#unbeta'd so hope it makes sense

[thebiggerbear]

"You're safe now, I'm here." - Soldier Boy Prompt Response

Summary: Soldier Boy has been on a ton of dangerous missions in his time, fought a lot of battles, but never did he imagine he would be undertaking the one you had just tasked him with. Shit.

A/N: This is a prompt from @sydnee-kom-spacekru. A sort of sequel to the prompt response for "Sleep. I'll keep you safe." Been working on this since January 3rd. I had way too much fun with this one.

Happy Mother's Day to all of the mothers out there, all of the fur baby mamas, and all those who celebrate!

@deans-spinster-witch this is what popped into my head when you said "dangerous mission" lol. Once it was in there, I couldn't get it out. I hope it's decent and that you like it.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: Soldier Boy being himself; some misogyny; some homophobic language; some antiquated thinking (SB); angst; a lot of mentions of shit (yes, literal shit); language (I guess?); some smut; mention of breeding kink; a bit of a lactation kink (I know they did the Coke and milk thing in the show but you can't tell me he wouldn't have at least been on the verge of this kink if the opportunity arose)

Word Count: 11k+

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

SB Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @just-levyy

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

SDV Leah version ✨ Russell Shaw version 1 & 2 ✨

Ben let out an aggravated sigh for what felt like the fortieth time and turned back to the table, his nose wrinkled. He glanced down and saw his daughter’s wide eyes watching him as she kicked her little legs, slobbering all over the fingers of one hand she had in her mouth. He made a face and shook his head, remembering when he told her “You’re lucky you’re cute, kid”, when she’d done the same thing about an hour before. He didn’t know what was so tasty about those fingers especially when there were other tastier options available. 

Speaking of which, you just had to pick the fucking perfect time to do your pumping shit so he would be stuck doing this shit, in the literal sense of the word. Ben thought he’d been on dangerous missions before but nothing ever made him want to retreat in the other direction more than the one he was about to embark on. The smell wafted up to him once more as the baby kicked her legs again.

“Christ, this kid fucking stinks.”

“Language!”

He rolled his eyes and glanced back over his shoulder, though he couldn’t see you. “It’s not like she understands what the fuck I’m saying!”

“Ben! We talked about this!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, turning back to his little girl. “No cursing around the baby,” he mocked you in a high voice, smirking when a small smile formed on her face.

Another wave hit him and he held a hand up to his nose. “Are you almost done in there?” He complained.

“No! I still have a little more to go.” He knew that; he could hear the machine still making its weird noises almost as if it was next to his ear. He hated and loved that thing. Hated it because it was so damn loud to his ears and it ruined a perfectly sexy image in his head when he first saw you doing it. Loved it because it was helping your body do one of the natural things it was designed to do and it also allowed him to get some one on one time with you out of the house for the occasional few hours if you could get Elena or Queen Lesbo to babysit. As a matter of fact, as harsh as the sounds were and how unsexy it was, it got him downright hard sometimes when he thought of either scenario because both brought it all back to sex for him. Either he was daydreaming about fucking another baby into you while watching you or he was thinking about how he was going to be fucking you later that evening when the two of you were alone. This time, though, it was going to be neither. 

You were getting ready to go out to have lunch with Elena, have some girl time or some shit. Whatever the fuck that meant. It certainly wasn’t what he’d been thinking the first time you mentioned it, which to him was a complete fucking wasted opportunity. He wasn’t into Elena at all or The One-Eyed Bitch Queen but he was definitely into seeing you get off. Just as long as it wasn’t another guy, he was good with it. But instead, his hopes had been dashed when your expression of disgust transformed into you pinching the bridge of your nose and explaining what girl time for you actually meant. His annoyance grew (and his nerves skyrocketed though he would never tell you that) when you mentioned he would be the one babysitting this time. He wasn’t happy but neither were you and when it came down to it, you were the victor of that argument.  

And now he had this shit on top of it, pun very much fucking intended. Needless to say, Ben was beyond done at this point.    

“Just change the diaper already,” you urged, your tone strained with the last threads of patience. “The longer she stays in her own mess, the more likely she is to get a rash and possible infection. Then she will be in pain and she’ll have to see the doctor. We don’t want that to happen. I’ve told you this time and time again and I’ve shown you how to do it. No more excuses, Ben. Just change it.”

Ben could feel his ire rising. “So you want me to do what you should be doing? I’m not the goddamn woman here!” He regretted it as soon as he said it. He heard you turn the machine off and he knew he was in for it now.

“What did you just say?” He heard you ask menacingly from the other room. Oh fuck. He knew he had about ten seconds to turn this around or the rest of the day and night were going to be shit. Worse than the actual shit he was smelling. He’d be lucky if he’d be able to sit next to you at the table later at dinner, never mind touch you again for the next few days.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, pulling a new diaper from the open package next to him and glancing down at the squirming baby in front of him. He was relieved when he heard the machine start up again and leaned over the table to lay down the law to his daughter. “Alright, look, kid, we gotta make some sort of deal here. You can’t be shitting up a storm and stinking up the place while your mother is out. Piss I can deal with. Puke, bad but doable. Shit…no fucking way.” He began to unbutton her onesie, screwing up his face in disgust as the smell slapped him in the face. “So if you really care about your old man and you want him to be happy, you’ll stop shitting all over the goddamn place. Got it?”

The baby gurgled back at him and he saw more drool coming out of her little mouth. 

Ben shook his head, giving her a sharp look. The least she could do was not look so happy about him having to do this for her. He gently pulled her legs out of the onesie as you’d shown him how to do (he ripped one too many the first week she was home) and he frowned when he saw a damp brown stain, the smell becoming even worse. He lifted her legs and as he’d suspected, the shit was fucking everywhere, having catapulted past the edge of the diaper and down her back. He briefly shut his eyes and looked away, groaning loudly, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He attempted to take a breath that didn’t smell like he was wading around in the worst shit someone ever took. Like he was that little bastard Termite and he’d shot too far off the mark. 

“Now what?” You yelled back.

“She shit everywhere! It’s all up and down her back.” He looked back down at his daughter. “Really?” Another gurgle. “Christ.”

“Yeah, because she’s been sitting in a full diaper for the last thirty minutes while you’ve been non-stop complaining about it, that’s why! Just get her cleaned up and into a new diaper, some new clothes, and then put her in her bouncy chair so you can clean the table. Or if you’re feeling adventurous, give her a bath. A bath is probably better.”

“Why don’t you come in here and fucking handle it then? I’ve told you, my sense of smell is about ten times what yours is!”

You huffed out an aggravated breath. “Because you have to learn how to take care of her, Ben! You’re her father for God’s sake. You should be able to handle one damn diaper change without being a child about it! What if I wasn’t here anymore? You’d be the one doing it all then.”

He straightened up at that, glaring back in your direction. “What do you mean if you weren’t here? Where the fuck would you go?”

“Language, Ben! Jesus!”

His jaw clenched and he turned back to grab a fresh wipe or five. He bunched them up in his hand and lifted the baby’s legs and began to wipe. There was so much shit, the wipes were filled instantly and it got onto his hand. “Fucking hell!” His daughter’s smile faded and she began to look as if she were about to cry. 

“What now?” You snapped. 

“It’s all over my goddamn hand, that’s what!” He bellowed.

“Well, wipe it off, get her cleaned up, then wash your hands.” There was no compassion in your tone, only irritation.

Ben should have shut the fuck up right then and there, and just done what you’d tasked him with. But, he was fucking done and livid at your obvious lack of sympathy. “This isn’t my fucking job! It’s yours! You should be doing this! Real men don’t change their kid’s shitty diaper! Women do!” 

The machine shut off again but this time, Ben didn’t give a fuck. He’d had it. He knew you’d be pissed at what he’d just said but too fucking bad. It was true, whether you liked it or not. No matter what today’s society had to say or not. Women were the caregivers, the nurturers or whatever the fuck he’d heard on that bald-headed doctor’s show the other day, the givers of life or some shit. Real men did their job in making the kid, being the father, and putting food on the table for his family while also providing a roof over their heads. That’s how it always worked and that’s how it should still be today. He’d done his job: he’d protected you, knocked you up with his kid, and stuck around to be its father, even after finding out it wasn’t going to be the son he’d initially hoped for. And here you were, trying to get him to fucking play Mr. Mom so you could go out for a few hours and get some girl time that wasn’t even going to reap any benefits for him after you’d left the kid with him all afternoon? No fucking way. His jaw tightened as he heard you approaching quickly. He didn’t care how pissed you were; he wasn’t backing down. 

But just then, the baby began to cry, having been scared by him yelling angrily (and probably because she was wet and uncomfortable and had been for some time now). He glanced down at her, his jaw unclenching and his features softening slightly. Fuck no. Ben could withstand a lot of shit (minus actual shit), and not a lot affected him, but his daughter’s cries? And because of him? That was his kryptonite. “No, no, no. Don’t cry, Princess. Daddy’s sorry he yelled, okay? He didn’t mean to scare you,” he quietly soothed. He went to pick her up to hold her, forgetting that she had shit all over her, and he only realized it when it dripped all down the front of his shirt and his hands and arms were covered with it as he balanced her against his chest. “Ahhh shit!” The baby began to cry louder.

You appeared, the top of your dress fixed and buttoned, a furious expression on your face. You held out your hands. “You’re safe now, I’m here,” you spat. “Give her to me.” 

Ben glared down at you. He had been spoiling for a fight a moment ago but after the baby started to cry, some of the fury went out of him, and apparently right into you it looked like. “Listen, don’t get all pissy because—”

“I said,” you snapped. “Give her to me.”

Ben shot you a look but did as you said. He watched as you got shit all over you but you didn’t even flinch. Instead, you snatched the fresh diaper from the table and unfolded it to place behind your daughter’s poop chute before grabbing the canister of fresh wipes and a towel. You didn’t even look at him as you passed by him to head into the bathroom. Fuck, he was definitely in trouble.

He grimaced down at his messy shirt and removed it, balling it up and throwing it into the baby’s laundry basket. He made his way to the open door of the bathroom, stepping in to wash his hands and forearms at the sink as he watched you in the mirror, sitting on the edge of the tub and filling it with water, the baby’s own tub inside it. You were cooing at your daughter who wasn’t crying anymore but letting out little whines that threatened to extend back into a crying jag if need be. The baby was unhappy and from the looks of it, so were you.

He dried his hands as you began to use the fresh wipes to clean your daughter. “There we go, Ellie,” you murmured. “We’re going to get you all nice and clean, okay?”

Hearing your soft-toned reassurances to the baby, Ben figured now might be as good a time as any to try to start melting away some of your anger with him. He cleared his throat. “If you want, you don’t have to use that thing. I can get in the tub with her. I have to clean up anyway.” He gestured to his bare chest but you didn’t even look up.

“I think you’ve done quite enough today, thank you,” you answered, your tone full of ice. Yeah, he was in fucking trouble. Fuck.

“Don’t be like that. I’ve told you, my sense of smell is ten times more powerful than yours. I tried and it just didn’t work out.” He crossed his arms, his jaw tight. Why would you be fucking pissed at him? He tried his best. He got shit all over for him as a result for Christ’s sake. And he only spoke the truth.

“And what the fuck do you think this is? Chocolate? Paint?” You gestured to the shitty fresh wipes sitting in the diaper and to your ruined dress. That wasn’t what stopped him short; you never cursed in front of your daughter. 

You continued to carefully clean the baby in your lap. “I told you when I found out I was pregnant that I would do it myself. You could take off and go do whatever you wanted to do after you held up your end of the deal. You could go get high, get drunk, fuck a ton of women, play at being a superhero — whatever. But no, you said you wanted to stay. Insisted on it, actually. I told you then.” You threw another freshwipe into the diaper and grabbed a clean one. “If you stay, if you really want this, then you need to be all in. Do you remember that?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I am all in.”

“You call this all in?” You gestured towards the messy baby who had her hands in her mouth, watching her mother, tears still dotting her eyes. 

Ben started to feel uncomfortable, something almost like shame itching at his skin, and he didn’t care for it. He dropped his gaze to the ground. “So I didn’t change one shitty diaper. You don’t need to make a big fucking deal over it.”

“Ben,” you seethed. “Look at me.”

He reluctantly glanced up at you, still annoyed. 

“She’s your daughter and she can’t do these things for herself right now. Sometimes it’s going to be messy and sometimes it’s going to smell so bad you gag. And yeah, sometimes it’s going to make you uncomfortable, but you push through all of that because you’re her father and you love her no matter what. Because you want to take care of her, to make sure she is healthy and happy every single day. She’s our responsibility for the rest of our lives. It’s no longer about you, me, or anyone else. It’s about her. Just her. That’s it.”

He unclenched his jaw, hearing the seriousness of what you were saying, the truth he didn’t want to think about underlying your very words. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his daughter, he did, but why were you so insistent on giving him the dirty work? You knew how he felt about doing this type of shit. Not to mention, it felt like you were trying to shame him for not wanting to change one fucking diaper, like you were implying that he wasn’t a good father if he didn’t waltz into the nursery, smiling and eager to do it. He was a good father and a damn good provider. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t even have this place to call home. He was the one who sacrificed and played nice with the old bitch and Butcher. Hell, If it wasn’t for him, neither of you would even be here right now! 

Ben hated himself when he had that thought. What the fuck was wrong with him? But since he didn’t want to look at that too closely, instead he turned it back on you. 

“I don’t need you lecturing me on how to be a father. I am a good father, goddammit! Hell, I’m a better father than my old man ever was. I provide for her and you every single day. I gave up everything to protect you, be with you, and be there to take care of my kid. Which is a lot fucking more than some of the other dames I’ve knocked up over the years can say. I put my life on the line for you both! And this is the thanks I get? Because I didn’t change one shitty fucking diaper?” He scoffed. “You are one ungrateful bitch.”

Your eyes widened slightly and Ben regretted his words the moment they flew out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say those things, not to you.

Your eyes dropped to your daughter in your lap who was staring back up at you. You nodded and after a moment, you scowled up at him. “Well, since we’re such a burden and keeping you from your great life…don’t let the door hit you on your misogynistic and spoiled ass on the way out.” He could see your eyes shimmering but he could also see the absolute fury and ice daggers you were shooting him with, too. He knew then just how badly he had fucked up. 

“Y/N, I—”

“I mean it. Get your shit and leave. I’ll do this alone just like I planned to all along anyway. There you go, you’re free. No more nagging from this ungrateful bitch, no more having to act like you give a shit about either of us, no more being weighed down. You’re free to go and get fucked up and drink all you want, Soldier Boy. Go knock up some more dames and then leave them to raise those kids all on their own, too. You know, like a real man does.” If your glare could kill alone, Ben would be six feet under right now, the one thing that could end him that the Ivans never found out about. 

You placed your daughter in her little tub and stormed over to him, shoving him out the door. You couldn’t really move him but he was so caught off guard at your outburst, your words, that he moved where you pushed him. “And best of all, no more shitty fucking diapers!” You slammed the bathroom door in his face and locked the door, knowing it wouldn’t keep him out if he wanted in, but the message was clear. You were done and you were willing to go it alone; you didn’t need him and you had enough of his bullshit. He’d not only heard it in your voice, your words, but he’d also seen it in your eyes. That hurt way more than he ever thought it would.

He stood there staring at the door, stunned. His daughter began to cry and he heard you soothe her with “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetness. Mommy’s here. We’re going to get you all cleaned up and feeling better in no time. Don’t you worry, Ellie.” You began to coo to her as you bathed her and before long, she was making happy noises again. You’d even made her laugh once.

Ben stood there, not feeling right about what just happened or that his family was on the other side of the door. He could break it down if he wanted to, you both knew that, but he wouldn’t. Nor would he break the lock to get in. He knew he had let his irritation get the best of him and he’d said some things that he couldn’t take back, no matter how he might try to apologize now. Why the fuck had he said those things, anyway? 

He loved the life you had now (minus the shitty diapers obviously) and the family you’d started to build. Hell, he loved you, something he hadn’t ever really felt before for a woman other than his mother. He thought he’d felt it once with Crimson Countess but he’d been wrong. What he thought he felt for her paled in comparison to what he actually felt for you. Not just for having his kid but also for loving him and not the suit. Yes, you’d gone to him for protection and yes, he’d done his best to take advantage of that fact, but something genuine formed between the two of you. Before long, he wasn’t just protecting you to hold up his end of the deal, he was also protecting you because he couldn’t bear to lose you. He was over a century old and he had never come across someone like you before, someone who actually saw worth in him as something more than a quick lay or a celebrity or a supe. Someone who worried for him when he left your sight or took on one of your would-be assailants. Someone who actually wanted to build a life with him — with him, not Soldier Boy. 

So why the fuck had he said those things? He knew why. You had made him feel ashamed that he hadn’t gotten the job done, that he hadn’t completed the one mission you’d given him and you hadn’t even left the house yet. You’d had to come in and rescue him, do the task instead, and you hadn’t balked or even thought twice about it.

You were softly singing to Ellie and he could hear a couple of breaks in your voice, betraying how upset you really were though you were trying to hide it for your daughter’s sake. 

Ben hung his head in shame when he heard you get choked up and stop for a moment, sniffling, before you started back up again. He threw on a fresh shirt and got to work cleaning the shit from the changing pad and this time, he didn’t complain.

Ben watched as you carried the baby into the room, still not looking at him. You saw that the table was clean and moved over to place your daughter on it, grabbing the clean onesie he’d set aside and began to dress her. “You’re still here?” You bit out though he could detect a hint of genuine surprise there, too. 

“Still here,” he murmured, hoping you would hear how sorry he was without him having to say it.

You finished buttoning up the onesie and popped the pacifier into Ellie’s mouth that he’d left out for you. “Think you can manage to watch her while I take a ten minute shower?”

“Since when do you take ten minute showers?” He’d meant it as a teasing question, to try to lighten the mood a little, but you turned a glare onto him, beginning to unbutton the top of your dress. 

“Forget it. I’ll put her in her bouncy seat and bring her in with me. You can go.” You went to pick up the baby when he held his hands out.

“I can watch her. Go take your shower.”

He could see the clear distrust in your eyes but you handed him your daughter nonetheless but not before you kissed her head. “Mommy will be right back, Ellie,” you whispered, stroking her back. You glanced up at him, unsure, but then turned to make your way to the bathroom, continuing to undo the fastenings on your dress. He let out a huge sigh when he heard the door snick closed and the shower start up.

“Daddy’s in big trouble, Princess,” he murmured to Ellie. She gazed up at him, going to town on her pacifier, her brows drawing together slightly from the effort. He smiled and dropped a kiss down on her little forehead. “That’s one thing you have in common with your old man. We love the nipples.” He chuckled under his breath, imagining just how hard you would roll your eyes and swat at his shoulder if you heard that. But instead, he heard a much more heartbreaking sound from you. You were crying…in the shower. Fuck. 

At that moment, he heard a car slowing down and pulling into the driveway. One glance out the window confirmed it was Elena. In the midst of all this, he’d forgotten you had plans for the day. Just then, he got an idea and hurried towards the front door. He had just reached it by the time Elena was about to push the doorbell. He whipped it open, making her jump in surprise. After she saw it was Ben with the baby in tow, she recovered quickly. “Oh, hey Ben. Is Y/N ready yet? Hi, Ellie.” She gave a tiny wave to your daughter, smiling.

“Uh, not yet. She’s in the shower. Hey, can you watch Ellie for a few? I’ve got something I need to do and I can’t take her with me.”

Elena seemed uncertain for a moment, studying him as if she were wondering what he was about to do, but then relented with a shrug. “Sure.” He opened the door wider for her to come in and once she had put her coat and purse on a chair, he handed Ellie over to her. 

“Thanks. Be right back, Princess.” He stroked the back of the baby’s head with his fingers before hurrying out of the room, intent on doing whatever he had to in order to make things right.

Ben quietly slipped into the bathroom, undressed, and snuck into the shower behind you. You had stopped crying after the doorbell sounded so you most likely knew Elena was here and waiting. You were rubbing suds-covered hands all over the front of your body. 

While you cleaned your front, Ben’s eyes roamed over your back. He was already predictably hard, just seeing you naked. You had the perfect ass and even though you still had some baby weight that you were trying to lose, in his eyes, you were fucking gorgeous. You had mournfully admitted a couple of weeks ago that your stomach was soft and you were embarrassed by the visible stretch marks and your wider hips, not to mention the few pounds sticking around. Your breasts were bigger (something he didn’t see as a problem), the areolas darker than ever before, and you were feeling a bit insecure about your new shape. He loved the new you, which he made sure to tell you over and over as he fucked you that night. You were the mother of his kid, you’d given birth to her, nourished her from your body, and you could give him even more. It endlessly fascinated him that his seed had taken root in you and a healthy child grew from it, one that was half you and half him. He’d literally fucked a baby into you and every time he saw you like this, he wanted to do it again (though you’d told him your body needed at least a year or two to recuperate before you could even entertain the idea of another pregnancy). You looked so fucking gorgeous carrying his kid and now, you were even more beautiful if that was possible. It was pure beauty that he saw when you breastfed his daughter, when you smiled down at her, talked to her, and rocked her to sleep. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t want you, on your back (or your hands and knees, he wasn’t picky), taking load after load from him until he knocked you up once more. 

So he had been dumbfounded and almost incredulous when you nervously admitted all of this to him, implying that maybe he didn’t find you attractive anymore and maybe he’d prefer a flat-stomached, tighter, younger, free-to-bang-all-day woman instead. That or some old lady. He’d fucked that notion right out of your head.

But now as he stepped toward you, not only was he incredibly turned on by you and how beautiful he still thought you were, but he also realized right then, just like he had many times before this moment, you were the only one he wanted. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your wet shoulder.

You let out a small gasp in surprise. “Where’s Ellie?”

“Elena’s got her.” 

“Well, I’m not doing anything with you in this shower so you might as well get out,” you snapped and attempted to wriggle out of his embrace. When you couldn’t, you huffed out an aggravated breath and went back to rubbing soap over your skin. 

He nosed your wet hair out of the way to get closer to your ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never should’ve said that shit.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you muttered, gliding soap down your arms. 

“I love you,” he murmured to the skin of your neck before dropping a kiss. “I love my little princess.” Another kiss. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Really? Because it sounds like you want to be somewhere else.”

“No, I don’t,” he assured. “I told you when I knocked you up. You two are it for me.”

You slowed down your movements and he took the opportunity to hug you a little tighter, burying his nose underneath your jaw. “I mean it, doll. This is right where I want to be.” He slowly ground his erection into the small of your back to also illustrate his point. He meant every fucking word; with you, around you, in you — there was no other place he’d rather be. 

You attempted to turn around in his arms and he loosened his grip so you could. He nearly let out a soft groan at the feel of your soap-slicked skin sliding against his dick. You stared up into his eyes and the smirk that formed on his face was beyond dirty, thinking you two were about to get to the fun part, your argument a thing of the past when you cupped his bearded cheeks in your suds-covered hands. 

“Ben,” you whispered. “I need to know that if something happens to me…that you’ve got this with Ellie.”

Ben’s grin morphed into a frown and his brows furrowed. “What the fuck are you talking about? What do you mean if something happens to you?”

Your eyes began to glisten and his heart dropped inside his chest. What the fuck hadn’t you told him?

“Did some cocksucker threaten you?” He growled menacingly, the rage he worked so hard to tamp down for yours and Ellie’s sakes was attempting to breach the surface at the thought of someone even thinking about hurting you. Mallory had said you’d be safe here; had the old bitch lied?

You shook your head and that only helped to quell the fire burning deep within slightly. A light appeared on your face and you glanced down as it got brighter, eyes wide in fear. “Your chest is glowing. Ben, stop! You need to calm down.” 

He took deep breaths as he’d learned to do, telling himself that you were here in his arms, right now, and you were safe. You were not in any danger. Hearing the sounds of his daughter a few rooms away helped him to get this fucking thing inside of him under control. He hated it, hated what the Reds had done to him, but it was now forever a part of him. He would do whatever it took to keep you both safe, even from this goddamn weapon inside his chest.

When you met his eyes again, there was no more light, no more glow lighting up your face from below. You lifted yourself up on your toes and brushed your lips against his. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

Ben nodded and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you up against him. He nuzzled you, feeling much calmer than he had a few moments before, but he still saw the same worry in your gaze that he’d seen before his inner nuke started to fire up. “Talk to me,” he implored.

You pressed your lips together and briefly looked away and he knew you didn’t really want to say what you were about to. It made him incredibly nervous. While you two had argued before and you’d told him to go when he was being an ass…what if what you meant was that you wanted out of this? Fear immediately took hold of him — fear of losing you, fear of losing Ellie, and all because he’d been a stupid fuck who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. You both were the two best things that had ever happened to him since being injected with Compound V. He didn’t want to go back to before. He only wanted now and the two of you. Hell, he wanted to keep creating a family with you, the family he’d always desired but never had. What had seemed within his grasp just hours ago now seemed to be getting further and further away. 

That thought had him speaking — no, downright begging. Soldier Boy begging…only for you. “Look, I know I’ve been a dick and I said some really fucked up shit earlier but I didn’t—”

You gently placed your fingers against his lips, effectively stopping him. You stared up at him sadly and that fear kicked into high gear. Fuck, he was losing you. And all because he hadn’t been able to keep his goddamn mouth shut or change one fucking dirty diaper. He’d fucking failed and now he was going to lose you and that dream he wanted to realize with you all in one swoop. All because he really was America’s Asshole.

But when you finally spoke, you said the last thing he expected. “I spent months running from Vought’s death squads before I found you. Even with you protecting me, even after I got pregnant, I was still in danger because they wanted me dead.” Your voice broke on the last word, betraying the tears that were imminent, along with the shimmering in your eyes getting worse.

His brows drew together in concern but he gently grasped your chin, making sure that you not only continued looking at him but that you heard every word he was about to say. “But you’re safe now,” he murmured. “Vought’s gone, Edgar and Homelander are dead…I would never let anything happen to you.”

Tears began to roll down your cheeks. “I know, but I keep thinking what if something goes wrong? What if one of the supes out there finds us? What if they get wind that I’m still alive? What if the surviving board members decide that I’m still a liability?”

He shook his head, moving his thumb up to stroke your cheek reassuringly. “No one survived. I made sure of it.” He placed his forehead down onto yours. “I promised I’d keep you safe, you both safe, and I did.” Ben tenderly rubbed his nose along yours. “Still do.” 

He was slightly relieved that you weren’t thinking of leaving him but also unhappy that you had still been worrying about this all of this time and he hadn’t had a clue. He was going to do whatever it took to reassure you, to remind you that you were safe and that you no longer needed to worry about any of those pricks that you’d had to run from before. He still remembered the nightmares you’d had, the jumps and startles in the middle of the night at the slightest sound. Eventually, it prompted him to hold you when you went to bed, promising to keep you safe so you could get some sleep while he kept watch. You would finally relax in his arms and close your eyes, content to listen to his strong heartbeat underneath your ear, knowing you were indeed protected.   

Sure, you’d kept your end of the deal and let him fuck you once you’d gotten some rest from running nonstop, but instead of getting bored like he usually did after hitting the same pussy a couple of different times, he’d actually started to like you. So he’d kept you close while he turned the hunt around to make Onehander, Edgar, and all of those assholes the prey instead. When he found out you were carrying his kid, he decided he’d do whatever it took to make you both safe and even ended up teaming up with the Brit and his team again, though he still didn’t trust them. Hell, he’d even made a deal with them to settle in this area and get you this house when you’d told him you wanted a home for your child to grow safely up in, to put down roots. He’d put up with your nearby neighbors, with having to see the One-Eyed-WonderBitch again, and shifting from the Supe life to suburban life (which was not an easy transition for him by any means). He did it all for you…for you and Ellie and the family you had chosen to have with him.

So to see now that after everything, you still didn’t feel completely safe, well…that bothered him. What kind of man had he been for you to keep feeling scared that Vought might come back at any moment to haunt you? He’d never given you details of the day that he’d annihilated them all for you because he knew you didn’t want them, but maybe he should have. If he had, maybe that would’ve helped to allay your fears of any possible reprisals.   

“I know you do,” you broke into his thoughts. “But…what if something else happens? What if I get sick or get hit by a car or I have an accident and fall or I have a medical emergency that could be fatal or—”

“Hey,” he interrupted your rambling. “You’re spiraling.” Something you’d done quite a bit when you first met. His heart sunk at the thought; this had gotten to that point and he hadn’t had one goddamn clue. He’d been so wrapped up in you and Ellie and the life you were building that he hadn’t even seen it. Maybe his father had been right; he was a fuck up. An assertion by the old man that you’d unknowingly been dismantling every single day with how much you loved and believed in Ben, but now…now he felt as if he didn’t deserve you. He watched more tears spill down your cheeks and he knew he definitely didn’t; here was the proof.

“I know,” you sobbed. “I’m sorry. I just…” You took in a ragged breath and looked into his eyes, your bottom lip starting to wobble. “I need to know that if something happens to me, that you’ll take care of Ellie the way she needs to be taken care of. If I’m gone, she’s going to need you and I need to know that she’ll be okay.”

He tried his best not to be insulted, not to show it for your sake so he wouldn’t upset you anymore than you already were, but it stung his ego a bit. “Of course, she would be okay. I’ve kept her safe this long, haven’t I?”

“I’m not just talking about safety, Ben. I’m talking about you actually taking care of her. Not just providing for her, but actually being there for her whenever she needs you. Like the diaper change I asked you to do today. Is it disgusting? Sure. No one likes dealing with it, smelling shit, getting it all over you…but she’s your daughter and she needed you to take care of it for her. What if I had gone for breakfast with Elena instead? Would she have sat in her own crap until I came back home because you feel as a man that it’s beneath you to change your own daughter’s diaper?” More tears appeared. “What if something had happened to me while I was out? Would you just push Ellie onto Elena and Maggie to take care of her so you could go back to your old life? All so you wouldn’t have to do any of the messy or hard stuff? Would you abandon her just like that?”

“Of course not,” he snapped, his consideration for you now forgotten in the face of what you’d said. “How the fuck could you even think I would do something like that? Haven’t I been here through everything like I fucking said I would be?”

“Yes, but I’ve been doing everything!” The words burst out of you. “At first, you didn’t want to feed her, burp her, bathe her — any of it! And I did it all! Why? Because that was supposed to be the woman’s job you’d said!”

Ben could feel his temper flaring at you bringing that up. You were also intimating that he didn’t do anything for your daughter. Were you blind to all of the effort he had put in to help you raise Ellie since that fight you’d had a couple of weeks after she’d been born? Didn’t you realize that most mornings you woke up well rested was because he’d gotten up with the baby in the middle of the night so you wouldn’t have to? And you were still holding that shit over his head? What the fuck was wrong with you? “That was the way it was back then,” he growled out. “I told you that! And I’ve been doing all of that shit you just mentioned since then! So I didn’t change one shitty diaper today! I said I was sorry! When are you going to fucking let it go?”

Instead of responding, you exploded into more sobs and shame churned in his gut. He really fucking hated seeing either of his girls cry. It made him want to beat the ever loving shit out of some son of a bitch. Even if he happened to be said son of a bitch sometimes. 

“Christ,” he muttered. “C’mere.” He pulled you to him and you held onto him tightly, crying into his neck. His hand slid down your back in a tender caress and he pressed his lips to your hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to you.

He kept you in his arms, hoisted you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist, and let you get it all out. He even shut the water off, knowing the temperature had vastly cooled in the amount of time he’d been in there with you so far. He vaguely recalled his plan from earlier to join you, apologize for what he’d said during your argument, and begin making up with you. That obviously had gone to shit; there would be no making up happening now, that was for sure. And if anything would get his dick to go soft with you naked against him, it was the sound of you crying. 

Once your sobs quieted down and turned into ragged inhales and a few sniffles here and there, he moved your hair out of the way so he could see you. “Better?”

You nodded, sniffling as you looked up at him. “Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s get you out of this tub then and get you dried off.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and went to open the shower curtain.

“Ben?”

He froze and turned to look at you. 

You lifted your head, letting out another sniffle. “I’m sorry, too.” Before he could say anything, you continued. “I know you’ve been trying and you’ve been doing everything I asked you to with Ellie. I just…I freaked out about the diaper thing.” You wiped at your face. “Because it just brought back that worry, that fear I have of what would happen to her if I wasn’t here.” Your voice wobbled slightly but you forged ahead anyway. “You know, I wasn’t scared like this when I was being hunted down. I mean, I was, but not like this. Back then, I only had myself to worry about. And then when I got pregnant, sure, I was a little more scared but I also knew you’d keep us safe.” You took another ragged breath in. “But ever since she’s been born, I have been absolutely terrified. That something might happen to her, to me…to her if something does happen to me. I’m so fucking scared, Ben.” Your voice broke then, prompting fresh tears to roll down your cheeks.

Ben had been insulted before, almost as if you hadn’t believed in him or his ability to keep either of you safe, but now as he listened to your heartfelt explanation, he realized it wasn’t really about any of that. It didn’t really have anything to do with him, except that you wanted him to be ready to care for your daughter if something ever happened to you. That unpleasant tug inside his gut happened once more when you finally confessed just how scared you were. He thought back over the last few months since Ellie had been born. Your push for him to be more involved; your fighting with him over his antiquated mindset as you’d called it over his ideas of what fatherhood entailed; your rushing him during your sexual escapades the few times he’d managed to get you away from the house while Elena watched the baby no matter how much it pissed him off that he couldn’t take his time with you like he wanted; your insistence that he watch Ellie while you go to lunch with your friend; your anger today at his refusal to deal with the shitty diaper situation — all of it suddenly clicked into place for him and made sense. Fuck, he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel any worse. He had completely failed you on all fronts. He had been the blind one; he’d never seen what was going on with you when it was right in front of him this whole time. Christ on a cross.

He gripped your chin gently. “Look at me.” You reluctantly met his gaze, yours glistening with fresh tears, and he could see the fear there plain as day. Fuck, how had he missed it all of this time? But instead of focusing on that, he sought to reassure you. “You and Ellie are safe. Nothing is going to happen. I would never let anyone hurt you. Either of you. I love you both too fucking much.” He grazed the pad of his thumb over your cheek to catch a stray tear that had escaped at his words. “And if it’s something that’s going to make you feel better, then let’s sit down and make a plan in case anything were to happen to you. Or even if I bit it. I want both of my girls to be taken care of, even if I can’t be here to do it myself.” You gave him a tearful smile. “So, let’s do that and kick this fear in its fucking ass. Sound good, doll?”

You nodded and leaned in, kissing him and making him smile. He’d been able to make you feel better after all and he felt damn proud of himself for being able to do so. “I love you,” you whispered.

He fucking loved hearing those three words from you every single time you said them; he knew you fucking meant it. And so did he. “I love you, too, baby.” When you beamed at him, another tugging sensation happened in his chest but this time, it was a far more pleasant one. He pecked your lips and opened the curtain. “Alright, let’s get you out of here.”

Before he could take a step out of the tub, you reached up and yanked the curtain closed, making his brows furrow. Your smile suddenly transformed into a devilish smirk. Immediately, he could feel his dick hardening again. He knew what that smirk meant. “We didn’t make up yet,” you murmured, starting to rub your body against his. “And we always make up after we fight.” 

Ben felt the stiff peaks of your nipples gliding across his skin and his mouth practically watered at the thought of sucking on them while he rammed into you repeatedly. Fuck, he loved your tits. There had been a time after Ellie was born where you’d pushed his head away anytime he tried to get his mouth on them while he was fucking you, complaining that they were too sensitive due to all of the feedings. But recently, he’d been able to start that up again without causing you discomfort and once, he had even gotten a tiny amount of milk squirted into his mouth by accident. It had been surprising for him, embarrassing for you, but it had turned out to be a major turn on. He found he didn’t mind the taste and the idea of him drinking you down, you shooting something into his mouth for once and him needing to be the one to swallow, that made him hornier than he’d ever been in his life. He’d fucked a lot of women in his time, sometimes high, sometimes sober; he’d done things that made most people blush to hear about or uncomfortable to imagine, some things which you flat out refused to do. He’d founded Herogasm and had marathon fucks that were legendary. He’d hosted orgies where he would be the only one left standing, having never tired out and still raring to go when everyone else was down for the count. And yet, when you’d unintentionally squirted the smallest bit of milk into his mouth, his dick had gotten so hard, he was shocked it hadn’t exploded right there. Well…it did, but not the way he’d originally been thinking. He’d greedily swallowed you down and kept sucking, even through the first load of cum he’d shot into you in reaction to that fucking hot as hell moment. From that point on, while he knew your breastmilk was Ellie’s main food source and he loved that, his daughter had to learn to fucking share. 

That was another reason why he had such a love/hate relationship with the breast pump machine you had. When he would watch the milk fill the bottle, he didn’t know whether to cry, jerk off, fuck you, or just watch. Sometimes he even wished you’d get rid of the contraption and just let him help you; it could be a rewarding experience for you both while you made sure Ellie had plenty to eat. 

Your smirk grew, almost as if you knew where his thoughts had gone, and you ghosted your lips over his. “Ben,” you called to him in a teasing singsong voice. “I said, we always make up after fighting.”

He could feel something wet moving against his abdomen as you attempted to roll your hips, knowing it had nothing to do with your recent shower, and he ground out, “Yeah, we fucking do” before he slammed his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss that was all tongue and teeth. He turned around and carefully pushed you up against the tiled wall, making sure not to break it or you. It wasn’t long before he was inside you, his hips pushing into you at a steady pace, his mouth suckling at you and your fingers in his hair, tugging roughly, as you muffled your moans with your other hand. Neither of you had forgotten that Elena was within earshot; Ben just didn’t give a fuck. He snatched your hand away from your mouth, gruffed out a command of “Let me fucking hear you”, and he didn’t give two shits who heard the fucking hot soundtrack of your making up. Instead, as you cried out your pleasure for the world to hear, he went back to your incredible rack, focusing on filling up on you while he worked towards filling you up. The thought of any fear or resentment from your earlier argument was long gone as you both chased your highs at lightning speed. The only words said between you were dirty or full of love. And even when you both had been forced to take a mostly cold shower afterwards to clean up once you both had caught your breath, only smiles, tender touches, and kisses had been exchanged along with a few laughs, both of you completely sated. Well, you were; Ben would never get enough of you and he planned to try to fuck you again later after the baby had fallen asleep.

But as for right now, seeing the bright smile on your face as he carefully wrapped a towel around you, the weight visibly lighter on your shoulders since you confessed your fears to him, he was determined to do whatever it took to not only make you feel safe but also to keep you feeling this way and being this happy. 

When you’d laughed at something he’d said, darted forward to kiss him, and wrapped your arms around his neck, his embrace tightened around you and he kissed the juncture in between your neck and shoulder, making you that silent promise. Whatever it took to make you feel safe again, he’d do it.

Elena glanced up to see you and Ben stepping into the living room, both dressed and looking refreshed. You had been missing in action for at least an hour and forty-five minutes. Elena already had an idea what you two had been doing considering everything she’d heard. Maggie had even heard when she called to check in and see when Elena would be returning home, beyond disgusted at the sounds Soldier Boy was making as he railed you in the shower. She’d told Elena to call her when she was done babysitting so the archaic asshole could get laid and promptly hung up. But even if Elena hadn’t heard what you’d been up to, she would have immediately known after seeing you both. Ben’s hair was still damp and yours was freshly blown out. Both of you were touching, unable to keep your hands off of each other and sporting matching grins, looking like practical newlyweds. Ben’s hand moved to the small of your back and both of you suddenly smiled wide upon seeing your daughter.

“Thank you for watching her and for waiting.” Your cheeks turned a shade of pink but you held out your arms. Elena was only too happy to hand you your baby back. “There she is,” you cooed, pressing a loud kiss to Ellie’s cheek. “Were you a good girl for your Aunt Elena?”

“She was a very good girl,” Elena confirmed, watching as Ben strode over and stopped next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, his eyes centered on both of his girls with an affectionate smile to match. Sometimes Maggie still had trouble believing it, that Soldier Boy had been domesticated as she put it, but Elena never doubted how important you and Ellie were to him. She could see it every time he looked at you, at your little girl, and she actually thought it was beyond sweet. She had even said as much to which Maggie had rolled her eyes, muttered “Whatever, I’m going to vomit”, and walked away from the door while Elena waited to greet the three of you after she had extended a dinner invitation to your family one night. As expected Ben and Maggie didn’t get along too well, especially given their history, but the former seemed to be okay with Elena and she was okay with him because she knew how much he meant to you. And Maggie didn’t seem to mind you all that much, either. So you all somehow made the nearby neighbor thing work; for yours, Elena’s, and Ellie’s sakes if for nothing else. 

“She did get a little fussy, though, so I fed her one of the bottles you had in the fridge.”

You nodded and pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead, briefly glancing at the clock on the mantle. “It’s about that time. Thank you so much for doing that. I’m sorry that we missed lunch.” You blushed once more when Ben let out a quiet chuckle.

“No problem,” Elena dismissed with a smile and a wave of her hand. “I’m glad everything seems to be okay. Ben looked a little worried when I got here.”

You glanced up at him, your brows arching in surprise. Ben shrugged, seeming unbothered at this observation.

“We can maybe shoot for next week if you’re game,” Elena offered. 

You went to answer when Ben cut you off. “Actually, why don’t you guys still go and grab a late lunch or something? Elena’s already here and you both are dressed to the nines.”

Your eyes widened when you looked over at your husband, worry lining your expression for a moment. “No, that’s—it’s too late. By the time we’d get home, it would probably be dinner time.” You let out a nervous sounding laugh. “Besides, Ellie’s going to need to feed before then and I—”

“You pumped earlier, right? I can feed her.”

You seemed unsure, biting your lip. “I did, but I’m not sure—”

Ben released you and held out his hands, smiling reassuringly at you. “It’s settled. You go. Ellie and I have got this. Don’t we, Princess?” The baby had her fingers in her mouth, drooling everywhere. Elena saw Ben shake his head, seeming amused.

You glanced down at your daughter, the happiness from before replaced by uncertainty. Elena knew you struggled to leave Ellie the first few times she’d babysat for you both to have some time to yourselves. It wasn’t surprising; you were a new mother after all. But this time, you seemed even more reluctant than usual. 

“Hey,” Ben softly called to you, prompting you to meet his gaze. “Remember what we talked about. We’re going to be fine. I’ve got her.”

It was moments like this that convinced Elena of your importance to him. If Maggie ever witnessed them, she was sure her girlfriend would reluctantly agree. Never had Elena ever heard him speak that gently to anyone, even his own daughter. Not when she and Maggie were in earshot anyway. 

Ben gave you a meaningful look and after glancing down at Ellie one more time, you eventually handed your daughter over to her father. “There’s my girl.” He leaned down to kiss the baby’s forehead. 

You watched, anxiety still apparent in your expression.“Ben, are you su—”

He immediately darted forward to kiss you, cutting you off. Elena had the grace to look away and give you two a moment.

“We’ll be fine,” she heard Ben murmur to you. “I’ve got this. I promise, baby. Go have your girl time and then come home. We’ll be here when you get back.”

“You’re absolutely sure?” You checked one last time.

“Of course I fucking am.”

“Language,” you chided.

Elena glanced over and found Ben smirking down at you, leaning closer. “You didn’t seem to mind my language earlier.” As expected, your cheeks reddened and he barked out a laugh, kissing one of them. “Alright, go have fun and we’ll see you later.” Then he leaned in to whisper something to you that couldn’t be heard and your jaw dropped, gently swatting at his hip since he was holding Ellie in both arms. He laughed and moved away, his gaze a little darker than before as it stayed fixed on you.

You kissed Ellie’s head and stroked her cheek, smiling. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart. Be good for your daddy, okay? I love you.” Ellie gurgled and you smiled wider, leaning up to kiss Ben goodbye who immediately deepened it.

Elena was on the verge of looking away again when you pulled back, panting, and glared up at the smirking man in front of you. “You know, for someone who’s trying to get me to leave, you’re doing a miserable job.”

“Just giving you a little preview for later.” The stare between you two was so intense that it felt as if any unfortunate bystanders would suddenly burst into flames just from being too close. This time, Elena was the one nearly blushing. She would have never believed you two had just been having sex if she hadn’t heard it for herself. You both looked hungry and not for any late lunch. 

You leaned in, as if to kiss him again, when you reached up and planted a kiss on his brow instead, smirking as you backed away. “Until then, Benjamin,” you snarked, turning to leave. “Love you.” You let out a yelp a moment later when Ben swatted your ass with a free hand as you passed. 

You shot another glare at him and he simply smirked. “Love you, too, doll.” 

Elena gently pulled you towards the door, thinking if she didn’t get you out of the house soon, you definitely weren’t going to leave at all. Or more like Soldier Boy wasn’t going to let you leave. Not with the way his eyes were unashamedly glued to your ass.

You waved one last time in your family’s direction. “Bye, Ellie. See you soon, babygirl.”

Ben picked up Ellie’s little hand and simulated a wave, making you smile. 

Once Elena had you in the car and backed out of your driveway, she could see the earlier uncertainty returning. “So, what’s going on? First, Ben looked worried and now you. Something I should know about?”

You bit your lip and seemed to be mulling over whether to tell her or not. Elena gave you a moment to yourself to decide. Eventually you turned to look at her and sighed. “Okay.” You then proceeded to fill Elena in on everything you’d been feeling since your daughter had been born, everything you’d just told Ben.

Ben watched as you and Elena got into the car and left. He knew you would be worried but he was determined not to give you any reason to be. He meant it when he told you he had this. He wanted you to know that he could look after Ellie the way she needed looking after, which is why he insisted that you still go out to eat with Elena. He was going to make damn sure he passed this test and he was keeping his promise to you, that he would make you feel safe again. And if that meant he had to play Mr. Mom and change a few shitty diapers while you were gone, then so be it. 

Once the car disappeared, he let out a sigh and turned to look down at his daughter. She was staring up at him with those beautiful eyes that reminded him so often of his mother’s, though absent of any of the heartbreak she had endured in her life with his father. That was why when you asked about possible names for your daughter after you’d given birth, he’d mentioned Eleanor to bestow upon her. You’d loved it, especially after Ben had explained the significance of the name to you, and so your daughter was named after her grandmother, though you both had ended up calling her Ellie for short most of the time. 

He gave his little girl a smile. “We’ve got the place to ourselves, kiddo. We can do whatever we want. What does my princess want to do, hmm?”

Ellie gurgled and he nodded as if he understood.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Let your old man show you his movies so you can see when he was a star. Good thinking, babygirl.” He chuckled when she gurgled again and turned to head into the living room. 

Just then, he heard the sounds he had been hoping like hell that he wouldn’t hear until you were back. Ellie began to grunt, a few short farts sounded, and an almost undetectable thud was heard as shit landed in her diaper. Sure enough, a moment later, the smell wafted up and smacked him in the face. The smell was beyond terrible, something you had told him previously couldn’t be the case since it was known that the poop of breastfed babies didn’t smell as bad as other poop. He’d looked at you then with disbelief; how the hell did you not smell it when you were wiping the kid’s ass? Then again, thanks to his super-powered nose, you wouldn’t detect what he would. Like right now. It was fucking awful, like sour milk mixed with shit. Christ.

“Ugh.” He extended his arms and held Ellie out, away from him. He should’ve known this would fucking happen. It was just his luck. “You know, kid, for such a small thing, you sure shit a lot.” Ellie continued to make happy noises as if she hadn’t just taken a massive shit that was rapidly stinking up the room. Ben pulled her closer, his face screwed up in disgust as the smell got closer, too. “You are way too happy for someone who just shit their pants for the second time today.” 

He glanced around, almost as if you would somehow come flying around the corner to help, or Queen Lesbo might show up out of the blue or something. Nope, this was all on him. He remembered your words from earlier, how he needed to know how to care for Ellie which included shitty diaper changes, and he let out a huge defeated sigh. “Fuck.”

Ben cradled Ellie in the crook of his arm, relieved there were no damp spots on her back this time, and turned to make his way to her nursery. “You know something, kid, if the day should ever come that I’m in diapers, you better fucking change ‘em without any complaints. I don’t want to hear a damn word out of you then, got it?”

Ellie made more happy noises and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” A small smile slipped onto his face and he lifted her up to his shoulder, kissing her cheek. “You’re lucky Daddy loves you, Princess.”

Almost as if she’d understood his words, she gave him a wide toothless smile, drooling onto his shirt. Instead of being disgusted, he chuckled and continued his trek. She’d unknowingly just given him a perfect excuse to change when you got home and entice you to get another shower in later. Thinking along that same line, feeling proud that this was now something he could do for you and for his daughter, something that would help you to feel better overall…well, he found now that he didn’t mind the idea of any shitty diaper changes all that much.

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jealous possessive javi?

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tags: f!reader, smut, javi cheats on you, unprotected p in v sex (this is fiction but be safe irl), fingering, angst, jealous and possessive javi, unbeta'd, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx. ~ 5.1k w/c / gif cred

a/n: toxic!javi stans, this is for us 🙂‍↕️ kat keep your writings short challenge (FAILED) hope you like this my sweet anon 🖤

You’ve been broken up for ten weeks now. Two months and ten agonizing days. Every minute since has felt like a slow burn, as if each breath without him is a reminder of the emptiness he left behind. You thought you’d have been over him by now— Javier Peña wasn’t supposed to have this kind of hold on you, not after everything he did.

Not after you walked into his office that night, a surprise dinner in hand, only to find him fucking his secretary. The image still sears behind your eyes— the slick, desperate way they moved together while you stood frozen in the doorway, a witness to your own heartbreak.

The signs had always been there, even from the first date. The way his eyes lingered a little too long on the waitress or how he’d get that restless look in his eyes when you weren’t around. But damn, he had a way of making you feel like you were the only one.

Like every glance, every touch, was meant for you and you alone. He had a gift for making you feel special, all while hiding his cock’s insatiable appetite behind a charming smile.

Now, you feel raw, like maybe it was your fault. Maybe you weren’t enough to keep him satisfied. Maybe you didn’t do enough in bed, didn’t keep his interest, didn’t hold onto him like you should have. The betrayal made you feel small, made you question every moment, every kiss, every whispered promise. It should’ve made walking away easier, catching him like that. It should’ve been enough to erase him from your mind. But it wasn’t.

And it’s taken this long— two months and ten days— of wallowing, of replaying the betrayal, to finally push you out of your haze. Tonight, something shifts. Your friend set you up with someone from her work, and after much prodding, you said yes.

Tonight, you’ve decided to put yourself back out there. Maybe if you let someone else touch you, if you let someone else in, you’ll finally be able to push Javier out of your mind for good.

It’s been radio silence ever since. After you caught him in his office, the scene unfolded like something out of a bad movie. His face went from shock to panic in a split second, scrambling to pull up his pants, stumbling over excuses. “She meant nothing,” he stammered, running after you with that flustered, desperate look. “It was a mistake!” But you didn’t stop, didn’t even give him a second glance. You barely held back the tears as you hurled the containers of food at him, the dinner you’d lovingly prepared splattering down the hallway, leaving a messy trail as you stormed toward the stairwell. No way in hell were you waiting for the elevator. Six flights of stairs felt like nothing compared to the pit in your stomach, and the thought of giving him even one more second to sweet talk you back into his web made you sick.

You blocked him on everything the minute you got home. Packed a bag with the essentials and bolted to your cousin’s place, where you spent weeks crying yourself to sleep on her couch. Not a single call. Not a text. Not that he could, since you blocked him on every possible avenue. But even then, he didn’t try. Not a knock on the door, not a surprise visit. You realized in those sleepless nights that he’d never really bothered to get close to anyone in your life. Another red flag you had stupidly painted green, thinking he was the man of your dreams.

So when you finally pull yourself together, forcing yourself out of that dark pit of misery and agreeing to this blind date at the bar, you’re in higher spirits. You’re ready to move on— or at least try. But of course, life has a twisted sense of humor. Because the last person you expect to see sitting at the bar, laughing with another woman like nothing happened, is Javier fucking Peña.

You’d recognize that broad, infuriatingly beautiful frame anywhere. He stands out like a sore thumb, even in the dim lighting. Broad shoulders, lean muscles, and the biggest mistake of your life. The shittiest man you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. And yet, the sight of him still makes your chest tighten, reminding you just how much you let him get away with.

You almost suggest to your date that you should hit up a different bar, something far across town, anywhere but here. But no, you catch yourself. You’re done letting your ex dictate your life, done letting him take up space in your head. You’ve shed too many tears over that man, and tonight isn’t going to be another chapter in the same pathetic story.

At first, he doesn’t even notice you. Of course, his attention is fully on the woman he’s with— some gorgeous thing with legs for days and a face that belongs on a magazine cover. It stings, that familiar twinge of jealousy creeping in. You can’t help it, especially when you know he’s always going to have a pretty girl on his arm.

It’s not until your date excuses himself to use the restroom that Javier’s dark, smoldering eyes finally land on you. And what does he do when your gazes meet? He fucking smirks. That slow, deliberate smirk that used to make your knees weak. He throws in a wink for good measure, casually bringing his short glass up to his lips, taking his time with a sip as if he hasn’t just shattered your evening. His eyes linger on you, tracing every inch of your body, undressing you from across the room without so much as a word.

You shift in your seat, heart pounding in your chest as you quickly turn away, forcing your focus on some random sports game playing on the big screen nearby. But even with your eyes elsewhere, you can feel it— the weight of his stare crawling down your neck, tracing the line of your plunging neckline. Of course he’s looking. Tonight is the night you pulled out the dress— the one kept tucked away for special occasions, the revenge dress.

Every girl has one. The one that hugs in all the right places, the one you save for when you need to remind the world, and yourself, exactly what you’re made of.

And while your date had all but drooled when you stepped out in it, there’s no denying the heat in Javier’s gaze from across the bar. You don’t have to look at him to know what he’s thinking— he’s already imagining that dress crumpled on his bedroom floor.

Your date returns from the restroom, noticeably tipsier and much more handsy than when he left. His touch is bold, his fingers possessive, and you revel in it.

You lean into the attention, letting him pull you closer, putting on a little show for the audience you know is watching. Javier might think he’s the only one who knows how to have fun, but you’re going to make sure he sees just how wrong he is.

Your date’s hands wander over your body— grabbing at your ass, pulling you into him by your hips. He leans in, hot breath against your ear, whispering all the filthy things he’s planning to do to you in the back of his car.

He doesn’t even want to wait until you’re back at your place. He’s desperate, and though you hesitate for a second— things are moving a lot faster than you planned— you can feel Javier’s eyes burning into the back of your skull. His relentless glare pushes you forward, stirring something reckless inside of you.

So, you let it happen. You let this guy press his body into yours, his hands traveling, voice dripping with lust, promising you things he probably won’t even remember tomorrow. But in the heat of the moment, you don’t care. It’s not about him, really. It’s about you. About knowing that Javier’s watching every second of this, hating every second of this, and that’s enough to fuel you.

The next thing you know, you’re outside in the alley behind the bar, lips locked like horny teenagers. His mouth is on your neck, sucking on that sensitive spot that makes your knees weak, and despite yourself, you let out a soft moan.

His fingers slip beneath your panties, fumbling as they rub at your clit, off-rhythm and sloppy. But right now, that doesn’t even matter. What matters is that someone else is touching you. Someone else is making you feel something other than loneliness and anger.

Suddenly, he’s ripped off you, and the cool air rushes in where his body had been pressed against yours. Your eyes snap open, and there he is—Javier, seething with rage, his hand gripping your date by the collar. The force with which he slams him into the brick wall makes your heart lurch.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shout, the shock sobering you up fast as you yank down the hem of your dress, covering yourself as best as you can. Anger surges through you, hot and wild. Your hands tremble as you take in the scene— Javier’s knuckles white against your date’s shirt, his face a mask of pure fury.

Javier’s voice is low, dangerous, a growl vibrating from his chest. “Who the fuck do you think you are, touching what’s mine?”

The laugh that bursts out of you is involuntary, bitter, filled with disbelief. His?! Your mind spins. After everything he’s done, after the way he broke you, he still has the audacity to act like you belong to him? Like you’re some possession he can claim when it suits him?

“She didn’t tell me she was seeing anyone,” your date stammers, already backing down, and you want to scream. Men used to go to war. Now, they cower when a bigger man steps in.

You feel an irrational surge of anger, not just at Javier but at this pathetic display of submission.

“Because I’m not,” you spit, stomping over to where Javier has your date pinned against the wall. You shove at Javier’s arm, trying to break his grip, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. You forgot how strong he is, how solid. His presence alone feels suffocating, like a storm rolling in and swallowing all the air around you.

Javier’s eyes flick toward you for a split second before turning back to the man trembling in his grasp. “You come near her again, and I’ll shoot your fucking knees out. You hear me? She doesn’t need a limp dick motherfucker like you putting your filthy fucking hands on her.” His words are a snarl, dripping with venom, and you can see the terror in your date’s eyes, his resolve crumbling as fast as it appeared.

It’s brief, but, you think your date might actually muster the courage to stand his ground. However, Javier’s patience snaps, and before you can react, he drives his knee into the guy’s groin with brutal precision. The man lets out a strangled whimper, doubling over in pain, and Javier finally releases him.

You gasp, hand flying to your mouth, watching in disbelief.

“Understood?” Javier’s voice cuts through the alley like a blade.

Your date nods frantically, both hands clutching his crotch as he stumbles away, all but sprinting out of the alley like a scared animal. The sound of his hurried footsteps fades, leaving you and Javier alone in the dim light.

Your fury boils over, fists clenching at your sides. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Peña,” you snap, marching up to him and shoving at his chest with every ounce of strength you can summon. But he doesn’t budge. He stands there, unshakable, like the damn tower of arrogance he’s always been.

“Ruining my date, acting like you have some claim over me. I’m not yours anymore!”

Javier’s dark eyes are locked on you, tracing your every movement, burning a path from your heaving chest to your flushed cheeks. He doesn’t say a word, but his gaze alone sends a shiver down your spine.

It’s not just anger in those eyes. It’s something else, something that has always made your pulse quicken. The intensity of it makes your breath hitch, even though you’re trying your hardest to stay mad, to stay strong.

You push him again, but it feels like pushing against stone. “You think you can just show up, intimidate some guy, and suddenly I’m yours again? That’s not how this works you asshole.”

He says nothing, his chest rising and falling as he watches you, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he leans in, his voice low and rough. “So I’m just supposed to hang back and watch you practically fuck that guy in front of everyone?”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, the way his voice drops to that familiar, dangerous rumble that used to make your knees weak. But you force yourself to stand firm, to remind yourself that you’re mad— furious, even.

You won’t let him have this kind of power over you again. You can’t.

“Go to hell, Javier,” you snap, shoving him one last time before stepping back, your heart hammering in your chest.

But even as you say it, you feel the pull, that magnetic force that’s always existed between the two of you. And as much as you want to hate him, you can’t deny that part of you still burns for him, still aches for the way he used to make you feel.

“Chiquita,” he drawls, sending shivers down your spine. “You can’t talk to me all angry like that, looking this fucking good, and expect me not to want to push you up against that wall and fuck you like you need.”

Your jaw drops, your brain scrambling for a response, but nothing comes out. His words hit you like a slap, bold and filthy, and despite yourself, heat shoots straight to your cunt. You curse under your breath, hating how your body betrays you.

“Y-You—” you stammer, but you can’t even string a sentence together. And that’s all it takes for him to smirk, that infuriating, knowing smirk that tells you he still has that effect on you.

“You’ve got that girl in there,” you snap, voice trembling even as you try to hold your ground. “Your secretary, and probably half the goddamn city, waiting to spread their legs for you. Not me. Not anymore.”

But even as you say it, your voice falters. The truth you’re trying to convince yourself of feels thin, weak in the face of his presence. He takes a step closer, and instinctively, you take a step back.

“Still hung up on that?” He shakes his head, almost amused. “C’mon, baby, I told you. She was a mistake. She came onto me.”

Another step forward. Another step back.

You can’t believe he’s really doing this— feeding you the same tired excuses. But then again, you can. This is exactly what men like Javier Peña do.

They lie, they cheat, and they make you feel like you’re the one being unreasonable.

“Bullshit someone else, Peña,” your voice shakes again, betraying you. “I’m done with you.”

But he keeps advancing, every step pushing you back until your spine hits the cold, rough brick of the alley wall. You curse under your breath, ready to slip past him, to get out of here before he does something you can’t walk away from. But he moves faster, caging you in with his hands planted on either side of your head.

“I’m not bullshitting,” he murmurs as he leans in close. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, and despite every ounce of willpower, your body reacts.

His dark brown eyes burn into you, their intensity pulling you under. “She meant nothing. Pussy wasn’t even half as good as yours. Couldn’t even compare.” His nose brushes the side of your face, and you know he’s inhaling the scent of your perfume— the one he always loved.

“Javier…” you try to protest, but your resolve crumbles with each passing second. His hand finds your waist, slowly trailing up the length of your body, fingertips grazing your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. Your breath hitches, and you hate yourself for it.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers, his voice softer now. His palm comes up to cup your breast, kneading it gently, and your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to the familiar touch that your body still craves, even if your mind is screaming at you to stop.

“You’re a liar,” you breathe, barely managing to get the words out as his fingers tease your hardened nipple through the fabric of your dress.

Before you can react, his other hand moves with lightning speed, wrapping firmly around your throat. He squeezes just enough to tilt your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes is undeniable.

“Don’t say that,” he growls. His grip tightens just slightly, enough to make your pulse quicken under his palm. “Do you know how much it fucking hurt to see another man touching you the way I did? Huh?” He leans in, his lips hovering near your ear as his breath tickles your skin. “You can be so inconsiderate sometimes, cariño.”

Your heart races in your chest, caught between anger and arousal. You should push him away, should scream at him, but the way he’s looking at you— like you’re the only thing that matters in the world— makes it impossible to move.

You open your mouth to speak, but his grip around your throat tightens just enough to rob you of breath, silencing whatever retort you had.

“Letting him put his hands on you like that…” he scoffs, his dark eyes scanning your face as if daring you to deny it. “Touching up on my pretty pussy like he had the fucking right. Like he could handle what’s mine. Even if you had fucked him, we both know he wouldn’t have left you all sore and throbbing the way I do. Wouldn’t have made you wet enough to take his small cock. You’d have to fake it. And for what? To try and make me jealous?”

His words are cutting, sinful, and despite your anger, you feel the way your arousal smears against the fabric of your underwear.

The twisted satisfaction in his voice, the way his grip tightens then loosens just enough for you to breathe— he knows exactly how to break you down, how to remind you that no one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“It seems like it worked,” you manage to gasp out, your voice a rasp as you gulp in air. “You came out here all pissed at the thought that someone else could make me feel better than you ever did.”

That’s what does it. His control snaps.

In an instant, his lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss. It’s rough, possessive, and desperate. His tongue invades your mouth, demanding and unapologetic, as if he’s punishing you for even thinking someone else could replace him.

His hand, the one that had been so firmly on your throat, moves to grope your breast, squeezing you roughly. You moan against his mouth, your body reacting on instinct, traitorous in its desire for him.

“Esos ruidos tan bonitos. Solo para mí.” He murmurs when he pulls back just enough to speak, a string of spit still connecting your mouths. His voice is low, vibrating with dark satisfaction. “Si alguien está mintiendo aquí, eres tú, chiquita.”

His words swirl in your head as you gasp for breath, but before you can form a coherent thought, his hand is already sliding down your body. His fingers trail down your waist, lingering at the hem of your dress before slipping underneath. You let out a sharp gasp, biting down on your lip as his fingers find your soaked panties.

It all happens so fast after that. The hunger between you ignites like a flame catching gasoline. The intensity of the kiss deepens, all teeth and tongues. His possessive touch makes you writhe beneath him, your body yielding even as your mind fights to hold on to some shred of dignity.

“Look at you,” he breathes against your lips, his voice dripping with desire. “Moaning for me. You always do, don’t you?”

“Javier…” You try to protest, but your words are swallowed by another moan as his fingers slip inside your panties, brushing against your throbbing clit.

“Shh, baby. Let me remind you what you’ve been missing,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers begin to stroke you. His movements are deliberate, knowing exactly how to play your body, how to coax those helpless little noises from your throat. “God, you’re so fucking wet. All for me. Always for me.”

You gasp his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as his fingers slide inside you, curling just right. The tension in your body melts, replaced with a rush of heat that pools between your thighs. Your mind blanks, lost in the feel of him— his hand working you over, his mouth pressing hot kisses to your neck.

“You mean everything to me,” he whispers into your ear, his voice ragged as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the slick sound filling the alley. “This tight little pussy? She was made for me. Feels like heaven around my fingers. Imagine how good she’ll feel wrapped around my cock, huh?”

Your body trembles, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pressure inside you builds with each thrust of his fingers. You know you shouldn’t be here, pinned against a wall, letting this man who shattered your heart pull you apart like this.

But God, his touch is addictive. His possessive words ignite every part of you.

“Say it,” he growls, his fingers curling deeper, hitting that perfect spot that makes you see stars. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Javier…” Your voice is barely a whisper, your resolve crumbling with each passing second as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.

“Say it baby,” he demands, his breath hot against your skin as his thumb presses against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. “Tell me I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.”

“No,” you gasp, using every ounce of willpower to bring your hand down, gripping his wrist, halting the delicious rhythm of his fingers inside you.

His fingers still, his breath heavy against your skin as you lock eyes with him, summoning every shred of confidence through the haze of lust clouding your mind. “You tell me that. Tell me I’m the only one who drives you this crazy.”

The tension crackles between you, thick and electric. Your chest heaves, heart racing as his dark eyes search yours.

He groans, leaning in, his lips brushing yours with a desperate hunger. “You are,” he breathes, but it’s not enough.

You can’t help but smirk, your pussy clenching around his fingers just to tease him, making him hiss through clenched teeth. “Say it like you mean it, Javier,” you demand, fueled by the fire burning between your thighs. “You broke my fucking heart, and if you think you’re going to fuck me tonight, you’re going to admit it. Tell me I did everything right. That you are the one who’s hurting. Tell me how much you miss this pussy. How you crave her on your tongue, how you miss fucking her in your bed.”

His eyes drown in lust at your command. His fingers twitch inside you, but he doesn’t move yet. Instead, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze head-on, staring straight into your soul, his breath ragged and uneven.

It’s a battle of wills, and for a second, you think you’ve won.

“I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he purrs, and finally, his fingers begin to move again, slow and deliberate, a tantalizing rhythm that sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. “Sorry for hurting you so bad you felt the need to find another dick to hop on.” His thumb presses against your clit, making your hips buck involuntarily as you gasp at the sensation. “I fucked up. You deserve better.”

His words are laced with apology, but his actions? Pure, selfish desire. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your toes curl. Your head falls back against the brick wall, eyes fluttering closed as a ragged moan escapes your lips.

“But I’m too selfish to let you go,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and husky. “I need you, baby. Miss how sweet you taste, how tight you feel.”

Javier’s mouth is on your neck then, his tongue darting out to lick at the damp skin, tasting the salt of your sweat as his fingers continue their relentless assault. Each stroke brings you closer to the edge, and it’s intoxicating— how easily he can unravel you, how effortlessly he pulls you apart.

Your body feels weightless, high on him, and with each praise, each filthy promise that falls from his lips, you’re hurtling toward your release. His thumb circles your clit faster now, his fingers curling deeper, and you can’t hold it back any longer.

“Javier!” you cry out, your walls clenching around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you, making your body tremble. Your moans fill the alleyway, breathless and raw, and as you come undone, his mouth crashes into yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss.

He swallows your moans as he undoes his belt with one hand, his fingers never leaving you until the last possible second. Before you even have time to catch your breath, he’s lifting you off the ground, and instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist.

You barely have time to gasp before he’s thrusting inside you, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, brutal motion.

“Oh fuck!” you exclaim, your arms flying around his neck as he starts to pound into you, his thrusts deep and punishing. The sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping against skin, echoes in the narrow alley. Every thrust pushes you further up the wall, and you clutch onto him for dear life as he fucks you hard, like a man possessed.

“Feels so good, baby,” he growls into your ear, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you relentlessly. “Only I can fuck you like this. Only I can make you scream.”

And you do scream, pleasure and frustration mixing together as you meet his punishing thrusts, your body moving on instinct, chasing the high that only Javier can give you.

“You feel that, pretty girl?” His voice is a low rasp in your ear, thick with need, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your core. “This—this is how I fuck what’s mine. No one else can make you feel like this. Admit it.”

His grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he drives into you, deeper, rougher. It’s brutal how good he feels, how perfectly his cock stretches and fills you, like your body was made for him.

You hate him, hate that he can still make you feel this fucking good, but your body betrays you, responding to his every touch, clenching around him as if to hold him there forever.

“I—” you stutter, breathless, eyes crossing as the sensations drown out your thoughts. His cock is relentless, pushing you toward the edge again, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips. “I—God, I hate you…”

But it sounds hollow, even to your own ears. The truth is you can’t resist him, never could. He knows exactly how to break you apart, and you despise how much you crave him, how much you need this despite the pain he’s brought you.

Javier chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your neck. “No, you don’t. You love this. You love the way I make you feel.” His lips brush the shell of your ear, biting down on your lobe. “And I love the way you fall apart for me. Just me.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out as he thrusts harder, faster. You can feel the pressure building inside you again, tightening with every stroke, every whispered promise of what he’ll do to you.

It’s almost too much, the way he claims you, body and soul. And the worst part? You’re letting him. You want him to.

“Say it,” he demands, his pace quickening, hips slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll feel it for days. His lips find yours again, his kiss angry and claiming. “Say you’re mine.”

You shake your head, gasping, fighting against the overwhelming pleasure threatening to consume you. “Javier—”

“Say it,” he growls, his voice rough and insistent as he reaches between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. He circles it with precision, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body, pushing you closer to the brink.

“Fuck!” You cry out, the intensity of his touch stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body is on fire, trembling, and you know you’re about to shatter beneath him. “I—I’m yours…”

The words tumble from your lips in a desperate whisper, and the moment they do, it’s like something snaps inside him. His thrusts become brutal, animalistic, and your world narrows down to the feel of him— his cock, his hands, his lips, all of it overwhelming you, driving you toward that final, devastating release.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now come for me.”

And with that, you do. The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, crashing through your body with a force that leaves you breathless. Your walls clench tight around him, your moans loud and unrestrained as you come undone in his arms, shaking and trembling.

Javier groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he follows you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a low, primal grunt. His body shudders against yours, his grip on you tightening as he rides out his release.

The world is still. All you can hear is the sound of your ragged breaths and the pounding of your heart as you both come down from the high. You’re pressed against him, his forehead resting against yours, the intensity of the moment hanging in the air between you.

But as the haze of pleasure fades, reality starts creeping back in.

You push him away, your palms flat against his chest, but he doesn’t move, if anything, he tightens his hold on you.

His brown eyes still linger on yours, filled with the same possessiveness that’s always been there.

“I told you,” he murmurs, voice low, as if this moment has proven everything he wanted to. “You’re mine.”

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @bitchesuntitled . @angiewatson .

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

[buckymorelikefuckme]

most ardently

lloyd hansen x fem reader

words: 1.1k

warnings & tags: probably inaccurate regency era, pride & prejudice (2005) inspired, i've made lloyd quite soft in this i'm so sorry, enemies to (implied??) lovers, some natasha/sam crumbs even though they're in a totally different franchise/universe pls let me have this, idk idk idk idk it's just!!! this!! also my bad @ mr. collins

a/n: p sure i mentioned being on a jane austen kick lately so this is definitely the result of that. literally wrote this just now so it's absolutely unbeta'd or proofread and i honestly don't know if it even makes sense. might delete it later, we shall see. anyway! feedback is highly encouraged and greatly appreciated. xo

“May I have the next dance?”

Your joyful laughter, shared with your dearest friend, Natasha, abruptly cuts off at the sound of his voice. You blink a few times, as if that will help make sense of the scene before you. The chatter of the ball fades away for the briefest moment.

Mr. Hansen stands stiffly, his spine straight as an arrow, chin held high. His expression holds his ever present disdain and aloofness, but his eyes… For the first time, you're sure you see a hint of uncertainty. It looks rather misplaced on him, especially since he's quite vocal of his own assuredness in practically everything, and yet, there it rests.

“You may,” you hear yourself respond after a pause.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Natasha’s head turn to you in a snap, no doubt mirroring your internal shock at your reply, but your gaze remains held by the man before you. Mr. Hansen’s shoulders loosen imperceptibly and he nods, giving you a quick bow and waiting for your polite curtsy. He lingers, looking as if he wants to say more before he seems to think better of it and finally leaves.

As soon as she deems it alright, Natasha is dragging you behind her hastily, leading you to a more quiet corner in a different room, whirling around to face you with her eyebrows almost reaching her hairline.

“What have I done?” you whisper in a panic.

She raises one of her hands to cover her amused grin. A stifled giggle from her makes you let out a hysterical one of your own, and then the dam breaks. You're back to laughing together, though for an entirely different reason this time.

“Perhaps you will enjoy your time with him,” she suggests playfully.

You groan in protest through your smile. “But I don't want to enjoy my time with him.” With a dramatic sigh, you continue, “Though, I suppose it's better than allowing his misery to affect my mood.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I dare say he will not be the miserable one during that dance. He could surprise you, you know,” she counters, her expression pointed yet kind.

“Somehow I sincerely doubt that,” you reply haughtily, which has her giving you another pointed look that has you laughing. “Come,” you say, “let us find a better hiding spot. I want to keep out of Mr. Collins’ sight so I will not have to dance with him again.”

“That is fair,” Natasha concedes with a grin. “Hopefully we’ll find space near Mr. Wilson and he’ll finally ask me to dance.”

You do not have the heart to tell her that her confidence intimidates him, but you do still silently hope that he will ask anyway.

***

To her delight, Mr. Wilson does ask her to dance, just in time to line up with all the other couples before the music starts. You are among them with your sour-faced partner, Mr. Hansen. There are more than a few envious glares sent your way, though you cannot understand why.

Sure, Mr. Hansen is objectively a handsome man, and he's far richer than anyone else at this ball, but he's also blunt and rude and prideful. He leaves much to be desired with every unwanted conversation you have with him. It's as if he enjoys ruffling your feathers on purpose. Very unbecoming of a gentleman, in your opinion.

“Are you having a pleasant time this evening?” Mr. Hansen asks a minute into your dance, sudden and awkward.

“Quite,” you reply, attempting to maintain civility, but hoping to dissuade conversation.

Mr. Hansen’s brows furrow slightly at your curt response. “I’m glad the merriment is to your liking.”

“I should not think my opinion on the matter makes any difference for you,” you say, eyeing him curiously.

He clenches his jaw, looking away. “Right. Of course.”

The rest of the dance is spent in tense silence. No sooner than the music ends, you are curtsying and attempting to slip past him without having to speak another word. However, one of Mr. Hansen’s many admirers decides to take revenge on you for stealing a dance from him by purposely sticking out her foot to trip you. A gasp escapes you as you lose your balance, yet before you can embarrass yourself completely by falling to the floor, two strong hands catch you by the waist, spinning you around in their stronghold.

Your shocked gaze meets Mr. Hansen’s, his arm warm where it's wrapped around you, as is his other hand on your shoulder as he stabilizes you. His eyes, this time, are full of true concern, of worry. They trace every inch of your face, his so close to yours that you can feel the puffs of his breath across your chin.

“Are you hurt?” he inquires softly.

There's an odd, swirling feeling in your stomach, heat rushing up your neck to your cheeks at his proximity and the unusually gentle way he's handling you.

“I… I’m fine,” you stammer.

He cuts his eyes to whomever stands behind you, his face falling into a familiar and severe scowl. “I believe you owe her an apology for your childish actions.”

You finally manage to pull your stare from him to the accused person. The woman is flushed with shame at having been called out, stuttering through her, no doubt, half-hearted and insincere apology, her eyes flitting to the people watching the scene unfold.

“All is forgiven,” you rush, cutting her off. “Thank you.”

She shifts from foot to foot, pursing her lips unhappily, then finally curtsies and hurries off. Her absence draws your attention back to Mr. Hansen, who is still holding you securely and glaring at everyone else and their prying eyes, shifting them away from the two of you.

“Mr. Hansen,” you start, his head whipping back to you and his grip tightening. You exhale shakily. “I am grateful for your help, but I am sure I can stand on my own now.”

You see the exact second he realizes, his hold relaxing slowly, fingers peeling themselves off of your body as he takes a step back. For whatever reason, you feel wobbly on your feet at the loss of him. Mr. Hansen swallows as he rights his coat, bowing jerkily and turning on his heel to walk away. You watch his hand flex at his side, feeling the phantom touch of it on your shoulder.

Natasha enters your view, Mr. Wilson in tow. Her expression is full of questions, but you find yourself at a loss for any answers, your stomach and heart fluttering in what you can only assume is nerves at the near mishap.

That has to be why, surely.

…Right?

[bigdumbbambieyes]

Here is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race ✨🤍

poured gold 1.7k words | unbeta'd | hurt/comfort @harringrove-relay-race

When he was two years old, Steve clumsily ran down the hall in his home and hit his head on the sharp corner of a little table that sat in the hallway, splitting his skin open as the vase atop came crashing down as he did. The blood ran down his cherub-cheeked face as his mother screamed in horror, his father picking him up in a panic as the three of them rushed out to the car.

While his forehead had been put back together with a few carefully placed stitches, the vase that had crashed to the floor, just after he had, was left in pieces while they had rushed him to the hospital. Once they’d returned back home, the mess had been cleaned and Steve had forgotten all about it – he couldn’t even remember the incident at all, really, with having been so young.

When he turned six, he’d heard his mother exclaim in excitement as the mailman delivered a package to their front door. From atop the steps, peering down silently, he’d watched her unbox the same vase that had been broken all those years before – but now, the cracks had been filled with gold and it was whole once again.

He didn’t understand, at first. Why not throw the vase away in the first place? What good was a broken vase with its flaws now highlighted?

He’d gone downstairs with those questions, scrunching his little face as he listened to his mother patiently explain that she’d sent the vase back to their friends in Japan, who had originally gifted it to their family. It had been returned to her like this, repaired with gold, and she’d explained how the gold made the vase stronger and the flaws were now beautiful. 

“Broken things can be beautiful if you take care of them.”

That had resonated with him, even at such a young age. It just made sense. Imperfections and flaws happened, but that doesn’t mean everything’s ruined. He can fuck up and make amends. He can break and heal stronger than before. 

It gave him hope – for himself, for everyone, for everything. He had the symbol of it sitting in his hallway at home.

And ever since that conversation, whenever he didn’t do well on a test or had a fight with a friend, or his parents fought, Steve often found himself in the hallway, slowly and carefully tracing his fingertips over the cracks of gold and reminding himself that everything would be okay as long as he took care of it. 

He’d been careful with the vase from that day on, admiring it now and then and remembering its reminder, until he relied on it less and less.

Until one night, Halloween night in ‘84, when his heart had felt like that broken vase and his tears were hotter than the blood that had run down his cheeks at the age of two. 

Bullshit. 

Rushing out of Tina’s house, Steve pinches the bridge of his nose as he stumbles to his car, feeling like his heart has shattered into pieces and he’s left cradling them in his palms as he tries not to sob in his car, drunk and lonely and feeling goddamn stupid in his Halloween costume as he makes it inside his empty house. His parents are gone at some other party, thankfully. 

He rips the sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and throws them against the wall in a fit of rage, just to make something else hurt even if it’s useless, with tears burning white-hot in his eyes as his gaze lands on the vase in the hallway.

The gold mocks him and his broken heart.

He goes over, picks it up, and for a second he wants to break it again – on purpose. He wants to prove the gold wrong, prove that flaws are flaws and broken things could be made uglier so easily.

But, with the weight of it resting in his palm, he knows he can’t. 

Instead, he sniffles and holds the vase steady as he gently sways, trails his tearfilled gaze over the golden cracks in the warm light of the hallway as he breathes out a quiet sigh. 

He wouldn’t hurt his mother by destroying it again. He couldn’t.

Setting the vase back down, he goes up to his room to mourn quietly. The loss of love burns and aches sharply in his chest, it quickly attempts to make him bitter and hopeless until he’s sick of it, until it consumes him – but, that’s when he tries to remember the good, the gold of what used to make him smile, what used to make her happy. How they had been happy, once, for a brief, hopeful period of time. He fills those golden thoughts in the cracks of his heart, repairs it to be stronger, like the vase. 

It’s a bittersweet process. Because he knows that she doesn’t love him and he wants to pretend that she does, wants to ask her if she really believes in what she said, but he doesn’t want to know the truth. He doesn’t want to know that their feelings and relationship were bullshit.

Maybe to her they were, and maybe she’ll think that he’s bullshit, but Steve knows he tried. He used to make her smile and laugh and her kisses were soft, they had softened him. And he’ll always be thankful for that, even as he fights off that urge to be bitter and petty. 

Because it’s not easy to find the silver lining in pain, especially when he can’t escape it. 

Especially when days have passed and it’s not his heart cracking open and bleeding, but his face, suffering for the first time from Billy Hargrove.

Billy, whose heart has been cracked open for a long time and forced back into place, with nothing holding its jagged edges together, desperately trying to look like he’s not falling apart – even though Steve can see it from a mile away.

It’s in his eyes. The blue is so dark, so expressive, even when he tries not to be. 

Weeks after Steve’s face has healed and they’ve moved on, with a lingering tension between them whenever they meet in the hallway or whenever Steve catches the blond staring at him in class, they meet at the quarry after the sun has set. 

It’s not planned, this sudden and secret meeting, but Steve still looks at the other boy in the moonlight and mutters a soft ‘hey’ from the hood of his car once Billy gets out of his.

Billy looks at him, for a moment. Walks silently over to Steve and fits himself in between those spread legs, sizes him up. He has a shiner under his left eye. It’s fresh. Steve wants to ask where he got it, but that tension that’s followed them all these weeks has reached its peak and Billy grabs the front of his shirt, pulls him so close that the tip of their noses brush. 

And quietly, in the cool air, his words in a puff of frozen breath, Billy mutters, “You tell anyone about this and I’ll break your face again,” and kisses him.

Steve, numb from the cold and emboldened by the beer he’d been drinking, kisses back. Billy’s lips are warm and he tastes like a menthol cigarette, grabs at Steve in the way he’s been craving and needing as they makeout on the hood of his car, until he’s pulling them off and pushing them into the back seat of the Beemer.

There’s no apologizing, but that’s fine. Steve doesn’t mind. He doesn’t want Billy to apologize and he doesn’t want to apologize, either. What their minds can’t say, their bodies do, in the slow and sweet moments they manage to get together after that night.

They don’t date, according to Billy. He doesn't say it out loud, but he doesn’t want anyone to get close and Steve can see and understand it in the way Billy refuses kisses and doesn’t want to be held outside of sex. 

But, he sees the unshed tears in those stormy eyes one January night and knows how desperately Billy is trying to not give in to the softness Steve offers him. He can feel how hard Billy grips onto him in his sleep. He feels how soft Billy eventually kisses him on a warm March night, just before the blond’s birthday, the warmth of his lips welcoming him in silently – a wordless agreement to see and be seen. An unspoken promise, maybe.

It’s a slow process – to love Billy. But, Steve is patient. Because whenever Billy lets him see those chips and cracks in his heart, that’s when Steve pours his gold into them, mending those breaks with his love. Because Billy is broken and they both understand that, but that doesn’t mean he’s a lost cause. Steve’s got a lot of love to give, even after the pain he’s felt. He’s hopeless.

But, Steve watches how his boyfriend’s smile begins to reach his eyes by the time June comes around and Billy’s sleeping over more, now that they’ve graduated. They grow closer as they plan their great escape to Chicago, whispering secrets at midnight and laughing and crying together as the days pass. Steve notices how the blond leans into his touch, seeking it out and, eventually, initiating it. And it’s beautiful that he cries openly and lets Steve hold him and sits with his emotions with him, for as long as Billy needs, while Billy does the same for him.

And one night, when his boyfriend is feeling low and vulnerable and hopeless, Billy hiccups from his spilled tears and asks Steve why he bothers and how he has the energy to care about him. 

As if it’s a hard thing to do.

Laying together in his bed, Steve combs his fingers through Billy’s hair and tells him about the vase downstairs in the hall. How he’d broken it and it’d become stronger from that. He repeats his mother’s words about how a broken thing can be made stronger with the right care – he tells him that it’s kintsugi. 

And Billy, sobbing, gives him a saltwater kiss full of gratitude and understanding.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆

Thank you so much for reading!! And thank you again to @half-oz-eddie for inviting me to take part!!

Now, let's both look forward to what the incredibly talented @thediktatortot has created for the Harringrove Relay Race!! 🤍

[yesterdayiwrote]

Trick or treat gewis edition pls?🧡

This is part of a (currently) abandoned WIP, and so I will reward you with a longish (albeit unbeta'd and unedited) excerpt under the cut...

This was my Tour Manager George/Music Superstar Lewis AU...

Waking up with a headache was never a great start to the day.

Waking up with a headache naked was always an even worse way to start the day.

George clutched his forehead tightly, pressing his face deeper into the soft pillow and willing the dull throb behind his eyes to dissipate sooner rather than later.

He groaned softly, the room filling with the distant sounds of honking horns, revving engines and rush hour traffic, his mind racing faster as he contemplated waking up and facing reality.

His phone vibrated on the nightstand and George groped around blindly, cursing under his breath as a discarded bottle of Dom Perignon rolled onto the carpet, luckily already drained of its contents. He peered at the screen, hundreds of notifications paling into insignificance as he read the latest text from his boss, reminding him of their meeting scheduled later that day.

George rolled onto his back, finally taking in the sight of the room around him, snapshots of the previous night flooding back to him, leaving him with an impending sense of dread as his memories assembled into a somewhat more lucid sequence of events.

He sat up slowly, rubbing roughly at his eyes with his fingertips, letting out a soft groan as he confirmed his worst fears.

The Presidential Suite of the Central Park Ritz Carlton looked like a crime had been committed within it, ransacked in the midst of some kind of smash and grab robbery gone wrong. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, in a Hansel and Gretel-esque breadcrumb trail from the door to the bed. One set noticeably more expensive looking than the other.

A half drunk bottle of Grey Goose stood on the coffee table beside two shot glasses, one tipped over, spilling liquid across the glass tabletop. Three more bottles of champagne sat unopened and amongst them all stood four shining Grammy Awards. A sign of victory and success and the culmination of years of hard work. It had been worth celebrating.

If only it had been his name on them.

XNDA was at the top of his game right now, finally reaping the rewards of hours of blood, sweat and quite literally tears. Weeks away from home and loved ones on the promotional trail, long nights in recording studios and on video shoots, smiling through the lows to ensure every interview was his best. When he'd stood on stage at Madison Square Gardens the previous night, glowing under the lights as he accepted the Album of The Year award for his debut album +44 (along with Best New Artist, Best Progressive R&B Album and Best R&B Performance ), finally accepted and validated by his peers, George couldn't have felt prouder.

He'd never set out to be a personal assistant, but his organisational skills and his eye for detail had made it a perfect fit for him. It never felt like a chore, instead he felt privileged to be part of the inner circle. In awe of the other man's abilities, but an integral cog in the machine making sure everyone else got to appreciate them too.

To him he wasn't XNDA, global music superstar and icon in the making. To him he was just Lewis. They were friends but more than that they were a team. A deep, complex understanding of each other that had been borne of hours on the road in enforced company. Learning to work together but also learning how to support each other. They had boundaries, although George was somewhat concerned that what had transpired after Lewis invited him into his hotel room to celebrate and delivered a sweet, heartfelt and maybe somewhat tipsy thank you speech to him, had maybe crossed those. He hoped not irreversibly.

George slid slowly from between the soft sheets, rolling his neck and relishing in the soft click. He felt a scratching sensation across his stomach, glancing down in confusion. A tut of disgust escaped his lips as he peeled a torn condom foil from his abdomen, his skin still sticky with dried champagne and, he was sure, "other residue".

He padded softly across the floor, scooping up his discarded boxers from where they were hooked across the back of the armchair, unable to hide his smirk as a vignette of the previous night reappeared in his mind. Deep in the throes of...passion? Lust? Ill-advised drunken stupor? He wasn't quite sure which yet, but the gorgeous sight of Central Park and New York at night had served as a beautiful backdrop that even his hangover couldn't quell the memory of.

George collected his other remaining clothes, balling them up into his arms as he tiptoed across to the bathroom, stepping over at least two used condoms on his way. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at the bed and sighed, taking in one last look at Lewis still sleeping peacefully in the sheets and knowing that when he came back out, last night had to be consigned to history and it was back to reality.

It had to be. For his sanity at least.

He locked the bathroom door behind himself and groaned, dropping his clothes down on the tiled floor, resisting the urge to drop down and join them. The shower cubicle on the other side of the room was ridiculously large, in keeping with the rest of the room, and he fiddled with the water taps, trying to get the temperature just right.

He caught sight of himself in the large mirror, his hips mottled with the soft bruise of fingertips. His collarbone littered with the purple mark of hickeys. He was pretty sure he had a turtle neck in his suitcase, provided he could get to it without anyone seeing.

The shower had done nothing to ease his mind, seemingly incapable of slowing the racing thoughts through his brain or of banishing them entirely. The dull throb in his forehead persisted and he wasn't sure anymore if it was a hangover or just the sheer amount of over thinking his brain was doing.

As he pulled the previous night's clothes back on, the soft wrap on knuckles against the door broke him from his procrastination.

"George?" Lewis' voice was soft, laced with an evident concern. "Are you in there?"

George swallowed down a smirk. Any other day he'd have shot back with a sarcastic jibe, but right now it didn't seem the time. He fumbled with the lock and pulled the door back, plastering on a smile.

"Hey," He croaked, the sight of Lewis in his boxers suddenly far more distracting than he'd realised previously. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and began tapping on the screen, bringing up the day's itinerary. "You'll be happy to hear I planned ahead for you winning." He announced, his smile widening as he walked back into the room. "We have a late start. Nothing planned until 1. Toto's in town as well and wants to meet up so I booked Carbone. You have the interview for radio at 3 and then we fly back to London at 7 but need to be at the airport by 5."

"George."

Lewis' tone had changed, more stern than before. George turned back to face him.

"We need to talk about last night." The older man sighed, stepping across the room but leaving a noticeable gap between them.

"Do we?" George mumbled, dropping his arms to his sides, his feet suddenly becoming incredibly interesting. Lewis tutted, sinking down onto the end of the bed.

"Yes." He insisted firmly, seemingly undeterred about having this conversation dressed only in a tight pair of black Calvin Kleins. "Neither of us were exactly sober last night and I don't want to think I overstepped or..." He tailed off, twiddling his fingers together. "I need to know that I didn't..."

George suddenly realised what he was getting at.

"Oh... bloody hell... Lewis, no." He muttered, stepping closer and closing the gap, the words rushing out of his mouth in his haste to diffuse any misunderstanding. "I'm totally fine with everything that happened last night. You have nothing to worry about." He mumbled, his lips pulling into an awkward smile. "I had fun."

It felt dangerous to admit the full extent of how much he'd enjoyed it. It felt like career suicide to admit he'd maybe even... wanted it? He still couldn't process quite where those thoughts had come from

Lewis glanced up at him with a nod, his lips slowly pulling into a matching devious smile. "Yeah, I did too." He swallowed heavily. "I don't think we should do it again though." He added frankly.

"Oh god no. Definitely not." George agreed with a nervous chuckle, happy to agree to whatever scenario would make things the least awkward. Just two friends doing something dumb together. No complications.

"Okay, well... that's good." Lewis nodded, rising to his feet and grabbing a towel from the sideboard and making towards the bathroom. He stopped suddenly, turning back. "Oh, before I forget." He bit his bottom lip. "I'm really sorry to do this, but I'm going to need you to sign that." He sighed, gesturing towards the desk, a piece of paper laid out with a pen placed neatly on top.

George stepped towards it, his heart sinking as he saw what it was, recognising it instantly. An NDA. He'd stood by enough times as he'd watched other people sign them. He'd smiled awkwardly at all manner of people, trying to hide his own discomfort as they'd signed it all away for just one night with Lewis. He'd just never figured he might be one of those people himself.

"Yeah, sure." He mumbled, waving a dismissive hand in the air. He wanted to seem as cool about the whole thing as possible. "I'll sort it out."

Maybe it was going to be awkward after all.

[robo-writing]

Under Cover of Night

Pairing: Carlos Oliveira/Reader (AFAB) Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors DNI Word Count: 1k words Summary: A midnight rendezvouz leaves Carlos with more than he bargained for. Warnings: 18+ content, dom! reader and sub! carlos, blowjobs. Author's note: This man gives me such enormous brainrot that I cranked this out in the span of an hour. Unbeta'd and unashamed, enjoy.

Red-faced, flushed a pretty pink as he looks up at you. As large as Carlos is you tower over him, a dominance not shown by size, but by the power you hold over him. Your words sweetened, a promise spoken of pleasure beyond his dreams.

“Just a bit longer baby,” you coo, the sound melodic. “Hold out for me and I’ll let you cum as much as you want.”

The softest touch drives him mad, makes his hips buck wildly as your fingers move so slowly around his cock. It’s evil, how you stoke the lust infesting his senses only to take it away, again and again.

The first time he grew frustrated. Head falling into the soft cushions, a shudder traveling down his spine, barely holding onto his threadbare sanity with a sly smile.

“Gonna have to do a lot better if you want me to submit, sweetheart.”

You smiled at him, a warning, like a shark baring their teeth before their next victim. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

He should’ve listened, because the second time was slower, more built-up, and even more drawn out than the first. His chest heaved, struggling to breathe under the weight of his own need. Only when your hand ceased its movement did he realize that he’d rather stop breathing than have the pleasure end.

A gasp, a deep inhale, and then: “Please—fuck—why’d you—“

You made sure to kiss him right on his chest, right over his heart. He wonders if you can hear it, hear how the muscle pounds away like a drum, before you look up at him between your pretty little lashes.

“I thought I told you already, I’m not stopping anytime soon.” 

A hand reaches down his abs, stopping to trace the prominent v-shape that makes his cock leak just that bit more. A choked noise escapes him when your hand suddenly surges lower, squeezing the base of his length with no warning.

You planned this, he thinks to himself. The grin widening across your face is telling.

The third time he can barely remember, far too gone to pay attention to anything that wasn’t you and your lips against his cock. Soft, plush lips moving faster and faster, the wet noises accompanied by moans, no, pleas of your name.

“Fuck me—I can’t take this,” he groans, hands tight against the fabric of the sofa. “I need to cum, for the love of god—“

He nearly cries when you leave him wanting once again, hips pathetically moving upwards in search of any friction, only to find none. “Jesusfuckingchrist—“

Spit lines your smirk, devilish in its design. You move back to his aching dick and for a moment he has hope that this torture will end, that he can finally be released from the net that is your ministrations.

That hope is extinguished when you blow on the head of his cock, watching intently as he twitches at the slightest breeze.

Overworked, over sensitive, and still so fucking desperate. He lets out a pathetic gasp, voice hoarse from overuse. “You’re cruel.”

There’s a twinkle in your eye, almost as if you were proud of the fact. “You asked for this Carlos.”

He did, he remembers, over a bottle of tequila that same night. Lips loosened by alcohol, he told you a secret in confidence; that he hadn’t been dominated before.

“Really?” You had asked him, shocked. Another shake of his head before downing another shot, the burn radiating through his chest.

A beat, and then. “Would you want to?”

He raises his eyebrow. “Want to what?”

“Be dominated.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the gleam in your eye when you asked, but something compelled him to nod slowly, taking in how good you looked under the light of his small apartment.

You had crawled between his legs, the small couch barely enough to fit the both of you. “I asked you a question Carlos, so I need an answer.”

You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, straddling him so perfectly. The look you gave him, one of pure seduction, is an image that will be etched into his mind forever.

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s ripped from his thoughts, a stuttering cry ripping itself from his throat. Your lips are back on him, accompanied by a hand fondling his balls. 

He’s so pent-up, the moans echoing off the walls nearly unrecognizable, a mess of half-finished sentences. 

“Please let me cum,” he exhales quickly, and this time tears really do leave his eyes, rolling down his face. “I need it, fucking christ—“

He wants to be gentle with you, to spare you the aching jaw you’re sure to wake up with in the morning, but right now his body doesn’t care about what he wants. No, it’s instinctual, primal, and when his hands find themselves in your hair he gives no thought to anything except what he needs, and what he needs right now is to cum.

The minute stutter of his hips is the only warning you’re given before he thrusts into your mouth with reckless abandon, the filthy sound of him fucking your throat ringing in your ears. You gag, hold onto his thighs for dear life and make no effort to stop him, nose buried against his pelvis.

Carlos is lost in a sea of desire, babbling frantically as he uses you for his own needs.

“I’m sorry, I can’t—fucking hell—“ he cries, his grip on your hair getting tighter. “I need to cum, need to fucking cum—god you feel so fucking good…!”

It doesn’t take long for him to finish, but it takes him a minute before he stops. Your mouth is filled with his salty release, so much so that it leaks from the corners of your mouth, a mess of spit and cum. He doesn’t stop moving after he’s finished, as if his brain hasn’t caught up with his body yet. Even as his thighs shake his fingers don’t leave your hair, lazily moving against your mouth until his body can’t anymore, falling limp against the soft fabric.

His cock leaves your wanting mouth with a pop as you assess your current situation. Carlos is still muttering your praises under his breath, a slight shudder racking his body, while your own underwear is slick with your own arousal. 

You’re definitely going to lose your voice in the morning, but making Carlos lose his sanity under you more than makes up for it.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Pomposo

Chapter Fourteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Sam, Dean/Jo, John/Kate, Adam, Ellen, Garth/Bess (in passing), Cas and Mary (mentioned)

Word Count: 4559

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining. MORE BACKSTORY AHEAD, story takes place currently in Dec 2017, flashback to Jan. 2004 in italics, talk of Sam's past use of hard drugs, hangovers, vomit, car accidents, injuries, character death, guilt, John was not so great a parent or husband, some paraphrasing of last chapter unbeta'd

Special shout out to @thoughtslikeaminefield who helped immensely on sorting out the backstory for this chapter too, way back when I started outlining this thing.

Series Masterlist

Sam settled on some old school soul music to start their road trip and Dean couldn’t even come up with a reason to complain. Aretha sang in the background and they headed east, the world was their oyster and all that. Dean held onto the small bit of smug satisfaction from the interview with Meg as the city disappeared behind them. She really wanted him to crack, but he hadn't and that gave him some hope for going home.

They veered north for a bit and continued on I-40 until they hit Flagstaff. Dean liked the mountains, the air was infinitely better than LA and there was something about spending the holidays where it got cold that made sense. Unfortunately, it was just an overnight stay. How they managed a room in the first hotel they tried, he’d never know. He just shuffled in with his duffel bag and his ball cap over his now sleep-sloppy hair. There was a player-piano in the lobby and Dean had the fleeting thought about how Cas was spending the holidays.

Maybe he’d try and leave him another message, it had been months.

Sam called Madison after dinner and Dean decided to check out the amenities in order to not have to watch Sam get all goopy. Dean hadn’t packed a bathing suit, but a gym’s a gym even if it’s just three treadmills, a stair climber and free weights. So, he jogged for a little bit, watching whatever passed for news. He forgot his earbuds in the room and it really wasn’t worth going back for, he was finding his groove even without music as a buffer to the world around him.

After a solid 5k, Dean stepped down to stretch. Which worked out because a couple in their fifties came in just as he started some curls, leaving the treadmills open for their evening stroll. They talked about their family, the wife explaining what she got each of their grandchildren and where they were supposed to be on which day. Perfectly normal people conversation, but something about it made Dean sad, so he tried to tune them out and focus on his reps.

Part of his life after Cain and Alistair was a loss of gym time. Sure, he could work out at home or even do laps around the neighborhood, but it wasn’t the hours in the ring or at the bag or with a jump rope full-body-punishment that he had worked himself up to. It was also a lot more peaceful, less reactionary. And Dean decided he would find a balance between stagnation and self-destruction. Twenty eighteen was just around the corner afterall.

Dean got back to the room in time to shower and crash. If they wanted to push it, they could make it to their Dad’s place the next day. But neither of them were in a hurry, even in Sam’s fuckboy Charger it was nice to be on the road together. Dean took the first stretch towards Albuquerque, but Sam called it in Santa Fe. He had thought ahead and booked them a hotel instead of chancing it again, which surprised Dean for some reason. Sam had gone and gotten to be responsible while Dean was busy fishing himself out of professional purgatory.

“You talk to Bela?” Sam asked as they waited for their pizza to be delivered. 

“Uh, she texted me that she landed at Heathrow, but not really. Why?” Dean asked after taking a sip of his beer.

“Wasn’t sure if you guys were doing the whole gift exchange thing,” Sam shrugged. “Madison made me wait until after we get back to give her hers.”

Dean chuckled. “I don’t want to know what you’re giving her, alright?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the innuendo. “Won’t people be asking about what you got her?”

Dean hadn’t really thought about it. “I guess I could ask Trouble for some ideas, see if she thinks it’s necessary we post about it. I don’t know, I was kind of hoping of forgetting about the whole thing until New Year’s at Elizabeth’s, you know?”

Sam leveled Dean with a glare. “You know Dad is gonna ask to meet her.”

Dean set down his beer. “Well it’s a good thing she’s halfway across the world then.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Mom loved that show,” Sam said thoughtfully.

He was right. Dean had completely forgotten about why he’d recognized Bela the first time they’d met at your housewarming party way back when. But, yeah, Mary had watched ‘Red Sky in the Morning’ every Tuesday night after she put them to bed. Once Dean reached junior high, he was able to persuade her to let him stay up and watch too.

“I can’t believe it was on as long as it was, it was fucking awful,” Dean said playfully.

“Yeah, but it was her escape,” Sam added gently.

Dean took a long pull off his beer. “I guess so.”

When Sam went to meet the delivery driver, Dean turned on the television, banking on some sort of Christmas special to take his mind off memory lane. They ate quietly, letting last minute sales commercials drown out their thoughts. Tomorrow they were going home, or as close to it as they had outside of LA. Dean felt lopsided over getting to see Adam, having to navigate his dad, and tiptoeing Kate’s well-meaning but invasive nature.

But that’s family for you, nothing more important than that.

Dean rolled over on the couch, something had woken him up and he was too hungover to let it win. But it didn’t stop, a trilling sound coming from his pants pocket, fuck, it was his phone. He cracked one eye open and checked the caller id.

He closed his eyes and answered. “Morning, beautiful.”

“Dean Winchester?” a harried voice asked, decidedly not Jo.

“Ellen?”

“Yeah, listen— there’s been an accident. Jo and Y/N were T-boned on Hound Drive last night. Can you come to the hospital? I just came home for a change of clothes, but I’m heading back there now.”

Dean sat up, liquor and a headache dulling his reflexes. “Ellen? What are they saying?”

“She’s in the ICU. I— we need you there.”

 Terror flooded Dean’s system, churning with a relentless guilt. Jo wouldn’t have been out so late if it wasn’t to see him. He swallowed. “Uh, of course. Do you want me to drive you? I can be there in ten minutes.”

“I’ll pick you up. I’ve got my truck, the roads are still a mess.”

“Right, okay, I’m at Dad and Kate’s— do you–”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Ellen? Be careful.”

“Don’t you start young man.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Ellen hung up.

Dean stumbled into the bathroom and threw up. He didn’t have time for a shower. Instead he grabbed his shaving kit and threw on a fresh layer of deodorant and brushed his teeth. He pounded three Advil with the water from one of those flowery Dixie cups Kate kept in a plastic dispenser on the counter. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, he knew how bad he must look. He stomped back into the living room and swapped his sweaty flannel for one that smelled neutral from his duffel. Adam showed up as Dean was shoving his boots on.

“Dean? Can I put on cartoons?”

He didn’t jump, Dean didn’t get scared of six-year-olds in footie pajamas. He was just on edge, was all.

“Knock yourself out,” Dean said.

“Where are you going?” Adam asked, stealing the afghan Dean had left on the floor.

“Uh, friend of mine had an accident, so I’m heading to the hospital. Can you tell Dad? I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“You can tell me yourself,” John’s voice pressed in behind Dean as he came in from the kitchen, mug of coffee in hand.

“Dad—,” Dean looked at his father, a man who had been on the road cheating on his mother for years. The same mother who died in a fire because John couldn’t bother to make sure to keep the electrical in their shitty double wide up to code. “It’s Jo. Ellen’s gonna take me to the hospital. Dad, I—”

John’s entire stance changed. “Go. Call when you know something. I’ll send Sammy when he’s up, he’ll know what to do.”

They both knew Sam couldn’t stop whatever was happening, but he’d keep Dean from causing a scene.

A car honked in the driveway.

“I gotta go. Thanks,” Dean brushed past his dad without even a glance at Adam.

Dean wouldn’t let Ellen drive, even hungover he trusted himself behind the wheel more than a desperate mother. She only pretended to argue before sliding across the bench seat and letting him in. The roads were a mess. In the thirty minute drive to the hospital, Dean saw another two cars in the ditch. Though, it was clear now in the morning sunshine, everything was blinding in its whiteness.

“Listen, you shut up and keep your head down. Let me do the talking,” Ellen warned him as they approached the reception desk.

“Hi, I’m Ellen Harvelle, I’m here to see my daughter Joanna? This is her fiance.”

Dean squirmed, but nodded at the nurse who looked at him like she wanted to reach over and hug him. “Of course, right this way.”

She led Dean and Ellen down a hushed hallway, the beeping of machines and huffing of ventilators the only sounds escaping the doorways as they passed. Dean looked around for a trash can, the painkillers in his stomach threatening to come back up. Ellen took his hand and pulled him into a room. 

Jo was hooked up to more machines than should have fit in the tiny room. Her hair was matted with blood and she was drowning in the hospital gown. Her beautiful face was swollen and red, the bruises still forming where she hit the passenger side window— or maybe that was the dashboard, Dean couldn’t tell she was so misshapen.

“Oh, Jo,” Dean’s voice broke. He stopped himself from saying anything as the nurse talked, but all he wanted to do was sob.

 He didn’t realize he had let go of Ellen’s hand until he was clenching the rail along Jo’s bedside. Ellen stood on the other side of her, carefully brushing the hair out of Jo’s beaten face. Her one arm was framed in a metal fixator, skin angry from where the bone sliced her open from the inside. Her leg was in a brace, but at least that meant those bones were more salvageable.

“What happened?” Dean said eventually, unsure of when the nurse left. He eyed the machines tracking Jo’s heart rate, but he wasn’t sure if the readings were good or bad.

“Someone was driving on the wrong side of the road— couldn’t see the lines and Y/N swerved to miss them, they spun out and the other car didn’t stop. They took her to surgery– her right knee was shattered.”

“Jo took the brunt of it,” Dean stated the obvious, still too terrified to reach out and touch Jo. She was suddenly so very fragile.

Ellen sniffed.

“They are watching for internal bleeding before they’ll operate. Her brain—," Ellen couldn’t finish.

“Hey,” Dean rushed around the bed and pulled Ellen against his chest, finally giving his hands something to do. “They’re doing everything they can.”

“It’s not enough,” Ellen argued.

“I know,” Dean agreed, squeezing her tighter.

Ellen pulled back and wiped her eyes, muttering to herself about going soft. Dean needed to give her a moment, hell, he needed a minute to catch his breath. He told her he was going to find coffee and she told him they had a waiting area down the hall. He nearly ran out of Jo’s room.

He checked his watch, it was just after ten o’clock. And as exhausted and hungover as Dean felt, he was pretty sure Ellen hadn’t slept at all after closing the bar. He wondered if she’d even made it home before getting the call. He found the coffee maker and pushed a button for something hot and thin and caffeinated. He wondered if Y/N had passed a breathalyzer, knowing how much Jo had been drinking didn’t make him certain her driver was much better off.

He was gonna be sick again.

He left the paper cup on the grate and fell into one of the stiff plastic chairs around the small table. He put his head between his knees and breathed, resting on his elbows. Dean counted the flecks in the white linoleum squares beneath his feet.

Nothing made sense. They were just getting started. Last night there was the impossible giddiness of seeing her in person after so long and now the unabashed horror of her mother sneaking him into the hospital as her fiance so he could see her before…

She was eighteen-fucking-years-old and he was going to lose her.

And it was all his fault.

He stared at the floor until he couldn’t anymore. The coffee was nothing more than a passing burn on the way to his knotted stomach. But he couldn’t stop the tears and he wouldn’t go back to Ellen until they were dry, she needed him to be better than that. When he couldn’t cry anymore and after he used his last single for a pack of peanut M&Ms, Dean went back to Jo’s room.

Ellen was asleep in an ugly mauve chair with her hand clutching Jo’s good ankle over the thin hospital blanket. Dean found another blanket from a CNA and tucked it around Ellen’s shoulders. He stood guard, through Ellen’s brief nap and the three o’clock shift change, even after Sam came by with lunch but left because he wasn’t allowed on the ward.

The seizures started around five and Ellen and Dean were asked to wait outside. Before six, she was wheeled away from them into emergency surgery and by seven she was gone. Dean had to hold Ellen back from slugging the surgeon. He caught her when she finally sank into reality, and somehow Dean found more tears.

Nothing felt real, least of all Dean himself.

Adam looked Dean in the eye and grinned.

“Get over here you little shit, I told you to stop growing the last time I saw you didn’t I?” Dean hugged his youngest brother hard, thumping him on the back as he rocked from foot to foot. “Good to see you, man.”

“You too,” Adam grunted out before Dean could release him.

Then came John, waiting for Dean as he walked through the front door. They didn’t say anything, just gave each other the once over and went in for the hug. John held him tight until he cleared his throat, stepping away from the vulnerable moment. Sam came in with his bags and hugged Kate first, who had been waiting in the hallway to the kitchen.

“Sammy,” John said, holding out his arms.

“Hey Dad,” Sam hugged with genuine warmth on his face, Dean never thought he’d see the day. But time does things to a person, and forgiveness was always Sam’s superpower.

“You boys hungry? I can reheat dinner, I know you’ve been on the road, wasn’t sure when you’d get in,” Kate offered as Dean went in for the obligatory hug. She had colored her hair, instead of her natural blonde it was a mature auburn, covering the gray and giving her a different air.

“Don’t worry about us, we can scavenge for something later,” Dean assured her. “I like your hair.”

That startled her. “Oh! Thank you, yeah I just figured I’d do something different for winter, you know.”

“Don’t she look good? I told her redheads are feisty,” John teased, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Gross,” Adam called on the way to the basement, where Sam had headed down to watch him finish his game.

“Beer?” John offered and Dean gladly accepted.

Arriving three days early was pushing their luck, Dean knew that, but there was nothing keeping him in LA. And after the novelty of catching up and last minute shopping in the tiny downtown of Mills’ Crossing, there wasn’t much more small talk to be had. 

Naturally, John started it. But it was over Sam that had Dean’s hackles up first. They were sitting down for a late lunch, having gone to church as a family for the first time since Kate and John got married when John made a comment about it was good to see Sam’s forearms ‘healthy’. 

What he meant was he was proud of Sam for kicking his habit, for staying clean. What John didn’t know was that Sam was so good at hiding it, Dean had to check between his toes before he finally got him into rehab the last time. Seven years since Sam had kicked it and John still needed to point it out.

The jam session that night seemed to clear the air. Adam had decided he was a drummer sometime after Dean and Sam’s first platinum album so John built him an entire soundproof room in the basement to go wild. Which meant the Winchester men were a full four piece, if they got to pick their parts. Dean abstained from playing lead because it was John’s house after all, but the old man’s hands weren’t what they used to be. And that gave Dean a little bit of satisfaction.

They rolled through the classics, even playing a couple of Phantom Traveler’s songs that didn’t rely too much on the keys. Dean made John sing though, laughing when he made up his own lyrics.

They ended the night with a drunken, almost punk rendition of Jingle Bell Rock after which Kate shut the lights out on them and told them to go to bed.

Christmas Eve was boring, Dean had gotten stir crazy and kept checking his phone. He knew you had gotten in the night before, but he couldn’t justify trying to hang out while you had such little time with your family as it was. Sam gave him a look and they started playing poker, teasing Adam that he needed to know every version of the game if he was gonna hold his own one day. 

Kate wiped the floor with them all.

They had eggnog and exchanged one round of gifts before going to bed, no expectations of Santa Claus or any set wake up time scheduled. It was just another day. Dean barely slept, anxiety churning inside him. He tried meditating. He even prayed, but God, who was understandably busy that night, didn’t save him. Because he woke up with a bug up his ass and, naturally, his father was the first one to point it out.

“You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?” John asked after Dean cursed at Adam’s obnoxious ringtone.

“Do a lot more with it than that,” Dean muttered before he could stop himself.

“Dean Winchester,” John snapped as if Dean was still sixteen, still living under his roof.

“Oh, come on, kids in college, he’s heard worse,” Dean griped, going back to his coffee.

It all went downhill from there. Naturally, Adam got the lion’s share of gifts. Sam and Dean didn’t need anything, but it was so uneven it looked like John and Kate didn’t even remember they were coming to visit. Meanwhile, John’s plasma screen had arrived two days earlier and Sam and Dean were tasked with installing it in the living room midmorning.

Nothing says family time like manual labor and micromanagement.

Dean started drinking before Kate had taken the ham out of the oven. And while Sam wasn’t exactly keeping track, Dean felt like he was asking for whatever bitchface he got next. He just couldn’t stop himself once he started snarking.

Adam was telling them about the musical composition class he had finished and how he had written something for a string quartet. 

“Our new keyboard player went to Julliard, you should send it to him,” Dean said off the cuff, before shoving some venison sausage in his mouth from the snack trays Kate put out.

“So you upgraded from Cas officially now?” John asked suspiciously.

“Dad, Cas left the band last spring, of course we made it official,” Sam cut in. John already knew this.

“I know, I just hoped you boys would work it out.”

Dean laughed darkly. “Nothing to work out. Dude left, we moved on.”

“And why did he leave exactly?” John goaded Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes, John was one to talk. He had pissed off half of all musicians between the Rockies and New Orleans before he hung it up.

“Let’s call it the Winchester temper and leave it at that,” Dean smiled without teeth, then popped more snacks into his mouth.

“Yeah, cuz the Campbell blood held only saints,” John muttered.

“Dad!” Sam admonished.

“That’s fucking rich! Talking about her when she’s not here to call you on your shit. I fucking punched Cas, alright?! You happy?! And who, DAD, taught me how to do that? Huh? Winchester temper. Not Campbell. That one was all from you.”

John stepped into Dean’s space, but spoke to Sam. “Sam, take your brother outside for a walk to cool down before dinner.”

Sam grunted in confirmation.

“Watch how you talk to me in my own home, Dean. Or I’ll show you a Winchester temper,” John said lowly. “You understand?”

Dean rolled his shoulders and looked his father in the eye. “Who exactly paid for this house again, Dad? Yeah, I’ll talk to you how you deserve it. I’m out of here.”

Dean felt Adam watching from the corner as Kate pulled John out of the kitchen and into their bedroom to give him a piece of her mind. Sam nodded at their younger brother, silently thanking him for holding down the fort as Dean stormed out the front door.

The Roadhouse was blissfully the same, with only a handful of beaten down cars in the parking lot. Dean had spent enough Christmases at bars or taverns throughout his life, but now he just wanted something that felt like home to get through this tightness in his chest. What they found inside was something altogether more special.

Ellen’s entire face lit up as they walked in, an empty plate in front of her and Garth manning the food line. Dean got his hug in first, but Sam took his time asking about what was going on. Then you were there, and Dean felt a hot shame creep up because he was this close to falling into old patterns. And that wasn’t how he ever wanted you to see him. He zipped his lips, pleading with himself to get a handle on his temper already.

He felt you breathe him in, the truth was never hard for you to suss out. And yet Dean held on, needing you close, being stupid and selfish as ever.

They took their free meal and ducked into a corner, watching as Ellen played angel to the downtrodden of Boone county. Slowly, Dean was able to set his shit aside. With Sam talking about anything and everything across from him; he accepted his resentment for his father, his frustration at himself and the stupid fucking feelings he had for you. It all seemed much more manageable when faced with people who had to get over much bigger obstacles with so much less. There was one more thing he promised he’d do while he was home, now that he’d visited Ellen. And he double checked that Sam was still good to go with him, to be his chauffeur.

They helped clean up, though Ellen moved a mile a minute and did tasks faster than she could explain them. And then Ellen was handing you off like a Christmas present, one that Dean couldn’t ever accept. 

Ellen said her goodbyes and left Dean standing in the parking lot without much of a guess on what you wanted to do next.

“I guess we better get going,” he said, asking Sam more than anything.

Then Sam reminded Dean about the cemetery and a new wave of guilt seeped into Dean’s stomach. When it came to Jo, you had first dibs. She was your best friend and Dean’d be damned if he’d visit her without you getting a chance to too. As macabre as it was, he felt he owed it to you.

You looked like you were going to be ill.

“Maybe we should ask her if she wants to go,” he told Sam, searching your eyes for permission at the very least.

You took your time with the idea, but turned him down. “If it’s okay, would you mind dropping me off first? I know it’s in the other direction.”

Dean felt you sinking behind a wall the further they got from the Roadhouse, you asked questions and made conversation, but you weren’t really in it. He probably shouldn’t have brought up Jo, but with Ellen and Christmas and the Roadhouse, she was already everywhere anyway. 

They let you out at your parents’ and headed back across town. The streets were almost empty with the sacredness of the holiday. The cemetery was decorated in pine wreaths and cheap red ribbons. The narrow paths were  silent beneath their feet. Dean had thought he knew what he wanted to say when he decided to take this little side quest to see Jo.

What he said once Sam was safely back inside the Charger was something else entirely.

“So, I’ve been better. Not like I’m bad now, but I’ve been doing actually better. I was a mess for a long time. And not just from you, but a lot of shit. And last year, I guess earlier this year really, I kind of imploded. I started hurting people, like actually hurting them and justified it to myself somehow. Then I pushed Cas away from helping me, after breaking his nose. And well, the bands a lot different now. But we’re still doing it. 

Look, Jo, I know you wanted me to live my dreams and see the world. Things I always wish you could have done. But sometimes dreams are regular everyday things, like bringing home pie or having somebody to say goodnight to. And I haven’t let myself have dreams in a long, long time. But I think maybe I’m starting to again.

And I just need you to know that I’m gonna be okay. And I am gonna do what I can to keep your people safe, because they’re my people now too, you know? You gave me another mom and a best friend without even meaning to. And we all miss you like crazy. But, we’re okay. Merry Christmas, beautiful. I  hope the angels pull out all the stops up there.”

Dean exhaled, his nose thick and eyes stinging in the cold air. He wiped his face and looked at Jo’s name one more time before turning back towards the road. Sam waited until Dean was buckled in before asking, “you good?”

“Yeah, man. Let’s get back before I cause more of a sensation,” Dean said, not meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Okay,” was all Sam said.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter 15: Rubato

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Do you ever imagine Steve burping helplessly and Bucky getting turned on in a public place?

This isn’t public public but something that I have been thinking a lot about recently is car rides and how an especially rough ride might jostle burps out of someone while also forcing them to hold their sensitive, overfull tummy, groaning with complaints as the car rumbles and shakes. Then, as all this is going on, there’s also nothing they can do about it because they need to get home. In fact, before they got in the car and started getting jostled around, they really wanted to get home, they were so excited to get home so they could lie down and sleep off all the excess food and/or drinks they stuffed into themselves. So they're just trapped burping and being shaken up like a can of soda, about to pop. And that’s what I’m going with here! I hope you enjoy it!

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the cut. Warnings for alcohol consumption (but Steve can't get drunk because we're talking about serumed Steve, so it's not really intox? yanno?), burping, bloating, button pops, etc.

Steve and Bucky have just spent their evening at the latest fancy, excessively formal gala where they’re playing politics. Shaking hands with the government officials they pretend to listen to when it comes to how to save the world, living up to their roles as superheroes who are definitely not vigilantes and certainly operate under the law, yes, sir. Really actually gritting their teeth against boredom while making polite conversation. They’re doing it for the sake of the other Avengers and so they’re not deemed as enemies of the state… again.

So, once it’s over and they’re free to go home, both Steve and Bucky breathe a sigh of relief upon getting back to their car. It’s all over, well into the night or, actually, the next day. It’s morning now. Early, early morning. But. It’s over with. Thank God.

Steve, however, sighs especially loudly, fidgeting with his tie and instantly undoing the knot the moment he drops his ass into the passenger seat, shutting his door with a little too much force.

“That bad?” Bucky smirks, teasing him but not looking over from the driver’s seat at him because he’s too busy sticking the keys in the ignition and starting the car, flicking on the ventilation system and fiddling with the radio, turning it on low for some background noise.

“You have no idea,” Steve snarks back tiredly, falling farther into his seat as he buckles up with a click.

Amused, Bucky looks over at his best guy now that the car is idling, warming up, there’s something in his voice that catches his attention - he swears if anyone said something stupid to his Steve, they’re gonna pay for it - and

Oh.

After he blinks and takes a moment to process what he’s seeing, Bucky feels his own eyes widen comically when his gaze lands on the way Steve’s gut is suddenly bulging out from his body. The breath gets caught in his throat. His stomach. Woah. It’s… it’s a thing. It’s big. Suddenly, straining the limits of his choking formal attire. His neatly pressed black suit jacket and white dress shirt underneath with the tails of his black tie falling to either side of the hill rising from the middle of his body.

“What the fuck?” Bucky murmurs involuntarily, staring at his best guy and trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. His belly is so pressed outwardly and distended that Bucky can’t see the shiny leather belt that he knows is holding up his slacks. He’s… huge.

With eyes on him, Steve stretches like a cat, arching his back like his belly actually fucking fighting to escape the formal wear and seat belt that he’s wrapped haphazardly around it. His suit looks painted on, so unbelievably tight; his seat belt is curving underneath his belly’s sudden weight and curled over the top of it, emphasizing its heft.

“C’monnn,” Steve whines, high-pitched, breaking his Captain America facade that he uses for these types of events and returning to the punk he really is, “get us out of here already.” He turns his head to the side, his blue eyes glassy.

Automatically, Bucky puts the car in gear and does as he says - he’d do anything for that stupid punk - but, at the same time, he can’t stop shooting glances over to the passenger seat where Steve’s resting, reclining, fully exhausted, in his seat. He sighs heavily again, this time it’s in relief from unbuttoning his suit jacket. Bucky catches an eyeful of it, his dick jumping, trained like a dog to a whistle but the whistle is Steve taking off his clothes. And… if possible… his belly swells outwards another inch. Maybe more.

“Jesus, Stevie,” they come to a stop at a sign, just leaving the parking garage, and Bucky uses the moment to reach over and touch his belly. Just making sure it’s real and he’s not seeing things. Patting him down. Under his palm, it’s very real. Very tight and very real, making a ripe, solid thump sound with each pat-pat he makes.

The collision has Steve stifling an airy belch behind a loosely curled fist, “c-careful, Buck,” he warns.

“Or what, you’ll pop?” Bucky’s teasing but also… he could. He might. Just look at him, nearly bursting out of his clothes. On a goddamn normal day, Bucky can’t deal with Mr. Steve I-Like-Tight-T-Shirts-That-Show-Off-Every-Inch-Of-My-Hot-Bod Rogers. So how is he supposed to deal with Steve when he’s dressed to the nines in formal wear and they’ve just had to deal with a fucking room full of stuffy politicians that frustrate him to the point of wanting to rip out his hair or punch a wall or fuck someone hard? (Preferably the last option, and preferably Steve).

He looks - Bucky licks his lips which are suddenly dry - almost pregnant. Ready to pop alright. Bucky shivers as he shifts gears.

Steve lazily chuckles at him, breathless, explaining his situation away by flapping a hand passively, “everyone wanted to have a toast to or a toast with Captain America,” Bucky nods, trying to listen and barely succeeding, “and you know how it is, I can’t turn anything down when I’m wearing the stars and stripes, it looks bad.” Steve shifts in his seat as Bucky hits the gas, the softest groan falling out of his loose, full lips already driving Bucky insane even before he admits, “so I have no idea how many flukes of champagne I drank.”

As they continue to cruise, Bucky keeps looking over at him, stealing glances, trying but failing to keep his eyes on the road. He’s trying to process the thought of Steve getting fucking wasted in this new century. Sloshed. Hitting glass after glass, bottle after bottle, until he’s flushing pink, and getting stumbly and tipsy and touchy like he used to before the serum when he was the lightest lightweight. Always snuggling up to Bucky, all over him, curling up in his lap like a cat after they went out drinking back in the day, kissing him and clinging to him, begging him with slurred words and dangerously mischievous eyes to fuck him rough and hard. Yanno how I like it, c’moooon, Buck, do meee, Bucky can still hear his drunk voice.

“Christ,” Bucky finally spits out some fucking words, his brain practically smoking, “it’s a good thing you can’t get drunk then, pal.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s breathing is labored as he tries to get comfortable, wiggling around in his seat, pulling at his now open collar and the seat belt cutting into him, “still can get full, though-”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees too quickly, too eager.

“And bloated,” Steve hisses out the tiniest of burps, leaning completely back into the leather seat, flopping back, his hands limp at his sides, “I’m sooo bloated.”

Bucky swallows thickly, “you look it… looks like you’re smuggling a watermelon under that suit.” Bucky’s flesh and blood hand aches with how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel, he’d be worried about breaking it if all his attention weren’t split between making sure he’s not about to crash and Steve.

“Thanks, asshole,” Steve laughs gently, the sweet sound ending in a gasp as he feels the alcohol in his belly swirl, the finger food he ate swimming in it, there’s so much.

“Just look at yourself, baby-” Bucky can’t resist pushing further, teasing and in awe at the same time. That’s what he and Steve do, though, they give each other shit. It’s a love language.

“Mmmmm-hm,” Steve lazily glances down, moving slower with just how overfull he is.

“You were sucking that thing in?” Bucky risks taking one hand off the wheel to reach over and smack his gut. Lightly. But, still, it’s enough to jostle a bigger burp out of Steve. He can’t believe how tight Steve’s belly is. He can’t believe how big Steve’s belly is. It’s making it hard to think. “That whole time? Your poor abs!”

“Uh-huh,” his big chest heaves as he tries to breathe deeply but can’t find the room in his body to fully expand his lungs, his stomach is too big, stretched, taking up all the extra room in his body and more, “Jesus, yeah,” he agrees, “my abs hurt, they’re so stretched-”

Bucky licks his lips, why does that sound so good? To him, and evidently to Steve with his tone of voice… it’s gone all breathy and soft like it does when he likes something. Turned on and weak for whatever it is, unable to put up a fight.

“-But it feels good to let it out, too.”

Christ.

Tease much, Rogers? Bucky wants to bite back.

But instead, Bucky can’t be bothered to be ashamed of himself when he answers, “it looks good, too.” Fucking sue him. He’s attracted to Steve all the time. Constantly. How would this be different? Why wouldn’t he want him like this? Even more of him. He can’t believe how hard that dress shirt is straining to keep his swollen gut covered. There are diamond gaps of exposed pale flesh between every button. It’s as if his belly is dying to get out and swell bigger, needing more space to get larger. And he’s… he’s interested in seeing it get bigger. If Steve can stomach it (ha), at least. He doesn’t want to actually pop Steve. He just wants to push his limits. See how much he can take.

Steve huffs, shaking his head affectionately like he can’t believe it. But he blushes bright pink, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He’s on the same page, just shier about it, “thanks, pal,” he murmurs, ducking his head, “you know how to make a guy feel special.”

Bucky snorts, “sure thing,” they stop at a red light and Bucky indulges himself, finding one of the gaps between his buttons to put two fingertips against his bare skin. Investigating the new landscape of Steve’s mountainous gut. It feels like he has a fever despite being unable to get sick these days, and when Bucky presses his fingers in, just to feel how much give there is in that tight belly -

“Oof,” Steve groans, “be carefu-uuuurpp,” there’s nothing Steve can do to stop the burp that comes barreling out of him.

“Be careful?” Bucky smirks, laughing a little, more breathless than anything, though, he had no idea that a stomach could do that. Could be so tight. He’s felt up Steve’s rock-hard abs plenty. Often, even. But… this is different and it’s exciting. “Or what? What’re you gonna do if I’m not? It seems like you’re having a hard time over there, bud.”

A car drives up behind them, appearing out of the empty night and honking, forcing Bucky’s eyes back onto the road. Ah, the light’s green, it probably has been for a while, too. So, he drives on.

Steve is about to respond, giving him shit right back, he’s sure, when the car hits a sudden pothole, jostling them both. But, poor Steve, it hits him worse. Not just startling him. The pothole is on the passenger side, to begin with, and Steve’s more affected by it anyway with his bloated belly. Despite how tight it is, packed to the brim with carbonated liquid, the dip in the road leaves it bouncing, jiggling, and sloshing violently as the car shakes. Bucky has never so deeply paid attention to the suspension because fuck. The impact seems to send a shockwave through Steve’s whole body, causing him to emit a loud, reckless belch that actually echoes in the tight confines of the car. The last of it turns into a groan as Steve curls his hands protectively around his belly like he can stop it from sloshing around. Meanwhile, Bucky could fucking thank the god-awful Nazis right now for gifting him with super hearing, forgiving all the other torture they put him through, just because he can hear the way the champagne bubbles trapped inside him fizz, tickling his insides almost… pleasurably if the blush spreading over Steve’s face and down his neck is anything to go by.

They’re both breathing harder now.

Not even a minute later after the first cacophonous, obscene accidental moment, Bucky turns onto another road, taking them home on autopilot, leaving NYC and heading towards Brooklyn. On the other road, right after the gut-churning too-fast turn, there’s another polehole, this one worse. Worse not because it’s bigger but because Bucky knows what’s going to happen. He sees it ahead of them and his brain is still processing what just happened, how seeing Steve jiggle and wobble made him feel involuntarily forcing him to picture the way Steve’s ass and tits move when he rides him, the way he groans when his dick bottoms out inside of him, stuffed full, and -

Bucky doesn’t even try to avoid the pothole, he just stares at Steve out of the corner of his eye, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

Steve’s swollen midsection heaves with another burp. Fuck. Bucky might be crazy, he might be seeing things, but his formal shirt, the buttons!, God, they’re almost straining more than they were before.

This time, his burps mix more with his groans and moans of discomfort.

Bucky’s head is spinning.

He feels like he needs to ask, “you alright?” But it’s more excitement than concern racing through him. This is… something about this is hot. Boiling even.

Letting the back of his head hit the headrest, hands supporting the underside of his belly, Steve swallows. Then, he nods weakly, cheeks flushed, “yeah,” he coughs to half-hide another burp, “‘m just gassy.”

Bucky’s gaze lingers on the mesmerizing sight before him, unable to tear himself away. The roughness of the road seems unending, who the fuck is in charge of New York streets anyway? They’re doing an awful job!, every jiggle and slosh of Steve’s belly sends shivers down Bucky’s spine. It makes Bucky’s face hot and tingly, stealing glimpses of his bloat as he takes them home.

Bigger and bigger and bigger.

He’s just filling up more with each shake-up of the contents of his stomach. Gas building. Bubbling.

Reflexively, with each belch and moan that escapes Steve’s lips, Bucky gets more and more aroused. His dick feels as hard as Steve’s belly looks. The tension in the car thickens. Steve tries to apologize for being so noisy and gassy, embarrassed, the manners he was taught holding him back, but Bucky won’t have it. Hastily, he reaches over with his hand not on the steering wheel to massage the roundest, most bulged-out part of his belly, saying, “you gotta let it out, baby, it’s okay. I want you to. Don’t hold back” He digs his fingers in just enough to cause another belch from Steve - a whimper right after - and they both squirm in their seats. “That’s it,” Bucky pats his tummy, encouraging him.

It seems impossible. He’s so full of champagne, so round. And all the sweet, fizzy alcohol is just getting more and more carbonated, more sparkling, more bubbly, more sloshy inside him with every jolt and shake of the car. Despite how much he’s burping, letting some of the gas escape, he just keeps swelling. Little by little, his belly inflates farther, expanding like a balloon. A balloon attached to a helium tank. Bucky is exhilarated by it, and judging by how Steve’s uncomfortable groans have pitched up into sounds that are more like moans of relief chasing each belch… Bucky isn’t the only one.

There’s something so hot about watching him blow up. Inflate. Expand. Swell.

The tension in the air follows Steve’s strained dress shirt, at first, it’s well-fitting, then a little bit tight, then tighter, tighter, until it’s creaking at the seams, ready to burst. The tension is so thick, it could be cut with a knife. Ready to snap. The buttons are threatening to pop off at any moment. All that gas… all the sloshing. The pressure is mounting. Every pothole, speedbump, black-tar snake, and accidental hit curb is a sweet torment for Steve, making him burp and cry out more which in turn torments Bucky. Both of them are wracked with anticipation, crawling with the need to touch each other.

The next time Bucky can take a hand off the steering wheel again and reach out to thump Steve’s swollen gut, Steve lets out a low, guttural moan, his body jerking into the sensation. But at that same risked moment, they hit the deepest, biggest pothole yet and -

Pop!

The first one is so loud and unexpected that it makes both of them jump in their seats, Bucky slams on the break which doesn’t help Steve’s precarious situation.

Pop!

The second one makes Steve whimper, trembling in his seat under the sloshing liquid inside him, swirling around, leaving him aching, the seat belt digging into him harder, feeling as though it’s cutting him in half.

POP!

The third one has Bucky swearing because fuck. Fuck! That’s so fucking hot. Steve is so big, so swollen that the buttons on his shirt, stretched over Steve’s belly have popped right off, flying forward and hitting the dash or the windshield. His shirt is no longer able to contain the bulging dome of his gut. It’s too much to handle, it’s expanded too far for the once perfectly fitted formal attire to hold on.

With each button that bursts free, a pleasurable relief in its own right, Steve’s pale, round, so fucking round, gut spills out into the heated, thick air. No longer held back by his clothes. The audible slosh of Steve’s champagne-and-gas-filled belly swelling suddenly, violently into his lap between the white halves of his now-ruined dress shirt is mouth-watering. With every stuttered breath Steve takes, stunned by arousal and shock, his gut seems to pulse with his overindulgence. Bucky can hear his heart racing and he knows Steve can feel it in his expanded stomach. All that taut, smooth, blushing skin exposed.

Oh, God.

Steve lets out his loudest moan so far, reckless with it. His hands had been braced on the center console and door handle respectively, hanging on as he was sloshed and jiggled. His hands fly up, grabbing his gut now that he isn’t so precariously balanced on the edge, feeling ready to burst with the pressure mounting inside him, forcing burps to come out of his mouth whether he wanted them to or not.

“Oh. Ohhh,” he can’t stop saying it, as if he’s shocked by what’s happening to him and he is, probably just as much as Bucky is. Somehow his flesh is still so taut. The pressure has alleviated some, but not much. He still feels like a fucking balloon.

Swollen.

Bloated.

Spherical.

Shaking, the blond caresses the surface of his shiny stomach. The heat of his belly pressing down against his thighs, in his lap, sends waves of pleasure through his whole body. He may not be so tightly compressed but the burps keep coming, released between his desperate gasps for breath, “ah, urrrp, oh, ooh, auurp, fuck me. Buurp. Guh. Uhhn. I feel so full!” He whines, “I’m so gassy, and, urrrrrp, God, so round.”

Bucky is amazed that he’s still fucking driving because he isn’t fucking functioning. Watching Steve touch himself, rubbing the dome that is his tight middle and daring to try and sink his fingers into his swollen body for relief from the pressure, Jesus Christ, it’s enough to kill him where 70 years of brainwashing didn’t.

Fuck Steve Rogers.

“Ah, oh, ohhh,” Steve’s voice trembles, “I can’t - URP - believe it. Look at me,” he begs Bucky, turning his head to the side to pout at him.

Fuck Steve Rogers.

“‘M so big! Buck! I’m so big! I didn’t know-oh, I could stretch so much. It aches,” he whimpers, “‘m so stretched! Buurp.”

Bucky stops in the middle of the road. He doesn’t give a shit anymore. It’s nighttime. There’s no one driving behind him anymore. There are other lanes. Anyone who does drive up behind him can fuck off. They can go around - they can go to hell. He needs to get his hands on that gut. Now.

Steve writhes as much as he can under the mass of his gut sitting on top of him when Bucky lunges toward him, “look at me!” he whimpers again, happy under his attention, “it, it… it fills my, my whole lap. Urrrrp, ugh, God, ‘m so bloated!”

His stomach feels so tight that Bucky can’t believe it. He can’t imagine what the pressure must feel like for Steve. The fullness. It has to be unbearable. Like being fucked full of cock but so, so much more. Hell, just looking at him is raw and pleasurable in a way that it shouldn’t be, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for Steve. There’s nothing erotic about this yet everything about it is insanely erotic… how he can’t stop making noises, uncontrolled burping. Sloshing. Belching. Fizzing. The way he’s squirming. The way he’s begging Bucky to help him, relieve the pressure, touch him, massage him, anything!

“Buck, I’m… I’m so full,” he whimpers.

“I know, Stevie,” he growls, his voice low and husky, practically already fogging up their windows he’s burning so hot for this, “but, Christ, babydoll, you look incredible.” He does. His gut is throbbing, red, and shining under the street lights. Bucky can’t stop touching his belly, massaging it worshipfully. Thumping it to hear how much his body sounds like a drum. “We should keep you like this,” he’s already salivating at the thought, his hips jerking forward to grind into nothing but thin air. He wants him so bad when he’s like this, stuffed full, exposed, and incapacitated by the sloshing weight in his big, sexy belly.

“Unnngh,” Steve whines, nodding, “it, it feels so good,” he pants, “urrrp, aarrp, ‘m so fuckin’ full, Buck.”

“You’re like a balloon,” Bucky whispers, leaning over awkwardly in the car to say the words into his mouth, kissing him desperately, “so tight you’re about to pop.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, shivering, “keep, keep touching me, I need-” he cuts himself off, burping right in Bucky’s face with a flare of embarrassment so strong it makes him squeak. Mortified.

Bucky won’t have it, though. He bites Steve’s lower lip hungrily and digs them deeper into the debauchery, “I bet we can find a liquor store that’s still open, you wanna see if we can get a few more bottles into this tanker?” Then, he slaps his gut to make him convulse, curling around his pulsing, throbbing, aching belly.

Steve can’t take it, moaning, “yes! Yes, Buck! Please! I wanna be bigger. Fill me up until I can’t take any-ah-ahh, URP, any more!”

(Why does staring at an overflowing bottle make me horny? What even is this fetish 😂)

[asirensrage]

The Road to Hell

Title: The Road to Hell Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Rating: Explicit Pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo x Unnamed!Undescribed!FemaleOC Word count: 2306 Warnings: Dark!fic. Dub-con. Drug overdose. Non-con drug use. Obsession. Forced Relationship. Sex. Coercion. Forced Relationship. Unbeta'd. *warnings are not exhaustive* Summary: It's pure luck that she stumbles across him alone in the middle of an overdose. He thinks it's fate.

MANGA SPOILER WARNING! This fic mentions events in the manga that have not yet been shown in the anime. You have been warned.

Notes: okay, I don't completely love how this came out with the pov change, but I can't figure out how to improve it yet. If I do, I'll rewrite/repost it like I dd the Ran oneshot. It is a dark fic. Consider yourself warned. It was inspired by my mother talking about kids accidentally overdosing in parks and how I should pick up one of these kits. The POV change shifts in the middle and there's a bit of timeshifting in it, but I hope it makes sense. (please tell me if it doesn't so i can fix it. I've looked at it too much myself and I don't have a beta for my TR fics) I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think.

“Ha–Haru–” she tries to say his name, unable to catch her breath from the way he’s thrusting into her. 

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, grinning down at her. 

Her arms are tied above her, making her arch her chest up towards him a little more. She’s so fucking pretty like this, tears in her eyes as she begs him for more. He leans down and kisses her, letting her taste the remnants of herself on his tongue. 

God, he wants more. 

He didn’t think there was ever a woman who would drive him to madness, but here he has her under him. His angel. His fucking saviour who’s too good for him but Sanzu doesn’t give a shit. Tasting her is better than any of the drugs he’s been on. She makes him fucking crazy.

“Come on, baby. Lemme see you come for me again.” 

She whines, shifting as though she can resist him. He knows better. He leans down, kissing her neck as he adjusts the angle of her hips. She feels so fucking good. If he hadn’t looked into her, researched everything about her, he’d think she was a virgin with the way she was squeezing him this tight. 

She cries out as he picks up his pace and it’s music to his ears. 

“Fuck!” he groans against her skin, kissing her hard again. “Gotta come for me, baby. Come with me. Show me how fucking pretty you look.”

Her eyes are closed, lost in the feeling of him. She’s fucking glowing with sweat from how long they’ve been fucking. “Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.” When she doesn’t move fast enough, lost in how good he’s making her feel, he grabs her neck forcing her attention back on his face. “Look at me.”

Her eyes open, glaring at him for the distraction. As if he’s going to deny her the pleasure only he can bring.

He grins at her. “There’s my angel.” 

🩹

Some time ago…

He doesn’t mean to do it. He doesn’t. It’s not like he takes more than he usually does. He’s slipped something by one of his usual suppliers but something is wrong. He knows something is wrong and he’s trying to get some air, shoving his way outside as he grabs his phone to call someone for help and he drops. The world is spinning around him and he laughs. He can’t move. 

“Hey, are you okay? Hey, look–” 

A face appears over him but he can’t make out the features. Things are blurring. They’re saying something else but he can’t make it out. He calls for Mikey, reaching for his phone but his vision goes black and he passes out. 

🩹

Being sober fucking sucks. 

It makes him more irritable than normal. He wants to succumb to the feeling of weightlessness, of drifting away from the world just enough that he can actually do his work. But since he was fucking poisoned and nearly died because of the pills, Mikey’s ordered him off of them. Even if he already killed the dealer who gave it to him. 

He’s fiddling with one of the pens that he stole from the purse of the girl who saved him. At least, that’s what he had been told. Whatever she gave him kept him alive long enough for the doctor they have on staff to drag him back from the edge. 

He doesn’t remember more than the sound of her panicked voice and the way the light in the alley acted like a halo framing her head. He’s seen her license, but photos never really do someone justice. He just wants to know…why did she save him?

He tries to shove it out of his mind. He doesn’t have time to wonder about a stranger, not when he has traitors to dig out and Mikey to protect. He’s number two, after all. He has work to do. 

🩹

He can’t stop fucking thinking about her. Why did she save him? Why him? Of all the people he could have stumbled across…it was the one woman probably in the whole country who didn’t fear him, who had something in her bag that kept him alive. 

He’s always felt justified in his choices, in his decisions to follow Mikey. He was certain he wouldn’t let that old timeline come to pass, he’d do what Shinchiro set out to do and keep Mikey alive. But her? She was like an angel in his time of need…the thought stops him. 

He didn’t believe in religious junk, but something brought Shinchiro back, something saved Mikey…and something sent this woman into his path. Maybe there was more to it than just saving him…maybe it was Shinchiro sending his thanks for looking after Mikey. He snorts at the idea but the more he ruminates on it, the more it makes sense. Clearly, she’s meant for him. Otherwise, why would she have saved him? Why would she have been there?

🩹 🩹 🩹

Honestly, it’s a lot of luck on his part that she happened to be walking by. She doesn’t usually like to get involved in the affairs of strangers, but it’s easy to see with one look at him that he’s blissed out. Until he falls and she can see the way his breathing catches, the way he’s struggling. 

When he drops, she’s moving without thinking. She kneels, praying he doesn’t throw up on her and calls out to him. 

“Hey! Are you okay? Hey! Look at me!” His eyes can’t focus, pupils nearly erasing the irises. 

“Mik–” his voice slurs and he passes out in front of her. At first, she’s just going to turn him over to make sure if he does throw up, he won’t choke. Then he fully stops breathing. 

He’s lucky because she’s trained in first aid. Because her mother had been watching the news about children accidentally overdosing on drugs somehow left on playgrounds and strongly recommended that she carry the drug meant to help keep someone alive if they overdose on her person. So she digs it out of her bag, yelling for help as she unzips the pack and shoves the first one into one of his nostrils and presses it. She calls 911 and puts it on speaker since no one is coming to help and starts CPR. 

She talks to the operator, trying to tell them where she is but she’s not from this district and she’s trying to get this man to start breathing. She pauses and instead of putting her mouth against his, she shoves the second dose of it into his other nostril and sprays it in. 

He coughs and throws up. She jolts back, turning him towards her so that he can get it out and not choke. The operator is asking her what’s happening but he’s finally breathing that it takes her attention until she has him in a recovery position. 

She grabs her phone but before she can actually confirm that he’s alive and ask where the ambulance is, someone knocks it out of her hand. She looks to get it but someone steps on it, fully shattering the screen and making it go black. 

“HEY!”

The click of a gun, the cool metal touching her temple stops her from reaming them out. 

“What the fuck did you do to him?”

“Saved his life!” she snaps back. “He needs a hospital and you just broke my call that the operator was probably tracking!” 

“What’s this shit?” another voice asks and she sees a foot kick the pack that the naloxone was in. 

“It’s Naloxone. When used fast enough, it can save someone from overdosing. Now instead of interrogating me, call an ambulance!”

They refuse, instead dragging the man off and leaving her in the alley, covered in his sick after they threaten her if she says anything to anyone. It’s not until she’s home and locked out that she realizes that they took her purse. 

It all goes to shit after that. 

🩹

It all goes to shit after that. 

Getting all of her IDs, cards and papers replaced takes longer than she wants. She does, however, tell her mother that she was right and she did help someone. Even if it wasn’t a child like her mother feared. Honestly, she didn’t know where her mother thought they lived but it was clearly somewhere more dangerous than they did. 

She expected that to be the worst of it. 

Until she runs into him by accident. 

She’s leaving a convenience store and putting her wallet away when she accidentally stumbles into him. He grabs her by the shoulders, steadying her. She looks up, an apology on her lips when she realizes who it is. 

“Oh my god, you’re alive!” 

He looks a little startled at her reaction before he smiles. “It’s you.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I didn’t think you made it,” she admits before remembering the rest of the night. “You stole my purse.” 

“Me? I was dying,” he says clearly. “I couldn’t have.” 

“Your friends then,” she replies. Now that he’s alive and seemingly healthy, she can finally stop thinking about the incident. 

“Let me make it up to you.” He stares down at her and she shifts under the sudden intensity of his gaze. His pink hair falls to his shoulders and his suit looks finely pressed. The scars on the edge of his mouth make him look intimidating. It’s a huge change from the last time she saw him. 

“You don’t need to,” she says. She doesn’t need to get involved with anyone who overdoses and has friends ready to murder her in retribution for causing his death. “I appreciate the offer but it’s fine. I’m just glad I could help.”

He steps forward. “You did. They said I wouldn’t have made it without you. Come on,” he grins at her. “I want to say thank you.”

“You just did,” she points out.

“Properly.”

🩹

She doesn’t think much of it at first. 

Sanzu Haruchiyo, as he properly introduced himself as, is persistent in his determination to say thank you. She expects dinner and refused, not wanting to get more involved with the man than she already was. 

He sends her flowers with a card that holds a number. When she doesn’t call it, choosing to dispose of it instead, her work receives an anonymous donation for upgrades and her class is the first chosen. She refuses the upgrades but then her vacation days are suddenly increased. He pays her rent for the next six months. 

It’s enough to make her track him down so she can get him to stop. She knows the feeling of a gun against her head because of him. She doesn’t want anything else. 

It’s not an easy thing, but she tracks him down to a club. In the process, she learns the name of the criminal organization he’s involved with: Bonten. It’s enough to make her second guess finding him, the criminals more serious than she ever anticipated. She watches the news. She knows the reports of just what they do and how often bodies are found with them as the main suspects. 

It makes her more determined to find him, to get him to stop. It leads to her eventually arguing with the bouncer of the VIP area of the club she waited in line for over an hour to get in. She just wants this to be over. 

She doesn’t know when he spots her, but he approaches with a grin, waving off the guard and leaning in towards her. His pink hair falls between them, brushing her bare shoulders. She’s forced herself into a borrowed skimpy dress to get into this club but she’s more uncomfortable now with him so close. 

“What have I done to earn seeing your face again, angel?”

He doesn’t look high but she doesn’t have enough experience with drugs to confirm it. 

“Why did you pay my rent? Or send that donation to my work. That was you, wasn’t it?” 

He reaches out, brushing her hair back out of her face. “You never called. Wouldn’t let me take you to dinner.”

“And that’s your response?” She stares at him incredulously. It was more than a little overkill. 

He grins at her. “Let me make it up to you?” he asks again, almost a parody of the last time. She stares at him for a long moment. If she says no, there’s no telling what else he’ll do. So she accepts.

🩹

Sanzu keeps her. 

It was an accident, pure chance that she saved him, and he has not let her forget it since. Her attempts to tell him no fail every time. He slowly takes over her life and any attempts to make him stop has him increasing his actions until there’s nothing left except him. 

She gave one small thing. He takes everything in return. 

Every attempt she makes at pulling away has him digging himself deeper under her skin. Before she knows it, there’s a bodyguard outside her work. He moves her into his apartment with claims that it’s safer for her. He breaks down every protest, every action, with cool logic, soft touches and warm promises. He distracts her with orgasms and pretty trinkets, burying her until the only things she has are reminders of him. 

And now they’re here.

🩹

He’s slipped her something. 

“Just to help you relax, baby. Let me lead you back to heaven,” he says, murmuring it into her skin. It makes her head spin. 

“Haru…” She breathes before he kisses her. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, not the first time they’ve tasted each other, but it feels ten times more intense than before. 

“I got you.” 

He whispers promises into her skin. He brings her to her peak with ease, content in devouring her bit by bit until all she can say is his name. He’s breaking her apart every time she cums under his mouth or fingers or cock.

If she wasn’t bound, stars in her eyes and lost in the feelings he was creating, she’d kill him for this. He’d probably enjoy the attempt, tell her it’s more proof they’re meant to be. If she could feel anything except the constant ebb and flow of pleasure, lighting coursing down her spine, she’d–

“Come on, baby. Lemme see you come for me again.” 

She whines, trying to shift away because it’s too much. She’s overstimulated to the point she feels like crying. He kisses her neck, forcing another mark into her skin and adjusts them until she can barely speak from the way it feels. 

 He kisses her again and she can taste herself on his tongue. “Gotta come for me, baby. Come with me. Show me how fucking pretty you look.”

Her eyes are closed because she can barely keep them open, because she doesn’t want to look at the man who’s stolen her life. 

“Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.” She doesn’t want to, but his hand moves to her throat and she feels the pressure he puts as he forces her to face him. “Look at me.”

She glares at him, eyes brimming with tears and anger at the way he won’t let her escape even just as far as the distance of an eyelid. 

He grins at her. “There’s my angel.” 

She’ll give him this. Let him grow comfortable enough that she has space to make her move. She’ll be free of him. One way or another. 

taglist: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse @themaradwrites @kingsmakers @far-shores

[stanchett]

ooooh for the prompts, maybe sub!lucifer x reader, like lucifer not in a million years thinking that being submissive would be enjoyable but after reader touches her wings lucifer is like ....... whaT are these Feelings :) so like i guess a wink kink? haha

Here you go, anon! It’s a little shorter than my other fics, but I hope you enjoy it!! This is also unbeta'd, so I apologize for any errors I might've missed!!

Also, thanks so much for 500 followers??? I’m floored by all the support on my writing, you guys are the best 🫶

AO3 Link

Playing with Fire

Warnings: NSFW

1.6k words

The black marble floors of Lucifer’s throne room stung your bare feet with a chill at each step, contrasting perfectly with the heat of the hellish realm. The air smelled of burnt sandalwood, vanilla and sin; a strangely comforting scent, one signature to the Morningstar. You ascended the steps to find them seated at the edge of the small pit of fire at the center of the room, fingers dancing amid the flames. You watched closely, their long digits twirling them around, coaxing them higher. They had yet to regard your presence, but they spoke up nonetheless. 

“My curious Little Lamb.” Your next steps were hesitant, and you came to a halt a few feet from them. Deciding it was in your best interest to remain on their good side, you knelt before them out of respect, dropping to one knee and lowering your gaze to the floor. Out of your line of sight, they turned to take you in in your submissive state, a pleased smile crossing their features. 

After several moments, you lifted your eyes to meet theirs, and a chill ran down your spine at the way they looked down at you. “Rise, and join me,” were their only words, turning their attention back to the flames beside them. 

You stood slowly, hands clasping behind your back as you moved in their direction. Taking a seat in front of them on the cool ruddy stone, you turned your gaze to the fire as well, its heat licking at your exposed skin around your white silken gown. A rogue spark flew in your direction, landing on the back of your hand. You hissed in pained surprise, and shook it in the air briefly. The Morningstar only chuckled; of course your pain brought them joy. The sound of their laugh distracted you momentarily, as it was a sound that hinted at the life they once lived - it was an angelic, throaty sound. You scowled in return, but couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks. You were making a habit of proving yourself a fool in front of this timeless being. 

“Give me your hand,” they said gently, reaching out their own in encouragement. Placing it palm-down, you assumed they meant to tend to your small wound, but they turned it upward instead, their other hand still dancing amid the flames. Drawing it out, they brought with them a perfectly round ball of heat, and you watched as they manipulated it with their fingers. “Keep very still.”

They eased the ball of fire into your palm, and you gasped. You watched in bewilderment as it failed to burn you. Instead it danced and lashed about, hovering only inches above your flesh. Eyes wide, you shot them a wide grin, amazed at its inability to harm you. Their fingers rose to toy with it absentmindedly before scooping it from where it sat and dropped it back into the pit. 

You scooted closer toward them, their adoring gaze inviting you into their space. As your eyes swept over their form, they fell to their glorious wings peeking over their shoulders before rising to meet theirs. You were so curious about them; were they heavy? How often did they use them for their intended purpose? How did Lucifer dress in their robes if they protruded from their back? As you pondered, their smirk never left their face, as if they could sense your questions before you voiced them. 

“What do they… feel like?” You nodded in the direction of the leathery appendages, hoping such a question wasn’t too imposing. You couldn’t imagine carrying the literal nor metaphorical weight on your shoulders as a reminder of your faults. Lucifer turned their head to regard them before answering, and they fluttered in acknowledgement. 

“I suppose they took some getting used to, but adjust to them, I did,” they answered plainly. Your fingers twitched in curiosity, hand still resting in the Morningstar’s much larger one. They raised an eyebrow and caught your gaze, spurring you on to ask what you really wanted to. 

“May I touch them?” Their eyes narrowed at you, not out of anger, but in interest. They thought you quite brave for making such a request. Not a single soul in Hell dared touch them in that way, let alone ask to. Realizing you could do no harm to them in their own dominion, they silently obliged, left wing unfolding from behind them. Your eyes followed its length outward; their wingspan was easily eight feet, maybe more. Stretching to its full size, it flexed around its owner’s form in your direction before coming to rest a few inches from where you sat, shielding you from the doorway through which you entered. 

Your fingers were gentle as you reached out, allowing only the backs of them to stroke the bone beneath darkened flesh. They were much softer than you had anticipated, and the joints twitched at the contact. You flinched away at the small reflex, before spreading the pads of your fingers over the expanse between its thinner connective structures. Your fingers traced the small veins that showed through them due to the fire’s light delicately, and a small sigh emanated from beside you. Your movements stilled as you turned your head to meet the gaze of a flushed Lucifer Morningstar, who immediately retracted their wing to their back. 

“I think that is quite enough.” You didn’t mean to offend them, and you assumed you had, until your mind put the pieces together. They refused to meet your eyes with their own, which were now hooded by something darker, as they turned their attention back to the flames beside you both - desire. Boldly you stood from your seat, and your feet padded their way behind them. Both folded wings sat before you, and you knelt upon the raised ring of stone to maintain your height with theirs. Against your better judgement, you reached out and placed your hands on their shoulders and began massaging through their blood-red robes. A hum of approval came as a welcomed surprise as you manipulated the tense muscles beneath, Lucifer’s eyes fluttering shut as they succumbed to the contact. The sound filled you with a newfound confidence, and you lowered your lips to their ear.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you enjoyed that…” You were pushing your luck, you knew, but if your reward was more of the heavenly sounds of their pleasure, how could you even consider stopping yourself? The glorious entity before you sighed again, more deeply in response to your whispers. 

Your fingers worked the muscles to the base of their wings, thumbs digging into where they were rooted in their back. A low growl rattled in Lucifer’s chest and you placed an open-mouthed kiss on their pulse point, tongue tracing over the sensitive skin. Their initial shock at the eroticism gave way to submission and they melted into your touch, their posture going more slack as you continued in your descent upon them. 

Both wings spread outward to half their full length to grant you better access, and you smoothed your hands over their upper ridges, digits dancing over their horned peaks. A breathy moan fell from Lucifer’s mouth as your gentle touch swept over the sharp points, and you whispered to them again, your voice dropping several octaves. 

“Would the Ruler of Hell do me the pleasure of touching themselves for me?” You nearly groaned at the suggestive nature of your own question, and their legs immediately fell apart. Taking advantage of the large split in their robes, you watched as their long fingers stroked up their bare thigh, and you blushed upon realizing they had been naked beneath them the whole time. 

You timed your next move perfectly; just as their touch reached the apex of their thighs, you brushed your thumb over the curved edge of the horn in your grasp, and the Morningstar threw their head back against your shoulder with a rumbling moan. The effect you had on them amazed you. What began as innocent curiosity had turned into something so much more fruitful and satisfying. 

Lucifer’s breaths were labored as you continued to work them up, hands rubbing and squeezing along the joints of their massive wings. You then splayed your fingers apart, running them down the expanse of flesh between them. They quivered in response, their breaths shaky as they drew closer to their climax. Your mouth watered at the sight of them pleasuring themselves, the muscles of their forearm flexing as they circled their bundle of nerves that was just barely hidden from sight. Pressing your body into their back, you applied pressure to where their wings sprouted from the pale, toned flesh beneath the red silk, and they relished in the closeness. 

With a final stroke over the lower tips of their leathery appendages, they came undone before you with stifled cry. Your hands grasped their waist as Lucifer fell, steadying them against your form. You pressed a kiss to the top of their spine causing them to shiver before you pulled away, any and all confidence you had dissipating that very moment. Unsure of their reaction, you bowed your head as they turned to face you once more. Their hands caressed your jaw reassuringly, raising your head to meet their eyes. Their features were relaxed, and any worry left your mind upon regarding them as they spoke in the timeless fashion you adored. 

“You have served me well, Little Lamb. Allow me to return the favor.”

[thebiggerbear]

"I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that." - Tom Hanniger Prompt Response

Summary: You went to visit Tom in the mines for a little Valentine's Day fun. Who knew that one decision would lead to everything that's happened? Will you be able to help Tom or will he be lost to you forever?

Pairing: Tom Hanniger x Female!Reader; Tom Hanniger x Sarah Mercer; implied past Deputy Martin x Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting (#941). This was so much fun to write. I just love this character and there is so much to explore with him. I also really love the dynamic between him and the reader in this one. Hope it came out alright.

I decided to give Deputy Martin a name. He deserves one. Also, I loved Tom and Sarah at the beginning of the movie. I had actually been hoping Sarah would leave Axel and be with Tom again until it was revealed that he was the one doing the killings. That grocery store scene when they see each other again for the first time after a decade...it broke my heart in the best way. Jensen and Jaime did a great job (Kerr too though I hated his character the entire time lol). So I kind of feel a little guilty here but I had to throw in the Sarah factor; not trying to crap on their relationship, I promise.

I tried my best do my research and be respectful in regards to DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) but also keep this a few years post-movie (2009) while also staying within the context the movie provided but also explore a bit, if that makes sense. Please note I do not work in the psychiatry, psychology, or medical fields. If I got anything appallingly incorrect about this disorder, its symptoms, its treaments, anything, please let me know. Also, I think it goes without saying (but I’ll say it anyway), not every single person who has been diagnosed with DID is violent or a threat to others nor are their alters violent or a threat to others. Obviously, this is just a work of fanfiction based on a fictional story where the main character had an alter that was violent and a threat to everyone. No harm or disrespect is intended with this fanfiction at all.

There is a note at the end.

This takes place pre-movie, all throughout it, and post-movie.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: violence; description of injuries; blood; sex (smut-light); angst; mentions of murder; semi-hostage situation; threats of harm/murder; psychiatric hospital treatment (I'm not sure if that's an actual warning or if it should be but I'm putting it in case)

Sidenote: I'm sure we all know this but I'm putting here in case anyway: if you ever go into any mines or similar underground structure, please always wear your hardhat and do what your guides/experts tell you/follow the rules to stay safe.

Word Count: 11k+

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Tom Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

"I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

Soldier Boy version ✨ Beau version ✨ Dean version ✨ Jenny version ✨ Jason version ✨ CJ version ✨ Rachel version ✨ Anael version ✨ SDV Leah version ✨ Alec version

You pulled up outside of Tunnel 5 in your car, your friends laughing and cheering as you parked. You weren’t as excited to be here but they managed to talk you into it. 

A Valentine’s Day party was happening in Tunnel 5 and most people your age were going to be there. Why they had decided on a tunnel in the Hanniger mines as the primo party spot you had no idea. If there was one thing you had learned in your life so far, people were weird and most college-aged kids would party wherever, whenever. Especially in a small town like this one.

You got out of the car, heading towards the trunk, ignoring the dibs your friend Destiny was calling on every hot single guy to your other two friends, Carina and Taylor. You handed six packs of beer out to each of them before grabbing the last one and shutting the trunk lid.

“You okay, Y/N?”

You glanced up to find Carina watching you while Destiny and Taylor were waiting impatiently to get to the party. You forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay, Rina. Promise.” She knew how hard this might be for you and you appreciated her checking in with you. She returned your smile and turned to follow your two other friends, with you close behind her. 

You passed a few cars until a familiar tall figure entered your vision, sans his usual ball cap. You watched as Tom Hanniger opened the back door of his truck, searching for something. You moved a little closer to Carina and discreetly handed her your six-pack. “I’ll catch up,” you whispered.

She glanced over to where you were staring and gave you a look. “Y/N…”

“I’ll be fine, Rina. You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you guys in a few.”

She seemed uncertain but nodded, doing as you asked. You watched her hurry to catch up to Destiny and Taylor, and then you turned your attention back on Tom. You waited for two people to pass by before you made your way over to him.

He had a six-pack in his hand but he was standing stock still, almost as if he was lost in thought. You then watched as he put the beer back down, holding a hand to the side of his car, and you could tell he was taking a deep breath. Your heart broke for him a little. This couldn’t be easy for him, being here, and being back here especially. You wondered what had prompted him to come here and then you realized, your heart breaking a little further: Sarah.

You pressed your lips together and decided to get this over with. “Hey, Tom,” you called softly.

He spun around, surprised to see you. “Y/N…hey.”

You took him in and you hoped your pain wasn’t showing through. He looked good for the most part, still handsome, still tall and statuesque, his figure being cut from playing football. The only difference you could make out was the nerves that were plain as day though he tried to hide them from you. “How are you?”

He shrugged. “I’m doing alright, I guess. How about you? I hear congratulations are in order. You got into med school. I always knew you would.”

“Thanks,” you whispered. You had worked hard in school, filled up your interim semesters with classes to help you get closer to graduation, studied like hell for the MCAT, and got into the med school of your choice — well, one of them — just like you’d been hoping for the longest time. “Are you here alone?”

“No, uh, I’m here with…” He gestured back towards the tunnel.

“Sarah,” you supplied.

“Yeah.” You could see some of his discomfort showing through. “Sarah.”

You attempted a smile. “That’s good.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes trained on the hat in his hand.

You wished things weren’t so awkward now between you. They never used to be.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his eyes lifting to yours. “For how things turned out. I never meant— I never meant for any of this to happen.” You could see the regret in them, an echo of some of your own regret.

“I know,” you whispered, your eyes burning at the corners. “I’m sorry, too.”

And you really were. Perhaps if you had been a better girlfriend a year ago — a better person even — you both wouldn’t be here now, feeling as if the blood on your hands would never wash away.

It was Valentine’s Day and you knew Tom was working in the mines all day. He still promised to take you out afterwards, once he’d gotten a chance to shower and clean up. You were looking forward to it.

You had no idea when the thought popped into your head but once it did, it took root and stayed there. Until you found yourself visiting him at the mines. Of course, you’d gotten a lot of dirty and suspicious looks as you dressed in a miner’s uniform and plopped a hard hat on your head (it was the rules). Some guy you forgot the name of the second you’d been introduced to took you down in a cart. While you weren’t crazy about going further underground, you told yourself that once you were with Tom, you would be safe. And it would all be worth it once he saw the present you had for him. 

You got to your stop, the guy called for Tom to come down and mentioned he had a visitor, and not too long after, Tom appeared. You grinned at him when you saw the look of surprise on your boyfriend’s face. 

“What the— What the hell are you doing here, sweetheart?”

“Surprise!” You hugged him as fiercely as you could with his equipment on him. 

He shook his head, smiling as he took in your outfit. “You came all the way down here just to surprise me?”

“Of course I did.”

“But sweetheart, it’s not safe.”

“Don’t tell me that, Tom. I worry about you enough being down here as it is. And don’t worry, I won’t be long.” You smirked up at him and he immediately got your meaning. 

He uncomfortably cleared his throat. “I can take it from here, Fred. I’ll call a cart down when she’s ready to go back up or you if you’re still around. Thanks.”

Fred shook his head, most likely knowing what you two were up to. “I’ll be over in 3 if you need me,” he gruffed out. You both watched as the cart disappeared down the shaft.

“Sweetheart, you really shouldn’t have come down. It’s not safe,” Tom told you but you could feel his hand resting on the seat of your uniform. 

“I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” He smiled. “What kind of surprise?” 

“You’ll see,” you teased. “Is there somewhere we can go?”

He glanced around quickly before taking your hand. “Yeah, there’s a place. Come on.” He led you back up the shaft a little ways and into a pocket, hidden from view. He whisked off his hard hat and yours before eagerly pulling you to him, making you giggle into his mouth. 

“I’ve never had a girl visit me at the mines before,” he murmured, kissing your jaw. 

“And you better never have any girl other than me coming to see you.” You playfully poked his chest in warning.

“No other girl for me,” he whispered to your lips before kissing you again. “You’re it. Always.”

“Awww.” You began to unzip your uniform, wanting to give him his present already. Something sweet like that deserved a reward. 

He pulled back to help you and once the top half was off, his brows drew together in mock confusion. “My surprise is your jogging sweats? I really appreciate the thought, sweetheart, but you could’ve given that to me later tonight and not risked coming down here.”

You swatted at his shoulder, making him snicker, as you slowly unzipped your top half. His eyes followed the trail of the zipper and they widened when you opened the shirt and pushed it back to your shoulders. You smirked, seeing his reaction. He wasn’t laughing or making fun now.

Underneath your sweats, you wore new lingerie you had bought just for this moment. It was a red and white lacy bra that had hearts all over it, ending in a cut-out heart design over your breasts, with a little bow holding it altogether. “You like?”

“I like.” He trailed a finger along the edge of the cut-out heart. “I like it a lot.” He twirled the ribbon over his finger, smirking over at you. “Do I get to unwrap you?” He teased.

You shrugged. “It is your present. Don’t forget about the bottom half, too.” You pushed down your uniform and sweats to reveal similar looking underwear. “But the tie’s at the back.” You leaned forward slightly so he could see. He grinned as he ran a hand over the cut-out heart shape back there, tugging at the ribbon playfully. “So you like your surprise?”

“I love my surprise.” He kissed you as he untied the underwear and let them fall forward into his waiting hand. He stuck them into the pocket of his mining uniform and you felt him begin to touch you in the way he knew you liked. He groaned into your mouth when he felt you. “You’re all ready for me.”

“Of course,” you hummed. “I never half-ass a present.”

He brought his hand down on your bare ass cheek in a slap, making you squeal, and squeezed it. “No, you do not.” He stuck his tongue back into your mouth and you worked to get his uniform unzipped and off of him. He had untied your bra and he broke away from you to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasped and arched your head back, your fingers gripping the back of his hair to hold him to you. You let out a moan while he nibbled away at you. He had you on the edge already and he’d barely touched you.

You pulled him back up to you, kissing him deeply, as you started working on his belt. You had just worked his jeans down enough so you could pull him out to stroke him when his hand stopped you. “Sweetheart, wait, wait.”

You pouted. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have a condom.”

You smirked. “Is that all?”

“Is that all? Uh, yeah, and that’s a problem. My wallet’s in my locker up top. I know we usually just…you know, if we don’t have them, but uh, I’m not going to lie, I really want to enjoy my present right now,” he ended with a nervous laugh. “Every inch of it.” He slapped your ass cheek again and leaned forward, nipping at your breast before kissing the sting away.

“Well, then it’s your lucky day that I’m the world's most amazing girlfriend, Tom Hanniger.” You reached into the pocket of your jacket and pulled out two condoms, holding them up in front of his face. 

He glanced up at you in awe. “You really are.” He snatched the condoms from you, putting one into his pocket and opening the other. You leaned in and kissed the spot underneath his ear while he got ready for you. “I told you,” you murmured. “I never half-ass a present. Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

He turned to look at you, holding you steady as he made sure your uniform was covering your back. He began to slip into you and you both groaned by the time he bottomed out, he was a few inches above your lips, smiling. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” He then kissed you and began to give you what you both wanted.

It was quick, hurried, frenzied even. As much as you loved each other, this wasn’t the time or place to take your time. You both could be caught at any moment, it was dangerous like Tom said… You could take your time with each other later. 

Tom had to cover your mouth when you came and you’d had to cover his when he crossed the finish line. You’d felt every grunt sound he made against your palm and it only turned you on more. You almost wished you had forgotten the condoms but you knew Tom wouldn’t be deep inside you right now if you had. Tom was adamant about protection, just like you were, but you loved him and trusted him. Plus, you had been on the pill for years but you knew Eli Hanniger had drilled it into his son’s head to always cover it up unless he wanted some girl to put him in a position someday where he’d be trapped into a marriage and forced to share half his money. You tried not to take it too personally when Eli had looked over at you after that little nugget of his own brand of wisdom on one of the many nights Tom had to pick his drunken dad up from the local bar. 

Eli couldn’t have been more wrong. You loved Tom but you also had your own goals in life that you didn’t want deterred by parenthood earlier than expected. Not to mention, Tom could be the poorest guy in town and you would still love him and want to be with him. You’d loved Tom since you were five, ever since he’d seen you crying because all of the markers were gone in kindergarten class and everyone was making a picture but you. He came over to give you the red one he’d been using with a cute smile that was meant to reassure you. You’d smiled back at him, sniffling, your face wet, as you both worked together to make a picture. You’d been close ever since. 

Once you were in high school, things changed between you. You’d had to watch as he dated girl after girl until finally junior year came. You changed up your look a little, didn’t have your nose stuck in a book every other minute, and the guys began to slowly take notice of you. Tom had been jealous when you told him you were going on a date with one of his teammates. You two had been arguing in his car when he leaned over and kissed you out of the blue. Needless to say, you had canceled that date and Tom stopped hooking up with one of the cheerleaders he’d been casually seeing at the time.

You both were happy. You both attended the same university and you spent the holidays together with your families. Well, you and Tom spent the holidays with your family; Eli wanted no part of it. It was almost as if because you weren’t a mining family or a well-off family, you weren’t good enough for him to bother gracing you with his presence at your dinner table. Just like you weren’t good enough to be dating his son, unlike Sarah Mercer whose parents owned the grocery store in town. That was who Eli kept pushing Tom towards but Tom told his dad he didn’t have eyes for anyone but you. He loved you and someday, he wanted to marry you. Your heart warmed when you overheard him say that. Which immediately hardened when you heard his dad then say “You’re a fool. That girl just wants your money! Sarah’s an actually decent hard-working girl. You’d be better off with her than that other one.” Tom didn’t say anything else and you had gone back to the book you were reading, pretending to be caught up in it, when he came out, hurrying to take your hand and get out of there. You never let on that you’d heard what he said…and what he didn’t say. 

And you may have taken the initiative to show him how much you loved him and wanted to keep you with him. Which is why you had risked coming down here to have semi-public sex in a dangerous mine, wearing a lingerie set you would usually never be caught dead in. You had already planned to go all out that evening once you made it to the hotel room you’d reserved in town, but you also wanted to give him something to remember, something he’d never ever forget. Now, you would always be in his mind, having made your mark, no matter what might happen with your relationship. You just hoped you made a mark on his heart, too, at some point while you’d been together, and that he didn’t let his dad’s obvious prejudice against you and your family sway him away from you.

Tom’s head dropped to your shoulder as he attempted to come down from his high, trying to catch his breath. You kissed the side of his head, not caring about the damp sweat or coal mine smell coming off of him. You leaned your head up next to his ear. “I love you, Tom. I’ll love you forever,” you whispered. You knew he heard you when he squeezed you, still panting harshly against your skin.

“Always,” he whispered back to you.

You hugged him tightly then.

A little while later, you were both redressed, hardhats back on your heads as you waited for Fred to arrive with the cart to take you back up top. Tom had called Tunnel 3 to ask him to come back for you. He had his arms around you from behind and he was smiling down at you. “Thank you for my present,” he murmured. Unable to really kiss you or nuzzle you thanks to the hardhats, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder and tightened his arms around you. 

“I’ve got another one for later.”

He turned to look at you quizzically which then turned into a glimmer of hope.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I bought another set. Deep red and more ribbons.” You wiggled an eyebrow playfully at him.

“I fucking love you.” His smile was bright as he carefully leaned in to kiss your neck, making you giggle. 

“Hey, lovebirds!” You both looked up to see Fred turning the corner a little further down the shaft, having a clear view of the two of you. “Break it up! I haven’t had my lunch yet and I don’t want it spoiled!”

Tom rolled his eyes but let you go. “Ha ha, Fred. Very funny.” 

Fred came to a stop in front of you, scowling at both of you. “Time to go.”

You hugged Tom quickly and then climbed into the cart. He had his hands out around you, ready to assist you if need be. Once you were settled inside, Tom hurriedly took his hat off and leaned in to kiss you. 

“Hey, hey! Put your hat back on, Tom! Don’t be even more of an idiot! This whole thing could come down at any time, you know.”

Tom kept peppering your lips with kisses, making you laugh and him smile, before he finally heeded Fred’s warning. He straightened up and slipped his hardhat back on, grabbing your hand and kissing it. “Take care of my girl, Fred. Get her back safe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fred muttered and started up the cart. 

Tom walked beside you, still holding your hand. “I can’t wait for later.”

You smirked. “I know you can’t.”

His cheeks darkened a little and he gave you a sheepish smile, letting out a laugh. “That, too, but I was talking about our date. I think you’re really going to love the place I picked out for us.”

Your smirk melted into a genuine smile. “I know I will because I love anything that comes from you.” You heard Fred snort next to you but you couldn’t care less. So what if you were being cheesy? It was Valentine’s Day and you meant what you said.

Tom’s smile grew and you could see it reaching his eyes. “I love you.” You both noticed you were about to make a turn that he couldn’t follow you down. He kissed your hand one more time and let you go. “See you tonight.”

“See you then. I love you, too,” you called back to him. You watched as he got further and further away, the last thing you saw being him holding his hand up in a wave as he smiled. You waved back before the cart completed the turn and he completely disappeared from your view. 

The date didn’t end up happening due to the collapse that happened later. Word of it spread fast once it happened and even though you knew Tom should be home by then, you still worried. Thankfully, he returned your call ten minutes later and told you what happened. You rushed right over to be with him, all plans for the night forgotten, though Eli was less than pleased. Apparently, word of your visit had spread around the mines well before you had made it to the top. 

“That girl is a problem!” Eli yelled. “She’s reckless! And now she’s made you reckless!”

Tom let go of your hand and jumped to his feet. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

You got up and hugged Tom’s arm, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Shhh,” you murmured. “Don’t. It’s not worth it. Okay?”

Eli didn’t like seeing that. His face got red and he was louder than before. “It’s like I’ve been telling you! That girl is only after one thing and that’s your money! When are you going to wake up, start using the other brain God gave you, and see it for yourself?” He threw his glass of Scotch at the wall, making you wince at the shattering sound, and left in a huff.

Tom went to follow him, to yell back at him, but you kept him there. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. He’s upset. Here, sit with me.” Tom did as you urged and you rested your chin on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He glanced over at you, his eyes glassy. “I think I really fucked up, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

“After you left, I went back to work. I was in the cage, adjusting my gear, when the condom and your underwear fell out. I forgot I had them. I picked them up as fast as I could and stuffed them back in but Harry Warden saw.” He shook his head. “He gave me a hard time about doing my job and I told him I had it, I knew what I was doing. They now think he’s one of the miners trapped. He’s unaccounted for.” He compulsively swallowed and turned to look at you, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I forgot to bleed the lines,” he whispered.

Your eyes couldn’t get any wider if they tried. You reached out to wipe his tear away as you tried to rein in your reaction. 

“I was thinking about our date tonight, about you, and I got distracted. I forgot to do the one thing I’m supposed to do every day before I leave. This collapse happened because of me,” he choked out before breaking down. You pulled him into you, holding him and shushing him, whispering reassurances to him. All while the heavy truth settled down around you and began to constrict your chest. It wasn’t Tom’s fault; it was yours.

It didn’t surprise you one bit a few weeks later when Tom broke up with you. He explained it as there was a lot happening, he was being blamed for the murders of the other miners that Harry committed, and his dad told him he just needed to continue working and keep his head down. No distractions. Which meant no more you, though Tom never actually said it but you knew that’s what he was implying Eli had told him.

It broke your heart when he broke it off between you but you understood. Tom had basically become a pariah overnight. Once he admitted to the investigators that he forgot to bleed the lines, the town he’d lived in his whole life turned against him. Harry may have done the actual killing, but it was Tom who’d put Harry in that position in the first place, or so they’d said. Some folks even gave you dirty looks in town as well but it was nothing compared to how Tom was treated. While you loved him and wanted to stay together, you could understand if he needed some space. You let him go with a hug, telling him you were still around if he needed a friendly ear, trying your best not to let any tears fall so you wouldn’t make him feel worse. His jaw had clenched but he nodded, choked out a “Thanks”, and walked to his car. You watched as he left, remembering back to the image of him getting further and further away from the mine cart you were in. Once he disappeared down the street, you finally let out the tears you’d been holding onto. A sob tore its way out of your throat when you remembered he had held up his hand in a wave, smiling, while you smiled and waved back. Because all you could think about was what you thought in that moment: Let this be the last time we separate like this. 

And as luck and Eli Hanniger would have it, in the next month or so, rumors spread that Tom Hanniger was now dating Sarah Mercer. You didn’t want to believe them, to believe that he’d finally pushed you aside for one of the girls you’d both grown up with who always had a gooey-eyed expression for Tom, the girl his father had wanted him to date in the first place. You didn’t want to believe that he would be so quick to throw away what the two of you had just to make his father happy. But deep down, you knew it was true. Tom had always wanted to get his father’s approval and he always had a soft spot for Sarah so why wouldn’t it be true? You could even understand a little, considering what had happened and Tom was in the hot seat with every resident of Harmony, thanks to you. But it still hurt like hell. You still loved him enough, though, to hope that he was happy. 

You pushed those thoughts out of your head. No use in continuing to blame yourself now. It didn’t change anything. “Are you okay…being here?”

He seemed a little caught off guard at the change of subject but then he glanced back at the tunnel entrance. “Yeah.” He turned back to you. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You nodded and dropped your gaze to the ground, not sure what else to say. 

“Did you bring your hardhat this time?”

Your head snapped up and he was giving you half a smile, his eyes having that familiar teasing gleam in them. You couldn’t help but smile back, appreciating the attempt at levity and familiarity. “Did you?”

He snickered and shook his head, biting at his lip.

You chuckled and took a step closer. “How are you really, Tom?”

His smile faded. “Better.” He then briefly dropped his eyes. “Sarah. She helps.”

Your smile dropped altogether and you could feel that stinging sensation in your eyes again. “Oh.” You bit the inside of your cheek to keep tears from welling up. You didn’t even know what to say to that. “I’m glad, I guess.”

His expression fell and he took a step closer. “I didn’t mean—”

You took a step backwards, your hand up. “It’s okay. Really. I’m happy that she’s able to do that for you.” You took a breath. “I should go. Rina and the girls are waiting on me, so… Good to see you, Tom. I’m glad you’re doing well.” You gave him a wan smile and turned to leave.

“Y/N, wait. Y/N.”

You continued walking, eager to put some distance between you two until you could rein in your emotions. While Tom and Sarah might go off in their own section of the mine, you also might have to see them together. And you needed to prepare for that, especially with your last memories of the time you were here and all that occurred after. 

You were halfway to the entrance when you heard a scream. You stopped short, wondering if it had just been someone fooling around and having fun though it sounded terrified. You heard it again and before you knew it, people were running out of the tunnel at a fast speed, hurrying to their cars. “Oh no,” you gasped when you realized something was wrong, thinking another collapse must have happened. “Rina.” 

You were just about to run towards the tunnel when a strong hand gripped your arm, whipping you around to face Tom. “I don’t know what this is,” he said. “But get out of here. Go back to your car and get the hell away. As fast as you can.”

“What? No! I can’t leave! Rina, Taylor, and Destiny are in there! We came together!”

He framed your face with his hands. “Y/N, listen to me. You need to go. It could be another collapse.” He released you and urged you to go.

“No! I told you, I—”

Just then there were more screams as more people ran out. Tom turned back to you. “I have to go get Sarah. Run back to your car, Y/N! Do the same as these people! I’ll catch up with you later!”

Your eyes widened. “What? No, Tom! If you’re telling me not to go in, you’re not going, either!”

He went to answer you when a guy running past you yelled, “There’s some crazy guy in there killing everybody! Run!”

You and Tom glanced at one another, both shocked. Neither of you knew who the guy was talking about or why this was happening. But that didn’t matter. Screw holding your tears back. “Tom,” you sobbed. “I can’t lose you, okay? I know you want to go save Sarah but she’s probably hiding somewhere with Rina and the girls and they’ll be safe, okay?” You knew that probably wasn’t the case and it was wrong of you not to let him run in to help but you were terrified of losing him. “Please, don’t go in! Please!”

“I’ve got to go! I’ve got to get her! I’m sorry!” He yanked his arm out of your grip and turned to leave.

“I’m going, too! I can help!” 

You didn’t make it two feet until you were picked up and placed back down in front of Tom who was ducking his head to look you in the eye. “I can’t lose you, either, okay? I need to know you’re safe. Please, sweetheart, go get in your car and drive out of here.” He picked up a flashlight someone had dropped while running. “I’m going to get Sarah and get out of here myself. If I see Rina and the others, I’ll grab them, too. I’ll meet you at the hospital. There’s probably going to be a lot of people who need help.”

“That’s why I should stay. I may be pre-med but I can—”

He huffed out a breath and leaned down to kiss you. As he had probably planned, it stunned you. He placed his forehead against yours. “Go, baby,” he murmured. “To the hospital. We’ll be right behind you.”

Before you could say anything else, he hightailed it down to the tunnel, running past people who were still spilling out of the entrance but in fewer and fewer numbers. The last thing you saw was him disappearing inside before you turned and ran back to your car. You didn’t feel right leaving, especially with your friends and Tom still in the tunnel, but you would do as he asked. You’d already selfishly distracted him once; you wouldn’t do so again.     

You rang the bell of the Hanniger household for the third time, feeling impatience and worry gnawing at you. 

You shouldn’t have been surprised when a swaying Eli finally opened the door or that it was only 1:00 in the afternoon yet he was this inebriated. If he were a better man — a better father even — you might feel sorry for him. His mines weren’t doing too well these days. 

“What do you want?” He slurred out.

You lifted your chin. “I’m here to see your son.”

He snorted. “You mean my fuckup of a son?” He held the door wider in invitation.

You stepped in before he could change his mind. “No, your son. Not his fuckup of a father,” you spat before storming off to find Tom. 

“Sure, come into my house and talk to me like that! You kids have no goddamn respect these days!” He yelled.

You spun around and yelled back, “Go and get another drink, Eli! That’s all you care about anyway!”

“You little bitch!”

You ignored him and ran upstairs to Tom’s room. You found the door closed and you gently knocked. “Tom?”

No answer. 

You knocked again. “Tom, it’s me.” You briefly closed your eyes, remembering things were different than they had been the last time you were here. “Y/N.”

A moment later, Tom opened the door and stood there. He did not look well. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept since what happened. His face was drawn, pale, and it was obvious he hadn’t shaved for a bit. His hair looked as if he had just recently run his fingers through it. He was in a hoodie, sweat pants, and socks. It was hard to tell in this light but it looked like he had lost a little weight.

“Hey.” His voice sounded rough, as if he either hadn’t been using it for a while or he had been yelling and near losing it. You hoped it was the former. If it was the latter, then that could mean possible night terrors and you didn’t want that for him. 

“Hey. Is it okay if I come in?”

He nodded and walked away, leaving the door open. After you closed it behind you, you noticed he was trying to cover the messy bed with the blanket. You noticed a stale smell, as if a window hadn’t been opened in some time, and you spied dirty plates spotting the landscape of his room. You also took note of a half-empty bottle of liquor on his desk. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it” You laid a tentative hand on his back as he moved and was pleased to see him not immediately shirk it off. After what happened with Harry Warden in the tunnel, for a while he hadn’t wanted anyone touching him. “I just came to see how you’re doing.”

“Not great,” he muttered, turning to sit on his bed. You took a seat next to him, waiting for him to elaborate. “I don’t know what to do, Y/N,” he eventually confessed. “I see him everywhere. I see him when I sleep, I see him when I’m awake. I see him everywhere I go, no matter who’s around, night or day. I don’t know what to do.”

Harry had woken from his coma that night and gone on a killing spree. First at the hospital and then at the mines. Right to the Valentine’s Day party that was being thrown. He didn’t care who he came across, Harry killed them one by one. Sadly, Destiny and Taylor hadn’t made it. Rina had; she was injured but she’d survived. Sarah, Axel, and Irene made it, too, though they were traumatized. They were all traumatized, just like Tom. Tom, who had gone back for Sarah, urged her to run out of there with Axel, and had nearly gotten killed for it. When you thought about how close you came to losing him… You really didn’t want to think about it.

You carefully placed a hand on his bicep and when he didn’t tense, you rubbed your thumb back and forth soothingly. “Have you given any more thought to seeing someone…and talking about it?”

He pulled away from you and ran a hand down his face. “They’re just going to think I’m crazy and want to throw me on meds.”

“Maybe not,” you whispered. “You’ve been traumatized, Tom. They might give you medication to help you sleep but trauma isn’t something that has a magic cure all. I’m not a doctor but I would think that they’ll probably recommend therapy. I mean, is Harry…talking to you when you see him?”

“No, Y/N, I’m not hearing voices in my head if that’s what  you’re asking,” he snapped before getting up and walking away.

“Tom, that’s not what I— I’m sorry, I know you’re not hearing voices. I was only trying to make you feel better by ruling it out. That’s all.”

He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. He glanced down at you, his jaw tight. “I’m glad you came here today. You should know, I’ve decided to leave town.”

You were immediately on your feet. “And go where?”

He shrugged. “Wherever that isn’t here.” He moved over to the bed and threw off one corner of the blanket to reveal a bag he had been packing. “I can’t stay here, Y/N. It’s too much. Maybe if I can get far enough away…”

“He won’t follow you,” you finished, still staring at the half-packed bag. You almost had to wonder if he would have told you if you hadn’t shown up today. He hid the bag from you for a reason; he knew you wouldn’t want him to leave.

You should’ve known it was coming to this or Tom would have a full on breakdown. First, he broke up with Sarah. Then he withdrew from the public altogether. Now, he was holed up in his room, never leaving it, and repeatedly being terrified and thus re-traumatized each time he saw Harry. Something had to give; he needed to get out of here. 

You felt a lump forming in your throat at the idea of him leaving but you swallowed it back down just as fast. This wasn’t about you. If this was what Tom needed, you would support him. You met his gaze. “Will you call me once you get to where you’re going? Just so I know you made it safely and that you’re okay?”

His eyes softened and he came towards you, cupping your face. “You’ve always understood me. Better than anyone else in this goddamn town.” You noticed he didn’t answer your question and you had a feeling that he planned to leave permanently, never looking back. This time, you couldn’t prevent the lump from forming in your throat or the tears building in your eyes.

“Are you going to be okay?” You nearly winced at the breaks in your voice.

“I will be,” he whispered before pulling you into him and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Sighing into your ear, he hugged you tightly. “I will be.”

You burrowed into him further, whispering against his shirt, “I love you, Tom. I’ll love you forever.”

You knew he heard you when he murmured back to you, “I love you, too, sweetheart. Always will.” You could hear the breaks in his own voice but still, you smiled. As painful as this was going to be, as heartbreaking as it was, Tom still loved you, just as much as you loved him. Always…and forever.

You were just finishing up notes in a patient file when someone knocked on your open door and stuck their head into your office. You glanced up to find a familiar face and smiled.

“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Y/L/N,” he said, waltzing in.

You closed the file and took off your glasses. “Well, if it isn’t Deputy Martin,” you laughed. He handed you a cup of coffee. “Aww, thank you. You don’t know how much I needed this.” 

“No problem. You still take it that way, right?”

You took a sip. “I do,” you smiled. 

“So, how’s things in the world of psychiatry?” He took a seat on the edge of your desk.

“Interesting. As always. How about you? How’s things in the law enforcement world?”

“Interesting. As always.”

You chuckled and took another sip of your coffee. “So, what brings you to my side of the hospital? And bearing gifts, no less?”

He shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d check in.”

“Oh? That’s nice.” Chris pressed his lips together and you tilted your head at him, knowing what that little tic meant. “Uh oh. What’s going on?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “I hate it when you do that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Then don’t be so obvious. I know you too well, Chris. Come on, tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just… I was wondering if you knew that Tom was back in town.”

Your smile immediately dropped and you placed the coffee down. You put your glasses back on and opened the file back up, holding the pen in your hand as you glanced over your notes. “Yeah. I heard he was here.”  

How could you not? It was a small town after all. News and gossip spread faster than wildfire here. The word on the street was that Tom was back to sell the mines and no one was happy about that.

When you didn’t hear anything else, you glanced up to find Chris giving you a knowing look. “What?”

“Has he been by to see you?”

Well, that hurt. You knew Chris wasn’t asking you that to hurt you but it didn’t mean the question still didn’t cause you pain. You shook your head and went back to your file. “No. And I don’t expect he will be.” 

Ben had already complained down at the local bar, before Tom even showed up, that the damn kid was going to sell the mines and Eli would be turning over in his grave if he knew. He was only coming into town to sign the paperwork and then he’d be off again to God knew where. He’d even assured everyone he switched the paper signing until the Monday following Tom’s arrival, in hopes that he could get him to change his mind. 

When you heard Tom was coming back, you didn’t get your hopes up though your heart lightened at the news. You hadn’t seen or heard from Tom in ten years. He’d literally pulled a disappearing act. While you expected it, it still hurt that he never once called or wrote to you to let you know that he was still alive. Not once.

Besides, you already knew who he’d dropped in to see the minute he hit town. You supposed one needed groceries and toiletries, that sort of thing, if they were going to stay for a weekend they hadn’t initially planned on. And the fact that Sarah now ran the store and was there practically all day every day was just a coincidence.

You knew better of course and you couldn’t pretend like it didn’t break your heart just a little more. So, no, you didn’t expect to see him at all. And as much as it hurt to admit it to yourself, it was probably for the best. 

While a part of you still loved Tom and always would, you now had the benefits of maturity, age, and experience. When you looked back on your relationship, it had been one of intense young love and folly for you, first love even. And while you had more compassion and understanding along with a more detached view of things through a different lens now, you could admit there were some things that occurred that weren’t so great. For example, your decision to surprise him in the mines for a Valentine’s Day quickie, all because you loved him so much and was desperate to do whatever it took to keep him with you. You’d put both of you at risk and while Tom was an adult who was responsible for his own decisions, you still took responsibility for being the one to initiate the whole thing. It had been your idea after all. Then there had been his breaking it off with you and choosing to date Sarah not even a month later. While he was single and an adult, free to make his own decisions, the fact that he did it partially to please his father was not an okay reason in your book to hurt you and toss you aside as if you meant nothing. As the adage went, hindsight was truly 20/20. You were no longer that young, foolish girl anymore. If Tom wanted to see you, he would see you. If he didn’t, then he didn’t. It was that simple. You weren’t going to sway things one way or the other.

“Come on, Y/N. I know you just as well. You’re telling me, you don’t hope he stops by before he skips town again?”

You smiled up at Chris. “Not in the slightest.”

You threw on your lab coat, lifting your hair out of the neckline. You twisted your hair up into a bun and stuck a pen through it. You placed your stethoscope around your neck and then traded your heels for the nurse’s shoes you kept in a desk drawer for situations like these.

There had been an explosion at the mines and it was an all hands on deck situation in the ER. So far, two survivors had been found and were being brought in. They were still clearing the mines to make sure no one else had been hurt. You were getting ready to lock up your office and head down to see what you could do to help. 

You were grabbing pens to put in your pocket, tossing a red pen back into the drawer, when out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a figure in the doorway.

“Doc,” a man gasped.

“I’m sorry. I’m about to run down to the ER. There’s been an emergency in town and all doctors are needed. I can find you a nurse if you—”

You dropped the remaining pens in your hand when you glanced up to find a bleeding Tom Hanniger standing in your doorway, holding onto his side. “Tom,” you gasped, frozen. 

His pained glare suddenly transformed into one of the most terrifying smirks you had ever seen in your life. “Guess again.” He then shut the door behind him, locking it, before he started making his way over to you. 

You rushed off the elevator, hurrying over to where a bloodied Sarah was nervously pacing in the surgery waiting room. You noticed Chris was with her as was Deputy Ferris. Sarah’s little boy, Noah, was sitting on one of the seats behind her, playing quietly with his toy.

“Sarah,” you called.

She turned to see you approaching and immediately hurried over to you, throwing her arms around you, beginning to cry. You rubbed her back soothingly and shushed her. “You’re alright now.”

Sarah pulled back out of your embrace. “Tom, he’s… He’s gone.”

You pressed your lips together, your eyes tearing up. “I know,” you choked out. Based on what you had just seen and heard, you knew she was speaking the truth.

She hugged you again and you embraced her back tightly, tears rolling down your cheeks as you saw Chris watching you both. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a quiet sob when you heard Sarah crying again. You both held each other as you both quietly mourned the Tom you both had loved.

You unlocked your office door and stepped inside before locking it again. You began to empty your pockets of the supplies you’d nabbed when a figure moved from behind a filing cabinet in the far corner and appeared in your vision, making you quietly gasp.

There stood Tom, still holding his wounded side. “What took so long?” He demanded.

Your jaw tightened as you remembered who you were dealing with now. “Sorry, Harry. I had to get supplies without causing any eyebrows to raise. That takes time. Now, come sit down.”  

He warily approached and sat down on the edge of the desk as you directed. You snapped gloves on and he moved his hand away from his side when you prompted him to. He hissed in pain as you began to prod at the bullet wound.

“Can you fix me up or not?” He growled.

“Well, Harry, as I told you, I’m not a surgeon. But I will do my best.” You began to gently wipe away the blood, from both the entry and exit sites. “The good news is it looks like the bullet went straight through.”

“I told you that,” he snapped.

“Yes and I’m confirming it,” you snapped back. It was very strange to have someone you hated so much inside of the body of the person you loved most. 

“Just do your goddamn job, Doc.”

You snapped up straight and looked him right in the eye. “Let’s get something straight, the only reason I’m helping you right now is because of Tom. I could care less what happens to you, you son of a bitch.”

He gave you that smirk again that made your blood run cold. “And let’s get something else straight. If you don’t fix me up, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

You didn’t answer him. Instead, you grabbed a pad of gauze, dumped some of your finest alcohol on it, and slapped it onto the injury site, making him yell out in pain. You smirked in satisfaction though inside you felt guilty. Sorry, Tom. You really wished you could expel Harry from him, like he was some sort of demon you could exorcise. 

“Sorry about that.” You were anything but. “I have to clean the site before I inspect it for further damage.”

His chest was heaving and he was glaring at you. “Just do your job, bitch. Or you’re dead,” he grunted.

You huffed out a snort and repeated the process with the exit site, making him grit his teeth, a pained yell straining against them. You proceeded to make sure there wasn’t any critical damage that you could see and then went about starting to suture the wound. You ignored the grunts and gritting of his teeth the entire time and just focused on falling back on your training. You’d barely flinched when he started drinking your booze. (it was his fault he wouldn’t let you use any needles to apply local anesthetics) When you were done, you snipped the loose tail of the sutures and then bandaged up the area. You quickly cleaned and bandaged the wounds on his face and treated any burns he might have. The entire time you did, you felt pain and remorse for Tom for each wound you found that would now scar his body. Though you supposed scars were a small price to pay considering the explosion he’d been in that could have killed him. Your jaw clenched at the thought and you hated Harry even more. 

You finished cleaning him up and threw out the last bit of bloody gauze. “It’s probably a waste of time to say this to you but you need to take it easy with that bullet wound, keep the area clean, and come back in two weeks to have the sutures removed. If any extreme bleeding occurs, you should get to the ER immediately. If the sutures pop out, you should do the same. If you start to develop a fever or other—”

“Yeah, Doc, I got it.” He slowly got to his feet and held a hand to his side. “Not bad.”

You took off your gloves and threw them to the side, crossing your arms. “Am I free to go now?”

His eyes snapped over to you and you could swear you could see a whole other person. In Tom’s eyes, the eyes you loved, you saw Harry, and they were darker and harder than Tom’s green could ever be. Tom clearly wasn’t the one in the driver’s seat, even if his behavior and personality right then weren’t already making that obvious. “For now. But if you screw me over, I’m coming back for you.” A hint of a smirk appeared on his face as if he enjoyed that idea, almost hoping you would give him the excuse. 

You knew he was waiting for you to tremble in fear at his threat but you didn’t. “Truly, Harry, I hope I never see you again.” With that, you walked out of your office and you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

You knocked on the open room door and stuck your head in. “Hey,” you greeted with a small smile.

Axel and Sarah both glanced over and saw you.

“Hey.” Axel faintly smiled. 

Sarah got up and gave you another hug. You rubbed her shoulder as she returned to her seat next to her husband and you came to a stop at the foot of the bed. “So, how’s the patient?”

“He’s doing well.” Sarah smiled as she took Axel’s hand in hers. “He’ll be in here for a little while but then he can come home.” Axel turned his smile onto her. You glanced back and forth between them. Apparently, that marriage was no longer on the rocks. You were glad for Sarah’s sake, though you still thought she could do better. Despite how things went with Tom, you didn’t blame her or hold her responsible. She had always been kind to you, good to Tom, and you knew she was a decent person. You could almost understand why Tom had loved her so much.

You forced a smile onto your face. “Glad to hear it.”

Another knock on the door garnered your attention. You turned to see Chris walk in. He came to a stop next to you. “Hey, Sheriff. Sarah. Y/N.”

“Hey,” Axel greeted. You gave him a nod and Sarah gave him a smile.

He turned to look at you but you were already steps ahead of him. “Did you do as I asked?”

He nodded. “Picked him up about an hour ago. Had to ask for that town’s sheriff to help but we got him. And he doesn’t know it has anything to do with you. We purposely mentioned in front of him that a store owner from that town called it in after recognizing him from the news.”

“Thanks.” He gave you another nod.

“Wait, what are you two talking about?” Axel asked. Sarah looked just as curious while also fearful.

You pressed your lips together and Chris turned to face his boss. “We picked up Tom Hanniger in the next town over. We have him in custody and we’re starting processing.”

Both of their eyes went wide. “Tom’s alive?” Sarah gasped.

The deputy exchanged glances with you. “In a way but he goes by Harry now.”

“Shit,” Axel breathed. “You need to call in every reinforcement. We don’t have the manpower to hold him.”

Chris held up a placating hand. “It’s already done but trust me, we’ve got him locked down. As it is, the DA and the Judge are deciding what to do with him.” He looked over at you.

“Deciding what to do with him? What does that mean?” Axel’s eyes were on you, too.

“Harmony isn’t the place for Tom to be right now. It’s his trigger and that’s why Harry is currently in control. I’ve asked for a meeting with the DA and Judge Harrison as well as the Chief of my department to discuss Tom’s case.” You took a breath, knowing this next part wasn’t going to go over well. “We’re looking to get him moved to a maximum security psychiatric hospital up North.”

“Are you kidding me?” Axel started to sit up but grunted in pain. 

Sarah got up and gently pushed his shoulder down. “Axel, be careful. You just had major surgery yesterday.”

“Sheriff, easy. You’re still healing,” Chris chimed in. 

He ignored both of them. “After all of the people he’s killed? People are going to want justice and to see it done here in Harmony.”

You could feel an age-old anger welling up inside of you but you tried to tamp it back down. “He’s not mentally competent to stand trial, Axel.”

“Not mentally competent? Really? That’s the excuse we’re going with here? He was mentally competent when he killed those people! When he lied about it and tried to cover it up and blame me! When he attacked me and my wife, about to kill us! When killed Rosa and came for my son!” He gripped onto Sarah’s hand.

“I understand that. But the law states—”

“No offense, Y/N,” Axel interrupted. “But you’re not an expert on the law. Leave that to people like Judge Harrison who actually know the law.” Well, so much for you keeping that anger and resentment in check.

“None taken. And no offense, Axel, but you’re not an expert in psychological disorders, either. Leave that to people like myself who know what we’re talking about,” you snapped.

Chris laid a gentle hand on your shoulder and held up his other hand in Axel’s direction. “Hey, hey, now. We’re all on the same team here. We all want the same thing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do we?” He dropped his hand. You then glared over at Axel and Sarah. “Let’s not pretend like you two and Irene didn’t leave Tom there to die back when Harry was on a killing spree which severely traumatized him and that’s why all of this happened in the first place! That’s what started this whole thing!”

Sarah looked ashamed and stayed quiet. Your ire wasn’t really for her anyway. You knew she had been wanting to go back to help Tom before Harry threw that pickaxe. Axel, on the other hand, saw red. “Are you kidding me? We were about to be killed! I had to get her and Irene out of there! Tom would have done the same had it been him and it would’ve been the right thing to do! Regardless, it doesn’t excuse anything that Tom or Harry or whatever the fuck he calls himself now did! And us leaving him alone started this? No, let’s talk about really started this whole thing off! You decided to go down into the mines to give your boy toy a little nookie, he got distracted and forgot to clear the lines, then boom! The mines collapsed on top of Harry Warden and the others and that’s what really started this off! Because Harry wouldn’t have been in the mines a year later, killing people, and nothing would have happened to Tom or any of us! So you want to play the blame game? Look in the mirror, Y/N!” Sarah was softly telling him to stop but he ignored her. “Oh, and let’s not pretend that you’re not doing anything but trying to make excuses for the guy you’re still hung up on after all these years who didn’t give a fuck about you and dropped you like a bad habit the minute his daddy told him to! Who left you behind to rot!”

Your left eye was starting to twitch, something that only happened when you were either very stressed or very angry. Right then, it was definitely the latter. Sarah’s gaze was trained on her hand covering her husband’s and Chris was looking down at the footboard. You forced yourself to speak calmly but firmly. “That has nothing to do with this. It has to do with helping someone who needs help. I’m simply doing my job and the right thing at the same time. When was the last time you could say the same for yourself, Axel?” His jaw clenched but he stayed quiet and you gave him the worst glare you could summon up. “Get well soon.”

You turned and walked out of the room. You were right about one thing; Sarah could do better.

You were waiting for the elevator when you heard Chris come up behind you, laying a hand on your shoulder to stop you. “Hey, hey, hey.” You spun around to face him and he rubbed his thumb back and forth over the fabric of your coat. “Are you okay?”

You unclenched your jaw long enough to say, “I’m fine.”

He nodded and lowered his hand. “You know, it’s no excuse for the things he said but Axel’s in pain right now, he’s not thinking straight, and they just went through another traumatic experience of their own. And they have their son, who was there when Rosa was killed. He’s just dealing with a lot.”

“I get that, Chris. I do. But Tom didn’t do those things, Harry did.”

He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Y/N, I’m not disagreeing with you but Tom did lie, he covered it up. Like the motel killings. Did Harry drive away from the scene, ignoring the trucker’s dead body in the lot, before we arrived or did Tom?” 

You shook your head, looking away from him.

“I know Tom means a lot to you and I respect that. I know you have history and you want to help him.” He cupped your chin and forced you to meet his eyes. “But I also care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. There’s a possibility that Tom himself may not be who you actually think he is. Who any of us thought he was growing up.”

You gently lowered his hand. “Chris, I appreciate your concern and I know we had…something between us for a while. And I’m grateful that you helped me earlier, I really am. But I know Tom. He’s not a killer. He’s not Harry. Harry only exists because of the trauma he suffered. He doesn’t even know who he’s killed or what’s happened. I need to get him out of this town so I can begin working to get him back.”

Chris sighed and studied you for a moment. “Then how did he know about Megan and the words written above her body?”

“He got it from the card she wrote. You told me that yourself, Chris, because Sarah told you about it.”

“No, I mean, if Tom saw the card and Harry killed Megan and wrote those words in her blood, then how did Tom know they were written above her body?”

You realized he was making a good point but that didn’t change your mission. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” You then got onto the elevator that had just arrived, you and Chris watching each other as the doors closed.

Tom didn’t remember how he got here. He didn’t even remember waking up. One moment, Harry was about to attack him and Sarah wouldn’t save him, again. The next moment, he was in a white t-shirt and white pajama pants, stuck in a cell that looked strangely familiar. Had he dreamt all of it? Going back to Harmony, seeing Sarah again, dealing with that asshole Axel, trying to figure out who the killer was — all of it —had it all been one big nightmare?

He soon realized that wasn’t the case. His lawyer came to see him and informed him of the things he’d been accused of (after the man had been contacted to come back and speak to his actual client). As of right now, he was found to be mentally unfit to stand trial thanks to an impassioned argument by his doctor as well as himself. But that could change at any time. Tom insisted he hadn’t done those horrific things, that Harry Warden did, but nobody seemed to believe him or was even listening.

For the first few days, Tom had been desperate. A doctor came in and met with him, asked him how he was feeling, and then fully explained the disorder he had been diagnosed with. It turned out that he had been misdiagnosed in the last institution he had been in and improperly medicated. That was why the medication never worked. They had been treating him for delusions when in reality he had Dissociative Identity Disorder. He was going to be starting a therapy regimen as soon as possible. Harry had already been involuntarily involved in the program since his arrival here. The doctor also informed him that they had to keep Harry heavily sedated but depending on how things went with Tom, they might not have to do the same with him.

Tom had been completely dumbfounded. It was bad enough that he still carried the trauma of what happened back in ‘98 and it had followed him around for a decade, literally, but now Harry had become a permanent part of him? He would now never be able to outrun Harry. Not to mention, he was now officially on the hook for multiple murders thanks to the surly son of a bitch, even after what happened in 1997 and then a year later when he woke from his coma. Tom’s body count was extensive and he himself hadn’t even done anything. Well, except forget to bleed the lines that one time which led to the collapse that then started all of this, he supposed. So maybe he truly was responsible for all of those people’s horrific deaths, whether he swung the pickaxe himself or not.

One morning before the therapy began, they came to get him and brought him to a room that looked strikingly similar to a police interrogation room, with the two-sided mirror and everything, though there was white padding on the walls. He protested when they strapped him into a straitjacket but they told him it was for his own safety as well as the doctor’s. As if that weren’t enough, two large orderlies picked corners of the room to stand in, watching his every move. 

Someone popped their head in to tell Tom his doctor would be meeting with him shortly, they were just finishing up with another patient. All Tom could do was nod. “Thanks,” he muttered.

A few minutes later, the doctor he’d been waiting for walked in. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw it was you. You gave him a small smile and took the seat opposite him. “Hello, Tom. I’m Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. How are we feeling today?”

“Um…okay.” He was still trying to recover from the shock of seeing you there. He hadn’t seen you since that night all of those years ago, right before he left town. He also thought you were working at Harmony Memorial last he heard, a pit stop he planned to make once he’d signed the papers to sell the mines. That is, before everything went to shit. “Y/N? What’s going on?”

“It’s Dr. Y/L/N,” you corrected. “And nothing’s going on. I’m here to evaluate you before we start your therapy regimen.” You opened a file and began glancing at the papers within. “The court requires it.”

Tom felt so lost. It had been hard enough waking up to what he did but now you were here? Clearly his doctor? And you were pretending not to know him? He didn’t know what to think or where to stick his head. “This can’t be real,” he said to himself and shook his head. “This can’t—”

“Shhh,” you soothed. “It’s okay, Tom. This is very real and we’re going to help you.” You clicked your pen and began making notes in his chart. 

“Yeah, but you— You’re— And you’re pretending like— This can’t be real.”

Your eyes snapped up to his and you stopped writing. He didn’t know what you saw but you got to your feet and circled the table. You snapped your fingers and both orderlies looked away. “Actually, Tom, there’s something I forgot to mention.” You came up behind him and his nerves began to spike. Was he about to be drugged? Attacked? Would he finally wake up from this nightmare? Maybe he’d wake up to you; he’d give anything to have that happen. 

He jumped a little when he felt your lips at his ear. “I’ll love you forever,” you whispered.

Automatically, the corner of Tom’s lips tipped up in a smile. Hearing that from you brought back so many good memories of your times together, of your relationship. He didn’t instantly relax but he felt a little lighter than he had a moment ago. 

“Welcome back, Tom. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart,” he whispered back to you.

His smile grew when he felt you brush a tender kiss to the side of his head before you straightened up and made your way back around the table. You snapped your fingers again and the orderlies were now facing forward, watching you both intently. 

You sat back down and picked up your pen, giving him a genuine smile. “Now, Tom, shall we get started?”

He wished he could reach across the table and take your hand in his. You still looked at him as you did all of those years ago, like he didn’t have a murderous personality that left pain and suffering and dead bodies in its wake. You still looked at him as if he was the same guy you’d given your heart and body to back in high school. The same guy you’d once told that after you finished med school (when you got in), that you’d want to settle down with him and eventually start a family with him. The same guy you said you’d move wherever whenever for him if he didn’t want to stay in Harmony, if he didn’t want to take over for his dad one day. The same guy you looked at with complete devotion, affection, and reverence that he knew he didn’t deserve. And with you looking at him just like that right now, he knew he still didn’t deserve it but God did he love you for it. You still loved him; it was clear as day in your eyes. He realized then that you had meant back then every single word of what you just said; you would love him forever. He had meant what he said to you back then, too. Though he never should’ve given you up when his old man demanded it. What the hell had he been thinking?

You arched your brows at him expectantly, almost as if you knew what he had been thinking. 

He leaned forward a little and gave you a soft smile, hoping you would understand what he was trying to tell you. “Always.”

You returned his smile, giving him a wink. You’d heard him. He began to relax and your smile then turned into a more professional one. “That’s what I like to hear. Alright, Tom. Let’s begin, shall we?”

A/N: For the record, I highly doubt Y/N could have been Tom's doctor, especially since a prosecutor could have argued that it was a conflict of interest and possibly gotten any records she'd made inadmissible. I think, anyway. But it was too fun an idea not to explore. Plus, I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that someone who has been diagnosed with DID is not incapable of being tried by the law for crimes committed, even if it was committed by one of their alters and they are completely innocent (I think). But I couldn't just have Tom go straight to jail in this one or even to trial. I wanted to focus on him coming back and Y/N helping him as well as their sort of reunion.

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Sibling-ism

In an alternate universe, maybe Jin and Sukuna did meet and, as it turns out…Sukuna may have a soft spot for his late twin. ⚠️Content Warnings⚠️: Unbeta'd and unedited lmao. None really, just pure fluff and sibling shenanigans between Jin and Sukuna, who has a bit of an existential crisis, and Kenjaku being mad protective of his malewife. And (because I said so for reasons unknown), Sukuna is seperate from Yuuji and is in his true form, even tho this is modern times. OOC Sukuna cuz in canon he'd probably just kill Jin again lmao A follow up blurb to this KenJin ficlet.

For the first time, Sukuna stands in a daze.

At first, he came to the open park sensing the energy of a strong cursed spirit, hoping for a good fight. Instead what he got was the thing attacking someone familiar. After a rather uneventful and one sided beatdown, he finally got a look at who it was he was sensing.

Lo and behold, right before him, waving and smiling like a maniac who wasn't staring at death, was his twin. The twin which he ate in the womb. The twin who is supposed to be dead.

Just there.

"Hiii~! I knew you'd come around if I was with a strong cursed spirit." Jin is greated by literally every nonliving thing behind and around him being cut apart. He frowns. "Hey, come on now! Is that any way to greet your brother?"

"What-I killed-but-how are you-!?"

Jin shrugs. "I dunno."

"What do you mean you 'don't know'!? How are you alive!?" Sukuna all but snarls, and Jin just shrugs again. He sighs and shakes his head, contemplating. "And what was that!? Why weren't you fighting back!?"

"I wanted you to get me!"

"You put yourself in danger just to get to me?! How are you are so…" Sukuna takes a deep breath, trying and failing to contain his anger. "…Stupid!?"

The surrounding area is further cut apart.

"Hey, don't take it out on the park! This is a nice park! I thought it'd be perfect for our reunion…"

Sukuna runs a hand over his face. "How on earth…did you elude me all these years?"

"Aaaww, you missed me!" The glare sent Jin's way would have brought any sorcerer to their knees, begging for forgiveness. Not Sukuna's twin though.

"So…Sukuna Ryomen, huh?" Jin sits down on whatever's left of the bench beside the both of them and pats on the side. Sukuna simply crosses his arms and refuses to sit. "Guess you were never really named, were you?"

"You think anyone cared enough to name a four armed freak?"

"Hey, c'mon…I care!"

"So you would name me?" Sukuna can't help the smirk that threatens to tug at his lips.

"Sure, why not? You look like uh…a Ryo!"

"That's just a shortened version of my title, Jin."

"Okay, maybe I can't think of anything right now!" Jin leans on the fourth of a bench. "My point still stands…I think?"

"Don't make me sound so pathetic."

"Hey!" Jin puts his arms up in mock defense. "You're the one who called yourself a freak."

"What do you want?" Sukuna asks, unable to stop the smirk that forms.

"Eh, just to catch up. Is there anything else other than that?"

"Tch. Typical." Sukuna shakes his head lightly.

Jin fidgets with the hem of his sweater. "I-I heard you met Yuuji already. How are you getting along with me son? I-I hope you guys-"

"The brat pisses me off!"

"He's 15, Sukuna."

"That…I-I get it! But he does! I treat him with an ounce of respect, heal his hand and revive the brat, and he continually disrespects me! No one gets that respect from me without earning it, Jin. No one! He gets it for free, many times, and he just spits at my face at every turn! He has your eyes, your hair, your face-"

"Hey, what did I do!?"

"You're stupid, that's what. Literally looking for death a second time." The bigger twin sits down on the floor, next to the broken bench that Jin was sitting on. There's a small silence, before Jin speaks up.

"Nothing to say? Nooo…'I'm sorry Jin. I take it back, Jin. Don't worry Jin, I didn't mean it!' or…?"

"See? Stupid." Sukuna lets out a long, drawn out sigh. "I don't know what I'm doing, Jin. I've been sealed for a thousand years. Fighting, eating…that's all I've ever needed to make me happy. Now that I can do that again, I…"

"There's just something wrong!" Sukuna yells, and more inanimate objects and the area around them gets further cut apart. "And I can't even tell what it is! Is it the brat? Is it the generation I'm reborn in?! I hate this! I wish I could just…go back to sleep, or something. This is the most terrible I've ever felt…"

"You know…I know what'll make you happy!"

Sukuna's eyes land on him, narrowing. "Don't you dare say I need a friend. I've had enough talk of that."

"No, no, silly! You've got me for that."

"Wow. Wonderful…"

"Oooone second…" Jin scours the area, and spots a particularly large piece of broken glass. Then, he cuts the upper part of his wrist using the shard and extends his bleeding wrist in front of Sukuna's face, beaming. "Here!"

The four armed twin takes Jin's hand wordlessly, and begins sucking on the cut - grumbling and clearly still upset.

"Don't worry, big brother's got you!"

"You were never even born, stupid." Sukuna lets out a long and defeated groan. "You always did taste the best."

"Out of everyone?! The-the…what? Thousands you've eaten? Really?" Jin cringes.

"Yes."

"You're joking! Surely I don't taste that good!" When he tries to yank his hand away , Sukuna doesn't let him and instead starts to bite at it gently like a dog with a bone - face completely devoid of emotion. Jin sighs. "Mass murdering cannibal but you can't even find good people to eat? That's like…that's like not knowing the right meat to pick at the grocery store and picking all the expired shit. Sheesh! My hunch was right, you really are a mess without me…"

Sukuna makes sure to bite a little harder and Jin yelps.

"Ow! Okay, okay! Sorry…" Jin gives up trying to get his hand back, and instead runs a hand over the top of the other's head. "Guess I really should've been there with you back then, huh? Helped at least a little bit…I'm sorry, Sukuna."

"Can you stop being stupid and sentimental?" Sukuna glares at him, but makes no move to stop his brother from petting his head, still chewing on his hand. "It's not like I regret what I did."

"Yeah, I know. Me neither." Jin sighs. "Just wish I could've done more, sometimes."

"Jin…you gave your life for me." One of his four arms comes up to make a knocking motion on Jin's head. "See? Stupid!"

"Come on man! At least think of a better insults at this point."

"Jiiin!" The both of them are snapped out of their weird moment by the sound of another voice, and the rustling of leaves. Soon, Kenjaku stumbles out - looking completely out of breath and panicked. "J-Jin! Jin, you-there you…"

"Oh, of courrrsee it's you…" Sukuna lets out an exhasperated groan as he watches the gears quickly turning for the sorcerer inhabiting the cult leader's body.

"Wha-what?! What is this!?" Kenjaku's voice breaks just above four octaves. "Jin, you're letting him eat you AGAIN!?"

"No, no! Honey, please don't be upset!"

"You-let go of his hand!" Kenjaku yanks Jin's hand out of Sukuna's mouth, and pulls his husband away from his twin - getting in between them both. "You're not going to take him back, are you?"

"It hardly matters if I do." Sukuna sighs. "He's a small enough fragment that he won't even contribute to me."

"Hey!"

"Good. I wouldn't let you."

"As if you could do anything." Sukuna scoffs. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd care about one of your many flings."

"He is my husband, and the father of my child!" Kenjaku wraps his arms around Jin protectively. "Besides, he treats me so well…"

Sukuna can practically hear Kenjaku's eyes turn into hearts, and it makes him want to vomit.

"Don't Kenjaku. I do not want to hear about it."

"Um-anyways! So, I was thinking maybe we could invite him to dinner one time?" Jin looks at Kenjaku with the biggest puppy eyes he can muster, but the sorcerer isn't having any of it.

"What?! And have him intrude on our space?"

"Oh, believe me. I don't want to intrude on anything with you two."

"Kenny, come on…he's my-"

"No."

"Please?"

"NNNO."

Jin lets out a frustrated groan. "Fine, whatever. He'll eat outside then. Sheesh…"

Jin walks up to his brother, taking out a piece of paper with his address scribbled on it and placing it in one of the other's much larger hands - barely managing to hold it with both of his own. Behind Jin, Kenjaku glares daggers at Sukuna - who is completely unfazed by the silent death threat. "Listen, you're always welcome…err, outside the house. I guess? Whatever, if you head over, I can cook you something nice! Okay? Just…"

"I get it, I get it." Sukuna sighs, and takes the piece of paper with Jin's address in it. "If I feel like it…"

Jin beams at him and Sukuna can't bring himself to look at him. "Great! You're always welcome there, brother."

"Great. Wholesome reunion! Wow! Let's go now Jiiinnn!!!" Kenjaku practically drags the twin away, leaving Sukuna to his thoughts.

--- Later That Week ---

"This is…delicious." Sukuna laughs, shaking his head slightly as Jin elbows him lightly. As per his wife's request, Jin, Sukuna and Uraume all had to resort to eating in the wooded area just outside of the house. Meanwhile, a small distance away, Kenjaku was watching them all.

"Seeee? Told you it'd be good! I made it just for you guys!"

"How did you even procure the meat without being arrested?" Uraume asks.

"Oh, I know a guy who works at a prison! He uhh...got this for me."

"Were you the one that killed him?"

"Oh no! Of course not." Jin shakes his head frantically, cringing at the thought. "I could never do that. I had somebody else do it!"

"As if that isn't the same thing." The white haired monk snorts.

For the society that closely monitored the King of Curses, this turn of events was alarming. It seemed as if, in the following months after this encounter, the death count from the King of Curses lowered. A miracle indeed.

OR, Jin saves the day and Sukuna's now happy by his twin's side and Gojo's still alive and everyone gets a happy ending AAAAAAAAA- Anyways! I just wanted to write Sukuna and Jin sibling banter and for the both of them to be unhinged - just in opposite ways. And Kenny being so downbad he becomes OOC too, lmao.

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Twenty-Eight

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, panic attack, stalking, online bullying.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd, readers beware as always lol.

❗❗ trigger warning: memories of witnessing a loved ones mental health spiral, this might not seem like a trigger to some, but it can be to many. ❗❗

tags: @tearfallpixie @cncohshit @jordynyingling0219 @faceless-mirror @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747 @witchyweeb34 @black-damask1999 @jilliemiw86 @ilovesamkiszka @lyschko666 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses @laurpartyprogram @sunsshinesunny @malerieee @talialovesmiw

Tag List is Open, please let me know if you would like to be added to it or in general.

Even what's happening to you was nothing but a proposed theory that I’d read about, until now.

Chris stood in his bathroom staring in the mirror, he felt like shit, last night he had let everything out to Ricky and Talia, and it had been so long since he had laid everything bare like that. It had been both cathartic, and ripped him open, inside and out. All because he wanted to help them and explain about their marks, and while Ricky knew, just expecting Talia to just trust him when it was something as fundamentally groundbreaking to her life.. It was a lot to ask. So, of course, he had to tell her everything. Now though, he felt like he had nothing but bad news for them both, even if on some level, there had to be hope in some of what he said about their tattoo, right? Some of it? After all, the fact that there were at least theories about this happening with their marks, it showed that it wasn’t completely without precedent. That it had at least been thought of. Even it was so rare that it felt like it was alien and strange enough that it was frankly scary as shit… he didn’t blame them for it feeling insane as hell at all.

Hell, his past aside, Chris felt a little bit going off the wall himself right now, and his, his, was even more off kilter than theirs. More in the sense, that his, he hadn’t read as a theory, in any of the science medical journals he’d gotten his hands on so far, anywhere. He was half tempted to call one of his friends that worked in the line of research, he knew a few quite personally by this point, and run a hypothetical by them. He wasn’t there yet, and frankly, he was half afraid of what he would tell him if he did. 

Maybe… Maybe… Maybe he would later. 

Grimacing, he leaned forward on his arms, there went his shoulder again, he swore he pulled something, he’d say it had happened on tour, but it had been fine even after the shows. He’d been completely fine, not a twinge. This hadn’t started happening until after they’d gotten back, the last week or so. Reaching across himself with his other arm, he pressed the base of his hand into his shoulder and rubbed into the space just by his collar bone. Circling it, sighing slightly, just trying to work the muscle, hoping to ease the tension there. He should really see his trainer, and his physio, just to double-check, make sure nothing was wrong, the last thing he needed was a permanent injury.

Ricky stood in the doorway of Chris’ bathroom from the hallway, much like he’d done the guest room the day before, his arms crossed across his chest, watching him in the mirror silently.

“Are you going to say anything, anything at all, or just keep standing there staring at me like a creeper?”

Chris asked him, Ricky just smirked a little.

“Like your spooky ass doesn’t enjoy it and we both know it, probably a turn on at this point, go on, deny it.”

Ricky chuckled at the way Chris, instead of doing just that and denying it, just smiled and shook his head slightly with a roll of his eyes. Then, he just looked at him through his reflection in the mirror, as if he couldn’t believe that they were even having this conversation. Maybe Ricky couldn’t either, but hey, here they were.

“Are you okay?”

Ricky watched as the smile froze on Chris’ face in the reflection, this caused the smaller man to frown slightly, realising that he was trying to put on that brave face instead of just being open, Ricky sighed. He was worried about him, it had been so long since Chris had talked so openly about what had happened with his fiancé. How she’d just dropped him so simply after they’d been together for years, and when they had been so close to devoting their lives to each other. It had been devastating seeing what happened to him, as horrible as the stalker had been, what that, bitch that deserved no name, had done had destroyed Chris even more in Ricky’s opinion. If he hadn’t been slipping into depression, then that stalker wouldn’t have been able to hurt him nearly as badly. Ricky wasn’t so sure that some of those ‘accidents’ where Chris landed in hospital, orchestrated by the stalker, Chris hadn’t just let happen by that point, wanted them to happen with how bad his mental state had gotten. That thought had honestly fucking terrified Ricky, losing his best friend like that?

Then the loss of his soulmate compounded everything.

As horrible as it was, Ricky sometimes thought losing his soulmate was the best thing that could have ever happened to Chris. It had been the push he needed to get professional help. He knew it made him sound like an asshole even thinking that, someone had died, but Ricky didn’t want to lose his best friend.. And right now, looking at Chris in the mirror as his face slowly fell, he remembered all those gut-wrenching times of watching as Chris had gotten worse right before his eyes, he didn’t want to repeat them.

“I, I’m okay Rick, I just, last night took it out of me. I didn’t think-”

He stayed quiet, just letting Chris figure out what he wanted to say, not wanting to pressure him to have to find his place right away.. He knew better.

“The worst part is I probably could have gotten away with just telling her I’ve just always been fascinated with soulmates, you know.. It’s not like I’m not into weird shit all the time, we’ve been talking about spooky stuff all week.”

Ricky smiled at the way Chris chuckled, hearing him talk so fondly about her, sent a warm tingle of feeling through his soulmate tattoo, making him swallow, he couldn’t think about her now, he needed to focus on Chris. It was so strange though, how thinking about Chris with her before was so painful, and yet here, it was, rather pleasant, he didn’t know what was happening. Pushing himself to focus on Chris,

“After hearing about what she went through, and knowing it had affected her so badly, after how she’d trusted us, Ricky, and she’s not even told her friends, I just,”

He nodded, Ricky did get it, he felt terrible that she’d gone through that, that her family had put her through that. It was spite, and jealousy. That’s what it was. She’d never said anything to him about her family not believing that her mark was what she said it was, just that her soulmate was him, and that was the kicker right there, that was the jealousy. How dare she believe, that a famous person, that she loved, be her soulmate.. They saw her as obsessed.. They couldn’t for one second take a moment to listen, take a moment to consider that everyone had to have someone as a soulmate, famous or otherwise.

The worst part for him? That this had happened to her, long before he’d ever even met Grace. So if anyone looked on his media, there would have been no sign of a soulmate, so there would have been no grounds for them to say she was harming him thinking she was his soulmate. That she was delusional, thinking she could replace his so-called real soulmate. No. So he didn’t understand the hatred they had had, aside from, if they couldn’t have a famous soulmate, then why should she get one?

That was it, that was all he could fathom.

Maybe he’d thought about this a lot more last night than he should have, and maybe he’d come to hate her family all the more for it. Furthermore, whatever institute she’d been put in, those doctors needed to lose their licences, immediately. They hadn’t bothered to listen to her, only her family, from the sounds of it. Nothing about Talia deserved what she’d gone through.

“I couldn’t give her a half-truth, Rick, I had to tell her everything, I had to be honest with her, and now.”

Nodding, 

“Yea. Yeah, I get it, if you told her a half-truth now, and she found out everything else later…”

“Yeah.”

She might not trust him again, and that thought, she’d been through enough with people lying to her, and hell, just these past weeks, this past month thanks to Ricky.. He’d fucked up with her so bad. Lifting his hand as his neck ached.. Unsurprising to him, it had been doing that on and off all night, and this morning, he guessed that Talia’s emotions had to be all over the place. Still, when he’d messaged her earlier and she’d replied straight away that she was doing okay, but now as his neck flared up again he was wondering if he should call her.. Sighing as his hand slipping from his neck, the ache settling into his neck, glancing over he noticed Chris rolling his shoulder again..

“It’s your mark, isn’t it?”

This time Chris wasn’t looking at him in the reflection, his head whipped around to face him directly, the question flying out in response far too quickly.

“What makes you think that?”

Ricky just tilted his head with a raise of an eyebrow, was he really asking him that, he knew where Chris’ soulmate mark was better than anyone else in the band.. Ryan was the only other one in the band still from when Chris hadn’t been as self-conscious of it. Sure, he’d worn makeup plenty to cover his mark, but now, catching him without his shirt was far rarer than it used to be.

“Chris…”

“My shoulder has just been playing up a bit this week okay, I’m already going to go to the doctor tomorrow, it’s fine.”

As much as he had told the harpy that was his former fiancé he hadn’t cared about who his soulmate what when she left him, Ricky considered that something might have broken in Chris. Maybe something in him must have clung to the idea that with her leaving him, that maybe the person that could truly love him still, no matter what, would be that soulmate. That would be how Ricky had felt after losing someone who had claimed to love him and then took it all back. So when it turned white, seeing that devastation on his face first hand, it was no shock to Ricky how much it had destroyed Chris even more.

Searching his face now, Ricky couldn’t be sure of what he was saying, and he wanted to be, he was desperate to be sure of what he was saying. However, Chris, how could he not be worried about him after seeing him get so bad last time? Seeing him end up in such a bad place, not wanting to talk to anyone? After everything Ricky had just been through, and knowing exactly how that felt, right down to just wanting to stuff all the ugliness inside so he didn’t have to deal with it.. He didn’t want Chris to do that, not again. Ricky had just done that, and he’d not only hurt himself, but Talia too.

“Chris, please. Just show me.”

“Rick, I-”

When he began, Ricky was sure, he was sure that even if Chris wanted to think it was just his shoulder convinced himself that it was, there was a part of him that probably knew it wasn’t. Otherwise, why would he be arguing with him? It would be so simple to show him, wouldn’t it? One slip of his collar, and the stark white mark on his skin would be there. Actually, it blended in more now than it did when it was black, but then, compared to the colourful tattoos around it, it was noticeable. Chris had worked the spectral ghost into his shoulder piece on that side, and Ricky had thought it was great, but now, Chris kept it covered whenever he could in public. No surprise there.

None of the fan sites had ever caught wind of the fact his soulmate was dead. Anyone claiming to be his soulmate at shows, and it still happened with the tattoos sites claimed where his tattoo was, but never confirmed, they were politely asked to leave, and if they refused, security escorted them out. Chris did not need to deal with that insanity after his stalker. At one point, there was a subset of fans that were intensely protective of Chris, especially from other fans that continually tried to bombard him at shows about being his soulmate. It had gotten quite nasty for a while there.

Either way, indulging everyone with that claim by even letting them meet him to defuse the situation like one of their managers had suggested for ‘publicity’, giving them their five minutes, even the quiet ones in VIP, did not happen. Ava and the Talia were not the first ones to show up, but by far the most genuine case, considering they were the only ones that were honest soul mates to first meet them at a show. As it was, if they let all these other people even meet Chris, which Ricky knew was the point of claiming he was their soulmate, word would get out that they got that free pass to him. Then it would just get worse, which was why each one was always escorted out.

Ava would have been too, except, every last one of them knew, no one knew Vinny’s tattoo but them. 

No one. 

It had been Vinny’s call to ask her to stay.

Talia, however, Ricky hadn’t realised about her tattoo until well after the concert, and that, that was an entirely different matter.

Note, the manager that had suggested the fans that claimed to be Chris’ soulmate get to meet him? Ricky made sure got removed from working with them. Chris had been too nice about it, but after seeing what Chris had gone through with his stalker, Ricky wasn’t going to fuck around when it came to potential stalkers and his best friend's life, thank you very much. Not even with people that could just be honest fans hoping for just a few minutes with their favourite singer. Buy a VIP ticket like everyone else. Looking back now, after being targeted by a stalker himself, he knew he’d done the right thing. 

Chris swallowed as Ricky stepped closer to him. His eyes meeting the deep blue eyes of his best friend, sometimes they were so vibrant as a summer's day, and sometimes they were as dark and stormy as a hurricane no one wanted to get lost in. That was Ricky to Chris, not always knowing what was coming your way. As he looked at Chris now, his expression so fierce, determined, Chris wished he knew what was going on inside that head of his. Yet at the same time, knowing Rick was asking about his mark, and the tingle he was feeling in his skin even as Rick’s fingers reached up and curved around the back of his neck…

He was worried about what the answer might be.

Fuck, if he was beautiful, though. Swallowing again as Ricky stepped so close, pulling Chris down a little with some pressure at the back of his neck til he leaned down, pressing his forehead to Ricky’s.

“You don’t have to show me, but when you get back from the doctors tomorrow, let me know, okay? Just worried about you.”

Chris nodded quickly. He didn’t want Ricky to worry, he was as important as his own flesh and blood if he was honest, most of the band was. Anything big happened in his life, his first call was his parents, and then Ricky, and then the rest of the band, and not always in that order. Sometimes Ricky came first.

“Good.”

He took in a sharp breath at the way his shoulder started tingling when Ricky pressed the quickest of kisses to his lips before letting his fingers slip from behind his neck and started back to his room.

Holy shit.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics (roses) & @cafekitsune (trigger)

[timotey]

Ficlet: Human, Unexpectedly

The Spirealm. Ruan Lanzhu/Ling Jiushi. Missing scene from ep 60. Unbeta'd.

He wasn't made for this.

(Yeah, I was hit by the feels. Ergo, a ficlet.)

*.*.*

Ling Jiushi keeps holding Tan Zaozao in his arms long after she dies. He’s holding her and not letting go, rocking her slowly back and forth, back and forth, and stroking her hair gently.

She’s dead. And he’s stopped crying.

When the emergency services arrive, Lanzhu finally steps in. He can’t bear the thought of these people being unkind to Lingling. He would never stand for it, but especially not now. 

He drops to his knees next to Ling Jiushi and rests one hand on his lower back. “Ling Jiushi… Lingling, let go,” he whispers gently. “Let her go.”

And he does. Slowly, Ling Jiushi opens his arms, releasing Zaozao, letting the medics take her. He follows their ministrations with his eyes but there’s little life in them and no hope. He knows there’s no bringing her back.

Lanzhu knows it too. Very well. Best of all of them. He’s known the rules since his very conception. He’s known them and accepted them, easily so. But lately, he’s been... living them - and it hurts. 

“Come on,” Lanzhu whispers and takes Ling Jiushi by the shoulders, helping him stand. He has to hold him up, prop him up because Ling Jiushi's knees give out. But that’s okay, Lanzhu's strong enough. For Lingling, always. “Let’s go home.”

*

The ride back is quiet. They don’t talk.

Lanzhu had to help Ling Jiushi into the car, had to put on the safety belt for him because Ling Jiushi completely blanked out, he froze. For a moment there, he wasn’t even sure if Lingling was breathing. Lanzhu's never seen him in such a state and it’s starting to really worry him.

Ling Jiushi is staring down at his hands, numb and uncomprehending. Lanzhu glances that way, taking his eyes off the road for a second, and sees that Lingling’s hands are bloody. There’s a little blood soaked into his pants and his shirt, too. 

Lanzhu hopes that Ling Jiushi didn’t cut himself on the broken glass of the fallen chandelier. He opens his mouth to ask - but then he doesn't. Lingling most likely doesn’t know himself, he would most likely not even answer anyway.

Lanzhu wants to stop the car and hug Lingling, just hug him and hold him. He doesn’t. He drives on.

*

When they arrive at the villa, Lanzhu has to help Ling Jiushi in. 

The others are waiting for them, the mood in the living room serious and somber, grief hanging heavily over them. Qianli jumps to his feet but before he can say more than a hesitant “Lingling-ge…” Lanzhu shakes his head. Not now. Ling Jiushi isn’t even aware of them, it seems.

Lanzhu takes him upstairs, to Ling Jiushi's bedroom and through that to the bathroom where he strips him naked and guides him into the shower stall where he starts the water running. He needs to wash the blood off, the blood and the glass. Lanzhu doesn’t want Lingling to hurt himself. He doesn’t want Lingling to see Tan Zaozao’s blood when he comes back to his senses.

He’s been thinking of undressing Lingling, of touching him and of… other things, too, for quite some time now but none of that is on his mind right now as he runs the washcloth over Ling Jiushi’s arms and the palms of his hands, cleaning away all the physical evidence of Tan Zaozao’s death. 

And Lingling just stands there and lets him, either he trusts Lanzhu that much - or he doesn’t care. Either way his eyes are completely blank and his breath is shallow, barely there, he's just a hollow husk. It’s terrifying, this emptiness.

Afterwards, Lanzhu dries Ling Jiushi off and puts him in some warm clothes, the earth colored sweater that he bought for him and his old pants, so worn, almost threadbare yet so comfortable and soft to the touch. Then he helps Lingling into bed and bundles him up and then he leaves to quickly change too because he’s soaked, having only removed off his outermost clothes, not wanting to make Lingling uncomfortable with his own nakedness if he came back to himself.

But when he returns, Ling Jiushi isn't asleep, he’s lying there just as Lanzhu left him, with his eyes open and staring at the ceiling without really seeing it - and he’s trembling all over, shaking almost visibly. Lanzhu touches his cheek, his hand and finds them chilled, almost icy cold, as if Lingling’s body lost its ability to generate heat. 

Lanzhu calls Chen Fei.

“Lanzhu, I keep telling you I’m not qualified for this,” Chen Fei says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking Ling Jiushi’s wrist in his hand to check his pulse. He’s exasperated and worried - and he's not an actual human doctor, no matter what the others think!

Lanzhu’s leaning back against the head of the bed with Ling Jiushi nestled against his right side and he can feel the tremors running through the other man's body getting stronger, like he’s shaking apart.

And he still hasn’t said anything, Lingling, not a word. He isn’t asleep but he’s not entirely there either and Lanzhu… Lanzhu can’t take this. He doesn’t do helpless, especially when it comes to Lingling.

“Chen Fei!” he says quietly but firmly, cutting off all his objections. He simply stares at him, hard, until Chen Fei sighs and looks away.

“Alright, alright…” Chen Fei mutters and gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

When Chen Fei comes back, he orders, “Pull up his sleeve,” while he rummages through the contents of his not-doctor’s bag for a syringe and a small bottle, half full of a clear liquid. “It’s a mild sedative. It will help him rest - or it won’t harm him, at least. I don’t think there’s anything physically wrong with him, he’s just…” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. There's no need. Lanzhu was there and the others saw it on TV. In the chase after sensational news, it was aired life, the whole thing. And so they all saw it. Tan Zaozao’s death, Ling Jiushi’s despair, none of it was private.

After Chen Fei’s done, he puts away his things while Lanzhu pulls down Ling Jiushi’s sleeve, hiding the needle mark that should give him some relief. He’s watching Lingling blink more and more slowly, languidly, eyelashes fluttering, until he falls asleep, his head lolling against Lanzhu’s shoulder. 

Lanzhu tries to move, to get up and let Ling Jiushi lie down more comfortably but Lingling instinctively burrows closer, throwing one arm across Lanzhu’s stomach, gripping him tight, hand fisted into Lanzhu’s shirt, one leg slipping between Lanzhu’s, pinning him down.

Breath catches in Lanzhu’s throat. This… he didn’t plan this. It wasn’t his intention to–

“Stay with him,” Chen Fei says softly as he gets up, snapping his bag shut with a metallic click. “Your company might help him more than the sedative. I think what he really needs right now is not to be alone.” And with that, he leaves.

Slowly, hesitantly, Lanzhu wraps his arms around Ling Jiushi, lightly stroking his hair and his back. He stares down at Lingling - and once again he sees him holding Tan Zaozao’s lifeless body, back there, on the stage.

And it hurts!

Tan Zaozao’s death. Lingling’s grief. Those things, they hurt and they're choking him and they're making his eyes burn. And Lanzhu doesn’t know what to do with that. He wasn't made for this. He was never meant to be like this. He’s never thought he could feel so much and so deeply, that he was even capable of it. And yet, here he is. He has friends and a family - and he’s fallen in love, so desperately that it makes him want to live.

Resting his hand on Lingling's sleeping face, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb lightly, Lanzhu thinks to himself that... he was never meant to be anything more than an NPC, yet unexpectedly, he feels so human.

[moni-logues]

A Fine Line Bonus 1

The first A Fine Line bonus chapter!!!!

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Genre: just fluff, love that for them

Word count: 6.4k

Content: no real warnings for this one. A mention of cum and a penis, that's basically it.

A/N: FFS I have written this post out twice and then accidentally deleted it all so I fucking give up lol it's here and it's unbeta'd and I hope I'm back, baby!!!

Epilogue 4 | Masterlist | Bonus Chapter 2

Bonus Chapter 1 - Fear and the First Date

“Does this mean I can ask you out now?” he asked as his hand trailed lightly up and down your back. It had barely been five minutes. You were still sitting on him, soft and sticky and sated.

You lifted your head from his chest and looked at him, perplexed.

“What do you mean?”

“On a date,” he said, as though it were obvious.

“A date?”

“Yes, a date.” Slower now, like you were stupid. “Like dinner and a film, or we can go to a museum, or I don’t know, fucking bowling or something. You know, a date.”

You did know. You knew what a date was. You just didn’t know you were going to go on them. You’d sort of already skipped that part, you thought. Weren’t you past the dating part now? You couldn’t picture it: sitting across the table from him, in some restaurant, some expensive, pretentious restaurant he would take you to. Just you and him, looking at each other, saying what? It wasn’t as if you hadn’t had conversations with him. But a date? Were you going to go on a first date with a man who already knew what you looked like naked, how you sounded when you writhed underneath him? A man whose soft cock was still inside you, whose cum was drying down his length? A man you’d been living with for the better part of a year? Did that make sense?

“Just so you know, you have to say yes.”

You pressed your face into the crook of his neck. Half of you felt that fluttery kind of excitement that you supposed you should feel when asked out on a date. The other half of you felt blind panic. It wasn’t so much about whether or not you wanted to, but whether or not you thought you even could.

Namjoon prodded you lightly in the side with a finger.

“Look, I get it.” His voice was soft and quiet. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want. But you picked this, right? You want this? I said this—this-”he gestured to the two of you there, naked, entangled, “this matters to me. It means something to me. You said it did to you, too. I get it if you feel like running away. But... You can’t actually run away.”

He sounded calm; he spoke evenly, slowly, but you could feel his heart in his chest, could feel him heat, flush, could feel him swallow when he’d finished talking.

You hadn’t forgotten what you’d said. It did mean something to you. Too much. You had made the decision and you had thought that was the hard part. They said it would be easy; you just did it; you just let someone into your life and that was that. You had believed them. You had said yes. But now you were here, having to say it again. The alarm bells ringing in your head telling you to evacuate, to cut and run, to quit while you were ahead, to not expose yourself to that kind of hurt.

The kind of hurt that Namjoon was exposing himself to. Had repeatedly exposed himself to. For you. Because he wanted to be with you.

It hit you again, the realisation that he has feelings. He was nervous. Nervously kind of joking about you running away, bailing on him. Nervously kind of not joking, reminding you of your words, holding you to them. You were awash with guilt and shame because you had to realise this, again, that he had feelings, too. You were so wrapped up in yourself that you had to be reminded of it. It made you wonder why he wanted you. It made you think about him saying he had terrible taste in women. It made you feel, in a small, quiet way, that he still did, that you would be another of his mistakes. You decided then and there not to be.

“I’m not running away,” you replied quietly. “It does matter to me.”

It wasn’t easy. You had to accept that maybe it wasn’t going to be easy, at least not yet. But you had to try. You owed it to yourself. You owed it to him.

“Good.”

He turned his face into yours, nudged your nose, and made you look at him.

“It’s ok, you know,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “It’s going to be ok.”

“How do you know?”

He kissed you then, cupped the back of your head to bring you closer, to press his lips to yours.

“I don’t know.”

“Then how can you say that?”

“Not everything has to end in disaster. Even if it has every single time you’ve tried before. Maybe this time, it will go right.”

“That sounds like the definition of insanity.”

He huffed a small laugh, a little exhale blown over your face.

“Well maybe you make me crazy, huh?”

*

“You’re nervous!”

“Yes! Of course, I’m nervous! You don’t have to sound so fucking happy about it!”

“But it’s sweet! It shows you care; it’s nice.”

“No, it’s not!” you cried down the phone. “It’s horrible and I hate it and I don’t know what to do! Honestly, it makes me want to take everything back and just run away.”

“You’re not going to do that,” Lina replied and you thought you heard a hint of a warning tone in her voice. You tried not to let it get your back up.

“Obviously I’m not! God, I’m fucking trying, ok? But this is stressful! How, how do people do it? Date? DATE?! I mean... We haven’t even-” You paused in your pacing, mid-step, mouth open. “We haven’t- we literally have not spent any time together outside the four walls of this apartment.”

Lina was quiet on the other end, as if running through her own memories to confirm.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“YES, and it’s weird! And scary! And like- god, is dating always this stressful?”

“You’re talking to a woman who met her husband at 18. I have no idea.”

“Fair point.”

“Also, your situation isn’t exactly normal-”

“Which makes it worse! How do you go on a first date with someone you live with? When you’ve already fucked them a million times?!”

“You may be overthinking it.”

Of course, you were overthinking it. You had gone from trying not to think about Namjoon at all to thinking of nothing else. But not like before, when you thought about him fucking you, thought about unravelling—you and him alike—thought about all the things he’d done to you and the things he would do again. Now it was just him. His hands. His dimples. The softness in his gaze when he looked at you sometimes.

It was terrifying. The idea of him, of you, of the two of you. There were parts of you resisting, still; you were aware of them all the time. They made you want to flinch when he reached over to tuck your hair behind your ear. They made you stew in your bed at night, unable to sleep, telling yourself that it was never going to work out, that it was time to cut your losses, to get out while the getting was good. It had been only days since he asked you out, since you had finally said yes to this, but they had somehow stretched into lifetimes, each lasting longer than the previous and every hour more stressful than the last. You should have been eagerly anticipating this date. You were dreading it.

But there you were, dressed and sweaty and panicking, waiting for him to pick you up, convinced it wouldn’t work out, he wouldn’t want you, the world would see you together and utter a swift, definite ‘no’.

“He’s coming to pick me up; did I tell you that? What’s he going to do, buzz at the door as if he doesn’t know the codes? Pretend it’s not his apartment he’s coming to?”

You swore you heard Lina sigh dreamily.

“He’s romantic.”

“You know how long it’s been since I’ve been romanced? I don’t know how to do this.”

“You’ll learn. Just let it happen. Stop resisting it.”

“I’ve been resisting for so lon-”

“Exactly. Stop. Follow his lead. Trust him.”

“You say that like it’s so easy.”

“It’s not easy, but it’s necessary if you want to-”

“I know, I know. I don’t need a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

You sighed this time.

“No, sorry, I’m just-”

You heard the doorbell ring and froze. He was here. Fuck.

“He’s at the door. He’s standing outside the door of his own apartment, waiting for me to open it. “

“Well don’t leave him waiting! Go on! Have fun! Make good choices!”

You rang off and smoothed down your dress—or wiped your sweaty palms all over it, one or the other. You walked slowly to the door and slipped your shoes on before opening it.

You hadn’t stopped being bowled over by the fact of him, the physical reality of his being. That he was so tall and so handsome in his crisp, white shirt with his too-short hair and his eyes that always saw right through you. The power of him hadn’t diminished at all: the way he made your heart flutter, and your pulse race. It was, in fact, stronger now than ever. You were going down so, so badly.

His cheeks dimpled as a smile spread across his face when he saw you.

“Hello, beautiful.”

You blushed, tight-lipped, and tried to accept the compliment graciously. It was still new to you.

“I’m ready to go,” you said and he nodded back at you with a scrunched-nose smile.

“Tell me,” he began as you shut the door and walked together down the hall. “Do you hold hands on a first date?”

You looked at him, shy and embarrassed all over, and he looked a little the same.

“I, uh, I don’t know?” You laughed awkwardly. “I haven’t been on a first date for... a while, a long while... Do you?”

There was a pause that went on a little too long and felt a little too strained. You couldn’t believe you might have already put your foot in it; you’d only been on the date twenty seconds! Then he said,

“What about Hoseok?”

You almost stopped in your tracks, your steps falling out of rhythm with his, and when you looked at him, he only glanced over and then away again.

“Uh, well, I... It wasn’t really, we didn’t. It wasn’t like, dating. We weren’t dating. We didn’t- it wasn’t. We didn’t do... dates.”

“Oh. Right.”

You didn’t know if it was the wrong answer or the right one. It was the honest one.

“Well,” he said, taking your hand in his. “I do hold hands on a first date.”

He grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze and you felt your knees tremble.

*

Namjoon was good at this. Dating. Sitting across from you in a restaurant, eating, drinking, talking, smiling at you and joking with you and being so unutterably charming, you almost couldn’t believe it was the same man who had routinely pinned you up against a wall and fucked you so hard you couldn’t breathe.

You had sat down, stiff and self-conscious, all too aware of the tables on either side of you, the couples sitting there, over-hearing you—listening to you? It didn’t matter if they did; you wouldn’t be saying anything salacious, but you felt so exposed, sitting there so publicly, announcing to the world that you were trying to get this man to like you, a man so much better than you were on every measure. You assumed everyone could see right through you, see who and what you were, see that he would be better off without you.

It made you stupid. You felt embarrassed and conspicuous and it was so distracting that you kept forgetting to listen to Namjoon when he spoke. Your leg bounced under the table incessantly; your eyes were darting about, scanning the restaurant behind him, looking for people looking at you, talking about you. As if you had never been out in public before now. As if there was something so strange and unusual about a woman being on a date with a man.

Though it was strange and unusual for you. Was it strange and unusual for Namjoon, too?

He wasn’t acting like it. He was talking to you as if you were the only person in the restaurant. He didn’t notice when the woman next to him almost spilt her glass of red wine on herself. He was sitting with his back to the restaurant so he didn’t see every person, couple, and group come and go. He just kept his focus on you. Always looking at you, seeing through you. You had no idea what he saw.

“Are you listening?” he asked.

“Oh yes! Sorry, no, what did you say?”

He laughed and turned to glance over his shoulder.

“Looking for better options?”

“No! No, of course not. Sorry, I just...”

How could he understand? Sitting there so comfortably, so confident, so at ease in himself. You couldn’t sit there and tell him you were nervous, that you were so nervous, you couldn’t concentrate. You thought of all the differences between you, wondered how this could ever work. He was ready to receive the world and you had nothing to give.

He interrupted your thoughts with a hand over yours.

“You’re not having fun.”

He wasn’t asking.

“No, I am! I...”

“It’s ok.”

You caught the guarded disappointment in his eyes and wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Then he stood and offered you a tight smile before walking towards a waiter. He gestured to your table as he spoke and, when the waiter moved off, he didn’t come back to, but went to the counter. He took out his wallet and paid for the dinner you had only just started.

Was it over?

A different waiter approached the table and took your almost-full plates away and you were trying not to cry when Namjoon returned.

“Here-” he shared the last of the wine from the bottle between your two glasses. “Drink up!”

You took the glass on autopilot and gulped at the wine. You didn’t want to ask what was happening. You would put this off as long as you could. If it was over already, if you’d messed it up before it had even had a chance to begin, you were going to make him do it. End it. Dump you? Does it even count as dumping if it’s only your first date? And where would you live? Where would you go? What would you do? It would be the final nail, the last straw. You would ship yourself off to the outback and live alone where no one else could be hurt by you, where you couldn’t get anything wrong.

A waiter approached with a bag of packaged-up food and Namjoon stood again, extending his hand to you. You took it and he led you out of the restaurant. You had somehow missed the moment he ordered the taxi, but it was there, just outside, waiting for you; Namjoon opened the door for you to slide in.

“Where are we going?” you asked, quietly, when he sat down beside you.

“Home.”

“Oh.”

With the bag of food wedged securely on the floor between his feet, he took your hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. You didn’t know what that meant. Maybe he was just waiting until you were back in the privacy of your home. The backseat of a taxi was no place for it and he was a considerate guy, after all.

He kept hold of your hand the whole way home. He also kept quiet. So did you. As you slipped your shoes off in the hallway, he gently told you to go and sit at the table. You followed the direction without protest. You took your phone with you and furiously tapped out message after message to Lina, filling her in and pleading for help.

You: what does this mean?

You: I don’t know what he’s doing.

You: should I ask?

You: do I help? I can’t even bring myself to look!

You: what do I say to him? How do I know what to do?

You: tell me what to do!! I’ll actually do it!

Namjoon was clattering about in the kitchen; you were doing your best to ignore him. You had buried your head in the sand and ignored the truth for long enough; you’d had the practice; you’d wait for him to break through, pull you out, then maybe kick you out.

Lina was not replying.

“Here.”

Namjoon placed a steaming plate of pasta in front of you—the very one you had ordered at the restaurant—and he placed his own dish opposite you. He returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“Ok, well,” he called, “there’s half a bottle of white-” he grabbed it and then opened a cupboard to the left “-and a whole bottle of red, but I’m pretty sure this is the red Taehyung got me and it’s completely undrinkable. What do you reckon?”

“Uh... I guess... both?”

He laughed—it was almost a cackle—and brought them both over to the table with a pair of glasses. He poured the white wine out, two big glasses, emptying the bottle, and lifted his, gently clinking it against yours.

“To Date One version 2.0.”

“Oh,” you replied. “So... we’re still on a date?”

“Yeah!”

“But here?”

“Yeah!”

Namjoon hesitated then put down his wine glass with a quiet thunk. He tapped his fingers lightly on the table for a second and then spoke.

“Look... I want you to enjoy this date. You were not enjoying it at the restaurant. And I’m trying not to take it really personally that you don’t want to be seen with m-”

“No!” You flung a hand out to grab his; his fingers, still dancing on the tabletop, stilled. “I don’t... I don’t want you to be seen with me.” You had to pause, take a deep breath. You owed him what you were feeling because you had made him feel bad. He was, as ever, being honest with you and letting you in and you had said you were going to try. You had said you were going to do this. Practice makes perfect. No time like the present.

“I felt so embarrassed because it felt like everyone was looking at me, or us, looking at you and wondering what the hell you were doing with me... Because I still don’t... I don’t get it. I feel like a mistake.”

“You feel like a mistake?”

“Yes, I feel like I’m going to be a mistake for you. Another one.”

Namjoon almost chuckled but only almost.

“Because I have terrible taste in women.”

“Yes.”

He sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, I guess it was my fault for saying that. Maybe I should have said I had terrible taste in women... Do you want to get into it?”

He looked like he didn’t.

“No, not if you don’t want to. I’m sorry for ruining our date.” He didn’t want to get into his but that didn’t mean you couldn’t get into yours a little. “I was—am—nervous. I was so nervous I forgot to be excited, which I am! I am excited about this, but I still find it so hard to believe. I- I said to you before that I’m not a person yet and I’m not. I don’t feel like I can give you what you deserve.”

Namjoon straightened up in his chair and folded his hands across one another.

“Didn’t we decide that I get to be the judge of that?”

You shrugged. You knew the logic was on his side but you couldn’t accept it.

“Well, then, unless I say otherwise, you are welcome—encouraged—to assume that you’re giving me everything I want.”

You couldn’t quite bring yourself to believe that and it must have shown on your face.

“How about this,” he suggested. “An agreement, a deal: if I want something from you, I will ask. If you want something from me, you will ask. Straight up.”

The fact that he believed you were capable of being that upfront about your needs, wants or desires almost made you choke on your wine. Half the reason (or even the whole reason) you had got into this mess together was because you weren’t capable, not even of being honest with yourself.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“What makes you think I can do that?”

“Sometimes I think I know you better than you do, y’know? You don’t see yourself like I see you at all. I do think you can do it.”

It didn’t seem like you were going to get out of this one. So you nodded, hesitantly at first and then more surely. You could try, at least.

“Good. So now you have to trust that I will ask you when I want something. Maybe like right now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. I want something from you right now. I want you to enjoy this date, please.”

You giggled, relieved.

“Ok.”

“Think you can?”

“Yes, I think so.”

He smiled and nodded and picked up his fork.

*

Namjoon was good at dating. And it turned out, when you let yourself relax, you were good at it, too. The laughing and joking and flirting did come easily; the other stuff might not but you had this at least.

“I’m your equal,” you said suddenly, not knowing it was true until you said it out loud.

Namjoon’s eyes raised high on his forehead.

“Uh, yeah?”

“I mean, you think I’m your equal.”

“Yeah... Should I... not?”

You felt like you were beneath him, were convinced of it, but he never acted like he thought that. He never treated you like that. He treated you like an equal. He gave to you and he asked you to give back. He wanted this to be equal between you. As if you were equals. As if you—

“We’re in this together.”

A second passed and he blinked. Another second passed and his face softened, then relaxed into smile.

“Yes. We are equal. We are in this together.”

That was new for you.

“You like me.”

He laughed.

“Yes, I do. And you don’t believe me when I say it.”

“It’s not—well, I suppose... I don’t know. It feels hard to believe. Sort of. One the one hand, I believe it, because we’re here; you’re here and we’re having fun and you- you asked for this, you wanted it. You want it. So, I believe it. But, at the same time... Dating has not been a part of my life for a long time. Being wanted hasn’t been part of my life for a long time so it feels—I guess I thought I was over it? That part of life? I guess I thought that was it, y’know? I couldn’t leave and my husband didn’t like me or love me or maybe he did but not how I wanted it, not how he used to, not—I don’t know. That makes it hard to believe.”

You paused and sighed, inwardly rolling your eyes at yourself. Because you were making this all about you. You could hear yourself doing it now.

“Sorry,” you continued. “I keep- it's not- I-… I know I keep bringing it up, making excuses or something. I’m just always dragging my baggage into everything-”

Namjoon shook his head and you paused long enough for him to speak.

“You can’t let go of your baggage; it’s your past and it’s part of you and you’re talking about it like it’s ancient history but it’s been less than a year. Things take time. And, you know... You won’t ever be able to put the baggage down, but there are things you can do to make it easier to carry.”

“Like what?”

“Therapy?”

“Can’t afford it.”

“I can pa-”

“No.”

“Why n-”

“No. I said no.”

He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Ok, well have you ever considered talking about your feelings?”

“Hey! I’m trying!”

“And I’m teasing.”

And he was. Because he could. Because he knew you well enough both to make the joke and to know that he could. He knew you. And he was sitting here across from you teasing you about it. Teasing you about your shit as if it were endearing. As if he liked it.

Because he did.

*

“Ok, then, Namjoon,” you swivelled your now-empty wine glass in his direction, “tell me this: do you kiss on a first date?”

He leant back and tapped his hands on his stomach, tipping his head side to side as he looked at you.

“Well, that depends.”

“On?”

“How well the date has gone.”

“And how well has it gone?”

His eyebrows raised.

“Oh, is this date over?”

You gestured to the empty plates in front of you, the wine bottles emptied, too. He leant forward then, elbows on the table, chin resting on his hands.

“You mean you don’t want dessert?”

A shiver ran through you, part-delight, part-relief. This was the part you could do. Sex was… It was easy. You were well-practised now. Namjoon was familiar. You fit. You were comfortable. It was so much easier to physically expose yourself to him than it was to be emotionally exposed. And it was a relief that he still wanted it, too.

“Well,” you said, leaning in to mirror his pose, “I didn’t say that exactly. What dessert do you have in mind?”

He held your gaze for a second, maybe two, then he scooted his chair back across the tile floor with a screech and walked over to the freezer. You snorted with laughter when he started digging through it.

“Hm, we’ve got… one frozen hotteok and… most of a tub of mint choc chip which must be yours and, honestly, is kind if making me re-think this whole thi-“

“I am not having this argument with you again. You have known this about me for long enough now. Either accept it or kick me out.”

He looked over at you as if he were considering it, kicking you out, as if he were considering making the joke, pretending to kick you out. He put both options back in the freezer and kicked the drawer shut.

“I think I’ll keep you around a little longer.”

“Is that right?”

You stood and carried the empty plates over to the sink, placing them down gently before slotting yourself between Namjoon’s legs as he leant against the fridge.

“So… Dessert?”

“Oh, you actually want the mint ice-cream? I c-“

He was half-turning, as if to re-open the freezer and you pushed his shoulder back into place.

“No.” Moving even closer to him, close enough to smell him, close enough to have to tip your head up to see his face. “I was thinking… something else.”

You lifted onto your tip toes and he bent his head to bring you almost nose-to-nose.

“If you kiss me right now, that means it’s a good date, right?” you asked, whispering into his mouth.

His only reply was to do just that, kissing you gently, his hands resting light on your hips. But it didn’t stay gentle, didn’t stay light. Because it had actually been days since you’d been this close to him; not since he’d asked you on this date had you tasted him. You slid your hands up his arms and linked them behind his neck; you let your balance fall forward into him so he was more lifting you than you were standing, the tips of your toes just grazing the ground now. His hold on you was tight, secure, like it always was, like he didn’t want to let you go.

Until he did. He broke from you and lowered you to the ground once more. Your brain whirred in a series of question marks as he straightened up, the distance from your mouth to his bigger and bigger.

“To be clear-“ his voice was lower now, a little strained. He cleared his throat. “I want to be clear: I don’t fuck on the first date.”

You tilted your head to one side, mouth still hanging open.

“Uh, you… don’t? I mean- we’re not… We aren’t going to have sex?”

He shook his head, eyebrows pulling down over his eyes.

“Is that a problem?”

“No! No, of course not. It’s fine. I just… I’m just… surprised, I guess.”

Surprised and disappointed. Surprised, disappointed, and confused. Because it was entirely reasonable for him to not want to have sex on a first date, or even a second, or a third, or any time, but… this wasn’t really a first date. You’d had sex before, plenty of it. Just days ago, even. Had something changed? You weren’t sure what. You didn’t know how to do this, after all.

“Ok, no sex on the first date. How many dates does it take?”

You needed a number to shoot for; you needed to know when it might end, the not having of him, the nerves, this anxiety and vague discomfort unsettling you.

“How many?”

“Yeah, if you don’t have sex on the first date, which? Second? Third?”

“You sound like you just want to get in my pants.”

“Well, yeah, I know what’s in them.”

It was a joke. You had thought it was a joke. You expected him to laugh, or grin at least. Smile a little.

The joke fell a little flat and silence fell between you for a beat too long.

“Is it that important to you? The sex?”

You’d mis-stepped. You’d got it wrong but couldn’t work out why. The sex always worked between you. This was the part that was supposed to be easy. Did dating really have to complicate everything?

“I don’t know what you mean… Isn’t it important?“

There was a pause before Namjoon replied.

“You remember before I went away, when I told you I didn’t want to sleep with you anymore?”

“Yeah.”

“Because I wanted to get to know you?”

“Yes.”

“That still applies.” He shrugged. “We’re dating now, right? I want to date you. I want to get to know-“

“You do know! You do! You said yourself you think you know me better than I do!”

“But there’s still so much I don’t know! The dating stuff: where did you grow up and what is your family like and all of that stuff. I don’t know any of that… Look, I’m not saying I never want to have sex, obviously, and I’m not trying to… hold it ransom or something I just…”

He trailed off and you didn’t try to fill the gap for him. You couldn’t. He just what? He just what?

He shuffled and averted his gaze, staring down at his fingers tapping on the counter.

“I just don’t want it to be the only thing you want from me.”

It hit you like a ton of bricks. The only thing? But you wanted everything.

“I know you’ve said you want this,” he continued, turning back to look at you, his eyes inscrutable and his courage in being able to look at you unfathomable. “I know that. And like I said, I’m trying not to take any of it personally because I know this is hard for you and I know you’re trying and I don’t want to make you feel bad—I’m really not trying to do that—but I just… when I have doubts, I doubt that you really want all of me.”

You blinked. You could’ve been knocked down with a feather. HE doubted? HE doubted that you wanted him? Before you could reply, a little voice piped up in your head:

‘Well, can you blame him?’

No. No, you couldn’t.

So much time passed in your surprise that Namjoon sighed and moved past you, reaching for the tap and sponge. He turned on the water and started to wash up while you still stood, unmoving, struck dumb by the revelation that… he felt the same way as you. That… he knew how you felt. That he could understand.

It began to dawn on you that maybe this was what sharing feelings was all about. Maybe this was what it got you: understanding. Maybe if you had shared your feelings before now—long before now—so much of your trouble and strife might have been avoided.

You didn’t share feelings. You didn’t grow up in a family that shared feelings. And you grew averse to it, cautious of it, sceptical of it. Then you grew scared of it. Scared of all the secrets you were keeping. Scared of letting them out. You were so scared of your feelings that you had let the fear of them control you. Maybe sharing them wasn’t weakness after all.

“I don’t think you want all of me.” It wasn’t a radical statement coming from you; you’d basically said as much before, but it felt different now that you were echoing him.

He paused and you realised he was waiting for you to continue.

“I- I don’t just want sex. I do want it but I don’t only want it but I-”

Fuck, you could feel your skin prickling knowing what was coming. You could feel sweat begin to gather in your palms. You couldn’t look at him as you said it. You weren’t as brave as he was. You took a deep breath and looked at his feet.

“I feel like it’s the only thing I have to offer you.”

He opened his mouth as if to protest but you didn’t let him interrupt.

“I told you before I’m not a person yet. I don’t have things to give. I’m… I’m blank. My life is blank but you, being with you, sex is… You make it-”

You squirmed, uncomfortable, horrified by your own act of disclosure. You looked pointedly away from him, reducing him to a blur in your peripheral vision, the only way you felt you could continue.

“… Colourful.”

It was mumbled, barely audible.

“Huh?” Namjoon asked and you groaned.

“You make my life feel… not blank.”

“Hm? Are you sure that’s what you said?”

A flash of frustration burst in you and you turned to glare at him, only to see him grinning, almost laughing, at you.

“Namjoon!”

Your hands balled into fists and you couldn’t stop your left foot stomping the floor.

“Say it. I’m going to make you say it.”

“I don’t want to!”

“You have to!”

You cried out to the ceiling and continued staring at it as you said it, a little too loud and a little too aggressive.

“You make my life feel colourful! You bring colour to my world! And I hate you!”

You heard him laugh and then you felt his arms around you and his lips on your cheek.

“You’re cute.”

You made a show of trying to push him away.

“Shut up. I don’t like you anymore.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to be honest with me.”

You sighed and leant into him.

“It’s not just about sex,” you said, muffled against his shirt. “It’s just that sex is the only time I feel… It’s the only time I don’t feel this gulf between us.”

“There’s no gulf.”

“Yes, there is.”

“You think there is but there isn’t.”

You looked up at him, pouting, stubborn. He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Ok, fine, let’s say there is a gulf. You know what also exists? Bridges. Transport. A gulf is not uncrossable.”

“I know it’s not, because it’s not there when we have sex.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you tonight-“

“I know! I’m not- sorry! No, I know. I’m not trying to pressure you, sorry. Sorry. I-“

“It’s ok, just making sure we’re clear.”

“We are.”

He stepped backwards and took your face in his hands. He kissed you, just a little, just enough to make the noise in your head turn down, to make a soft hum start up where the anxiety had been.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he said quietly, his face still close to yours. “I do. But we’ve done this all in the wrong order and I want to…” He moved back and you didn’t flinch this time when he tucked your hair behind your ear. “I want to do things right. For you.”

You broke the eye contact first, swallowing hard as you willed the moisture in your eyes to disappear. You nodded.

“But—” Namjoon lifted your chin and tilted your face to his—“We can kiss as much you like, what do you say?”

“Yes please.”

*

It was late now. Make-up off, pyjamas on kind of late. You were lying in bed, all too awake because you could feel Namjoon next door, knew he was there, and felt his absence in your bed like a new kind of presence. It was keeping you up.

So you did the only thing that made sense to you. You got out of bed and knocked on his bedroom door. He came to it, blinking and dishevelled.

“I know we can’t sleep together but… can we sleep together?”

He frowned, confusion written large across his sleepy face. You walked past him and climbed into his bed.

“Like, sleep. As in, actual sleeping. Just sleeping,” you called across the room as you shuffled down and pulled the covers up.

You saw him shrug as he shut the door and made his way back to you.

“I’m not sure this is very first date behaviour,” he mumbled, his voice low and groggy.

He nevertheless wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close against him.

“We’re not on the date anymore,” you replied. “This doesn’t count.”

He kissed your shoulder.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

Silence followed his responding hum and you felt sleep tugging at you quickly, surrendering yourself to it more easily than you had managed just five minutes ago.

“Besides,” you whispered, your words slow and thick and fighting against sleep, “I always sleep better with you.”

“Mm, me too.”

You weren’t sure if he was really awake; in the morning, you didn’t even remember the exchange. But you did sleep better next to him and you woke, happy in his arms.

Epilogue 4 | Masterlist | Bonus Chapter 2

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Subconscious (Steve’s Story)

Summary: Steddie Canon compliant/fix-it fic paired with a corresponding story in Eddie’s POV, each chapter happens in tandem with the other. No matter what he does, no matter who he is with or what is happening in the aftermath of their failed battle with Vecna – Steve Harrington can’t stop thinking about Eddie Munson. He’s even begun to see him in his dreams…

(companion to this Eddie Snippet)

((Unbeta'd snippet from Chapter 02. I wasn't going to do another entire dream sequence, but this shows the difference between the stories in comparison to Eddie's version of the same dream. So this is super duper long. Not sorry. Steve's had a Day™ so he's already in need to a dream that's not a nightmare. Luckily for him this one is just jam-packed with nostalgia. The only parts of the snippet that might not make sense are 1. Joyce Byer's bought back her house, hence the Byer's family dinners. It's covered in the first chapter. 2. There's a conversation with Robin in Steve's kitchen that takes place and is referenced a few times in Steve's inner musings. 3. There's also references to the first dream with Eddie, which I have Eddie's version in a snippet that can be found [here], but I haven't posted Steve's version as a preview yet. See tags for CW/TW.))

—

When Steve dreams, he’s usually driving.

Nightmares always begin as something else. Running, hiding, breathing so harshly his throat feels scraped raw. He feels bites, he feels punches, sharp instruments about to cut into his skin or pull his fingernails out one by one, he feels his body thrown against a wall, or something cold and flesh-like wrapped tight around his neck until he thinks he’s going to pass out. Nightmares are always full of the fear induced fleeing for his life, for the lives of the ones he cares about.

But in this dream he isn’t driving. And he isn’t running. He’s walking.

He recognizes Hawkins like he would recognize the shape of his own hand, or the feel of walking around his house knowing where every turn is and which steps on the stairs creak. It’s instinctual, looking up to see a random suburban landscape and knowing for a fact it’s how the houses are laid out Northeast of Maple Street. He knows the trailer park is just behind him, he knows that if he keeps following this road it will take him around town, past the rows of cookie-cutter houses, and into the woods where the Byers house resides. Further on the outskirts of town. If he was in his car, he could be there in 20 minutes.

But he’s walking along the empty street. His car is nowhere in sight, and oddly that feels okay. He’s not worried about it. Up ahead of him, he can see the kids messing around on their bikes, and Steve suddenly knows without a shadow of a doubt that they are going to Mrs. Byer’s house. The one she shares with Hopper, now, and with all of them on any given day of the week. The kids are taking their sweet time, jumping the curb and circling back slowly – he’s almost pleasantly surprised, thinking they are waiting for him.

Then Max speeds past him on her skateboard, and Steve forgets how to breathe for a second.

Max.

She looks over her shoulder at him, a smile escaping her despite every effort to smother it, red hair pushed back by the early evening breeze and mocking him with a tongue stuck out. Then she’s with the boys, schooling their asses on her skateboard even though they could leave her in the dust with their six speeds. They wouldn’t, though, and if Steve hadn’t already been walking he probably would have stopped at the sight. Only the momentum of one foot in front of the other keeps him moving.

He’s missed seeing her with the kids. Seeing her keeping them in line and on their toes, her presence was grounding, and the boys greet her like she had never been missing at all. Like she hasn’t spent every day of the past three months in a hospital bed, with no change and eyes closed. Lost in a dreamless sleep. (He hopes.)

No, he wouldn’t think about that now. Not with the sight in front of him. This… this was how it should be. The sun setting on Hawkins, all of them rounding themselves up and then heading to the one place they are allowed to be themselves. All parts of them, good and bad, strong and damaged. No one left behind.

“Harrington!”

That makes him stop. Steve suddenly doesn’t know how to move his feet. He turns and looks back towards the trailer park, hands in his letterman jacket pockets, and watches Eddie Munson jog up to him. Smiling, whole, as suitable to the late summer evening as anything ever has a right to be. He fits, in his ripped denim and metal band T-shirt, blues and pinks and purples of the sky making him stand out starkly.

“Munson,” he greets, smiling back and it feels more fond than it should. As if they’ve been friends for years, and not days. As if he’s always around to join them on their walk to the Byer’s place. Always around for Family Dinners.

Like he should be.

Steve teases him about it, because even in the dream it feels like Eddie has never been to those pushed together second-hand dining room tables in the backyard. Never been there to help pass food around, or fight the kids for the best hamburger patties, or chuck potato chips across the table to make his point about whatever he and the kids would argue about. Nerd stuff. Dungeons and Dragons. Steve wouldn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but he’d give anything in the world to be able to listen in. “I see you’ve decided to join us.”

“Yeah, well, I figured it was time for me to make an appearance in the land of the living,” Eddie shrugs at him, a handsome smile spread wide across his face. But his words make Steve’s insides go ice cold.

Always joking, even about his own fucking death. “That’s not funny.”

But Eddie cackles with laughter, like the madman he is, who just missed meeting his maker. “It’s a little funny. I almost died, man, let me own it.”

And God, it could be so easy. This would be the easiest conversation to have. It sounds so much like him, and Eddie is so much more vivid here than he is in the nightmares. His words are so authentic Steve isn’t even sure how his brain came up with them. ((This is a dream.)) he reminds himself. It’s only a dream, and dreams have to make some kind of sense if they are to continue. Steve doesn’t want to let go of this dream, with Max and Eddie there – where they should be. So he accepts Eddie’s easy quip, and tries to make himself believe that this is how it could be. Eddie almost died. But he didn’t. Maybe Steve had still done CPR, and maybe this time Eddie’s chest had started to move on its own, maybe he’d been able to help both Eddie and Dustin limp out of the Upside Down. Maybe he’d gotten the other man to a hospital.

Maybe Eddie Munson could have lived.

Maybe, instead of being the government’s scapegoat, they could have created a bullshit cover story like they had when Will ‘came back from the dead’, and he’d still be living in that shitty trailer park with his Uncle and bitching about trying to pass finals with Robin this year. Maybe this year could have been his year to graduate.

Maybe, just maybe… it could have all been so different.

They walk forever, it feels like. But Steve could have lived inside that moment for the rest of his days. He and Eddie talk shit about everything and nothing, the kids are up ahead but never so far that he can’t see them. Their voices trailing back down the street, Max’s laughter louder than all the rest. He doesn’t even remember the last time she laughed in the past year. Eddie is smiling at him, teasing him, pulls out a joint and lights it for Steve to take the first hit. Leaning in close and not caring about personal space in the slightest. It’s so easy. It’s so comfortable. It’s the best day Steve has had in weeks.

“So where are we going, again?” Eddie asks after what feels like hours. Steve has never thought of someone as such a weirdo in an affectionate way until a couple years ago. Dustin, Robin – of course, but Eddie has it in Spades. He owns it to the point that Steve can’t help but lean into it. Can’t help but think that only Eddie would walk for blocks and blocks with him without even asking where he was off to. Just along for the ride. Even though this particular evening was something that Steve had been wanting Eddie to be a part of for a long, long time.

Family Dinner. Mrs. Byer’s house; sweet little Mrs. Byer’s who barely came up to his shoulder and had more strength in her pinkie finger than half this damn town. She welcomes in everyone her boys bring home with open arms and big sympathetic eyes and an air about her that makes Steve think she must have been cool as fuck in high school. And the way she bossed Hopper around was a sight to see. They argued like an old married couple, even though there is some on-going inside joke about an unfulfilled date at that Italian place downtown. (Mostly because it’s not even there anymore, lost to the Upside Down. Steve had taken a few girls there back when his parents were funding his weekend excursions, it wasn’t cheap. And was not re-opening any time soon. So instead the two made spaghetti all the time and talked about Enzos like it had been a person they both knew.)

Eddie flips out when Steve mentions Hopper will be there, scrambling to put out the blunt and spitting saliva on the sidewalk like they would be able to smell it on his breath instead of all over his clothes and long hair. “You could have warned me! Fucking Hopper.” He says it with a smile, and Steve notices he doesn’t say ‘Officer Hopper’ or even ‘Chief Hopper’. Like he knew him before all of this.

“He’s not a cop, anymore,” Steve laughs, pausing their walk to let his hands hover near Eddie’s shoulder. The dork is putting the blunt out on the bottom of his high-tops and is not coordinated in the slightest to do so.

“Yeah but he’s busted my ass far too many times for me to show up at his HOUSE reeking of the devil’s lettuce,” Eddie says so matter-of-factly, and it sounds so genuine that Steve busts up laughing. His voice echoes down the street with it, Eddie watching him do so with a grin that’s a little more soft around the edges. “No joking, he would drag my ass to the back of his cruiser and scare the hell out of me driving past the police station. But he always took me home to Wayne, never booked me.”

“I get the feeling Hop never really booked a lot of us for things he should have,” Steve tells him, still laughing under his breath like he has the giggles, the vibration of them caught up in his chest and spilling out his mouth every few words. “He used to break up my house parties when I threw them, but it was always like… right at 10:00 at night. He let us have our fun, but never let it get out of hand.”

“No shit! I always thought those parties were short,” Eddie grins, glancing out into the night where the kids were still circling their bikes just out of ear shot. “In case you were too busy doing keg stands by the pool back then, I was the dealer set up in your kitchen selling blunts and baggies off to any passerby with a couple bucks on them.”

“Kinda hard to see when you’re upside down and chugging beer like oxygen,” Steve points out, but says it like an apology. He’d never known where the weed came from at his parties. It would just appeared out of thin air and in his hands like magic. Eddie nods along, understanding and not surprised. He’s not exactly a forgettable person, but the few times they’ve talked he always seems to think that he blends into the background. That it’s expected that Steve wouldn’t remember him at his house parties. The pang of guilt Steve feels is short lived, because Eddie glances at him with that twist of a smirk that should not be as handsome as it is.

“I also ate all your Oreos.”

“That was you?” Steve exclaims.

“Every time,” Eddie grins that shit-eating grin of his, not looking the least bit sorry. “I thought you were keeping them stocked for me! Your reputation as a host preceded you.”

“I hid them on the top shelf, by the wine glasses!”

“And I was set up in that little nook right by that cabinet, it was like my name was on them!” Eddie gestures widely as he speaks, moving his hands constantly in grand gestures that make it really hard for Steve to look away. He’d have to ask Robin if she’s ever seen Eddie in drama, he seems like he’d be good at it.

He pictures where Robin had been sitting in his kitchen just that morning, and realizes that’s the nook that Eddie was talking about. So it’s really easy for Steve to imagine Eddie there, instead, sitting on the counter with his container of oreos and his old-school metal lunch box full of blunts, dealing when the party was in full-swing. Holding court and maybe even telling people to back off if they asked for a cookie, pushing them back with his feet and doing that thing where he pretends to be more scary than he is.

“You’re something else, Munson,” he chides with no bite whatsoever. Steve hasn’t stopped smiling the whole walk, something like affection swelling up warmly inside him, and it probably has nothing to do with the weed. But it’s an easy thing to blame it all on.

The evening shifts not long after that; the rows and rows of suburban houses melt into trees that tower and stretch off into the distance, and the winding road comes to an end at the Byer’s place. It is a little one-story house half buried in leaves from the surrounding forest, but Hopper and Joyce have been hard at work getting it back into shape after the property being deserted for so long. It is a welcome sight, far more welcome than his own home has ever been; and Steve is so lost in the little details of it that he doesn’t realize Eddie isn’t walking next to him anymore.

“So this is your dream, is it?”

An ice cold sensation creeps into his chest, forcing Steve to stop and turn to look at Eddie. A good 15 feet back, hands in his jacket pockets, looking at the house like it’s something he’s not allowed to have. But it’s his words that strike to the heart of Steve’s confusion. ((Your dream.)) That’s what he said. But how could he possibly know…

“This. This is what we fought for?” Eddie asks, nodding to the house, the crowded driveway full of cars and bikes and the sounds of too many teenagers in the backyard (in the best of ways, not like Steve used to hear at his own home not so long ago). “No one is dead. Everyone is here. Family dinners.” It’s as if he’s reading Steve’s mind, because yes, yes that is what he wants. This is everything that they shouldn’t have, and can't seem to keep, no matter how hard they try to hold on to it – and he just wishes they could. That they didn’t have to try so hard to be happy.

“Yeah, Munson. This is it.” This is everything he’s ever wanted.

It’s the kind of evening dreams are made of, apparently. The watercolor sky gives way to darkness in a manner that doesn’t make his heart thump faster in fear. Stars poking through the inky indigo above them. Eddie is wide-eyed and nervous, but he’s here and whole and God that’s all Steve wanted. That’s all he’s wanted for weeks. Some days it feels like it’s eating him alive.

“...are you sure I should come in? I mean.” He gestures to himself, as if there’s something wrong with him on principle. Ripped skinny jeans and studded black leather belts, long hair and tattoos. Steve doesn’t think he’s felt this personally offended on someone else’s behalf in a long time. What kind of nonsense was Eddie on about now? Walking all the way here and not coming inside?

“Of course you should come in.”

He might have spoken a little more harshly than he intended, because Eddie’s gaze is avoiding him again. Steve can almost physically see the guy recoil and retreat into his natural defense mechanism. Make it a joke, over-exaggeration and all. He croons at Steve like the girls in high school used to, twisting a strand of hair in front of his mouth and swaying a little on the spot, ridiculous and owning it – asking if Steve would really miss him if he wasn’t there for dinner.

As if Steve hasn’t missed his stupid face every single day.

Yes, yes he fucking misses him. Steve can feel the space in the world that Eddie used to occupy, as if it was torn away violently and is still trying to heal.

He doesn’t know why Eddie doesn’t seem to understand that.

((This is a dream.))

And Steve is tired of not being able to say the words that have been screaming inside his head for months.

“It’s not right,” he grits out, shaking his head and he’s not mad at Eddie. But he can’t look away from him and he’s not entirely sure he’s controlling the expression on his face very well. “If you’re not here – with us. With me.”

Eddie’s not moving and hasn’t blinked, but his chest is still moving and he’s breathing a little heavier. Way to go, Harrington. Elaborate, dumbass. (Why does his inner voice always sound like Robin?)

“You…” fuck it all, he can’t stand to not talk about it anymore. “You died, Eddie. You actually died down there.” He’s moving towards Eddie, and thanks whatever lucky stars are making themselves known above them that Eddie isn’t backing up as he does. “...I did CPR on you forever trying to bring you back.”

He has no idea how long it really was. Chest compressions, counting out loud with every push, tilting Eddie’s head back just the right angle so when he pressed his mouth to Eddie’s blood-stained lips he could breathe air into his lungs and not his stomach. He was certified, but he’d never done it on a living person before, and Steve knows he had been a panicked mess. Doing chest compressions so hard he had been scared he was going to break one of Eddie’s ribs. But he did the maneuvers again, and again, and again with Dustin sobbing next to him and the others screaming at them through the radio that the gate was closing. Steve had never felt so hopeless as he had in that moment – because Eddie never drew another breath, and his dark eyes stared at nothing, and Steve wanted to curl up on the ground and cry but he couldn’t because Dustin wasn’t able to walk out of there on his own. He and Dustin never talked about it, but the kid had been near hysterical about not wanting to leave Eddie there on the ground, and really the only reason they made it out at all was because Steve had picked Dustin up and carried him out kicking and screaming – and also because Dustin stopped fighting him when he saw that Steve was crying, too.

He hates thinking about that night. It always comes back to him in vivid technicolor, but right now it’s… it’s not so bad, because Eddie looks genuinely shocked by Steve’s admission.

“You did?” he murmurs. And Steve does his best to not be offended, again. Did Eddie really think that they would just leave him for dead without doing absolutely everything they could to try and get him out of there? Did he think they wouldn’t try to save him?

Steve’s heart hurt as it beat hard against his ribs.

“Yeah, I did.” The dream is pressing in on him, it’s threatening to break apart – he can almost feel himself waking up. So he smiles at Eddie, and pretends just a little harder. Plays along. “Thank God, right?”

Because right now Eddie is still in front of him, so if Steve has to play the part to keep him there then he will. Steve can try and believe that all that CPR training hadn’t been for nothing, that he hadn’t failed both Eddie and Dustin in that field. That everyone had made it home.

Eddie holds up his hand, mind whirling behind his big dark eyes, and the grandiose gestures soothe Steve’s very being.

“You, gave me mouth-to-mouth.”

Well, when he puts it like that. Steve shrugs, plays it off as nothing strange. He was certified a couple times over. Lifeguard, Captain of Hawkins High Swim Team two years running. He just hopes the heat flushing up his neck doesn’t show on his face. Eddie doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, anyway, his awe-struck expression melting into disbelief as he cards his ringed fingers through his hair.

“Jesus Christ, Steve Harrington gave me the kiss of life and I wasn’t even awake to appreciate it.” Steve rolls his eyes at Eddie’s statement, rolls them so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t pull something. Like the novelty of ‘King Steve Harrington’ still held any weight anywhere in this fucking town. “My poor little gay heart, high school me would be devastated.”

“You’re still in High School,” Steve tells him on reflex, Eddie flipping him the bird, and the give-and-take of it all is so instinctual that Steve doesn’t really let anything process in real time. Eddie’s commentary is always so flippant and quick that it’s easy to not take it seriously. But he did hear Eddie, he heard every word, and very suddenly Steve feels like he’s back on the Starcourt bathroom floor with Robin and his world has tilted on it’s axis a bit.

My little gay heart

Gay.

Wait. Did he know about Robin? Did he know Steve knew about Robin, is that why he said it?

((Why is he thinking about Robin right now?))

“Wait – what did you just say?” Steve manages to get the words out, although his brain feels like it’s breaking apart a little bit.

And Eddie looks like he’s in the same boat, because he freezes and stares so wide-eyed at him that Steve worries for a second that they just broke the damn dream. Like a traveling carnival ride. He can’t even open his mouth to say Eddie’s name, or backtrack and tell him it’s cool, because like a flip of a lightswitch suddenly Eddie is moving and talking and his whole demeanor is somehow different than before.

“And that’s enough of this round of ‘Eddie Munson Opens His Big Fat Mouth’,” he laments, crossing the distance between them in seconds. His hands are on Steve’s shoulders, he’s so close Steve can smell the cigarette smoke and lingering marijuana and something that must be Eddie’s aftershave or shampoo. Steve about trips over his feet as Eddie pushes him backward, turns him, and traps him against the side panels of the BMW. Realistically, Steve should have pushed him back when it happened – too many nights thinking about the Russians man-handling him or Billy Hargrove beating in his face have made him skittish and defensive, but this was Eddie and how in the fuck did his brain know not to shove him away? He's not even panicking, not really.

When Eddie pushes him up against his own car, Steve doesn’t really think about anything at all… except the other guy’s hands. On his shoulders, steering him, like he’s done it before –

((Because he has.))

”C’mon Harrington. Go back to sleep.” "Harrington’s got her, don’t ya Big Boy?” ”Now you’re talking nonsense. Time for bed, big guy.” ”Just – just go back to sleep, Harrington…”

”You’ll forget all about this in the morning.”

Steve’s mind focuses, then, a metaphorical pair of binoculars adjusting inch by inch until the vision becomes clear. But he doesn’t focus fast enough for Eddie, who smiles in his face (standing so close), winks at him, and taps his cheek twice. The cold bite of those rings on Steve’s skin nearly jostles him into action. His hands were braced against his car to stay upright, now held tight to Eddie’s vest. The one he’d leant him, all those months ago. The one in Steve’s room, right now, that he can’t get rid of.

“Until next time, Harrington.”

((Next time? When was the first time?))

Wait…

He remembers, now.

—

Steve opens his eyes.

—

tbc

—

Series Snippets:

- Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

- Subconscious (Steve’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)