statement he licks a long stripe up my pussy.

Instantly, my eyes shut and my hands rush to find his hair. As his tongue and lips work me over, my breathing is growing heavy and my hips begin to press up against him.

He takes his mouth away, causing me to whine both at the sudden lack of friction and the sight of his mouth all wet and shining.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, aren't you?"

"I-"

"Aren't you?"

"Yes..."

"Then you don't dictate when you cum, baby. I do. You sit back and let me taste my love. You'll cum in due time. But if you decide to be disobedient, you don't cum at all. Understand?"

I gulp.

That was really hot...

"I understand."

"And you remember your safe word if you want me to stop?" I nod in response.

"Red."

"Good." His hands rest on my hips to help hold me down as he dives in again.

It's a good thing he's holding me down because if he wasn't doing that... I wouldn't be physically able to be obedient.

"S-Sun-Sunwoo, slow down- I'm gonna c-cum-"

He immediately pulls away right as I'm on the edge and I writhe around like a small child who didn't get the chocolate chip cookie they wanted.

"You cum on my cock only, baby. You know that." He unbuttons his pants at the speed of light, his intense hard on making him work faster than usual. "I'm not gonna have to punish you, am I?"

"No, Sunwoo. Please, I'll be good."

He pumps himself a few times before looking at me with genuine eyes, his hard demeanor breaking for a moment to make sure that everything is okay and I want to continue.

I return the genuine look and nod.

He sweetly smiles for a moment, before regaining Hard Dom Sunwoo and slowly pushing into me.

Erotic sounds leave both of us as he bottoms out and stills for a second.

Only for a second though.

He quickly pulls out and slams back into me.

My back arches and I cover my mouth, afraid of the extremely embarrassing noises I'm liable to make as he pounds into me.

He reaches up and grabs my wrist, pulling my hand away from my mouth and ending up holding both of my hands above my head.

"Let me hear you, baby. Let your body tell me how good I make you feel." He's holding my arms up with one hand and the other hand grabs my leg to pull it up over his shoulder.

Once my leg is propped up on his body, he holds my hip and speeds up his pace.

He's reaching me deeper than he ever has before, and my body is DEFINITELY telling him all about it without my permission.

"Sunwoo, please, please, please... Please let me cum. Can I cum?"

"Cum around me, sweetheart. Let me feel you."

He winces in pleasure as I clench around his dick, my orgasm hitting me like a bus.

He lets go of my hands.

"Are you okay, honey? Can I keep going?" I know he's making sure I'm still okay to let him finish inside me. He's told me about a million times that when I cum first, if I want him to stop and finish himself off in the bathroom, he will.

Even though he has needs of his own, he always puts me and my comfort first.

It's just one of the things I really adore about him.

"Yeah, keep going. I'll be alright."

"Are you sure?" His tone tells me that he doesn't believe me, given how hard my orgasm hit. He's afraid I'm far too sensitive and he doesn't want to hurt me.

"Yes, Sunwoo." I grab his hand and look him dead in the eyes. "I promise. I know my word, red. I'm fine. Keep going."

It takes him a second to accept it, but he eventually nods and takes a deep breath before he starts slowly thrusting in and out of me again.

Admittedly, I am still sensitive, but it isn't near as bad as he's imagining in his overprotective mind.

He begins getting lost in the pleasure and his pace quickens, along with his thrusts growing more powerful and deep.

Just the sight of him in so much pleasure from fucking me makes me sweat.

His thrusts become inconsistent and jerky as he gets closer to his release.

Sunwoo hits me with one more hard and deep thrust, filling me with his cum.

He rides out his high and spurts a bit more cum into me before coming to a halt and carefully laying himself onto my body.

I wrap my arms around him in an embrace full of love.

"That wasn't too much, was it? Do you need me to do anything for you, sweetheart?"

"No, it was great, Sunwoo. I'm all good. Are you?"

"I'm great." His stomach growls in protest to that statement and I laugh at the irony. "Just kind of hungry."

"Glad I told you to turn the stove back on, aren't you?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're always right." I can practically hear his eye roll in his tone.

"Bet your ass I am."

Sunwoo buries his face in my neck, laughing with me.

His position makes me recall the neck kisses that began all of this earlier.

"Sunwoo, did you give me a hickey?"

"What?"

"Earlier at the stove. Did you give me a hickey? Did you give me a hickey that I'm gonna have to cover up before Juyeon's birthday party tomorrow?"

"Leave it out. Let the guys see. Half of them refuse to believe I actually get any. Prove them wrong for me, babe."

"Kim Sunwoo!"

[janeyseymour]

Home Stopped Being a Place When You Entered My Life

@menstruating-sloth , this is for you. I know it’s late... and I’m not even sure I used to right prompt, but you asked for fluff 5, and this is what was born. I hope you enjoy.

It was almost instant that Jane Seymour and Katherine Howard formed an almost inseparable bond. The moment that the two locked eyes in that rehearsal room a few years ago, the third and fifth queen knew they were going to fill the holes in their lives. For Katherine, she would have a mother figure. For Jane, she would have a child. 

Hiding away from the eyes that were bound to follow them at the first meeting for SiX was the best decision the two had ever made. From then on, the blonde had often invited the youngest queen to her house. Katherine accepted every time.

“Just know that it’s a house filled with warmth, love, and a nice home cooked meal any time you’d like to stop by,” she would tell the fifth queen lovingly before quickly addressing the rest of the queens with an offhanded, “You’re all more than welcome to join us as well. It’s always a house full of love.” While it was heartfelt and she truly meant it towards the others, the way she expressed it to the pink haired monarch was different- in a good way. 

--

A few months into the run of the musical, Jane had posed a question to the youngest of the queens.

“Hey Jane?” Katherine asked quietly as she removed her makeup from that night.

“Yeah?” the blonde answered as she removed her false eyelashes. “What’s up love?”

The fifth queen took a deep breath before speaking lowly, “I know you mentioned that you had done some painting in your apartment. The smell of the paint always gives me a headache, so I was wondering if you wanted or needed a place to stay?”

Jane froze in her spot. This was the first time the younger queen had even mentioned her place. 

Katherine took one glance at the third queen’s stunned look before quickly adding on, “Of course if you don’t want to, I totally understand. I just thought that it’s Friday, and you usually invite me over. I didn’t want to turn you down, but I also completely understand if you don’t want to stay at my place. It’s kind of a cr-”

“That’s very kind of you dear. I would love to come back to your home with you if you’ll have me.” Jane unfroze and pulled the girl into a side hug, kissing her hairline gently.

“It’s not much of a home,” Katherine muttered to herself.

“What was that love?” The older queen heard the mumbles but couldn’t quite make out what the fifth queen had uttered.

“Oh it was nothing.” The pink queen shrugged.

The two entered the dark and dingy apartment that Katherine called hers. Despite the fifth queen’s apartment being an almost exact copy of Jane’s but on a different floor of the apartment complex, it was the absolute opposite of what the elder had done with her living space. 

“Well,” Katherine sighed. “Welcome to my humble abode. Sorry there’s not much.”

“It’s simple. I like it,” Jane complimented. In reality, all the third queen could think about was how different it was from her apartment just a few floors above. Where Jane had filled her space with elegant couches, throws, carpets, and trinkets, Katherine had a musty rug that had been there since before she signed the lease along with a secondhand couch that she had found at a garage sale a few weeks into being reincarnated. Where Jane had filled her house with warm lights and the delicious smell of whatever she was whipping up in the kitchen, Katherine had a single lamp in each room and the smell of cigarettes from the woman who lived next to her.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. My... place isn’t quite what yours is,” Katherine admitted sheepishly, a tint of red flushing on her face. 

“Nonsense love. I don’t mind a bit so long as I’m here with you.”

That night the two spent their evening splayed out on the drab couch with the pink queen’s laptop propped up on their legs. It would be the first and last time Jane Seymour entered that apartment.

--

Long gone were the days of Jane inviting Katherine to her apartment. The fifth queen could barely say she lived on her own seeing that almost nightly she was in the third queen’s living space. Not that Jane minded- she quite liked having the younger woman to dote on. 

It took a while, but Katherine had found herself at ease asking Jane if she would mind her coming to her apartment for the night. Jane never denied her, staying true to her word of offering a house filled with warmth, love, and a nice home cooked meal, nor would she. Most nights, the two followed their routine of driving home together, Katherine making her way to her apartment to change out of her street clothes and into pajamas while Jane began whatever was for dinner that night. If the fifth queen could help, she would assist in the making of supper- despite Jane’s protests.

“It’s really okay love. I enjoy cooking for you,” the blonde would say.

“I just, you already do so much.”

“Well, if you’d really like to help,” Jane would dramatically sigh and hand her the cutting board to finish the vegetables.

The duo often found themselves curled up on the couch together, more than happy to watch whatever reality television show was on that night. Katherine would almost always fall asleep first, being lulled to sleep by Jane’s soft breathing along with the gentle fingers stroking her hair. When she was ready, the third queen would gently call her name and take her to the spare room within the apartment.

“Kat? Lovey? I reckon it’s time we start heading to bed for the night,” Jane would whisper quietly so as not to scare the young queen awake.

The fifth queen would sleepily open her eyes, untangle herself from the blonde’s hold around her and mumble something about, “I guess I should get going back to my place.”

Each and every time, the third monarch would stifle a laugh before ensuring her company that she was more than welcome to stay if she wished. Katherine would never refuse. 

--

Katherine had brought her mail up to the blonde’s apartment when she noticed a letter from the owner of the apartment complex.

“What’s wrong, love?” The older queen paused her stirring of the soup that she had put on the burner when she got a glance at the wrinkled expression on Kat’s face. 

“Rent is going up- by a lot,” the fifth queen couldn’t keep the tremble in her voice at bay. The rent was going up by a significant amount, and she wasn’t quite sure how she was going to be able to keep her apartment. Sure, being in a starring role in one of the most popular musicals at the time was decent money, but it certainly wasn’t enough for her to maintain keeping the key to the place she would have to retreat to if Jane wasn’t there for a night. 

“By how much?” Jane frowned, the creases in her forehead growing deeper. The woman dressed in pink silently made her way across the room and let the blonde take a look for herself. “Oh my,” she whispered, now understanding why Katherine was so upset. 

“I-I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my apartment,” the fifth queen confessed sadly. It wasn’t so much the thought of losing her place, but it was that she enjoyed being able to run up a few flights of stairs to the silver queen’s home. No place would ever be home if it wasn’t with Jane.

“Oh darling,” the third queen lowered the heat, allowing the vegetables to simmer before pulling the younger woman into a loving embrace. 

“Shit,” Kat cursed quietly. “I don’t want to lose my apartment.”

At that, Jane looked at the girl in her arms curiously. “Can I ask why love? It’s not like you’re there often.”

The pink haired queen allowed herself to look embarrassed before slowly extracting herself from the third queen’s grasp. “It’s just-” she twisted her fingers together, a nervous habit she had always done. “-I like my apartment being so close to yours. It’s... nice. If I have to move away...” she worried a lip through her teeth, not quite sure how to word this for fear of scaring off the only person who had ever shown her maternal warmth. “...What if I don’t see you as often? Or,”

“Love,” Jane chided gently, forcing the younger woman to look at her. When Katherine looked at the woman standing in front of her, she noticed that she wasn’t the only one who looked worried.

“What’s wrong Jane?” The pink haired queen began to fear the worst: that she had said something that overstepped the one boundary the two might have. 

“I,” The woman in grey took a deep breath. “I don’t want to scare you with this love. And I completely understand if you do not want to or have hesitations and my feelings won’t be hurt, I promise. But, you’re hardly in your apartment at all anyways, and I really love always having you around. How would you feel about moving in together?”

The third queen knew she was pushing a boundary that had never really been talked about. Afterall, the woman before her had only ever offered to show her around her apartment before. Perhaps there was a reason for that. What she wasn’t ready for was for the younger girl who had just left her hold to come flying back into her arms with such force that she felt her back hit the countertop with a quiet thud followed by a whispered with baited breath, “Are you being serious?”

“Of course I’m being serious love.” She pressed a quick kiss to the pink haired girl’s temple, but she put as much love as she could into it.

“If you’re sure, then I would love to live with you.” The youngest queen wrapped her arms around the blonde even tighter.

“Well, we will have to discuss this more in depth later, but right now, why don’t we settle in for a night of “Love Island” and some soup?”

That night, not much else was discussed about the housing situation. The night did end with Jane all but carrying the sleepy Katherine Howard into the bedroom that Jane thought of as Kat’s.

“Goodnight sweetheart, I’ll see you in the morning, yes?” She smiled softly as she smoothed some of the loose hairs out of the young girl’s face.

Kat nodded gently, already half asleep before letting the words slip out of her mouth without any thought, “G’night mum. Love you.”

Jane’s hand froze where it was on Katherine’s cheek for a split second before the words tumbled out of her mouth, “I love you too my little love.”

It wouldn’t be spoken again for some time, but the first time Katherine Howard called Jane Seymour “mum” was something that the third queen held near and dear to her heart. 

--

“So, I didn’t sign the lease again,” Katherine stated through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Jane swallowed her food before speaking, “Oh? And how did that go?”

“He was pretty upset. Said something about how he was losing two tenants in one month? I just wish I knew who the other tenant was.”

The blonde across the table from her smirked, and the fifth queen caught on, or so she thought.

“You know who it is? Oh my gosh Jane! Tell me!”

The glint in the stony grey eyes gave her away. “You’re looking at the other move-out.”

“What?” Katherine all but slammed her fork down on the arm of the couch as she gave the third queen the most incredulous look she could muster. “I thought I was going to move in here with you!”

“Well, you will be moving in with me,” Jane laughed.

“You just told me you didn’t sign the lease again!”

“Well, I was going to take you there tomorrow, but I found a quaint little house that’s cheaper yearly than these small apartments. And, we would own it, not just rent.”

“B-b-but,” the younger queen stuttered out. “You love this apartment. It’s your home.”

“Home stopped being a place when you entered my life,” Jane said with as much honesty and love as she could put into those ten words. 

“I love you,” Katherine leaned into the blonde. “But I know how much you love your place, and I really love it too. We can stay here, and I can pitch in money to help afford the-”

“There’s no way that I’m letting you pay rent to live with me honey.”

“But-”

“Katherine S-Howard,” Jane paused, hoping the young girl in front of her didn’t notice the near slip of tongue. “This is a fight you will not win. You’re not helping pay rent.”

“But you love your home!”

“And I love you more! I just told you home stopped being a place when you entered my life. Besides, I think it might be nice to actually be able to paint the walls and decorate the way we truly want to.”

“But-” Katherine stammered. She was determined to make Jane see that she was crazy for giving up the coziness of her apartment that she truly did love- for her. “We have so many memories here.”

“Listen love.” Jane shifted slightly. “We make memories wherever we go, and we can always look back on them. But if you really don’t want to move out of this small apartment complex, we don’t have to. I just thought you might like to have a nice house to live in that will really feel like home.”

“Well,” the fifth queen laughed quietly. “I suppose it would be nice to live somewhere where we can’t hear our neighbors having-” she stopped herself with a cringe. “-But I will be helping pay the bills.”

“No you won’t love. Let someone take care of you for once. You’re young.”

“So are you.”

“Not quite as young as you love. I’m twenty-eight. You’re nineteen. You shouldn’t have to be completely independent yourself. Let someone step in and help. Let me step in and help.”

--

Two months, many boxes, and a heartfelt goodbye to the apartment that held so many memories for the two women later, Jane Seymour and the newly adopted Katherine Howard-Seymour- having the adoption legalized thirty minutes before- stood outside their very own house.

“Well Kat, are you ready?” The blonde turned the key and opened the door.

“I can’t believe we’re home,” the girl in pink sighed with content as she leaned into her mother’s arms.

“I told you once love, and I’ll tell you again: home stopped being a place when you entered my life. You are my home.” She pressed a soft kiss to her girl’s temple before setting off to cook dinner.

The two had many boxes to unpack, but it didn’t matter. Right then and there, they were going to enjoy the first night in their new home- eating a home cooked meal made with love, settling in to watch television, and savoring their time together. 

It was like nothing changed from the two living spaces.

“Goodnight love. Sweet dreams,” Jane smiled down at the girl who was between a state of consciousness and dreaming.

“Goodnight mum. I love you.”

Jane replied without hesitation this time, “I love you too, my little love.”

Well, one thing changed. The two women were family now.

[hood-ex]

Part 2 of the Dimension Switch Fic.  

“Grayson, what on earth are you doing?”

Dick turns his attention away from the meat lover's pizza he’s slicing to look over his shoulder at the kid who’s standing in the middle of the kitchen and giving Dick a disapproving glare. The kid, Damian, has his arms crossed over his long-sleeved shirt, and the way his shoulders are slightly hunched makes him look like a prickly, uncomfortable little cat. Dick would like to think the discomfort comes from the pair of beige chinos the kid is wearing, but if there’s anything he’s learned during his short time in this universe, it’s that Damian isn’t just any ordinary kid. That seems to cross over into how the kid likes to dress himself.

Dick motions to the pizza with the pizza cutter in his hand. “Making pizza. Want a slice?”

“What I want,” Damian says with a curled lip, “is for you to stop prancing around here in an indecent state.” He looks pointedly at Dick’s bare chest as if Dick’s exposed pecs are an offensive faux pas.

Dick cocks his hip against the counter and mirrors Damian’s crossed arms.

“That’s what’s got your thong in a knot?”

It’s only after he’s said it that Dick remembers that particular expression isn’t used in this universe. He’d found that out real quick the other day when he’d used it.

Tim had given him a confused look and asked, “Don’t you mean ‘don’t get your panties in a twist?’”

The kid had then started rambling about how the original phrase involved knickers and was created by the Brits and, well, Tim had reminded him so much of an excited puppy that Dick had just ruffled the kid’s hair after the explanation and gone on his way.

“Richard would never walk around without a shirt unless he was downstairs or in his apartment!” Damian says hotly.

Oh, Dick thinks, he just misses his big brother.  

He’d been informed about his 27-year-old counterpart—who he’s secretly been referring to as DG in his head—by Damian the first night he’d arrived in this universe. From what he’d heard, DG did sound kind of awesome. At least, Damian had made him sound that way after explaining that DG had been his Batman. What was less awesome was learning the reason DG became Batman in the first place.

Dick’s only slightly ashamed to admit that when he’d been left to the guest room he’d been given, he’d teared up imagining his dad dying and taking all the comforting warmth from the manor with him.

Even now, the thought of his dad’s death makes his mood sour. He tries not to let it show as he turns back to his pizza to move a few slices over to the plate he prepared.

“When your brother gets back, you can sing his praises for wearing a shirt. Me? I’m gonna keep doing my thing because no one’s gonna die from me not wearing a shirt.”

Dick doesn’t even have to be looking at the kid to know he bristles about one of the things Dick just said.

“Father and Pennyworth will not be pleased!”

Dick shrugs and moves to place the pizza cutter in the dishwasher. “They can tell me if it’s a problem.”

“I’m telling you it’s a problem,” Damian says, and Dick smoothly evades the fingers Damian tries to grip his arm with. Dick returns to his spot at the counter and grabs his plate in one hand and a single piece of pizza in his other.

“And I’m telling you to take a slice of pizza. Last chance.” Dick holds the slice out like some kind of peace offering.

The look of disdain Damian gives him reminds Dick of a wolf with its teeth pulled back in a threatening snarl.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Damian says through gritted teeth.

“You are?” And now Dick kind of feels like an asshole. “My bad, kumquat.”

“Tt!”

Damian marches out of the kitchen with all the rage of a thousand women scorned, and Dick breathes a sigh of relief once he disappears.

He can’t wait to be an only child again.

It’s only when he’s settled in the living room with his pizza and drink sitting on the coffee table that he tries to imagine himself being a big brother. As Starling, he had to deal with kids all the time. Comforting them when they were scared, entertaining them when they needed a distraction, giving them first aid when they were hurt, and holding their hands while waiting for the parents to collect them.

The only kid he knows personally that he’s always been fond of is J’onn’s daughter, K'hym. He’s taken her to the trampoline park a few times, always given her over the top gifts for her birthday, and will gladly give her a piggyback ride when she shyly asks for one. He likes teaching her things too. His chest is always filled with pride and purpose whenever she learns something she didn’t know before all because of him. And the smile he always gets whenever she excitedly wraps her arms around his legs and loudly proclaims how much she missed him? There’s nothing better.

He tries to imagine doing all that and more with four siblings and… he thinks he might like it. He thinks he might be good at it if given the chance. Hell, DG seems to be pretty good at it if the way Tim and Damian talk about him with affection and admiration is any indication.  

A frown crosses his face as he thinks about sharing his dad and Alfred with a bunch of other kids. It’s always been just the three of them since he’d been adopted at 4-years-old. Dad’s never shown interest in adopting more kids, probably because Dick’s always been a bit of a handful. Dad’s always been good at combating that by challenging him and keeping his mind sharp, but would he even have time to do stuff like that with Dick if there were more kids in the picture?

Dick wishes he could use this universe’s version of his dad to get some perspective on that. The problem is that Bruce is so different from his dad that he doesn’t think it’ll be a fair comparison. Plus, Bruce’s DG isn’t here so it’s not like Dick can watch them interact anyway.

It simmers on the back burner of his mind as he digs into his pizza and flicks on the TV. He surfs through the channels and ends up stopping on some show called Supernatural that’s got bad acting and janky special effects. He’s only able to watch it for half an hour before his leg starts bouncing out of boredom.

He spends the rest of his day in the cave alone while Bruce is at someplace called the Watchtower to finish making plans with Zatanna. There’s not anything productive for him to do since Bruce doesn’t trust him enough to use the big ass computer or the multiple other monitors that are down here.

Dick takes his time checking out all the cars and motorcycles that come in all different shapes and sizes. Most are sleek and black, and a few have red or white accents. He mostly finds himself drawn to the bikes. He can appreciate a good bike, and he wonders if DG is the same way.

Damian comes down from time to time, claiming to be keeping Dick company. Dick’s not fooled by the lie. He’s come to realize that Damian is just as wary of him as Bruce is, and he knows Damian just wants to keep an eye on him. Dick doesn’t blame the kid. It’s smart not to trust him. Smart, but annoying. He just wishes Damian would at least pretend to hide his intentions better by actually interacting with him rather than awkwardly skulking in the darkness.

Dinner ends up being a lonely affair. Damian congratulates him for finally putting on a shirt and then makes himself scarce. Alfred busies himself with baking a German chocolate cake rather than sitting to eat with him. Yesterday he’d at least had Tim to sit and talk with at the kitchen table. Tim’s not at the manor anymore though, and Dick doesn’t think he’ll get a chance to see him again before he goes back home.

Dick’s not prepared for the feeling of nostalgia that consumes him while he stuffs his mouth full of steak au poivre. He doesn’t know if it's the sight of all the empty chairs at the table or the silence that gets to him. He just knows that he misses his dad. He misses his Alfred. He misses them all sitting together at the table and talking about their days. He misses his dad’s morning hugs. He misses making dinner with Alfred. He misses having his dad’s undivided attention as they talk about everything and nothing. He misses singing dramatic renditions of Bobby Vinton songs with Alfred in the cave.

He feels like there’s some integral piece of himself missing. Like these days don’t matter unless they’re shared with his favorite people. It’s ironic considering he’s surrounded by people who look and talk the same as his family but aren’t them in all the ways that matter. It’s almost worse being around his family’s counterparts because it feels like normalcy is close within his grasp when in reality, it’s far away.

At least the steak here tastes good, Dick thinks as he takes his last bite of meat and washes it down with water.

There’s the sound of soft footsteps coming closer, and Damian suddenly appears in the doorway. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed, pointedly not looking in Dick’s direction.

“Pennyworth,” Damian says, and he waits for Alfred to look at him before continuing. “Father has returned to the cave and requests his dinner be brought downstairs.”

The homesickness and boredom that’s been swelling in Dick’s chest all day finally come to a head, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s already on his feet.

“I’ll take it to him!” he says, and if he sounds a little too excited to do such a menial task, well, sue him. He really wants to see his dad. Even if said dad isn’t technically his real dad. They’re both still Bruce Wayne, and that’s enough for him. For now, at least.

Alfred blinks at him in surprise. Dick’s not sure whether it’s because of the offer itself or the enthusiasm behind it.

“Are you sure, Master Dick? As our guest, we certainly don’t expect you to—”

“I don’t mind,” he assures, waving off Alfred’s concern. “You’re busy making the cake and it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Alfred stares at him for a moment longer, and Dick’s not sure what he’s looking for, but whatever it is, it makes his eyes soften and his smile stretch.

“Very well, sir. I’ll put it all on a tray for you to take down.”

“Tt.” Damian rolls his eyes, pushing off against the frame and disappearing from sight. Dick kind of hopes he’s not going back down to the cave so that Dick can talk to Bruce without feeling Damian glaring daggers into his back.

Dick shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels while he waits for Alfred to put everything together. He can’t help but think about how his Alfred always hates it when he rocks like this in the middle of the kitchen, claiming that Dick’s restless energy gives him anxiety.

“Here you are,” Alfred says a minute later, offering the tray to him. Dick’s relieved to note that this tray has a cup holder to keep the drink from spilling. He’ll have to tell his Alfred about it when he gets back home. “You can leave the tray with Master Bruce.”

Dick takes the heavy load that makes his arms strain a little. “Thanks, Alf.”

He props the tray up on one hand, preferring to pretend he’s a waiter. He used to love pretending to wait on Bruce and Alfred when he was a kid. He would grab a random notepad and pen from Bruce’s desk, and he would take Bruce and Alfred’s orders. Bruce usually ordered some kind of fruit, and Alfred would typically request something easy like a bottle of water. Dick would happily carry the items to them on a tray, and once the items were accepted, Bruce and Alfred would pretend to pay him and tip him excessively. It was one of Dick’s favorite games to play.

He’s still smiling from the memory when he gets to the cave, and he tries to tamp it down as he approaches the chair Bruce is sitting at in front of the big computer screen. From what he can see, Bruce is wearing the batsuit without the cowl, and even though his eyes are glued to the screen, Dick can see how his shoulders tense the closer Dick gets.

“Hey, Bruce,” Dick greets as he places the tray down on the table’s limited free space. “I got your dinner.”

Bruce stops typing while he looks over the food on the tray with an impassive look. The dark circles under his eyes make the action look more intense than it has any right to be.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, resuming his typing.

Dick waits for some kind of follow up and frowns when there is none. It creates an awkward tension in the air, and for a brief moment, Dick thinks about slinking back up the stairs without another word. The eagerness in his chest won’t let up though, and he decides to poke and prod a little more.

“The steak is really good.” He leans against the side of the computer chair, his right hand dangling so that his fingers barely brush Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce stills at the touch for the briefest second. “You guys eat like kings here. Not that I don’t back home or anything. My Alfred’s an amazing cook too. He usually lets dad cook a few nights a week, and dad’s a good cook, y’know? He’s just not Alfred level good. So sometimes dinner can be kind of hit or miss.”

Bruce finally stops what he’s doing and cranes his head up to look at Dick with an unreadable look that makes Dick shuffle in place. He’s not nervous per se. He’s just… a little unnerved by how hard it is to read Bruce. It’s never this difficult to get a feel for what his dad is thinking.

What Bruce finally ends up saying is, “I don’t cook.”

Dick raises a brow. “Ever?”

“Almost never.”

“Because you suck?”

Dick swears he sees the corner of Bruce’s mouth tilt up just the tiniest bit.

“Hn. That’s what I’ve been told.”

Dick pats Bruce on the shoulder consolingly, the material of the cape feeling rough and heavy against his fingers.

“I guess we can’t all be Gordon Hamsay’s.”

Bruce’s brow furrows. “Hamsay? It’s Ramsay in this universe.”

“Ramsay?” Dick says incredulously. “That sounds so weird.”

“Hamsay sounds wrong to me,” Bruce shrugs.

Dick clucks his tongue. “This universe fuckery is too much.”

“Speaking of which,” Bruce says, and any trace of lightheartedness is snuffed out of his tone. Now he’s all Batman, and Dick feels himself straightening out of habit. “We’ll be able to send you home this time tomorrow.”

Dick smiles, his heart leaping. Images of hugging his parents, sleeping in his own bed, and going out as Skywing flash through his mind.

“Really?”

“Zatanna pinpointed your universe a few hours ago. We decided to wait to make the switch until tomorrow when Doctor Fate is available to help us.”

Dick curls his fingers in his hair and tugs on the strands, trying to ignore the way his eyes sting. Home. He’s going home! He’s going back to his life! To his people! To his… everything!

“How are we gonna do it?” he asks a little breathlessly.  

Bruce turns away from him and looks back at the computer.

“That’s classified.”

“Sorry… what?” He doesn’t mean to shout, but he can’t help it because… what? “I’m not allowed to know how I’m getting home?”

“You know Zatanna is involved. What more do you need?”

“How about some details so I know you’re not just going to punt me off into the abyss!”

“That would require trusting you,” Bruce says, and okay, Dick knows as much. But still. Ow.

“And I get that! I just—” He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “Look. I’m not asking you to give me the exact damn spell we’re going to be using, okay? I just want to know the gist of the plan. Am I going to have to do anything? Am I going by myself? Is Zatanna—”

“The plan is to take you back to your world tomorrow. End of story.”

Dick can feel something dark and ugly start to bubble up inside of him. He crosses his arms over his chest and holds on tight to keep himself from doing something childish like shoving Bruce’s rolly chair.

“What? You think giving me even the smallest bit of insight is going to be enough for me to blow up your whole world or something?”

“It could be. You could have sent yourself here to kill us for all I know.”

“Bullshit! If you really believed that, you wouldn’t let me stay here!”

“Wouldn’t I?” And now Bruce is on his feet and using his height advantage to loom over Dick like a dark shadow. “You think I’d rather have you out in the city where I can’t monitor you?”

“What I think,” Dick spits, “is that you’re a control freak.”

Dick thinks maybe Bruce has heard that before based on his lack of reaction to it.

“How many experiences have you had like this back in your world?” Bruce asks, stepping closer. Dick stands his ground, and they’re so close that he can feel Bruce’s body heat. “How many times have you had people from other universes invade your own?”

“I—” Dick scowls. “None.”

“Well, we’ve had our fair share of experiences with evil counterparts coming here to kill us and destroy our universe.” Dick blinks at the fury laced in Bruce’s voice. “So you need to understand that I won’t compromise our safety by giving you information you could use against us.”

Nothing’s funny, but Dick laughs anyway, and it’s like the grinding of a car that won’t start.

“You know what?” he asks, raking his fingers through his hair so hard that his scalp stings. “My dad would have trusted his friend with the truth compelling lasso to make any alternate counterpart’s intentions clear. But not you, right? You won’t—”

Bruce slams his hand on the table so hard that the black pen holder falls on its side and sends a handful of pens clattering to the floor.

Dick doesn’t even flinch.

“We’re done here. Upstairs. Now.”

Bruce’s face is cold like a blank mask that’s hard and unforgiving.

He’s seen his dad look that way at criminals before. Never at him. Never at his son.

Except he’s not this Bruce’s son, is he? And this Bruce isn’t his dad. This Bruce could never be his dad. Not with a look like that.

A knot forms in Dick’s throat. He should have stayed upstairs. He would have been bored, and he would have made himself so homesick he probably would have cried, but at least he wouldn’t feel like this.

Dejected. Sad. Miserable.

Lonely.

The worst thing is knowing that the way he feels is partly his fault.

He came down here looking for his dad, and instead, he got Bruce.

[pikemoreno]

beautiful things

pairing: marcus pike x reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: triggering topics: disordered eating, unhealthy relationships with food, talks about negative body image. it ends with fluff and encouragement and reminders about how illogical all of that is, but please don’t read if it’s going to send you spiraling!

a/n: beautiful, poetic prose this is not. but i had a really rough week with the issue described here and i just needed a self-indulgent lil drabble that i could write in the spare time that i had today. it’s been extremely therapeutic to write and i hope it can be for you as well if you struggle.

disclaimers: this is what disordered eating looks like for me personally a lot of days. it’s going to look different for everyone and in many cases it’s so much worse than this. if your thought processes and relationship with food is negatively impacting your quality of life: please go see a therapist or counselor who can help you through it. and even if it’s mild like this here: please consider professional help so you can live to your absolute best!

wanna join a taglist? | masterlist

You entered the kitchen to the sight of Marcus standing over the stove, working on his family’s famous chili. You wrapped your arms around his middle and mumbled into his shoulder.

“Gotta love a man who can cook.” He laughed , running a hand over yours as he stirred. 

“It’s definitely not me. All my Nana’s doing.”

“Well, you can follow instructions at least, which is arguably just as sexy in a man.” He laughed again and you loved feeling the rumble of it against his back.

“Now that I’ll take.” He shut off the burner, reaching over to grab the bowls he’d already set out. “How much do you want?”

“None for me right now, thanks,” you unwrapped yourself from him, moving away to lean your elbows on the island and averted your eyes to where your hands were clasped.

Your mouth watered once the smell of the simmering spices hit your nose, but you resolutely decided to not let yourself be tempted. Marcus’s brow furrowed as he spooned chili into a bowl. 

“Are you sure, babe? I made more than enough.”

“I know. I just ate dinner so I’m not really hungry.” A half-truth. “I’ll eat some tomorrow.” Your smile was thin.

“Baby, your dinner was a protein bar two and a half hours ago.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, confirming that that was true, but not offering any more information that would require you lying to him. In truth, you were dying for some of that chili. It was one of your favorites and Marcus knew that. But you’d decided that you’d already eaten too badly yesterday, so you had to make up for it today and that tempting bowl did not fit into that plan. Marcus caught on, as you’d dreaded, and walked over to put a hand on either side of your face, studying it.

“Are you feeling ok?”

“Yes. Jesus, Marcus would you stop hounding me?” you snapped, yanking away so he couldn’t see the angry tears forming in your eyes. You hated feeling like this. It wasn’t often made so obvious, it wasn’t usually noticed by others. You were good at skirting around the topic, making your habits look normal, not letting anyone on to how you viewed food and yourself. 

“Hey-- what the hell is going on here?” You tried to walk away, embarrassment piling onto how you were already feeling. What an asshole move to be so harsh with Marcus when he was just trying to help. He was too good. Really, you saw this coming. You knew that as soon as he caught wind of your insecurity he’d, in his typical fashion, be entirely too caring and supportive and helpful, and yet you just couldn’t tell him about it. You knew it wasn’t a healthy mindset, but you’d rather stay in it than pull him in and worry him, so you tried to run. He grabbed your hand before you made it two steps, admonishing softly, encouragingly. “No. Stay here. Talk to me. This doesn’t seem like it’s just about chili anymore.” 

“I need to lose weight. I need to look better. Less…” Words escaped you, so you left it to a simple gesturing of your arms. Marcus looked utterly confused, dumbfounded, horrified. He’s at a complete loss for words. 

“Wha- Where did this come from?” You shrugged.

“It’s not the first time. The thoughts are… Sort of always there in my head. I just don’t voice them. They’re not pretty.”

“I see.” Marcus gnawed at his lip for a moment, considering. Several different thoughts crossed his mind in rapid succession. Firstly, it pained him that he never noticed, but now it was all making sense: your little side comments about appearance that he quickly, easily shut down, but didn’t bat an eyelash at? He should’ve confronted them more fully, not letting them slide. Secondly, it terrified him to think what you thought about yourself, the things you seemed to think weren’t worth sharing. He made the immediate mental note to be more consistent in telling you how beautiful he thought you were without your prompting. He could’ve done so much better. Time to make up for it now.

“Come here,” his hand that still held yours pulled you to face him. “Stand right here and I want you to say out loud what you think about yourself.” You looked at him skeptically. “There’s a point to this, I promise.”

“Fine. I’m--”

“Say ‘you’re’.”

“What?”

“Say it in second-person.”

“You’re-- You’re-- I can’t, Marcus. It feels like I’m saying it to you.” You crossed your arms over your chest. You already knew where this was going.

“Well,” he patted his stomach, “I’ve definitely put on weight lately. Do I not deserve the same treatment you give yourself?”

“Of course not! I love the way you look.”

“I love you, but you don’t see how that’s totally hypocritical?”

“It’s different and you know it.”

“Is it? Would you ever say anything you tell yourself to anyone else?” 

“No, but--” you sighed.

“But what? Because it seems like you think all body types are beautiful as long as it’s about someone that’s not you.” You caught your lip between your teeth. “You’re holding yourself to a standard you’d never hold anyone else to. It’s unfair.”

You groaned, falling into his waiting arms and burying yourself in him. He wrapped around you completely, as if by doing so he might squeeze every bad thought out of your head. He wished he could. You didn’t deserve what you did to yourself.

“This isn’t supposed to be logical. Stop being logical,” you murmured, muffled by his shirt. He laughed.

“Well, as long as you know you aren’t making sense. But… Seriously.” He pulled back slightly and used a finger to lift your chin back up so your eyes met his once again. “That pretty head of yours thinks a lot of beautiful things, but it’s also more than capable of lying to you. Don’t let it. And please let me help. Or someone, at least: a counselor, a friend. Just don’t let the only voice be your own.”

“Alright. I still don’t think I can manage eating right now. But I do feel a little better, thank you.”

“That’s fine,” he emphasized, hands coming to either side of your face, thumb rubbing soothing circles “One conversation is not going to change years of damaged thinking. But I’m here to get you through this, ok?” 

“Ok.” He pressed his lips to yours to seal the agreement and when he pulled away he added:

“Besides… My whole life revolves around art. You think I can’t recognize beautiful things when I see them?”

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