#i meant to say month instead of week- but i do usually cramp a week before i start

[ice-reblogs]

If there is a God

I want to rip out my uterus with my bare hands and devour it like a rabid animal in front of him

And after I'm done, I want to stand up and look at him, blood dripping from my jaw; and tell him to pray for my forgiveness for making me suffer in the wrong body

[sugoi-and-spice]

Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission

Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

AO3 Link

A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.

Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.

I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.

Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)

Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD

“Hey, hey— are you alright?”

She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days. 

“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?

The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.

She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”

And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.

But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.

Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.

“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”

“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”

“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”

“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”

“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.

She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.

“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”

She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.

Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:

“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.

Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.

“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”

And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.

The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.

But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.

It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.

And that was better than nothing she supposed.

Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”

Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.

“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”

She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head,  “Damn it— you can say that again.”

Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”

She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”

“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”

Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”

She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.

“If I do… Do you mind—”

“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”

She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person. 

The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.

And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.

She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.

She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.

Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s. 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”

She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.

“Yeah, I fucking told you.” 

Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.

She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.

If only for a little bit.

“What’s going on?”

She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.

“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”

“You start your period or something?”

He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same. 

Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.

“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”

She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.

“Are you nauseous at all?”

Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.

“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.

“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”

He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.

And between her legs.

“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.

“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”

“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”

She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief. 

…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?

She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.

“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.

He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.

“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”

She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.

“No funny business?” she pressed.

He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”

More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.

So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.

Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.

She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.

“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”

Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”

In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.

With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.

A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair. 

He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.

“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”

“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.

She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”

He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.

Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.

She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets. 

“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”

She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.

By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.

Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.

“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”

She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.

“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”

It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all. 

Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.

Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.

He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck. 

Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met. 

Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.

Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.

And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.

It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Shigaraki wasn’t here.

She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…

She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…

Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.

Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.

Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.

If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.

She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed. 

She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.

And really fucking nauseous.

She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.

A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.

“Let it out. Just let it all out.”

She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.

“Here.”

She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.

 “Drink some of it too.”

She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice. 

And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form. 

Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”

“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”

She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.

“Don’t like salmon?”

“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”

“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”

Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.

“W-What?”

Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—” 

Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something? 

Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.

“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.

She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…

“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”

She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest. 

He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”

She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.

“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”

Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last. 

“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”

He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach. 

She sighed.

“Yeah… Yeah okay.”

Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed. 

But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.

She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.

“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”

She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.

But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.

Like something was wrong .

Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.

There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…

And a little dish of four pills. 

Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…

“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”

As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.

And she was ready to get the fuck off.

“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”

Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping. 

“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”

He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”

He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…

“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”

He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.

“ Both of you .”

She froze.

No.

No, he couldn’t mean—

She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:

“... what? ”

Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.

“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”

She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.

He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!

“Th-That’s not funny.”

His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.

“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”

“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”

“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”

He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”

Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.

“B-But my birth control pills…”

“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”

Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.

And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came. 

Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.

Horribly fucking right.

Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly. 

“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”

His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.

“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: You were so close, but some things aren’t meant to be. Pairing: bunny!Jaemin x fem human!reader Tropes: established relationship au, hybrid au Genre: angst, a little fluff Rating:  PG 13 Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of surgery, severe cramping, blood, language miscarriages, lots of crying Word Count: 3,398 Note: Everyone can blame @raibebe for this

Neo Hybridverse Masterlist || Cashmere Lop!Jaemin Masterlist

Jaemin has expressed for years now that he wants multiple kids. You tried so hard for so long to have Miyoung, and she’s more than you could ever ask for. She’s ten months old now and lights up your entire world daily. Her oversized tan floppy ears continuously fall in her face wherever she crawls off to. You giggle slightly each time you hear her make a little annoyed noise. Jaemin is at work right now, so it’s just you and Miyoung at home until late this evening. 

In reality, it’s you, Miyoung, and the tiny unborn baby you just learned about. Most people would be scared or nervous about having two kids so close in age. After all, by the time this baby is born, Miyoung will only be a year and a half old. You aren’t worried about it at all. If you’re being completely honest, you’re rather excited. Jaemin told you not too long ago that he wanted another one already. You can’t blame him, even with your daughter so young. You wanted another one already, too. Once you saw those two little pink lines on three different tests, it was evident that you and your husband got your wish. This time, instead of telling him about your pregnancy, you just left the tests out and decided to let his nose do the work. As if on cue, the front door of your home pops open and shut again. Your eyebrows furrow, knowing Jaemin shouldn’t be home long after you put Miyoung to bed. Though, you only put your daughter to bed half an hour ago. You hear your husband sigh, followed by footsteps approaching you.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, voice laced with exhaustion.

“Hey,” you start, turning around to wrap your arms around him, “I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until eleven.”

“Supervisor cut my shift short.”

His voice sounds exhausted but not as usual after a long day at work. It borders on sounding depressed rather than tired. You search his face for any hints as to why he’s feeling the way he is. Nothing seems to give it away, though.

“Did something happen?” you ask gently.

Jaemin worries on his lower lip, “I lost a patient in surgery today.” he admits, “The little premature puppy baby. I was trying so hard to get him to a state where he could go home with his parents and-”

“Jaemin,” you speak in a sympathetic tone, “You did everything you could. We both know that.”

“There must have been something else I could’ve done for him. He was only a week old.”

You take your husband’s face in your hands, holding his ears out of his face. Your thumb gently wipes away a stray tear he was trying to keep in. He silently cries for a moment, and you don’t say anything. You stand there and wipe away tears as they fall. He’s always cared so deeply for his patients. It tears him apart when he loses one, especially while trying to save them. Once his tears stop, he sighs and starts to talk again.

“I just hate that his parents go home without him in their arms. It’s not-” he lets out a shaky breath, “Knowing what it’s like to lose a child, I hate that I know how much pain they’re experiencing right now.”

“I know.” you sigh, “I know. After we lost-”

You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence. Though you never met your first baby, you know the pain of losing a child. Before you got pregnant with Miyoung, you were supposed to have another one. Jaemin was over the moon excited to have a baby finally. You’d been trying for months on end to get pregnant, so when you finally did, there was no bringing him down from his high. At around the eleven-week mark, though, something felt wrong. You were cramping like you had never known cramps before. Jaemin rushed you to your obstetrician only to discover that your child no longer has a heartbeat. After that, there was the spotting and eventually a rather heavy period that you knew was your body, removing the small life from your body. You had never known a low like that. Jaemin wasn’t doing much better than you were, either. He supported you through it all as best as he could.

You let out a shaky breath and pull away from your husband slightly.

“I’ll let you be alone for a few moments. I’m going to check on Mi and get ready for bed.” you inform him.

“I’ll be there in a few moments, my love.” he responds, voice still a bit shaky. 

You walk down the hall and peer into Miyoung’s room, only to see her peacefully sleeping. She’s fast asleep on her belly, one ear over her shoulder while the other is splayed out alongside one of her arms outstretched above her head. Seeing her so peaceful comforts you in knowing you’ll at least have her. You know it’s not the time to tell Jaemin about your pregnancy, though, not with his current mental state. You sneak into your en suite bathroom and start to pick up the positive pregnancy tests.

“I thought I smelled something different.” You hear your husband’s voice.

“Jaemin I-”

He walks up to you and takes the tests from you, “You’re actually-”

“I am.” You nod, “I just found out this morning.”

A bright smile bursts across his face. Brighter than you’ve seen in a while. It’s the same smile he had when you told him about Miyoung. 

“You have another little life growing in you.” he muses, placing a hand against your belly.

“I do,” you smile, tears starting to form in your eyes, “We’ll have another little one come November.”

For a few weeks, Jaemin tries to convince you to tell Miyoung already. Each time, you tell him it’s not the best idea purely because if you try to explain that to your ten-month-old, you’ll be opening a can of worms. Additionally, your daughter is brilliant and would likely pick up her father’s habit of touching your belly every chance she could reach it. Of course, that would spark multiple questions when she does it in front of someone who doesn’t know about it. The only people who you’ve told about it are Jeno and his girlfriend. They’ll be the ones to have Miyoung when it comes time for you to give birth, and you all know Jeno’s nose will quickly pick up on Jaemin’s scent embedded in you the moment he sees you. 

You’ve just about hit the three-month mark of your pregnancy without a hitch. You get to go find out the gender of the baby later in the week, which Jaemin is over the moon about. He wants another little girl so desperately that you think he may manifest it into existence. Jeno said his bet is on a boy just because Jaemin wants them to be a girl so badly. As always, Haneul is currently zooming through the home while Miyoung tries to keep up with himhaving just learned to walk. You can already tell the two of them will be thick as thieves when they’re older. Aerum is fast asleep in her room. Both Jeno and his girlfriend take it as an advantage for now. Though, the moment the seven-month-old wakes, she’ll start howling. Haneul, being two, assumes that means he can howl too. Jeno has mentioned on many occasions that he’s thankful they don’t live in an apartment anymore for that reason. 

You’re peacefully sitting on the couch, Jaemin’s arm resting along the back of it behind your head. Jeno and his girlfriend sit on the couch catty cornered to you. It seems as though you have their undivided attention, but you know they’re also keeping an ear out for their son who’s a walking safety hazard and their infant daughter who as of recently hasn’t been sleeping well. You have a hand resting on your belly despite there not being a visible bump yet. Something about the contact makes you feel heat burst through your chest knowing you have another little on the way. 

Suddenly, you feel a sharp stab of pain through your back. It feels as though someone stuck a knife in you and dragged it around from your spine to just below your belly button. It makes you scrunch yourself into a ball and immediately Jaemin has one of his strong arms wrapped around you. It’s almost as if the four hybrids can smell the disturbance in the air. Haneul comes running into the room and tries to get your attention with small whimpering sounds. You can hear your daughter’s uneven footsteps against the floor as she approaches accompanied by small honks of frustration that she can’t get there quicker. Jeno quickly and carefully whisks Miyoung and his son into his arms. 

“You go get checked out. We got Miyoung taken care of.” he informs you.

With that he takes the two little ones down the hall, you assume into his game room to distract them with his farming game. Jaemin move to kneel in front of you to try to get a read of your face. You’re very much hidden behind your hair and hands though. Jeno’s girlfriend is already grabbing Jaemin’s car keys to get everything ready by the time your husband manages to get you to the car. 

“Honey,” Jaemin asks quietly, “Can you tell me what’s happening?” “It hurts.” you gasp out, “It hurts to fucking bad.”

You know Jaemin is starting to panic. He know he won’t be able to get you to walk down the stairs and out to the car, though. He picks you up and carries you. You need to see a doctor, one that isn’t him. One that can check on you and the baby. The entire drive to the hospital is a blur. All you can think about is the excruciating pain you feel in your stomach. Jaemin keeps one of his hands firmly holding yours even as you walk into the emergency room. It’s too perfect that the moment you step into the building you see Yuta’s wife walking toward the exit. She can smell something wrong too, she walks over and helps Jaemin support you despite her small stature. With her free hand she pulls out her paging device to get the first obstetrician that she could. 

You don’t know how long you would’ve sat in the waiting room if it wasn’t for her. Luckily she’s here though. 

You find yourself admitted to a room within the hour. Jaemin is doing his best to hide his anxious state but you can read your husband like a book. He’s terrified. You’re not doing so amazing either. They gave you some medication for the pain but still you’re not comfortable physically or emotionally. All you can do is wait for this doctor to be ready for you.

“Jaemin,” you whisper.

Your husband looks over at you. One hand still tightly locked with yours while the other hand is playing with his ear anxiously. His nose is twitching too. The only time his nose ever twitches is when he’s absolutely terrified. Last time it happened was when you were going into active labor with Miyoung.

“I’m going to use the bathroom real quick.” you inform him, “I need my hand back for a little bit.”

“Do you need help getting there or any-” he immediately starts worrying.

“I’ll be okay.” you give him a pained smile.

You should’ve let him help you. The moment you begin to pull your clothing down you see the red spots in your underwear. Your heart drops. Still, you try to contain yourself and just begin redressing. Your initial plan to let your body do what it needs before the doctor come goes out the window instantly. You slip out of the bathroom and lean back against the door facing toward your hospital bed. Jaemin looks at you with a concerned but expecting face. Yours is blank though. Spotting is never a good sign when you’re pregnant, especially after getting copious amounts of pain through your back and stomach.

“Doctor. Now.” you say flatly, looking at the floor in front of you.

“Baby, is everything-”

“Get a fucking doctor in here now, Jaemin. Is that so hard to do?” you snap.

Jaemin flinches and practically runs out to the lobby area to get someone in here who could do something. Now alone in the room you break down sobbing loudly. You couldn’t care less about who hears you right now. You know your baby isn’t alive. You should’ve known the moment you got those cramps that something’s severely wrong. That’s how your husband finds you. Curled up against the wall, sobbing into your hands.

“The obstetrician is coming.” he says softly.

He pulls you to stand up and walks with you over to the bed to sit down properly. Jaemin wraps his arms around you as you cry. You’re wetting his ear with your tears but neither of you care about that right now.

“Sweetheart, I-” he sighs, “I told them to have some mifepristone and misoprostol ready too, j- just in case.”

His voice is pained. You know those medication names all too well. If your pregnancy isn’t viable, it helps your body remove the fetus without surgery. Hearing him say those words only makes you sob harder. You know your baby isn’t with you anymore, and he does too. It’s a pain you don’t wish on anyone.

After several minutes of sobbing in your husband’s arms you slow to a sniffle. The obstetrician walks in a moment later and ushers you both toward where the ultrasound machinery is housed. You’re numb now. You can’t feel a thing emotionally. As a psychiatrist you know you’re disassociating, but maybe for right now that isn’t the worst thing.

Jaemin still holds your hand tightly, eyes brimmed with tears. You go through the motions as you move your shirt and the doctor places the cool gel against your belly. It takes mear moments for her to find the baby and confirm your worst fear. You knew it was coming, still, it’s another stab through your heart. Jaemin bursts into tears beside you, his hand letting go of yours for the first time since he returned from getting a doctor. His ears fall in his face as he looks down at his shoes.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” she says, voice laced with pity, “Would you like to know what they would’ve been had you gone to term?”

You nod silently.

“Dad?” she asks carefully.

“Yeah,” he says through sniffles, “If you could.”

“A little girl. Seems as though she would’ve been human too. There was no early development of rabbit tail or ears.”

Jaemin lets out a pained noise. You feel all your emotions rush back through you and tears stream down your face as the doctor wipes the gel from your belly. As you leave the hospital with the medication in Jaemin’s hands you feel as though you enter some sort of dissociative state again. You don’t remember getting in the car or Jaemin calling your Samoyed hybrid friend asking if they could keep Miyoung for the night. All you know is that you stay in the car and suddenly Jaemin comes back with a bag full of things Miyoung will need. 

When you arrive back at the Lee household your one-year-old is anxious to see you. Jeno’s girlfriend tries to contain the two toddlers but Miyoung is practically climbing your leg when you enter her field of vision. Her long tan ears bouncing with each motion she makes. Neither of the other two adults need to ask what ended up happening. It’s evident that you and your husband have been crying. Jaemin had explained to you after your first miscarriage that he could smell when your pregnancy was no longer progressing. So when you see Jeno’s ears droop slightly, you know he knows what happened. 

“Baby?” Miyoung asks when you pick her up.

“No, sweetie, no more baby.”

The sentence pains you to say but you don’t want to lie to her either. She doesn’t need to know what happened, she’s fine just knowing that mommy doesn’t have the baby anymore.

“You’re going to have a sleepover with Haneul and Aerum, okay? You get to have lots of fun while Mommy and Daddy do boring adult things.” you explain to her.

That’s all she had to hear. She squirms in your arms to get down. Jaemin leans over and kisses her cheek before you do the same and put her down. She and Haneul zoom off again, likely to cause trouble somewhere. Jaemin passes the overnight bag to Jeno, who quietly takes it.

“I’m sorry, guys. I don’t know what it’s like but-” Jeno starts.

“You’re right. You don’t.” you say curtly, “Jaemin can we leave now?”

You don’t even let your husband respond. You walk out of the home and back to the car. Jaemin lingers a moment and gives your friends an apologetic look before bidding them goodbye.

The drive home is silent. You keep your hands folded in your lap the entire time as you look out the window. You’re avoiding looking at Jaemin for now. If you look at him it’ll be the last pebble that will break the dam. The moment you pull up to your house you get out of the car and walk toward the front door, still not looking at your beloved bunny hybrid husband. Just as you reach the door though you feel Jaemin’s arms wind around you from behind.

“I know it’s hard, but don’t ignore me. Share the burden with me. It’s the least I can do as your husband and father of our children.” he says against your hair.

Again you start crying, “Child. We have one child.”

“We have three.” he states firmly, “Only one is with us physically but we have three children.”

“Why does it have to be so hard for us to-” you interrupt yourself with more tears.

You turn around in his hold and cry against his shoulder in the cool late spring night air. If anyone driving by sees you they pay you no mind and likely assume you’re a young couple sharing a romantic moment. They couldn’t be more wrong.

“And with how my pregnancy records seem to track it’ll only get harder as we get older. Jaem, we’re only 26 but I’m worried that it’ll become nearly impossible by the time were 30.”

“I know. I know.” he soothes, rubbing your back gently,  “If it ends up being that we only have Miyoung with us then we’ll love her as much as we can.” he offers, “Maybe so much that she’ll want to go away for university because she’s tired of us.” he jokes slightly. “Now, you clearly need some food in your stomach and a drink of water. Let’s get inside and into more comfy close. Cuddles all night, doctor’s orders.”

Jaemin keeps his word, the moment you’re fed, hydrated, and in more comfortable clothing you’re snuggled up in your shared bed. Your head is pillowed against Jaemin’s chest and you play with his fingers absentmindedly. Your mind seems to run a mile a minute while also being completely blank.

“I love you.” you whisper so quietly it’s practically a breath.

“I love you too. Thank you for being my wife and the mother to our babies. I’m so proud of you and you’re so damn strong. Never forget that, okay?” 

You nod, “Okay, I won’t.”

“I mean it,” he continues, “I don’t know how I lucked out this much but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Even if-”

“Nothing. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” he stops you before you could finish your thought, “I love you so much. We’ve had far too long of a day and I fully plan on cuddling you the entire night.”

“I love you too. Good night, bunnyboy.”

“Good night, my love.”

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2023© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @jaehunnyy @umbralhelwolf @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

[scorchedhearth]

for the drabbles can i request kyle drawing/painting jason

you sure can! this was fun :>

get your own drabble

This is wildly underwhelming. Given, Jason’s interactions with art have been few and far between, his knowledge comes mostly from movies and books which isn’t the most reliable source, yes. To say he wasn’t prepared would be one way to put it. Still. This is underwhelming and now he has to temper down his expectations.

Because posing for Kyle is nothing like he imagined. He may have kept himself from saying ‘Draw me like one of your french girls.’ out loud but he thought about it anyway, who wouldn’t have when asked to model? But whatever he imagined didn’t include Kyle making him keep a position that cramped at least two muscles at a time for twenty minutes before moving him into another one that he finds interesting enough and starting the clock again, over and over. Quick studies he told him, just to warm up before starting on a real piece.

So now Jason is in Kyle’s living room turned studio, naked and sitting down on a sheet spread over a few boxes with his limbs twisted in a way that provides excellent shadows and contrasts Kyle told him. He believes him, elbows aren’t meant to lay like that on knees, the strain in his joint attests to that. And sure he could leave, he could stand up and go do something more exciting, easy as that. But the soft smile Kyle made when he sat down behind his easel with his pencils and charcoal made something tug in Jason’s chest.

It had been weeks since he could draw, even longer since he managed to sneak studies and real-life drawing, Lantern duties keeping him busy along with the League and Earth troubles. The happy thrum in his fingers and satisfied hums he sighs every so often are too good for Jason to rip them out of his hands. So he sits as he’s told, listens to the city noises and lead scrapping paper as Kyle is lost in his own head.

When he’s not making him face away, Jason seizes the opportunity to study him in return. They’ve been growing closer and closer these past few months, and Jason does his fair share of staring of course but Kyle always catches up to it and shoot him a smile or a wink, breaking the spell of watching unseen. But here, with Kyle lost in his piece, too busy focusing on working the right shade or getting an angle perfectly, he doesn’t register Jason’s gaze. That leaves him to drink in the sight, the lines of his face, the swoop of dark hair right above his eyes, the muscles straining in his forearms with each flick of his wrist, the tapping of his foot when he’s getting frustrated on a particular spot. It’s nice, to take his time in studying him for once.

It’s interesting to see Kyle treating him like a model and not the friend slash somewhat boyfriend they’ve become. He doesn’t look at him with his usual mirth and spark of life, instead his gaze is highly analytical, looking at flesh and skin and the way light plays over those, thinking over the mechanics and how-to of his body instead of the esthetics. It does something to his head, to have Kyle’s gaze glance over him and take him as nothing but a sum of details to decipher and sketch. He doesn’t touch him either as Jason had expected, he only instructs him from afar, shows him what he wants him to do with various limbs and body parts, how to ruffle his hair in a more interesting way. But he keeps his distance, looking at him from his easel positioned a few feet away from him, detailing his body as he might with any other subject.

He likes it, somehow. It’s another side of Kyle he doesn’t get to see. That not many people get to see, really, because as open as he is about his career and work, Kyle is rather guarded about his process. He doodles when out and will show off from time to time a more complex drawing but any more serious pieces are created behind closed doors. Be it his commercial work or more personal ones, he will shutter himself away and come out days and weeks later with the final piece to show. Jason tries not to think too hard about what it means that he’s part of the tight circle of people who Kyle allowed near him as he works.

His eyes catch the clock sitting on the table nearby and Jason allows the hand another run full circle before he speaks up.

“Time’s up.” His voice sounds incredibly loud in the quiet of his studio.

“Uh?” Kyle’s head shoots up, a frown between his eyebrow.

“I said, time’s up. Pens down, you’re done.”

“Right.” Kyle looks at his easel, then Jason, then back at it and before he can fidget with it anymore Jason stands up and take away his scene, gets his knees under himself and slowly unrolls his spine, stretching his sore shoulders.

“You’re done. You told me twenty minutes no more.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kyle huffs and set his charcoal down, wiping his fingers on a rag sitting next to his stool. He tilts his head to the right, then left, and sighs. “Think I’m done with those for now. I wanna move on to paint.” He glances at Jason who’s busy pulling on his arm to work out a crank. “You alright with that?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “Give me ten, I need a break, and then we can do whatever you want.” He doesn’t forget to grin at the slight pink that brushes Kyle’s cheek at the innuendo.

“Shut up.” He tries to grunt but it comes out amused so Jason considers it a scored point for him. “Want anything to drink?” He asks as he picks up the robe from the nearby chair and hands it to Jason. “I think I need a break too, my wrist’s getting tight.”

“Lead the way,” Jason gestures toward the kitchen and follows Kyle, eager to share a conversation with him instead of only standing around looking hot and handsome. He says so out loud and Kyle’s laugh is almost worth the shot at his ego.

[butwhyduh]

Pregnancy scare with the Batboys?

These all happen at different times in their lives. Dick at 24, Jason 26, and Tim 20 because I feel like that’s the ages they’d like have this.

Warning: it’s gotta little bit of everything. Fluff, smut, convenience story robbery, blood, one little crude sex joke.

Dick

“I stopped at the store and got everything we need before the store comes in. Even got those pad tampon things you use,” Dick said waving the box proudly. You rolled your eyes and grabbed the box.

“And what prompted that?” You asked, eyes narrowed.

“A coupon deal on them,” Dick answered and you laughed.

“That makes more sense. Let me put these up and I’ll cook dinner,” you said, walking to the bathroom.

“Nope! I’m cooking,” Dick said happily.

“Okay,” you said planning to help him anyways.

You walked in the bathroom to put the box in your usual drawer only to find it full. When was the last time you needed one? You did the math and realized that it’s been almost 2 months. With your university schedule being crazy and Dick got hurt a few weeks ago, you’d forgotten all about your period.

You skin chilled at the thought. What if you were- what if you were pregnant? You were too young. You were 24 but it felt too young. You were only dating. You hadn’t gotten to the kids talk yet.

“Hey babe, where is the- what’s wrong?” Dick asked from the doorway. He looked at the package in your hand and the matching one in the drawer with confusion.

“Uh, I missed my period last month,” you said and his eyes widened. “I completely forgot.”

“Oh.”

He looked at you frozen. “Wait- are you saying you might be...”

“Maybe,” you answered. “We gotta get tests and everything. And stress can mess it up. And we’ve been using protection every time.”

“Yeah. I’ll run to the store, okay?” He said before hurrying out the door. You sat on the toilet with the box still in hand. What if you were pregnant? Dick was a good guy but he didn’t exactly have a ton of money. He was a part time gymnastics teacher. You were in college.

“Okay I got 4,” Dick said, back in record time. He gave you the bag and watched you.

“Dick?”

“Hu?”

“Get out of the bathroom.”

“Oh right,” he said, leaving and shutting the door. You could hear him pacing as you took the tests. You unlocked the door as you waited for the tests to finish. A neat little row of absolute terror on the side of the bathtub.

“Are they done?” Dick asked anxiously.

“No. We wait two minutes,” you said almost hollowly with stress and he nodded roughly.

“If you are... I’ll be here. I’ll be here for whatever you decide. No matter your choice,” Dick said holding your hands. You gulped.

“Yeah. Thanks. I can’t believe I forgot,” you said with a little laugh. He hugged your shoulders.

“Things have been crazy,” Dick said with a shrug. Your phone alarm went off and you quickly looked at all of the tests. Negative. You both relaxed. You sighed in relief.

“That would have been crazy,” you said with a laugh. Dick laughed a little too. “I am not ready to be a mom.”

“Yeah. Same. I’d need a better job and a better place. Not that there’s anything wrong with our apartment but it’s too small for a baby,” Dick rambled on. He stopped when he noticed your little grin. “You know, I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you.”

You didn’t answer but pulled him in for a kiss that Dick eagerly returned before finally pulling away because you were in the bathroom surrounded by used pregnancy tests and boxes of menstrual products.

“I’ll clean up while you get dinner started. Yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dick said with a kiss to your cheek.

Jason

You’d been thinking about it for a few days with a sense of denial. Your period was late. And you were mentally freaking out. You were too young. I mean, you were 26 but it felt too young! Your relationship was too new! You had been dating for 2 years but it felt too fast!

You hurried down to a corner store that you didn’t normally visit near your apartment to grab some tests. You jumped a little when the bell on the door rang as another customer entered the store. You had been too worried and stressed about picking from the 7 different types of pregnancy tests. Were they all the same or totally different? You just wanted to know ‘baby or naw.’ You grabbed three and put them in a hand basket.

“PUT your hands up where we can see them,” a man yelled and you froze before looking up, your hands above your head, basket on your wrist. “Take off any jewelry and pull out your wallets. We’ll be taking those,” a man in a ski mask said. There were a total of 12 customers and 2 shop clerks.

You carefully pulled your crossbody bag off your shoulder and held it out. A man grabbed it roughly from you and you made a tiny noise that made him smile. He looked you over and you wanted to shrink away.

There was a loud crashing noise as the side glass was broken and a man with a pair of guns blazing stood in the middle. The bright red helmet let you know that it was Jason and you almost sagged in relief. Almost. He pointed the gun at both criminals and shot at their knees. The rubber bullets hit them both in the knees and they fell before you could even move. He quickly punched them both in the head and they lost consciousness. Jason roughly tied them up by the register and everyone started to leave the building quickly while grabbing their things.

Jason grabbed you and pulled you from the building and up to the roof, basket still on your wrist. He rolled his helmet off and looked you over.

“Are you alright?” He asked holding your face in his hands. You grasped his wrists.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” you reassured him. He looked you over before his eyes fell to the basket. Jason froze as he looked at the contents. A candy bar and 3 pregnancy tests.

“Are you? Why do you have these?” He asked, looking at your face quickly. You sat the basket down.

“Maybe,” you answered quietly. His mouth opened a little as if you speak but he didn’t. “I mean, I’m late.”

“Okay. Alright,” he said nodding. “We just need to test first. God, you were almost shot and you might be pregnant.”

He pulled you tightly in his arms until the armor pressed against you. Jason’s lips pressed against the side of your head. For one of the first times, he looked scared.

Back at your apartment, you could hear Jason pacing as you took the test. You unlocked the door and he came in, staring at them. Neither one of you spoke before the results came in. Negative. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“I would have been there for you. No matter what. But I’m glad that it’s negative. We should plan this stuff, you know? My job... it’s too dangerous,” Jason said carefully.

“I know. We can’t,” you said with a dry smile.

“I’d quit. If you were. So that you and the baby would be safe,” he said and you quickly looked at him.

“You shouldn’t have to,” you said.

“But I would.”

Tim

Tim’s hands were tight on your hips as he thrust in your from behind and you couldn’t stop making little noises. God, were you always this tight? He could barely control himself and the second you clamped around him in pleasure, Tim came as well. Both of you panted as he roughly and slowly thrust through your highs. Tim pushed in deeply before stopping to catch his breath and then pulling out.

“Fuck,” he said in a terrified voice. You turned to look at him confused. “The condom came off.”

Your eyes widened at the implication. “Did you- did you finish inside?” You asked as cold panic flooded your body. You were only using condoms at this point in time.

“Yeah. Definitely,” he said, looking down and in literally any other situation he would have loved the sight before him. His cum leaked out of you and Tim winced.

After a few minutes of trying to finally get the useless condom out, you were almost in full freak out. You were only 20. You couldn’t get pregnant!

“I’ll get plan B. Unless you don’t want it,” Tim said looking at you.

“Good idea. We definitely need that,” you said nodding. “But you can’t go to the store and buy plan B. Timothy Drake-Wayne buys plan B. Playboy like his father Bruce Wayne? I could just see the headline. I’ll go.”

“Smart,” he said. You quickly took a shower and threw on clothes before running down to a pharmacy. Your heart pounded as you asked the pharmacist for a plan B but she simply gave you a box that you paid for. You took the pill before even leaving the store and threw away the evidence as if someone cared what you did.

That night you had some nausea and cramping but were fine otherwise. Tim was extra nice in the next few weeks as you both waited to see if your period would ever come. He put in effort to see you more often and stay off his phone when you were together. Finally you woke up one morning with cramps where actually pleasantly happy to see that you had finally started to bleed. That didn’t happen often.

You told Tim who sagged in relief. He didn’t even know how much tension he held in his body before releasing it. He kissed your cheek and you laughed a little.

“Never buying that brand of condoms again,” he swore.

“I’m making an appointment to get birth control,” you said and he quickly turned to you.

“Really? No more condoms?” Tim said hopefully.

“It’ll take a little while to start working but yeah,” you said with a little smile. “Then I can be your Twinkie instead of your toaster strudel,” you laughed.

“Wow. I wish I could time travel to unhear that,” Tim said covering his face with a hand while laughing.

“You know that’s a good joke,” you laughed pushing his shoulder.

“...yeah,” he said with a grin.

[hotwings0203]

Gilded Cage

A/N: It’s embarrassing how long this took but oh well, happy new year to everyone and I hope you enjoy scummy yandere hawks!

Warnings: dubcon, kidnapping, abuse, toxic relationships, degradation, yandere themes

************

At first she welcomed the bright flashing lights like a breath of fresh air, but in due time it made her throat close up like the rest of the situation.

He had agreed to let her out if she behaved, and that meant no biting, scratching, screaming, flinching, temper tantrums, and worst of all, no silent treatment.

And she would take it like a champ if it meant seeing any other person in 6 months.

He had kept her here like a flightless bird in this cage of theirs, and oh how ironic it was that she was succumbed to be the prey of this ruthless hawk, with him able to soar amongst the people and buildings while Y/n stayed perched in the house, her ever-growing wings mentally becoming too much for her to control and stay silent about.

She needed space, she wanted to leave, but she didn’t dare voicing any of her wants, especially when Keigo made it so clear how her meager wants were of no match for his needs.

And his needs, as he’s made so clear thus far, include her being a pliant, quiet, yet loving little birdie who cooks, cleans, and lays with him day and night without complaint.

God forbid she speaks up about her...living conditions, as he liked to so generously supply to her the first and last time she ever had this conversation with him. She tried telling him how she originally had loved their relationship of a couple of months, and sure it might have been weird for him to push her into moving in with him only after 3 months, but it was because of how much he loved her or so he said at least, when he bashed her head repeatedly on the ground when she told him it “wasn’t normal to rush into things so fast”.

Sure, he had a big spacious penthouse lent to him by the Hero Commission so being physically cramped was never a problem, and yes okay he showered her with gifts and little trinkets, just like birds did with their mates even more so after a big fight that usually left her black and blue, with swollen lips, ripped up knees and big red welts on her wrists while the hero himself was left with not even a feather out of place.

But there were days where their movie nights and cuddling sessions didn’t cut it for her anymore. There were nights when she couldn’t take his suffocating arms around her a second longer, only to be replaced by an even heavier and darker presence when she tried turning on her side away from him.

Sometimes it would be a chain reaction caused by the smallest of catalysts, however. It would be on a day where he left the restraints on a little too tightly, and Y/n was forced to use toothpaste on her wrists instead of the salve Keigo always kept in the medicine closet. Other times it would happen when he would keep feeling up her sides and pressing into her after a long day of her cooking in hopes that the plentiful food would be enough to keep him occupied away from her, even if it was for an hour or two.

It never was, though. He always wanted her, whether it was her scent, her presence, or her clothes that he kept in his pockets on his missions.

On those days, the days where she felt too much Keigo, too many feathers and too much Hawks was when she snapped.

Down would go the plates, the expensive wine glasses, the vases filled with flowers sent by hundreds of fangirls who knew nothing about the monster that he actually was. She’d tear out her mussed hair, red-faced with tears that ruined her makeup the makeup that she liked to wear on these types of days just to piss him off, knowing that he thought “excess makeup is for whores and catfishes. I already know you’re a whore, well, my whore, but you’re not even good enough at applying makeup to be deemed a catfish so don’t even try it hummingbird” while screaming in his face to let go, for the love of god Hawks PLEASE let me go I want to go home I don’t want this anymore I don’t want YOU anymore this isn’t working out I don’t love you-

And crack would be the sound of his palm across her face, knocking her to the floor. On these types of days he wouldn’t even think she deserved a change in facial expression, staring down at her pathetic trembling body while his lips were set in a subtle casual smile, his hands stuffed in his pockets as if he never raised an arm a second ago, and his eyes remained golden and neutral, the only indication of him processing her tantrum was the black glint in his pupils that dilated every time she gasped and sobbed on the floor.

To ensure that his precious, oh-so fragile lovebird wouldn’t hurt herself any further with her stupidity, he’d crouch down inches away from her face and cock his head slightly as a real bird would do. He’d reach out and lift her chin to face him while his other hand would snake up her thigh to try and console her which only succeeded in making her shake and breath unevenly.

Leaning forward to ghost his lips over the shell of her ear, he’d relish in the way her mouth would part in terror as he would lovingly whisper every threat of what he’d do to her the next time she wanted to be like a brat, because god help her if she thought he couldn’t tame a brat after dealing with a lifetime of villains.

It was almost laughable, how easy she was to silence. He didn’t even need to use feathers to pull her to her feet when he would tell her to go to the bed and get on all fours like the bitch she was.

She had to earn her way back into being his good, obedient little dove, on days like these.

But after these days would pass and she would indeed realign with his expectations, he would reward her greatly.

Never like this, though.

Y/n is brought to the present again as another flash of light from the paparazzi snaps her out of her daze. As the spots begin to fade from her vision, she sees Keigo in front of her adorning his trademark “for the fans-only” grin, although Y/n would call it a sleazy smile, the same smile he would give her before he signaled his feathers to cut deep into her feet so she’d stop kicking at him as he dragged her on the floor and feels him squeeze her hand a little too tightly to be dubbed as endearing.

“Stop zoning out on me, you look like a ditz”, he hisses through his teeth, his grin now resembling more of a bared-teeth look.

She tries to try to fix her face and pull the corners of her mouth up, attempting to also brighten her eyes and looking interested at the blond interviewer who was now conversing with Hawks about his recent team-up with Endeavor. It takes every ounce of self-restraint to not shove past the phony smiles and flashy attire enveloping her and waltz down the red carpet to the doors of the gala. She thinks if she hears him utter another word about how he’s so incredibly blessed to have the love and support of my fans, family, and most importantly, my girlfriend who has stuck by my side through thick and thin, she’ll puke on the bedazzled yellow dress the interviewer has on.

As if. He’d probably whisk her off to the nearest bathroom and pummel her on the floor right then and there just for being distracted, but not before fucking her as well.

She feels Hawks nudge her side, and on cue she darts her head up and really plasters on a blinding smile as she focuses on the question that was just asked to her.

“Sorry, what was that? I think I got distracted by your outfit, you look lovely tonight, an absolute catch.” She winks for good measure, just to salvage the damage of ignoring the conversation and Keigo’s tight-lipped smile, which was beginning to soften.

Bingo.

“Oh you’re so sweet! I can see why Mr. Number Two here swooped in to take such a cutie like yourself.” The interviewer giggled, twirling a golden lock around her finger. “But no worries, I was just saying you should come make a public appearance more often! I mean, the media barely gets to see you with Hawks intimately, it would be a great excuse to get all glammed-up as well...I mean, if Hawks here hasn’t got his talons sunk too deep into you.” She laughs shrilly and doesn’t notice how both Y/n and Keigo tense up at her insinuation.

Yeah lady, you’re not too far from the truth. The last time I tried to look nice and go outside, I was bedridden for a week and a half while nursing frozen peas over 7 different parts of my body, inside and out.

But if Keigo can bullshit more than he can tell the truth, then so could she.

She laughs warmly and places her hand on his shoulder lightly, just to sell the “supportive girlfriend” look.

“Well, I really would love to come out and show my support for him more often, but we’ve both agreed that with all the publicity anyways, it’s just too much pressure for me to deal with. I’d rather just stick with what I know and keep it hush between him and I.” She turns her gaze to Keigo now, superficially giving him a puppy-in-love look but discreetly seeking his approval if what she said was the correct thing or not.

He merely gave her an amused smile, as if to say damn, wasn’t expecting that answer but I guess it’s fine. Yeah. Two can play at that game.

Pleased with her answer, the blond bimbo turns on her heel and sashays away, leaving the couple by themselves.

Keigo gives Y/n a side eye and cautiously holds out his elbow for her to take. A peace offering for the meantime, just to reward her for the quick save.

Don’t fuck this up for me, or you’ll regret it tenfold when we get back home.

“Shall we?” He waits for her to oblige, and of course she does.

Arm-in arm, they gracefully walk down the red carpet towards the gold plated doors. Upon entering, Y/n’s breath is taken away at the grand hall, with red banners hanging from the balconies that had navy blue and gold words of praise for the heroes engraved in the silk. Hundreds of pro heroes filled the room, much more than what she was used to from only interacting with her captor for months.

Guiding her over to the long granite bar, Keigo squeezes her arm before lightly dropping it. Before she can move, he stands directly in front of her and his vermillion wings unfurl and slightly surround the two of them, creating their own little space. To others, it might’ve just looked like two lovers embracing each other and having their own little moment. Y/N knew better, however, and suspected he had ulterior motives.

She was right.

“I’m gonna leave you here for a few minutes, ‘kay? I don’t want you moving from here,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and she had to suppress a shudder at his unwanted proximity. “The feather stays on, and I better not see or hear anything funny while I’m away.”

She nodded and touched her necklace that was indeed laced with one of his feathers, remembering the deal he made when he agreed to let you out for the day.

Ah yes, the dreaded feather.

When she had approached him on shaking legs two days prior, Hawks was brushing his hair in the bathroom, keen on meticulously keeping it styled and ruffed up in the morning. It was one of the things that Y/N would begrudgingly say was one of his finest features, along with his natural eyeliner-shaped markings and rugged yet handsome facial features.

On good days, she liked to lightly trace her fingers and across his sharp jawline and feel the stubble growing on his blushed face. She’d try to stop immediately however, when he’d open his eyes and catch her hand, moving it across his body much to her chagrin and down to his-

She had stood outside the door, fumbling with the hem of her thin nightie and desperately trying to pull the short material past her bare thighs as she mustered up the courage to bring up her proposition.

Keigo slowly ceased his brushing when he saw the meek little thing quivering outside his door, and he quirked up an amused eyebrow. He braced both arms on either side of the sink, and let out a light exhale, before addressing her.

“Something wrong hummingbird?”

She dragged her eyes from the floor up to his dilated golden irises, and blurted out what she had been rehearsing in her head for the past couple of days:

“DoyouthinkIcouldcomewithyoutothegala?”

“Huh?” he snickered, thoroughly bewildered by what incomprehensible nonsense she had stuttered out.

Y/N bit her lip and took in a shaky breath, strike one, she fumbled her first try.

“Haw- uh, Keigo,” she corrected quickly. He preferred her using his first name, his real name. He claimed it made things more intimate between them as if carving his name on her back hadn't been enough to seal their “intimacy’-she didn’t need to be told twice what to call him by after that day “I was wondering...if I’m good and I don’t give you a hard time, can I come with you to the hero's gala?”

Keigo’s brow furrowed slightly, and he cocked his head to the side like a real bird. He seemed to be contemplating it.

“Alright,” he conceded after a couple seconds. “If, and I mean if you listen to me and don’t try any funny business while we’re there I’ll let you tag along.”

Y/N darted her eyes up to him, hope swimming in her heart.

“But you have to wear the feather.”

She immediately blanched.

A major inconvenience that she had come to terms with in the duration of her stay with him had been his stupid fucking feathers that layed oh-so-casually around the floor where she walked and coincidentally clinging to her clothes wherever she went out of Keigo’s eyesight, even though she was trapped on the same floor with him.

They had special properties; they could detect any movement, sense any vibration whenever he called for it. This made for a perfect tracker for Y/N in terms of whenever he wanted an update on her heartbeat, her mood, her whereabouts, and anything in between.

Yes, it was suffocating. But she would much rather it only be a suffocating feeling rather than him actually directing hundreds of feathers to surround her and hold her down on the bed or floor to do whatever he wanted with her in any position he pleased.

She didn’t dare complain to his face, however. She’d grit her teeth, grin and bear it, listen to every whim he demanded of her if it meant one night of superficial normalcy.

And so she put on her best behavior on the days leading up to the main event. She made dozens of dishes that circulated around chicken (his favorite binge food), she let them have “cuddle time”, with no complaints whatsoever when he insisted on bathing her and dressing her up in stupid pink frilly skirts, and she even gave him little subtle looks with a batting of her eyelashes when he looked down fondly at her good mannerisms and praised her for being such a sweet little birdie.

Eventually, her acting paid off and on the morning of the gala she was merited with a silk red dress that stopped at her upper thigh, ornamented with gold earrings and a 12K necklace to really sell off the look-which was of course wrapped around one of his feathers. Hawks had even hired a makeup artist who was instructed to not ask or say anything to Y/N save for questions about the products, much to her pleasant surprise.

She was still reminded of how much she had to grovel for him every time he rewarded her that afternoon.

“You look stunning, chickadee,” Keigo leaned against the dresser with his arms crossed, and smiled warmly at Y/N. “You’re making her look like a real model, maybe she should take over my job instead. Or, actually, maybe you could stop by my agency and make me all pretty for my next photoshoot.” He directed this last tease at the makeup artist and winked, causing the oblivious employee to giggle and blush.

Ugh, barf. He’s even a sleaze when I’m right here.

Y/N feigned a roll of her eyes, which didn’t go unnoticed by the hero. She could feel his dilated eyes boring into her the rest of the 15 minutes of touch-ups. Eventually everything was done, and Hawks left praise after shameless praise fall from his lips and onto the poor fangirl’s heart as he guided her out the door, a hand on her lower back as he did so.

She took the opportunity to get up and walk to the full-length mirror, admiring how she looked for the first time in ages. Gone were the multi-colored marks that decorated her body as if she were nothing more than a mere canvas for her painter to use. Her eyes seemed a little brighter too, and it wasn’t just the makeup that caused it. She stood a little straighter and squared her shoulders, her chin tilted up more than before while she stared at her reflection. She didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror, and she liked it for once.

It was ridiculous, she knew it was to feel so vain but she couldn’t help but bask in her potential freedom for just one night. She looked gorgeous, she felt confident, and she had earned it all on her own.

Cocking her head to the side, she tried to practice a couple smiles to be camera-ready for when the time came. She turned the corners of her lips up, then showed her teeth, and even tried fluffing her hair up sensually. Biting her lip slightly, she threw her head back, causing her curled locks to bounce and lowered her eyelids to look sexy. She giggled at her own stupidity and poses, completely unaware that a certain winged-man had entered the room and leaned against the door for the past couple of minutes, simply watching the little show she put on.

“That's quite a look you’ve got there hun, why don’t you make those faces more often with me?”

She immediately froze, her breath hitching. She didn’t dare look at him in the eye from the mirror.

“I mean, I’m the only one who should be seeing such a slutty expression anyways, right?” He said ever-so casually, hands in his pockets as he slowly strolled up behind her, and she couldn’t help but think as her eyes darted up to meet him in the mirror that the sadistic shit-eating grin on his face didn’t suit so well with his god-like features.

She visibly wilted, her shoulders hunched and head down in contrast to the tall, powerful woman she had felt like mere seconds ago. Her breath quickened as he leaned over her shoulder, grazing his teeth over the sensitive part under her ear, and she bit her lip harshly to stop the squeak that threatened to escape her trembling lips.

“If I had known that a pretty dress and some makeup would make you act like a wanton little whore, I would’ve done this wayyy sooner. I guess you really are just another dumb bimbo bitch who does anything she’s told if she gets to feel important for a night.” He whispered in her ear, resting his head on her shoulder and looking up at her with innocent eyes, ones that imitated the mocking tone of voice he used.

It seemed like he wanted her to feel disgusting, to wilt under his cruel words that he used like knives-knives that were sharpened with his tone and body language, knives that were so intimately and carefully chosen. They worded so that they were used to their full extent to cut and carve through her heart.

“Is that what you are my little songbird, hmm? You wanna be a pretty baby and have everyone’s attention on you? I’m hurt, here I was thinking I was enough for you.” He pouted, and with every word he spoke the grip his hands had around her waist tightened.

She tried to protest but he plowed through her pitiful attempts.

“Hell, if you want some attention so bad and whore yourself out, I should call over some friends! Yeah, we can skip tonight’s gala, would you like that songbird? For me to share you with my friends so they can satiate your whorish needs?” And at his he shook her lightly, his grip around her middle choking her and cutting off her circulation. “N-no, Hawks,” she wheezed out. “I just... liked my makeup, that’s it. I only want you, I promise. I won’t cause any trouble tonight, please don’t call any friends over.”

She looked up at him in the mirror with eyes the size of saucers, blinking away tears and trying her best to show how apologetic she was at her audacity to feel good about herself.

He loosened his arms and straightened up, peering down at her disgustedly. He had absolutely no regrets about the way she sucked in air immediately when he relented, or about the way she frantically brushed the tears from her eyes, trying to preserve her mascara from running. (not that he would’ve minded). She needed to learn her lesson; he controlled her highs and lows. Only he had the permission of holding her fragile emotions in the palm of his hand, and if she didn't want that palm turning into a fist and breaking her, she would do well not to piss him off and treading carefully about flaunting what was meant for his eyes only.

She wanted to lock herself in the bathroom and cry out to her heart's content from being embarrassed and degraded like this. She kept absolutely still however, when she felt his hands lightly tracing the feather on her collarbones. It was an unspoken threat, and when their eyes met once again in the mirror, the way he sized her up confirmed it.

The feather stayed on.

Which brought her back to the present.

Y/N had already downed 3 glasses of champagne while reminiscing about earlier today, something Hawks would’ve surely tutted at. Finding herself bored, she meandered around the bar, keeping close to where he left her.

She scanned the room for her ‘lover’ and found him laughing with a group of his friends, his head thrown back and the charming sound of his deep yet lilted voice carrying through the hall, entrapping anyone who was around.

He certainly had presence, no sense in denying it.

Any girl would’ve been crazy to deny him, and Y/N wished that Hawks had fallen for a girl that didn’t want to deny him out of his hundreds of fangirls a point that was set in stone in Y/N’s mind when she saw a tall brunette clinging to his arm while she shrieked with laughter at whatever stupid story Hawks was telling.

Said fangirl seemed to also have been put under his contagious spell, from the way she so obviously threw herself on his arm and pushed her chest against his side under the pretense of shaking with laughter. Various other parts of her body seemed to be shaking against him too, but he didn’t seem to mind based on the smirk he quickly looked down at her with.

For the second time that night, Y/N wanted to throw up.

Was it jealousy? Negative. Rather, it was frustration that he literally had girls throwing themselves at him, tits hanging out and all but yet he wanted what he knew he couldn’t have. She assumed that it was this mentality of his that landed him at being Number 2, chasing after the seemingly impossible until it was tangible.

It was easier on some days to try to understand his point of view. It was much better than getting lost in the hours pondering what kind of bad karma she inherited from a past life to go through this hell. But on some mornings when she felt stone-cold sober, she remembered that she was a person, not some objective or conquest that he had rightfully won. Deciding to try and take her mind off from the trainwreck that was unfolding in front of her, Y/N aimlessly wandered to the side of the bar and down a grand hallway that was less crowded and had less Hawks.

On either side of the hall, giant bronze frames held the portraits of past heroes and had little scriptures of their accomplishments. Hawks had always talked about how he wanted his name up there, and how one day he was going to do something incredible to have his own face up on the hall of fame. His idol, Endeavor, already has taken place on the wall right next to All Might’s frame, and Y/N looks up and ponders at both of their pictures.

And how befitting is it, that Hawk’s idol is also accused of a sinister and tumultuous family past.

Maybe he doesn’t need to work too hard to follow in the footsteps of the number one hero.

“Quite the hero, Endeavor is. Even though there is controversy about the nature of his past and his redemption efforts, he set many precedents as to how a true hero should act.” Y/N’s head snaps to the right where Edgeshot had just joined her. He wore a navy blue tux with red seams, his trademark mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Yeah, you’d think his admirers would try to follow in the footsteps of changing themselves too,” she muttered bitterly. “I’ve noticed his biggest fans seem to take after his more...old brutish traits rather than the better person he’s trying to be now.”

The masked hero laughed softly, and Y/N looked at him suspiciously.

“What, you don’t think heroes have their own fair share of flaws?” She challenged.

“No no, don’t get me wrong of course. I would be on an inappropriate level of naivety to assume that, considering I’m a part of the whole corrupt system itself. I think, however, that change within a person comes after an extended time of self-reflection. You have to look within yourself and accept that you were wrong in the first place, if you want to change.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment.

“Do you think the villains are ever right? About society brushing the flipside of heroism under the carpet, I mean. It doesn’t matter if the heroes are trying to save people because it's expected of them, if they aren’t actually compassionate about their cause then is there really a point?” She asked desperately, hoping he could understand her.

Edgeshot hesitated for a moment before answering.

“In my years of experience,” he said quietly, still looking up at Endeavor’s painting, “the ones who have at heart a solid reason for acting the way they do are most always justified. It may not always be a good reason, but a foundation always gives way to a justification that can be argued for.”

All of a sudden, Y/N gasped as white hot pain sliced through her sternum. She looked down and saw the red feather on her necklace quivering as a fine line of red sprouted from the cut it made.

“Are you alright?” Edgeshot asked, looking fairly alarmed, his hand reaching for her shoulder.

“Yes, of course! My necklace is just a little sharp, a little edge just nicked me that's all.” She said shrilly, already backing away from the concerned hero. Turning on her heel, she picked up the hem of her dress and tottered out of the hall, not paying any mind to the vermillion plumage that drifted down her chest, past her waist and eventually clinging onto her leg, making little nips and stabs here and there.

Blood was pounding through her head as she navigated the way back to where Hawks had left her to be. Her palms were sweaty and she was sure her hair was becoming messy as she whipped her head around, attempting to look past tall heads and bodies that blocked her way to the bar.

Shitshitshitshit god please don’t let him be there already please please please-

But it seemed as though god wasn’t in a merciful mood, because lo and behold, the raptor was leaning against the long granite island with a glass in his hand.

He seemed to be casually grinning, swirling a maroon substance in his cup and choking it down leisurely, but as Y/N drew closer she knew-as expected- he seemed off.

The smell of alcohol was nauseating around him, he must have been drinking something strong. His wings, although lightly flapping behind him, were pointed at the edges and shaking lightly. His eyes were completely dilated, and were shifting around the room until they settled on her meek figure rushing up to him.

“Hey there birdy, long time no see. Did you have a good chat with Edgeshot? I’m sure you both enjoyed talking shit about me behind my back.” Y/N winced at how charismatic and booming his laugh was after his ominous remark. It was too carefree, a complete cover-up of how she knew he was actually feeling, and that scared her the most.

“Hawks I-”

“Keigo, sweetheart, did you forget my name already after talking with just one person? Damn, I’m hurt, guess keeping you locked up at home was the right decision after all if you’re acting like such a stone-cold bitch now.”

She stared up at him, openmouthed and thoroughly panicked now. He was talking too much, he was going to expose himself and her-

Wait. Why is she covering for him? Wouldn’t it be better if he blabbed everything else so people could realize what he’s doing? Maybe someone would intervene and save her!

But it seemed like he was three steps ahead of her and had already figured that out, because his face flushed slightly and his eyes darkened and narrowed, with lips set in a flat line. When Y/N saw this change, she tried to back away but he quickly grabbed her hand and yanked her out the room and through the exit doors. It was all happening so fast, she could hear various people call out to Hawks but he plowed through them so fast that she didn’t have time to even process that they were out of the building and in the air.

She screamed as he soared to an even higher altitude, clinging onto his neck for dear life. The wind whipped past her face, stinging her cheeks with the frigid cold and water particles that embedded on her lashes. Hawks was laughing hysterically the entire time he gained height, his talons ripping through her dress and piercing her skin, even overlapping the previous cuts his feather had made earlier.

“S-stop, what’re you doing, are you fucking crazy?” She shrieked, her words losing volume as the air was ripped out of her lungs.

“KEIGO, its KEIGO you stupid fucking cunt!” he screamed in her face. His arms loosened around her waist, and suddenly Y/N was falling, falling, falling straight for the asphalt.

She couldn’t even turn her head as her limp body plummeted down for imminent death. Her lungs begged for oxygen, fear settling like lead in her stomach, but the second she closed her eyes for what she thought was the last time, (Hawks) Keigo swooped down and yanked her back into his sinister embrace by her hair.

Ignoring the ripping strands she felt in her skull, she flailed around in midair trying to grab onto something-she reached up to grab his foot but he noticed and kicked her square in the face. Y/N had never before felt such terror and pain, mentally or physically.

Damn her pride, she wants to live for god's sake.

“Keigo,” she sobbed, remembering just in time to use his real name lest he smash her teeth in again, “please put me down, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I talked to Edgeshot but I swear it wasn’t anything bad or about you.” The warm blood streaming down her nose began to harden on her upper lip from the chilly altitude they had reached.

Abruptly, he shifted his grip and pulled her up by her hair (she winced at that painful adjustment) so that he could hold her around her waist now.

They had to have been at least 200 or so feet in the air. The pair had cleared their way through some clouds and could clearly see the full moon right in front of them. It was deathly quiet except for Y/N’s labored breathing through her fractured nose, and her fear racked even further as she looked up at Hawks and realized that he was simply staring down at her with completely dilated eyes that narrowed and gleamed at her expression. He truly looked like a bird of prey right now, a predator that was forcing her to play the part of his prey, a point that solidified when he suddenly wrapped one hand around her throat to feel her heartbeat that thumped like a rabbits’.

The light from the moon reflected off his back, causing his front to be completely shadowed so that the contours of his sharp face seemed ever more looming and dangerous. Both of them stayed suspended in the air for a minute or two like that, Y/N not daring to speak unless he granted her a sign to repent.

After a long, painstakingly suspenseful minute of studying her face, he finally growled “We’re going home.”

It seemed to take only a mere couple of minutes for the Number Two hero to travel halfway across the city. Y/N barely had time to try and drink in the beautiful colors that accented the winding streets and buildings below her, knowing that it would most probably be a long time before she saw anything else that resembled freedom again.

He finally began to descend rapidly, forcing her to cling onto his jacket and shove her face into the crook of his neck to avoid getting whiplash. Peeking through her lashes, she recognized the balcony floor of his penthouse rushing underneath their feet. Dread and anxiety surged through her veins as he finally landed and postiviley threw her off of him and onto the wooden floor. She slid a good couple of feet and skinned her legs in the process, unable to stop her momentum as she slammed back into a lamp.

Dazed, she saw stars as she rubbed her aching head. Unfortunately she didn’t see him, rushing over to her the second she landed.

He grabbed her jaw tight and wrenched her bleary eyes to look up at him.

What he saw was beautiful.

A trembling mess beneath him, makeup runny and complemented with blood that flowed from her nose like an eternal stream. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way she kept flinching any time he shifted; it made his pants tighten and caused his teeth to grit in what he measured to be the absolute last bits of self restraint he had for the night. He had truly ruined her, and he internally patted himself on the back at his work.

Was he mad? Yes, wholly and completely at her betrayal of his orders.

Did he regret losing his temper? Absolutely not. In fact, if you ask him, he should get mad at her more often like this. If it merited her pliant and vulnerable being, then who was he to deny such pleasure? Fuck he should’ve done this from the start- blowing up at mild disobediance instead of acting like a doting, patient boyfriend.

“You alive?” he roughly shook her head and her teeth chattered inside her skull while he did so.

“Yes,” she whispered, mouth popped open by his gloved fingers as he shoved a digit inside her warm and wet cavern. It was embarrassing how drool seeped through her lips and dribbled down her chin, but humility was the least concerning factor in her environment at the moment.

“Good. After acting like such a tramp you better fucking be. I told you one thing,” and he slapped her for added emphasis to his frustration, “can you repeat what I told you? Or are you so braindead that you can’t remember the one order I gave you when I trusted you to sit still and look pretty like a good little bitch?”

“Nnngh, no I rem-I remember.” Y/N panted out, attempting to talk through puckered lips and drool. “You told me to stay at the bar and not to move.”

“Exactly. So what part of that was so hard to understand, huh?” He hissed through his teeth, looking deranged.

“I just got bored, that’s all. I wanted to talk to another person…” Even though she didn’t finish her sentence, Hawks understood her perfectly.

I wanted to talk to another person apart from you.

He let out a mocking laugh, stretching his arms over his head to hide his shaking fists. Rage swept through his body like wildfire, licking up his throat and cheeks. His face was flushed and unreadable to Y/N as he sauntered around the couch and plopped down on it, spreading his legs to seem as uncouth as possible.

She sat shivering on the floor, unsure of if he wanted her to follow him or wither away on the floor like a mutt.

As he sighed loudly however, her body immediately tensed as though bracing for another painful impact. She daringly peeked over her shoulder and saw the back of his head protruding from the black and red leather couch. Lazily flicking his wrist up to a height where she could see, he vaguely beckoned her over without saying a word.

Immediately she scampered over to him and situated herself at his feet (where she belonged). Her eyes were downcast, and he begrudgingly accepted it as a form of submission on her part. No sense in beating the disobedience out of her now if she already knows what she did wrong.

Hawks heaved out another heavy sigh and let his head fall backwards. On one hand, he was slightly drunk and his head was killing him-he just wanted to go to sleep and forget today ever happened. However, there was a problem that was contributing to his growing migraine, and that problem was sitting right in front of him, practically kneeling at his feet for mercy. More than sleep, he wanted to take care of said issue and call it a night, so he decided to skip the sweet talk and warm up.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, kid. I’m gonna close my eyes and by the time I open them you better have already thought of a way to make tonight up to me, and you better have already put that plan in action. Then, we’re going to bed and when you wake up you’ll regret the day you even thought of talking to anyone apart from me, since you seem to have forgotten who’s been coddling your ass all this time.” He sneered, relishing at the way Y/N’s face went pale.

True to his word, he closed his eyes, glad to see his last view as the pathetic bitch who was about to service him. The feel of slight fumbling on his zipper made him feel even more drunk and giddy as it was pulled down. Maybe the entire evening wasn’t a complete wash after all.

Yeah, he should take her out a lot more.

[all-things-fic]

Rekindled

A/N: Firstly, I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who nominated me as November Author of the Month. I wasn’t expecting that at all and it was a lovely surprise!  Secondly, here is Rekindled. Hope you all enjoy it!

This was originally meant to be for @majorharry​‘s 20k challenge, but I failed on that front. It’s a long one so grab yourself a brew / beverage of choice and get comfy!

I’m about to disappear again as I usually do and start working on my Christmas fic, as well as those Quarantine Harry updates.

Tonight had started out like any other Saturday evening. 

You had been out with friends. Cosy little pub off a cobbled backstreet, in a secluded corner. Very British. Very cramped. All old wood and leather bound seats. The slight smell of stale beer in the air and plenty of chatter that sometimes had you shouting to ensure the friend sitting two people away from you was able to hear. 

This was a pub that you frequented for quite a while now. A pub that made it so some in your friendship group could grab a proper ale, while others opted for more of a fruity alcoholic beverage. A real all rounder. Did a nice roast on Sunday - eat in or takeout, choice was yours - for a reasonable price by London’s standards. 

The minute he had walked in, you had noticed him. You could recognise his hunched shoulders anywhere. Forever silently willing him to stand up straight and embrace the way his height made him tower over some of his friends. Rather than have him try and make himself smaller. Part of you believed it was to buy him time so he wouldn’t get noticed whenever he knew he was going to be in particular place for longer than an hour.

He had been joined by a male friend. Someone you also knew quite well. Someone who you had seen quite recently actually. An art showing over at Cob Gallery being the reason for your meeting which hadn’t happened too long ago. You remembered the invite being shoved through your letterbox, a far cry from when he used to shunt you a quick text and write your name at the bottom of the guest list using Sam’s kohl eyeliner on the evening of the event itself.

You’d taken the piss out of him that afternoon, a quick phone call telling him that he was “no longer the Tomo Campbell I know”. 

That had been two weeks ago. So, you knew it would be rude of either you, or him, to not acknowledge the other. And you knew he would be the one to cave in. 

And you were right.

Tomo’s friendly brown eyes had glanced at you one too many times, over Harry’s shoulder for him to not give you - or anyone else who may have made the meeting slightly awkward - away. 

The continuous trailing of his gaze had in fact caused Harry to chuckle awkwardly, joking at how he wouldn’t let Sam know of his wandering eye as they shared a night on the town. The joke fell short though, as did his chuckle, when at the last glance over Harry twisted his body around to see what all the fuss was about as he leaned against the bar and let his eyes fall onto yours.

You broke his gaze, reaching forward for your balloon glass full of gin and pressed your face as far into it as possible. A feeling filled you that made you hope the hot flush you felt underneath your skin hadn’t started to give away your unnecessary panic. 

See things with you and Harry hadn’t ended badly. In fact, it was more like a fizzle. A bit like the sweet that pops against your tongue. Sometimes you enjoyed it and other times it was unfulfilling, some would say annoying. The latter explained the ending.

No big fights. No fat, hot tears rolling down cheeks. No loss of voices from slanging matches and screaming until the early hours. It just... Ended. 

That fizzle was what made it amicable. You both breaking it off to go and do your own thing. Neither openly keeping up to date with the other, but still absolutely aware of what was going on. In your case that was a lot easier, in his not so much. However, Harry somehow managed to master the art of leading questions without seeming too much of a beg with mutual friends.  

As he looked on at you taking the longest sip from your drink, he had smiled awkwardly before he allowed his eyes to roam the scene of your group of friends and tried to analyse what met his gaze. A group of eight, men heavily outweighing the women with their five to your genders three. 

He would definitely class himself a liar if he was asked about where his mind had gone, and he said that it hadn’t gone to queries around relationship statuses and potential partnerships with any of the men around the table.

He eyed them, all five of them. Definitely wasn’t the guy three people away, neither was it the guy sat diagonally opposite you. They were blonde, definitely not your type. Well, blondes hadn’t been your type the last time he had been between your legs.

His eyes had been zoned in on the guy that had his back facing him, he wasn’t sitting directly opposite you. Instead he was seated in the opposite seat, but one. Better positioning for someone who wanted to obtain a cheeky glance and still be inconspicuous to the group around him.

“I’m gonna have to go and say hello,” Tomo pulled Harry out of his trance, his eyes lifting up from the beer mat that he had been tapping agitatedly against the bar top once he’d turned away from the scene. 

“‘S fine wi’me, mate,” Harry softly smiled, reaching for his drink and taking a large sip. 

“Come an’ get it over with, H.” 

Harry had quietly eyed Tomo after his open ended suggestion of joining him. His eyes slightly sceptical at the proposal but somehow his legs took over his decision making as he trudged behind his artist friend and got introduced to those faces he didn’t know and acknowledged the ones that he did.

Pulling up a pew at the table had been a lot easier for Harry than he had expected. Dragging the wooden stool to sit himself in between you and the guy to his right, who he now knew to be Conor and the person he really wanted to know the name of was Joe. Joe was a wanker- well, banker. Same difference, right? 

Conversation wasn’t always smooth sailing. The larger group helped however. Also helped him get his moments with you and you with him. Moments that neither of you had known you needed before being sat with his knee brushing yours, due to how cramped your table had suddenly become. 

And it was sweltering now. The bare knee of your ripped jeans, knocking against Harry’s bare knee from his ripped jeans as he edged himself closer to the table wanting to catch what the topic of conversation was down at the easily the “laddier” end of the table. 

Harry had fit right in. Of course his demeanour changed with certain people. Those he had already been in the presence of those years previous were immediately hit with morbid delivery and sarcastic humour, while others were met with his sometimes hard to crack shell. 

And like always as the night had gone on the crowd had tapered off. Some had decided to go onto a club, an offering your declined not wanting to spend the night with people rubbing up against you and feeling like one of the oldest people in the room.

Some of your friends had gone back to their other commitments, like Tomo who made it quite clear he didn’t want to miss his “curfew” that Sam had given him considering he was the one on swimming lesson duty in the morning. 

That ended up leaving you and Harry. Surprisingly a pairing that you hadn’t expected to happen that evening and even more surprising, one that you weren’t particularly dreading.

You knew it had something to do with the gin, and definitely had something to do with the tequila. 

Part of you was thankful for the less than responsible drinking habits you had taken that evening. It allowed you to remain calm as your ex-boyfriend sat across from you looking like time was on his side and aging was being kind to him.

It was definitely being kinder to him than it was to you, anyway. 

Bastard. 

Conversation had been a mixture of light and heavy. Harry showing you a series of different pictures he had taken on his travels as he jetset around the world with his album and his modelling contract (that he adamantly assured you wasn’t a modelling contract), and basically just his very healthy bank balance.

The heavy had been you bitching about the contract project you had been working on and asking him if he would be willing to potentially commit a serious crime with you against one of your colleagues. He’d quipped he probably wasn’t suitable but he was sure he knew a guy. 

At one point, his eyes had dropped down to your pedicured toes in your black strappy heels. When he managed to drag his eyes away for your feet,  and rested his chin on the inside heel of his palm, you knew he wanted to say something. 

“‘M pretty sure we have matching pedis,” he groused, voice so low that if you hadn’t been watching his mouth you wouldn’t have caught a word of what he had just said.

Eyes flicking up to his green gaze, you saw the light shimmering through them. Clearly he was amused by your expression of shock and potential bemusement from his statement.

“Sod off,” you chided, pushing gently at his arm. “You’re joking.”

“‘M not darl-“ he cut himself off with a clear of his throat. “‘M not, an’ if yer lucky later I might take m’socks off to prove it an’all.”

“Not sure if I like the insinuation of there being a later.” You paused for a small amount of time, before adding, “Nor the confidence in how you said it.” 

“God loves a trier and so did you, once.” 

He eyed you from the corner of his vision, mouth wrapped around the lip of his glass as he knocked back what was left of the alcoholic contents inside. 

You were sure he hadn’t meant to let that one slip but there was no way he was going to let his expression give him away and silently confirm with you that thought. 

How had the two of you picked up as if you hadn’t missed a beat? 

“You never did mind me keeping them on though, did yer?”

That was enough to break his gaze. To cause a silence you didn’t know how to fill. To suddenly make you feel incredibly parched as if you hadn’t been necking gin after gin, all evening. 

“How yer getting ‘ome?”

His question cut through it all. His voice of concern, matching his watchful gaze as he looked up at you from the empty glass he had begun twirling on the mahogany wood. 

“Was just gonna Uber it back.”

“‘M a fifteen minute walk from ‘ere, d’ya know tha’?”

“I do know that,” you acknowledged, eyes looking over at him and seeing the way his hair had begun to curl close to his temples from the way he perspired in the heat of the pub. 

“‘Course you do. Done that walk a fair few times ain’t we?”

You hummed. The feeling of your lips lifting into a soft smile at the memories of the two of you walking hand in hand through the dark London streets. Harry with his head down, trying to look inconspicuous. Also, so he could watch his feet and try his best not to trip up over them. 

The times he’d done that thing you loved. Where he would forgo holding your hand and instead walk slightly behind you with his arm wrapped around your shoulder and across the top of your chest. His lips heavy against your hair as he hid his face and chuckled breathily against the shell of your ear when he hadn’t been watching his feet and indeed, tripped. It was always inevitable. 

“So wha’s another nigh’?”

And really what was another night? Other than potentially a messy morning. 

Not before long you were wrapping the chain handle of your bag across your body and tottering out of the booth you had occupied all night. 

Silently you had battled with yourself as to whether you should use the bathroom, but didn’t think you needed it considering how you hadn’t had the rush of pressure usually felt when you were really desperate to relieve yourself.

Shame the feeling didn’t last as you felt a huge gust of cold wind, thanks to London autumn air, washing over you. 

With your arms folded around your body as you walked, you tried your best to shield yourself as the lights of passing cars hurt your tired eyes. Harry had been talking to you about all sorts of rubbish, filling in the gaps of dead air that weren’t taken up by the noise around your both.

“My shoes are going to be fucking ruined,” you grumbled, hearing the sound of muddy stones clacking and crunching underneath your heels. 

Harry chuckled at your obvious disdain, keeping himself close to you in the dimly lit area. The stride to his walk was confident, a little more power behind it than unsteady. He had consumed drinks, but not enough that he didn’t realise how close both he and you were to his home.

As you walked, your eyes surveyed the area. A group of people were getting closer, a few hoods lifted making it hard for you to figure out their make up. 

Before you could give yourself time to think, you unravelled your folded arms and reached down for Harry’s hand. 

“Think we could cross here,” you spoke, a chatter to your voice both from the cold and this unusual anxious feeling. Your eyes darted over the road, left and right before you turned as the group approached you. 

A boisterous boom of laughter left one of the groups mouth, causing you to sharply look back down the street. The grip of Harry’s hand against yours changed, his fingers taking your traditional hand hold to one of interlocking digits. 

He felt moved by the way you appeared to still hold the desire to be protective over him. 

“‘M alrigh’,” he pulled you to him, using his hand and causing you to turn your front and press into his side. “Jus’ let ‘em pass us.”

You silently nodded.

“‘S just a couple’a lads walking ‘ome after a night out,” he mumbled. “‘S all it is. You’re alright.” 

This feeling felt foreign as you felt a tightness in your chest while you stood still with him in the middle of the street. You hadn’t expected to feel any sort of hesitation but you, like everyone else, had heard about the incident which had taken place with him. Virtually on the doorstep of his own home too.

Harry offering you comfort and reassurance just as quick as you were to do so for him, had you finding a weird source of strength and confidence. He welcomed the pressing of your forehead to his cheek, knowing if he tilted his head slightly his lips could brush so tenderly against your forehead, your temple. He would most likely get a smell of your shampoo, wondering if you still used the same as before. 

The grip of his hand loosened against yours, his clammy palm, which felt soothingly warm, ran up against the long sleeve of your top. It curled around your neck, holding you securely to him, before he wrapped his arm around you.

Then he dropped his lips, them pressing to your temple and then lower to your cheekbone. He lingered, his breathing slightly quivered as the noise from the group got louder. 

You lifted your head slightly, Harry rearing up just in time to ensure you didn’t headbutt him. His chin was soft as he looked down at you; it took the edge off. His eyes were manic as they moved, there was no mistaking it but everything else about him came off so calm. 

He blew out his shaky sigh, causing you to dart your eyes over his and gently push up onto your tiptoes in your heels to softly kiss his lips. You knew he wasn’t expecting it, you didn’t even know what you were doing before you did it. Yet, you relaxed the minute he drew you even closer using the arm he had curled around your upper back to hold you close.

A wolf whistle caused you to smile against his lips, as he did the same. His gentle breathy laugh bouncing against your lips as he chanced it and pressed pecks against your lips in quick succession. 

“Evening lads,” Harry nodded his head once he came up for air, making sure he got a good look of two of them and making sure they knew that he had. They cheered in praise at the two of you and your public display, threw out a couple of slightly lewd and alcohol fused comments at the scene. One even going as far as to take the red and white striped scarf from around his neck and whip it furiously above his head. “Someone’s ‘appy. The Arsenal must’ve ‘ad a win.”

You nodded as you eyed them, completely embarrassed by the way you had misread a group of loud football fans for violent thugs. You weren’t necessarily far wrong, but still. 

Chattering teeth caused Harry to pull you close to him. “Let's get you in before you catch your death.” 

***

Shoes had been left at the door. 

The aching balls of your feet grateful for the cool wooden flooring and curling into the luxurious fabric of the rugs currently beneath them. 

You’d watched as Harry toed off his obscenely dirty Vans, and walked ahead of you towards the back of the house. The place where his envious lounge and open plan kitchen could be found.

Harry’s home had this way of being welcoming, no matter how long it had been since you had last graced its presence. You assumed he’d made it this way for a reason, especially when that reason was his way of life. Leaving for long periods of time to then return again, to pick right up where he had left off. 

And in many ways, that was how you felt about the current situation. 

Handbag now discarded at your feet, you sat with your side resting against the back of Harry’s teal velvet couch. Surrounded by expensive scatter cushion after expensive scatter cushion, a collection he had amassed during your time apart. 

He was playing the playlist. Not just any playlist, the playlist. The one he would always turn on, volume low, so it was more of a hum than anything else after you’d gotten back from a night on the tiles and fancied a night cap. 

You didn’t need to zone in on the sounds. It so happened that you had heard the playlist so many times before that you didn’t need to have it blasting through the speakers to know the track list. It was burned into your brain and would be for a very long time.

The worst thing of all was that he knew. He just knew. 

His lips had taken on this quirk. Slightly upturned more so on one side of his face than another as he stood at the kitchen island, feeling your eyes watch him as he put together his perfected cheese on toast supper.

It was an offer you couldn’t refuse. A large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon held loosely in your hand as you whispered along to the song playing in the background, mouth watering at the thought of the carby goodness Harry was preparing for you both under the grill of his oven.

The smell that filled your senses was delightful and exactly what you needed to soak up the alcohol you had previously consumed, never mind the alcohol you were about to. 

“Do you want any brown sauce on yours, or ketchup?” You heard him talk louder as the tray he’d been cooking on clattered against his oven hob. 

You stayed silent as you watched him, tea towel over his shoulder as he plated up your toast while his mouth barely sang along to the playlist. Gently lifting the bread off the grill before letting it drop quickly from his grip to the plate because of how hot it was. 

He looked up at you from under his brow, hair fallen into a middle part around his face. His eyes enjoyed the way your legs had curled up beneath you as you rested your right cheek onto your hand and fondly watched him.

You seemed relaxed to him, albeit amused. 

“Don’t even think about laughing at me when ‘m cooking for you.”

You smiled - cheese on toast was hardly cooking - pulling your glass of wine to your lips and taking a sip. “Don’t know why you don’t just get a knife and fork, you numpty.”

“Saves on the washing up doing it this way,” he winced as he dropped another slice to the second plate. 

“And makes you lose your fingerprints in the process.

Harry shook his head as he pressed his thumb to his lips and licked the sore burn, before he gently blew against it. “Never did answer my question,” he reminded, wiping his hands on the towel thrown over his shoulder.

“Ketchup’s fine. Ta.”

Watching him reach across for the bottle of Heinz, you saw him squirt the sauce onto your plate and then saw him do the same to his own. 

Seemingly happy with his work, he whipped the towel off his shoulder and to the side, before scooping up the two plates and striding over to you with ease. 

“Voila,” he spoke, offering you the answer to your predicted hangover prayers, in cheese on toast form.

Reaching forward, you gently took the plate off his hands with both of yours and let your eyes drop down to the melted goodness. Keeping your eyes down you took in the decoration that Harry had added. He’d taken to drawing a smiley face onto the top of the cheese using the ketchup.

“You’re such a silly sod sometimes,” you spoke, lifting your eyes as you watched him drop down onto the couch next to you and get himself comfortable.

Legs up on the coffee table in front of him, almost horizontal with his plate gently resting atop his rounded stomach. Head tipped back and vision lazy, his lips tilted up into a crooked smile as he looked over at you. 

“‘S it okay?”

“Looks it,” you replied, lifting up the toast and taking the biggest bite you could muster. Your nose came into contact with some sauce from your hunger-driven vigour. “Proof is in the tasting though, I s’pose,” you continued, mouth full and covered by your hand to avoid him seeing the chewed up contents. 

You hummed as you closed your eyes, enjoying the taste of the simplistic home cooked food and melted goodness. So simple in taste, but so effective. 

From where Harry lounged, he softly watched you. All relaxed, closed eyes, with a drop of tomato ketchup decorating the end of your nose. 

Before you had the chance, and he couldn’t fight himself, Harry reached up to gently swipe at the sauce and remove it from your skin.

You opened your eyes, blinking over at him as he pressed his thumb between his lips and licked away the sauce he had retrieved. His eyes were mischievous as they glanced at you before he took a bite out of his own food and savoured the taste.  

The groan that left his throat as he chewed was a sound familiar to you in other capacities, causing you to squeeze your legs together and forcefully take another bite of your own toast.

“Tell you what? If there’s one thing I do, ‘s make a bloody good cheese on toast.”

You smirked, amused by his boasting. “Nothing like a slice of conceited-ness as a platter cleanser, for afters.”

“Summat much more appealing for afters, don’t worry about tha’, darling. Got you sorted.” 

***

Bellies full and content, you slipped further down onto Harry’s couch. The two of you finding yourself closer together ask you basked in the warmth of Harry’s home.

“You weren’t lying when you said your nails matched mine,” your voice was sleepy as you spoke, right foot hitting Harry’s left slightly as you brought up your earlier conversation at the pub.

He chuckled into your hair, watching you lift your foot and gently place it atop of his. He made a space for it, moving his right leg so that there was an even bigger gap between his feet to slot yours between.  

“I think mine's a bit lighter to be honest,” you continued, eyes scrutinising his painted nails as much as they could from down the length of your body and his. 

“That’s some bullshit,” Harry groused, rubbing his feet gently against yours to warm them, his voice causing his chest to vibrate against your head as it rested there  “I even had it on m’ hands but I’ve been picking at it. Look.”

Harry obnoxiously held his hand in front of your vision, wiggling his fingers causing you to reach for his fingers and hold his hand still. Sure enough, he was true to his word, presenting you with chipped nail polish that was nothing more than the odd tiny dot against his clean nails. 

You smirked when he pushed them slightly closer to your face than intended, “Alright, think you’ve proven your point.”

Hand knocked back he brought it forward again, “‘M not so sure, try again.”

The only response you could muster up was a giggle fit for a schoolgirl, Harry’s response to pull you even closer as he softly smiled. 

A silence overtook you both, as you closed your eyes and let yourself become more intune with the music playing around you. 

Your face was pressed into the side of his neck able to inhale his worn in aftershave and the soft startings of stubble down the side of his throat. 

The silence was heavy and you knew exactly why. Listening to the base of the song across his speakers mixing with your staggered breathing and rising pulse. 

You knew you shouldn’t but you couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t like it needed attention drawn to it. Yet, the words were tumbling off your lips regardless. 

“This song always makes me…you know.”

The words were mumbled but of course he caught them because he did know. But it was whether he wanted to go there. 

The thought of talking about sex and the sex you had together in a coherent state wasn’t ideal. He wouldn’t have anything to blame his honesty on, if he wasn’t more inebriated than he currently found himself.

“Think we need some more wine for tha’,” he mumbled, lips pressed to your forehead as you hummed in agreement and felt him begin to shift to raise himself from the couch to retrieve a bottle.

***

More wine wasn’t a good idea and you knew it. From the way your tongue was much looser and your lips a lot more numb now. 

The two of you had begun to dance on a weird ledge after he’d refilled your glass. The kind where you were openly flirting and backbiting against the other to try and see who could inflict the moment that had the two of you wincing. 

“Who caught your eye while I was out of the picture?”

“Who didn’t catch yours?”

Harry was sitting on the couch, side pressed into the back of the couch. Leaning with his elbow and allowing his face to rest  in the palm of his hand as he looked at you.

“Alright,” he stressed with a raise to his eyebrows and a quirk to his lips. 

You were a bit flustered due to the way your back bite to him revealed how you were actually caught up in his business of seeing other people when you tried to act like you didn’t care.

Clearing his throat Harry adopted a soft tone to break you out of your fluster.

“There was one girl. Took her to dinner two times.”

You held his eyes with yours, watching the way he slowly smirked, “But you already know that don’t ya?”

Before you could stop yourself, you threw the throw cushion sitting to the right of you, at him.

“Watch the wine,” he said around a laugh, as he raised his wine glass into the air and pushed the cushion to the floor before it had a chance of creating him a cleaning catastrophe in the early hours. 

“Hate you,” you mumbled, turning to your right to look at him from where you had reached forward to put your wine glass down to the table. Before you sat back you ran your index finger against the rim of your wine glass and tapped your nail gently against the base. 

“‘s tha’ why you’re sat eating cheese on toast and drinking wine on my sofa at almost 2am,” he spoke against the rim of his glass, knocking back what was remaining inside.

“I’ve been coerced to be here,” you replied, watching him reach forward, raising his eyebrows at your false suggestion. When he sat back against the couch he was biting back his smile, his eyes shining and crinkles deeply set in the corners.

“Know where the door is,” he goaded, raising his eyebrows again, arm raising to point in the direction of his hallway. He waited for your response and in that time leaned forward towards the coffee table once more, grabbing the wine bottle and topping you up before moving onto refilling his own.

Your eyes dropped down to the rich red liquid as it sloshed against the clear glass. While his words were telling you to leave, his actions were doing the complete opposite. 

Filling the silence he asked, “So, how many dinners am I competing with?”

“Three” you mumbled as you lifted your drink and took a sip for courage. 

Harry’s head titled as he surveyed you, “Bloody hell you didn’t hang around!”

“I have no more cushions left,” you spoke to his cheeky comment with a light hearted threat of throwing something at him for his brazen clap back. “Only my wine.”

He smiled at your warning to throw it all over him before he drawled, “And we wouldn’t wanna waste tha’”

You hummed in agreement, freely taking yet another sip. Finally, something you agreed on. 

Harry kept his eyes on you, waiting. The two of you almost seeing who would cave in first to try and dig for more information on the relations of the other while you were apart. What he really wanted to know was how many men he was competing against. Was it one man three times, or three separate men? 

With all the questions buzzing around his head, he knew it would be him who would give in. 

He was correct. 

“Gonna let me ‘ave a look then? Pull ‘em up on your phone. ‘S only fair. Mine was taken out of my hands.”

His ambiguous comment alluded to the paparazzi pictures of him that had been splashed all over the tabloid online outlets, as well as every other social media platform known to man. 

You didn’t hesitate, the alcohol in your bloodstream almost encouraged you as you reached for your bag at your feet and took out your phone. Said liquid confidence even helped in your handing over of the phone. “Pass codes the same,” you said, as Harry stared at you before he dropped his eyes down to the screen and tried the first code that came to his mind, your birthday.

The screen shook at him, causing a sheepish smile to pull up onto his lips as he thought about his second guess. He punched in the code of your mother’s birthday and unlocked the phone within a short five seconds.

You did notice the stall to his movements, clearly realising how part of this was wrong. It wasn’t his, or your, business to know everything in such detail.

Sensing his hesitancy also, you told him where to find a photograph if he was so desperate for a nose; on your private Instagram page. He took that as a small victory cause he knew you still had pictures of him on your profile that hadn’t been taken down.

You gave him names, knowing that it was an invasion of privacy for the men in question but equally not caring. His thumb was fast as it typed and spelt out the name into the search bar. Harry also not caring at how desperate he was to see his competition. 

“Hold this for me,” he said, passing over his wine glass so that he could cup your phone in both his hands, his undivided attention firmly on his foe. You looked on as you saw him zoom in on the picture of guy number two, who had the chance of a third date.

He was silent as he looked and swiped and read comments. He didn’t know if this was the type of man he was expecting. Had he even been expecting anyone at all?

Running his eyes over the pictures he was greeted with what he could only describe to be your average City man. All overcoats and expensive suits. 

Looks wise, he understood. Perfect five o’clock shadow. Seemed tall enough in photos. Obviously liked a gym session or two. However there was one thing about him that just looked so out of place- 

Breaking the silence, he said, “Can’t even do a tie properly can he?”

“Neither can you,” you shot back.

“Don’t have to when you have someone willing to help.” 

He looked at you from under his brow to see if you were going to correct him. When he realised you weren’t, he continued, “Never been tempted to fix his,” he asked, swiping across to look at another picture. 

“He hasn’t worn a tie on a date yet,” you responded.

Harry zoned in on the use of the word yet.

“What’s he drive?” He asked randomly, continuing the swipe through the pictures with his right thumb. 

“Range Rover Sport.”

“Probably on finance,” he spoke his comeback quickly, expressing his true feelings. It wasn’t going to be on finance but no one could blame him on wanting to throw a cheap shot in some way. “Doesn’t really seem the type to be blessed with the big dick energy. Overcompensating somehow.”

You found yourself biting down against your lips, trying to stifle a laugh. His pettiness has reared itself in less than ten minutes and you could see the way it wove through his features, with a quirk to his eyebrows and a scrunch of his nose. He was dismissive and you supposed he had every reason to be, you were after all sat on his couch. 

“Why do you really think I’m giving you another try,” you smirked, nails tapping at your glass again.

He held your gaze, “You planning on testing me out, seeing if it still works?”

“Might do,” you took another sip of your drink. ��Depends if I have the energy.”

“Why do you think I gave you summat to eat?”

You breathed out a laugh as your mouth fell, right hand reaching up to slap him across the top of his arm. He seemed pleased with himself as he locked your phone and loosely held it out to you.

“‘S enough of looking at tha’,'' he hummed, licking gently at his lips. “How did you meet him?” 

Again a breathy laugh left your lips as you stared at him, incredulously. Harry’s eyes easily held yours as he waited on your answer.

“You aren’t in the least bit interested,” you licked your lips, the taste coating them slightly bitter from the lingering wine residue. “Don’t know why you’re trying to make it seem as if you are.” 

“Humour me, darling,” he mused, lips softly lifting. “Or humour him, whichever you prefer.” 

And you know you shouldn’t be doing this, laughing at the expense of someone else in such a way. You saw the larger swallow from Harry too and you knew he was feeling the same. 

However, here you were, giving eyes to a man that you didn’t think would get to see you in such a way again. 

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Cause at least one of us would make it worth your while.” 

You felt your breathing quicken as you held Harry’s eyes. He did nothing to deter you from holding his gaze. 

“You have to stop being so nice,” he added. “If he isn't doing anything for you, that’s okay.”

Reaching forward you rid your hands of your phone, letting it slide against his coffee table. “And do you not think you slightly have an unfair advantage?”

“I think,” he paused, his eyes looking at you. “I think we had something good.”

“Had being the operative word-“

“And I think we could have something good again. In fact I know we could.”

You stalled at his words. The confidence behind them. It was admirable how he was shooting his shot. Especially given you knew how inside he was most likely quaking with nerves.

“Tell him no.”

His words made you chest feel tight, his hand reaching across the distance between the two of you on the sofa. His palm facing up, you slowly lifted your hands to sit in his.

No sooner had your skin come in contact, Harry clasped his hand around yours and softly stroked his thumb to the back of it. He dipped down, lips meeting your knuckles before he tugged at you so softly you almost felt you had imagined it.

He wanted you closer, the arms length distance now too much as he started to show himself to you. His pettiness and his affection, they strangely won you over. Stoked something within you that had you edging further towards him.

Hand unlatching from yours, he lifted his left arm and wrapped it loosely around the back of your neck. With little persuasion you dropped your forehead against his jaw again. 

Harry’s swallow was audible as his fingertips softly stroked at your shoulder. His breath softly fanned against the skin of your temple, his lips turning to press the faintest kiss to your hairline.

“Tell him to piss off.”

You chuckled, breathily, head knocking itself back to look up at him. Eyes light with a sense of joyous infatuation at the moment you found yourself in.

Harry shifted, his right hand quickly discarding both your wine glasses before it placed itself against your hot cheek. The coolness of his slender fingers soothing and welcomed. 

“Tell him no,” he breathed, as his lips hovered close to yours, as he tilted your face upwards to meet his. 

With your eyes closed you felt a sense of guilt, for some unknown reason. It wasn’t like you were committed to anyone outside of the situation that you found yourself in, but you felt slightly wrong for what you were doing. Harry sensed it, able to read the downturn of your lips for what it was. He nudged his nose gently against yours, allowing his eyes to take their time in admiring your expressions and waited on the unnecessary internal conflict to ease. 

“Want me to tell him?” He asked, leaving breathy and wet kisses down your cheek, and along your jawline as you tilted your head back. “‘S not a problem.”

Your mind was swimming as you found yourself sinking back into the couch beneath you. Harry’s voice melting you as he continued talking, “Really get him to take the hint that you’re not interested.”

He kept his face buried against the underside of your chin as it pointed up at the ceiling, hands tracing down your arms and cupping at your hands to press them into his hair as he sucked at your skin.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hummed, scratching at the back of his head, enjoying the feel of his soft locks beneath your touch. 

Harry deeply groaned as you pulled at the strands, “What’s that?”

“Trying to have your way with me when I’m under the influence,” you joked, quirk to your lips. “Always was that little bit more placid that way.” 

You felt the way his lips moved from underneath your chin, finding the corner of your mouth, before he pulled up to look at you. He eyed you, all heavy lidded and messy lips. “You’re not tha’ pissed are ya?”

“No.”

“Then I’m definitely more than jus’ trying.” He reached for your face, lifting your chin and angling it how he wanted. “‘M taking, ‘m begging,” he spoke confidently, unashamed. 

His lips were dominant as they engulfed yours, a groan leaving your throat as your kiss was messy from the offset. His lips puckered and pulled, drawing you closer to him as he breathed through his nose and gave you his tongue.

Your chest was heaving as he skimmed his lips against your face, mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck once more as you bit down on your bottom lip and tried not to laugh. 

“Charming of you to want your way with me on your couch.”

Harry chuckled against your neck, face lifting shortly to look at you. His pupils were blown out already, as his skin took on more of a rosy flush from the beginnings of his exertion. That or you’d embarrassed him.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked,” he mused. ”Where’d you want it?”

Legs curled gently around the backs of his thigh, still covered by the denim of his jeans, you pressed against them with the heel of your foot. 

“Where’d you think?”

He knew exactly where. You were a simple creature. You liked simple things. Sex was always fun to have all over the house, but depending on the level of intimacy you craved, depended on where you were willing to open your legs.

Tonight was a weird one for you to decide upon. The fumble on the couch, while it was exciting and showed you Harry’s desperation to have you once more, it would be over before you knew it. Also it would most likely leave you with a horrible crick in your neck as your keepsake. 

You didn’t want that. You wanted your keepsake to be the ache in your thighs from how he had taken you in different positions because while a bed was boring for some, it allowed you the option to roll around for as long as your bodies permitted. Bending in all different shapes and ways that sometimes neither of you would’ve been able to imagine. 

He broke you from your thoughts once more, hand gently finding your bum and tapping against it. “Up yer get,” he spoke, starting to push himself up knowing you wanted to go upstairs. 

With your legs curled around his, Harry couldn’t go too far. He chuckled with amusement as he dropped his eyes down to his legs and yours, before looking back up. He didn’t need to even ask as he looked at you, leaning forward he inhaled through his nose as he kissed sweetly at your lips and lifted you.

A smile pulled onto your face, causing difficulty to continue kissing. “Stop tha’,” he mouthed against the corner of your lips, as he hoisted your legs. “‘M trying to take charge here.”

“Why do that when you’re still so good at taking direction?” The lilt to your voice was one of glee, you had easily gotten your own way. 

Tousling your hair and flicking it away, behind your shoulders, you rolled your lips into your mouth as you felt the slight bruising from his expressions of desire. He was watching you as you looked at him, doe-eyes sparkling with intrigue and adoration. 

“Give us a kiss,” his deep voice ignited a warm fire within, as he still tried to assert himself while he walked the two of you away from his open plan lounge and closer to his kitchen.

You continued to eye him, enjoying the way he wasn’t going to back down. You just needed to stand your ground just as much. 

As your bum hit the work surface, your hands traced over Harry’s cheeks, cupping his face before moving to grip at the counter. Head tilted slightly, he looked down the bridge of his nose at you through hooded, dark eyes. 

He stepped in between your wide open legs and enjoyed the closeness that they brought when you brought them together to keep him to you. Heavy breathing filled the silent air as you both traced each other's features with touch and sight. Taste could wait, but it would get here soon enough. 

He gulped as he swallowed. 

“Please.”

At first it was gritty. His voice tight and throat dry. His lips forming the word confidently. 

Again he swallowed. “Please, gimme a kiss. You kiss me, like before.” 

The victorious hum that left his lips was one that you would let slide, as his hands ran down the length of your arms and reached up to wrap around your own. He placed them back onto his face, mouth breaking away as he left open mouthed kisses to your left palm, nose nudging at the end of your long sleeve top where he inhaled your worn away perfume. 

He could feel your pulse as he curled his fingers around your wrist. It was strong and rhythmic, inviting to his primal desire which caused him to gently nip at your flesh with his front teeth.

Turning his eyes back to yours, you silently asked him for another kiss with your soft and slow blinking gaze, knowing he wanted to get just as reacquainted as you did. 

He obliged, pressing closer to the counter and letting his lips meet yours quickly. His quick change in motion caused you to reach behind you to steady yourself, your hand coming into contact with an item you couldn’t identify until you gasped and pulled away thanks to the smashing sound. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you whispered quickly, trying to catch your breath. Harry’s eyes turned to take a look at one of the daintier wine glasses he had pulled down from the rack earlier but chose not to use. The item now lay broken against the flooring of his kitchen. 

“Really should tidy up before we go up,” he groaned, mouth pressed into the side of your cheek as you surveyed the mess made on his coffee table over the other side of the room. He reluctantly pulled away from you, walking the short distance to the broken glass.

“Watch yourself,” you said, meaning his bare feet around the glass.

Crouching down, Harry started to collate the bigger shards of glass together, stacking them up against the tiles of his kitchen floor. As you peered down, still sitting on his kitchen island, he looked up at you.

“Couldn’t do me a favour? Go an’ grab the dustpan and brush.”

You blinked. Was he alluding that he kept everything in the same place? Given how he’d asked so vaguely, knowing you would understand. 

Softly, he smiled up at you and chuckled around his words, “Same place as last time, yes.”

Taking a while to kick into action, you slowly slid off the work surface and let your feet softly pad over to the other side of the kitchen. The third cupboard from the right, on the lower half of the kitchen was where Harry kept items that Anne had brought him. You know, the things that Mum’s knew would be important but somehow never crossed their children’s minds. Regardless of whether their children were grown adults.

Sure enough, there sat the same blue dustpan and brush. The item was as vibrant as the last time you had seen it, in similar fashion. Leaning down you grabbed at it, shutting the cupboard gently using your foot and walked back to Harry.

You handed it off and heard his whispered thanks, as you rested the side of your hip against his cupboards. 

“Don’t think I’ve had this out since the last time you so elegantly broke one of my favourite glasses.”

You knew he was messing with you but that didn’t stop the blush of embarrassment, hitting your skin, and filling you with warmth. “I’ll replace it.”

“‘M jokin’, ‘s fine. Only a bit o’ glass-“

His sentence was cut short as the two of you jumped, the sound of a phone filling Harry’s space.

“‘S not mine,” he jutted his lips out, as he pushed himself up from his crouched position and carefully walked towards the bin with his broken glass.

You turned towards the noise that was your phone and how it blared from Harry’s coffee table, where you had placed it earlier. Walking the short distance, you reached for it and was met with a familiar male name.

Biting your bottom lip, you swiped across the phone and pressed it to your ear. His soothing voice greeted you, slightly worried in tone as he breathed a sigh of relief.

Letting your feet take you to the kitchen island again, you responded telling him you were fine and how sorry you were that you hadn’t let him know you had gotten home okay.

From over the other side of the room, you watched as Harry quirked a brow at you while he picked up the empty bottle of wine and wine stained glasses from the coffee table in his lounge. 

You weren’t home. You were far from home.

“Who is it?” He mouthed as he got closer, glasses clinking as he placed them onto the work surface of the kitchen island, after discarding the bottle of wine as loudly as possible into the bin. 

You pulled the phone away from your ear showing him the name that he had earlier been typing into your Instagram search bar. Under the dim light you could see the slight squint to his eyes and the way his nostrils flared. 

He darted his eyes from the phone screen and back to yours, watching as you put the phone back to your ear. 

“Yeah I had a great night, ‘m just tired.”

Harry dropped his head, a smirk forming on his lips. You were far from tired and this was nothing more than a moodkill. With his hands pressed to the worktop, he looked up at you as you stood diagonally opposite him. 

Eyes glancing down to your left hand that was spread against the work surface, Harry reached for it. The tips of his fingers running gently between the divots of your knuckles, before his hand slipped underneath your fingers and tugged you towards him.

You slowly obliged him, as your eyes moved to his face. “Come to bed,” he mouthed, watching as your top teeth worried at your bottom lip. His right hand moved to slip around to your lower back as you arched, pulling your chest away from his trying to keep his mouth away from the phone.

“Come to bed wi’me,” his voice was a whisper now, not quite loud enough for the person on the other end of the line to hear but a next step up from how he was previously just mouthing his words to you. 

As he tried to distract you, he dipped in and out of your conversation which was the most monotonous thing he had ever found himself eavesdropping into.

With your chest open to him, he nosed his way along your skin, head nudging at your hand that held the phone. His lips pulled into a smile as you faked a yawn, clearly trying to politely give the man on the other end a hint that you were done.

Still he heard the drone of this guy, who was now even repeating things he had previously said to try and keep you on the line with him. You weren’t interested though, too preoccupied by the way that Harry was once again pressing kissing to the skin that he could get too. 

Before you knew what was happening Harry had clearly had enough. 

“We’re tired, pal. Take the hint,” he spoke into the phone that still rested against your ear, his lips finding the bottom end of the receiver. “‘S time for bed.” 

You had to pull the handset away from your ear, not wanting to hear his reaction from the sound of Harry's voice. You blindly ended the call, keeping your eyes on your ex-boyfriend, whose green-eyed monster had made itself known.

He helped guide your phone down to his marble countertop and watched as the phone was brought to life with a call. The same name appearing on your screen as he tried to call you back.

Harry didn’t take long to decline the call, quickly turning the phone to silent and placing it face up once he’d finished. Again, it lit to life, this time buzzing against his work surface rather than omitting a jarring noise into the silence the two of you shared.

“‘S a bit creepy in’t it?” 

His question lingered as his eyes moved between the phone and you, watching another call ring out. “If he rings again, ‘m gonna answer.”

As expected the phone lit up for the fourth time. However, before Harry could reach for the item you pushed it, causing it to slide against the work surface and away, just enough that it was out of his reach. 

Harry clenched his jaw, his muscle pulsing as he looked at you. “‘S he always like tha’?”

“He’s just realised the girl he was dating is in the company of some other bloke.” 

“Dating or taken on dates? There’s a difference,” he raised his eyebrows. “‘S a huge difference an’all.”

You stared at him, watching him lower his body to lean against the counter with his elbows and wipe down his face in frustration. Unwarranted at that. 

“I don’t like ‘im.”

“Of course you don’t,” you hummed. 

Sharply he turned his neck to look at you, “‘s tha’ supposed to mean?”

“That I agree.”

“No,” he frowned. “It was how you said it.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I’m not-“ he cut himself off, sigh heavy. “I’m not saying you can’t.” 

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, thinking of how to navigate his way out of this. 

“‘M saying that you don’t always have to,” he dropped his voice, slowly standing and letting his itching hands reach for you. 

With his hand resting against your ribs, you stayed still. He didn’t guide you anywhere, he waited. Waited on your next move. When he felt your stoic figure relax underneath his touch, his tight chest expanded. Maybe he could talk himself out of this one.

“When we tried this before,” he softly spoke, pulling his hand away from you to motion between you both, “We shared the load, started to become a team.”

“Yeah and look where that got us.”

He felt his lips twitch from your negative deadpan. “‘S got you back ‘ere again tonight so ‘m doing summat right.”

Shaking your head at him, he rolled his lips into his mouth trying to fight his pleased smile. He dropped his eyes to the counter below him as he mumbled his sorry. 

“If you were to ask me, I think we did alrigh’.”

“You would say that.”’

You watched as he jutted out his lips, before running his hand down his mouth and facial hair. He leaned on his palm, his eyes taking you in and wishing you would speak.

“My Mum talks about you all the fucking time,” 

“Say tha’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when you’re trying to get over someone,” you glanced at him from the corner of your vision.

“Now why would you want to do that?”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it,” you were scornful. He shook his head, clearly amused. 

“I’ve still got half of your belongings upstairs, if you wan’ ‘em. You have no idea.” 

You squinted your eyes at him. Trying to read him. “Appearances aren’t always what they seem. Don’t know how many more times I’ll have to tell you about papers and social media, ‘s all a load of bollocks.”

Standing once more, Harry rolled his shoulders and brushed his hair off his face. Once his hands were at the back of his head, he linked his fingers and turned to look at you. Head resting back on his hands, the two of you held each other’s eyes. Him from the corner of his vision, you dead on. No words passed between the two of you. 

“‘M going to bed,” he sighed, dropping his arms and tapping gently against the kitchen counter twice before pushing away. 

His body screamed dejected as he walked away, his shoulders sagged and head down as he walked through his home, towards the second floor and his bedroom. 

Swallowing thickly, you rolled your lips into your mouth again before you spoke his name. The way you called for him caused Harry to stop his movement, back continuing to face you as he silently waited for your next move after you voiced your plea.

You let your feet take you to him, abandoning your phone on the kitchen island and trying your hardest to ignore the white hot anxiety that overtook your being. 

Close enough to touch now, you looked on at your shaking fingers as they gently reached out for him. Your feet took you as close as they could, arm wrapping gently around his abdomen and feeling it quiver with a nervous exhale. 

Lips against the linen of his shirt collar as you pushed onto your tiptoes, hoping that the wine stain upon them wouldn’t attach itself to the cream garment. His head dropped forward, exposing the curvature of his neck to you as his hand gently slid over yours and he rested his fingers between the splayed gaps of your own. 

Gentle squeeze. Reassuring reminder. 

Take your time. 

“Come show me this stuff.”

***

There was always something exhilarating about someone leading you upstairs. The different ways in which it could play out. Playful with a swing to your hands, sensual with a gentle tug to keep your close.

The feel of Harry’s hand in yours was always wanted. Every stroke of his thumb against your knuckles or the back of your hand, a reminder of the affection you had been missing.

His eyes looking over his shoulder at you as he came to the bottom step of the second set of stairs. A silent reminder that you could back out at any time. 

The floorboards still creaked in the same place as always and part of you hated that you didn’t need him to lead you down the hallway because you knew exactly where his room was. 

However, taking yourself to bed never possessed the same majestic undertone as when someone else did.

You were now sitting with your legs tucked underneath you at the end of his bed, rummaging through the box of things that he had neatly packed together for you so they were ready for you to have back if you ever came to collect them.

Every so often you would pull something out to him, showing it and either sharing a story or laughing. As you looked up at him now, showing a tequila shot glass and shaking it suggestively at him, he looked every inch ready to sleep.

Harry was stretched out straight on his bed, his linen shirt still covering his upper body but the buttons were all undone, revealing his chest and stomach to you. Tattoos on display to your eyes that you hadn’t seen for what felt like forever.

The top button of his jeans had been undone as he got comfortable and his ankles were crossed, with his right leg over his left. His eyes were heavily lidded and blinking slower and slower each time you presented him with a new item. 

Double chin forming from the way his head was propped up, he spoke deeply in acknowledgement of the glass with the less than elegant design on the side. 

“Remember getting through a whole bottle of tequila with that,” he drawled, hands clasping on top of his stomach. “Don’t know why we didn’t just pass the bottle between the two of us.”

“That’s because someone insisted that if we were gonna do it, we had to do it proper.”

“Haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

“That’s convenient,” you deadpanned knowing that there was probably some truth behind his words given how inebriated you had both been at the time.

Thoughts aside you continued looking into the box to see a worn slogan shirt peering up at you. Pushing aside the half empty bottle of perfume that was once your favourite, you silently admired the tee that you knew didn’t belong to you.

A soft smile pulled itself onto your lips. Sometimes nice boy Harry was unbearable. He’d taken to folding the shirt that you adored as if it were on a shelf in a posh(er) department store than usual. Think more John Lewis than Debenhams.

Slowly you pulled the item from the box and enjoyed the feel of the soft cotton against your fingers. You loved that the shirt’s collar was slightly saggy, a sign of how loved it had been.

Your voice left your throat as more of a dreamy sigh than you imagined. “I loved this shirt,” you spoke as you held it up in front of your face, eyes tracing over the blue slogan of ‘Enjoy health. Eat your honey.” and the cheeky looking bee that was drawn within the circle.

Who didn’t love an innuendo?

Without a second thought, you let the item fall into your lap, hands quickly turning to pull at your black v-neck top and reveal your matching black lace bra underneath.

Harry slapped his hand against his eyes, quickly covering them. The sound caused you to look up at him. “Don’t be so daft, Harry,” you spoke, fighting your smile by rolling your lips into your mouth as you saw him splinter his fingers and look at you through the gap he had created. 

“Could give a guy a little warning,” he groaned, continuing to peek over at you. 

Shaking your head, you enjoyed the way the cool fabric fell down the skin of your stomach as you covered yourself once more. You knew if you were to turn your head slightly and press your nose to the collar, a mixture of your perfume and his cologne would remain.

You fought the urge however, as you pulled your hair out from underneath the collar and quickly pushed your hand up the back of the shirt to undo your bra. 

It was almost second nature for you to remove your underwear to get comfy within your comfier clothes and the sagging of your bra cups away from boobs was always a delightful feeling at the end of any night. Drunk or otherwise. 

You pulled at the straps of your bra from underneath the sleeves of your shirt, before diving your hand under the hemline and dropping the item less than gracefully into the box that held your other items.

“Think you’re forgetting who that actually belongs to,” he drawled, head resting against the pillows beneath him now and watching you rummage once more.

“I think you gave up the privilege of wearing this item the minute you dropped it inside this box all neatly folded like you worked a shift at Topshop rather than Manderville’s every Saturday.”

He cackled, head tilted back as he enjoyed your self-righteous indignation and absolute pisstake. 

“All Saints was more my thing.”

“That’s because you’re fake indie.”

He was amused as he shook his head over at you with a silent smile. “And being fake indie is exactly why you decided to live on the edge of Camden and not in the thick of Camden itself.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t once tell me that you’d want to raise a family in Hampstead.”

You felt your face heat up at the way he’d completely called your bluff. “That was when I was young and naive.”

“As opposed to us now? Being old and decrepit.”

Again you were silent as you started to put the items around you back into the worn cardboard box. 

“Why’re still fuckin’ around wi’that box?” 

Your eyes snapped up at him as he kept your eyes. “The only thing you should be fuckin’ around with, is me.”

Raising your eyebrows, you said, “Now who sounds young and naive. Anyway, what happened to you just taking.”

Harry was silent as he took in your words, his body slowly rising from his lounged position and he sat up to approach you. You dropped your gaze down his chest and to his stomach, enjoying the slight rolls of his abdomen as he adopted his new seated position.

His eyes were focused as your gaze found his once more. A soft determination. This sheen to his skin in the lamp lighting of his bedroom, causing him to naturally glow. 

Once he was secure in his upright position, closer to you, Harry snatched at the box with one hand and picked it up to sit it down on the floor at his side of the bed.

He then swooped suddenly, hand scooping around your waist and drawing you to him with squealed laughter. His lips fell against your cheek as he shushed you, aiding you as you moved position to get comfortable. 

“Remember the first time I had you in this bed?” He asked, chest to chest with you. Your mouth was agape with your quickened breathing, as his lips puckered slightly at the corner of your mouth and he gently leant his nose to yours.

You both watched each other through heavy eyelids, breathing mixed in rising anticipation. A soft nudge of his nose as he asked, “Do yer?”

A nod was all you could muster. 

“Was good sex,” he husked, hoodied eyes holding yours. “Was always good sex.”

You hummed in agreement. Feeling the way your nerve endings came alight as you pushed your fingers through the hair at his temple. 

Heat flowed through your body, circling in your stomach as his words echoed. 

“Still gonna be good sex, ‘f you’ll let me. Better even.”

The faintest smile pulled at your lips, causing your eyes to glisten. 

“Eh,” he nudged. “You gonna let me, or tell me otherwise?”

“Personally, think you’re just talking a good game.”

“You know ‘m fucking not.”

Harry pulled you to him, his mouth claiming yours easily. So hungry and intense. Lips that were desperate to show you what you had been missing. Lips that were desperate to wipe away the touch of another, asking you what the fuck you were even thinking in trying it with some other bloke? 

Gone was the brushing of lips, faint and fleeting. Harry’s liquid confidence started to come into play as his lips formed into a smile when he gave you his tongue and hummed as he did. 

Harry cupped your face as he slanted his mouth over yours, soft moans leaving your throat as you kept him close. 

Lips were coaxing, as he groaned between quiet wet smacking sounds that otherwise would have had you cringing. 

Now he had you however, how could he part? Your smell was intoxicating to him, as was the touch of your fingers in his hair and nails gently scratching at his scalp. His mewls were catlike when he pressed his wet lips to your skin.

Breathing now more like a pant, it puffed against your elongated neck as he pulled away and made a beeline for your clavicle and then chest, movements slower. Chestnut hair tickled the underside of your chin and caused the faintest of smiles to ghost across your lips from the way it felt.

His nose nudged the collar of his shirt that sat against your body enticingly. The smell of your perfume everywhere to him. 

Now lower down you found his forehead was pressed to your clavicle as you felt his teeth playfully tug the cotton between them. A puff of air left your nose as you bit down onto your bottom lip to try and suppressed your giggle.

“Smells like us,” he hummed, mouth breathing hot and heavy against the shirt that sat directly above your nipples. “‘S tha’ good.”

Your only response was the tipping back of your head, fingers carding heavily through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Had he always been this skilful? Vocal, sure. But it never quite hit you like it was doing tonight. His deep hums and moans, his hands spreading so confidently across your back to hold you to him.

And when you cradled the back of his head and pressed that was when you found yourself moaning his name deep from the back of your throat as his mouth gently sucked at your hardened nipples through his beloved shirt.

His name left your lips again, this time  in the softest gasp as a small frown hit your eyebrows and your hips started to faintly roll atop his. He moaned gratefully into your chest, his tongue wetting the fabric of his shirt so it clung to your raised nipple.

As he nosed along the cotton, he found your second nipple, his hand quick to raise to the first and squeeze at your breast that had not been forgotten. His touch wanted - you and it - to know that.

This is what you’d been missing so long. A sense of feeling you had buried somewhere else. Blocking out the way he managed to make you feel more alive than anyone else had. 

With cheeks hollowed as he suckled, you whispered, “That’s nice.”

His hum of agreement vibrated through your chest as he kept his face pressed against you. 

Everything about him became deliberate and slow, his hands now moving underneath your shirt and fingertips gently grazing at soft, warm skin prickling goosebumps in their wake.

Sliding lower his left hand palmed against the back pocket of your jeans, fingers catching against the thick and sewed seams. Hand pressed heavy to aid the soft rock to your hips, tapping lightly to the top of your bum.

“‘M gonna take these off,” he hummed, looking up at you from where his face was still pressed into your chest.

“Are you?”

It felt as if the room spun before you could even comprehend what was happening, a squealed laugh leaving your lips next as your arms tightened around Harry’s shoulders. He lightly lifted and rolled you, your back landing against his mattress gently as your laughter tapered off.

His lips were sponging kisses to your jawline and cheeks, as you felt the backs of his fingers slide gingerly against the exposed skin of your stomach. Slowly you felt the fabric pull away and fall slack against your stomach when he managed to twist the button with one hand, as your arms fell against the mattress and into the pillows that were slightly pressed higher against the headboard.

“Took you long enough,” you goaded, a smirk lacing your lips as you felt Harry pull away and watched him kneel sitting back with his feet against his bum. 

His face was a picture, clearly amused, as he swiftly pulled his own shirt away and threw it behind him. Hands slowly trailed back up to the waistband of your jeans as he lightly hovered over you.

His head found your stomach, the soft skin on show from where the tee had ridden up. Soft puckered kiss, he lifted his head and pressed his chin into your stomach. 

“Last chance,” he voiced, soft. While he wasn’t willing to forget about it all, regardless of the ache he had between his own legs, you had to be in this with him as much as he was. 

Blinking down at him, you moved your hand up to gently push through his hair and without words raised your hips off the bed enough for him to get the message.

The smile that pulled at his lips, was so triumphant you had to knock your head back to stop yourself from chastising him for being full of himself. 

Your hands however couldn’t help themselves as they joined Harry while he pulled your trousers down your legs and watched goosebumps rise upon your skin from their exposure to the cold. 

Now he was at the end of the bed, you dropped your head to the side to look at him. The way he looked as he carelessly threw your item of clothing over to the chair that sat in the corner of his room. 

His eyes slowly came back to you, as he followed his own motion and saw the faintest of smiles dance across your features. 

“What yer thinking?” 

You were thinking a lot of things. Mainly more so how mystical he looked in the soft glow of the London evening that was creeping in through the haphazard way he had drawn his curtains. Your smile only deepend at how it was more so from the street lamp lights than any full moon, but he didn’t have to know that.

Of course he would want to though, because your smile was more so on show now thanks to the thought in your mind.

Harry shook his head as he fought his own smile, dropping his face slightly to watch his hands as he fiddled with his own jeans.

“Whatever’s got you smiling, ‘s doing nothing for my ego as ‘m undressing m’self in front of yer.”

You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself, which is why you lightly laughed. 

He spoke your name in a pretend warning.

“‘S doin’ everythin’ for you,” you spoke sultry, “Don’t even try it. Got a girl half naked and waiting for you.”

At those words he looked up at you, through his curtains of thick waves that had fallen into his line of vision. 

You breathed deeply, eyes unable to move from his captivating stare even though you knew he was practically naked from the waist down. You knew from the way his upper body moved as he pushed down his jeans; you knew from the sound of the clothes bunching around his ankles. 

Now you found yourself wondering again. Wondering if he still kept his condoms where he had done last time. Sometimes in the bedside table drawer, other times hidden in the top of his wardrobe. 

Were you going to see him twist and turn, get him showing you how white his bum cheeks were in comparison to his infuriatingly evenly tanned thighs and legs? Or was he going to hold your eyes, dip his knee into the bottom of his bed and crawl up you once more so he could grab one from the bedside table.

“Not just any girl,” he finally replied, his knee dipping into the bottom of the bed. You supposed that answered your question. 

“No?”

A small shake of his head. 

“The girl.”

Harry chuckled, giving himself away as he watched the way you relaxed deeper into the mattress as he found your legs easy to accommodate him. 

“I’ve never been the anything,” you emphasised.

With his lips against your cheek, you felt his puffed breath as he responded, “Yea, you fuckin’ have.”

You kept him to you with a hand against the back of his head, fingers woven through his hand unable to not enjoy the feel of his silky locks beneath your touch. Reacquainting yourself with everything that you thought you had lost.

His lips unlatched from yours with a soft, wet sound as your eyes rolled back into your head when he started to trail kisses down your cheek, down your neck once more.

There was no mistaking how greedy they were, his chin knocking yours and his teeth scraping against your skin as he held your jaw with a steady hand in hope of keeping you still beneath him. 

Legs moved from where they were open, softly brushing at his sides so your calves wrapped and touched the back of his thighs. The feel of his hairs against your smooth legs becoming a weirdly exhilarating reminder of your closeness once more. 

Head buried in your chest, you felt him locate the wet patch against the cotton from his previous play and quickly enclose his mouth once more. Warm hands pushed beneath your body and the mattress, sliding underneath and raising your chest further to his face. 

Your mouth fell open as you felt the pressure of his lips and tongue, enclosed around your nipple again, grow stronger. With a hand in his hair once more, you wondered if he was going to take you out of this shirt, or fuck you in it. 

As the pressure lessened, with your head pressed into the bed beneath you, you heard the rustling of his nose and face against the shirt. He rubbed his face against you, inhaling and moving his hands closer to your lower back. 

Hands in contact with your underwear, you felt him smooth over the fabric of your bum. He pulled at your thigh, before pushing at your knees with a gentle but assured touch. 

“If I remember correctly,” he started, voice muffled as his face was still pressed to your breast. “This leg needs to go here, like this. Mm?” 

Clammy hand splayed against your thigh, you felt him direct your other leg, “And this one needs to be a bit lower, otherwise you get cramp.” 

There was a pause, and you could feel the way his lips were twitching atop the cotton of the tee. Matching yours at the flippant comment that was only funny because it was true.

Humming again, he added, “Keep ‘em like this. Keep me here like this.” 

Doing what he asked, you bit back a moan when he moved to fit his palm over you through your underwear. The warmth from it radiating through you, making your throb and giving you the urge to fold your legs in on it.

Tentative strokes were what you received, at first. Up and down, coaxing you and drawing you into him. Then his fingers became more confident, certain in their touch, moving with a sense of familiarity you had been missing. 

“‘S this okay?”

His voice was soft, hard to hear over your breathing and the blood starting to rush around your ears. You found yourself nodding, however. Giving him the permission he desired, making his next movement the easiest. 

His fingers hooked, slipped underneath the thin piece of fabric and the quiet groan that left his lips only had you moving your legs that bit higher. 

“‘S it nice.”

Harry was enticing. From his oozing velvety voice to his careful, barely there touch. You were lost to him. Finding it hard to breath as your body begged for you to be actually - really - touched. 

With a heavy swallow, you felt your eyes fall shut with your slow, deep breath and let your head turn to the side, finding the edge of a propped up pillow to shield your torture expression. 

“Don’t hide from me,” his voice lazily made itself known, as he looked up from under his brow at you and caused your eyes to drop as you looked down your body. He descended lower and lower, hands pushing up at his tee against your stomach, to reveal your bare skin to him. 

Spongy kisses, encased by stubble, pressed into your skin. His fingers never once let up in their tease, touch opening you up for him. The soft twitch of your legs when his fingers landed on your clit, sliding over it. 

“Relax for me,” he hummed. “You good… s’it feel good?”

Confident nod, you swallowed again. Tongue pushing between your lips to lick away the dryness. 

“Okay wi’this?” 

Another nod.

The press of his fingers onto your clit caused you to breathe deeply. A hiss of ‘yes’ as you exhaled. 

“Tell me if it’s changed.”

And you knew what he meant. His desire to know if you still liked things the same as before important to him. 

You couldn’t help the low and long moan that left your throat. Neither could you stop the lift of your hips from the bed as you twisted your body as he stroked at your clit. 

Heavenly ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ were pulled from you. Encased by ‘yeses’ of various pitches. Harry’s nose was buried into the skin of your ribs, having managed to push the tee you still wore to underneath your boobs and in the process expose more of your skin to him.

His mouth sucked against your skin on the inside of your left boob, just at the underside, and from the groan he omitted you knew you were going to be left with an almighty love bite. 

“Oh,” you sighed, as you felt his tongue lave at the mark, again nudging upwards and taking the shirt with him. Tongue over your exposed nipple, alert from the cold and due to your aroused state. 

Your lower half was warm, fire stoked while he stroked at your clit. A sharply exhaled ‘fuck’ from you had him smiling around your nipple. The last time you had found yourself getting this wet - soaked and slick, the kind that meant your walls were smooth and would pull him right in - had been with him. 

A laugh left you from underneath your breath, one not noticed by Harry who was too lost in the feel of you beneath him. The thought of anyone being able to get you this way from an act so virginal was unknown. Of course, he was the exception. Of course. 

“Hear tha’?”

So lazy he couldn’t even ask you properly. 

“Nice an’ wet.”

The slip of his fingers moving lower had you humming delightfully, legs falling open a bit more as his fingers danced at your entrance. The contrast of the heel of his palm to your clit was welcomed, warm but dry in comparison to heavily wet fingers. 

You could feel yourself pulsing as his palm gently rubbed you again, nervous energy had you teetering. Fingers at your center. You wanted them, you wanted him in anyway he would give you himself. 

Quiet, apart from staggered breathing, he smiled to himself when he felt your walls give way to him and his two fingers with ease. Your moan was voracious, a clear need apparent as the edges of it died against your dry throat. 

He knew it was his name. He had heard it like that before. Plenty of times. Said in the same tone too. Sprinkled with incoherent desire. 

“‘S that want you wanted?” He found himself asking. “Should’a just said.”

And you would’ve if you could. But instead your head was tossed back and your toes were curling into the sheets. 

These were the moments he has missed. When he really thought about your time apart. The moments where the two of you were so lost in each other that the nonsense that slipped from each of your lips was met with no judgement but rather embraced. 

Reacquainting after time apart. Rekindling your desires and unspoken love for one another. 

Eyes on your face, he couldn’t  quite see you how he would’ve liked but he did nothing to change it. His own want went out of the window in favour of you getting and keeping yours. 

The smell of you was everywhere as he dropped his eyes and pushed his face against your boobs once more. A man quite willing to suffocate in his need to want more. 

He could feel your falling apart under his experienced touch, relentless and unfleeting now. His fingers curled and with each ‘come hither’ your breathy moans only drove him on. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he spoke through gritted teeth, the tension in his arm burning at his wrist. Mutters of desperate mantras - ‘come on, come on’ - mouthed to your skin.

And you could - like this - you could. But did you want to?

While you were feverishly hot, everywhere, for him - body unable to stop rolling with each pull of his fingers - your head knocked back and softly shook from side to side. 

“No,” you moaned lightly, “Not yet… Harry.” 

“No?”

His questioning had you dropping your eyes, head still lolled to the side with pouted expression. 

Mind still slightly hazy, you stared at him. He was still in his underwear, very obviously hard. Head nudging slightly, you breathed, “Come here.”

Empty. That’s how you felt when he slowly moved his fingers and left you clenching around nothing but the cold air of his bedroom. 

His right hand was against your skin, middle and third finger slightly hovering away as they were coated in you and he selfishly didn’t want to lose that to your flesh but rather his tongue. 

Legs welcomed him, smoothing around the backs of his thighs once before lifting and using your  feet to try to push his underwear down. 

Harry let out a noise you hadn’t heard in a while, a mix between a grunt and chuckle. The kind that created an aggravated fire within you.

“‘S not gonna work,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he felt the warmth of you against his clothes bulge. Your one thigh lifting to encourage him to roll onto his back.

And he did, taking him with you. A mess of awkward limbs tangling. With shaky knees you climbed over him, eyes down and taking in his underwear.

A pair of black briefs fit him just right, hugged him and holding his straining cock. 

Your eyes slowly rose up his body, his chest lifting and falling with heavy breathing as his chin softened while he looked down at you with his fingers just about leaving his mouth from where he’d cleaned your arousal off of them. 

You felt his eyes peering at you as you lowered down, nose first teasing against the waistband of his underwear before you found your lips pressed kisses to the tops of his thighs. Enjoying a little bit too much the feel of his leg hair against your nose and lips. 

Hand lifted, it blindly sought out the waistline of his pants and allowed fingers to slip inside to pull down the material. 

Just about past his thighs, you locked eyes with Harry. His soft blinking gaze and content smile had you grinning impishly, knowing in the faintly lit room he would most likely be able to make out the blush upon your skin. 

You’d saw but more arousingly heard his cock move as the briefs which encased it gave way and it fell back, heavy, against Harry’s lower abdomen. And that was where it lay, next to the hair in Harry’s stomach and down to his pubic region. 

Small crawl to get you better situated, you flipped some of your hair over to your opposite shoulder and felt him touch the back of your head with a barely there graze as you licked up the underside of his cock.

“Shit, darling,” he breathed, voice blissful above you but filled with a rawness only brought on by sexual vulnerability. 

Looking up his body, you could see the grin that had made its way to his lips. His teeth quick to bite it away, with little to no avail. 

You licked again, mouth moving lower to delicately suck one of his balls into your mouth. 

The groan that left him was husky, right from the back of his throat. The kind that gave you shivers from how unguarded it was. His legs widened against the bed, your eyes diverted to his thighs from his movement. How thick they looked as they flattened beneath you on his bed. 

Wrapping your hand around him, you ran your thumb over the head of his cock. Up and down. Slowly taking in every movement and what it did to him. Just like you remembered.

“‘S this right?” You asked, hand and mouth working him and his balls over. Looking up once more you watched him hum, with the smallest of nods. His lips were rolled into his mouth, dimples prominent as they dipped into his cheeks.

His nostrils flared as he breathed and his hair had started to fall across his forehead from how he’d been dipping his head back into the pillows beneath him.

“Squeeze me ‘ere,” he reminded you, voice holding a slight tremble, his hand encasing yours and encouraging a tighter hold as he leisurely dragged both his and your hand up and down his cock. “Slowly- tha’s it.”

You pulsed between your thighs as you watched him moving your hand with his, each downward pull showing his glistening head more and more. Heavy swallow, you knew he was holding back and you would be lying if you said the visual wasn’t encouraging you to take him in your mouth properly.

Almost like second nature you did exactly that. Licking at your lips as you lifted up and wrapped your lips around his exposed tip. When his hand faltered from the pleased sound you voiced now you were on him, you were able to slip from under his grip and felt him continue to wank as you suckled so teasingly. 

With each bob of your head, you felt his hand pull away more, as your mouth and jaw stretched around his hard cock. 

“Yea’,” he groused, deeply when his hand fell to give way to your mouth and move to shift your curtaining hair. Harry rolled his hips up gently, eager to get the last bit of him down your throat. Old him would’ve voiced it too, but he felt this moment didn’t call for that.

He softly fucked your face, if there were such a thing. The nudges of his cock warming through your core as the throbbing sensation that had been lingering between your legs only grew.

Harry fought against himself to make you gag, teetering on it with each raise of his hips as his glassy eyes barely focused on you. Too engrossed in the filth he wished to voice. 

“God, look at you,” he dropped his head back. Ironic really. Unable to continue looking as he said it. It was tame in comparison to how he wanted to speak.

So, he laughed. Breathy at first, before becoming a little bit louder. You lips twitching into a smile as you lifted off of him and gently tugged before letting it fall and bounce proudly erect. Kissing up his stomach and placing your knees either side of his hips. 

He had almost forgotten you weren’t completely naked until you sat on top of him covered up. Eyes too taken by your face to care, as you blinked down at him with a doe-eyed expression that made him want to lap you up in any way he could have you.

His right hand pulled you down to him, lips greedy against yours as his left hand found the top of your bum cheek, trying to blindly find his cock and guide him into you regardless of knowing it wouldn’t work.

“Like this?” He asked as his lips hovered at the corner of yours, wanting to know if you wanted it this way. “How’d you wan’ it?”

“On top.”

“Me?”

Your voices were breathy as you spoke around the faintest of kisses. Both eager to start from the feel of you both so close to each other. 

The faintest of nods was given to him and it was all it took for him to roll the both of you, further continuing to ruckle up the bedsheet beneath you.

“Do I need one?”

And you knew you should be responsible and not shake your head no at his ambiguous mention of protection. All rushed and breathy, chest heavy as he exhaled in a nervous rush, but you just wanted him. Bare and in you. 

Underwear was quickly removed before you’re resumed your position. 

He watched you softly as you shook your head no, Harry pushing the shirt up under your boobs, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to kiss at your jaw and cheeks. 

“Planning on staying over?” 

Feeling him shift up and jar his head back, just enough to get a good look at you, you stared at him not knowing how to respond. It was practically morning now, so hadn’t you already? 

His hands moved your legs as you thought, his one holding you where he needed you to be. 

“Don’t think ‘bout it for too long, darling,” he joked nudging his nose gently against you as he watched the way your lips went against you, smiling at his words. 

“Let me know how long we can go for,” he added, gently taking his cock that was sprung and bobbing between you into his hand. He looked down and tapped it to your wetness, sliding it down with a press of his fingers to the topside of his shiny cock to line himself up.

“Gonna let me have you all night.” 

Your breathing picked up, chest trembling slightly at how much more of a statement those words sounded than a question. An amorous glance looked back at him, slow blinking and head lolled gently to the side. 

“Eh? Sleep in the mornin’?”

A deep and shaky breath had your mouth falling, your eyes slowly shutting as you felt him push in. You were right when you thought about how easily you would take him earlier. Body crying out for a good fuck. 

“Fuck me,” he groaned deeply, head dropping forward and hair hanging down. You reached for him, wanting to see his face.

Harry obliged you, his face turning to find your wrist and pressing a chaste kiss to your skin. “Missed havin’ you like this,” he breathed. Quick bite down to his bottom lips, nostrils flared.

“‘S tight.”

He knew the remark was boyish. Unable to stop himself as he eased out and rolled his hips back into yours. Each push and pull giving you a little more of him. Deep frown etched between his eyebrows as his breath caught in his throat, mouth slightly fallen and lips starting to dry. 

“Haven’t-“ your voice croaked, head dipping into the pillow beneath you.

Haven’t slept with anyone in a while. Haven’t slept with anyone since you last slept with him. Haven’t had the desire to. 

He hummed in agreement as the two of you felt the words fall away from you both. Harry’s concentration firmly on each roll of his hips as he gave you more of him. The rhythm he set being one that you could only describe as intimate. Familiar. 

He was warm on top of you as he alternated between grinding dips of his hips, thrusts that were tantalisingly slow, making your hips roll up to meet him and causing him to smile at how you wanted it. 

He had to voice it. “You want it, don’t you?”

He only knew so easily because he did too. He had done the minute he fucked the whole thing up and let you slip away with his dwindling text messages in response and shorter phone calls every time you had a chance.

Your hand glided to the back of his head, the other down to his bum as you encouraged him to give you his entire weight. He was close but you want him closer. Close was never close enough. 

Was that enough to answer his question of wanting it, wanting him? 

Squeezing at his bum, you fought the urge you had to give him a slap, too caught up into the heavy groan that moulded into your face as he pressed his nose to your skin.

“You make me good,” he lowly gruffed against your cheek, his hand trailing down to take yours from his bum.

Fingers laced and pressed against the mattress upon which you lay, you tilted your head back and pressed it harder into the pillow beneath you. You keened and mewled beneath him, breathy noises of indecipherable words as the head of his cock bumps your spot inside. 

“You make me feel good.”

You were taken by his gasp, how desperate he sounded as he hiked your leg higher, wanting you to spread yourself open for him. His hips don’t give you much choice other than to play along as he moved with an assiduity you had never found with any other man. 

He allowed you to feel every inch of him going in, pulling out and going back in. Teasing himself and you with a slow and measured pace that had you passionately panting underneath him. 

“No one gets it like this.”

Looking at him with heavy-lidded vision, you wove your fingers through his hair and tugged. His face contorted blissfully, breath catching in his throat before it heaved out of his mouth as his chest forced him to exhale. 

You were nodding, agreeing with him. No one had you like this. Him like this. It like this. Sweltering and sticky. 

Teeth gritted, he grunted as he thrusts grew heavier now with more conviction behind their motion. 

“Deeper,” you gasped, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

His pelvis was heavy against yours now, making it difficult for you to lift and roll your hips to meet his thrusts. And he knew you loved it like this, he still knew that. 

Legs practically pushed to your chest, held there by your own fruition as they rocked and rubbed up against his fleshy sides cradling him to you, feet bobbing in the air with toes curled.

The sensual roll he was giving you caused the grip of your fingers to go slack against his head. You could feel him smiling against your skin, as your breath hitched in your throat and your hand squeezed at his. 

“Touch my arse,” he moaned, sliding his hand out of yours and breathing in quick succession until your hand met his bum cheek once more. 

This time you didn’t falter, gently tapping and feeling the tension to his thrusts as he clenched. Quick squeeze and nails digging in creating crescent moons against his white bits. “Yeah darlin’, know I like it like tha’.” 

Head turned to the side, you messily brought your mouths together. He chuckled as you broke away, probably from the words he’d just spoken. Laughter dying down into a hum as your feet wrapped around his lower back.

His lips were dry as they met yours, too caught up in how his mouth hung open, to make them wet and inviting, as his need to breathe was evident. 

“No ones like you,” you admitted. “No one comes close.”

He revelled in the whine of your last word, how it had your back arching and allowed him to wind his hand around you to lift your bum slightly to encourage your hips to continue meeting his.

He knew you were tired, the breathy whines that were spoken up towards the ceiling were not lost on him. And he knew he had to keep going, to give it to you how you deserved. To make up for the lost time, to say sorry for ‘being a bit of a dick’. A lot of a dick. 

When you knocked your head back, your eyes were unable to concentrate and he was mesmerised by the visual of complete, unadulterated lust that was present on your features. Hair sticking to your temples from your exertion and face void of any concern. 

“Make me come,” you whispered your plea, feeling him bury his face into your neck and drop himself down flush to you. With one hand woven through the hair on the back of his head, your other stayed at him bum feeling the grind of his groin against yours as he lay on you. 

He was sensual now, if not a little tired himself, as his breathing left his mouth in hot pants against the side of your neck. You could feel yourself beginning to flush from the heaviness of his body as you both rocked from the force of his motions and the fullness of him above you.

With rustling sheets and sounds of grunts, your cooed ‘oh’ left you, as you felt the motion of Harry’s hips pickup pace. Your fingers clawed into his hair, lifting the strands and softly pulling as your body ached in the most delectable way.

Harry groaned around a smile, muffled by your skin as he could feel his stomach start to tighten; his orgasm impending. He tried to hold off as much as he could, eager to watch you come undone first in the best way he could as he was rendered speechless and breathless alongside it.

Instead you were both a mess of tangled limbs, with rocking motions so vigorous that you felt yourself moving up the bed. A symphony of noises - slapping skin, feeble grunts and creaking bed.

Harry wheezed, knowing he sounded pathetic by too caught up to care. Through hooded eyes you caught sight of his mouth falling agape before he ground his teeth together as his thrusts heavily rolled into you, nudging your entire body.

Your mouth fell as his name unashamedly fell from your lips. Demandingly, but in a juxtaposed whisper, you told him to give it to you. 

“I am,” he whispered. “Oh, I am, darling- Mmhm.“

You whimpered, feeling each breath get harder to produce as your abdomen began to tighten and your chest heave. “I’m coming,” you hastily whispered. Voice nothing more than a pant. 

Looking up at Harry, you watched his bottom lip become captive to his teeth, as his nostrils flared while he breathed. His thrusts were at their heaviest now, wetter and sloppier but getting the job done.

“Gonna- oh.”

This was the loudest you’d been in a while. Moans long and dying off into wordless bliss as your muscles tensed and your orgasm rolled through you. Leaving you as nothing more than cloudy thoughts, and a warm, floaty body.

You felt the bounce of his laugh against his skin from his breath, as he continued to move above you and moulded you into nothing but a high-pitched mess as he wouldn’t stop.

Body falling slightly slack, relaxed and pliant to the bed, you felt Harry move his face into your neck and nudge his hips once more. His ruts were less rhythmic, rough grunts and indecipherable slurring only matching his pending euphoria. 

With his final, heavily thrust, his hips slammed to a stop against yours. Your breathing stuttered as you held him to you, hands moving over his shuddering shoulders and ears listening to his muffled groans which vibrated through you.

“Yea’,” he drawled. Low from the back of his throat. “Yes.”

***

Sunday mornings were made to be slow. To bask in the stillness. To hear nothing but the blood that was rushing through your ears.

It was far too bright to be considered early morning. Not with the winter months looming. 

You stretched your limbs, listening for the crack of your back as your hands reached for the t-shirt that was still awkwardly bunched up to your armpits. 

Rolling your body slightly you reached for the hem and pulled it down, letting your head fall to the side to see an empty bed which allowed a sense of regret to creep into your morning thoughts. Blinking slowly, you almost missed the sound of the bedroom door gently bouncing against the wall.

A hushed, “bollocks” spat out for the other side of the wood causing your lips to twitch upwards in a smile. 

A pause came to Harry’s movements as he caught your eye in nothing more than a pair of fresh underwear and mismatched mugs in each hand. 

“Stayed the night,” he hummed, eyes softly shining. A soft smile pulled onto your lips as he left a cup of tea closer to your side of the bed and you watched him start to blow gently at the lip of his own mug. With his mouth about to take a sip, he asked, “Fancy staying another?” 

[eunoiaflow3r]

Agree to No Promises

A/N: I absolutely loved writing this, thank you for requesting!

Warnings: mistakes, angst, fluff, mentions of kidnapping (nothing gory), and language. fem!reader.

Word Count: 4.5k

Requests:

i have a spence request!! you know that one scene where he says “this is calm, and it’s doctor”. i want a whole fic of that kind of aggressive spence in which he defends the readers honour to the rest of the BAU people, maybe she makes a call that’s risky for her own safety and the others are calling her out on it and spence gets defensive and morgan is like “calm down kid” or it can be whoever and THEN HE SAYS THAT LINE I WOULD DIE ❤️❤️

actually, some enemies to lovers with spencer would be great if they work at the bau together and for years they don’t get along and bicker and the reader knows she’s in love with spencer but doesn’t have a chance and he finds out while they’re arguing

~~~~~

You wanted to punch Spencer in the face. You wanted to shut him up, and you felt in that moment - punching him would be the perfect way to do so. But no. Your brain was not listening to what you wanted, and instead what your heart wanted, but you could not afford that right now.

When you think of Spencer Reid, you think tall, skinny, uncoordinated, annoying, rude and cocky. You can’t stand the way he looks at you, or the way his hair falls over his eyes, and even the fact that a grown-ass man never wears matching socks. You also don’t like the fact that he always seems to be right, even when you wish he wasn’t. 

According to Spencer, you were no walk in the park either. He hates that you’re so dramatic, and that you’re so hell-bent on proving yourself right. He hates that you never listen to anything he tells you, and how you act like nothing can ever get to you no matter what it is.

When Spencer thinks of you, he thinks she’s self-righteous, and that you have this stupid hero complex that you need to get over.

_

“L/N.” 

“Reid.” You greeted with just as much hostility.

Even on the plane, you both seemed to successfully make eachother mad. The team always noticed the rigidness between you two, and had even asked about the elephant in the room multiple times, but the only thing you two had seemed to come up with to explain your behavior - which you both had ironically subconsciously agreed on, was that, “It’s not my fault he/she is impossible.”

On countless random occasions, the team had tried to help fix whatever bad blood was spilled between you, but you two never caved in and instead insisted on the fact that, “nothing could be done,” to fix the unyielding tension if the other wasn’t going to change.

After they went over the ins and outs and asked the necessary questions of the case like usual, Hotch began to put the team into pairs to send them on their individual assignments.

“Prentiss, Morgan, I need you to go to the morgue and see if there’s anything significant other than the ligature marks.”

They nodded.

“JJ, Rossi, I need you to go visit the victim’s families and see if there’s anything you can find that ties these murders together. Like we said, probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to look.”

“Of course.” JJ answers.

“Y/N, and Reid I need you two to go to the most recent scene and tell us what you find there. I’ll meet you there after I check in with the locals.”

Both you and Spencer looked absolutely offended, and you both collectively tried to come up with any reason in the books so that you would not be paired together.

“But surely-” you tried to reason.

“No.” Hotch interrupted.

“But I should -” Reid began to bargain.

Hotch interrupted once again with a cold stare, and an even colder if not snarky, “No.”

Yours and Spencer’s eyes met for a brief moment before you both decided to give up defeatedly, and roll your eyes at one another.

The team had noticed the interaction between the two of you once more and they couldn’t decide if they wanted to laugh at your childish actions, or if they wanted  to shake their heads in annoyance and say something about your behavior.

They chose the latter and ignored the both of you.

Once you had landed, and before the team all went their separate ways, Hotch told both you and Spencer to behave.

“No promises.” you replied opening the driver door to the black SUV that awaited the both of you to ride in.

Hotch gave you a  harsh glare.

“I’m joking Hotch.” you smile. “It’s a joke.”

Nodding, he walks away and gets into a car of his own with the local police department. Spencer gets in the passenger seat and immediately if not frantically, puts on his seatbelt.

You chose to ignore his actions, turned on the ignition, and drove out of the parking lot.

“Uhm, are you sure you should be driving?” Spencer asks eyebrows furrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean since -”

“You misogynistic prick!” you practically shout, now pissed.

“You’re wrist.” Spencer nods towards your hand. “You were complaining earlier about how it was cramped and all.”

“What do you care?”

“Well, ya’know. I wouldn’t want it going out, and I don’t know, kill the both of us because you weren’t careful.”

“You’re a jerk Spencer Reid.” you shake your head not taking your eyes off the road. “You ever shut up?”

“I could ask the same Y/N L/N.”

-

Your relationship with Spencer has been this way since the day you arrived.

“Everyone, meet agent L/N.” Hotch introduces you. “Y/N, meet Penelope Garcia, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, and Spencer Reid.”

You waved at everyone and said a quick “hello,” before sitting in the empty seat right across from Spencer Reid.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had done a little back up check on you before you had even arrived. Your record was crystal clear, you had done nothing wrong, your parents were alive and well, and it seemed as though you had been through nothing traumatic and this shocked Spencer.

No one’s record was this clear, which meant you were hiding something. Because of this, he could not trust you.

Instead of asking you himself, he decided to just ignore you and act rude until he got the answers he wanted. Perhaps this was you’d feel the need to tell the truth - whatever that was.

_

“I’m sorry, did I do something to offend you?” You had asked once.

You had barely been at the Bureau a day and already you had seemingly made an enemy, which sucked because from what you’ve heard Spencer was the sweetest one there, and by the looks of it, definitely the cutest.

“No, you did nothing.”

“Okay.”

_

You don’t remember what he was talking about, but Spencer was ranting and that was one of your favorite things about him - just the way he could talk on and on and on about anything. 

His voice itself made you want to swoon, but everytime he spoke to you, he always seemed disinterested, and you hated that

_

You got on Spencer’s last nerve. How did you seem so perfect? You were beautiful inside and out, and he didn’t understand it. There were days where he literally just wanted to talk to you to hear your voice, and he wanted to just ramble on and on and on to you about everything, but everytime he stopped himself. 

He reminded himself that you were suspicious, and besides - with your beauty, who knew how many men you’ve been with. 

He didn’t feel like getting his heart broken anytime soon.

_

You gave him a couple of weeks - a month and a half - to warm up to you, and still nothing. 

His attitude had got nothing but worse towards you, which was confusing because when you saw him interact with anyone else, he was an absolute sweetheart.

“Why do you treat me this way?”

He ignored you.

“Fine.” You had grown impatient. “Don’t say I never tried Spencer.”

And you walked away.

_

You were no longer going to take the way he gave you the cold shoulder and the way he talked to you, so from that day forward you had done to him the same way he had done to you.

You gave him the cold shoulder, and acted annoyed whenever he spoke to you.

This had become routine for the both of you. So much of a routine, that you both had forgotten why you hated each other in the first place.

After awhile, all Spencer knew was that he couldn’t get your condescending voice out of his head, and even when he told himself that you weren’t, you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

_

Everyday was a struggle to get eachother out of your heads. It seemed as though no one but that small voice in your heads knew you were secretly pining for each other, and that “hatred,” was covering up something much, much bigger, but there’s doubt you’ll be uncovering anything any time soon.

There were nights where you laid in bed just thinking about him, and times you cried yourself to sleep because at some point you realized you were in love with him, but you knew he would never ever feel the same, and that’s what hurt you the most.

_

“Excellent work guys.” Hotch compliments. “We’ll pick this up in the morning.”

The team had come together, and gathered a significant amount of information about the unsub, but it was late, and everyone needed a good night’s sleep for fresh minds the next day.

Unfortunately, roommates were the team members you were paired with earlier that day, so you were stuck sharing a room with Reid.

You huffed and through your bag on the bed. The last person you wanted to share a room with was Spencer Reid. At least you didn’t have to share a bed.

Putting a fake smile on your face, you turned to him and asked, “So are you taking a shower first or am I?”

“I’ll take mine in the morning.” he answered shortly, seemingly unbothered.

“Okay, fine. Whatever.” you replied, kind of hurt.

A hot shower should do it for you. You brought your bag into the shower, and got ready to relax under the steaming water. You rubbed your hands across your face because honestly - you were stressed. Arguing with Spencer on a daily basis was just…tiring. Sometimes you wished you knew why he hated you so much, but you knew the man wouldn’t ever tell you.

You opened your eyes, and you looked around the shower for your shampoo, but on the wall right above it was a spider.

“Shit!! Oh my God!!” You jumped out of the shower as quickly as you could, wrapped a towel around your body, and just about flew out of the bathroom.

Spencer looked up hurriedly and jumped out of his seat, in fear that you were hurt. 

“What the hell? Are you okay?”

“No!” you huffed. “There’s a spider in the shower!” 

His face was now a serious Hotch-like face. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes!”

Spencer walked into the bathroom and checked for the spider. He was now just as confused as ever.

“This is just a wolf spider,” he sighed, bringing it into the room in a cup with a napkin covering it. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“What the fuck Spencer, what are you DOING?” 

He looked at you, and then the towel around you and his nostrils flared. You were practically naked - as the only thing between the two of you was a flimsy hotel towel. He had to get out of there, so instead of answering you, he left the room and went to go free the arachnid.

Once he was outside, and had freed the spider, he took a few breaths. He was  frustrated. Absolutely frustrated, and he wasn’t sure what to do. All he saw now was that towel wrapped around your wet body and he hated the way his stomach clenched everytime he thought about that stupid towel and how easily it could have fallen and how he would have been able to -

No. He must not think this way about you. Not only was it incredibly inappropriate considering you were his coworker, but he had to keep up his, “I can’t stand her,” persona.

When he got back to the room, you were, he assumed, finished showering, and you were sitting on your bed in a pair of shorts and a tight fitted tank top leaving little to nothing of your figure to the imagination.

Of course, he was now incredibly irritated because you were real, and this wasn’t just one of his many dreams starring you where you two were using your mouths for a little something other than argue.

You had watched Spencer go into the bathroom, and you audibly let out a breath. He had said nothing to you, yet the way he looked at you made your heart and lower stomach go into a fucking frenzy. 

When he got out, he was dressed in just a regular t-shirt and basketball shorts.  You practically swooned. You had never seen him in anything other than his usual work attire, and you regrettably loved this look on him.

You shouldn’t have been thinking this way about him.

He hated you. How could anything ever happen if he was furious with you for every little thing you did?

“You know what I don’t understand?” Spencer asked climbing into his bed and turning the light off on his side.

“What?” 

You did the same so now you both were laying in the darkness.

“How do you face serial killers almost every single day, and you’re afraid of spiders?”

“Same way you’re afraid of elevator crashes I suppose.”

“But death by spiders are extremely rare - that spider was harmless.”

“I’m not afraid of getting killed by a spider, they’re just hideous.”

He laughed and said, “Yeah, well I’m sure they find you hideous as well.”

You both went to sleep with giddy smiles on your faces.

_

The next day went by pretty smoothly, and ever since the night in the hotel, Spencer had seemed a little less hostile towards you. You couldn’t help but wonder why. What changed?

Anyway, just like the day before, you were paired with Spencer, mostly indoors working on the board. Collectively you two had noticed some pretty interesting details, and you both realized you worked well together.

Soon after you gave a profile to the locals, Hotch told you and Spencer to follow a lead to a suspect’s home. You had knocked on the door, and nothing. You checked the front yard, backyard, and nothing.

It wasn’t until you checked inside a kids’ clubhouse, that you had found a secret trap door hidden underneath.

“Reid, call the team.”

He did, and once he was sure they were on their way, he helped you move the playhouse over so that you could open the door.

Once he opened it, all you two heard were sobs and the unsub yelling. You went down even after Spencer told you not to, and you saw the girl tied to a chair with a gun pointed to her head.

When the unsub saw you, a guy named Fred you believe, he changed directions, and held the gun out in front of him straight at your head.

“Fred? Hey. I’m Y/N L/N and I’ve come to help.”

“H-h-h-help? H-h-h-how can can y-you he-he-help?”

On your way over to this house, Garcia called and told you and Spencer that Fred had autism and, because of this he was like a child, he didn’t know what he was doing.

“Well Freddie,” you paused and looked him in his eyes, “May I call you Freddie?”

He nods quickly.

“Well the FBI is out there,” you heard the sirens a moment earlier, “and they’re upset that you took this girl. They might hurt you.”

“But I-I-I-I like h-h-her.”

You heard someone try to come down, and you yelled, “No!” which made all noises stop. “Do not come down here!”

Fred was scared, and confused, and he didn’t know what to do. All you could see was that the girl continued to cry, and he held his gin tighter.

You put up your hands dropping your gun, and this made him trust you a little bit more.

“Do you like me, Freddie?”

He nods enthusiastically.

“So, how about you let this girl go, and take me instead?”

“L-let her go?”

“Yes, Freddie, let her go and you can have me.” You were trying not to shake. “Can I untie her?”

“Yes.” he says and follows your movements with his gun. You walk slowly over to the girl, and untie her quickly. “When you go up there, tell them not to shoot. Tell them that the man is more unstable than we thought, okay?” She nods tears streaming down her face, and runs towards the latter.

_

Spencer was freaking out. He was pacing, and his heart was racing, and everytime he sat down his legs wouldn’t stop moving, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He had cried, almost pulled out his hair, crumpled up papers in frustration and had yelled at almost every single one of his team members.

How could he have let this happen to you? He should have gone instead of you. He should have gone with you, he should have stopped you or something.

And on top of this, he always been an absolute prick to you, when deep down he felt the opposite and all he wanted to do was kiss you and tell you how he felt but now you were gone and he didn’t know if he was getting you back, and all he did know was that his heart hurt and all he wanted to do was just see you.

Just see you.

_

You had woken up tied to a chair in a child’s bedroom. 

You tried to untie or loosen the ropes, but it was no use - they were way too tight.

Fred came into the room with a tray of food for you, and he looked at you almost sadly.

“Freddie, you know they’re looking for you, right?

“I-I-I know.”

“So what’s going to happen when they do find you? You’ll kill me?”

He gasped and covered his mouth. “I could never hurt you!”

“But you hurt those other girls, Freddie.”

“Th-th-those g-girls hurt me. You’re r-re-really n-nice to me. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

You tried to smile, but all that came out was tears. You were scared to death and you had no idea what made you make the decisions you made.

“Oh, no Y/N p-please do-don’t cry.”

“Freddie these ropes really hurt, can you take them off?”

“But you’ll leave m-me.”

“Freddie, I won’t leave you, I promise okay?

_

They had a location. They knew where you were. Spencer couldn’t have been happier. 

Soon enough the team had found the house, and quietly came into the house. Morgan saw you first, relieved you were okay, and you silently told him that Fred was upstairs. He nodded and let the officers up there to make the arrest. You ran outside tears running down your face, and as soon as Spencer sees you, he runs up to you hugging you tightly. You wrap your arms around his neck and sob into his shoulder.

“Y/N are you okay? Are you hurt?” He says checking you as he pushes you away from him checking for any scratch or scar or anything.

“No, I’m - I’m alright.”

“Good.” he says, getting serious now. “Then explain to me why you would do something so incredibly stupid? We were all worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?”

He shakes his head and tries not to show how angry he was with you for leaving him. Instead of answering, he walks away.

He walks away because if he stayed, he would have kissed you, and he can’t - 

He just can’t.

If he shows you that he cares, you just might hurt him and sometimes it’s easier to just shut you out, than get used to you being around and then leave him. He doesn’t want you to know how much you could hurt him if he let you in.

So he pushes you away.

_

After everyone greeted you, and asked if you were okay, and the doctors checked you out, you were all on the plane home. 

You kind of just distanced yourself from everyone because all the team seemed to do was patronize you.

“That was a huge risk Y/N, did you even think about what you were doing?” Emily asked.

“Honestly, what if it didn’t work L/N? What about the girl?” Morgan said, shaking his head.

“You could have gotten severely injured Y/N, we’re just trying to look out for you.” JJ tried to reassure you.

Everytime you tried to explain yourself, you were bombarded with another stupid question, which caused silent tears to fall down you face. Spencer saw this, and he decided he had had enough with everyone.

“You guys act like you had never made a decision like this in your entire career. At the end of the day, everyone made it out alright, and I’m sure Y/N has learned her lesson, but you guys humiliating her doesn’t help at all. Think about what she’s just been through. Just for a second can you think about how she’s feeling right now?” He sighed. “This is the first time Y/N has dones something like this and you all are giving her the third degree. So just stop.”

“Hey, calm down Reid, It’s not that we -”

“This is calm Morgan, and it’s doctor.”

With that being said Spencer moved to the back of the plane, and sat across from you. You both said nothing, but you silently thanked him.

_

Once you were back at the BAU, Hotch told him he wanted you to take some time off, and you understood. The team left avoiding both you and Spencer, mostly because of what he said on the plane, and they weren’t sure what to do now.

“Reid, can I talk to you?” He was packing up to go home, you two were the only ones left on this floor.

“Yes?”

“Why did you do that - on the plane I mean. Why would you stick up for me?”

He shrugged, basically ignoring you. Just right where you thought you were getting through to him, he closes himself back up again, and goes back to being mean to you.

“Fine. Whatever. Just please don’t do that again. I don’t need your help.”

You were walking away, when he decided to argue back.

“Oh you don’t? So you'd  just would have wanted them to keep patronizing you? Honestly, I don’t see what your problem is Y/N, goodnight.”

And he was walking towards the door. You ran out in front of him blocking him from leaving.

“My problem?” You scoff. “Oh I’ll tell you what my problem is. I don’t need your saving. I don’t need you to come in like a knight on his steed and prove that you’re smarter than me every single time. Because yes, you’re smarter, and yes, you’re a doctor, and yes, I know you dislike me for some reason, but don’t go switching up your attitude if something happens to me. Just leave me alone.

Obviously you don’t know what it feels like to be me, otherwise you would know that the worst pain there is, is being in love with someone who just hates you. So, just stop. Please, just stop.”

And once you said what you needed to, you walked off gathering your things so that you could go home too. You felt like crying, but you couldn’t. Not here. You couldn’t believe you just said what you did.

Despite what he wanted, he stood frozen in place. He was conflicted. He didn’t know what to do. His mind was telling him to do one thing, while his heart told him to do another.

He took quick strides over to your desk, and turned your body gently so that you were facing him, and you were basically trapped between him and your desk behind you.

“I couldn’t save you.” He began. “I was with you, and then I wasn’t and I couldn’t help you. You were doing that stupid heroic shit you tend to do, and I wasn’t there to help you. You were hurting, and it hurt me that I wasn’t there to heal you. And believe me, it keeps me awake at night when I think about the way I treat you, and I’m sorry, I am. I’m sorry if you felt like I hated you, because believe me, I don’t.

There is nothing to hate about you other than the fact that you’re just so goddamn perfect and I know I could never have you, and even if I did, I would give all of me to you, and that scares me. It scares me that I would be so willing to hand my heart over to you, and it scares me that you have all this power over me. It hurts that you have the power to torture me, so yes, I push you away, and I’m sorry I care about you, but I just, I just-”

And this was that moment.

That moment where your head told you to punch him, because God knows you wanted to, but your heart told you to just swallow all of that angst and just give yourself to him. 

To tell him with your lips that you felt the same, and just leave all the arguing behind.

But something was -

You didn’t hate him. And he just confessed that he didn’t hate you, and now his face was under your fingertips, and your lips were on his. Tears were falling, you weren’t sure if they were yours or his, but he was kissing you back and his arms wrapped around your waist, and you felt like you were on fire. Your hands were now tangled in his hair, and his hands caressed your sides. He had brought you closer to him, and through this kiss you both felt all the so-called, “hatred,” and, “dislike,” evaporate into thin air.

He pulled away from you, and you wiped away his tears.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, you didn’t deserve what I did to you. None of it. If I could take it all back, I would. I’ll make it up to you, I promise I will.”

“You’re such a boy Spencer Reid.” You say.

“What?” He’s confused.

“Mother’s tell their little girls that when boys are mean to them, that they must like them, and that’s why they’re acting that way.”

“Well that’s not very healthy. That tells those little girls that when a man hits them, or is crude towards them, that that’s perfectly normal and that they should just take it because the man loves them.”

“Well true,” Spencer was still holding you, and you went on “but the point was that you must have really liked me since you were so mean to me.”

“I mean, sure. But I don’t see why a mother would -”

“Hey, agree to disagree, okay?”

_

A month or so passed, and the team noticed a huge shift. You and Spencer were no longer arguing constantly, well, of course there were disagreements and such, but you two didn’t act like you hated each other.

“Promise me you’ll stop trying to be the hero.” Spencer told you once.

“No promises.”

Because if you weren’t the hero, you wouldn’t have saved the girl, wouldn’t have gotten Fred help, wouldn’t have the arrogant prince turned good, and you wouldn’t have agreed to disagree.

~~~~~~

[leighistired]

Out Loud

A Martin character study AO3 Link

“G’night mum, love you.”

“Make sure you put the trash out, don’t want it stinking up the house.”

At 12 it occurs to Martin, he can’t recall the last time his mother said “I love you” to him. She must have. He knows she loves him, so why can’t he remember her saying it? Was it before dad left? It can’t have been that long ago. He knows if he brings it up she’ll just tell him off for being silly so he just decides to not say it unless she says it first. She doesn’t say it.

“Look how nice our neighbor’s garden is,” she says instead. “If only we could have such a nice garden.”

“The neighbors hire a man-” Martin tries to explain. He had just done law maintenance over the weekend; he would have to bring up memory issues next time they saw a doctor.

“Aren’t you happy with how I provide for you?” She snaps. “Ever since your lousy father left us I have done my best even with my health and all you can talk about is getting a bloody gardener.”

“Sorry, mum,” he says. It’s better not to argue when she gets like this.

“Forget it. Just get me my tea.”

He goes and brews her a cup of Oolong tea. It’s far too bitter for his tastes but it’s all he buys when he does the shopping. Perhaps that was it, instead of saying she loved him she just provided for him.

Martin tells himself that until she gets too sick to work and begins needling him to get a job at 14. Suddenly he’s providing for her on top of school and everything else but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She was just sick and the medication she was on made her tired most of the time so it wasn’t like he could expect her to be excited to see him; especially not when he’s the one bringing it to her.

“Is soup the only thing you buy?” She asks one evening when he brings her dinner.

“You didn’t have soup last night,” he reminds her patiently after a long day of school and work.

“Oh, so you think I’m ungrateful? I am your mother! I gave birth to you! You should be happy to take care of me!”

“It would be nice if you acted like a mum for once!” Martin snaps back. He regrets it as soon as he says it and doesn’t wait to hear her response. He leaves the house and sits in the park near his house for a long time and cries. Of course she loves him. It must be so hard on her to be stuck at home all day with no one to talk to and there he went snapping at her. She’s asleep by the time he comes home and neither of them mentions it in the morning.

Martin doesn’t know what he expects when he starts to transition. He hadn’t even called it a transition at first, he just likes how he looks with short hair, baggy clothes, and a sports bra. His mother disagrees. There are days she won’t even look at him and when she does it’s usually even worse.

“You cut your hair again,” she mentions one morning over breakfast. “Just when you were starting to look like a girl.”

“Yup,” Martin replies tight-lipped. He had been thinking it over for a while and he’s slowly coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a girl. The way she says it hits him sharply. If she was never going to say “I love you” to a daughter, why would she say it to a son? He doesn’t bother coming out to her properly because he can already see the disgust on her face when he gets a proper binder.

When she decides to move into a full-time care facility, it’s almost a relief. He feels foolish for expecting her to say it when she leaves. He feels even more foolish when he says it in goodbye. The receptionist gives him a sympathetic look when she doesn’t say it back but the receptionist probably assumes his mother has memory issues and forgot who he was. She doesn’t. Still, he appreciates the gesture.

Dating is nearly impossible for most of his life. It’s easiest to blame his busy schedule; he doesn’t even have time for friends outside of school. The fact that no one even asks him out isn’t something he wants to think about. After he drops out of school and his mother leaves, dating and friendship don’t get any easier. He can’t let anyone he works with get close enough or they’ll find out his real age and utter lack of qualifications. Online dating is also out of the question for similar reasons. If one of his coworkers saw him with the age 19 in his profile they would either know he wasn’t actually 25 or they would think he was a creep and he didn’t exactly feel comfortable lying about his age to potential dates. Meeting people organically isn’t the worst thing in the world but it’s difficult. He makes a few passing friends at a local trans support group but even then, he can’t get close to anyone without risking someone discovering his falsified CV.

He doesn’t have his first real boyfriend until he’s 23 years old. They meet at a Holloween party thrown by a mutual acquaintance and date for almost five months before Martin ruins it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dominick, I love you,” Martin says as he serves dinner.

“Oh, uh, it’s a little fast to say that, don’t you think?” Dominick had stammered awkwardly. Was it? It didn’t seem like it to Martin and even if it was, it was true. He loved Dominick.

“I-I don’t think so,” Martin replies nervously. Some distant part of himself starts to berate him for being so needy.

“It kind of is. Let’s just pretend you never said it and we’ll see how we feel in a few more months, ok?”

“You mean we’ll see how you feel,” Martin says a little bitterly.

“Why can’t you just relax and enjoy the holiday?”

Martin had sighed in resignation and picked at the rest of his plate. They broke up a week later because Dominick felt like they were “looking for different things.”

Martin doesn’t have another serious boyfriend after that. He goes on a few more dates over the years but nothing that lasts longer than five months. Nothing that lasts long enough to say “I love you.” In some deep dark part of him, he wonders if he was ever meant for love. His father hadn’t loved him enough to stay, his mother hadn’t said she loved him in over a decade, and he’s not even sure he was in love with Dominick. He gets crushes, sure, but he just throws himself into his work at the Magnus Institute instead.

Working in the library isn’t bad. He gets along with his coworkers well enough but he can never get close to them. Not close enough to love them as friends or be loved in return.

Then he gets transferred to the Archives.

Jonathan Sims is not the first asshole boss Martin has ever had. He doesn’t understand why Mr. Bouchard sent him down to work in the Archive in the first place and his first impression with his new boss is less than stellar when a dog follows him into the building. It doesn’t help that Jon is good-looking and every once in a while Martin catches glimpses of a version of the Archivist without a stick up his ass. Like when he spends Martin’s ice cream birthday talking about emulsifiers. If only he would be clearer about what he actually wants from Martin. No report or follow-up seems to be good enough, even with the help of Tim and Sasha.

Martin works hard for Jon’s approval. He doesn’t know why he wants the recognition but it’s either this or quit and he really, really can’t quit. So he spends three full days looking for every woman named Angela over fifty in Bexley only to be berated for actually talking to one of them and then he offers to look into a case about spiders that clearly upsets Jon only to get trapped in his flat by a zombie worm woman.

When he finally escapes, he takes a few worm corpses with him and he dumps them on Jon’s desk while he’s in the middle of a statement. Let Jon try and disprove that When he gives his own statement he makes special emphasis on reminding Jon how hard he worked to meet his exacting standards. He refuses to be yelled at for this.

Except Jon believes him. More than believes him, in fact. He offers Martin a place to stay. Of course that would be enough to ignite a crush in Martin.

As soon as they get to document storage Martin sits on the cot and begins to cry with exhaustion. He expects Jon to leave but again he surprises him.

“I-it’s alright, Martin,” he says awkwardly as he pats Martin’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe here and I’m certain Elias will respond promptly to my request for extra security.”

“Thanks,” Martin sniffs. He can’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person.

“Would...would you like me to stay until you fall asleep? If- if you think it will help.”

“Oh, er...no...I’ll be fine, thank you. You should be getting home, anyway. It’s Saturday, Jon.”

Martin blacks out as soon as Jon shuts the door to document storage. When he wakes up he finds his crush on Jon stubbornly still in place.

He can’t help himself after that. He starts taking special care of Jon in hopes of encouraging the kind man he saw that night into emerging. At the very least Jon doesn’t yell at him as much and he even thanks Martin for the tea he brings. It’s then that he notices other things about Jon, like how rattled he gets by certain statements and how he’ll often go an entire day without eating or drinking anything unless someone brings him something. That someone being Martin. He also notices how late Jon leaves, if he leaves at all.

It’s on one such night of Jon still being in his office at 11 o’clock that Martin knocks on Jon’s office door.

“Jon?” He calls gently.

“Hzzmt! Martin?” Jon responds, having been startled awake from dozing at his desk. “You should be asleep.”

“And you should be home.”

“I see your point,” Jon sighs. “I’ll finish up here and head home. Unless you need something?”

“Actually….I-I was thinking,” Martin beings. “Since I sort of kicked you off your cot...D’you want to come back to document storage with me? You know, get some sleep?”

“What?”

“Er...forget I-”

“The cot would be rather cramped with both of us,” Jon warns as he gets up from his desk. “If...if you’re sure you want me to join you.”

“Yeah...I thought you had work to do?”

“It can wait until morning, no use keeping you up longer than necessary.”

Martin only half regrets offering to share a bed with his crush. Jon was right, the only way to fit both of them on the cot is for both of them to sleep on their sides (or for Jon to sleep on top of Martin but even the thought has his face burning) and it’s difficult for him to fall asleep with Jon’s back pressed against his. It’s good to hear Jon fall asleep, though, and as time wears on it’s easier for Martin to goad Jon away from work to sleep a few hours.

The more of himself Jon reveals the harder Martin falls for him. Especially after Jon accuses him of being a ghost during the Prentiss attack. Even with the guilt Martin feels every time he looks at Jon mummified in bandages. That was Martin’s fault. If he had just paid more attention then he wouldn’t have lost Jon and Tim in the tunnels. He does everything he can to try and make up for it; despite Jon becoming more and more closed off by the day. Intellectually, Martin knows that Jon has gotten like that with everyone, but something deep down makes Martin feel like it’s his fault Jon’s gotten so cold. It doesn’t help that Jon seems to have gotten friendly with the policewoman investigating the murder of the previous Archivist. Tim even seems to think they’re having an affair which does wonders for Martin’s self-esteem. Jon wouldn’t be the first straight man Martin has ever had a crush on but Martin was pretty sure Jon wasn’t straight. Again, he wonders if he’s done something wrong to push Jon away.

After Jon stumbles out of his office covered in blood claiming to have had an accident with a bread knife Martin finds all the excuse he needs to regularly drag Jon to the canteen to make sure he eats something. The silences during those lunches are hard. They had eaten together before but now Jon wasn’t talking to him. The most Martin could get out of him were a few one-word answers. He tries not to think about how it reminds him of his mum.

“So,” he tries for the millionth time while Jon picks at his sandwich. “Did I tell you what happened while you were at physical therapy the other day?”

Jon doesn’t say anything but he looks up with a gaze that bores into Martin.

“Uh...A little girl came in alone with a statement, she must’ve only been eight years old,” Martin says. Jon looks at him with an expression that almost seems afraid. “Don’t worry, it recorded fine on digital. She walked right down into the Archive, walked up to my desk, and said ‘Excuse me. My name is Beatrice Walker and I’d like to make a statement about a supernatural occurrence.’ She sounded so grown up and she refused to leave until I had recorded her statement. Turns out her dad was using the library for research and she had just wandered off.”

“What was her statement about?” Jon asks to Martin’s surprise.

“Oh, a hamster with mysteriously changing spots.”

“Ah,” Jon replies thoughtfully. “Not much need for follow-up there, I suppose.”

“Not unless you really need me to track down the shop where her parents picked up the new hamster.”

He catches the briefest of smirks from Jon before the conversation dies again.

After that Jon’s coldness and paranoia comes out in the form of a screaming accusation over letters Jon found in the trash. Martin barely manages to make it to the bathroom before he bursts into tears after coming clean about his CV. Tim thankfully doesn’t check on him while he silently curses his taste in men. Jon doesn’t meet his eye for the next week in what he bitterly hopes is guilt. He does seem slightly more willing to talk with Martin at lunch, though.

Then Jon goes missing. After trying to get Martin and Tim to go home early because Jon was feeling under the weather; he disappears. Not before apparently bludgeoning someone with a pipe and isn’t that exactly what he and Tim need to see as soon as they get back from a two-week kidnapping by a spooky door monster?

With Sasha gone, Jon missing, and Melanie King being suddenly hired by Elias, whatever’s left of Martin’s relationship with Tim deteriorates. More so when Martin becomes the only one in the world to believe Jon could be innocent. It’s probably that that makes the police detective “investigating” Jon so actively hostile toward him. Apparently, people say he and Jon are “close” and that probably only means the lunch thing but he wants to imagine it’s something more. Like people are somehow picking up that Jon likes him back.

When Jon comes back to confront Elias it’s all Martin can think to do to fall back on his tea-making. He ducks into Jon’s office with a piping cup of the overly sweet tea he spent months perfecting to Jon’s taste and finds him with his face buried in his one non-bandaged hand.

“Jon?” He calls as gently as he can while he closes the door behind him. “I brought you some tea.”

It’s when Jon looks up that Martin notices the bloody mess down the front of his shirt.

“You’re hurt. Let me go get the first aid-”

“No!” Jon interrupts frantically. “Just...Could you just stay with me for a moment?”

Martin acquiesces and they sit side by side on the sofa in Jon’s office in silence until Jon starts sniffling into his tea. He offers Jon a hug and Jon all but dives into his chest to cry. It’s the saddest most broken thing Martin has ever heard and it’s all he can do not to pull Jon into his lap and curl around him protectively.

“Martin...I-I...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For everything. For Sasha and Prentiss and...and for the way I treated you. You didn’t….no one deserves that.”

“None of that was your fault and I sort of deserved it. I didn’t actually know what I was doing.”

“You didn’t deserve it,” Jon insists before going back to quietly crying into Martin’s jumper. Martin doesn’t respond. He can’t recall the last time someone’s apologized to him. At least not like that. He’d been told off most of his life for not doing things up to people’s standards. A few people over the years had told him he didn’t deserve it but Jon was the first person to apologize. No wonder Martin was falling in love with him.

Damn it.

Cuddling doesn’t become a regular occurrence for them by any means but Jon begins doing more to seek Martin out after that. They eat lunch together more often and Martin stays up late to talk to Jon while he’s abroad. It drives home how deeply buried into Martin’s heart Jon has become. Especially after he comes back after going missing for a month and has the audacity to joke about being moisturized by a clown mannequin for a month.

He wonders if Jon feels the same way. Sometimes Jon will smile shyly at him, and he can almost believe that Jon would be interested in a relationship if the world wasn’t ending. The last time they speak before the Unknowing they’re in document storage.

“Are you ready?” Jon asks as he shifts nervously.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Martin signs. He heard what happened to Melanie. He knows what’s likely to happen to him. Some small part of him is screaming to just tell Jon his feelings like it’s the climax of an action movie.

“Stay safe,” Jon says.

“Come back,” Martin replies. Jon offers him a hug. It’s no movie kiss but it allows Martin to hold Jon as close as possible. Jon himself is hanging off of Martin’s neck and it feels like a final goodbye.

Then Elias confirms what Martin has always suspected deep down. That his mother never loved him or if there was a time when she did, she stopped when his father left. Even after everything. After he spent years taking care of her. After he had to quit school to care for her. All she ever saw was his father. All his transition did was to remind her further of how much he looked like his father’s son. At least it was worth it. To distract Elias so Melanie could find evidence to arrest him.

Then Peter Lukas shows up and reveals that Elias planned to get arrested. Worse than that, he offers Martin a promotion of sorts.

Then they get the news from Yarmouth. Tim’s body is found in a charred heap, Daisy is missing, and Jon is dead in all but brain activity. At least Basira is physically alive.

Martin spends as much time as he can next to Jon. He’s used to loving someone who can’t love him back. Maybe this is all he’s destined for. Love unrequited. He talks to Jon’s dreaming corpse. Tells him about his day, reads him poetry, even a statement, but nothing draws Jon out of his coma.

Then his mother dies. He barely has the emotional strength to mourn her. Instead, he scatters her ashes and mourns his childhood lost to trying impossibly to earn her love.

After the Flesh attacks, Martin makes a decision. He’ll join Lukas. It’ll probably lead to his death but what did that matter? His mother was gone and didn’t care about him anyway. Tim and Sasha were gone. Jon was basically gone. Basira and Melanie were the only people left that he vaguely cared about and by doing this he could at least protect them.

He visits Jon one last time in the hospital. He’s still covered in wires and his eyes still flit around violently behind his lids as Martin sits down next to him and takes his hand.

“Hey Jon,” he says quietly. “I...This is the last time I’m going to see you...Probably ever. I know, I know old dramatic Martin surely he’s exaggerating. I’m not. The Institute is in danger and...I have a way to keep Melanie and Basira a little safer, so I’m doing it. I just came by one last time to say...Jon, I...I love you. Goodbye.”

He gets up and presses a kiss on a part of Jon’s forehead not covered in wires before leaving. It’s alright that he doesn’t say it back. No one ever says it back to Martin.

When Jon wakes up everything becomes that much harder. Suddenly he had a reason to live and the way Jon pursues him makes him almost believe...No, even completing the thought would be dangerous for all of them. Jon trusts him enough not to be constantly badgering and that makes it worse. When Jon is there the Lonely makes Martin resent his presence and when Jon’s gone Martin resents his absence.

The final, most excruciating pain is when Jon comes after him in the Lonely. He’s excepted his fate in the chilling numbness of the Lonely. Maybe that’s why he says it. The certain, inevitable rejection would be numbed utterly. So he says it.

“I really loved you, you know?”

And Jon looks broken. Even after he rips Peter’s statement from him. Even when he reaches for Martin’s face with hands that seem far too warm and makes him See. Knowing Jon loves him isn’t like “knowing” his mother loves him. Instead of a lie born in Martin’s mind to stamp down the fear of rejection, it’s a reality pouring from Jon’s mind mingled with Jon’s fears of rejection.

Jon’s hands still feel too warm compared to the icy chill of the Lonely as he leads Martin out. Still, he refuses to let go all the way through the tunnels, the Institute, talking to Basira, packing at each other’s flats, and on to the train. The way to Daisy’s safe house feels like a blur and when they finally arrive it’s all Martin can do to remember to take off his binder before collapsing into bed with Jon’s warm arms around him.

He wakes to Jon’s quiet crying. The awful, stifled thing that breaks Martin’s heart.

“Jon,” he whispers.

“Martin? Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

“It’s alright, Jon,” he assures as he swaps their positions so Jon is tucked firmly against him. Jon makes another broken noise and Martin can’t stop himself from crying, too.

“I-I’m here, Martin. You aren’t on your own,” Jon soothes and Martin almost has to laugh. They lay crying and comforting each other until they both fall back asleep.

When they wake up properly they take stock of the safe house’s pantry and make a list of things to pick up in the village after breakfast. Martin gives in to the temptation to buy a new notebook to try and write poetry in. They have enough canned food to survive to the next ice age so they pick up perishable items like milk, bread, butter, and eggs. Jon also picks up fresh peaches and a box of Martin’s preferred tea. It’s easy to pretend like they going on a normal shopping trip as they walk up and down the aisles to check things off their list.

They return to the cabin and settle in. Martin sits on the sofa and tries to write out a poem while Jon tries to read a book from Daisy’s personal collection. After a while, Martin beings to feel Jon’s gaze on him.

“Is there something on my face?” He tries casually as he’s met with an expression he’s never been on the receiving end of.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” Jon sighs. Martin can’t stop the noise that comes out of him. All his life trying to earn love and Jon just says it while Martin’s thinking of a synonym for ‘yellow.’

“I-I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” Jon says quickly, his soft expression suddenly turning worried.

“But I do.”

“Oh…Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Jon starts giggling and it’s impossible for Martin not to follow suit until happy tears stream down both of their faces.

[newtonsheffield]

Not sure if this has been asked (or if I’ve asked it at some point can’t remember…)

But it’s that time of the month and I’m miserable

We’ve seen Anthony being absolutely Boyfriend Goalss™️

I’m curious as to How do the rest of the Men in the BSCU take care of their ladies during their monthly misery?

Anthony Bridgerton is... A King among men. I love and adore that boi I tell you what. It's not even close

IF you missed this post (It was a while ago like) it's here!

I've stuck to our main boys in the story

Lucy Abernathy had never been the kind of woman to beat around the bush regarding anything. And while her few previous boyfriends had treated her period as a minor inconvenience she honestly hadn't really cared. It had been irritating as they'd tutted and sighed when she'd brought it up but she hadn't really put much stock in it, merely preferring to be alone. It was a fact of life. She could admit that as a result though, she had been a little unfair to Gregory as a result. She'd woken up one morning with the tell tale cramping low in her stomach, nausea rolling in her stomach just a little and groaned as she'd made her way to the bathroom. Gregory had been awake by the time she'd returned, a lazy smile on his face as he tugged her down to the mattress, his lips ghosting over her neck his voice rumbling through his chest And a very good morning to you Lucy Loo You're terribly over dressed. And usually it would have made her chuckle as she'd rolled on top of him but today she just tutted, swatting him hands away. No good morning for you. I'm on my period. She'd said, maybe a little more sharply than she really meant, irritability flushing through her. And god, Gregory just nodded slightly, wrapping his arms tightly around her, his hand putting light pressure on the small of her back his voice gentle in her ear. Well I'm here, You're here. Still a good morning. And for the first time she didn't want to be alone.

Maybe it was tragic, but Sophie had never really been in a relationship per say before Benedict. She'd dated men casually, very infrequently if she was honest, was she wasn't exactly sure how the whole period thing worked in relationships. And she was a little embarrassed to bring it up honestly. She'd arrived at his house nervously on the first day of her period that first month, they'd planned to have dinner, she would just eat and leave, it was easy enough surely. Except it wasn't. Benedict was sweet, and kind and so gentle when he sat across the table from her. But truly, all she wanted to do was lay curled on the couch and cry. Her stomach was aching and she honestly felt very close to tears. Is everything okay Soph? Benedict had said gently when she'd flinched away from his hand on her waist. Yeah I'm fine she'd winced hating how hollow her voice sounded. He'd frowned at her, clearly not believing it for a second, his eyes fixed on her, silence stretching between them. I'm on my period. She'd blurted awkwardly, her eyes flicking to the ceiling, praying for the floor to swallow her honestly. Benedict's eyes widened. Oh! Cool, Do you need me to grab anything for you? I have some ice cream in the freezer if you want it, I'll grab you a heat pack! And suddenly Benedict was flitting around the kitchen, settling her on the sofa with a heat pack pressed against her. And maybe Sophie let herself cry just a little.

Edwina could admit, then men she'd dated before Matthew had been absolute trash. And nothing gave her more of an indication of that than the way they'd acted when she was on her period. Always complaining, telling her to skip it, saying Well that doesn't stop me getting off right? Matthew was different. He always seemed to be. He'd looked up at her earnestly when she'd said awkwardly hey, Matt this is.. awkward and I'm sorry but my period's due this week. Sorry. She'd finished, her eyes fixed over his shoulder. And instead of sighing belligerently Matthew had said, I'd love to still hang out this week though. We don't have to do anything, I just like hanging out with you. And her heart had fluttered and tears had pushed at the back of her throat as she nodded. This might be an insensitive question He'd started after several seconds and Edwina had braced herself, here comes the catch, But what do you use? I just want to get some things in for you. And despite the fact that really, she wanted nothing more than to stay in bed for the next week, she sealed her lips to his.

Francesca wasn't exactly proud of how she acted when she was on her period. Everything seemed to set her teeth on edge. Everything seemed to irritate the living daylights out of her. She had stormed around the house as a teenager, screaming at Anthony God Anthony, You are so Stupid! And it had continued into her adult years. She generally lay on the couch under a blanket groaning lightly at the ache in her back. And then she'd started dating Michael. And he was, god he was just so sweet. But still, it irritated her. And she hated it. Jesus Michael! She'd snapped irritably, two days before her period was due Do you have to leave your sock on the landing every day?! And Michael had grinned cheekily, the same he usually did. Well you see Frankie, usually when we come home, I'm not undressing myself am I? And Francesca had tutted disgustedly though the truth made her cheeks burn as she brushed past him. And still nothing seemed to phase him. He was right behind her the entire time, gently massaging her back, bringing her cupcakes, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. I love you. She whispered as they fell asleep Sorry about me. And still Michael just hummed happily, Love you too Frank!

[jadedxrealityw]

-Time Of The Month- Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

   Kody: This is for all my homies who are taking a trip down a heavy river with bloody mary or for anyone who just enjoys stories of Draco taking care of you while your on your period

   Warning: Cursing, mentions of blood and hopeless Draco

   House: Slytherin

   Summary: Bloody mary has cursed you with her presence and Draco is in for a hormonal storm.

    ♡~🐍~♡

   While scribbling down notes for potions class you felt a pain in your abdomen. You wince slightly and stop writing, placing your quill down on the desk. This couldn’t be happening, not now. Not while in class. Hoping it was just a false alarm, you pick up your quill again to continue taking notes.

   Not even a minute later a sharp pain came from your abdomen again. Fuck. You needed to get out of this classroom now. Slowly raising your hand, you waited for Snape to notice you were there. He looked up from his book and eyed you for a moment “Yes Ms. L/n?” he said in his usual monotone voice. You gulped, hoping he would take pity on you. 

   “May i visit the hospital wing, im not feeling to well”

   Snape noted your uncomfortable expression and your other hand on your abdomen. He may have been a man, but he wasn’t student. He sighed and made a waving gesture with his hand “Yes. Take your things with you as well” You nodded and gave him a quick smile before stuffing your belongings into your bag. You get out of your seat and leave the classroom.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   As you pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, you saw Madam Pomfrey at her workstation. She looked up when she heard the sound of the door opening and smiled “Why hello Ms. L/n! What can i do for you today?” she asked, walking from the desk and over to you. You laugh nervously and lean in so only she could hear “I need pads/tampons and some medicine for cramps” you say in a hushed tone.

   Madam Pomfrey makes an ‘o’ shape with her mouth and nods. Heading over to her workstation, she grabs a brown paper bag and fills it with some items. She did it very inconspicuously so no one would see what the contents were. When she was done she folded the top of the bag and walked back over to you. 

   “Here you go darling, everything you asked for including a couple chocolate frogs” she gave you a small wink, making you giggle. She hands you the bag and you turn on your heels to leave the hospital wing and find a bathroom. 

   ♡~🐍~♡

   When you walked into the bathroom you were met with the sound of crying. Shit, this was moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. “W-Who’s there!” the ghost shouted, she flew out the stall and came face to face with you “Oh, Y/n. Hello” she said, her tears coming to a stop. “Hey Myrtle, i just need to change. No peeking please?” you say, giving the ghost girl a pleading look.

   Myrtle nods vigorously “Promise” You nod and give her a smile before walking into on of the stalls. You make sure the doors locked before going through your bag, you grabbed the extra underwear you keep in there, just for emergencies and place it on top of your bag. You remove your robe, placing it gently on the ground and start to tug off your skirt and the shorts you wore underneath. 

   You then take of your underwear and there it was. A blood stain that screamed ‘Fuck you’ sighing you place the dirty underwear on the side on your bag and grabbed the clean ones, you take a pad/tampon from your bag and put it where it needs to be before slipping your underwear on. You dressed yourself again and grabbed a plastic ziplock bag that held your clean underwear and put the dirty ones in there. 

   You heard students in the hallway which meant class ended and it was lunch time. You craved lunch at the moment, so much it made your stomach growl. You stuff your things in your bag and head out the stall “Bye Myrtle!” you said, waving to her. She gave you a smile back and waved as well before heading into her stall.

       ♡~🐍~♡ 

   Walking into the great hall the smell of food made you much hungrier than you were a second ago. Taking a look at the Slytherin table, you saw your boyfriend sitting with his friends, which made you needy all of the sudden. Damn hormones. Walking to the table, Draco spots you and gives you a warm smile and scooched over so you could sit next to him. 

   You sat down and he instantly wrapped an arm around your shoulders. A warm feeling blossomed in your chest as you lean your head on his broad shoulder. Draco smiles and tilts his head to give you a kiss on your hair “Blaise told me you went to the hospital wing, everything okay?” he whispered.

   You wondered how Blaise knew until you remembered he was in your potions class. Duh. “Yeah, just started bleeding” you whispered back, Draco’s face changing to one of confusion before his mind clicked “Oh okay, cramping im guessing?” you nod and as if on cue a pain shot through you, making you whine quietly. 

   Draco gave you a sympathetic look and gives you a light squeeze “Just try and eat love, okay?” he asked. You agreed and sat straight up again. You picked up one of the serving spoons and put mac and cheese on your plate. You were starving, so you put a serving for two people.

   “That’s a lot of food L/n, pigging out much? Oink Oink” you took a deep breath. Pansy fucking Parkinson. You put the serving spoon down and pick up your fork. Just ignore her and it’ll be fine you thought. You take a bite of your mac and cheese “Where did Draco get you? A barn?” she cackled, her friends laughing with her.

   “Pansy shove off before i make you” Draco said through gritted teeth, giving the Slytherin girl a scowl. Pansy scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest “How about fighting your own battles L/n?” she let out a menacing chuckle. You sigh looking up from your plate and at her, with no expression what so over “How ‘bout you suck my fucking dick, Parkinson?”

   Gasps were heard throughout the Slytherin table making Pansy flush red with embarrassment. “Your disgusting!” she shouted making you cringe before storming out the great hall. You shrug and take another bite of your warm food “Merlin Y/n what crawled up your ass?” Blaise laughed into his hand.

   “Your mother” this time it was Draco’s turn to laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Blaise rolled his eyes and went back to his food “Alright love, lets calm down” Draco cooed and kissed your temple.

   ♡~🐍~♡  

   Hand in hand, you and Draco walked into the Slytherin common room. You felt that needy feeling to be all over him again. You just craved his attention, like his constant attention. “Can i lay in your room while you do homework?” You asked in a whiny tone, causing Draco to let out a tiny laugh “Of course, love” he replies and leads you to his dorm. 

   Once you two are in the dorm, you let go of Draco’s hand and walk over to his bed, drop your bag and flop down. You heard Draco laugh behind you “Comfortable?” he asked, making his way to his desk and sit down, placing his bag on the desk as well. You hummed in response as you curled into the silk sheets, closing your eyes as well.

   “I want cuddles” you whine again, Draco smiles lightly and pulls out his textbook “Let me get this done first darling then i’ll give you all of my attention, how does that sound?” You couldn’t see, but he saw your mouth form into a smile. “Okay” you said in a small voice. He nods and turns to start his homework while you laid on his bed.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   It had been 20 minutes and you were getting restless. You sit up from the bed “Can i borrow some of your clothes Draco?” you asked looking at the ceiling. “Yeah sure love” he said quickly and went back to his work, oh right. He was doing homework. You felt bad for interrupting him because you knew how frustrated with work he could get. 

   You frown and decided to no longer bother him. You get up from the bed and walked over to his dresser. You pull out a emerald green sweater and black sweatpants. Since he’s turned around you just change behind him and once you do, you place your clothes on a chair and feel the worst cramp. It almost had you buckled over. 

   You go over to your things and grab the brown paper bag, taking out the medicine. You pop one of the pills, but it was going to take time to kick in. You someone climb onto the bed and pull the sheets over you. The cramps kept hitting you one by one, spreading to your back. You couldn’t help the tears that slipped from your eyes. 

    ♡~🐍~♡

   Draco was finishing up the last line of his work when he heard small small whimpers and whines come from his girlfriend. He turns around to see her curled up in the fetal position. He gets up from his desk and walks over to you “Love are you okay?” he asked, worry lacing his tone. 

   You look up at him and give him a sad smile “Cramps, i already took medicine. I’m waiting for it to kick in. I’m fine, you can go back to your work” You waved your hand, signalling him to walk off. He shakes his head “No, i’m finished anyway. So i can cuddle with you” 

   Draco goes over to his dresser and starts to remove his clothes. You queak, closing your eyes and wait a minute before opening them. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He gives you a smile and lays down behind you, placing an arm around you. “It’ll be okay love, just try to relax till the meds kick in okay?” he whispers, placing a sweet kiss behind you ear. You hum and lean into his touch

   Draco begins to rub circles into your abdomen, the pain begins to die down making you smile “Thank you so much” You say “Don’t be love. I’m your boyfriend and i love you, so of course i’d do this for you.” Draco kisses your head again. You feel yourself become a bit drowsy and yawn quietly, closing your eyes. 

   “I love you too” You mumble as you drift off into a dreamless sleep. Draco following soon after. Maybe this week of bloody hell (get....get it?) wouldn’t be so bad. Especially when Draco was there to hold your hand though it.

   ♡~🐍~♡

   Kody: It’s four am and i should be sleeping, so i wrote this instead. We love insomnia. Anyway, have a lovely day or night. Don’t let the Nargles take your things. Peace.

[royivia]

The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

#

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

#

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

#

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

##

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

#

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

#

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents’ List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

#

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

#

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

#

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.

[shownusgfayoooo]

stuck

Pairing: minhyuk x reader

Genre: fluff!

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: claustrophobia

A/N: i actually have no ideas how doors work sorry

my masterlist

Since you and Minhyuk were just starting out in your careers at the time you moved in, you both hadn’t batted an eye at the rundown state of the place. You were just two broke friends who needed a cheap place to live in after college, and living together was the most economical choice, one that neither of your friends really understood. Though a few years had passed since then and you both were now financially stable enough to afford your own places and in better neighborhoods, too, every time the topic of moving out was brought up by your friends, it was always evaded or dropped.

At first, Minhyuk would wave off the question and instead tease the person asking. Recently though, he had gotten a little aggressive. Only last month, Kihyun had jokingly asked if you two would live together for the rest of your lives. Instead of the usual lighthearted reply, there had been a tense moment of silence and you were pretty sure Minhyuk had kicked him under the table. They hadn’t spoken to each other for two weeks after that though Kihyun had made several attempts to make amends. You were pretty sure you had heard him say, “she didn’t even catch on” in one of these attempts, though what that meant or who “she” was, you had no clue. It was worse even than the time all the guys had ganged up on him and teased him that he needed a mute button. He had been way too upset at that for someone who seriously never stopped talking.

You didn’t know what his deal was, but having never seen such a cold look on his face before, you were worried there was a bigger problem Minhyuk was facing. Maybe he was having issues at work? Was he sick? Were there problems in his love life? Thought it was pretty nonexistent and something you never thought about, recently the thought had begun to bother you. Could it explain his weird behavior? He had been a little spaced out these last few months and would brush off your attempts at comfort whenever you tried. You sighed as these thoughts worried you while you were chilling on the toilet. After finishing your business, you tried to leave the cramped room.

You had both been told the day you moved in. The sole bathroom door often stuck. No matter how many times you had tried to fix it over the years, it would somehow always get stuck anyways. You joked that the place had character, and Minhyuk lovingly called it the space’s attitude making itself known. Now as you tried to make your way out of the bathroom, you only cursed the recent changes that had made you start closing the door all the way.

It had only happened a few times. You had walked in on Minhyuk shirtless. When had that become so awkward? You had seen him shirtless countless times, but recently these incidents had created a charged tension between the two of you. It happened the other way around, too. Sometimes when you were reaching for ingredients from the high shelf in the shared kitchen. Once when you were reading in his spot, wearing his hoodie. A few times when you had been taking your makeup off at the end of the day, he had barged in as he was often wont to do, but instead of the teasing and brushing of your teeth together that usually followed, he had given you strange looks, left, and waited until you were done to use the bathroom.

So, whereas before the two of you had always left the door unlocked when you used the bathroom, nowadays you both had taken to locking it.

“Damn you, Minhyuk!” If he hadn’t been so off lately, you wouldn’t be stuck now.

You tried to open the door for the next several minutes. You jiggled the doorjamb, you threw yourself against the door, all to no avail. Giving up, you decided there was nothing else you could do.

“Minhyuk!” you yelled. “Minhyuk, oh my god, come here!”

You heard his yelled response. “What!”

“I’m stuck in the bathroom! Come get me out!”

“Are you sure you’re opening the door properly!”

“What do you mean! Of course, I’m opening it properly! How many ways do you know of to open a door!”

“I just meant that maybe your weak little wrists aren’t strong enough to turn the handle!”

“At least I’m stronger than you!”

“HA! As if!”

“Are you gonna come get me out or not!”

“You could have gotten yourself out in the time you’ve been yelling at me!”

“You think I didn’t try that?!” A hint of hysteria edged into your tone. If he wasn’t going to get you out, how much longer would you be stuck in here? It had already been at least 10 minutes. You tried not to think of your claustrophobia at a time like this.

Suddenly, the doorknob turned in your hands. Minhyuk was on the other side.

“Alright, alright. I’m here! Don’t worry.”

You settled at the sudden gentleness at his tone. You took a deep breath and weakly sat down against the opposite wall. “Just hurry.”

He frowned on the other side of the door at the change in your tone. Not knowing you had already tried it, he fumbled with the door handle and even threw himself against the door itself. With each resounding thump, your stress grew.

“Minhyuk, I don’t feel so good.”

He sounded out of breath when he answered. “Just hang on, Y/N. I will get you out of here.”

You closed your eyes and tried to imagine the walls expanding outwards. “Okay, just keep talking to me.”

The pattering sound of feet running away then running back. “Um, okay. Do you know what Jooheon did the other day?”

“No, what?”

“He tried to set me up with a blind date! Freaking moron.”

You opened your eyes and looked at the door as if you could see through it to him. What did his face look like right now? “Oh, yeah? How did it go?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t go.” It sounded like he had gotten a screwdriver and was messing with the handle.

Why did you suddenly feel relieved? “Really? Why not?”

There was silence on the other side of the door, and the sounds of the screwdriver banging against the mechanism of the handle stopped. The odd tension was back.

“I just couldn’t.”

“But why not?” You would not let him drop the subject while the iron was hot.

He was suddenly attacking the door with his tools again.

“Hello?”

The screwdriver banged around louder.

“Minhyuk?” Your claustrophobia was all but forgotten.

The door was positively shaking now.

“You’re not gonna tell me?”

“I like someone else, okay! Jeez, you’re so persistent. I feel bad for your mom. I bet you back-talked a lot growing up. Next time I see her, I’ll buy her a present. She must be a saint.”

Though such teasing usually got a rise out of you, you were still hung up on the first sentence he had said. Why was your heart suddenly beating faster?

“Oooo, Minhyuk’s gotta crush!”

“Shut up! It’s not a crush! Such a juvenile term. What are you, 12?”

“Oh, are your feelings deeper than a crush then?” Was it getting hot in the bathroom? Your face felt like it was on fire.

There was silence on the other side. A beat passed. Then, he attacked the door with more vigor. “Leave me alone. I’m trying to focus here!”

You smiled at the admission in his statement and couldn’t stem your hope.

“So, what’s she like?”

There was silence for so long that you almost gave up on the idea of him responding. Then, the screwdriver clicked. “Well, for one, she’s freaking cute when she’s reaching for stuff from high shelves.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “A-and?”

The door handle loosened in its spot. “She steals my clothes all the time, and it honestly kills me.”

“O-oh?”

He pulled the door open. “And when she gets ready for bed at the end of the day, I wish I could pause time and stare at her forever. Keep her like that forever. The way no one else sees her.”

He kneeled in front of where you were sat on the floor, not realizing all the dots connecting in your mind and heart. Noticing the flushed look on your face, his face immediately flooded with worry.

“Are you ok?” He placed the back of his hand on your forehead. “Your face is all red. What’s wrong with you?”

You smiled at him and pulled his hand from your face. “I’m okay. Actually, more than okay.”

“You don’t look okay. Shit, I know you’re claustrophobic. I should have just googled it and gotten you out faster instead of messing with it myself for so long. What was I thinking? Are you breathing okay?”

Before he could keep rambling, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. It effectively shut him up. He smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around you. It felt like home.

You pulled back and laughed at the dazed look on his face.

“Um what?”

“I just kissed you, you idiot!”

The dazed look persisted. “Wow. I mean, yes- but why?”

You only laughed harder at the state he was in. “I like you, too!”

His eyes cleared. “Really!”

You only got half a nod in before he attacked you. He kissed you sweetly, then pulled back and peppered littler kisses on the rest of your face.

“I’m excited to tell the guys the news.”

“And by news, hopefully you mean the fact that I’m your boyfriend?” He wagged his eyebrows at you suggestively.

“That, too!” You patted his head on your way out the door.

“’That, too?’ What other news could there be?”

You winked at him over your shoulder. “Only that I’ve finally found your mute button!”

After a short chase around your apartment and a noise complaint from the neighbors, he said, “As long as you use your mute button forever, I don’t even mind.”

[jeogiyall]

Pas De Deux; H.HJ

Word Count; 9.7k

Genre; Fluff, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Reader X Hyunjin

Warnings; Swearing, Suggestive, I would advise against reading if you have abandonment issues? It’s brought up a few times,,

Additional; Featured Chan, Felix, Jisung, and Minho; Ballerina Reader, Dance Partner Hyunjin, Reid once again writing about something that she has no idea how to do, (Sort Of) Slow Burn

A/N; when i tell u guys that i literally have no self control,, THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THIS WAS 10.46K ASFDSFS someone save me from myself. i’m sorry if anything’s inaccurate, i haven’t done ballet since i was like five and most of my research is from the unreliable internet,,, so if any ballerinas read this and are repulsed i’m sorry asdfdsa. please leave something nice if you enjoy <3<3<3<3

The last time that you saw Hwang Hyunjin was in fifth grade. You were wrapped up in each other on your front porch, him choking out tears as though it hurt. 

“Jinnie!” You cooed while running a hand through his short black hair, “I’m not dying, just going to boarding school!” His cries (along with the ringing guilt in your ears) only grew louder, “You’re really good at dancing, just audition next year!” He shook his head fervently against the crook of your shoulder, wet tears falling onto your skin.

“You know I suck at ballet!” If it weren’t for his palms pulling at his teary cheeks you would’ve giggled, maybe even teased him for the time in class that he almost broke his wrist while warming up at the barre. But he was crying, he was sad, and he was convinced that he’d never see you again. The sight alone was enough to make you pout, which only served to make him cry harder, “You could join my contemporary class for the summer?” He asked with starry, red eyes. It was almost enough to make you say yes.

“You know that I suck at contemporary!” The boy giggled at your counter, a sound that made your heart soar amidst all of the crying.

“Yea, you do...” He brought a hand up to his cheeks, trying desperately to wipe away tears that wouldn’t stop falling, “Just promise that you won’t forget me! I won’t forget you so you can’t forget me!” His pinky finger extended so it was nearly brushing the spot in between your eyebrows, and you were hit by the whispers of your first crush. With the summer days spent riding scooters in your driveway, and the winter ones spent sledding in it. With the long nights spent giggling about nothing underneath a blanket fort, or the endless days spent climbing trees in the bottomless woods behind the boys house. You were hit with the last five years all at once, and you knew instantly that even if he wasn’t standing in front of you with a teary face that you would still promise.

“I promise.” You answered while hooking your pinky in his as if it were a vow.

The school ended up being a perfect fit, your favorite part being the dorm room all to yourself. Even though it was small, and very ugly, it was all yours. Just like the friend group that blossomed out of your first ever co-ed class (which is sadly not a very interesting story. Han Jisung just made you swear to not dislocate his shoulders during partner stretches, and who are you to break a promise? Afterwards you received an invite to sit with him and his friend at lunch, the rest is history. Loud, annoying history.)

Nothing could’ve made it better... Well, nothing except for your sweet friend who had once occupied each thought in your head. Your sweet friend who’s summers were suddenly too full to see you, even for just a day. 

Your sweet friend who didn’t keep his promise.

* 

When it was announced that the contemporary and ballet branches of your dance institute would be merging for a year, your mind immediately jumped to Hyunjin. Despite not seeing him for almost six years. He always had such a passion for the style, making you miss out on hours of homework to watch videos of his favorite performers (it’s not like you minded too much, though.)

Han’s, on the other hand, was pure rage. Pure rage which he was letting out from your bed while watching you unpack.

“I just don’t get why they have to take a ballet class too! I have enough trouble getting solos as is.” The boy pouts while resting his head on your orange wood headboard. You’d feel sympathetic if it weren’t for the fact that he was blatantly lying, Han Jisung had gotten nearly every solo since eighth grade. Instead you roll your eyes dramatically and throw him a wadded ball of fabric from your suitcase. Naturally, he screams.

“Shut the fuck up and be helpful.” You scold, earning a childish whine while he sits up to fold the countless leotards. 

“Remind me why I missed you?” He grumbles just as your other, much nicer, friend walks into the cramped room.

“Aww, you missed me Sungie?” Felix asks, voice booming deeply through the space. The two of you instantly drop the clothes in your hands and run to the boy, which you should reprimand Jisung for seeing as he just lifted a finger. But you don’t, because Felix is here with more freckles than the last time you saw him and fresh pink hair that’s definitely going to be dyed natural again within the first week.

“Yes.” The energetic boy answers while worming his way into your hug. Felix giggles softly while petting Han’s dark brown hair before pressing noisy kisses all over his cheeks. He pokes Felix’s ribs as retaliation, to which the boy screeches (directly into your ear, might I add,) and it’s back to the normal, loud chaos “I will kill you!”

“Hey! No murder in my room, if you’re gonna do that go in the hallway!” You snap playfully, pushing Jisung away while moving back into the hug, “Help me unpack? Jisung hasn’t done shit.”

“Not fair!” The boy shouts from your bed, which he’s already plopped back down on.

“I’ll help, besides do you even want him folding your clothes?” You look over your shoulder to see Jisung with his hands tangled up in three different leotards, then back to Felix with terrified eyes. 

‘No,’ you mouth, eliciting another laugh from your friend. He moves over to the bed as well, then sets Jisungs hands free. The three of you talk mindlessly for hours, rambling on about Felix’s summer home and the month that you and Jisung spent traipsing around the boys hometown.

“How do you feel about the merger?” You ask suddenly, cutting Jisung off in the middle of an embarrassing story about a night spent at his house. Felix sighs deeply while tossing you the rolled leotard (your favorite one, light blue with pearls sewn around the collar,) while Jisung throws a wadded up pair of tights at your face.

“It’s fine I guess, just for a year right?” You shrug while the brunette puts on a grimace, hands suddenly very busy with folding, “They really need that rebuild, building’s falling apart. Ours is way better and we have extra room, so why not share?” 

“Tell that to the rat in my mini fridge.” Han grumbles while passing you a pile of black leotards. You laugh and accept, but not before ruffling his stiff hair. 

“Okay, I’ll make sure to do that the next time I’m in your room. Are you done bitching now?” The brunette pokes his tongue out at you jokingly, to which you respond with blowing a raspberry, “Felix is right, besides how terrible is it going to be? We’re all dancers right, and stuff like that is meant to be shared. Who are we to say that they can’t come and learn?” The room turns uncomfortably quiet, Jisung gnawing at his lower lip while Felix picks up his phone.

“Damn it!” The Australian exclaims as his screen lights up. You and Han look at him with furrowed eyebrows before he rolls his eyes and brings the phone up in between your faces, “Administration says I have to fix my hair.” 

Han doubles over with laughter, knocking the mountain of leotards (followed shortly by himself) onto the floor. You follow his lead, and before you know it the three of you are clutching your sides and wiping away happy tears. Felix’s hands ruffle into your hair with a hum, “Maybe I can try Jisungs color, hmm?” You duck away with a snort.

“No! I draw the line at matching hair!” The brunette defends, hands moving to cover the top of his head. Felix lunges at him, fully ready to engage in a tickle fight. Naturally, Jisung screams as if he’s being murdered. It should be annoying, any other time you would find it annoying. But these are your best friends, one of which you haven’t seen in over a month, and for some odd reason your heart feels so full that it could explode. 

“C’mon Lix, I’ll do your hair. What do you think about blonde?” 

And even though tomorrow your school is going to be flooded with new people, and your classes full of students who have probably never done more than basic positions, in the moment it feels okay. Because one of your best friends is screaming ‘NO DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR!’ while the other assures him that ‘It’ll probably most likely be okay! Look, she did mine!’ It’s a perfect chaos that you wouldn’t trade for anything.

*    

There have been plenty of strange coincidences in your life. Like how your first dog was named Felix, and it’s now the name of one of your best friends (who’s hair ended up looking perfectly fine, thank you very much.) Or how your usual waiter at the diner in Jisungs hometown ended up being the cousin of your first kiss. Or how your dorm room is the only one on the hall with painted walls, that just so happen to be your favorite color. Plenty of weird things, but none are as weird as this. Because you’re sitting on the floor of your second class of the day, ‘Intro To Pas De Deux,’ and Hwang Hyunjin has just entered through the side door. Two minutes late.

He’s hard to recognize at first, seeing as there’s more than an added foot of height and black hair that’s creeping down the back of his neck, but the more you look the more you recognize. Pillowy lips, full cheeks, a freckle right in the set of his eye bags. You’re not entirely sold until he laughs, a sweet and breathy sound. The laugh that’s always been three seconds away from turning into a wheeze.

“What’s wrong?” Jisung questions while pulling himself up by your hands, eyes following the line that yours draw to Hyunjin, “Do you know him or something?” 

You’re about to answer when Hyunjin finally turns around, eyes scanning the room before settling on you. He thinks that you look different, too. Taller and slimmer, everything that used to be squishy replaced with soft muscle. But there’s also the bridge of your nose, your hands that are barely gripping Jisungs, and of course your eyes that are staring at him like it hurts. 

“(Y/n?)” He questions, your name falling from his lips as though it’s meant to do so. You nod, mouth falling open dumbly. The boy takes a step forward then freezes.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on? Or at least help me finish stretching?” Jisungs voice reeks of annoyance, you think that if you weren’t in such a state of shock that you’d flick him on the forehead.

“You go to the contemporary school?” Jisung doesn’t take well to being ignored, puffing loudly while scrambling to finish stretching at the barre. Your brain immediately flashes back to Hyunjins second ballet class in third grade, when you were teaching him your favorite warm up stretches. He ended up tangled in between the barre and the wall, which shouldn’t even be possible, but Hyunjin managed. 

“Um... Yea.” Every inch of your body is screaming to stand up and engulf him in a hug, but your legs feel like jello. That, and there’s a small feeling of anger rising in your throat, “L-let me help.” He plops down in front of you before you can say yes. You don’t have to though, Hyunjin still knows that you can’t refuse him. You take his hands in yours, definitely ignoring the pink flush to his cheeks, and pull his torso towards you. 

“It’s been six years.” The words come out choked, full of the pain from your first summer without him. When you’d spend hours playing out in the sun, knocking on your friends front door every morning. He was never there. 

“Sorry.” You want him to show some type of emotion, let you know that he cares. That he’s actually sorry for breaking his promise, “I tried to come and see you in July but you weren’t home.” 

“I was at Jisung’s house, we spend the summers together.” If you were more angry and less hurt you would say ‘now that I don’t spend them with you,’  but he’s still Hyunjin. He’s still Hyunjin, and you don’t think that you could handle the way he would frown at your snide remark. 

Jisung flashes you a look from his place at the barre that reads ‘Who is this guy and why do you look so sad?’ You let Hyunjin pull you into the stretch while responding with a gaze that says ‘I’ll tell you later.’  Hyunjins grip tightens on your hands as you exhale deeply into the stretch, the light blue fabric of your leotard brushing against the dance studio floor.

“(Y/n,) I-” Maybe it’s the way that he licks his lips before talking, or the fact that he looks so much and so little like your best friend at the same time, or possibly even how you can feel the way that he hugged you at your last meeting sitting on your shoulders like a winter coat, but his hands suddenly feel like fire.

“I have to go!” You exclaim, popping up out of the stretch and onto your feet in one swift motion. The boy looks up at you with puppy dog eyes that spark a feeling so intense in you that you have to look away, “I have to go, I-I’ll um... I’ll see you around.” You dash off to the spot in front of Jisung, silently thanking every star in the sky that Hyunjin doesn’t have a chance to follow you. Because just as soon as you get up someone else sits down and begins to excitedly ask the boy questions (he’s short, with a petite frame and an unfamiliar face. Probably another transfer student.)

“Did he say something to you?” Jisung asks as you jump into your favorite warm up routine. There’s not really a right way to answer, because did he say anything just now? No, but six years ago he said that he’d never forget you. He promised as much, and then spent every moment doing nothing but that. You exhale while your feet continue to move instinctively, a slight sense of peace washing over you at the comfort of a routine. 

“We should focus, class is starting soon.” Jisung whines and argues, but you just ignore him. Similarly to how you ignore Hyunjins gaze on you for the rest of the class. 

*

Ignoring Hyunjin is much easier than you anticipated. In class you can distract yourself with Jisung before the teacher comes in, and lunch is fine enough. While he is there, sitting at a table that’s painfully close to yours, he doesn’t try to talk. Or worse, come and snatch up the free seat across from Felix. But no, he does nothing of the sort. Just laughs with his friends and shoots the occasional glance your way (the one composed of sparkly eyes and lips that are a breath away from pouting.)

But then there’s now, standing in the doorway of your stage chemistry class and Hyunjin is all that you can see. Hyunjin, standing in the center of the room and pressing play on the terribly outdated stereo. Hyunjin, running a hand through his raven black hair and inhaling deeply with closed eyes. All you wanted was to get your jacket, but now you have enough Hyunjin for a lifetime.

Loud, bass heavy music swells in the room as he starts to move. At first the movements are jerky, awkward almost. But then the music decrescendos every so softly and he exhales, then proceeds to move as if the dance is being pulled out of him. As if this choreo is the way that he was programmed to move. When the song peaks you swear that you feel tears prickling the back of your eyes, because this is so Hyunjin. The way he’s dancing with every bone in his body, the way his hair is now dripping in sweat and flying all around him, the way his plump lips suck in air. It’s Hyunjin down to the core, and you’ve missed him so much.

When the music dies you clap slowly, causing the boy to shoot up like a frightened cat. He whips around to where you stand, softening like butter when he sees your frame leaned up against the wooden door frame.

“You scared me!” He shrieks, bringing up a hand to clutch his chest. It reminds you of your last Halloween with him, when the two of you got to trick or treat alone. Hyunjin decided that it would be a great idea to go to a fear farm, in which he screeched and clung to you the entire time. It wasn’t even that scary, he’s just a baby.

“Sorry.” You answer, mouth going as dry as the desert, “You, um... You’re really good.” He laughs flatly while moving over to his dance bag to pull out a towel. You watch as he dabs the sweat away, something stupid and needy churning in your stomach. You write it off as hunger.

“Thanks, I still suck at ballet though.” It’s a joke, you know it’s a joke, but something about laughing feels wrong.

“You don’t.” You take a step into the room, wandering over to where your windbreaker is piled on the floor next to the boy, “I’ve seen you in class, and you’re not bad. Just out of practice.” He lets out another flat laugh while dropping the towel, quickly exchanging it with a water bottle.

“Yea, about nine years out of practice. I barely even remember how to do a pirouette.” He’s trying so hard to make you laugh, just like the old days. The growing tension in your shoulders and lump in your throat is preventing that from happening.

“I can teach you.” You offer while shrugging the jacket on. Within seconds he’s babbling out excuses, which you wave off, “Don’t even worry about it, I need to practice anyways.” You bend down to untie your sneakers before moving to the center of the room, Hyunjin following in quick succession, “So you obviously know the proper foot technique, pointed toes only and all of that. And the retire position is just your foot in the notch above your knee.” You demonstrate it in the mirror, and even though he’s far from being a ballerina he’s done enough classes to know that you want him to copy it, “Yea, good. It looks good.”

“Where are my shoulders supposed to be?” He asks shyly, not used to questioning such simple things.

“Back, always back. Now check that your hips aren’t tilted, I-I’ve always been told to imagine that they’re a fruit bowl.” You steal a quick glance at the boy while he’s adjusting, heart fluttering the same way that it did so many years ago, “Okay, now um... Now put your feet into fourth position, just like that yea, then bend your knees and push off from your back leg.” You do the turn, a motion so natural that it might as well be brushing your teeth, “Like that, easy peasy!” The boy scoffs while bringing up his arms the same way that you had yours just seconds ago.

“Yea, easy peasy for you!”  A soft giggle falls from your lips, bouncing off the walls of the empty studio (as well as Hyunjins ears.)

“C’mon!” You tease while moving around to face him, a soft smile playing at your lips, “You see me mess up in class all of the time, just go for it. The worst that could happen is being wrong.” He nods, then exhales shakily. When he does the turn it’s a bit wobbly, but definitely not anything worse than what you’ve seen before.

“Oh my god, (Y/n) that was terrible like genuinely awful-” The words feel harsh, but he’s wearing a bright smile and laughing like there’s not a care in the world. You can’t help but laugh too.

“No, no! It was fine!” You assure through a laugh as he gets back into position. From the corner of your eye you see him mouth ‘liar,’ which earns him a harsh flick between the eyes, “Just bring your hips a little more forward like...” It’s instinctual for your hand to fall onto his hipbone, something you’ve done to Felix hundreds of times. The main difference is that when you adjust Felix he usually tells you to fuck off, then softly knees your stomach. When you do it to Hyunjin he audibly chokes and you feel fire ignite beneath your fingertips, “Like this. Now go into fourth and try again, but keep your hips aligned!” The boy nods before sinking into position and pushing up into a flawless turn.

“I did it!” He exclaims, hands flying up like he’s about to hug you, “You were right, you were right I did it!” Something about his wide, excited eyes makes every wall built around your heart crumble into dust. So you accept the hug, once again allowing yourself to fall victim to the sweetness that is Hwang Hyunjin.

“I was what, I was... Did you say right?!” He rolls his eyes at your teasing, trying desperately to pretend like he didn’t miss it. It’s useless, because the way that Hyunjin’s holding you let’s you know that he’s missed you just as much as you have him, “Alright big guy, let me go. I’ve got studying to do and shoes to break in.” He whines lowly, arms trying to grab you as you snake away. 

“Can we get dinner together or something?” He begs, hand briefly tangling itself in yours. You fight down the blush rising to your cheeks while pulling your hand away and stuffing it into your pocket.

“Not tonight, you have to keep practicing those pirouettes! But don’t worry, you’ll be seeing more of me... Partner.” Hyunjin smiles widely at your words, realization settling in as quickly as they leave your mouth.

“Do you mean...?”

“Yes,” You exhale, mentally preparing for another bone crushing hug, “I’ll be your partner for class.” 

Hyunjins hug is almost nice enough that you forget about how annoying Jisung’s going to be when you tell him.

*

It turns out that the friends Hyunjin made are almost as amazing as the ones that you did. Everyone was a little awkward when the two groups first merged, specifically Jisung who was still butt hurt about you switching partners. But then Felix got to talking with Chan (the person who’s been mothering your friend ever since he started at the contemporary institute. From the way they talk, Hyunjin would’ve both starved and failed if it weren’t for the older boy,) and suddenly everyone was meeting in your room on Fridays for a weekly game of uno. 

“Absolutely not, you’re fucking cheating!” Minho (the other new face from your stage chemistry class,) shouts while pointing a finger across the card pile and into Jisungs face. The boy moves to jokingly bite at it, causing Chan’s eyes to go as wide as the moon.

“No, no, no! No murder, and no biting what the hell!” You snort at your new friends bewildered expression while passing a canned sparkling water to Hyunjin. He accepts with a smile before mouthing ‘they’re insane!’ Felix sees and proceeds to nail him in the face with your favorite throw pillow.

“Says the guy who sleeps in socks-” Hyunjin throws the pillow back harshly, causing Chan to damn near pass out. It’s all that you can do to not roll over with laughter.

“My feet get cold.” He grumbles with a pout that makes both you and Minho coo from your spots beside the boy.

“Okay, okay, Minho just pick up the cards and let’s keep going? I’m about to finish!” The boy grumbles angrily, all ‘stupid card game’ and ‘I don’t wanna pick up twenty cards!’ You lock eyes with Chan from across the card pile, taking brief solace in the presence of someone else with a functioning brain.

“So we all know that (Y/n’)s about to win, and that she’s my best friend and favorite duet partner,” Everyone answers him with an immediate ‘rude,’ which makes a girlish giggle bubble up in your throat, “which is why it makes me so terribly sad to do this.” You watch closely as he dramatically pulls a card from his hand then places it on top of the deck, a fat draw four staring you straight in the eyes. Everyone goes silent while watching your face fall drastically.

“Hwang Hyunjin, I am going to-” The room bursts into chaos before you even finish the sentence. In the end there are about twelve fresh bruises, six entirely hoarse sets of vocal chords, and one demolished dorm room. Just a normal Friday night.

Except for the way that your heart stutters when Hyunjin mouths a simple ‘love you’ over the bustling group. That’s not normal, but you think that you like it.

*

“Hyunjin, if you keep your hands there I’m going to fall.” You say to your duet partner, whose hands are wandering aimlessly up your torso. They’re supposed to be on your hips, serving as an anchor for your body while it dips towards the ground. 

“Sorry, sorry.” The boy mumbles, not entirely meaning it. It’s impossible to be sorry when he can physically feel your heart speed up beneath his hands.

“Try to sound just a little bit less convincing next time, okay?” You shimmy slightly in a futile attempt to move his hands, which only makes him laugh brightly. If it weren’t for your less than ideal position (halfway bent into a split with every ounce of your weight balanced on the tips of your toes,) you would hit him.

“Do you want me to drop you, because I can drop you if it’s what you want-” The teacher snaps her fingers, pulling everyone’s attention out of the various warm up routines and to the front of the room. Hyunjins hands pull away from your torso so quickly that it burns.

“No dropping dance partners on purpose, that’s the first rule of building stage chemistry.” She chastises, eyes brushing briefly over your friend which causes him to turn thirty shades of pink. You giggle quietly to yourself before sticking your tongue out at him, “But of course, you can’t truly start to build a connection until there’s material. So that’s what we’re doing today, I’ve assigned each group with a pas de deux, or ‘dance for two’. Whoever I think shows the most promise within the next week will be given the opportunity to enter in the regional competition.” She says opportunity, but the stern tone of her voice means that whoever she picks will definitely have to do the competition.

Everyone floods to the front of the class before she even finishes, Hyunjin moving to do so as well before you quickly grip his wrist.

“She didn’t say to go yet, and if we want to qualify for that competition we’re going to have to start kissing up now.” You keep your face forward, chin up and shoulders back, but even then you can feel Hyunjins smile, “What?!”

“You want to do the competition?” He sounds hopeful, nearly childlike.

“Of course! That’s like half the reason I go to school here, the competitive atmosphere.” People are starting to settle back into place, your teacher wearing a look of utter annoyance. Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice, seeing as his mouth keeps moving.

“I’ve only known how to do a pirouette for a month, and I still can’t really get my double. You’d have a better chance with Han, or-” As soon as the teachers back is turned you whip around to your babbling partner, hands planted firmly on his broad shoulders. It takes a second for his eyes to meet yours, but when they do he nearly melts.

“I don’t want to do it with anyone else, I want to do it with you. And just because your double isn’t perfect doesn’t mean that it’s not good so stop stressing.” He looks down for a second, cheeks growing as pink as your shoes. By force of habit you hook a hand beneath the boys chin and force him to look at you, “I mean it.” He swallows harshly, then nods. With a sigh you let go of the boy and return to your previous (assigned) position. Just in time too, seeing as the teacher turns around right as you settle next to the boy.

“You may check your assignments at the end of class, if you haven’t done so already.” You flash a knowing glance to Hyunjin, almost as if to say ‘I told you so.’ He knows better than to argue.

At the end of class you go up to look with Jisung while Hyunjin gathers your things for you, the short brunette babbling excitedly about the previously mentioned regional’s. 

“I thought that you don’t do partner work?” You tease lightly while ducking down to look at the list.

“I don’t, but neither does my partner! So we’ll just be okay at...” He bends next to, head full of brown hair hitting you straight in the eyes, “Romeo and Juliet?” You bite down a laugh while pushing the boy away.

“Don’t try to fight it, you’re such a Romeo. Just like I am such a... Lise!” The boys face contorts with jealousy as he ducks back down, once again knocking your heads together.

“You guys got La Fille mal gardee? And the ribbon dance?!” You giggle back a small yes while pinching the boys frowning cheeks, “No fair! Absolutely no fair, I have to do stupid Romeo and Juliet and you got my favorite ballet, no fair!”

“It’s my favorite too!” You defend, which ends up being pointless because both Hyunjin and Jisung chorus back with ‘not true!’ 

“Your favorite is swan lake.” Hyunjin states while sliding your dance bag onto your shoulder. Maybe it’s the fondness in his action, or the way that he named off your favorite ballet as though it was a fact ingrained into his brain, but your heart swells so large that you swear it could pop like a balloon. 

“Okay,” you exhale, hand moving to the spot where his fingers were ghosting just seconds ago, “one of my favorites.”

*

At your first rehearsal for regionals you and Hyunjin are given the ribbon to use, seeing as it’s literally the ribbon dance. Practicing without it was honestly getting awkward, which is unfortunate seeing as the boy nearly got it taken away within minutes. 

“Look (Y/n,) I’m a present!” He had exclaimed, causing you to whip around to the sight of your partner with a pink silk bow tied around his chin.

“Oh no, Hyunjin!” You whispered through a quiet laugh, moving towards him to untie it, “You are so ridiculous!”

“What? Am I not a gift?” He pouted while trying to pull your hands away, which earned him nothing but a harsh smack on the wrist. You slipped it off his face and behind your back just as the teacher walked in the door to give the ‘your ribbon is not a toy,’ talk.

At the second you describe the plot of La Fille mal Gardee, which proves to be slightly (read: very confusing.)

“Wait wait wait, she doesn’t even like the other guy?!” He asks while shaking his head cutely, black hair bouncing along with the motion. If it gets any longer he’s going to have to start putting it up.

“Nope, not one bit.” His eyebrows furrow as he starts to grumble ‘this is kind of stupid,’ earning a giggle and a push to the shoulder, “No it isn’t! It’s funny, and sweet! I really relate to Lise and her... Character arch I guess.”

“Isn’t she the girl who needed guarding or something like that?” His tilts to the side, teeth catching ever so slightly on his puffy pink lips.

“Yea,” You exhale with a quickening heart rate, “something like that.” There’s silence for a minute, nothing but Hyunjin shaking his head and sighing softly.

“That’s not you. No one needs to guard you.” For some reason your brain flashes back to the third summer alone (that awkward stage where you were too old to make new friends and too young to go see Jisung,) when you spent everyday walking through the woods alone. Sometimes you would just walk until the sun went down and your only company was the stars, but most days you would find a new place to sit down and hum out the motifs of your favorite ballets, “No one.”

For a moment you think that he’s right.

The fourth rehearsal (exactly one week after the first) is when you get to a stage kiss in the choreography, your teacher describing the motions along with a recording that’s projecting on the back wall. It starts with the boy pulling in the girl by the ribbon, then swooping down to meet her lips with a smile. Then she twirls away, leaving your skin hot and crawling. 

“We’re um... A-are we gonna do that?” Hyunjin asks through a whisper, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath. It’s warm and smells like spearmint.

“We’ll know when we get there I guess, now pay attention!” You push his face away from yours and back to the projection, watching as the couple wraps each other up in the silky ribbon.

When you do finally get there an hour later he looks so nervous that he could puke. Your teacher shouts out the next move, ‘kiss and then twirl away,’ which only adds to the painful drumming of your heart.

“It’s okay, (Y/n,) you don’t have to.” His voice is low, hushed. Almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

“No, no! It’s okay, I’ll just...” You lean forward as much as you can with the ribbon hugging your waist and press a feather light kiss onto the tip of his nose. The teacher coos, maybe even praises the two of you on the developing stage chemistry. You don’t hear it. You don’t hear anything over the erratic beating of your heart, “I’ll just do that, okay?” He swallows dryly, eyes flashing quickly down to your lips then back up to your sweet gaze.

“Y-yea, perfect.” There’s something building up in the space between your bodies, so thick that you could spread it over toast, “You should twirl away, right?” You nod, wanting desperately to stay. To kiss him in an earth shattering way.

A part of you thinks that you shouldn’t. That Hyunjin has the power to ruin every part of you, and that wanting to give that to him after your hearts already been broken is foolish. But you do, you want to. Because loving Hyunjin feels good enough that the pain doesn’t matter.

After the fifth rehearsal the two of you feel as though you’ve torn every muscle in your body. Your teacher decided within the first twelve minutes that the two of you would benefit from some conditioning, which resulted in you and Hyunjin holding side by side planks (as well as other terrible positions) and muttering curses for a solid hour.

“I’m gonna collapse.” Hyunjin whines, plopping down onto the hardwood floor beside his dance bag. Something that’s probably supposed to be a laugh falls out of your mouth before you pull the water bottle from your bag.

“At least you haven’t been wearing pointe shoes all day.” You groan while moving the bottle to your mouth. A mouthful of water slides down your throat right as the boys face twists into one of horror.

“Oh gosh, oh no I’m so sorry!” You try to wave the black haired boy away, which only makes him feel worse, “No, no! I wanna help let me umm... Come back to my room? I can set up a foot bath with...”

“Epsom salts.” You answer after swallowing another swig of water, “But I have all of the stuff in my room, I can take care of it.” Hyunjin whines again while rolling over onto his stomach and pushing himself into a sitting position. There’s a bead of sweat dripping down the bridge of his nose, something that you shouldn’t focus on. It catches on the tip before falling delicately onto his collar bone.

“I wanna take care of it,” It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, “just... Here, wear my jacket into the building so no one can see that you’re uh... A girl.” You try to argue again, but then your cheeks are squished in between his hand and his eyebrows are furrowed just enough for it to be cute, “Let me take care of you.”

And really, how could you say no to that?

*

“Hwang Hyunjin, you are my favorite person in the world.” You sigh, feet dipping into the warm cloudy water. He plops down next to you with a laugh and arms full of snacks.

“Can I get that in writing? You know, just to prove it to Jisung.” Laughter bounces off of his dorm walls, filling the boys brain with childhood memories. Like the time that you two were riding scooters in your driveway and just as the sun started to set you skinned your knee. Hyunjin had thought for a minute that the shaking of your shoulders was sobbing, but quickly discovered by a tilt of your chin and hands wrapped around your sides that you were indeed laughing. Beautiful, clear laughter complete with sunshine dripping from your skin. It was the first time he can remember thinking that someone was beautiful.

“Yes!” You exclaim, effectively pulling the boy from his memory, “But only if you give me food.” He giggles tiredly, a sound so sweet that it might as well be honey, and tosses a bag of pita chips your way.

“You don’t even have to ask.” 

You’re supposed to go back to your dorm at eleven, thirty minutes after arrival. But then Hyunjin starts talking about anything and everything, ranging from how he met Minho to the old building of his school. The way he chuckles sleepily while reminiscing on water logged ceilings is enough to make you melt.  

Somehow your head ends up pulled against his chest, rising and falling with his breaths. There’s an arm tied around your waist like ribbon, lips softly brushing your hairline as he mumbles endlessly about everything, your leg across his lap as though they’re supposed to be. 

“What time’s it?” You slur, clenching onto the fabric of his shirt. It smells like spice and fresh pine and Hyunjin. So much like Hyunjin.

“Midnight.” You think to yourself that it’s time to leave, that if any of the staff found out about this you’d be dead. You also think that Hyunjin smells like fresh pine and that he’s holding you in a way that you’ve never been held.

The sound of his even breathing and the weight of his arms on you lulls you to sleep in a matter of minutes.

*

When you wake up it’s to the obnoxious blaring of Hyunjins alarm. The boy whines lowly before punching it into snooze. It’s enough to make you laugh, then pull your head away from the cradle of his chin.

“C’mon sleepy, it’s time to get up. What do you have for breakfast?” If it weren’t for your hair tickling his cheek or the way your torso writhes beneath his arm he would be annoyed by your chirping voice. After the hundreds of early mornings school has thrown your way you can’t really help but be a morning person. 

“More sleep, that’s what I have.” He grumbles as you crack the curtains open, trying desperately to pull the comforter over his eyes.

“You need food to fuel your body Hyunjin-” Before you can finish lecturing him an arm shoots up from beneath the gray blanket, crashing your body onto his with a sleepy groan.

“M’ just kidding.” He pulls you under the blanket with him, mimicking the first time he spent the night at your house. You two stayed up until the sun was rising, hidden away from the world by the fluffy pink comforter of your childhood bedroom, “Protein bars are in the closet and apples’r on top of the mini fridge.

It’d be so easy to skip classes and stay here all day, not a care in the world besides the sweet boy that you’re currently tangled in. A part of you wants to melt away and give in, but a bigger part knows that doing that is a commitment. Like saying that you’re his to hold and break however he pleases. It’s the scariest thought that you’ve had in months.

“W-we should get going. Yea?” The words sound like you’ve been choking on them. A fact that Hyunjin takes notice of, eyes growing sad and attentive as his arms wiggle away from your waist.

“Yea, yea. Minho will be here in ten minutes, we walk to pas de deux together.” Before you can help it your expression turns panicked, eyebrows shooting up as your jaw drops open, “Sorry! He’s not gonna tell anyone or anything I promise!” Something clenches in your chest at the sight of him sitting up in bed, black hair sticking up every way that it can.

“I know he won’t, it’s just...” You look down at your body, clothed with Hyunjins sweatshirt and a pair of his long socks (turns out that he was onto something with the whole ‘sleeping in socks’ thing,) “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” His gaze shoots up to meet yours, so soft and relaxed that you could cry.

“Which would be?” There’s a pounding in your ears that’s quickly recognizable as a heartbeat. 

“That we’re together.” It’s barely above a whisper, but Hyunjin hears you loud and clear. From the light tremble to the breathy finish, he hears you.

“We could be, if that’s what you want.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, an action familiar enough that it’s normal yet tender enough that your cheeks are flushing pink, “Is that what you want?” 

“I-I, um...” Your heart is screaming yes, that you want to be his and only his. That while you aren’t a girl who needs to be guarded, you are a girl who wants to be guarded. Guarded from everything by Hyunjins thin comforter and strong arms.

But then you think about the promise that Hyunjin broke. The promise that he wouldn’t forget you, and then broke less than twenty-four hours later. You think about how badly you’ve wanted to spend the last day of summer with him every year since. Your mouth opens right as a knock sounds against his door, “Can we talk about this later?” Hyunjin nods lightly while getting up to grab two apples off of the top of the mini fridge. 

“I’m so sorry for however he reacts.” The boy groans under his breath, offering you a light green apple along with an apologetic smile. You accept, smiling back before popping out of bed to pull your dance bag over your shoulder.

“It can’t be that bad, Minho’s level headed.” If it weren’t for the fact that Hyunjin still has a question lodged in his throat he would’ve laughed.

You’re the one who finally opens the door, interrupting Minho mid-knock. At first he looks aggravated, ready to launch into a long speech about how ‘timeliness is important’ and ‘you always fucking make us late’ but when his eyes meet you his jaw goes slack. 

“What the f-”

If the sound of Minho screeching wasn’t telling enough, you were very very wrong.

*

The next four days are spent dancing around Hyunjins burning question, constantly talking about anything else or switching the topic when it seems like he might bring it up. At first he barely notices, simply assuming that you need time to mull it over, but then Jisung and Chan sit in on a lunchtime rehearsal.

The dance is coming along perfectly, so much so that the boys don’t even notice your hesitations. Hyunjin sees it though. Sees the way that your hands tremble before planting on his shoulders, the way that your face looks sad after pressing the soft kiss onto his nose. While he hasn’t seen you dance as much as Jisung or Felix probably have, he’s still seen enough to know that you’re never like this. Never uncertain.

“What was that about?” The boy asks after the rehearsal, hands crossed against his chest. You’re going to ignore him, focus on nothing other than getting out of your pointe shoes and off to your next class, but then his dark brown eyes catch on yours, “Seriously!”

“What are you talking about?” You respond, fingers working quickly to undo the ribbons around your ankles. A sigh leaves your mouth as one shoe slips off and into your bag, quickly moving to the other one before Hyunjin can continue the questioning.

Turns out that your friend is terrible at picking up on social cues.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Your head is briefly pulled up from the floor as his voice grows impossibly soft, your heartbeat faltering ever so slightly. There’s a quiet goodbye as Jisung and Chan leave the studio, “Y-you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, throwing the second shoe into your bag while a lump takes form in your throat. If he wasn’t your best friend then he would think that you’re just tired, or hungry, or anything other than deflecting. But he is your best friend, who knows that being tired or hungry only makes you sad. Your best friend who knows that you’re deflecting harder than you ever have before.

“It’s okay, just tell me. Please.” His last word is so hushed that you can barely hear it, but it’s there. Light, and airy, and perfectly there, “Is this about what I asked?” Before you can help you’re nodding, once again giving this boy every part of you that can break.

“Yea, kind of.” It feels like your mouth is full of cotton, leaving you uncomfortably hot along with speechless. A loud sigh rings through the studio as Hyunjin slides down to meet your height, hands burying into his raven black hair. The sight takes you back to the last day of fifth grade; you and him holding each other on your front porch as if the world was ending, your hands tangled into his hair.

“Is it because you don’t want to?” There’s his eyes on yours, your chest heaving, and nothing else in the entire universe. Just (Y/n,) the girl who wants to be guarded, and Hyunjin, (Y/n’)s beloved.

“No.” 

“Then why didn’t you say yes?” Right now feels like when you’re at a competition, in the middle of a variation that’s been giving you hell since you started working on it. It’s seconds before the hardest part, the one that you’re still not sure of. It’s the adrenaline rushing through your veins and the words ‘now or never’ echoing with each timed exhale.

“Because. How do I know that you won’t forget about me when summer comes?” Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, causing his lips to part and then heave for air. 

“I-I never forgot about you.”

“Yes you did!” There are tears prickling the back of your eyelids, which you quickly blink away before continuing, “I waited for you outside your house every day! And then, when you wouldn’t show up, I-I’d spend every day alone. Doing what we used to do together, but by myself! I was all by myself and I missed you so much, Jinnie. So, so much.” He’s going to tell you that you’re wrong. That while all of those things happened, he never ever forgot about you.

But then there’s that old nickname, the one reserved specifically for family and you. He hasn’t heard it in months, and when he finally does it’s rolling out of your mouth like a plea soaked in honey. Something that’s going to stick with him for forever.

“(Y/n,) please-” You’re up and out of the door before he can even finish.

*

It’s a dreary Friday morning, rain trickling down your window and painting your room a gray shade of blue. With a deep inhale you realize that everything is finally smelling like fall, which only solidifies the fact that you never want to get out of bed. Unfortunately you have a class in half an hour that you do kind of need to go to. 

But it’s not too terrible. Maybe if you were getting up to go take a math class, or run a marathon, but you aren’t. You’re getting up to go to ballet class, and you can wear your favorite leotard again (the light blue one, with pearls sewn around the collar,) and the rain outside is heavy enough to be calming but light enough that you can fend it off with an umbrella. The only thing that could make this morning any better is your favorite childhood breakfast, honey nut cheerios with strawberry milk.

Which is, oddly enough, sitting outside of your door when you open it to head off to the dining hall. A gallon sized jug of bright pink milk next to a family size box of your favorite cereal, just sitting in the middle of the hallway with a folded piece of paper resting precariously on top. Something about this has Hyunjin written all over it. You lean down to pick up the note, reading it about a thousand times over before rushing back into your room to wolf down the breakfast that you haven’t had in months.

‘(Y/n,)

I never forgot you.

Come to my room tonight after rehearsal. Please.

Sincerely, Hyunjin.’ 

When you two do the first full run through of the pas de deux that night he holds you extra tight. Maybe because he misses you. Maybe because he thinks that after tonight he’ll never have the chance to do so again.

But when he opens the door to his dorm room you see pink fluffy blankets folded on his bed. On top of them is a basket, filled to the brim with every last one of your favorite things. Strawberries dipped in chocolate like the ones your mother would make on hot summer nights, snickers bars like the ones that you two would share after days spent in your driveway, glass bottled lemonade like you would buy from the stand up the street.

“I may or may not have also bought your favorite movie. Well, if it’s still Barbie And the Twelve Dancing Princesses.” A giggle sounds through the room, bouncing around the walls and then back onto Hyunjins burning cheeks.

“It is, but don’t tell Jisung!” Rain starts to fall again, the soft pitter patter mixing perfectly with the boys soft laugh. His hand grazes briefly against the small of your back as he starts to guide you into the tight room, “I’m serious! Him and Lix will make fun of me!” The pout on your face is enough to melt anyone’s heart, which is why Hyunjin doesn’t even think twice when his knees go weak as jelly.

“My lips are sealed.” He says, walking over the boxy tv (that certainly wasn’t there last week) on his desk and inserting the disc, “Now sit back and enjoy.”

It’s not a hard request to fill, your tired body sinking immediately into the fluffy blankets and mouth watering each time you bite down on a strawberry. Rain continues to patter softly against the window, the sound occasionally being replaced by a loud roll of thunder which makes the boy next to you jump. You had laughed at the action, asking softly if he was scared. It was a rhetorical question, you know fully well that he’s always been scared of thunder.

“No! Yes, shut up.” And if you mind that the boy cuddles softly into your side, one arm wrapped around the curve of your waist while the other holds a chocolate strawberry, you don’t say so. 

The two of you stay tangled up in each other like that until the credits roll, Hyunjins breathy sigh hitting your cheek as he shifts to get up. You watch with heartfelt eyes as he crosses the dimly lit room, his black hair briefly sweeping across his eyes. You want to reach up and push it away, but right as you manage to sit up straight he’s done with it and headed back to the bed. With a short laugh you realize that your noses are touching.

“Hi.” The word comes at as a short exhale, leaving a taste on your tongue that’s sweeter than chocolate strawberries.

“Hey.” Your heart flutters at the sound, an exhale laced together with a smile, as his arms return to their previous spot around your waist. There’s probably nothing in the world brighter than the smile he wears for you. Stage lights, the sun, every last star in the sky rolled into one. None of it even comes close to the way that his pink lips stretch perfectly from cheek to cheek, “Do you finally believe me?” He brings up a hand to caress your cheek gently, as though to rub away tears that haven’t fallen.

“Believe wh-”

“Do you believe that I never forgot you? That I never forgot any of you, not even the little things like your favorite color or what you liked to eat for dinner. Maybe I pulled away, but I think it’s because even then I knew how badly losing you would hurt. I-I knew that I never wanted to lose you, which is just what I did...” He swallows harshly, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, “But I’ll never do it again. I’ll never lose you, and I’ll never forget you a-and... And I don’t want to remember you anymore, (Y/n.) I’m so done with remembering, let’s just be.” There’s something stuck in your throat, but it doesn’t hurt the way that tears do. No, this is a release gathering inside of you. One that’s waiting for you to finally give in.

“Hyunjin,” His fingers cradle the curve of your jaw, sending goosebumps down every inch of your body, “kiss me.” And that’s all the confirmation he needs to brush his lips over yours.

At first it’s gentle, almost questioning. Like he’s asking one last time ‘Is this okay?’ But then your hands tangle in his black hair, the way that they’ve been aching to since you first saw him, and he knows that you’re okay. More than okay, you’re in love. With every muscle in your body, you’re in love.

Hyunjin’s hand that was previously holding your face drops back down to your waist and pulls you in softly. They then travel down to your thighs, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips before he picks you up and guides you onto the bed. Every movement is so perfect yet raw, feeling like the stuff of ballets. Until your back hits an unopened glass bottle of lemonade, that is. The sudden cold is enough to make you jump.

“What?!” Hyunjin questions, eyes shooting as wide as saucers, “Did I hurt you?!” A laugh sounds through the room while your hand detaches from his hair, opting instead to reach around your body and remove the glass bottle that’s poking you in the least conventional way possible.

“No.” You answer through soft giggles, bringing up the bottle to lightly tap his forehead, “There’s just a lemonade poking me in the ass.”

He flushes bright pink before answering with a tiny ‘oh’ and burying his face into the crook of your neck. If you were less malleable you would’ve teased him even more, but then there are warm kisses on your skin and nothing in your head.

“I love you.” He whispers, head slowly moving until his lips are against your jaw. You’re going to answer, really, but then there are soft lips on your chin and a smile ripping through your body, “I love you.” 

“M-me too.” You stammer dumbly, body going entirely limp as he (finally) presses another kiss onto your lips. The boy pulls away entirely too soon, but it’s okay. There’s something that you need to finish saying, anyways, “I love you too, Jinnie.”

When you fall asleep that night it’s to the sound of pattering rain, with Hyunjins arms guarding you from the world. 

*

The bus back from regionals is quiet, the few sounds that do come about being Chan and Felix whispering softly or Minho giggling at Jisung snoring. You’re about there too, but who can blame you when Hyunjins hands are buried in your hair (which is both stiff and wavy from a combination of hairspray and braided buns.) If you close your eyes and focus really hard you can even feel the rise and fall of his chest where it’s connected with your back. 

“Who’s gonna keep our trophy?” The boy questions, lips moving softly against the shell of your ear. It generates a warm feeling in your gut, one that spreads quickly to your cheeks and ears.

“We’ll trade it off on the weekends. Like divorced soccer parents.” He giggles softly, moving forward to kiss your temple.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” If you were a little bit less tired, or a little bit less in love, then maybe you’d joke back. But you’re wrapped up in him like a ribbon on your waist, foot nudging against a plastic first place trophy while his lips move against you in a way that you could get drunk off of.

“Never.” You answer, hand coming up to wrap around his as if it were a vow, “Never.”

[its-my-little-dumpster-fire]

Let it Burn ( t w e n t y   s i x )

Billy Russo x Reader, 5.6k

A/N: lol, why do I write these. Guys. I know what’s gonna happen in the next chapter. This wont be another two month wait. Everyone reading this is a damn superhero. Consider this, my gift to you. I’m already screaming.

Warnings: usual stuff, talk of death, I don’t think I sweared in this one, but I added other things for spice. Dont worry, you’ll like it. 

Summary: These are your last days in New York and Billy has some things he needs to say. Things that make you feel like everything has changed. 

3:22

The green numbers glowed against the black microwave screen, unchanged since the last time you looked. Instead of shifting back to the rustling noises down the hall, you kept your eyes on the display. Arms crossed and foot tapping, you were a cartoonish picture of impatience, so restless that even Job had abandoned you for the stillness of the sofa cushions.

3:23

You released a breath and shook the tension from your body. Waiting around so nervously, it was ridiculous. Anxiety felt more like a personality trait than a state of mind lately and you hated yourself for it. Everytime Billy was out, your body couldn’t seem to bear it. Even if you managed to distract yourself, nothing occupied your mind enough to take away from the shallow breaths, the tingling in your fingertips, the rhythmic shake of your knees. You’d given up using your favorite excuse- it’s just a soulmate thing- since this feeling was so new. It wasn’t a soul thing. It was a Billy thing. You weren’t deluded enough to think that you could protect him from Frank or from the three life sentences that Madani had prayed for, but you couldn’t convince yourself that he was safe without seeing it for yourself.

Everyday you stayed in the city was a day you tempted fate. Frank had made his expectations clear and though Karen assured you that he understood the delay, history suggested that without the presence of their soulmates, these particular marines would try to kill each other just to see who came out on top. You knew that was oversimplified. There was bad blood between them, staining the decade of friendship in spots that would never come out. All that remained was for Billy to leave and yet there was one final barrier to that happening.

You hadn’t even noticed the foot tapping starting up again until your calf started cramp up and you sighed. Again. Embarrassed and confused. Once, in the heat of the moment, Billy Russo claimed that he’d lied to you and kept you in the dark for your protection. At the time, you’d assumed he meant from physical harm. But meeting the business end of a .9mm wasn’t the only way to ruin a person. Maybe his deceit had been keeping you from this… nervousness and neediness and all the things you never knew were lying dormant within you. You stopped that train of thought before following it all the way down. How messed up had this whole ordeal left you that now you were starting to think that Billy had actually done the right thing by you.

3:24

“Oh for the love of-”

“Alright, miss, I think I’m done here.” The voice startled you as the inspector reentered the kitchen, but once the stout gentleman stood in front of you, your breath returned all at once and all you could do was nod through his assessment. The house was in better shape than they expected and you hoped the couple wandering from room to room would be satisfied now that they’d put you through another last minute inspection, this time with someone they trusted. It wasn’t common for the seller to be present at these sorts of walk throughs, but they’d been so particular at every juncture. You figured- hoped- that meant they’d want you out of the house, but on the contrary. They wanted you present when they passed you a list of things they’d want taken care of before signing anything. The offer was acceptable and better yet, it was in cash. Once they were gone and the closing date confirmed for that week, you started your own walk through of the nearly emptied house.

Job followed, faithful shadow he was, but disappeared again just after you noticed the never used attic door slightly ajar. The ladder slid down with a clang and you only took three steps up, enough for your head to pop up into the space. The half circle window on the other wall gave off just enough sunlight to illuminate the dust floating through the air at your disturbance and the black mass just to your left. Without thinking, you grabbed at it and after feeling a canvas pocket, not blood or fur or something equally horrific, you yanked hard until it slid back through the crawl hole and landed in a dusty heap at the base of the ladder.

“Son of a bitch,” you swore. After the door was locked again and you’d gotten a better look at this hidden treasure. A black bag sat at your feet and your phone was at your ear, hand over your eyes at the inspector’s voicemail greeting. “Hey, yeah, I found a bag in my attic, you must have-“

“It’s not his.”

“JESUS!” You shrieked nearly jumping out of your skin. First at the sound of an all too familiar voice behind you, then the sight of your phone’s freshly cracked screen staring up at you from between your shoes. You stooped to retrieve it, apologizing into the speaking before hanging up and pocketing the device. “I thought you were coming back at four.”

Billy smirked, hands in his pockets while his eyes scanned blankly over the hallway behind you. “Never left.”

“That...checks out,” you sighed, barely finishing the sentence before turning away and walking back into the kitchen. In a past life, or even last week, you’d be annoyed. Billy was at risk out on the streets. Arguably more so lurking about your house while Doug and Marlys were wandering about, but what did you know. At this point, all you really knew was not to underestimate Billy Russo or his ability to be invisible when he needed to be. For someone who was such a peacock when you met him, it was hard to wrap your mind around this version of Billy -new to you- that existed solely in shadows, dodging the law and the Punisher and Death himself it seems by slinking around corners like a damn cat.

Those cat like legs slid into the kitchen behind you and as much as you wanted to go about your day, Billy was determined as ever disturb whatever semblance of peace you created. His chosen method of the day- the thunder thump of that damn black bag landing in the middle of your dining table, shaking the legs and making you jump again before turning to face Billy. He had no interest in your exasperated look or the annoyed stretch of your arms out at your sides.

“Look at it,” he suggested plainly and with exaggerated effort, you took a deep breath. As you stepped up to the table with arms crossed, Billy was already unzipping the bag. He pulled the canvas flaps wide enough for them to stay open on their own and gestured to its contents, eyes on you the entire time. You glared suspiciously in his direction, but Billy didn’t react. He took a half step back and waited for you to do as he requested, always confident that you would. You’d started to resent that particular portion of his confidence reserved for the hold he had on you, but without the willpower or the time to change that dynamic, you’d simply gone along with it.

With a final hesitant eye roll, you leaned over the table and peered inside. Your arms fell to your sides immediately, the heaviness in them showing in the slow rise of your hand to the zipper. Peeling the canvas back to look more closely. It should be commonplace by now, being presented with large nondescript duffle bags of cash like some cartoon criminal, but it wasn’t a sight you ever thought you’d get used to. Nor was the thick envelope in your hand. Your thumb passed over the silver foiled edges of another set of passports, presumably containing false names and erroneous stamps from customs desks across the planet. What struck you, despite the comical contents, was your face glazed over proudly on the first page of half the booklets in your hands. You glanced up to find Billy watching you carefully, but when it became clear he wasn’t going to interject, you continued to dig. A change of clothes was squished into each end of the bag, padding the sides and disguising the contents within. The first article you pulled out was recognizably Billy’s. One of those quarter zip sweaters he wore to Anvil demonstrations, though this one was noticeably civilian compared to the thick chest, overly pocketed, and camouflaged versions he donned. A different kind of camouflage, you supposed, running your free hand over dark denim before placing the sweater back in its place. At the end farthest from you, the second set of clothing was wrapped around a small bag. A long sleeve shirt in a feminine cut, clearly not meant for Billy, and a grey jacket you hadn’t seen in over a year. Before moving out of Billy’s apartment, you assumed it had been left on a subway or in the backseat of a cab, or even at work… apparently not. With your clothes in one hand, grabbing one of the passports in the other, you lifted both out to Billy silently demanding an explanation.

“What is all this?” you finally asked, confused by Billy’s unnerving calm.

A long finger extended out from his hand, pointing directly into the bag as he made his way around the table. “I found this last week,” Billy explained and your breath escaped you in a huff worthy of your annoyance. His steps were calculated as ever, reminding much more of the man he once was. “Did you know about it?” You’d barely shook your head at all when he started up again. “I didn’t think so,” Billy looked down as if making sure he wouldn’t step on your feet, for when he lifted his face, it hovered over yours closer than you’d been in… well ever. “I didn-- I didn’t know how I felt about you.”

“Wh-”

“Then,” he supplied, without allowing you to finish. “I knew you meant something,” Billy dropped his pointer finger from the bag finally and let his hand bounce in the air while he chose his words carefully. “You told me as much, but I didn’t… know.” His eyes had always contained such depths, but the expression in them now spoke volumes. Unless you’d misunderstood, but when Billy’s hand fell to your forearm, squeezing until you dropped the passport back into the bag and let him pull you just a hair closer, it felt he wasn’t going to let you misunderstand him. He didn’t know anything about his relationship with or his feelings toward you outside of knowing you were his soulmate. He’d heard about himself from you and you could imagine how disoriented you would feel if you fell asleep knowing everything about yourself, only to wake up traumatized and out of time and without a clue how you’d gotten there. You could kick yourself for only now realizing how difficult being around you would have been for Billy and suddenly felt even more gratitude for the time he had spent in your home, the times he had felt safe with someone he didn’t really know. “I deserve…” he hesitated and dug his fingers into your arm again, grounding himself for the moment. “I deserve to know how I felt.”

“Of course,” you offered an encouraging whisper.

“And from what you told me… I kept things from you. M-most things.” You nodded. It was a truth that you couldn’t deny and there no longer reason to question Billy’s hesitation around you. There were so many blanks that you couldn’t fill for Billy. Things he hadn’t wanted you to know about him. “But this…” he looked down at the table, prompting your eyes to follow his. “This tells me what I need to know.”

Your face must have been screaming all the sentiments that were lost on your tongue, bouncing around your brain like a boggle board waiting for words to drop into place, for Billy sprang into action again with the same manic energy that accompanied fits of emotion without name. Though it wasn’t a display of rage or confusion that sent him pacing your kitchen. The incessant tugging at your hands told you he needed your full attention, needed you to hear him as he explained what was happening in his head. You waited patiently as you watched the unraveling of Billy’s twisted knot thinking, the missing puzzle pieces finally being flipped over to reveal their color and wedged into place.  It was still a mess, but a mess that left Billy looking more alive than previous rantings.

“Billy-Billy!” you stopped him, taking hold of his hands and squeezing until he squeezed back and his eyes were on yours. “I get it, Billy… a go bag, is kind of your thing, but I’ve seen this before.” His head cocked to the side almost comically, but the glare that accompanied the soft motion made your throat tighten. You should be used to the speed at which the tables turned in every conversation with Billy. Suddenly you were on display, your thoughts were the ones out of place and beyond understanding. When his lip twitched at the impending rejection of whatever he was trying to convey earlier, you took an instinctive step back and tried again. “You just made one of these for-” you licked your lips and looked away to say her name. “You wanted to run away with her, you were going to before-” It was hard not to stare. Billy was upright again, walking and waking with regularity. But these very human habits couldn’t remove the fact that you saw big ugly scars beneath his t-shirts even when they were covered. You saw your hands and clothing and face stained with his blood the night you held him together in a basement. Literally. But what should have been the end had become its own sort of beginning and that was the reality you lived in now. Shaking the images of that night from your mind, you continued. “I’m sorry, Billy, I just don’t see how-”

“This is different!” he insisted loudly, back to circling the table to dig through the bag on the table. Billy stood upright with a passport in his hand, shaking it so wildly you half expected him to smack you in the forehead with it. “Look, just-” Billy clenched a fist in his free hand before flipping the book open and shoving it forward for you. His finger was jabbing the colored paper mercilessly and only once he stopped, you were able to see what he meant. The photo was his. Dark eyes. Flat affect, with the tiniest hint of a smirk. Dark hair, slicked back over his crown to show his face. His handsome and unmarred face. “I wanted you. I wanted you with me,” he insisted before taking off again, repeating himself down the hall and back until he was in front of you again, with Job on his heels and a ziploc bag in his hand. Billy rifled through the bag of his personal items (the ones deemed unnecessary to keep in an evidence locker), the ones that Curtis had given you in a sign of good faith. You were surprised to find that Billy hadn’t emptied the bag already and tried to regain some sense of normalcy. He wasn’t even wearing a watch these days. Whatever he was looking for he found and held out for you between two fingers. “Do you know what this is?”

You looked at the gold colored matchbook and nodded, barely squeaking out a ‘yes’ as he waved it. It had caught your attention immediately that horrible night. While Karen kindly drove you and Billy’s unconscious body home, you’d been wracking your brain for what it meant. The matchbook Billy gave you at your very first meeting, scrawled with ‘Billy Russo 7pm’ on the inside flap. You didn’t imagine Billy was the gift giving type even if that were the nature of your relationship, making this the only token of sentimental value you’d kept in regards to your soulmate. It lived on the faux mantle of your old apartment, propped up against your favorite scented candle though not regularly used. The book followed you into Billy’s apartment where life felt more right and more chaotic at the same time and you’d simply lost track of it. You hadn’t even noticed it was missing until after you’d moved in here. You blamed Dinah Madani for distracting you and making you feel suddenly very unwelcome in your, or rather, Billy’s home, subsequently distracting you from your missing token. How it came into Billy’s possession, you simply didn’t know if by accident or work of intention. Between the proof in your soulmate’s hand and the desperate look in his eyes imploring you to see what he saw, misinterpretation was stolen from your mind. Something of importance to you, for the sole fact that it reminded you of him, was in his pocket going into a firefight against the Punisher, for the sole fact that it reminded him of you.

“I came to you,” he said so confidently it prompted you to ask how much he actually remembered. Billy shook his head, admitting that it was still fuzzy before insisting he was in your home. He waited for you. He’d called you, clearly in pain, that was a piece you could assist with. Billy told you to go home and you didn’t listen. If you hadn’t gone to Anvil looking for him, you would have seen him and this plan he had for you. If you hadn’t gone to Anvil looking for him, you might have convinced him to leave with you before seeing Frank. If you hadn’t gone to Anvil, you wouldn’t have known about the tumor, Billy might not feel so broken, and maybe you’d have something real with your soulmate, not this messy entanglement of secrets and memories and traumas that have kept you from each other.

You barely registered how close Billy had gotten while you slipped on the possibilities, failing to gain mental footing on your own until you felt his forehead falling against yours. “I needed you. I wanted...you.” You took a breath and felt Billy doing the same. He said he wanted you and you desperately wanted to believe him. Your eyes slid closed at the feeling of Billy’s knuckles brush your cheek, followed by the gentle scrape of his fingernails as his fist unfurled to cup the side of your face. It never occurred to you that Billy Russo possessed any tenderness to share. Drafted with raw material, rough edges, and hard lines, there was nothing soft to him and it showed in how he walked, how he spoke, what he surrounded himself with. War, violence, blood, the heaviest things on Earth. The deeply rooted need to work so tireless for the love and attention he craved, often dismissing others entirely on his quest to impress them. It looked even heavier. In this closeness, a rare moment of tenderness for the sake of tenderness, you wondered if Billy would ever let you lighten the load. That’s what you were for right? Soulmates? In perfect situations, so unlike yours.

“I know that now.” Billy leaned in more, if possible, so close that you could sense the subtle sway before he initiated it. The two of you moved together, pushed by an invisible force, and lingering in that moment just before starting a dance without ever taking the first step. Even outside the walls of your kitchen, you’d felt that way for years. While the expectation of dance had settled deep in your bones, the unshakeable desire for more- much like your soulmate- was stirring again. It was renewed in this moment of authenticity. There were so few moments in your memory as pure as this. Your favorite bar, drinking and learning each other like friends. Billy’s darkened livingroom, sitting and enjoying each other like companions. And now, your kitchen, breathing and holding each other like… almost like lovers.

“If it wasn’t for Frank…” Billy started, breaking the silence and your reverie.

“This isn’t Frank’s fault,” you corrected him quickly, pulling away in time with Billy, who looked as though he’d been slapped by your words. “Frank messed up your memories, he didn’t mess up anything between us.”

Billy, naturally, argued.

“Frank stole our chance,” he growled.

“No, Frank gave us our chance. Last week and we both know that he regrets it, so no,” you shook your head. “I’m not letting you do that, Billy. This thing, this circle, cycle of revenge stops here!” Before he could start up again, you held up finger to halt him, feeling more like a schoolteacher than someone with a legitimate point to make. “And another thing!” Billy’s head cocked and his shoulders pushed back, making him look even taller. “We lived together Billy! You had chances every day to tell me how you felt!”

“I was going to change that,” he pushed through, hands flying up to his head. “Everything was supposed to be different. I-I-I”

And the pacing began again. Billy’s growing agitation was impossible to reason with, even harder to understand. He muttered to himself, repeating that he was going to change it, fix it, as if he weren’t the one who broke it in the first place. Just as you gathered the courage to correct him again, point out any one of the hundred or so choices that put you both in the position you were now in, Billy froze. The slow about-face making you pull your head back, watching his movements carefully.

“You don’t believe me.” It wasn’t a question, but it was heartbreaking.

“Billy-” you started, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of sympathy for the man who was trying to himself back together and trying to include you in the process. It was all you wanted since meeting him and he’d have to be an idiot not to know it. Billy was missing some of the details, but he certainly wasn’t an idiot. What torture to try giving someone what they want, what they need, only to have it thrown back in your face. You knew exactly what that felt like. “Billy, I-”

But you had no chance to finish your thought, let alone your sentence before Billy was on you with his hands in your hair and his chest crushing yours.

It took more than a few moments to realize the stinging of your mouth was from Billy Russo’s lips on yours, roughly pressing in for a kiss both too late and too soon. When your good sense returned, instinct brought your hands to his chest to push him away, but your fingers only curled into tight fists, wrinkling his shirt and stretching the seams with every tug. You drew him in and Billy returned the gesture, sliding one of his large hands down the back of your neck, squeezing until you gasped and he could lead with his tongue. His palm pressed hard between your shoulder blades, slipping down to bend you into him, and he leaned over you, lips still connected, as he removed any lingering space between you.

You’d been kissed before. You’d even say you’d been kissed well. You knew that hands grabbed and bodies hummed and that mouths were warm, but nothing had prepared you for the furnace of Billy’s kiss. It was so... warm. You dragged your fingers down his chest and stomach, earning a second’s worth of reprieve when Billy’s lips curled around a hiss before diving back in, wet and wanting as ever. Your fingers dug into his sides as you pulled yourself closer, soft meeting hard in a rough embrace. Billy moaned into you, the sound vibrating against the roof of your mouth and drawing a litany of whimpers from some place deep within you. Every move your tongue and lips made to escape the licking flames, his followed dutifully. Forcefully, reminding you he was in control. As if you needed one. No amount of bickering or complication could change the fact that Billy had a grip, as firm as his grip in your hair to cradle your head and keep you right where he wanted you, on your soul, your heart, your everything.

When he finally pulled away for breath, he didn’t let you out of his grasp, pulling you up with each heaving breath. “You don’t believe me,” he repeated, so that you felt every word pass from his lips to yours.

“I want to,” you whispered, so faintly that without the shared touch, you were sure he wouldn’t know you spoke at all.

Billy forced his lips on yours again, quick and meaningful, before releasing you again. “I’ll make you make you believe me,” he said, dropping you without warning, so that you clung to him tighter for a moment, just to be sure you stayed upright as he walked away.

Billy Russo. Making promises sound like threats since 1983. You gingerly reached up to touch your burning lips, watching him go.

.:.:.:.

The room was filled with laughter and you couldn’t keep the smile from your face at the effort shown, just for you. It was a bittersweet moment. Flattering as hell, but still a goodbye. Your coworkers gathered in the open atrium, some of your favorites coming in on their day off just to hug you on your last day. You couldn’t remember doing this for anyone else who left, since you’d been hired. The proud part of your brain insisted that you’d simply made an impact and that they’d miss you. The tumor, however, reminded you that there were also extenuating circumstances. Jared brought out a cake barely big enough to share with everyone and your surprised face was genuine. The crowd went silent when the frosting was revealed with the message You’re Dead To Us. Sensing every eye on you where you stood at the middle of a once cheerful circle. Without anything else to do, you started laughing. You probably sounded like a maniac with your hysterics echoing around the hospital’s core, but it dissolved the tension immediately and soon the awkward chuckles rippling through your party had joined you in a roar of laughter.

You wiped the tears from your eyes as Shannon slapped the back of his head. “You had one job!”

Jared was clearly mortified, scraping at the words with his fingers until it was an unreadable swirl of blue and white frosting. “I’m so sorry,” he pleaded. “My girlfriend thought it was funny and I totally forgot.”

You assured him it was fine and waited for him to pass the cake to someone else before wrapping him in a hug, which only inspired a queue of embraces that ranged from simple pats on the back to being lifted from your feet. You took your gift, a colorful coffee mug stuffed with chocolates, and a small piece of cake before telling everyone to enjoy the rest, waving as your final goodbye. There was no pretense of ‘see ya later’ and the finality of walking out of your job for the last time was surprisingly freeing. You felt lighter the whole way home. Excited to return to a normal sleeping schedule, excited to go somewhere new, excited for whatever was coming, but fully aware it would be brief. That wouldn’t stop you from enjoying this feeling of transition.

When you walked through the door, greeted as always by an overly excited Job, you were shocked to find Billy Russo there to greet you as well. He shot a smile over his shoulder without leaving his place at the stove. Curious, you slid up next to him, peering into the bubbling pots before him- one in a rolling boil that brought noodles to the top of the water and the other containing a bright red sauce that Billy stopped stirring to face you.

Cocking your head to glance suspiciously between the stove top and his face, you asked your soulmate a question you’d never expected. “Billy… are you making me dinner?”

He smirked in response, clearly proud of himself for catching you off guard. “It was your last day. I thought we should celebrate.”

Baffling. Simply baffling.

Since the kiss, Billy had been… present. Confused by what it means to really share a life with someone, but clearly trying. He was there. Determined to convince you of the commitment inspired by his most recent revelation. Not even Job could keep him occupied when you were in the room. It was startling after living like strangers. The conversation had continued of course and Billy made sure to tell you that the day he’d found the bag in your house, he only went to the hospital where Dr. Dumont was recovering to get a sense of closure. You certainly hadn’t expected someone like Billy to care about things like closure and part of you suspected it was a test. It was easier to imagine him standing dutifully outside her window, weighing these newly discovered thoughts against the feelings he’d succumbed to under her influence. To his credit, he came home and told you that he wasn’t going back. If you’d known what you knew now, maybe you would have gone easier on him then.

In an attempt to meet him halfway, reward his efforts, you peered over the stove to look to the saucepan, carefully and quickly dipping your pinky in just enough for a taste. You hummed in appreciation at the flavor and damn it, if Billy didn’t beam at that before fixing his face back into the usual grin.

“It’s my Nonna’s recipe,” he snarked and you nearly choked on your own laughter.

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged, sliding closer and tapping the gold colored lid of a marinara jar on the counter. Billy simply winked. “Abandoning the whole orphan shtick?”

He shrugged. “Russo’s Italian, right?” he asked, turning back to drain the noodles and add the sauce to the pot while you pulled down a couple of wine glasses to finish setting the table.

“You never checked?” He shook his head and frowned deep, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Would you want to?” Billy’s face snapped back to yours. “I mean, I am retired, so I have all this free time now and it’s too cold to pick up golf.”

Billy hummed from his place next to your chair and waited for you to join him at the table. “I bet you’d look real sweet in a short little skirt though,” he mused, pulling out your chair as you approached. “White socks, polo…” he added teasingly. It was strange, truly, to be on the receiving end of his flirting. Even at your best, you couldn’t remember Billy ever commenting on your appearance. Let alone so favourably… as if he couldn’t wait to see more of you.

You laughed it off. “Is this a golf kink or a misguided schoolgirl thing?”

“Maybe both,” Billy smirked and stole a kiss, smacking your butt for good measure before you sat down.

Dinner was tame. The conversation leaned from one side to the other. Your last day of work and the awkward party incident. Billy’s observations and his detailing of the minor repairs he’d finished while you were at work. You didn’t bother hiding the surprise on your face and Billy shrugged, digging into the pot between you for a second helping. He informed you that when you are poor as shit, you learn to do whatever it takes to get every cent of a deposit back. Your mind supplied an image of a young Billy Russo decked out in USMC shorts and t-shirt, spackling the walls of his first apartment in Flatbush within an inch of its life and tightening every knob, handle, and screw in the damn place. His ability wasn’t what caught you off guard, but rather his initiative. Doing work that didn’t benefit him was unheard of, but that smirk of his was making you question if your approval was enough of a benefit to really prompt these visible changes.

“Billy,” you got his attention and he continued chewing unphased. “Is this for real?” he licked the sauce from his lips and sat forward in his chair, waiting for you to continue. “This...us...are we…” you paused to take a deep breath, embarrassed by your own nerves. “Are we doing this?”

You watched Billy lick his teeth beneath a blank sort of frown and stand from his seat. He finished the wine in his glass and set it down carefully as he made his way around the table. Once in front of you, Billy grabbed the high back of your chair, planting his other palm on the table effectively trapping you in your seat. His face hovered over yours as you waited for his answer. He kissed you instead. Softer than your first. It felt like being kissed rather than being devoured. You caught yourself leaning forward into nothing when he pulled away, not wanting it end yet. Or ever.

“I’m in,” he promised, dark eyes flying from your lips to each eye and cheek and back, trying to take you all in from up close.

You had a decision to make, one he’d been waiting on. Were you going to believe Billy Russo? Believe in his ability to change that closed off part of himself and make room for someone he was getting to know all over again. Could you believe in Billy’s belief that his soulmate could really be his?

You smiled and Billy looked visibly relieved as your hand crept around the back of his neck to pull him in again, pausing just as your lips touched again to relish in the way Billy mouthed at you from just out of reach, eager for another kiss. “Where should we go first?”

General Tags: @something-tofightfor​  @the-blind-assassin-12​ @gollyderek​ @suchatinyinfinity​ @fific7​ @beautifuldesastre​ @elanor-of-imladris​ @actuallyazriel​ @malionnes​ @pheedraws​ @commanderlola​ @mariaenchanted​​

Let it Burn/Billy Russo: @songtoyou​ @disengagefrmreality​ @christinawxxx​ @stories-you-wont-hear​ @lexxierave​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​@thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains​ @charmed-asylum​ @bugboy-and-icegirl​ @thefinalexperiment​ @lysawayne​ @operation-spot​ @ilkaeliseb​ @littlemermaidprobz​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes​ @mathle0matle​ @a-dorky-book-keeper @blackbirddaredevil23​ @elenarogersbarnes13​

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Sometimes your best friend calls you at 3 am because his citizenship isn’t valid anymore, his marriage not legally acknowledged, and he kind of needs to marry you so he isn’t kicked out of the country. A comedy of errors in which Obi-Wan, Anakin and Padmé don't take the long road to becoming a family, but certainly the most complicated one. Marriage of convenience, ObiAniDala style.

Read on AO3!

It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you

- Bruno Mars, Marry You

There were many things Obi-Wan didn’t expect at 3 am, such as somebody breaking into his house, which was possible but unlikely, or the apocalypse finally starting, which was impossible and unlikely. Mostly, he didn’t expect anything because he had grown out of his wild university student years and went to bed at reasonable hours so he was fast asleep at 3 am.

However, panicked calls from Anakin Skywalker were kind of normal.

Not that they should be, but they happened much more frequently than Obi-Wan cared to admit. Whether Anakin was fifteen or twenty-five, nothing much had changed in that time, not even the ringtone of Obi-Wan’s phone for him, only its model.

Tiredly, Obi-Wan reached for his phone in the dark, finding it somewhere on his night table.

“Hello?” he muttered into the speaker, not quite coherent yet.

“Obi-Wan!”

At the sound of Anakin’s panicked voice, Obi-Wan immediately sat up, all exhaustion forgotten. Over the years, the kind of tone Anakin’s voice reached when he was alarmed, had become an immediate trigger for Obi-Wan, forcing him to operate as if he were ready to give a three-hour lecture on the integration of the sonnet into English poetry.

“Anakin, is everything alright?” he asked, unnecessarily, as Anakin immediately began babbling over Obi-Wan.

“Can you come over, right now, we need your help.”

It took Obi-Wan barely a split second to register what exactly Anakin was asking. He glanced at the clock – it was the middle of the night. What could have happened- He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are the twins alright?”

The only thing Obi-Wan could think of was that something had happened to the twins. The six-months-olds had had quite the ordeal behind them already. They had been born too early and Padmé, already weakened by the difficult pregnancy, had struggled during the birth. There had been too many complications and Obi-Wan still remembered that horrendous night, the long hours sitting next to Anakin in the waiting room, not knowing what was happening to Padmé.

And afterwards, he had spent quite a few nights over at their cramped home – meant for two adults, not two adults and two babies – helping them out. Padmé had rested and recovered while Anakin had cared for the children and her, and Obi-Wan had just made sure that everything in-between had run smoothly. Anakin and Padmé both had thanked him countless times already, but Obi-Wan didn’t know what for. They were his best friends, he was the twins’ godfather. If he didn’t come to help them, what kind of friend was he?

“No, the twins are alright,” Anakin reassured him immediately, though his voice didn’t lose any of its panic. “I just- I need to marry you. Kind of right now immediately, preferably before the weekend is over.”

“What.” Obi-Wan thought he had misheard. “Anakin, what are you talking about?”

“Can you just-“

Anakin’s voice faded from the speaker. Obi-Wan could hear some bickering, then a new person spoke. Padmé’s voice was lighter, higher than usual as well, but not quite as panicked as Anakin’s.

“Hello, Obi-Wan. Sorry for disturbing you at this hour but we have a problem. Could you be so kind and come over?”

“…Sure,” Obi-Wan replied after a pause. “Could you just give me ten minutes to get dressed?”

“You have still got some of your clothes here,” Anakin‘s voice rang out again, before he suddenly yelped and hissed, muttering something about sharp elbows. “Just- hurry, please.”

X

And so it came to be that Obi-Wan, dressed because he was not a heathen and it was chilly at night still, walked out of his house at three in the morning, and jumped into his car to drive downtown to the little apartment near the university campus that Anakin and Padmé shared. They had been meaning to move out since before they had even learned Padmé was expecting, but they hadn’t had the funds at first and then the time and now they were still living there. They were planning to move once the twins were a little older and easier to handle, but Obi-Wan already foresaw that this wouldn’t be any easier for them.

When he pulled into their street, Anakin was already standing in front of their house, dressed in an oversized hoodie and long, dark pants that were much too warm for this weather. The desert kid in Anakin would always make him freeze at all times. Summertime was alright, but during winter Anakin was always the first to get sick and cold and be absolutely miserable all around. He then always took great pleasure in sticking his hands and feet beneath the next warm willing body. Or unwilling if Anakin was sure you loved him enough to let him put his freezing hands on you.

Obi-Wan parked his car and was not even halfway out it when Anakin grabbed his hands and pretty much dragged him inside and then up through the staircase to his apartment. He didn’t say a word as he opened up the door, but his expression was concerning enough.

The apartment was slightly messier than when Obi-Wan had last seen it, clothes, photos, and documents alike flying around everywhere.

“So,” Obi-Wan asked as he looked around. “What is going on?”

Anakin opened his mouth, ready to let it all fall from his lips, but then shut his mouth and shook his head so that instead of replying, he was pushing Obi-Wan into his and Padmé’s bedroom. The bedroom was the biggest room in their small apartment. Their living room also doubled as offices and the kitchen was just cramped enough that it was full when you stood there with two people, doing absolutely nothing. In comparison to that, the bedroom was giant, even if it didn’t look like it with the wardrobe, bed, and the twins’ crib in it.

The babies were sleeping soundly in their crib while Padmé was sitting upright on the bed, her laptop in front of her, and another stack of documents lying around her.

“Good morning, Padmé” Obi-Wan greeted her.

She just smiled tiredly at him and waved.

“Morning, Obi-Wan, and sorry for all of this.” She gestured towards the documents and then at Anakin, who had already dropped on the bed, his head now resting on Padmé’s lap.

“Nothing I’m not already used to,” Obi-Wan replied, kicked off his shoes, and sat down next to Anakin’s legs. The first couple of times he had been around, he had been uncomfortable claiming a spot here, but he had long since gotten used to it.

“So,” he repeated his earlier question. “What is going on and why do I need to marry Anakin?”

“We have run into a major problem,” Pamdé said. “We got mail this morning. Yesterday morning.”

She paused and glanced at the watch on her wrist before sighing and handing Obi-Wan one of the papers he accepted quickly. “Anyway, we got mail from the state saying that Anakin has to leave the country next week or face legal consequences.”

“What?” Obi-Wan replied. “Wait, how can that be?”

He glanced down at the letter Padmé had given him, and true enough, it was an official one.

Obi-Wan was well aware that Anakin’s citizenship hadn’t always been in the clear. His mother had been brought to this country as a worker with no documents or even the right to decide what to do with herself. Anakin’s documents had been equally shady right up until Obi-Wan’s father had cleared them up. It was how they had met – Qui-Gon Jinn introducing little Anakin Skywalker and his mother, the latest cases of immigrants his law firm was helping, to Obi-Wan. The then 9-year-old Anakin had latched onto Obi-Wan pretty quickly. They had been friends ever since and gone through thick and thin together and some not so pretty years as well.

But all in all, Anakin shouldn’t have any trouble with his citizenship, especially not now. And if Anakin had trouble, Shmi would certainly as well.

“I don’t know!” Anakin said and threw up his hands. “We already called the residents’ registration office but they said that due to some-” He waved his hands, replacing the legal jargon with gestures. “-they don’t count anymore because they were bound to some temporary stay. I have no idea.”

Obi-Wan ran his hand through his hair. He knew some of the goings-on tied to immigration laws due to his father, but not all of them. However, he was still sure that whatever was going on here, it wasn’t correct.

“Okay, but we can get those renewed. It’s terrible right now, but we can file in a complaint and fight the order. It might take a few months, but I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Anakin only shook his head. “I don’t have a few months. It’s out now or fines or prison or something and we don’t exactly got the money.”

“But you’re married?” Obi-Wan frowned and looked at Padmé whose face had twisted into something dark and angry like he’d never seen before.

“That’s the second thing we’re wondering about. Our marriage, apparently, is not legally binding. And they just discovered it. Again, it’s something about my citizenship and the fact that we didn’t marry here but in Naboo. It’s freaking ridiculous but whenever we ask or try to inquire what we can do, I get told to go back to where I came from like I ever actually came from anywhere on Tatooine!”

Anakin’s voice got a little louder and they froze when suddenly a quiet whine rang out in the room. Simultaneously, the three of them turned to look at the crib.

“Oh, no, no, no-“ Anakin muttered and moved to get up, but Obi-Wan was quicker and closer.

“I’ll get them,” he said and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Obi-Wan stood up and walked over to the crib, picking up Leia first who stared up at him with her brown eyes. Their newborn blue coloring had darkened after only a couple weeks already, but Luke’s were still as blue as Anakin’s.

“Hey, little lady,” Obi-Wan whispered, holding Leia close before he gave her to Padmé. Then, turning around, saw that Luke was watching him as well.

“You too, darling?” He asked and took him into his arms before sitting down on the bed again, careful so that he wasn’t shaking Luke awake. With both children settled into Padmé and Obi-Wan’s arms, Anakin continued.

“So, the bottom line is, I don’t have anything that says I’m a Coruscant citizen or married to Padmé so the only thing we could think of was that I get married to somebody who has citizenship and therefor get to stay here like that until we figure out what’s actually going on.”

Anakin’s shoulders dropped. “Sorry to spring this on you like this but we are kind of desperate here. And if I don’t have citizenship and something happens to Padmé, the twins-“

Anakin doesn’t even have to say it out loud. Obi-Wan would know exactly where the twins would go.

“This is horrible,” he said. “And truly nothing else has worked out? Have you called any lawyers?”

“About a hundred,” Padmé sighed. “None of them can help and we couldn’t reach your father either.”

Right, Qui-Gon was on a humanitarian trip on… Obi-Wan didn’t even know. He hadn’t spoken to his father in a while, not since their last big fight. He really hadn’t been in the mood to put up with him.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan said, letting the thought take shape in his mind. “So, marriage?”

“Just for a short while,” Padmé reassured him. “It doesn’t have to be for long, only until we can get this sorted out again and then you can get divorced and we’ll bake you another cake as a thank you. We are really sorry about this and I know it sounds stupid but-“

“Hey, none of this is your fault,” Obi-Wan replied and with his one free arm, gently squeezed Padmé’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. Besides, marrying Anakin isn’t the worst thing I have done out of the blue.”

Anakin only eyed him suspiciously and Obi-Wan couldn’t help grinning. Anakin knew some of the really dumb things Obi-Wan had gotten into, but not all of them.

“How is this not the worst you have ever done,” Anakin echoed. “You’re marrying me so I can stay in the country.”

Obi-Wan could think of plenty of other things and was suddenly, for once, very happy he could use Anakin’s obliviousness to cheer him up.

“You don’t know what Quinlan and I got up to in our youth.”

“The more you mention it, the more do I think that I really don’t want to know it either,” Anakin muttered, shaking his head. Then he took a deep breath, eyes closed. A moment passed and only then he continued speaking. “But- you’ll do it-?”

“Of course, Anakin. You’re my best friend. How could I not help you out?” Obi-Wan watched the baby sleeping soundly in his arms, entirely unaware of the troubles his parents were in. They had gone through enough chaos in the last year, the least he could do was help them out. “When do you need to get married?”

“Tomorrow morning. Or today. At least if we want the paperwork to go through smoothly and quickly enough.” Anakin looked at Padmé who nodded in confirmation.

“And we’ll need somebody to marry us- Oh, hell, where will we even get somebody to marry us on such short notice?”

It was late spring, the season most couples decided to get married. The offices would be full and getting somebody who could marry them even just today-

Obi-Wan blinked.

“Quinlan is ordained.”

“What?”

Padmé and Anakin stared at him with deadpan expressions. Obi-Wan supposed this would make more sense to them if the two had spent more time around Quinlan than just a couple hours whenever their paths crossed at Obi-Wan’s birthday parties. His childhood friend was a wild spirit and Obi-Wan still wasn’t exactly sure what his job was, he seemed to change it every month. He did, however, have an amazing repertoire of skills and being ordained was just amongst them. He had married Luminara and Shaak Ti a couple of years back.

“I can call him,” Obi-Wan offered.

“Right now?” Padmé raised her brow. “Don’t you think he’ll be mad?”

“He’s used to such things,” Obi-Wan replied. “Kind of the same way I’m used to getting called from you at 3 in the morning, Anakin.”

Anakin had the decency to smile sheepishly.

“Are you sure?” Padmé continued. “This can wait until morning-“

“Except that it really can’t,” Obi-Wan interrupted her softöy. “Not if we want to make sure this is airtight.”

With some trouble as he was still holding Luke, Obi-Wan fished his phone out of his pants’ pocket and searched for Quinlan’s contact. Once he found it, he dialed the newest phone number he had, hoping it was still the correct one. It rang a couple of times before the other accepted the call and Obi-Wan put him on speaker.

“Obi-Wan!” Quinlan shouted, slightly slurring Obi-Wan’s name. “My man! What’s going on?” In the background, Obi-Wan could hear loud music. Quinlan must be out partying then. Obi-Wan hadn’t even known that there were clubs that were open on a Wednesday night at this hour still. But then again, their city had a very large university district.

“Quinlan, are you still ordained?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Am I still my main? Main what? Video game character?”

“Ordained,” Obi-wan repeated patiently. “Can you marry people?”

“Oh, yeah, sure! Just got my license renewed last week. Who needs to get married?”

“Me,” Obi-Wan said. “And Anakin Skywalker? Tall, blond, blue eyes, math genius-“

“I know your other half, Obi-Wan, honestly. And holy, shit, you’re finally marrying him?”

Obi-Wan paused to look up from his phone into the faces of Padmé and Anakin who looked just as confused as him.

“What do you mean finally-“ Obi-Wan stopped. Honestly, it didn’t matter. “Yes, sure. We need to get married tomorrow morning. Well, today actually. Is that possible?”

“Sure, I just need to get some documents from the department and it’ll be done. I need your ID and that’s about it. Any preferences for a location? There is this super neat gazebo in the main park. It’s a little out of the way so there are no people, would be great for wedding phots- holy fuck, does your father even know? Or is he still stuck in... where is he again?”

“Does it matter?” Obi-Wan replied. “Look, I just need to get married as soon as possible.”

“Okidoki, I’ll come to your house then? Or to that park?”

“We’ll l meet you at the park,” Anakin spoke up.

“Oh! Hey Anakin! You here as well?”

Padmé raised her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter, but Obi-Wan doubted it mattered. Quinlan probably wouldn’t even hear it over all that background noise.

“Obi-Wan, put you on speaker,” Anakin said meanwhile.

“Cool, cool, see you tomorrow morning then at... what time?”

The earlier they got it done, the better, Obi-Wan figured. “What time are you up again?”

“Club closes at five, so, we can do this at six? No, wait. Eight. I need the documents.”

“Eight it is then,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Good night, Quinlan, have fun and see you then.”

“Bye-bye!”

Obi-Wan ended the call and stared at his phone just a moment longer. This had not gone as he had expected, somewhere in the back of his mind he thought it should be more difficult to get married, and yet, somehow, it apparently was all working out correctly.

“So, that’s it?” Anakin asked shakily.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answered. “That’s it.”

He thought he should feel weird about it, he had never considered marriage before in any capacity, but instead, all Obi-Wan could feel was relief.

“Oh, thank the heavens,” Anakin muttered and then pretty much threw himself at Obi-Wan as carefully as he could without waking Luke in the process. He wrapped obi-wan in a tight hug, the kind where he buried his face in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck and didn’t let go for a while. “Just, thank you so much.”

“No problem, Anakin. Anything for you, dear one.”

“No, really,” Padmé said. “We can’t thank you enough. You have been helping out with the twins and now this and- we can never make this up to you.”

“I’d never ask you to make it up to me because you don’t have to.” Trying to ease the tension of this situation somewhat, Obi-wan smiled softly. “I’ll be content with some more cake. You’re mother’s recipe?”

Anakin laughed, still a little shaky, but he didn’t look like hell anymore at least.

“That one? Sure, I can make that,” Anakin answered. “It’ll be our wedding cake then. Then I’ll have eaten it twice at my own wedding already. Not that it’s a lot, but it’s still kind of weird to have done it twice.”

He then carefully took Luke from Obi-Wan’s arms and then lied down on the bed again, the baby still asleep on his chest. “I think I’ll stay just like this until this is over.”

“Maybe get some proper sleep instead?” Obi-suggested. “You need some rest after this stress.. both of you,” he added, pointedly looking at Padmé.

“We’ll be fine, we always are,” she said. “And you should get some sleep as well.”

Obi-Wan stood up and stretched. “I will, I’m already missing my bed.”

His two friends immediately frowned at him, their expressions easily telling Obi-Wan that they were not agreeing with the decision he had reached just now.

“You’re not driving home now, it’s bad enough we made you come here at this hour,” Padmé insisted. “Besides bed is big enough, you can sleep here with us.”

“I don’t want to impose-“

“You’re not imposing.”

“The sofa then-“

“Obi-wan,” Anakin inserted. “Don’t make me tie you to the bed again.”

Padmé looked at them both, then began to grin. “Honestly, your conversations are a delight to listen to out of context. But really, Obi-Wan, our sofa sucks. You know our sofa sucks. We’ll just put the twins to sleep again in the crib and you can fit in here.”

Obi-Wan thought about complaining for another second, but he’d only lie to himself. He didn’t want to drive home now. He was incredibly tired and the risk of falling asleep while driving now that all the adrenaline had left him was not as low as it should be.

“Fine,” he finally admitted defeat.

And then, as before, he took Luke from Anakin’s arms and put him back in his crib, then he took Leia from Pamdé’s arms and set her down next to her brother. The twins looked absolutely adorable and already much bigger than they had when they had come from the hospital. Seeing them grow up healthy was a greater comfort than anything else.

Obi-Wan then stepped out of his pants, contemplating keeping on his socks in case Anakin decided his feet were cold and took them off anyway, and kept his shirt. Obi-Wan walked away from the crib towards the light switch and turned it, drowning the room in pitch black. He stumbled across the ground towards the bed and crawled under the banket. It was, as expected, heavier and warmer than anything he would sleep in.

He laid down on the left side of the bed, his back to Anakin, who took great pleasure in immediately tangling his legs with Obi-Wan’s while wrapping his arms around Padmé.

“Good night,” he said and yawned.

“Good night,” the couple replied.

And the three of them fell into a sleep next to one another.