#had to do a dish shift at work which i normally like doing

[rubythecrimsonwriter]

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[iicraft505]

someone kill me, just straight up put me down. my annoying former coworker returned as a volunteer and he annoys me under the best of circumstances but. literally I just said that I don't do dishes that often (meaning not often enough for it to have fucked up my name tag), and he was like "I think it's weird that you would admit to not doing your job" like bitch that's not what I fucking said but okay. And then I was like well I do them sometimes when it's needed and he was like "um..." in that "no you don't way" and said "there were a ton of dishes in the sink when I got here" yeah because I was fucking taking care of birds all day, dipshit! I was feeding our incubator birds every 30 minutes, I did literally all of our outdoor dishes (there was a mountain when I got in today!), I helped catch two very full adult bird outdoor flight cages for weighing and release, I went to release some hatchling turtles, and did all the other miscellaneous cleaning tasks that pile up when feeding hummingbirds. Sorry I didn't have a spare second to do the fucking inside dishes!

[parfaitblogs]

(totally not based on my day) but a simple request for spencer helping reader out with a bunch of chores bc she's overwhelmed with life and she decides to thank him with like the quote "best head of his life" and he's like "its okay you dont have to do that" and she's responds "but i am anyways"

it will come back ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid helps you when you're (very) overwhelmed, and you might need to return the favour.  pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: comfort & smut (18+ mdni) tags: oral (m receiving). praise. established relationship. reader's overwhelmed overstimulated overworked... very enthusiastic head giver!reader. use of honey and angel. they love each other a lot. i love them a lot. i don’t think there’s d/s dynamics but if there are it’s soft dom spencer (nobody’s shocked). word count: 3.1k a/n: thank u sooo much for reading my brain ily i need to give spencer reid head asap. new format/layout for requests sort of its the same as my normal post layout... do we like... i sure freaking hope so. as always lmk if u liked this or even if u didn't but preferably if u did!!

You were exhausted. For three weeks straight, you had been working nonstop, with a wondrous total of eight hours in between shifts. You were hardly sleeping, you had hardly had a social life, hell, you never even had time to enjoy the simple pleasures of an everything shower. You felt groggy, and cramped, and everyday felt like an awful repeat of the last. A nightmare that never ended. 

Never mind the fact that you hadn't seen your boyfriend.

Always home too late to be with him in the evenings, and up too early to get coffee with him before your days started. Spencer was so patient with you, regardless. He knew it would end eventually, and he would get his girlfriend back. It was just for the month, was what you would text each other whenever the other began feeling particularly lonely. He didn't even like texting, but the time for a simple phone call wasn't available to you anymore. 

And your apartment. Every time you stepped into it you swore a new dirty dish materialised in your sink, or a new pile of clothes sat themselves in your bedroom floor. Which was odd, because you had rotated between the same two outfits for the last eighteen days — your work uniform, or your pyjamas. 

You were overwhelmed with it all. Even as your hectic work life came to an end, and you were waking up to the sunlight pouring into your room, instead of an alarm clock while the moon was still up. You were acutely aware of the mess of your apartment, and just the thought of it all left you lying motionless in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Tears stung your vision as you felt the seconds tick into minutes, and nothing happened. Attempting to will yourself to get up, and yet you simply couldn't. Exhausted beyond belief, with limbs sinking into the mattress and melding to the sheets. 

You faintly heard the click of your front door lock, and if you had any more motivation in you, you'd probably get up to double check it was the only other person who had a key to your apartment, and not a burglar. Thankfully, you didn't have to, for Spencer was calling out your name, gently.

Too exhausted to even reply and alert him of where you were, you lay still until he had found you in your bedroom, his bad dropping by the doorway, feet shuffling against the rug. 

"Good afternoon," he said, finding a seat on the edge of your bed, hand resting atop your thigh, gentle circles being rubbed into the skin. 

"Is it already afternoon?" you asked him, voice quiet. 

"Yeah. How long have you been awake in bed?" 

"I don't know," you answered, voice awfully small as you felt the thick weight of frustration with yourself blanket over you. "I need to get up. The apartment's a mess."

"It's allowed to be," he said. "You've been doing sixteen hour days."

"Yeah, but I'm not today. I have the day off."

"Your first day off in weeks. I'd be concerned if you'd spent it productively."

You stared at him, unsure if the irritation that settled in your bones was because of his insistence that you not doing a thing was okay, or your exhaustion. Logically, it would be the latter. You did know that, deep down. 

Upon seeing your eyes delve into something a little more desperate, he sighed, hand sliding up to your own, gently tugging you up into a seated position. His eyebrows knitted together at your exhausted look, and you could see his brain ticking behind his eyes.

"Do you want to split the tasks?" he finally asked.

"You don't have to," you shrugged your shoulders. "It's my mess."

"Honey, you're already overwhelmed, and all you've done is wake up," he answered, thumb drawing circles on the top of your hand that he still seemed to have clasped within his own. "Let me help."

"It's really gross."

"I've seen mutilated dead bodies."

"I'd argue my kitchen sink is worse."

"Oh would you?" his eyebrows shot up, lips twitching in amusement, that you found solace in, distracting you slightly from your overstimulated mind. "Do you want to have a shower?"

"Yes," you nodded your head, brain ticking over all the personal hygiene tasks you had been neglecting over the past few weeks. 

"How about you go shower, I'll start cleaning up, and you come join me when you're feeling better?"

Despite your aversion to anybody but yourself tackling the mess of your apartment, you knew better than to deny Spencer any further — he had set his mind on helping you. 

Sighing, you nodded your head in defeat. He had coaxed you up off the bed, gotten you to the bathroom, even found you a fresh set of clothes to wear, and waited with you for the water to warm up. It was really only once he was absolutely sure you had gotten into the shower, did he leave you be, and disappeared from the bathroom. 

Eventually, the apartment had been cleaned, with efforts from the both of you getting it to where it now was. 

You were a lot less exhausted, and your brain was a lot less fried now that you didn't have a million tasks catalogued within it to get done. 

You were lying in your freshly made bed — courtesy of Spencer. Your head on his chest, fidgeting with one of his hands as he used the other to wave around as he rambled about something you were no longer following. It had started as a simple explanation for why you had been so overwhelmed in the first place. Which you had asked as a rhetoric, but didn't have the heart to stop him when he began explaining. 

"You're not listening, are you?" he asked, free hand poking your side and emitting an involuntary laugh from you at the feeling. 

"I am, I am! I'm just not following anymore."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," you replied, turning and poking your head up to be level with his. "I like hearing you speak, anyways. Doesn't matter if I don't understand."

He only hummed as a response, and the two of you stared at each other for a beat, before you were breaking out into a smile. 

"Hi," you chirped. 

"Hello," he answered, perhaps a little too amused by your sudden energy. "Would you like something?"

"A kiss?"

"After all that labour I just put in for you?" he mused, but he was already lifting his head to brush his lips against yours, and was most certainly not pulling away when you eagerly connected them properly. 

You pulled back after a few moments, searching his face. "Do you want something for all that labour?"

His hand trailed up your spine, fingertips triggering a shiver to run up your back. "What do you have in mind?"

"I could give you the best head of your life."

He was clearly not expecting that as an offer, perhaps because you never had offered such a thing before. It wasn't even something you had talked about, which was bizarre (in your mind), considering he was quite enthusiastic about using his mouth on you. 

"You don't need to do that," he shook his head, but with how close your faces were, you could see the instant dilation in his pupils. 

"What if I want to?" 

"Then that's very nice of you, but my point still stands," he replied.

"Spencer, let me do something in return," your voice was nothing short of a whine, and if he was any less turned on, maybe it wouldn't have made his firm footed denial falter. Maybe you knew that.

"You could do anything but that."

"So a handjob?"

"Or that."

"You're such an awful liar," you huffed. "I can see your pupils dilating. I know you're turned on by the thought of it."

"It could just be because I'm looking at you," he answered, voice hoarse, no doubt from the arousal he was attempting to deny was there. "Romantic attraction triggers the same response in our hormones."

"But it's not."

He fell silent for a few moments, before he allowed his resolve to slip, shaking his head in agreement with you. "No. It's not."

"See! It's okay if you want it. I'm quite literally offering myself to you," you spouted. 

His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled through his nose, words coming out through almost gritted teeth. "That's not a sentence you should be saying."

"Why not?"

His only response was to say your name chidingly, and when he reopened his eyes, he was met with the shit-eating grin on your face. 

"Brat," he mumbled, lips seeking yours once again.

"Who gives really good head," you hummed against his mouth. "And would really love to show you."

"If you're insisting—"

"Which I am," you quickly interjected, staring back at him as yet another amused smile stretched across his lips. Then, he was nodding his head, and you were quite cheerfully kissing him all over again.

It wasn't that you kissed him with much fever at all — in fact, you were melting into his lips with a gentle hum. It was simply that he was kissing you back with a desperation you should be accustomed to. You weren't. 

Every kiss you received from him always felt like he was chipping away at your soul, claiming a piece of it. Maybe he was.

You mewled when his teeth nipped at your lower lip, and he was quick to take the opportunity of slipping his tongue into your mouth. Though, alerted by his sudden control over the situation between you two, you reluctantly pulled your face away from his before it could go much further. 

"Excuse me," he breathed out, scoldingly, only to be met with your hundredth grin of the day as you descended down his body. He'd take it — you smiling, albeit cockily, was much more rewarding than the concerned look you had been sporting for the majority of the afternoon. 

"I don't do this very often," you told him as you lifted your gaze to his, absentmindedly tugging his pants down his legs. 

"I hope not. You've never done it for me, and we've been together for quite a while."

"You know what I mean," you grumbled, and he was forced to poke his tongue into the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face. 

"Is this comfortable for you?" he then asked, having noticed your constant adjustments of your positioning between his legs. From nerves or comfortability, he didn't know. 

"Um. I guess so," you replied. "I've never done it lying down."

"We can do it however you prefer to do it, angel."

"Oh. Okay. Cool," you mumbled, sitting up straight and grabbing his hands within your own, tugging him over towards the edge of the bed. 

You sank to your knees on the rug, tapping his knees with your hands to part them so you could situate yourself comfortably between them. 

You were a vision if he'd ever seen one, and you weren't even doing anything. Perhaps you had noticed the effect you had on him, or maybe you were just largely enthusiastic about doing something for him, and only him. 

Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, eyes flickering up to meet his face, and if this was the last sight he saw before he died, he would have no complaints. 

"Have you ever gotten head before?" you mumbled, eyes fixated on him as your hands trailed up the sides of his thighs, resting at the waistband of his boxers. 

"Yes."

"Okay," you whispered, quietly, tapping his hips so he could lift them, and you rolled his boxers down his skin.

"Okay?" he parroted. 

"Okay," you confirmed with a nod of your head. "I just wanted to know if this is going to be completely new for you or not."

As you spoke, your fingertips dragged along his inner thighs, lips following soon after, kissing up the skin. 

"I don't think that's going to matter, honey," he answered, voice breathless. 

You smiled, not needing to ask what he meant. You lifted your head back up, studying his face. He gave you a nod, a silent confirmation to allow you to go further, and you took a beat to compose yourself. It's not like he would be mad at you if it sucked, but you had had a far too awful day to not do something good. 

You hadn't done this in a while, it was true. So your hesitance came more from your brain figuring out what it actually needed to do, than your insecurities (they were there too). 

Insecurities that melted away within an instant, for Spencer's thighs tensed beneath your hands that were now holding them apart the second your lips made contact with his cock, and through your lashes you could see his head tipping back. 

Your cheeks warmed at how easy it was to get him to respond, and you wondered if the satisfaction settled in your chest was anything similar to how he felt when he did this to you. 

You started hesitant. Gentle kitten licks at his tip that probably shouldn't have been garnering such a large reaction from him. But it was, and you had to preoccupy your mouth to keep the smug smile off of it. 

Wrapping your lips around the head, he lets out the breathiest moan you think you've ever heard come from him, and your mind goes hazy. Newfound blind confidence wills you to take more of him in your mouth, and it's a quiet 'Fuck' that compels you even further. 

In hindsight, he knew he'd enjoy it. It was you after all. He knew from the world shattering arousal that the simple sight of you on your knees was. He had, in a few short seconds, mentally prepared to enjoy this.

But not this much, and certainly not this quickly. 

"I've been too selfless," he muttered as you lifted your head back up, tongue licking a stripe up the underside of him as you did. When you met his gaze in question, he added, "I mean never asking you for this. I should've."

You hummed as a response (it was all you really could do), and the gentle vibrations shot heat throughout his body. A shuddering moan rocked through his body, and if not for your quick response time in pushing his hips down, they would've knocked against your face when he bucked them up.

You hollowed your cheeks, lowering your head back down, and emitting the loveliest of moans from Spencer, whose hand found its way to your hair. Upon the lack of your protests, he made a loose ponytail with his fist, gently tugging on it upwards so you could lift your head. 

You flattened your tongue on your ascend, successfully making his already weak grip on your hair go slack, within only seconds of him having grabbed it. Swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, his hips bucked up again, and you flinched. 

"Jesus—fuck, sorry, honey," he rasped, though his guilt was quick to dissipate as he saw your thumbs up against his thigh. Your movements weren't hesitant, anymore. Just slow. Tortuously slow. "Can I..." he trailed off, seemingly becoming unsure of what it was he was asking of you within seconds, but the retightening of his hand in your hair gave you all you needed to know. 

You nodded your head the best you could, and he mumbled a quiet 'thank you', allowing you to set a base pace, before taking over. 

"So good. Jesus Christ, angel. Where did you learn this? Don't answer that. Don't tell me. Shit." 

His rambling was sharp sentences, that didn't really sound like they belonged together, and certainly didn't sound like they should be coming out of his mouth. They weren't the most articulately structured phrases he's ever come up with. A thought that comforted you, because you were doing that to him. 

"Fuck," he breathed out, once more, and you came to the mental conclusion you've never heard him swear so much in his life. The thought made your stomach flip.

Fingers dug into your scalp, though not too harshly to hurt. In fact, you were letting out a quiet moan of your own at the feeling, hips wiggling. Even in his state, Spencer noticed, and he smiled.

"You—ah���okay, angel?" he asked you, and you relished in the fact that he couldn't get out sentences without moaning. 

Your response was yet another hum, and he was bucking his hips. Again.

You knew he was close for a multitude of reasons; the fact that he had quickened his gentle-turned-firm guidance of your head, his fingers tugging on your hair a little harsher than before, and the ever so lovely, "Jesus Christ—please—oh," leaving his lips, breathlessly.

It was a few more moments of that, before the fingers in your hair went impossibly tight, and the muscles in his thighs locked beneath your hands. 

The fact you had never discussed doing this, meant neither of you knew the other's stance on what to do. Thankfully, Spencer was rendered so frenzied that he couldn't do anything. 

It was a sickeningly lovely sight; you pulling back and swallowing, some of his come painting your bottom lip. His fingers twitched, before they dropped back to the mattress on either side of his body, his chest heaving just as much as your own. 

Lightheaded, you slowly brought yourself back up to your feet, and Spencer's arms were quick to wrap around the backs of your thighs, pulling you into him. 

"Best head of your life?" you asked, lowering your lips to brush against his. 

"By a mile," he replied. 

"Just one mile?" 

"Maybe two."

Shooting him a glare, you huffed, and he laughed. "You're never getting head again, then."

He nipped your lower lip. "Okay."

"I'm putting my foot down," you retorted, disliking his lack of belief in your words. "Never again."

"I believe that."

"You should."

"Oh, I do," he hummed, sarcasm in his words making you frown. "Are your knees okay?" 

If his goal was to distract you, he succeeded, for your eyes were instantly dropping to your knees, indents from the threads of the rug evident. 

"They're okay," you confirmed, squirming as his thumbs rubbed circles into the skin on your thighs. 

"Tell me if they're not," he instructed, and you nodded. He stood up, hands sliding up to your waist. "Shower?"

"Shower," you confirmed with a nod, despite the fact that you had showered only a few hours prior. "Can we watch a movie after?"

"Yes."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[catiuskaa]

RAINKISSED CHERRIES.

summary: by chance or luck, you and minho found each other that rainy summer evening. dirty dishes, cherries and all.

series masterlist (☆) collab with @dalamjisung !

wc: 3.1k

cw: absolute heart-wreaking fluff! short mentions of bullying, minho is a soft introverted cutie pie, the reader is a cherry enthusiast, and a slight suggestive thing on the end [as a present for all of you who thought the cherry emoji on the poll was for dirty stuff, lololol]

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

Minho was used to being alone. 

It didn’t scare him, not really. He didn’t feel fear when all that was happening around him was the silence that crowded the restaurant after a busy day as he cleaned up his kitchen. He relished the scent of lemons that lingered on him after he was done, sometimes going as far as doing the dishes by hand instead of popping them into the dishwasher, in an attempt to intensify it.

He knew most people wouldn’t understand. And quite frankly, he didn’t mind it. The kitchen was his space. No one came in during their shifts, merely speaking to him through the window that divided it from the rest of the place. He could cook without interruption, with the tranquil chatter that the clients brought merely on the background as he hummed distant tunes he couldn’t remember the lyrics to while chopping vegetables or cleaning up a fish.

So he took his time cleaning too, waiting for his ears to get used to the absence of noise and to welcome the reverberation his steps made when he walked around cleaning the counters, or when he moved the plates and cutlery and glasses, the sounds all too familiar, or sometimes new ones, like the door to the fridge that now chirped as he opened it while checking on the list next to it to see what he’d need to buy or refill.

The rain sounded shyly as it fell on the roof over him, like a gentle reminder to bring an umbrella to work. Its soothing charm made him sigh in comfort, and Minho relished in the sound of nothing at all that filled the restaurant after closing.

And when there was a sudden shaking of the backdoor, is why his heart skipped a beat. Or that’s what he liked to think at first, considering that it seemed much more normal to relate that to the unexpected sound rather than the unexpected, unknown visit.

“We’re… closed,” Minho uttered, frowning lightly, confused at the sight of you.

He was pretty sure it was late enough for you to know that the restaurant was closed —if the fact that the sign over the main door that read HAVEN wasn’t on couldn’t have been a dead giveaway already—.

But under his disoriented grin, he found you smiling. “Right. S-sorry,” you mumbled. Your hair was wet, your clothes too, which was also weird, considering summer rain showers were never intense to such an extent.

It brought the conclusion that you had probably been walking under the rain for a while.

“Did you… um.” He felt a small lump in his throat, and he cursed in his mind.

Minho knew he wasn’t cut out for customer service. That’s why his brother, Felix, like the everlasting ray of sunshine he was and had always been, was the one who managed the front while he stayed in the kitchen. The sole contact he had with clients would be when they sat on the window by the kitchen, and that was only allowed in the early mornings, which meant barely any people interacted with him aside from the casual, “coffee, black,” or “is there a newspaper I could read?” He kind of enjoyed that sort of contact. Minho didn’t even need to answer, merely nodding and following suit to what the clients demanded.

But this was different, and despite himself, he tried to push through. “You’re soaked.” He stated, a fact you didn’t dare to contradict, as foolish as that might have been, taking in the state of you. “Come in. You’ll get a cold.”

He moved on autopilot as he headed to the locker that stood in the corner of the kitchen. There was a small smile of triumph that crossed his face when he found the towels that Felix kept there for rain showers, and grabbed one.

“Take a seat… if you, um, want to.”

You blinked at him, puzzled, watching as he left the neatly folded towel over the windowsill-like counter.

Licking his lips, Minho just stared at you, doubting his every action, going as far as wondering if his breathing was too loud for the silence that crowded the restaurant, bubbling with the gentle words he had just spoken.

But then your eyes got teary, and you smiled at him like he had hung the stars in the sky for you to see. His heart did a thing at the sight of your new-formed happiness, beating a bit faster as you took the towel and messily squeezed your hair with it, sitting on the other side of the counter.

You were an unexpected visit in his space. His kitchen. His mind related that to the fact that his heart was going what his brother would call “bananas”, now timidly troubled at the sight of you.

It was a small diner in a small village. With the exception of tourists here and there, arriving in boats to enjoy the cool water to ease the warmth the Sun brought. But there were no boats that night, if Minho’s view of the sea from the kitchen was right. Still, he had no idea who you were, nor how it was that he had never seen you before.

“Do you have a charger I could borrow?” The tone of your voice was soft, almost as soothing as the silence had been before your arrival.

He nodded, handing it to you with a sheepish smile on his features, ones that matched your own.

You sighed, plopping your head down against the towel, laying on the counter, fidgeting with the stool you were sitting on, moving side to side.

“Are you not going to ask?” You mumbled softly, playing with the wet strands of hair that fell over your eyes.

Truth be told, Minho hadn’t planned to, not when he had just remembered he had to dry and hang the wine glasses over the counter.

He let out a somewhat breathless chuckle as he unloaded the glasses from the dishwasher.

“Last time I walked for hours in the rain, I wasn’t keen on people wondering why.”

Your gaze felt piercing against his face, but he pretended to be so very interested in drying the glass in his hands. Mmh, oh, yes, glass was made out of glass. Surprising.

The snicker that passed your lips felt equally sad and amused, and a small part of Minho couldn’t help but think that it sounded way better than the tinkles of the dishes.

“Guess so, yeah.”

“You do look like you have a good story to tell.” He grinned bashfully.

The tips of his ears turned pink, but he didn’t mind it when he noticed the shimmer in your eyes turning lighter, entertained by his words.

“You think so?”

He cherished the giggle you let out. Better than a bittersweet snicker. Much better. 

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

A gentle blush dusted your cheeks, and you remained silent, wondering what could be the best way to explain how you had ended up there, like a stray kitten, scratching the wooden door.

“A friend invited me over. I live nearby, I moved recently, but her house is closer to the main plaza here. You know, where the summer concerts are.” He nodded, attentively listening to your every word.

It wasn’t a place he frequented, much less when it was so crowded, but it was easy to hear the music and see the lights from his room, a recurrent scenario every summer since he could recall.

“I don’t drink. Which, to a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, seems weird enough to comment on it every single time. Sometimes they say that I ruin the vibe, that I’m a killjoy. It’s whatever.”

Now, Minho sucked at social cues half of the time, —the other half he just wasn’t interested enough to give a flying fuck—, but even for him it was easy to say that, to you, it wasn’t just whatever.

“We went to today’s—, well, yesterday’s concert.” You snickered, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It was okay. They had their fair share of alcohol, I had apple juice. I can’t say I didn’t have fun.”

Minho felt his heart pout inside his chest when he saw you shrug nonchalantly. And he lied too, by omission, deciding not to comment on it.

“Then we went back to my friend's house.” Your tone had changed, and the palms of your hands pressed into your eye sockets, as if that could make the memory of a few hours ago more bearable. “And I had this necklace on. A silly thing. Gold.” You muttered, moving your hands to your jaw as you kept speaking. “Probably fake anyways.”

You gulped, as if swallowing dry. “Suddenly, the girl who invited me turned against me.” You bit your lip, chuckling a cold laugh out of your system. “Said I was only there to drive them, because I didn’t drink. But now her boyfriend had a license.” You rolled your eyes, frowning. “Like, girl, your sad excuse of a boyfriend is one shove away from an alcoholic coma. Sure. Let him drive. First one who ends up in a ditch loses.”

Hanging up yet another wine glass, Minho snickered, which got you out of your head lightly, making you smile shyly, noticing your phone had turned back on.

But instead of throwing yourself at it head first, you sighed, continuing the story.

“She said I wasn’t needed now.” Your voice felt heavy with pent-up emotions. “That the only cute thing I could bring to the group was my necklace.” Your eyes were teary again, and Minho couldn’t help but scoff, frowning.

“Sounds like a handful.” He mumbled.

“God, yeah,” you passed your hands through your hair, “but the worst was when her boyfriend, drunk as fuck, decided that if she liked my necklace, she should have it.”

His hands stopped, as if someone had pressed pause on him, and Minho promptly left the wine glass on the counter, cloth inside it. 

“He… grabbed the necklace and… and shoved me.” You recalled the motion, taking a hand to your neck, tightening it on a fist, and tensing up your body, as if you had been pushed right then and there before Minho’s eyes. 

“And, well, the thing couldn’t really hold my weight to begin with…” You scratched the back of your head, your hair still damp under your fingertips. “The clasp got loose and… I fell back to the swimming pool.”

“God, you must be freezing, then,” Minho mumbled, the shock passing through his tone, mixed with light worry. 

You dismissed it with a gentle groan and a flick of the wrist, but when he got you another towel, you were quick to settle it over your shoulders. 

“I don’t know if Lix could have left something around here…” 

But you settled your hand over his wrist, smiling. “No, please. You’ve done enough for me already. More than any of my so-called friends to begin with.”

That’s why I should keep doing more. 

It was a thought, just a random idea, something far from being a grand gesture of any kind. Still, the weight of it threatened to tint Minho’s ears a deep shade of red and take his breath away. It was then and only then that he noticed a red scratch on your neck, just a bit over your collarbone.

You could only blink, puzzled, when he didn’t move his arm away from you, but instead leaned forward, slightly over the counter, boring his eyes to your neck. 

“He did this to you?” 

Ah. You were talking. Mmh. Having a conversation, yes. He— god, he was a total stranger. Handsome, sure, whatever. Ok, maybe not exactly whatever, fine. Still. Huh? What had you been thinking?

“I, uh,” you swallowed dry, but it hadn’t been full of awkward tension. Not as much as you had expected. “What… what?” 

Breathless. It was ridiculous! How could a random, gorgeous, beautiful young man from the countryside make you so weak in such little time? It wasn’t normal to fall so easily for anyone, was it?

His eyes stared at yours, and the brown of his calmed your racing heart and fuzzy mind. 

Oh. 

“Um. You have a… t-there’s a… scratch. Red. From, um, the necklace, probably.” 

But neither of you had moved from the closeness that you had just discovered. 

“Is it, eh, bleeding?” 

Minho’s tone matched your own. A whisper, barely loud enough to be called a sound. 

“No. Just a scratch.” 

His eyes —bright and kind, yet guarded— held yours with an intensity that was both unnerving and comforting, whereas Minho felt like he was being seen, really seen, for the first time in a long while. Which was, again, bananas. One hundred per cent bananas. 

Like I said, ridiculous. Odds are that you had spent less than an hour in his space, his kitchen, and now he didn’t find himself yearning for the tranquil buzz of his ears after a loud day. Tonight, he wanted your voice, telling him a story. And he’d love to listen to anything, especially if you didn’t have that sad undertone while you spoke, because when you had giggled, it had reverberated in his space. Not his kitchen, honestly, but his chest, fluttering butterflies fighting inside of him. 

Neither of you spoke, but the silence was no longer awkward. It was filled with something else, something tender and unspoken. You licked your lips, chuckling lightly, and tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear, a delicate movement that had only seemed to draw him closer, despite the stillness of your bodies.

“I think there are bandaids here somewhere.” He grinned gently, and you watched him, almost mesmerized. “It’s better than nothing.” There was a slight doubt in his mind, but he ended up shoving it away, speaking softly. “I can’t offer you much aside from bandaids and cherries, really.  Let me.” Minho chuckled.

He had to hold back the impulse to bite his lip at your toothy grin. “You have cherries?” 

For you, yes. But instead, he merely smiled, cruising to the counter close to the window, moving the bowl closer to you. 

Plopping a cherry in your mouth, you sighed in contentment. The familiar, almost homey feeling of the explosion of sweetness in your mouth brought you back to the comfort of your own house. You picked a paper napkin from the corner of the windowsill counter, leaving the pits over it. 

“You must really like cherries.” He tongued his cheek, missing your enthusiastic nod, heading to one of the small drawers of the aisle in the kitchen, like a man on a mission, and you snickered, staring at his back as he looked around in the different drawers. But then, he paused, and his shoulders made a weird motion. “Ah, Yongbok…” 

You couldn’t help but frown at him, yet it was obvious that the giggle you let out after he turned back to face you had been totally on purpose. 

“Hello Kitty bandaids?” You relished on the light blush that dusted his cheeks pink, before sparing him. “That’s so cute.”

Minho let out a chuckle that was full of relief. “My little brother. A menace, as you can see.” 

“Mmh, I’m thoroughly terrified.” 

“You don’t say.” 

He snickered, getting out of the kitchen, standing now before you, towering over your sitting figure, even on the bar stool. 

You watched as he skilfully unwrapped the pink and colourful bandaid, lemon-scented hands tenderly pressing the sticky band over the red scratch. 

“There,” Minho mumbled. “You can keep an extra one if you’d like.”

Only in certain moments, he could remember not missing the old clock that used to tick every second, hanging over the backdoor like an impending sign that his time in the kitchen was well past midnight. And that night was not only one more to the list, but most likely its number one addition. Minho loved the feeling that came over him when he stared into your eyes, and that old wooden thing would have ruined everything. 

No old clock. Just two strangers standing in front of each other, on a late August night, inside a closed diner, waiting for something to interrupt what was too early to happen yet. 

There would be other chances, Minho was sure of it. At least a small part of him was, whereas the other debated how stupid he was because he hadn’t asked for your name yet. Nevertheless, the other part of his brain —a much, much funnier one, if you asked for this humble author’s opinion— knew there was time. 

He didn’t need an old clock in the diner, because there would be time on other rainy evenings, when you’d come back from wherever you had been in the day, the lingering scent of rain on you, and he’d melt in your arms, as if that could make the lemon scent stain on you as much as you had stained him. 

Minho would scrunch his nose. 

“You reek of cherries.” 

And you’d smile, guilty as charged, both of you fully aware that you had probably bought and finished a small box of cherries on your way to him. 

“Change that, then.” 

It would only take a playful giggle escape from your cherry-tinted lips for him to grab you in his arms and sit you down, not behind the counter like the night you two had met, and not on the edge of his bed like he had done barely a couple of months after —one could only resist a sweet sweet cherry for so long—, but on top of the recently-cleaned surface, and he’d giggle too, torn between kissing away the day off you as you both simmered in the late, rainy night, protected only by the diner’s roof, or melting in your hold, your hands, slightly cold from being outside running through his hair and scratching his scalp, letting rain, cherries and lemons lull him to sleep. 

He hadn’t seen any of this in your eyes, that first night. But Minho knew deep inside that there was no way in hell he’d let you go without you coming back the next morning.

“I should go.” You grinned, looking down sheepishly. “Thank you for tonight.”

After folding the towels —an excuse to stay just a bit more—, you both parted ways under the rain. 

Were there things left unsaid? Sure. Honestly, it’s why this author keeps adding small bits and pieces between long hyphens. Minho hadn’t told you how he was dying to see you again someday —the sooner the better, if you asked him—. 

And you had just smiled cheekily as you walked away to find your car instead of saying what you had been thinking for a while, Hello Kitty bandaid in hand —that would surely end up stuck to the wall of your room—. 

It wasn’t your name, as some of you might be thinking. You had scribbled that on another napkin when he wasn’t looking. No, it was something even better. 

See you tomorrow.

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

kats, who is craving not cherries but a late-night, lemon-scented minho for herself to cuddle to sleep.

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

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[igotanidea]

Forgetter: Jason Todd x reader

This was one hell of a day.

(this narrator got a feeling like she's been using this line in the story way too often, but hey! Y/N had a really busy and hectic life so what do you expect me to say?)

No, but seriously.

When she got into the shop in the morning before work to do some quick grocery and saw the flowers and buquetes standing pretty much everywhere, her first thought was what's the occation.

Took her three hours to realise the date on the calendar.

February 14th

St. Valentine's Day.

And it made her smile wondering what kind of gift her beloved boyfriend would offer her. Honestly she would be over the moon with just one flower or a simple card, but knowing Jason and his deeply hidden romantic soul he would go for something original.

So all that was left was waiting for the evening till the end of her shift and getting home to have some hearty celebration.

***

8 hours passed in a blur. Between a ton of people wanting something, new cases and stuff needed ASAP or even yesterday, stupid photocopier that refused to cooperate and a few small but quite painful paper cuts there wasn't much time to fantasise.

And all she needed for some love, peace and quiet, perhaps a glass of wine and chocolate, movie and cuddles with her favourite teddy bear while whispering sweet words of some long forgotten Romanticism poet.

Instead, she walked in on a blood stain on the floor. A red trail starting from the window and leading to the kitchen.

KITCHEN.

Out of all places that was the one he decided to crawl into, and it made her shiver. There might have been a few reasons behind his (lack-of) logic, but this room was the only one filled with sharp tools perfect for defence. Or attack. Depending on the side.

"JASON!!?!?" she yelled dropping her bag on the floor and completely forgetting about the necessity of keeping quiet while in a potentially dangerous situation. "JACE WHERE ARE YOU!?!?!" she frantically rushed to the kitchen searching for dead bodies or chopped limbs.

There was no such thing.

But-

the pile of dirty dishes in the sink

the mobs of clothes begging for laundry

unidentified stains on the floor, the origin of which she didn't even want to guess

and the smell of burning.

and her wonderfully wonderful boy wonder sitting in the middle of it all, shirtless (which may have been a mildly mitigating circumstance) with some new fresh cuts and bruises (which were definitely aggravating the situation) patching himself up.

"Hey princess." he said jauntily sending her the most charming smile as if this was all normal.

"Jace--" she opened her mouth to say something, anything but no words came out and she just froze in the middle of the kitchen with empty eyes fixed on his silhouette.

"Hey. Hey Y/N? What happened? Look at me." despite the stinging and half-applied stiches he got alarmed and was by her side immediately. "Baby. Come on, talk to me." his hand on her cheek brought her back to reality.

"What- What is all this?" she half-sobbed waving her hand around the mess.

"Oh, yeah, right, sorry about that. Didn;t really have much time for the house maintenace today. I got a trail of this villain that-"

"Villain....?" she stuttered. Any other day, any other night she wouldn't say a thing about his Red Hood duties, but 14th? Did it mean nothing to him.

"Yeah, I've been hunting him down for weeks now and-"

"Jason..."

"I got involved and lost sense of time I guess while--"

"Jason..."

"Look I promise I will clean it later, after --"

"TODD!" she yelled in frustration

"WHAT?" he spat back instinctivelly getting into fighting mode when her scream spurred him on. "shit. sorry. Sorry baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you... Hey! Hey Y/N, please, don't cry!" the tears falling down her cheeks were both confusing and heartbreaking "god. fuck. I'm sorry. I;m so sorry..." he muttered wrapping arms around her and pulling her to his chest feeling guilty like never before.

"What day is today...?" she sobbed, the words a bit muffled due to the squeeze.

"Wednesday."

"What day of the month?!"

"14th...." his eyes grew wide "Oh, holy fuck...."

The amount and variety of curses that rushed through his head are not to be repeated here.

The one that took the spotlight though was something along the line of him being a total fuckup for forgetting the so-called most romantic day of the year.

Holy fucking mother fuckery fuck. (yeah, I know what I said before about not quoting his thoughts, but screw it, he was wailing in self-hatred).

And even if it meant nothing to him, it meant so much to her. And she was his girlfrend, his lover, his soulmate so this was a huge, huge failure on his part.

"Y/N..." he whispered not sure how to proceed but knowing well enough he had to thread carefully. "Y/N, princess, please forgive me...." the grip on her body tightened significantly as Jason headed to the rage fit and was barely holding back from punching a wall in blind fury on himself for letting her down.

"I just wanted some quality time with you..."

"Quality time?" he repeated. That was a surprise. So she didn;t want flowers? Jewellery? Chocolate? A spa weekend? An expensive shopping on his expense. Cause he would give her all that if she said a single word. But she chooses...

"Yeah, quality time." she pulled back and looked up into those remorseful green eyes. "Just you and me. No vigilante. No Red Hood. I know it's a lot to ask, but please... please..., be Jason Todd for me tonight."

"Y/N." his tone was serious and she knew what was coming.

"Ok... Ok, I get it..." she muttered, avoiding his eyes, wriggling to escape his embrace.

"Don't you move away from me, you silly girl!" he grabbed her waist again and carried her to the couch bridal style. "Quality time. You want it you got it."

"Did you just paraphrase--"

"Ariana Grande. Yes. But trust me, she got nothing on you."

"Does it mean--?"

"I'm staying with you. But only on one condition."

"And what may that be?" she smiled softly, nuzzling against his chest.

"You get into your silly head that I love you every day of the freaking year, ok? I don;t need those five special days to go overboard while forgetting the other 360. My love is always with you."

"You only say it cause you're too much of a pussy to admit you fucked up." she teased, but smiled fully through the remnants of the tears

"Oh did I really?" he brushed lips over hers "did I really fuck up?"

"Big time..."

"guess that leaves me 364 days left to beg for your forgiveness."

"Idiot!" she punched his chest playfully

"Come on sweatheart we both know you love me." he grabbed her wrist and kissed the inside of it before planting soft pecks on each of her knuckles while looking deep into her eyes.

"Yeah... you keep telling yourself that..." she hummed.

She loved him.

[tb3ih]

growing pains | geto suguru

[ GIRL DAD!SUGURU doesn't think he can handle his growing girls ] fluff!!!

"kohana, hold still," suguru pleads, voice muffled just slightly by the hair tie clenched between his teeth, brows creased together in concentration as he attempts to tame the locks of onyx silk on the little girl sitting not-so-still in front of him. the poor guy still had her omelette in the pan when she came begging to have her hair done the way she saw you do yours.

and of course, suguru being the softie he was, could only hold his large hand out with a sigh as she dropped a few accessories in his palm to adorn her hair with. you had a stressful night at work last night, a meeting run overtime well past the girls' bedtimes (which he knew put you in the worst of moods because you absolutely adored your little ones), so he knew he had to take over the morning shift with the girls today.

perhaps it was your absence which left the two girls a little more chaotic than usual, their normally neutralized demeanors suddenly nowhere to be seen. luckily he was able to convince the youngest, kaiyah, to finish her breakfast with the persuasion of some cartoons, not to mention, her short hair needed nothing more than brushing and the correctly colored bow.

your oldest on the other hand was a little tricky. though independently dressing herself now, she didn't quite have the skill to do some of the hairstyles by herself. and because you were nowhere to be seen, it only seemed reasonable to ask her papa.

"daddy, i'm hungry!" though she's not as loud, kohana resembles you in both her stubbornness and pout, a look she wears as often as the slight furrow in her brow when she disapproves of something.

suguru can only hum, tying the last bit of hair up to resemble the look she wanted. the lotus hairpin was the last bit of decoration he added before finally allowing her to hop up from her seat and join her sister at the kitchen island for breakfast. when he stands, the dark-haired male is quick to help his eldest to some utensils before placing her plate in front of her, moving to start the dishes while the two eat.

"itadakimasu~!" kohana begins digging in without a second thought, a small smile coming to pull at the tired man's lips.

when the two girls finish, they place their plates by the sink, allowing suguru to retrieve them for a rinse before being placed in the dishwasher. "alright girls, go get your shoes, please."

there's giggling followed by small footsteps as the two go rushing to the front closet where all the shoes are kept. he finishes soon after drying his hands on a towel before going to check in on the girls, two backpacks in either hand. velcro in place on both of their shoes, kaiyah and kohana are already reaching for their bags, smiles on their faces as the oldest laughs out a "thank you" and the youngest mutters a small "thank you, daddy".

"alright girls, are you ready?"

"mhm!" kohana replies, turning to her sister and grabbing her hand. "let's go!"

they're just stepping out of the door when kaiyah, your youngest, turns to look over her shoulder at her awaiting father, causing him to halt in his follwoing footsteps. "daddy, you don't have to worry about us, we can go by ourselves!"

and this moment only leaves him dumbfounded, as he had planned to walk them to their usual bus stop like always. when did this routine stop? had you known about this?

"w-well, are you sure?" suguru scratches the back of his neck, thinking of the worst of this proposition, "i don't mind, i love walking with you girls..."

kohana only giggles at her father, urging her little sister by where they are linked at the hands. "we'll be late daddy, we have to go!"

and so he lets them, his waving hand slowly coming to a stop when he sees the two skip out of sight and into the street from the front door. it's not a big thing, but it's something, and poor suguru who didn't think much of the idea of letting his daughters go but if it felt this way when they were this small, he wasn't sure if he could keep doing this.

and so when he finally closes the front door and moves back to the kitchen to clean up, he finds a little bit of relief for his aching heart, settling back into the comfort of the sheets with you in the master bedroom. you stir a little, sleepy eyes finding his with a soft smile.

"mm, suguru? what's wrong?" the male doesn't make much of a reply, only sighing as you pull him into your embrace, your warm chasing the tension from his frame.

there's a moment of silence before you hear him inhale, letting out a small sigh before his violet irises meet yours. "you didn't tell me they walk themselves now..."

and you smile, teeth pulling at your lip to bite back your laugh. you loved your husband, but this was too damn adorable. "hmm, they're growing up, huh?" you bring a hand to thread through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a second, his lips pressing a chaste kiss against your forearm as you continue your ministrations.

"i... knew this would come, but i didn't think..." suguru doesn't have to finish what he's saying for you to understand, because you felt the same thing when kohana asked to dress herself or when kaiyah started putting her dirty dishes on the counter to help you after dinner. "is it supposed to hurt?"

you laugh a little, your hand pressing against his face before offering him a small kiss. "it's just growing pains, honey," you say softly, "it doesn't get better but it'll make your memories happier."

your husband sighs, pulling you closer to settle into the crook of your neck. he breathes you in deeply and the two of you lay for a moment together in your little world of peace. "...okay."

you hum, "okay?"

"okay," he replies.

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[ham-st4r]

𝓛𝓪𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓻𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝔂 - 𝓛. 𝓗𝓮𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰

🧺Pairing: heeseung + female reader🧺

Warnings: male masturbation, cursing, dirty talk, cum eating.

Genre: smut, roommates, smut without plot. Not happy with the way this turned out :/

Summary: it wasn’t every day you caught your roommate pleasuring himself, and well, the sight wasn’t exactly easy to look away from, not to say he wanted you to anyway.

Number of words: 1.9k

Find your way around!

Hi, thank you so much for showing interest in my works. I’ve already surpassed 500 likes! Also, I decided to write smut instead of fluff this time. I hope it turned out okay, enjoy!

There are a million ways your day could have gone, but somehow out of all those ways, it ended with you standing outside your roommate's door with his cum stained underwear in the palm of your hand.

You're probably wondering what the fuck, right?

Yeah, I know me too, so let's take it from the tippy top,

shall we?

Ahem!

Before the incident…

You had gotten home a bit earlier than usual it was a slow day at the sandwich shop you worked at, and your manager let you take an early leave.

Normally you would have stayed the entire shift, but then you remembered you had some chores to get done, so you took him up on his offer.

After walking the short distance to your shared apartment, you unlocked the door and immediately hung up your coat, and took your shoes off.

You decided to go ahead and get started with the laundry first so you could relax a bit while the clothes were washing. After gathering up all your items, you headed towards your roommate's door. It wasn't unusual that you'd wash his clothes as well. You both took turns with things like laundry, washing dishes, and cleaning up.

It was just an unspoken thing you and him started when you first moved in together.

Carrying the clothes basket on your hip, you knocked softly on his door, looking up confused as you heard a tiny creak and saw the door swinging open.

You could have sworn the door was closed.

However

It wasn't

And you definitely were not expecting to see what you saw.

-

Heeseung, your roommate, took this perfect opportunity to relieve himself of some pent-up frustration, and what better way to do that than by giving himself a much-needed orgasm? He'd been too busy with his studies and a part-time job that he didn't have much time to get around like he used to, but finally, he had some free time, and luckily, you were at work for another two hours, so he had the apartment all to himself.

At first, he hated the idea of sharing an apartment cause. Obviously, he wanted to be able to do whatever he wanted freely without having to consider anyone else, but that all quickly went out the window when he saw you.

He remembered the day you moved in with him like it was yesterday. It was nearly ninety degrees outside, and you were wearing the shortest of shorts and a white top that was see-through, and since you were sweating while struggling to move all your stuff in, the thin material clung to your body, showing every last dip and curve which left nothing to his wild imagination.

Of course, being the gentleman he is, he helped you with your boxes, and he also shamelessly eyed you up and down the whole time.

It was probably all in his head, but every time you went to grab more stuff from the trunk of your car, it was as if you were intentionally sticking your ass out just for him.

And god, just the thought of you could have him riled up in seconds, but in his defense, he hadn't had any in months.

As soon as he found out it was you he'd be sharing a living space with, he was happy, to say the least, because who wouldn't want to share an apartment with the hottest girl to walk the earth? To him, anyways.

Since that day, not a second went by, where he didn't think about how cute you looked in your pajama set or how amazing you looked in the morning and especially right before work when you tied your hair in a messy bun. That look was definitely his favorite.

When he caught a glimpse of you leaving for work today, it was impossible for him to contain all the lewd thoughts he had about you, the things he would give to have your soft tiny hands around his cock and to feel your sweet pussy sucking him into your wet walls.

And right now was no different as he stripped himself down to nothing but his grey boxers and relaxed in his gaming chair, palming over his tent that had formed just from thinking of you.

Before he met you, he'd pull up some random adult videos on his computer, but since he laid eyes on you, literally no girl had his interest, and with his vivid imagination, it didn't take long for him to fantasize about you being the one palming him over his underwear right now.

He teasingly rubbed his tip through the thin material, and a wet patch had already soiled the front of the fabric. From the first touch, he knew he wasn't going to last long. He impatiently pulled his hard dick out from the little hole in front of his boxers and stroked himself up and down slowly.

"Shit, that feels so good," he groaned at the contact, resting his head on his chair.

He focused on the tip with his left hand and used the other to massage his entire shaft twisting his wrist every now and then, abdomen tensing from the overwhelming stimulation.

He heard a quiet noise in the distance, but he paid no mind to it. You weren't coming home for hours, so he figured it was just something outside and continued to stroke his hard thick length.

But when he heard a loud gasp and the sound of something hitting the floor, that's when he stopped and opened his eyes to be met with a very wide-eyed you standing in his doorway.

You were too shocked to even move, let alone speak. How could you when you just caught your roommate jerking off with his door open? And on top of that, you kinda liked what you saw even though it was so wrong to think like that.

But now that your brain had fully registered just how wrong it was to watch him masturbating, you quickly covered your eyes, but only after staring for nearly a whole minute.

"I-I'm sorry I-I was just doing some laundry a-and you know uhh, never mind, I'll just come back later!" you laughed in the most awkward way possible, but before you could turn on your heels and leave him to his business. He spoke to you and stopped you right in your tracks.

"Or you could stay," He chuckled. "and isn't it a little bit too late for that? I mean, you've already seen everything," he looked down at his lap, grunting softly when he took his hard cock in his hand once again, pumping it very, very slowly.

Yeah, sure, it was too fucking late, but that didn't mean you had to stand there and watch that extremely beautiful sight any longer.

You felt like a creep.

But how the fuck was he so unfazed by you catching him in such a compromising position?

Why wasn't he yelling at you to get out?

And more importantly, why was he smirking when he saw you?

Truth be told, he really didn't mind you watching him get himself off. If anything, he was flattered, besides it's not like you were spying, so why not give you a little show to add even more excitement to his current situation.

"You must have liked what you saw, no? because it sure took you long enough to cover your eyes" he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, and there's no denying his dick got impossibly hard ever since you walked in. You'd think it would have been the opposite, but no, it wasn't. He was enjoying every last second of this.

Of course, you liked what you saw. How could you not drool at the sight of your very hot sexy beautiful handsome stunning gorgeous roommate pleasuring himself?

Impossible.

Still, you lied.

"N-no," you stuttered out.

"Oh? Well, maybe you should look again just to be sure, yeah?" he cocked his head to the side with a teasing smile on his face running his fingers along his shaft.

You were ashamed of how fast you dropped your hands from covering your eyes, but he was offering, so you couldn't say no, could you? I mean, maybe, but wouldn't that be rude?

Since you weren't a rude person, you accepted his suggestion, And it was just as surprising as the first time. You knew he was big cause you may or may not have eyed his print one too many times when he casually walked around in grey sweats, but to see it on full display like this was absolutely breathtaking.

He put one hand behind his head, smirking while he watched your eyes become darker with lust the longer you stared. "So? Is it still a no?"

What kind of fucking question is that? It was never a no, to begin with, and you were pretty sure he knew that. Any woman or man would be crazy not to appreciate such a beautiful cock.

"Y-yeah, I mean, no," You stammered over your words, clearly not able to coherently respond because you were too focused on what he was doing to himself. He just smiled at the effect has was having on you. "I like it," you clarified for him. He nearly let out a moan when the words breathlessly fell from your lips. His cock involuntarily twitched in his palm at the sound of your shy tone.

"Yeah?" He asked and added just a little bit of urgency to the movement of his hand. He was desperately trying to hold off cause there was no way he was going to put on a short show, not when he had such a beautiful audience.

You nodded and discreetly rubbed your thighs together from the almost painful throbbing between them.

"Stay" he ran his thumb over his slit spreading the precum on his shaft while watching every last expression you made. "Watch me cum for you," he said with a shaky breath.

You accidentally moaned, and as fast as your hands flew to your mouth, it was far too late to cover it up. He had already heard it loud and clear.

"Fuck y/n," he moaned, and he literally never moaned, but something about the way you were watching him had him so riled up that he was doing things he'd never do, such as using his free hand to flick over his hardened nipples. "You like watching your roommate touch himself? He teased. "Hmm?" Does this get you off?" He grunted and fastened his pace, quickly getting impatient, but he couldn't control himself when it came to you.

You could only watch in silence save the sticky sounds of his palm colliding with his wet base and breathy moans.

His toes curled into the carpet beneath his feet, Head falling back, and his eyes rolling in the back of his head. "Oh god, fuck, y/n, you're gonna make me fucking cum” he moaned out, and it was the hottest thing ever to hear him moaning your name so breathless and whiny.

This time you didn't even try to hold back your whimpers and moans. You couldn't help but imagine how good he'd feel inside of you.

A gush of wetness stained your panties at the thought, but you couldn't care less; besides, you were doing the laundry later anyway.

Your eyes were glued to him, tightly gripping his cock while he jerked himself off, faster and faster, quickly nearing his end. Unfiltered moans slipped past his lips as the first rope of hot cum spilled from his red tip. "Y/n, look at me, please look at me," his voice sounded so whiny and desperate. He hunched forward as more long strings of cum stained his carpet chair and boxers, but he couldn't be bothered with that right now.

You locked eyes with him fulfilling his request with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He looked even sexier, like this all sweaty chest heaving up and down and his face twisted in nothing but pure pleasure.

"Shit, that felt so fucking good" he let out a breathy chuckle, eyes still very much hazy and filled with lust while he rubbed out the rest of his high.

He dipped his two middle fingers in the puddle of cum on his stomach and held them to his mouth, using the tip of his tongue to clean his digits of his release, something else he had never done before, but he was so glad that he did when he saw how you bit your lip in the most suggestive manner ever and rubbed your thighs together.

He leaned back, catching his breath. Your eyes raked over his Adam's apple as he gulped.

A few beats of silence passed, before he stood up, letting his underwear fall at his ankles, He stepped out of them and made his way over to you.

You used every ounce of strength not to look down, but you failed so miserably.

"Sorry to keep you from your laundry," he whispered, and you felt his warm heavy breath fan across your face making you shiver as he handed you his underwear with a smirk on his face while purposely brushing his hand against yours.

You stood in place, frozen outside of his room. Even after he shut his door, you still didn't move one inch.

So yeah, that's basically the story of how you ended up with your roommate's cum stained underwear in your hand.

Pretty cool, right?

Well, one thing you knew for sure was after that, you were going to be doing something, but it definitely wasn't going to be the laundry.

[gfmima]

category : 米哈游 原神 work title : a “…you know other men?” kind of jealousy add. note : modern!au on heizō’s part

not even two steps inside your home and you were already bombarded with questions left and right like you were an a-list idol caught by a stalker fan. it was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous! you were gone for less than forty minutes, there was no world where this was an appropriate reaction. 

although gently, you were nonetheless tackled into a warm, familiar hug. a mess of burgundy locks engulf your face and compromise your field of vision. 

you receive no warning before he decides to carry you over his shoulder towards the living room couch then unceremoniously plop your figure onto the comfy cushions. just when you were about to be given a break, he lays down on top of you, head smoosh against your chest.

you were stuck.

“i thought i was never going to see you again… i didn’t know it was even possible to miss anyone this much!” is what you could interpret, however, you could’ve misheard it considering he refuses to lift his head and say it to you face to face.

“i was only gone for thirty-ish minutes, heizō.”

you run your fingers through his hair, tucking his bangs and giving you a free show of his forehead. he didn’t appreciate the gesture and hid his face further against your skin.

“too long! what did you do that was SO~ important?” more important than me, was what he wanted to add but he bit his tongue.

“co-worker called, he was asking me if i knew who took the minutes from the meeting earlier… which by the way! was a mess!” you dish all the work drama, the passive aggression, and how office politics played a major role it.

and by “office politics,” he knows you mean favoritism since you heard through the grapevine that an acquaintance from human resources was seeing a company director.

on a normal day, he would have indulged in what you had to offer. now, though? he had more pressing issues to tackle in the meantime.

head tilted, eyes narrowed, venti scrutinizes you intently. he absorbs every detail of your features, keenly looking for any shifts in your expression. “‘he’? …you know other men?”

you nod, too casually for his liking, and the already-childish pout on his lips deepen.

your dear lover, on the other hand, tried to grapple with the earth-shattering revelation. he cannot look at you the same way. he doesn’t know the person you’ve become. it was as if the very ground beneath him trembles with the weight of what he learns. he cannot cope at all. who even are you anymore?

you poke his cheek. “am i not supposed to?”

“of course not! i-i should be the only man in your life!” heizō raises his hands to cover his face, yet his eyes peek through the gaps, seeking your reaction to him.

a blend of laughter and lively chatter jam the atmosphere of the cozy teahouse. you sit across wanderer, heart fluttering at the sight of him despite his less than merry disposition to be in the heart of inazuma city.

however, it worsens once an old friend recognizes your face and starts a conversation with you — something your lover couldn’t interject because of the bright smile you wore.

“who was that bastard?” he throws the other man the stink eye; immature yet not uncharacteristic of him.

per usual, your nosy self gets the best of you, studying him in need to make head or tail of the emotions behind his defensive facade. he seems flustered, in an irritated way, of course, and you reflect if there was something he wanted to hide. though he often claims to be uninterested about most things in life besides you, and perhaps a certain archon, the evening hints at a different story.

nevertheless, he settles into the seat across you, albeit with disgust for the cushion the man occupied a moment earlier. indigo eyes return to you, and you find him stealing glances as you watch him.

a subtle flicker of panic betrays him, but he masks it well.

“an old friend. why?” you lean in closer. “are you jealous?”

wanderer scoffs then crosses his arms defensively.

to the ordinary person, it would have appeared like a natural reaction but you know him better than others. you catch the slight tilt of his head and how he let his hat conceal his gaze from you, an attempt to bury his true feelings.

“it was a simple question!” he tries to maintain a composed demeanor. “don’t be ridiculous, there’s no need to draw any assumptions!”

“oh, you know better than to lie to me. so, what’s wrong?”

a long pause ensued, and you found yourself entertained by the myriad of emotions that danced across his face. it was like an internal battle fumed within him — a side of him that longs to reveal the truth to you while the other stands hesitant.

it looked very funny from your point of view.

“since when did you know other men?” he finally blurts out, a note of seriousness in his voice.

a loud chuckle escapes your lips, the other patrons turn and stare at your table bewildered yet irked by your behavior. he was neither fazed by the sudden attention nor your juvenile response.

“i’m being serious, since when did you know other men?”

[lyraeon]

A while back I learned something important from my therapist, and since I was trying to recount it anyway to share with a friend, I thought I would bring it to y'all as well.

We have all had at least one of those days where we've stayed up way too late doing something fun but we just don't want to stop doing it. Logically I figured that's just because "well yeah I don't want to stop, I have to go to sleep then to work and those suck compared to it."

Except then that starts happening often and you feel bad about always staying up every night, but then you feel worse and get more stressed because you know you're doing something you're "not supposed to", but because you're more stressed you want more fun time... endless cycle.

But as I was talking about it all and told her I thought I was self-sacrificing, the therapist had a very useful question for me:

"How do you normally know it's time to stop having fun? Like you know it's time to finish work because your shift's over, you know it's time to stop doing the dishes when they're all done or the washer's full, what is your signal to stop having fun?"

And I had to search for a while to answer.

"When the activity is done" - okay sure, but many games and books and series, or doing your own creative thing, "done" may take days upon days or even be non-existent.

"When I had to pass the controller" - obvious and easy one! If you knew you had a finite turn then the defined end is readily there, and you're also prepared for it! But requires pre-arranging the limits.

"When I got in trouble for it" - ding ding ding, we found the big problem.

When you grow up with "fun" being a forbidden activity you're only allowed to do after everything else is done to 100% perfection, then you learn to sneak it in where you can fit it. And you need that shit, seriously - you cannot get through life without some source of enjoyment, some tiny glimmer of joy among the tedium.

Many of us learned to read under the covers, or to play our gameboy in the bathroom and hide it under the sink, or that we could get away with running around the backyard for another 20 minutes if we just learned which intonation of "come inside" was the actual trouble line, or whatever other ways to cram in as much joy as we could before the hammer came down, for whatever severity that meant in your house.

And so that feeling of "I shouldn't be doing this, I'm going to get caught, but if I'm going to get in trouble anyway I might as well get as much out of this as I can" becomes part of what you expect to feel when you're having fun. And you only know how to stop having fun when you feel that way when you get in trouble for it - and in absence of anyone else controlling your behavior, that means the bad guy becomes either whatever task pops up to remind you responsibilities exist, or your significant other pointing out it's really late and they wish you'd come to bed, or your boss yelling at you for being tired all the time... or it becomes you.

If you don't learn that fun isn't a forbidden activity, if you stay stuck in the mindset that it's something you have to cram in in secret and hide that you're even doing? It becomes so so easy to hate the voice of reason in your head that's trying to encourage moderation and we're going to regret this tomorrow.

And that escalates. You keep being too tired the next day. You keep feeling even worse when you sit down to enjoy yourself the next night because now you're already tired, so stress gets to you faster, and now you feel guilty about how late you're staying up so you're not really enjoying playing your game or scrolling Tumblr or whatever anymore, you're just nervously glancing at the clock, "have I spent too long yet? How much longer can I do this before I get in trouble?"

Even though now you're in your 20s or 30s and it's been a decade since the last time anyone else told you it was bed time.

Learning that you're allowed to have fun isn't easy; guilt and shame are emotions that run very, very deep. And neither is learning to have a healthier relationship with saying "okay, that's enough for today".

For one, you have to stop threatening yourself. "Tomorrow is gonna suck" and "You're going to regret this" and "we're going to get in trouble at work" don't work. You already feel bad, you already know it's gonna suck, so why wouldn't you try to cram in one more hour now while it's not the day that's going to suck yet? Punishment is not incentive.

Because by now you're in a situation where sleep is a horrifying punishment that ends any fun, but you're not enjoying your fun anyway because you're tired all the time on top of feeling ashamed for doing something fun, and you're spending the entire time beating yourself up for being an idiot with no self control who can't even handle going to bed on time like a normal human being...

etc etc etc.

You will hear a lot of people give advice on how to get rid of the idea of having to "earn" sleep or fun or happiness by doing "enough" other things. To learn to accept that just being alive is enough reason to "deserve" to do those things. That will work for some people, but for others it just ends up one more thing to scold yourself about, especially when you're already in the habit not of denying yourself entirely but instead of doing it and feeling guilty the whole time.

But learning to set limits ahead of time, so that you're not anticipating some unknown time that a nebulous authority figure is going to finally have their horror monster timer run out and leap out at you but instead know when and what to expect? Holy shit it helped.

Don't get me wrong, it hella felt like depriving myself at first, like I was being grounded, and I looked at my phone beeping saying it was bedtime quite often and got annoyed.

But then I stopped treating fun as something that had to wait until the end of the day and everything else had to be done first. It is way easier to stare down sleep and go "I don't need you", especially if you have any kind of insomnia making the idea of being in bed a dreadful one on top of it. It is harder to say that about dinner, or calling a friend, or walking the dog. Plus then the day isn't over yet, so giving up on your fun isn't also accepting that as the defining moment of the end of your day!

So you have to start practicing looking for places to squeeze in a little more fun - "I've got an hour before dinner, that's perfect to make some tea and watch two episodes." "My favorite youtuber just put up a new video, why don't I take a break to watch it before I finish this homework?" "I need to go grocery shopping tomorrow anyway, and if I leave an hour early I could go kick around the bookstore first."

And once you do, fun starts to feel less shameful.

Don't get me wrong, if your issues run deep enough it still does sometimes. But when you get to have these moments of joy that you don't feel the need to hide or apologize for and where punishment isn't part of the routine, then fun stops feeling like something you have to dig your claws into for fear of having it taken away from you once someone catches you with it. And that means that finishing a level and glancing over at the clock is something you do because it actually managed to click a satisfaction switch in your head and you wondered if it was a good note to end on for now, instead of something you do with your breath held and the berating words already cycling in your mind.

I am not offering this advice expecting it to work for everyone or be easy or anything like that. I am someone with Depression, ADHD, and pretty severe PTSD sharing a technique that one therapist told me that really happened to click for and help me specifically, in case it might help someone else be a little nicer to themselves today, too.

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

TDF chapter 3: Smile

The past few months have been rough for me but I’m back on that fanfiction grind.

Dew is having a real bad time in this one. This is the only chapter where his headspace will get this dark so don’t worry, he’ll be fine. This is his rock bottom and he’s going up from here.

psps I made a playlist

Read below or on ao3!

Words: 4062

Warnings: Dissociation, self-destructive behavior/allusion to self-harm, BPD split and the thoughts that come with that, flashbacks, description of physical abuse and injury, description of emotional abuse, religious trauma, panic attack, vomit mention

Taglist: @skele-bunny @rain-loves-scallops @dewphomet @0-miles-away

Dew taps the bottom of a tiny espresso mug on the counter and tosses it back like a shot. Unfortunately, it’s very hot. He should’ve known that, considering he had just made it, but he was tired. Which is why he’s currently choking down a scalding shot of espresso at 8 in the morning.

“Fuck- god-“ Dew hisses, diving for the sink to fill the tiny cup with water to soothe his burning mouth. It helps a little. “Ow- goddamnit-“

Luckily everyone else is in the kitchen, so Dew is saved from embarrassment for now. He places the little mug into the dirty dish bin and returns his attention to setting up the grinders. Ow. There goes my sense of taste.

Cumulus pushes the curtain in the kitchen doorway out of the way, carrying a tray of various baked goods with her. Dew steps aside to let her pass and she gets to work stocking the glass display case.

“You doin’ alright, hun?” She asks, setting muffins onto a tray in perfectly even rows. “Sorry we had to call ya in early, Sunny’s got some kinda stomach bug.”

“I’m alright, it’s no problem.” Dew lies through his teeth. It’s not like he’d been up all night, grinding his teeth and pacing. He just has to make it through the next five hours and then he can go home and sleep.

Cumulus cocks a bushy eyebrow at him but says nothing. She offers him a cranberry muffin from the tray. Dew takes it gratefully.

“Take care of yourself today, Dew.” She tells him softly before turning back to the pastry trays. Dew nods silently, too busy shoving the muffin into his mouth to answer. He checks the clock- ten minutes to opening.

Luckily, he can somewhat taste the muffin with his scorched tongue. It cheers him up slightly. Unfortunately the heavy tightness in his chest and throat doesn’t budge. It’s been there since last night when the shell holding all his unhelpful emotions in a tight little ball cracked and began to leak. 

“Well look who’s up!” Swiss crows, sweeping past Dew to restock the stack of paper to-go bags in a drawer behind the counter. “Never thought I’d see you conscious before ten AM. What was it? An act of god? Three ghosts showing up and convincing you to have a change of heart?”

“Sunny’s hangover, actually.” Dew rolls his eyes. “Didn’t think she’d be the kind of person to drink on a Sunday night.”

“Oh, no, she’s actually sick.” Swiss’s normally cheerful, slightly mischievous expression fades for a moment. “I got up at 5 to get her ginger ale and saltines, and you know how much she hates bothering people.” He chews on his lip.

“Shit, sorry.” Guilt joins the wad of half-chewed emotions in Dew’s gut. “I hope she’s doing okay.”

“Me too,” Swiss sighs. “She’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He takes the hair tie off his wrist and pulls his locs back into their usual high ponytail. “I would offer to take the register but Cirrus wants me in the kitchen.”

Dew sighs. “I’ll try not to kill anyone.”

“Good luck.” Swiss gives a two-finger salute and disappears back into the kitchen. Dew walks around the counter, trudges to the front door, and unlocks it. The neon ‘open’ sign is flicked on. Dew looks at his reflection in the window in the harsh light. He looks half-dead. Feels like it too.

He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and heaves a sigh. If he has to take an extra smoke break to give himself the strength to make it through his shift, so be it. His lungs aren’t getting any less shriveled.

Dew is pulled from his tired thoughts by a soft tap on the glass door. He sighs again and lowers his hands to pull the cafe door open. “Sorry, come in. Spaced out a bit.”

“No worries. Good to see you again, though!” A familiar voice, deep and smooth and the subject of a few late-night fantasies. Dew’s head snaps up fast enough to make his neck pop. Aether stands before him, wearing- oh good lord, are those scrubs ?

“Uh- give me a sec.” Dew scampers back behind the counter and takes the precious few seconds he has to process this new information. He curses his stupid medical kink. If there is a god, he has a sick sense of humor.

He taps on the dark screen of the register, willing it to turn on. After a few seconds of increasingly harder taps on the display, he realizes he should press the on button. Why didn’t he turn it on before opening?

“Um- it takes a minute to turn on.” Dew chuckles nervously. Unlike me, who’s pitching a tent over a customer in scrubs.

“That’s alright. I’m not in a hurry.” Aether smiles. “I usually wouldn’t come in until later but I have to shadow a nurse this morning. Twelve hour shift on a Monday.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Is that what you’re studying?” Dew asks, his hands frantically navigating to the right screen. Curse this stupid digital register. “Nursing, I mean.”

“Yeah!” Aether seems to perk up. “I’m specializing in obstetrics and neonatal care. Midwife stuff.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” Dew answers sincerely. Would he give me a pelvic exam if I as-

SHUT UP, Dew scolds his horny thoughts. The register finally boots up to the transaction screen and he sighs with relief.

“What can I get for ya?” He asks, holding back a yawn. Aether considers the menu on the back wall for a moment.

“Hmm… I’d like a large iced dirty chai with… four shots of espresso.” Aether requests. Dew raises an eyebrow as he punches in the order.

“Four? You trying to meet a fifth dimensional being today?” He jokes, grabbing a cold cup and a sharpie.

To his surprise and delight, Aether giggles, ending in an adorable snort. “Nah, I just need a lotta energy. Twelve hour shift, remember?”

“Yeah- I think I’d do the same.” Dew rings up the order. “Uh- $7.43.”

Aether hands over a lightly crumpled ten and his punch card. Dew punches it- a smiley face this time- and slides it back over the counter with Aether’s change. “I’ll have that ready soon.”

“Thanks.” Aether smiles- that goddamn smile- and steps back to stuff his change back into his wallet. Dew’s tired mind drifts as he goes into autopilot making the espresso. He’d like to see that smile and those crooked teeth more. Especially if he was the one causing Aether to smile.

Then his daydreams come crashing down. A guy like Aether was surely taken. He had a partner, a fiancé, maybe even a spouse. Dew wasn’t going to break up a relationship because of a fleeting crush.

It’ll pass . He scolds himself. The chai concentrate and milk are added to the cup and the espresso is poured on top. You have to get yourself together. Focus on what’s important. He doesn’t smile as he slides the drink across the counter toward Aether.

“Here ya go,” he recites in his customer service voice. “Have a good one.”

“You too, thanks Dew.” Aether smiles as he scoops up his drink- god, his hands are huge. Dew waits until the man is out the door before slamming the side of his fist against the countertop in anger. Tears prickle at his eyes- why does everything have to be so hard ? Why can’t he just focus on work and making music and functioning as an adult without his feelings getting in the way?

He wants to scream and curl up in a ball under the register counter and cry. It reminds him of the time he’d accidentally dropped a bottle of some mechanical fluid while poking around his father’s tool shed. The aged plastic had cracked and begun leaking dark and sticky fluid onto his favorite shoes. He’d tried to fix it, put duct tape over the crack and scrubbed the cement floor clean, but his shoes were ruined. He had begged his parents for them, red and yellow with velcro closures and the number 95 emblazoned across the side. Cars was his favorite movie for most of his childhood. He had crawled under the workbench and cried until his father found him and scolded him for snooping.

That same cornered, hopeless feeling blooms in his chest now. He wants to go home- at least now he has a home. That scared little girl never had a “home” to go to. All she could do was hunker down and weather the punches.

Dew thinks he would rather relive his entire teenage experience than have his own mind turn against him like this. He’s scared and tired and he doesn’t know what to do. So he does the easiest thing he can think of- shuts down his brain and takes orders. During quieter moments, he cleans the machines. He has to keep his hands busy. He makes a to-do list in his brain:

Take a nap once I get home

Re-string guitar

Shower- NO JERKING OFF.

Check on that tupperware of mold in the fridge, note new colors. Report back to Rain.

Some time passes. He takes orders, warms baked goods, gives customers hollow smiles, and doesn’t. think. This works until his smoke break. Dew sparks up a cigarette and uses the taste of smoke to ground himself.

Nurse Aether would have a fit if he caught me smoking. Dew thinks to himself with a dry chuckle. The hoodie he’d brought with him isn’t warm enough to keep him comfortable so he cuts his smoke break short and heads inside. He stops at the cramped employee bathroom to piss.

Ohhhhh. That’s why I’ve been feeling like shit.

Luckily the box of menstrual products under the sink is fully stocked. Dew digs out a tampon, grinding his teeth at the gaudy pink wrapper. It doesn’t usually bother him but right now it feels like a kick in the ribs while he’s already down.

You go girl! The wrapper taunts him. Dew throws it back into the box and pulls out another one. #Girlboss! It reads.

“Okay, well, fuck you too.” Dew grumbles. He pulls out another one- Breathe and center yourself. That wouldn’t be too bad, if not for the Venus symbol emblazoned next to the words. He tosses that one back too and groans.

God, he wants to go home. That way he can put on his period boxers and not worry about shoving chemical-filled cotton up his pussy. A pad would move around too much in his boxers so he’s forced to resort to the alternative.

Dew gives the tampons one last try. They’re merciful this time, giving him a yellow wrapper and the words dream big.  

One haphazard insertion (cold fingers are not the most dexterous with smooth plastic) later, he’s feeling slightly more put together. At least his pants are black today.

His reflection looks back at him in the mirror- he swears the hollows of his throat and cheekbones seem sharper than usual. He looks like a skeleton. He feels sweaty, even though his fingers are still numb from the cold. His tongue and throat are tender from that shot of near-boiling espresso. The taste of smoke makes him almost nauseous.

Dew swallows and looks at his watch. He has two hours left on his shift. His body tells him to go home but his stubbornness wins out. Two hours is nothing.

The cramps hit after about 45 minutes. Luckily Dew’s on dish duty so he can hunch over the sink and grit his teeth and power through. He just wants to go home. Cirrus pulls him aside twenty minutes later. Dew expects her to ask him to stay for another hour or two- she’s got that slightly stressed look on her face.

“How long do you need me for?” Dew asks, trying not to look too disappointed. Cirrus shakes her head.

“I want you to go home. Frankly, you look like you’ve been through war.” She pats his shoulder. “You have PTO. Give yourself a few days to rest, alright?” Dew opens his mouth to protest but she squeezes his shoulder in a comforting yet slightly threatening way. “ Rest. ” 

The care and concern in her eyes is the final straw. Dew crumbles into pieces, his carefully built shell around all his emotions shattering. A sob works its way out of his throat and his knees buckle. Cirrus catches him and lets him lay his head on her shoulder.

God, he feels pathetic. He hasn’t cried in six years- not since the night he’d slipped out the back door of his parents house with his guitar, a backpack, and a greyhound bus ticket. He’d promised himself he’d be strong. Turns out it only took a sleepless night and a spiral over a fleeting crush to break him.

“It’s okay, buddy.” Cirrus murmurs to him. “Let it out. No judgement.”

“I wanna go home…” Dew whimpers into her shoulder. He’s going to get fired for this, but right now he doesn’t care.

“You can go. Take all the time you need.” Cirrus replies. “I won’t tell anyone about this.”

Dew nods. He doesn’t trust that she’ll keep his moment of weakness a secret but he appreciates the facade of security. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“You’ll come back as soon as you feel better .” Cirrus corrects him, pulling back and holding him at arm’s length. “Don’t force yourself.”

“Okay.” Dew swallows. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Cirrus shrugs. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” She holds out her pinky.

Dew looks at the offered finger and links his own pinkie around hers. It makes him smile a bit, he has to admit. “Deal.”

The walk home is bitterly cold and his fingers are stiff as he unlocks his door. He groans as the heat of the apartment envelops him. Thank fuck the heating system decided to work today.

Dew kicks off his boots and makes a beeline for his bedroom. He collapses into bed and burrows under the covers fully clothed. He’s fully expecting to close his eyes and drift off easily, but… sleep doesn’t take him. 

Fuck. He knew he shouldn’t have overdone the caffeine today. His heart and brain are racing. He rolls onto his stomach and screams into the pillow.

The scream turns into a sob and now he’s crying again. God FUCKING damnit. He doesn’t even fight it this time. There’s no one home to witness his weakness. So Dew sobs and screams into his pillow and curls into a tear-stained ball.

He manages to cry himself to sleep for a merciful few hours. The dreams he manages to remember consist of dark rainy highways, dingy bus lighting, and faceless strangers.

Dew drifts awake sometime later to the sound of Rain’s footsteps. For a guy built like uncooked spaghetti, he can really stomp. 

Through the gaps in his curtains he can see that it’s dark. Granted, it’s November so that could mean it’s anytime between 5 PM and 8 AM.

He looks around blearily for his phone and discovers it in the pocket of his jeans. He’s shivering and absolutely soaked in sweat. Gross.

It’s 6 PM. Five and a half hours of sleep are better than nothing. Dew drags himself out of bed with a pained groan and pushes his hair out of his face. Shower, then eat.

So he does just that- peels his clothes off in front of the bathroom mirror, turns the water temperature up as hot as he can stand, and stands in the shower for what feels like hours until the stickiness melts off his skin. He tastes salt- he’s crying again.

“ Why?” Dew whimpers to himself, sinking to his knees. His chest aches deeply as he takes desperate gulps of air. Oh no. Please no.

His heart is pounding and his hands are shaking. 

He kneels in the shower, one hand clasped over his mouth to muffle his sobs. On the shower floor is a necklace, the delicate gold chain snapped. The heart locket pendant is open, the photos inside unrecognizable from water damage.

Why was this happening now? Today of all days?

Dew wants to scream and punch the wall. He wants to rip that fucker apart with his teeth. He picks up the locket and rips the two halves apart.

He’d TRUSTED him. He’d laid on the roof and smoked weed with him, telling each other the things they each kept hidden. He’d spent countless steamy nights in the back of his car. Dew’s guitar was a birthday present from him, secretly bought with his parents’ credit card.

Then he’d turned around and told the whole school EVERYTHING. He’d gone from sharing knowing glances and stealing kisses in the school bathroom to spreading Dew’s secrets to the entire school- and worse- the church.

Dew’s jaw aches from how hard he’s clenching it. Old anger wells up in his tear ducts. He was why Dew had sworn off romance. He couldn’t be betrayed like that again. It would destroy him.

The shower starts to cool down, snapping Dew out of his misery for the moment. He gets out and dries off. He doesn’t care that he gets blood all over his towel or his hair drips all over the floor. Keep moving. Don’t let your past catch up.

So he dries his body and hair, goes through the ordeal of dealing with his tampon, and finally slips his period boxers on. He washes his face, examines the faint wisps of a mustache on his upper lip and sighs. Dysphoria is a bitch.

Dew wanders to the kitchen, still feeling hollow with exhaustion and disorientation. It doesn’t help that he’s hungry too so he digs a mini pizza out of the freezer and pops it in the microwave.

It spins. And spins. Around and around. Like swirls of blood going down the shower drain or lazy curls of smoke. Dew suddenly doesn’t feel hungry. He leaves his pizza in the microwave and curls up on the couch. The microwave beeps at him and he flips it the bird. 

The crumpled paper buried in his dresser drawer crosses his mind. He could write. It seemed to help a few days ago.

Dew doesn’t feel like getting up so he snags a pen off the coffee table with his foot and rolls up his sleeve to use his arm as a makeshift journal page. There’s not much space so he tries to write down one-word descriptors. Angry. Tired. Frustrated. Violent. Betrayal. A

Dew stops before he can write the name. He licks his thumb and smears the ink away. Him. Horrible ex.

Scared. Dew pauses. He is scared. Scared of being rejected, scared of peeling away the layers of armor around his heart and exposing his weak spot. His Achilles heel.

Achilles was hella gay, wasn’t he? Yeah. For that other guy. Patroclus. Dew had learned about the story in English class. His teacher had glossed over their relationship as “brotherly comradery” but Dew’s little closeted brain had known better. He found a retelling of the story online and secretly downloaded the PDF to his phone.

The ending had made him sob for hours. It was so beautifully tragic. At the time, he’d hoped that maybe his story would be different. That his mother would accept him before it was too late, before he was buried.

That was a naive fucking fantasy. His mother had clung so hard to her vision of a perfect blonde-haired blue-eyed Catholic daughter that her claws left permanent scars.

Dew’s hand- the one holding the pen- drifts to the back of his head. Speaking of scars…

His vision tunnels and his breath hitches. Here he goes again.

The scent of butternut squash. Dew’s mother had come to the dinner with a stack of Dew’s journals- neatly tabbed and annotated- and read out every entry detailing his process of questioning his faith. Thank fuck he hadn’t written down any of his gender crisis.

He’d been forced to sit there and swallow back tears as his parents told him he was weak, he was stupid, he was letting the devil in.

Dew had mustered up enough courage to snap back. He’d stood up and gone to storm out of the kitchen.

His mother cornered him. He tried to duck and slip past her.

Pain exploded across his face as the back of her hand connected with his cheek. He reeled and lost his balance.

A flash of pain, so bright he could see it. Like a thousand suns.

Stars. Pain. It hurt so much. He tasted pennies. The kitchen ceiling swam above him as his parents yelled at each other. It felt like a dream. His stomach churned with nausea.

He barely managed to muster the strength to turn his head before his dinner came up all over the floor. Something warm and wet was soaking into the back of his sweater. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

His memory was choppy from that moment. Trees speeding by outside a car window, sterile lights of a hospital, doctors shining lights in his face. A machine where he had to lie really still as it beeped and rotated around his head.

“Dew?”

Finally he was carried back into the house and laid on the couch. His parents stood over him and told him in concerned voices that this had happened because he had let the devil into his heart. Dew was too dazed and tired to argue so he nodded his head and apologized.

“Dew? Dude, you okay?”

His rosary was placed in his hands and he was ordered to pray. He did, begging forgiveness from a god that never answered until he was allowed to sl-

“Dewdrop!”

Dew’s eyes snap open. There’s a hand on his shoulder- he flinches away from it.

“Sorry- dude, you okay?” Rain is crouched next to the couch, big blue eyes wide and worried. 

Dew is too tired to pretend. He shakes his head and bursts into tears again.

“Woah, woah. Can I sit with you?” Rain asks softly. Dew nods.

Over the next few hours, Dew splits himself open. It hurts, but fuck it feels good to release everything. Rain wouldn’t tell anyone anyway. He starts by telling him about Aether. His stupid gorgeous puppy crush. Then his fear of relationships, then his shitbag ex, then the flashback Rain had interrupted. He probably wasn’t coherent for a lot of it but his friend seemed to understand.

“…That’s fucked up.” Rain tells him after a moment of silence. “I’m… so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Dew sniffles, muffled by the blanket his face is buried in. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime.” Dew feels Rain shift awkwardly on the couch. “Can I get you something?”

“Made a microwave pizza. Can you reheat it for me?” Dew asks. Rain nods and gets up.

“And… stay with me?” Dew adds sheepishly. “I can’t be alone right now. I’ll smoke myself to death or-“ he stops and swallows. “Something worse.”

“Got it.” Rain shoots him a smile. “Want a soda?”

“ Please. Did you get another case?”

“Yep. Splurged a bit and got a case of cherry coke too.” Rain opens the fridge and grabs two cans.

“Fancy.” Dew manages to smile- a genuine one. It’s shaky but it’s real. He takes the plate of pizza and the can of off-brand Dr. Pepper with a grateful nod.

“I had some extra change.” Rain shrugs, popping open his can. There’s an expression on his face that makes Dew raise his eyebrow.

“Who’d you suck off?”

“Oh, shut up.” Rain elbows him. “Just a quick coding commission. Someone wanted an in-browser game to put on their website.”

“Alriiiight.” Dew still has suspicions, but he leaves it alone. Not his business anyway.

The two of them stay there, laughing and talking until well past midnight. Dew feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest. By the time he heads off to bed, he feels vastly better. He changes into pajamas and crawls under the blankets.

Maybe Aether won’t be as bad as the last guy, he thinks before sleep takes him.

Kudos and comments on ao3 are greatly appreciated!

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // TEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: You and Lee spend some time in Ba Sing Se, where you meet a familiar girl. Afterwards, you tell Lee the story of Quynh and how she came to be.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: PLEASE DO NOT SLANDER ME FOR THE FATHER GLOWWORM REPRESENTATION I HAVE NOT READ THE KYOSHI NOVELS ‼️ idek what he’s up to in canon but his powers fit the situation so he got to feature in the fic…pretty sure he’s way more heinous in the atla-verse but oh well!!! glass princess father glowworm is just chill like that ig 😰

“Lee,” you said from where you sat on the kitchen counter, watching him scrub dishes. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he wore his signature scowl on his face, though every time you spoke, it abated in favor of something resembling a smile.

“Y/N,” he said. “Are we introducing one another or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “Now that we are friends, I want to ask you a question.”

“We’re not friends,” he said, as was customary, taking a rag and using it to dry the mug he had just washed. “But go ahead.”

In the days since you had happened upon the refugee gate, you had not seen the Blue Spirit at all. Every night, you waited for him, and every night you returned to the palace disappointed. Eventually, you understood what he was saying by not arriving, and so you turned to the only other source of companionship you had been offered: Lee and Mushi from the tea shop.

Mushi had been delighted, but Lee had been more than a little annoyed at the prospect of having to spend everyday with you. This time, though, you did not relent. You followed him around the tea shop as he worked, chattering to him incessantly, and finally he grew resigned enough to your presence that he stopped complaining about it and began speaking with you somewhat normally.

For the most part, the two of you talked about books and tea and other, safer subjects. You were still trying to understand what you had seen the other day, and you had no idea what Lee’s opinions were on the matter, so until now, you had not even considered broaching any of the more sensitive topics.

“How did you end up in Ba Sing Se? I don’t mean why you came. I mean, how did you get in here?” you said.

The question was still unclear, but Lee did not ask for further explanation. He finished drying the mug and put it with the rest before taking a plate and running it under the water.

“We took a ferry,” he said. “We had to buy tickets and show our passports, of course, but it went relatively seamlessly otherwise. By the way, if you’re just going to sit there, you might as well be useful and sweep or something.”

“What about the entrance fee?” you said, sliding off the counter and taking the broom he handed you, leaning on the handle and batting your eyelashes at him without even trying to sweep. This earned you a scoff as he once again shifted from washing to drying, though his trademark red flush crept up his neck at the same time, which meant he wasn’t really upset.

“It wasn’t a thing when we came,” he said. “Or, at least, it wasn’t that high. I’m pretty sure that it was included in the price of our tickets. They were so expensive that it would only make sense. Possibly not, though. Last I checked, they just raise the prices because they can nowadays.”

“I can’t understand it,” you said. “Why is there such a desperate need for people to come here? Surely you must know. Can you tell me?”

Belatedly, you realized this might give away your identity in some way, because who else would have such little sense for what was happening in the world but the princess who had been locked away for so long? But if Lee was suspicious, he did not show it, only exhaling heavily and shaking his head.

“There’s quite a lot, and none of it is safe to discuss here,” he said. “Sorry, but I don’t want something happening to my uncle or I.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I don’t blame you. If I had known it was like that, I wouldn’t have asked.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s a strange place we live in.”

“That’s for certain!” you said, pointing the broom at him for emphasis. “Do you know the situation at that one gate?”

“The second southeast gate? Yeah, it’s in a bad shape, but almost all of them are like that,” he said. “It’s common knowledge, but that doesn’t mean anyone’s about to do anything about it.”

All of them were like that. That meant that every day, the entire perimeter of Ba Sing Se was flooded by people trying to get in, people like the ones the you and Blue Spirit had seen. It was human suffering on a scale you could not comprehend, and the broom clattered to the ground as you attempted to envision it. How many hundreds of them were there? What were they seeking refuge from? What reality was worse than the one they were running towards?

“Every gate,” you said. “But Ba Sing Se has so many…”

“Some of them are wealthier entrances,” Lee said, using a towel to wipe his hands off and unrolling his sleeves. Picking up the broom, he began to sweep. “It’s not that bad at those ones. Apparently, things at the second southeast gate are improving now, too.”

“Are they?” you said. It was only a modicum of reassurance, but even the knowledge that one less person might be hurt was enough to cheer you. “Why is that?”

“Apparently, some rich woman came with someone dressed as the Blue Spirit and donated half of her life savings so that no one had to pay the entrance fee there,” he said. “Things haven’t devolved into sheer chaos only because what she did is still a relatively unknown thing, so it’s mostly only had positive consequences so far.”

“Half of her life savings?” you said, thinking back to the amount you had given, which had really been nothing but pocket change. “Um, wow. That was — very generous of her to do. She must be a charitable person.”

“Must be,” Lee said flatly. “And I guess there really is a Blue Spirit in Ba Sing Se. Sorry for doubting it. Even though he’s obviously not the same person as the one from the play, namely because that Blue Spirit would’ve done something instead of just standing around when there’s people in need.”

“He was doing what he could!” you said. Lee raised his eyebrows at you, and this time, it was your turn to cough to disguise your emotions. “That is to say, I’m sure there was more going on than either of us are aware of.”

“Right,” he said. You glared at him.

“Really! The Blue Spirit is a good person!” you said, feeling honor-bound to defend him. Even if you hadn’t seen him in so long, he was still the man who had saved you. You still harbored some feelings you could not quite name for him. “Maybe it only looked like he wasn’t doing anything, but he was. I know he was.”

“Whatever you say. Super-fan,” he said, muttering the last under his breath.

“You’re the one who likes the play so much,” you reminded him. “If anyone’s a super-fan, it’s you.”

Lee was saved from responding by Mushi’s entrance. His uncle was the kind of person that was impossible to be angry around, and he had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly when you and his nephew were arguing. His presence quelled you both, and it was probably the only reason the two of you had not, in the earlier days, read one another to filth.

“Good, you got all of those cups washed!” Mushi said. “I was worried you’d be too distracted, but I’m glad to see that that didn’t happen.”

“What would I be distracted by?” Lee said, putting the broom away. You had picked up very quickly on the fact that Lee had no interest in helping out around the Pao Family Tea House, and that tea was not really something that excited him, but it was the only way that he and his uncle could make money, so he did what he could, albeit without a smile on his face or any passion to his motions.

“If I had a lovely lady to talk with all day, I’d hardly get anything done!” Mushi said.

“Uncle!” Lee hissed.

“It’s okay, Mushi. You can think of me as more of a taskmaster than anything; I make sure Lee gets everything done in a timely fashion,” you said when it became evident that Lee was far too embarrassed to say anything more.

“And she doesn’t even offer to help while she’s at it,” Lee added. “So, ha.”

“It feels like you were trying to get the last word in there, but I don’t think you were successful in that endeavor,” you said. “Just so you know.”

“Shut up,” he said.

“Lee, please be kind to your friend,” Mushi said.

“Yeah, Lee,” you crowed. “Be nice to your friend!”

“Y/N,” Lee said, pointing a threatening finger at you, though it was hard to genuinely be afraid of him when he was so relatively harmless in everything he did. “You’re not even my friend, so you don’t get to pull that card!”

“I’m the only person you talk to, besides your uncle, so doesn’t that make us friends automatically?” you said.

“No, it just means I don’t have any friends at all!” he said haughtily, leaning the broom against the wall and dusting his hands off against his apron.

“Once again, I don’t think that that’s quite the closing statement you were aiming for,” you said. “It has more of an embarrassing effect to it than a victorious one.”

“Now, now, both of you should stop quarreling,” Mushi said. “Lee, your shift is almost over. How about you and Y/N take some time to explore the city together? It’ll only improve your spirits!”

“Believe it or not, I’d actually rather work,” Lee said, though he did untie his apron and hang it up.

“Just be back in time for your evening shift!” Mushi said.

“I’ll make sure he is,” you promised, following after Lee as he all but raced out of the tea shop, waving at Mushi, who waved cheerfully back. “Hey, Lee, wait up!”

Luckily, Lee did slow down a bit, allowing you to catch up with him, the two of you walking side by side down the street in the afternoon sun. It was a different context than you were usually in; he had been forced to take the evening shift more often than not nowadays, so he was normally still working by the time you left for the fountain. Today was the first time you had come early enough to be there for his break, and without the tea shop in the background to smooth your interactions over, there was an awkwardness that filled the air.

Who were you and he outside of the Pao Family Tea House? Who was Lee when he was not working as a server? Who were you when you were not protected by the secrecy of being just another patron of the shop?

“It’s you!” a soft, feminine voice said. Suddenly, you were being accosted by a pair of arms thrown around your shoulders, holding you in the sincerest embrace you had felt in many years.

“Me?” you said, wriggling free from the hug to peer at the girl. She beamed up at you, holding onto your hands, and though you couldn’t quite place it, you knew that you did recognize her from somewhere.

“Yes, you,” she said. “Everyone’s been saying you’re a spirit, since you don’t match the description of anyone living in the Upper Ring, but I’vealways believed in you. I’ve always known that you were a real person.”

Your eyes widened as you realized where you knew her from: she was the girl who had been helping the man with the burnt leg at the second southeast gate. She must’ve seen you when you had given the captain the money, and somehow, despite the days that had elapsed since then, she had recognized you.

You glanced at Lee, but he did not seem surprised nor intrigued by the conversation. He was diligently reading a street sign, which really could not have been all too fascinating, but he was an odd boy with odd habits, and it afforded you some semblance of privacy to converse with the girl, so you did not say anything to him about it.

“You’re the reason my father is still alive, lady,” the girl said, squeezing your hands tightly. “We thought we might have to cut his — cut his leg off or something, but because of you, we were able to get to a doctor in time.”

“That kind of doctor must be expensive,” you said. She nodded.

“Oh, yes, he was one of the Upper Ring ones,” she said. “But he saved my father’s leg, so what does it matter? I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?” you said. “What about your mother? Or your elder siblings, if you have any?”

The girl glanced around nervously before beckoning you closer. You offered her your ear, wondering what kind of terrible secrecy she was sworn to that she had to be so careful.

“I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, so please don’t repeat this to anyone, but the truth is that my mother and my little brother were killed by Firebenders. They set our house on fire while they were taking over our village. It’s how my father got his leg burnt,” she said, her small voice choked. “He went back in to save them, but he couldn’t. The only reason I’m alright is that our cat had run away and I had gone to find her.”

She was barely more than a child, and yet she had had the responsibilities of a woman thrust upon her. How could a little girl be expected to take upon the sole burden of providing for herself, for paying back the doctor that her father had needed? It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair, but if not her, then who else could even do it? By that definition, she was alone now.

You thought that maybe you and she were not entirely dissimilar. In the end, you, too, were alone. Even if you could not relate to anything else, you had that much in common with her.

“Here,” you said, taking her hand, pressing a handful of coins into it. “I’m not sure if this will be enough, but it will be better than nothing. At least, it should tide you over until your father is feeling better and he, too, can find work.”

Her eyes shone, and she dipped into a bow. Cursing under your breath, you caught her by the shoulders, looking around to make sure that nobody had seen. The last thing you needed was to be caught and dragged back to the palace by the Dai Li or some other such authority.

“Lady, I only came to thank you, but you’ve done me such a favor that I don’t know how I can ever repay you for it,” she said. You smiled at her.

“You needn’t repay me. In truth, I should’ve been doing these things long ago; it’s only thanks to, ah, extenuating circumstances that I haven’t been. I hope you stay well, dear girl, and that your father may recover swiftly. I’m sorry that you have had to suffer so greatly already,” you said, ruffling her hair.

“I hope I get to see you again, lady,” she said before gasping. “Not because you’ve given me money every time! It’s because you’re really kind. I want to thank you properly one day.”

“If it is our destiny, then I’m sure we will meet once more,” you said. “And you needn’t thank me. It is only my duty.”

“Destiny?” she said. “But how can I ensure that that destiny comes about?”

“Hm,” you said, tapping your chin in thought. “When you are older, please work very hard. Work so hard that even the royal family cannot ignore your efforts, and then go to the palace and ask for Quynh. Even if I am not allowed to meet you, I will find a way. If you can do that, then I will do my part so that our fates can collide another time.”

“Quynh!” she said, sucking in a breath. “Oh, I didn’t know…! I���ve treated you so flippantly!”

“It’s not a problem,” you said. “Now run along. And — and I know it won’t do anything, but I’m very sorry about what happened to your family. I wish there was something I could’ve done to stop it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “It was — you know. Them. You’re the one who’s helped me. I’m really grateful to you, so don’t apologize.”

“Maybe that’s how it is,” you said. “Anyways, welcome to Ba Sing Se. The city is improved by your presence.”

“Thank you!” she said, bowing again before you could stop her and then scampering away. You watched her go until she disappeared into the crowd, and then you turned to Lee, who was still steadfastly reading the same sign.

“There must be something fascinating written on that sign, for you to be so intently reading it,” you said, jabbing his arm with your pointer finger as you read over the sign yourself. “Mm, very interesting indeed. Left to the Firelight Fountain. Right to the Pao Family Tea House. Straight to the First Southeast Gate. That’s the kind of content you just can’t pull yourself away from.”

“I was trying to be respectful and not listen in on your conversation!” Lee said.

“Oh, thanks,” you said. “That was surprisingly good of you to do.”

“What was it about, anyways?” he said. “Why’d she recognize you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. He pursed his lips before turning away, continuing to walk down the street, towards the Firelight Fountain where you spent your evenings waiting for the Blue Spirit.

“Who is Quynh?” he said after a second. You frowned at him.

“How do you not know who Quynh is? She’s the patron spirit of the Earth Kingdom!” you said. “Or at least of Ba Sing Se.”

“Sorry I never had much time to study theology of all things while I was out…there!” he said, vaguely gesturing around.

“Out there,” you said. “Where, like the Fire Nation or something? I thought knowledge of her must be common throughout the Earth Kingdom.”

“No!” he said quickly. “Just — we traveled a lot, you know, and mostly in rural areas, so we, um, never heard the stories.”

You supposed it made sense. What guarantee was there that the legend of Quynh had reached every single corner of the Earth Kingdom? It made sense that someone like Lee, who must’ve spent his formative years in some place closer to the border than Ba Sing Se, wasn’t quite educated on the tale of the great mother bear.

“What business did you have traveling, anyways?” you said.

“It was for, er, work,” he said. “We were in, uh, a circus! Yeah, a circus.”

“A circus,” you said. “I’m sure you attracted all sorts of patrons with your charming and outgoing personality.”

“I wasn’t a performer! My uncle was. I just maintained his equipment,” he said.

“That’s a little more believable,” you said. “What did he do in the circus?”

“He was,” Lee began, his eyebrows low over his eyes in thought, “an acrobat! Mhm. He was an acrobat.”

“It’s not as believable anymore,” you informed him. You couldn’t imagine Mushi doing flips and cartwheels anymore than you could imagine Lee juggling. When he had said that his uncle had been a performer, you had been expecting him to be the ringmaster, perhaps, or even an animal trainer, but not an acrobat.

“Why? Uncle Mushi is plenty flexible!” he said. You made a face.

“I shall take your word for it,” you said. “But I’m sure he’s pleased to be retired by now.”

“Very pleased,” Lee said. “In fact, he’s so pleased to have put that part of his life behind him that he becomes really upset when people bring it up again. So I’d recommend you don’t.”

Upsetting Mushi was the last thing you wanted to do, given how well he always treated you when you visited the Pao Family Tea House, so you nodded at Lee and mimed sealing your lips together.

“I won’t mention it,” you said.

“Thank you,” he said. “But back to the original topic. Who is Quynh?”

“Ah, right,” you said. “Although she’s known as the guardian spirit of Ba Sing Se, and of the Earth Kingdom in general, it’s a little more complex than that. You see, she’s not meant to guard the entire kingdom; her loyalty is to the royal family and them alone.”

“Then how’d it get confused?” he said.

“Once upon a time, when she was the most active, the interests of the royal family and the interests of the kingdom were not so separate,” you said. “Maybe it’s not the case in the recent era, but no one’s even seen Quynh in so long that by now, her name has been solidified in history as the great mother of the Earth Kingdom.”

“Is that all there is to the story?” he said as you reached the Firelight Fountain. Of course, in the daytime, there were no lanterns lit, but in lieu of the eponymous firelight, there was a family of turtleducks floating in the placid waters.

Digging in his pockets, Lee produced a bunch of grapes. Breaking off a few, he dropped them in your palm before taking a couple of his own and tossing them into the fountain for the turtleducks to peck at. You followed his example, secretly pleased that he had known that bread was bad for the turtleducks’ stomachs and had been appropriately prepared with a better alternative.

“No, naturally it’s a long tale,” you said. “Do you really want to hear it?”

“Sure,” he said. “It beats working the afternoon shift.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” you said. “Alright, then. It’s an old story, for Quynh is an old beast, but it’s widely considered to be timeless, so I hope that you do not find it to be at all dated, despite its age.”

Contrary to popular belief, Quynh was not born a spirit. In fact, she was a mortal animal, a bear — a true one, of the same form as King Kuei’s Bosco. Even she was a child once, a mere cub, small enough that a person could heft her in their arms.

In that time, bears were considered to be a great threat to the world. They were thought of as vicious, cruel creatures, with swords for teeth and knives for claws. Larger than any man could ever hope to be, they were frequently hunted, both for sport and for safety, and so it came to be that by the time Quynh was all of two moons old, her and her mother were the only known bears left in the world.

Her mother, who was scarred and gray at the muzzle, knew that it was only a matter of time before she and Quynh, too, followed in the paths of their brethren. She was a canny bear, and so she took Quynh to a river and sank her teeth into the scruff of her daughter’s neck, dipping her into mud to disguise her scent and then dragging the whining cub into a cave that promised to have what she needed.

It was some time before she reached it, but eventually, she made it to the center of the cave, where its inhabitant resided. It was one of the massive, blind badgermoles, though something set this one apart from the others: she was in mourning, hunched over the frail body of her young, which had drawn only a few breaths before passing. 

Quynh’s mother nudged the badgermole before dropping Quynh at her feet. The badgermole, deprived of her sense of smell because of the mud slathered over Quynh’s body, accepted her as her own — or perhaps she did not want to question the stroke of good fortune, that she had just lost her child and then so soon had been given another to care for, even one as tiny as Quynh.

Her mother nuzzled her one last time before leaving the cave. It is unclear what happened to her after that; until recently, it was agreed that she must have been killed like the others, but since the discovery of Bosco, her fate was no longer quite as certain. Perhaps she and a few others managed to survive for all of that time, leading to the birth of the king’s companion…or perhaps Bosco was unrelated to Quynh and the descendant of another strain entirely.

The badgermoles raised Quynh as if she were one of them. She learnt to Earthbend from them, though it was not in the same way; she was not blind, and so did not have the same reliance on the element, and because of her comparatively smaller stature, she never gained the strength needed to command the earth in the way of her family. Still, she did what she could, and though she remembered her mother fondly, she thought of her only on the coldest of nights. The badgermoles were the ones who reared her, and though she could never forget that she was not one of them, that she was a bear, she was never ostracized for it. They loved her, the badgermoles, and as she had spent much of her life with them, she loved them back.

It was when she was four years of age that someone else came to the cave of the badgermoles, though this visitor was neither bear nor badgermole. He was a boy, one with a kind smile and soft hands. His name was Shan, and according to him, he had come to learn from the badgermoles. Earthbending was their art, and if he ever wanted to master it in a meaningful way, then he would have to become their disciple.

Quynh did not trust Shan for many moons after his arrival. She remembered what his kind had done to her own, and though the badgermoles harbored no such misgivings, she would always snarl at him when he visited, gnashing her teeth until he backed away with his hands in the air.

Stubbornness, though, was a family trait. Just like the rest of his line, Shan was not willing to give up. He knew not why Quynh despised him, only that she did, and it was something he could not live with. Every day he tried, and every day, in small increments, she forgave him. The sins of his forefathers were not his own, after all, yet he still endeavored to make up for them. He would bring food for Quynh, tell her stories about the sun and promise to take her there one day — after all, she was a bear, not a badgermole, and bears were not meant to live in the darkness.

That was why, when Shan could no longer learn anything from the badgermoles, he did not leave immediately. Instead, he hesitantly reached out and placed his hand in between Quynh’s eyes, splaying his fingers over her broad forehead and asking her a question: will you come with me?

She hesitated for only a moment, but when she glanced back, the badgermoles had already left, for they, too, knew the truth of her being. They had raised her, and they had loved her, and it was because of those years of affection that they were doing her this last favor and letting her go, letting her rejoin the world that she was born to live in.

It was only once they both stood in the sun that Shan revealed something new to her: the continent which they lived on was in a state of perpetual war. It was composed of many small provinces which were constantly battling one another for as many reasons as there were creatures under the sun. For food. For land. For resources. For perceived insults. For women. For riches. It went on and on, and it was to one such war that Shan had lost his parents. 

This was why he needed Quynh’s help. He wanted to unite the provinces, to turn them into one kingdom, so that the wars might cease for some time, but he could not do it alone. He needed her strength, alongside the strength he had received from the badgermoles. She thought that she might feel angry, but in truth, there was a kind of joy she felt at being needed. So she, in her own way, agreed to his request. She agreed to help him turn the disjointed provinces into one united Earth Kingdom — just as long as she could stay by his side when doing so.

Quynh had come to love Shan. It was like that. Sometimes it was as if she had been born to meet him, to be his companion; if she were a human, then she might’ve called him her greatest friend, but since she was not, since she was but an animal, the only word she had for it was brother. Shan was her brother, though much more delicate than she and without nearly as much fur, so she guarded him with all the ferocity of an elder sibling.

Their combined mastery of Earthbending was too much for the warlords and their paltry armies. It was not long before their dream was realized and they had a proper kingdom. The warlords hailed Shan as their ruler and crowned him the Earth King, but then they ran into a new problem: what was a king without a palace?

Thus began their most ambitious undertaking, even more ambitious than the unification of the Earth Kingdom. They were to build a city, one that an ordinary man could not even conceptualize, one that even the greatest army could not take. It would be named Ba Sing Se: the impenetrable capital of the greatest kingdom the world had ever seen.

Scores upon scores of men were enrolled in academies to learn Earthbending, so that the city could be built in a timely fashion. Things went excellently for a time, and Quynh thought that she might finally be happy. She had her beloved Shan at her side, and now that the wars were over, she could spend most of her days sleeping, allowing the sun to warm her dark fur as she dozed in the gardens behind Shan’s childhood home. 

But things were not meant to be like that. A kingdom in its infancy would always strain against its new rulers; that was the way of things, a way which Quynh had not yet learnt. It was because of this that, during one of his tours of the site where the palace would soon be constructed, an assassin tried to kill Shan.

Quynh was the first to sense his arrival, but he was too fast for her to do anything. She could only roar out a warning to her brother as she ran towards him, her ears flat against her head, her swords for teeth and knives for claws extended, even though it was futile. She would not reach him in time. The man rushing at her Shan would stab the dagger into his back, and she could do nothing about it but push herself faster, faster, in the hopes that she could make it, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, she could at least take the dagger in his stead.

It was not the dagger which killed her. It was her own brother’s student who cried out in alarm and sent a stalagmite shooting up from the ground and into her heart. It was that old fear which all men possessed, the insidious one which said that bears were vicious, cruel creatures, which spelled out her end, as it had spelled out the end of every other bear before her.

Shan had heeded Quynh’s warning and made quick work of the assassin, who was nothing in the face of a master Earthbender such as himself, so he had not understood at first why his faithful companion had stopped roaring. It was only when he turned and saw her bleeding and heard his pupil rambling on about how she had almost killed him that he understood what had happened.

He cast the boy aside, banished him from the Earth Kingdom and told him to never return, and then he fell to his knees in front of Quynh’s lifeless body. For, as she had loved him, he had loved her, too. The skittish bear who had detested him thoroughly…in the process of winning her over, an indescribable fondness had blossomed in him. Quynh was the only reason he had a kingdom. Quynh was the only reason he had anything. Why, then, was Quynh gone? How was he supposed to rule without her at his side? His Quynh. His bear. His greatest friend.

For three days and three nights, he prayed. He prayed to every spirit he could think of: Tui, La, Agni, the Mother of Faces, and even the more unsavory ones, such as Koh the Face-Stealer. He prayed only for one thing: Quynh’s return. He would give up everything, he repeated, as long as she came back to him. That was his promise. That was his vow.

Only one spirit heard him. He was a being who claimed to be a father, though he held such a disdain for everything that it was uncertain whose father he was meant to be, exactly. Shan would never have dared to converse with such a spirit unless he was truly desperate, but he was truly desperate, and it was for this reason that he opened himself to conversation with one of the most malevolent beings in both the spiritual and physical planes: Father Glowworm.

Father Glowworm was the conniving sort, but he was, in his own way, fair. It was not pity that drove his actions, of course, but a hunger, a lust. He told Shan that he could not bring Quynh back, that it was against the laws of the universe to breathe life unto death, but that there was something else he could do — for a price.

Shan agreed. It didn’t matter the price. He had lost his entire family already; he could not lose Quynh, too. Father Glowworm warned him that he would not like it, but Shan swore that there was nothing more important to him than Quynh.

But the price itself was Quynh, Father Glowworm said. He would subsume her body. Shan would have to watch him tear her apart and eat her, and if he could manage that, if he could manage to watch as Father Glowworm ate the body of his greatest friend, then Father Glowworm would give her spirit some of his powers, the ones which allowed him to tunnel between the physical and spiritual worlds. 

There was still another catch. According to Father Glowworm, what he was about to do was the highest form of offense. By offering Quynh’s body to Father Glowworm, Shan was desecrating it thoroughly, and by agreeing to watch, he was essentially forsaking her, declaring that she meant nothing, was nothing to him but rot and garbage. Her spirit would not know the meaning of the ritual, only that it was being done, and so, even if he went through with it, there was a high likelihood that she would not manifest ever again. She would never dare show herself to the man who had allowed her to be devoured by such an evil being, who had stood by and taken in the gory scene without so much as flinching.

She would have to love him so much that she returned in spite of that, Father Glowworm said. Those were the conditions. That was the only way it could be.

Even though it was wrong, even though she would most likely hate him for the rest of time, even though he knew he was ruining everything for the mere chance that he might see her again, Shan agreed to it. Because there was that chance. Because if Quynh loved him as much as he loved her, then she would come back. Because if it had been the opposite way, he would’ve come back. For Quynh, no matter what she did to him, he would’ve come back.

Father Glowworm did nothing to spare Shan’s feelings. His eye remained focused on the man as he did exactly as he had promised, gorging himself on Quynh’s body piece by bloody piece, until there was nothing left of her but a pile of gleaming bones. Those bones, too, were not safe, as he absorbed them, humming as the power and life which had once been Quynh’s filled him instead.

The entire time, Shan stared straight ahead, his gaze never wavering from Father Glowworm’s singular eye. And finally, when the spirit was finished, he began to laugh.

Foolish man, he told him. Everything you have done has been for naught. Do you think that any creature is loyal enough to return after you allowed its body to be destroyed like that? I thank you for the meal, but this is where we must part.

Shan clenched his fists and kept staring into that eye, asking him only one thing. Did you give Quynh the powers you promised? Is she a spirit now?

Of course, Father Glowworm said. Consider it a gratuity for how delicious she was.

Though it seemed hopeless, Shan did not fret the way Father Glowworm was urging him to. As soon as he had the confirmation that Quynh really was a spirit, he allowed himself to relax, nodding at the pulsating mass that was Father Glowworm’s body.

Father Glowworm was naturally confused. In this kind of situation, Shan should’ve been screaming, should’ve been cursing him for the unfair deal — the deal which was by design uneven. He had made it so many times, and it had never mattered. The end result was always the same. The dead ones never came back. They wandered the spirit world in a haze of confusion and anger, hating a person whose only crime had been loving them too much — not that they knew that, of course. Watching their grief and ingesting their mourning was how he amused himself in his eternal existence, but Shan provided no such amusement. It was only a moment later, as the ground began to shake and an enormous form made of shadows emerged from a doorway in the air, that Father Glowworm understood why.

Quynh loved Shan. And so, Quynh came back.

“That’s the tale of her origin, anyways,” you said.

“I didn’t know that Father Glowworm made deals with people,” Lee said. “In all my studies — limited studies, of course, given that I was doing, uh, circus-y things most of the time — he was just a bloodthirsty killer.”

“Even spirits get bored,” you said. “He was also that, but from time to time, he would do this type of thing for no other reason than because he could. Because he wanted to. Are you following?”

“I think so,” Lee said. “Is this a true story?”

“If you believe in Quynh, it is,” you said. You had heard the tale from Quynh herself, so of course you knew that it was real, but it remained that not everyone was aware that Quynh was more than a legendary concept. And surely you could not give away that you had met Quynh personally — many times in fact — so the non-answer was the best way you could hint to Lee just how verifiable the so-called myth was.

“I see,” he said. “It’s really fantastical.”

“Perhaps,” you said.

“But maybe not entirely so,” he said. “Is it known what powers Father Glowworm gave her?”

“It is,” you said. “Though if you didn’t believe that story, you’ll scoff at what they are. They’re very power-of-love based.”

“Sappy,” he said.

“Most assuredly,” you said.

“Just tell me. You’ve gotten me interested now,” he said.

“The palace is built around Quynh’s Den,” you said. “It’s where Quynh resides, so that she may look after the royal family — the descendants of Shan, who she considers to be like her own children — and it’s a place outside of time or space, in a way. It’s said that her den is made in the same place that her body died and her spirit was reborn. In fact, all of Ba Sing Se was built around that central location, with her Den serving as a support to the entire city.

“Because of this, and because of Father Glowworm’s tunneling powers which he gifted to her, she’s also known as the Keeper of Doors. It’s said that every door in Ba Sing Se is a place sacred to Quynh, and that’s why you’ll sometimes see people praying while standing in doorways. From Quynh’s Den, she can open doors to anywhere in the city, though she has trouble with extreme precision or accuracy. Some say that her doors lead you to where you need to go, not where you want to.”

“I don’t see what’s romantic about that,” Lee said. “It’s typical spirit world stuff.”

“Let me finish!” you said, accidentally throwing a grape too hard into the water. It hit the surface with a splash, dousing the nearby turtleduck, who honked at you in irritation. You mouthed an apology at it.

“Look what you’ve done,” Lee observed. “You’ve gone and made the turtleducks upset. Great going, Y/N.”

“Hush!” you said. “Anyways, the romantic part is the best part of the story, I’d say, but it’s the least accepted. You see, Quynh obviously loved Shan.”

“Obviously,” Lee said.

“She loved him so much that it manifested in her powers, too. There’s only one door that she never closes and which always has the same destination, no matter where it’s opened from: Quynh’s Door, which leads to the inside of the palace itself,” you said.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Lee said.

“It would be,” you said. “Think of how many invasions would be successful if the aggressors could find Quynh’s Door! But it’s not one of her normal doors, which can be seen by anybody. Sometimes, it can’t be seen by anyone at all. It’s a door that only appears to those who Quynh deems worthy.”

“And how is one deemed worthy?” Lee said, clearly enthralled as he leaned in towards you slightly, all pretenses of feeding the turtleducks abandoned. You grinned at him.

“It’s the same way Quynh came back as a spirit,” you said. “You have to be loved by Shan, or, in modernity, someone of his line.”

“You don’t say…” Lee trailed off.

“Do you see what I mean? It’s almost out of the realm of probability that it’s the case, that she really loved Shan that much, but it’s the truth,” you said. “The only way that a person can find Quynh’s Door and enter the palace without restriction is if they are loved by someone in the royal family.”

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart @blacky-rose @shizko @marsbars09 @happyplaidpersonfestival @catborglar @camilleverreault @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @lovialy @heart4hees @stefnarda

[briarberrythornedhart]

Maritime Warfare

Contains: flirting, banter, not appropriate work behavior, licking someone’s hand, suggestive talk, fluff

Eddie is very used to people pulling away.

He plays chicken, or teases, or gets in their faces. He flirts hard and dirty. And his target inevitably backs away and it hurts a little but Eddie tells himself it’s what he wanted. That he ‘won’ somehow. Because they think he’s too scary, or intense, or TOO MUCH and they always back away, but Eddie doesn’t even flinch... So - it’s a win of sorts. Right??

Cut to the moment when Eddie’s pulse is racing and he is sweating kinda all over and his cock is pressed uncomfortably against his jean fly but he can’t adjust it or YOU might notice his hand and follow it down with your hot eyes.

He’s only gone ATOMIC because you flirted back.

🍦 🦇 🍦

The new StarCourt Mall is bustling. Built further up Coal Mill Road, Northeast from Lover’s Lake, the new Mall has a lot of the old mall’s classic’s, including a Scoops Ahoy with the new management from Murray Bauman.

When Eddie got hired at Guitar Center he found he could get the occasional free scoop from Dustin Henderson if he were on shift. But the week SHE started working there, he suddenly found himself wanting ice cream for lunch - and only Ice Cream - every day.

“Back again, I see? Things slow at the Rock Star Factory?” His dream girl asked, adjusting her vest and readying the sample spoons. Probably because the last time he was here, Eddie swore he was gonna try every flavor. He had quickly done the math that with the 2 samples policy it would take him about a month to complete that quest.

“No officially licensed ‘Ahoy’ greeting dished out for little ol’ me??” Eddie asked.

“Ahoy. there. Matey. Are you ready to set sail on an ocean of flavor?” She said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. I’m hungry for a tasty adventure.” Eddie nodded.

She stuck out her tongue. Which was what he wanted to really taste... “Dustin is off work today. It’s just me here so don’t hold up the line with your usual indecision paralysis, okay?”

Eddie indicated ‘who me?’ by touching his chest, innocent as the day is long. “What’s the proper rank to address you by whilst I order?” Eddie asked. “Is it cadet, boatswain, or plain ol’ ...Seaman?’ He asked with a wide smirk.

She laughed, “You’re gonna call me whatever you want, Eddie, I don’t know why you ask permission.”

“I just can’t believe this uniform you have to wear, it’s a bit campy, don’t you think, like... don’t you mind that you have to wear that little hat and that the guys uniform is less tight and not as short?”

“Is it, I hadn’t noticed.” She said dryly, “Why..? do I look especially bad in it??” Eddie was almost certain he saw her pout, for a millisecond.

“No,” Eddie shook his head emphatically and gestured wildly with his hands, almost taking out a little kid who was pressing his face to the ice cream freezer. “You- you look great. I bet Murray hired you because he was thinking about what you’d look like in that get up... and out of it. You know he’s a big perv, right?”

Eddie leaned in, got closer and straightened her ‘My Name Is Y/N, Ask me about Scoops Points” Pin...and instead of her knocking his hand away or telling him to hurry up and order, or telling him to shut the fuck up, all of which he was prepared for as normal responses to his nonsense - she leaned in closer and whispered, “Murray’s never-ever gonna see what’s under this get up. That’s for Your Eyes Only, Sailor.”

Eddie nearly swallowed his own tongue.

“So whatt’ll it be?” She asked. “Probably not vanilla, right? You don’t look like you enjoy plain vanilla.” She looked him up and down, grinning.

“I l-like vanilla sometimes...” Eddie stammered.

“With something drizzled on it? Extra whipped cream on top? Over hot pie? Oh - I can warm up a couple big soft cookies for you??”

“DO YOU WANNA go out sometime?!” Eddie started this out a little louder than he meant to.

Her eyes were so surprised on him - her mouth was in the shape of a little ‘o’.

The other patrons all seemed to be looking at him all the sudden and yet that was not as nerve wracking as waiting for her answer.

“I’m sorry I should not have asked you - you’re at work - Can I just ... ::sigh:: have a scoop of chocolate please and thank you.” Eddie murmured, and rubbed his forehead hard enough to hurt a bit.

She gave him a large scoop of chocolate in the Kiddie Scoop Sloop. Too much to fit in that container, really.

He handed her a $5 bill and Eddie studiously looked at Everything except Her while she rang it up

“Your change?” She said and pressed that same 5 back into his hand?? and held it there until he looked back into her eyes.

“Whut?” Eddie knew she’d cast a spell on him, he was stunned-reeling and likely to remain so for some time.

“Hey - It’s dripping all over your hand, Messy.” She took his hand holding the Scoop Sloop and licked a drip from his forefinger over his knuckles. Her tongue was so warm.

“Let’s go out after work?” She asked. “You get off at 7?”

Eddie thought for a beat. “Usually, but I’d like to get you off first.”

And she didn’t pull away or flinch. She just smiled.

Eddie had never been so happy to ‘lose’.

[lemoncrushh]

Tattooed Heart - Part VI

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

STORY PAGE

“Hey, gorgeous! How are you? I’ve been so worried about you!” John exclaimed enthusiastically into the phone.

“I’m pretty good, actually. How are things at Zelda’s?” While you didn’t necessarily want to know the answer, you’d always considered John a friend and knew he had your back. Which was why you decided to give him a call.

“Oh girl, things have changed dramatically since you left!”

“Really?”

“Yes! We got a new manager. His name is Rafael, but we’re allowed to call him Rafi. He’s a dish and a half, let me tell you! Not like that last asshole.”

You chuckled. “Good, I’m glad for you.”

“Yeah, sucks for you though! If only you could have stayed. Hey, want me to put a good in for you with Rafi?”

“Um…no, that’s okay, John. I’m kind of happy where I am.”

“Seriously? Where’s that?”

You told your friend about working at the cafe. Then proceeded to tell him how Harry got you the job.

“To make a long story short,” you said, trying to do just that, “he’s not the jerk he appeared to be. And…well…now we’re dating.”

“Hold up! Stop right there. Rewind! I need to hear everything, Y/N! EVERYTHING!”

You laughed at the way John enunciated every syllable. And you’d expected as much. For the next hour, you went into every detail with him like he requested (at least as much as you were willing to divulge), and by the time you finished, it was time to get ready for your date with Harry.

“Oh my God, girl, that’s so crazy!” squealed John. “But I’m happy for you. If you’re happy.”

“I am.”

“Good. Just don’t forget about me, okay? Pop in some time, maybe with Handsome.”

“I will,” you promised.

After pulling on a pair of jeans and a stylish top, you brushed your hair and touched up your makeup. You were meeting Harry at his place, where he was making you dinner again, and then you were going to a movie. It seemed to be the first Saturday you were both off since you’d met. And you were looking forward to having a normal, mundane date night.

The last couple weeks had been both hectic and amazing. Since that evening at the gallery, Harry had been extremely busy finishing up his moon series paintings. Donovan McNulty had still been showing interest in Harry’s art, and specifically voiced that he wanted to know the minute his newest pieces would be available. And you’d been picking up extra shifts at the diner to make a little extra money. But any moment you were both free had been spent together. You took turns, rotating your visits at each others’ apartments. You enjoyed leaning against his kitchen counter while you watched him cook, and Harry enjoyed teasing Shae when she was around, and nibbling on the soft spot behind your ear as you watched TV when she wasn’t there - and sometimes when she was.

Your feelings for him were growing daily, and while you told yourself it was still too soon to have such feelings, you used your free time away from him to write them down. You expressed every emotion from the way your heart skipped when you’d see him sitting in his usual chair at the cafe, to the way your body ached for him as you laid in your bed staring at the ceiling. You even included the way it had felt when you’d seen Nicolette at the cafe and at the gallery, even though Harry assured you tenfold that he had broken off all contact with her. You didn’t want to be jealous of his ex. You knew deep down that it would not bode well if you were going to take this relationship to the next level. And you definitely wanted to.

Harry greeted you with a smile as he opened the door, a glass of wine already in his hand waiting for you. When you stepped inside, you gave him a quick kiss before accepting the glass and taking a sip.

“Mmm, something smells yummy!,” you commented, turning for the kitchen.

“Chicken Piccata with roasted radicchio and sweet potatoes,” Harry announced proudly as he followed you. “It’s almost ready.”

“Chef Styles, when are you opening your own restaurant? This is way too impressive for just me.”

“You’re the only one I care to impress,” he said, pushing your hair from your neck to softly brush his lips across your tender flesh.

You reached behind you for his hands, bringing his arms around your waist. He hummed against your skin as he gave you a squeeze. The timer on the oven sounded then with a friendly chime, and Harry hesitantly released you in order to remove its contents. Watching him serve up the meal, you joined him at the table with your wine.

“I have some news,” he announced after you’d taken your first bite and raved about its deliciousness.

“Oh? What is it?” you asked enthusiastically.

“I’m having another gallery showing. For the moon series.” Harry stabbed his fork into his chicken before lifting his eyes to you.

“Are you kidding? That was quick!”

“Well, yeah,” he grinned. “I brought them yesterday for Sherrod to see. Apparently he phoned McNulty, gave him some rubbish about how brilliant they are, and he’s flying down Thursday to see for himself.”

Quickly dismissing the fact that he’d degraded his own art, because you knew he didn’t really think it was rubbish, you focused on the positive.

“Oh my God, Harry! That’s wonderful! I’m really proud of you.”

“I know, babe. And I appreciate all the support you’ve given me. You'll never know how much.”

“I have an idea,” you jested. “You spoil me with this delicious food.”

“That’s just because I can,” he winked. “And because I want to. It’s not a payment.”

“Good to know,” you said before popping a bite of sweet potato in your mouth.

“I would like your help with something, though.”

“Sure, anything.”

“Could you help spread the word about the exhibit?” Harry requested. “Maybe invite some friends? The more the better. The cocktail party was nice, but I’d like it to be a massive event.”

“Ooh, yes! I’d love to!”

Rising from your chair, you reached over the table to plant a kiss on Harry’s lips, to which he happily accepted.

“When would you like to get your tattoo?” Harry asked as you laid twisted in the sheets, his bare thigh crossed over yours, his fingertips tracing nonexistent lines down your arm.

You turned your head to the side to look at him. If it was possible, he appeared even more beautiful than ever, his eyelids heavy, his pillowy lips swollen, his scruffy jaw threatening to produce more facial hair now that the morning was nigh. The evening of lovemaking had been blissful, Harry having brought you to orgasm not once, not twice…but three times. And while you worried you’d never walk again, the man beside you looked completely fucked.

You couldn’t help but be elated by the knowledge that you’d made that happen.

“I’m not sure yet,” you whispered, reaching for his stubbly chin. “Soon, I guess.”

You felt Harry breathe out of his nose, and while he tried to hide it, you could detect the frown on his lips.

“Do you not want it?” he inquired after a beat.

“I…no, I do,” you nodded.

“‘Cause you don’t have to get it,” Harry added. “The one I designed, or any other one. If you don’t want a tattoo, it’s fine. I’ll understand.”

“No, I want one.”

Harry continued to draw his finger down your arm. You could tell the conversation wasn’t over, but you were unsure what else to say. So you let Harry gather his thoughts instead. Finally he sighed, his gaze returning to your face.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“What for?” you asked.

“If I made you uncomfortable. It just dawned on me that I might have been a bit presumptuous with the tattoo. I know they can be very personal, and I…I should have just let you pick what you want.”

Blinking, you rolled over onto your side to face him. “Harry, no. That’s not it at all. I love the one you designed. I told you I loved that painting.”

“Then what is it?” Harry lifted a hand to brush your hair from your face, twisting the end of the strands between his fingers. “Any time I bring it up, you kind of hesitate or change the subject.”

“I…I didn’t realize,” you looked down at his chest. “I apologize.”

“Baby, look at me,” he insisted, urging your chin up. “Talk to me. Are you af-”

You stopped him mid-sentence with your finger on his lips. As you shook your head, Harry chuckled. Then tugging on your wrist, he released your hand from his mouth.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say,” he remarked.

“Just don’t use that word.”

“Alright,” he softened his expression, returning his fingers to your hair. “Am I moving too fast for you? Is that it?”

You gulped and sucked in your lips. Then you let out a nervous chuckle of your own. “It seems ridiculous to admit that after what we just did.”

“Not really,” Harry shook his head. “Sex can be separate from feelings. Although…I’m going to confess right now…for me…it’s not. Not with you.”

“Harry…” you breathed.

“Babe…” he murmured, pulling you closer. “I reckon I’ve conveyed my feelings for you already…at least a little bit. But if you need me to back off…I will.”

You stared at him, this gorgeous man. You couldn’t believe in just a few weeks you’d gone from hating him to…whatever this was.

“No,” you argued. “I don’t want you to.”

“No?”

“No, because…I’m feeling…things too.”

Harry’s voluptuous mouth curved into a sexy grin. You felt his hand on your back, his fingers dancing up your flesh.

“I’m just…a little hesitant, I guess,” you added, “about getting the tattoo…because it’s such an intimate thing to do, you know? To get ink on my skin of something you gave me, art you designed for me. And it’s…forever.”

Harry blinked slowly with a nod. “I completely understand, love. I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“You didn’t. It’s just me. Like you said, it’s personal. And I would feel horrible if something happened between us, and-”

“Shh, baby…” Harry interrupted you this time. “It’s okay. I get it. Take all the time you need.”

You gave him a gentle smile before he pulled you into a deep kiss. Your eyelids heavy, and sleep threatening to take over, you tugged on the sheets. Getting the hint, Harry grinned, situating the covers over you before reaching for the lamp.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

You hummed in agreement as he held you against his warm body, and before you could even think any more about tattoos, you were sound asleep in his arms.

The rest of Sunday and most of Monday was spent making phone calls. You promised Harry a grand party, and you were determined to deliver. After telling Shae your plan, she was more than happy to come through by offering to tell her coworkers as well as some of your mutual friends. You called John to let him know as well, and he said he was already going to ask for the night off, and maybe even bring Rafi with him…if he was available, as he put it. You also called the gallery Monday morning, unbeknownst to Harry, to speak with Sherrod yourself. He told you how excited he was for Harry’s new exhibit, which put your mind at ease a bit.

“I really want this to be special for him,” you explained. “Is there anything I can do to help? To get the word out? More advertising? Do I need to hire a caterer or something?”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, darling,” assured Sherrod. “I’m already having my secretary making contacts as we speak. And I personally phoned my caterer on Friday.”

“Oh, fantastic,” you said. “The more people we can get to come, the better. There’s just one thing…”

“Don’t worry about that either, my pet. You have my word Miss Waters will not get an invite.”

“Ohh. For some reason I thought…” you chuckled nervously. “I don’t know how art galleries work, forgive me.”

Sherrod laughed heartily through the phone, catching you off guard. “Nothing to forgive, darling. Harry and I have already spoken about this as well.”

You breathed through your nose. Of course they had.

“Thank you, Sherrod. I appreciate everything.”

“It’s going to be a splendid night, you can be sure!”

Hanging up, you felt a heavy weight lift off your chest. It was quickly replaced with a glittery excitement. You couldn’t wait.

When you arrived for your mid-day shift at the cafe, you made a beeline for Jill who was making a cold brew for a customer. The look on her face when you told her the news about Harry’s exhibit was priceless.

“Of course I’ll be there!” she squealed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Bring some friends too, okay? I want to show him all the support we can give.”

That night, you sat in front of the TV writing in your journal. You soon found yourself mindlessly doodling in the corners of the page. Harry was at work, and you didn’t want to bother him. Yet you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He truly had been the only thing on your mind all day.

“Pppfff, more like for the last month,” you admitted out loud.

Tossing your notebook to the side, you leaned back on the couch and ran your fingers through your hair, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Jesus Christ, what am I doing?”

Getting up from the sofa, you slipped on your shoes, not bothering to change out of your lounge-at-home outfit - a dark green tunic and black leggings. The only effort you made was to brush your teeth and touch up your lip gloss before heading out the door.

The neon sign in the window seemed to glow brighter than you remembered, an enticing greeting to lure you in. Not that you hadn’t already planned to go inside.

Swinging the door open, you noticed an empty waiting area and counter. Smooth, instrumental jazz played through the speakers as you peeked your head through the doorway to scan the tattoo stations, but still saw no one. You were just about to walk through the shop to Harry’s office when you saw Kyle emerge.

“Oh, hey,” he grinned. “You’re Y/N, right?”

“Yes,” you nodded, happy that he knew. Surely he didn’t remember you from the last time he’d seen you in the shop, but perhaps Harry had told him about you and he put two and two together. The idea made you blush a little.

“Harry’s in the back. I’ll go get him for you.”

Before you could retort, Kyle disappeared through the doorway from which he’d just appeared. And within seconds, your handsome, cheery boyfriend replaced him.

“Hi, babe!” he beamed. “What are you doing here?”

You shrugged, shyly. “Came to get my tattoo.”

His eyes widening, Harry stepped closer to you. “Really? Are you sure?”

Licking your lips, you nodded. “Positive.”

His dimples on full display, Harry pulled you into an embrace. You could feel his heart beating in his chest as he whispered in your ear. “I’m so happy.”

Then stepping back, Harry gestured toward his station. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll get everything ready and tell Kyle he can go home.”

“Oh!” you mouthed, surprised. Harry disappeared into the back room again before you could argue.

Situating yourself in Harry’s chair, you gazed at the art on display around his station as well as photos of various clients’ tats. While a few pieces looked to be fairly common, most of them were exquisite, no doubt one-of-a-kind works of art. You were staring at a large dragon piece on someone’s back when you heard a voice behind you.

“Bye, Y/N,” Kyle called. “Have a nice night.”

“Oh, thanks. Same to you,” you waved just as Harry walked up.

“You didn’t have to make him leave,” you said under your breath. “You’re not closed yet, are you?”

“I am now,” Harry wiggled his brows before walking to the front door and locking it, turning the OPEN sign to the CLOSED side.

With pursed lips, you tried to hold back a smirk as Harry returned, his own smirk tugging on his mouth.

“Slow night?” you inquired when he sat down on his stool.

“You would not believe. That’s why we were in my office. Kyle helps me with my website.”

You hummed in acknowledgement as you watched Harry get his tray ready just like he had the day you’d brought Shae. That already felt like a lifetime ago.

“You always surprise me with your music choices,” you commented as you listened to the soft jazz.

Harry chuckled with a nod. “This is my focus, slash wind-down music. Since it was slow, I switched it from grunge whilst we worked on the website.”

“I like it,” you grinned.

Harry gazed up at you from under his lashes before his eyes roamed down your body. You felt a tingle as his gaze made its way back up to your face.

“What?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Was just recalling the last time you were sat in this chair.”

“Oh my God, Harry,” you blushed. “Please tell me you sanitized it!”

His eyes squinting as he giggled, Harry scooted closer to you. “You’re too much, babe.”

“Why, because I like cleanliness?”

“No, because that’s your first thought. It certainly wasn’t mine.”

You stared into his jade eyes that were now inches from your face, the irises appearing to have a dark line around them.

“That was…um, some kind of night,” you murmured softly.

“Indeed, it was.” Harry’s hand landed just above your knee then before he slid it slowly up your thigh.

“Hmm,” you nodded. “Are you trying to seduce me again?”

Harry puffed out a chuckle. “No. Don’t reckon I had to try then either.”

Dragging your tongue across your teeth, you focused on his mouth and the way his hand felt on your leg. “Fair enough. What do you remember most about that night?”

“How sweet your pussy tasted on my tongue,” he quickly replied, as if he’d had his answer ready before you’d even asked the question. “And how you tugged on my hair and your thighs trembled as you called my name.”

“Harry…”

“Oh, it was much louder than that.”

You blushed again, but this time you didn’t bother hiding it. Leaning towards you, Harry placed a soft kiss on your lips. Followed by a second, and a third. By the fourth, your fingers were in his hair, his tongue in your mouth. You reveled in the sensation, urging him with your own. When a gentle moan escaped your chest, Harry’s hand that had been on your thigh made its way between your legs. You began to grind against him in your seat, knowing your leggings and panties were already soaked through. His other hand traveled underneath your t-shirt, and when his fingers met your bare skin, you gasped.

“Are you…,” you gulped, “planning to eat me out again on this chair?”

“No,” Harry shook his head, a devilish smirk on his face.

“Oh.”

“I have other things in mind,” he added, echoing the exact words he’d said to you that night before taking you home.

“Oh…”

Harry sat back on his stool and raised a brow. “I thought you wanted a tattoo, love.”

“Harry Styles! Are you teasing me?” you exclaimed.

Giggling with glee, you noticed his eyes dancing. “Maybe.”

“Rude!” you frowned, tugging your shirt down. Your pussy still throbbing from his hand, you pouted.

“I’m sorry, baby. It’s my fault. Seeing you in this chair…it turned me on, and I got carried away. I do want to play. But I think we should get started on this tattoo, don’t you? It’s gonna take a bit.”

You nodded with a sigh. “Okay.”

Harry gave you a peck on the nose and one on the lips. “Now, did you decide where you want it? The ink, I mean,” he smirked.

“So, I had considered getting it on my side, like down my hip. There’s plenty of room to make it big. But then I changed my mind.”

“Too much?” Harry asked.

“Nope. Not enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nobody’s gonna see it there. Except you. And while the idea is sexy, I’d rather have the art my boyfriend designed to be in a spot everyone could see.”

“Baby…” Harry breathed, his hand over his heart.

“I know, I’ve been hesitant about this,” you explained. “About us. But I have no clue why. We’ve spent all this time together. You’ve shown me time again that you’re interested in more than just…a fling. Every time I’m with you, I feel butterflies and moonbeams and…all the cheesy things.” You let out a nervous sigh as you looked down at your hands, then back up to his gorgeous face. “The truth is…I’m crazy about you, Harry.”

“Sweetheart,” he cried, pulling you into another kiss. Then leaning his forehead against yours he murmured, “You make me so happy.”

“Good,” you grinned, your right hand on his cheek as you held out your left. “That’s why I think we should put it right here, below my elbow, down the inside of my arm.”

“I think that would be lovely,” he agreed, misty-eyed. Then he kissed the inside of your wrist before rising from his stool. “Let me go get the stencil, and I’ll be right back.”

When he stepped away, you suddenly felt butterflies in your tummy, and not just from the notion of getting a tattoo. You’d almost told him more than you’d planned. The truth was, you weren’t just crazy about him. You were falling for him. Hard. Perhaps you had been falling bit by bit every day. And you were finally willing to admit it to yourself. But you weren’t quite sure yet if you were ready to say it to him. It still felt too soon. But you loved the look on his face when you’d revealed what you had. His delight gave you hope that perhaps he felt the same.

Harry returned with a big smile on his face. Placing the stencil next to him, he pulled on his gloves. Then reaching for the rubbing alcohol and a cotton pad, he eyed you.

“Still wanna do this?” he asked.

“Definitely,” you beamed.

Taking your arm, he gently rubbed the soaked cotton pad down your arm, from the elbow to your wrist. Then he took a new disposable razor and gently shaved the area, just like you’d seen him do on Shae, back when you still hated him. The idea brought a sour taste to your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah, sorry. Was just…thinking.”

“About?” Harry raised a brow.

“How far we’ve come in just a short time.”

Harry’s face softened. “I think about that a lot.”

“You do?”

“I thank my lucky stars every fucking day that you forgave me. That you were able to see the real me and change your mind. I only wish…”

“What?” you asked.

His gaze seemed to burn into you as he looked deep into your eyes. “I wish we had met some other way. Like some random day at the cafe, or maybe here when you’d come with Shae. Or maybe even at Zelda’s on a night I was alone. Some other way that you could have met the real me instead of that prick I pretended to be.”

You sat in silence as you absorbed Harry’s words and watched him place the thermal paper on your arm with the stencil. When he peeled it off was when you spoke.

“What would you have said?”

“When?”

“If we had met in a different situation. What would you have said to me?”

“In which scenario?” he smirked.

“Let’s go with the first one. Obviously I wouldn’t be working at the cafe. But let’s say I came in one day that you were sitting there working on your iPad.”

Harry chuckled loudly, catching you off guard. “Well, I can’t really say for sure, can I? There are other factors involved.”

“Alright,” you agreed. “But you said you’ve thought about it. What happens in your…wish?”

You swore you caught a tiny bit of color in his cheeks as Harry pulled his tray closer to him. “We have to get serious now, babe. I’m about to stick a needle in your arm.”

You puffed out a breath in humor, then sat up straight in your chair. “Fine. Mark me.”

Harry’s nostrils flared as he chuckled at your joke. Then he made a few adjustments to his tattoo gun before getting to work. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as bad as you thought it would. You watched as Harry traced the stencil, starting with the dripping moon at the top. After every stroke, he would wipe your skin. He seemed so focused, so gentle. You stared at his face for a little while, and every time he’d bite his lower lip, it sent your heart all aflutter. When he finished the outline, he looked up at you.

“Still doing okay?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded.

He gave you a smile before returning his focus to your arm. You were both quiet for a moment until he spoke again.

“I probably would have stared at you for a bit.”

“Huh?”

“At the cafe. If you had been sat near me at a table by yourself. I would have kept sneaking glances at you, but making sure you didn’t notice.”

“Well then, how am I supposed-”

“At first,” he interrupted. “Then I would have wanted you to notice. When we finally made eye contact, I’d have smiled at you.”

Lifting his head, Harry gave you just the smile he was referring to. And your insides ignited.

“I would say that’s very cheesy and cliche, but it’s not. I like it.”

“So what would you have done if I’d come over to your table and asked you your name?”

“I would have told you, and hoped to God you’d ask me for my number too.”

“Alright then,” Harry snickered. “That’s one scenario. But it didn’t happen.”

“It’s fine, Harry,” you said. “Something else happened instead. And we’re here anyway.”

“Yes, we are.”

You watched Harry continue on the tattoo, the moon starting to look realistic with the shading. As always you were in awe of him and his talent. Just like when you would watch him work at the cafe, you found yourself completely mesmerized. It was utterly sexy to you, from the way he focused on his project at hand, to the curls that framed his face and neck, and even down to the way his own tattooed arms flexed as he worked. As you studied him you let out a deep breath, feeling the wetness pooling in your panties again.

“Still okay?” Harry suddenly asked with a tiny smirk, as if he’d noticed.

“I’m wonderful,” you answered dreamily.

“You need to move your elbow a little?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” you nodded as Harry sat back to let you. Your arm had been in one position for a while, and you were starting to feel the effects.

“Okay, I’m good,” you commented as you reached your arm out again. “Tell me about your next project. What are you working on?”

“Just a second,” Harry muttered. As he scooted closer again, you wondered what he was doing until he beckoned you with his gloved hand. “Kiss me.”

You grinned widely before you happily obliged, giving him a few more kisses than he’d asked for just for good measure.

“Mmm, thanks babe. It’s hard to be around you for this long without touching your lips.”

“You’re welcome. And you’re the sweetest.”

With a wink, Harry returned to his task, this time moving onto the shading of the heart. “I actually haven’t started anything new yet,” he replied to your previous inquiry. “With the moon series now at the gallery, I’ve kind of been trying to finish up some older pieces.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you had anything that was incomplete.”

“Yeah. You saw the citiscape one, right?”

“Yes, that was gorgeous! That wasn’t finished?”

“Not yet. I keep feeling like there’s something missing, but…I dunno. I’m also not sure if I want it to be a series or a stand alone piece.”

“Well, whatever you decide, I know it’ll be amazing. As always,” you offered emphatically.

“Thanks, babe. This is why…” he left his thought unfinished as his tattoo gun rounded the edges of the heart.

“Why what?”

Harry lifted his head, giving you an easy grin. “Why you’re a wonderful lady.”

You watched Harry finish the heart on the tat while you thought your own heart could burst. You thought he was going to say it for a second, but you understood why he hadn’t. It seemed like such a mundane moment to express those three words.

Changing the subject, Harry chatted with you lightly about the upcoming exhibit, about the cafe, about food. You told him about your pal John, and how he was planning to come as well as Jill and Shae.

“Thanks again for doing this for me, babe,” he grinned. “I truly appreciate you.”

“Of course, Harry. I honestly think I’d do just about anything for you.”

Raising his eyebrows, Harry gave you a sexy look before quickly looking back down at your arm. “I think we’re done, babe.”

“Oh. Oh!” You tore your eyes from his to gaze down at your new tattoo. It was extraordinary to say the least.

“It’s…so beautiful, Harry,” you choked. “I love it!”

“It’s yours,” he commented. “And only yours.”

Your eyes began to well up with tears, making your vision too blurry to even see it. But you knew he was right. You had a one-of-a-kind Harry Styles work of art on your arm. And you couldn’t be more proud.

“C’mere, you can look in the mirror,” Harry beckoned, gesturing to the mirror behind him on the wall.

Standing in front of it, you wiped your eyes with your fingers until Harry handed you a tissue.

“Don’t cry, love,” he cooed. “You’ll make me think you made a mistake.”

“Of course not, silly man.” You stretched your arm down to look at the full length of the ink on your skin. “No mistakes here.”

“I’m glad,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chest on your shoulder as you took in the image of you both in the mirror. Grabbing his phone, Harry then took a couple of quick photos of your arm. “Let’s go ahead and put a covering on that so it won’t get infected.”

“Oh, how long do I have to do that? I wanna be able to show it off this weekend.”

Harry smirked at your pout. “Just a few days. You should be okay by then.”

Once again, you sat in his chair while he applied the dressing and bandage. Then he explained to you the aftercare, which made you giddy. You knew it was his job, but you enjoyed seeing him being professional.

“I’ll give you some information to take home with you as well,” he added as he removed his gloves, “but right now, I really need to touch you.”

You opened your mouth, but before you could make a syllable, Harry slid his hands under your jaw and pulled you into a warm kiss. He soon deepened it, his tongue invading your mouth as his hands traveled around your neck to your hair. When he finally released you enough to take a breath, you gasped.

“Wow.”

“Uh huh,” he voiced so low that you barely heard it. Then he licked his lips before sliding his hand up your thigh like before. “Exactly.”

You stared at Harry, his eyes darkening as he fingers began to tease you between your legs.

“So, what…mmm,” you swallowed at the sensation, “what other things did you have in mind?”

“Oh, you really wanna know?” he quirked a brow.

“Mmhmm. Yes, please.”

“Hmm, you ask so politely. But I might wanna keep teasing you like this. Make your legs tremble until you can’t stand it anymore. Until you’re begging for me to make you come.”

“Mmm,” you moaned again as he applied more pressure with his thumb, his hand cupping you, still over your clothes. “I don’t think I would be opposed to that.”

“No? You like being teased?”

“I like the way you tease,” you replied, breathy.

A low chuckle rose from his throat, and you felt the vibration as his face was just inches from yours. Then he surprised you by rising from his chair, his hand leaving your throbbing core to tug on the bottom of your t-shirt.

“Off, sweetheart,” he demanded.

You lifted your arms for him to remove your top, careful of your freshly tattooed area. You nearly came unglued at the sight of him biting his bottom lip.

“Sorry I don’t have on fancy undies,” you said, looking down at your cotton bralette.

“Are you kidding?” he snorted before he helped you remove that garment as well, his hands quickly palming your bare breasts.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the pleasure of his calloused thumbs skimming across your perky buds. He was so light and gentle with his touch, that you almost pouted, but you knew this was his intention. To drive you crazy.

He kissed you again, his hands still on you until he backed away suddenly. You opened your eyes to see him removing his own shirt, his tattooed torso on display. Your mouth watered instantly, an automatic reaction now.

You and Harry had good sex. There was no denying it. Not that you liked to compare, but Harry was the best in bed. He already knew what you liked, what buttons to press and which ones not to (not that there were many). But the best thing about the sexual part of your relationship was that it was never boring. Even when it was just quick fucking, it was amazing. Even when it was sweet, sleepy sex, you were left satisfied.

So Harry implying - albeit obviously - that he wanted to fuck you on that tattoo chair was no surprise. But the thrill was still as strong as ever. Everything he did excited you. Jesus, just looking at him sent a bolt of electricity down to your cunt, making you squeeze your muscles together.

Letting out a breath, you reached for his belt, pulling it from the loop and releasing it. He gave you another smirk as you tugged on his jeans with your non-tattooed arm, frustrated when the button wouldn’t come loose.

“Let me help, baby,” he growled, keeping your hand in position as he covered it with his own hand and helped you pull. The button popped open, the zipper separating along with it as your tug was determined. Then Harry assisted you further, his hand guiding yours down the front of his pants.

“As if you had to help me with that,” you scoffed with a grin.

“Maybe I wanted some help,” Harry eyed you.

“I don’t think that’s necessary either, big boy.”

His sexy low chuckle vibrated through your hand while you found you were a hundred percent correct. Standing from the chair, you pulled him from the confines of his jeans, the pink, bulbous head of his hard cock greeting you.

“Mmm,” you sounded. “Maybe I could help a little.”

You released his erection for just a moment to run your hands down his chest, your fingernails raking over his pecs and the light dusting of chest hair around his nipples. But it didn’t take long for Harry to reach for your tits again, squeezing them in his hands.

“Wait…I thought I was supposed to be teasing you,” he groaned.

“So you don’t want your cock in my mouth?” you teased back.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Fuck, babe, I don’t know anymore. You’re so hot. I’m so turned on.”

“I can see that,” you grinned, wrapping your palm around his cock again. Before he could protest, you fell to your knees.

“Babe…” you heard as you barely licked the tip.

“Just let me, Harry. Please? I’m begging,” you looked up at him with puppy dog eyes, batting your lashes.

Letting out a breathy chuckle, Harry gave you permission with a nod and heavy eyelids. You took your time, wetting the head first, then slowly dragging your tongue underneath his length, from the base to the tip. Then licking your lips, you wrapped them around his hard cock, giving a generous amount of suction.

You heard his heavy breathing get louder and faster as you steadied yourself with your other hand on his hip. His own hands were everywhere at first, starting in your hair, then trying to paw at your breasts, then finally settling back on your head, gently urging and guiding you.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good at this.”

You’d never considered yourself a pro at giving head. You couldn’t even take all of him, for fear of choking. But he didn’t seem to mind. Your mouth and tongue along with your hand seemed to do the trick. After a few more swirls of your tongue, you allowed your other hand to reach underneath, grabbing his balls. He moaned loudly, another expletive rising from his chest.

“Baby. Baby, baby, stop. I don’t wanna come yet.”

Popping off of him, you smiled up at him, saliva dripping from your chin. You enjoyed pleasuring him, but you were excited to move on to phase two. With another low groan, Harry ran his thumb across your chin, guiding you back up to your feet.

“Y/N. I need to be inside you. Now.”

“Aw, you mean I don’t have to beg?”

Harry didn’t bother replying with words. Instead, he pulled down your leggings with fervor, your panties clinging to them so they slipped down together, pooling around your ankles just like Harry’s jeans.

“Turn around, sweetheart,” he patted your hip while wiggling his brows.

More electricity surging through you, you happily did as you were told, bending over the tattoo chair. You felt Harry run his hands down your ass before grabbing your hip and situating himself at your entrance. He slid in slowly at first, like he always did in order to get adjusted. But as soon as he let out a gasp that echoed your own, you knew it wouldn’t be long before he started to move faster.

Harder. His fingers dug into your flesh as he pounded into you. You bit your lip at first, then thought it silly since you were alone. As you began to moan, so did Harry. The sounds intertwined with the sexy, slow jazz were intoxicating. And when Harry bent over to grab your hair and talk in your ear, you thought you might come.

“Pussy’s so good, baby. Been thinking about it all day. Always so wet for me.”

“Mmmm,” was all you could manage.

“You like me fucking you like this?”

“Yes!”

“You like my hard cock pounding into you, my balls slamming against your wet pussy?”

“God, yes!”

“Yeah. It’s mine, innit? Your gorgeous cunt is all mine.”

“Mmhm.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s all yours, Harry. I’m all yours.”

Moaning in your ear, Harry slowed down. You wondered for a moment what was happening as you knew he hadn’t come yet. Then you felt a chill on your back as he stood up, his hands at your hips.

“Let’s get these off the rest of the way,” he said with heavy breaths, indicating your pants.

Blinking, you wiped your eyes and toed off your shoes, stepping out of the leggings as you watched Harry do the same with his jeans.

“Sorry, babe, for the interlude,” his voice cracked. “I wanna try something else.”

“Okay.”

You watched as he readjusted the chair to lay flat. Then he laid down on it.

“C’mere, babe,” he beckoned. “Climb on top of me.”

You shifted your eyes nervously. “Are you sure we won’t break it?”

“Only one way to find out,” he smirked.

Sucking in your lips, you climbed on with Harry’s assistance. You giggled at the awkwardness of it all as you straddled him.

“Just a second, honey,” he said when you were about to aim his cock. “Let me look at you.”

You glared at him, once again wondering what was going through his head. He acted as if he’d never looked at you before. But as you smiled down at him, his own lips grew into his dimpled grin, making you warm all over. He brushed your hair from your face, his thumb grazing across your cheek.

“You’re like an angel,” he murmured. “You take my breath away.”

“Harry…” you exhaled.

“I’m all yours too, honey.”

You beamed at him, knowing it was a reply to your previous admission. Then lifting yourself onto your knees, you looked into his eyes as you sank down onto his cock. You hissed as he closed his eyes, both of you already sensitive.

You rode him with determination, needing to chase the release. After bouncing on him a few times, Harry took your left hand and held it to his chest, making sure you didn’t put too much pressure on that arm. You giggled awkwardly as you tried to keep your balance, but your boyfriend was good at helping.

As you started to reach your high, the burn imminent both in your thighs and your core, you began to cry out.

“Harry….it’s so good, baby…oh, God…Harryyyyy.”

Bucking his hips against you, his hands both now on your own hips, he stared you in the eyes.

“I know, honey. Tell me.”

“Mmmmm…I’m all yours, Harry,” you bit your lip, throwing your head back.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

Blinking, you gazed down at him, his gorgeous face flushed. He groaned in pleasure before wrapping his arms around you.

“Tell me, baby. I wanna hear you say it.”

“What?”

“Tell me you love me.”

Your eyes widening, you stared at him in…no, not disbelief. Because you absolutely believed it.

“I know you feel it, baby. Just like I do. Tell me. Please.”

You’d slowed down your hips, Harry having paused his thrusts. But as you began to resume, moving faster, his gorgeous mouth hanging open, you nodded.

“I love you, Harry.”

His lips twitched before he licked them, then pulled you to him for a kiss.

“I love you, too, Y/N.”

A tiny giggle escaped your throat as realization kicked in. You were in love. And all his.

You rode Harry to the finish, reaching orgasm just before he cried out those three words again. He kissed you deeply, his tongue letting you know how pleased he was. His head falling back, his eyes closed in complete bliss, the biggest, dopiest grin on his face.

“Say it again, babe.”

You kissed his salty chest and neck, then gnawed on his stubbly chin.

“I love you,” you sang softly before kissing his lips.

“And I love you,” he echoed while your face hovered over his, your hair surrounding you both like a secret garden. “So much.”

Chatter filled the room and your ears as you suddenly heard the clink of a fork against glass.

"Ladies and gentlemen! A toast! To our man of the evening!" announced Sherrod. Harry turned to him with a bashful grin. "It has been my utmost pleasure to host this soiree for such an incredible artist. He is a viable part of this community, and I know you all join me in congratulating him at completing another remarkable series. To Harry Styles!"

As everyone clapped and cheered, raising their glasses, you heard Stan shout, "Hear, hear!"

Smiling at your boss, whom you had been thrilled to see arrive with his wife, you watched him make a taste of his own.

"Harry, my son, I've watched you sit at that same table in my cafe for over a year, doodling on your notepads and…thingamajig…" he gestured, making the guests chuckle. "To be honest, I didn't understand why my coffee shop, or why that table…or why only flat white lattes…" more laughs erupted as he patted Harry on the shoulder. "But I knew you had talent. And ambition. I'm proud of you, son. And I'm proud to say I knew you when."

"Hear, hear!" Sherrod and others cheered, raising their glasses again.

"Thank you, Stan. Thank you Sherrod," Harry choked. "This whole night means more to me than you'll ever know. All of you. I'm so humbled that each of you came tonight. This truly was special. I'll never forget it."

Harry's eyes met yours during his final words. Then as the chatter resumed, he stepped forward and pulled you into a long kiss.

"Alright you two," said Jill behind you. "Don't go find a room just yet. I need to take pictures."

You giggled as your friend held her phone up and you posed for several photos with Harry, including one where you were kissing him on the cheek. Satisfied with her shots, Jill squealed with joy and announced she had to take some more with her other friends next to Harry’s art.

A waiter came by then with more champagne, and you gladly took another glass, handing him your empty one.

“I’m so happy to see you having a good time,” beamed Harry, his arm still around you.

“I may have had a few too many of these,” you snickered, covering your mouth with your hand.

“No matter. We have that limo, thanks to you.”

“You can actually thank Shae. It was her idea.”

“Where is Shae, by the way?” Harry turned his head to search for your roommate. He spotted her next to the shrimp, talking to Kyle. His chest shook with laughter as he turned back to you.

“What?” you asked. “Kyle’s a nice guy, right?”

“Yeah. Too nice. She’s probably giving him an earful, and I’ll have to hear about it later.”

You playfully slapped his arm in your friend’s defense, though you knew he was right.

“Good idea, by the way, showing off your tattoo right away. I already have some clients lined up.”

“That’s awesome!” you cheered. You figured one of them was the nice lady you were talking to last time, since you saw her again soon after you’d arrived.

“Harry, my good man, congratulations!” another voice sounded. You both swiveled to see Carlo, his arm already stretched to give Harry a hug.

“Thank you so much for coming, Carlo.”

“Anything for you, my friend! Y/N, I don’t believe you’ve met my beautiful wife, Jossalyn.” Carlo gestured to the stunning tattooed brunette to his right.

You both gave each other salutations before Harry pulled her into a hug as well. Then they announced their exit and said their goodbyes.

“You have a lot of friends and admirers, Harry,” you commented.

He nodded. “Seems that way. I need to remember to count my blessings.”

You lifted your hand to his handsome face, and he covered it with his own, gently shutting his eyes.

“Y/N! We have to be going, guys!” John shouted, breaking your reverie.

“John, thank you so much for coming!” you told him as you squeezed him. “And for bringing Rafi.”

“Told you he’s a dish,” he whispered in your ear.

You nodded as you watched his partner shake hands with Harry, then you did the same. As soon as they left, Harry leaned into you.

“Rafael is interested in my art.”

“Your art, or something else?” you quirked a brow. “I saw how he looked at you earlier.”

Harry cackled. “I promise it was strictly a professional conversation. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll remind him I’m taken.”

As he slid his arm back around your waist, you shook your head as you smiled up at him. “I was teasing you. I wouldn’t blame anyone in this room for wanting a piece of you…professionally or otherwise. But I appreciate the sentiment. Also, I trust you.”

“Yeah? I’m glad, baby.”

Harry brought his hand up to slide under your jaw, and he was just about to kiss you when the other man of the hour interrupted.

“Harry, lad, I have an early flight in the morning, so I must bid farewell,” said Donovan McNulty. This evening he wore a black suit with a red bowtie. You smiled at him, holding out your hand.

“Mr. Nulty, thank you so much for coming. You’ve made Harry so happy.”

Donovan leaned in and kissed your cheek, then the other. “My dear, I reckon it’s the other way around. Besides, it looks like he’s found his happiness right here, with his muse.”

He gave you a wink as he squeezed your tattooed arm before shaking Harry’s hand and waving goodbye.

The party continued for another hour or so. You and Harry both gave a lot more thank yous and farewells. Then when no other guests remained (Harry insisted on seeing everyone out to show his appreciation), Sherrod finally shooed you out to the limo.

“Thanks for helping with everything, sweetheart,” cooed Harry as he necked you in the back of the car.

“I didn’t do much,” you conveyed. “Sherrod set up most of it.”

“No, you did more than you know. I love and appreciate you.”

“Same here, handsome,” you grinned before caressing his soft lips. “By the way, I have something to show you when we get to your place.”

“Yeah? Is it under your dress?”

You giggled as his hand wandered under the flimsy fabric of the new dress you’d purchased just for this occasion.

“No,” you playfully tugged at his wrist. “It’s something I left there while we were getting ready. It’s in your nightstand.”

“Handcuffs?”

“No! Harry Styles, I’m trying to be romantic and open, and you’re being naughty.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, babe. I can’t help it. It’s just where my mind went.”

“It’s okay,” you tutted.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

Harry held your hand as he walked you to his apartment. The glow of the moon shone through the balcony doors, punctuating the end of the moon-themed evening like a full stop. Although you weren’t ready for it to end just yet.

You laid your clutch bag on the counter next to his keys and wallet before he pulled you in for yet another kiss. Throwing your arms around his neck, you let his tongue tangle with yours, tasting the champagne you’d both consumed. Then he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you into the bedroom.

“Are you gonna show me now?” he asked between kisses after he laid you down.

You simply nodded, then reached for the bedside table, opening the top drawer. You retrieved a small notebook, the one you’d been writing in. Opening it, you flipped to the page you wanted to show him. When you handed it to him, he looked at you inquisitively.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Remember when you asked me if I had a hobby, something that I was passionate about? And I mentioned I used to write?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You inspired me.”

With an easy grin, Harry sat back on the pillows, crossing his ankles. You sat next to him, your legs tucked underneath you as you bit your bottom lip nervously.

Brilliant, blazing, glistening, glittering

The celestial satellite shines by the light reflected from the sun

Its beautiful mystery soothingly captivates us

All aglow, seemingly from within

Feminine energy that affects the rise and fall of the tides

A big balloon, luminous and serene

These are words used to describe the moon

But they are also words to describe my heart

For my heart is now a big balloon

All aglow and alight from within

From the light of your heart, the sun

Brilliant, blazing, beautiful

Wondrous and astral, my heart is now home

Lowering the notebook after reading your poem, Harry looked at you.

“It’s kinda short,” you offered with a hesitant chuckle. “But it took me forever.”

“Baby,” he said, scooting closer to you and reaching for you. “This is beautiful.”

“Really?” you crinkled your nose, still not completely confident.

“Yes, baby, really. I love it. I love you.”

Your expression softened, easing into a smile. Harry pulled you to his chest, brushing your hair back from your face.

“Thank you for writing it, but even more, for sharing it with me.”

“I figured I should, since you share so much with me.”

“That’s what I mean, love. Not only did you share your heart with me, but you put it into words on paper. It’s stunning. I’m…”

His hands still in your hair, he paused his words.

“What?” you asked as you saw a tiny tear escape from the corner of his eye and down his cheek. “Harry…”

“Can’t help it, baby,” he choked as you wiped the tear. “I’ve fallen so hard for you.”

“Me too,” you whispered.

“Tell me again, Y/N.”

“I love you…” you said, his lips capturing yours once again before you could say his name.

You didn’t mind that he asked you to say those words. In fact, you liked it. You would tattoo it on your heart if you could.

THE END

And there we have it :). Please like, comment and consider following me if you enjoyed it! Feedback is love x.

[lurkinginthesh4dows]

i wanted to re tell a situation that happened irl a few months ago with my partner at the time. This is my first time writing something like this so please be kind and I’m sorry if it’s not great!

It was date night for me and him, something we prioritised to do weekly. That week we had plans to go into the city for dinner. He’d finished work at 5:30 and I got a message from him letting me know that he was feeling really tired and asking if we could do something closer to home tonight. I agreed as it didn’t matter to me what we were doing i just enjoyed seeing him, we settled on doing a movie night and takeout at his apartment. I went over to his at around 7, everything was normal except for the fact he was a bit quieter than usual. This was until after dinner, we got Chinese from a local place. He ordered a spicy dish, which was unlike him as he Dosent tolerate spice too well. Once we finished eating we started to watch a movie, we were cuddled up on the couch but he kept shifting uncomfortably. Not too long later he said he needed the bathroom but told me to just keep watching the movie. He’d been in the bathroom for around half an hour so I went to check on him. “Is everything okay in there?” I had asked, to which he replied “I don’t feel good, my bellys burning and cramping up.” It was obvious the spicy food had upset his stomach. He’d been in the toilet for over an hour at this point before I heard the shower running. Once he was done he came and collapsed on the couch next to me, “the warm water felt nice on my tummy” he said softly. He was still a bit restless as he got comfortable, the rest of the night consisted of me rubbing his belly which I could feel cramping underneath my hand and him whining about how poorly he felt.

P.S sorry for the lack of detail I wasn’t sure how much description people would appreciate, any tips are appreciated! and please let me know if you’d like more irl stories in the future as I have plenty.

[maleyanderecafe]

(Spoilers for Dead Plate) Would you consider Dead Plate to be a yandere vn with that one ending where Vince makes Rody eat his ex?

Dead Plate is actually pretty fun because I actually quite like the type of gameplay of the diner dash genre, and it is impressive they were able to code this into RPG Maker of all things. Unfortunately, the gameplay is still pretty glitchy and majorly difficult to do in later levels because you need to hit a certain amount of quota to get certain endings, and the gameplay is rather difficult, so I had to search up some of the endings instead of completing the game like I usually do. To answer your question... kind of? It's one of those "it depends on your interpretation" kind of things (and probably the creator's twitter).

The story starts out with Rody who is hired to be a waiter at Vince's fancy restaurant after a lot of begging. We see that Rody is kind of a himbo and Vince is very straight laced. The majority of the story comes through the dialogue they have together. We learn that Rody is taking this temporary job to get a really fancy gift for his ex, Manon so that they can get back together again. Vince on the other hand seems to be a famous chef with a specific type of interest in food and is very serious about his job as a chef, to the point of intensity. We see in one of the scenes were Rody comes to take out the trash that he is yelling at one of the cooks for making a mistake, even putting their face over the oven fire to punish them. Similarly, when Rody accidentally knocks over the trash while taking ti out, Vince slaps him. At some point, Rody asks Vince if he can take some of the leftovers after each day, seeing as he doesn't really have much to eat. Vince allows him and each day, he is given a new dish that he leaves in the fridge. In one of the days, Rody interacts with a mouse, only to be served that to him as his leftovers. Rody also periodically gets very strange dreams about being eaten or otherwise prepared for food, often with Vince in them. During one of the days, after work, Rody ends up going into Vince's office, only to find a picture of him and Manon together in a bloody locket. He doesn't seem very happy about this, but proceeds as normal. Near the end of the week, Vince invites him to his house to serve a bunch of guests, which he does begrudgingly. Here we get to know how the other members of the guest know Vince. We also get to know that Rody considers Vince's food to taste not that great and that it in fact tastes "self absorbed", and we also learned that Rody dropped out of school at some point as well. After this, Rody ends up going into Vince's room and getting the fridge key but is promptly caught by Vince. Vince thanks him (sort of) for coming over and tending to his guest.

There are a couple of endings depending on certain criteria but we will go over them best we can.

The first ending happens when you are able to get enough money after doing all the shifts and quits the job from Vince telling him he no longer needs it. Rody, finally having enough money attempts to call Manon so that they can get dinner together, but the line is disconnected. He tries a couple of times, getting more desperate as he calls, even stating that he just wants to hear her voice, but no matter what, the call never connects.

The second ending happens when going into the freezer during the last day. Rody is caught and then promptly tied up by Vince. He is unable to escape, but Vince allows him to attempt to escape. He fails, no matter what and Vince kills him.

The third ending is probably the one that has the most information on the rest of the story, and is likely the most "cannon" ending for this game. It's similar to the second ending where he is tied up in the freezer, but this time he has brought matches to help him escape. He is able to escape the freezer, but finds a plate of meat on the counter. He is then promptly caught by Vince and has to avoid his attack. Missing this will cause Vince to kill Rody and drag him into the freezer. However, not missing will cause Vince to instead tear off Rody's ear and eat it, much to Rody's fear. We learn that the dish is actually Manon served up that Vince prepared specifically for him. We learn through Vince catching Rody a couple of times that Vince actually didn't care too much about his relationship with Manon, but rather the fact that Rody cared about her so much was what intrigued him. In fact, the reason why Vince ended up serving Rody Manon like this was because his critiques always talked about how his food was lack in love but due to Vince's lack of being able to taste, was never able to understand (this is foreshadowed when Rody calls his food bland and "self absorbed"). Because Rody constantly went on and on about Manon, he though that if he served him the thing he loved (Manon), that he would be able to make something that actually had that taste in "love" again (this is why Vince ends up serving the mouse he interacts with in one of the days, as he showed it "love"). Vince also reveals that this isn't something he normally does, as even the chef that he harassed earlier, he only fired and that he would never serve something like that to his customers, only seemingly doing this so he can revive his sense of "taste". Eventually, Rody ends up going into Vince's office and taking a broken bottle, stabbing Vince in the neck. He then ends up spreading oil all over the kitchen and promptly burning the entire building down, as Vince is still alive in it.

Finally, we get a flashback to when Rody and Manon broke up. It seems that Manon was mostly doing it because Rody would end up self sacrificing to provide for Manon, seeing as not only does he live in a shoddy apartment, but barely has enough money or interest in anything else but Manon. Manon seemed to have really loved Rody, but didn't want him to suffer by constantly catering to her, so she left him.

So now for the question of if I consider it a yandere vn, which is... it's hard to say? I don't think that this game was primarily made for a yandere to be one of the main characters (which is what I would more associate with a "yandere vn") but the two characters do exhibit some sort of yandere trait in one way or another.

Vince for instance has a very interesting take on love in terms of love in his food. You can for sure see him as just a person who is very obsessed over how his food taste, but it is also obvious that he has some sort of favoritism towards Rody, whether romantic in nature or not (it seems probably considering that Vince is gay), as all of the dishes that Rody takes home were made by Vince, and that he seems geuinely a bit sad when Rody quits on the first ending, as well as specifically making a dish made of Manon to serve to Rody. This seems to mostly be interpreted as a way for Vince to not only gain his sense of taste back but also to serve someone food with "love", but I can for sure see it as a way for him to make him shut up about Manon since he seems pretty annoyed when she's brought up. Still, he does end up killing him in like two of the endings, one where he is stuck bound up by rope in the freezer and one where he fails to defend himself. The second one can probably be chalked up to anger that Rody didn't eat the meal that Vince prepared him, but I'm not so sure about the other one. I guess it could be a way for him to eat his love like a lot of cannibal yanderes are like.

Rody himself is has a lot of the traits of light yanderes towards Manon, seeing that he basically seems to dedicate everything to her. Manon describes him as not ready for a relationship considering he keeps on trying to give up everything for her and calls his love exhausting, probably referring to how much he talks about her to Vince or to anyone. Even in his apartment, it's obvious that he doesn't really take good care of himself, with everything being very messy, with him burning his food and him sleeping on the couch. He doesn't seem very happy when seeing Manon and Vince together and seems to believe that money is the way that he can get back together with Manon, ignoring the actual reason, which is that when they are together, Rody ends up neglecting himself and just caring for Manon. On the twitter page, it's also confirmed that he would hide a body for Manon if that ever did happen.

Overall, very fun game. Love the aesthetic of the time incorporated into the game and the general character's attitudes. Whether or not Vince or even Rody is a yandere seems to be a pretty hotly debated topic amongst the fandom it's in, so I think it's for sure up to interpretation or until word of god says that they are.

[cwritesforfun]

The Bear: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x Fem!Reader: Anxiety Attacks & Rude Customers

You work at the Bear as the hostess and Sydney is your best friend. You've always had anxiety and things have been more anxious than normal. **TW: Anxiety & Anxiety Attack (YES, the plot has changed.) Y/N = Your Name

Masterlist

Y/N's POV

It's Friday, which means only two more shifts this week left. You arrive 10 minutes early and start putting stuff in your locker. Sydney arrives and does the same next to you while asking, "Feeling any better today?" You answer, "No, I just can't help how overwhelmed everything is making me. I can't shake this feeling." She replies, "You could take a break. You could've called in sick. The other hosts could've covered your shift." You shrug and reply, "I'll be fine." You notice Carmy standing near Sydney, he makes brief eye contact with you before looking away, and he says, "Hey, sorry to bother you both. Sydney, I need to see you in my office after you're ready." Sydney answers, "Yes chef." Carmy then walks off.

You help clean the dining room and run last-minute checks with Richie. When done, service starts and it's going well. It helps you take your mind off your crazy brain. You're currently in graduate school for management with a focus on hospitality and working at the Bear to make a little money to pay tuition. Work and graduate school together are not for the weak. You feel dragged out and worn out and what's worse, you feel so alone and like you have no friends, except for Sydney. It's getting to be a lot.

You hear your name and see a male customer visibly drunk standing in front of you. You ask, "Yes, how may I help you?" He slams his hand on the podium in front of you and says, "This is the worst service I've ever received! First, I ask for medium rare steak and I get it medium. The chef won't make it right and I've already returned it twice. And now, you didn't hear a word I said before and you're the worst host!" HARSH WTF!?!?! Your hand starts to shake a little, you move it out of the way, and you reply, "Sir, I'm ... I'm so sorry you were not pleased with the service you received here today. I can speak to my manager about what kind of compensation I can offer you. If that's alright with you, I will go find them and bring them to your table." The man says, "Fine. Be quick. I have another place to be soon." You nod, ask Fak to cover the host stand, and walk off to the back to find Richie.

You find Richie talking with Carmy and you say, "Richie, I need you in the dining room. A customer is saying that he returned a dish twice and it wasn't what he ordered. He also complained about the service and asked to speak to my manager." Carmy asks, "Does this man look intoxicated and have a stupid mustache that takes up half of his face?" You answer, "Yes chef." Carmy asks, "What exactly did he tell you?" You tell him the conversation word for word all while your hands keep shaking and Richie says, "I'm going to go punch him in the face." Carmy replies, "Not if I do it first. I hate his type of customer and him." You ask, "So, what should I tell him?" Richie sighs and says, "Y/N, return to the host stand and I'll deal with it. Carmy, the only question I have is was it cooked medium rare?" Carmy answers, "Yes, and I don't mess up cousin." Richie nods and says, "Ok." You return to the host stand and you watch Richie go over to the customer. You let Faz get back to his position and you stand behind the podium. You look down at your hand and it's shaking a little bit. You take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. Your knee starts bouncing and you start taking more deep breaths. You have a break soon and if you can hold it together until then, you can try to ride out your anxiety attack on your break instead of at the podium.

You notice Richie escorting the drunk customer out with his friends and the man turns to you, slams his hands on the podium, and says, "I hope this is as far as you get in life! You're the worst hostess I've ever seen!" Richie says, "Sir, if you don't leave right now, I will call the police." The man turns to Richie and says, "I'm leaving, but you will hear from my lawyers." The man then leaves the building. You let out the breath you'd been holding in and sigh. The worst hostess?! I'm not bad. I want to get beyond this in life. What ... what did he mean that his lawyers would be in contact with us? Are you going to need a lawyer? Damn is that going to require a loan? Where are you going to find the money?

You hear your name and you see Richie standing in front of you. You exclaim, "Yeah, uh Richie, what's wrong?" He answers, "I was asking how you were and I can tell you're not doing well. I think you should take your twenty-minute break right now. Faz can cover the front. But, please just go out back for the break. I don't know if that customer is still out front or not." You nod and walk to the back. You push open the door to the kitchen and you walk straight to your locker. You open it and dig through your bag to only find an empty pill bottle. You forgot to bring more anxiety pills. You slam your head on the locker and say, "SHIT!" You leave your head on the locker and start crying. It's all too much.

You feel someone tap your arm and see Carmy standing there. He says, "Uh you can rest in my office for your break if you want to. I don't think you should go outside for your own safety. Richie says the customer is still lingering outside." You nod and say, "Thanks. I'll do that." You put the bottle back in your bag, lock your locker, and go to Carmy's office. You set a timer on your phone for 20 minutes, sit on the ground against the wall, curl your knees to your chest, put your head down, and your arms around your head. You let yourself shake and cry. You try calling your mom, but she must be busy. It'll be over soon.

You hear your timer turn off, you wipe your eyes and take one more deep breath. You leave the office, shove your phone in your bag, and return to the host stand.

Once work is done, you grab your work and walk off quickly without stopping to talk to anyone.

Carmy's POV

After work, I watch Y/N go back to the back and leave immediately. She doesn't even stop to talk to Sydney. Something is wrong. I wish I could help her. I care about her, probably more than I should.

I walk up to Sydney and say, "Hey, uh can I talk to you for a second?" She nods and follows me to my office. I close the door and say, "What I say cannot be repeated to anyone." Sydney replies "Yes chef." I reply, "For the next few minutes, say Carmy." She replies, "Ok Carmy. You're worrying me now." I say, "This is awkward, but... I care for Y/N and I'm not as close to her as I would like. But, I want to be close to her. I ... I'm worried about her. Tonight was tough and I could tell that even before service started, she was stressed about something. I want to check up on her, but I don't know where she lives. I want to bring her something to cheer her up and check on her." She replies, "Wow that was not what I expected for you to say... oh but it was nice to hear that you care about her. I ... um... I don't think I should be giving you relationship advice. But, I do know where she lives and do know that she likes those new caramel tarts that Marcus has been making. If you took her one and just told her that you wanted to drop off a sweet treat, she would probably let you in. She might open up to you, but I know she's going through a lot right now and I don't know her level of trust with you. Just be careful with her please." I nod and reply, "I promise." She gives me Y/N's address and I get Marcus to make a caramel tart for one to go. I slip my jacket on and leave work.

I arrive at Y/N's apartment and park in a visitor spot. I press call next to Y/N's spot in my contacts and wait.

(( Start of conversation)) Y - You & C - Carmy Y - Hello? Chef? C - Hey Y/N, I know it's after work and everything, but you left and I didn't want Marcus' caramel tarts to go to waste. Sydney gave me your address and I wanted to drop one off to you. I just parked in a visitor spot at your place. Is that okay? Can I drop it off? Y - Oh... um thanks for bringing it. I'll be right down. Just stay there. C - Okay. Y - Okay. See you in a minute. (( End of conversation))

Y/N's POV

Carmy is bringing you a caramel tart?! Yeah today is a weird one. Good news is you talked to your mom and finally were able to calm down for the first time in days. A caramel tart also sounds really good. But why is Carmy here?! You're still confused. You need to talk to Sydney about why she gave out your address. He's your boss, but still, what did he say to get her address out of Sydney?

You leave the apartment building and see Carmy leaning against his car looking at his feet. God, he's hot right now. Shit, don't think like that. THAT IS YOUR BOSS! Omg you just realized that he came straight after he got off work and you're in your pajamas with a hoodie over it. Welp at least you're dressed appropriately.

You walk up to him and exclaim, "Thanks for the dessert dropoff, chef." Carmy replies, "No problem and call me Carmy outside of work." You reply, "Ok Carmy." He hands over the tart and he says, "This area is nice. I've never really walked around this area before." You ask, "Really? It's really nice in the afternoon when the sun hits at the park across the street. It's so nice. I recommend going one day." He answers, "Yeah maybe I will... Y/N, how are you doing after that customer tonight? I know he said some hurtful things to everyone, but especially to you." You point to your right and ask, "Could we sit on that bench to talk about this?" He nods and follows you over there. You open the tart and take a bite. This is so good. Wow. You exclaim, "That customer tonight was rude. You know what was said. He was drunk and not in his right mind. I was very anxious all this week and that just was the last straw for me. It broke me. I didn't have any more of my anxiety medication in my work bag and my mom didn't answer my call. I usually talk to her to calm down or I take meds and sit by myself. I had neither. When I got back here, my mom called me and I took my meds. I am feeling a lot better mentally actually." You take another bite of the tart and Carmy says, "I'm glad you're feeling better. I get anxious too. I still can't control my anxiety. If you ever feel like that at work again, please tell me. You can sit in my office anytime you feel that way and someone can cover your spot while you take a break. I mean it. My office door is always open for you. And if you need someone to talk to, whether it is me or Sydney, I'll make sure one of us can be there for you." You reply, "Thank you Carmy. That is very thoughtful of you." He yawns and says, "I better head to my place. I still have to get up early tomorrow. Thank you for opening up to me and sharing something so vulnerable." You reply, "Thanks for listening and for the tart." He smiles and says, "Anytime, Y/N." You ask, "May I give you a hug? I feel like this conversation and gesture call for one?" He answers, "Yes you may." You both hug before he leaves in his car. Part Two and Part Three... coming soon

Masterlist