#he will mop and do the dishes and hang the laundry every single time because he knows it gives me the icks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heich0e · 3 years

Note

If u r still accepting prompts, can u write a fluffy college roommate oikawa short (if u want) 👉👈

oh oh OH roommate tooru who is absolutely hopeless but is Trying His Best™

shrunk oikawa tooru/reader (haikyuu!!) warnings: a little itty bit en ess eff double yew, mostly chaos

"Oikawa?" you were almost scared to call out his name into the quiet apartment, the stillness settled over the quaint two bedroom not far from your university campus too delicate to fracture with a noise too loud.

It was never this quiet, save for late at night when Tooru would sit on the floor of his bedroom and watch game footage on his laptop, noise cancelling headphones snug over his ears. Sometimes he'd watch in the living room, you'd caught him once or twice on your way back from a midnight trip to the kitchen for some water, but usually he holed up in his room when he got this quiet.

But his bedroom door was open.

His shoes were at the door, his coat on the coatrack, his slippers gone from their usual perch just beside the mat that demarcated where entryway met hall.

He had to be home.

Low and behold, a familiar mop of brown hair peeked around the corner, remorseful eyes on you.

"Hey," you smiled in greeting, dropping your backpack on the ground as you stuffed your feet into your slippers. "How was class this morning?" you asked him. He always got home earlier than you did on Tuesdays.

"It was good," Tooru responded, looking away nervously.

You froze.

Tooru 1) was never nervous, and 2) never responded to any question you asked him in less than 200 words.

"Is everything alright?" you asked him, taking a step further into the apartment.

"Wait!" he said, holding his hands up to stop you -- and you paused again.

You looked at him blankly, your stomach dropping.

"I, uh, got home from class this morning and had some free time to kill, so I decided to do some cleaning," Tooru said, reaching up and ruffling his already tousled hair even further.

You held your breath.

"And I happened to notice that you had..."

Not laundry. Not laundry. Not laundry.

"... some laundry that needed to be washed."

You groaned.

"Tooru!" you whined. "We've talked about this!"

And you had talked about it. About a million times, in fact, since the two of you had moved in together four months prior.

Moving out of his family home had been a real leaning curve for Oikawa, who had been doted on by his mother and older sister for most of his life -- and had been too busy with volleyball to, apparently, learn any practical life skills that didn't involve smacking a ball really hard -- and had been forced to adapt quickly to taking care of himself. You, as his roommate, had suffered by extension.

Burned dinners, broken dishes, clogged drains, and endless issues with laundry.

Clothes flying off the drying rack on the narrow balcony that Tooru hadn't pinned down safely enough, leading to the two of you having to go door to door to collect the various garments that had landed on your neighbour's balconies thanks to the wind (and kissing a few of your favourite pairs of socks goodbye.) A single red towel thrown into a load of lights that led to every white piece of clothing either of you owned being tinted a light shade of pink until you got your hands on some bleach and salvaged what you could. And countless articles of clothing fitting you a little bit worse because they had somehow found their way into the dryer.

"What is it this time?" you asked sombrely. You'd already lost more than a few good men (garments) to Tooru's laundry blunders, and you shuddered to think about what might have happened.

"Well, I was doing a load of darks..."

Bleach?

"...and my clothes weren't enough to fill the machine so I just thought that maybe you might have something that needed to be washed..."

Did he overfill it and floor the apartment with soap suds?

"...and I happened to notice your work dress hanging up on the back of the bathroom door..."

You froze.

"Tooru," you said quietly. "You didn't..."

"I swear I checked to see if it said not to put it in the dryer, just like you told me!" Tooru threw his hands up in defence, his expression pleading.

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

"Show me," you said quietly, the word muffled into your palm.

Oikawa sighed, shoulders slumping defeatedly, waving you down the hall to follow him into the living room.

The slinky black cocktail dress you wore to work as a restaurant hostess (that already toed the line of being indecent at the best of times) was haphazardly laying over the arm of the sofa, beside a pile of neatly folded dark laundry. Clearly he'd been examining the damage when you had first walked through the door.

You picked it up.

It had shrunk, that much was clear. But the extent to which it had been affected would be impossible to tell until you actually put it on.

"Tooru, I have to work tonight," you said, shooting him a miserable glance.

"I know, I know," he said apologetically. "That's why I washed it! I was just trying to help."

He pouted, wringing his hands as you examined the dress. It was too late for you to call your manager and tell her you'd need a new one -- it usually took at least a few days to get a replacement. And if you showed up in something else they might send you home, which you couldn't allow because you needed every dollar from your paycheque to go to your bills.

You sighed.

"I'll go see how bad it is."

You shuffled off to the bathroom, dress in hand.

And oh, it was bad.

Your eyes scanned your body as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, mortified.

The hem hit only a few inches below your ass, the material clinging to every curve and line of your body like a second skin. To make matters worse, you were wearing one of your more padded bras that day, and the girls were making themselves very well known as they spilled out over the top of the plunging neckline.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your misery.

"How is it?" Tooru asked from the other side of the thin door.

Your throat was dry.

"Bad," you replied quietly.

"I'm sure it's fine," he assured you, "just let me see."

You paused. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were just being hard on yourself because it was your own body, and it wasn't something you were used to seeing.

You turned the handle of the door, pulling it open slowly.

Oikawa's eyes widened immediately when he saw you, his gaze tracking down down down your body, before slithering all the way back up -- catching on certain parts of you as he went.

You watched him swallow hard.

"You can't wear that." Oikawa shook his head, covering his face with his hand.

"Is it that bad?" you asked, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

He turned away from you for a moment, letting his hands drop to his sides where they curled into fists.

"You can't wear that," he repeated again.

"Tooru, I have no other option!" you groaned. "I know it looks awful but I can't just-"

"You don't look awful."

You paused, your sentence cut short.

Tooru turned to face you again, a fierce blush burning across his cheeks. "You can't wear it because I'm gonna go insane knowing that you're out there, looking like that, with a bunch of strangers looking at you."

You blinked.

"What?" you asked him quietly.

He sighed.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what, Tooru? That you're bad at doing laundry?" You were utterly lost at what he was alluding to.

"That I like you!" he replied exasperatedly, and both of you froze after he said it -- staring at each other with equally wide eyes.

"You like me?" you asked him quietly, perplexed.

Tooru's brown eyes watched you carefully for a moment, his jaw setting firm. The blush on his cheeks was still present, but it had settled slightly -- though he was sure to keep his eyes on your face.

"Yeah," he took a careful step forward, as though waiting to see if you were going to slink back. "I like you."

His hand reached up, resting against the curve of your neck. You wondered if he could feel how hard your pulse was racing under his palm.

"And I'm gonna have a heart attack if you don't take that dress off soon."

You blinked. Once, then twice. Two slow flutters of your eyelids as you processed the events of the past few moments.

"I have to wear this to work tonight," you said after a moment, and Tooru deflated slightly, stepping away and letting his hand drop with a somber nod.

You caught his wrist as it fell, and Tooru's eyes snapped to you curiously. He watched as you guided his hand down to the (shortened) hem, pressing it against your thigh.

"But how about you take it off me first?"

#oikawa x reader #oikawa drabble #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru #liv got mail #writing #hq drabble #hq writing

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spaceskam · 4 years

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Follow up to this ❤️ special thanks to ul1tsa on ao3 for idea!

ao3

Warnings: talk Jesse and his bullshit & bombs

Michael waited a few weeks before he got drunk and lost that thing in his brain that kept him from doing dumb shit.

He went to the cabin and unlocked the door with his key. He didn't usually use keys, he had one in his brain, but there was something about having a key to Alex's place that felt special. Besides, he needed to make sure that's actually what it was. He pushed the door open and tried the light switches. The bulb on the porch was out. He'd need to get a new one.

He slowly navigated around the space, making a list of tiny things that were bothersome. He didn't even know if he was welcome here... But why else would Alex give him a key?

It was a two bedroom and had a bathroom that connected the two rooms. The kitchen was small and it didn't have a washing machine or dryer. The living room was old. None of it looked like Alex. What exactly would Alex's space even look like? He'd figure it out.

He went back outside to the wrap around porch, walking around it slowly and holding onto the rail. There were a few old boards that could stand being replaced. There was a window unit in each bedroom. He didn't figure it'd be too hard to change that for a central air system.

Michael went back inside and towards the kitchen. The refrigerator was unplugged, so he moved it to plug it back in. The cabinets were empty aside from some old canned beans and a single pan. He went back to the living room.

The couch was even more uncomfortable than he remembered, hard and a little dusty. He sat down anyway and rubbed his hand over it. When he laid down and breathed in, it didn't smell like Alex. It was unfair. Cruel, even.

He laid there anyway, lulling himself to sleep with the memory of Alex's skin.

It became a thing.

When his mind got chaotic and he needed something to do with his hands, he'd go to the cabin. He replaced boards, cleaned, hooked up a washing machine and dryer. After a couple months, he bought a comfier couch from an old lady who was selling it. He took down the hunting memoribillia and tried to find things that Alex might like. A couple trinkets bought during a trip to the nearby reservation, a painting bought from an artist who showed her work at the renaissance festival, and a hand-woven blanket from an older lady who traveled all the way from the Navajo Nation to sell the two she made a month at the market–and then vowed that he would never pay that much money for anything ever again.

He started spending more time there than he spent at his airstream and, after passing out on the couch after spending his entire day off trying to set up a central air system, he decided it might be worth buying food. So he did. He bought a few things, added three extra locks to the front and back doors, and brought his thrifted silverware and dishes from the airstream to set up a place for himself there.

It was slowly coming together. It felt like a home. He bought a broom.

He didn't tell Isobel or Max about any of this, they didn't need to know about Alex. Instead, Michael kept it to himself and spun lies about where he was whenever they asked questions. Usually they didn't. He was Michael, after all, it wasn't that odd for him to drop off the map.

He eventually started fixing up the bedrooms which were a little harder. It looked too much like a middle aged man stayed there and that was absolutely not the look he was going for. He got new bedspreads and sheets from a discount store and matching bedside tables from the dump that only needed some sanding and some finish to make nice. A new showerhead made out of things he found around the junkyard fit nice too. He played with the water heater until it stopped needing to be manually reset every 60 gallons, sanded and put finish on the dresser, built a new bed frame and headboard out of scrap wood, and fixed the janky doorknob of the closet. It looked livable now.

Alex's birthday came around and he didn't have a number to reach him, so Michael did something a little stupid and a little sentimental and found himself at a thrift store. He bought a set of two identical rocking chairs for the back porch. He almost threw them out three times, but he decided on leaving them there and just ignoring them until he stopped feeling like they were too much.

There was something about the cabin as it came together that both felt like home and like it was far too sacred to make a mess of. He kept it cleaner than he'd ever kept a place before. The dishes were always done, his dirty clothes always ended up in the laundry basket, never let himself get drunk enough that he'd be compelled to make a mess, and he swept and mopped every Sunday. His shampoo and body wash didn't leave rings in the bathtub.

It was nice.

It was about a year into renovating and six months into practically moving in when he found a broken telecision in the junkyard that someone had dropped.off. Curiosity got the best of him and he found himself trying to make it work in his free time. There was a strange sense of pride when he plugged it in and it turned on, the picture only slightly tinted blue and the sound as perfect as the speakers would allow. He wrapped it up in a couple blankets and loaded it into his truck, stopping by a thrift store on the way to the cabin to buy a few interesting DVDs for 50¢ a piece. He couldn't remember the last time he actively sat down to watch a movie for fun.

It took about thirty minutes to mount it above the fireplace, but eventually it was up and he found himself smiling as he put in a shitty mid-2000s straight-to-DVD teen movie. It played easily and he smiled wider. If there was one thing fixing up the cabin did, it was make him smile. It felt good to fix things up.

Michael grabbed a beer that was beside the leftovers in the fridge and settled on the couch, kicking his shoes off and pulling a blanket onto his lap. His phone was on the coffee table and charging with an alarm queued up to wake him up for work in the morning .It was the most normal he'd ever felt and he never wanted to give it back.

And it seemed like he wouldn't have to until the door creaked open.

Michael shot to his feet, standing like he was caught red handed as Alex stepped inside. He was still in uniform, a duffle bag hanging off his shoulder. His eyes were wide with wonder, though, as he looked around at all the shit Michael had done. It was the first time he regretted it.

"I'm sorry," Michael blurred out, catching Alex's attention, "I should've asked. I shouldn't have changed shit and I shouldn't have stayed here, I'm sorry, I'll go."

"Guerin, relax," Alex said, smiling in a pure way that Michael hadn't seen since they were seventeen, "I knew you were staying here."

"You did?" Michael asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he said, carefully putting down the duffle bag and closing the door, "Electric bill?"

Michael's eyes widened. "Oh, fuck, I forgot about that, I'm so sorry."

"Guerin," Alex laughed, "Stop. I'm happy you're staying here. I don't mind, really."

Michael swallowed and tried to believe him when he said he was happy. Because Michael was happy. Happy to be here, happy to see Alex, happy to see where tonight led. He tapped his hands against his thighs as Alex took another look around.

"I didn't expect all this, though," Alex breathed.

"It's, uh, not all of it. I can show you around?" Michael offered awkward. Alex smiled wider and nodded.

So Michael gave him a tour of his own house. He showed him the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, and how the locks on the doors worked. Alex put the duffle bag in the closet and gently touched Michael's shirt that was hanging in there like he didn't believe it was actually there. Michael stood with his hands clasped behind his back and rocked up on his toes as Alex felt over the headboard he made and the blanket on the bed. He shook his head, looking over at Michael.

"I can't... I can't believe you did all of this," Alex said, looking at him. He wasn't smiling anymore. Instead, he looked like he was about to cry.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Michael," he cut him, laughing softly as he came closer. He touched his arm, his hand sliding up as he moved in closer and draped his arms around Michael's neck. Michael rested his hands on his hips. "I love it so much. But it's so much. How much did you spend? Let me pay you back."

"No, don't. Most of it's stuff I fixed from broken stuff or I got for super cheap, I barely spent $300 over the last year," he said. He purposefully left out what he spent on the more decorative things, those could simply be gifts from all the birthdays he missed.

"Still," Alex said, swallowing hard as he reached out and touched Michael's cheek. Michael leaned into it. He hadn't realized how successful he'd been at distracting himself from missing Alex until then. "This is all so nice. I-I don't even know what to say. I didn't expect this at all."

"I mean... I just didn't like that it looked like an angry old man lived here, I get enough of that with Sanders," Michael said. He was struggling to see what about the dumb little things made Alex emotional. In fact, they were selfish. He wanted to pretend Alex wasn't a million miles away. That was as selfish as it got. But Alex laughed and kissed him and Michael stopped feeling guilty.

"Thank you," Alex gushed against his lips, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Everything about this was completely contrary to Alex's last visit home. It wasn't confusing or blurry and he felt safe. He felt loved. He clung to Alex and kissed him hard, trying to quench the desperate, overwhelming feeling in his stomach.

"I gotta take a shower, I'm gross from that fucking plane and I need to be clean for the things I wanna do to you," Alex breathed, pulling away just a little. Michael nodded, going in for another kiss anyway. Alex giggled and leaned back. "It'll be quick, I promise."

"I worked all day, I need one too, so let me join?" Michael asked. Pleaded, really. He didn't want to let go.

"Good idea," Alex said, "Do you have a security system set up?"

"It's next on my list," Michael said honestly. Alex grinned, cupping his cheek in his hand and slowly starting to pull him to the bathroom.

"Good boy."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything and you know it."

Alex huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Michael loved seeing him like that. His hair was slightly past regulation, laying on his forehead and smashed against the pillow. After a long shower and stumbling into bed, they'd finally wore themselves out. Now they were in bed in Alex's house.

Their house.

Alex shifted to face him, face a little too serious consider the circumstances. Michael slowly faded to seriousness to fit it. Alex reached out, fingers grazing Michael's cheek and down his neck, over his shoulder, down to his torn up hand. Michael very quickly got serious and watched him pull his hand up to his lips.

"It's embarassing," Alex said.

"Since when have I been known to judge you?" Michael asked, stretching his leg out to wedge between Alex's. Alex parted his knees just enough to lock their legs together.

"I just... I've been thinking about my dad," Alex whispered.

"Uh oh," Michael said, trying to lighten the mood. Alex rolled his eyes.

"I've been trying to work through all my issues, I guess, since I realized you were staying here. I want this to work, you know?" Alex said and Michael was all ears, "And I think I didn't realize he was a bad guy until I saw him do this."

"What do you mean?" Michael said before he could process if that was a smart thing to ask.

"Like, I spent so many years thinking that my mom was the bad one because she left and at least my dad was there. It didn't matter if he beat me as long as he was there," Alex explained. Michael didn't really understand, but, with all the things they felt that overlapped, it was fine if he didn't understand that one thing. "And I... Even when I rebelled, I just wanted his approval. Part of me still does. I think I always will. Which is stupid because all the attention he gives me is solely on his terms, especially when it's positive."

"He's not worth it."

"I know," Alex said, smiling slightly before he kissed his hand again, "Logically, I know. But illogically... I'm still trying to remind myself he's a bad guy. It just took me so long to see it."

Michael didn't say anything, simply nodded and let Alex touch him as he needed to keep himself calm. Whatever kept him in bed, kept him in their space. He didn't know how long Alex was going to be home and he was too scared to ask, so he didn't.

"But, I'm trying," Alex sighed, looking at him in the eyes. He was so intense with every look and sometimes Michael felt compelled to look away, but not in moments like this. Never in moments like this. "I don't want to mess this up by trying to please him."

"I don't wanna fuck up either."

"I think we're on a good track, though," Alex smiled, tightening his legs and tugging Michael impossibly close. Just where he wanted to be. "Off topic, but I'm hungry."

Michael laughed softly and was incredibly thankful for a subject change. "I have leftover pasta in the fridge if you want that."

Alex smiled ridiculously wide for something as meaningless as day old pasta.

"Leftovers," Alex repeated in a whimsical tone, "You're gonna make a good little househusband."

"Shut the fuck up," Michael laughed, shoving his shoulder. Alex laughed right back and moved to get up. Michael followed suit without question. There was no way he was leaving his side.

"Let's eat."

Michael woke up to his alarm and an empty bed.

Panic struck him and he thought about calling out for Alex, but his voice wouldn't work as if subconsciously knowing the answer. Terrified, even. He slowly pushed himself out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. Dread continued to pool in him as he tiptoed out of the room and into the empty living room. But it smelled like coffee which was definitely a good sign.

It took him only a few seconds to see that Alex was out on the back porch in one of the rocking chairs. His heart seemed to skip a beat or two or four. The sun hit his shirtless body perfectly and he seemed to fucking glow. Michael had to take a few deep breaths before he stepped outside.

""Morning," Alex hummed, looking over at him. His hair was still a mess, but he looked better rested than Michael had seen him in a long time.

"I thought you left," he said stupidly. Alex shook his head.

"I can't really sleep in anymore and I didn't wanna wake you up. Sorry if I scared you."

"It's okay," he said. And it really, really was. This was the perfect sight to see in the morning and it made him angry at Sanders for employing him. "I, uh, I have to go to work. I can call in, though."

"Don't," Alex said with a warm smile, "I'll be here when you get home."

Michael felt his whole body heat up at that. Home. Alex would be here. He wasn't sure he would actually believe it until he saw it.

"Yeah, uh," Michael said, clearing his throat, "How-how, like, how long are you..."

"Michael," Alex said, standing up and walking closer. Michael was going to melt if he kept saying his name. Alex kept his mug firmly in one hand and touched his cheek with the other. "I'm home for a month."

"A month," Michael breathed. Alex smiled and nodded, leaning forward to kiss him. It sounded like a short period of time, but it would be longest consecutive time they'd ever spent together. Ever. It sounded fake.

"So, go to work. I'm not going anywhere," he promised. It was hard to listen, but he did.

And you know what? Alex was home when he got there that afternoon.

"Where the fuxk are you living?"

"Airstream."

Michael spoke casually as Isobel stood by his feet as he worked on the car. He knew it was wrong to lie to her about something like this, but, fuck, he was barely sure this was real himself. He'd woken up to Alex for three whole weeks and he only had one left. He wasn't wasting that time and he wasn't bursting his domestic bubble.

"Stop lying to me! You haven't lived at the airstream for months now," Isobel argued, "You're never here at night and if I call you, it takes you for fucking ever to get to my house. Where are you staying?"

He sighed, trying to ignore her more and more. It didn't work very well as she stood her ground and basically decided she would follow him when he left work if he didn't tell her.

"It's a cabin outside of town, okay?" he caved, deciding on a half-truth. He didn't need to say it was Alex's.

"A cabin?" Isobel asked skeptically, "And you just haven't told me or shown me? What if something happens? I need to know where to find you, Michael."

"Fine, fine, okay?" he sighed, "Just, give me a week. It's a fucking wreck."

"You promise?" she asked. He nodded. "Good."

If he couldn't keep his home a secret, he could at least keep Alex to himself for a little while. He could deal with that later. In a week, his house would be empty. In a week, his bed would be empty.

He could deal with her then.

The bed was a lot of colder than he remembered.

January 30th, 2017 at 21:45.

Or, at least that's when Michael found out. The actual event happened on the 26th, a bombing injuring 30 Airmen and killing 3. There wasn't an article about it and he didn't receive a call. Instead, when he was stalking one of the mothers of a guy in Alex's group, he saw she posted about the bombing and saying her son was one of the lucky ones and thanking God. Michael nearly had a breakdown.

He spent the next hour calling Alex and when that didn't work, he started calling down a list of military hospitals. He found him eventually at Landstuhl and had to lie about being his brother to get him on the phone along with a warning about him being drugged up. But at least he was alive.

"Alex?" Michael whispered. Once again, he found him scared that Alex wouldn't answer. But he's spent an hour panicking and he wasn't about to just not talk.

"Huh?" Alex said, voice hoarse. Michael closed his eyes, bowing his head. It was small, but it was something.

"Hey," Michael croaked, doing his best not to cry. He wanted to go see him. He couldn't. It didn't work that way. As nice as it was when they pretended they didn't have a care in they world, they did have a care. His name was Jesse Manes. Not to mention the giant alien hole he hadn't even told Alex about... "You scared me."

"Sorry," Alex said. Michael breathed in deep.

"No, it's okay. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he whined, "I wanna see you "

Michael looked up, blinking away tears as quick as he could. It was difficult, but he managed it. He could cry later.

"I know, I wanna see you too. Maybe you can come home soon and I can," Michael suggested. Alex hummed a noncommittal tune. "So, uh, what all happened? Did you get, um, get burned or something?"

"A little," Alex said. Michael swallowed harshly. "Hey, you know what they did? They took my leg."

Michael's breath caught in his throat.

"What?"

"My leg," Alex repeated, that sort of dazed tone in his voice, "Couldn't save it, had to go."

Michael didn't know what to say. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to this. There wasn't a handbook. Instead of letting himself react like he was the one who lost something, he fed off of Alex's tone.

"How do you feel about that?" Michael asked. Alex hummed.

"My foot itched all day and there was nothing to scratch."

Michael huffed a laugh, rubbing the hell of his hand beneath his eyes to try to get rid of the tears.

"Well, if that's the worst of it, sounds like you're doing good."

"They gave me so many drugs," Alex told him, yawning halfway through. Michael smiled and nodded even though he couldn't see him. "I'm tired."

"Do you want me to let you go to sleep?" Michael asked. Alex didn't answer and that felt like an answer enough. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Mhm."

"I love you so much," Michael said. He didn't think about it, he just said it. It needed to be said.

"Mhm."

Michael huffed another laugh again, "Goodnight, Alex."

He ended the call and looked around the house that he'd spent over a year of his life renovating. He tried to picture Alex in it again, a version of Alex who might need accessibilities he didn't think of when he did things the first time around.

And now he had new projects.

Turns out it was pretty easy to widen doorways.

It took Michael about two days to widen one Interior door, ripping off the door frame and sawing through the wall itself. He widened them all from 30" to 38" in width and felt thankful that the exterior doors were all double doors. He didn't even know if Alex would be using a wheelchair, but it felt like a safe option regardless.

He ripped out the tub from the bathroom, replacing it with one with a little more traction on the bottom. He installed bars all around the bathroom and a wooden seat that was attached to the wall so it could fold up or down when he needed it.

Again, he found himself taking a lap around the porch to check for any loose boards or nails. He fixed any that even might've been questionable. It gave him the idea to add ramps beside the steps to the porch. He built them and jumped on them as hard as he could go make sure they didn't break.

It helped when he got angry–ngry at something, angry at nothing, angry at everything–to put things back together again. It made him feel useful even when phone calls consisted of Alex being short with him and hanging up. He was focusing on PT and learning how to use a prosthetic and Michael knew it was frustrating. He could hear it in his voice even when he refused to talk about it. He always refused to talk about it. Some days he refused to talk at all.

He refused to let it out distance between them.

On extra bad days, Michael would drink and Google random accessibility ideas. He knew Alex. As sweet as he thought his renovating for him was, he knew Alex would be too stubborn to ask him for help on anything. He wanted to make it so he didn't have to as much as possible. Open spaces, all but gluing the rug down, a bench at the foot of the bed, a chair in the bathroom, a stool with wheels in the kitchen, sanding down the sharp edges of the kitchen table, dumb shit that might help maybe once.

He was trying because Alex was trying. They still wanted to make this work.

And they were going to no matter what.

#malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #rnm fic #my fic #verse: just one normal night

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foreficfandom · 4 years

Text

Mystic Messenger - Little Bad Habits (Dating MC)

– Zen –

Litter. Everywhere. Not permanently, he’s not that much of a slob, he does do chores regularly and stuff. But he just ... tosses his clothes and cigarette wrappers and other things literally everywhere, and leaves it for ‘later’.

Since he’s so anal about his health, he kinda disrupts your own eating habits by coincidence. Grocery shopping can be a challenge when he’s forbidding all desserts and snacks from the cart even though he’s not gonna be eating any of it.

He's bad with technology, so good luck trying to get him to do stuff like answering emails, or paying bills online, or even using apps like Yelp or Uber. You end up in charge of most software in the house.

It’s sweet that he texts you with random pickup lines and pictures three times a day, but damn it I keep thinking it’s something important I’m expecting, and instead it’s just one of your bathroom selfies with a heart drawn in the fogged up mirror.

Zen, can you not have these bad tepid takes like ‘women look better without makeup’, or ‘being the man of the house is the mark of being an adult’, or ‘those who couldn’t work for every penny they’ve had don’t deserve it’? No, Zen, let me pout you’re being an idiot right now.

– Yoosung –

AXE bodywash, AXE bodyspray, AXE shampoo. He uses it because it’s ‘manly’? But god it’s so strong and synthetic-smelling. He needs your help in moving away from this brand.

He’s also prone to clutter, even more so than Zen. It takes a while before he stops leaving all his laundry on the floor and takes that extra step in hanging it up, or folding it into his dresser. And good luck trying to get him to wash dishes every day, rather than leaving it overnight.

It’d be nice if you were more enthusiastic about my interests, Yoosung. You may not enjoy visiting Sephora as much as I do, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t abandon me at the doorway to hang out at GameStop.

He does a bunch of these little roommate mistakes like using up all the hot water, or not refilling the Brita, or always leaving the empty toilet paper roll for you. Yoosung, you gotta learn how to live with another person!!

He’ll always be prone to jealousy, which doesn’t cause a problem most days, but if you ever become a fan of some idol or celebrity, be prepared for some pouting, maybe even a cold shoulder or two. He can’t even side-eye the TV like he does catcallers or people on the street, so he’s twice as frustrated.

– Jaehee –

She’s bad at recycling. She didn’t even do it for a long time, and only started recently. Even now, she’ll toss random plastic bits into either container, paying no mind to whether it’s recyclable or not. She won’t rise milk jugs or tin cans before throwing them away.

Now that her hair is growing out, she sheds it everywhere. RIP the shower drain, the carpet, the furniture. The two of you gotta invest in rubber mops and lint rollers just for her hair.

She’s a very clean and organized person, except for her makeup, which all sits in a dusty old bag with old leaking bottles getting over everything, brushes and sponges she doesn’t wash, and literally every product is old and expired. And then she kisses you with her lipstick on and causes an acne breakout.

When she settles down to watch TV while relaxing, she likes to turn her flatscreen up waaayy loud, which is fine unless you’re working on something and the noise is just so distracting. Jaehee, I’m trying to do the books on the cafe, you gotta turn Zen’s musical down!

When she gets colds, she sometimes hides it as long as she can, which makes everyone around her get colds too. She may have been able to avoid a couple of boring sick days, but now you’ve got a sore throat. Thanks, honey, I love you too.

– Jumin –

He kept calling you in the middle of the day with full expectation that you’d answer every single time, especially during the beginning of the relationship. Jumin, I’ve got my own work. It’s okay if I miss a message or two, I’m not your employee.

He has a physical trainer, dietician, and physician regime that he follows rigorously, and he kinda expected you to do the same even if you didn’t want to. Even now, he brings up a nutrition plan once and a while, even if you are totally not interested in following a food calendar. “It’s for your health, love,” well, Jumin, my health calls for a big bowl of barbecue chips.

He’s surprisingly clingy in bed. The two of you fall asleep in the middle of the mattress, and by morning you’re hanging on for dear life at the edge of the bed while Jumin is pushing as close to you as humanly possible. More than once you’ve been rudely awakened by falling out of bed and hitting the hard marble floor.

Jumin, stop entering the bathroom while I’m on the toilet, or in the shower! I close the door for a reason. No it’s not like I wanna avoid you, I just wanna shit in peace

He sometimes makes plans without your input, which works for surprises, but not so much for dinner at the Galaria and he’s already downstairs waiting for you while you’re totally not ready.

– Saeyoung –

All that Phd. Pepper has to go somewhere, and it tends to escape out of both orifices, so to speak.

No joke, the boy is gassy. And he teases you with it, like making himself fart right when you decide to sit next to him on the couch just to hear you “EWW!!” and squirm away. You’re lucky you’re cute, 707.

Even when his work schedule becomes more normal, he still doesn’t keep a regular schedule. He does stretches of days where he stays up until 4am, then he spends the next week sleeping 14 hours a day. It can be hard to spend time with someone who’s either dead tired when you’re awake, or super hyper when you’re about to sleep.

He’s very particular when it comes to his cars. You can’t eat or drink in them, not even gum. You can’t put your feet anywhere except squarely in the footrests, god forbid you absentmindedly rest them against the dashboard. No picking at the leather, no scratching the carbon fiber, you can pet the soft velvet but you’re on thin ice.

Saeyoung, can you shower more, please? You smell like old ham and your hair isn’t doing so good either. Yes, I will give you a kiss, but only if you hop in the bathtub right now.

– Saeran –

Like his brother, his sleeping schedule is wack. He’ll spend several all-nighters and then clonk out for a long while, too tired to do anything. And not because of work, either, he just doesn’t have a good sleep schedule.

Loves to cook, hates to clean. Leaves all the dirty dishes, pans and pots, and countertops for as long as humanly possible, which means someone else is usually the one stuck cleaning it all up. It gets better when the household arranges duties for everyone so Saeran’s in charge of meals while another cleans up afterwards, but even then it can still get dirty.

Sweats in his sleep, which is further exacerbated by some of his medication. Sleeping next to him means sticky skin and wet bedsheets. He has to wash his pajamas every other day.

You gotta hide your sweets or else Saeran’s gonna steal them. He stress-eats during his worse days, and besides that he’s just got a monster sweet tooth, so he’ll finish his entire pint of ice cream and steals yours, too. Then he finds your hidden package of gingersnap cookies and oops, there goes your snack.

He hates having his hair cut, it’s a weird sensory experience for him and he gets anxious while having to sit still for so long. He won’t go to the salon so he tries to cut it himself, which hogs up the bathroom for two hours and leaves shed hair all over the sink. Once you start helping him, he feels better about the experience.

– Jihyun –

He cannot be trusted with the laundry. He shrinks all the knitwear, keeps forgetting to clean the lint tray, and all his whites are no longer white. You gotta be in charge if you don’t want your wardrobe to end up like his.

Jihyun, I know you grew up with money but when the toilet is clogged you don’t call the plumber, you take this plunger and try to unclog it yourself with bleach. And no, we don’t need a new refrigerator just because the light bulb burst.

He’s surprisingly tough to sleep next to in bed. You eventually get used to it, but for a while you kept getting kicked by his long limbs, or getting punched by a flailing arm. And he drools, too, sometimes onto your hair.

Why. Do you. Clip your nails on the bed. Ew, stop that.

He’s prone to getting caught up in hipster food trends, like superfood phenomenons. Jihyun, you know that apricot pits are poisonous, right? I know the co-op recommended them but I gotta feel like that’s a marketing gimmick. Please don’t eat them, put those down.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger imagines #mysme #mysme zen #Yoosung Kim #jaehee kang #jumin han #saeyong choi #saeran choi #jihyun kim

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softboywriting · 5 years

Text

Welcome To The Pack | Mendes Triplets Series | Part Nine | Shawn’s Ending

Summary: You’re a human who has moved in with the Mendes triplets as their newest housemate. You’ll have to learn to navigate life with werewolves, college classes, and your feelings for each guy. [fluff]

Word Count: 2.4k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Shawn has a game against the college's long time rivals, the Cavaliers. He's nervous, been pacing the house all day. It's easily the biggest game of the season. You've been trying to get him out of his head all day, telling him it's just a game, that his team is incredible. You know he's stressed because he's the captain. It's on his shoulders to lead his team to victory.

"Do you wanna go somewhere with me?" Shawn asks around noon after hours upon hours of fretting.

"Like where?" You ask, curious to see what he has in mind. Anything would be better than his fretting.

"The diner. I uh...I used to have this tradition of going for milkshakes before games when I was in the local league as a kid." Shawn rubs his neck. "I stopped a few years back because I started getting into working out and it didn't fit in with my diet and...it's a stupid reason really. Anyway. Will you go with me?"

"Sure." You push your laptop off your legs and get up to grab your shoes. "Are you paying? I don't have a ton extra this month and-"

"I got it." He offers his hand and you take it to balance yourself as you pull your boots on. "It'd be rude to make you pay when I invited you out."

"Well, you'd be surprised. Some guys are real jerks about that."

Shawn wraps his arm around your shoulders. "Some guys are dicks. Well, most guys, but you probably know that. I try no to be a dick."

"You aren't Shawn, no worries. Let's go, I could use a chocolate shake and some fries."

___________________

At the diner you and Shawn sit in the far corner booth away from everyone else. It's a little drafty due to the old windows but it's fine. Shawn notices you shivering despite your sweatshirt and peels off his hoodie for you, passing it over the table.

"Thanks." You put it on and it smells like fresh laundry and his cologne. It's the best combination of floral linen scented detergent and heady rich sandalwood. You aren't sure if he's gonna get this thing back later.

"Oh man, they have a cinnamon roll shake for the holidays." Shawn points to the menu where it's listed. "I have to get it. Are you getting chocolate? Because we could share?"

"Yeah, and fries. I like to dip the fries into the shake."

"You're a freak."

"Me? Take a look in the mirror Captain Canine."

Shawn's jaw drops and you smirk. "You’re ice cold. That is such a low blow."

"I'm teasing, I figured you could handle it." You reach across the table and poke his chest. "A big wolf like you, you could take a few jabs to the ego."

He chuckles and pushes you hand away. "Mmm and I can serve them just as good."

"Oh? Dish it up then."

He shakes his head. "I won't do that to you. I care about you too much to insult you mindlessly. I will draw the line at fries in a shake though. Inexcusably freakish."

"Don't knock it until you try it."

The waitress comes over and takes your orders, giving Shawn a few looks that make you feel a little uncomfortable, like she’s sizing him up to prey upon later. She walks away with a hairflip, a giggle and a very unnecessary squeeze of Shawn's shoulder. You watch her like a hawk as she disappears into the kitchen.

"You alright?" Shawn asks, hand waving in front of you.

"Yeah. Just...thinking." You turn your gaze to him and he leans his head on his chin, a single floppy curl hanging down between his eyes. He's due for a trim, he's starting to look more like Peter with that mop of hair. "You need a haircut."

"Uh uh. I wanna grow it out." He runs a hand through it and pulls it all the way up between his fingertips. "I want a sweet man bun."

"Oh no, Shawn no."

"Yes! Come on. I'd look so hot." He gathers his hair and twists it up into a tiny pouf between his fingers. "You love it."

"I do not. You look like a doofus. The headband for working out is ridiculous enough."

"Awww you're not nice. I love my headband."

You roll your eyes and he laughs. "Whatever you wanna do I guess."

"I'll cut it. I promise. It's getting in my eyes. I can't wear the headband under my helmet anyway, it's not comfortable. Maybe tomorrow I'll make an appointment. Anyway, what were you staring at the waitress for?"

"Nothing."

"It was not nothing. Are you jealous she was flirting with me?"

You roll your eyes but you don't deny it. You are definitely jealous.

"You are." Shawn coos teasingly. "It's alright, I get jealous too sometimes."

"Of what?"

"You." He chews his lip and before you can ask him why the waitress returns with your orders.

You smile at her and ask for two extra straws, clearly stating you'll be sharing both milkshakes together. Shawn reaches across the table and threads his fingers between yours. He smiles at the waitress and then you. The waitress looks down and she seems to take the hint that her flirting is not welcome.

You don't want to jump back into the jealousy conversation afraid that you might be wrong about Shawn's intentions. He doesn't seem to be playing games and he obviously had no problem showing the waitress he wasn't interested. But still...the lingering fear of rejection remains.

"So, are you still worried about the game?"

Shawn sips his shake and nods. "Always. Nerves means you care. If I wasn't fretting about it I'd be too cocky and that's not how you win games. I've got nerves, but they're good nerves."

"Well, I'm glad we could do something to help." You dip your fries into your chocolate. "Wanna try?"

"Gross. Sure." Shawn says as he opens his mouth and closes his eyes. "Do I have to finish it?"

"Yes." You giggle and pop the two fries in his mouth. "Enjoy it."

"It's weird."

"Says the guy who must drink milk when we have spaghetti."

"Okay, that's a real thing though!" He covers his mouth and swallows. "I am not the only one."

"Fries in shakes is a thing too. Ever heard of Wendy's frosties and fries? It's a thing there."

Shawn rolls his eyes and you steal his shake in retaliation. He tries to get it back but you start sucking it down. "Hey! That's- alright then!" He steals your fry basket and starts eating them quickly like a crazed man.

You end up snorting while laughing causing milkshake comes out of your nose, in turn making him laugh as well and gag on the fries. The two of you break out laughing so hard you're crying. You don't care if people stare at you for making noise. Shawn's smile, his eyes, his laugh, everything in that moment radiates pure love. Maybe you're not wrong about how he feels. Maybe...maybe you should let him know how you feel.

____________________

You've done all you can to get Shawn to shake the nerves and before you part ways at the entrance to the ice rink, you give him a hug. He's got all his gear in a bag over his shoulder and he drops it in favor of holding you tight.

"You're gonna do great." You say, face smushed into his chest. "I promise you're gonna beat them. I'm your good luck charm remember?"

"Yeah," he laughs, pressing his nose into your hair. "I've won every game you have come to."

"Mmmhmm. And you'll win this one."

"I hope so." Shawn pulls back and smiles down at you. "I'll try not to look for you so much."

"You better not. I'll stay in the same spot."

"Actually," Shawn drops down on one knee and digs in his gear bag. "Here." He pulls out a jersey and hands it to you. "I can find you with this on."

"Don't you have to wear this?" You ask, taking the lump of fabric. You hold it up, turning it over to see MENDES printed on the back.

"It's my practice jersey. I know I gave you one for my first game but that one didn't have my name on it."

You grin, pulling it on over your sweater. "How's it fit?"

Shawn steps forward and bites his lip. "Looks good. Turn?" You do as he asks and he runs his hand over the name on the back. "Looks real good on you."

"Yeah? Feels kinda big."

"I meant the name."

"Oh." Your heart skips before going into overdrive, realizing he is flirting.

Shawn moves back around to face you and he's pink cheeked. "I have to go."

"Good luck." You lean forward to kiss his cheek and he cups your jaw as you pull away. For a moment your eyes meet and he looks like he's about to return the kiss. "Shawn?"

"Yeah?"

"You gotta go."

He guides your head up as he leans down to kiss your forehead. "I know." He pulls back and grabs his bag. "Oh, one more thing, earlier at the diner I wanted to ask you because I wasn't sure but...was that a date?"

"Do you want it to be a date?"

A little smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he looks just a bit more pink in the cheeks. "Would it be okay if I did?"

"Yes." You smile, looking down at his jersey on your chest. "Go, we can discuss this later."

Shawn groans and looks to the locker room doors and back at you, as if torn between playing the game or spilling his heart out more. "But-"

"Go!" You laugh and shoo him away. "We have forever to talk, but the game is now."

"Alright alright." He turns and heads for the locker rooms, glancing back only once and you give him a stern look that makes him chuckle.

Your stomach is doing backflips and the second he's out of sight you let out a little jump of excitement. He is interested. He is. You aren't wrong. You grip the front of his jersey and take a deep breath before heading into the seating area.

______________________

The game is incredible. It's a hard back and forth between the two teams. It comes down to the wire, the last shot being scored by Shawn with only six seconds left on the clock. The arena's cheers were deafening, everyone screaming and shouting for the team and Shawn. You're so proud of him, and when he looks for you in the crowd, you can only smile at him until your face hurts.

In the hall post game you wait, back against the cold bricks while Shawn and the team get undressed and ready to face the fans milling around in the hall surrounding you. Tonight is going to be a massive party, you already know of several going on. No doubt Shawn will want to go to some. You're just waiting to see him off, talk to him a little about earlier and tell him how amazing he played.

Two girls approach you, it's two of the ones from his first game that he declined invites from. They don't look too friendly.

"So, are you like Shawn's sister or something?" The taller one, a blonde, asks rudely.

"No. I live with him. We're housemates."

"Right...so did he give you that jersey?"

You look down at his huge jersey over your sweater. "Yes? I'm wearing it to support him and the team? What about it?"

The blonde rolls her eyes. "We figured you were dating him because usually the guys give their jerseys to their girlfriends. No idea why a girl like you would catch his eye though."

"It's none of your business if Shawn and I are dating, but thanks for that unwanted input."

"You-"

"Hey," Shawn's voice comes from behind the girls and they turn around, giggling over him. He's got on a fresh pair of clothes and his hair is damp from the showers. "You ready?"

"Y-yeah." You clear your throat and push down the angry tears that are threatening to bubble out from the rude girl. It's not that you want to cry, it's just that when you get angry it happens.

Shawn wraps his arm around you and walks you away while ignoring the other girls as they begin to attempt to talk to him. "Are you sure? You seem upset."

"I'm fine." You touch his jaw that's got a bruise starting on it, inspecting his soft skin. "You played amazing. I couldn't take my eyes off of you."

Shawn stops just outside the exit doors. He smiles and presses his cheek into your hand a bit. He leans down close and suddenly it feels very intimate. "I couldn't have done it without you." His eyes flick down to your lips and then back up. "You're my good luck charm after all."

"Yeah."

"Earlier today...were you flirting with me?" He whispers softly, head ducked close to you.

"Yeah, a little."

"If you're up for it...I'd like to see where this goes."

Your heart races and he grins big. "I'd like that."

"Good." He leans in, nose touching yours. "Can I?"

Your voice is barely a whisper but you manage a clear, "Yes."

"You're sure?"

You ball your fists in his shirt and nod just a little bit. With that he presses his lips to yours. He's soft, lips warm and plush. Your eyes fall closed and you can hear people shuffling out the door nearby. Shawn smiles, teeth pressing against your lips.

"I've been wanting to do that forever."

You open your eyes and they meet his, pure golden brown. "Me too."

Raul and Peter pull up in Shawn's Jeep and honk at the two of you. Shawn let's out a snarl, baring his teeth at his brothers for rushing him.

"Let's go! Parties are waiting!" Raul yells from the passenger side window.

Shawn lets out a soft growl, focusing on you instead of his brother. "Can I do it again?"

"Please?" You giggle and he leans in, kissing you and smiling against your lips. "Let's go."

"Mmm, I can’t wait to show off my girl who helped me win the game tonight." Shawn says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and heading to the Jeep.

"’Bout time," Peter laughs as you crawl in the back seat with Shawn in tow.

Raul looks back and smiles, shaking his head. "Hey gave you his actual jersey? Shit, he's serious."

"Damn right." Shawn growls, tugging you in and pressing his nose to your hair. You wrap your arm around his and he grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles. You smile, not able to hold it back. You couldn't be happier.

End

______________________

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed this and reblog to support and encourage myself and fellow writers. Next part coming soon! - A

Custom header per part made by the incredible delicateshawn

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

#shawn mendes #raul mendes #peter mendes #mendes triplets #mendes triplets fic #shawn mendes fic

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 36

Warning: brief mention of attempted suicide, SMUT

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @ocfairygodmother

Every time she closes her eyes it's there. Dhaka. The dirty, crowded streets; a sea of pedestrians and vehicles. Rundown tenement buildings and hotels; broken or missing windows, rusted balconies and faded, chipped paint. Narrow, cluttered alleyways and over populated laundries and the odd restaurant and cafe. Vendors peddling their goods among the chaos. It had been loud; a level of noise that she hadn’t anticipated. A continuous drone of honking horns and revving engines and incessant chattering and laughing. Yet at night it would grow eerily quiet; sundown and the call to prayer bringing a silence...a stillness...that was almost breathtaking.

There are so many moments...images...permanently ingrained in her mind. That hotel room with its filthy walls and its water stained ceiling; the stark white and pristine bed sheets an odd and stark contrast against the dirt and grime. Torn and faded curtains covered the windows; or least attempted to. The balcony was rotting and weathered; cracked contract cement, wobbly and dent...and in some places missing...railings. It had been a shit hole; too much mismatched and broken furniture shoved into such a small area, a kitchenette that boasted a stove with only one matching burner and a barely functioning bar fridge and only one set of dishes and cutlery. The toilet had to be fixed every time you flushed it and the shower nozzle was barely higher than she was tall, and there never seemed to be any hot water or pressure to it. Yet it hadn’t been the worst accommodations she’d ever bunked down in; a paradise compared to some of the conditions she’d been subjected to while in the Middle East. And after things had taken an intense -yet not so surprising- turn, nothing around them had mattered anymore; able to temporarily escape the reality of their surroundings and the uncertainty of the situation. And they’d seek out that escape -and the profound pleasure it brought with it- as often as possible.

She can see Gaspar’s. Luxurious by Dhaka standards; a beautiful, well kept home just outside of the city limits. It should have been a relief; getting behind that iron security gate and those four supposedly welcoming walls. Finally off the streets and away from the violent and gunfire and the unpredictability; no longer having to watch your back every single second. But it had made things worse; she should have been grateful and somewhat relaxed and able to let her guard down. But the uneasiness had lingered; the absence of any true sigh of life within the hole eating away at her even as she stood in a hot shower and washed away all the dirt and the blood. There was a wife but no actual evidence of one; only a single toothbrush in the holder by the sink, nothing by hygiene products geared towards me, no housecoat -feminine or otherwise- hanging behind the door.

He’d been an intimidating man; not as tall or as muscular and defined as Tyler, but big and burly and strong in his own right. Putting on a good show with the welcoming smiles and the friendly chatter, but always watching her out of the corner of his eyes. Calling her ‘the girl’ or ‘that girl’ even when she was in the room. Rolling his eyes or scoffing every time she attempted to speak. He didn’t trust her; in the same way she didn’t trust him. There was no doubt that he felt that, which in turn made his hostility towards her even stronger.

And when he’d confronted her in that darkened, upstairs hallway, the threat he presented had become all too terrifyingly real. Accusing her of being cunning and manipulative; willing to say or do anything to guarantee that Tyler would get her out of Dhaka alive. Even if it meant ‘whoring herself out’ to him. That in the end -once they were out of Bangladesh and all was said and done- she’d leave him even more damaged and broken than he already was. Telling her that he knew what she was up to; he recognized the deviousness and the sneaky little games she was playing. Even congratulating her on being able to do it so well and for pulling it off as long as she had. He’d tried gaslighting her: she was only “slowing things down, putting an even bigger target on his back. You’re going to get him killed. How are you going to feel then? Knowing he died for you. Will you even care?”. Admitting that he was impressed by just how evil and calculated someone so “small and cute and innocent looking” could actually be. And there was nothing she could have said or done to change his way of thought.

She was the enemy and she needed to be eliminated at all costs.

“The kid AND the girl.” She can actually hear it in his voice, see the vehemence and determination on his face. The same way she can still see his sneer and the darkness in his eyes in that upstairs hallway when he’d reached out to touch her hair and…

Ovi. Ovi opening the door across the hall. The harsh whispers and Gaspar’s threats and lewd, degrading comments jarring him from rest. All of fourteen years old with that mop of hair and those huge dark eyes and that scared, anxious face. His life turned upside down in the blink of an eye because of his father’s transgressions. He could have easily ignored it; listening to every word that was said while cowering under his blankets. But he hadn’t. He’d cared enough to put a stop to things; growing bolder and braver as each second of that long and trying day ticked away. Afterwards...when the thread had been neutralized...she’d made the kid take a vow of secrecy. That they’d never speak of that moment again and that he’d never...under any circumstances...breathe a word of it to Tyler. And he was still loyal; holding onto that secret even seven years later.

Bile rises in her throat. He has that effect on her. Gaspar. Even the mere mention of his name makes her feel nauseous. It’s worse now; knowing just how vile and evil he could be behind that fake smile and his promises to help. It had probably been his plan all along; he’d probably gone to Asif the second he finished talking to Nik. Seeing it as an easy payday; convinced that there was no way Tyler would turn down the deal. Why wouldn’t he give up some random girl he’d been casually fucking and a drug lord’s kid? Five million is a lot of money in your pocket, and when combined with your freedom, it would be ridiculous to turn it down. After all, that's what Gaspar would do. No questions asked. He wouldn’t think twice about getting rich off of someone elses pain and misery. And weren’t all the mercenaries like that? At least in his eyes? Ruthless. Merciless. Savage. What were two strangers compared to that kind of money? An easy choice, in his eyes.

She shouldn’t be surprised. That he’d stoop to that level. And there’s vindication to be had in the fact that he’d hadn’t gotten away with it. A guilty pleasure in knowing that he’d gone to his grave...and hopefully the deepest recesses of hell...without seeing a single cent of Asif’s money. He hadn’t known Tyler as well as he thought he had; he’d never expected him to both turn down the offer and fight to the death -if need to- to stop Gaspar from getting his hands on her and Ovi. It had been a fitting end; sitting on those steps in his house, watching and listening as he took his last breaths. She’d felt nothing; not even the slightest bit of remorse or pity. At least not towards him. She’d felt it for Ovi; just a kid and being forced to pull the trigger and having it on his conscience for the rest of his life. And she’d felt it towards Tyler; knowing how hard it hits when you’ve been betrayed by someone you thought you could trust. Gaspar would have killed him. His loyalties had switched to Asif and with Tyler out of the picture, the entire ten million would have been his to keep. It’s a bitter pill to swallow; saving a man’s life and having him betray you THAT badly. All Gaspar had cared about was the payout. Not the three lives he would have destroyed in the process.

The guilt returns with a vengeance. Appalled that she’d even asked what she had earlier in the day. If he’d considered...even for a split second...accepting the deal. The one person that she’s always trusted...who trusted her in return...being subjected to a question that makes her nauseous to even think about. The only person in her life who has ever made her feel safe; giving her an overwhelming sense of safety and security that no one else had ever managed to do and she’d never realized she wanted OR needed. Who’d been so willing to die for her that day on the bridge and who would do so...without hesitation...even now. The last person who should have ever faced a question like that. She’d seen the hurt in his eyes; how deeply it had cut him. Far deeper and far more painful than any physical injury he’d ever received. The fact she’d even think that about him...see him in that way...doing more damage than the actual words themselves. And she’d regretted it the second she’d said it; setting the way his eyes darkened and his expression hardened and his jaw tightened. He rarely got that way with her; not even during the most intense fights they’d had over the years. His temper could be volatile and his words cutting and harsh, but his face...his demeanour...never did THAT. It was cold and brutal. Scary, even . And that’s something he’s never made her feel. Fear.

Esme has no idea why she asked that question in the first place. She doesn’t think that way about him; never has. Even seven years ago there had been no doubt in her mind that he would have done anything and everything in his power to keep her safe. To get her the hell out of Dhaka. And that time spent on the Sultana Kamal Bridge should have been all the answer she needed. When she sat there listening to him choke on his own blood; having to put her fingers through the bullet hole in his neck to keep him alive. That should have been enough. All the proof she needed. He HAD been willing to die for her. He almost did. On the bridge and in the hospital and even all those years later when he’d tried to take his own life because the demons of the past were just too much to bear.

She pushes those thoughts out of her mind. Of all the things she’s seen and all the things she’s heard, nothing cuts deeper as hearing the person you love -more than life itself- tell you that they don’t want to live anymore; that you’d be much better off without them. No amount of reasoning with enough to convince them otherwise. No amount of tears and begging and pleading enough to get them to change their mind. And when you’re the one that finds them when they've gone through with their attempts…

A flood of tears threaten and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to hold them back. Nothing good ever comes out of dwelling. Whether it be about Dhaka or Gaspar or all of the other battles that have been fought between then and now. And she rolls over onto her side; watching the way his body rises and falls with each steady breath and the slivers of moonlight that bathe his skin. His back towards her as he sleeps facing the hall. It’s been the same way for almost seven years; his insistence on facing the door in the same way he won’t sit in a public place with his back towards an entrance. Always ready for any possible threat that could come their way; knowing they stand a better chance of survival if he’s the first person someone encounters. It gives them both a sense of security; him confident in his strength and skills, her confident in his willingness and ability to protect her.

***

Moving closer to him, she uses her fingertips to slowly and methodically trace the large Nordic compass tattoo that sits between his shoulders. In time moving down to each scar and blemish that mars his skin; those little imperfections that make up everything unique and beautiful about him. He hates that word; despises it being used to describe anything about him. As if it somehow takes away from everything he’s been through; dulling those edges and diminishing his strength and toughness and ‘softening’ him. It’s ludicrous but understandable. It’s what happens after years of witnessing abuse and toxic masculinity at its finest. He’s nothing like the man he’d grown up with; aman he’d been expected to respect and emulate. And despite that harsh bringing and the nerves of steels and the hardness...the roughness...that comes from years in the military and then as a mercenary, he’s breathtakingly human.

Behind that tough as nails facade and those jagged edges, he possesses a staggering amount of compassion. There’s a kindness in his eyes; if you look close enough. It’s none more evident then when he’s with his children: patient and calm, very rarely raising his voice and most certainly never raising a hand. Both face and tone gentle and those strong hands with their scars and calluses and busted up knuckles capable of so much tenderness. Whether it be fixing Millie’s hair or patching up skinned knees or tending to busted lips and bloody noses. Even a husband...and especially as a lover...the sides to his personality are vastly different; always knowing what she craves. Whether it’s the need for him to be aggressive and dominant or soft and gentle. He just KNOWS. Before she even has to ask. Able to read it in her body language and see it in her eyes; reacting to the situation and becoming exactly what she wants and needs him to be. He’s complex and sensitive; far more than other people realize.

Her lips replace her fingers; pressing feathery kisses across his shoulders and onto the nape of his neck and along his hairline. A hand sneaking under the arm that rests lightly against his side, palm slowly travelling over her chest and down to his abs and lower; the hair that makes up his ‘happy trail’ wiry and rough against her fingers.

“Baby…” his voice is a low rumble; groggy from sleep. “...what are you doing?”

“Admiring.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Really late or really early. Depends how you look at it.”

Sighing, he reaches for his phone as it charges on the nightstand; not objecting when her hand slides even lower. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I'm not allowed to admire my husband at three in the morning?”

“You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

“I was. Until my brain caught up with my body and realized you were getting ready to jerk me off.”

“I wasn’t even close to doing that. But now that you mentioned it…” her hand continues its descent, smiling against his shoulder when he groans deep within his chest as her nails lightly drag along his hardening length before taking it in her hand; warm and thick and solid against her palm.

And his own hand slips beneath the sheet that slits low on his hip; much larger and stronger as it covers hers, showing her exactly what he needs. Her mouth slowly travelling over his shoulder and the back of his neck; lips soft, tongue moist, teeth lightly nipping. Loving the power she has over him; the way his breath quickens and his body trembles ever so slightly and his cock grows full and hard in her grasp.

“Hey…” she protests, a dramatic pout on her face when Tyler rolls over to face her.

“Not like that,” he says, and kisses her. Even his kisses have a different side to them. Right now they’re soft and languid and tinged with the lingering remnants of sleep. A hand wandering as his lips down move to her neck slipping up the front of her tank top and cupping one of her breasts; thumb passing over the nipple as he licks and sucks at the sensitive flesh at the side of her throat.

It’s all too much; the scrape of his beard against her skin, the way he alternates between gently caressing the nipple and firmly punching and twisting it. The ache between her legs is profound; almost unbearable. And her eyes close and a whimper escapes her lips and one hand tunnels in his hair and the other reaches between them to work on his cock once again. Enjoying the sounds that escape him and the way his body tenses and his hips jerk towards her.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he says, and then uses his size to his advantage and pushes her onto her back.

“That’s the point.”

“I said not like that.” He kisses her again; deeper now, more insistent. Demanding. A hand grabbing a hold of her hip and the fingers pressing into her flesh as he encourages her to open her legs. A long, low groan tumbling from his mouth as he slips into her with a slow, deep thrust.

She sighs, eyes fluttering closed as he moves inside of her. Each thrust fluid and intentional; every push causing a whimper to escape her lips. Legs falling open and bending at the knee; that simple change in position pulling him in even deeper. He feels so good; those hungry and needy kisses, the way the muscles of his back move against her, the bulge of biceps and forearms as he bears his weight on outstretched arms. And when he breaks out of a particularly deep and demanding kiss, she reaches up to grab a hold of his hair; yanking his head back and then trailing the tip of her tongue along his throat, over his Adam’s apple and up onto the underside of his chin. Tasting the sweat on his skin, feeling the trickle of his beard. And when she pulls his bottom lip between her teeth, something unravels inside of him. Movements become faster. Harder. Spurred on by the noises she makes and the way her nails rake down his back.

“Make me cum,” she whispers. “Please...Tyler...make me cum.”

He reaches between them, the tips of two fingers toying with her clit. Until he can feel her shuddering against him and her hips lift off the bed; kissing her in order to stifle the cry that she emits. And he continues to move inside of her; pushing through the contractions and the convulsions of those inner muscles.

“Let me finish in your mouth,” he says, eyes searching hers for permission. And when she gives a nod of consent, he pulls out and rolls onto his back. Fingers of both hands tangling in her hair as she kisses, lick, and nibbles her way down his body. “Fuck…” the word leaves him in a low, drawn out groan when she lightly sucks at the tip before fully taking him between her lips. And it takes all his will power to not grab a hold of her head and fuck her mouth. Letting her do all the work; eyes closed and chest heaving, hands gently resting in her hair. “...feel so good…” he praises. “...feels so fucking good.”

Her hand curls around his shaft; working together with her mouth to drive him closer to the edge. Soon it becomes impossible to bear and he can no longer hold back; hands tightening in her hair and his hips rising off the bed, forcing her to take him even deeper. Fucking her mouth win the way he he would her body while buried inside of her. Until he’s coming hard and fast, pushing down on her head until the tip of his cock hits the back of her throat; long, hot spurts of semen that she accepts willingly, swallowing every last drop. Mouth and hand working together to drain him dry, leaving him a panting, quivering mess.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” he breathes, and then cocks open an eye as she kisses her way up his body; her eyes sparkling, a prideful grin on her face. “Yeah...you SHOULD be proud of yourself and things you can do.”

“Maybe you’re just easy to please.”

“It’s not that. Trust me. It’s you. All you,” he pushes a hand through her hair once again, lightly tugging on her dark tresses as he pulls her down into a long, deep kiss. And she settles her body against his; head against his shoulder and their chests pressed together, her legs resting between his.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Tyler says, and she laughs. “Normally I’d kick your ass out of bed for waking me up at three in the morning, but I think you had a pretty good reason.”

“It didn’t go the way I planned,” Esme admits. “You were supposed to let me do all the work.”

“That NEVER happens.”

“Because YOU won’t let it happen. Because you’re stubborn and you won’t ever just lie back and let me spoil you."

“I don’t know, I remember being laid up after knee surgery and you pretty much had to do everything. And by the way, I know it’s been three years, but you did an awesome job. My dick says thank you.”

She grins and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Your dick is very welcome. He’s lucky I like him so much. I can’t stand most dicks. Yours? He’s alright.”

“That’s because all the other dicks you had didn’t know what they were doing. Mine? Legend.”

She laughs at that, and he drops a kiss on the top of her head; palm slowly running down her spine and settling at the small of her back. Fingertips grazing over the tattoo that resides there; remembering how she’d been so embarrassed when he’d seen it for the first time. A ‘tramp stamp’ she’d called it, though he still doesn’t fully understand the phrase. It had been a drunken mistake during her first year at college and she’d always regretted it. But didn’t mind when...in Dhaka...he'd pinned her to the bed face down, hands tightly holding her hips as he traced the tattoo with the tip of his tongue.

And he closes his eyes. Prepared to settle back into sleep with her slight, small body pressed against his. Knuckles brushing along her spine.

***

“How well did you actually know him?” Esme asks.

Tyler’s eyes snap open. He’s slightly disoriented; on the edge of sleep when she spoke. “Who?”

“Gaspar.”

“Why are we talking about him? Especially now. Right after we made love.” He doesn’t use that term often; mainly because their ‘go to’ has always been straight up fucking. As crude and harsh at it sounds. Very rarely were things slow and gentle in the bedroom.

“How close were you guys? Acquaintances? Friends? Best friends?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Why are we talking about him?”

“I’m just curious.”

“It’s almost four in the morning,” he points out.

“When you say he was your friend, do mean you were friends with him like you are with Koen and Rata, or…”

“A friend as in we worked some jobs together and we’d go out for beers afterwards or we’d meet up if we ended up in the same place. Not friends as in I’d known him my entire life or I’d go to his place and visit during my downtime or send him text messages and Christmas cards and all that shit.”

“So basically a work friend,” she concludes.

“Yeah...basically. Why are we talking about him again?”

“And you saved his life, right?”

“Once. Why?”

“How? How’d you save his life?”

“Esme, what the hell? Why are we talking about this? Is it ‘cause of what I told you today? That’s why I DIDN’T tell you before. Because I knew it would bother you. I knew you’d dwell on it and ask questions I don’t have answers for. If I’d known this would happen…”

“Humour me,” she says. “I want to know. How you saved his life.”

Tyler sighs. “He went into Honduras to do a job for some mobster type. Ended up fucking the guy’s wife and getting caught. So Nik sent me in there to get him out. He was a couple of hours away from a pretty painful and gruesome death when I got there.”

She scoffs. “You should have left him there.”

“Well what’s the saying? Hindsight is twenty-twenty? If I’d known then what would happen in Dhaka, I would have have told him to go fuck himself and bought a front row ticket to watch his execution. But…”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. What happened that night. I know you blame yourself for taking Ovi and I there. But it’s not like you knew he was going to fuck you over.”

“I knew something wasn’t right. When I talked to him in the kitchen. There was something weird about the way he said ‘how’s the kid and the girl?’. And then talked about leaving to go and kiss his wife and it seemed...I don’t know...like it was bullshit.”

“There was no proof there was a wife.”

“He was wearing a ring,” Tyler points out.

“That means nothing. Lots of people wear rings on that finger. We never found out for sure. You know, it'd probably be pretty easy to look up if there really WAS a wife.”

“Why would we bother?”

“Just for curiosity’s sake, I guess.”

“Who gives a shit? It’s been seven years. If there was a wife, I’m sure she realized pretty quickly how much better off she was without him.”

“I still don’t understand how he could do that to you. Especially after you saved his life. Betray you like that.”

Tyler shrugs. “Money’s a hell of a motivator.”

“You never took the money.”

“I’m not a psychopath. He obviously was. And I don’t want to talk about this again. The whole deal thing. Once was enough. And it didn’t end well.”

“I didn’t mean it. What I said. It was a stupid fucking thing for me to ask. I don’t even know why I DID ask it. It’s like it just came out.”

“Baby,” he runs a hand over her hair and kisses her temple. “We already talked about this. We don’t need to do it again.”

“I feel like complete and utter shit about it. For hurting you like that. I never...ever...would do anything to intentionally hurt you. And I’m a shit human being for doing what I did and I feel terrible and…”

“Esme, stop. We’ve been through this. You said you were sorry, I accepted it, we moved on.”

“You should be angrier.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Because I know how I’d feel if you said something like that to me. If you all but accused me of being like Asif or Gaspar or guys like Mahajan Senior. It would kill me inside. And I’d be so pissed and hurt and…”

“And I was and now I’m not and you need to drop it. It’s fine. You apologized, we talked about, what more is there? I’m not angry. Am I hurt still? A little. But I’ll get over it. I’ve said plenty of mean shit to you when I’ve been mad, yeah?”

She nods.

“And you’ve always forgiven me. Every time. So let it go. Please. It’s over.”

“I am sorry,” she tells him. “That I said it. Because I’ve never…ever...thought that about you.”

“I know. Is that why you woke me up? To apologize in a different way?”

“Maybe.” she admits. “Did it work?”

“I’d already forgiven you. So you didn’t need to go to all the trouble.”

“You mean I could have saved all the time and energy and spared my jaw the hard work and pain?”

“You’re being dramatic. You do it willingly so it can’t be THAT bad.”

“I do it because you like it. And because I like doing it for you. And if I’m being honest, it kinda turns me on.”

Tyler grins. “You ARE dirty.”

“It’s easy to be dirty being married to the likes of you. You’ve got skills. Mad skills. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to marry you in the first place”

“Yeah? What are the other reasons?”

“It’s a whole bunch of things,” she says. “The way you can always make me laugh even when I’m having a really shitty day. How you always compliment me even when I know I look like crap. How you always look at me like I’m the most amazing woman in the world. Because you’re a great kisser and you’re nice to look at and you help make beautiful babies.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“And mostly because I love you and I thought I’d never love anyone THIS much. Especially after Mark and all his bullshit. I didn’t think I’d ever get married again. And then you came along and that was it. Everything changed. I often wonder how things would have turned out if we met differently. Do you ever think about that?”

“Sometimes,” Tyler admits.

“I always have it in my mind that if you’d met me at my cousin and Gs’ wedding, would things have gone down then? If I hadn’t been overseas…”

“I would have fucked you in the coat check room for sure.”

She raises her head and frowns.

“Just saying. And you wouldn’t have wanted to know me then. I was an even bigger mess than when we DID meet.”

“Okay...so if not there...where?”

“I dunno. I always imagine that you would have been here on vacation and we would have run into each other that way.”

“On the beach?”

“Sure. That works.”

“I so would have been checking you out,” she giggles. “All the muscles and the tattoos and those eyes and that hair…”

“I didn’t always have that hair, you know.”

“Every scenario I ever think of, you have that hair. Humour me. Would you have checked me out?”

“I’ve seen you in a bathing suit. So, yeah. I would have checked you out.”

“It weird to think about,” Esme muses. “A different version of us. A normal version. A normal Esme and a normal Tyler. With normal jobs and normal lives. I think you would have made a good cop. Or a firefighter. Or even just stayed in the military.”

“I always think you would have made a good teacher,” he says. “Or a nurse. Considering all the times you’ve had to take care of me. And how good you are at giving sponge baths.”

She grins. “Would still have fallen in love with me? If I’d been normal?”

“How normal?”

“If I’d been a nurse or teacher. Same personality, just a different career.”

“In a heartbeat. What about you? Would have fallen in love with me if I’d just been some normal guy?”

“Hmmm…” she ponders. “I don’t know…”

Tyler scowls. “You know what…?”

“I’m kidding,” she laughs, and presses a kiss to his lips. “I would have fallen in love with you a million times over.”

Smiling, he places a kiss on her temple and wraps both arms around her, holding her tightly and securely. Until her breath softens and evens out and he knows she’s asleep.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #Chris hemsworth character

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theaceace · 5 years

Text

Me? Writing more of the Stan and Richie roommates AU that would eventually become a fix-it for IT chapter 2? It’s more likely than you think!

“So how did you two meet?”

“Well, we were both part of the same hypnosis study group, and once you’ve watched a man believe he can carry an eighties power ballad non-stop for twenty minutes, you feel obligated to be his friend.”

Richie knows a lot about Stan. He knows that he doesn’t have any allergies except mild hay-fever; that he loves birdwatching (and also birdwatching, which always gets Richie a cluck of the tongue and a smack to the arm); that he freaks out when Richie tries to do the dishes for them; and that he has an irrational fear of black holes. Riche knows all of these things, and doesn’t remember learning any of them.

Except the dishes thing. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that.

He doesn’t know where Stan grew up – doesn’t know which high school he went to, or the name of his first pet, or if he had any other friends.

This might have been more concerning, if Richie had known any of those things about himself.

Mostly, they try not to think about it too much. If sets off a series of sparks and stabbing pains behind Richie’s eyes whenever he really tries to remember anything more than vague impressions. He thinks his parents loved him – it feels distant but warm to think of them even in the abstract. He’s sure he’s known Stan for years – they came to New York together, there’s no way Stan would just up and move with someone he’d just met. Sometimes there’ll be a smell, or a voice, or a colour, and his mind flinches away from it so suddenly that Richie is sure there must be a memory there somewhere; but it’s never anything clear. Just notions, and guesses, and dreams.

So many fucking dreams.

It’s the reason Richie’s awake at three in the morning, hunched over the narrow and unsteady stove in the corner of the apartment they generously call the kitchen. He’d woken a sweaty mess with the echo of someone screaming in his ears and his hands clenched tight around his sheets like he’d grabbed for a weapon.

From experience, he knows there’s no getting back to sleep after one like that. So here he is, frying strips of beef for fajitas to last them the next two or three days.

It’s not that Richie likes cooking, because he doesn’t. At best, he’s ambivalent to the whole thing; at worst he sometimes stands in front of the fridge for an hour, staring at the ingredients and trying not to scream because he can’t, he doesn’t know why but he can’t. So no, he doesn’t like cooking.

But Stan doesn’t just hate cooking – he’s so fucking bad at it.

Richie doesn’t really understand. Stan is fastidious in everything he does; he follows recipes to the letter, unlike Richie who just throws things in a pot and prays. And yet, the only thing about Stan’s cooking that can be relied upon is that it’s borderline inedible. So, Richie cooks, and Stan refuses to let him wash the dishes, because he doesn’t do it right.

Up until he’d moved in with Stan, Richie reckons he didn’t know there was a wrong way to wash dishes. He doesn’t remember of course, so he can’t be sure, but that doesn’t seem like the sort of thing past-Richie would know.

People are usually surprised that Richie can cook well enough to keep them both alive and free of vitamin deficiencies. To be completely honest, Richie is surprised by it as well. He’s gradually getting the hang of laundry, and he can’t keep a consistent cleaning schedule, or tidy his room, like, at all – but he can do this. Of all the adulting skills he could have spontaneously developed, he thinks this is a pretty good one.

It’s always a bit of a shock, though, when people ask him why he cooks with so much fresh fish, or vegetables, or lean meat when they can barely afford to keep the lights on, and he finds himself rambling about malnutrition among young adults. The voice doesn’t sit right in his mouth – the intonation is all off, the machine-gun rattle of consonants around his mouth nothing at all like his own lazy drawl. There are statistics that he doesn’t remember when he tries to think of them later, and he doesn’t know how or when he learned any of it.

There’s a muffled thump from the next room – Richie leaps half a foot in the air and spins around with his heart pounding wildly, tongs held in front of him like a weapon. He slumps back and only just avoids burning himself on the hob when Stan appears in the doorway.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself – he rubs his forehead and turns back to the stove so he doesn’t have to see the way Stan’s mouth twists.

“Sorry, wrong Jew,” Stan says back, easy as breathing. It’s an old joke, and Richie doesn’t know how it started. “Couldn’t sleep again?”

Richie grunts; they’re both quiet for a moment. “You?” He asks finally, watching the meat sizzle.

There’s a soft rustle that Richie knows is the sound of Stan pushing his hands through his mop of dark curls. A floorboard creaks, before he throws himself down into one of the lopsided chairs at the table that serves as dinner table/writing desk/pillow when Richie is really tired.

“Couldn’t move again,” Stan whispers finally; his voice is muffled like he’d got his head in his hands.

The meat looks pretty well done by now, Richie thinks – he switches the heat off and sets the pan to the side before washing his hands carefully enough that even… even Stan couldn’t find fault with it. He shakes his head, the little skip in his thoughts already a long way away, and moves to crouch next to Stan.

He knows that Stan won’t react well to being grabbed, or to being forced to look at Richie. There aren’t many things he can do to help when it gets bad like this, so he hooks a hand around Stan’s calf like an anchor, and doesn’t consider why it feels familiar.

“I’m here,” Richie says. “Wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Stanny. Not going anywhere, won’t leave you alone, you’re here, I’m here…”

Richie is fantastic at talking about nothing at all. He can do it for hours, often long after people have stopped listening to him.

Stan always listens.

“Thanks, man,” he says finally, lifting his head from his hands. Richie grins at him and ruffles his hair, curling his fingers gently against Stan’s scalp and thumbing at one of the silvery scars along his temple. Stan always thanks him after Richie talks him back to the present; it’s sweet, but Richie doesn’t think he needs to. Stan’s done the same for him more times than either of them count.

They don’t know what it is about their childhoods that they’ve repressed so much shit this thoroughly, but Richie thinks that’s probably for the best.

Healthy? Absolutely not. But definitely for the best.

Stan shuffles over to the sink to start running water for the dishes as Richie moves back to the chopping board to start going Eddie Edward Scissorhands on the peppers. He’s got two papers due that he’s barely started, even with the help of Stan’s colour-coded study plan, but he doesn’t have the room in his mind to stress about it now. He starts whistling Bonnie Tyler and grins almost too hard to continue when Stan starts to sing along softly.

It’s not the worst night they’ve had.

“Okay, but how did you two meet?”

“It was wild night of fiery passion, but alas, I was flying out the next morning, so I left him with nothing but a note and a kiss, and he chased me across the country to declare his undying love for me.”

“Fuck’s sake, Rich,” Stan says heavily – but he doesn’t leave. He’s already scraped Richie’s hair back into an approximation of a ponytail so that he doesn’t have to hold it back as Richie vomits, but he doesn’t leave. The bathroom really isn’t big enough for them both to be on the floor like this, but he doesn’t leave. There’s a glass of water near Richie’s knee, and a packet of chewy mints tucked into his pocket, but he doesn’t leave.

Richie groans, and narrowly avoids pressing his cheek to the toilet seat. The room is spinning gently; he feels icy-cold and clammy from head to toe.

There’s music with such a heavy bassline that he can feel it through the floor. Richie isn’t entirely sure who’s house they’re at – he thinks it’s someone from one of Stan’s classes. He’ll have to apologise to Stan later for making such an idiot of himself, as well as ruining the night.

Stan casts a disgusted glance at the toilet, and stretches across Richie to pull the flush.

“Do you even chew your food?” He asks – there’s a joke to be made there, Richie’s pretty sure, but he can’t clear his head long enough to come up with it. He grunts something that might be the distant cousin of a reply.

This isn’t the drunkest Richie’s ever been, not even close. In the brief period of time he actually spent at college, he’d made all sorts of regrettable decisions and tried his hand at pretty much every vice available. In the slightly longer period of time he’s spent since leaving college, he’s gone back to try every single one again, to see if the outcomes would be any different. He has a set of repeatable data points now. It’s basically science.

So no, Richie isn’t that drunk. He’s not high. He almost wishes he was, because that would be a better explanation than whatever’s going on with his brain.

Downstairs somewhere – or maybe long gone by now – there’s a beautiful boy that Richie caught glancing his way once, then quickly again. A boy that had shook his head as if in a daze; had apologised in a voice that suggested he didn’t mean a word of it. Richie had grinned, said it’s okay and happens all the time and I have one of those faces while he drank him in. Short enough to tuck comfortably under Richie’s arm when they talked, leaning in close to be heard over the music, a whisper of breath against a long throat. Tall enough that he didn’t have to rock up on his toes to press quick, filthy kisses to Richie’s laughing mouth.

The anxiety that normally presses thorns up his throat when he so much as stares at another man too long had seemed a long way away. Smothered; strangled by alcohol, loud music, and low lights.

Fleetingly, Richie had managed to wrestle enough of his brain back under control to pull away and start to ask for a name, before being distracted by insistent hands at his shirt, tugging him towards the door. It hadn’t occurred to him to try again; Richie’d stumbled along in his wake and tried not to fall flat on his face because he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the curve of his ass long enough to watch where he put his feet.

They’d finally found a corner dark enough, and been drawn back together in seconds.

He loved this – loved the lines of warmth left behind by curious hands, loved the sudden drop in his stomach as all of his blood redirected south. He felt dizzy with want, with being wanted. They barely parted long enough to breathe; Richie can taste rum and coke when he presses his tongue into his eager mouth. That mouth pulls away after long minutes of driving him mad to smear a trail across his scruffy jaw, up to his ear and then his throat.

Richie had gasped at the sting of teeth at his collarbone. Tipped his head back with a breathy laugh and curled his fingers into dark, sweat-damp hair. Pressed his palms against his cheeks to drag that beautiful face back up for another kiss; met pale eyes with a fleeting sense of wrong and –

Don’t fucking touch me!

- staggered back, one hand pressed to his mouth.

There’s a bit of a gap in his memories (ha! Another one!) between then and now. At some point he’d made it to the bathroom, and had already evacuated his stomach by the time Stan found him. Richie’s hands keep opening and clenching uselessly in the hem of his shirt, like he’s grabbing for something – or someone.

Stan doesn’t ask what happened, because Stan is objectively the best.

But Richie – Richie wants to tell him anyway.

“It was a -” and here he runs out of words. He vaguely gestures at his head. “Thing. There was a guy, and it was great, and then a thing.”

Huh. Maybe he is drunker than he thought.

“How informative,” Stan says, and it’s dry but Richie knows Stan well enough to know that he’s waiting on Richie to sort his jumbled thoughts. It’s not the dismissal it sounds like.

“A brain thing,” he says, and from Stan’s soft ah, he’s starting to get the picture.

Richie doesn’t remember coming out to Stan – or Stan coming out to him, for that matter – but he knows it must have happened at some point. Richie’d asked once, not long after they moved in together, if Stan thought they’d ever hooked up and forgotten. Stan had been startled into laughing so hard he had to brace himself on the kitchen counter so he didn’t fall over, which Richie had tried very hard not to be offended by. He understood, though. It’s never been like that, for them.

Also, Richie may or may not have a definite type; as much as he loves Stan, he doesn’t quite fit the bill.

“You remembered something?” Stan asks, and he’s careful with it, fingers drumming anxiously where he’s laid a hand on Richie’s knee. Stan always gets cagey when Richie asks about memories, which he thinks is kind of unfair – but then, Stan’s not as good at lying, or blustering as Richie is. He doesn’t have any defences except getting cagey.

“Or something,” Richie snorts. “Could’ve been a memory, or just that pesky self-loathing the street preachers are always shouting about.”

“Think it was important?”

Richie pauses, and tries – actually tries – to think about it. Whatever it was, though, has already been screwed up and jammed down to the very bottom of his memory-safe. Or whatever; his metaphors get even weirder when he’s been drinking.

“Dunno,” he says finally. “Probably was but I guess it doesn’t fucking matter now, shit!”

It isn’t always like this. There’s usually a layer of quiet fear that blankets him whenever he gets close enough to another guy to reach out, to touch, to hold, but it isn’t always like this.

Sometimes, though, the fear isn’t quiet. Sometimes it shrieks at him.

He thinks Stan gets it.

“It’s okay, Rich,” Stan says, and tugs him close for a brief hug, which must be the most horrifying thing because Richie is aware that he reeks of vomit and sour alcohol, and that he’s vaguely damp and sweaty. But Stan doesn’t complain, even when Richie presses a smacking kiss to his cheek. And Richie stands up with him and almost vomits again even though there’s nothing left to bring up but acid, but Stan just rubs his back a little too hard to be soothing until the urge has passed. And Richie knows that Stan was looking forward to tonight, that he’s wasted most of it looking after Richie and now they’re cutting the night short to stagger home and Stan will hold it over him forever; but Stan doesn’t leave.

#it chapter 2 #not exactly a writing tag #richie tozier #stan uris #hinted reddie #one day I'll finish a WIP I swear to god

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necromaniackat · 7 years

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God Damn: Chapter 3: Faulted

Summary: Julie Delaney was thirteen when she had her first child, Jude, with a drug dealer who bailed on her when the baby was born. Two years later she has her second child, Lakelynn, at seventeen with an unknown man. Julie travelled all the way from Nevada to Charming, California with her two young children and dropped them off at her older brother's doorstep in '81. Otto and Luann raised her and Jude with the help of the MC. When Otto went to prison in '94 Jude began to patch in as a member of the Sons of Anarchy Redwood Original. In '00 Jude was killed during a surprise attack they had during a run, he was shot down.

The club has been a part of my life since the very beginning. It’s all I’ve known, it’s all my brother and I have known all our lives. Ever since our mom dropped us off at our uncle’s house in ’81, back when I was a baby and my brother was a toddler. My brother died for the club. While I, I lived for it.

Warnings: Swearing. Slight smut. Triggering content.

Word Count: 4,486

The secret to a good lie is it runs parallel to the truth. –Unknown.

Luckily Jax and I didn’t spend too much more time at the unit, he got called to T.M and he was dry humping my last nerve. So it was for the best that we parted ways for a while. He rode off in the direction of T.M and I peddled towards my house. This time I didn’t get that feeling of being watched or followed. That gave me the idea that maybe I’m just being paranoid, my brain must be fried from all the stress that’s been sizzling around me that last few weeks. But that weird phone call told me otherwise.

My home was your average two bedrooms, one bath with a backyard kind of house but it worked for me. I didn’t need a lot of space, what I have is more than enough for me. I lived in a nice suburban neighbourhood a good distance away from everything and everyone. I didn’t want to completely cut everyone off but I needed my space. There’s a Son living in every direction from my place that was smack dab in the middle of all of them. When Happy is in from Tacoma he usually crashes in my spare room. He’s a good roommate, despite being the Tacoma Killer and all. He’s quiet and tidy, and he respects that this is my home so he never brings a croweater here. One time I heard him on the phone with his mom, he was trying to at least half convince her that he wasn’t up to mischief and he was being very respectful towards me and my home. He doesn’t know that I heard him tell her he loves her and misses her too. He will never know that because he has an image to uphold and I understand that he being kind of a mama’s boy can ruin that image and put his mom in some serious danger. So, I’ll keep my mouth shut.

I kept my bike leaned up against the side of my house, beside my car. This was a quiet neighbourhood; I didn’t need to worry about it being stolen or anything. With my keys at hand I unlocked my front door and stepped into the cool house. The radio played quietly on one of the book shelves that lined the entertainment unit. I always kept the radio on so it looks like someone is home. I hung my keys up on the small hook by the door and kicked my shoes off. I dropped my bag onto the couch. The house was quiet and it smelt clean. It was clean; things were neatly organized on the coffee table and on the entertainment unit. I didn’t spot a single fleck of dust or dirt anywhere. I peeked into the kitchen and it was the same deal; my morning dishes weren’t on the counter anymore, they’ve been washed, dried and put away. New groceries were found in the cupboards, fridge and freezer. The counters and table were wiped down and the floor has been swept and mopped. I could hear my washing machine chugging away in a hidden back room. My laundry that was in the hamper in my bedroom was now in the washer and the stuff that was in the dryer was neatly folded in a basket on my bed. The bedding that was on my bed was fresh, my dresser, nightstands and vanity had been wiped down and organized. And the carpet had been vacuumed and steam cleaned.

I smiled to myself, knowing Luann must’ve been by today to drop off some groceries and decided to stay and do some serious elbow grease type of cleaning. She sometimes does this while I’m not home. She’ll go on cleaning binges and just scrub everything in her house before going onto mine. But she’ll never do it when I’m home because I refuse to let her actually do anything besides have coffee and sit to chat with me.

After I sauntered back into the living room from my bedroom, I flopped down onto the couch and rummaged through my bag for my phone so I could call Luann and thank her for the maid’s service. She might be at the studio but I can always leave a message for her. I knew her cell number off by heart. I held the phone against my ear and waited for it to start ringing. It rang and rang and rang when finally, the voicemail chimed in with:

“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Luann Delaney. I’m currently unavailable at the moment but you can leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

A loud beep yelled into my ear moments after my aunt’s pleasant voicemail message.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m just calling to say thanks for cleaning my place today. You’ve officially made Mr. Clean hang his head in shame. Oh, and thanks for the groceries. Call me back when you’re less busy. Love you, bye.” I left the quick message with a casual smile then hung up. I set my phone down on the couch beside me and leaned back into the pillows with a loud and tired sigh. I closed my eyes sleepily to appreciate the calmness that I was engulfed in. There were no people around me, no buzzing of lives needing to be lived, no guttural roar of motorcycles or sounds of fights breaking out, and there was no drama. I was alone at last. I love working with people, I honestly do but I need my alone time. I can’t function being around people all the time. It makes me feel claustrophobic and smothered. I can’t breathe when I’m around people all the time, even spending a night at Gemma’s makes me feel nervous and overwhelmed. Now if someone were to stay here, that’s a different story because I can lock myself in my room and be alone but I can’t do that at Luann’s or Gemma’s. And being at T.M is just exhausting. I need my quiet so I can unwind from the ball of stress and anxiety I become during the day. I’ve learned to appreciate the quiet calmness I let myself slip into every day.

But something nagged at the back of my mind amongst my well deserved peacefulness. Something caught my attention for less than a second but what was it, and where was it? My eyes peeled open and I sat forward, bringing myself back to my feet. I began to aimlessly wander through my empty house in search for whatever it was that was out of place and kept bugging my brain.

Before I could begin the manhunt for the intruding subconscious thought the metal frame of the front screen door rattled loudly against the inside frame with three knocks hidden amongst the noise. I let out a sigh and headed towards the front door where I saw Juice standing on the other side of the screen door, he was smiling like the idiot he was. But it made me smile a little bit as I went to see what he wanted.

“Hey.” He grinned from the other side of the screen.

“Hi.” I replied awkwardly. It was awkward, standing on my front porch with him in broad daylight. The only thing separating us was the screen door.

“You’re home now.” He observed. I had to suppress the smile that tried to work its way across my face.

“Clearly.” I commented cheekily. Juice nodded and made his little gasping noise he makes when he’s in a situation that makes him uncomfortable.

“Luann told Gemma your air conditioning was broken. Gemma told me to come fix it. I came by earlier but you didn’t answer the door. Gemma gave me keys but I didn’t want to intrude.” Juice, what can I say about Juice? He’s awkward at times, most of the time. He’s a hard worker and loyal to everyone who shows him compassion. Juice is basically a puppy before it’s been kicked.

“Thanks Juice but my air conditioner is toast, you can’t fix it. I need to buy a new one.”

“Yeah, I know. I did go around back to check it out. That thing was ancient history so I hauled it away and got you a new one. I can install it if you want” Juice admitted with a nervous voice. He stood awkwardly at my front door, he was trying his best to control his breathing and his body but his noticeably rising and falling chest and fidgeting hands gave him away. My heart swelled with flattery and astonishment. I knew a slight blush was making my face look rosier than it is. I couldn’t control it, I was flattered that he not only hauled away the piece of junk that couldn’t even cool off an ice cube but he bought me a new one and is offering to install it.

“Do you want help?” I offered after being rendered speechless. Juice’s smile broadened as he looked down at me.

“No. But I’d like some company, if that’s alright.” He replied surely. I gave him a short nod sided with a crooked smile.

“Yeah, that’s okay. Do you need any help carrying it to the back?” I inquired curiously, trying to assertively assist him so I don’t feel bad for him doing all this for me. He shook his head in denial of my offer and shrugged slightly.

“I dropped it off earlier. I’ve been back and forth between here and doing other things for T.M.” He replied with those nervous short gasps. I cocked an eyebrow at him curiously and crossed my arms over my bust line.

“How many times have you been here today?” Juice shrugged and tried to gather the information.

“I’ve been here about four times.” My brain clicked on a few things. Juice was the one who cleaned my house, not Luann. That boy has OCD or something, everything was spotlessly clean. I grinned at the organized nutcase on my doorstep for a moment before opening the screen door to let him inside. Juice wore his blue mechanic’s uniform, it was covered in oil, grease, dirt and whatever else gets ground into his clothes while on the job.

“What time did you start work today?” Juice asked from his squatting position between the house and the new air conditioner. I sat on the low rising deck beside him, basking in the afternoon sun.

“Five-thirty, just like every other day.” I muttered in response. As much as I love to work the morning shifts so I’m out for the afternoon, getting up before the ass crack of dawn doesn’t exactly make me the most excited person at the carnival.

“So, you were back here by one, you were the one I must’ve heard vacuuming and whatnot.” Juice’s words made my blood run cold. I furrowed my eyebrows and looked at him confusedly.

“No. After work I spent a solid hour helping Jax at the storage unit, looking for baby stuff.” I dreaded telling anyone I spent an hour alone with Jax; they’ll start to assume we’re “back together”. We were never together in the first place, we were messing around and that’s it. Tara had just left for Chicago, leaving Jax behind. He needed someone to be there for him and stupidly I said I’d do anything to help him out. I didn’t realize that meant two years of sex before I left for Reno. Reno is hellofalot closer than Chicago is, he could’ve come to visit me. He has been to the Indian Hills charter plenty of times but he didn’t even bother to come see me. The asshole.

“It must’ve been Luann.” I said, trying to calm my nerves and sooth his racing mind. Juice turned back to the machine and distorted his facial features. He looked back at me with deep creases running between his eyebrows. Juice shook his head at me.

“Gemma and Luann have been together all day at T.M. Besides, that wasn’t her car parked out front.” Juice commented honestly. He wouldn’t lie to be to scare me, he knows better. Besides, I don’t think Juice has the capability to do something so cruel and unusual.

My blood turned to ice and my heart jerked inside my chest. I could only look at the puppy like man squatting down in the grass beside me. His face said he was getting suspicious about this; I had to get him off my back. Give a dog a bone, right? Does it matter if the bone is made of lies?

“Y’know, my friend is starting up a cleaning company, she uses organic cleaners. Y’know, all-natural shit. She said she needed someone to test her products on, I offered my house. She said she was gonna be by today so I left the house unlocked for her in case she came by while I wasn’t here. That must’ve been her. What colour was the car you saw parked out front?” I devised a sort of false story. I do have a friend from High School who’s starting up her own cleaning company with organic cleaners but she lives in Arizona not in Charming. I also needed to know what colour the car parked outside was, I needed to know what to keep an eye out for.

“It was a candy apple red old sports car.” Juice gave me a small description of the car. I could tell he had something else to say to me. He puckered his lips for a moment and turned to me.

“It had a Nevada license plate.” He paused as the air in my lungs became led. Juice watched me closely, probably inspecting my reactions to what he said. He sighed and placed a hot hand on my knee. Juice looked up at me through his long dark eyelashes in a sincere caring way.

“Is there something I should know? Is there something you need to tell me?” He questioned in a low but firm voice. I debated actually telling him but if I told him he’d report back to Clay who will get the entire club involved, including Jax. I can’t let Jax know that something actually did happen in Reno when I was there. He’ll never trust me to leave Charming by myself again. He’ll never trust me again. Gemma will lose respect for me. The truth will kill Luann. It’ll probably drive Otto to murder, again. The truth will rattle my entire family. I can’t let them know what happened when I was in Reno.

I sighed weakly and shook my head.

“It must be a neighbour’s friend or relative visiting from Nevada.” I lied plainly. Juice frowned at me and turned back to the air conditioner, connecting hoses and whatnot to the house. He knew the truth. Maybe not the truth but he knew that I was lying. He has no choice but to believe what I say is the truth even though he knows better.

“When you’re ready to tell me the truth I’ll be there.” He stated truthfully. My heart pulled in my chest. Juice is a good guy; it breaks my heart to lie to him even when he knows that I’m lying. I sat in silence and watched him work. Turns out he did need my help after all, he asked if I could go inside and turn the A/C on and see if there’s any cold air blowing through the vents. I did as he said and at first it was just hot air but Juice fiddled around with the unit and then the control panel for a while then it began to blow ice cold air. Juice and I high-fived in victory and he smiled boldly at me.

“Right, let me go get the money I owe you.” I said to him with my hands on my hips happily. Juice waved his hand at me and pfft at me.

“You don’t need to pay me, Lake.” He protested humbly. I rolled my eyes at him and bit my lip. If I’ve learned anything from being around SAMCRO my entire life it’s that if someone does something for you and refuses payment it means they see you as a valuable pawn for the future. I’ve learned to take offence to people who don’t take my payments right away. I refuse to be used for their benefit in the future all because I’m in their debt. And that’s why I don’t like people doing things for me. I can’t allow myself to be in anyone’s debt, I can’t be used as a pawn in this life.

“Yes, I do. You’re being paid one way or another, now stay here.” I put an abrupt end to his humble protest. Juice groaned lowly but stayed where he was in my living room. I was almost tempted to flip him off. Either that or strap a bib on him and make him sit in time out for a while.

I walked down the hallway back towards my room to retrieve Juice’s payment for all his hard work when I felt my heart sink into a bottomless pit. There was a large fancy black metal framed mirror mounted on the crème coloured wall in the hallway. I could see into it but only from the shoulders up. A sharp gasp of air fled my lungs when I saw something tucked into the corner of the mirror. It was a picture that made me feel sick to my stomach. It was a picture of me in a very compromising position. This picture put me in a very compromising position. If anyone saw this photo it could ruin me. Nobody can see it.

“What’s that?” I heard Juice ask. I looked over at him standing at the mouth of the hallway with a curious look on his face. My attention went back to the picture. I shook my head and folded the picture, stuffing it into the back pocket of my pants.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I replied. I sounded unsure, mainly because I was unsure. This is something I need to worry about. I don’t know who got this picture but they have information about me that could ruin my reputation in Charming.

Juice moved smoothly over to me from the mouth of the hallway, a staid mask covered his face as he towered over my small five foot two stature. I could practically hear his thoughts saying things like “Don’t lie to me, Lakelynn.” “I’m not Jax, you can talk to me.” Or there’s this golden saying that never fails to stir the pot just a little bit. “I know something’s wrong, let me help you. You can trust me.” It’s not that I don’t trust my family or Juice, it’s just . . . –I’m going to be shamed for the rest of my life if the truth gets out. I will be ruined.

“Would you like it if I stayed a while longer?” Juice asked softly, catching me off guard. The air lifted in my chest as I stared up at him wide eyed and my mouth agape. The serious mask that contorted his face bled into his usual lighthearted expression, he gave me a half smirk and an awkward one shoulder shrug.

“I know you like to be alone after work and all but I’m getting the vibe that you don’t want to be alone right now.” He awkwardly added. I managed to pop my eyes back into their sockets and pick my jaw up off the floor. Juice sometimes has the capability to make you utterly speechless. He’s so empathetic and kind. It’s hard to comprehend that he’s a part of an outlaw biker gang smuggling guns and whatever else.

And he was right. As much as I enjoyed my alone time at home there’s a brutal storm brewing and I’m scared of what may happen when it makes landfall. I don’t want to be alone right now.

“Yes.” I paused for a moment, nodding my head in agreement. “–I want you to stay for a while.” Juice’s half smirk became a full smile as he gave me a single nod. Without warning his arms drew around my middle and he pulled me into his body. My cheek was pressed against his chest, he smelt musky with sweat and whatever other scents stained his clothes at the garage. I let my arms tie around him and hold him just as firm as he was holding me.

“When you’re ready to tell me the truth, I’ll be right here to help you.” He murmured into my hair calmly, his voice was barely above a whisper. I bobbed my head slowly in understanding. My heart fluttered when I felt Juice press his lips against the top of my head for a moment before I pulled myself away from him. His innocent brown eyes found my gaze and stayed, we stared at each other for a long few moments. The tension between us was thick, not even a knife could cut through it. The pressure between us has been building for a while. It was about to bubble over.

I’m not sure if it was the tension that made me wrap my arms around his neck and yank him down until his lips crushed mine. Juice was taken by surprise for a small moment but then he went with it, his arms slid out from beside me until just his hands rested on the small of my back. He pulled me closer to him, tugging my hips assertively but gently until they rested against his. My balance wavered making me fall back against the wall behind me. We never broke apart. Juice’s body held me firmly between him and the cool wall. His mouth was capturing and dominating mine as his hands continued to pull my hips into his. I could feel the desperation radiating off his skin like summer heat; I matched it by clawing at his work shirt, hoping I’d be able to rip the buttoned shirt open to reveal the white tee shirt I can so easily remove from his scotching body.

Juice began to pull at the hem of my shirt, tugging it up my torso eagerly. His hands pawed at the damp skin on my waist and the small of my back. My heart galloped in my chest, sending steam to the surface of my skin. I was finally able to messily undo the small buttons on his blue shirt. The white shirt underneath looked brand new but the small oil stain at the collar gave away the reality. Our bodies began to accommodate to each other, legs spreading and hips nestling urgently. But rationality stole my brain away from the euphoric state it was drifting into. I reluctantly pushed him away, earning a confused stare from him. His eyebrows furrowed and concern outweighed the confusion.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned softly. I looked away from the taller man, peering towards the mouth of the hallway I bit my bottom lip with anxiety settling in the pit of my stomach. I looked back at Juice.

“It’s still daylight out.” I breathlessly observed the obvious. Juice smirked boldly and nodded.

“I can see that.” He replied with a strong and sure voice before he buried his face in the crook of my neck, leaving sloppy kisses as his hands wandered restlessly up and down my sides and the small of my back.

“Juice, we can’t.” I breathed through the exhilarated feeling captivating my brain as his mouth captured my neck some more.

“Of course we can.” He sighed against my throat. A smile broke across my face. My fingers kneaded at the blue uniform shirt, wanting it to vanish. I so desperately wanted clothes to vanish as well as all the stress inside. I wanted someone to hit that pressure valve.

“We have to wait until its dark outside.” I reminded him honestly. We always wait until it’s dark outside before he comes over. Having him here during the day makes me nervous. I know people have seen him come in and out of my house all day, they probably think he’s doing repairs and whatnot but they might also think we’re up to something together.

“Are you expecting someone to come by today?” Juice asked randomly as he continued to assault my neck and throat. I furrowed my eyebrows and shook my head with a small ticklish smirk falling over my mouth.

“No.” I replied shortly. Juice stopped his sloppy assault on my neck and looked at me with a seriousness beaming in his dark eyes. He pursed his lips momentarily before his infamous grin appeared. His hot callused hands gently cupped my face. It felt like my skin was going to melt under his burning touch.

“Then why do we have to wait until it’s dark?” He asked rubbing his thumb over my cheek gingerly. I gave him an insecure half smile.

“Someone will see you.” I whispered to him with wasps in my stomach. Juice let a small smile fall across his face as he continued to rub his thumbs over my cheeks in a calming and reassuring way.

“People have seen me coming and going all day. They already know I’m here. So, what does it matter?” He posed a good point. I know I’m all kinds of paranoid, especially right now but I can’t let this dirty little secret out. I can’t let these dirty secrets out. If the club finds out about me and Juice and what we’ve been doing for the last couple years, Juice will probably be killed for it. Jax will actually kill him. But Jax isn’t here right now and he doesn’t dictate who I sleep with or see in general. I’m a twenty-eight year old woman; I don’t need Jackson Teller telling me I can’t have a boyfriend . . .–I mean, a fuck buddy. Besides, Juice and I haven’t been together in weeks, so what does it matter if we’re together in the daytime? Who’s gonna see us? The ghost? I’m not expecting anyone to come over, and if someone is coming by they’ll call me first to make sure I’m alright with their company. Unless it’s Luann or Gemma, they just kind of show up and take over. However Juice said they’ve been together at T.M all day so if they do come by they’ll let me know or they’ll have me go meet them at the clubhouse. But that probably won’t be until this evening or later tonight. All in all, Juice and I have a few hours to have our dirty fun.

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neostep-blog1 · 6 years

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//JUNGWOO\\ • Fluff

Word count: 3379

You feel the breeze grazing against your bare legs as you walk in the white hallway with all the windows open. The sun glares in, making you squint. You continue sweeping the floor with a light plastic broom as you quietly hum the tune of the song stuck in your head. You never pictured yourself becoming a maid, but the job is easier than it seems when the person you work for is kind. It makes life a lot easier, plus, the pay is decent.

You crouch down in your maid outfit, - which is the generic dress type - picking up the dust pan to wipe the dirt from the floors into it. When you look back up, he's standing there, and you give a polite bow, the corners of your lips upturning into a smile. "You don't have to do that every single day, you know..." He trails off, and you give a breathy chuckle, brushing him off.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure everything stays tidy," you smile politely, speaking formally.

"If you don't mind me asking," he says, "did you happen to move my jacket? It's not on the coat rack like earlier..."

"Ah, yes, sir..." You trail off, staying formal to be polite. "I put it in the wash with the other laundry, is that okay? I can get it out before-"

"No, no, no," he nods, "it's okay. I don't mind, thank you." He smiles kindly, his eyes turning into the perfect crescent shape as he does. "Also," he continues, "I told you weeks ago that you don't have to be so formal with me... Just treat me like a friend, okay? You can call me by my name, I'm not going to be upset with you."

"Really?" You ask, dumping the dirt from the dust pan you'd been holding into the trash can.

"Yeah," he says cheerfully, "go ahead, do it."

You attempt it, trying not to feel awkward. "Okay, Jungwoo..." You say it successfully, pushing out the tension. "Sorry, that was a bit awkward."

"You think so?" He asks, sitting down slowly at a chair in front of a desk, resting his head in his hands as he watches you.

"I just guess that it's hard for me because I work for you," you admit. "I feel rude if I don't act polite."

"Polite is different than formal," he chuckles. "Polite is just another word for nice."

"Well, yeah..." You trail off, understanding.

You have a room in the house since it's fairly large, and most maids tend to be live-in maids around here anyways. Every day you repeat most of the same tasks - sweeping, mopping, cooking, cleaning, or anything else found commonly on a maid's to-do list. Thankfully, he never really orders you around since you do just about everything you need to at your own will. Even when he does ask for something, he's usually quiet, polite, and then apologizes for the request for some reason.

You glance over at him as he continues to watch you, his head cupped in his hands. "Are you bored?" You ask inquisitively.

"No," he denies, "I'm fine. Do you mind me sitting here?"

"No, it's alright," you place the broom and dust pan into a small cleaning cabinet in the corner, filled with spray bottles, scrub brushes, gloves, and just about every other cleaning material. "Are you hungry yet? It's almost noon," you ask, glancing at his features from beside him. He purses his lips, thinking.

"I... I am a bit, but it's okay," he says kindly, "I can wait until later when you usually cook."

"I actually could go ahead and make something," you mutter. "I've done most of my chores for this morning now, and I'm not busy again until this evening. Plus, I'm a bit hungry myself."

"Oh," he smiles at you sweetly, his face gentle. "If you want to, then okay..."

"Yeah, I will," you confirm. "Is there anything specific you want for lunch? It's 12, so there's plenty of time to make whatever you want."

"Um," he hesitates, "I'm okay with anything. Just make something you like, and I'll eat it with you."

"That's not how this works," you stop yourself from chuckling at his statement. "I work for you. So you choose what to eat."

"But... You always do what I tell you, right?" He asks, a grin on his face. You tilt your head, furrowing your brows.

"Yes..? Why?" You narrow your eyes a bit, misunderstanding his question.

"Then, I'm telling you to choose." You can see him smirk and he chuckles, pleased with himself. He leans back in his seat, brushing his fingers through the back of his hair as he smiles at you.

"Okay, fine," you give in. "Would you mind walking with me to the kitchen?" You can't make up an excuse why, you simply wanted his presence there as you walked to keep you feeling calm and serene.

"Of course," he says happily. He stands up, pushing his chair back into the desk. "Do you need help?"

"N-No," you stutter, "I'm the one who's supposed to help you... You hired me, I think you keep forgetting this." You end up giggling, only leading a short frown to appear upon his features as you both leave the room.

"Ah, I'm sorry," he frowns, "I just feel bad if I don't do anything."

"It's okay, I don't mind at all. Nothing around here is too hard to do, and I'm pretty accustomed to it by now," you assure him.

You've been working here for about two months now. You and Jungwoo have become closely acquainted and comfortable with each other, but you still stay formal to correctly do your job.

You both continue into the kitchen, and you cook something for lunch, enough for you both.

______________________________________

Whenever it's ready, you set the plate of food down in front of him. As usual, you take yours and begin to head into another room so as not to disturb him. However, this time, he sits in his seat and clears his throat quietly before speaking. "Um, y/n..."

You halt in your steps, turning to look at him with your eyebrows raised curiously. "Yes?"

"Why don't you sit in here with me?" His voice is quiet, and his body language shows he's either shy or closed off to the idea, which is obvious he's simply shy as he asks for your company. "I mean," he hesitates, "only if you want to, obviously."

You give a gentle smile, turning to face him fully. You take a few steps forward and set your plate down on the other side of the table, glancing at him. "Okay," you say, "thank you..."

"You don't need to thank me?" He giggles, smiling fondly as you sit down opposite of him.

Without saying anything else, you watch as he brings a bite of food to his mouth, his head tilting as he tries it. You purse your lips a bit, waiting for his reaction. You've never been the best at cooking, but he usually enjoys what you make nonetheless. But this time, his mouth falls agape a bit, and he looks at you, stunned. "I'm sorry, is it not good...?" You frown, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"N-No it's," he stutters, "it's really good. I like it a lot..." He smiles and you can see that he's being honest. You feel relieved, taking a small bite yourself. It is fairly good, and you feel a little proud that you managed to make him so happy with lunch.

"Also," he begins, "I have people coming over today. They'll probably be here soon, it's just a couple of my friends. Okay?"

His voice is soft, checking your approval on his friends coming over. "Of course," you smile, "will they be staying long or overnight? Just so I know if I should prepare a room or whatnot."

"Oh, no," he says. "They'll just be here for a few hours to hang out. You can be done for today if you want, really... You always stay busy from the moment you get up, almost until you go to bed."

You force yourself not to sigh, being aware of his statement. "Yes, but," you hesitate. "It's not that bad... I don't have much else to do anyways."

"I don't think I've ever asked, if it's okay to ask..." He trails off, "Where did you live before you came to work here? I never asked that when you came."

"I lived alone in an apartment," you admit. "I was looking for a job and was going to save up to move out of there. So I'm actually a bit grateful to you. I was able to get out of there and get a job, and you're very kind to me."

You can see him smile happily, feeling praised. "You're a very good friend to me now," he looks at you. "Even if you do stop working as the maid, I would still allow you to live here if you needed."

His kind words touch your heart as you glance at him, and you smile as you both continue to eat. Every so often you exchange words in between bites, until you're both nearly finished. But at the same time, the doorbell rings, and you stand up, sliding your chair back. "I can get that for you," you say. You walk to the door, which is located in the large, open area of the dining room, kitchen, and living room that are all only separated by half walls in the intricate design.

Turning the handle quickly, you pull open the door to reveal two friendly, somewhat familiar faces. (Picture it to be whichever two members you want)

Smiling, you gesture them in. "Ah, thank you," the first one says. The second one simply walks in, leaning over slightly in a bow as he accepts your kind gesture of holding the door. Closing it, you see Jungwoo walk up with a fond smile filling his features, his slender fingers brushing his silver dyed hair out of his face.

Leaving them be, you speed walk out of the room and back to the dining room, picking up the plates left by both of you. You bring them to the kitchen counter and set them down so they'll be ready for this evening when you do dishes.

However, from what you can hear, one of the two men says that they're thirsty, and you pour a glass of water as you don't know what they drink. You walk back into the room, the crystal glass filled with water, cupped in your hands.

He sees you, and looks at you, smiling happily, his teeth shining brightly as he seems grateful. Jungwoo looks at you as well, a little surprised, but then he smiles gently as he watches you, as he usually does. You hand the glass to the one who said they were thirsty. He gently takes it from your grasp and brings it to his lips, taking a short sip. "Thank you," he smiles, sipping it again.

You give a kind smile and walk out of the room, having the other guest follow you. When you walk in the dining room to wipe the table, he stands silently, almost like he wants to speak. "Can I help you?" You ask politely, glancing at him every so often.

"Uhm," he hesitates, "you're Jungwoo's maid, right..?"

"Yes, I am," you confirm. You walk into the nearby kitchen to dampen a cloth for the table. As you run the water over it, he speaks again, quietly.

"Do you... like him?" He doesn't look directly at you, and you furrow your brows, confused as you walk back to the table.

"I suppose I do," you admit. "He's a dear friend of mine, so I do care about him."

"No I mean-" He cuts himself off, trying to find his wording. "I mean, like..."

"Oh, in that way?" You suggest, hoping he catches the drift.

"Yeah..." He stands in the corner as you wipe the table with the dampened cloth, thinking hard.

"I... don't believe I do." You lie. It's not that you do, it's just that you don't know. You do feel calm when he's around, considering you see him daily - but that doesn't mean you would have feelings for him.

"Ah, okay." He nods his head, silently listening.

"Why are you asking?" You question, tilting your head.

His hair falls back as he tilts his head up, looking at the ceiling. "How do I explain this...?" He whispers, "I don't know, he just seems comfortable around you. You know? His body language and everything changes when you walk into the room. I was just wondering, I figured he might have liked you or something."

"Huh... I doubt it," you admit. "I just work for him, and he sees me as a good friend, so it's probably just a coincidence."

"Maybe," he sighs. As he walks out of the room back to where Jungwoo is, you can hear them talking.

"Where did you go?" You can hear Jungwoo ask, his voice soft as he questions.

"I was just talking with your maid," he admits.

"Oh, y/n?" Jungwoo asks, his voice going a little higher. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," he answers, "I was the one who started talking to her."

"Alright," he says. You can hear them begin to walk further away, probably going upstairs to the room you were in earlier.

You've only met his friends once or twice, and usually you hardly remember one another when you do meet again. What he said concerning Jungwoo stays in your mind as you head upstairs, going to your room until later. When you walk in, you feel a cool breeze brush against your leg from the window being open. You step over to it, glancing outside. The yard is a big, and vastly filled with trees and flowers that you often go to smell.

Instead of sitting in your room as planned, you decide to go out and walk around while it's still nice outside. You turn around, leaving your room quietly. As you're in the hallway, you can hear them talking in the room across from you.

"You actually do??" I hear one of his friends ask, shock in his voice.

"I knew it!" The other shouts, and you can hear some chuckling from them both, only for Jungwoo to speak.

"It's not funny," you can tell by his tone of voice that he's frowning. "I don't know what to do, or how to tell her..."

"Give her flowers or something," one of them says, "isn't that something girls like..?"

You don't know the whole conversation, but you don't want to eavesdrop, so you go downstairs without thought.

When you get outside, you can feel the cool air brushing up against your legs and arms, and your hair blows around in it. Though it feels nice outside, so you smile without realizing.

Walking to the shaded area under a large willow tree, you plop down on the floor, pulling the hem of your dress down so you don't sit on the grass directly. The sun beams down around the tree as you sit in the shade, staying cooled off by the breeze.

Only a few minutes of sitting with your eyes closed, enjoying the breeze, and you can hear rustling off to the right. You open your eyes slowly, glancing over in that direction.

You see someone standing there, facing the other direction, but you can't make out who it is yet. Instead of saying anything, you quietly watch, leaning against the trunk of the tree.

You wait quietly until they turn around, their hands clamped behind their backs as they walk, their head looking down at the ground.

As they get closer, you can clearly make out that it's Jungwoo - but he hasn't noticed you. You silently watch him as he walks in the direction of the house. But instead of staying silent as intended - you sneeze, blowing your cover.

He turns and looks at you, a smile immediately plaguing his features. "Ah, y/n!" He walks towards you quickly, standing under the shaded tree.

"Hey," you smile, looking up at his features as they stare at you nervously.

"Uh, can I ask a quick question?" He adjusts his weight from one leg to the other and purses his lips.

"Of course, what is it?" You slowly stand up so you can be at his height while he speaks.

"There's this friend of mine that I think I gathered feelings for... But I don't know what to do. You're a girl, so I thought you might know how I can tell her..." He seems nervous, and you try not to giggle at his shyness.

Then, their conversation from earlier makes sense to you, and you nod a bit. You decide to use what his friend said, because it's quite true. "I dunno, go give her flowers? Just be nice... But you're already nice, so I'm sure that won't be hard," you smile.

"Thank you," he smiles brightly. You wait on him to say anything, but he walks and turns the other direction, assumably to take your advice.

You feel a bit sad, you'd secretly hoped it was about you. But you're a good friend, so you'll support him however. He runs into the house, and you sigh, glancing down at the floor. In less than a full moment later, he runs back out, headed towards you.

You raise your eyebrows, confused. "Did you forget something?"

"Kinda," he chuckles nervously, brushing his left hand in his hair as the other one is behind his back.

"What is it?" You notice his cheeks tint to a slight red, and he looks over at the ground. He immediately pulls his hand out from behind his back, and you can clearly see a bouquet of your favorite flowers, which look to have been carefully hand picked.

You feel your heart rate speed up as you look at him, smiling quietly. He holds them out to you, and you gently take them from his grasp, putting them to your nose to smell. You close your eyes momentarily, and then you get the idea.

"W-Wait... You used my own advice.... on me," you realize.

"Yeah," he laughs nervously. "Sorry, I figured it would be the best way to go... You gave me the same idea as my friend did so I just did it..."

"Wait," you realize, "s-so you mean, this means you..."

"Yeah," he smiles shyly, avoiding your eyes. "You're the person I was talking about. I really... really did try not to, but I ended up just..."

"Why would you try not to?" You question, sincerely wondering.

"I didn't think you would feel the same," he admits. "You only work for me, so I thought it was just out of the question."

"But we both said that we became good friends," you say.

"Y... Yeah..." He glances up at your eyes, but then looks right back down, speaking nearly inaudibly. "It's unfortunate..."

"Jungwoo," you call out, "if there's something you want to ask, I'll probably say yes."

"Probably?" He frowns purposefully, and you give him an unamused look, trying not to smile. "Fine, I just... I really want to be... more than... friends? I think you know what I mean?"

You smile, giggling openly. "Of course I know," you say. Before answering, you bravely walk up to him closer and wrap your arms around him as he does nothing in surprise. "I told you I would say yes," you smile where he can't see.

He shyly hugs you back, being gentle. However, you can clearly tell he's happy by his lack of words, and the grip that's slowly tightening around you. "Thank you," he smiles brightly.

"Don't thank me," you giggle, "I should thank you. You're very sweet, and kind, and gentle. You're a very good person."

You can hear his breathing as he lets out a breathy chuckle, a smile plastered to his face.

But from there on out, you're not only his maid, but also his girlfriend.

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moneyformama · 7 years

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How to keep your house clean (with little kids)

If your reading this, your curious on how its possible to even survive with little kids let alone keep your house clean. Trust me, I am in the same boat. Some days I can hardly get the breakfast dishes clean and by the end of the evening, the whole sink is piled high with crusty, pots and pans. With this method there will still be those impossible days, but it will make those days just a little less impossible and a little less chaotic. I have found that a little bit of discipline often goes a long ways, it is so easy to let go of everything because you already have let go of most household chores. This is our perfectionistic tendencies. It is the tendency to either be completely put together, or let every single little thing get out of control. This allows us to fail perfectly...or feel as though we are failing even though we are not.

Balancing bathtime time, housework, bills, cooking, grocery shopping and playtime is an impossible balancing act. We as parents or more specifically, moms, just cannot possibly do everything at once. This is why keeping our house clean (not always picked up) but clean, can make us feel so productive. As a stay-at-home mom I am home 90% of my life these days, and so the environment that I am in the most can also be the place that stresses me the most. I know, I know, your thinking but lady I have three young children, a baby and a dog that brings mud into the house every time he comes through the doggy door. And to this I say, yes I don't know what you are going through, I only have two kids under three years old and my dog is hardly in my house due to my rough little toddler man. What I do know is that no matter what your story this method will work the same for you as it would for someone with no kids, no husband and even no dog.

Alright, lets get to it.

Every day: Every single morning before 10 o'clock, find time to spiff up the house. This shouldn't be too hard if you do to what I will tell you in step 2. Always finish cleaning up breakfast, and then run around and pick up the house. Make the beds, and fold blankets ect.

Once a week: Deep Clean

Monday: One day a week (I choose Monday) is laundry day. Do all your loads of laundry throughout the day. Put a movie on for the kids, or have them color while you fold. Make it a fun, relaxing day as much as you can. Usually, I just serve leftovers for lunch and keep putsing along with my routine.

If you deep clean a few rooms once a week, it never becomes too overwhelming. We will keep this short and simple:

Tuesday: Kitchen appliances, cupboards and grease off kitchen walls (if necessary).

Wednesday: Bathrooms, dusting and mirrors.

Thursday: Vacuum and mop all floors.

Friday: Pick one thing to organize, it doesn't have to be a long project. Just try to work on it for an hour if possible.

Saturday & Sunday: Play and relax:)

Once a month: Deeper clean

One day a month I do a even deeper clean. This cleaning day is meant for the chores that you dread the most. Luckily it is only one day a month so you don't need to dread it every single week! Here are some chores I do on this important cleaning day.

Wash the rugs: I feel like rugs often get thrown aside when it comes to daily cleaning. Sure we vacuum the bigger rugs that do not get sucked into the vacuum cleaner and bust your belt. Oh yeah and the bathroom rugs don't usually look dirty, so we often shake them out and put them back nice and neat. But...as with anything in our house when we have children, who knows what is on the rugs. This is why once a month I wash the rugs on delicate and hang them to dry.

Tube it up: Put the tube on the vacuum and clean the ceiling corners, fans, light fixtures, baseboards and closets.

Clean chairs and couches: I don't know about your couch but mine is often smeared with snot, spit, snacks and lets be honest--even a little pee during potty training sessions. My kitchen chairs are also grimy and sticky with spagetti and fruit residue. This requires heavy scrubbing.

Every six months:

Clean out cupboards: My cupboards seem to get very unorganized even in a week, and as much as I would like to say that I clean out my cupboards every month or even three--I generally don't get around to it. So this is why I shoot for the six month mark. I clean out the sippy cup/ bottle drawer and throw away unlatching tupperware. Wipe down and vacuum the inside of every drawer, nook and cranny.

Organize closets: I have far too many clothes, so every six months I pack away my summer clothes, and bring out my fall and winter clothes. Then in another six months I repeat the previous. This way my closet is less cluttered and my winter coats are not collecting unnecessary dust. Also, the feeling of getting out your clothes that you haven’t seen in six months is almost like gaining a new wardrobe!

Kids change sizes so often that you may be getting out and packing away their clothes much more frequently. So if you have already been keeping up on their wardrobe, use this time to look through shoes, wrong sized diapers, hair accessories and other fun things that we tend to collect and keep as mothers.

Wash carpets: I love this task because more than any other cleaning chore, this chore makes me feel the most productive. There is nothing greater than the feeling of newly washed carpets. Luckily, my mother has an industrial carpet cleaner, but if you have to rent one from your local store or Walmart, it really is worth it. I am always so surprised at how dirty the water in the carpet cleaner is after just one swipe. I usually do one sweep with Dawn Dish soap and Oxyclean. The second sweep I just use water and try to remove all soaps.

Alright, all done. Now you can easily stay ahead of the dust, dirt and extra stuff lying around your house. If you stick to this schedule, I guarantee you will not be overwhelmed when a surprise visit from friends or family happens...because without fail, company always comes when our house is the messiest!

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grownupthinking-blog · 8 years

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Perspective

PERCEPTION

AKA - seeing the man behind the curtain and still thinking he’s a wizard.

Sometimes growing up makes you realize a lot of things you took for granted when you were younger. Your parents aren’t always right about everything, food doesn’t just magically appear in your fridge, or the Santa at the mall isn’t the real Santa (spoilers, I know). But then there are other things that you just have to learn as you go, like car insurance sucks, health insurance (I’m American) REALLY sucks, and buying property doesn’t always mean cheaper month to month bills. You have to do your dishes. You have to scrub out the tub and toilet. You are the one who has to vacuum, sweep, mop and take out the trash all the time. There isn’t anyone there to catch you if you fall. You need to make your own doctors appointments. You need a job, that you may or may not like. It’s all part of growing up and it’s all what shapes us into the people we are.

Growing up, your parents/guardians instill in you values and beliefs that you just assume are universal truths. “Everyone eats dinner at 6pm” “Thursdays are always burger nights” “Clear your plate when you’re done eating.” (Forgive me, I’m a chef by trade, so food is my metaphor or choice). It isn’t until you get away from them and live for a bit that you see how the rest of the world lives. Not even class differences, but much smaller than that – going to a friends house and seeing what they eat for dinner, how they arrange the furniture in their living room or even which parent does which tasks. IT’s one of those eye-opening experiences that makes tou think about the way things are and how they potentially could be – it makes you ask, “Why?”

And that’s when conflict starts. “But why do I have to make my bed every morning?” “But why do I have to do the dishes before I go to bed EVERY NIGHT? They’ll still be there in the morning.” “Why can’t we eat dinner at 8pm instead of 6 so we can go see this movie?” I remember asking my parents why we didn’t go out to eat more. We were relatively well off family, everyone was always home at a decent hour and I wasn’t asking for a Michelin dinner – just Portillo’s or something easy. I always got dirty looks from my parents and they asked, “Well, are you going to pay for it?” I was nine years old. I was more interested in collecting Pokemon cards (the original 150) than collecting dollars and coins. It became a sticking point for me, so much so that I would stay at a friends house, at least 3 nights a week, for dinner because we would go out somewhere. My friends parents had no issue getting all of us some cheeseburgers from McDonalds or Hot Dogs from the place around the corner. It saved them time, made everyone happy and was inexpensive. The nights I would come home for dinner were always spent sulking because I didn’t want to eat the Shake and Bake nonsense my Mom would make, or the gray steak Dad would make (our broiler was not very good). So I went on trying to avoid coming home for dinner. Avoid the problem and it would just go away, right?

Fast forward 6 years. I’m 15, in high school, just got my braces off and I have my first boyfriend. Coming out in high school was not something I was ready to do. I had told a few of my close friends and that was good enough for me, but “flaunting” it was not something I was prepared to do.

**Sidebar: I, as most young, scared gay kids, covered by fear with active homophobia. I never hurt anyone (to my knowledge) but I used to think of it as a bad thing. I’ve since grown up, but we’ll get to that.**

I had my boyfriend and we were together outside of school whenever possible. He lived by school, so I would always say I had to stay for an extra rehearsal or something and just go to his house. Both of his parents worked late, so we would usually have the house to ourselves for a few hours. Things got pretty serious pretty fast. Six months in (remember we’re 15) we decided to tell our families. Well, he told his family, and I chickened out. I remember calling him from the laundry room in my parents basement, crying. I told him I wasn’t strong enough, or good enough for him and we needed to break it off. It wasn’t fair for him to be with someone who couldn’t bring himself to admit the relationship to his family. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I broke up with him. At the time, this was the best course of action I could think of. Avoiding the problem, once again.

Jump ahead another six years. I’m 21, living “on my own” with roommates on our college campus in an apartment my Dad is paying for. So adult. I’m doing small catering gigs out of our apartment to pay my rent and casually seeing someone. I’m pulling Cs in my classes (I used to be an A student) and I’ve gained about 80 pounds since coming to college. It comes time for winter finals, and I end up sleeping through my last one. I’m already doing poorly in the class, but theres no way I can make it up. I end up failing the class and I get put on academic probation. This is very new for me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t avoid my parents finding out – the university mailed a letter home. I took the next semester off to “figure everything out.” I went to see a therapist. He told me I have “performance anxiety.” That didn’t register with me. How could I have performance anxiety? I have been performing on stages since I was 7. His evaluation told me that the performances I was used to – being in large groups and not really singled out – didn’t affect me or my life like the ones I was currently doing. Tests in classes that I knew I needed for my degree. Coming to terms with people – one on one – in relationships that could lead to something more fulfilling, more real, than just hanging out and having sex here and there. These were the things that were giving me anxiety, that I were afraid of.

So I dropped out of college. It was definitely a mutual decision. I went to talk to my advisor and dean, and we came to the decision that me retaking courses and pulling my grades up wouldn’t be enough, and I’d end up somewhere mediocre when I graduated. I didn’t want that, and honestly I wasn’t happy in the career I chose. I thought the material was interesting and exciting, but the day to day drudgery was eating at me soul. I wasn’t happy.

I moved home, mustered up some courage, and enrolled myself in a culinary school…without telling my parents. They weren’t very happy with me. We had a few fights, one lasting about a month where my Dad didn’t really speak to me, and one big one at the end. The final one happened all over the house, us following each other screaming and crying, and ended up with me making the biggest admittance I’ve ever made to anyone in my life – “I just want you guys to be proud of me” was what I told my parents through tears. It was one of those “a-ha” moments that only came about because I had nothing left in me – nowhere else to hide.

Over the last six years, I have gone to culinary school, graduated and worked countless jobs around the city networking with chefs and people I never imagined I would ever meet, moved out on my own (for real this time, mortgage and all), bought my own car, and have had the same job for almost two years now. I’ve dropped the 80 pounds I’ve gained from college and try to eat healthy whemever I can. Ironically, it’s taking me quitting the job I’ve worked the past two yeasrs for me to have this “a-ha” moment.

I have been a chef for the last three years at two places. The first was a grocery store and butcher and the second was a restaurant. Both have taught me more in three years than my seven collective years of college ever did. And the latter job has taught me to question everything again. I’ve been asking “why?” again – and not accepting “that’s just how it is” as a legitimate answer. I love the restaurant industry. Looking at it from afar and seeing how many people it gives jobs to, how much the industry as a whole does for every single person every single day, and seeing the individuals who come in, bust their asses for a minimum wage paycheck, and are satisfied with a pat on the back and a “good job, see you tomorrow” really make me take pause. The great things people can do when they accept each other, put aside their differences and come together is great, but also seeing the hard work, dedication and sometimes overworking it takes to just get the doors open really makes me proud to do what I do. I’ve seen life from a lot of different viewpoints over the last 27 years, and I feel like I’ve seen the man behind the curtain. I know pain for losing someone you love and I know the joy of seeing new life come to be. I know how to start a business and I’ve seen businesses I’ve run nosedive when I leave. I’ve seen people flourish in jobs we’ve given them after a tough life on the streets or even jail time. I’ve seen rich, worry-free grown men who think they’re shit doesn’t stick humbled to the point that I have to teach them how to clean lettuce properly so the customers and their restaurants don’t end up chewing on sand.

It’s important to keep perspective and know where you’ve been. Some people say that you should never look back because it distracts you from looking forward, but I disagree with that. Looking back gives you the knowledge you need to be able to move forward and be greater than the sum of your parts.

I am a man. I am gay. I am white. I am loving. I am generous. And I am Human.

We can all fight about politics, race, gender, inequality, pay, or even how to fold a bedsheet. When it all boils down, we’re all human, and we need to work together to be great. As one of my best friends and mentors put it, “Everyone just needs to do their fucking job. Stop fighting and complaining, just do your job.” Our jobs are to be greater than the individual. Let’s do it.

#grown up #bedtime thoughts #adulting #truth #honesty #deep thoughts

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