#and the shower curtain is probably fucked but i can get her a new one

[savethepinecones]

guys i fucked up (again) (i keep making these posts at like 1 am i should probably just go to bed earlier)

[steddieas-shegoes]

i’ll drown it out

for @steddiesongfics using the song ‘ghost of you’ by 5 seconds of summer

rated m | 2295 words | cw: temporary character death, injury, angst | tags: established relationship, secret relationship, wayne munson is a gift, happy ending, grief and mourning, alternate ending to season 4

🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘🔘

steve wakes up every day to eddie’s face.

it’s the only picture of eddie that wayne doesn’t have in his apartment two hours away.

he doesn’t even think anyone knows it’s framed on his bedside table next to one of eddie’s rings and his guitar pick necklace.

all that’s left of eddie munson is whatever memories these items hold.

steve knows it’s dumb to hold onto things that belong to the people who cared most for eddie when he was alive. if dustin knew he had his necklace, he’d lose his shit.

but wayne knew he needed it, knew way more about their situation than he ever let on before eddie was- well, before he was gone.

steve blinks his eyes, adjusting to the sunlight sneaking through the curtains. he has the day off, but wayne’s coming by for lunch, so he should get up and shower.

he puts the ring on his finger, the necklace around his neck, and heads to the bathroom.

he goes through the motions, same as any other day.

he gets off in the shower, thinks about eddie’s hand around his neck while he fucks him from behind. doesn’t cry until he’s washed all the evidence of his own thoughts away.

he brushes his teeth and styles his hair, though he doesn’t put as much product in it anymore. robin says it’s causing hair loss. he doesn’t have the heart to tell her it’s probably the mourning of the love of his life.

he hasn’t told her about what eddie was to him at all.

he doesn’t think he can yet. or ever.

he goes downstairs and tidies up as much as he can. it’s not that messy, really. a dish in the sink from last night, his laundry basket full of clean clothes sitting on the couch ready to fold and put away, an empty beer can on the counter that never made it to the recycling bin.

he turns on the stereo to have some noise, to drown out the thought of eddie trying to make a trick shot off the trash can and making it. saying something like “bet i could’ve made the team with moves like that, huh, baby?”

he bites his lip and takes a shaky breath.

when wayne is here, it’s easier. they catch up on things. steve hears about wayne’s job at the mechanic shop and the woman he’s been seeing. steve tells him about the kids and robin, the new movies coming out that look decent.

they talk about eddie. that part is harder, but it’s not bad. steve gets to be open and honest with wayne in ways he can’t be with anyone else and wayne gets to talk about the only family he cared about. it’s nice.

but when wayne leaves, everything feels worse for a bit. he’d never tell wayne that, but it’s true.

for days after, he’s left in a cycle of anger, depression, grief, and jealousy. he ignores everyone and everything as much as he can. he wears eddie’s vest to sleep, to work, around the house. he cries as much as he doesn’t.

robin’s caught him once, when he was crying on the kitchen floor. the dinner he was making was burning. he brushed it off, said he just felt overwhelmed with his parents leaving him the house and having to volunteer. said he was so tired and just needed a break.

she believed him and worked his shift the next day, which gave him the chance to cry in bed and then get over himself.

he doesn’t realize how long he’s been sitting on the couch staring into space until wayne’s ringing the doorbell. steve jumps up and shuts off the music, ignoring the pang in his chest at realizing the tapes had changed to a Metallica one at some point.

everything is great. he’s smiling and laughing at wayne explaining the suburban mom dragging her two kids into the shop to explain what they did to her gas tank and making them help fix it. he’s nodding along as wayne talks about bringing faye to a nice restaurant in Indy for their anniversary next month.

and then things derail.

“sometimes i wish you could meet someone like faye. makes you forget about all the bad parts of life.”

steve knows he doesn’t mean he forgets eddie, but that’s what steve’s fragile heart hears anyway.

“i wouldn’t want someone to make me forget. i don’t want anyone except eddie.”

wayne looks at him like his heart’s breaking for him, but he doesn’t say anything.

at least not until steve starts cleaning up their lunch dishes.

his hand wraps around steve’s wrist as he speaks.

“eddie wouldn’t want ya to be lonely, steve. you can’t be happy with a ghost.”

and that’s just it.

he’s not trying to be happy with a ghost. he knows it’s impossible.

he’s just trying to survive with what he has left.

it’s a difference he knows he can’t explain, especially not to wayne.

so he smiles, nods, and continues with his cleaning while wayne thankfully changes the subject.

one year without eddie down. a lifetime to go.

****

year two is harder, despite everyone saying it gets easier over time.

it gets harder because he can’t explain why he still changes the station when ozzy plays on the radio. it’s harder because the nightmares get worse. it’s hard because waking up to a picture of eddie is cold, and no amount of sweaters and blankets can help him feel warm.

robin figures it out in march of that year.

steve doesn’t notice the date at first, not until dustin calls and asks if he wants to go visit eddie’s grave. he turns it down, says he has to work. it’s the truth, but he knows robin would have covered for him if he asked.

when he shows up to work, dark circles under his eyes, hair limp, robin tugs him to the floor behind the counter.

she pulls the chain of his necklace out of steve’s shirt.

tears spring up in her eyes.

they sit wordlessly for what feels like hours, but could’ve only been a few minutes. the door beeps when someone comes in and robin stands on shaky legs to assist. it gives steve an extra few minutes to get himself together.

she comes over after work and steve tells her everything. he doesn’t even cry until the end.

but he doesn’t stop crying for hours. and it’s really hours this time.

robin holds him, and he cries.

****

years three and four flew by.

especially when the kids graduated.

they aren’t kids anymore and all of them will be off to college in the fall.

after the ceremony, steve stops by eddie’s grave, something he doesn’t usually do in broad daylight. not because he’s ashamed or even scared, but because he knows seeing the reflection of his name on the headstone in the sunlight will send him into a grief-stricken spiral that he doesn’t have time for most days.

he sits with his back against the headstone, pretends it’s eddie’s chest and they’re just in steve’s bed, shooting the shit after making each other see stars.

“you’d be proud of them. they’re all off to do cool shit. nerd shit.” steve leans his head back and looks up at the clouds. “stuff you’d probably get a lot better than me. dustin tried explaining his major to me and i think i blacked out.”

he gulps, feels a sob building in his chest.

“i miss you. you should be here.”

he stays for a while after that, staring up at the sky and hoping that if a tear falls from his face, it at least waters the flowers growing under him.

he gets up eventually, because he has to get the gifts he got for everyone and head to their joint graduation party. joyce asked him to come early so he could help hop with setting up the bonfire.

“i’ll try to stop by again soon. don’t forget about me.”

steve walks away feeling heavier.

****

year five is when shit hits the fan.

robin transfers to a university in chicago and the kids are gone and joyce and hopper decide to travel since all the kids have gone and steve just stays.

wayne and faye get married after years of back and forth on it. wayne wants to, but faye thinks they’re fine without all the “hullabaloo” of a wedding. they compromise on having a small gathering at the courthouse, steve and faye’s two sons as witnesses. they all go out to lunch after.

it’s nice.

steve goes home to his empty house, and stares at the picture of eddie.

he doesn’t know the last time he really looked at this picture. he sees it every day when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. but it’s quick, and he’s half asleep.

as he stares at it now, he sees that there’s a hole near eddie’s stomach. it’s not a burn mark, but it might as well be.

and steve knows for a fucking fact it wasn’t there when he framed the picture.

weird shit happens in hawkins. that’s a fact.

but weird shit hasn’t happened in five years, not since eddie died to make sure weird shit didn’t keep happening.

this is weird shit.

he holds the frame in his hand. it’s not broken. it looks brand new, actually.

but the hole is there nonetheless.

with trembling hands, steve removes the picture from the frame. he thinks he’s seen where professionals can repair minor damage to photographs, but it’s probably not easy to find someone he can trust. not with this.

the hole is exactly where eddie’s wounds were the worst.

that’s just a coincidence, surely.

he brushes his fingertips across eddie’s beaming face, then the hole in the picture.

his side aches, deeply, like when the bats dug their teeth into him and tried to take him before they knew what they were dealing with.

the air feels thick, his chest feels weighted, and then darkness wraps him up in a thick blanket.

the picture falls from his grip as he loses consciousness.

****

“c’mon big boy. stay with me.”

steve blinks his eyes open and immediately wishes that he’d pass out again.

the pain is like nothing he’s felt before, all encompassing, lightning in every nerve-ending.

“sh, sh, sweetheart. it’s okay. we’re getting you help.”

steve can only whimper in response as he feels an explosion of pain in his side.

“is he breathing?” another voice is nearby, but steve can’t tell who it is.

“has the bleeding stopped?” that’s nancy. she’s much closer than the other voice.

he thinks hands are on him, but he’s starting to go blissfully numb.

“steve, open your eyes. we’re almost there.”

it’s eddie. of course it’s eddie.

his big eyes are watery, scared. steve doesn’t like when he’s upset.

he uses everything he has to grab the hand against his side. eddie’s rings are cold, almost a relief against the heat of his own skin.

“glad it’s me, not you,” he manages to say.

and he is.

because he knows that if eddie was the one who died, he’d never make it through.

****

steve hates waking up to noise. he’s told robin a million times to turn off her damn alarm when she stays over.

he blinks his eyes open slowly.

oh.

that’s not robin’s alarm. that’s the heart monitor next to him.

the heart monitor that’s hooked up to him.

he feels a tug in his side and realizes he’s being held together by stitches and a familiar weight on his arm.

eddie’s asleep on his arm.

not dead. not injured.

maybe a little grimy.

but alive.

steve can’t contain the sob he lets out.

it wakes eddie up. he’s never been a heavy sleeper, even when he was exhausted.

“stevie?”

another sob escapes steve. he feels like he’s missed eddie for years, feels like every moment he’s been without eddie passed at a snail’s pace and every second was filled with loneliness.

“you’re okay,” steve rasps out as tears fall down his cheeks, his neck, into his greasy hair.

“i’m okay?! you’re okay!” eddie is squeezing his arm and it hurts, but steve doesn’t care. he doesn’t want eddie to ever stop touching him, even if it hurts. “you almost died! i had control over the situation! what happened to not being heroes?”

steve’s smiling. it hurts to smile. eddie’s loud and his ears are ringing.

he doesn’t care. he’s alive. eddie’s alive.

“stevie? can you hear me?”

“hard not to, honey.”

eddie’s quiet for long enough that steve worries he dreamt him up. it wouldn’t be the first time. or maybe it would be. was any of that real? being without eddie?

“sorry. am i being loud?” eddie whispers and it’s good. everything’s good.

because eddie is here. steve is in pain, but eddie is here. this is real. it’s not a dream or his imagination or a delusion.

“a little.”

“sorry, baby. you scared me.”

“you scared me first.”

steve feels the pull of exhaustion, and he knows whatever is pumping through the needle in his arm is going to knock him back out within a matter of minutes.

“i protected dustin.”

“and i protected you.”

eddie huffs something between a laugh and a sigh. steve’s eyes are closed, but he can picture eddie’s face so clearly.

“you’re gonna owe me a million kisses when you can stay awake for longer than two minutes,” eddie says quietly.

steve smiles.

he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to keep his lips off him now that he knows he doesn’t have to live with the ghost of him.

[mooki3-bear]

I Need You pt.2 (paige bueckers x black!reader

Part one <3

Summary: You and Paige finally unite

Warning: Just cursing

word count: 1757

Three months. It’s been three months since me and Paige went on our “break”. 

The first month was the hardest. Just a lot of crying, bargaining, rants, and Chipotle. I sat in my puddle of despair, wondering what Paige was doing.

What she was thinking, hoping the thoughts were about me.

My worst thought was thinking that she had moved on to someone new, or someone that has always been there.

The second month was the month that I told myself to stand the fuck up.

This month had its ups and downs. I moved in with my best friend who welcomed me with open arms. She’s been more than supportive since the very beginning. She comforted me, fed me when I didn’t feel like eating, and took the remote from my hands every time I felt like turning on a UConn game (I'm healing slowly but surely).

I even picked up a hobby! I started taking a ballet class to keep my mind off of things! My bleeding feet are a VERY good distraction.

The third month is when I felt like a new and healed me. My skin was clear, my curls were popping, my body was giving. I felt better.

However, no matter what I did or how much better I thought I was…I can’t get her out of my mind.

“Come on! You’ve been stuck in this house all day! It’s getting sad Mookie” my bestie, Quenlin, says while ripping the blanket from my body.

“My dance class got canceled today and new episodes of my show came out. I just thought I could lay here and wallow all day” I moan while pulling my hoodie over my face. I turn my head to see Quenlin shaking her head.

“Girl, you smell like ten cans of ass and your hair looks a mess. You cannot let this girl get to you like this” She turns to open the curtains.

The blinding light burns my eyes as I wince and pull a pillow over my face. She rolls her eyes as she lays next to me on the bed.

“Let’s go bar hopping tonight! You love that shit” she yells as she shakes my aching body! She wasn’t wrong, bar hopping was probably my favorite activity. I lay there and contemplate whether I should get cute and have fun or lay in the imprint I have made in the bed and cry.

“I’ll buy you Chipotle” and with those four words, I hopped in the shower, got dressed, and was ready to head out the door.

9:30 Pm

Me and quen were on our second bar of the night and I felt alive again. I had flashes of images of Paige in my mind throughout the night but I decided I would deal with that issue when I went home. 

“Girl, can you go order us some drinks? I gotta piss real bad” Quenlin said, doing the potty dance at her grown age. 

“Go ahead, and stop doing that shit” I laugh as she waddles off to the bathroom. I make my way up to the bar and order me and my friend vodka cranberries. 

I twiddled my thumbs waiting for the drinks, when I finally heard it.

“Hey beautiful” My body froze when I heard the voice I had longed for so much but also dreaded hearing. I slowly turned my head to see the beautiful blonde that had been occupying my mind for months.

She looked so good, but also drained.

Words tried so hard to leave my mouth but nothing came out.

“You look good. Like, good. Guess the break up was good to you” She lets out an awkward laugh as I am still in shock but gain the ability to speak.

“Eh. It was ok for me. A lot of crying hehe” I mentally slap myself, who the fuck says that. 

“Yeah, same” She looks down at her feet trying to figure out what to say next.

“Listen, can we talk, please? I wanna fix this. I-”

“Unh Unh! What are you doing here” Quenlin appears from thin air as she jumps in front of me to confront Paige. This breaks me out of my trance as I jump to defend Paige. 

“No, Quen! It’s ok! Me and her are just going to talk outside” I put my hands on my best friend's shoulders to calm her down. She turns to look at me and then back at Paige.

“Fine, but if you try some manipulative shit, it’s me and you” she pokes piage with her finger before walking away. Paige looks back at me “I never liked her. I just want you to know that.”

I laughed as I walked to the door, Paige following close behind. When we get a good distance away from the bar we stop and just look at each other.

I can tell she’s trying to find words to say, I couldn’t find any either.

We stood in silence for a few more minutes before one of us finally spoke.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I made you feel like shit for so many months. You should have been my priority and I didn’t do that” Paige let out a shaky breath before looking down at the ground. I waited for her to continue but….she just stopped.

“Paige…that's not the only reason why I wanted to take a break. Yes, you ignoring me was a big part of it but there was so much more” She finally raises her head to look me timidly in the eyes.

I take a shaky breath before continuing. “It was the petty comments, the constant arguing, and the insecure feeling I always felt” I started choking up on my words, and the memories of me and the girl I love screaming at each other came flooding back.

“I'm sorry! I was just so stressed with basketball, the interviews, and the constant attention that I guess I got stressed” She quickly tried to defend herself, flailing her arms in the air.

“I understand how stressful that could be but…I would've been there for you. I could've listened to your rants, helped you during solo practice, and helped you calm down when you were nervous about an interview…but you shut me out and started bullshit arguments for no reason. I love you so much. I just wanted to help you” I felt a tear roll down my face.

I saw Paige’s face change from defensive to vulnerable in the middle of the conversation.

I let out a sigh as Paige drops her head, tears falling down her pretty face. “Paige, I love you so much. You’re probably the best thing that has happened to me in a long time” I take her hands in mine “but when we have an issue, you can’t just shut me out or brush it off. We need to talk. We need to express ourselves or else it’s just gonna get worse.”

Paige raises her head once more, looking into my brown eyes with her bloodshot blue eyes. “I know…I wanna be better for you baby. I will do anything to make it up to you. I just want things to go back to the way they were” She brings my hand to her lips, placing a tender kiss upon them.

I felt my skin turn hot as her lips connected to my skin, it’s kind of funny how we were together for so long and she still managed to make me nervous.

“I know it seems like an empty promise but I swear I will do everything that I can to make it up to you. I’ll communicate better and I will make sure to do everything that I can to remind you that you're the love of my…I can’t fucking lose you again y/n” she wraps her arms around my body, leaving another kiss on the top of my head.

On instinct, I wrap my arms around her to as I close my eyes to breathe in her perfume.

I was still angry with her but somehow I knew deep down that she was serious about wanting to be better for me. 

She pulls back to look into my eyes before she places an unexpected but loving kiss on my lips. I felt like I was floating on air as my lips touched the ones that they have been craving for three months. With this simple act, she knew that I forgave her 

As we pull away she rests her forehead on mine. 

“Can we just start over please, I miss you so much” Paige giggles while also sniffling. 

I let out a snort as I placed my hand on her cheek “Well we got a long way to go until we are back to the same place but, I think we’ll be ok”.

2 days later

“Ok! I think that’s the last of my shit” I let out a sigh of relief placing the last bit of my clothes back into me and Paige’s shared closet. I fell back into our bed, missing the smell of our sheets. 

I let out a grunt as Paige ran into the room and jumped on top of me. “Jesus Paige! I think you broke one of my ribs” I try to push her off of me as I let out a laugh.

Paige keeps her position on top of me as she puts her face into the crook of my neck. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm just happy you're back” she sighs as she kisses my neck.

“Ew, can yall wait to fuck until after I leave,” Quenlin says as she brings me some more of my stuff in from the car. I laugh as Paige finally rolls off me with a dramatic groan.

I walk over to Quenlin take the box of stuff from her hands and place it on the floor. “Thank you for letting me stay with you,” I say as I hug her.

“Of course, anytime! However, if this shit happens another time me and Paige are gonna have to tussle. You hear me” she yells towards Paige.

“I love you too, Quen” Paige blew a kiss to her.

Quen rolls her eyes before giving me a kiss on the cheek and leaving. 

“Why must y’all fight over me”

“Because you’re the most important thing to us, baby” Paige leaves another kiss on my lips before hopping back onto the shared bed that I will never leave again.

Y'all I am so fuckin sorry this came out so late! But here yall go <3

[ddejavvu]

rugby!james when you come to his game all dolled up and in his team colours and the entire team is drooling over you. so he picks you up and gets your legs around his waist and kisses you with tongue in front of all of them (he probably puts his big hands on your butt too. just to be safe)

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

--

"Well you're a fan!" You hear an amused voice to your left, and you glance up from where you'd been texting with James about your post-game meetup. It's another one of his teammates, Prewett by the looks of it, but there's two of them on the team and you're not sure which one you're talking to.

"Ah," You glance sheepishly down at your jersey and colored socks, matching face paint striped over your cheeks, "Yes, I am. I was-"

"Who's jersey you got on you, love?" He elbows the man next to him, Longbottom, "Betcha it's mine, right?"

"No way," Frank grins lazily, sweat beading at his hairline, "Mine, for sure. Y'see me make that pass earlier? Bet you want an autograph."

"Uh," You flounder, fingers tightening around your phone as you feel it buzzing with new responses. You don't want to be rude and ignore James's teammates, but you don't want to ignore him, either. "Actually," You whip your head around, looking for the familiar mop of curls that you tangle your fingers in, "I was looking for-"

"Me," Sirius drawls, amusement flickering in his eyes, "Right Y/N?"

You laugh lightly at your boyfriend's best friend's antics, nodding and playing along, "Oh, yeah. I've been looking for you all over, darling."

"Oh, my love," Sirius gushes, holding the back of his hand to your cheek and swooning, "My heart ached for you through the whole match. It was like I lost a part of my soul for every second I labored on the field without you."

Prewett and Longbottom are rightly confused now. Sirius is gay. And hooking up with Remus. Loudly. In the locker rooms.

Thankfully, Sirius's dramatics have given James enough time to run from the locker rooms, hellbent on finding you in case you'd come into trouble. His last six messages have gone unanswered, but the knot of panic in his chest loosens when he sees Sirius clutching at your arms.

He jogs over, hair bouncing with every step, "Oi! Black! Get off m'girlfriend!"

"She's all yours," Sirius scoffs at his best friend's protectiveness, dropping his grip on your biceps and glancing at his fellow platers, "C'mon mates. Y'don't wanna see what he's like when he gets his hands on her."

"So she's-?" Prewett makes the mistake of watching James hug you, the man's large hands flying straight to your ass, "They're together?"

"Aggressively so," Sirius drawls, nose wrinkling as he watches James kiss you far more boldly than is polite in public, tongue visibly lapping into your mouth, "Oh god, alright, let's go. Christ, at least I close the shower curtain when Remus and I fuck."

[nymph-ette111]

hiiiiiii!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) could you do a simon cof x sweet, feminine reader headcannons? made my own headcannons to share with you because ily and i love this prompt(⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

♡ i imagine reader and simon would go out, hes wearing the same crusty ass grey hoodie while shes dressed up all cute and pretty >.<

♡ he reeks of nicotine while she smells like neapolitan marshmallows<3 hes obsessed with her scent. he literally loves using her bodycare/haircare products over his 3 in 1 men shampoo (if he even showers that is) because he'd smell more like her.

♡ she shares absolutely everything of her purchases. she'd do little mini hauls to Simon, showcasing her new pink ballerina flats, sugarbunnies plushie she had to fight a war for in mercari, too faced chocolate bar palette, cute japanese stationary, and a lot of new clothes. Simon loves it. he loves seeing her happy. (may even buy her things he thinks she would love if he didn't have a smoking addiction<3)

♡ she doesnt only share that though she also loves talking his ears off about anything and everything<3 at first he was annoyed with her constant talking but when he spoke of it, she stopped talking so much and he got guilty and missed her overtalking. he tried to bring her spark back in talking and it worked

♡ shes compassionate and kind, understanding his struggles (but not condoning his actions) and helping him to get better. (he really wants to be saved by her but feels that he just cannot.)

♡ he really doesn't get why she's with him. Hes depressed, miserable, and difficult to be with. His low self esteem sometimes gets the best of him and he starts believing that he's not worthy of her, often leaving her on read, missing her calls, and ignoring her. (im sensing attachment issues) reader clutches w communication though :3

♡ they'd explore abandoned buildings. Simon's there to smoke blunts while readers there to get awesome fit pictures<3 they would go a long way travelling and reader the most practical girl you know has her feet hurt from walking on platforms. they either take lots of breaks or Simon just carries her on his back (unlikely)

♡ talk about taking fit pictures, Simon's technically her photographer. She has a blog where she posts fashion and besides the mirror pics, Simon's always the one taking the pictures. He's quite good at it too.

some of these headcannons probably won't work in his time but who cares(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ) hope this prompt isnt that hard to write for..(⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)you can always ignore if you want!! thankkkkkk you x3 xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxxooxoxoxox

WARNINGS; MENTIONS OF SMOKING, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION

AUTHOR'S NOTE; WHOEVER REQUESTED THIS JUST KNOW I LOVE YOU!!! probably inaccurate for both the character and the timeline... listen, I don't know what swedish people were up to in 2012 leave me alone. also not very happy with this, still trying to figure out how to write Simon :3

-he looks comically out of place in your room. just imagine a pastel pink room filled to the brim with cute plushies, shelves full of little trinkets and books, floral bedding and lace curtains. a wall full of movie posters, magazine pages, and little polaroids of your most treasured moments, and then there's a depressed smoke addict.

-you know those videos where it's a boyfriend sleeping in their girlfriend's girly room with a bunch of plushies on top of him? yeah, basically same situation.

-his sleep schedule is fucked up. either he pulls an all nighter or is passed out till 3 pm. when it's one of those times where Simon feels tired, you just let him sleep in your bed whilst you do whatever.

-it's also a great opportunity to gather the perfect pictures for black mailing.

-he just looks so stupid in your room I love him.

-doesn't care about your plushies but will learn to treat them nicely after you yelled at him for 15 minutes straight about how it's unacceptable to throw rilakkuma off the bed just so he could sit down.

-punches the plush when you aren't looking.

-he definitely gives you that pink hello kitty hoodie to wear. or he wears it instead so you two could match. that's probably your idea and he obliges because it's something you love and enjoy.

-really like the idea of him being your personal photographer. he's always the first to leave a like on whatever you post, especially if it's he who took the picture.

-doesn't know anyone besides you. his followings on social media just contain a bunch of his favorite bands and your account.

-a bit sad but I can see him borrowing your money (with permission) to buy cigarettes if his mother refuses to give him any. he wants to buy you stuff you might like but he's too busy spending it on his addiction :(

-he instead draws you your favorite characters so you can put it on the wall alongside your other pictures.

-has never been in the vicinity of a woman without being an awkward shit. moral of the story he doesn't know anything about girls. his knowledge of things is pretty vague, so please don't be surprised if you see him just poking around your vanity and asking a million different questions on what certain products do and why.

-his mother is very happy her son finally found a girlfriend. she approves of you and thinks you're an absolute sweetheart. always asks Simon when you will visit them again.

-you two definitely earn a few stares in public because how did such a sweet and pretty girl end up with a guy like Simon.

-it pisses him off endlessly but can't help his thoughts and feelings. thinks he doesn't deserve you or any of the kind shit you do for him.

-like nonnie said, he probably isn't the greatest boyfriend... there are times where he cancels your hang-outs without further explanation or simply doesn't acknowledge any of your calls and messages. he feels pretty shitty after it and apologizes for his behavior. you forgive him even though you both know he'll do it again.

-he is low-key obsessed with your smell, he smothers anything you have in the shower all over his body without caring what it's for, just simply reads the labels and puts it on... with big amounts. this man is making you go bankrupt. you could literally see the outline of his fingers left in the product..

-his camera is full of pictures of you, he likes looking at them when he feels down. which is pretty often.

-shows you all of his favorite places in Stockholm or even Kirkvile (where does this man live I don't get it) ones that aren't usually full of people, just overly adventurous teenagers from time to time. something tells you that you two have trespassed into private property multiple times but Simon doesn't want to answer that question clearly.

-ugh imagine clipping cute little hair clips into Simon's hair and he just lets you do whatever you want because if you're happy then he is happy and he wants to see you smile :(

-in exchange, you let him do corpse paint on your face.

[hayleylatour]

Finding Peace 🕊️

Content warning-none yet, some smut soon. Future talks of pregnancy and options. (Time frame is 2021 into 2022) this is also my first fan fiction since Wattpad 2014!

Summary- Mia is a 24 year old new bookstore owner who’s best friend is dating the drummer of up and coming metal band Bad Omens Nick Foilo. Jess is known for trying to set Mia up on blind dates. What happens when Mia meets Noah Sebastian

Pairings- babydaddy!Noah Sebastian x OC (Mia)

Chapter One- Mia's pov

"Mia babes you gotta come to this party, its Halloween, plus is kinda a party for Nick's friends birthday" Jess begged me. looking at my phone screen to see her pleading pout and batting eyes. rolling my eyes I simply nod in agreement, knowing if I don't at least make an appearance I will never hear the end of it.

"I'll come but I really don't want you trying to set me up with one of Nick's friends. I'm happy being single okay Jess" I say putting the last of the coffee mugs in the cabinet. "I'm just wanting to focus on getting the hell out of the shit hole apartment and getting this damn shop done and ready for opening”

"Okay okay I promise! No trying to set you up, but can I just say these guys are HOT, babes its been forever since you've gotten laid, have a few drinks and see where the night takes you, I'm not saying you have to date or marry one of them but who knows you might really hit it off with someone" Jess continues to ramble but I lose focus on her words when I start thinking about the last time I got laid. damn its be awhile the last time was probably 6 months ago... shit she's right I need to get laid, like yesterday.

"fine. is this a costume party or can I wear normal clothes" I sigh while picking up my phone and walking to the couch to sit down.

After awhile of chatting with Jess, we hung up our daily hour long face time. deciding to get up and start getting ready for jess party. Pulling the shower curtain open I start the water, warming it while I do some quick skin care. I cant help but think about what jess said, its been so long since I've gotten laid.

"That's it, if one of these guys is as attractive as she says, you're going to fuck him, you hear don’t chicken out. have a drink, relax and blow off some steam" I blurt out looking at my reflection, pep talks never work but dammit if I was determined to make myself believe it.

after my shower I blow dry my hair and decide on a low bun before starting my makeup, keeping everything simple and clean, with a light brown dusting over my lids and a shimmery highlight in my inner corner, finishing it off with a quick winged liner. I make my way into the bedroom to throw on a pair of skinny jeans and my favorite bring me the horizon hoodie topping the look off with black vans and making my way downstairs to my car and off to Jess and Nick's house.

there's 4 cars in the driveway when I pull in, Jess and folios included. throwing my car in park I do a once over in my review mirror. as headlights shine illuminating my car, looking over I see a tall man step out and make his way up the drive. stopping he looks at me through the windshield. I've seen him in pictures before. Noah- Folios friend and band mate. dressed in tight black jeans and a while shirt topped off with a leather jacket, Noah makes his way inside the house. now or never Mia. make your move.

"Hey Noah, wait up!" I yell exiting my car and jogging up the drive. He quickly turns on his heel and smiles down at me as I reach him, Standing at least a foot taller than me. Fuck he’s taller in person. “Lead the way” He says extending his arm towards the door.

“MIA! You made it” Jess squeals detaching herself from folios side, everyone seems to stop talking and turn their attention to the screaming. “Ah I see you met Noah, happy birthday by the way.” Jess winks at me

“Hey Jess, can I talk to you for a minute” i mutter pulling her into a hug. She nods and leads us to her bedroom. Once away from the crowd i start to explain my plan to her. I’ll have a drink and hang out and be open to the idea of hooking up with someone, failing to mention Noah’s name and how when he looks at me my heart beats a little faster. Jess tells me that if it happens it happens but she thinks i need to blow off some steam and ‘what better way to do it than an orgasm?’

When we emerged from the second floor the guys are standing in the kitchen around a box of pizza. Noah has his back to me but I can see his shoulder length hair is tucked between his ears. Their laughter fills to house which makes relaxing into the evening a little easier.

“So Mia, what do you do for work exactly? Jess was telling us you worked at a bookstore.” Jolly asks leaning forward to set his bottle on the table.

“Yeah kinda, I own the shop down on 17th, ‘Ellie’s’ my grandma left it to me in her will, I’ve been renovating it since lockdown started. But now since everything is opening back up. I’m hoping to have a reopening around mid November. Fingers crossed, I’m still working on getting the last of the furniture out of storage.” I explain sitting up a little straighter.

“That’s so cool we’ll have to come see it sometime” Ruffilo says everyone chiming in with an agreement. The party goes on just as this. Sitting on the sectional till I notice it’s getting closer to midnight, I should probably head home and get some much needed sleep. Jolly and Ruffilo have already said their goodbyes, and Jess has gone to bed, leaving Noah, Folio and myself.

“Hey thank you so much for tonight, i think im gonna head out though.” I say standing from my seat. Nick and Noah stand as well.

“Yeah I need to head out to, I’ll walk with you. Tell Jess I said thank you and I’ll message you tomorrow” Noah says pulling him into a hug. “Mia you ready?”

“Uh yeah. I’m ready” I rush. Making our way down the driveway Noah suddenly stops, turning to look at him he smiles and reaches for my wrist.

“Ya know, Jess told me that you were wanting to hook up with someone tonight, and it is technically still my birthday if you want to im more than interested” he breathes pushing my back against the driver’s side door of my car.

“Your place or mine?” I whisper.

[lovecarisi]

Mistakes We Knew We Were Making

Chapter 6: Relief

Dominick’s not there when you wake up. It’s almost 11am and your head feels like it’s about to split open. The curtains are still drawn and you’re thankful for the dark room. There’s water, coffee, and aspirin on the nightstand and you swallow pretty much everything within seconds before sinking back down into the pillow. Your stomach is in knots but not from the alcohol. You remember. Not word for word but you remember the gist of it. Fuck. The embarrassment you feel is overwhelming. What the fuck were you thinking? Even for drunk you, this is a new low. Normally you pride yourself in not making a fool of yourself under the influence; you’re usually the drunk friend that keeps all the other drunk friends in check. Damn, you knew as soon as you arrived at this house, as soon as you and Dominick entered this room with your bags that this would be a test and that you would fail miserably. God. And this had only been Day One. Now what would await you? Would he be mad? Sad? Would he call it quits? He would probably volunteer to sleep on the sofa for the remainder of the weekend. Not with that crazy girl he regrettably chose to fuck a few weeks ago who turned out to be a mess. Surprise, surprise. 

Wait, was there crying? Did you cry? And did he hold you and did you cry even more when he did? Oh good lord. 

A knock on the door. Fuck. 

‘It’s me.’ Louisa. Thank God. 

She comes in and closes the door. Sits on the bed next to you. 

‘I’m guessing you’re as hungover as the rest of us?’ she smiles a painful smile.

‘I sure am. Where’s Dominick? Is he okay?’ you ask, not sure if you’re ready for the answer. 

‘He’s downstairs. Preparing for the barbeque. He’s going mental, I can tell you, like crazy. That guy has some mad skills when it comes to food. He’s made some marinade - I don’t know what he put in there but it smells so delicious I wanna bathe in it. So yeah, he’s okay, why wouldn’t he be? Did something happen? Did you break his dick or something?’ she giggles and you sigh with relief. 

‘No, we just…I was drunk and said some words. Things. Stuff. I don’t know.’

‘Oh God, what did you say!?!’

‘I’m not sure. Something about him being too good for me. And I might have said that he thinks he has feelings for me but he doesn’t really, and that he will make a good husband for someone one day but just not for me. It was crazy drunk talk and now I hate myself, what can I say. Also I’m pretty sure I started crying because he got annoyed and then he had to comfort me.’

‘Oh honey, no. No you didn’t.’ Louisa looks at you in the most pitying way a best friend can and you feel even more sorry for yourself.

‘Yeah, I did. I feel so awkward. I don’t even know how to face him to be honest. Knowing him, and knowing how fucking good of a man he is, he will definitely pretend he doesn’t remember and I know he remembers because he wasn’t nearly as drunk. So I’m gonna have to pretend that I believe him.’ 

‘Just fuck it out like you always do.’ she suggests and you nod because obviously, that’s what’s most likely going to happen.

Louisa heads back downstairs and you get up and take a shower. Luckily, you feel slightly better afterwards, at least physically. Now comes the hard part. And you decide to be a woman about it. As you walk into the kitchen, Dominick is still there, preparing food with Louisa’s help but she flees as she sees you coming and you give her a grateful smile. He looks up and you wrap your arms around his waist, and thankfully he leans into you invitingly. 

‘I’m sorry about last night.’ you whisper, looking for a reaction from him and he gives you a soft smile. ‘I think I still have a lot of…stuff I haven’t dealt with from my past relationship and I guess that all came up in my drunken state. And I’m sorry I projected that onto you. That wasn’t fair. But you are a good man. And that other man would have taken advantage, so thank you for taking care of me last night. And for not being angry with me.’ 

You’re not quite sure if it’s the entire truth; whether your past relationship has anything to do with what you felt about Dominick last night. But for now it’s the best explanation you can come up with, for yourself and for him. So you mean it, earnestly. And he turns towards you and hugs you, kisses your hair, and you feel so much relief. There’s so much rawness in this moment between you two, you somehow wish you could take it back but at the same time you savor every second of it. 

‘It’s okay, my sweet. I could never be angry with you. And we all have our stuff. I get it. Don’t worry, yeah?’ he assures you and you hug him tighter.

You can tell he’s relieved too, and you’ve been given more time. How much more you don’t know. One month, two, three. Until the end of the summer maybe. Another tremor has passed. 

_______________

The rest of your 4th of July celebrations continue on without a hitch. You and Louisa help Dominick finish with the food, he wouldn’t let anyone else touch anything even though the others offer but he shoos them away. In exchange they take charge of the barbecuing and everything is delicious and you have the most fun, relaxed day, this time with a much more controlled alcohol intake. When the fireworks start in the evening, everyone is busy with each other so Dominick pulls you away and up the stairs and there you are again, naked and entangled under the sheets.

Compared to yesterday afternoon, it’s slow and passionate and you hold on to him for dear life, and it’s probably all the emotions of last night, for both of you. You try not to let it get to you but let’s face it, you are not a very good actress. 

‘It’s okay.’ he whispers as he sinks into you, kissing you deeply. Is this what Louisa meant when she said ‘fuck it out’?

You shut off your mind and let your body take over, or rather, you let Dominick take over your body. Your legs wrap around him and you focus solely on the feeling of him inside you, his skin against yours, his breath, the way he moans your name. It’s an intoxicating feeling having him this close. If you’re being completely honest with yourself it messes with your mind and perhaps that’s why you prefer the less intimate ways. One could argue that being on all fours and having a man raw you from behind is even more intimate but no, this is it for you. There’s no escaping how he looks into your eyes, how he kisses you; you are trapped, not just physically. Of course it feels wonderful, there’s no denying it. Everything is so intense with Dominick, and in these moments he brings you to the brink of almost forgetting that you are only lovers, not in love. And that is a dangerous thing. 

So yes, it’s cute and lovely when you ‘make love’ but you will always try to fuck instead for that exact reason. To avoid the feeling in your stomach you get when your eyes meet and he tells you that there isn’t a minute of the day he doesn’t think of you. And you should feel delighted but there’s regret and guilt you feel when he says it, so you kiss him again desperately so he doesn’t realize. So then you shut off your mind because you’ve had enough of your own fucked up thoughts this weekend and you try to focus on just the way your body feels. And your back arches as Dominick thrusts into you, still slowly but expertly hitting your gspot. He cups your breast softly, telling you how beautiful you are, and you do feel beautiful with him, and you do tell him he’s beautiful too because he is. Your hands grab his arms, tracing the muscles there, up his shoulders, down his back, leaving light scratch marks on his tanned skin, and you know he likes it as he hisses into your ear. You’ve gotten carried away in the past, just looking at him; while he was sleeping, while he was lying next to you in the sun. Giving him up will mean going cold turkey and you know it so you have to enjoy every inch of him as long as you can. You do wish you could stop time. 

When you pack your bags the next day it feels surprisingly bittersweet. All the anxiety you felt about sharing a room with Dominick for the weekend has been replaced by sadness that it’s over and you two have to leave your love nest behind. First night’s alcohol-fueled antics aside, it’s been really nice and knowing you’ll never get this back makes your heart sink. He seems to read your mind.

‘This wasn’t so bad.’ Dominick says, grabbing his toiletries from the bathroom. 

‘Yeah, well, apart from my little emotional outburst I’d say we did pretty good.’ 

‘Happens to the best of us.’ he smirks but you still wish you could make it unhappen. 

‘I guess we’re not gonna see each other for a while then, huh?’ you’re referring to the Bar of course, and the fact that it’s less than four weeks to the exam and all of you have to study and none of you need distractions.

‘For real? I’d think we need a bit of a, y’know, stress relief, at the end of each day. Like, as a reward.’ he’s standing there with his hands on his hips, all serious and you have to laugh. 

‘Okay, fair enough. So a stress relief fuck date every night?’ 

‘You don’t have to make it sound so seedy but yeah.’ 

You roll your eyes at him, cursing him for being adorable and so needy for you. Truth be told, you don’t think you could have gone even a week without him. If he hadn’t suggested it, you would have been at his door in a matter of days, scratching like a starved kitten, begging to be fed and petted. You’re just as bad as he is. 

________________

So it goes. Your alarm wakes you every day at 6am. A shower, a huge cup of iced coffee, a quick breakfast, and then it’s you and the books and papers until noon. You allow yourself ten minutes for a lunch break, usually some prepared snack or a bagel, more coffee, repeat. Time flies by and soon it’s 8pm and your stomach is growling and your doorbell rings and it’s Dominick and he always brings food and you devour it and then you devour each other. He was right about the stress relief. It does wonders. By 9.30pm you are usually asleep, worn out from studying and sex. He stays with you some nights but he knows not to be there when your alarm goes off so you have developed a routine although you do allow yourself to spend the weekends at his place, studying together, a little bit more relaxed. 

You admire his brain. The way he thinks. You have no doubt he’s going to pass the Bar with ease. Dominick says the same thing about you but you have always been unsure of yourself while he has this confidence, this tenacity that seems to just flow through him naturally. When you imagine him as a lawyer, you can just see a jury hanging on his every word while he delivers his opening or closing arguments or questions the witnesses; his intelligence, eloquence and charm all paired up will make for a deadly combination in a courtroom. It certainly worked on you, from the very first second. Dominick has this force of attraction about him that makes everyone around him, no matter the gender, want to be close to him, talk to him, have his attention. And at times it had made you jealous before realizing that you were the center of his attention, always. You’ve never used the term ‘exclusive’ and there have been instances when gorgeous girls have made their way over to him while you were nowhere near him but watching from afar. There were no rules about flirting with other people and he was unaware you were even looking but it put a winning smile on your face every time you saw him ignore their advances. In all honesty, the thought of him with someone else killed you inside. You knew, eventually you would both move on from one another and then some other girl would have him. Once you let him go you would have to be ready for that. But right now you weren’t ready to let him go just yet. 

_______________

The day of the Bar finally came and went and overall you have a good feeling about it. Now all you could do is wait for the results, stay at your part-time job in the meantime, or, if you’re lucky, get that clerk position with Emily at the UN you applied for. At the moment though, you’re in limbo, so you enjoy the summer, let the pressure fall off your shoulders, and celebrate with your friends. 

One of your fellow students is throwing a party on the rooftop of his apartment building the day after the exam. It’s the hottest day of the summer, or so they said and you’re wearing your skimpiest dress, hair up, and trying to cool yourself by pressing a cold glass of Vodka Soda against your neck. Dominick is late, on the hunt for more ice he promised to bring. You scan the crowd, wondering how many of these people will stay in your life now that you don’t even see each other at the library anymore. It’s a new chapter in your life for all of you and a lot of you will move on, perhaps even you. At the end of the day though, New York is a village and being in the same profession, you will run into each other, like it or not. 

A cold pair of hands on your shoulders interrupts your thoughts and you shriek in surprise, turning around to find Dominick giggling at you. 

‘Ugh, you’re so mean!’ you scold but kiss the corner of his mouth, hugging him. 

‘And here I was thinking you’d appreciate it considering this heat!’ he hugs you back, swaying you from side to side a little.

‘With a bit of a warning, maybe.’ there you are again, back and forth like an old married couple. You have to roll your eyes at yourself. 

‘You look divine.’ he says and lets go of you, looking you up and down.

‘I’m sweating, everywhere.’

‘That’s hot. Won’t make a difference then when I tear off that dress and throw you down somewhere to-’ you put your finger on his lips to shut him up as you see some of your friends approaching.

That visual he gave you stays with you the entire night. And apparently, he has some thoughts on his mind as well. You can tell by how his fingers are brushing the back of your thighs just below the hem of your dress every time he walks by you. The way he tucks the loose strands of your hair behind your ears whenever he stands next to you, hand lingering there for a bit too long. The way his eyes are focusing on your lips whenever you suck on your straw and you make a point of licking them ever so often, on purpose, of course. Fluttering your lashes up at him innocently, making him blush because he sure as fuck is thinking about your mouth wrapped around his cock. And he sighs and looks away, and swears under his breath and you giggle and he comes back, his hand on the small of your back. 

And you check that no one is watching and you stick your butt out a little and he double-checks for witnesses, and his hand wanders there for a brief second. Cupping your asscheek, squeezing before he withdraws quickly as though he burned himself on a hot oven. Then your fingers, wet from the condensation of your cold glass, casually wander down your neck to the mounds of your breasts, leaving a moist trail you know he is dying to lick. He clears his throat, moving closer again and you feel the heat of his body against yours, you can swear he’s shaking as he grabs your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh under the makeshift bar. He’s dangerously close to your lace-covered center, a few more inches and he would feel just how wet you are from toying with him like this. So you walk away to the other side of the roof, out of sight a little bit, leaning against the wall, waiting for him to join you. 

‘You’re being a really bad girl tonight.’ Dominick sighs, flustered out of his mind. 

‘I can be even worse.’ you grin, shoving your leg between his legs, feeling him get hard. 

‘Don’t you dare.’ he warns softly but you know he has lost this battle already and there’s not much he can do. 

‘What? Hmm?’ you raise your leg, until your thigh is at his crotch, moving back and forth gently over him. 

‘Stop!’

‘You came over here. You followed me. Just walk away then. You can’t, huh?’ you laugh, continuing your movements.

‘No, I can’t. You got me in a chokehold and you know it. You and these red lips.’ his thumb is on your bottom lip and you open your mouth, sucking it in, making him gasp.

‘You want something else in there, don’t you, Dominick?’ you look up at him and he has that look on his face, that look of denial but you know what he wants. ‘You want me to be a really, really bad girl? You want me to suck your cock and swallow your cum for you, hmm? Every last drop? I want it so bad, Dominick. I want to taste you so bad. Have you throbbing in my mouth.’ 

He curses and grabs you and you giggle while he pulls you toward the rooftop exit. Down the stairs you go until you find a dark corner in the stairwell, and soon that red lipstick of yours is leaving marks down his neck, chest and stomach. And you get on your knees and unbuckle his belt and his head falls back against the cool wall and you feel dizzy because he looks so fucking hot and you can’t wait to make him feel good. His cock is rock hard as you pull down his underwear and you take him into your mouth hungrily, and he growls your name desperately. He can’t help but grab your head and fuck into you but you don’t mind; on the contrary, you can feel yourself growing even wetter as his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag slightly. You riled him up good all evening and seeing him lose it is all you wanted.  

It doesn’t take long until you can feel his muscles tense but instead of picking up the pace he withdraws from your mouth, leaving you surprised as he pulls you up. His hand immediately under your dress, feeling for your wetness and he smiles before kissing you sinfully.  

‘Ah, you thought you could fuck with me? Act like you got me all wrapped around your little finger? Like you’re the one in control. Nuh-uh, kitten. Look how wet you are for me. Two can play that game, baby.’ he whispers, shoving you against the wall as he removes your thong.

You want to protest but his words make you delirious as he wraps your legs around his hips, aligning himself with your entrance. He kisses you again and slips into you without effort, immediately starting a hard, relentless rhythm, fucking you against the wall. 

Fuck. You come undone. Yes, you wanted to be in control but now he’s making you lose all of it. All you can do is hold on to him while he slams into you, over and over. It’s quick, it’s rough, it lasts only a few minutes. The only sounds are your moans and your bodies, slick with sweat, pounding together. And you cum hard and unexpectedly, biting down on his shoulder to stifle a scream that the whole apartment complex would have heard otherwise. He can barely hold you up, his own knees buckling from his orgasm, and when it’s over you just hang from each other, foreheads pressed together, panting, shaking. 

And then somewhere above you you can hear a door open and footsteps coming down the stairs and you quickly gather up your clothes and retreat further into the corner, giggling. 

‘How ironic would it be if we’d get arrested one day after taking the Bar?’ he says, zipping up his jeans while you pull up your thong. 

__________________

Half an hour later Dominick walks you home and kisses you goodnight in front of your building. You can tell he wants to come up but you leave for Connecticut in the morning, to visit your family for a few days. Come to think of it, it’s the longest you’ve been without him since the two weeks at the beginning of your summer fling. And you admit to yourself that you’re going to miss him terribly.    

__________________

thank you so much to my betareader for this chapter @pascalispretty aka The Rose of the Reach on AO3 please check out her works!)

tagging @plaidbooks @eltrujillo :)

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part twenty-three: "The Day of Phone Tag"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Matt has court all day and you both keep missing each other's phone calls while trying to make plans for the evening.

Or

You touch it. You finally touch Matt’s ass.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 3.3k

a/n: Transferring more of these over again! Enjoy this fluffy little installment! You can find the other installments for this series on tumblr here.

Tuesday Morning

Your hands lathered the shampoo into your hair, scrubbing your scalp with your eyes closed as you showered. You were still feeling half awake despite the warm water running over you, not used to waking up and jumping in the shower instead of making yourself a cup of coffee. Having not had a chance to shower last night, too focused on finishing an article for Ellison, you’d rushed to grab one before needing to leave for the office this morning. You knew your hair would probably be a bit of a mess, not having much time to fix it once you finished showering, but you didn’t have an option. You were just hoping you’d have enough time to at least dry it so you weren’t freezing as you walked to work.

As you were about to stick your head under the spray and rinse off the soap, you heard your phone’s ringtone coming from the bathroom counter. Curious, you pulled back the shower curtain and peered around it. Matt’s name was displayed along your screen. With a sigh, you slipped back under the warm spray. You’d have to call him back when you got out and were dressed or you’d be late to work. Rinsing off your hair, a minute later you heard the telltale beep that meant he’d left you a voicemail and you hurried to finish your shower.

It was almost quarter to seven by the time you were grabbing your things and racing out of your apartment, locking up and shouldering your phone to your ear as you listened to Matt’s voicemail before heading towards the elevator.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. We never really finalized our plans yesterday. Were we getting together tonight? Or was it tomorrow? I can’t remember when you, Karen, and Marci were shopping for costumes.” He paused, clearing his throat as the sound of honking echoed through the message. “If you call me back soon you might catch me before I head to the courthouse. Otherwise maybe I’ll catch you during lunch recess or something. Love you, sweetie.”

As the elevator doors opened to the first floor, you smiled at the addition of the ‘love yous’ that had started popping up in the voicemails the pair of you had been leaving each other. Shifting your bag on your shoulder as you stepped out and into the lobby, you quickly dialed Matt back. The line rang a handful of times as you stepped out of your building and onto the street, being hit with the chilly October wind immediately. And then your phone went straight to voicemail. You sighed as the automated message told you Matt was unavailable. 

“Hey, Matty,” you began after the beep, walking your way briskly towards the office, “guess I missed you. My morning has sort of been off and I’m running late, but it was tomorrow I was going shopping with the girls. Which–you still haven’t told me what you’re going to the bar as and with what Foggy was saying, I’m now dying to know. You should at least give me a hint.” You swerved around a woman who was taking up way too much space along the sidewalk, shooting her a curious eye as it looked like she was doing yoga in the middle of the sidewalk dressed as a pineapple. New York City was fucking weird sometimes. “Anyway, I’m free tonight if you are. Just let me know what you want to do or who’s place you want to meet up at. Good luck with that case today and I love you, too.”

Tuesday Afternoon

“Katy,” you whined, head rolling back along your shoulders in your desk chair. “Just give me my damn phone back. I need to check that message from Matt.”

She grinned devilishly at you, your phone in her hands behind her back. Currently you two were the only ones in the office, everyone either out for lunch or chasing a lead. Which was why Katy was being exceptionally difficult right now.

“Not until I hear you promise me,” she pushed.

You rolled your eyes at her. “I am not promising you that!” you cried out.

One of her brows rose on her forehead as she shot you a very pointed look. “Seriously? You have Hell’s Kitchen’s finest ass in your bed, girl. I’m just asking you to take one little bitty bite of it. You can’t tell me you don’t want to. And I have no idea why you haven’t even grabbed it yet.”

“You really need to stop thinking about my boyfriend’s ass so much,” you told her. “That’s my ass, now.”

A wicked grin spread across Katy’s face as she stared back at you. “Then claim that ass, bitch. Take a fucking bite out of it or something. Fuck. And then tell me about how goddamn delicious it is afterwards.”

“ Katy !” you gasped out, eyes darting around the office as you prayed no one had slipped back in from lunch and overheard her.

She laughed at your discomfort and you felt your cheeks reddening. A moment later, your distinct ringtone rang out from behind her back. Katy quickly glanced down at it behind her, her face lighting up as she turned back to you. 

“Speak of the fine ass devil,” she teased. “Lover boy is calling.”

You bolted out of your chair towards her but Katy was quick, darting around the side of the cubicles. A frustrated groan flew out of you as you glared at her from across the office.

“Promise me you’ll at least grab that man’s ass,” she said, holding up your ringing phone. “Or I’ll let this go to voicemail.”

“Oh my God,” you breathed out, frustrated. “Katy, I don’t want to play phone tag with Matt all day, come on. He’s going to be back in court and I’ll have to wait hours to get ahold of him again.”

“Then promise me you’ll at least just touch that glorious butt that your man has!” Katy pressed, your ringing phone still held up in her hand. “Stop being so damn nervous–touch the butt!”

“Fuck–alright!” you agreed in exasperation. “I’ll touch his damn ass, now give me my phone!”

Satisfied, she tossed your phone across the cubicles towards you, but you fumbled catching it and it dropped to the floor. The moment you turned, about to bend over and pick it up, the call had already been sent to your voicemail. You groaned, frantically bending down and grabbing your phone. Quickly you opened your contacts and dialed him back, hoping to get ahold of him before bothering to check the messages–but to no avail. 

“Goddammit!” you cursed, ending the call.

Immediately you went into your voicemail, pulling up the message Matt had left you a little over an hour ago. You’d missed his call since you hadn’t been at your desk, too busy checking a lead yourself and having accidentally left your phone behind.

“You know I’m not telling you my costume,” Matt’s deep voice said in your ear, a light chuckle following. “Nice try though. I appreciate the effort. You’ll just have to wait until the party, like I already told you before. And Foggy is keeping his mouth shut on it, so don’t even try to get him to talk.” He sighed, his tone shifting to something softer and less amused. “I miss you. Two days without you is too long. Why don’t I grab dinner for tonight? Your place or mine, you pick. Or we could go out? We never did get around to that new restaurant after we both got sick. Whatever you want, sweetie. I’ll see you tonight, hopefully.”

You chewed your lip, wishing you could have answered any of his calls today. Two days was too long without him, he was right, and you were missing him, too. And missing his calls all day wasn’t helping. Frustrated, you played the message he just left next.

“We are not having any luck today with phone calls, are we? I just finished a quick lunch, was hoping to catch you before court is back in session but I guess I missed you again. Call me back, sweetie. Let me know about tonight. I love you.”

Exhaling roughly, you quickly dialed Matt back. The phone went straight to his voicemail as you expected. You knew he was back in court and his phone would be off until he was out again. That’s how it always was on days he had court.

“Fuck, I’m sorry I missed your calls again, Matt. That last one was Katy’s fault,” you told him in a rush. “She stole my phone. Wouldn’t give it back until I promised to take a bite of your ass and I–” you stopped short, eyes widening as Katy barked out a laugh beside you. “Shit,” you breathed out, eyes closing. “I did not mean to tell you that.”

Katy cupped a hand around her mouth, calling towards your phone, “She needs to gnaw on it like a dog with a bone! Fucking let her at it, man!”

“Katy!” you scolded, lowering the phone from your face for a moment. “Not cool!” She let out another laugh as you returned to your message. “ Anyway , I’m open to whatever you want to do tonight. Go out or stay in, whatever you’re feeling after work because I know how exhausting your day can get. And also, I’m pretty sure if I bribe Foggy with those bagels he likes, I can get him to tell me what your costume is.” You laughed lightly at the prospect–Foggy was a bagel whore. Everyone knew it. “So I uhm, I’ll talk to you later, baby–”

“Awww, he’s baby now?” Katy called out.

You shot her a pointed look. “He doesn’t need your commentary!” you harshly whispered to her. “Anyway, I love you,” you said back into your phone. “Hopefully I don’t miss the next call.”

You hung up and glared at Katy and her yogurt cup.

Tuesday Early Evening

Sliding the wet strands of hair from off of your face, you pushed open the door to your apartment building and stepped inside. Of course it had to start raining when you were half a block away and you had gotten caught in the middle of it. 

Sighing, you slipped into the elevator next to two other people, pushing the button for the fifth floor and then crossing your arms over your chest. You were starting to get cold in your damp clothes despite the heat in the building. A moment later you felt something vibrate in your pocket and your brows furrowed. Your hand darted down, slipping your phone from your dress pants pocket. Immediately your shoulders sagged when you’d realized you’d missed another call from Matt. You forgot you’d left your phone on vibrate when you’d gone into the staff meeting later this afternoon and you’d been too busy afterwards to remember to take it off. 

As you stepped out of the elevator onto your floor, you hurriedly made your way down to your apartment. Unlocking your front door, you stepped inside and pulled up your voicemail, quickly holding your phone to your ear as you kicked your shoes off.

“Well if you want a bite of my ass for dinner, I suppose we’ll just have to stay in tonight,” Matt’s amused voice said into your ear. You winced, having forgotten about the last voicemail you’d left him. “So staying in it is. I’ll grab us dinner from that sushi place and head to your place. Just got out of court for the day so I should be there soon.” You could tell he was walking, the sound of foot traffic and car traffic a bit louder in his message at this time of day. “And you can’t bribe Fog to tell you for bagels, because I already bribed him with those very same bagels not to tell you. Like I said, you’re waiting until Halloween to find out.” A beat later when he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a sultry whisper, one that even recorded was raising the little hairs along your forearms. “And I like it when you call me baby. Especially when it’s accompanied by those little breathy moans you make.”

The voicemail ended, your jaw partially hanging open at the way he’d ended it. Remembering that your clothes were wet, you set your phone down on the coffee table and made your way into your room, trying to ignore the way Matt’s voice at the end of that message had somehow worked you up a little. 

You peeled out of your wet work clothes, changing into leggings and a sweater since Matt was coming over–it was casual and comfortable but a little more dressed up than sweatpants and a sweatshirt would have been. As you were brushing through your damp hair, you heard a knock at your door. Setting the brush back down on your dresser, you quickly left your bedroom and headed to your front door.

Pulling it open, you spotted Matt holding a bag of takeout and it was obvious he had clearly gotten soaked from the rain, too. He had a big grin on his face though, apparently unphased by the drenched dress shirt and dress pants he was wearing.

“Hey, Matty, come in,” you told him, stepping aside.

“If I couldn’t already hear you in here,” he said, entering your apartment as you closed the door behind him and took the bag of food, “I’d have been afraid you wouldn’t be home with how we kept missing each other’s calls all day.”

“Yeah,” you said with a light laugh. “That was quite frustrating. Looks like you got caught in that downpour, too. You want me to grab you some dry clothes?”

“Yes, that’d be great, sweetheart,” he told you, leaning his cane against the wall by your front door as he always did.

“So how’d court go?” you asked, setting the food on your coffee table before heading back into your bedroom.

“It was long and tedious,” Matt called back to you from the living room. “The case is going into tomorrow. One of the witness testimonies dragged on for longer than expected. But it seems to be going well. For us, at least.”

You closed your dresser drawer, holding onto a pair of his sweatpants and one of his shirts. “That’s good,” you replied, turning and heading back towards your hallway. “Hopefully that means you guys will–”

You stopped abruptly at the sight of Matt in his tight boxers, his damp clothes folded and set off to the side of the room on your floor. He shot you a cheeky grin, clearly hearing your heart pick up at the sight of him. 

“Uhm, hopefully, uh, hopefully you guys will win,” you stammered out, crossing the room towards him. You cleared your throat, holding out his clothes. “I uh–here’s some dry clothes.”

The cheeky grin was still on his face as he accepted them from you, but he didn’t immediately start dressing. Instead, his head tilted a little to the side as he shifted the clothes to his left hand, holding out his right.

“Give me your hand,” he ordered.

You blinked hard a few times in response. “Uh, what?” you asked him.

“Give me your hand,” he repeated.

Uncertainty rolling through you, you tentatively placed your hand in his. The saucy little smile on his mouth only grew before he pulled your hand behind him and placed it resolutely on his right ass cheek. Your eyes widened, heart hammering wildly in your chest.

“What are you doing?” you asked him nervously.

He shrugged, taking his hand off of yours. You were too stunned to remove your hand from his ass, though.

“Figured you’ve been staring at it long enough,” he said lightly. “Thought I’d encourage you to just grab it finally.”

“I–I–” you stammered out, brain suddenly short-circuiting. 

You were grabbing his ass– finally . There was no way words were coming out of your mouth for the next thirty seconds while your brain remembered how to function. 

Matt chuckled, tossing his dry clothes onto your coffee table. “Here,” he said, grabbing your other hand and placing it onto his other ass cheek. 

Your face went red. He chuckled again before his hands snaked their way over your hips and onto your ass. Gripping a handful of your ass in each hand, he pulled you into him and you stumbled forward.

“Now I’m going to feel up your ass before I get dressed and we sit down and eat that sushi,” Matt informed you. “So you can either stand there overthinking, or you can take the opportunity to grab my ass like I know you want to.”

Biting your lip, noticing how Matt was unphased about boldly kneading your ass in his hands, your hands gave him a little squeeze–and your jaw dropped. How was it so fucking solid ? Your hands slid downwards a bit, cupping his ass, but hell, it was so large and round you couldn’t even fit an entire cheek in your whole hand. 

Matt huffed out a laugh beside your ear. “Does it live up to your expectations?” he asked.

Shyly you squeezed his ass in your hands another time, unsure when would be the next time you’d have the nerve to grab it again. And you sure as shit wanted to commit the feel of it to memory. 

“You don’t even need the suit,” you joked lightly. “I’m pretty sure a bullet would bounce off of your ass.”

A loud peel of laughter flew out of him as his hands slid off of you. Reluctantly you removed your hands from him as well.

“I don’t think I’d want to find out, sweetheart,” he told you, a large smile on his face. “Let’s have dinner though. I want to hear how your past couple of days were.”

Wednesday Morning

You slid your desk chair back from your computer, your head darting around the side of your cubicle. Katy glanced away from her monitor towards you, a spoonful of yogurt going into her mouth. She raised a curious brow as she slid the spoon back out.

“I touched it,” you whispered.

Her eyes grew wide and she quickly swallowed down the yogurt, sliding her chair towards you. “Oh my God , finally! How was it?” she asked quickly.

“It was the roundest, firmest, perkiest ass I’ve ever touched,” you whispered.

Her eyes closed as she smiled. “Fuck, I know you haven’t touched a lot of asses so that shouldn’t mean much, but goddamn I know what you’re saying,” she whispered.

“It was well worth the wait to touch,” you told her.

Her eyes opened and her brows rose up high. “Like so perky you could bounce a roll of quarters off of it?” She pointed a firm finger at your chest as she added, “Which, by the way, you should totally do.”

You grinned, nodding. “Yes. You could bounce a roll of quarters off of it.”

She playfully swatted at your shoulder as she leaned in further. “Then girl go bounce yourself off that man’s ass like it’s a fucking trampoline.”

“ Katy ,” you scolded, catching sight of Bianca shooting you both a strange glance as she walked past.

Katy laughed, leaning back in her chair and scooting back to her desk. “What?” she asked, picking her yogurt cup back up. “It’s not like you don’t want to, is it?”

You rolled your eyes at her bluntness, sliding your chair back towards your own desk. But you’d be lying if you’d said you weren’t thinking about Matt Murdock’s ass throughout the rest of your day.

[sunnysgraves]

[SUNNY GRAVES. 30. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER] is here! They’ve lived in Asbury Park for [20 YEARS] and are originally from [POINT PLEASANT, WEST VIRGINIA]. They are a [TOUR GUIDE/EMPLOYEE AT PARANORMAL BOOKS & CURIOSITIES/THE PARANORMAL MUSEUM] and in their downtime love [HORROR MOVIES] and [WITCHCRAFT]. They look a lot like [OLIVIA COOKE] and live in [MEADOWLARK APARTMENTS]. The song that makes people think of them the most is [ANDROMEDA BY WEYES BLOOD].

☾ playlist. ☾ pinterest. ☾ muse. ☾ connections.

━━ ⟢ i. the basics  full name → sunny louise graves birthday → 06/02/1994 big three → gemini sun, pisces moon, scorpio rising height → 5'5" sexual orientation → bisexual  mbti → infj hometown → point pleasant, west virginia

━━ ⟢ i. personality tidbits  - has that complex anxious avoidant attachment style - when she senses someones pulling back she's like swerve  - dropping hints like she's the queen of ghosting - she can be very all or nothing in regards to that so like you may get a text from her once every other week or she'll bomb you with them all at once in a span of five minutes - is a great friend but she's intense so she's not for everyone - always assumes everyone's mad at her  - her hometown is where mothman was famously cited, and yeah she makes that a personality trait - she practices witchcraft and has an altar to the deities she worships - though i feel as if she's still pretty skeptic if she believes in ghosts she kinda cancels out proof even if it's right in front of her face. her logical side of her brain kind of kicks in and clears it out. she can be pretty self motivated, even if its unbeknownst to herself. - playlists are her love language - finds comfort in meditation instead of going fucking insane, sometimes both - always falls for emotionally unavailable people, a lot of times her bosses 😭 - very into metaphysics like tarot, astrology, etc  - loves horror movies and probably watches at least one a day (probably while she's eating dinner ngl)  

━━ ⟢ i. go deeper tw: alcohol, drug use, abuse, suicide - m o m m y i s s u e s 🥳 - sunny grew up in a tumultuous household with her parents always fighting and money was always tight - it wasn't until she was 10 that she moved to asbury park where she was hopeful things would improve since her father landed a better job, but things quickly deteriorated - as she got older her mom developed bad habits with drugs, and her father coped with alcohol  - as a byproduct she was kind of abandoned emotionally, and didn't really have anyone to turn to - her mom was self medicating a larger problem under the surface, and sunny had the misfortune of walking in on her mom trying on several occasions to take her own life - as a result she couldn't focus in school or, would hyper focus on the wrong things and daydream instead of listening in her classes - got the rep of not only the new kid, but the weird new kid - and as things usually happen, one day when her guard was down because her mom appeared to be doing better, so she decided to go hang out at a friend's house after school one day.  - when she returned home later than normal, she walked around her house looking for her mom. to her disbelief, she found her mom hanging from the shower curtain rod, and was in denial that her mom was really gone since she'd always caught it in time before.  - hours later her father found sunny holding her mom up talking to her limp body about how she made a friend at school finally.  - when the emts arrived on scene trying to load her mom onto the stretcher, sunny wouldn't allow them to take her mom away from her until her dad had to physically pick her up and carry her away  - she blamed herself for not being there for her mom sooner - she hasn't ever really dealt with her mother's death, i think in a way she tried to acquaint herself closely with death instead. she would buy ouija boards trying to contact her mother from the other side. hire psychic mediums, go to palm readers, anything for a sign from her mom  - whew that was fun! thank you for sticking around if you made it this far into this dumpster fire 

━━ ⟢ i. connections  - literally anything and everything  - people she's once passed on the street and projected romantic fantasies on, friends, friends of a friend, cousins, exes, ex hookups, ex situationships, enemies, neighbors, old co-workers, old classmates, old classmates that used to bully her etc etc gimme gimme gimme 

[deans-baby-momma]

The Hunter and The Sheriff - Chapter 2

As soon as he was done chopping the head off of the last vampire, Dean knew what he needed to do.

He and his brother had just obliterated a nest of 15 vampires but it hadn't been easy. He had narrowly avoided getting shoved into a piece of rebar sticking out of a support beam in the seedy and dilapidated barn. Something that would've been fatal.

Dropping Sam back at the Bunker, Dean pointed the Impala northeast. It would take him eight hours but he needed to go, he needed her.

Never in his life had he felt this way, this pull to another person. Even with Lisa, he’d never felt this way; the need, the want, the desire to be in their presence.

But Donna wasn't Lisa. No, Donna knew the intricate parts of his life, his job. She knew that no news was good news so he didn't feel obliged to give her a call to update her all the time.

Not like with Lisa. Lisa always wanted to know his every location, his every move. Yes, she knew about his job seeing as Dean is the one that saved her son from the Changeling that was terrorizing her town but the constant checking in and her incessant need to know every detail of his days. It was overwhelming and made her unattractive.

It killed their relationship before it really began.

But Donna wasn't like that. She understood the life. Probably better than anyone ever had. Except Sam.

Dean didn't even bother calling Donna to tell her he was heading her way, he didn't have to. Their arrangement wasn't like that.

She hadn't alerted him before she showed up at the Bunker three months ago. Didn't mean he wasn'ts exhilarated to see her. And he proved it when Sam went out for some hippy-dippy show across town.

He'd fucked her on almost every surface in the underground shelter in appreciation.

He knows when he doesn't see her vehicle in the driveway that she's still at work. That's okay though; Donna had given him a key to the door.

So after parking Baby in the garage, he grabs his duffel, hoping there's at least one clean set of clothes in there because, honestly, he doesn't remember the last time he changed it out.

He gets in with no problem and heads straight to the shower. He's dirty, sweaty and stinky.

He is standing under the shower, reveling in the fantastic water pressure when something catches his attention. A sound that he can't quite decipher.

But then the curtain is ripped open and he smiles at what he sees. Donna fucking Hanscum stands in front of the hunter, completely nude with a blinding smile on her face.

“Hey-a! This is a great surprise,” she says as she steps into the stall with Dean, her hand rubbing up his arm, across his shoulder and cups the side of his head.

“Wanted to come see my girl,” Dean says as he leans into her touch.

Donna's legs are wrapped around his hips and her back is pressed into the shower wall as he rails into her, his dick spearing her cervix. Her moans are music to his ears.

Neither of them pay any mind that the water has turned frigid, the heat from both of their bodies keeping the lovers warm.

Dean can feel his end approaching but he staves it off because he can feel that Donna is right there: right on the precipice of one of the best orgasms of her life.

He slips a hand between them and starts rubbing her bud.

“Come on D,” he murmurs. “Let go. You're right there baby. That tight pussy is squeezing me so hard. Cum for me.”

He leans back and watches as the blonde’s eyes roll back and her body tenses. Then he feels it. Her warm juices coat his cock and splash against his groin.

Donna goes limp but Dean is ready for it, he knew she would lose all cognition after a climax that strong; he holds her tight, slowing his thrusts until she regain consciousness.

As soon as her blue eyes open, he smiles. “There's my pretty girl. You okay?”

“Oophta. I think I died,” Donna says with a giggle.

“Nah, sweetheart you just squirted,” Dean explains. “Was that your first time?”

“You betcha. It was……awesome!”

Dean smiles and kisses her lips. “Let's see if I can get you to do it again.”

He begins pounding into her willing body again, his fingers massaging and gently squeezing her quivering clit.

Unfortunately Dean meets his end before he can accomplish what he sat out to do but only because Donna starts whispering complete filth in his ear and he can't hold it in.

“Come on, Dean give me all that cock. God it feels good to be stretched around your dick.”

“Fucking my brains out takes on a whole new meaning when Dean Winchester is inside you. Fill me up baby. Shoot all that cum deep inside my cunt.”

“Maybe later we could play around with some of my toys? Oh you like that? Umph! Wanna fuck me with my pink dildo?”

“Oh god Dean! Please fill me up!”

Dean thrusts in to the hilt as he feels his cum explode from his body and floods Donna's pussy.

They laugh together as they both clean up in water that feels like it was piped in straight from Antarctica.

Once out of the shower, they dry off and both fall into bed completely nude and go to sleep.

The next morning Donna wakes to an empty bed. Or so she thought until she feels Dean's tongue flicking her clit.

“Good morning to me!” she exclaims as she looks down to see a tuft of spiky brown hair between her thighs.

Dean hums against her then sucks the nub into his lips.

Donna reaches down and spreads her labia to give him better access to her most intimate area.

Dean takes his right hand from her thigh and inserts a finger as he continues lavishing her clit with the most sinful attention

Hearing her moans and gasps spurs Dean on and he quickly adds another digit to the mix; scissoring her open until he could add a third.

Donna is vibrating from his ministrations, her body shuddering from the pleasure.

“Fuck!” Dean exclaims, taking his mouth off of her and looking down. “I've got my whole damn fist in your pussy Don! God damn! That's hot.”

Donna whimpers but doesn't say anything as she begins undulating her hips.

“You want me to fuck you with my fist? See if I can get my arm in there?”

“Umhmm,” Donna moans, her bottom lip trapped by her teeth.

Dean begins pumping his wrist and flexing his fingers and goes back to nibbling on the soppy cunt in front of him.

He had never met anyone that would even consider this. He didn't think it was possible but as he uncurls his fingers and plays with Donna's inside walls, he was glad that it's Donna who allowed it.

She was a friend, a colleague, an ally.

His dick strains against the mattress as he listens to Donna's moans of pleasure and satisfaction.

He grazes her clit with his teeth and Donna springs up to a sitting position, trapping his wrist underneath her.

“Holy shit!”

“You like that?” Dean smiles up at her, his lips wet with her arousal.

“Yea,” Donna says dreamily.

“I'm glad and I'll do it again,” he tells her. “But baby, you're breaking my wrist.”

“Oh!” Donna says as she realizes what she’s done. She lies back and Dean reluctantly withdraws from her body.

As he rubs his wrist with his other hand, he shifts off the end of the mattress. Before he gets too far, he is surprised when Donna drops to her knees on the floor and takes his cock in her hand.

“I've never thought this about any others, but you got the prettiest dick ever, Winchester. I just want to eat it up.”

Dean can't help but chuckle. “What's stopping ya darlin’?”

@spnbaby-67 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74

@vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87

@mogaruke @supraveng @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @kazsrm67

@chriszgirl92 @deanwithscissors @raisinggray @fanfic-n-tabulous @hobby27

@stoneyggirl2 @purpleeclipseeggsland @kmc1989 @leigh70

@foxyjwls007 @dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy @perpetualabsurdity

@kickingitwithkirk @deans-spinster-witch @krazykelly @nancymcl

[doberbutts]

I have to tell you I adore you and all your fabulous fur babies!

I would like to ask if you can talk about your experience being on t, specifically the mental and emotional aspects of the hrt process. I have read a lot about the physical changes that happen, but I don't see anyone talking about how your personality, mood, energy, etc. change.

Thanks!

Hey thanks!

Honestly while there is a lot of misinformation regarding what testosterone does to your emotions, I feel lucky that my endocrinologist never really said anything except that I may feel wild mood swings or have trouble controlling my anger in the first few months as my body and mind adjusted to the new swing in hormones.

This is pretty normal for any hormone you take- when you first start, you may find yourself experiencing mood swings and feeling emotions more intensely. That's why kids deep into puberty tend to be, um, a bit out of control with their emotions. It's also why this happens again as you age into your twilight years, when your body once again changes its hormone output and can set things a bit out of whack. Or if you get pregnant. Or if you start hormonal birth control. Or if you take a steroid for something not even sex hormone related. Messing with your hormones can seriously throw off your grasp on your feelings and moods.

But the good news is, it's not permenant. By the time you're 5 months in, you should start feeling more like "you" again, unless your dose changes for whatever reason. And, even better, the "you" you feel like? Usually is a much more mentally happy person.

On a personal level, I didn't have random fits of anger. Which is interesting, because I have a documented anger problem that I have taken anger management for because I have had black-out rages [usually inspired by one of my sisters deliberately hurting one of my pets] [for instance she swung one of my pet rats at the wall by the tail like she was going to kill him and the next thing I know our mother is pulling me off of her as I'm pummelling her face with my fists on the ground and I do not remember the in-between] [I'm not sorry, fuck around and find out, don't hurt my animals and I won't hurt you] [also this sister sent me to the ER in a previous fight where she'd bodily picked me up and thrown me through a window so like. Don't feel too bad for her that I finally snapped and gave her a taste of what she constantly did to me]

In fact, I've had *multiple* people who know the "before" and "after" tell me that I'm much calmer and more emotionally steady than I've ever been. And that I'm happier too. I also used to anger-cry a *lot*, pretty much any time I got angry I'd also cry, but that also stopped happening so now I don't really get angry and when I do I don't cry about it.

I would say anxiety's probably about the same but depression is much better. Compared to who I was before leaving my hometown vs now, I can confidently say that I no longer consider the odds of whether my shower curtain rod can hold me for long enough. I'm much better at recognizing when my mental health is getting bad and when I need to take a step back. I get stressed and I can go "okay, I need to break away from this before I completely lose it" well in advance. Which is great! Mental stability and joy and security for the win!

I will say I don't really cry anymore. It does occasionally feel like I'm not really able to. One of Creed's songs came on and I teared up and my throat got all fuzzy but I think only one of two tears actually came out, vs losing him pre-T we're talking ugly cry scream-sobbing in my [now-ex]'s arms. Which, yes, some of it is just distance from the grief since it was two years ago. But also I've never been so in control that I only cried a literal couple tears' worth. Usually the waterworks start and then take a long time to end.

[intoloopin-archive]

A CHAPTER: THE SHARP AND THE BLUNT (PART 2/2).

tws: dubious consent (Haruki is still very weird and forward about initiating sex! and sometimes that gets Toxic). alcohol abuse and alcoholism. semi-smut (the driest, most unsexy and robotic blowjob in the world is given). insinuation and one very direct discussion of sexual trauma, abuse by a past partner, abuse of workplace power and stalking. a little hint of body dysmorphia (Hanjae's inner voice is often not very kind about how he looks). internalized homophobia, and a hint of biphobia in between the lines. queer pessimism (it gets a bit Hurtful). as always: if I missed anything, please tell me. starring: Lee Hanjae. Fukunaga Haruki. featuring: Dylan Hwang / Hwang Chihoon. their fellow LOOPiN members (old OT10, no Gyujin, still stuck with a bit of Beomseok). Uhm Junghwa (new manager extraordinarie). the ghost of Choi Sangwon. a brief mention of Night Child / NTCD. timeline: early to the end of mid 2022 | quick flash forward to september 2023 (additional context under the cut). word count: 14,138 words. author's note: lil delay because life has to be life, sometimes, and because the hotel scene from May 26th was way more challenging to get right in tone than i originally expected (it's one of the ones to watch out for), but here we are!!!! the Hanruki end. things get much more heavy, morally grey and blantly sad in this final part, so really, mind the tags, skip if you must. and: music rec moment two. stay safe out there, everyone!

March 13th, 2022.

Hanjae doesn’t shower, or change clothes, or gets to sleep on the couch. He lays on it and spends the whole night awake, on his phone, and on his Nintendo Switch after that, back on his phone. He catches the sun rising through the window’s curtain and maybe he sleeps, briefly.

Was it even real?, he wonders when he finds himself with his eyes wide and restless, staring up at the ceiling; Did it even happen?

He pokes and pokes at the one painful spot over his shoulder, the marking of Haruki’s teeth, and gets consumed by shame at the confirmation that yes, it was real; yes, it did happen.

When Junghwa steps into their apartment to wake everyone up in the morning, Hanjae’s sitting on the couch, breathing into his hands. He still looks like a mess. Hair, clothes, face – a mess.

She gives him a crumbling look, half pity, half exhaustion, and laughs humorless. “Out of everyone, I didn’t expect you to misbehave, Lee Hanjae.”

Hanjae peeks up at her through his clammy fingers. He feels a genuine and terrifying urge to throw up on her shoes and buy her new ones immediately after.

“12 AM to 8 PM for you,” Junghwa tells him, with a sigh. She walks more into the house, close enough to lay a merciful hand on the crown of his head – pat, pat, pat. “Just this one time.”

Haruki hours, he thinks, dazed, because that’s what everyone calls it, because he’s the one stuck with the alternative schedule the most: fails to wake up for practice often, gets shoved at the company until late at night. He’ll probably get the same sentence today. He and Hanjae might have to train alone, together, for hours. His stomach takes another queasy turn.

Hanjae watches the world move around him, for once out of the routine; after hearing his fate, Taesong takes a minute out of washing his face to force Hanjae to gulp down ibuprofen while Haegon shoves a pillow at him. Junghwa goes upstairs to knock on Haruki’s door, phone against her ear as she calls him, and then comes down in record speed, by herself.

She asks everyone, “Shall we go?”

“Can I get Haruki hours, please?” Seungsoo begs from where he’s resting his head against the wall, eyes closed, sipping Gatorade.

Junghwa doesn’t look at him as she firmly says, “No.”

“But I’m dying,” Seungsoo whines. “I’m fucking dying. I can’t work. I’m gonna drop dead, dead.”

Minwoo shoves him angrily out of the way to open the front door, tells him, “Then drop dead, Seungsoo. Drop dead.”

It takes a while for the house to fall back into quiet, after everyone’s gone. Hanjae swears he hears the sound of everything amplified now, gonging inside his head. Maybe it’s the hangover – it’s probably the hangover, but he hasn’t had enough of those to figure all of their symptoms out.

He sleeps again, a miracle, wakes up again, and there’s the faint smell of something being stir fried coming from the kitchen, slowly drowning the whole room.

“I’m making tofu,” Haruki says when Hanjae sits up to check. He’s a slouched thing behind the stove, yet he’s flashing him a grin. “You want some?”

He looks, from a distant inspection – normal, regular, like Haruki always does in the morning: a little wan, with his voice a little deep. They’ve kissed, they’ve made out, and he’s absolutely normal, proposing to make Hanjae breakfast-lunch.

Hanjae says a meek ‘yes’ to tofu, and Haruki tells him, “Five minutes.”

It’s enough time for Hanjae to go brush his teeth, and hyperventilate in privacy: every corner of their bathroom makes him think back to Sunyoung’s, and to being on the floor– being kissed on the floor– being kissed by Haruki on the floor until he wasn’t.

He goes back to the couch, a stiff walk. Haruki comes to sit with him, holding a single bowl of food with two runny eggs on top, and Hanjae jumps back up and three feet away. He bumps his heel bone on the coffee table, and the pain is a shock up his entire leg; serves him well, serves him right.

“I want to apologize for yesterday or earlier today at night,” Hanjae says in a single breath, his voice coming out rough around the edges. His arms are set like wood on his sides, tight, fisted.

In front of him, Haruki’s face goes through a journey: startled, then confused, then amused, smiling. He takes a big bite of food. “Oh, you mean the bathroom? That’s what you mean?” He asks, covering his chewing mouth with a hand, and Hanjae nods once. “Pfff, no need. It’s not your fault a girl had to pee.”

“That’s not what I meant, not, not what I’m apologizing for.”

“So what are you apologizing for?” Haruki asks him, tilting his head, dark hair falling like a cloak over his eyes. He wrinkles his nose. “Didn’t I kiss you? I’m sure I kissed you. I’m sure you kissed me back.”

“Hyung,” Hanjae says, helplessly, and has to turn his face to the side, closing his eyes briefly. “Still, everything– We were drunk, and everything, it wasn’t… appropriate. To happen.”

Haruki has stopped chewing when Hanjae looks back at him, has gone full body still for a moment. When he gulps the food down, it looks like it’s a painful thing for him to do.

“Appropriate,” he repeats, looking down at his own feet, like it’s an odd word, an annoying one. “Just sit down, Hanjae. Sit back down. We’re not done yet.”

“We’re not… What?”

Haruki abandons the bowl and chopsticks, puts them roughly on the table, then motions to the vague spot on his side – come here. Hanjae doesn’t move. He still has some word stuck under his tongue he has to work out.

Haruki doesn’t take his paralyzes at all. He clicks his tongue, walks up and close and puts both hands on Hanjae’s shoulders, maneuvers him and sits him back down not that gently on the couch. He tucks himself close to him, sideways, a bent knee almost on his lap, and stays there.

He eyes Hanjae openly then, a brand new thing. Haruki’s seen him, could have gotten sick of seeing him with how much it happens every day, but now Hanjae knows with certainty that he’s never been evaluated by him, or taken into this much consideration up until this very moment.

He hooks Hanjae’s ear lobe between two fingers and pulls, taps at the hoop earring. “I thought you would be a bad kisser,” Haruki says. “But you’re not.”

Granted, Hanjae wouldn’t call their kiss a good kiss. Both their mouths tasted bitter, he remembers now, and their teeth clunked against each other like two cogs being put in an unfit machine. It happened so quick– everything, so quick.

“Thanks,” he says nonetheless, and again, “Thank– Thank you.”

Haruki laughs at him, wispy, a single ‘ha’, and the air around them grows more tense. Haruki pushes himself close until he's full on Hanjae’s lap, a similar position to some hours ago. Hanjae turns his face a little away, to the side; sets his eyes on a wall, right where a painting Haegon made when he was eight years old hangs, framed. 

The cushion of the living room couch smells like an amalgamation of all of them, he notices. There’s a stain on it where Chihoon had once spilled fancy carbonara – a meal everyone saved the whole month to have on their third debut anniversary. Seungsoo had offered him three bucks to lick it clean. The video of Dylan concluding the bet is a blurry 1 minute thing O.z had recorded, still somewhere far down Hanjae’s gallery.

“Hanjae,” Haruki says now, and taps at his nose. “You’re too tense. You’re zooming out. Get out of your head.”

“It’s just–” Hanjae mutters, and can’t stop – just can’t stop: “Here? Wouldn’t it be bad? If someone walks in, if they forgot something and want to come back, and I heard, I think I heard that, isn’t there a camera here, a camera Seo CEO looks through–”

“There’s no camera. Not a single one anywhere. I would know,” Haruki looks right into his eyes to reassure him, or tries to; Hanjae can’t sustain it much. His hands are a constant goosebump on their trail on the back of Hanjae’s neck, up and up and suddenly down, up again. “Do you want to take this to your room?”

But it’s not Hanjae’s room, singular. It’s impossible to look anywhere and not see one of Seungsoo’s too colorful caps, or Minwoo’s notes, scrambled and frantic, the only indication he’s yet to fully move into the studio.

This is LOOPiN’s home, collective. They’re coworkers sharing space at their core, and it’s– It’s all just–

Hanjae makes a whimpering sound, involuntary, not an answer to anything, and with that Haruki’s off him, a sudden rise up and turn around. He walks away with a loud sigh and Hanjae thinks, disappointment and relief an ocean in his stomach, It’s done. It’s over.

It’s not; Haruki just goes to open the fridge’s door, takes something out, pours it somewhere, comes back to the couch with it. He stands it for Hanjae to take – a red plastic cup filled to the brim with some leftover wine.

“One complaint,” Haruki tells him, and goes back to where he was; a stable weight on Hanjae’s lap, both arms hooked around his neck. “One sip.”

“It’s– It’s morning, hyung.”

“No. No ‘hyung’. Stop that,” he says, and Hanjae can’t figure out, either by hearing it or looking him in the face, if Haruki’s being serious or not. He’s still smiling. “I don’t like it.”

“So what,” Hanjae asks, and sinks deeper into the couch when Haruki makes to push himself closer, “Do you like, then? About me if, or this, or–”

It’s all he can get out before Haruki puts a hand over his mouth, firm.

“I’ll blow you,” he says bluntly, and puts his hand away. Another paper thin smile. “Will that shut you up?”

Around a gulp, Hanjae nods, manages to let out a shaky, “Ok–ay.”

Permission granted, it takes a moment for anything to even happen. Haruki grabs the cup out of Hanjae’s hand quickly and downs it, almost fully drains it. He takes a deep and loud breath when he gives it back, eyes closed through it, before he begins to go down on him.

When Haruki kneels in between his legs, Hanjae tries to put a hand on top of his head, a timid and gentle fondling, but Haruki bats it away, says, “Just stay still.”

And Hanjae stays still. He looks up at the ceiling – eggshell white, the same as all the walls, with the faint darkening in a corner where there once was a leak. The kitchen sink hasn’t been closed all the way, and he can hear the drip, drip, drip of the water falling on dirty tableware under the sound of his loose belt being unbuckled, his zipper working open, the downing of his jeans.

What a waste, he thinks, over and over, tells himself that’s all he must think now; what a grandiose waste.

The blowjob’s a not so quick, but fully methodic thing. Hanjae taps Haruki on the shoulder when he’s finally near coming, says so around a pant. And then comes, Haruki swallows, that’s it – that’s the full scope of it, Hanjae has decided. Privately, he calls it efficient instead of emotionless, or confusing, or unsettling.

He zips himself back up as Haruki wipes his mouth and goes to collect the pot, the chopsticks. Hanjae catches him by the wrist before he slips away, asks, “You?”

Haruki laughs – Hanjae’s never seen him laugh so much so quickly, or in such a high pitch. He says, leaning forward, “Me? Me what? What are you even going to do? You look like you’re about to have a panic attack, Hanjae.”

Hanjae’s grip on him goes loose. Haruki breaks free of it and puts his hand on his pocket, rubs it in for a second like he’s trying to get it clean. Or maybe Hanjae’s just seeing things with his blurry hangover vision, his clear hangover discomfort.

“Right,” he mutters, and feels like he’s coming down from somewhere. His hold on the cup had faltered through their whole endeavor, and the spilled wine made a new damp on the couch’s arm. A story. He locks eyes with it.

“Don’t worry about me,” Haruki’s saying, back turned to him, halfway across the room already. The pot of leftover tofu clanks where he drops it, careless. “I’ll just shower.”

“You’re sure…?” Hanjae asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now stop talking, alright? It’s not going to make me put my mouth on you a second time.”

Hanjae blinks once, and then too many times to even count. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “I’m– Okay.”

Haruki flees the scene before he notices, goes upstairs; comes back down and looks around for a long beat as if he’s forgotten where he is, where he’s headed.

He goes to the bathroom and closes the door loudly, then soon opens it again, peeks his torso out. He’s got a towel thrown over his shoulder and a smile that’s blinding when he says, looking back at Hanjae: “But next time. Make it up to me next time.”

April 14th, 2022.

‘Next time’, in industry lingo, as Hanjae has learned over the years, is the vaguest time scheduling there is. So Haruki said ‘But next time. Make it up to me next time’, and a day later LOOPiN released the final teasers for the ‘Punch’ EP, and things got hectic – music shows, variety content, a fanmeet, a fansign.

And then Seungsoo made everything come to a halt by jumping Kwon Dongwook and half of NTCD at Rewind K-Pop Fest on the 8th, getting them all thrown out of the event four hours earlier.

They missed the SHINee tribute they were set to be on. Hanjae even got handed Key’s bandana and the same blue shorts he used in the dance scenes in the ‘View’ MV, taken directly out of SM Entertainment’s archive. He had just stepped out of a makeup chair when he got the news, and was made to sit back down immediately to dismantle the whole look.

“Pussy didn’t even fight back,” Seungsoo grumbled, in their kitchen: icing his face where it hit a pole after Code pushed him off Hyunbin’s neck. He wouldn’t stop talking about Dongwook – it had been five hours, and everything that came out of his mouth was soon followed by ‘Kwon Dongwook that bastard’ this, ‘Kwon Dongwook that fucker’ that. “He made me look like an asshole.”

Hanjae ignored him. All he wanted was to drink a glass of water in silence and not look a single person in the eye that wasn’t Mijoo, his guitar instructor, in six hours time.

“You made yourself look like an asshole,” Taesong corrected him, pointing a spatula around from behind the aisle, and he sounded and looked angry in a way Hanjae hadn’t seen him in years. “You made all of us look like assholes, and now Minwoo’s going to kill you. He’s going to kill you because I’ll allow him to kill you. I will help him kill you. You deserve to be assassinated.”

“You deserve to be assassinated, you snake! You’re talking with Joseph Song, Taeng! Night Child’s Joseph Song, behind my back, about him, about me! Fuck you!”

Taesong dropped the spatula, put both hands on his hips, and looked up at the ceiling: his ‘Lord, give me strength’ pose. “I don’t talk with Joseph Song about Dongwook, or about you, Seungsoo. All we do is exchange schedule information to know when we all might meet, to try to keep peace between us and them because you’re all insane. All you, insane.”

“I’m not insane!” Seungsoo said, rising up from his chair, and Hanjae escaped the kitchen then, didn’t want to hear his bullshit claim to be functional.

He spent half an hour tuning and running his fingers over his electric guitar’s strings, and did the same with Dylan’s old acoustic one, and pressed random notes on Zhiming’s keyboard in their improvised music space, which was just a vacant corner in Heagon and Beomseok’s room.

On his phone, he got one message, and had to read it once and twice and a third time even, just to figure out what to say:

[haruhyung]: are you free ?

Hanjae sent, fingers flying over the keyboard:

[You]: Guitar pravtice with Mijoo nim sun

[You]: *practice

[You]: **soon

And shortly after, an afterthought:

[You]: Sorry

On his screen Haruki typed, deleted, typed again – the speech bubble looked like a glitch. Somewhere down on the first floor someone snorted, loud and mean, and Hanjae shuddered.

After five minutes, Haruki sent:

[haruhyung]: ok .

More texts came after those, spaced out between days or just hours, sometimes full sentences or just direct question marks, one time with a photo attached in the morning. Hanjae didn’t see it right away, went back to check during lunch break and found nothing but a short trail of deleted messages. 

It’s all the interaction they have behind the scenes lately. No more idle talk in the practice room, no more shared space in the house, just ‘free?’ and ‘no’ and ‘sorry’ and ‘ok.’

Now: a live session for the english version of ‘You Can’t Hold My Heart’ that they managed to film in one single take. Jooheon PD promises to treat them to something for it, and everyone’s saying suggestions on top of suggestions at the speed of light. Hanjae’s trying to gather up courage to ask for hot pot again, preparing for the complaining it’ll cause, when his phone dings.

[haruhyung]: ditch with me .

[haruhyung]: discreetly .

Hanjae takes a wild look across the studio until he finds Haruki: set against a wall in a corner, waiting to be looked at, tapping one foot on the ground. After what feels like a minute of unstable eye contact, but couldn’t be more than a second or so, Haruki ducks his head down and goes back to typing.

[haruhyng]: im really not going to ask again .

It takes little to no excuse to ditch dinner – barbecue, they have decided, and Hanjae’s trying to cut off red meat, doesn’t want to go somewhere so crowded after seeing so many people all day, he says, and Haruki interveins to ask Jooheon if he can pay their cab home. No one asks why he’s not going; no one was expecting Haruki to want to go.

They don’t take the free cab home. They’re instead back at Deh’s apartment complex, taking the stairs quietly.

“I’ll be coming three times a week to feed her cats this month,” Haruki says, unlocking and holding the door open for Hanjae so he can step inside. “She’s traveling out of town.”

“Hm,” is Hanjae’s shaky answer.

The inside of Deh’s apartment looks very much like what he would assume it would: neat, colorful, synthetic fur coats everywhere – really, everywhere.

While Haruki gathers up the cats, two small and loud things, Hanjae sits down on the printed loveseat and makes direct eye contact with a wigged mannequin head next to the TV, plastic lips shiny with lipstick.

When Haruki comes back to the living room, duties all done, he opens the big window on the far left and sits on the cushioned frame, one elegant leg over the other. 

He says, with a cig materialized between his teeth somehow, “Deh’s got a lighter on the second drawer– Second drawer, Hanjae– Yeah, that one, the green one. Come here. Bring it over.”

Hanjae brings it over, and Haruki tilts his head up, points to his cigarette, still hanging from his mouth. Hanjae lights it up for him after a couple of clumsy tries, and flees – bolts away with the lighter at the center of his fisted palm, goes to sit back on the couch, grows uncomfortable, slides down to the floor.

Haruki watches him move with an enerved smile on his face. “How funny,” he says, dryly, and then no one says a thing. He smokes, and Hanjae can’t stand the smell, coffs into his hand once. He sees Haruki move even closer to the window, peeking outside.

“So,” Hanjae tries, when it all turns into too much – the smoke, the quiet. He’s tracing a pattern with his finger on the carpet; a circle on top of a circle on top of a circle. “Do you– You come by often? To see her?”

Haruki makes a choking sound. His eyes are very narrow when he looks at Hanjae. “What are you trying to ask?”

Hanjae forces a shrug that he knows falls very flat.

“Deh’s a woman, Hanjae,” Haruki says after a beat, with a strong emphasis on ‘woman’, and Hanjae turns bright red and hot on his face, immediately responds with ‘Yes, I know’ – would rather shoot his own foot than insinuate she’s not. “And I’m not interested in women, so no, I don’t see her.”

“But you– You never told,” Hanjae stammers, and Haruki tilts his head at him, frown easing. “You never told any of us you’re not straight.”

“None of you ever just asked me,” Haruki counters, and there’s a little humor in him, somewhere – a bit of pride at that, maybe, until he recalls, “Except for Zhiming once, but he doesn’t count. Zhiming somehow always knows. Side effects of having a gay mom, I guess.”

“Did you know before? Before your… Your whole relationship, with– was your relationship what made you…” Hanjae stops talking. Haruki’s eyebrows have darted up and they stay up, waiting, challenging; ‘go on, finish the sentence’.

Hanjae sheepishly goes back to the mannequin head. It has a pink rhinestone hot glued on its nose, mimicking a piercing.

“Alright,” Haruki says, giving in. He rearranges himself on the window, puts his two feet steady on the floor, manspreading. “This again– Alright. You get three questions. Just three. Then we’ll never talk about it again, so be wise. If it’s something stupid I won’t answer.”

Hanjae accepts this, tonguing his cheek while he thinks. He has a billion questions, too many, all build up in these two months, but they’ve all escaped him somehow. He settles for an hesitant, “‘This again?’”

“I know you know Chihoon’s aware. And now Jiahang is, too,” Haruki says, and Hanjae patiently waits for more information. A whole minute goes by and Haruki, smoke coming in and out of his mouth, doesn’t offer him anything else.

“Since when?”

“Dylan? L.A. After the beach with you, he caught the… aftermath,” he grims, humorless. “And J.J knows since last week, after the festival. The day you ditched me for guitar practice with Mijoo nim.”

“That’s not,” Hanjae offers, alternating between looking at him and not looking at him; peeking instead at the shape he made on the green carpet, there still. “Not what I meant.”

“Of course not,” Haruki agrees, and his smile turns tiny, tinier, up until it no longer exists. 

He takes a big drag of the cigarette, the last one; tosses the bug right out of the window without putting the flame out. Behind him, the world looks pink, green, warm yellow. It’s the sort of spring that makes you feel like it’ll never leave you.

“Look, Hanjae, you don’t want to know everything. Not very pretty, with him being married and a dad and my boss and all. Bottom line is he casted me, he made me into a trainee, and that might have saved my life. I understood the way he looked at me and decided to just– let him have it. So I asked him out, kind of. He said yes, kind of. Next thing I knew, it had been going on for years.”

“Years?” Hanjae lets out, a little scandalized, too blunt, and Haruki gives him a look – ‘last question’. He rushes to amend it with, “Why?”

Haruki, with a hint of afternoon sun contouring his falling face, says, “I don’t know. I don’t know why,” and it’s the one thing Hanjae didn’t want to hear.

He wished for: because he loved me, or because it made me happy. But he knew it wouldn’t be that, felt it like a hollow in his stomach. From that day in the rain, he knew.

“I have a question for you, now. Just one,” Haruki says, turning his face back inside. Hanjae hums, letting him go on. “Are you dragging it out on purpose? Fucking me, I mean. Are you trying to make it some grand thing?”

Hanjae takes a beat to respond because he knows he should. He thinks about it deeply, eyes stuck in a corner, and shakes his head ‘no’. It’s the truth; he’s not trying to turn it into a grand thing – he understands now, with a tang of sadness, that he can’t make any of it special.

“Good,” Haruki says, and nods too. “You shouldn’t. I know marketing wants everyone to think I’m some sex god, but I’m not. I’m really not. You should just get me out of your system already. Quick and nice. It’s not like there’s a point in waiting, or… courting. We’re never going to date, Hanjae. You know that.”

“Yes. I know.”

“So…?” Haruki looks around, to all the space, and Hanjae does too. There’s very little of it, it’s a little room, but still, it looks so lived in. It looks like a place that’s loved.

Hanjae lowers his head down, eyes his small circle, fading. “Would Deh mind?” He asks, a whisper.

“Hanjae, she won’t know. No one will know,” Haruki says, and he’s grown annoyed now, shifty in his seat. “No one cares to know. No one gives that much of a fuck, or– It’s fine. It’s really fine.”

“I just– the thing is–,” Hanjae stutters, and tries to push through even when Haruki makes a discontent noise. “I never planned to do anything about it, or act– really act on liking you. This,” he motions to the drift between them, the awkward air: this, “Is not just me thinking you’re attractive, or– I really respect you, hyung, as my bandmate, as my colleague. If anything, what I always wanted was just for you to trust me with who you are, someday, because I think you’re– I just want us to be closer. Any way goes. That’s what I feel.”

He takes a peek up, over his own bangs, and sees Haruki’s eyes flickering. He widens his stance, knees more apart, and his voice sounds very low when he says, “You can grow real close to me now.”

Hanjae sighs at him, because he can’t help it. He tries to think of words, better words. Tries to build some sort of bridge out of them.

“Is it a good time?” It’s what he asks. “It’s been– It’s been a really long week, and you just… Aren’t you tired? I’m tired. You look like you’re tired.”

Haruki’s face clouds, gets taken over by something very cold. “I am tired. I’m tired of you rejecting me.”

“I’m not. I’m not rejecting you. I just don’t want to feel like I’m making a mistake. I don’t want to make a mistake, and I think, neither do you, right? Again?” Hanjae asks, and immediately regrets it when he catches the effect of the word ‘again’. It makes Haruki close his legs shut, makes his jaw tense. Hanjae says, quicker, “I’ve lost a team one time, hyung, by being impulsive – and it looked like this, it felt just like this.”

The silence that gets in between them is loud, almost sticky. Hanjae fights an inner battle to not fill it up with, ‘Please let’s talk, can you talk to me, really talk to me, just talk to me, and tell me what is it that you actually want.’

In a room away, the cats scratch a door, begging to be let out, and Haruki’s new phone goes off – a familiar ringtone, a lack of surprise or urge to pick up Hanjae’s seen before.

Haruki rests his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. His chest visibly rises and falls when he breathes. “Ah, this is funny,” he says. “So not today, then, but soon? When I look better, not tired, is that it?”

“If you still want to.”

“If I still want to…” Haruki repeats, like he’s testing out the words, like he wants to figure out how they sound all together. And then rising up, out of the window, splinting behind the couch, behind Hanjae, “Okay. Alright, okay. If that’s what it takes– It’s on.”

“It’s… on?”

Over his shoulder, Hanjae catches the hint of a big grin being thrown at him. “It’s on.”

April 29th to May 6th, 2022. 

After Deh’s apartment and the sex that didn’t, Haruki turns into someone else for a week.

It’s impossible to not take immediate notice; when Hanjae and Dylan sit down on Friday to play Fifa at night he catches the whole thing, even though he’s not a fan of sports, or video games, or hanging out. Hanjae scores two goals and Haruki cheers him on, in an enthusiasm that makes it seem like he’s winning the real World Cup.

When he excuses himself to use the bathroom, Hanjae and Chihoon share a quick, tense glance.

‘What’s happening?’, Dylan mouths, putting the game on pause, and Hanjae mouths back, ‘I don’t know’, pressing for it to go on.

Later, they order takeout food for everyone, and Haruki doesn’t drink anything with his pizza except for a Sprite Zero. He gathers up everyone’s scattered plates after dinner and takes them to the kitchen, where Hanjae has just begun to do the dishes.

He circles him around the room, then leans on the counter, close, says, “Hanhan, what did you do with my KidSuper jacket? I can’t find it anywhere. Come help me look when you’re done with that. I’m in the laundry room, come help me, don’t forget to help me look, yeah?”

It’s an excuse. There’s no KidSuper jacket that needs to be found in the laundry room. Hanjae goes in, Haruki closes the door shut and immediately kisses him against it, suddenly.

They break apart, and Haruki taps Hanjae’s chin up, making Hanjae’s hang open mouth fall shut. He breathes into his face, mutters, “Cute– You look cute surprised,” and leaves – just leaves, vaporizes in thin air.

Six entire days of this: playing cat and mouse at odd hours, being shoved and kissed by Haruki somewhere, catching no sleep, having anxiety all night, wondering if anyone saw it, if anyone has catched on to this whole… energy. 

“You look like a zombie,” Haruki tells him, once – a direct whisper into his ear, with the slightest press of teeth. “Is it because of me? Are you not sleeping well because of me?”

It all comes to a halt on Friday, just as suddenly as it began, because Haruki snaps over something in the afternoon, and he won’t tell anyone what it is.

He locks Dylan out earlier than he’s ever done it, skips dinner, ignores calls; gets fully trashed somewhere between midnight and 4AM, alone. Beomseok had bought fancy imported dry sake for his older brother, a wedding gift he was keeping in the dorms, and the whole thing’s gone, drained.

Beomseok made a big commotion about it, went on to bang on his room door until the entire house was awake at 6 in the morning on a day off, soured everyone’s moods, split them into two: people pissed off at him and people pissed off at Haruki for pissing him off.

It’s tense through the whole day, with no one seeing eye to eye quite right, and when schedule breaks go this south Hanjae knows to expect an empty house after the sun sets.

Soon enough: at 6PM a voice message from Jiahang on their group chat, saying, ‘I’m going clubbing! I’m going clubbing and everyone can come with me! I refuse to not have a nice night tonight, I refuse it!’

Hanjae’s the first one to answer him, off the shower:

[You]: Pass

[jayjayjiji]: 🍅🍅🍅🖕🙄🖕🍅🍅🍅

Hanjae’s midway through sliding his shirt over his head when Haruki barges in without knocking. He stands there, arms up and tangled with the fabric, in his pajama bottoms, short hair wet. Haruki’s a figure that flops on his bed, face and stomach first.

He’s the only one who didn’t get a haircut for ‘Punch’. The hair stylist had run a hand through his hair, moved Haruki’s bangs one side and the other, said, like a joke, “But he’s perfect! He looks perfect already, Junghwa, what do you want me to do?!” It’s a wild thing now, at the back.

“I will sleep with you,” he announces, voice coming off hoarse and loud; drunk again, but mildly.

Hanjae, fully clothed, says, “Seungsoo–”

“Going out. Not a problem. And Minwoo, he is out.”

Hanjae takes small strides to get the burst open door shut. He takes a long peek at the two sides of the corridor: empty.

Behind him, he hears Haruki grumble, “These days, they’ve been so time waste. A waste. Why are you not caring?”

“What do you mean?” Hanjae asks, and comes back near, not too much. He’s still standing up in the crack diving his bed from Minwoo and Seunsgoo’s bunk one.

“I’m trying,” Haruki stresses. “To appeal to you. With my all, to get you to. Start something. You never do. Do something,” he commands at Hanjae, less angry, just agitated. “I am right here, so just– anything.”

Hanjae sits down on the edge of the bed, then. A calculated descent over the sheets.

“But hyung,” He stutters, and Haruki grunts something incomprehensible under his breath. It doesn’t sound like korean, it doesn’t sound like japanese, it doesn’t sound like anything. “Haruki, there’s people at home. No one’s left yet, we don’t know– Don’t know if everyone will.”

“So what? You were all always– So what?”

Hanjae hesitates, worrying his mouth. He takes one of his hands and slowly places it on Haruki’s hair, trying to somewhat pet it, but Haruki isn’t satisfied with that, and turns his face to the side, looks at him with a strong frown. Hanjae puts his hand back where it first laid on his lap, goes back to picking at the hem of his shirt.

And then Haruki reaches out a hand himself, and places it on Hanjae’s exposed knee, squeezes, sinks nails on it. Hanjae pushes himself further back, startled, and the hand follows, leaving a scratch; he almost falls off the bed trying to sneak away from it, and the hand stills, lifeless, not that far away.

“It is like,” Haruki says, and stops for a moment, gulps spit and something else down. “Like when you touch me is all so nothing. Like you do not… You do not really want me. Like you are not trying to make me remember. How can I remember. That you want me. I can not know if you are, just… Not leaving something behind. Like haunting.”

“Haunting?”

Haruki stops moving completely. “I really miss the way, really…” a breath. “The way you looked at me before.”

“And how,” Hanjae prompts, leaning closer, eager to hear it, “How did I look at you before?”

Haruki ignores him. “It is gone,” he laments, and Haruki actively looks like he’s grieving the death of it, whatever it might be. “You have not even fucked me yet, and– gone.”

It’s a quiet, long minute. Hanjae sees Haruki’s eyes go glossy in real time, catches the whole process up until Haruki turns his face away, presses it on the mattress again, hides it.

Haruki pushes his upper body up with his elbows, covers his face with his hands, inhales. Looks at Hanjae again, his eyes peeking through his fingers, dark.

“Ah, you are so nice, Hanjae. Very, very nice, you,” he says, voice still. He stands an arm out, matches every single word with an absent tap on Hanjae’s shoulder. “And all worried, all in your head. It is so annoying. So weird how you–” And he doesn’t say; doesn’t tell Hanjae what’s weird about him.

The hand on his shoulder goes up, scoops his jaw for a tiny moment, then yanks him forward by the back of his neck – Hanjae has to put a knee on the bed frame to not fully stumble. It’s a grip locking him in place, now, as Haruki drags his face near.

“Pick a fucking date. Pick a date,” Haruki tells him, and his voice almost doesn’t sound like his own; is a pure growl. “I am tired. Tired.”

He leaves the same way he came: a door meeting the lock loudly.

Before going to bed, Hanjae selects another shirt to sleep on, a clean one, red like blood in the water.

May 26th, 2022.

“I think I just– Hyung, I think it all comes down to the fact that I don’t understand what you’re asking, because you’re not– you’re not asking. We’re not communicating.”

Haruki’s long pace back and forth in the hotel room comes to a halt. He’s only in underwear under the bath robe he’s got on, black and with an embroidered logo on the chest and back – they both were, up until Hanjae put his shorts back on.

It didn’t take long for Hanjae to pick a date for them to officially have sex: the pre-Camp Camp filming days are the calmest, with the ease of certain success making everyone better to work with, smoothing all the nerves, and a day before they start shooting LOOPiN always have the liberty to do whatever they want. Most staff are too busy setting up cameras around the park, testing the traps, and putting the winning team barracks up to keep them all in check.

Hanjae brought it up to Haruki a couple of days before they traveled to Jeollabuk over their stale text messages, and promptly got an ‘yes’ and nothing further; Haruki kept his distance like a bride on a wedding day over the weeks, barely a blur on the corner of Hanjae’s vision.

So here they are, a day away from being shoved in a park to pretend it’s a jungle. Hanjae walked around with a condom in his short’s pocket since morning and he’s been trying to look forward to it, trying to rationalize the hollow in his stomach as positive anxiety.

By mid afternoon, everyone was leaving the hotel – absolutely everyone. Hanjae couldn’t put a finger on it, but he felt like Haruki had something to do with it. They were sorted into their dorm roommate arrangements by Junghwa, all in the same corridor, both of their rooms at the extreme ends. Hanjae waited for his text to come over Haruki and Dylan’s suite, then made his way in a quiet and dragged on zig-zag – tapped a little song on a vase with a single flower on the hallway table just to bite time.

Dylan was still there when he got in, angrily tying his hiking shoes, and he refused to look at them as he made his way out. He stopped at the door, turned, looked like he was about to say something.

Haruki went to shove him off the room with a tight, “No, Chihoon, I don’t want to hear you, not today, no one wants to hear you, leave, get out.”

Things happened at a weird pace from there. They made out for a long minute, came close to fully undressing then froze awkwardly in the middle of Haruki’s bed, paused it.

“What do you want to do?” Hanjae asked from where he was set on top of him.

“Whatever you want,” Haruki answered, absently tugging at one of Hanjae’s red ears.

So he tried to work with whatever, since he didn’t know what he wanted – he tried to remember some guilty ridden fantasy of his which Haruki had starred in and use that as a guide, but the search came out blank. Hanjae wasn’t getting them anymore, funnily enough, ever since he had been kissed by him a second time.

But no matter what he tried, be it a kiss on the neck or a firm hold on his tight, Haruki barely made a sound, barely seemed to engage and, the most defeating of all, he wouldn’t get hard. It took Hanjae a long moment to notice, too long, and he did so by accident; went to push him by the waist closer but his hand slipped down, and he noticed how limp he felt under his underwear.

That wouldn't do; he asked Haruki again he wanted him to do, what he shouldn’t do, and under the scrutiny Haruki only blurted out dismissively, “Stop, no one fucks to get comfortable, anyway”, and Hanjae’s hand fell from his shoulders.

He said, “What?” and Haruki, “What what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mean by what?” Haruki asked, an uneasy sound, and Hanjae could almost feel him growing cold under him, losing body heat, so he stepped away.

That was a whole hour ago. They’ve been trying to recover, but the mood has gone sour. Hanjae has put his shorts back on a couple minutes after his boner fully died and Haruki seemed to take that as a personal offense, hence the walking.

Hanjae reiterates: “I just can’t know if you like anything if you don’t tell me or… respond. Physically.”

Haruki rubs a hand over his face. He’s annoyed but he’s trying to mask it, says like a tease, “What’s with the language? Did you do research?”

Hanjae sighs. He’s tired of hearing this tone on him. He’s tired of one too many things at once, a Russian doll of exhaustion. A block; the everyday chaos of work, another; the weight of lying to everyone, the effort of keeping it up, and the core one: Haruki not wanting him, pretending to do so, going about it like a chore, like something he must cross off a list.

“What am I doing wrong?” Hanjae asks. “Can you tell me?”

“No, not– You’re not doing things wrong, it just doesn’t happen, okay?” Haruki lets out. “I don’t really get hard, or anything.”

Hanjae processes the phrase word by word. “You mean, you mean never? Or–”

“Not never, just not always. Not a lot.”

“Hyung. Shouldn’t you get that checked?”

“‘Get that checked’,” Haruki parrots, half heartedly, and then quieter, to himself, “I need a fucking drink. ‘Should have sneaked something, should have– Got something.”

Seeing him stuck in place, an unpleased thing, Hanjae can’t help but think back to his snaggletooth days, the pre-rhinoplasty times, that one White Day in seventh grade where his deskmate pity gave him half a chocolate, and wonders if he’s lying, if he’s making something up to make him feel better, if he noticed that Hanjae’s not feeling great, nowhere close to nice.

He’s been hiding his right hand under the cover, trying to not let Haruki hold it, not that he’s tried to do that yet, nor does it seem like he’ll want to.

“We can just not do anything,” Hanjae reminds him. It’s his fourth time saying it, and it gets the exact same reaction out of Haruki each time: an annoyed huff, a roll of eyes. “Not have sex, if it’s not what you want. If I’m not– Not attractive to you.”

“You are, you are. Very attractive,” Haruki says. “Happy?”

“And if I am,” Hanjae prompts. “It’s okay, right? You think it’s okay?”

Haruki’s mouth hangs semi open, his eyes semi shut, when he shoots him a look. “What? I– What?” It’s almost a hiss.

“Can you just tell me why?” Hanjae presses. It’s the right wrong question; it sends Haruki back to pacing, his back turned to him. “Why do you want us to have sex?”

“You want this to happen,” Haruki tells him. “You always wanted it to happen, everyone knows, you made this happen, with all– everything.”

“And you want it too?”

“That’s such a stupid question! Am I not here? Didn’t I tell you to be here?”

“You’re not just,” Hanjae takes in air, sharp through his teeth. “Looking and understanding and– letting me have it, like–”

He can’t fully say it, Haruki doesn’t allow him, shuts it down with a sharp, “Are you my therapist? You’re my therapist now? Fuck off, shut up, be quiet for just a fucking a minute, will you?”

Hanjae withers. From a place inside him, he recalls, he had hoped. He had cultivated hope the size of a grain of sand that maybe, just maybe, the hesitation ment care – that perhaps Haruki liked him, and didn’t know what to do about it, how to go about it. A nice piece of fiction to cling to. But no. It’s clear now: no.

“I really don’t want to pressure you,” Hanjae says, and tries to make his voice louder as the phrase goes on, less miserable, but fails at it.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Hanjae, I understand korean, I understand what you’re saying, I’m not fucking stupid–”

“I didn’t say– I didn’t say you are,” Hanjae tries to reason, but all the sound gets drowned out; there’s only Haruki talking quickly, loudly.

“–So you can stop repeating all these good phrases now, these made up phrases. No one speaks like that. In the real world, no one says that–”

“I mean it.”

“–You’re not pressuring me, Hanjae, trust me, you can’t do that, no one– There’s no pressure, or urgency, or anything. I don’t feel any of that coming from you, so,” Haruki flashes him a smile, thin, ironic, sharp. It looks like something that would be carved out with a pocket knife somewhere.

“Then why,” Hanjae breaths. “Why don’t we end this here? Can we end this here?”

“Again?” Haruki asks, with a laugh. It’s a mean sounding one. “Are you serious?”

“No,” Hanjae says, and swallows. “All of it.”

He almost regrets saying it, given how hard Haruki’s face crumbles. It takes a full minute for him to recover, and Hanjae watches him try to piece an expression back together until he can no longer look.

“Bullshit,” he hears Haruki say, and then again, “Bullshit. C’mon, just. Give me a minute, alright?”

He moves very close, very soon, back on the bed. Their knees are touching again, and they both feel icy.

Haruki says, “I can do better, I promise,” and there’s a hint of a plea there. Hanjae hates to catch it.

“Haruki, it’s okay. It’s okay–”

“No, just, if you just,” His hands hover over Hanjae’s chest, unfocused, trying to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “I can do this, I can, really, if you just try to be more horrible, if you– if you force me, then–” and Haruki shuts his mouth very tight, looks down at the tangle of sheets between them, about to fall off the mattress.

Hanjae at him once and again, forces his eyes to stay open even though. He takes hold of both of Haruki’s wrists feather light, puts them away from him, pushes them to be on Haruki’s own chest. They fall limply on his sides once he lets go.

“Haruki,” Hanjae begins to say, and then stops, has no idea how to proceed. He puts his hands on his forehead, digging. He presses the heel of them over his eyes, hard. “I’m not… I’m not going to do that to you. I don’t want to do that, so can we not? Please? Can we not?”

He takes his hands off his face to try to look him in the eyes, to tell him with them to: I’m not doing that.

Haruki stags up, seems to tense from the heel off his feet to the top of his head. “This is so– awful, awful. What is it, your face is– It looks so–”

Hanjae takes notice of his frown, his quirked down mouth, his eyes – watery, blinking. It’s a sad face, an about-to-burst-into-tears face.

“I can’t stand this, I’m not– Not going to stand here, and be looked at like–” Haruki swallows dry, goes back into motion; picks his shirt back up from the floor, puts it on in a hurry. “I’m going to the pool. I’ll be in the pool, away from you. The whole trip, away from you.”

He stops abruptly at the door, a shaky hand on the handle. Haruki says without looking back at him, exasperated, “You’re gonna let me walk out? I’m leaving, I’m walking out.”

Hanjae says nothing, and experiences what might be the heaviest silence of his life. He feels it from within, taking the form of a bone crushing pressure.

Haruki is even quiet when he leaves, making the door fall shut with almost no sound; a complete dissonance.

June 2nd and 3rd, 2022.

Hanjae lays down, once he’s alone. He spends the rest of the day checking the door, checking his phone – a wild expectation followed by nothing, nothing, except for a tense engulfment of sleep.

Summer comes and Hanjae sees more rain clouds then he sees of just Haruki. It’s voluntary and it isn’t; they’re both avoiding each other.

But promotions are not done, yet, so it’s not as intense as it could be. Just yesterday they got sorted out to film a Heart To Heart episode, and had to scrap it midway because it was heavy, horrible, quiet. Their prompt was: Beach, and they couldn’t hold even a one minute conversation about it.

He got an email from Seo CEO in the morning: ‘Let’s all keep a serene work environment free of misunderstandings and intrigue’, he wrote, underlined and in bold.

Hanjae presses the cold bottle of energy drink against his face, the back of his neck – pure sweat after filming another music show performance. He’s by the vending machine, catching some air, seeing Idols come and go, staff hushing from one side to the other. Some of them bow their heads at him, and Hanjae greets them back with an enthusiasm he knows falls short.

There’s a small commotion in front of their dressing room when he gets there, and he could spot it from a distance. A girl group or at very least a group of around twelve girls, Beomseok and Seungsoo supporting their exposed arms on the doorframe when they talk to them, smiles warm and easy, so he knows exactly what it's all about.

Haruki’s the odd one out, in the middle of them, the center of all attention. He’s always been popular in the hallways, no stranger to little pieces of paper sneaked into his cafeteria orders, someone coming up to him and asking if they can take a selfie, if he’s got a minute – he’s known for dismissing all requests politely.

Hanjae tries to walk by them meekly, without touching anyone, just muttering polite ‘Excuse me’s until he’s allowed through; he isn’t allowed through. Haruki’s got one warm over his shoulder before he can get even a foot inside, before he can even process how, locking him in a clumsy armlock, turning him around, pushing him close.

“And what about him?” He asks the girls, and he’s close enough to press his cheek against Hanjae’s; they’re the exact same height, and their bones fall perfectly aligned. Someone laughs about it, someone woos. “What do we think of him?”

A girl, the closest to them, wearing the sparkliest makeup Hanjae’s ever seen says, joking, “Oh, him? Hmmmmmm, let’s see…”

At his back, Hanjae feels a lingering over and soon can hear Dylan say, a sharp whisper, “Haruki, stop that. Stop.”

Haruki ignores him. His hold on Hanjae’s neck gets tighter, turns into an one armed hug. “Hanjae’s very very shy, but he’s also very very nice. A proper gentleman.”

“Really?” Another girl asks – long curled hair, jet black, dimples showing. “I thought all gentlemen had gone extinct.”

“Noona, so did I! But not Hanjae. He’s proper old school.”

“If that’s true, then he’s cute,” she says, and comes boldly forward to pinch Hanjae’s cheek. Haruki watches her do so with an enthusiastic nod of approval, and Hanjae can feel his sharp sideways grin form in real time. “It makes him the cutest out of all of you.”

“It’s all true, trust me, trust me. He is the cutest out of all of us, yes. Can you believe he’s single? I think it’s so sad, how single he is, how alone he is all the time, always too lonely. We should solve that, no?”

The girl smiles back at him – amused, having fun, flirting with Hanjae, with Haruki, with the two of them at once in front of everyone when she says, “We really should.”

Around them, everyone’s gone into a frenzy over the situation. Seungsoo is slapping Haruki on his free shoulder, screeching ‘You’re so crazy today, Haruki, what’s gotten into you, you crazy man!’, and Hanjae can’t tell if he’s breathing. Then he can feel his lungs moving and nothing else. There’s a small turmoil under them, right where his heart should be, an agitation – fight or flight, and he fails both. He freezes, throat tight and dry.

And then: the enerved click of Junghwa’s heeled shoes, her voice loud when she says, exasperated, “No, no no no, out, out, out! All of you girls out of here right now, what is this?! Where are your managers?!”

The girls scatter in a hurry, all waving goodbye and giggling. Seungsoo puts his hand on his heart and makes a show out of sighing, looking sad, makes a couple of them laugh louder.

Door shut, Junghwa slaps him and Beomseok naked arms with her papers, half joking, half actually slapping them. “I leave for five minutes! Five minutes! What is wrong with you men!”

“We were filming Tiktoks! Innocent little Tiktoks!” Seungsoo says, but he’s laughing, proudly taking his beating. Beomseok simply steps out of her reach, shrugging.

Junghwa stags when she’s in front of Haruki, papers down. She looks for a long moment at his face, searching for something and Hanjae knows what it is: a sign of winter coming earlier.

She’s gentle with him in a different, more impersonal way. He’s the only one out of all of them Junghwa doesn’t call by the first name; she doesn’t use ‘kid’ or ‘boy’ or ‘son’ either.

‘Fukunaga-ssi’ is what she says now, asking if they can have a word in private, and Haruki complies, follows her out, mute.

Hanjae slides his earphones in and tries to not watch them – doesn’t want to look him in the eyes, and thinks he means it forever, feels like it’s a vow being made.

Everyone’s getting more or less undressed by the time he looks up again, falling back into their usual clothes, and the small glimpses of everyone’s torsos at the corner of his eyes are depressing, being back an old discomfort. He sinks into his seat, blinks something off his eyes, looks at the floor. Counts to ten, scratches at his marked hand.

Jiahang comes to sit by his side, gingerly tapping his face with a makeup wipe, a question on his frowned brow, a deep concern. He’s wearing one of Minwoo’s ancient black hoodies, the one with the falling apart NASA logo that fits him too short at the arms.

Hanjae has no idea why his mouth tastes so sour, seeing it; why the next breath he takes through his nose is so sharp.

Junghwa and Haruki come back soon enough, and he and Hanjae are the only ones left to change. She hurries everyone else out, says, “Boys, grab your things– and make sure you have all your things, please– Yes, Kim Haegon, I am talking directly to you, kiddo.”

In a blink there’s only a fan in a corner, making noise, and Haruki in pristine white performance clothes in front of Hanjae, wearing an overshirt with a cascade of thin chains on the back.

“We’re alone,” he says, suddenly, while staring at the floor. “If you want to you can–”

Hanjae stands quickly up, puts a wall and a door between them, turns the lock shut in the small bathroom attached to the room. He’s only sharing space with a shitter and a sink, a little mirror, and he doesn’t want to see even an inch of himself in it.

When he steps out, jeans and an white shirt, Haruki’s gone. His stage jacket lies abandoned on the floor, a tear on the shoulder, a loose chain on the opposite side of the room.

Hanjae staggers at the door, and sees himself walking back to pick it up without thinking. He’s very cautious when he folds it, very gentle when he tucks it under one arm.

[...]

On the ride home Hanjae lingers on the backseat, blearing some song loud enough to not think – pure instrumental, a booming bass.

When they stop in front of the dorm, he stays planted where he is; unties his seatbelt and then thinks better of it, clicks it back shut.

“I’ll go to the company,” he tells no one, just says it out loud, and no one bothers to object. He rides with Junghwa to the New Wave building, even quieter, almost one with the silence.

He doesn’t give her a chance to speak to him when they park, just hops off and goes straight through the reception to practice room #A2, the one with a bunch of old instruments tucked into the lockers, mostly hand-me-downs, some of them broke beyond repair.

He’s aiming for the one drum kit that’s probably around the same age Hanjae is, nothing fancy: it was some staff's son's, someone else’s teenage dream, and he said Hanjae could have it – it’s what his kid would want. It has million pieces of old stickers glued on it and Hanjae never felt like fully peeling them out.

His mind gets lost in the long choreography of setting it up piece by piece. When he finally sits behind the seat, his hands move on their own, just making noise.

And then he finds his way into a rock song through muscle memory. By the end of it, Haruki is a long silhouette in the corner of his eyes, dressed from head to toe in funeral black, and Hanjae almost loses the hold he has on his sticks.

Hanjae’s sweatier than before, breathing slightly through his mouth, still upset with him.

Haruki has a very firm walk when he comes deeper into the room. He stands a paper out in front of Hanjae, his face turned away.

“Phone number,” he explains, waving it even closer to Hanjae like a treat, a gift. “From the girl, earlier. The one that liked you.”

Hanjae lowers his drumsticks as he stares at it, letting his hands fall to his tights. He has no idea what his face is doing, but he knows that if he says I don’t want it, that won’t be all that he’ll say. He might cry; he might fail himself and cry from exhaustion, maybe. Probably something worse, uglier.

“It’s better if you start seeing someone, now. Really seeing someone. This whole thing, it’s so much bullshit. It’s bullshit, Hanjae, it’s like you said. So let’s end this here, like you asked,” Haruki says, and when Hanjae doesn’t move to take up his offer he shoves it in his pocket, walks away, goes to one of the side bars. He puts an extended leg there, a perfect stretch, as he keeps up, carrying an echo: “We’re not compatible, anyway. There was never anything really happening.”

Hanjae’s acting before he knows it. He puts the sticks on their case, tries to get the zipper shut with a hard push that doesn’t do anything. He tries again, harder, and the dent gets stuck on fabric, almost breaks.

“So don’t get sad, Hanhan,” Haruki concludes, turning around, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and his posture is perfect, fully straightened out – a wall again. “It’ll make me upset.”

Hanjae looks at him, as straight in the eyes as he can from a distance – keeps looking even when Haruki dips his chin down, offering only the top of his head.

“It was fun for a day, right? You had one fun day, got your dick sucked,” he says, and he sounds like he’s smiling, like he’s trying to make it sound light, to paint it as something funny. Trying to be intimate, a bit they did. “I don’t mind that we never really– It’s not important to me. I didn’t even want to have sex with you, so– who cares?”

Hanjae closes his eyes tight shut, tries to take a steading inhale. He hears Haruki say, as if from underwater, “But I did want to like you. That week, with all the kissing, all that– I tried to like you. ‘Just didn’t work. Didn’t work.”

“You tried,” Hanjae says, a breath. “You tried to like me.”

From the opposite corner of the room, Haruki puts his face back into view, and the smile he has grows more forced, more visibly sad. It reminds Hanjae of a chalk line drawn on a black board, crooked.

“I told you.”

“What? What did you tell me?”

“Hanjae,” Haruki warns him. “Let’s not make it awkward. I understand you had your ideas, all these expectations–”

“I didn’t. I didn’t have any expectations I didn’t tell you. Everything– I told you. I tried to be honest. At Deh noona’s. That was really all I had to say.”

“Sure,” Haruki says, with a tiny laugh, the hint of a sneer.

‘Sure’. Hanjae’s up from the seat, can’t no longer sit down, can’t barely stand being here.

Haruki keeps eying him like he’s expecting Hanjae to walk straight out of the door, and grows startled when he doesn’t, when he walks near him instead, at half an arm’s distance.

“Why do you think I didn’t mean it? That I was lying?” Hanjae asks the shrunken figure of him. “What sort of person do you think I am? What sort of person do you think being interested in you makes me?”

He’s close enough to see how tightly Haruki’s jaw sets when he looks away, at a nothing point on the far left. His hair falls on his eyes, a curtain. “What sort of question–”

“Every time,” Hanjae speaks over him, and it hurts to do so, because Haruki reacts badly to it, flinching. But someone has to say it; he has to say it, he can’t keep on not saying it. “Every time I wanted to talk to you, hyung, just talk to you, to make sure you were enjoying anything in any way, you looked at me like I disgusted you, like you hated me. Do you hate me? Why? What’s so wrong about all the things, all the things I've done? What’s not correct? I tried being close, and it didn't work. I tried to give you space, and it didn’t work. I still don’t understand, so can you tell me? Can you make it clear to me now?”

Hanjae’s out of air, when he closes his mouth shut. The whole room – sucked out of air.

Very quietly, Haruki says, “I asked for one thing, one thing, and you didn’t do the one thing–”

“You just said– You said you didn’t want to have sex with me. Then why? Why ask? Just because you could? You just asked because you could?”

“Stop,” Haruki tells him, voice rigid. His arms have unfolded and are now holding on to the side bar with all they have. “Stop with the whole why, why, why, just drop it. I’m not saying. Not saying.”

“You can say. I want to listen. I want the answer,” Hanjae says. “I still– I want to be your friend, now. I want you well. To think you’re not– To think you’re hurting, it’s painful. It’s painful.”

“Oh, you’re in pain– You’re in pain, you,” Haruki spits, and laughs, and sniffs, all at once. “Give me a fucking break! Go care about people that care about you, Hanjae, this is so pathetic, everything you always say is– Quit wasting your time with all of this, when you can get a nice girl, someone nice like you and have a nice, normal thing that’s not– Not this. You can choose to not have this, so I don’t understand, I don’t understand why– And you, you won’t understand why, so fuck off, just fuck off! That’s what I want, what I always wanted! For you to fuck off.”

It’s said like an ultimatum, and it sounds harsh enough for Hanjae to feel it more on his chest than on his ears. He tries to take another look at his face, to match the tone to an expression, but can’t – Haruki won’t let him, and Hanaje won’t insist. It’s not his place to insist, and it’s been made clear now. 

He leaves him alone, carrying himself very tightly out the door, out the corridor, out the entryway.

Out on the outside world, it’s already close to being night, and Hanjae takes in the stale air, looking up. He sits on the New Wave front steps despite himself, and the concrete’s warmth is a faint discomfort about to leave him.

The drum was still set there, in the room. Hanjae had wanted it, and promised to care for it, and still: left it there. He’ll have to go back for it, be back and fix it, put it back in place.

He should clean it first, and the floor, maybe the mirrors – not all, just some of them, the ones that look worse. Everything that looks bad, everything not quite right.

When he walks back into the practice room, there’s no sound, no lights on, and Haruki is no longer anywhere to be found.

The drum set is back on the case, compact inside the locker, exactly where it should be, exactly what it should be – as if it had never been touched at all.

[…]

Food tastes bland during dinner, and Hanjae doesn’t have it in him to pretend to have an appetite for Taesong’s sake.

He's been testing out recipes lately. He wants to impress his mother in law because he knows he wants to marry Yunhee, now. Not even two years together and he knows he wants to be with her forever, is sure that it’s mutual, it’s certain they’re in love.

He wants to show it to everyone; he gets to show it to everyone.

“Are you okay, Hanjae?” Taesong asks, over and over again – at the dinner table, on the couch during a drama commercial break, while they’re sharing space in front of the bathroom sink, brushing their teeth.

And each time Hanjae answers “Yes”, a tight “Yes”, and none of them sounds convincing enough, not even one of them he can get right.

Later, in his room: Seungsoo out, Minwoo out, and Hanjae all alone. Typical. Routine. Things as they’ve always been; as they’ve never stopped being, not even once. Haruki’s voice rings on his head when he lays it on the pillow: so alone, all the time, so sad, all lonely.

He checks the time on his phone: 8:03PM. Too early. Hanjae drops it, closes his eyes for a long time, checks it again: 8:16PM, and the pop up notification of receiving two messages from Dylan six minutes ago.

[dylari]: r things w/ haruki done?

[dylari]: plz answer quick

[You]: What do you mean?

[dylari]: idk how else to read this

Chihoon sends him a cropped screenshot showing a single lengthy Kakao message. ‘i don t know whyy is so hard’, the first line reads, ‘f or anyone ti just on ce do what i avsk and n ot sometind ellse like hsnaje he is sp–’

Hanjae stops reading it. He enters his phone’s gallery and deletes it, goes back to the chat and Dylan’s text now shows up as a blurry gray square, only says ‘media not found’.

[You]: Did he send you this?

[dylari]: yeah

[dylari]: our chat is his diary ig

[dylari]: when talking irl gets hard he blows my phone

[dylari]: i thought you knew

[You]: I didnt know

[You]: Sorry to hear you have to deal with that

There’s a long pause from Dylan’s side. When he resumes typing, Hanjae has long deleted both messages, regretted them – is sitting up on the bed with a hand on his face, a hard press, and regretting that too.

[dylari]: dude i dont mind knowing

[dylari]: look dont worry hanjae this is fine

[dylari]: im his roomie im on it i can take care of this

[dylari]: ill keep an eye on him now

[dylari]: im sure you tried your best your own way so thank you

[dylari]: telling you that now because he wont say it even if he wants to say it he wont so let me do that for you

[dylari]: good job

[dylari]: go breath

Hanjae falls asleep with his phone held tight, tight to his chest: 11:49 PM. He dreams of it ringing, ringing, ringing, and not being surprised, just being afraid.

[...]

It’s way past 1AM when Hanjae’s mattress sinks to the weight of Haruki sitting at the far end corner, some few inches away from his feet.

He had heard him unlock the door and come in, Seungsoo with him, making the most amount of noise – slurring more than singing some old pop ballad.

Minwoo had jumped awake out of bed, angry; threw a pillow at them, and then a shoe, told them both to fuck off, and disappeared.

Seungsoo began snoring as soon as his body hit the bed, loudly, which only happens when he’s exhausted; they must have danced all night, must have club hopped all night, trying to be too shifty to get caught.

Haruki stayed for a long moment in the middle of the room after tucking him in, silent. And then he sat there, in Hanjae’s bed, not moving, not breathing, Hanjae even thought, until he took a long inhale through his nose just now.

Hanjae won’t look; he can’t look at him. He promised he wouldn’t.

“I’m gonna leave you alone, now,” Haruki tells him – tells him directly, because Hanjae can almost make out the shape of his stare on his back, right at the shoulder. He bit very close to there once and meant nothing by it, thought nothing of it. “You’ll never have to talk to me when we are away from a camera, Hanjae. I promise. You’re gonna look around and I’m not gonna be there. Not an inch of me. I’m not gonna be there.”

He sounds so clear when he says it – slow, but still sober in a way Hanjae doesn’t hear from him much. He keeps on looking ahead into the dark, a hand gripping this pillow; his eyes won’t close.

Haruki swallows, resumes: “The thing is, you’re too nice, Hanjae, so, so nice, you’ve been so nice, so it’s not– It’s not you, it’s not. It’s me. I can’t– I can’t have that. Doesn’t work. I know it, for a long time. So with you, I was just… Lying. To you, not to me. I know that’s wrong, and I know what’s wrong and I just, still– I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Hanjae, I’m sorry, I shouldn't have– I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I’ll stop, I promise, I’ll stop. I’ll stop everything, everything, so don’t cry, alright? Why are you crying? Don’t do that– Over me? Don’t do that. I’m sorry. Don’t cry, Hanjae, don’t cry, please, I’m sorry, I’m very sorry, I– I didn’t want to make you cry. I didn’t want–”

September 26th, 2023.

He can see Haruki clearly now, the stark shape of him. He’s still wearing the outfit intended for the airport – a sleeveless designer shirt, blue overcoat, and a wine purple trouser with an abstract David Bowie painted on the right leg.

Hanjae observes him from a small distance, catching his breath. He had run there, trying the piece the way back together from memory, growing a little desperate everytime he turned left and it wasn’t the right left; every time he saw an abandoned lot and it wasn’t the right lot.

But he was the one to find him in the end, sitting right on the floor, tense but not so small. He has a moment now to think of the right thing to say.

Hanjae wants to go with the essential: your sister’s at home, she’s looking for you, she wants to know you’re well. As does everyone; as does everything.

He opens his mouth: can’t make it. Opens his mouth again and takes another breath, a hissy breath, through the teeth.

Hanjae isn’t looking at the ground, this time, as he walks forward; he steps over a twig and it breaks loudly in half, disrupts his equilibrium lightly, and Haruki takes a slow look behind his shoulders. Their eyes meet then – and Haruki’s have grown tiny on his face, swollen. They quickly look down, at himself, to the ground.

“Someone found my spot,” he says hoarsely, with a single laugh. He picks one of the bottle pieces on the floor near him, raw glass, and throws it down the hill. It doesn’t make a sound. Hanjae keeps waiting for the glass to break and make a sound, and doesn’t hear it, never hears it. “They got rid of all my chairs– that sucks. That just sucks.”

It’s been a long, long year – 2023, that is. The oddest one yet, their busiest. Hanjae’s half an actor now, goes to TV and gives magazine interviews alone now, and Haruki models often, editorials and campaigns and a whole outdoor, once.

Hanjae squats near him, some inches behind; he’s still scared of how big the drop is. He waits, and waits, and waits more.

Haruki leans a bit on his back, tells him, “You can see his house from here. That's why I liked it, it’s why I came.”

Hanjae squints, looks ahead, trying to spot it even though he has no idea what to look for. He’s never been to Choi Sangwon’s. He knows some of the others have, back when they were Boy Of The Week trainees. Their reports were mixed: he had a big pitbull, a bathroom wall painted in a horrible shade of red, and all the carpets somehow smelled like they were brand new, like no one ever stepped on them.

Haruki laughs, meek, and points ahead; right at the only house with no light coming from the windows, empty. 

“That one,” he says. “I had a key copy, front and back door. I had a floor mattress, mine. I got clothes there, still– mostly underwear, sleep clothes. And my favorite necklace pin, family heirloom, in a drawer, there.”

Hanjae gulps something acid down his throat. “I see,” he says. “I– I see it.”

Haruki turns his whole face at him, suddenly. Looks sad, and tries to not appear sad, smiles. All white teeth. “Are you happy, Hanhan? Like, ever? Are you well, most of the time? Is your girlfriend nice to you, lately? You’re so busy now. With your dramas and all. I hope she understands. I hope she’s watching them, that she likes to see you on them.”

“I’m well, hyung. I’m– Yoora and I, we–,” Hanjae swallows again, dry. The raw truth is: happiness creeps up on him and it’s a battle to let it linger, when he looks around himself. He tries to start over, tries to sound firmer. “And you?”

“Pfff. What do you think? I know you saw the whole,” Haruki makes a hand motion – mimics an explosion, a disaster. “I heard you. Through everything. And thank you, by the way, for not bringing an army with you. For not acting like I’m a princess– Like I’m a runaway princess.”

Hanjae nods, uses that to say ‘you’re welcome’, and doesn’t mean it much. He should have brought an army with him. Or just his sister maybe, whom Haruki adores; avoids but adores.

Hanjae clears his throat, says, “Furumi’s at home. She wants to see you– talk to you.”

Haruki lets out an airy laugh. “Right. The baby.”

“You asked,” Hanjae reminds him.

“I know,” Haruki says, and turns his face upfront; looks at the drop, looks at the house. “I know I asked.”

“Hyung,” Hanjae says. “Can you tell me what happened?”

He sees Haruki run a hand over his face, up his hair, leave it there. He soothes himself before he speaks, a whole damn breaking sort of thing;

“It was so– I was checking on what Monica sent me to wear at the airport, and when I saw Bowie my first thought somehow was, did my boyfriend get a funeral? He was afraid of that. Of dying without a ceremony. His only real fear, I think, the only fear I figured out,” Haruki trails off, for a moment; seems to dive deep into a memory, takes a moment more. He comes back with a sneer. “Why the fuck Bowie? He didn’t like old music, didn’t like rock. Nothing connects– it’s just two dead people, that’s all, that’s it. And Chihoon was right there, right behind me, but for a moment– For a moment, it didn’t look like it was him. It looked like, from this one angle– Fuck, I can’t even say his full name, now. My first boyfriend, a name I can’t say. How sad. How very sad…”

He sounds like he’s giving Hanjae a cue to laugh. Hanjae doesn’t, wouldn’t be able to remember how to do so even if he tried.

Haruki says, “The thing is– The thing is, he made himself my life and then he died. He chose to die, picked a date and a place to die, and I can’t grieve, I shouldn’t want to grieve because it would be insane to feel– When I know he didn’t love me. He didn’t even fucking like me, treated that fucking dog better– Liked the dog better. It could kill me off, and he would say it was my fault. Everything about me made him so angry, all the time, all the time so angry when we were in private. My age, my face, my name, my accent. Everything. And everyone knows now. They all know, because I had to say– Because I can’t get a hold of it, lately. It’s always very cold in the winter, I always felt it, but now it’s the whole year. I feel very– very sad, cold, all year.”

“But they want this so bad, Hanjae,” Haruki tells him, quieter, holding in tears. “All of them. It’s not like you and me. We just landed here. To dance. To act. They live and breathe this thing, this Idol group thing, and it hit me then– It hit me that I can’t be like them, our members. That’s why I panicked, that’s why I couldn’t go to Fashion Week, why I had to come back here. I can’t do it like everyone else does it because it’s never been the same, my career– I don’t think I deserve these things. I didn’t even want them. I was in college, I came here to be in college. I wanted to dance, just dance, like my grandmother did– I wanted to do something for her memory, I wanted to be something she would be proud of, something anyone– anyone would look at and be proud of, and now no one fucking talks to me, anymore, my family doesn’t talk to me. I don’t know my mom’s new phone number– he didn’t even let me keep my mom’s new phone number. ‘Said I didn’t need it, said it didn’t matter.”

“I wish, back then–” Hanjae says, barely feeling his tongue moving. “That I did more. Anything.”

“You really wish that, don’t you? You mean it,” Haruki sounds like he’s marveling at it, that is a truly remarkable thing that Hanjae has said something and meant it. “You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever been with, Hanjae, really. The coolest, too. While I’m the worst one, right? Worst person you’ve ever been with. By miles. You can’t– Never again. No one like me. Never again.”

“Not like him again,” Hanjae tells him. “For you, not like him again.”

Haruki shows him an even sadder face, more wobbly, and shrugs. Just shrugs, looks away.

“I think no one,” he says, with a firm nod. “No one is better. It feels fitting to let that die, too. If I can’t get it right.”

“That’s not true,” Hanjae says, more with his clenched teeth than with his voice. “Not true. It’s not– Not better.”

“Oh, you don’t think so?” Haruki asks, and it’s just words. Just words being said to fill in silence, to cover up a strong sniff.

Hanjae can feel it again; the sharp line of disconnection rising, cutting the air in half, and he still doesn’t know how to stop it. He doesn’t know how to reach him.

He tries; he has to try. Hanjae licks his lips, forces some sound out of his throat: “You know– Haruki, you know, that all of us, everyone, will listen to anything you have to say. All the time.”

“I know that? Do I? And anything? That’s big. That’s really big. You shouldn’t let anyone say anything– no one should have to listen to just anything. Look at Chihoon now, Jiahang now. What good did knowing everything do?”

Hanjae’s at loss of words again, breathing around a lump on the middle of his throat. He’s too bad at this, too tired to think – just off a long action shoot. He still has his outside mask shoved into his jeans back pocket.

Somewhere in the distance, he can hear a dog haul; a coded hymn to the moon, maybe. Something about wanting life to stay still, wait a little longer. And then silence, a defeating one. A shuffling coming from Haruki in front of him.

“Can you, we– Ah, it’s so,” Haruki begins to say, shaking his head. “Can you hug me? If it’s not too hard or– bad for you. Just one time.”

Hanjae’s up on his feet before he’s even done talking. He stands his hand out, a timid invitation, and Haruki takes it, allowing Hanjae to help him up.

Haruki lays his forehead on his shoulder and stays there, being hugged, fully still until he takes a big shuddering breath. His arms stay glued to his sides, limp.

“I’ve never really– I never did just this,” he tells Hanjae; a shaky whisper, an old time secret. “It’s never been just this, before.”

Hanjae turns his face to the side and away so he can suck in air, so he can close his eyes shut, for a moment. He can’t think too much about it now. He taps at Haruki’s shoulder blades warmly, like a dad or a coach would – pat, pat, pat.

It gets an airy laugh out of him, a long and disbelieved one. “Bro hug!” Haruki exclaims when he steps away, whipping at his running nose, “You just gave me a bro hug. It’s really over now. We’re never going to fuck now. All that, over. What are we, if we’re bro hugging?”

“We’re a team. We’re friends,” Hanjae says, and thinks; you said so right here, once.

Haruki’s face makes too many things at once, hearing it. He looks down at himself again, accessing all the damage done to Monica Imano’s design. Bowie’s face has turned red with dust, and it looks even more smudged.

“VIANFINO is going to fire me,” he concludes with a dry chuckle. “They told me one more slip– the sponsoring, over.”

Hanjae bats an idle leaf off his shoulder and for once Haruki doesn’t flinch out of reach. He tries to give him a truthful close mouthed smile.

“Leave it to me– Leave them all with me,” Hanjae says, and leaves his hand there, a firm hold on him. “I’ll wash them.”

[titanicfreija]

After it All

"I kinda like being the Traveler's white blood cell," Sunny said brightly. 

Freija had a nightmare that bothered her. Sunny knew that was what happened, because she was there, but Freija wouldn't tell her what the nightmare was. 

"Cleaning out the wounds, allowing good growth to come back through."

"It's a big planet."

"You're a single cell, I would hope so."

Freija did seem to lighten after that. "Good point," she admitted.

~

"Can we find someone for you to talk to?"

"You make me smile one time and bring the mood right back, you do this all the time."

"You're more open to considering options after a smile."

Freija sulked and sighed. "Sunny, if you just really are going to turn yourself inside out over this, I crushed you in–my–fucking–"

She choked off and slammed a hammer into the wall of the narrow canyon. "Okay? And obviously it's a nightmare but I had that for a very real reason, and I'm still fucked up over kind of everything, even though it's done and passed and over and I'm doing new shit. I'm. Still. It still. Hurts."

"You didn't hurt me."

Freija's voice creaked bitterly. "You didn't hear you scream."

Sunny deserved that. "It just hurt," she replied softly. "I… I understood that you didn't mind, but I didn't… I didn't understand how… how it didn't hurt in a way that mattered, because what mattered was so much bigger. It hurt but it was worth it. It was worth dying for."

Freija nodded and breathed slow and deep. "I know. I'm glad you understand, finally, what I meant. I understand you, now, too. Helplessly watching someone I love do something self-destructive in the name of something bigger. But you were in my hand, and I gave you the Light to kill yourself, just like you give me." She spat angrily. "But I've been okay! I've been okay holding you, I've been okay with you being further away from me as time is going. But the nightmare rattled me deep and I'm having trouble getting my feet back. I crushed you like I did so many Hive Ghosts. And the Light left my body in the dream, I don't know what it did in the real."

"It was fine. I didn't feel anything."

"Then I'm really good at copying the feeling in my dreams," she snapped. "Good to know. So now I'm being crazy and I have no idea how to stop."

"Part of it has to be that you keep thinking about it," Sunny said. "You dwell."

"I get reminded," she whimpered. "And yes I dwell after that. I don't know how to stop."

"Do you know any songs?"

"A couple? I can't sing, I can't … what's the word you said?"

"Hold pitch. It means that when you try to sing the same note, you slide the note up or down without thinking or noticing. Your ears pick up different kinds of gunfire, you wouldn't need to know how to sing the same note twice."

"Yeah."

"But you don't have to be good at it to sing to yourself when you're getting upset. You hum all the time, what are you humming?"

Freija shrugged. "I think it's Sarah's. I don't know any words. If you're right about the pitch things, I probably don't even sing it right."

"There's two distinct ones. Variations are probably just a lack of skill."

"Probably."

"Maybe we can pick one out for you to learn?"

"What's your… tenth favorite song? Ninth, I like that one for us."

Sunny had attempted to rank her favorite songs but she couldn't, as it varied with her mood or became associated with certain events. 

She tried to think of a good one for her Guardian, something slower, maybe something in French….

"Your. Favorite. Not anything for me. I want something new from you and for you, okay? Something past…" she heaved a sigh. "Everything. I still haven't gone back to the barracks, I want to give you a bath and I need to add to it. You think I can manage with what I've got now or do you think I'll need a reshape? I think a liner on the inside would work, actually, liner with a semi permeable layer with holes, pump air into the side. I can get that done. Might do a snap-on side for the shower curtain."

"Maybe I won't be so dirty we can't use the sprayer."

[lolamarlowe65]

𝓘𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 //James Hetfield

“The house next door was just sold, i hope the new neighbour will be nice.”

part five of ? part four

disclaimers : smut, age gap (modern day james), slow burn shit, cursing, smoking, drugs (legal where she is), probably drinking, big girls shit baby dni

Wattpad link

࿓ 𓋪・𖧹 𖤐

Chapter 5 - The package

I woke up early this morning.

I was supposed to work but Pamela called me telling me she will not open the pharmacy today. Apparently, she got some personal problems. Well, it's cool, it gives me more time to take care of my grandmother.

When I see my half naked body under the blanket I remind myself about the sudden act of lust that came over me last night. I couldn't control it. I needed it. I was meant to do it. James has bewitched me in a way. I never had such sexual desire.

Opening my curtains, I remind myself about what I saw last night. His back, his tattoos, his arms. All of which led to this lewd moment of mine. It's so toxic of me to have watched him like that. A little more and I would have seen him completely exposed. I'm not like that. But I did it anyway. And I kind of regret not seeing more. Fuck.

Still, I want more. I want him. Completely. I don't know if i can leave this being a lingering thought in my mind. I shouldn't do anything about it. But I want to.

I get back to my mind and go to take a quick shower. I dress in some flare pants and a rolling stone shirt. When I got back to my room I heard some loud noises coming from outside. I hope my grandmother is not still sleeping, I would be mad if her sleep was disturbed. James or not.

I looked out the window. The workers were still here moving stuff in. I stayed at my window a little more hoping to see James. I notice the garage on the side of the house is open. I can't see clearly because it's a little bit far but there he is. I froze. He was in those usual beautiful black jeans. In a tight black motörhead shirt. The morning sun was creeping on him and made the outline of his biceps so obvious.

Those arms.

Lust or love. I don't know. I truly don't. But I can't keep away. Every inch of him, all of which makes me feral.

He is working on his Camaro. I wish I was a Camaro.

"- Ann! Sweetheart!" my grandma yelled.

I snapped out of my thoughts and got downstairs to my grandmother's room. She was not here.

"- Grandma?!" i yelled back.

"- I'm in the kitchen my love." she replied.

I got to the kitchen and saw her.

"- Grandma! Hey!" i said, reassured.

"- Can you make me some coffee sweetheart? My leg hurts me too much I can't stand up." she asked sweetly.

"- Of course grandma. Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

"- You seem to sleep so much better these last few days darling. I want you to get as much as you can." she replied.

I know why I sleep better. My mind is occupied with James so much, the sadness that fills me generally due to my mother's death has slowed down. I still feel the worst. I miss her so much. But I see a little bit of light and peace thinking about him. My interest in him gives me hope for myself and for seeing more of this life I've been leading blindly the past few years.

I go and make coffee for my grandmother. I also prepared some oatmeal for her.

While the coffee is warming up I go and hug my grandmother from the back. I take her shoulders between my arms and I look over the journal she's reading.

"- A war. Inflation. Economy is falling apart. Our army is killing people in the middle east. Jimi Hendrix is still dead. The usual." i say. "How can you read such dreadful words?"

"- It reminds me to live every minute fully and to never think too much about anything sweetheart." she replies, grabbing my arms sweetly. "Which is something you should learn. If there is one thing you should get out of the last few years, it is that life is too short and you should do just what you want to do my dear." she added.

"- But what if i what i want to do is badly seen, or badly interpreted?" i say, doubtedly.

"- Well, to hell with everybody's mind. You and the people you are doing that with are the only ones that know what is going on sweetheart."

She takes my hand and I understand she will not change her mind about this. She seems like a sweet old lady but don't fuck with her. She'll beat you up. But I know deep down that she's right. I just don't know how to proceed it.

I let out of my grandmother's grip and got her coffee on the table.

"- The noise of the neighbour didn't bother you?" i ask.

"- No. Everything's good, it's normal to make noise when you move in darling." my grandma answers.

We eat some breakfast together and my grandmother then say.

"- Sweetheart, my birthday is coming up soon. Me and Stacy invited all my friends, I also invited Pamela and her husband. I think we should invite James too." said my grandmother excitedly.

James? Huh yes, no. I don't know.

"- Do you think he might want to come over? Such a nice gentleman, I would love him to be there." she continued.

"- I'll ask him when I have the time, grandma." i replied.

I was paralysed at the idea of seeing James again. Mostly to invite him to my home.

"- Oh honey, I feel that he is exactly how I remind him. A sweet, nice young man." she said.

Young man? He is way younger than my grandmother, that's for sure. She could be his mom. But to me he is a middle aged man. He is in his late 50s if I remember. You would think it is a good enough reason for me to back down from my dirty and romantic thoughts about him. But no. If so, it makes it more exciting. I don't know what I would have felt if I met James when he was younger. But something in me tells me I would have had the same reaction. That it's not about his age but who he is.

"- Well, i'll ask him when i see him." i tell my grandma.

"- I'll ask him too if i see him." she replied.

Now I'm sure he will be invited.

After breakfast, my grandmother asked me to help her get to the backyard. She wanted to go take care of her flowers. My grandma settled herself in the yard and started gardening. I sat down on a chair next to her. I light a cigarette. I need it. The noises from earlier were not here anymore. Perhaps the workers finished moving in James's stuff. I wonder if he is still working in his garage.

"- These flowers are so gorgeous sweetheart. Those dahlias remind me of your mother. Oh. And those hydrangeas remind me of your grandfather. And you. You are a dandelion. A beautiful bright dandelion my love." she said sweetly.

The dahlias did remind me of my mother. They were her favourites. They also were the last flowers I gave her before she died. Every time I go to her grave I put on dahlias. I'll get a tattoo of a dahlia one day. I take a drag of my cigarette, those thoughts making me more sad than anything.

A voice approached behind me.

"- You have a beautiful garden France."

I turned around and knew it was James. His voice was just too mesmerising to be forgotten. He was holding a package in hands. He smiled at me.

"- Hello Anna."

"- Hey... Mr Hetfield."

It was of use to use his last name since he decided to drive me crazy calling me by my full first name.

You could access our garden by a little path on the side of the house, not only by the inside. James probably heard us in the garden and came by the path.

"- A package for you was delivered at my place, the number of the house is badly written, they must have thought it was for me." continued James.

My grandma turned around.

"- Oh that is so sweet of you. You can put it on the porch. Ann will take it in a minute. Thank you." she said to James, happily.

The light was still doing a wonderful work on his biceps and his shirt still shaped his shoulders so beautifully. He put the package on the porch and came back to the conversation.

I helped my grandma get up from her flower patch. I'm pretty sure she wants to ask him about her birthday party.

"- Anna, you remind me of those beautiful dandelions your grandmother has right here." he said.

I froze. I was red. How did he know? Or why was I making him think of dandelions? And did he just call me beautiful? And again, my name.

"- And France, you are as bright as those peonies." he laughed lightly.

"- Oh James dear, don't make me blush." my grandma laughed. "How is the moving going?" she then asked.

"- Pretty well. I was just tidying up my garage. The car needed some work." he replied.

"- This beautiful Camaro?"

"- Yes. I've always loved this car." he continued.

"- You were just a little thing when this was made James. But me. I saw it when it was just out. Oh, one of my ex-boyfriends had one. A gold coloured one. He was an ass but i loved his car." she reminded.

James smiled at my grandma, loving her story.

I haven't said a word. But James gives me some quick looks and smiles here and there while talking to my grandma. I do too. I don't know why he does it but I know why I do it. Because he looks so magnetising. I feel like a teenage girl having her first crush.

"- Oh yes. James. My birthday is coming up soon. I would like to invite you and your wife over. I am organising a little gathering." my grandma exclaimed.

I know my grandmother just said wife because she wanted to know more about his situation. What did Stacy tell me already? Argh I don't remember. But he must be seeing somebody. There's no way he is single.

"- Well actually I'm single. I don't have a wife. Not even a girlfriend." James replied, passing a hand in his hair.

Oh my god. This doesn't make it easy for me at all. What do you mean he doesn't have somebody in his life??! A man looking like him. With such a charming aura? I smiled shyly at James trying to proceed with everything my heart was telling me to do that my morals were not loving. He noticed it and smiled back. I hate this game of cat and mouse, mostly when I don't know which one of them I am. I hope deep down that he catches me.

"- But I do have time in the next few weeks before the big rush with the band. I'll come gladly. Do you need me to bring anything?" he then asked.

"- Just bring your handsome face James that's all!" my grandma replied with a smile.

My grandmother talks to him like she would talk to a little boy. I mean he could be her son but it startles me a little. She doesn't have her daughter anymore, I guess she misses those kinds of light talk she could have with my mom.

He laughed.

"- Alright, I'll do my best." he then said. "Well ladies, I need to get back. I've got a studio session with the boys."

"- I'm glad you are doing well with your music Mr. Hetfield. I hope Lars is not as childish as before." she added.

"- How do you know that France?" James replied, chuckling.

"- Well, you came into the store I was working in when you all were younger. In 84? I think. You were as nice as a gentleman as before and Cliff and Kirk were just sweethearts. But Lars looked like an hyperactive kid your mom obliged you to take out." she laughed. "I always wondered if he was into some kind of drug or if he was just naturally like this." she smiled.

I was so out of the conversation. Who the fuck were Cliff, Kirk and Lars? Probably his band members, yes, but who does what in this fucking band? I don't know.

"- I should have remembered such a nice lady like you ma'am!" James said nicely. "But unfortunately Lars is always like this. I'm sorry you had to see that." he laughed.

This Lars seems like a grandiloquent character for sure.

"- Have a good day France." he waved at her goodbye.

His eyes locked into mine.

"- Beautiful day to you too." he suspended. "Anna."

"- Bye Mr. Hetfield." i reply.

I'll call him Mr. Hetfield until he stops calling me Anna. Actually I don't know if I want him to stop. And I truly love his last name, so I don't think I want to stop either. He smiled at me one last time. I thought he was cute.

We got back inside the house. I took the package on the porch. I didn't notice at first but on the package for my grandmother was another little one with just written "Anna" on it. I knew it was from James. I put it away quickly in my room before going back down to open the one for my grandmother. It was some gardening tools for her flowers. She needed new ones and couldn't walk too much to get to the store so I decided it was better to just order them. She was ravished. She used them the whole afternoon and made sure her flowers were in good shape. We then ate dinner and she got to bed early. I wanted to get to my room and listen to music and clean up a little. My grandmother's bedroom is on the first floor. The walls of this house are thick so I can listen to music without bothering her. On the second floor there was only a bathroom, my room and my mother's but nobody was allowed in it except me and my grandma.

I got to my room and saw the package from James on my bed. I open it and get a cassette out of it. It's a cassette of the Doors. L.A Woman. With an autograph of Jim Morrison on the front. A little word was left in the package.

"To Anna : "I found this in my music collection, I thought a Doors type of girl could have better use of it than me. I hope it will give you one of those beautiful smiles you have the secret of." - James."

Fuck. I lay back on my bed with the cassette and the word in my hand that I hold above my head. I'm blushing so hard. So he did call me beautiful earlier. What is going on? Why does he make me feel so confused? Why does it look that he is having as much of a hard time as me to hold this tension between us. If so, he seems to manage it less well. Am I giving myself ideas? No. Yes. Fuck this shit man. I want so much of him. But I mostly want to know him more, in every field. I'm all flustered and blushing. As much as when I humped my pillow thinking about him last night.

I put the word on my nightstand and I got up to get to the cupboard in the corridor. It's where my grandma keeps some of the stuff she used when she was younger. I know there is a cassette player from the early 70s in here. I'm sure the cassette will fit in there.

Got it. I go back to my room and play the cassette. It starts playing and the sound is old and cracky. Just like I want it to be. I decided that i wanted to smoke weed, i know i've got a joint left in my nightstand's drawer. I get it and light it. "Love Her Madly" my favourite song, starts playing and I can't help but dance incoherently in my room. It's like the world disappeared. I dance while smoking and the only thought that came to me was James. Him holding me by my waist while I dance would be the perfect addition to my little party. I wish someone would love me as madly as Jim describes in this song sometimes. When my mom was alive I thought so much more of romance. Today I didn't. Nobody picked my interest. Until James.

I picked up the cassette packaging with Jim's autograph on it. That's the most thoughtful gift we've ever made me. Jim Morrison truly is my favourite artist. I never thought I would touch something that he also touched. It's such an important piece of memorabilia, and James gave it to me so easily.

I think that my mom would love to see me all flustered and blushing like that. I think where she is she loves to see me smile. But mom I'm sorry, I don't know if you'd love the person for whom I smile. Actually, she probably would.

James lingered in my thoughts for so long. And I kept on dancing. Until the last second of this cassette. I am a bit high but I'm still conscious about what I'm doing. It's like my whole world has ended but I just kept on dancing.

I get up and put the cassette in a place where I can see it all the time. I go to close my curtains. If James wanted to watch me have my little party, he could have. They're is a dim light in his room. I wish he was here in front of me, like yesterday.

"- Goodnight James, I loved your gift." i said to myself, smiling while closing the curtain.

࿓ 𓋪・𖧹 𖤐

A/N : I want james to call me a dandelion. Chapter 6 is ready, this is where it starts getting interesting. ;) XOXO <33

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Ok! So! Prompt time: emotional hurt/comfort + Malcolm x Hannah (or twelve x rose but it’s more fun to see Malcolm in this situation) BUT it’s Hannah (or Rose) who needs some serious comfort.

oh, i love this prompt!! so much!! i went with rose & tucker for this one because i had an idea come to me right away for them, hope you don't mind. also, please be advised that this fic involves grief over a canon character death.

enjoy!

to read on ao3, click here!

-

The morning of November 7th dawns cold and pale, with his mobile buzzing angrily toward the edge of his nightstand and no Rose beside him.

Now, Malcolm Tucker is not a romantic by even the most vigorous stretch of the imagination, but only one of those two things feels like an emergency.

He silences his mobile.

Sliding out of bed, he reaches for a jumper—a deep, rich shade of green he never would have picked for himself—and pads across the bedroom toward the hissing sound of the shower running.

One thing he's learned about Rose in the course of their… entanglement—is that she is not a morning person. Her aversion to alarm clocks is on par with his reaction to phone calls from Number 10 these days. As in, there's usually a lot of swearing involved, maybe some hives.

But if Rose being awake at this hour is unusual, her being conscious enough to shower is unheard of. Which makes it either a miracle on par with loaves and fishes, or a catastrophe.

"Rose?"

She gives no answer, or at least, not one that he can make out over the spray of water. But the door is cracked, and he pushes it open further to get a better look. It takes him several seconds to recognise why the air feels wrong: it's cold.

There's no steam billowing out from behind the curtain, and the unexpected draft indicates that the little porthole window behind her is open. An icy feeling slices through him, unrelated to the chill autumn air.

"Rose," he says again, a little more sharply. "Are you in there? Is this some kind of horror film set-up we're doing? You should know I've never seen Psycho."

There's confirmation of life in the sound of a sniffle, which could be a laugh but—his chest tightens—probably isn't.

"Don't come in," she mumbles.

"Why, have you got a knife?"

"That's not what h-happens in Psycho."

Mouth falling into a grim line at the unsteadiness of her voice, he reaches for the curtain.

"Okay, what the fuck is going—"

Shit. His heart does something his cardiologist probably would not like, and his hand falls limp at his side. Shit, and also fuck.

Because Rose is sitting in the very corner of the tub, down to her knickers and the ringer shirt he'd lent her to sleep in. She's curled up there, like she's trying to be a tiny ball instead of a person.

"Jesus Christ, have you lost your mind?" he snaps. "It's fucking freezing in here." When he reaches through the shower spray to touch her, he hisses at the temperature and withdraws. The water's cold, too. Frigid.

She bundles tighter into herself. "Just go, Malcolm, please."

His jaw locks.

Yeah, there's no way in hell he's going to just turn around and prance off to make his morning coffee while his… whatever-she-is has some kind of meltdown in his fucking shower that apparently requires subarctic temperatures.

"It's my bathroom, actually, so I think I'll stay, thanks," he shoots back, not bothering to regulate his tone.

For someone who has spent approximately twenty-three hours of every day in a state of unhinged stress for the last two decades, he is aware he should probably be hardened to the feeling by now. The two years he's been out of the business isn't nearly enough time for the conditioning to fade. But for some reason, seeing Rose in this condition has him reeling like it's his first press tour. His mouth takes off without his permission.

"I mean, talk about psycho. Is this some kind of new beauty routine I don't know about, like kiwi fucking facials and sperm hair treatments? 'Cause I have to say, I don't care for this particular trend. You'll freeze your perfectly lovely tits off, for one thing. And for another, you—Rose?"

He stops short, watching a tremble travel through her. It's like the ground during an earthquake, moments before a fissure opens—before damage becomes destruction. Unsalvageable.

She's trying not to cry. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Okay, you're actually scaring me now," he says, voice going flat. "What's happening here? Do I need to call a doctor? A psychic?" Her chin jerks up, and she stares at him with reddened eyes. "A priest?"

"No." The word is harsh, but he doesn't give a shit, because she comes a little back to life as she says it. Her eyes flare up at him beneath clotted, dark lashes. "I'm n-not possessed. God. You're so—I just… need a minute, all right?"

"Well, I'm sorry, darling, I don't think you have a minute before hypothermia sets in. You're turning fucking blue."

She seems intent on ignoring him—or perhaps she's just ignoring reality in general—because she promptly buries her face in her arms again, where they're crossed over her bare knees.

He's not lying; there is a strange lavender cast to her toes, her kneecaps, the tips of her fingers. She looks like a wax doll version of herself. But if she won't do anything about it, it's apparently fucking up to him.

Sighing, he braves the frigid shower spray again to reach for the knob, turning it towards the heated side. A new rush of warmer water soaks his sleeve.

So much for his nice, cosy morning plans.

"Look, just tell me what's going on," he tells her slowly, reaching over her head to tug the window closed, "and then if you really want me to leave you to it, I will."

It takes her about a full minute under the spray to stop shivering—longer for some colour to return to her skin, and even longer than that to answer him.

He knows she's working on it by the flexing of her fingers and toes, the gentle rocking motion she makes as she attempts to build her courage. He knows all the signs. The words are just sitting in there like stones; she's just struggling to pick them up and actually say them. And hell if he hasn't been there before.

Finally, she lifts her head again. Her cheeks are ruddy, and he realises she's been crying for a long time.

"My dad's dead."

Totally lacking in emphasis, her words still hit him like a ton of bricks. A one-two-three punch of deadpan delivery.

"Shit." No, that's not right. His brain is full of fucking smoke alarms. "I'm sorry." Better.

"Yeah." The silence dangles for a second. "It's nothing to do with you."

That takes him out at the kneecaps, and suddenly he's sitting on the lip of the tub, catching his breath. What the hell? "I… didn't think it was." He hesitates before asking, "When?"

Her eyes close. "He died 27 years ago today."

"Jesus. Rose, why didn't you tell me?"

"When exactly was I s-supposed to slip it into conversation, Malcolm?" Her lids bat back open in a second, and she turns her most challenging glare on him. "When you made that stupid joke about daddy issues, was I supposed to go, 'Surprise! My dad did actually die when I was six months old, but please have sex with me anyway'? And then," she barrels on, "we decided we weren't, you know, serious or whatever, and I kept assuming it would… end eventually? But we just kept seeing each other and the date kept creeping up, and I ignored it, because it's not like you're my fucking boyfriend."

The whiplash of her cursing would probably make him laugh if he wasn't feeling so desperately miserable.

"And then I came over last night and you—and then I… decided to stay…" She shakes her head, damp strands of hair whipping against her cheek. There are blueish shadows under her eyes, violently contrasting with the red. "And I thought I could handle it and it would be fine, but then I woke up and I just—I couldn't… I just kept thinking—" and that's the last word that makes it out of her before her air supply seems to shut off. Her chest shudders and her eyes close, and he wants to peck out his own fucking liver for letting this entire awful situation come to be.

"You have to take a breath every now and then," he scolds instead. "Fuck's sake."

To his intense concern, that doesn't even earn him a withering look. Just a continuation of the weird hitching rhythm of her chest. Her hands clench tighter around her knees, dimpling the skin with pale half-moons. Looking at her is borderline unendurable.

He groans. "Fuck this." And then he swings around over the ledge of the tub, kicking his limbs inside, where they are immediately soaked.

It's a big enough tub—compared to the size of his flat, the shower stall is almost impractically decadent—but it's not really meant for two. A fact he is keenly aware of as he goes to his knees beside Rose's shivering, twitching body.

Careful, he takes her by the shoulders and turns her around, then he spreads his knees as far as he's able—thanking hell he didn't decide to change into denims before this—so she can sort of sit in between them. He pulls her in until her curved back touches his chest.

The cotton clinging to her is still too cool, and he is grateful for the hot spray that continues to fall around them. At least, if they're going to be wet through, they can still share some goddamned body heat.

It's with this goal in mind that he wraps his arms around her—his whole body, hunching in over the snarled knot of her form. Letting their breathing fall into a shared, slower rhythm. "That's it," he feels himself say, like he's down some tunnel, far away from himself. "Just breathe with me, there's a girl."

He doesn't know how long they sit there like that: long enough for his knees to begin aching, and for the air to go humid against his nose, soft with the smell of her hair.

Her shampoo is sunny, somehow. Citrus, with something fresh and green.

"This is fucking ridiculous," he mumbles eventually. "You should have told me."

"I—" she starts, but he squeezes.

"Yes, yes. I should have made it easier for you to tell me, I know," he grinds out. "I'm an arsehole. And I shouldn't have said that shite about our ages either, because it only called attention to what's basically obvious to anyone with one or more eyes in their head. Which is that you can do far, far fucking better than me."

The worst part, which he does not mention, is that he hadn't even fucking meant anything by that whole 'daddy issues' bit. It had just felt expected, somehow—after the zoo that was his trial and with the zombie horde dogging his steps post-acquittal, he'd felt like an acknowledgement had to be made in case some hack wearing a wire was sitting nearby, just waiting to turn her relative youth and incredible beauty into a new headline in a smear piece.

The disgraced former spin doctor desperately pawing at a woman half his age would undoubtedly make a good photo op. So instead, he'd been snotty and perverse. And now he's paying for it.

Worse, she's paying for it.

"You should, by the way," he adds, feeling her hand squeeze back, curled somewhere around his wrist. "I'm serious. Anyone would be better. A fucking dogcatcher with a furs shop. A monk. I could set you up with fucking Ollie Reeder, so long as you don't mind that he's gay."

To his relief, she actually snorts. It's a laugh, liquified and wobbly, but real. "Oh, shut up."

"And I… I'm sorry about your dad." He swallows, having to force down a new wave of panic—not to do with her, this time. It's all him.

He braids their fingers together, feeling like a fucking pansy and trying to focus on the drumming water against his back. He so rarely fears inadequacy, but this is one area in which he's failed again and again and again.

He's been reliably informed that he is not a comforting presence.

"I really am, darling," he adds weakly.

"It was a long time ago," she says. "I barely even remember him."

"That doesn't make it easier, does it?"

Half of him waits for her to stiffen or recoil, while the logical part of his brain is forced to admit that Rose would never. She's far too kind.

That's always been his issue, really. She's just so goddamn kind, and he could kick himself in the head for taxing that. Keeping her at arm's length when she obviously doesn't want to be, making her feel like the showerhead would be a better listener. Christ.

She breathes deep instead, and her body unfolds itself until her head is resting on his chest.

"No," she admits. A long exhale. "It really doesn't."

The air is properly foggy now. Her skin is pink where he can see it. But he doesn't let go of her, and she gives no indication of wanting him to. He can feel the grief subsiding in the air, sucked down the drain.

That's the way of it: it comes in waves. And when it's gone, you might not resemble who you were before it.

"Ollie Reeder," she says, some indefinable time later. "God. I would literally rather donate my vagina to the National Trust. That's repulsive."

He kisses her shoulder, wishing fleetingly that it was bare. "Accept my apology."

"You know you didn't actually apologise for anything," she scoffs, sounding more and more like herself. "Except for my dad which, according to a near-thirty-year-old police report, you had nothing to do with."

But he kisses her again, and again, and she sighs. He likes to think she does so at least a little bit because it feels nice.

"Of course I forgive you, dickhead." He puffs a laugh against her, tightening his grip, and she settles into it like a cat in a sunray. Fucking unbelievable. "I know we haven't… really talked about it properly, Malcolm, but I—I mean, I get it, you know?" Two of her fingers fiddle with his damp sleeve. "Neither of us is particularly trusting."

"Understatement of the millennium."

"But I want to," she goes on, words seizing his heart in his chest. Seriously, Dr. Jones is going to kill him at their next appointment. "Trust you, I mean. Is that stupid?"

Her bones under his hands feel strong and sturdy, and her flesh is as forgiving as the rest of her, and he finally allows himself to feel all the fear he's been keeping at bay since the moment they met on that street corner, two in the morning. It had felt like a colossal fuck-up waiting to happen, or like an undeserved stay of execution.

"Yes," he answers shortly. "Probably so." He clears his throat, the sound feeling too loud in the close space. "But at least we're on equal idiot footing."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the motion of her cheeks, and when she tilts her head up to look at him, she's smiling. Blotchy and sweet.

Malcolm Tucker is not a romantic man. He's just fucking not. But he'd swear up and down in a court of law that he could get lost in Rose Tyler's gaze and be perfectly happy for it.

His fear fades into a background hum, suddenly fucking unimportant. He feels himself soften in ways he's still figuring out how to allow.

After a moment, her tongue slides between her teeth. "You've really never seen Psycho?"

He rolls his eyes with a groan. "What is with this generation and your relentless nostalgia?" he complains. "There are about five hundred brand new superhero movies to choose from and you want to watch some old—"

With her hands on his for balance, Rose pushes up a little, stretches her spine, and shuts him up with a kiss.

[steddieworks]

finally safe for me to fall - chapter 4

hello! I almost forgot to post today (oops) so I apologize if this is a little later than normal! I hope you enjoy!

read on ao3

Summary: Eddie has his first shift of nanny duties.

Warnings for this chapter: swearing

Words: 6.4k

The next morning, Eddie wakes up to the sound of his stupid alarm at an ungodly five-thirty a.m., which personally, he thinks is a time humans should never see. He rolls over and stops the alarm before it can wake up the whole house, but a vaguely logical part of his brain tells him that that’s exactly what needs to happen anyway.

Still, he decides that this is just a good opportunity for him to get a quick shower and start on some breakfast before he has to wake the twins up. He’s never particularly been a morning person, but the prospect of getting up early and being useful kicks his ass directly into gear. He finds a sensible shirt in his closet, a black sweater that can’t possibly be judged too harshly, paired with the jeans he wore the day before. He hums to himself as he collects his toiletries, and quietly makes his way to the bathroom, careful not to wake up the kids.

After moving approximately one-thousand bath toys, he finally manages to turn the shower tap on, glancing around the room curiously as he waits for the water to heat up. This is definitely the first room he’ll start with today while the girls are at school. It’s clear that this is primarily a child’s bathroom, but he knows there’s got to be a better way to organize all of the stuff in here.

The water pressure feels fucking fantastic on his skin when he finally ducks under it, and he sighs, wondering how long he could stay under the stream and still manage to get everyone ready for school on time. Probably not very long, he reasons. He washes his hair quickly, leaving conditioner to sit in it while he lathers up his neutralizing-scent soap, humming under his breath.

When he gets out of the shower he feels like a brand new man, spritzing himself with scent blockers and deodorant before getting dressed and brushing his teeth. His hair is a state while it’s wet, but he does the best he can with the towel, drying it enough so that it isn’t just dripping all over the place.

It’s close enough to six when he emerges that he goes to put his things away, then goes straight to the girls’ room to wake them up. He tries to be gentle about it, unlike the many rude awakenings he’d had himself as a child. He’s humming, opening the curtains and going over to their closet to see what sort of clothes they’ve got to choose from.

“Rise and shine, kiddos. Time to get ready for school!” Eddie announces brightly.

He hears some quiet groaning behind him, but ignores it in favor of pulling out a few things to make an outfit.

“Do we have to go?” Ivy whines.

Eddie turns to give her a smile. He’s obsessed with the fact that they’re already this comfortable with him. “Yeah, unfortunately you do. It’ll be great, though, don’t worry. We’ll have a good breakfast before school, and afterwards we can do whatever you guys want, okay?”

Jasmine sits up, stretching her arms up over her head as she yawns. “Are you gonna pick our clothes out? Can we help?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

Eddie pauses. He hadn’t even thought about whether or not they might want to do that themselves. “I was going to, but you guys can pick them out. I can just help make sure it matches, yeah?”

Ivy looks excited by that, jumping off the bed almost instantly. “Are you sure? Daddy always picks out our school clothes for us.”

“Well,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I think it’ll be fine if you guys pick, just this once.”

Jasmine grins, joining them by the closet. “I like you,” she says simply. “You’re cool.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh. “Thanks,” he says, ruffling her hair, which has mostly been pulled out of her braid in her sleep.

He leans against the door frame while they go through their closet to find something to wear, and he’s smiling, content to just watch the chaos unfold, when he hears a voice behind him.

“Good morning,” Steve says.

Eddie startles a little, glancing behind him. “Oh, hey,” he says with a smile, pretending he isn’t flustered by how deep Steve’s voice is. “Morning.”

Steve steps past him, brushing his hand lightly down Eddie’s side as he does. Eddie has to concentrate hard not to shiver. “What’re we doing?” he asks, sounding a little confused when he sees the twins looking through their clothes.

Eddie shrugs. “I told them they could pick out their own outfits for school. Is that… is that okay?” he asks, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. God, he hadn’t thought about it, but it is probably a bit early to be calling the shots like this. He hopes Steve isn’t mad at the girls since-

“Of course that’s fine,” Steve says, turning and giving him an easy smile. “I’m just surprised, is all. I normally just pick out their clothes because it’s faster,” he admits. He turns to his daughters then, who don’t even seem to be mildly interested in his presence. “Uh, good morning?” he says to them, putting his hands on his hips.

“Morning, Daddy,” Jasmine says politely. She passes by him without so much as a glance, handing her little handful of clothes up for Eddie to check. “Does this match?” She asks sweetly.

Eddie takes the items from her, smiling when he finds a pair of bright yellow, wide-legged pants, and a black sweater with little white and yellow daisies on it. “Yup, looks good. Do you have some black shoes to wear with it?”

Jasmine nods, excited. “Yeah, I do.”

He nods, stepping back to let her pass. “Alright, go get dressed then.” He turns to watch Ivy, who seems to be struggling between two different options. “Ivy, you need help, sweetheart?” Eddie asks from his place against the wall. Steve is standing close to him, his arms crossed as he watches the proceedings, a little smile tugging at his lips.

Ivy sighs. “I wanna wear a dress, but I don’t wanna be cold,” she complains.

Eddie shrugs, stepping closer and flipping through the options in the closet. “Well, what about this?” he asks, tugging out what looks like a sweatshirt dress. “You could wear it with leggings and sneakers, yeah?”

Ivy crinkles her nose. “But would that match?” She asks, petulant.

Steve coughs out a laugh from behind him. Eddie ignores it. “Yeah, honey, I think so. Just some plain black leggings and maybe some white sneakers, I think it would be cute.”

“Okay,” she finally agrees, taking the dress from him and handing the hanger back. “Do I have to wait for Jazz to come out of the bathroom?”

Eddie’s about to answer when Steve interjects. “We’ll step out, Ivy, you can just get dressed in here. Make sure to brush your teeth when she comes out though, okay?”

Ivy nods, and Eddie follows Steve dutifully out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. Steve leads the way to the kitchen, and Eddie feels a little bit like a lost puppy, trailing behind him like this. “That… went okay, right?” Eddie asks, tentative.

Steve turns to smile at him. “I think so,” he agrees. “Jasmine’s usually the easy one with things like that. Ivy… not so much. She’s never met a problem that she can’t exacerbate.”

Eddie has to laugh at that. He can see that, even from what very little he knows about the girl. “Right,” he says. He remembers himself then, sitting up from where he’d been leaning briefly against the kitchen island. “So, eggs, bacon, toast? What do you guys usually do for breakfast?”

Steve shrugs. “It usually depends on how late we’re running, but I’m not gonna complain about eggs and bacon.”

Eddie smiles and nods, going to rifle through the fridge. “Oh, you buy the real nice stuff,” he notes, glancing at all the unfamiliar brand names, the ones he usually never looks twice at while at the grocery store himself.

Something about the comment must rub Steve the wrong way, because he’s looking down at the countertop when Eddie glances back at him. “Yeah,” he says flatly.

“I…” Eddie starts, but he’s got no idea where to even go with that. “How do you guys like your eggs?” He asks instead.

“Scrambled is fine,” Steve says, still looking down at the countertop.

Eddie nods, playing a game of trial and error to see which cabinets hold which supplies. Eventually, he manages to get it together, and before long, the eggs and bacon are sizzling in their pans and he’s getting the toaster up and running as coffee brews in the pot next to him.

“Daddy, have you seen my white sneakers?” Ivy’s voice calls as she comes into the kitchen.

Steve replies with a sigh. “They should be in the closet, love.”

“But they’re not!” She protests. “I’ve looked everywhere for them, and they’re not in there!”

Eddie glances over at the scene, but neither of them pay him any mind. “Okay, why don’t you wear a different pair of shoes today, and we’ll look for your other ones when we get home,” Steve says, leveling with her.

“Fine,” she says, and Eddie can hear the pout. “Can I borrow sissy’s shoes?”

“Uh, absolutely not. Not without asking her first.”

“But Daddy,” Ivy whines. “She’s gonna say no!”

Steve shrugs at her. “Well, I can’t help that. I’m not forcing her to share her stuff with you because you can’t keep up with your own things.”

Ivy huffs. Eddie glances over his shoulder at them, surprised to see Steve and his daughter in some sort of tense stare-off. Ivy looks so much like him that it’s actually sort of scary.

“Honey, why don’t you eat breakfast, and I’ll go try to find your shoes, okay?” Eddie interrupts as he begins plating up the food.

Both of them look like they’ve been startled out of their little staring contest, but Eddie couldn’t care less. He slides a plate in front of Steve first, setting a smaller one in front of the chair beside him, then turns back and grabs the mug of coffee he’d poured, as well as a glass of orange juice, setting those down in front of them as well. “Be back in a second,” he says with an easy smile, ruffling Ivy’s hair as he passes her.

“Thank you,” Steve calls sweetly towards his back as he leaves the room.

Eddie smiles, giddy.

“Jasmine, breakfast is ready in the kitchen, honey,” Eddie says as he passes the open door of the bathroom, where Jasmine is stood at the sink, brushing her teeth.

“Mkay,” she mumbles around a mouthful of foam.

Eddie surveys their bedroom for a moment when he walks in, going to check the closet first, finding the shoe caddy on both doors full, but neither of them containing a pair of white sneakers. Hmm. He turns a circle, glancing around at his other options.

He spots Ivy’s unmade bed, something peeking out from under the bed skirt. Bingo. He retrieves the sneakers, dusting them off a little on his way back to the kitchen. All three Harringtons are lined up at the kitchen island, and Eddie can hear Steve talking quietly to them. He hears a bit that sounds like, “-have to behave-“ before he promptly interrupts.

“Here, Ivy,” he says, setting the sneakers on the floor next to Ivy’s chair.

“You found them!” She cheers, grinning up at him widely. “Thank you!”

Eddie smiles, ruffling her hair as he goes to make himself a plate of breakfast too. He feels Steve’s gaze on him and glances over, offering him a generic smile.

“Where did you find them?” Steve asks, gesturing to the shoes.

Eddie shares a glance with Ivy, wagging his finger at her playfully. “Under her bed.”

Ivy grins sheepishly. “Thank you, Eddie,” she says sweetly.

He winks at her, but catches the hesitant look on Steve’s face, his lips quirking into a frown. Eddie gives him a curious look, and Steve glances between the two of them before speaking. “Next time you need to go find your shoes by yourself, Ivy,” he lectures gently. “Eddie’s not here to go looking for all your lost things, okay? You need to be responsible and keep up with them yourself.”

Eddie knows the lecture is not necessarily targeted at him, but he feels chastised nonetheless, looking down at his food in embarrassment. He really thought he was doing the right thing, he didn’t even consider this side of it.

“Eddie,” Steve says from beside him a moment later, putting his plate in the sink. “Hey,” he says gently, clearly seeing the distraught look on his face. Steve reaches out, gently pushing Eddie’s hair back over his shoulder before dropping his hand there and squeezing. “You’re not in trouble, hon, I just want them to learn to be independent and take responsibility for themselves. You didn’t know that, okay?”

It embarrasses him a little, to see how kindly Steve is handling him being a big baby about this. “Okay,” Eddie says quietly. “Sorry,” he tacks on.

Steve smiles, shaking his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re new at this, remember? You’ll learn things like that on the way, okay?”

Eddie nods, missing the contact immediately when Steve pulls away to go collect the twins’ plates. Eddie starts running water in the sink as he listens to Steve tell the girls to go get their coats and backpacks. It’s clearly a well-oiled machine at this point.

“Do you want to fix their hair this morning?” Steve asks as he adds the other dishes to the sink. “I can wash these up while you do that.”

“Shouldn’t I…” Eddie trails off, uncertain. This isn’t the first time that Steve has offered to split these sort of chores, and Eddie’s starting to wonder what he’s getting at by doing that. “Shouldn’t I be doing both?”

Steve gives him an odd look. “No, not necessarily.” He seems to realize something then, and he shakes his head. “Eddie, I’m not entirely useless. You’re here to help me, of course, but I don’t intend on just sitting back and letting you take over every single little household chore. Having you here is just… to even the load. And to have someone stable for the girls, when I work late and travel.”

Eddie nods slowly. It goes against everything he’s ever been taught about being an omega, but if this is the way Steve wants it… then he’s more than happy to do it his way. “Okay. Then yeah, I’d love to do their hair,” he grins.

Steve smiles back at him. “I’m sure they’ll be relieved that it won’t be me.”

The girls come back in then, as if on cue, and Eddie directs both of them to a barstool as he goes to grab a brush and hair ties. They don’t want their hair to match, he learns, and Ivy prefers hers to be up and out of her face as much as possible, while Jasmine doesn’t mind hers being down. He thinks, briefly, that it’s a little at odds with their personalities, Ivy being the more wild of the two, but maybe she’s figured out the sensibility of having it out of her way.

He ends up doing a french braid for Ivy and a half-up half-down sort of bun look for Jasmine. Both of them seem thrilled with it, and Eddie slyly suggests that they should ask their dad for some bows to make it even cuter. Their eyes light up at the idea, and Steve rolls his eyes fondly, winking at Eddie when they aren’t looking. Eddie’s knees are a little weak.

“Oh, Eddie? One more thing,” Steve says as the girls are getting their coats on and checking that they have everything they need in their backpacks.

“Yeah?” he asks, tying his own hair back into his usual low bun.

Steve glances at the movement, and his mouth flickers. “Your hair was curling so nicely,” he says, almost in a pout. Eddie raises an eyebrow at this, and Steve’s face flushes. “Right, erm… Here. I went ahead and ordered you a card linked to my credit account,” Steve says, holding out a black square of plastic. “If you and the girls ever want to go get a snack, or you notice we need something around the house, or if you just need something yourself, you use this, okay?”

Eddie stares at it. He’s never had a credit card before, or even access to one. His uncle had taught him early on that people like them don’t get mixed up in things like that, in case they find themselves in a situation where they can’t pay for it.

“Oh. Um. Are you sure?” Eddie asks nervously, taking the corner of the card like he’s afraid it’ll burn him.

“Of course,” Steve says, looking confused. “You won’t get your first paycheck for another two weeks, you’ll need something to use in the meantime. And plus, if it’s something for my girls, or for the house, it needs to come from my account anyway. You don’t need to spend your own money on things like that, okay?”

Eddie can’t believe the trust he’s being given right now. “Oh. Okay.”

Steve can clearly sense his anxiety. “Girls, go wait by the door, Eddie will be there in just a second, okay?” He instructs. The twins obey, and Eddie feels a twist of nerves inside, for a completely different reason. Steve studies him carefully, reaching out and gently cradling Eddie’s chin, prompting him to meet his eyes. “Eddie, I don’t know what kind of financial situation you’re used to, and it’s not my place to ask. But here? Here, you will be taken care of, got it? You don’t need to worry about money or anything. Not with me.”

Eddie feels like his face is burning, radiating from the gentle press of Steve’s fingertips to his skin, but he manages a nod. “Okay,” he breathes.

Steve nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer. He steps back, maintaining that air of professionalism once more. “Alright. Let me hug my daughters, and then you guys can be on your way. They know how to get to school, so just follow their lead, okay?”

“Alright,” Eddie nods. He follows Steve down the hall, watches with fondness as Steve crouches down and hugs and kisses both of his daughters, reminding them he loves them and saying he hopes they each have a good day at school. It’s impossibly sweet, and almost hurts to watch, knowing that he’s very much an outsider to it.

They leave after their goodbyes, Steve waving at them from the door, and Eddie takes a deep breath when he’s out of sight, hoping that he can prove himself in this part, at least.

He’s got this.

~~~

“Did you know our Daddy for a long time?” Ivy asks shortly into their walk. They’d been talking about other things at first - the weather, their school, even dinosaurs, but somehow, it had turned to this.

“Oh, uh, not very long,” Eddie answers. The question was worded a bit funny, but he still understood what she was asking. “Not as long as you guys have, of course,” he jokes. Each of them is holding one of his hands, and something about it fills his omega with pride.

“Did you move in with us to be our new mommy?” Jasmine asks, her voice sweet and curious.

Eddie trips on nothing.

“What?” He asks, his head whipping around to look at her.

She shares a confused look with her sister. “Well… You do everything a mommy does. And you let Daddy play with your hair.”

Eddie shakes his head quickly. Nope. He’s definitely gotta stop this one in its tracks. “Oh. No, honey, I didn’t move in with you guys to… do that. I just work for your dad. He needed some help taking care of you guys, you know?”

Ivy nods solemnly. “Yeah. That last lady was super mean!”

Jasmine nods in agreement. “Yeah she was.”

That piques Eddie’s curiosity. He hadn’t even thought about there being previous nannies, but surely there was. “Oh? What was so bad about her?” he asks carefully.

Ivy shrugs. “She was just mean. I don’t think she liked Daddy very much.”

“Yeah,” Jasmine agrees. “She said he was a disgrace.”

Eddie blanches. “She what?” he nearly shouts. He can’t imagine saying that about anyone, especially Steve. And especially not to Steve’s children.

Ivy nods, but looks sad. “Yeah. She told us he’s a disgrace, ‘cause he’s an unmated alpha, raising his kids by himself.”

That makes Eddie hesitate. The way she said it… made it sound like maybe there wasn’t a nanny before that. “Oh,” he says, wondering if he should ask. He lets curiosity win. “So, it was just you guys and your dad before that?”

Jasmine nods, jumping over a puddle on the sidewalk. “Mhm. Daddy used to not do work all the time,” she sounds wistful. “But then he got motored, and now he’s got lots of ‘sponsibiliries.”

Eddie can’t help but smile at the way she said that. “He got promoted and has lots of responsibilities now?” He corrects gently.

Jasmine has a sheepish grin on her face as she looks up at him, knocking her head against his hip playfully. “Yeah,” she says. “But it’s okay. He spends lots of time with us when he can.”

“That’s great,” Eddie says gently. “I know your dad loves you guys a lot, or else he wouldn’t have asked me to come help out.”

Ivy nods. “I’m just glad it’s you, not that mean old lady.” She looks genuine, shaking her head like she can’t even explain the horrors she’s seen.

Eddie squeezes her hand. “Well I’m glad I’m here, too, honey. And I’m not that mean,” he jokes with a wink.

The twins giggle. “You know,” Jasmine starts. “We thought you’d be mean and scary, when we first saw you.”

That surprises Eddie. “Did you?” He asks, glancing at the two of them. When Ivy nods, he fakes a wince, releasing their hands just long enough to place them over his chest, like they’ve stabbed him in the heart. “Oh, it hurts!” he simpers.

They giggle even harder, and he grins as he takes their hands once more. “You’re silly,” Jasmine informs him through her laughter.

Eddie wags her arm lightly. “Well, duh! Do you guys still think I look mean and scary?” He asks, looking at both of them with his best impersonation of a baby deer.

Ivy laughs, but shakes her head. “Not anymore. I think you kinda look like a princess.”

That stalls him, for a second. “Oh?” he says, almost laughing. “How so?”

The girl just shrugs, but gestures to her own hair, then his. “All your big hair,” she explains. “Princess hair!”

Eddie glances at her sister, like he’s looking for backup, and Jasmine nods solemnly. “Princess hair,” she agrees.

And Eddie can’t help but laugh at that, just a little. “Well, alright, if you say so.”

They both emphatically agree that he does in fact have princess hair, and he decides to leave it at that. What an… enlightening morning this has been so far.

They arrive at the school right on time, and Eddie crouches down to make sure their shoes are tied and say goodbye. “Alright, I’ll be right back here later this afternoon to pick you guys up, okay?” He says, glancing between the two of them. They nod, and Ivy rocks back and forth on her shoes, like she’s ready to go. Eddie smiles at them. “Alright. Have a good day, okay? Be good!”

They make it up the steps together, and his heart clenches when they both glance back, as if checking to see that he’s still there. He lifts a hand up to wave, smiling at them. He blows them a kiss, just to see them giggle, and as soon as he sees that they’re in the building, he turns to head back home, smiling to himself the whole way.

~~~

When Eddie makes it back to the apartment, he’s humming to himself, compiling a list in his head of everything he wants to accomplish during the day. First, tackle the twins’ bathroom, get that organized. Then, assess the laundry situation, clean up the kitchen, make a grocery list…

He’s still thinking when he steps into the kitchen, apparently so lost in his own thoughts that he’s blind.

“Oops!” he says as he bumps into something.

Or rather, someone.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, hon,” Steve says, a hand darting out to steady Eddie where he’d stumbled after running straight into the other man.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, his face probably more than a little flushed when he glances up at Steve. “Er, what are you still doing here?” He asks, glancing down at his watch. It’s already half-past seven, and he had assumed that Steve left for work really early.

“Oh, I don’t have any meetings until nine, so I can usually run a little late in the mornings, unless something comes up.” Steve glances at his hair in the reflection of the refrigerator, and Eddie has half a mind to tell him that he looks good.

He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Oh, okay.” It’s a little bit awkward, for a moment, being alone with Steve without the bustle of children to keep them distracted. It’s just them and the empty space, and Eddie can’t help the way his eyes follow the muscles in Steve’s shoulders and back as he reaches into cabinets, clearly assembling some sort of lunch for himself.

“I can do that,” Eddie says, suddenly feeling a little useless just standing there watching.

Steve glances back at him, a small smile quirking at his lips. “Do you remember what I said about letting me do things?” Steve says, a little chastising.

Eddie doesn’t meet his gaze. He does, of course. “Well… okay, fine,” he says, and he knows he sounds like a petulant child.

That seems to amuse Steve, if his grin and laugh is anything to go by. “I get it, you know,” he says, softer than Eddie was expecting. When Eddie gives him a confused look, Steve shrugs, piling things onto his sandwich without any sort of rhyme or reason. “You just want to take care of someone. I get that.”

Eddie would probably bristle if it weren’t true. Instead, he just gives him a sheepish look. “I really can’t help it,” he says. “I’ll try to reign it in, though. I know it’s annoying.”

Steve glances at him like that surprises him, shaking his head. “It’s not annoying at all, actually,” he corrects. “I think it’s sweet. And it reminds me that you’re the perfect person for this job.”

That really does make Eddie blush, and he has to look away to hide it. “Right,” he says quietly, without argument. “Well, um…”

“What are you gonna get up to today?” Steve asks, effectively bridging the gap between the awkward silence.

“Oh. well, I thought I’d reorganize the twins’ bathroom, if that’s okay. Then maybe do some laundry, or go grocery shopping or something.” Eddie says, suddenly desperate for Steve’s approval, or guidance, or something.

Steve just nods, looking pleased. “Sounds good. Remember to use your credit card, okay?”

Eddie nods. He hadn’t forgotten about it, exactly, but he was definitely trying his best not to think about it so much. “Okay,” he says.

After he finishes constructing his monstrosity of a sandwich, Steve goes back to his room to finish getting dressed, and Eddie can’t help the omega instinct to go slide a couple of snacks in his lunchbox too. He plays innocent immediately after, though, looking through the fridge and making notes on the chalkboard when he notices something else they need.

By the time Steve emerges, Eddie’s got a good list going on, and is raiding the pantry to make sure he’s not forgetting anything. “Rice?” he asks, no preamble.

“Uh, should be some in the, uh…” he stumbles over his words, and Eddie glances over in time to see him fiddling helplessly with his tie. “Uh, there,” Steve says, gesturing vaguely to a cabinet.

Eddie does find some rice, marking it off the list now that he knows it’s there, but then he turns around to deal with the new problem. “Need some help?” he offers sweetly, going to sit on a barstool.

Steve looks embarrassed, but nods, stepping closer. “I normally don’t even bother with these,” he explains as he steps in between Eddie’s open legs. His scent swarms him suddenly, that deep, rich bourbon-vanilla smell almost making Eddie weak in the knees. “But my boss is coming by today, and I don’t want to look like a total idiot when he stops in.”

Eddie’s fingers are quick and efficient as they do up the knot in the tie, but he tries to slow down just slightly to prolong this closeness, the warm puff of Steve’s breath across his own face, the sweet, almost tender look in his eyes as he looks down at Eddie. It’s too much, but not nearly enough. “There,” Eddie says, unable to recognize his own voice. “All done,” he says, patting the tie neatly before pulling his hands, and himself, away.

Steve glances down, a bright smile on his face when he takes in the completed work. “Thanks,” he says sweetly, seeming to have no issues at all with how stupidly close they are. “Much better than the mess I would’ve created,” he jokes.

“Yeah, no problem,” Eddie says, trying to force himself to feel normal about this. Nothing out of the ordinary, here. Nothing at all.

He thinks for a second that Steve might say something else about the tie, but instead he glances down at his watch, swearing softly. “Right. I really need to get to work. You’re okay, right? You’ve got your keys, card, everything you need?”

Eddie nods. He feels a little embarrassed, distantly, that Steve is doting on him like this, but mostly he just feels… nice. It’s nice, he realizes, to have someone care about you. Like really, actually care about you. It’s not something he’s never felt, exactly, but it’s definitely not super familiar. He thinks… that maybe he could get used to this.

“Yeah,” he says, instead of voicing any of that nonsense. “I’m good. Er. Have a good day at work, sw-”

Eddie catches himself before he says a stupid pet name. God. He doesn’t have the luxury of calling Steve those names willy-nilly.

He clears his throat. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” Steve says, slipping on a suit jacket that hugs his shoulders, tapering around his waist perfectly. Eddie has to force himself to look away. “I should be home around five or six, but I’ll call and let you know if something changes.”

Eddie nods. Steve lingers, like he wants to say something else, but after a few minutes he just gives Eddie a small smile, grabs his lunch, and leaves. Now it’s time to get to work.

~~~

After a morning trip to the store for some essentials and an afternoon of reorganizing and cleaning the bathroom, Eddie makes his way to the school to pick up the twins. He watches as they follow the flood of other children out of the building, their little eyes searching the crowd to find him. He holds a hand up in a wave, knowing he’s on the shorter side, and can’t help the grin when both of the twins’ faces light up when they spot him. They rush over to him, a blur of color and blonde hair until they’re standing before him, grinning and talking fast.

He laughs at their enthusiasm. “Hi, girls,” he says, reaching out and taking Ivy’s right hand and Jasmine’s left, turning them to walk home. “How was school?” He asks, as if they aren’t already halfway through some scrambled story.

“It was great! We learned about why it rains, and got to color raindrops!” Jasmine says excitedly. Eddie nods along with her, making the appropriate “wow,” noises.

Ivy doesn’t seem as impressed with the raindrops. “That was okay. My favorite part was when we got to go outside and play!” She says, skipping over a crack in the sidewalk.

Eddie can’t help but laugh at how different their personalities are. “Ah, yeah, I bet that was fun!” He agrees with her. “Are you guys hungry?”

They both nod excitedly, and Eddie grins, glancing around like he’s about to tell them a secret. “How about we go get a snack before we go home?”

“Yes!” Ivy screeches, Jasmine cheering her agreement.

Eddie grins and they make their way to a small convenience store that Eddie had spotted on the walk over earlier. He lets them peruse the snack aisle at their leisure, standing back and watching, fond. He hears something clatter somewhere behind him and turns, startled.

“Great,” a small woman says. She’s got strawberry blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail, and when she lets out an annoyed puff of air, her bangs flutter. She is also, Eddie notices as his eyes flicker down at the candy bar she’d just dropped, heavily pregnant.

“Oh, here,” Eddie says, immediately bending down to grab it for her. He places it in her outstretched hand before stepping back with a smile. He doesn’t intend to say anything more, turning to corral the twins, but she stops him with her sweet voice.

“Oh, thank you,” she says, sounding a little surprised. “I swear I feel like I can’t do anything by myself anymore,” she complains, resting a gentle hand on her ballooned belly. She smiles down at it, and Eddie has to look away, his heart hurting.

“Right,” he says, trying to force a light laugh. He wants to leave, a weird, sickening feeling creeping up in his chest, one that he has no explanation for.

Unfortunately for him, the twins choose that moment to emerge at his side, and he already knows from the soft gasp of surprise what’s coming.

“Oh!” Ivy says, sounding delighted. She glances up at Eddie, then at the woman. “Hi!” She greets, sweetly.

The woman looks almost as delighted to see them as they are to see her. “Hello,” she replies, smiling at the both of them. She begins rubbing her belly, almost absently, and Eddie longs for something he’s never had, something he will probably never have. “Aren’t you two just adorable! I’m Chrissy. What are your names?”

“I’m Ivy,” she says, not a shy bone in her body.

Jasmine is a little more reserved. She takes hold of Eddie’s hand, hiding half of her face behind his arm. “Jasmine,” she says, softly.

The woman, Chrissy, smiles widely. “Those are beautiful names,” she tells them.

“Thank you,” Jasmine says quietly, while Ivy echoes the sentiment a bit louder. Eddie almost feels inclined to thank her as well, but he doesn’t know what for.

Ivy steps forward, gesturing to Chrissy’s tummy in a way that would probably seem rude if she wasn’t so sweet. “What’s their name gonna be?” She asks.

Chrissy smiles, then shrugs. “I’m not sure yet. My alpha and I want to wait until they are born to decide.”

Ivy nods, still looking curiously at her tummy. “Does it hurt very much?”

“Ivy,” Eddie warns, lightly. He sends Chrissy an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Not much for tact, this one.”

Chrissy laughs at it, waving it off. “She’s fine. And yeah, it hurts a little bit,” she says honestly. She looks at Eddie then, with some sort of knowing smile that he doesn’t think he’s earned. “Probably not as bad as it hurt your mom to carry you two, though. How did you do it? You’re so little!” She enthuses, gesturing at Eddie with something like awe in her voice.

Eddie flushes. Instantly, he recognizes her mistake.

“Oh, um-” he starts, shaking his head. She looks at him curiously, waiting for a response. “I’m not uh…” Jasmine squeezes his hand, looking up at him with what he thinks might be pity. There’s no way she could possibly understand what he’s going through, but he squeezes it back, and it gives him the strength to reply, “I’m not their mom, actually.”

Chrissy looks surprised by this revelation. “Oh!” She said, glancing at the twins and back to him several times, like she’s trying to figure it out. “I just- you’re an omega, right? I just assumed-”

Eddie nods, positive his face is flushed. He’s embarrassed, and wistful, and jealous - some part of him manages to recognize the lost emotion- jealous of this woman who he doesn’t know, simply because she’s expecting pups and he isn’t, doesn’t think he’ll ever have the chance to. And it’s… not fair, of course, but that doesn’t stamp down the feeling any.

“I’m an omega,” he agrees. “But I’m just their nanny.”

“Oh,” Chrissy says, looking a little embarrassed. “I am so sorry for assuming like that, I didn’t-”

Eddie cuts her off, spares them both the extra mortification. “It’s fine. I, um…” he glances down at the girls, smiling as he pets Ivy’s hair, squeezes Jasmine’s hand. “I’d be so lucky to be their mom. But I’ll take being the nanny, though.”

Chrissy smiles, something soft and motherly on her face. “Well, it looks like you’re doing a great job,” she says kindly. She waves at the girls. “I’ve gotta go give my little rugrat the weird stuff they’ve been craving, but it was nice to meet you all.”

Ivy waves at her, calling a goodbye to both her and the baby, and Jasmine silently raises her hand. As soon as the woman has disappeared, Ivy whirls around to him. “Eddie, do you think you’ll ever have pups?” she asks, bold.

Eddie nearly blanches. “Let’s pay for our snacks and go home,” he says, herding them to the register and hoping this closes this conversation once and for all.