#been here for a year but slept in the tub probably over a month in total

[deadboyfriendd]

Stains in the Granite

Summary: Throughout the years, Steve has undergone multiple head traumas. You knew this much when you were together. The migraines, the forgetfulness, moderate hearing loss in one ear, vertigo. The list was expansive. When you were together. It’s been over a year since you had last spoken to him, but an unexpected call from Hawkins Regional sends you reeling back to him. A forgotten emergency contact, he probably just never bothered to update it. You would let Robin know and be back to your regularly scheduled activities, sans Steve. A dead line turns the spigot, worry plugs the drain, and your inability to let him go drowns you in the tub. When he wakes up, he falls in love with you again. And again the next day. And again the day after that. They say he’ll regain his long-term memory storage eventually. They say the amnesia will wear off soon, but, for now, this is who he would have to be. He may only have to live through losing you once, but you’re not sure if you could handle losing him again every day until he regains his memory. You wouldn’t have the heart to tell him.

Content Warning: My content is 18+, Minors DNI, head trauma, mentions of hospitals and the things that go in them, smut, fluff, angst, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, alcohol

Word Count: 14.2k

Author’s Note: This is dedicated completely to @dr-aculaaa I have had this piece in the works for months before getting it to the version that you are getting. Drac has tirelessly loomed over my docs like God beta reading, helping out with dialogue, and brainstorming these characters with me. This is as much her baby as it is mine, and I love her very very much.

Drac, I love you.

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Granite, noun, gran·​ite ˈgra-nət 

: a very hard natural igneous rock formation of visibly crystalline texture formed essentially of quartz and orthoclase or microcline and used especially for building and for monuments

: unyielding firmness or endurance

the cold granite of Puritan formalism.

the cold granite of your heart.

You were sullen, eyes unable to focus on any one speckle of the countertop in front of you. You ran your hands over it in a grounding motion, forcing tired eyes upon skin instead of stone. You blinked and it settled. The warmth of your palm could feel the slight unevenness of the surface, where the natural stone had been polished down just slightly too much. You watched it catch the light, glitter beneath your fingers snuffed out by the shadows of your touch. You watched the way the light cast a glowing square onto the ground in its early-morning iridescence. You had not slept, only watched the sunrise before you went to sleep. 

You missed the nonchalance of high school, when being sad was not an inconvenience, in the same way you missed the grandeur of college, where being sad was an art. Now, though you took comfort in the blanket of sadness, it was more obnoxious than anything. Your sighs held a certain bitchiness to them now, less sad than they were unimpressed. 

But you couldn’t help the way the hogs-hair bristles from your years-old, overused brushes stuck in the too-thick paint. You couldn't help the frustration that bubbled through when the linseed oil seeped through too thick and thinned the pigment of your paint so thin the underpainting shone through. It was hard enough to paint your heartbreak, without the added interruption of frustration and all of its woes. You wanted to pick at the scabs of old wounds, reopen them and let the blood drip down onto self-stretched canvases with ragged edges. You wanted your art to feel as raw as your heart did. 

Sometimes you wish you could go back, study something practical like education, be something stupid like an art teacher and talk about fulfillment with dead eyes, but you were too ceremoniously tortured for that. You thought about easy, but you didn’t want it. You craved goddamned difficult. You were goddamned difficult. 

But people bought it. Commissioned it to hang in their ugly suburban sprawls. Ugly art in ugly homes. Maybe people liked the subjectivity, felt like they could see their own heartbreak in it. You weren't so pretentious that you felt like the only person in the world to experience it. You certainly weren’t. Maybe there were people that were introspective, that wanted to feel the heartbreak when they dissociated into the white walls of their cookie-cutter homes. Maybe heartbreak was the only emotion they could force themselves to feel. 

Maybe they took comfort in it, too. 

You didn’t exactly know who you were anymore. Yes, at whatever bullshit ice breaker you could define yourself as an artist. An even more bullshit mediocre descriptor that served as a face to the sacrifice of self you went through for the sake of it all. That was usual, it just came with the territory. It was your only redeeming personality trait. You traded your sense of self for an established style that put cans in your cupboard and secondhand clothes on your back. 

Everything was covered in a wax sheen, the desensitization taking over your personage and casting a vignette across everything you saw. Not even sex was good anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. It had reduced itself to nothing more than another school of art— another subject of  heartbreak. Another thought process and another complication. Your entire sense of self came from academic validation. You were a bachelor of fine art, consistently praised by professors and featured in student exhibitions, graduated magna cum laude from your university. But now? You were lost in a vapid attempt to redefine yourself outside of the college community. This was the real world now, and sucked even worse than college had. 

Your studio apartment overlooked the heart of the historic downtown district of Hawkins, Indiana. It was gray this time of year, rain a near-constant promise over the thick smattering of clouds overhead. You paid entirely too much to live in eight-hundred square feet, but you could justify the cost with the stone hearth and floor-to-ceiling windows, even if that meant sleeping in a twin-sized mattress sprawled on the floor in the corner of the room. Your clothes hung messily on mismatched hangers over a laundry rack beside it. Your few enamel dishes cast drip-drying across the countertops in their own choreography. The rest of the place was barren, save for paint splatters over tarps, stacked canvases, and easels. Maybe it was too indulgent to live in-studio, but poverty would argue and win nearly every time. 

The tortured artist persona was trendy while you were in college, but you were just plain insufferable now. You didn’t even want to associate with yourself. You guessed that’s why you had Robin. She was just as insufferable as you were. 

She was the embodiment of everything you hated, a humbling experience in a flesh box wrapped with a short bob and a beret and adorned with a nose ring. You had met her in an Art: History of the French Renaissance class. She was a linguistics major with all of the subtlety of a clapped-out Honda Civic. She heavily romanticized the greater works of Van Gogh and made her brief year in a study-abroad program in Paris a personality trait. Though, you supposed, her redeemable feature was that she was loyal to a fault, albeit mean. Like a small, white dog that haunted your home instead of offering companionship and happiness. 

Though you, for the most part, kept it to yourself, you had made it known in the past that the Italian Renaissance was far superior to the French. You didn’t understand how she could so  heavily romanticize the ritzy portraits of those aristocratic jerk-offs when she had the Arnolfini Wedding Portrait directly in front of her. Maybe you just didn’t think Van Gogh was all that great. Maybe you hated him altogether. Maybe you hated yourself and you were just projecting– or you were jealous that he could be a tortured artist and people left and right seemed to romanticize his work but when you did it, you were just annoying. You knew, for a fact, that you hated yellow. And she sure liked to wear a lot of it.

The weathered oak was hard and uneven against the curvature of your spine, but you refused to move, the numbness in your fingers happening were the beginnings of the best high you had gotten in ages. There was a resonant patriarchal tenor shrill in your ears as you attempted to focus on the beams and exposed plumbing on the ceiling above you. She spoke it again, louder this time, 

“What are you gonna do with an art degree? Be a tortured artist forever?” You could hear her arm slap coldly against the ground next to yours and echo throughout the emptiness of your apartment. 

You groaned, though it was only proving her point, “I don't know, what are you gonna do with a linguistics degree? Be super fucking annoying?”

“At least I have a job.” 

And she did. She was a translator who rotated on call-circuit to Indianapolis for international business meetings, sometimes they even paid her fare to other countries, in essence getting to vacation on some company’s dime between meetings. The grandeur of it all was sickening. 

The ring from your land-line was shrill and echoing, shattering the silence of your own discontent like tempered glass, fragmenting and exploding into millions of little pieces. No one called here ever, and the suddenness of the tone made both Robin and yourself jump. You gave her a shove to the shoulder, a wordless gesture meaning, go get that. 

Her Hello was tepid, in the same meek demeanor she twirled the line around her finger. Her face registered from confusion to concern, a quick contortion that took place over the course of seconds, “Is he okay? What do you mean you can’t disclose that?” 

You sat up, propping your arms underneath you like the kickstands on a bike, brows knit together in question. She looks to you, holding the receiver out towards you, 

“For you.” She says, then silently and exaggeratingly mouths, About Steve.

What? You mouthed back.

Just– Pick. It. Up. She insisted in silent accuse, shaking the receiver towards you once again, 

You took the plastic receiver from her, fingers drawing the skin of your temples back and rubbing your eyes, “Hello?”

You don’t recognize the voice on the phone. A woman you know is older than yourself by the way she sounds, officiating and knowledgeable, but carrying a certain morosity with her. She held the kind of tone you know brought bad news. 

It feels like a fog, hearing his name again. Hearing that he is a person who is alive and living a life separate from you. It wasn’t right, and that unease turned itself in your stomach as you repeated back her medical jargon to yourself in layman’s terms. Steve fell off a ladder and hit his head. Again. He was unconscious but stable. The neighbor found him and brought him in and gave them your name and phone number 

“And why are you calling me?” You finally asked, followed by a long pause. You cursed yourself mentally, realizing the harshness of the statement after you had said it.  

The nurse sounded displeased, “You’re his wife, aren’t you? You were listed as the primary emergency contact.”

You hadn’t spoken to Steve in over a year, not since you broke it off with him. You trailed your thumb over the webbing between your middle and ring finger, still feeling the phantom sensation of the ring that sat there just a year prior. The dissidence churned in your stomach, and you couldn’t help the worry that filled you. 

Steve was the embodiment of everything you loved. He was smooth like linseed and fell into all of your texture. He didn’t understand it, but he agreed on the superiority of the Italian renaissance. If you hated the romanticization of Van Gogh, then so did he. Steve was agreeable. Steve was easy in all of the places you weren’t. 

Steve cared about people in the way that you didn’t. 

When you broke it off, your families, both found and biological, were shocked. Robin especially. You’d felt bad for her, caught in the crossfire between two of her best friends. You and Steve had both agreed not to make her choose. She was the sentient being of pure neutrality. It was as if she was a separate entity on two different timelines. If she was present in your reality, Steve did not exist. You assumed the same of her relationship with Steve. Though, a part of you still hoped he’d ask sometimes. 

Your brain is a flurry of Steve. His migraine medication, his medical history, his eyewear prescription, fuck his shoe size. You card through the rolodex of head traumas he had undergone through the years, recounting them between relationship markers. You don’t allow yourself the time to think, slamming the phone back down on the stand with a quick, I’ll be there. 

The drive to the hospital is sombering, though, you selfishly are less worried about him being okay than you are about what he would think of you showing up after they thought you were his wife. 

The smell of the hospital is pungent. Horrendously human and unnaturally sterile wrapped up into one fragrant demise. There are people buzzing, both physically and metaphorically, yet despite the controlled chaos the women at the front desk seem unnaturally calm. Uninterested, even. You tell them your name and who you are here to see, and yet, despite the fact that they had just reached out to you over the phone, they still attempt to validate your marriage. 

You knew it was nasty when, “If you don’t think I’m his wife, then why did you call asking if I was his wife?” rolled off your tongue, but you knew Robin would smooth the turmoil with an apology on your behalf. Frankly, you didn’t care. They buzzed you in without another word. 

There was an older man in a white coat standing in front of the room, flipping through a chart with Harrington across the top. The embroidery on it read neurology. You figured he would have to undergo a few whirring uncomfortable scans with any head trauma, but his face remained stoic. You couldn’t read him, and, personally, it was terrifying. 

“Mrs. Harrington?” He asked, holding a hand out. 

You took it as an appeasement, tried to let his old man charm seep into your bones and put you at ease. If he was old, that means he’s done this before. “Yes.” You knew it was a lie, but who else was going to claim him? Not his parents. There was no one else remaining in Hawkins but you and Robin, and she wasn’t family. Technically, you weren’t either, but you weren’t cruel.  

“I wanted to formally speak to you before you saw him. There’s a few things we need to discuss.” This sent a panicked chill through your bones. You expected to step into the room and they would ask you for permission to pull the plug or something. 

“Is he..?” Your face must have registered as panicked, because the neurologist quickly backpedaled with a grounding hand on your shoulder. 

“Oh, no. He’s fine ma’am, we weren’t seeing any bleeds or swelling that he can't recover from.”

That he can’t recover from. Meaning that there is, in fact, something wrong with his brain. You figured that much, with maybe six concussions within the last ten years, but you wouldn’t dwell on that fact too much for now, “But?”

“There is a small amount of swelling in the temporal lobe, which is responsible for short-term memory storage. Your husband is suffering from a form of fixation amnesia that is pretty uncommon…”

You zone out listening to him talk, trying to piece everything together. Steve is okay. He lost his short-term memory for a while. Words like retrograde and anterograde and Transient Global are thrown around and bouncing back with a resounding tenor in your phonetic loop. Steve has forgotten the last year, he cannot store new memories for the time being. He forgot your breakup. He still believes you are together. He needs around the clock care. 

Steve was awake when they opened the door and pulled back the curtain to the room he had already been admitted to. At least someone in this administration was competent enough to get him into a room instead of keeping him in the ER. 

“Baby.” A large, flat palm reaches itself towards you. You stood in the corner in silence, waiting for someone that wasn’t you to speak. But, it just so happened that you were the only person in the room. You don’t realize he’s talking to you, so he says it again, a little more firmly, and you walk up and sit at the chair next to his bed, avoiding the hand outstretched towards you. 

Though, in all of his firmness, where the weight of your elbow finds a dip in the bed, his hands finds your arm. It searches for your hands and finds them with a firm grip. They’re warm like you remember. Steve was always warm. 

“Hi, Steve.” You keep your voice quiet, remembering the days of migraine management. Barely-there decibels creating resounding, echoing pain around his skull. 

“What happened?” He asks you, “ –-head hurts.” He manages, burying his face into the polyfilament of the pillow below him. 

You tried to make your explanation concise, only giving him the cause and not the prognosis. You’d deal with that at a later time. “You fell off a ladder, hit your head pretty hard. Cullen brought you in.” You explained. 

“The dentist? With the labs?” He asked you, and it made you laugh. Steve always remembered people by their cars or their dogs. 

You agreed with him nodding your head despite his closed eyes, “Yes, the dentist with the labs.”

“He’s a really nice guy.”

“He sure is.” 

+

The discharge process was long and rigorous the next morning, swarms of insurance and neurologists and shrinks and case managers. All faces to a crowd that apparently had never communicated with the other department a day in their sad, corporate lives. 

Steve had no car, no means of getting home, and, quite frankly, no recollection of the year leading up to the accident. So, you loaded him into your car, pulling out as slowly as possible and driving at least ten under the speed limit the entire way. He seemed chipper as his hand found yours resting over the shifter, hands meeting your movements as your gears moved up and down with the rhythm of traffic– almost as if he was driving the car himself. You silently thanked him for the movement, already distracted by the constant fear of rattling his already tenderized brain any more than it had been. 

The street looked like it had frozen in time as you slipped past its residents unscathed. The dentist, surrounded by the flurry of yellow labs, waved as you drove by. The house sat in a caul de sac, the one you used to call yours, the third one in from the end between a vacation home and a stalled fixer-upper. It was a smaller Victorian built at the turn of the century. Your selling point was the turret at the front end of the house, sporting floor-to-ceiling windows and housed by oak buttresses. 

You pictured Steve carrying you through the threshold of your home the night of your wedding as you half-dragged him from the driveway to the bedroom. Some of your spring daylilies were coming out of dormancy, the pertinent blooms bulbous and waiting to open. You remembered picking the pink ones, to match the pink peonies and coneflowers that you had planted alongside it. 

This house was a dream. Actually, this house was his dream. Encased in dark oak and copper plumbing. You just wanted a place to paint – and, for this, he had spared no expense either. 

You remembered the day he’d surprised you with the keys:

You had felt soggy, the stale coffee and milk drying into the stomach of your apron and hardening into a sugary breast plate. You knew you’d never be able to get the smell out, instead understanding that was just a part of life when you were a barista. Along with the burns and odds-and-ends scrapes and bruises. 

Steve had been waiting for you on a barstool in front of the door, looking like he had something to say. You knew he had most likely been pacing back and forth from the couch to the barstool as he had waited for you to get home. You weren’t a stranger to his mannerisms. Living with him had been a front-row ticket to The Steve Harrington Show. Sometimes you joked that David Attenborough should join you for dinner, narrating Steve in his natural habitat. 

He had greeted you with a kiss, saccharine sweet like everyone before it, grip on your waist like a vice and a smile that he couldn’t help on his lips. 

“I picked something up today,” He mumbled against your lips, “for the house.” 

The incomplete set sat freshly unwrapped in its paper casings. The Blue Willow china was beautiful nonetheless. Steve had taken a liking to it almost more than you had. You didn’t mean to get annoyed, you had just had a long day. Though Steve knew it, your defensiveness caught him off-guard. 

He would never admit it, but he took after his mother in his eyes and in his shopping addiction. You knew you were moving, house-hunting on weekends and late evenings. You didn’t want to begin your life together in this apartment, which had been filling quickly with heirlooms and antique pieces collected from both shops and family members, “for the house” and, “as an engagement gift”. 

“Steve, what happened to saving money?” You had asked him, reaching behind you to untie your apron to throw into the basket that needed  to be dragged downstairs to the wash. “We’ll never get a house if you keep spending the money as soon as we get it.” 

“Actually,” He said to you, pretty lips turning into a smile as he dug around in his pockets, “We already have a house.” 

He watched the cogs turn in your head, your face exchanging confusion for shock as your eyes widened and you brought your hands up to cover your mouth. You couldn’t help the small years that spill from your eyes and you jump on Steve, laughing along with him as he spun you in a circle. 

You remembered buzzing the entire way there, only remembering to pull your apron off once you tried to buckle your seatbelt. It was dark out, and the streetlights in the historic neighborhood were sparse, if present at all. 

The house was a great cathedral in front of you, rickety and crumbling in nature. 

“The bones are good.” He reminded you, “We can take care of the rest.” 

“I love it!” You squealed to him, throwing your arms around his neck. It caught him off guard, your enthusiasm. 

That night, he refused to carry you through the threshold of the house. He said he wanted to save it for the wedding night. Only do it once so it stays special.  

You sat alone at the dining table, cigarette in hand. You rarely smoked anymore, but you figured this ordeal permissed one. He kept the binders of your wedding planning, all of the stuff you bought, the cause of your cold feet. They were tucked away next to the dining table in the built-in for easy access. They looked like they had been untouched save for a finger print along the spine of the binder that remained bare of any dust or particles– like he had gone to take them out, but hesitated. You looked up and around at the main living space. 

He was going to build you a new life and it didn’t look like he had touched it for a year. 

+

The first day is just playing the game. You were aware he would have temporary, moderate-to-severe memory loss. You attempted to recall the words that swirled around your phonetic loop. Words from neurologists and trauma doctors and nurses alike. 

Steve knows he was in the hospital and knows desperately how horrible this migraine was. He spent it in the dark, on his regular dose of sumatriptan, supplemented wonderfully in a vicodin-induced haze. You did not expect him to remember today, nor did you expect him to care. You know he is alive from barely-spoken words between exchanges of water and his prescription, which, thank God, hadn’t changed in the last year. 

You sleep on the couch. 

The second day, you are up before him, sifting through the pots and pans you’d let him keep to try and feed both him and yourself. You are surprised when he gets out of bed before 9:00, and even more surprised when he asks, 

“So, what are you going to paint today?” Through squinted eyes, lean arm braced against the counter to support the weight of his body. He sips idly from the orange juice glass he used to take the sumatriptan, but not the vicodin. 

It’s not like it was a question that strayed away from the mundane, however, it had been almost a year since you’d heard it last. You’d tried not to let the surprise register on your face as you’d continued to stir the eggs around in the pan. You let the corner of the wooden spoon scrape some of the dried remnants of soft egg from the sides of the pan where the butter hadn’t reached. You shrugged with a soft, I don’t know, unsure of how to answer. 

As Steve retreats back to the master bedroom, you hear the kick of the plumbing and the steady stream of water rattling through the house. You thanked him silently for buying an old place, the plumbing was loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. 

The knock on the window sends you reeling back like the crack of a gun. Your ménage-a-trois with a nose ring and encased the ugliest yellow beret like some gay French Alp paratrooper stood guard outside the bay seating of your kitchen window. You hated yellow, but, for today, you would keep it to yourself. She came bearing gifts. The only suitcase you owned was filled with the only clothes you owned, and as many art supplies as she could carry with the promise of more. Today, she bore her yellow beret as a barrel full of brandy around her neck– a drooly Saint Bernard to your avalanche. You propped the window open on its stakes, cinnamon color mixed with dirt crumbling from its unused hinges. 

She looked around in secrecy, “How is he?” 

“Better today. He just got in the shower.” You shrugged, looking back over your shoulder. 

“How’s the…” She circled her splayed hands over her head, signaling amnesia. You wish she would just say it instead of tiptoeing around the subject. 

You shrugged again, running a hand over your head, “I’m not sure yet. He knows who I am, but, ugh, I don’t know.” You sighed, sitting down at the bench and burying your face in your hands.

Robin leaned against the windowsill, reaching a hand through to push your hair back out of your face, “What’s wrong? Why is that bad?” 

“He still thinks we’re together. Like– doesn’t remember that we’re not together.” You said through your palms, knowing that her linguistics degree also covered your dramatics and mumbling. 

“Oh God,” She gasped to you, not quite able to contain herself, “What are you gonna do?” 

“I’m just gonna have to roll with it, I guess.” You slurred past your arms, willing back the onslaught of stress-tears beginning to pool against your tightline. You couldn't abandon him now, not when he was like this. 

Your former studio, nestled at the base of the turret within the house, surrounded by windows encased in stained-glass embellishments and flying buttresses, remained the only room in the house that was finished. You sat on your spinning stool, ignoring the creak from the way you pushed yourself back and forth on the balls of your feet. Your eyes fixated on the piece in front of you. It had been sitting on this easel for a year– the only one too heavy for you to move on your own, however, you were past asking for Steve’s help. So here it sat, holding your work once again, arms open in waiting. 

“Woah, you work fast.” Steve’s voice startled you, the stool squeaked again as you jumped. 

He walked up behind you, hands smoothing over your shoulders in apology– his skin still shower-warm and tacky from the water, “What are you talking about?” 

Your voice was much softer than you initially intended it to come out as. It resonated under the guise of a smile rather than the initial annoyance you turned to as a defense mechanism. 

“Didn’t you start that painting last week?” He asked, smoothing a broad hand down the exposed expanse of your upper arm, turning his face to look at the painting, “It’s done now.”

You tried not to let the confusion register on your face. You had finished the painting well over a year ago. The oil had long-since cured. You thanked the universe softly for Steve’s untrained eye. 

“I guess I just got really into it.” You shrugged, feigning your own insufferability for his well being– just this once. 

You had forgotten what it was like to be held by Steve. He lingered around your proximity in a near-shroud of constance. You had forgotten the soft feeling of nimble fingers as they grazed across any exposed skin you had. You had forgotten about warm hands cupping your cheek or twirling the ends of your hair. You had forgotten what the warmth of his felt like, in the same way that you moved away from the slow-creeping sun square that beamed from the windowsills. You didn’t realize how long you had been fighting any warmth after him. 

That night, his broad hands lured you to bed with the promise of warmth. You try to remember the way it felt a year ago, if it resounded in the same way. His hands were still a comfort as they encased you in a tight embrace. His breath still felt the same coming from his nose and traveling across your shoulder, dotted intermittently by haste staccato kisses. 

You tried to hold on to that feeling after he had long been asleep, and held on to it again as you peeled his hands from your waist. You let it slip from your fingers as you slid from the bed and let your feet pad across the hardwood flooring. You laid it to rest next to you on the couch, let it fold into itself and hibernate once more. 

By the next morning, Steve’s brain had pistoned back into his regular routine, which consisted of a god-awful early morning jog. It was almost obnoxious how perfect he was for this neighborhood, golden skin glowing against the rays of morning, efflorescence in nature and ugly, heinous perfection. By the time he gets back, it’s still ungodly early. The sun only casts a blue haze into the atmosphere in its feigning presence. 

You could guess by the way he tried to control his heavy breaths as he walked through the door that he was dewy, shirt tucked into his jogging shorts and hair raked back with sweaty fingers. You would not force your eyes open to look at him, leaving any feelings of adverse adoration back in the white quilt you had abandoned over a year ago. He walked up to you, feat unabashedly heavy against the hollowness of the floor despite the carpet muffling them. His hand was warm and heavy against the exposed expanse of your hip, riding your shirt up further.

“What are you doing out here? You know this couch kills your bac-” He started, pausing abruptly in surprise,  “Where did that come from?” 

“What?” You mumbled through closed eyes, still only barely awake. 

He traces the tattoo on your back, rough fingers tracing over the thickened lines of ink, “This.”

You didn’t bother to crack an eye open, instead folding your arms in further on yourself and readjusting against the couch cushions, “Gee, Steve, you must've hit your head really hard.”

“What?” 

“What?” You asked him, finally waking up enough. You pushed your arms underneath you, squinting at him as best you could through the haze of the morning light. 

“I hit my head?” He asked, confusion– then terror– registering on his face. 

You sat up fully, realizing then that, in your daze, you had effectively put your foot in your mouth. The look on your face, supplemented by the look on his face tells you that there is no way that you could backtrack now. 

“... Yeah-” 

“When?”

“Three days ago.” You started, and he let out a deep exhale, almost in relief that it hadn’t been longer. 

He turned to look at you, and you reached out to grab his hand. He took it, gripping yours like a vice, but never enough to hurt, “What did I do?”

“You were up on a ladder, doing something with the electrical. You fell and hit your head pretty good. Cullen brought you in.” You shrugged, trying to play it off. 

“Where were you?” He asked, it wasn’t accusing. He just tried to piece everything together. Still, you couldn’t help the pang of guilt that pooled in your chest after he said it. 

You weren’t going to break his heart, not now. Not while he was already fragile like this. You hated lying, but anything was better than a category five meltdown. He shook now, acting too tough to hide it. Steve was strong for everyone, too strong for too long. 

“Am I okay?” 

“Yeah, Steve. You’re okay.” You reassured him, no matter what. 

+

That night, you put a band-aid over your neck, despite the itching, burning sensation from the adhesive, it would live there for now. You said it was to save yourself the trouble. You didn’t know why you’d thought to care so much. You also don’t know why you felt so guilty. Maybe it’s because you weren’t there. Maybe it’s because you were here now and you shouldn’t have been. All you know is that you can’t break Steve’s fragile psyche now, not again. 

Steve’s routine was stone-set and rigorous, you’d remembered that much. He was the kind of person that thrived off of routine and egg-whites alone. You’d envied him for his discipline. 

He started out of bed every morning at the heinous, ungodly hour of five. Every morning, without fail, he rose silently, rubbed his hands over his face, fought the urge to disturb you and lost every time. He would smooth a tender hand over your hair and slip out the door with a soft, waking kiss, and proceed with a jog. Every morning, he would run his 3.1 miles, 5,000 kilometers, and every morning, he would slip back through the front door. 

Every morning, you woke to the smell of a better-than-cheap cup of coffee with a sweet kiss, and he would whisper to you that he achieved the run in thirty minutes– a personal best, and you wondered if one day it would slip below that number. Without missing a beat, he would place the coffee on a coaster placed there for that specific purpose on your antique bedside table, and your body would roll into the dip in the mattress where his body sat, his warm hand circling waking patterns across your bare back while you sifted through the prevalent swarm of too-little sleep. 

Because, every afternoon, Steve would take his Saturday (which was actually a Tuesday) and  paint that heinous yellow wall in the guest bedroom over with an earthy green tone– one that, without fail, would remind him of you enough to where he would seek you out to tell you. 

And every night, without fail, you would slip from the bed in silence, pull the heinous yellow paint bucket delivered thankfully by Robin out of the bushes from the window that was set just slightly too high to be comfortable reaching over, and paint that lovely green wall back to that awful, ugly yellow. 

There were no discrepancies to his routine. He was an unfortunate creature of habit, and it was so dreadfully painful that you indulged him in this routine. Because, every day, he would pull those old wedding binders out– no longer covered in dust and forgotten memories– and pick the same three options for wedding china that you never saw the point of anyways. Every day, he would try to cheekily pull you in for a shower, and you would make up the same excuse over the same dishes from the same meal that you had eaten to the point where you were just choking it down. 

And you would do it all over again. 

Because, if that same meal and awful yellow paint and ungodly six o’clock wake time would be enough to stop him from feeling like that again, you would keep doing it. 

Your nightly decompression was your saving grace. The only way you felt like a human again. Because every night, Steve would sit and read the same chapter out of the same book, and you would get in some still-life practice. 

Steve was pretty always, even in his blissful unawareness. Even in his ignorance. Even in the fact that he was no longer yours. Steve was pretty by fact. Pretty by nature. You had gotten good at drawing him, you knew where to block the square of his head and the triangle of his nose. You knew where his glasses rested against his face and exactly where to place every mole. You knew where the bone beneath would ebb and flow and where the warm light from that stained glass bowl-lamp would accentuate and valley against them like rivers. Steve was a topographical map and you had explored every inch in these moments of blissful dissonance. You did not need to waste your time getting the likeness correct by now, only getting in the fine details. 

Every night, your wonderful moment away from the catatonic nature of this ordeal would end when Steve would finish his chapter. You would act like you didn’t notice, like you weren’t staring at him. He would act like he didn’t know you were. He would press a tender kiss to your shoulder, smile at the work in your hands, tell you how talented you were, and finalize the ritual with a kiss to your cheek– an invite to bed. 

You know there will come a time when there will be a deviation from this routine, and you try to prepare yourself for this by running every possibility through your head. Calming tactics in the event that he has a category four meltdown, the words you would say and the explanations you would give him, but nothing prepared you for this deviation. Not in the slightest. 

You are unsuspecting as you wipe down the kitchen counters, melancholy with your towel in hand. Your hair is still wet and dripping uncomfortably down your back. You breathe deeply, enjoying the smell of kitchen lemon multi-surface cleaner. Steve approaches you. You feel his presence before you see him or feel his arms around your waist. You indulge in his warmth before he even touches you, before he reaches for your hand. You bask in his radiance before you feel the cold smoothness of gold scrape across your ring finger. 

“You forgot this after your shower.” He whispers through a kiss against the tender skin beneath your ear. He does not understand the devastation his words have caused you, not in his innocence. 

You reconstructed the scene in fragments of memories:

They were lawn seats, and you had no idea how he scored them. This concert had been sold out for weeks. The Tragic Kingdom tour was potentially the greatest album to ever grace this earth, and Steve agreed– potentially more than you did. 

When your eyes turned to get a good look at his face, it was hard to tell where that light sheen of sweat ended and the glitter that wafted in the air began. He was so fucking beautiful. You could look at him forever, put him in a jar on a shelf to admire for a lifetime. He was more blonde than brunette at this time of year, gold-skinned and eager. The July rays had set minutes ago, yet seemed to settle their clinging remnants in his eyes. 

His eyes that shone when they met yours, the eyes that gripped on to your hands, met your mouth, and settled within your gaze. 

You came in with the breeze, on Sunday morning…

You almost missed his words over the ambient concert sounds around you, louder now as Gwen started the beginnings of the song. Had you not been staring at him, you figured with your mouth open like a trout, you would have missed the two quiet words he mustered. 

“Marry me?”

You didn’t say anything back, you didn't need to. You remember the feeling of your knees sinking into the grass beneath you, wet against your skin. You remember how his body was too-warm in the staleness of the July air and the hardness of his body pressed tight against yours. Any qualms he had about saying more than those words disappeared in an instant, your hand willingly accepting the modest diamond encased in a gold band the only answer he ever needed. 

You thought back on that time, on the I love you’s and the please hold me’s. 

You remembered the I can’t do this anymore.

The problem was never committing to Steve. He had you. He had all of you. He could take you whole or in pieces in any slice or interval or fracture that he could have ever dreamed up. Though, that was the problem. You had committed yourself to him fully, never to the idea of committing yourself to anyone else, never thought of having to share him or change what you had. You lived in comfort, willful bliss. You’d never wanted anything more. 

But you saw that hopeful glimmer in his pretty eyes. The ones that looked like chunky baby legs and bubbly giggles. The distant memories that sounded like mimed laughs and raspberries against new skin. You were not maternal, not by nature nor by instinct. You felt broken, not wanting that. 

And knowing how well Steve was made for it. 

How he mapped rooms in the house with oak cribs and baby-pastel paint colors. How he pointed out names he liked and stared for just a little too long at happy families in passing. 

That night, long after Steve had fallen asleep, those dusty old wedding binders called out to you, screamed your name in birdsongs and infant wails. You clung to them, still covered in that awful yellow paint on the floor of that awful yellow room, and you cried awful tears that stained the pages of the awful thing that could have been. 

Except that could have started to feel less awful. It felt more like a should have now. 

You kept the wedding band on, convincing yourself it was more for him than yourself. 

+

“Hello?”

The shrillness of the landline still rings in your ears despite picking up the sound of a voice on the other end. Instinctively, you twirl your fingers into the cord. 

“Hey.” Her voice is scratchy on the other line. You know who it is, yet you still ask. 

“Who is this?” 

“Bill fucking Clinton.” You can hear the way her eyes roll in her voice. You almost find it endearing. 

You roll your eyes back, knowing that she can’t see it. You hope the sentiment is the same. “Hi, Robin.”

Silence on the line. You know what she will ask. She asks almost every other day or in the in-betweens where you can catch each other and she doesn’t have to fake a conversation on the phone with Steve. 

“How is he?” 

You feel like she knows the answer by now, she knows every part of his routine and exactly where you fit into it, “He’s fine. He just got into the shower.” 

There was a silence again, this time slightly more deafening. It felt like she was thinking, pondering the exact thing she was going to say and how exactly she planned on saying it. 

“How are you?” You hated it, despised it. It almost made your blood run cold. You didn’t do feelings, you were just a pawn in this big, fucked up game. It was your obligation to live in this lie. You had already hurt Steve once, the least you could do was keep him safe now. 

“Fine, Robin. I’m good.” You willed, regurgitated it like a curse. 

She sighed, hoping she wouldn’t have to pry but knowing she was going to, “Ha-ha. But really?”

“Really what?”

“How are you?”

You fell silent, the static basso of the line between you buzzing like a flatline as the tears welled up and over your lash line. The first sob you choke out is louder than you expect, and draw your knees up to your chest in the bay as you cry over the phone, unable to find words and unable to speak if you had then anyways. 

For once robin shuts the fuck up. For once she doesn’t have anything to say. Somehow you wish she would. Instead, she lets you cry for a few minutes in silence. She lets you let it out. 

“Do you need me to come over?” She asks, voice a welcome comfort not that you can breathe through the snot and tears running down your face. 

“No.” You sniffle, wiping the stream of facial fluids across your sleeve like you didn’t disgust yourself when you did it. 

“Do you need a professional?”

“No.”

There was a sigh, followed by another moment of silence. She didn’t know how to help you, though, she didn’t really think you needed help. 

“Hey, Robin?” You finally spoke up, eyes finally dry and your throat finally clear enough to be coherent. 

“Yeah?”

“Tell Monica Lewinsky I said hi.” 

+

You have a headache, simply put. That you could supplement. The ache and the pressure behind your eyes could be solved with acetaminophen and a glass of water and a bath. The ache in your chest was less tangible, and would have to wait until the ache in your head was fixed to even be evaluated. 

You’d managed to slip past Steve getting dressed in the convex opening of your walk-in closet, light spilling yellow against the dark floors in the dim lighting of the master bedroom. The one thing you’d greatly missed about this house that your apartment did not have the luxury of was the cast-iron tub, in its claw-footed, wing-backed glory. The water spilled steam from the mouth of the faucet as it spilled down the white porcelain glaze, hot enough to turn your skin red and draw the overage of blood from between your temples. You dimmed the lights, shoulders lax as you slumped your arms sideways over the edge of the tub, water tinged green from both the reflection of the seafoam walls and the capful of eucalyptus epsom salts dissolving in the water around you. 

You close your eyes, focusing more on the crisp smell of the water instead of the pounding of your head. You rest one arm beneath your head as a barrier between your temple and the porcelain, allowing the other to hang off the side. 

You don’t miss the way Steve slips in, nearly silently. The change of air pressure that came with his presence was what gave him away– that and the soft click of the chair legs against the hexagonal tile as he rotated it to face you. 

His touch is so gentle. His touch feels like the only inherent good in the world around you. His touch is soft enough to bring you to tears. And it does. 

You cannot help but let two roll down your face, not upset enough for it to scrunch up in the ugly sobs that you heaved on the kitchen floor to Robin. They splat quietly on the tile beneath you, and you sigh like an exasperated hound. One deep, shuddering breath beneath Steve’s hand. 

You cannot confide in him, even if he asks. You wonder if that fact hurts worse than understanding that he is going to wake up eventually. 

Steve does not pry. He’s really good at that. Instead, he rakes his fingers across the grain of your hair, thrown upwards with reckless abandon– fingers both a consolation and a devastation. He wishes desperately to know. Wishes desperately that he could fix it, but he knows this sadness. Knows the pain of forcing you to talk. The only thing that hurts worse than not knowing is the pain of seeing you cry. 

But he’s so tender, and he’s so endearing. You can’t help but want him. 

“Can I get you anything?” He says to you, just above a whisper. He even dips his head down closer to yours so you can hear, but you’re already clawing at the collar of his shirt. 

“Wanna be close.” You mutter, words muffled against your arm. He understands it anyway. 

His skin is hot. Hot enough to still be felt under your hands despite the temperature of the water. You missed the texture of it, smooth, interrupted by soft constellations of moles and bone. Quickly, and with grace, he stands– pulling your hands from his body for a mere few, painful seconds. He strips his clothes quickly, and you watch the muscles of his shoulders ripple as he maneuvers to pull his shirt over them. 

Silken skin glides across your back, the hot water squelching between your bodies as he slides into the tub behind you, arms encircling your waist in an iron-clad grip. Caring and grounding all at once. 

His lips are soft as they press a hot path against your neck and you sigh, tilting your head further away to allow him the affection you so desperately need. 

“That’s it, honey. Let me give you what you need.” It’s a low growl, not quite a whisper. His voice keeps that resonant patriarchal basso that vibrates against your neck and settles in your coccyx. His kisses turn to soft nips, as he takes the suppleness of your flesh between his teeth– never enough to hurt. 

His hands reach up to cup your breasts, squeezing tenderly as he runs a thumb over a pert nipple. He leaves one hand on your chest, gently pinching and rolling the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, another hand sliding over the hills and valleys of your body to find a home between your legs. 

Despite the water surrounding you, there is a much more distinct slickness that has gathered there in decadent anticipation of him. When his thick fingers finally breach the threshold of you, it is both a devastation and a need. Slowly, he finds the bud of your clit, circling it slowly. 

You suck in a breath, accompanied by a soft whine. When you arch your back, you feel him press against your back, hard and heavy against your flesh. 

“Come on, honey,” He urges, a heeding groan fans across your shoulder disguised as a breath, “I’m gonna get you there. Just gotta let me do it.” 

His middle and ring finger circle your core, easing their way in. You relinquish the new, subtle stretch. His other hand leaves its place on your breast, coming down to hold the soft flesh of your lower belly, creating a soft pressure that soothed the ache in your core as he held you there, relentlessly pumping in and out of you with his fingers. The other hand crept lower, the other two fingers continuing the rhythmic circling of your throbbing clit. 

You cried out, the coil in your core hitting that vapid crescendo and tumbling over the edge with shaky legs and breaths. Steve continued working his fingers within you, easing you through the climax of your orgasm and slowing when you whined. His arms remained around you like a vice, holding you in your place against him. 

He nibbled at your ear softly as you came down from that wonderful, floaty place, and whispered softly, “You did so good.” against your neck. His hands rubbed the insides of your thighs in slow, soothing circles. You felt the water from the tub rush over his arms and create whirlpools over the valleys of your skin. 

It was then that you turned, your arms locking around his neck and your lips crashing into his. Your body fell against his with enough force to push a wave across the edge of the tub, but the wet floor was an issue for another time. Your own carnal desire to have him seated within you was far worse than your desire to maintain the grout in the bathroom floors. This much you knew. 

The stretch was welcome and familiar, albeit foreign to you, now. You cried out, as you slid down to the hilt and seated yourself firmly atop his thighs, either one of your thighs bracketing around his. You felt the scrape of hair from his thighs scratch against your skin, broad hands planted firmly on the plush of your waist, and deep, guttural groan fan out across the crevice of your neck where he buried his head. 

Your hand clutched the nape of his neck for purchase, fingers burying themselves in the damp locks there and tugging softly. It draws a gasp from pretty pouted lips as his head tilts back in reverie. He looks at you through dreamy, half-closed lids, reminding himself to draw himself back and forth again, now that you have adjusted to the sensation of him filling you. 

“Oh, baby. Honey.” He cried, pistoning his hips upward, more rhythmically now. It was more of a cry now than it was a plea, and a rosy blush crept its way across the bridge of his nose, spread over his cheeks, and kissed the tips of his ears. He was ethereal as it spread across his chest and he heaved whines into your mouth like he needed to feel himself inside you to survive. You caught the way his dark lashes kissed the apples of his cheeks, and the way the space between his brows scrunched as he huffed breaths towards your face. 

There is a realization in the impending vapid crescendo where Steve attempts to push you over the edge a second time. Your body is on fire as he rubs fast, sloppy circles around your already sensitive clit. He falls from the edge first.

“O-oh, fuck.” He cried out in pleasure as a tear rolled from beautifully crinkled eyelids. Though, he desperately urges you to continue bouncing with fingers buried into the plush that accumulates where your hips fold. His thumb is still relentless over your sensitive bud until he pushes your already teetering form over the edge as well. 

He holds you close, strong arms around your shaking frame and wet hands smoothing back your flyaway hairs. He presses a kiss to your forehead, guiding your head between his palms and trailing them down your nose. He lands his final kiss, longer this time, against your lips and fans his palms across the expanse of your cheeks and neck. 

You whine when he pulls himself from you, suddenly empty. Steve soothes you with a, “Shh. It’s okay honey, ‘ve got you.” as he pushes water up from the tub and over your cold, drying shoulders. 

You cannot tell if you feel better or worse, having him in this way again. You think of the way he slid the ring back over your finger, and relived all of the gilded moments of your past. You’d always felt like a ghost in this house, haunting the remnants of what the life that should have been. But this did not feel like the life that you walked out on. This felt like the life that you chose. 

Steve felt like your husband when he kissed the skin of your shoulder in the early mornings after his runs. He felt like your husband when he sprinkled the feta into your spinach omelet in the morning, and when he sat behind you to watch you paint like you couldn’t sense him behind you, and when he gave you that goofy smile and wave when you caught you peering at him from the bay curtains while he tended to the lawn, 

And he certainly felt like your husband when he helped you from the tub on shaky legs, while he dried your legs with fresh towels and planted sweet kisses against your ankles and knees as he did so. He felt like your husband as he held your hand and guided you with soft hands to bed. He felt like your husband when he pulled your head to his chest beneath the sheets, sneaking a not-so-secret sniff to the crown of your head and smiling a not-entirely-concealed smile. 

Steve may not have been yours anymore, but he was yours for tonight. 

+

The morning light is dappled when you wake, and the way it sparkles hurts your eyes. You half expect to see Steve, feel his lips against your shoulder and relinquish the warmth that radiates from his skin like the sun as he invades your waking space. Instead, you find him sleeping, golden and beautiful under the dappled light, white linens draped over the oiled ellipses of his hips and legs tangled in the sheets. You bury your nose into the valley of his spine and he jolts awake. You can’t help but to giggle. 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” He starts, pushing himself up on his elbows, stomach pressed to the bed. 

“Oh, good morning, Steve.” His brow furrows as he looks at you. Steve does not look happy to see you. Steve looks confused. 

“What are you even doing here?” He asked, more towards the sheets than you. He buried his face in his hands, groan echoing in his palms before he asked, “Oh, God, how drunk did I get?”

Your heart sinks. He is awake. There is no retrograde and anterograde and Transient Global to worry about anymore. It is just you, and him, and your new sense of impending doom. Though, how impending could the doom really be if it was staring you in the face this very moment? Impending should have been reserved for when you decided to move back into the house you tried to build. Impending was reserved for the phone call from the hospital. No, this was doomed from the start, and now, it was blowing up in your face. 

You can tell he doesn’t know what happened, and that he has a throbbing headache. 

“Here– let me–” You start, turning over to grab his prescription from the drawer in your– Steve’s bedside table. He stood, suddenly. 

“No– ugh,” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to apply some pressure there, “I think you need to go.” 

“No, Steve, let me explain–”

“Just, go. Please.” He pleaded. 

You would not argue. You especially would not cry in front of him, not now. Instead, you scrambled the bathroom floor for your clothes that were shed before your bath, pulling them on, scrambling for your purse and car keys on the counter, and promptly leaving with those items to your name. It was foolish for you to build another home there, to leave remnants of yourself and reminders to him of just how fucked you were around his house. You don’t remember breathing on the drive back to your apartment. The air in this place is stale and, if you owned more things, you figured they’d be shrouded in a fine layer of dust from your negligence. 

When Robin answers the phone, you are incoherent. At first, she figures it is the shoddy signal from her company-issued brick phone, though she eventually realizes that it is not the faulty technology. You are in fact, choking on words and hot tears. Robin has a nagging feeling that she knows what happened, and your few words, “Steve” and, “fucked up” both confirm her suspicions and are reminiscent of a time where she was caught in the crossfire over a year ago. 

Robin’s car zig-zags in and out of the morning traffic, shaving both minutes off of her commute time to your apartment and her life. Her entrance to your apartment is dramatic, tired screeching and door hitting the wall so hard you can almost feel the security deposit solidifying in you landlord’s bank account. She greets you with a hug that you don’t ask for– you don’t need to. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. 

Instead, she stands there, in the nearly empty room where your studio once stood, and she holds you. And you cry. And you want to scream and want to throw things and want to curse the universe and ask why me? But you know why you stand here. You know that you are shitty. So instead, you sit here, and feel sorry for yourself, and let Robin hold you. Because, no matter how shitty you are, she won’t say anything about it. 

This ugly nostalgia rears its even uglier head when the phone rings shrill, deafening against the brick walls that encase you in this place worse than they had when there were paintings occupying this space. She slides across the concrete on the floor just slightly so she can grab her phone.

“Hey– you busy?” Steve asks, and she can tell he’s been crying. 

You look at her, eyes red and confused. 

“No,” Robin lied to him, it was small and white, “What’s going on?” 

Who is it? You mouth. 

Robin is inherently a bad liar. She could say it was her boss, or her mom, or a telemarketer. Instead, she stares back, contemplating the lie and the inevitable conversation she would have to make up on the spot. She decides it is not worth the effort, and mouths back, 

Steve. 

You sit up, looking at her with wide eyes. You will not ask to eavesdrop, though, there’s a small, shitty part of you that wants to. 

“Something happened.” He started, and she knows exactly what happened, “but I don’t exactly know what.” 

What’s he saying? You mouth back at her, though, she holds a pointed finger up at you in waiting. 

“Are you in trouble?” She asks, “Do you need help?” 

“Look, I don’t know. Can you just come over? I’ll explain everything.” He asks, voice small. He sounds like he is on the precipice of a breakdown. She hangs up the phone, knowing you know what she is going to ask next. 

“Hey, are you gonna be okay? I’ve gotta–”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You can go.” You tell her, pointedly, though, she doesn’t fully believe it. However, your nosiness outweighs your ability to be this hurt for this long, “Look, can you just give this back to him? It doesn’t feel right.” and it's not right, it never was right. 

You slide the ring from your finger, closing Robin’s palm around it. She opens her palm once again, twirling the diamond between her fingers. She slides it over her middle finger, diamond side in to protect it. 

“Yeah, I can.”

“Thanks, Rob.” 

“Call me.” She says to you, and It is both a threat and a consolation. 

“Okay.” 

+

There is an aura that has overtaken the house since this morning. It was threatening. Robin had sensed the shift from her car, clear up the avenue. There was something frighteningly wrong here. 

Her knock on the door was poignant, scared almost, and she held her breath as Steve turned the knob. He looked tired. He looked spent. He looked like he wanted to cry, and yell, and throw things, and curse the universe, but was too morose to perform any action but stare blankly at Robin. 

“What happened?” She asked, taking the invited, but welcome, step through the threshold of the front door. She knew what had happened already, there were remnants of you strung about this place like shrapnel. Steve avoided them like landmines, even though the explosion had already happened. 

“She– she,” She meaning you, he started, but didn’t know where to begin. He sat on the couch, bouncing back with the weight and force of his body thrown against the cushions. 

“You don’t remember anything, do you?” Robin finally asked.

Steve looked up at her, red eyes slick with freshly fallen tears, “What?” 

“Steve, you hit your head. You fell off a ladder and knocked something loose.” Robin explained to him, voice soft as she said it, “You couldn’t remember anything that happened in the last year.” 

Robin wished you were here to help her explain. She wished she could remember the big words you remembered to describe what was wrong with him– maybe it would help him understand better. Maybe you should have come. She could have been able to act as a buffer between the anger– 

“You fucking knew about this?” Steve interrupted her thoughts, he had stared for a few seconds while he figured out his thoughts. 

Robin went quiet, more quiet than she already had been, “Yeah. I did.” It was a statement riddled with shame, though she didn’t quite know for what. 

“Steve, you were sick fo–”

He stood, rage apparent in his eyes as he poked his finger into Robin’s shoulder, “No, Rob, I wouldn’t put it past her to lie to me like that but you?” Robin didn’t say anything to him. Instead she just looked up at him, “Whose side are you even on?”

“Steve, you know goddamned well I’m not picking a side.” She was angry, standing now to match his posture, “You brooded for months fucking haunting this house like a ghost, Steve. You. Were. Miserable– and you were making me miserable too! All you did was talk about how you were gonna get her back, and now that you had her, you decide you don’t want her?” Robin started. It was Steve’s turn to stare, now.

“I get that you’re mad, and I get that you’re confused, and I’m sorry that this happened to you, but this isn’t my fault.” She continued. She was a republic of voices tonight, and unfortunately, that republic was Italy. 

“Oh, and here’s your stupid ring back. It’s ugly, anyways.” She finishes, shoving the ring back into his chest. He holds it in his hands, stunned. 

There is an immediate regret that fills him up and drowns him in it. Robin was right, it was not her fault. “Ugh, Robin. I’m–”

She turns at the beginning of his apology, scooping her back from the doorway, “Don’t. I’m not the one you should even be apologizing to.”

“Rob–”

“Bye, Steve.”

He is alone now. The house is quiet and stale, the walls sing in silence, speak their truths, tell him how awful he was. He was so quick to anger, wore his father’s anger like a hand-me-down coat. It hung loose in the wrong places, did not cling to him like his father and looked silly while he was wearing it. He twirls the ring in his hands, watching the light refract white off the brilliant-cut diamond. 

He should call Robin, should. He knows that, even after this, that she will forgive him. You, however, would not be so easy, though, he can’t exactly fathom how badly he wants your forgiveness when he has not quite forgiven you himself. 

He twirls it in his hands as he gets into his car, runs his thumb over the cluster of diamonds in his pocket as he drives down the road, in search of your apartment. It burns a hole in his pocket as he parks, burning hotter and hotter until he swears it scorches his skin the closer he gets to your door. 

When you answer, door swinging open in reprieve and eyes holding the morosity of several generations, he feels a pang of guilt begin to choke him, though it is not big enough to not be swallowed. Something else burns there, still hot and still angry and still confused. It takes over the forefront of his mind. He should not have come here. It was not right to come here. 

“Seriously? This? You still had it?” It is an ugly statement, it's the first thing that he can think of. The angry coat was still tied tight around his waist, the anger was still bubbling in the forefront of his temporal lobe. He holds the ring up in your face, the sparkle hurts your eyes. 

You furrowed your brows, confused by both the fact that we was standing at your apartment door and also that you opened your door to him yelling at you, “You gave it back to me Steve–”

“No, the version of me that forgot what you did gave it back to you. And you took advantage of that. You–”

“Steve, I couldn’t–”

“Couldn’t what?” He wouldn’t give you a chance to explain yourself, he took a step forward and crowded your space. It wasn’t entirely fair, but you hadn’t been entirely fair either. There was no winning this battle. 

You stared back at him in silence, willing fresh tears from breaking over the edges of your lash line. His eyes seethed with anger. You had never seen Steve this angry before. 

“Couldn’t what?” He asked again, taking another step closer. He stood over you now, towering and angry. 

You were shaking now, seeping with your own anger and frustration, “Anterograde Amnesia!”

“What?” He stops sudden;y, realizing his closeness to your figure, taking a step back. 

“That’s what you had. Every morning you woke up and it was the same day. Every morning you woke up and you– you–” You were crying now, hot tears running down your face at an embarrassing, unrelenting pace. You could not tell if they were of anger or sadness. Probably both, “You woke up and did the same thing, and then every night you went back to sleep and we started all over again.”

“Why didn’t you just walk away?” He asked, turning and bracing himself on your counter, hand on his hip as he stared you down. 

“I-I I just couldn’t, okay?”

“Why not?” He had a way of backing you into a corner, making you feel small in this confrontation. Steve was rarely angry with you, and never like this. 

“Because the one day you did find out, before all this shit,” Before he felt like yours again, “–you begged me to tell you that you were okay. You fucking begged me to.” Your arms were flailing now, it was your turn to back him into a corner. You hadn’t meant to be this defensive, hadn’t meant for this to end in a screaming match, but no one ever intended that, you supposed, “How the fuck was I supposed to leave after that, huh? Let them institutionalize you? Saddle Robin with you? How the fuck was that supposed to be the better option?” 

His hands were up now too, defenses in a war against yourselves, “Oh so you just did this so you could be a hero? So you could prove to yourself that you aren’t shitty? Prove to yourself that you weren’t gonna fucking leave again?” 

You found silence, suddenly, more hurt and more angry than before. You stare at each other. He knows he’s crossed a line. Several lines actually. You aren’t as forgiving as Robin. 

“Just go, Steve.”

“I–”

“Just fucking go.”

+

This felt like the remnants of a hurricane. You could hear the wind ringing heavy and violent in your ears like screams. You could feel the rain hot and heavy as it rolled across your cheeks still. Yet the air was still, entirely too still. The shrapnel of your reality built back up and torn back down again, and now you were here. Alone. In silence. 

Robin’s pointed knuckle is quiet against your door, yet it crashes and booms a resonant patriarchal tenor across the echoing walls of your solitude. You groan at her, something akin to its open. You hadn’t managed to lock it again after she left this morning. 

“Are you still being insufferable?” She asks you, as if it isn’t clear by the way you seem to enter a state of active decay, melting into the corner piece of your sectional. 

Though you are insufferable, you are not so insufferable that you cannot bite back, “Are you still being annoying?”

She does not answer, instead, the clinking of glass on glass and heavier glass against granite serves as an answer for her.

“Do you want a glass?”

The ruffling of a paper bag wills your head up, and she exhumes the bottle from it. You see that it is red, but don’t say anything about it. You recognize the bottle as Beaujolais Nouveau, from the same region in France in which it is aptly named– the same region in which Robin did her semester abroad. You could have said something about how it is not winter, or how there are better italian wines or better whites or literally anything else from Trader Joe’s, but alcohol seems nice, and you are never one to complain about free alcohol. 

“Yeah.” you say instead. 

“Okay.” 

She serves you a too-full glass on the couch. She had half a mind to bring some snacks over, but did not feel like putting forth the effort into making a snack board. Instead, she pulls a bag of salt and vinegar chips and a candy bar open with her teeth, pointing the mouth of the bag towards you in a peace offering. You oblige, stuffing a handful of them into your mouth as a chaser for this awful, dry red. 

“What a jerk.” She says, and you know who she is speaking about. 

“What an ass.” You say back to her, and she knows who you are speaking about, 

Your body rolls into the dip where hers sits on the couch, and you let the natural flow bring your head to her shoulder. You do not wrestle with the qualms of physical affection, and, if she is surprised by your sudden affectionate nature, she doesn’t say anything. 

“I spilled some wine on your counter.” She said to you, but you’ll clean it up later. 

You have half a mind to let it stain. 

+

You beg Robin to get your stuff from his house. Your heartbreak is scabbed over enough for you to pick at, and you have a desperate urge to smear some goo all over a canvas in an Oliver De Sagazan-esque pity party, but alas, your studio resides in the place of your demise– Steve’s house. 

Robin is more forgiving than you are, and also more willing to brave the walls of Fort Steve for your stuff. Robin is also a saint, and you have let her know ten times over. 

“She wants her shit back. Have it ready on the porch when I get there.” She says to him on the phone, the line aptly going dead seconds later. 

His hands on your things feel foreign when they touch them, like they might blow up. He had been avoiding them like landmines as he haunted the remnants of this home. Nothing had been touched since that morning. The house would not change. 

There is a fine layer of dust that has accumulated over the confines of your studio, and it makes his eyes water as he agitates it enough to send particles swirling through the air. He stacks your canvases in piles according to their sizes and fills your water cups with brushes. He takes extra care to separate the current painting you abandoned midway through, the one where the linseed-to-oil ratio wasn’t quite right and, in turn, the layers of paint would not cure properly. 

When he moves to the last stack, one of a modest collection of books and sketchpads, he loses his bearings, and the top sketchpad slides out with loose pages all over the floor. He sighs in exasperation, and bends down to scoop them into a pile. He recognizes the figure drawn on one page, and then another, and then another. A mirror image of himself, ruched hair at the end of the day, glasses perched on the end of his nose, elbow on the arm chair. In some he can see the tops of his folded knee. In some he is smiling and looking directly back at him. 

Every one of them is dated one a day for eighty-six days in chronological order, yet every paper he is holding has the same headline. 

The final page in the stack is a doodle page, he almost misses it. A series of boxes and riddles. Number two down, number three across. You were creating crossword puzzles, a new one every day, and yet none of the answers vaguely familiar to him. His blood runs cold. He was the ass. 

In a panic, he scoops the drawings up, sliding them as quickly as possible into the sleeve from which they fell and clutching them to his chest like previous gems. To him, this was a lifeline, and he did not have time to wait for Robin, though she is sitting outside waiting for him when he runs out the front door, leaving it open in a panic. 

She is colder when she greets him, colder than he’s ever seen. It's an odd juxtaposition, seeing her be so cold. She adorns black jeans with a black turtleneck. She does not look like herself, she looks like you. 

“And where are you going?” She asks him, watching hum fumble with his car keys and with the drawings in his hands. 

He puts his hands on her shoulders, wraps her in a hug, and gives her a kiss on the forehead. 

“Robin, I love you, and I know you came here for her stuff, but I’m going to talk to her.” 

She is stunned, staring at him with wide eyes at both the kiss and the sudden change in demeanor. She does not have time to ask him what drugs he possibly could have been on or make a back-handed remark about how hard he hit his head. Because, instead, she is standing in his driveway while his car takes off down the road. 

Your ground floor apartment has floor-to-ceiling windows. It was charming, really. It was one of the reasons you chose this place despite its ridiculous cost. Well, that, and the fact that it was the least suburban place you could think of. You are sitting on the kitchen island, scrubbing now at that wine stain on the counter with a rag and granite polish at the forefront of this battle when the first thud sounds off clear against your winder. You thought it had been an unsuspecting bird, but the shadow of a man behind your sheer white curtains startles you. You unfold yourself quickly, going over to pull them back and investigate. 

Steve stands with his feet in shrubs, hands with papers pressed flat against the glass. He pulls more from his chest, switching them out every so often, and then ends the spectacle with a crossword puzzle placed flat to the glass. He looks ridiculous like this, hands splayed across glass, hair disheveled and out of breath from running. He left his glasses on in the shuffle, and they slid down his nose in the commotion. Your confusion registers clear across your face, and he says something adjacent to, “Can I come in?” against the glass. 

You nod, and he shuffles the drawings back into a cohesive, carryable pile. You meet him at the front door, letting him run in and dump them on the counter you were currently cleaning. He spreads them out in front of you, breathless and disheveled. They are in order, chronologically. All of your drawings of him. You are both mortified and embarrassed. 

“That one.” He points to it, moving to stand next to you on the counter to look at it. 

“The first one.” You say, looking at the date. 

“Was that the first day?” He asked, “Of being home from the hospital?” he specified, staring down at you with intent eyes. 

You nod, looking back up to meet him, “Yes, that was the first day. I knew you had amnesia, I knew you thought we were still engaged. Though, I didn’t know the extent of your condition yet.” 

You go through all eighty-six drawings, the things he said to you, the things you did. A lot of them are repetitive, some of them caught you off guard and you are able to  laugh about it now. You talk about the day he gives you the ring back, and the day you realized he was in the same infinite time loop, you talk about the dastardly yellow paint and the vellum crossword puzzles so he wouldn’t get bored even though you knew he wouldn’t remember, and the binders. You talked a lot about Robin and her place in it all. You talked about the dentist up the street, and how Steve, even in his delirium, still knew him as the guy with the labs. 

There is one day where the drawing is missing. 

“Is this the day,” He asks, “The day that I–”

“Yeah, it is.” You answer. 

“What exactly happened then? On that day?” 

You struggle to recall every detail, so you start by giving him the gist, “Well… you saw the tattoo on my back,” You reach up to touch it, running your fingers over the raised lines of ink beneath your fingers. Steve tilts his head back to get a glimpse of it as well, his own fingers calloused as they chase yours across it. 

“Looks nice.” He says, without thinking. 

“Thank you.” You reply back, “And then you got really confused. I was still sleeping on the couch then. We were still figuring it out, and I was still clumsy. I asked you how hard you hit your head, and you didn’t even remember doing it. You panicked so quickly, I– I had a hard time calming you down.” 

The guilt still ate you alive, the guilt at your own clumsiness for letting it slip, and the guilt that you lived in the lie for that long. The guilt mostly for leaving in the first place. 

“You asked me where I was, and I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t there because I was trying so hard to live my life separately from you. We hadn’t been together in a year, but I couldn’t tell you that.” You said, words becoming frantic as you fought off tears. 

His hand is both a consolation as it is a devastation as it rests across your shoulder, broad and warm and grounding. 

“What did you say to me, then?” He asked. 

“You asked me if you were okay. You were so confused.” 

“And?”

“I told you that you were.” Hot tears broke the threshold of your lash line, and spilled in streams down your face. It cut through the dryness there, and you choked on a sob. “I didn’t even know if you were or how to take care of you or what I was doing and, and I’m sorry.” You cried ugly tears now, wet into your own hands. 

He grips your shoulders, pulling you into a familiar hug as your words grow frantic and your breaths become shallow and stuttered. He holds you close to his warm chest, encased in soft arms. He cradles the back of your head like you are encased in glass, and he plants a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair, now rocking your back and forth as you calm down. A wet drop falls on your shoulder, and you cannot tell if it belongs to yourself or him. You would forgive Steve in every life. 

He pulls back from you, hands still planted firmly on your shoulders as he stares at you, amber eyes both piercing and comforting. 

“Listen, you don’t have to take this, not yet. But it would make me so fucking happy if you would.” He pulls the ring, sparkling and brilliant from his pocket, and presents it to you. You oblige happily, sliding it back on to your hands before tackling him into an embrace. His kiss is as soft as it had always been. 

You would do this again, and again, and again if it meant you could have him, because the same day with Steve was better than any of the days you had ever spent without him. 

#steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #Spotify

[kyojirokagenuma]

The Lost Twin Chapter Three

“At least it can’t be worse than last year.”

-Sam Giddings, 9:07 p.m.

  -March 2nd, 2014

Emily Davis was just waking up. She had slept in late that day. It was nearly noon. She yawned, shielding her eyes from the sun shining in on her face through the window. She threw off her blankets, heading for the shower. She passed her phone on the nightstand, which had been set to vibrate all night. After turning the water on, she stripped out of her night clothes and stepped into the tub. Just a short shower to start the day. Her hair didn’t need washing. She let out a long sigh as she felt the hot water rain down like tiny bullets against her skin. After a quick wash, she turned the water off, stepped out, and grabbed a towel. No one was home to see her naked, so she dint even bother wrapping body after drying it off. She still had a towel over her head, rubbing her brown hair, when she stepped back into her room and picked her phone up from the nightstand.

“Ten missed calls? What the hell? Who’s calling me at 3am?” she asked herself, scrolling down the list.

Josh three times. Sam twice. Josh again. Mike twice. Jess twice.

Weird. Did something happen, she thought? She would have to call one of them back and see what was going on. She finished drying her hair and tossed it on the chair in front of her desk as she scrolled through some of the morning news. She was hardly paying attention to them as she passed them by.

“Fuckin’ great, more cold?” she thought with a frown, placing a hand on her bare hip as she passed by the weather. “Politics, boring,” she sighed, combing past a story about the president. Next was something about sports. “I think that’s the team Mike likes. I wonder if he’d like a jersey or something for his bir-.”

BREAKING UPDATE: Miracle on Blackwood Mountain!  Daughter of Hollywood Mogul Found Alive!

Emily froze. Her mind just stopped working for a few seconds. Then her hand began trembling uncontrollably.

“No fucking way,” Emily said out loud, quickly clicking on the article.

She held her phone with both hands, her whole body shaking while she waited for it to load. Of course her internet had to suddenly crash now.

“Fuckin’ come on! Hannah or Beth?”

Suddenly she was shivering, like she had just gotten out of an ice bath instead of a hot shower. Finally, the page loaded. She read the first few lines of the article.

In what can only be described as a miraculous turnabout, the once grim case of the missing Washington twins has had a stunning breakthrough after nearly an entire month, when younger sister Elizabeth was found alive late last night by Blackwood forest rangers.

Underneath the paragraph was a picture of a ragged and injured Beth, a selfie that must have been taken with one of the ranger’s phones. She was smiling.

She was okay.

“Holy fucking shit!” Emily all but screamed. She clicked off the article and flew right over to her contacts.

There was no way Beth still had her working phone after missing a month. Josh was probably busy as hell dealing with all of it.

She called Sam. She picked up on the first ring.

“Emily, finally!” came her excited voice from the inherent end.

“Sam, I just saw the news!” Emily asked while hurrying to her wardrobe. She held the phone between her chin and shoulder as she started to get dressed. “Have you talked to her yet?”

“No, not yet. It’s a media frenzy over here. Only family can get into see her right now. She’s in the hospital. But she’s alive! She’s really alive!”

Emily pulled a pair of jeans on over her underwear. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this shit!”

“I know, it doesn’t seem possible.”

“Where are you? Right now?”

“I’m at the hospital. It’s St. Mary’s.”

“I’m on the way.”

“Alright, see you.”

Emily hung up and shoved her phone in her back pocket, then picked a clean bra out from her wardrobe. Once she was finished dressing, she hurried down the stairs and out the door. It took her until she jumped into her car to come to a sudden realization. She stopped, and turned off the car. She just sat there, sitting in her seat for minutes on end. A deep, troubled frown had replaced her once exhilarated expression. She took out her phone again and dialed Sam back.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, it’s me again. I . . . I just had a thought.”

“Yeah?”

“What if Beth doesn’t wanna see me? Or the others? I mean, the whole thing was my idea.”

“Emily, we talked about this. You couldn’t have known what would happen. Yeah, it was mean, but-.”

“Yeah, I know. You told me,” Emily said with a sigh. ”But, but I can’t shake it! I thought it would be funny. I told myself she deserved it for wanting to get with Mike, but don’t know if Beth will see it that way. What if she’s mad at me?”

“Well, she might be at first, but I also think she’ll probably forgive you if she really thinks you’re sorry. She’s not vindictive like that, and I know you’re really sorry.”

“Yeah, I am,” Emily said, her eyes falling. “You’ll tell her I am, right?”

“Of course. It’s your boyfriend that I’d be worried about.”

Emily’s frown deepened. She said nothing.

“He hasn’t changed his tube, huh?” Sam asked, noticing her silence.

“No, he still hasn’t even said sorry to Josh. He says we shouldn’t apologize just cause Hannah overreacted and went nuts. Says it’s her fault.”

“Asshole. No offense, Emily.”

“Whatever,” Emily deflected, not even having the energy to get angry.

“Emily, just come over, okay? We can figure this out when you get here.”

Emily pricked her lip, but nodded. “Yeah, okay,” she said, restarting the car.

“You’ve really surprised me on this Emily. You’re actually pretty sweet when you want to be,” she said in an almost teasing manner.

Emily rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, cut out. I’ll be there soon.”

She hung up her phone and pulled out onto the road. The hospital was a good half-hour away, right in the heart of LA. Beth must have been doing alright if they transferred her there already. Emily wanted to get there as soon as possible, so she got on the expressway. She was approaching her exit when she got another call. Caller I.D. said Mike. She hit answer and brought it up to her ear.

“Hey babe, you heard about Beth, right? I’m headed there now.”

“Yeah, I heard. That’s, uh, that’s not why I called though. We gotta talk, Em.”

Her car rolled down the exit ramp towards an empty intersection. No one was at the light.

“Well, can it wait? I’m kind of driving to-.”

“Emily, I wanna break up.”

Emily's eyes shot wide. Her mouth fell halfway open just of shock. “What? What did you just say to me?”

“Sorry, Emily, but things just aren’t working out. I asked Jess out today, and she said yes. It’s over between us.”

Emily’s world was suddenly crumbling. Jess was her best friend. Why would she do this?

Emily didn’t even notice the light in front of her turn red, or that she was speeding up. This was about to get loud.

“What the fuck? Are you fucking kidding me? You prick!”

“See, that’s part of the reason we’re breaking up, Emily. You’re also so nasty, even to me.”

Emily was clutching the steering wheel so tight it was hurting her hand. She was flying in that little car now, the speedometer was going wild. Every ounce of blood in her body was burning red hot. “So you ask out my best friend? You fucking, you motherfucker! That’s why she’s been ignoring me! Fuck her! And fuck you! Sam was right about you, you piece of-.”

It took a blaring horn to finally break her focused rage. Her head twisted around to see an eighteen-wheeler on her left, barreling right at her through the intersection. Her heart stopped, her eyes wide.

She pulled the wheel as far right as it could go.

The truck slammed on the breaks.

The semi struck the front of her car. The whole engine block was ripped right out, her BMW torn in half. Emily screamed. Louder than she ever had before. What remained of her vehicle was spinning like a runaway tornado. Emily's head whipped side to side, trapped in spiraling metallic coffin. She caught a glimpse of what looked like a telephone pole as she spun across the intersection.

Emily finally came to more than an hour later. Her eyes fluttered open, her world totally out of joint.

“Emily?”

The voice sounded as if she were underwater. Emily was still swimming, about to break the surface. The light was so close.

“Emily?”

Emily found herself blinded by the light shining down on her from the ceiling. She tried to bring up her arm to shield her eyes, but found it restrained.

“Unhhhh,” she groaned.

“Emily, can you hear me?”

The brown-haired girl turned in the direction of the voice, the woman’s figure slowly coming into focus. A young blonde woman. She looked scared.

“Sam?” Emily finally said, managing to recognize her.

“Thank Christ you’re awake,” Sam sighed, a relieved smile forming.

“What the fuck happened?” she asked weakly, still unaware of her surroundings.

“You ran a stoplight and crashed into a huge truck. That’s what the doctor said anyway. Broke over a dozen bones.”

It was then Emily realized her arm was in a cast. So was her left leg. It was all coming back to her. The pain was coming back to her, and not just from her broken body.

“Oh, fuck. My car?” Emily frowned, already knowing the answer.

“Totaled. They said there was pretty much nothing left of it. You’re lucky to be alive, Emily. You really had never scared.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Wait, is this the hospital Beth is at?”

“How do you think I got here so fast?” Sam snickered. “Don’t tell me you almost killed yourself trying to race to the hospital.”

Emily looked away. “No, that wasn’t it,” she said.

She bit her lip, feeling tears coming on fast. “That son of a bitch.”

“Em? What’s wrong?” Sam asked, tilting her head.

Sam rose from her seat and came closer as Emily began to cry. “H-he broke up with me. Over the phone.”

“What? You mean Mike?” asked a stunned Samantha.

Emily nodded weakly. “He asked out Jessica, who’s supposed to be my best fucking friend, and guess what? She said yes! So yeah, he called me on the road and he dumped me!”

Sam put the pieces together quickly. “He made you so upset you crashed your car?”

Emily said nothing. Sam made fists with her hands.

“What a bastard. I’m so sorry, Em.”

Emily didn’t offer a response, she was just sobbing. Sam looked to the open door, then stood up.

“Em, I’m gonna find a doctor. Tell them you’re awake. I’ll swing by later, okay? After you’ve got some rest.”

Emily managed another nod, but said nothing back. She watched Sam leave with a smile and a wave.

Emily faded back out shortly after.

By the time she woke up again, she had no idea what time it was, but the sky was dark. She had passed out for who knows how long. She lifted her head, looking out into the darkened hall. The was a light on somewhere out there. She didn’t see anyone though. There was a few empty chairs at a reception area outside. The hospital was dead quiet. All she could hear was the fan going from the vent on the ceiling. Must have been pretty late. She turned her head the other direction. just enough for her to barely make out a shrouded figure sitting in the chair. Someone was in there with her? She had a visitor this late?

“Sam? Is that you?”

Suddenly Emily heard the sound of helicopter propellers outside. Must have been someone being airlifted to the hospital. The chopper’s light shined bright overhead, illuminating a small streak across the room. Her visitor’s face was lit up for just a split second. Long enough for Emily to at least spot her dirty, ragged brown hair. Eyes cold and dead. Her once lively olive skin was badly decomposed. She wore a pair of mangled glasses. An unnerving smirk lay painted on her maggot-infested face. She rose to her feet, stepping out into the dim light. 

Emily’s visage twisted with dread. She just kept coming. Emily was immobile. She could do nothing but watch as the dead twin advanced, until she was looming over her hospital bed. A deafening shriek echoed through the emptied halls.

Emily shot upwards in her bed, drenched in sweat. Sudden agony shot through her system from straining her broken body. The brown-haired girl fell back against the bed, groaning and writhing in pain and discomfort. Her eyes darted about the room. It was day now. The next day? Or the same? She wasn’t sure.

“Fuck, was that a dream? Fuck me,” she said, short on breath.

She slumped her head back on her pillow, trying to get a hold of herself. That was new. That had never happened before. She hoped it never would again.

“Christ. What the fuck? That sucked.”

A nurse came to the door, having heard her cries of pain. “Miss Davis, you’re awake again. That’s good,” she said with a smile, coming to her side.

“Yeah, yeah I am,” said a breathless Emily. “What day is it?”

She gave Emily a drink of water before answering. “Friday,”

Emily’s mouth fell open. “D-did I pass out for two days?”

“Yes, you did. Your body needed the rest. Your parents were here yesterday, but you were asleep. Two other women came to check on you. The nice blonde girl, and that woman from upstairs, the missing one they found.”

Emily blinked. “Beth? Beth came to see me?”

“Yes,” said the nurse, fluffing her pillow and doing a few other things Emily wasn’t sure of. Checking all the nonsense that was attached to her no doubt. “Would you like me to tell her you’re awake? She seemed very interested in speaking to you.”

“Uh, yea, sure,” Emily said, an anxious feeling taking over her.

“Okay, I’ll let her know. I’ll go get you some food in the meantime.”

Emily tried her best to relax after the nurse left the room once more. On top of being stabbed in the back by both her best friend and her boyfriend and a victim of a major car accident, now she had nightmares to deal with. Emily sighed in exasperated disbelief.

“Fuck my fucking life.”

#beth washington #until dawn #sam giddings #emily davis #horror #josh washington #fanfiction #gay women #survivor guilt #romance #fluff #hurt/comfort #alternate universe

[missymurphy1985]

The Shirt (part 2 of The Tease)

Warning - Smut / Breeding Kink

Request? Yes, decided to do it as a part 2 of the Tease. Incorporated two requests into one here...

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @semperfemina-xo

Two years had passed since your encounter with Tommy in the alleyway beside the Garrison, and true to his word, he'd married you within a month of proposing. Your son, Charles, had been born 8 months later.

Charlie was sleeping that afternoon, and you looked down at your dress - covered in the lunch Charlie had allegedly eaten, however the state of said dress suggested he'd decorated you with more of it than he'd consumed....

Heading up the winding staircase of the beautiful Arrow House home you shared with your husband, you entered your bedroom looking for a new dress to wear when you spotted one of Tommy's shirts hanging on the edge of the chair. You picked it up to take downstairs to be washed but stopped to smell the collar - his aftershave still lingered, the smell intoxicating you. He'd been away in London for three days and you missed him terribly. You slipped your stained dress off, and pulled his shirt on over your shoulders instead, wrapping it round you as tight as you could, fastening the buttons. It hung loosely on you, and fell to your thighs, but you didn't care. It smelled of him, and it was the closest you'd get to an embrace from him for now.

You held it as close to your frame as possible, before laying down on the large double bed. Your son normally napped for at least 2 hours, and Frances promised to take care of him this afternoon when he woke so you could rest, Charlie had slept poorly last night, crying for his father. You allowed your eyes to close as you inhaled the sweet smell of your husband, dreaming of when he'd be home.

You couldn't sleep though - you never slept properly when Tommy wasn't home. Sighing, you pulled yourself up and headed into the large ensuite bathroom to run a bath.

Your heart leapt when you heard the bedroom door open, and recognised his strong footsteps walking across the room. You lifted the hem of the shirt up slightly, and bit your lip. He was home early...

You were leaning over the tub when you suddenly felt strong hands underneath the shirt, running up your back.

"Wearing my clothes now, y/n..." His deep, husky voice whispered from behind you.

"Hmmm... They smell like you..." You murmured back, feeling his hands roam underneath the shirt and over your stomach.

"Wanna know a secret?" His lips on the back of your neck, sending shivers through you.

"Mhmm..."

"I miss feeling this belly all full and swollen with my seed inside you..." Tommy groaned in your ear, making your heart flutter in your chest.

"Well why don't you do something about it Mr Shelby?" , his eyes full of lust and need, spurred on by your words.

"Want me to fill you up again do you? Give you another baby to keep you busy while I'm gone eh?" Switching off the bath, you turned around with a groan.

You held his cheeks in your hands and stared into his blue eyes.

"Fuck me, Thomas. Now." He growled as he pulled you into the bedroom quickly, moving you to the drawers at the side of the room and bending you over.

"See now, I wanna see your pretty little face when you lose control over my cock, but I sense my little one needs to be treated as the dirty girl she acts like..." he watched your needy face in the large oak framed mirror and lifted the shirt up your back, your naked backside in front of his as he parted your cheeks and slid his hand between your legs, feeling how wet you were. His other hand squeezed an ass cheek, before slapping the flesh hard.

"Thomas please...." You begged, desperate for release.

"Pure filth aren't you little one? Missed my cock so much you're fucking begging for it..." You groaned at his words, pushing your ass back at him, rolling your hips as his fingers found your clit, gently massaging it.

"Gonna make a mess on my fingers little one? Gonna scream my name so loud, even our neighbours will know who you belong to eh?"

"You... Only you... It's always been you..." You heard him pull his trousers down and line himself up against your entrance, teasing your lower lips with the tip, stroking it up and down painfully slowly.

Edging himself inside you with a deep groan, he soon bottomed out against your ass, keeping his eyes on yours in the mirror, both of his hands now at your hips to keep you in place.

"You don't move - you let me take care of you now, understand?" He glared. You loved it when he took you like this - complete control, complete dominance. You could feel yourself getting wetter with every word. Words failed you, all you could do was nod.

He began to pound into you hard and fast - holding you strong with his hands to keep you from moving. You tried to arch against him but his hand slapped your ass hard, making you cry out.

"I said NOT to move sweetheart... Move again and I'll pull out!" He barked, but it didn't frighten you. Quite the opposite in fact. You knew the maids could probably hear everything and it only turned you on more.

"I'm sorry Tommy... I won't move I promise..."

"Stay still and I'll make you feel good little one.. so good..." His thrusts picked up in speed and force, edging you ever closer to the sweet release you craved. Your fingers gripped onto the edge of the dressing table as your cries got louder.

"Yes... Fuck that's it Tommy... Right there..."

"Still so tight for me.. so wet and needy all for me eh?" He gasped, his hips pounding into you with reckless abandon now as he felt your walls begin to contract around him.

"All for you... All for you... Oh god Tommy I'm gonna cum, please, please don't stop!" He squeezed your ass cheeks hard and felt your orgasm flow through you - watching your face in the mirror, how your eyes stayed locked with his until the pleasure became too much and your eyes rolled back in your head, your mouth emitting the most exquisite sounds as you came hard over him.

His orgasm approached quickly, the sounds you made sending him spiralling.

"Gonna fill you up little one, gonna make your body swell full of my baby... You want it?" He raised an eyebrow at you in the mirror.

"Please... Please Tommy give it ALL to me..."

"Gonna cum... Holy shit little one you feel so fucking good... Keep cumming, please, keep cumming for me baby..." He thrust you into another blinding orgasm as you felt his cock pulse and release deep inside your womb, filling you completely.

Your movements slowed to a stop, before he pulled out gently and lifted you into his strong arms, one under your back and legs and carried you gently over to the bath you were running. Standing you, and easing his shirt off your back, he lifted you again and placed you in the still warm water, kissing your forehead, then your lips gently.

"Stay right there for as long as you need - I'll take Charlie for a walk when he wakes up. Frances told me you'd had a rough night with him?"

"He just misses his Daddy," you sighed, relaxing into the bubbles.

"Well I'm home now, and I've cleared my schedule for the next couple of days. Neglected you, haven't I?"

"You never neglect us Tommy, everything you do is for us whether you're here or not," you caressed his cheek lightly as he bent down to kiss you again.

He smiled at you, and headed out to the door hearing Charlie calling his name.

"Oh and don't think I didn't mean what I said - Charlie needs a brother or sister, don't you think?"

"Good job you think so. Could be making a baby as we speak Daddy," you smiled, watching his eyes widen.

"Fuck don't call me that, else I'll be calling Frances back and taking my wife back to bed!"

You chuckled as he he as headed out, smiling as you heard him blowing raspberries on his boys belly before taking him down the stairs.

Stroking your belly hopefully, life was truly perfect, and with any luck it was about to get even better too.

#tommy shelby x smut #cillian fanfic #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #cillian smut #cillian murphy x smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you

[softbobamilktae]

Hello There, Little One

Pairing: Dad!Tae x Mom!OC

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 0.6k

Warnings: mentions of birth and slimy newborns

Summary: Tae enjoys a few moments with his infant son.

Zoro flew straight into Tae’s hands, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused. There was no screaming. No crying. Nothing they’d expected. A baby cries when they’re born, right? Tae stared down at the tiny, slimy baby who was nestled in his hands. Very gently, he flipped him over and laid him against Zelda’s stomach. Tae rested his hand against Zoro’s back.

“Well, he’s breathing, I think.”

The two of them stared down at him for a few moments. And then, the tiny baby let out a small cry. And then some soft wails. Tae rubbed his back.

“I think he’s fine.”

“So, is now when we call the midwife?”

Tae laughed. “Probably.”

After Zoro had been wrapped in a towel, Tae called the midwife to let her know what was going on. Then he drained the tub and got some towels for Zelda as well.

◇◆◇◆◇

Zelda smiled as she held the tiny baby against her chest.

“He looks like you.”

“Does he?” Tae leaned over her shoulder to look at Zoro.

“Yeah. You know, that one picture your mom has?”

Tae grinned. “You’re right. So, next time we have a baby, we’re going to keep a midwife nearby so this doesn’t happen.”

Zelda giggled. “Hey, I seriously didn’t feel much of anything.”

Tae rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Those birthing classes did not prepare us for this.”

“It’s fine,” Zelda patted his knee. “We have a beautiful little baby with us now.”

“Oh. He’s awake.”

Zelda looked down at Zoro. The tiny boy was blinking up at them. She smiled.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Zoro was silent but continued to stare up at his parents. Tae pressed his thumb into Zoro’s palm, and Zoro’s fingers closed around it.

Tae smiled. “Hello there, Zoro.”

The tiny baby’s lips lifted slightly at the corners.

◇◆◇◆◇

Having a baby was way more work than either of the new parents were prepared for. All Zoro did was cry and sleep. And, occasionally, he gave his parents a smile. But mostly, he slept. Which truthfully was exactly what everyone wanted to do in January.

Tae had managed to get the whole month off to spend with his tired wife and newborn. Both of them spent most of their time sleeping, but he didn’t mind the peace and quiet while he got to watch the two of them rest.

Tae was greeted one morning by a tiny coo. He opened his eyes and looked down at the tiny boy laying between him and Zelda. Another small noise came from the baby’s mouth as he recognized that his father was awake.

“Why, good morning, Zoro. Are you letting Mama sleep a little longer this morning?”

The baby just stared up at him, eyes wide. Tae chuckled and ran his finger across Zoro’s cheek. The baby’s eyes fluttered shut in an instant.

“Wow, you’re so soft,” Tae grinned as he continued to stroke Zoro’s cheek. “Your mama said you look like me. Do you think you still will in twenty years?”

Zoro made a sound akin to a hum. Tae reached down and patted Zoro’s tummy, making the tiny boy relax even more.

“Mmm, you like that? My hand is probably warm, hmm?”

Tae rubbed his palm against the baby’s tummy, earning a faint smile in return. Zoro reached up and grabbed ahold of Tae’s thumb.

“Wha, look at how tiny your little hand is,” Tae grinned, wiggling his thumb.

Zoro’s eyes fluttered open one last time before he was off into dreamland again, leaving Tae to admire his sleeping infant.

This is part of the Dad!BTS series that can be found here

A/N: haha sorry not sorry for more baby Zoro

It would be greatly appreciated if you reblogged the story if you liked it!

Taglist: @jiminie-and-his-pinky-finger @jinnie-forthe-winnie @taehoneycheeks @aianloveseven @bangtansjonas @fly-you-dam-fools

#bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts one shot #bts fic #taehyung fluff #bts reactions #taehyung x oc #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagine #taehyung oneshot #taehyung scenarios #dad!bts #dad!taehyung #the joys of parenting

[lacharcutiere]

ur my favorite drug & my worst hangover [nsfw 18+, terushima yūji]

5,9k words

✯haikyuu!! masterlist✯

winter sem break brings the new year, & a few other new developments too.

smut, tiny bit of angst, fwb, fluff // quit - lil aaron & travis barker. god this song goes so hard

the way all i talk abt is how much i love teru but have nothing to show for it— yeah we’re gonna fix that. man i love him

☾𓆙𓂻

— SOBER

the soft hum of the tv in the background slowly fades into your awareness as you blink blearily awake, almost forgetting where you are for a second.

you’re in yūji’s living room, duh. your semestral break has not been nearly as interesting as either of you’d hoped: instead, you’ve both succumbed to alternating between each other’s childhood homes, binging netflix and random youtube videos and eating chips and tubs of ice cream late into the night, as has been your custom for years.

it’s dim but for the glow of the screen, and it’s kind of chilly in here now, even with you wrapped up in a hoodie. (yours, not yūji’s. you only borrow his in emergencies.)

he’s not next to you now, but his footsteps—you know them by now: quick and kind of heavy but not overbearingly loud—are entering the room again, and you feel the sofa cushions dip a little as he retakes his seat next to you.

“hey,” he says, smiling, “you’re awake.”

“hmmph,” you mumble, sitting upright to stretch your back. “what time is it?”

“uh.” he squints at the digital clock next to the tv. “like one?”

“‘m cold.”

“me too.”

“‘nd tired.”

“you just woke up?”

“i’m tired,” you whine.

yūji groans. “you’re really gonna make me go to sleep this early?”

“you don’t have to sleep, but i will.”

“yeah,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “but who’s gonna keep me company then?”

“i dunno,” you shoot back, “text tetsu or something. he’s probably still up.”

he rolls his eyes but relents, standing from the sofa. “fine.” and he holds out a hand to help you up, which you don’t take.

“i can do shit for myself,” you joke, rolling your eyes.

“right.”

—

it’s not much warmer in his room despite the thermostat supposedly being set to an acceptable temperature, but at least the sleeping bag on the floor next to yūji’s bed is insulated, and he’s given you a couple extra blankets for which you’re grateful. the biting chill of january does not fuck around.

so you nestle yourself into a little cocoon of linens and pillows and pull your hood up, curling into a ball in an effort to conserve your body heat. you hear him laugh a little as he watches you.

“what?”

“nothing.”

there’s the light hum of a phone ringing a few times, and that little beep as tetsu picks up the facetime call.

sleep clouds your senses to the background music of stifled laughter and loud whispers and the occasional static of yūji’s phone speaker.

— BUT U PULLED ME CLOSER

the next few minutes, hour—you have no idea—pass just like that, with you drifting languidly in and out of sleep and the sounds of yūji and tetsurō’s voices audible but incomprehensible in the background.

last you remember, you’re slipping back under again, hearing tetsu through the staticky iphone speaker.

and then you wake up again because you’re fucking freezing and it’s quiet and the lights are off, except for the little reading light mounted to the headboard of yūji’s bed. you sit up on your elbows, craning your neck, and see that he’s still up, lying on his stomach with his phone dimly illuminating his face.

“what time’s it?” you mumble.

“uh... 2:38.” he pauses. “y’alright?”

“cold,” you say.

he locks his phone then, and he just looks at you kind of blankly and maybe a little mockingly? except it must not be mocking; it must be something else, because he’s just kind of... studying you.

you look back up at him expectantly. “what?” you say.

he sighs, kind of rolls his eyes, turns away from the light to hide the little smile playing on his lips. “come on up here.” he scoots over and pats the spot next to him.

thankful for an extra source of body heat and blankets and pillows, you shove yourself up off the ground and shuffle over to the bed.

it’s kind of funny, the way you’re basically adults now and yet your relationship’s still fundamentally the same as it was when you met years ago.

—

duh, yūji hates that. it’s true, that whole thing about how “every one of your guy friends has thought about fucking you at some point.” it’s true, at least for him.

and there’s something electric in how you haven’t slept next to him in months because you’ve both been busy with school, and now you’re back here. back here, where it feels like you belong.

there’s something deep in his chest that’s set aflame by the way you laugh and let him tuck the comforter over you; the way your sweatpant-covered legs brush against his own underneath it.

he wants to touch you.

he wants to wrap his hand around your thigh and pull it over his own; to run his fingertips up the length of your arm and make you shiver; to snake his around your waist and pull your head into his chest.

maybe he will once you’re asleep, he figures. once his pride can’t be hurt because you don’t have to know.

except... except he’d let it be hurt for you. without a moment’s hesitation. he would shatter it himself for you, would let you take him in your fingers and rip him to pieces too small to be puzzled back together.

because maybe he doesn’t just want you. maybe he loves you.

but even he, completely truthfully, doesn’t know.

he’s got a sneaking suspicion that he does, though, because he’s rarely confused and this is an enigma he can’t quite seem to decipher, no matter what he tries.

it’s absurd, too, he realizes laying on his back next to you, how suddenly he’s afraid to touch you. because the two of you have always been touchy, that’s just you. you’re two halves; you’re so similar. you’ve been attached at the hip since childhood—why is it different now, now that he wants that more than anything?

so here he is, spiraling in this conundrum of feelings, when it’s cut short by you, tiredly whining, “yūji.”

“what?” he sort of feigns annoyance.

“‘m cold.”

“and?”

and. and his breath catches because you roll over and latch onto him. and he brings his arms around your shoulders and holds you to his chest.

so close, and yet so far away.

and he shudders as you lay one hand flat on his chest. it belongs there forever.

you nuzzle your nose into his shoulder and inhale his scent and his brain short-circuits.

has she done this before?

and mostly unconscious, you mumble, “—warm. y’re pretty’.” his eyes go wide.

“what?”

your arms tighten around him, and he’d hate to admit it, but it’s setting him off. he’s... a little hard.

a hand settles itself on your thigh, the one that’s draped over his legs, and he pushes it downward a little, so that it’s not resting next to the rising erection in his pajama pants.

god, he wants to fuck you so badly right now, he wants for you to feel him throbbing between your legs as you whimper against his skin. but he also wants you to want him.

miraculously, a little sigh escapes your lips at the touch. so he doesn’t move his hand.

“feels nice,” you whisper.

so he decides to test the waters, and squeezes gently. you giggle sleepily.

inhibitions dissipating for a moment, his stomach leaps to his chest and he snakes that hand up over your hip, consciously avoiding your ass just in case, and rests it on your back, rubbing up and down slowly.

his chest constricts as you snuggle even closer to him. and then your leg moves back up and your thigh nudges his crotch.

your eyes snap open and he inhales sharply.

and then you’re propped up on your elbow, leaning over him.

he curses himself for forgetting to turn off the light; the flush in his cheeks is obvious.

half terrified and half excited, he watches as your face breaks into a wide, shit-eating grin.

“what?” he breathes.

your eyes narrow; a look of mischief he’s so familiar with, one that’s often mirrored on his own features. (it’s not now.)

“yūji,” you say, singsong and bright, “what’s this?”

and—oh, god, oh, fuck—you bring a hand down to rest on his dick, tenting in his pajamas.

he doesn’t know what to say to you.

“i— uhm—”

“hmm,” you hum. “y’ alright?”

he clears his throat, nods. “are— uh, are you?”

“mhm,” you laugh, wide awake now. “yūji...” you pause. he can’t stand it; he needs to know what happens next, needs to know what’s fanning the flames behind your eyes.

oh god. oh god, all he leaves is a breath in between and then you’re throwing your leg over him again and, fuck, you’re straddling him. he lets out a shaky breath, voice tight as he chokes out, “what are you doing?”

the smile is gone from your face now, replaced with something softer, something lustful. your hands move to his shoulders to balance yourself as you grind your hips down, and a low ahh slips out of him.

it’s just like that, just your clothed bodies rubbing together. he comes embarrassingly quickly in his boxers, but he lets you ride his thigh until you finish as recompense.

afterward, he excuses himself and cleans himself off in the bathroom. when he comes back, you’re sound asleep again.

that’s all that happens.

— UR GONNA FUCK ME UP

following that, everything proceeds as it had before. neither of you bother to speak of it, but nothing even seems off between you at all. it’s as if it never happened.

or maybe, yūji sometimes allows himself to think as he touches himself to the memory in the middle of nights when you’re not together, it’s like it was meant to happen.

what a wonderful illusion that is.

because he knows it won’t work, and if you ever thought about him like that, you would know, too.

the two of you have watched each other fall in love—get dumped, ghost people, whatever—several times over the past few years. he remembers your first boyfriend, your last year of middle school: the guy had been a mutual friend that you’d been crushing on for months. and yet, when you’d finally become a thing, it had taken no more than a couple of weeks for you to grow uninterested and dump him.

it’s not like he hasn’t done similar things in the past.

and it’s not like some people who’ve dated either of you haven’t had better luck; there have been several who have been the ones to break your hearts.

but both of you have yet to have maintained a long-term relationship, and neither of you have kept in contact with many of your exes.

he doesn’t want to be another one of those, and he certainly doesn’t want you to be, either.

—

it’s maybe a week after that night when you pick him up to go get takeout and ice cream.

that, in itself, is a pretty normal thing.

but then you’re sitting in your car, and between spoonfuls of mocha chip and hot caramel, you say, “so i saw this thing.”

“hm?” he responds, his mouth still full.

“your aura is striking, dude,” you quote. there’s a pause as you try to suppress a giggle. and then: “can i kiss you deeply, bro?”

he snorts and jokes, “anytime you want.” and he really hopes that you take his tone at face value, but he also knows you way better than that.

so he’s only half surprised when you actually do. half surprised, and wholly in awe.

your hands are in each other’s hair. it’s quick—feverish, but quick—and the first thing you say when you pull back is, “tastes like sugar.”

he laughs again, unsure of what move to make next. “yeah?”

and then you’re... shy? because you look away from him, back down to the cup of ice cream in your lap, and you say, “you feel good.” it’s so low that it’s almost unintelligible. but he hears you.

both your faces are burning when you look back up at him. “should we talk about that?”

“‘bout what? kissing? ‘s not the first time.”

it isn’t—he kissed you once in middle school, because there was this other girl that he’d thought was pretty, and he wanted to make her jealous. it hadn’t worked; she’d just thought the two of you were together, and a teacher had scolded you for pda. but at least it had been a fun story to laugh at for a while after.

this is obviously different, though, and you both know that. this kiss wasn’t to make anyone jealous. this one was for yourselves.

and anyway, that’s not what you meant by that.

“no,” you say. “the um... last week. at your place.”

“oh, yeah.”

“should we, um, do you wanna talk about it?”

“d’you?”

you shrug.

“alright,” he says. pauses. “so... what was that about?”

and you almost laugh incredulously. “you’re asking me?”

he stares blankly.

“you’re the one who got a boner when we were cuddling, yūji. as if we’ve never done that before.” you notice the mortified look on his face, and your expression softens and your voice lowers. “you wanna tell me what that was about? you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

and he laughs nervously and says, “no, no, ‘s fine. i was just kinda horny, that’s all. i haven’t hooked up with anyone in a while, y’know?”

you give him a sardonic grin. “and that’s why it only took you, like, three minutes to come?”

“yeah... yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

a moment passes where you stop and think for a little, and then you turn back to look at him. “it was, uh, good, though. like, objectively. it was good.”

it’s his turn to flash a grin at you: “‘course it was. it’s me.”

“and me.”

“shoulda won the sex gods superlative in last year’s yearbook.”

“ha.” another thing crosses your mind: “and now look at us. too busy with school to even have time to fuck anyone.”

yūji doesn’t say anything, so you do it for him.

you start out carefully. “but...”

“but?”

“do you— i mean. we’ve got, like, what? three weeks left before we go back? and we’re stuck here. and— and we already hang out like every single day anyway, and. uh. and it was objectively good.”

“are you—”

“and i’ve known you for years. come on. there’s, like, nothing i could do to embarrass myself around you anymore.”

friends with benefits. you’re suggesting that you temporarily be friends with benefits.

“and it wasn’t weird after last time,” you add. “i think.”

“hm,” he says, “yeah, no, it wasn’t.”

his first instinct is to say no, to tell you it’s a bad idea. but as he thinks about it more, he realizes that you’re kind of right. and anyway, what is the worst that could happen? because he’s pretty sure he’s far gone enough for you that falling a little further wouldn’t change a thing. even if he weren’t, he’d never think of hurting you intentionally.

and, he figures, he’d hardly mind being hurt by you.

—

that is how you end up back in his bed an hour later—his parents are out on a date this evening; you’ve got until a few hours past sundown to fuck and clean yourselves off and make it look like you’ve been eating and talking and watching tv the whole time.

outside of the guise of midnight impulses, it is a strange—but also strangely pleasant—thing to be having sex with your best friend.

there’s no pretense, hardly any need to keep up appearances (at least, for you). you’re not strangers only concerned with your own pleasure; you know each other. despite never actually having done this before, he already knows what you like, and vice versa.

it’s nice.

it’s nice to hear him laugh when you whine for him to stop being so gentle, vanilla-ass bitch, only to have him call you a “horny little—” (to which you respond, no, you.)

and it’s nice to sleep with someone who reads all the cues you give him without you even needing to say anything.

it is possibly the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

it is possibly the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, and... it might not be just because of the dynamic between you two, or the fact that you don’t have to be afraid to tell him what you like and what you don’t—the fact that you don’t even have to tell him at all.

it’s nice. for you. and it’s hell for him.

it’s hell for him to have to hold back all the sweet nothings he wants to whisper in your ear—he’s restricted to you like that, huh, baby? and fuuuck and god, you’re so fucking tight, and he knows you’re into it, but he wants to be treating you like a princess right now. he wants to call you his, wants to whisper, tell me you’re all mine against your bare shoulders, wants to tell you he loves you.

so... he does love you.

but he can’t say that. he knows he can keep you around, but you’re not his to keep.

—

it continues like that for the next several days: you fuck, it’s good sex, and he’ll touch himself to the memories if you’re not there: memories of how you taste, of the softness of your skin, of you with your legs around his waist and your bare chests pressed together, damp and warm with sweat.

it is so gratifying, and even more painful.

and then, one day, as he’s fucking you in your childhood bedroom—all white walls covered in sketches and colorful postcards you’ve accumulated over the years—something is slightly off.

there’s something about it that feels more intimate than the other times, and it goes slower than before. it’s not all lust and clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor and bodies shoved hurriedly into mattresses.

you kiss him for a long time before any clothing comes off, and you keep pulling him back to your lips as he thrusts into you. you’re not urging him faster, more, harder; you let him keep a steady pace and arch your back into the sheets as you lie underneath him.

it hits him as you come down from your orgasm and writhe in his arms, softly moaning, “god, yūji, i l—”

he stops.

“don’t say that,” he says.

still shaking and catching your breath, you respond, “what?”

“just don’t.” but his tone is casual, and so you don’t think much of it.

—

you don’t hook up every time you hang out, and yeah. you were right. it’s hardly different than before. except, isn’t it?

you’re sitting on opposite sides of your sofa one morning after your parents have left for work—he slept over the previous night, but you didn’t have sex. you’d spent it laughing over the dumbest things and blasting music as you drove around without a destination.

your’re sitting with your knees pulled against your chest, scrolling lazily on your phone while you and yūji eat handfuls of cereal straight from the box between you.

it’s mostly quiet for once; comfortably silent. neither of you have ever really been a morning person.

— BUT U KNOW I LIKE IT

the ice cracks a little when he stops shoving your hand away to grab himself another handful of cereal. you notice, and then you wonder if you always noticed little things like that, because it feels kind of weird to. not that you mind.

meanwhile, yūji watches you, studying the way your hair falls messily around your face, the way one sleeve of your sweatshirt is rolled halfway up your forearm and the other is pulled all the way over your hand.

the living room is bright, surrounded by windows, and you’re illuminated by light yellow late-morning sunlight all around and he feels safe looking at you.

the ice cracks a little more when he says your name softly.

“hm?” you say, confusedly looking up at him.

“nothing,” he answers, too quickly. “i’m just... happy right now.”

you smile, radiant. “i’m glad you are.”

—

in the afternoon, you’ve grown bored and are wandering the streets of your neighborhood, voicing thoughts and pointing out people you pass by.

it’s still early, but it’s january, so the sun is already beginning to set.

when you’re a couple minutes out from your house, yūji goes quiet, and it stays like that for the rest of the walk.

and then, as he stands next to you while you unlock the door, he blurts, “i have to tell you something.”

you freeze. “what?”

it’s silent for a bit. “never mind.”

“yūji—”

“it’s okay,” he says softly.

he wants to shrink away from your gaze as you study him. he knows you know there’s something amiss, and second thoughts have almost always been his own personal hell.

graciously, though, you don’t ask. and it’s like stepping through a portal when you’re back inside; it’s all forgotten and back to how it was before.

—

but: a little while later, you’re lying side-by-side on your bed watching netflix again, and for whatever reason you turn to look at him for a moment and it’s just—

you can’t look away. and you don’t know why.

he can feel your eyes on him and it burns, and he wonders how much longer he can keep this up before he loses his mind.

when he doesn’t turn to face you, you call his name softly.

“hm?”

after an uncomfortable moment of hesitation, you say, “something’s up.”

“what?”

“yūji,” you repeat, and he forgets to breathe for a second. “are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

the mattress shifts under his weight as he sits up, resting his head in his hands. he takes a deep breath and can’t bring himself to meet your eyes.

“what’s wrong?” it sounds less like a question and more like a plea.

“i—” he starts, and then stops himself. “i can’t, i can’t do this to you.”

“can’t do what?”

there’s a painful silence, heavy with anticipation and maybe a little bit of dread.

“i don’t wanna keep hooking up with you.”

you sit up, too.

“did i...? do something wrong?”

he shakes his head and sighs, and he sounds exasperated. “it’s... no, it’s— i think...” and he seems to grow more frustrated as he fails to verbalize whatever it is, this strange cold fire stinging in the pit of his stomach.

“what do you think?” you whisper.

and he stands and walks to the door. his hand rests on the knob and he whispers back, in a voice that sounds precariously close to breaking, “you, when i... y’know. ’m sorry.”

and he’s gone.

and you have no idea what to think, both of what he just said and the fact that it sends an excited buzz through your nerves, even though it probably shouldn’t.

— IT'S HARD N IT'S HARDER TO ADMIT

his words are stuck in your head all night, have you caught somewhere in between laughing and crying.

you want to call him, ask him what the fuck is going on and why you think you kind of like it, but you don’t.

but when you look over at your alarm clock to see that it’s 2:00 a.m. and sleep refuses to let you succumb to it and you relent to the warm emptiness between your legs, it’s yūji whom you imagine is there to fill it.

you think of the way his tongue trails down the expanse of your neck, the way he feels inside you, as you whine into your pillow and desperately try to make yourself come.

it doesn’t even occur to you until later, when you’re waking up to sunlight slicing through your half-open blinds. and then it does, and you text him: i do that too.

he doesn’t text back, but ten minutes later, your phone rings. he sounds breathless.

“be here in ten,” he says.

you pause. “okay.”

and you are. he throws open the door as he hears your car pull up and jogs out to meet you, and all he gives you is a quick, “hey,” before dragging you inside.

there’s no one else home, so he motions for you to have a seat at the kitchen table and takes the one next to you.

“do what too?”

“what?”

“what you texted me.”

you look down, studying the seams of your sleeve and feeling your breathing go shallow.

“do what too?” he repeats.

and softly, you say, “want you.”

yūji stands, pulling you to your feet with him. “want me how?”

your eyes are wide and a little bit sad as you stare up at him. “i don’t know.”

then he cracks a tiny smile. “good,” he says, “i don’t either.

except he does.

he wants you every way, your presence, your time, your body, your fucking soul, all of it. but he doesn’t say that.

when you kiss him, he implodes, melts into your arms as if he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. but he says nothing of it.

the feeling of your wrist in his hand, the sound of your giddy giggles as he leads you to his bedroom—for now, that’s enough.

he takes it slow.

when he’s shut the door and ensured it’s locked, he turns to find you’ve already tossed your top on the floor.

a smile meets yours, gentle fingertips on your cheek, a soft whisper against your hair: “put it back on; i wanna do it myself.”

and you laugh and oblige, shivering at the now-familiar sensation of the warm metal bead on his tongue against your lip as his hand finds its way to your ass and squeezes gently.

“yūji,” you whisper.

“i like it when you say my name like that,” he murmurs into your shoulder, rubbing gently up and down your back underneath your shirt.

“hmm,” comes your contented response.

and then his fingers are rubbing gently against the hem of your shirt, easing it up to reveal your body inch by inch, and you shiver a little under his feather-light touch.

lifting your arms up, you allow him to slip your shirt back over your head, and then his hands are all over you again, squeezing your breasts through your bra and tracing lines up and down the center of your back. the little metal ball on his tongue presses against your lower lip. you tug at the hem of his hoodie, and he pulls it off.

the feeling of his skin on yours is nothing new now, and yet this time, there’s a certain nuance to it that he can’t place.

he wonders how you want him again; can’t stop wondering as you lead his hand down to the button on your jeans, laughing a little as he kneels at your feet to unzip them.

as he pulls them slowly down your legs he lines your thighs with little, butterfly-soft kisses, murmuring unintelligible praises.

when you’re left in only your bra and panties, he wraps his arms around your waist and falls backward onto the mattress, taking you down with him. you sit up a little, so that you’re straddling him, and he lets out a low sigh.

“you are fucking incredible,” he breathes as you suck gently at his neck, leaving light marks that will have faded by tomorrow.

your fingers trace the dips between his abs, tantalizingly, eventually making their way all the way down his stomach to the waistband of his sweats, and then a little further, palming his dick through them and feeling how fucking hard he is.

he groans a little, says, “please don’t tease me,” as you continue to do exactly that, but he doesn’t stop you.

when you shift a little so that you’re positioned right over him, soaking panties rubbing a tiny little wet spot into the tent of his erection, he sits up and gathers your body into his arms, lips and tongue moving against yours as one hand unclips your bra while the other settles itself on your hip, grinding you down against him. you press your thighs together at this feeling of pure need you’re experiencing and he pulls his mouth away and looks you in the eye.

“may i?” he whispers, and you smile and nod, laughing as he rolls you off of him to rid himself of the rest of his clothes and dig a condom out of his bedside table, which he hands to you.

you’re impatient as you tear it open but force yourself to roll it onto him slowly, studying his face as he revels in the feeling of your fingers grazing lightly against his dick.

once it’s on, he flips you over again, laughing, and exhales slowly as he slides your panties down your legs and tosses them somewhere on the floor to be found later. his fingertips ghost gently down the sides of your thighs as he bends down to lick a long stripe between your legs and across your clit.

“fuck,” you breathe as he groans softly against your skin, the vibrations sending an electrifying buzz up your spine.

he presses his tongue flat against you, metal bar circling your clit teasingly, and then he pulls away and groans, “sit on my face,” his words hurried and slurred with lust.

so you let him move to lie on his back and straddle his face, giggling as he wraps his hands around your thighs to pull you closer.

“aw, don’t be shy, i thought that’s the whole point of this,” he says.

and then his mouth is back on you again, tongue flicking slowly and carefully, taking in your every response, and soon he’s got you shaking on top of him, grasping at the headboard and his shoulders and tangling your fingers in his hair.

he keeps going after you’ve already finished, making you writhe and whimper, only letting go of you once he’s satisfied.

he pushes you backward so that you’re still sitting with your knees on either side of him and he sits up, leaning back against the headboard. his lips are on yours, then, and he’s pulling your hips to his, the head of his cock nudging ever-so-lightly against your entrance.

“quit teasing me,” you whine when he grips your waist, refusing to let you sit yourself on his dick.

“i’m not.”

“yes you are!”

“‘m not,” he mumbles, smiling, as he draws his lips down the curve of your left shoulder and back up again. “i’m savoring the moment.”

you huff. “you can savor it with your cock in me.” and yūji does his best not to show it, but the high he gets from those words alone, from knowing how desperate you are for him, even if it’s just for his body, sends him straight to heaven. because regardless of how much of him you want, it’s still only him that you want in this moment, and right now that’s enough.

you allow him to move at his own pace, his movements slow, languid as he holds you to his chest, one hand around your waist and the other reaching up to tangle his fingers in your hair. he lets himself say the things he wants now.

“kiss me?” he whispers, and you oblige happily. you taste like him, and he’s so content he could lose his mind.

instead he loses himself to you, shaky breaths between “god, you’re so good,” and “you have no idea… how long i’ve waited… for you to want me like this.” there’s a single thing he holds back from saying, but he still plans on saying it. he’s just saving it for the right moment.

you’re drunk off of him, your body shuddering against him with every touch of his skin to yours, not knowing what to say and yet feeling as if you know everything you’ve ever needed to. and you say it for him.

“i love you.”

the words are barely there, just a breath against his lips as you kiss him, and it’s too much for him. he finishes with something akin to a sob, taking your face into his hands. “i love you,” he responds. and then, “say it again? please?”

you close your eyes and smile, leaning into him and brushing your lips against his. “i love you, yūji.”

his hand’s on the back of your head, then, pushing you back to his mouth, wanting you closer, wanting more. and you want more, too, fingers tracing lines down his back and arms and stomach, sending waves of light through his skin. this is it, he thinks as you press your body tight against his, this is all there is.

you are everything to him.

— SOMETHING ABT U I CAN’T QUIT

in each other’s arms later that evening, you feel yūji’s chest move slowly up and down with each inhale and exhale, contented in sharing this silent moment with you, and then you know. you know how you want him. you open your mouth to speak, and he does at the exact same time. the two of you share a laugh, just like you always have.

“you first,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbow so that you can look at him properly.

he reaches up and rests a hand flat against your face and runs his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. “i am…” the words are slow and quiet and purposeful. “i am so in love with you.”

your smile widens against his hand. “i want you. everything… about you, with you. i want it all.”

and he mirrors your grin, just like he always has. “i’m yours to take.” his eyes flit down to your lips, his thumb still pressed against them, afraid to look you in the eye as he speaks his next words. his face flushes pink; it’s adorable. “say you’re mine, too?” it’s a request, a plea—not a command.

you reach up to your face and place your hand over his. “all yours,” you say. “don’t even have to ask.”

it’s silent for a bit again, and then he sits up, going a little more serious.

“what?”

“what happens if this doesn’t last?”

you sit up, too, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and gently pulling his head to rest against yours. “after all these years?”

“hmm.”

you think for a moment: after all these years. your whole lives, spent together, maybe not as lovers but always as two halves of a whole. it’s him you always gossip to first, whom you always went to after heartbreaks and fights with your parents. he’s the first one you told when you lost your virginity, crashed your car, got into one of your top universities. he’s held your hand through everything.

so finally you say, “i don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

he pulls away to look you in the eye. “why not?”

his nose brushes against yours as you lean your forehead against his and laugh a little. “are you dumb, yūji?”

“i don’t think so?” when you say nothing, just continuing to look at him with that shit-eating grin on your face, he goes, “am i missing something?”

you press your lips to his for a second and pull away, still smiling at him. “it’s us, yūji. always has been.”

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fluff #terushima yūji #terushima yuuji x reader #terushima x reader #terushima x reader smut #terushima x reader fluff #terushima smut #haikyuu friends to lovers #friends to lovers #hehe #i literally love yūji so fucking much #like yūji dummy if ur reading this #gimme hug #n show me what that tongue do ahahahaha #jk #unless #marg luvs teru #and the fact that this is like the longest oneshot ive ever written proves it lmfao #anyway yea this was in my drafts for literally like 5 months or something so here #this is just pure self indulgence tho tbh

[fanficsandfluff]

A New Miracle - Chapter 17

A/N: What a glorious day for a wedding!

Fandom: Encanto

Character(s): OC (Original Character) Alexa, Bruno Madrigal, Julieta Madrigal, Pepa Madrigal, Mirabel Madrigal, the rest of the Madrigal family

Alexa woke to Mirabel practically standing over her bed, a tray of snacks in front of her.

"Oh, I'm not sure if I missed this or not," Alexa raised her hands over her head to stretch after sending that jab Mirabel's way.

Mirabel rolled her eyes, "You know you've missed me, come on. Today's the day."

"I know," Alexa sighed once her arms came down, now covering her face, "I barely slept."

"Well, we're here to help rejuvenate you."

"We?" Alexa lifted her arm from her eyes and looked toward the door where she saw all the girls in the Madrigal family poking their heads into the room.

"Come on, we'll feed you as you bathe," Mirabel shook the tray of treats in Alexa's face.

Alexa chuckled and she got out of bed, immediately surrounded in hugs by the girls. Alexa was guided in the gaggle of them to the restroom and they put the tray in there as well as lit some candles and got a bath ready for her. Alexa was smiling and blushing, "Girls, literally none of this is necessary. You don't have to--"

"Sh!" Dolores shushed her, "We're here to make today special. Don't expect this every weekend."

Alexa chuckled and she watched Isabel sprinkle rose petals into the heated up tub water.

"We'll leave you be," Luisa mentioned after plopping down various towels and creams onto a small stool in the bathroom.

"When you're all done, come to my room," Isabela mentioned.

Alexa nodded, "You got it. Do I have a time limit in here?"

"I mean, I can come grab you if it gets too late," Mirabel said. The door to the bathroom flew open and in hopped an alarm clock thanks to casita's floorboards.

"Thank you, casita," Alexa wished the house, "And thank you girls."

"See you soon, tía!" Mirabel waved and shut the door behind the girls after they left.

By now, Alexa had grown used to the kids calling her their aunt. But now it was becoming reality. And it was going to feel weird, she knew it would. Alexa undressed and slipped herself into the bath. She picked pastries from the tray Mirabel set beside the tub and ate as she soaked. All the while she was trying to tamp down her nerves. The day had barely even begun and she was already freaking out. All she could assume was Bruno was faring no better than she was. In preparation for the day, her and Bruno hadn't slept together for the past few nights to make the anticipation for seeing each other again today more impactful. So that's why she'd gone back to Mirabel's room temporarily. And after today, it would probably be the last time she'd ever room with Mirabel.

Alexa lay in the tub, looking straight up into the sunwindow right above the tub, the only area in the room where natural light streamed in. She couldn't see them from here, but she pictured the lush mountains surrounding the encanto. The ones she looked at every day before making the journey and crossing them all those months ago. Was it a year by now? she wondered. It had to have been.

Alexa was only able to eat one of the pastries on the tray and nibbled into a second one before her stomach twisted into knots. After this day was over, she'd feel much less stressed. Alexa took a deep breath and submerged herself under the bath water. The world was muffled around her now. Her heartbeat slowed since her mind was clouded, no more clear thoughts. Alexa rose from the water and took big breaths to get her airflow back to normal. And now that she was out of the water, she could hear the alarm clock buzzing. Alexa sighed, "Thank you," she said again and raised herself from the water. Alexa stepped out of the tub and wrapped the robe Luisa set out for her around her body, immediately feeling the warmth. Alexa knotted a smaller towel around her hair and peeked out of the bathroom door. There were a lot of people inside casita today. They were townspeople helping get the place set up for the big day.

"Buenas días," a man from town she recognized passed her and said jovially. Alexa waved to him. She experienced a few more of these kinds of greetings from others who spotted her, realizing she was one of the main to-do's today. She tiptoed her way to Isabela's room and knocked on the door only once before the door was thrown open and a hand pulled her inside.

"How was it? Are you relaxed?" Luisa asked since it was her who pulled her inside.

"Mm, yeah. Yeah, I'd say so," Alexa nodded, going deeper into Isabela's room with Luisa where she saw the girls at work in a little special area they made. Like a mini beauty salon.

Alexa chuckled, shaking her head and touching a hand to her cheek, "You girls are too much. You're gonna make me cry."

"Nope!" Mirabel ran up to Alexa, "No crying! Not today! Or at least maybe not until after the ceremony... come," she held her hand and pulled her into a plush, rose-covered chair.

Alexa sunk into the comfort of the chair immediately and smiled at all the sweet young girls.

"Can I see the dress yet?" Alexa asked them.

"In a little bit," Isabela said.

"What if I hate it?" Alexa teased, "Then there won't be any time to make alterations."

"Shh!" Dolores came over again, putting a finger to Alexa's lips, "You're gonna love it. Mirabel and Tía Julieta worked very hard on it."

"I know I will," Alexa smiled again.

"Shut your eyes," Dolores instructed and Alexa did. Then she felt a kind of cream being slathered onto her face.

"Oh boy..." she mumbled once she was able to open her eyes again, "So I'm really getting pampered, huh?"

"Yep," Luisa had pulled up a stool by Alexa's feet and she placed said foot onto her lap. Alexa looked down at her and saw her with the bottle of nail polish.

"I'm an expert now, thanks to you," Luisa smiled up at Alexa and her heart warmed.

"Gosh, you guys really are gonna make me cry," Alexa huffed, still smiling, and she pushed her thumbs up under her eyes.

Isabela and Mirabel came up on either side of Alexa and squeezed her in a hug.

"You deserve this," Isabela said to her.

"It's our pleasure," Mirabel added, "Nohow seriously, don't cry! Dolores didn't even start the makeup yet!"

"Okay okay," Alexa patted at her eyes once more to dry them and she beamed, "There. Ready."

And the girls got to work. For the time being, Mirabel and Isabela were making final tweaks and adjustments to the gown behind a wall of prickly plants that Alexa couldn't see through. Dolores was doing Alexa's makeup and Luisa was painting her toenails and was soon going to move to her fingernails.

"I feel like such a princess," Alexa remarked when she glanced down and wiggled her toes when Luisa finished them. She scrunched her nose up when Dolores went in with a makeup brush again.

"Try to have a neutral face, Tía Alexa," Dolores smiled softly.

"It tickles," she admitted.

Dolores smiled again, humming a small squeak, "Isa, we're ready for you," she called for her cousin.

Luisa sat to Alexa's right and started painting the nails on that hand, "Those look great, Luisa. Like a professional."

Luisa smiled at the compliment, "Just wait til we get more colors. I've already started looking into how to make these with my mom. She's the ingredient lady and we're trying our best to make a formula."

"Wow," Alexa was genuinely impressed.

Isabela came out from behind the cactus wall and approached Alexa, "Okay, tía, let's see what we can do here..." and she pulled at Alexa's hair, which had by now grown to the tops of her shoulders, "I'm thinking half-up? Braids? What do you think?" Isabela asked.

"Anything that would stay out of my face would be preferable."

"You got it," Isabela got to work pinning and styling Alexa's hair as Luisa and Dolores were finishing up their parts.

"You want water or anything?" Mirabel asked Alexa, leaving the dress alone.

"Maybe some water, sure. Thank you, Mirabel," Alexa said.

Mirabel left the room and walked down the halls, passing her mom's room where she just had to stop and peek inside. Inside were her tía Pepa and her mom with Bruno.

Mirabel giggled, seeing him also getting dolled up for the big day. She let them be and continued on her way to grab some water for Alexa.

"Mira, Bruno," Pepa sat in front of her brother, kneeling down on the floor by him, "Everything will be perfecto."

"Well, we can't promise that, Pepa," Julieta corrected her sister, "But you won't have to worry about a thing, amor."

"What if--What if I forget my lines, or what if I drop the ring and everyone gasps and freaks out because Bruno screws something up, yet again--" he was cut off by a very literal hand slapping to his mouth; Pepa's, to be exact.

"I know you're scared," Pepa spoke softly, "We're all here for you. Nothing to worry about. Hm? Now let's get you cleaned up and looking all cute for tú novia."

Bruno nodded his head and he took a deep breath, "I cleaned up my beard last night, can you tell?"

"Yes, very nice," Julieta smiled at her brother, "What are we doing about his hair, Pepa?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

Now Bruno had both sisters staring at him and standing in front of him. His eyes nervously flicked between the two.

"How about..." Pepa went around Bruno and grabbed the top of his hair, gathering it out of his face and away from his eyes. She pulled it back into a half-up, half-down situation.

"If I had my way, I'd cut it all off like when you were a little kid," Julieta giggled, "But that does look nice, yes."

"Bueno," Pepa released his hair, "I got this, Julieta, you go. You've got much to do."

"I do," Julieta chuckled and she went over to Bruno and planted a string of kisses to his head, hugging him and squeezing him.

"Alright!" Bruno whined half-heartedly, "Enough, I'm not little anymore..."

"To me you'll always be my hermanito," Julieta patted Bruno's cheek before leaving her homey room.

"We're twins!" Bruno called out after her, rolling his eyes, but a blush and smile was on his face.

Back to Alexa and her team, her makeup was finished and her hair was set and drying in the proper style Isabela wanted it to be. Her nails were painted and drying. And Alexa still hadn't seen herself or her dress yet.

"Now?" she asked Mirabel, "I can't wait any longer!"

"Okay! Okay okay, yes, we're ready," Mirabel and Isabela each went behind the plants blocking the view.

"Okay, Luisa," Isabela said and Luisa came over and pushed the plants out of the way to reveal the dress.

Alexa stared and blinked for a few seconds, her face not having an immediate reaction. She walked closer to it. The girls were starting to panic, wondering if she really didn't like it at all.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Dolores tried prompting Alexa.

Alexa got close enough to the dress to look it up and down. It was a classic white, but there were pink reflects throughout the veil laying next to the dress. And Isabela had peppered light pinks and dark red flowers over the hem of the dress, mixed in with some stitched flowers courtesy of Mirabel.

Alexa looked at Mirabel, then Isabela, and quickly at Dolores and Luisa. She raised shaking hands to her mouth and smiled behind them, "Gorgeous..."

The girls sighed in relief and Mirabel went up to Alexa and gave her a side hug, "It's a special dress for a special woman."

"I-I'm not gonna cry, I swear," Alexa laughed softly, even though her eyes were welling again, "Dolores worked too hard for me to ruin it."

The girls laughed together and eagerly were ready to get Alexa dressed.

Bruno was now in Julieta's room with Félix and Agustín. This calvary had switched with Pepa when she was done with hair to be the stylists. The tailor in town had already made the outfit Bruno would be wearing today. To follow tradition, it was white, even though Bruno would've much preferred darker, earthier tones that he normally wore. Agustín was hyping Bruno up as Félix unbuttoned a top button on the shirt and flared the collar out, grinning at the man.

"Easy, I don't need all the chest like you, Félix," Bruno chuckled and buttoned back up.

Agustín laughed, "Good one, Bruno. He got you, hombre."

"Mmhm, okay, fine," Félix threw his arms in the air, "I'm tryna give you that extra edge out there. That little pop that Alexa wouldn't notice right away but would notice while you two are bailando against each other on the dance floor, touching bodies, moving together," Félix had started to dance around Bruno, mimicking the supposed moves they were going to be showing off. It made Bruno laugh.

"Oho yeah. Sure, I'm sure that's how we're doing it," Bruno giggled.

"I think you're ready to go," Agustín said when Félix and he stepped back so Bruno could see himself in a mirror.

"Ready," Bruno mantra'd to himself so he'd believe it. He could already feel his hands getting sweaty.

Bruno went downstairs with his brothers-in-law and saw Pepa watching to make sure the last of the decorations were going in the right spots.

"Ah-hem," Bruno cleared his throat when he stood closer to his sister and Pepa turned around.

She gasped and her eyes grew wide. It wasn't like she was happy and it was a moved gasp.

"Julieta," Pepa called for her sister in the next room over and she came out.

"Uh oh," Bruno frowned, "You don't like it. I mean, it's definitely not my style, but I didn't think I looked that--"

"Ay," Julieta had the exact same reaction as Pepa and now Bruno was really confused.

"Bruno, you look just like papá," Pepa finally shared her thoughts.

"It's true," Julieta concurred, "Come see for yourself," she grabbed Bruno's shoulders and guided him around the corner to the portrait of their father. Agustín brought along a handheld mirror and handed it to Julieta when they reached the portrait. Bruno stared at his father's face, like he had for his entire life. Julieta held up the small mirror for him and now Bruno looked at his own face with the image of their dad in the back of his mind.

"It's eery," Pepa pointed out, "My god..."

"Yeah, I-I do..."

"Same nose we knew," Julieta said, "But look, even the eyes."

"Mamá," Pepa said in surprise and the other two siblings turned when she spoke. Agustín went off to find Félix to give them a moment.

"Mamá," Julieta smiled and went to stand beside her mom, "Mira," she pointed to Bruno.

Alma approached her son standing by her dearest Pedro. A smile found its way to her face and she reached up and hugged her son.

Bruno didn't move to hug back since his mom's hugs were never something long. But she squeezed him tighter and that's when his hands went up to reciprocate.

"You look just like tú papá," Alma said once she released Bruno, without hearing their conversation about this beforehand. She cupped Bruno's cheek in her hand and said, "He'd be so proud of you, mijo."

And that comment got to him. His whole life, his mother rarely talked about their father. And he never had that male father-figure to look up to. Only secrecy and his mom's heavy burdens and loss to deal with. And she especially never compared him to his father before, either. Tears streamed down Bruno's cheeks and Alma wiped them away.

"Mamí, you're going to make him ruin his clothes," Pepa admonished even though she was wiping away her own eyes and Julieta was sniffling.

"Sí," Alma chortled to herself, "Wouldn't want that," she patted the lapel of Bruno's shirt, "You'll do great," she whispered to her son before leaving him to his sisters.

Pepa and Julieta each got closer to Bruno. He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes on the backs of his hands.

"It's almost time," Julieta said, "Do you want us to sit with you for a moment?"

Bruno nodded, speechless. The siblings crowded together under the portrait of Pedro and sat there, huddled. Both sisters had their arms around their brother.

The pastor from the town had come in and informed Abuela that they were ready to proceed with the ceremony. Julieta saw him come and she got Bruno up off the floor. She and Pepa dusted him off. Pepa scratched the back of Bruno's neck with her nails to get him to smile, whispering in his ear with a tinge of mischief, "Oh, Brunito. Looks like rain," and she jabbed a nail into his side. Bruno giggled at the joke, which used to pain him every day for being another reason everyone hated him. But now it was a funny story. Julieta pinched his cheek to get the same effect. Bruno was righted and sent on his way down the procession of everyone from town and in the family into the town square, by the church and the bell tower.

The crowd was full, the sun was bright. Bruno waited by the priest, continuously rubbing his palms against his pants to stop them from sweating so much. He felt knots in his stomach as he awaited for this moment to finally begin.

A soft guitar and drum combo began and the crowd hushed. Down at the end of the parted crowds of people, the aisle was first filled by Isabela walking down and dropping flower petals to the ground as she walked.

Alexa took a step out from behind the crowd after Mirabel gave her one last thumbs up before running up to the front to meet the rest of her family there. Alexa breathed in and out once before stepping out. The crowd gasped and muttered as the music played.

Alexa's hair was braided across the top of her head while gently curled strands still hung out from beneath, barely reaching the top of her shoulder. Her eyelids looked glittery in the sunlight, but the makeup was no more extreme than that. The dress hung at Alexa's ankles and poofed just enough to where it looked like it had many layers, which it did. As she walked, her eyes were fixated to the end of the aisle, where Bruno should've been. She couldn't see him from this far. She'd just have to get closer.

Bruno could feel all his worries and anxieties dissipate the minute Alexa stepped out in her dress.

Alexa got nearly all the way to the alter and her eyes widened when she realized the man in white she'd been trying to figure out who it was, was actually Bruno. He looked so different. Not like she'd ever seen him before. Alexa broke out into a huge smile upon seeing him and she saw Bruno smile in response. He could see her teeth beneath the veil.

"Wow..." Bruno said aloud when Alexa stepped up beside him. Alexa smiled, and she knew she'd be doing a lot of smiling today.

"Nice hair," she whispered back to Bruno just before the ceremony began.

The actual marriage part of the wedding went off without a hitch. The rings fit, the vows were clear. They got their blessing and kissed in front of the entire encanto.

Then they ran back through the crowd cheering them on, throwing rice and confetti in the air at them, and they made it back to casita with the rest of the family and town on their heels.

Alexa giggled when they made it back and shook rice out of Bruno's hair, "You look so dapper, rat man."

"And you look... stunning. Like mindblowing. You don't even look real," he kissed her again, he just had to. You know, to make sure this all was real.

"Oho, stoppit," Alexa smiled wide and hugged Bruno when shrill cheers came into the home.

Musicians played and food was served.

"I am so shocked I didn't cry up there," Alexa was standing with her nieces and they all laughed.

"Dolores was freaking out next to me!" Isabela added with a laugh, "She was like 'oh my gosh, this is it, this is it.'"

"Well, I really did cry," Luisa admitted and Mirabel hugged her sister's arm, "Oh, I did, too. Bawled."

"Hola, señoras," Bruno slid up to the circle of them.

"Ew, tío, never say that again," Mirabel made a face.

Bruno laughed good-naturedly, "Whahat? I tried something new, so sue me. You're all looking very beautiful tonight. I hadn't seen you earlier. My beautiful sobrinas."

"Did mom do your hair?" Dolores asked.

Bruno nodded, "Yep, she did."

"Mm, okay, I see. Cuz Camilo is over there making fun of it," Dolores mumbled, "I'll handle it," and she glided her way straight towards her younger brother, breaking up the crowd of laughs he'd been building.

"I think it looks good," Luisa commented.

"Yeah, it's different, but change is good," Isabela concurred before the two started to slide away into the crowd. Mirabel didn't catch on at first, but she quickly turned her head back and forth to realize, "Oh. Hehe..." and she zoomed off with them.

Bruno slid his arm around Alexa's waist and curled his fingers in. Alexa jumped and turned so she was now facing him, "Hehey, none of that today."

"Aw, but why? You're so beautiful when you're laughing."

"Then find other ways to make me laugh. Otherwise I'm going to start thinking I married a bore," she grinned, brow raised.

When Bruno opened his mouth to rebut, a small hand tugged on his shirt and made him look down.

"They told me to tell you it's time for your dance," said little Antonio.

"Thank you, Antonio," Alexa smiled at him and then looked back to Bruno, "Well... you ready?"

"Are you ready is the question? I've been practicing," Bruno stood up taller, feeling proud in himself.

"Wohow," Alexa smiled, "Then you lead," she stepped aside to let Bruno get her to the dance floor. Bruno took Alexa's hand gently and guided her to the opening in the middle of casita's courtyard. The moonlight was streaming in and lit everything in a blue, shimmery hue.

Bruno and Alexa had agreed that their first dance as a married couple would be to the same song they first danced to, Dos Oruguitas.

And when the song began, Alexa and Bruno swayed together, hand in hand, and hand on waist and shoulder. By the third word of the song, Alexa glanced up at Bruno. She could understand it... She listened closer, furrowing her brow. Bruno was not good at hiding his smile.

"I can understand it," she whispered in his ear.

"I translated the song into English. I wanted you to hear the whole thing in a language you understand," Bruno whispered back.

Alexa pulled herself closer to Bruno, heart bursting with the love she felt from this gesture. She was listening to the lyrics now and getting the full picture. Bruno took wider steps and Alexa followed as gracefully as she could. She'd been practicing, too, with Dolores and just by herself.

When the music swelled, Alexa was looking right at Bruno and she saw a tear fall from his eye. Alexa was doing fine in the emotions department all day. She was way more emotional this morning getting ready than she had been since her marriage actually started. But now here she was, seeing Bruno begin to cry, and it made her own eyes well with tears. Her hand went up to his face and wiped away his tear. She kissed the spot on his cheek where the wetness was. Alexa allowed herself to blink by the end of the song, wanting that whole time not to miss a moment looking at her love. And when she blinked, the tears fell, in straight lines on either cheek. Bruno cupped her cheeks and used his thumbs to brush the tears away, lips closing in on Alexa's at the same time as he held her face.

The crowd clapped.

"I like the Spanish version better," Alexa said to Bruno when all was done. Bruno laughed and he scooped her up into his arms, spinning her around. The crowds closed in and the music picked up speed as everyone began to dance.

Alexa danced with her new brothers-in-laws and spun around with little Antonio. Bruno danced with each sister and even Mirabel jumped in to dance with him.

A tucan flew and landed on Antonio's shoulder while he was dancing with Alexa and said something to him. Antonio stopped dancing and turned from where he was standing, looking up. He pointed, "Look!"

Alexa looked where Antonio was pointing and she tugged on Bruno's sleeve, "Look, Bruno."

There was a bright, pulsating warm light coming from the corner of rooms that held Bruno's. All of a sudden, the floors around the couple split and dragged them to a new staircase that casita was building as they moved.

The floors brought Alexa and Bruno right up to the hallway to Bruno's room. His door was glowing brighter than they'd ever seen it.

"I don't understand," Bruno said aloud, "I don't know what's happening," he tried to tell Alexa.

The floors moved the two again and casita pushed Alexa in front to do the honors.

She stood right in front of the door and covered the doorknob with her hand, turning it. She pushed the door open and when she did, a whole new room stood before her.

Alexa slapped her hands over her mouth.

Bruno walked in after her and he threw his hands into the air, not believing it. There was no more sand, no more vast empty space.

It was a new room. It was cozy and homey, and the furnishing was made of wood and plantlife, looking like a cabin that would be in a rainforest up in the trees somewhere.

Alexa and Bruno each went in deeper into the room to explore. When Bruno turned around a wall that never used to be there, he gazed upon a dome-like structure. It looked like his vision room but brighter, still covered in sand, but now vegetation was laced through it.

Alexa saw the other Madrigal family standing in the doorway, amazed and waiting for the permission to enter. Alexa went and grabbed Bruno by his arm and she saw how speechless he was. She beckoned for the family to come in and they did so.

"This is..." Alexa laughed softly, "Thank you, casita," she said aloud, knowing the house was listening, "Are you okay?" she asked Bruno.

Bruno nodded, "It's not my room anymore..."

"And now you don't have to crawl into the walls to get away from all that sand," Alexa looked on the positives of this new room, "And look," she pointed behind him, "Bigger bed."

"It's our room," Bruno seemed to finish his own train of thought. He hugged Alexa tightly.

"Tío Bruno!" Mirabel came over to the pair, "Look! Look what's over here," she was smiling and now grabbed both of their arms, dragging them with her.

In an area to the left of the entrance there were now plush chairs and a rug and... Alexa burst out laughing, tugging on Bruno's shirt sleeve with excitement.

There was a miniature professional-looking stage in front of the chairs, and laying beside everything were puppets and backgrounds and even little costumes.

"Oh wow..." Bruno walked over to everything and started shuffling through the new materials, "This is so special... Amor, look! We get to continue the saga!"

Alexa was giggling and pulled Mirabel into her side, "Why do I feel like you had something to do with this?"

Mirabel shrugged, pushing her glasses up her nose, "What? Me? Why would you suspect me? Casita's been forced to listen to his telenovelas for waaay longer than I have."

"And more room in here for a watch party," Alexa noticed, smiling again, "You're invited anytime."

"I can't wait," Mirabel chuckled and loosened herself from Alexa's grip.

Alexa saw Dolores eagerly chatting with Bruno by the new stage and she chuckled, knowing that Dolores would frequently hear the stories play out within the walls. Alexa felt a hand rest on her shoulder and she turned her head to see Alma standing behind her.

"Hi there, Abuela," Alexa greeted.

"Alexita," Alma walked around to stand in front of her, "Let me see you," she pulled Alexa's hands into her own and held them out to look at her from head to toe.

"Ay, muy preciosa," Alma complimented, "You like your new room?"

Alexa nodded, "Yehes, so much. This is... I still can't believe it."

"Yes, lots of room," Abuela confirmed, nodding her head, "Plenty of room and good atmosphere for new love. Maybe enough room for little ones some day, hm?"

Alexa laughed and she quickly tapered it back, realizing Alma wasn't making a joke, "O-Oh... Abuela, I-I can't... I'm too old."

"Hm," Abuela shrugged her shoulders, "Very well. Still, lots of space," she knocked her hip into Alexa's playfully before walking away. Alexa was left confuddled. Why did Alma always appear like she knew something no one else knew?

"What did she say?" Mirabel asked after sidling up to Alexa, "You have that post-Abuela-talk look."

Alexa looked down at Mirabel and she smiled, shaking her head, "Nothing. I'm not used to hearing her compliment me."

Mirabel giggled and she laced her fingers into Alexa's, "Yeah, you're telling me," she walked with Alexa in a circle as the party had now moved into the new couples' room, music playing.

"You're the cool aunt, I hope you know that," Mirabel leaned in close to Alexa to tell her that, "But don't tell Pepa I said that."

Alexa chuckled and she nodded, "My lips are sealed. You're a cool niece. I can't say the coolest, though, because Dolores is probably listening."

Mirabel laughed, still dancing with Alexa, "Good call."

Dolores came popped her head into their conversation and squeaked, "Hm? You called?"

Alexa and Mirabel both giggled.

"You want to dance, Tía Alexa?" Dolores asked her new aunt, "I can ask them to play a good cumbia beat. We practiced."

"Sure, sure, it was very fun to learn," Alexa smiled wide.

"Yay!" Dolores clapped her hands together and went to find the musicians. The new beat started and Dolores ran back to Alexa and Mirabel, beginning to dance in the style. Alexa watched Dolores's feet move first to get the rhythm and soon followed on her own. Other adults were cheering and whistling, some howling for fun. Others had started to move in the same pattern.

Bruno stood with Julieta on the outskirts of the new dancing circle, and his eyes found Alexa in the crowd and he smiled wide. She first told him she didn't like dancing in front of others, or she couldn't dance. Now it seemed the music and the dancing was becoming a part of her. And she was good! Bruno moved into the crowd of dancers to watch her better.

"There you go, tía!" Dolores cheered Alexa on.

Alexa threw her head back, smile splitting her features. She saw Pepa and Félix moving into the circle and joined them. Those two could really dance. Alexa could see where Dolores got her skill from.

Bruno came up in front of Alexa and mirrored her dance moves. Alexa looked up and she chuckled.

"You're really good," Bruno complimented.

"Ahand you're trying your best," Alexa snickered to herself before moving closer to Bruno. She grabbed his boney hips in her hands and started to sway them for him, "Dolores told me a lot of the motion was here. And back, and forth. And back, and forth," she was counting the beats.

Bruno was considering continuing to not know how to dance cumbia so Alexa would keep touching him and being near him, but he decided against it. He'd rather have fun dancing with her.

The night waned on and soon the townsfolk had departed to go home for the night. The Madrigals each went up to the newlyweds and congratulated them and kissed and hugged them at the end of the night.

Alexa left Bruno's room--or what she should now call their room-- to go and get the last of her things from her room with Mirabel. On the way down the hall, Alexa looked up at the candle burning in its windowsill. The memory of Bruno's failed vision came back to her in this moment. Did the candle burn brighter tonight and they didn't notice? Was this the final miracle? Was she really the new miracle...? Nothing went wrong tonight, so Alexa had nothing to worry about. She collected her small things and brought them back to her new room with Bruno. She was ready to begin her life.

"I have tonight's word," Alexa whispered to Bruno in their bed, very late at night.

"Oh?" Bruno craned his neck to look at Alexa's face instead of being squished into the pillow.

"Mmhm. Learned it all myself so you didn't have to teach me."

"Well, the anticipation is killing me."

"Esposo," Alexa whispered and kissed Bruno's nose, "Te amo por siempre, esposo. Mi vida, mi amor..."

Bruno slid his arm around Alexa's waist and held her tight, "You're a natural," he kissed her lips. Alexa kissed back, years of waste and pain and loneliness washing over her body and sinking far away. Bruno's warmth and love filled her up anew, giving her a new hope and a new future. They kissed until their lips were sore and fell asleep from pure exhaustion after their wedding day. If the future felt as nice as this night, they were in for a good one.

#encanto #encanto fanfiction #encanto fanfic #oc alexa #original character #oc #bruno madrigal #mirabel madrigal #the madrigals #the madrigal family #chaptered fic #bruno madrigal x oc #bruno x oc #marriage #wedding #wedding day #love #julieta madrigal #pepa madrigal #luisa madrigal #isabela madrigal #dolores madrigal #felix madrigal #agustin madrigal #abuela alma madrigal #a new miracle ch 17 #chapter 17 #encanto chaptered fic

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If Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding was a serious drama with hour long episodes, Part 3: The Honeymoon Is Over.

Ki Wan drew back his hand. Why had he reached out to Ho Seon like that? What was he hoping to achieve? It must be the exhaustion getting the better of him – yes that was it, he was just tired. In the warm room, under the candle light, Ho Seon had looked so handsome, like a painting of a prince and Ki Wan had felt the urge to touch the painting, and check if it was real. But Ho Seon was a man of flesh and bone, who reacted, and it scared Ki Wan out of his reverie and back to reality – a reality in which he could not afford to make such careless mistakes, or let down his guard.

He stepped back and mumbled under his breath;

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay”, Ho Seon replied, as he brought himself to his feet. They stood apart, an awkward silence between them.

“Ah!” Ho Seon realised, “You spoke!” Ki Wan brought his hand to his mouth, he hadn’t even registered that he’d opened it!

“I’m glad.” Ho Seon smiled, “I thought you never would. I was almost wondering if you could!” He joked, relaxing them both.

Was this the right moment? Should he tell Ho Seon the truth now? The opportunity was presenting itself, he could easily use this conversation as a starting point…

“Come,” Ho Seon spoke before Ki Wan could make up his mind. “Let’s go to bed, you must be tired.”

Ki Wan looked at the bed, then back to Ho Seon.

“Not “to bed”, in that way, I mean to sleep.” Ho Seon assured him.

They were both already down to their under garments, and Ki Wan was tired enough to fall asleep as he was, even though the layers of bandage-like fabric were tight and constricting on his chest and he would rather sleep naked or in a light open robe, he thought that exposing himself was probably not the best way for Ho Seon to find out the truth.

He had never slept in the same bed as another person, and he thought it might prove uncomfortable, but he found the sound of Ho Seon’s deep breathing soothing, and drifted off peacefully, carefully curled up on his own side of the bed.

In the morning, he woke feeling properly well rested for the first time in years. He had never minded his room at home, and was always happy in his own company. But his room had been bigger, and colder, the only sound was the wind outside, whistling through the archways and halls of their empty home. He had no idea the comfort that a warm body beside you could afford. During the night, he awoke briefly, but simply watched the shape of Ho Seon’s shoulders slowly moving up and down and he was quickly lulled back to sleep.

Ho Seon was such a welcome presence, he emanated warmth and comfort. And whilst Ki Wan was still fearful of him discovering the truth, he felt a level of safety and trust already with Ho Seon. He began to truly believe, rather than simply hope, that Ho Seon would be able to accept the truth and Ki Wan’s reasons for his deception. He no longer feared any kind of violent outburst from his new husband, now - he just feared the look of disappointment that would inevitably colour Ho Seon’s normally happy face.

Apparently, even sober, Ho Seon was not easy to rise. He took an age to wake up, twisting and turning under the covers, grumbling and murmuring. Ki Wan found it exceedingly amusing, and lay happily under the warm covers for longer than he should – watching Ho Seon. Ho Seon eventually turned to face him, at first seemingly a little taken aback by another person in his bed, but then registered it was his wife and smiled – toothlessly, his eyes closing.

“Goooggmrrning” He mumbled. Then he opened his eyes, sparkling with mischief, and added in an overly formal tone “My wife.”

“Mmm morning” Ki Wan responded, muffling his voice beneath the covers.

Ho Seon smiled and gave a prompting nod. Ki Wan rolled his eyes.

“Husband” he added quietly. This seemed to please Ho Seon to no end and he smiled ear to ear, giving an enormous yawn and stretch before beginning to get up.

~ ~ ~

The next few weeks of married life passed like a blissful dream. Ho Seon spent most of his days studying, or tending to administrative work, whilst Ki Wan kept his mother-in-law company, doing housework or tending to the garden. Some days, Ho Seon would come out to the courtyard and set up his desk outside on the balcony. Ki Wan suspected he didn’t like to feel excluded from any possible fun they may be having.

Ki Wan found himself settling into a routine of family life, and he and Ho Seon would bid each other goodnight and good morning as spouses, but it felt more like they were children playing house. They both avoided touching one another, and Ki Wan still avoided speaking as much as possible without seeming rude. Though he began to relax, particularly around his mother in-law, who had insisted he call her ‘mother’, which at first Ki Wan found difficult as it made him sad to think of his own loss, but he eventually complied and it only added to the happy-family delusion. She didn’t seem to notice or mind his voice. In fact, she complimented him on it once, and requested that Ki Wan should read to her sometimes – a request that Ki Wan happily complied with, as he missed reading and studying, things which he used to enjoy so much in his old student life before his mother passed away.

One evening Ho Seon passed comment as they were getting ready for bed. Ho Seon was sitting on the bed, cross legged, expectantly, like a child would.

“How come you read to my mother, but you never read to me?” He pouted.

“You can read.” Ki Wan responded.

“Pleeasssse,” Ho Seon whined, “Won’t you read me a bedtime story? Pleeeaase? Wife?”

Ki Wan stifled his laughter, and threw a pillow at Ho Seon in lieu of a proper response.

Their comfortable pantomime as a married couple became second-nature, and Ki Wan almost forgot about the graveness of his circumstances. He knew deep-down this illusion couldn’t last forever, but he couldn’t bring himself to be the one to shatter it.  Their bubble was burst before long, not by either of them, but in the form of an unexpected visitor.

~ ~ ~

Ki Wan often bathed at the house, where they had a big warm tub which the maid would fill for him, and that Ho Seon would use after him. But his fear that the maid may walk back in at any moment, or that Ho Seon himself might barge in unknowingly meant that bath-time became more stressful than relaxing, and he could never really clean his body properly as the tub was too small and he spent most of the time trying to hide his naked body under the water. Walking one day near the river, his mother in-law pointed out a gorge where she said there was a natural spring that people could bathe in.

“I used to take Ho Seon down here when he was little.” She reminisced, “He used to love splashing around – he was so chubby as a baby! Aiiguuu, you will have such cute babies!”

The topic of children did seem to come up an awful lot with his mother-in-law, though Ki Wan normally brushed it off by acting coy and shy about the topic of baby-making. She never pushed him about it or asked intrusive questions about the physical side of their marriage, but she did always manage to slide babies into the conversation.

One morning, Ho Seon announced that he had to go into town on some business, and would take a few hours – whilst his mother-in-law felt poorly and said she would be staying in bed to rest. After helping her into bed, and reading to her until she fell sleep, Ki Wan felt a sudden rush of freedom and relief – he was alone! He immediately rushed back to the bridal house, collected clean undergarments, and headed out for the spring. He left a note beside his mother-in-law’s bedside, lest she wake and panic – or worse, come to find him.

Amongst the rocks and foliage, the spring looked tranquil and inviting. He carefully made his way amongst the trees, down the steep incline. He removed his clothing, and waded in. The water was cold but refreshing, and he dunked his head right under. Relief and calm enveloped him under the surface. He floated around happily, washing himself and swimming, revelling in the peace and quiet.

He knew he should get out soon, as his fingertips were beginning to wrinkle, and his mother-in-law was sure to wake eventually, but he was so relaxed he didn’t want to leave.

Giving his hair a final rinse, he dragged his fingers through a knot at the end and turned to where he had left his clothes on the rocks. He yelped with fright, a man was standing above the rocks looking down at him. He lowered himself further under the water, covering his chest completely.

He could only make out a silhouette, a tall frame, an adorned hat – a government official.

He dared not move, he could barely breathe. He had let his guard down for the first time in over a month, and this is what had come of it! The man began to move, and at first Ki Wan thought he was going to come further down the rocks to the pool, but instead – thankfully – the man turned and made his way back up to toward the road. There was no way of knowing how long he had been standing there. Had he been watching? How much could he see from up there? Had he simply wanted to use the spring, seen a young man bathing, and left? Or had he seen a woman in a state of immodesty? Either way, Ki Wan told himself that the man was a stranger so what should it matter to him?

But what should he do? Grab his clothes and head the opposite direction? But he didn’t know his way around the woods outside the property that well, he really only knew the way back to the Ryu house along the road. No, he would have to stay in the pool longer and hope the man left. But there was no way of knowing how long that would be. He sat in indecision until he could bare the cold no longer. Shivering he clambered out of the spring and put on his dress. Struggling and rushing, his clothes were now damp and he felt uncomfortable. But the afternoon sun had moved beyond trees and he was beginning to freeze in the woods. He would have to head home and hope the man had left the road. He tied back his wet hair and set off.

Upon arriving home, Ki Wan went directly to visit his mother-in-law, who was sitting up in bed, sipping some tea.

“Ahhh, my daughter, come sit beside me.”

“Eomeoni, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, I’m fine. I hate wasting away the day in bed. It makes me feel like an old lady!”

Ki Wan cracked a smile. “Oh? But you don’t look a day over twenty-five!”

“YA!” She half shouted, half laughed. “Rude girl! I was a real beauty in my day you know!”

Just then the maid knocked on the door and entered.

“Ma’am, there is an officer here to see the young master. He has been waiting a little while near the stables. I didn’t want to disturb you, and I wasn’t sure where the young madam was. I told him that Ho Seon was away in town, but he said he could wait. Shall I put him in the guest room, or offer him some tea?”

“Ughhh” she harrumphed, “I’m not in the mood to see some stuffy old court official today. He can just wait for Ho Seon, he should be back soon.”

“With all due respect Ma’am, he does seem very high-ranking. And he is not so stuffy or old… he’s actually quite handsome.” She giggled and looked toward Ki Wan for some sisterly affirmation.

“Very well. Hwa Jin, since you are now the lady of the house, why don’t you go and tend to him. Just serve him some tea and make a bit of small talk until Ho Seon gets back. Oh, and then let me know how handsome he is” she winked.

Ki Wan tried to force a smile as he rose, but his heart was sinking. What if it was the man from the spring? It had to be, what other official would be out on that road coincidentally? He began following the maid toward the stables to collect the gentleman.

Perhaps he had not seen Ki Wan’s face? Who was to say he would make the connection that the person he had seen in the pool was Ki Wan? He had to calm himself down!

As they approached the stables, where the official was tending to his horse, Ki Wan was sure it was the same man. The same broad stature, the same high-ranking hat. He turned when he noticed them, he was – as the maid had claimed – young and very handsome. The maid introduced Ki Wan formally.

“Sir, may I introduce the Lady Ryu Hwa Jin, wife of Ryu Ho Seon. She will see to you whilst you await Master Ryu’s return.”

“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Kim Tae Hyung, Head of the Department of Justice.”

The maid gave a bow, and shuffled away, leaving Ki Wan quaking with fear.

Ki Wan gave a polite bow, then turned for Tae Hyung to follow him through the courtyard. Ki Wan kept his head low and turned away from the man, silently praying for Ho Seon’s speedy return.

Ki wan showed Tae Hyung to the guest room, a simple room with a large reception area and a small alcove for bedding to the side. They rarely used it, but it was the most appropriate space for the man to be received, and for him to meet with Ho Seon if it were for business. Tae Hyung sat down at the table, and Ki Wan waited silently at the door for the maid to bring tea. Ki Wan was on edge, waiting for the man to speak. But he sat quietly, and Ki Wan continued to stare at his own feet.

Finally, the maid arrived with a tray of tea, which she placed on the table before leaving again. Ki Wan took a deep breath to steady himself, then went about serving the tea. He focused on his hands, looking down at the table, he poured two cups and handed one politely to the gentleman. As he did so, their hand touched, and Ki Wan wondered if it had been intentional on Tae Hyung’s part – as if he was trying to incite some sort of a reaction from Ki Wan – the kind of small gesture that might fluster a particularly prudish, gentle, or chaste young lady. Ki Wan made no reaction, and sipped his own tea. Then he sat back on his heels, placed his hands in his lap and waited. All the while, repeating the same mantra in his mind; ‘Ho Seon come back. Ho Seon come back. Ho Seon come back…’

“Unseasonably cold today wouldn’t you agree Lady Ryu?”

Ki Wan nodded.

“A bit cold for a swim, wouldn’t you agree?”

He knew.

Ki Wan was petrified, unmoving. What had he seen? There was something sinister behind his light tone. Ki Wan was sure he knew.

Tae Hyung placed his cup down on the table and leant forward. He brought his hand up to Ki Wan’s face, grabbed his chin and forced Ki Wan to look up at him.

Ki Wan could feel himself losing control of his fear, his neck and ears felt flushed, he was gritting his teeth so hard it was nearly audible, and he could feel tears beginning to well in his eyes. This was it, he was finished. This was not his kind husband finding out the truth, this was a powerful military man who probably had deeply strict Confucius values.

He examined Ki Wan’s face carefully, and looked almost pleased with himself.

“Hmmm… utterly convincing. But how odd. What’s a pretty young boy like you doing parading around as a noble woman?” He sounded amused, like this was all a fun game. Ki Wan was gripping his skirt tightly, and felt bile rising up in his throat.

Just then, Ki Wan heard the sound of approaching footsteps in the courtyard, and Tae Hyung calmly pulled his hand away – like he wasn’t at all bothered by the thought of being caught touching another man’s wife. Ki wan had never met someone so self-assured in their own sense of power.

Ki Wan heard Ho Seon enter the room from behind him.

“Ah! Kim Tae Hyung! I wasn’t expecting you. Sorry I had business in town. How have you been?” He sat himself down beside Ki Wan, and began to pour himself some tea.

“I’m well, thank you. I’ve been travelling the country on some royal errands. I heard you were getting married, I was so sorry I couldn’t attend.”

“Ahh, not to worry!” Ho Seon responded brightly, “It was a small wedding, just family really.”

Ho Seon’s exuberance and cheerful voice, which Ki Wan usually found so comforting, was like the sound of grinding metal in its contrast to Ki Wan’s mood and the tension of the room. Ki Wan was still fraught with anxiety and fear and felt like he was suffocating.

“I never pegged you as the marrying type” Tae Hyung began, “What changed?”

“My mother’s getting older, I guess she wanted a daughter to keep her company, and she was determined to see me settle down and have a family.”

“Oh?” Tae Hyung looked amused over his cup of tea, “Any luck so far?”

“Tae Hyung!” Ho Seon chastised half-heartedly. It was clear to Ki Wan that they were old friends, perhaps from school, Ho Seon’s easy manner and informal speech made that obvious. But Tae Hyung was fishing for information, trying to figure out if Ho Seon knew his wife’s secret – but his subtle jibes at Ki Wan were going completely unnoticed by Ho Seon.

“Tell me, where did you find such a beauty? I’ve never met another woman like her.” He looked directly at Ki Wan, with a smirk that, to Ho Seon, must have seemed like flirting – but to Ki Wan felt more like a threat.

Ho Seon followed Tae Hyung’s gaze, and for the first time since entering the room, finally looked at his wife. His smile quickly faded.

“Hwa Jin! Are you okay?” He sat up to attention. He reached across her skirts, and put his hands over Ki Wan’s. “You’re freezing!” He held Ki Wan’s hands tighter and gave them a squeeze.

“I believe your wife went for a dip in the nearby spring whilst you were out.”

Ho Seon lifted a hand to the back of Ki Wan’s neck, checking the temperature of his skin, he touched Ki Wan’s hair.

“You’re soaking wet!” He sounded genuinely concerned. But Ki Wan had barely noticed the damp seeping through his clothes. He was shivering from nerves not the cold.

“Hwa Jin, why don’t you go and get changed and get warm. I will get the maid to bring you some dinner.” He gave Ki Wan’s hands another squeeze, and prompted her to get up.

Ki Wan wandering aimlessly back to their bridal house as night began to fall around him. Should he have left Ho Seon alone with Tae Hyung, what if he told him the truth? What were Tae Hyung’s intentions? What was Ki Wan’s plan? He needed a plan. But he couldn’t think. He was still reeling from the shock of his encounter with Tae Hyung and as the night fell and the temperature dropped, he did begin to deeply feel the cold of his damp clothes.

He arrived back at their room, where he quickly tended to the fire under the house. Inside he lit a candle and began undressing. He hung up his wet dress and put on new under-dress. He was still freezing. He began to put on all the jackets and outwear he could find, then got under the covers of the bed.

Maybe he should leave? Run away into the night. What if Tae Hyung had him arrested, as a fraud or a pervert? What if he turned Ho Seon against him? But where would he go? Run away into the woods to starve or freeze to death? Before he could think of a plan, his eyes became heavy and he submitted to sleep.

He was awoken by Ho Seon gently shaking his shoulder.

“Hwa Jin. Hwa Jin. Wake up, have something to eat.”

At first Ki Wan thought it was morning, but the room was still dark and Ho Seon was still dressed.

“There’s some dinner here for you, you should eat something.”

Ki Wan begrudgingly sat up, his neck felt stiff and he was sweating under too many layers of clothing.

“Why are you wearing all my clothes?” Ho Seon laughed.

“I was cold.” Ki Wan drowsily answered.

“Mmhm”. Ho Seon nodded. He seemed himself. Not angry or scared. Tae Hyung must not have told him. Somehow, that make Ki Wan more unsettled. If he was keeping Ki Wan’s secret, was he planning on using it against him? A high-up military man, he could easily be the type of person to collect people’s secrets and use them to his advantage. This was Ki Wan’s crossroads, the illusion he had created for himself was finally shattered and he would have to make a decision. He would have to tell Ho Seon the truth.

Ki Wan starting shaking off the layers of jackets he was wearing, leaving a trial of clothes behind him on the floor as he went to join Ho Seon at the table.

“Wait.” Ho Seon stood up. Ki Wan froze. Ho Seon began approaching him.

“Your hair is still wet.” He said. Ki Wan sighed in relief.

“Oh.” He was still so drowsy, his limps felt heavy. He felt back to his wet bun – no wonder he had been so cold. He took out the pin and untied the ribbons. He rummaged around the dresser for a brush.

“Come here” Ho Seon plied, “You really need to eat something, you’re already so skinny – how can you go all day without eating. Mother said you were out half the day.”

Ki Wan sat down in front of the table and let Ho Seon take the brush from him. He slowly started picking at the food, but could barely stomach anything.

Ho Seon sat behind him, and began slowly brushing out his hair. It was a nice feeling. And Ki Wan almost began to fall asleep again.

“Tae Hyung spoke to me.” Ho Seon began softly. Ki Wan snapped back to attention, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Mmm?”

“He has a position for me in his department. He wants me to take it, and move to the capital.”

Ki Wan tried not to react. Ho Seon attentively kept brushing his hair, in long careful strokes down his back.

“Oh?”

“I told him I couldn’t take it. That my mother is too sick, and that you are just getting used to life here. But he said it was “of national importance”. I think things in the court are bad. He says he needs “allies”, whatever that means. I don’t want to go. I hate all the politics of court and I am perfectly happy living here. But he can be…. well, he is a difficult man to refuse – he’s powerful and … he said that it was really more of an order than a request.” He sighed.

“He said you would come with me of course, that we would be given housing at court. I am just sorry that you will have to move again. You just got settled here, and I don’t know what my mother will do without us – but she can’t make that journey she’s far too frail…”

He was rambling now, caught up in the rhythmic task of brushing Ki Wan’s hair, he was letting his own anxieties come tumbling out in a string of thoughts and apologies. Ki Wan had not seen him this anxious since their wedding night. He lifted a hand to stop the brush in Ho Seon’s hand, and turned to face him, their knees touching slightly.

Ki Wan had grown to love this space, their evenings together. In this candlelit cave that was theirs, where it was quiet and just the two of them. He knew he was about to ruin that forever.

Ki Wan took a deep breath.

“Ho Seon. I have something to tell you.”

TBC (Other parts here)

Authors Notes:

Yeah, sorry, trigger warning I guess? I made Tae Hyung a creep for added drama, cause every good Joseon drama has to have an evil antagonist.

And I hope you enjoyed my blatant references; to a certain natural spring in cloud recess and a little hair brushing reference to the gayest scene to ever pass chinese censorship. 

Hope you enjoyed!

#trigger warning: the military 'friend' is now a creep cause I love drama #nobleman ryu's wedding #nobleman ryus wedding #choi ki wan #ryu ho seon #kdrama fic #bl fic #bl series #korean bl #wetv #Lee Sejin #kang insoo

[xaphrin]

Raven knew exactly what he was doing, and it was annoying. Her eye twitched as she saw the pamphlets laid out on their kitchen table, advertising far-off locations like Fiji and the Maldives, along with places closer to home like the Rockies or Sedona. Dick had been dropping hints for the past six months that they should get away, and it was nothing short of torture. 

She didn’t have time to get away. Dick may have retired his cape in lieu of working a more traditional job with the Gotham city police department, but she hadn’t. Raven was still fighting super villains and wrangling a team of young superheroes. She appreciated his thoughtfulness, but there was no way she could leave the team in the hands of Changeling. That was asking for something to go horrifically wrong. 

Raven heard the door open behind her, and she turned to see Dick standing there, shrugging off his uniform jacket. She kept her face blank and stared at him, letting a thin snarl tug at her lips. If he felt her animosity, he didn’t say anything. 

“I’m thinking Thai for dinner. Gang Garee?” He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out a few raindrops. “Or we can eat the leftover spaghetti you made last night… it was mostly edible.” 

Her snarl turned into a scowl, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Richard Grayson.”

“Oh. My full name. I must be in trouble.” He walked up to her and glanced down at the pamphlets, still spread along the table. A knowing smile pulled at his mouth. “I see you got my gifts…” He reached down and grabbed the pamphlet for the Rockies. “I’m leaning more towards the mountains… a chalet hidden from everyone. No cell phone service. Hot tub.” His grin widened.

Raven continued to glare. “I cannot take time off.” 

“Yes, you can.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his demeanor slipping into that of a leader. He might have left the Titans years ago, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t pull rank on her. He could still exude that air of authority, and Raven usually fell in line - but not this time. She refused to let him boss her around like he still had sway over her professional life. 

“I cannot. Kon and Cassie just got recruited to the team, and their discipline is abhorrent. I have to be here to make sure they don’t destroy half the city because they can’t control themselves.” Raven’s voice was low and firm. “Right now is not a good time to take off.”

“Yeah?” Dick lifted an eyebrow and stared into her face. “It’s never a good time. You’ve always got something going on. Something that needs your attention. Another fire you need to put out. You don’t give yourself enough time for you.” He reached down and grabbed the pamphlet for the Rockies again, pushing it towards her. “Next week. You’re packing your bags and you’re going to stay all week in a mountain chalet with me, where we will sit in a hot tub and watch the snow fall.” 

“You don’t get to dictate that.” Raven’s voice was dripping venom. 

“I do now.” He dropped the pamphlet back on the table. “I already talked to Vic and Donna. They’re ready to step into your place for a week and make sure your team doesn’t obliterate the city while you’re gone.” 

“Dick… you don’t get to just upend my life because you think it’s necessary.” She sighed and her shoulders dropped, feeling the end of the argument starting to creep up on her. She was too tired to fight him for much longer. 

“You haven’t taken a vacation in three years, Raven. You haven’t even taken a day off in two. And we haven’t had sex in a month. You’re overworked, underpaid, and everyone relies far too much on you.” His lips twitched. “I barely see you right now, and I’m married to you. I just want to spend time with you… preferably in a hot tub in the mountains, but I’ll take whatever I can get at this point.”

Guilt twisted in Raven’s chest, and she looked away from Dick’s striking blue eyes. Gods. She hated it when he was right. It annoyed her to no end. She had been so busy that she hadn’t even realized how tight she actually was. It was like she was a string that had been twisted too tight, and now she was ready to snap. If she didn’t take time to herself, she was going to hurt someone, and probably herself too. 

“Vacation.” Dick stepped up to her, his hands settling on her hips as he pulled her close. His features softened just a little, and he pressed soft kisses along her hairline. “A hot tub in the mountains, staring at the night sky… making love by a roaring fire.” He kissed along her temple to her ear. “All day long.”

A shiver slid down her spine, and she found her fingers clinging to the front of his shirt. It had been far too long since she slept with her own husband. Her frown deepened. “I hate it when you’re right.”

He laughed and his hands tightened on her waist. “Yeah?”

Raven leaned up and kissed along the sharp line of his jaw. “Should we start our vacation early? I feel like I’m out of practice when it comes to making love.”

His grin widened. “Oh?”

“Mm.” Her hand slid down the front of his chest, flicking open the buttons on his uniform. “I think I might need to go a few rounds before I remember how.”

“Well…” His hands were already pulling at the hidden catches in her uniform, and the cool chill of the apartment started to soak through her bare skin. “Good thing you have a willing partner. I’m happy to help you practice.”

Raven just pulled him down for a kiss, and let herself enjoy a few blissful moments of peace. 

#dickrae #robrae #(sorta) #xaphrin's birthday queue 2021

[agustdef]

A Calm Day

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader.

Genre: Fluff; Slice of Life; Established Relationship.

Word Count: 1.9k.

Warning: None.

Rating: PG.

Beta Reader: @suhdays​ read it over and reassured me it was cute. 

A/N: This is a late birthday present for the sweetest of beans aka @hobeemin​. I wish I could have made something better, but also who would like a nice day with the dork known as Doyoung. I already told you happy birthday, but again I hope that you had a great days and every birthday to come is also great. 

Saturdays were a time for going out and enjoying yourself. For attending brunch, get togethers, parties, or even going on adventures. Or at least that was what YN was all about when she was in college and the few years that came after. The version of her that had a demanding job and a somewhat active social circle deemed Saturdays a day of rest. Sunday could have all the fun, but the day after a work week was for her to unwind.

Well, her and her fiancé who seemed to fail to remember what the word relaxation meant.

Which was why on the Saturday morning - more like early afternoon - after a particularly tough week she expected to wake up in bed alone. However, she opened her eyes to find Doyoung knocked out of the bed next to her. It surprised her, even more so because he looked like he was still within a deep sleep and not just lying there trying to sleep.

A smile formed on YN’s lips seeing him like that. The dork tended to work too hard and then not give himself time to recuperate. It was a constant point of issue between the two of them. But when he did take the time to relax it was beautiful. She found him handsome every second of the day, but resting Doyoung was just so beautiful. And he was peaceful to watch, though she tried not to be a creep about it.

Doyoung would never let her live it down if he caught her and she was not about to play that game with him.

So, after a few seconds of staring at his face in the sunlight she closed her own eyes and let sleep claim her again. She needed it.

When she woke up again though, the bed was empty and the clock told her she’d slept in past one. Sleep clung to her saying she could stay in bed longer, but she knew that she’d had enough and despite the goal of chilling that day she didn’t want to sleep it away.

Which meant that she forced herself up and out of the bed, swaying a bit as she tried to wake up enough to not faceplant the first step she took. It took several seconds and so blurred vision, but she pulled it together, but before she could fully lift her foot the door to the bathroom swung open and out came Doyoung.

He was shocked to see her, but a smile took over his face rather quickly.

“I was just going to come and wake you up,” he said.

YN narrowed her eyes and scanned over his features, noting the clothing that he was wearing carefully.

“What so you can make me go on a run?” she asked, though it was more like an accusation.

At that the smile on Doyoung’s face dropped and he rolled his eyes. The sassiness that was a large part of his personality always came out at the drop of the hat.

“No. I’m allowed to wear basketball shorts and this shirt without going to work out. I ran you a bath.”

There was still something suspicious about it all, but after a few seconds YN stop looking at him sideways and instead smiled.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest,” she said as she approached him, reaching up to pinch his cheek as she did it.

Of course, there was more eye rolling, but Doyoung smiled at her again. Then he leaned forward to place a kiss to her lips. It was gentle and warm, which somehow made her feel both calmer and much more awake. She enjoyed that feeling and pouted the moment he pulled away.

That was funny to Doyoung though and instead of giving her another kiss to stop the pouting he merely grabbed her hand and led her into the bathroom. There she found the aromatherapy machine going and a bath bomb dissolving into the water creating a nice lilac hue. It was one that she’d run out of a month before and kept forgetting to go buy more of. She’d mentioned in two days before when she wanted to take a bath but didn’t have it on hand, running her plans.

And that’s all it took to stop the pouting and start the heart eyes. Doyoung liked to pretend he was more standoffish than he was, but he was one of the sweetest people that YN knew. He always paid attention to what she said and with the week she’d been having, he must have known how much she needed even something as minor as her favorite bath bomb.

Doyoung had to have seen the way her lips parted to say something, because before she could get all soft on him he was talking.

“You can relax here for a while. But you have about forty-five minutes to get ready. We’re going out, so wear something comfortable and relaxed.”

Then before she could process that he was out of the bathroom.

Part of her wanted to call him back and ask what he meant or give him the small praise she’d been prepared to say, but she knew better than to ask his plans for them. Plus, the moment she looked back at the tub the ache her body felt hit and she wanted nothing more to sit in the scalding water. So, that’s what she did.

The moment she stepped in after stripping her body begged her to leave because of how hot it was, but she merely waited a second for it to adjust at her feet and submerged all but her head. More warning bells went off, but they left her seconds later and she felt herself become one with the water. The smell and feel of the lavender bath bomb melting away her pain almost instantly.

Everything just felt better in a bath where she didn’t have to focus on anything but herself. Not that she really did that since she practically drifted off in there and didn’t snap out of it until the water got a little too cool about thirty minutes later. She felt like a prune, but it was fine because she felt so good.

After she checked the time on the clock in the bathroom she got out, drained the tub, and hopped into the shower so that she could clean herself. From there it was quick work to get skincare done and herself moisturized and dressed.

As she pulled on her second sock Doyoung entered their bedroom looking ready to rush her only to stop when he saw her basically ready. All she needed to do was throw her hair in a ponytail, which was easy enough since she’d gotten faux locs two weeks before and they were lived in enough that she could style them any which way.

With her ready to go she and Doyoung left the house without much of a word to each other. Doyoung seemed in a rush so she didn’t want to slow him down by asking a million questions, however the moment he got them onto the highway she turned to him with a raised brow.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere.”

“Where is somewhere?”

“A place.”

“What kind of place?”

“A place I want to take you.”

“A place where you want to take me to murder me?”

Though he’d maintained a straight face through her little questioning the last question caused him to groan and glare at her. She knew that he wasn’t planning to murder her and that he wanted it to be a surprise, but once she got into the groove of the back and forth it was hard for her to stop herself. That wasn’t new though, so though Doyoung was mildly annoyed with her antics he brushed it off rather easily.

“Keep it up and yes it will be where I murder you,” he mumbled.

That response elicited a laugh from YN, the kind where you threw your head back and smiled too hard. Something that only made Doyoung a little fed up with her, though she swore she saw him smile a little at it.

From there they just enjoyed the ride with a soft pop music playing as they went. YN watched the scenery change from building to forest and then back. And the next thing she knew they were pulling into the smaller parking lot near their favorite spot to relax near the Han River.

The location was a bit shocking, but she went along with it and didn’t pester the poor man anymore. Though that became hard as they got out of the car and he pulled a picnic basket out of the trunk. What they were doing was clear, but still so many questions entered her head that she just didn’t voice.

Once Doyoung had the basket he took hold of her hand and led her out closer to the river. They walked a few minutes before they reached a spot under a tree that they both liked. Thankfully, no one was under it or around the area, so they had a little privacy.

Happy with their spot Doyoung quickly unpacked the basket, swatting away YN’s hands any time she tried to help him out. Though that didn’t fully stop her and eventually he moved so quickly that she didn’t even have the chance to intervene at all.

“Sit,” he said once he finished.

That made YN narrow her eyes and tilt her head at him. For a moment he did the same before sighing and plopping onto the blanket he’d laid out.

“Please sit with me.”

With the rephrasing she plopped down next to him and took in what he’d brought for them to enjoy. It was a mix of all their favorite portable foods. Some sandwiches, kimbap, fruits, drinks, and part of their convenience store snack stash.

“I thought that we could spend the afternoon like this. We haven’t had the time to in a while, so it seemed to be a good idea. Especially before dinner with my sister, tonight” Doyoung said.

Hearing that warmed YN a great deal because it was thoughtful. She hadn’t complained about the lack of time spent together, but it had been something that popped into her mind a time or too. And knowing how Doyoung and his sister got along it was going to be stressful and there definitely need to be some dumping of stress before and after that dinner.

Though he also probably wanted brownie points for later because nine point nine times out of ten Doyoung was the reason things with his sister went awry and YN had to get on his case about it. But she didn’t think about that too long, just leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek before picking up a sandwich to eat.

Doyoung returned the favor and then joined her eating. Neither had had anything all day so they were beyond hungry and scarfed down half of the provisions within minutes. Not that either cared about the slobbish way they ate anyway. Food in their stomachs was the end goal.

Upon finishing their breakfast slash lunch, they both laid back on the blanket and stared at the sky.

“Did you finish that book you were reading?” Doyoung asked.

“Yeah. It was okay.”

“Can I borrow it? Looked like something I’d like.”

“Sure, but you have to let me borrow yours.”

“Mine?”

“Yeah, that one from a few weeks back.”

“Ooh. Yeah, that one was…”

The moment books were mentioned they both kind of spiraled down that path, discussing ones they’d read before and recommending others they thought the other might like.

Overall, it was a pretty chill day but that was all that YN could ever ask for. Sometimes you didn’t need more than company and calm conversation. Sometimes it was the thing that did the most for the soul.

#kwritersworldnet #doyoung x reader #kim doyoung x reader #doyoung fluff #kim doyoung fluff #doyoung au #doyoung fanfic #doyoung fan fiction #kim doyoung fanfic #kim doyoung fanfiction #kim doyoung au #doyoung x black reader #doyoung x poc reader #kim doyoung x black reader #kim doyoung x poc reader #nct fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #nct fan fiction #nct 127 fan fiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

[cuuno-moved]

Friends Forever

Or: How Sapnap met and lost his family.

@the-gay-is-back

The first time Sapnap saw Dream, he was 5. 

He was sitting under one of the tables at his dad’s cafe with a coloring book, coloring in a little panda, humming to himself, when there was a kid crouching in front of him.

They froze, staring at each other, sizing each other up for a bit.

The kid had long blond hair, and freckles scattered across their face and arms. They wore a massive green t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, and a pair of flip flops. They looked a couple years older than Sapnap, but probably weighed half as much as he did.

They tilted their head, narrowing their eyes, but then Sapnap’s dad called for him, and they bolted, leaving him blinking in confusion.

They came back nearly every day after that, just to sit there and watch Sapnap draw. At one point, Sapnap asked his dad where he thought the kid lived, and he looked sad as he explained he probably didn’t have a home, he probably lived on the streets.

Sapnap frowned at that. He couldn’t imagine not having a home, not having a family.

The next time the kid came by and sat in the corner, Sapnap stood up and walked over to him, watching him tense up and eye the door.

“Hi,” He said, simply. “What’s your name?”

“...Dream.”

He smiled happily, introduced himself, and sat down across from him, peacefully going back to drawing.

A couple weeks later, Dream stopped showing up.

Sapnap was terrified that he’d gotten hurt, or worse, but after a week and a half of the corner being empty, suddenly, he was back.

He looked different from the second he burst through the door. His face was clean, and Sapnap could admire the freckles scattered across his cheekbones easier. His hair was still long, but now it was even, and brushed. When Sapnap hugged him, he smelled like rose shampoo.

“I got a dad,” He beamed. “I got a dad, and a brother! I have a family!”

He met his family the next day when he dragged them through the door with a smile and happily introduced them to Sapnap.

His dad was a short man with curly hair, half white half brown. She smiled sweetly at Sapnap, and gave him a warm hug that smelled like the ocean breeze. Dream’s new brother was made of gold, and tall, almost as tall as Sapnap’s dad, who had come out from the back to say hello.

When Sapnap was 7 and Dream was 9, Dream explained nonbinary to Sapnap, and said they used all pronouns, not just he.

Sapnap shrugged, said that was cool or whatever.

A week later, he nervously asked Dream if he could be a boy, if he felt like it.

Dream nodded, and Sapnap grinned, and that night, he told his dad, who hugged him and said he was proud of him.

For a while, it was just the two of them, until Dream met George.

George was smart, and funny, and snarky. He and Sapnap got along wonderfully.

One day, as they sat together, in the playground, watching their dads talk, George pointed out he was the oldest.

“That makes me the leader, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Sapnap scoffed. “I’m the biggest. I’m the leader.”

“No,” George bit back, crossing his skinny arms over his chest. “I’m the oldest, the smartest.”

“You’re not smart.”

“Oh come on, guys,” Dream chuckled, shaking her head. “Why do we need a leader?”

The other two looked at each other for a moment, before nodding. And just like that, Dream was the leader.

George had a little brother, a shapeshifter called Alex. Sapnap didn’t meet him for the first month or so of knowing George, he was always out with their dad when Sapnap came over.

Then, one day, when Sapnap was 9, Dream was 11 and George was 12, they sat on George’s bed, watching a bad horror movie on Dream’s laptop- or rather, George and Dream watched the movie as Sapnap hid his face in George’s shoulder.

There was a knock on the door, and George sighed. “Come in.”

Alex poked his head in. He was Sapnap’s age, with fluffy black hair with little golden feathers sticking out every here and there. His shiny dark eyes flickered over all of them, before he grinned brightly, revealing a missing tooth. “Dad says I have to hang out with you guys.”

George whined, and groaned, but Sapnap was more than happy to hang out with the smaller boy, he was funny and he fit in Sapnap’s lap perfectly.

He started hanging out with them more after that, trailing behind them on their trips to the gas station to grab sodas and laughing when Dream failed on skateboarding tricks.

At one point, Alex started calling himself Quackity, and Sapnap made a joke about it, but he just flipped him off and grinned. “You’re just jealous cause it’s such a cooler name than Sapnap.”

The four were impossible to pry apart.

And then, only three years later, the fifth arrived. 

He was small, with fluffy brown hair, and pale skin. His eyes were green (years later, Sapnap would discover they actually weren’t, they were mostly blue, but there were chunks of green and brown, although early in the morning, when he was only half awake, they were a brilliant sapphire color with streaks of orange) and his hands were anxious, twisting in his plain white hoodie.

“Hi,” Dream said, simply, hopping off her swing easily, sending woodchips flying. “I’m Dream.”

The boy nodded back, but didn’t speak as they introduced themselves. After a moment, he pointed at the empty swing next to George. 

He started following them around, always a few feet behind, always watching silently. He never spoke, and they never made him.

Until one day, when George paused, sending him a weird look and asked, calmly. “How do you spell your name, again? Is it a K or a C?”

He blinked.

“Okay, cool,” The older boy nodded, satisfied. “I don’t know many Karls with a K.”

Later, they asked George how he knew what his name was, and he just shrugged. Karl didn’t care about them finding out his name, apparently, it was never a secret, he just didn’t talk.

“Can you speak?” Quackity asked one night, after dinner, when they all sat in a circle in Sapnap’s livingroom.

Karl nodded.

“You just don’t want to?”

He nodded again.

“Why?” George asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

He shrugged.

“Is it cause you don’t like us?” Sapnap asked.

At that, his eyes went wide and he desperately shook his head.

“You just don’t like to talk,” Dream said. “Like… I don’t like coffee, you don’t like to talk.”

Karl nodded again, relieved.

“Makes sense,” Quackity nodded sagely. “I don’t like George.”

The first time Karl spoke, Dream’s dad was ordering lunch.

“What kind of sub do you guys want?” She asked, opening the app on her phone and patiently waiting for their orders.

Karl was last, per usual, but instead of reaching for his dry erase board, he just… opened his mouth.

“Can I have a meatball sub, please?”

She froze, staring at him. “Uh… sure, kid. You want cheese on that?”

He shook his head, and went back to the game he was playing on Sapnap’s old gameboy.

Karl was odd, they realized. 

He didn’t like talking, unless he was completely comfortable and felt safe. He hummed creepy old songs that sounded like they were from a horror movie, and he liked to drink monster energies, even though, at 15 years old, he really should not have an addiction.

He also liked to steal people’s clothes, cut them up, and sew them together into a Frankenstein hoodie.

Sapnap would happily “forget” to take his hoodies back from Karl, and happily watch him jog up to them the next day with a new patch on his shoulder the same color as the missing jacket.

They all slept over at George’s house on the weekends. His dad would carry an old mattress down from the attic, and all five of them would cram together, with Karl’s around Sapnap’s waist and George’s face in Dream’s spine and Quackity’s feet in all of their faces. It was warm, and it was safe.

One night, Sapnap asked them if they were going to stick together forever.

“Yeah, of course,” Dream whispered. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“Friends forever.” Quackity laughed.

“Yeah,” George hummed, already half asleep. “Forever…”

Karl just giggled, nudging Sapnap’s head with his own.

…

He shouldn’t have believed them.

Eight years shouldn’t have been enough time to ruin everything.

He was barely 19, still a kid in all honesty.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, stirring the rice. It was getting cold, he realised faintly. He should eat now, but…

They’d said they were coming over. They said they were going to be here.

Dream couldn’t make it, of course. They were still in prison. He didn’t expect them to show up. He didn’t want them to show up. He still remembered Tommy’s funeral.

George was probably asleep. That was alright, he needed it, he’d been staying up too late again recently, just watching the stars.

But the other two…

Quackity had left earlier that morning, pulling on his eyepatch and hat, tying his tie and nodding goodbye to Sapnap at the door. Around noon, he’d stumbled back, covered in blood, his eyes full of anger and mirth. Sapnap had tried to talk to him, but he’d just shoved past him, grabbed a pickaxe and vanished out the door again.

Karl had been gone for a couple days now. The last Sapnap had seen of him, he’d been sitting on the dining room floor, sobbing as he ripped the faded lime green fabric from his hoodie. Sapnap had left him, let him be alone, and then he was gone.

Sapnap wasn’t hungry.

He stood, grabbing a tub from the cabinet and started to dump the fried rice in.

The front door opened.

He hesitated. “Babe?”

There was silence, then tentative footsteps.

Karl stood there, his hair almost grey, eyes almost lifeless. His hoodie damp, and Sapnap frowned at the lack of shoes on his feet.

“Are you okay? What happened? Are you cold?”

Karl didn’t speak, just staring at him, and he sighed, turning away.

“You missed dinner. I can heat this back up for you, but it’s not going to be as good-”

A pair of arms wrapped around his chest and he jumped, until he felt a familiar face press between his shoulder blades.

“Karl?”

Nothing.

He turned, wrapping his arms around his husband and sighing. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

He wasn’t sure what he was saying, or why it made Karl start to shake, but it felt right, and he repeated it. “It’s ok. You’re ok. We’re going to be alright.”

Quackity came home that night from tearing down his old home to find his husbands curled up in bed without him, and he sighed. 

They probably hadn’t even noticed he left.

He turned to leave, to go to the couch, but a pale hand caught onto his and he froze, staring down at Karl.

“Hey.”

No response, just wide eyes.

“... want me to join ya?”

A nod.

They weren’t friends forever. Dream had made sure of that when he betrayed Sapnap at the Battle of the Lake, when he ripped George’s crown from his head, when he called Quackity a terrorist, when he killed a kid. They weren’t the same as they’d been back and they never would be.

But as Sapnap cuddled his boys to his chest, burying his face in Quackity’s hair, he thought that this wasn’t so bad.

#toby writes shit #sapnap #georgenotfound #dreamwastaken #karl jacobs #quackity #dream smp #karlnapity #feral boys #willow and karmen's au

[graceloveswolves]

Paul Lahote Oneshot

*Since a lot of you guys really liked my requested preference, here’s the second part you guys have been asking for! There will be more do not worry! I have been having a busy few weeks and I’m also working on a few other requests so please stay tuned!*

@melinsk1 @cookiecakeslive @takk-foralt @dillybuggg @britty443​ @oi-itsemily​ @eviction-notice-no666​ @prettyinblack231​

___________________________________________________________

  It’s been two weeks...   And I’ve never felt so dead. Like a part of my soul has been detached, left in my hometown of Forks, just rotting away. I think I’m going crazy, after all the years of mistreatment from my old family and my unstable emotions, I think I’ve finally drove myself over the cliff of insanity. Looking back at my life in Forks, I assume that Jacob and his family are what had been my anchor, keeping me held down and away from my lonely thoughts and self hate.   Leaving me nothing but painful memories and broken promises, this heart break has probably been the most painful thing I have ever experienced. I had puffy, swollen eyes all week, ever since I had moved here to be honest. Crying myself to sleep, if I slept. I had been too scared of the nightmares to fall asleep. Every tiny thing triggering me from a smell, a song, a color, any reference from my old life back in Forks, and I would start balling, falling apart all over again. I was left with nothing.

  Only my dreams, which weirdly consisted of the stranger I had bumped into, Paul Lahote. I’m not sure what my subconscious had taken from him, but I wish to god it would stop. Every night I would dream about him, about the events that had took place in front of Jacob’s yard. And weirdly enough I thought about the stranger all the time. What it would have been like to be his friend back then, to have known him like Jacob did, or whatever him and his weird cult had done back then.

   But now... all I have is this stupid house my ‘new’  family bought for me in Texas. Stuck alone, while my ‘new’ family come and check on me from time to time. Their names are the Beryl's, just your usual rich, snobby family. Apparently they owed my adopted parents a favor, and opted taking me into their household instead. They are very rich, with expensive watches and pearl necklaces. The first thing I noticed about them were their clean, expensive suits and neatly trimmed haircuts. It makes me wonder why they couldn’t have just paid my parents out of their debt. God knows they have more money then they need.

     They didn’t hover much, the family was pretty uninterested in me, aside from having groceries delivered to my own house every Monday. The Beryl's consisted of mainly boys, however they had a daughter that couldn’t have been too much older than me. She would come over from time to time and take me out to go shopping and such. She had even made me get my nails done, to which made my daily task even harder, why people would do this for fun I have no idea. I looked down at my red and medium length nails in annoyance. I tried to make sure I got them as short as I could, to which Mary complained but complied.      She had been the closest thing I have had to a friend recently. She had told me about her life and her family, her crazy exes and celebrity crushes. She had also made sure I had the finest foods and the trending clothes. The closest thing I had to a sister as well, although we never really did talk about me, our relationship had consisted of her talking and me listening. Which I never had much of a problem with, it was always something different, never boring. 

   She had shown me around the spacious house, which consisted of five bed rooms, a huge kitchen the size of my entire downstairs back in my old house, a living room, a pool with a hot tub, five bathrooms, each inside the bedrooms, which were about the size of the actual bedroom ironically, and it even had its own theater room. It had to be worth more money then I had ever seen in my life. Worth more money then I’ll ever make in my entire life. I had gotten the biggest room, with a walk in bathroom and a balcony as well. 

  It was kind of ridiculous. They bought a whole mansion for one tiny human, who has no siblings or friends. Just her and her tiny suitcase against the world. The huge house tour had been given by her, which she talked about it like it was worth nothing, which made me wonder what her place must look like if she thought this house was a downgrade.    She was only at the house on Mondays, which was when we would hang out in the pool, or the hot tub, while she talked about whatever was currently going on in her life, or others, I had learned so much from her within two days of being with her then I had learned in the past two years of going to high school. She was a nice, preppy girl, definitely a gossip girl, always talking about her friend’s drama or the latest trends. However I quite enjoyed it, it took me away from my thoughts, my loneliness, my pain. It was a distraction from my past few shitty weeks I have had. Which I couldn’t bear to even tell her, not that she would have anything to say, probably would have changed the subject to some type of dress she saw while shopping. 

Speaking of shopping....

    She had completely filled my bathroom sized closet with dresses, skirts, and other clothes I hadn’t even known existed a month ago. All these purses, shoes, tights, things I’ve never tried on in my entire life. Brands that costs thousands of dollars. However, much to Mary’s dismay,  I have been wearing the same three pairs of jeans and t shirts that I brought down here with me for the past two weeks. I didn’t feel comfortable indulging myself with stuff bought with other people’s money. After all, I reminded myself that this life wasn’t permanent and as soon as I get a college education, I’d be out in the world, far away from this place, starting a new and fresh life. One with just me and my own house I bought with my own money... and maybe a cat. 

     A buzzing in my back pocket had awaken me from my deep thoughts, I had grabbed my phone that had been provided by the Beryl’s, and looked down at it. My eyes widened in shock, adrenaline seeping its way into my veins, or maybe it was my anxiety, I’ve had a bunch of both since I’ve been put in my new situation. It was a voicemail, from a number that will forever be memorized inside my brain.

 It was Jacob. 

  It was the first time I had heard from him since my last day in Forks, where I had yelled at him in the rain. I could still feel the icy cold rain and soggy clothes clinging to my shivering body. I had never thought that he would reach out, I’d thought that our last falling out would have been the end of our friendship. Maybe I’m right, maybe this is just him saying goodbye, maybe it’s him chewing me out, with Jacob, there’s no telling what it could be. I looked around, even though Mary had already left the house an hour ago, I still made sure I was alone.

  I opened the voicemail and held the phone up to my ear, preparing for the unexpected.

 “Uh, hello, this is me, Jake. I uh, just wanted to say that I’m sorry it had to be this way. But um, I need you to come back....Well, you need to come back. There’s been a problem, a major problem. Like life or death, and I know we didn’t exactly leave on the best terms, but I really need you to come back for just a few days. It’s time I explain everything, everything that had went down before you left. I-It’s very important that you know, you can crash at my house like old times. And then I swear, you can go back to your life and you won’t ever hear from me again. I just uh, I need you to come back here for a few days, please Y/N.“

   Once the message had ended, I stood there, trying to process what I had just heard. What could have been so important that he’d ruin our entire friendship over? And why must I suddenly know now? Why wait two weeks?  All these questions had been flooding through my head. I finally put my phone down, tossing it on my nightstand. 

 Surely the Beryl’s could care less what I was doing, as long as I was being fed and kept alive like they promised my family. I bet they wouldn’t even know I was gone, it was Monday night, they won’t send Mary back until next Monday. I had an entire week to my self, with nothing better to do then hate life itself. I could go and see what Jacob had to say, and worst come to worst, I leave and never see him again. Best comes to best, I finally figure out what the hell he had risked everything for, and maybe I can leave with some closure, some peace, and finally be able to start my new life with happiness.

  I had glanced at my suit case that was still filled with my old clothes, I may have not known much about anything at the moment. But one things for sure...

I’m going back to Forks.

#paul lahote #Twilight wolf pack #twilight #twilight headcanon #twilight one shot #twilight preferences #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote preferences #paul x reader #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x y/n #wolves #wolfpack #werewolf x reader

[hogwartsmarvelmommy]

Fallout of the Century 🌑💔

Part 1. 🥜

Word-count: 4.5K

Warnings- This is very angsty, Mentions of cheating, falling apart, and overall depression. 

Masterlist

Summery: Your wold has practically fallen apart when you walk in on something you weren't supposed to see. Causing you and your soon to be husband Harry Holland to call of your engagement. Months pass and you are just trying to put the pieces back together. Will you ever be able to sort your life out?

My head came up from under the surface, breaking the water around me. I let out a gasp as I rubbed the water from my face. There was a banging at the bathroom door before it swung open with force. He swung the curtain open, exposing my naked body. He had seen me this way before, so the sight didn't even make him bat an eyelash. 

“Seriously peanut? I was out there for like three minutes calling you.” His tone was harsh and firm, this was not the first time this had happened. Ever since the break up I just wasn't the same anymore, and the only one who saw the bad was Harrison. 

“Sorry,” I muttered , slipping back below the surface of the water. Harrison’s hands reached in and grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up.

“We are not doing this again peanut,” he groaned as he pulled me to my feet, soaking himself in the process. 

“Harrison, I'm fine,” I tried to convince him, but he knew otherwise. 

“I know tonight will be hard, and I know you'll want to bail, and I know that you will hate it, but I'll be right here, and so will Tuwaine. We have to try and put this behind us,” He pulled the towel around my shoulders and helped me out of the tub. He walked me to my bedroom and stood in the doorway until I had a pair of leggings and a hoodie on. “You sure you want to wear that one?” he asked. I looked down, noticing I had grabbed Harry's pink hoodie, because I was in such a haze. I felt tears rush to my eyes as I pulled it off and grabbed one of my own. We walked down to the living room and sat on the armchairs, waiting. My hair was still wet, and Harrison’s shirt was damp from helping me out of the bath, but I was sure no one would notice. Or care. 

First to arrive was Tuwaine, he walked over giving me a hug and kissing my forehead before finding his usual spot on the couch. Next it was Sam, then Tom, and then finally. Harry. 

He didn't look good, not like himself, he looked sad and hollow, but i tried to ignore it. Six months ago there would have been one more person with us, but six months ago seemed like a lifetime away.

Harry walked past me, without even so much as a glance, which was no different than I had expected. 

Harrison pulled out the board game and arranged it on the table in front of us. I looked up and caught Harry's glance, he instantly looked away. I sighed and went to get up but was stopped by Harrison’s voice. 

“OK, this is going to go differently tonight. No name calling. No snide comments. No outbursts. None. and if anyone does, their buy-in is instantly up for grabs and you forfeit.” Everyone shook their heads at the new rules Harrison had put in place. It sucked to think Harry and I were the reason for it, but that's the way life works sometimes. 

Our monthly monopoly games had become nothing more than awkward, so when Harrison had brought it up last week at dinner I was instantly ready to find anything else to do, But he insisted I be there. 

So here I am, sitting across from the love of my life, broken and damaged and completely regretting agreeing to this. 

“You're on my property Y/N, pay up.” Harry said coldly to me. I grabbed the five dollars I owed him and handed it over. I felt bad for our friends, the tension between us was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. No one knew what had happened between us, but they all knew it had to have been bad. 

“Where has Olivia been?” Tuwaine asked, not knowing where the girl had disappeared to. Truth be told no one knew, because I had told her if she ever showed her face or talked to any of them again I would do a lot worse to her than she did to me. I took a deep breath trying to keep my cool. 

“I'm sorry Harrison, I just can't do this tonight,” I told him as I got up and stormed out of the living room. All I could think about was that night, the memories flashing through my mind. 

“Harry baby, I'm home,” I yelled as I walked into our small apartment. I had been out of town on a business trip, but somehow made it home earlier than i expected. I had set my keys on the table and noticed a key chain that I recognized, but was not my fiance’s. I remember the tightening in my stomach as I walked down the hall and saw discarded clothing all the way to our bedroom. And when I opened the door, I was shocked to see the man I was set to marry in less than four months and my best friend laying naked and asleep in my bed.

There was a knock on my door and it opened slowly. I looked up expecting Hazza but instead saw the man I once would do anything for. “Can I come in?” He asked quietly. I nodded my head and scooted over on the bed giving him a spot to sit. 

“They make you come up?” I asked him. 

“No, they actually told me not to.” He said. “You still haven't told them?” He asked me softly.

“I have no reason to ruin the way everyone sees you, Harry,” I told him coldly. He nodded and I could see him chewing the inside of his cheek, a bad habit he had when he was stressed. “Stop doing that, you're going to put a hole in your cheek,” I told him. He laughed at that although it was a dry laugh. 

“You know you're not the only one hurting Y/N,” He said boldly. I wasn't one to freak out, hell i was the calmest person i knew, but he had a way of just getting under my skin.

“No you're right Harry, I'm not. You must be devastated that you cheated on my with my best friend, you must be crushed that you wasted five years of your life just to throw it away over some dumb slut who was always out for your dick, You must be wrecked, not having to explain to all your family and friends that your wedding is canceled, and not having anything to tell them because your too loving of a person to ruin your ex’s reputation,” i took a deep breath trying to keep my cool, seemed to be a trend tonight. 

“Well, you didn't exactly make the five years easy Y/N. I'm sorry I slept with Olivia, yes. But I'm pretty sure our relationship ended way before that,” I looked at Harry dumbfounded, our relationship had been perfect, never once was there any problems, until the week leading up to the fall out. 

“Because I got a good job and was traveling more?” I demanded. He nodded his head and it took everything inside me not to punch him in the jaw. “Get out Harry,” I told him, annoyed with his presence in my room. “And take that stupid hoodie with you,”

He stood up standing at the edge of the bed and looked down at the pink hoodie, before looking back at me. I thought for a moment I saw the boy I had fallen In love with all those years ago shine through, but his face quickly contorted back to what he had become. "That one always looked better on you, keep it," he said as he walked out the door. 

I wanted to scream and shout. I wanted to cry. 

I wanted to feel anything.

But I just felt numb. 

I walked around the apartment grabbing all the discarded clothes and Olivia's keys before walking back to my bedroom and throwing them on them sleeping in MY bed. “Forgot to clean up after yourselves” I shouted slamming the door closed. I heard rummaging around and Olivia shrieked. 

“Oh my god what did we do?” 

Harry came rushing out of our bedroom and found me standing in the kitchen. “Baby, i don't know what happened,” He was panicking. Maybe they had gotten drunk, maybe it was a spur of the moment thing, but no excuse would make up for it. 

“I'm going to Harrison's, I'll be here to get my stuff in a few days,” Was all I told him that night. I walked out the door, my head held high and kept my composure until Harrison opened his door. I collapsed in his arms, every emotion flooding my body, I couldn't speak, or move. 

I rolled out of bed and looked at my alarm clock. 2am. I was sure the boys would probably still be down there playing the game. I needed to go and get a glass of water, so I walked downstairs and to the kitchen. Just as I thought they were all still huddled around the coffee table, empty beer bottles all around them. 

“Peanut!” Tom exclaimed as soon as his eyes saw me, “I thought you went to bed,” He was drunk, and I was sure he wasn't the only one.

“Need water,” I told him, giving him a weak smile. 

“She sleeps with like five bottles next to the bed,” Harry laughed. I rolled my eyes and walked into the kitchen. I could hear some of the conversation from the kitchen but nothing sparked my interest until I heard Harry say. “Well if i would not have slept with Olivia then nothing would be fucked up, so its my fault anyway,” all the noise subsided. 

I stepped out of the kitchen with my water in hand and looked at Harry who was sitting with his face in his hands, and everyone else was staring at him, with their jaws on the floor. 

“Is that why you guys broke up?” Tom asked. He wasn't asking me, he needed to hear from his brother. I had kept all of the bad to myself, not wanting anyone to look at Harry like a monster. Cause i knew he wasn't one. 

Harry didn't move his hands from his face, “I fucked it all up,” He groaned. I felt a twinge of guilt rush over me and I went to go comfort him despite how much he had hurt me, but Sam stood up as soon as he saw me take a step, shaking his head. I nodded and scurried off to my room, soon after I heard my door open, and Harrison walked in, flipping my light switch on. “You didn't tell me.” He said.

“Didn't want you to see him differently,” I told him quietly.

“With Olivia?” He asked as he walked over to my bed. 

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “I'm not innocent in this though, so please don't feel sorry for me,” I told him. 

“How are you not innocent?” He asked me. 

I thought about whether or not I wanted to tell Harrison, would he think as low of me as Harry now did? “Before me and Harry got together. One night we were all out at a pub, and me and Tom snuck off and, had sex. The next day he told us he blacked out and didn't remember anything, so I never brought that night up. Me and Harry started dating like a month after that, but I kept that secret. Until I threw it in his face to hurt him.” I sighed. I didn't want to look at Harrison, I was scared he would look at me like a monster. 

“That was before you together though, it's not the same nut,” He said, surprising me. 

“Maybe not, but it was still shitty of me,” I told him.  He shrugged his shoulders and then we started to hear yelling downstairs. Harrison got up and left to go see what was going on.

About an hour passed and the yelling had stopped and so had any noise. I assumed everyone had gone to bed or left. My door opened quietly and then shut. There was a shuffling as someone climbed into bed next to me. I rolled over and before my eyes even made out who it was, the smell hit me. So familiar yet so distant. 

“Harry,” I whispered, looking at the ginger boy whose eyes were puffy and nose was red, surly from crying.

“I know,” He whispered. “I just, can I please, just tonight?” he asked. I wanted to be strong and tell him to get out of my room. I wanted to push him off my bed. I wanted to hate him. Truth be told, I missed him. Sleeping in his arms, his curly hair tickling my face as he snuggles into my neck, the sweet kisses he would litter my body with. 

“Just tonight,” I told him firmly. A smile spread across his lips and he pulled my body into his, holding me close, instantly falling back into a routine we both knew so well. 

“Hey miss,” A voice called from behind me. I turned to see Harry running after me. 

“Harry?” I asked recognizing him from a few nights we had bumped into each other at clubs and parties. 

“Oh you remembered?” He asked surprised. 

“I mean a face like that is pretty hard to forget,” I chuckled. 

“I was wondering if I could take you out? On a date?” He was nervous to ask me. 

“Yeah, id- Id like that a lot,” I told him, a smile spread across his face as we exchanged numbers.

I didn't know then how much I would love him. Also how much I would hate him. 

I opened my eyes and looked down to see the familiar arms still around me holding me tight. He was drunk last night so i hadn't been mad about him crashing in my bed, but i wasn't sure i wanted to lay here cuddling him. “Harry,” I said as I wriggled my body trying to get out of his firm grip. 

“Five more minutes,” He groaned. 

“Harry,” I said a bit more forcefully, making his arms loosen their grip so I could get up. “I have to get ready for work, and you should probably go,” I was practically whispering. 

“Peanut,” He started, but then shook his head. “You're right, I should go,” he pushed himself up and then stood up from the bed. He looked at me for a minute standing at the end of my bed with my arms crossed, I was sure I looked pathetic. He stepped forward, coming dangerously close to me. He reached out letting his fingers brush across my cheek. I felt the tears rush to my eyes, but held them back. “Will we ever be able to fix this?” He asked quietly. I bit my bottom lip, hard, trying to figure out how to respond. 

“Is there anything worth fixing anymore?” I asked him. Looking up and seeing the hurt in his eyes. 

“I think a life with you is worth fixing,” He muttered. “I'm sorry,” He said before he walked out of my room. 

 I threw myself onto my bed and groaned. My life honestly sucked. I got out of bed and got ready for work. I walked down to the kitchen to see Harrison drinking a cup of tea. “Hazza,” I smiled. 

“I don't like it,” he said softly. I turned to him as I poured my coffee. 

“Don't like what?” I asked. 

“Him trying to weasel his way in. you deserve more than him, and he knows it,” i was caught off guard by his sudden anger towards Harry. 

“Harrison, I-” I was quickly cut off as he stepped forward, grabbing my face and pushing his lips into mine. I was going to push him away, but I found myself kissing him back. He broke his lips away from mine and left the kitchen without so much as a word. Leaving me standing there, dumbfounded and confused. 

I grabbed my keys and left the house. Maybe work would be less confusing than my morning. 

“Try it,” Harry pushed the sushi in my face. 

“Harry, it has raw fish,” I complained, pushing it back. 

“Babe just take a tiny bite, you might just like it,” He told me. I rolled my eyes and took the smallest bite, chewing for a minute and then spitting it in the napkin. 

“Awful, just like I thought,” I told him.he laughed as he pushed the sushi to the side and leaned forward, kissing me. 

“I love you,” He whispered for the first time. 

“You do?” I asked. He nodded his head and kissed me once more. “I love you, Harry,” I told him. 

Work flew by, faster than I would have hoped. My day had come to an end and I was sitting in my car, debating on what to do, when my phone started to ring. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, it's me,” id recognize that voice anywhere. 

“What do you want Olivia?” I asked. 

“Can we just talk? I miss you.” 

“I don't want to talk to you, and i don’t miss you,” i hung up the call without letting her respond. I just wanted to crawl into a whole and die. 

I drove home, and parked in my spot. I wasn't sure I wanted to go in. Harrison had kissed me this morning. Which in and of itself was weird, but add on top of that that I had spent the night with Harry. I threw my head back hitting the headrest, I let out a loud groan as I grabbed my phone and dialed a number I had dialed too many times to count. 

“Are you OK?” His voice was full of concern and worry, I hadn't called him in months. 

“I'm so lost, Harry,” I said quietly.

“Like you need me to come and find you? Or metaphorically?” He asked me, i could sense the smirk through the phone.

“Metaphorically, I guess.” I told him.

“I can come to you if you want,” He sounded hopeful and eager. 

“No.” I just wanted to talk to you,” I muttered. Why had I called him anyway? Did I enjoy torturing myself? “Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?” 

“The sushi date? Of course I do nut,” He said quietly. 

“I was sure that that was forever. That day, I knew it was you, and it always would be. Looking back, we were so happy. So why did you do it?” I had never given him a chance to explain what had happened that night, every time he would try I would storm off or yell. I think deep down I didn't want to know the truth, but if I was going to figure out what I was doing I needed to know all the facts. 

I heard him sigh through the other side of the phone. “I missed you, probably too much. She had come over for some reason, and I had been drinking, I don't even remember it. I just remember waking up, to you throwing clothes and shoes at us, and then seeing your face. I… I didn't know it was possible to physically feel your heart shatter, but that night I did. I felt my whole world slip out from under me,” He sounded sincere.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Tom. That wasn't a fair secret to keep, I should have told you as soon as I knew he was your brother,” I said. 

“It was none of my business, It happened before we even knew each other,” he said. 

“I love you Harry. I do. But i don’t what to do,” I whispered. 

“I love you, I'll keep fighting for you, for us. This can't be how we end, ours was the epic one, the love story for the ages,” he said.

“And it was the fallout of the century,” I whispered as I hung up. 

I walked into the house, not sure what to expect. Harrison was standing in the kitchen cooking something and Tuwaine was on the couch watching TV. “Smells good,” I told Harrison as I walked over to beside him. 

“It's your favorite,” He said, giving me a big smile. 

“What's the occasion?” I asked. He looked at me with a goofy grin and his crystal blue eyes.

“Just thought you could use a little pick me up,” He leaned over kissing my forehead, which was not out of the ordinary. 

“I definitely do need it,” I said as I went to the couch, throwing myself down next to Tuwaine. 

“Work?” He asked me. 

“It was fast, so not bad” I smiled at him. 

“And are you OK? I mean last night was kind of a lot for all of us,” He muttered. 

“I will be, in time. I just need to figure out what I need and want,” he looked over his shoulder to Harrison who was distracted with his cooking. 

“I don't know if you know this or not, but he's in love with you, and I know Harry still is too. Things are probably going to get really complicated,” He warned me.

“I don't even know what to do. Harry crushed me, like soul shattering pain, but I still love him. And Hazza, i mean i love him so much, but I've never considered him as anything other than a friend,” i told Tuwaine. 

“Well, you never had to consider Hazza as anything else, cause you had Harry, and now you don't. So you can make the choice for yourself. Maybe Harrison is who you were meant to be with, and Harry was just keeping you close until Harrison was ready,” he whispered, shrugging his shoulders. I laughed at that.

“Damn,” Harrison said from the kitchen. We both looked back to see him staring at us. 

“What?” I asked him.

“I missed the sound of your laugh,” He said, making my cheeks go red. Maybe Tuwaine was right.

We ate dinner and talked and laughed about our days, before turning in for the night. Tuwaine’s room was on the opposite side of the house than mine and Harrison’s, so Harrison walked me to my bedroom door. 

“I'm sorry about this morning, that may have been out of line,” he ran his hand through his wavy blonde hair. 

“You don't need to apologize to me,” I told him, grabbing his hand. “I just don't know if I'm ready to move on, or not,” I whispered. 

“Well, when you decide you are, you know where i'll be,” He leaned in, pushing his lips softly against mine before walking across the hall to his room. As if my life wasn't already confusing.

“Harry!” I groaned as we hiked up the tall hill. 

“Just a bit farther, baby, I promise the view will be worth it,” He told me. We reached the top of the hill just as the sun was setting over the horizon. It was a breathtaking view. I turned to Harry, or where he should have been, but he wasn't there. I turned around to see him down on one knee in front of me holding a little white box. 

“I know this is cheesy, but I'm a little cheesy. I've known for so long that you were my forever, my happily ever after. I can't imagine my life without you in it, and I don't want to. Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” He flipped the box open revealing a white band ring with a black and blue stone, something I had always said I wanted.

“Oh my god Harry, yes i'll marry you. A million times yes!” I exclaimed , pulling him to his feet and jumping into his arms. 

How did we go from that to now?

I was sitting on my bed, going through pictures when my phone vibrated. I looked down and it was a text from Harry. 

‘You think I could swing by for a minute?’ 

I knew I should tell him no, but I was curious as to what he wanted at this hour. 

‘Sure’ I texted him back. I heard the front door open almost as soon as the text was delivered, and then my door opened and he stepped into my room, shutting the door behind him. 

“You came before texting?” I asked him. 

“I forgot to, until I pulled in,” He sighed. “What are you doing?” He asked me. 

“Going through all these pictures. I want to frame a few, just don't know which ones,” I told him. He walked over grabbing one of the photos that I had in a pile, it was from when he proposed, a stranger had taken it for us. The picture itself was blurry but it was still my favorite. 

“That one was always my favorite,” He said, setting it back down. I nodded in agreement.

“So what brings you over?” I asked quietly. 

“Um, Olivia called me.” He said. My eyes shot up, my brows were furrowed and I could feel the anger rising inside of me. “She said you won't talk to her, and she just wants to apologize or something,” he sighed. “I didn't answer her, that's just what she said on my voicemail,” 

“Well i’m not going to call her, i don’t need her stupid apology,” I said blankly. “It sucks knowing my best friend came over to my house and took advantage of my intoxicated fiance. like I could maybe forgive you, in time. But I want to kill her, with every fiber of my being, I want to hurt her.” I took a deep breath, and looked at the pictures in my hands. 

“Yeah,” was all he said. 

“Maybe we should try dating,” I told him quietly. 

“Each other?” He asked me. 

“No, I mean other people. We should probably put ourselves back out there, and who knows maybe we will hate it and come back together. But it's been six months, we have to start moving on,” I sighed. 

He stood there looking at me, his eyes full of hurt and confusion, and I felt bad, but I knew that this was something we both needed. “Yeah we probably should do the dating thing, i'm not sure where I'd even look, but yeah,” He said. I rolled my eyes and laughed. 

“There is that girl at the coffee shop, she used to eye fuck you,” i told him. 

“The barista? Shelby?” I nodded, recalling how irritated I used to get when her eyes were all over him. “Maybe I'll ask for her number, or something,” He laughed. “And you?” 

“Hmm?”

“Where will you look?” he asked. 

“For dating? Oh I don't know.” I said, which was a blatant lie. 

“Okay, well I should go,” he smiled before leaving my room and then the house.

 I moved the pictures that were scattered across my bed to my dresser, and laid in my bed. I regretted telling Harry we should date other people, I think seeing him with someone would crush me even worse. I knew it was for the best though, we needed to give ourselves this, the chance to move on, to be happy, without each other. We had spent so long together that I had forgotten how to do the dating thing. 

“I found my dress,” I teased as I climbed onto Harry's lap. “It accentuates all the best parts of my body,” I leaned in letting my lips brush his earlobe before whispering “Your favorite parts,” 

He grabbed my ass squeezing it hard. 

“Can't wait to see you in it baby, I'm sure I'll be blown away,” he smiled sweetly. 

I leaned in to let our lips devour each other, until we needed more. 

And he never saw the dress, and he probably never would.

Part 2 🥜

#harry robert holland #harry holland #angst #harrison osterfield #cheating #tom holland

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

A Little Blood Never Hurt Anyone

Fandom: The Mentalist

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader (Reader Menstruates, but no pronouns used, reader is Marcus’ partner not specified as GF or BF)

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Rating: T (Nudity, nothing sexual though, are boy is just here to help you)

Warnings: Blood because periods and your embarrassment, but Marcus is a sweetie and he is here to help you. 

Summary: There’s one thing about Marcus that differentiates him from all your past boyfriend’s and that is that he’s an adult man who acts like an adult man. He’s mature, he’s responsible, he’s kind, he’s pragmatic and romantic. So when you’re bleeding everywhere, it surprises you, but really shouldn’t, that he’s calm, collected and just wants to take care of you.

Notes: This is a theme I come back to, I think mostly because as an adult who menstruates there’s something deeply attractive about a man who’s a actual adult and can’t handle you bleeding from your vagina like an adult and not like a child who can’t even say the word period. 

Archiveofourown

There was never a worse feeling than the slick wetness of blood pooling between your thighs at 2 in the morning. There was not a worse way to find yourself roused from sleep than to feel that sensation as blood slips down your inner thighs and pools beneath you soaking into your bed covers and clothes, this wake-up call was made exponentially worse when you realised Marcus had slept over and that you’d never even had to broach the topic of periods with him. No, no conversation had ever happened, you had no idea what his attitude was, but now you’d gone and bled over your bedding and partly on him, if the feeling of blood pooling near where he was curled around you was anything to go by. You hadn’t expected to have to deal with this with your boyfriend of four months, but you supposed it was inevitable, seeing as it happened every month. 

With a groan you push the duvet off of the two of you and sit up to assess the damage. Turning on the lamp, Marcus barely stirs as you take time to figure out what’s happened. There’s a noticeable red spot through your pajama bottoms and the fitted sheet underneath has a large wet spot too, looking to Marcus you feel embarrassment warm your cheeks at the blood stains on his pajama bottoms where he’d been curled up with you. It makes you want to cry because this is not how you wanted to wake up or spend your morning and you’ll have to wake Marcus who already has to get up early to leave for a case at 5am. He shouldn’t have to get up early and he shouldn’t have to have his pajama bottoms ruined by your blood. 

“Marcus...baby.” You shake his shoulders gently, wincing at the feeling of blood slipping down your legs as you sit up and how gross you feel in that moment. You can’t believe it came a whole week early, a whole week, how were you supposed to predict that? 

“Mmm, sweetheart? What’s wrong?” His voice is thick and heavy with sleep, deeper than usual if that’s possible and under any other circumstance it would make you want to curl up into him as he talked to you. 

“I...I started my period and there’s blood everywhere, I’m sorry for waking you, baby, but you need to get changed...I...I’m sorry.” It’s the embarrassment and upset in your voice that wakes him up fully, forcing him to sit up and take stock of the situation. You’re right there’s blood on him, but that’s okay, his pajamas are the ratty sort that he should have thrown out years ago anyway. You're covered in it and the bed needs changing too, but it’s okay, he thinks, this is okay, he can do that simply enough. He’s never minded changing the bed. The sheets are dark enough in colour that it shouldn’t stain too badly. He’s calculating the best course of action, what to do first before he even notices your downward gaze and trembling lip.

“Hey...honey,” He’s cupping your cheeks in his hands, large and warm. They bring your focus back onto him and not the blood that is drying on your legs or the aching that’s starting up in your lower back and abdomen. “It’s okay, a little blood never hurt anyone. Let’s get you cleaned up first, okay?” He keeps his voice soft for you, hands stroking a gentle thumb on the apple of your cheek before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

He’s wide awake now as he steps out of your bed and walks to your side, hands gripping your own as he walks you backwards to the bathroom. The bed can wait until he’s got you into the shower and got you some clothes and whatever else you need. You come first and you’re clearly uncomfortable as the blood flows steadily downwards with the force of gravity.

“I’m so embarrassed, Marcus…” You can’t wait to get clean, you feel horrible and uncomfortable. The lure of warm water has you picking up the pace to the bathroom even though your stomach cramps are getting worse and worse with each second. 

“Honey, you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. If it’s about the blood…” He gestures to the red stains on his sweatpants that you just know aren’t coming out with how they’ve already dried, “I’m an adult, a little blood doesn’t bother me and I needed to throw these away anyway.” 

He turns the shower on, letting it heat up as he begins to help you out of your stained pajamas. He’s certain he can get the blood out of them if he gets them in a tub to soak fast enough, the blood is fresh enough. He knows they’re your favourite pair and he’d hate for you to have to throw them away, “I don’t ever want you to be ashamed of your periods, sweetheart, it’s natural. It’s okay.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” You think back to the last couple of boyfriends, how they just couldn’t even stomach you mentioning your period let alone the sight of blood or a sanitary towel or tampon. He’s so vastly different in the maturity with which he’s handling this that it confuses you that he’s not shying away from you right now. 

“Baby,” He holds your face in his hands again once you're free of your clothes, “I don’t know what sort of guys you were dating before, but they should have helped you with this, okay? I’m not setting a new standard, I'm just doing what I should.” It breaks his heart to think that you’re ashamed of your body, of something that you can’t help and that you somehow think he’s something special for doing what anyone should do for their partner when they’re bleeding for days on end. It’s the least you should expect from him. 

“Now, get your cute butt in that shower and I'll get these clothes in a bucket and change the bedding. Do you want one of my shirts to change into? Where do you keep your tampons? Pads?” Taps you on the butt, a light tap urging you under the warm spray before gathering your clothes. 

“Yes please, I think there’s one in my closet? The flannel that you left last time? I’ve got some stuff in here in the cupboard,” You think to your stash under the sink, grateful you weren’t running out of anything. 

“The flannel, got it, honey!” 

He leaves you to your shower and strips the bed off first before anything else. The blood spot is pretty large, but it’s still wet and once again he’s pretty sure the stain will come out, especially in the darker fabric. His pajama bottoms follow, they’re probably a lost cause but he figures he might as well try and clean them just in case. He putters to your kitchen and fills your mop bucket up with cold water and stain remover, leaving the laundry in it to soak before putting it anywhere near a washing machine.

The flannel is in your chest of drawers and he grabs it along with a pair of your underwear that he’s sure are one of your comfier pairs. You’re still under the stream of hot water when he comes in to place them on the closed lid of the toilet seat.

“Got some clothes for you, sweetheart.” He takes a moment to watch you. He’s just happy to see you relaxed, sure it’s early in the morning and he’s tired, but seeing you brighten, that’s worth it. He can sleep on the plane later, it’ll take a few hours to get from DC to New York where his case is and he doesn’t mind being tired if it means your day goes a little smoother. 

“Thank you, baby.” You sigh out in response, the warm water easing some of the pain in your body. The cramps never feel as bad under warm water and your back ache eases a little bit at least. 

“Do you have a spare set of bedding?” 

“Umm…” You have to think for a moment, what did you do with your old bedding, did you throw it out? No, you wouldn’t have, surely not. “Maybe? Check the cabinet in the hallway?” 

He finds it hidden in the back of the hallway cabinet, the bedding doesn’t match the current colour scheme of your room but he doesn’t think that matters much when you just need a clean, comfy bed to fall into. He has the bed made by the time you’re walking out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet, his flannel over your shoulders. 

“Get into bed, honey.” Marcus urges you, opening up the blankets for you and sliding in besides you. 

You reach over and turn the light off, “I’m sorry I woke you up at 2am…”

“It’s okay, sweetie, you need anything else?” He asks as he wraps himself around you, arms tight around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder, dropping little kisses there. His beard tickles a little, he’s still got the thing, not that you mind. He’s warm and he smells like comfort and that’s all you can really ask for even while your uterus is having a go at you.

“Just hold me till I fall asleep?” 

“I think that can be arranged.” A leg slips between yours, toes pressed into the back of your calf and it’s like having your own living, breathing weighted blanket. He becomes a comforting weight at your back, a warmth that has your eyes drooping and you yawning into your pillow. 

                                               -------------------------

The next time you wake up it’s to say goodbye to him at 5 in the morning. He demands you stay in bed, giving you a longer than necessary kiss on his way out and making sure the laundry is in the washing machine before he leaves. You miss him the moment you hear the front door shut, but allow yourself to nuzzle back into your covers and fall back asleep. The lethargy you always feel around your period hitting you like a truck already. 

Work for the next few days is a killer. Your back aches, your stomach keeps cramping so hard you want to bend yourself in half to relieve them. You’re constantly hungry, constantly tired, and everything your co-workers say gets on your nerves. Added to missing your boyfriend, who’s off trying to deal with another stupid art thief who couldn’t wait a few more weeks before deciding to steal a Picasso, you’re having a hell of a week and a hell of a period. You’re not sure you’ve had one this bad in a while actually. 

It’s a Wednesday evening when the door to your home opens and closes again, the sound of keys being thrown on the side and shoes being kicked off meeting your ears. You’re curled up on your sofa, a hot water bottle pressed against your stomach in a vain effort to relieve some of your discomfort. 

“Marcus?” You call out because it can only be Marcus, no one else has a key to your place. You’re a little confused because he always phones you when he’s on his way back from a case, but the rustling of bags and his deep voice calling down the corridor reassures you that maybe he just forgot, it’s certainly not a burglar. Unless, he has an evil doppelganger somewhere. 

“It’s me, honey!” He drops his bag by the door, he’ll deal with the dirty laundry later and follows the sound of your voice into the living room. You’re curled up amongst what looks like every blanket you own, mind numbing TV playing that you’re not even watching, your face is scrunched up in pain and you're clutching your stomach. This part of the reason he decided to forgo going back to his own place, he wanted to check on you, make sure you’re okay, that and he really missed you.

He drops the shopping bags on the coffee table and crouches next to you, fingers pushing back strands of your hair and smoothing the harsh lines by your eyes as you wince. You’re warm to the touch and he hopes that’s normal for you and not a sign you’re getting sick on top of your period. 

“You okay?” 

“Just cramps. It’s okay...I’ll be okay., I’m just glad you’re back, I’ve missed you.” You ease into the soft feeling of fingers, the delicate little touches to your skin as rubs little circles into your temple and down your neck. You’ve missed this, missed him. You always miss him, but this period has hit you especially hard and you wanted him around more than ever.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips, but you grab his tie and pull him back down. Nipping at his bottom lip he opens his mouth to your tongue, hand cupping the back of your neck before you’re gasping in pain as another crump hits you. Marcus pulls back and presses his forehead to yours with a sigh and a quick kiss to your cheek. 

“Would a bath help? I stopped at the store on my way over, got some of your favourite bubblebath and those baked things that you like.” 

“Have I told you lately how you’re the perfect boyfriend?” You ask pressing kisses over his cheeks before settling for brushing your nose against his. You’re not sure how he manages to make you feel better even when you’re in pain and hormonal, but like a magic cure he does. 

“Mmm.. I don’t think so?”

“Well, you’re the perfect boyfriend and I love you very much.” You press another kiss to his lips, sighing into his mouth before pulling back and settling back into your nest of blankets. 

“I love you too, why don’t you stay here? I’ll go run that bath.” He reaches down to grab the bubblebath from the bag and tosses you a few bags of your favourite snacks to munch on while you wait. You decide then and there that anyone who ever gave him up was an absolute idiot who couldn’t see that they already had the crown jewels. Why would you ever want anyone else?

He’s never understood your fascination with burning hot bath water, but he makes it how you prefer it even if it’s a tad hot for his tastes. If he wasn’t so sore from his flight, he might have tried to carry you to the bath, but the last thing he wanted was to drop you when you weren’t feeling great, so instead he just moves your half eaten snacks to the coffee table and pulls you gently by the hands to your bathroom. 

There’s nothing sexual about the way he helps you undress, it’s something you love about Marcus, that he can put aside his libido to help you get undressed and into your bath. There’s no touches outside of the caring and gentle ones, no comments about your nudity, just him helping you get into the hot bath water. You sink into it like it’s the finest feather bed, watching him undress himself, before sliding in behind you. Legs on either side of yours, chest pressed to your back. 

Your tub is a little small for the two of you, so you can’t stretch out completely, but that’s fine because you’d take it being a little cramped and Marcus being there over being on your own. He helps you wash, careful with you at every step, gentle as he whispers how much he’s missed you, how much he loves you and tells you about his case and how they managed to catch the gang of thieves this time. 

He massages the back of your neck and shoulders as you lie against him, working on the knots that have started to form over the last few days. A pop in your neck has you sighing and you’re thankful for the press of his fingers over your spin and through the knots that have been causing you to lose sleep while he’s been gone. 

The two of you stay there until the water begins to get cool, Marcus helping you out of the tub and drying you down with a towel. He collects your clothes and helps you get dressed for bed even though you can put your things on yourself. It’s nice that you don’t have to, that he carefully slides your legs into your pajama bottoms and drags your favourite sleep shirt over your head before pressing two quick kisses to your lips and ushering you into bed. 

“Marcus, where are you going?” You ask when he leaves you there, hand grabbing his as he walks past you to the door to the rest of your home. You just want him wrapped around you right now and can’t understand why he’d leave you.

“I’m going to lock up, honey, and grab your blankets. I’ll be back.” He gives your hand a squeeze. He loves that you want him around, after all the times he’s been more invested than his partner, this time, this time it feels right. You don’t just tolerate him, you love him. You want him there and it makes every little thing he does for you infinitely more rewarding when he knows you appreciate him for everything. 

“Quickly?” You’re cute staring up at him with a pout and he knows that he wouldn’t be able to take longer than is strictly necessary when he knows you're waiting for him to come back to bed and curl up beside you.

“Quickly.” He leans over you placing a kiss to your nose before going to lock up. He makes sure all the windows are shut, the front door locked, the television off, all before grabbing the pile of blankets you’d left on the sofa to return to you.

He throws them around you, letting you grab a few to snuggle up with, before climbing in bed beside you, spooning you from behind. He takes a deep breath and feels his body relax with the familiar smell of your shampoo and the feeling of your warm skin against his cheek. He could spend the rest of his life looking after you, curling up with you after coming back from a case and he would die happy that way. He’d happily take care of you through every single period and every single bout of sickness, just as long as he gets to be with you. 

“You need anything?”

“No, everything I need is right here, baby.” You sigh back into his arms, twisting a leg through his as he rubs a hand over your stomach soothing away the lingering pains with gentle circles.

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #the mentalist reader insert #the mentalist #the mentalist readerinsert #readerinsert #reader insert

[narakurosaki]

title: buckled

summary: ed returns from the west with one thing on his mind—making love to his fiancée. what neither of them had counted on, however, was the consequences of edward failing to properly maintain his automail.

or, ed and winry have sex and edward falls flat on his ass.

rating: m

words: 1670

read on ao3!

His hands roam the familiar planes of her body; the map etched into his mind from two years of exploration laid out before his mind’s eye. The colors have not faded, nor have the intricate details or the notes scribbled beside key areas. Kisses to the hollow of her throat make her squirm. Ghosting of his fingertips along the inside of her thigh result in whimpers. He knows the areas that, when given adequate attention, make her wet like the back of his hand. He knows that she enjoys his mouth on her nipples, accompanied by a gentle grazing of his teeth, and that the pad of his thumb pressed against the bundle of nerves between her thighs makes her cry out his name. He could locate a certain spot inside of her that, when stimulated by either fingers or cock, makes her scream. No amount of time spent apart would eliminate the knowledge he had acquired from his memory, and he’d proven this, time and time again whenever he’d returned home from his travels in the west.

His hands grip her exposed ass, knuckles slamming into the wall upon every thrust. He’d been home all of two minutes before they began undressing one another. He’d heard that distance made the heart grow fonder, but he was beginning to believe that it served only to make his dick harder whenever he’d arrived home.

He’d buried it deep within her after tipping her over the edge with his tongue. She’d struggled to stay standing, and the bed was much too far for his liking, so he’d hoisted her into his arms and went to town. It was nothing new for them—her bed, the bed he’d slept in prior to their relationship, the shower, the tub, her workbench, the sofa, the kitchen counter, the basement, and various walls within the home; they’d fucked on or against it all. And while Edward proudly proclaimed that his favorite places had been the tub, the beds, and her workbench, Winry declared her love for being pinned against the wall. “It’s sexy,” she had told him one evening, legs wrapped around his waist, the smell of sex in the air. “Making love while you’re holding me up? You’re strong, Ed, and that’s incredibly hot.”

He’s lost himself to his most primal desires. Never in a million years had Edward Elric thought himself to become some sort of sex-crazed maniac, but his first experience had created a beast. He’d felt repulsed by his urges, ashamed of picturing Winry beneath him, clawing at his back as she moaned his name. But, one Wednesday morning, when Pinako had set off to run errands, and Al had tagged along, Winry had pounced. He’d been munching on a piece of toast when she’d backed him into the counter and kissed him. “You taste like strawberry jam,” she’d murmured against his lips, her fingers tangling themselves in his loose hair. He’d dropped his toast on the floor after that and grabbed her by the waist. She’d led him into her workshop and planted her ass on her workbench, where he’d promptly fucked her. It was then that he’d realized their sexual appetites matched one another; he had nothing to be ashamed of nor feel repulsed by. Winry wanted him just as much as he’d wanted her.

He’s close, and judging by the way her nails skid down his back (she’d certainly drew blood), she is, too. He captures her lips in a messy kiss, failing to maintain any sort of rhythm as he thrusts into her. Her body moves every time he pushes inside of her; her breasts bounce against his bare chest, her thighs squeeze his waist tighter, and her mouth detaches from his to cry out in ecstasy. He can feel the pressure building in his lower abdomen, his balls clenching as he brings himself closer and closer to release. Her inner walls squeeze his cock repeatedly, his name uttered like a chant. He needs but a few more thrusts to give her what she so desperately needs.

It’s on his third that she collapses into him, lips parted in a silent scream. The sudden shift in weight forces him to take a step backward, even as he reaches his climax. The world goes dark as his eyes shut. Stars explode behind his eyelids, his fingertips dig into her skin, and he moans wordlessly beside her ear. He feels his flesh leg weaken as his tense muscles begin to relax.

What he isn’t prepared for, however, is the buckling of his prosthetic.

His automail collapses beneath the weight of two individuals. Edward falls backward, landing on his ass with his dick still inside of Winry. He feels the tip forcefully press against her wall upon impact. Atop him, Winry moans, distinctively different from what noises she’d made just a moment ago.

She hangs her head and places her palms against his chest, muttering a soft, “Ow…”

He stares at her, bewildered. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“I think… my vagina might be bruised…” Her blue eyes look up, and their gazes lock. She’s clearly vexed by the situation. “What… what happened?”

Beneath her, out of the focus of his vision, is his automail. The prosthetic lies straight as a board upon the wood flooring. Ed tries to bend his knee but is unable to. His pupils constrict, mouth contorting as he struggles to find the appropriate words. “Um,” he cups her cheek, a (possibly) futile attempt at calming the storm before it erupts. “My leg gave out.”

The words are slow to register for Winry. Edward observes her, as though he’s watching her work with the gears in one of her automail pieces, carefully testing each one to find the source of the malfunction. While she would grin and proudly state, “Got it!” when working with the metal, he is met with a much different response: her brow furrows, she frowns, and her eyes hold the annoyance she feels. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Oh, how he wishes he were.

He shakes his head.

Winry groans, this time irked. “See, this is what you get for not letting me check it, first.”

“Oh, like you were complaining.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s been months since we’ve seen each other. Forgive me for wanting to have sex with my fiancée.”

Her upper lip is pulled into a snarl. “A routine check-up wouldn’t—”

“Take long? Yeah, yeah. Thirty minutes isn’t exactly long, but it’s long enough that my balls will start to hurt!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

He’s prepared to throw his hands in the air but opts against it. Truth be told, ten minutes would make his balls hurt beyond belief; it was extremely rare that he and Winry had forgone the physical act of love when both of them wanted it, no matter how busy they may be. And, out in Creta, he could simply jerk off in the shower, if need be. “You try having a dick and balls and doing nothing when you’re hard. We’ll see how you like it.”

Her eyes widen, a scoff tumbling past her lips. “Oh, so you don’t think having a vagina is just as difficult? The clitoris gets erect, genius! It aches just as much as your stupid testicles.”

“You don’t think they’re stupid when you’re touching them…”

Her face reddens. “God, you’re such a child! You lose an argument so you say something stupid to make yourself feel better.”

She unwinds her legs from his waist, moving into a straddling position, and pushes herself up. He falls out of her, still somewhat erect. They both stare at it for a moment before Winry groans and rolls her eyes. “I was really looking forward to you staying inside of me while we cuddled, but, no! You had to go and break your damn leg.”

He gapes at her. “Oh, like I did this on purpose?!”

She snatches the button-up shirt she’d removed from his body earlier and shrugs into it. As she works on fastening the buttons, she says, “You could’ve maintained it better!”

Sadly, he couldn’t argue. He’d slacked on oiling the joints.

She opens the door and beckons him to follow. “Come on, let’s fix it before I change my mind.”

“Change your mind?” He blinks, pushing himself off of the ground and onto his flesh leg. He leans against the wall as he hops in her direction. “When have you been known to change your mind about fixing someone’s automail?”

“Oh, don’t push your luck.” She helps him from the wall the positions herself beneath his arm, wrapping her own around his waist to support him. “I never had an idiot fiancé until now.” She sighs. “Of course I had to fall in love with the man who is known to neglect his automail and has the sex drive of a teenager.”

Edward purses his lips. “We’re both eighteen, y’know. Still technically teenagers.”

“You expect to magically lose your libido when you turn twenty?”

“Well, no. It’ll probably stay the same for the rest of my life. How could it not when I get to have sex with the most beautiful woman in the world?”

Even after two years of being in a relationship, he could still make her blush. “Now you’re just buttering me up to make up for bruising me on the inside.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs.

“Sheesh. Leave it to me to—”

“Fall in love with a weirdo, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it many times before. But,” Winry leads him to the examination table where he takes a seat, “this weirdo loves you.”

“This weirdo is also going soft with his condom still on during his spur-of-the-moment maintenance appointment.”

He flashes a toothy grin as he removes the condom, ties it, and tosses it in the wastebasket across the room.

“Ew, Ed! This isn’t our bathroom! I have patients that come in here!”

All he can do is laugh.

#edward elric #winry rockbell #edwin #edward x winry #edward/winry #my fics #lmao here have this

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

This Christmas - A Harry Styles Christmas Series (Part 5)

Two life long friends. Secretly in love. Home for the holidays. Will they risk everything by telling the other how they feel? Or will they spend another year loving from afar?

Read these first    Prologue   Part 1    Part 2   Part 3    Part 4 

**

“Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” your mother smirked as you walked into the house. “I can’t believe you’ve been here almost a week and you’re just now coming to visit your mother.”

You rolled your eyes putting your coat on the hook and heading into the kitchen, “I’ve been here like three days… four at the most and I already told you. I have a deadline.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she sighed. “How’s that coming along?”

“I’m better off now than where I was before I left,” you said.

“Hm, maybe that means you should come home more often,” she raised an eyebrow.

This was a constant thing between you and your mother. She always claimed you never came home enough even though you made sure to visit a least a couple of days every other month. She would much rather you live here in Holmes Chapel, which technically was possible, but it made more sense for you to be in London.

“Anyway,” you said. “What do you have on the agenda for today?”

“Oh, I thought we could grab some breakfast and go do a little shopping,” she smiled.

“Oh, that would be great. I have some last minute shopping,” you said.

“I figured you did,” she laughed. “You definitely get that from me.”

You giggled, “So, ready to go?”

“Yep,” she smiled.

The drive into town where the main shops were located was mostly quiet. However, you could feel your mother glancing over at you.

“Just spit it out, already,” you said looking over at her.

“What are you talking about?” She smirked.

“You’re acting suspicious. There’s something on your mind, so spit it out,” you said.

“Oh, I’m just wondering how things are going over at Anne’s,” she said. “I heard Harry came home early.”

Your cheeks flushed red at the mention of Harry’s name. You were itching to tell your mother what had happened between you and Harry. Maybe not all the details, but that you two had confessed your feelings. But you and Harry had yet to establish what that meant for the two of you and you didn’t want to go blabbing about something that may not even workout. You hated having doubts, but there were very good reasons on why you did.

“Yeah, he came home the day after I got there, I think,” you said.

Speaking of when he got home, you couldn’t help but go back to the moment he walked in on you in the tub making you blush even more.

“Hm… have the two of you spoken at all?” She asked.

“We have,” you nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

“Hm,” she says.

“Okay, what are you doing?” You asked. “You’re being weird.”

“What? I’m just catching up with my daughter. What’s weird about that?” She asked.

“Your body language,” you said. “You’re tense and dragging out your thoughts. Your tone is one of those where you’re saying one thing, but have a whole other meaning behind it.”

“Look at you miss writer,” she joked. “But since you’re so aware… I was just wondering about you and Harry.”

“What do you mean about me and Harry? Just that we’re talking again… or that we’re working on our friendship?” You asked.

“Well, that but also… I didn’t know if maybe… you know,” she said.

“No, I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking what you’re getting at,” you laughed.

Although, in all honesty, you probably really did know what she was getting at, but you weren’t about to tell her that.

“I’m just wondering if you know… still are in love with him,” she said.

“Hold on, what do you mean still in love with him?” You asked.

“Y/N, darling, you’re my daughter. I know you. Yes, you and Harry were inseparable as best friends, but I saw the way you looked at him and the way you lit up whenever you were around him. I knew how you felt about him before even you did,” she said. “And I know things have been weird and distanced between you two the past few years, but that sort of love doesn’t just go away.”

You sighed looking out the window, “Then I guess you know the answer to your own question.”  

“Are you going to tell him?” She asked.

You bit your lip, still debating on telling her, but you couldn’t lie to her. She was your mother and plus she would have seen right through you.

“Weeelllll,” you said. “I kinda already told him… after he told me he was in love with me.”

As soon as the words left your lips, she slammed on the brings, pulling to the side of the road.

“And you’re just now telling me this!” She gasped. “Does Anne know? We’ve been waiting for ages for the two of you to come to your senses! What happened next? When did this happen?”

“Breathe, Mum,” you laughed. “One question at a time, please.”

“I’m sorry, now tell me details!” She insisted.

“I don’t know really, it just kinda happened. We’ve been talking and spending a little bit of time together the past few days in between my writing sessions. Then next thing I knew, he showed up at my door in the middle of the night telling me he was in love with me. That’s pretty much it. We haven’t even had a conversation about what happens next or what we want to happen next yet. We’re supposed to talk later tonight,” you said.

“What do you want to happen next?” She asked.

“Well, I obviously want to be with him. I want to give a relationship a try, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a little hesitant about it. There’s so many unknown scenarios and plus, we have really spoken in years. What if we’ve changed and we’re not the same people we fell in love with. What if it’s just the idea of us that we love and not each other,” you said.

“Those are all completely valid reasons, but honey, those can apply to anyone and every relationship,” she said.

“Okay, what about the whole long distance thing? It didn’t work out for us in regards to our friendship,” you sighed.

“Again completely valid,” she agreed. “But you two are older and in different places in your life. Plus, he’s not on the road for as long or as often.”

“That’s true,” you nodded.

“Look, whatever happens with you and Harry is up to you and Harry, but don’t let the fear of the unknown and what ifs keep you from letting you be with the one you love,” she said. “Would you rather live with the regret of never giving it a try and always wondering what might have happened, or would you rather live knowing you did and maybe it didn’t work out… or maybe it does. You just have to look at what decision you’ll be ready to live with.”

“You’ve been watching Dr. Phil again haven’t you?” You joked. “But seriously, I might use that line in my book.”

“Go right ahead, love,” she winked. “But in all seriousness, you and Harry really need to sit down, talk, and listen to one another.”

“I know,” you said. “We will. I promise.”

“Good,” she smiled. “You know I just want you to be happy.”

“I know and I love you for it,” you smiled.

“And I love you,” she smiled.

**

Harry did his best to sneak back into the house, but it didn’t matter how quiet he was because Anne was sitting in the chair in the living room sipping tea and reading a book.

“A bit early for you innit?” She smirked.

“I uh… I um.. “ Harry coughed. “Went for a run.”

“In your slippers?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.  

Harry’s face blushed red, “I can explain,” he answered.

“You were with Y/N,” she stated. “Were you safe?”

“What? Oh my god, Mum,” He said, running his hands over his face. “What are you on about?”

“Hey, you two are adults. I just want to make sure you’re safe unless you want to make me a grandma already, which I’m not entirely opposed to,” she said.

“Mum seriously, stop,” he groaned. “We didn’t… I just slept out there.”

“Riiight,” she said.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he mumbled. “It’s the truth.”

“Well either way, this must mean you finally told her how you felt,” she said.

“I did,” he nodded.

“And I take it she told you how she felt too?” Anne stated.

“Yep,” he nodded.

“So, when’s the wedding?” She smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes, “You need to chill.”

“Oh, come on,” she laughed. “Y/mom’s/name and I have been waiting for this day for ages. Ooh, I wonder if she knows?”

“Y/N’s with her now… so maybe,” Harry shrugged.

“How does it feel now that you’ve told her?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought.. I don't know...maybe it would feel like this huge moment… but I still feel the same.”

“Do you regret it?” She asked.

“No, I don’t,” he said. “I’d never regret telling the woman I love that I love her, but that was only the first step. I don’t know what this means for us now.”

“What do you want it to mean?” She asked. “What do you want to happen with Y/N?”

“I want to be with her,” he said. “I want to give a relationship a chance, but I kinda get the sense she’s a little apprehensive about.”

“Why do you think that?” She asked.

“Well for starters she kept putting off having the ‘what now’ conversation,” he sighed.

“Or she could just want time to let what happened soak in,” she said. “You and Y/N have been through a lot and have kept these feelings inside for so long, now that they’re out that’s going to take some getting used to.”

“That’s true,” he sighed. “I guess… I just pictured it to go a little differently.”

“You wanted your rom-com moment?” She asked.

He rolled his eyes at her, but didn’t say anything.

“Harry, look at me,” she said. “I know you and Y/N have missed out on a lot of time together, but you’re still so young. You don’t have to rush into anything. You have plenty of time. Everything doesn’t need to be figured out in a day.”

“I’m afraid I’m gonna lose her again, Mum,” he whispered. “Just when I’ve gotten her back.”

Anne got up from her chair, walking over to sit next to him on the couch, “You never lost her, sweetheart. She was always in here,” she smiled, placing her hand on his chest.

“I know,” he sighed. “But I fucked up when I let our friendship go… what if she can’t trust me to have a relationship?”

“I mean, she would have valid concern over that,” she said. “But that was years ago and if she wants to be with you, she would have to move on from that. And you would have to make sure what happened last time doesn’t happen again.”

“It wouldn’t,” he whispered.

“That’s good to hear,” she said. “But ultimately, in the end, you just need to talk to Y/N, whenever she’s ready. And you need to be ready to listen to her and accept that she may not want a relationship right now. You two aren’t as close as you used to be, things have changed, you’ve grown up. Take the time to get to know one another before you make this big decision, alright?”

“Says the woman who thought we had sex and asked when is the wedding,” he joked.

“Oh hush!” She said, slapping his arm.

He laughed, “No, I hear you, Mum and thanks for the talk… even if it started out a bit much.”

“You’re welcome, that’s what I’m here for,” she smiled.

Harry laughed wrapping his arms around her in a big hug. He definitely felt better about going into the conversation with you. He just hoped he felt the same way after it.

**

Dun. Dun. Dun.

How do you think the conversation is going to go? How do you want it to go?

Let me know! :)

Part 6 will be posted tomorrow at Midnight CST!

#Harry Styles Imagines #Harry Styles Fanfiction #Harry Styles Fan fics #Harry Styles Christmas Series

[angelqueen04]

Hamliza Month, Day 9

@megpeggs @historysalt

Waking Up Summary: Fever does strange things to the mind.

The fever burned through him, a familiar misery that Alexander had felt before. It was something he’d hoped to never feel again, yet here it was. The Yellow Fever had returned for him. The first time it had wracked his small, child’s body, left him weak and delirious, but in the end, he had won the battle against it. Just not without cost. Alexander had never forgotten waking up in that bed, sticking of sweat, shit and piss, to find himself wrapped in his mother’s cold, dead arms. He’d beaten the fever then, but it took his mother from him.

Now here it was again. Alexander recalled the trip out of Philadelphia. He’d begun to feel the symptoms even before the departure, and thus had insisted on riding his horse, thus separating himself from Eliza and the children as they rode in the carriage. He remembered all but falling off said horse when they arrived at their destination, and was uncertain as to how he ended up making it into the house.

Everything after that came in flashes. Mostly, he remembered Eliza sitting at his side, laying cold cloths on his brow in an attempt to bring his fever down, or all but begging him to drink some warm broth to get some kind of nourishment into his weakening body. Alexander was fairly certain he had tried in the beginning to convince Eliza to leave him there, to not expose herself, but she had stubbornly refused to leave him. Even as their marriage had been all but lying shattered at their feet since he’d confessed his affair with Mrs. Reynolds, she had not left him.

He had no memory of the children being anywhere nearby, which was something of a blessing. That meant they were being quarantined away from him, to save them from the disease.

Alexander also began to recall seeing dear Ned Stevens at his bedside on several occasions when he awoke. His old, dear friend from his youth, one of the few good things that came out of his childhood.

“Ah, hello my dear Ham,” Ned had said cheerfully the first time. “You seem to have gotten yourself into quite a scrape this time. Don’t fret, though. Good Mrs. Hamilton and I shall see you through.”

Always the optimist, Ned was. That was something Alexander could never quite manage. He’d see too much from an early age.

And so it was proven true again. Not long after Ned started to make regular appearances at his bedside, Alexander found himself sharing his bed. With Eliza. Even in his fever-ridden state, it wasn’t difficult to understand that there was only one reason she’d be there – that she too was sick, and it was simply easier to have them in one place for Ned to treat.

“No, no,” he murmured when the understanding clicked in his mind. He reached for her, wrapping his arms around her shivering form, trying to give her whatever warmth he had. “Not you, my darling. Not you.”

Eliza made no response, being in the midst of a fever dream of her own.

He looked toward Ned, who sat next to their bed, writing something in a small journal I his lap. “The children?” he managed to ask through his chattering teeth.

Ned looked up at him, peering in his direction through his glasses. “They’ve long since left, Alexander,” he assured him. “Mrs. Hamilton sent them north, to Albany to stay with General Schuyler, when she first started to feel the symptoms. None of them had exhibited any sign of the illness, so it was safe for them to leave.”

There was that, then. Even if Alexander died here in this bed, he could die knowing that his children would live. He trusted General Schuyler to love and care for his grandchildren. He just wished they had left earlier, with Eliza, before she’d exposed herself to him and thus caught the sickness along with him. She’d suffered enough on his account already, and now she could very well die because of him.

Learning of Eliza’s illness seemed to be a blow to his own health, because after that the symptoms became worse for him. The nausea, the vomiting, the headaches, the pain in his back – it all came at him with a vengeance. Ned seemed to be staying close, treating the symptoms as best he could, and Alexander was almost certain he heard Ned speaking quite often, though the words seemed garbled. But even as he buckled under the weight of it, what thought he was capable of stayed on his wife. She had to live. If God thought him worthy of any answered prayer, he prayed that it was that one, that his Eliza be spared. She was always the stronger one, the more steadfast in her devotion to whatever promise or vow she made. If the Yellow Fever was God’s way of punishing the wicked, then it was quite right that he should take Alexander, but surely he would spare Eliza, who never wavered in her faith.

But even as he thought that, he could not help but think of his mother. She had never deserved her fate, and yet God still had taken her.

All of these thoughts careened around in his head, ensuring that Alexander slept peacefully. Then, at some point, he felt movement, something shifting in the bed beside him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes and turned his head.

He saw Ned first, leaning over and sliding his arms beneath Eliza’s knees and back. The other man then lifted her out of the bed. She didn’t appear to react to the movement, her head coming to rest on Ned’s shoulder, her dark hair falling down behind her in a matted tangle of curls.

Alexander would later understand that it was a combination of the fever and his own deep-sated, worst fears, but in that moment, a wave of sheer, unadulterated panic shot through him. She was dead. Eliza was dead just like his mother. She was dead and Ned was taking her body away, probably to be dumped in some mass grave for all of the fever’s victims and it was his fault. Alexander had done this, had passed the sickness on to her and she was dead, his children didn’t have his mother it was his fault, his fault, his fault –

Even with all that was roiling in his brain, all Alexander could do was emit a small, choked moan, tears beginning to well up, and twitch his hand feebly in their direction, a weak attempt to grab onto Eliza, to somehow tie her back to the world. His hand didn’t come close to reaching them, but the sound was enough to catch Ned’s attention, and he paused to look at him.

The other man looked tired, but his eyes were still sharp. He took in Alexander’s state, and seemed to understand just what he was thinking. He shook his head. “No, no Alexander, it’s not that,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just time for Mrs. Hamilton’s cold bath, to help bring the fever down,” Ned explained. He then turned slightly, allowing Alexander a clearer look at his wife.

Her head still rested on Ned’s shoulder, indicating just how weary she was. But her eyes, the fine dark eyes that had bewitched Alexander almost from the first time he’d seen them years ago, were open. Looking closely, he could see the feverish light in them, a sign that the illness was still very much there.

Then Eliza blinked, and seemed to try to focus. Her gaze locked with his. “Alexander…” she said, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “The water is cold, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Ned said, “but it will help with the fever.” He started to turn again, likely intending to resume his purpose before Alexander’s interruption, but then he stopped. Glancing over his shoulder, he added to Alexander, “Try to stay awake, Hammie. It’s your turn next, so I can get some fresh bedding on the bed.”

Alexander nodded and watched Ned bear Eliza across the room toward a tub of water. Part of him dreaded getting into the cool water, knowing it would set off another wave of chills, but the greater part of him didn’t care one bit.

Eliza lived. Eliza lived, and Alexander swore to himself that he would do whatever he could to win back her love and respect. God had so far spared them, and if they had made it this far, they could survive the rest. He would do whatever he could to place her happiness first.

#my fanfiction #hamliza month #hamliza #alexander hamilton #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #edward stevens