#(however it's ALSO the new chapter six)
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ckret2 · 11 months ago
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who wants a prism break?
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So, the Theraprism! The Theraprism sucks, right?
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This is like, a good day.
The Theraprism clearly sucks.
Have a one shot of Bill escaping Theraprism with the most desperate escape plan imaginable: reincarnation.
(Warning for, as you might expect, psychiatric hospital abuse.)
####
There are fates worse than death. Like boredom, for instance!
####
Everything was black and numb and silent and cold so so cold but no he could only call it cold if he felt cold and Bill didn't feel coldness there was just the absence of a feeling the absence of heat the absence of light the absence of sound the absence of touch the absence of air.
The absence of everything.
Bill had loved a void once—a micro black hole. Every time they touched it slowly killed him, spaghettified his limbs, drained his energy. His energy was so vast that she never claimed a drop of a drop of a drop of his reserves—but it still hurt like nothing else to be crushed and stretched and ripped and consumed by her event horizon. The pain was wonderful. Being shredded was ecstasy.
This void was the opposite of her. 
He couldn't even feel anything when he tried to scream—without air, he couldn't feel his vocal plates vibrate. He couldn't feel his hands, his face, his eye; he tried to bite himself just to feel something and he couldn't feel his mouth, he tried to rip open his wounds and couldn't find them; why couldn't he see his own light, why couldn't he see his blood, where had he gone, was he gone—
Reality returned like a light bulb being switched on.
The first thing he registered was a shrill sound on the verge of inaudibility; and then the pain in his eye, his sides, his wounds; and then the dull gray light, the hard floor under his knees, the antiseptic stench in the air conditioning.
He stopped screaming. The shrill sound stopped.
"Energetic as always, are we?"
Bill blinked blearily at the Orb of Healing Light hovering before him. He croaked, "I'll regurgitate you."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." A glowing translucent clipboard manifested in front of the Orb. "Well, you've gone through this enough times to know the drill! Do you need a moment to recover, or—?"
"No no, I'm fine, I'm fine." Bill slumped forward, trembling hands on the floor, waiting for the vertigo to pass. "I'm fine. Do your thing." He'd rather get the post-Solitary Wellness Void reorientation interview over with.
"Perfect. What's your name?"
"I'm ol' Vinegar Pete."
"No clowning, please."
He sighed loudly. "Bill Cipher."
"Good. Where are you?"
He considered saying hell, but decided he'd used up all the clowning he could risk for one day. He didn't want to go back in. "The Theraprism. Ward 333."
"Very good. When are you?"
"I was gonna ask you," Bill groaned. "How long was I in the hole this time? A million years? Ten million?"
The Orb checked its notes. "Eight minutes."
"Wh—no, no I know that time moves slower out in reality than in the prism. I'm not asking how much time passed in reality, I'm asking how much time passed here."
"Eight minutes," the Orb repeated. "Outside the Theraprism, one third of one second passed."
Bill groaned again and flopped flat on the floor.
"Do you know why you're here?"
"Why are any of us here?" Bill asked the gray linoleum tiles. "Usually because some dumb beast tripped into the booby trap that sets off its reproductive process. How's your species work, you pop outta nebulas, right—?"
"I meant, coming out of the Solitary Wellness Void."
"Oh." Bill tried to remember what his infraction had been this time. "Because I failed to escape."
"Because you tried to escape."
If he'd succeeded, they never could have punished him. "Sure."
"Good, you seem oriented to your surroundings. Let's get you to the nurse and then back to your cell." The nurse? What did he need a nurse for?
He only realized then that he must have succeeded in reopening his wounds in the SWV: the never-quite-healed crack across his exoskeleton was wider, the edges chipped and bent. It hurt. His eye socket hurt too; he tasted blood. With the way his whole body usually ached after leaving the void, he hadn't even noticed.
Through the crack in his exoskeleton, his edges had frayed into fine golden threads. The sight of silvery blood on his hands made him nauseous; he hastily looked away and reminded himself it was only his own. 
####
As Bill wearily followed behind the Orb and two security guards followed behind him, he had to periodically turn to hover sideways to streamline himself. These days he was so weak that he could feel the air resistance pushing back against him when he floated; with his wound reopened, he felt like the air pressure could snap his exoskeleton along the crack and break him in half.
"You're not Emmy," Bill said. "You're, uh..."
"A-AOX4."
"Oxyyy," Bill said weakly. "Heyyy. S'been a while. Usually I get a personal welcome back from the void, why didn't Emmy show? Don't tell me it doesn't see me as a threat anymore!" He'd be offended if it didn't. D-SM5 was the closest thing he had to a nemesis these days. Even if he couldn't beat it, he wanted to think he still irritated the daylights out of it.
"Director SM5 couldn't make it. It's overseeing the preparations for Paingoreous's reincarnation."
"That's today? Good riddance." Paingoreous had started getting sanctimonious the past few hundred group therapy sessions—don't you have any compassion for your victims and it's possible to live a happy life without slaughtering all your enemies first and maybe I should ask for permission before I vivisect my friends' faces—passive, self-defeatist crap like that. Vivisecting your friends and seeing who complained was how you found out who your lame friends were! Now that the wet blanket was leaving, the rest of them could get back to spending their sessions reminiscing about the glory days and trying to set the donuts on fire when the therapist was distracted.
"Yes," A-AOX4 said pointedly, "it is good he gets to leave to go become a productive member of reality. We're all so happy that he's rehabilitated enough to earn a new chance at life." (Bill rolled his eye. A-AOX4 ignored it.) "Wouldn't you like a chance to rejoin reality, Bill?"
More than anything. He'd been in this crystallized brain's perpetual dreamscape for what felt like both a thousand years and a single day—time never passing, an eternal inescapable moment. He'd tried to break out, sneak out, or bargain his way out more times than he could count; sometimes he was locked in the SWV as punishment; and sometimes the staff gently stopped him, confiscated his supplies, and chastised him for the effort—and the reminder that he was as powerless as a child was worse than the void. He'd gone delirious from the boredom, hallucinating screams and burning faces as his mind struggled to stimulate itself (and he'd been medicated for it). He'd so despaired of escaping that he'd looked for a way to burn up the remains of his energy and vanish for good (and he'd been medicated for it). He ached with the need to see the stars again.
But not enough to sell his soul for it. If he took the staff's route—let them break him down, sandblast off his rough edges, erase everything that made him him, and finally physically transform him into some alien creature—then whatever left the Theraprism would no longer be Bill Cipher.
"What, and force you guys to find a new 'unique case'? I wouldn't do that to you! I know how much you love me," Bill said. "Besides, why would I go through all that just so I can reincarnate as a sentient snowflake, or Mi-Go antennae lice, or..."
"A butterfly," A-AOX4 cut in, an edge of impatience creeping into its tone. "Paingoreous has chosen to reincarnate as a butterfly. We all think that's a very productive way to channel his desire to digest his own skin."
"Unless it's one of those blood-drinking butterflies, lame." Bill scoffed. "Wait—hold on, you said butterfly? Like an Earth butterfly?"
They were, of course, not actually speaking an Earth language, but an interdimensional pidgin that borrowed words and grammar from dozens of worlds. When around the Orbs of Healing Light that held half the staff positions, Bill tended to speak a dialect of the pidgin that used flashes of light for 40% of its vocabulary. It was perfectly possible that the word Bill knew as "butterfly" was also used for some alien creature, but—
"Yes, an Earth butterfly. A Vanessa atalanta, to be precise."
Aw, boo. Not even a cool butterfly. "He's reincarnating on Earth?"
"Yes. Many of our patients reincarnate on Earth. As long as you're careful about which region and century you reincarnate into, it's at the top of our recommended list of Goldilocks zones."
There was another phrase that Bill recognized, but this time he was sure his definition was not A-AOX4's definition. "Whaaat do Goldilocks zones have to do with reincarnation."
"You didn't pay attention to the orientation session on our outpatient reincarnation program, did you."
"What! I didn't get an orientation session!" said Bill, who probably didn't remember any such session because he didn't pay attention to it.
"Well—we rank millions of planets and their dimensional parallels based on their potential to help patients reintegrate into reality. We do try to set our patients up for success," A-AOX4 said. "To qualify as a Goldilocks zone, a planet has to meet the Theraprism's rigorous list of criteria: its lifeforms, cultures, laws of physics, and position in interdimensional society must all be conducive to a patient's continued recovery. We want to ensure that our patients' new lives are neither so difficult as to retraumatize them, nor so easy as to let them coast by avoiding continued personal growth, but right in the middle, so that they're emotionally and spiritually challenged without being overwhelmed. The Goldilocks zone: a perfect compromise between two extremes."
"Yeah, sure, sounds great." Bill could feel his eye glazing over in disinterest. Fight it, Cipher.
"Do you miss Earth?"
Bill tilted to glance askance at A-AOX4, and was surprised to see it had turned to focus a spotlight on him. Oh—it thought it had finally found a carrot to dangle in front of him. That was a popular strategy here: they figured out what a patient wanted most, and then used it to coax them into good behavior and "rehabilitation"—better still if they could attach a sense of urgency to it. Don't you want to see your descendants again before the last of them dies out? Don't you want to see your homeworld before its sun swallows it? Don't you want to reconcile with your god before the heat death of your universe?
But Bill had no universe, no homeworld, no family; no lovers or friends or gods that hadn't betrayed him and left him to rot here; and he'd remained smugly steadfast in refusing to give D-SM5 and its minions anything else it could use to get under his chitin. He was proud that he was too broken for even the famed Theraprism to fix him.
A-AOX4 probably thought it had finally found an opening. It might be useful to let it keep thinking that.
"You kidding me? Earth? Pfff! I don't miss that overgrown asteroid one bit!" He waved off the suggestion, and winced when the gesture tugged wrong at his reopened wound. "But hey, you don't study a world for millions of years without finding a few things about it to like. The music's pretty good. And the movies and literature, though if you ask me, they peaked between the first two World Wars. I like trees, evolution did a great job with trees. And humans really went off with the architecture. The pyramids? 10 out of 10. And some of the locals aren't bad, I've got a few exes from Earth."
"Do you? How many exes?"
"Living? Just a hundred forty or fifty," Bill said dismissively. "Earthlings just have those pretty eyes, you know? I'm a sucker for a pretty eye! But outside of that, no, there's nothing on Earth for me."
"I see," A-AOX4 said lightly, and dropped the conversation.
Hook, line, and sinker.
####
The original definition of a "Goldilocks zone" came from astrobiology. The Goldilocks zone was the ring of space around a star in which an orbiting planet could support liquid water and thus water-based life: not too close to the star and too hot, not too far and too cold, but just right. Earth, for instance, orbited Sol in its Goldilocks zone.
It was from this definition that other, more metaphorical definitions of Goldilocks zones emerged. Such as the Theraprism's: a world that was neither too stressful nor too boring for a newly brainwashed—sorry, "cured"—patient. And apparently Earth was in that Goldilocks zone, too.
Which was very interesting to Bill—because in their search for a new home, the Henchmaniacs had come up with their own definition of a Goldilocks zone. For them, it was a dimension close enough to the Nightmare Realm with a thin enough barrier that they could easily punch through it, but not so close and so thin that puncturing the barrier would pop it like a balloon and cause the dimension to immediately prolapse into the Nightmare Realm—which was a problem they'd had before. More than once. They needed a dimension they could easily cut a hole into, but control it, so they could slowly pump the Nightmare Realm's contents in. A barrier neither too vulnerable nor too strong, but just right.
And wouldn't you know it—but Earth happened to be in that Goldilocks zone too. Right next to a point in the dimensional membrane so thin, the Nightmare Realm could almost stretch through and kiss it.
####
Since Bill Cipher was infamously known as the last survivor of a trillion-years-extinct species, and had until recently been capable of instantly repairing himself, there were no medical records on how his anatomy worked. It didn't help that at some point eons ago he'd somehow managed to graft a 3D exoskeleton to his 2D anatomy without breaking his own physics, meaning no one had seen his true body in recorded history. Bill knew how he worked, but refused to offer any hints. So the Theraprism staff had to guess at Bill's medical treatment.
But Bill was still made of energy, and even weakened he could eventually self-repair. So whenever his injury was exacerbated, the nurse tended to just patch up his exoskeleton to keep it stable enough to send him back to his room.
On top of his mysterious anatomy, the staff had no idea how to medicate his physiology. They knew he could be medicated—Bill's personal substance (ab)use experiments were notorious far outside the Nightmare Realm—but they had to treat him like a newly-discovered form of life in figuring out what affected him, how it affected him, and how much it took. He'd been on and off hundreds of drugs as they tried to chemically stabilize a mind for which they had no idea what baseline stability looked like. D-SM5 had told him that between the enormous doses needed to impact his energy-based physiology and the vast variety of drugs he'd been through, Bill's medication regimen was the most expensive in the Theraprism. He took some pride in that.
He had very few things to take pride in anymore. He clung to what meager victories he could.
If Bill got his way, he wouldn't be medicated at all. None of the substances they wanted him on were what he'd call recreational. (Although for a while he had gotten away with not telling the docs that one of his antipsychotics had given him a side-effect of kaleidoscopic hallucinations.) Plus there was the fact that he'd heard rumors that quite a few pharmaceutical execs were good pals with a certain director—not that Bill would name names, of course!—that's his motto, Don't Slander Maliciou5ly!
But when he resisted taking his meds, they could send in the guards to pin him down so a nurse could inject a sedative so strong he wouldn't remember anything that happened for the next few hours to months (hard to tell) until they started tapering it off... and although he'd rather die than admit it, after losing that fight five or six times, even he had to admit to himself it was a lot less scary to just take their rotten drugs. Better to go through his days with his mind dulled and hazy than blacked out altogether.
To retain what little pride he had left, he'd reached a compromise with his jailers.
When the nurse had finished attaching the reinforcing splints around Bill's injury, they grabbed a medication measurement cup, filled it halfway with syrupy eye drops, and double-checked Bill's chart as they dropped thirteen different pills (plus a fourteenth pill for a painkiller) in the cup.
As Bill redressed, he eyed the unappetizing cocktail of antidepressants, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, and things he'd forgotten the purpose of but that probably weren't doing whatever the doctors hoped and definitely weren't doing anything Bill liked. "My straw?"
"Right, right." The nurse handed over one of the wide-diameter disposable white straws they kept on hand for patients who struggled to drink (or, in Bill's case, patients they struggled to get to drink).
Only a tiny fragment of Bill was actually locked up in the Theraprism—like pinching the glowing lure of an anglerfish in a trap while the rest of the fish thrashed outside—and because most of Bill's vast energy was elsewhere, he was nearly powerless. But he still had enough energy to heat up a finger, twist the straw around it, and hold it there until it had melted into a new shape.
The nurse sighed. "Do you have to do that every time? You ruin more straws than you get right."
Imperiously, Bill said, "Leave me to my whimsy." He tugged off the straw when it had cooled down to examine the corkscrew shape he'd made. The wall was a little flattened in one place, but he could pinch it back open. "See? It's perfect!" Cheerfully ignoring the nurse, he stuck the straw in his cup and slurped down his pills like tapioca balls. He tried not to remember what was in them.
A-AOX4 had left Bill with the nurse, but the two mall cops with medical kinks known as Bill's personal guards were still waiting nearby. The nurse's office was next door to the cafeteria—for ease of patients picking up their medications at meal times—in an anteroom that was connected to the rest of the ward by a set of locked double doors. A couple of guards were stationed near those doors at all times, and generally the guards assigned to Bill hung around with them while Bill was in the cafeteria or nurse's office. Bill floated up to them, regarding them with the disinterest of a king ignoring the servants he expected to open doors for him, and continued to ignore them as they escorted him back to his cell, one in front and one behind, while he sipped on his drugged cocktail.
The Dimensional Tyrant Ward was already one of the most heavily-guarded wards in the Theraprism; but to reach the maximum security cells, a patient had to pass several increasingly heavy security checkpoints with increasingly impenetrable security doors. The final door was warded against all magic, unhackable, unbreakable, and so airtight that even without his exoskeleton there was no gap Bill's 2D form could slide through. The doors to each cell—outfitted with tiny one-way mirror portholes, no latches or hinges on the inside—were a little less heavy duty, but packed with just as many failsafes. The Dimensional Tyrant Ward's max security hall had the most advanced security architecture of any psychiatric facility in the multiverse.
Bill had made a trillion year career of trying to break his way through a door nobody wanted him to go through. He could think of seven different ways to get through the doors. Sooner or later he'd find a way out of this place altogether.
A few of the doors had modifications: this one with a metal slab over the porthole to protect passersby from the occupant's petrifying gaze, that one with extra soundproofed padding coating the door. Bill was almost insulted his own door didn't warrant any special modifications.
His favorite door was The Beast's. A comfortingly yellow triangular sign on the door displayed a black symbol of a steak. Red signs above and below read "CAUTION! FEED UNSEASONED MEAT ONLY." "NO SUGAR ALLOWED." The Beast's heavy snuffing was audible through the door; his hot, sickly sweet breath seeped through the slot in the door that had been installed to deliver his food.
Bill's escorts automatically drifted to the far side of the hall to avoid The Beast. Bill, whose first medication was already starting to kick in, zigzagged lazily back and forth across the hall, heedless of how close he came to The Beast's cell.
Bill had never seen this door opened once in all his time incarcerated, and the dust settled on the additional chains and padlocks stretched across the door showed just how long it had been since the last incident. But some of the patients who'd been here longer than Bill still couldn't bring themselves to speak of the last time he'd escaped. Elder eldritch gods shuddered and gibbered nervously at the mention of his name. 
Bill tilted over to try to peer through the food slot at The Beast. A quivering, sickly blue eye stared back at him. Honestly, Bill thought The Beast was adorable.
Outside Bill's door, the guards waited for Bill to finish his medicine, hand over his cup and straw, and open his mouth and lift his eye out of the way so they could check and make sure he'd swallowed them.
And then he was left in his cell.
####
A perfect cube of uniform dull grey tiles supernaturally lit by a uniform dull grey glow, no light source, no shadows; in a max security room in the Maximum Security Wellness Center, patients weren't even trusted around light fixtures. The staff had removed everything Bill had used thus far to commit violence or attempt escape, plus a few more things as punishments for various infractions: journal, paint, pens, books, magazines, puppets (he missed those the most), even the furniture. He'd never earned the privilege of a TV or radio. By now, all he was permitted were black, red, yellow, and blue dry erase markers to draw on his walls—and the red and blue had gone dry; the "Be a TRY-angle!" poster they'd replaced whenever Bill left the room until he gave up and stopped tearing it down; and the clothes on his back. He'd gradually gotten himself banned from every extracurricular and recreational activity the Dimensional Tyrant Ward offered. Whenever he was fresh out of the SWV, when his restrictions were highest, his schedule consisted of mandatory individual therapy, mandatory group therapy, med checks, and the cafeteria.
He spent the vast majority of his time in his cell, sitting curled up alone, day after night after day, barely moving, barely talking, barely eating, waiting for nothing at all.
####
The seamless door swung open and admitted an Orb of Healing Light.
Bill blinked blearily up at the Orb. It was hard to tell how slowly time passed here, but he was sure it couldn't have been more than a couple hours since he'd been returned to his cell: that was when his medications made his mind the foggiest. "Emmyyy. Where ya been? Didn't see you when I came out of the Solitary Dullness Void. Nice of you to, uh..." A second ago he'd had a clever quip about how D-SM5 had clearly dropped by because it missed Bill, but he'd forgotten how to word it.
"Well, I'm here now. I'm flattered you missed me, Mr. Cipher."
Bill blinked heavily. "You turned that around on me," he griped. "Not fair." Ugh, the room was spinning. He flopped on his back.
"A-AOX4 tells me you showed an interest earlier in our outpatient reincarnation program," D-SM5 said. "Since it looks like your schedule is light these days, I thought you might be interested in attending Paingoreous's reincarnation?"
It took him a moment to process the offer. "Really? That's something people can attend?" What was the catch?
"We usually only extend the offer to the departing patient's friends, and—exemplary patients. But... I thought you might benefit from watching the process for yourself. It may encourage you to take a little more interest in your future."
For it to push a possible lead so fast, it really was desperate to find some leverage they could use on Bill. It probably thought of this as a rare opportunity—a patient from Ward 333 wasn't ready for reincarnation every day.
"Wow. I sure am encouraged," Bill said. "You have no idea just how encouraged I am."
####
If an unambitious office building and a utilitarian hospital reluctantly got married out of a vague sense of heteronormative social obligation, had a depressed child, and the fae spirited it away to replace it with an even more depressed changeling child, the child's small intestines would look a lot like the Theraprism's interior hallways: it was windowless, it was labyrinthine, it was beige, and it was grey, and it didn't even care anymore. Monotonous commercial high-traffic carpet alternated with monotonous commercial high-traffic linoleum. The fluorescent lights buzzed just enough to be annoying, but not quite enough that you'd feel justified in snapping and screaming "I've had it!" as you swung a pleather-seated metal chair at the light fixture.
Even though Bill had been languishing in the Theraprism for hours and/or millennia (Bill couldn't tell; he couldn't feel the passage of time), he hardly knew his way around the Dimensional Tyrant Ward, much less the rest of the facility. As D-SM5 led Bill (and six guards) out of Ward 333 and into a lower security zone, he looked for any scant identifiable landmarks and tried to memorize which turns they took by coding the lefts and rights and ups and downs into a mnemonic word. The walk helped wake him from his medication stupor; but his mind never quite felt fully on.
Bill had only briefly glimpsed the Theraprism's reincarnation unit during intake, just one of many rooms he'd been whisked past as he was dragged to Ward 333 screaming and cursing the Axolotl's name. Entering the unit now, it looked like an occult sacrificial altar carved from marble that had been modeled after a 23rd century starship's teleportation platform, contained in a room that looked like a magic planetarium: glowing stars hovered around the dome of the ceiling. Against the back wall in pale pink marble was carved an impossibly long axolotl, swimming in a figure 8 so its vapid smile almost caught the tip of its ribbonlike tail. Bill glowered at it. Backstabber.
He, D-SM5, and the other observers who'd already arrived were in a connected observation room with an enormous, thick window and a sealed door. Next to the window was a large computer console encased in the same marble as the reincarnation altar. That probably controlled the process.
The audience consisted of three aliens who looked a little like Paingoreous might have with his face unpeeled, a few patients and staff Bill recognized, more he didn't, and Jessica with the shining spherical head and the thirteen fingers. Oh boy. If he'd known Jessica would be here he would have tried to polish. Bill straightened his bow tie and smoothed his rumpled orange jumpsuit.
Paingoreous himself was already in the next room, standing on the altar. At the sight of Bill, his exposed facial muscles twitched, as though trying to widen his eyes even though their eyelids were already long gone. "Bill? What are you doing here?"
D-SM5 answered before Bill could blurt out a witty retort. "I invited Mr. Cipher. I thought he would benefit from seeing what he can look forward to once he's improved. I hope you don't mind."
Paingoreous's face immediately smoothed out. "Yes—of course, director, if you say so. I remember how difficult it was in the early days. I'm happy to help my fellow patients in any way I can." Suck up. A dry note entered his voice, "Especially a more troubled patient."
Bill took one of the folding chairs lined up in front of the window and shot back, "I'm about to have one less trouble! Byyye!" (Did Jessica think that was funny? Sometimes she did. He snuck a sideways glance to see if she was laughing. Oh, right—she didn't have a face.)
Paingoreous didn't dignify him with a response. Too good for the likes of Bill, no doubt. Paingoreous wasn't obligated to answer anybody—except the staff, of course.
Bill had never met the real Paingoreous. By the time Bill was committed, the monotony, medication, and mandatory therapy were already well on their way to killing whoever Paing had once been. No way the offensively bland sap leaving now was the same one who'd come in with his face skinned and muscles pinned open.
A technician was already turning on the computer console, running through a whole list of checks as the machine booted up. A hum filled the room as the altar began to softly glow. To all appearances Bill was facing forward, slitted pupil aimed straight at Paingoreous; but his anatomy was built for watching things out of the corner of his eye and his real attention was focused on the reincarnation technician. "So how's reincarnation work in this dump?" Bill asked D-SM5. "I didn't get the orientation."
"Yes you did," D-SM5 said. "I was there."
"Oh yeah? Well, I don't remember seeing you."
D-SM5 sighed. "First, Paingoreous's memories of his current life must be erased, to give him the best fresh start possible and to comply with Earth's soul sanitization regulations."
"Seems like a big waste of time. His head's already empty enough."
One of the Paing-ish aliens a couple seats over shot Bill a dirty look. "That's my son in there."
"Not for much longer, he isn't."
"Be respectful," D-SM5 said warningly.
Bill ignored it. "So once you've scrubbed his brain clean, what then?"
"Then, we reincarnate him. We've already carefully selected his destination and species; except for special circumstances, we generally don't customize the patient's body further, as the program is already set up to divinely design the body most well-suited to the soul about to inhabit it."
"If these bodies are so perfect, why customize them at all?"
"We wouldn't want, say, a recovering pyromaniac to be reborn with pyrokinesis." (Bill felt unfairly targeted.) "Once his species and destination are entered into the program, off he'll go to start his new life as an egg."
"An egg?! Sheesh, wasn't going through childhood once bad enough? I assume his childhood was bad, anyway! Nobody with competent parents ends up like him."
The Paing-ish alien beside Bill bolted out of their seat and lurched aggressively toward Bill. (Ha. Too easy.) The next alien over tugged them back by the arm. Bill was sure he heard a whispered, "Careful, do you know who that..." 
D-SM5 said, "One more crack like that and you're going back to your cell."
"Fiiine. Why can't he skip straight to being a butterfly, though?" What he really wanted to find out was how to skip straight to adulthood.
"For starters, because spontaneous generation has been heavily restricted on Earth since the 15th century, and banned completely outside of special circumstances since the 19th century."
Spontaneous generation. The creation of fully formed life from unliving matter: maggots that emerged from flesh, geese that emerged from barnacles, snakes and crocodiles that wriggled out of the mud of the Nile. He'd always planned to legalize it again when he took over. So if the only reason the Theraprism couldn't do it was because it was banned, then they must have the technology for it, right?
Bill tuned D-SM5 out as it prattled on about the mental health benefits of restarting life and beginner's mind and boring therapeutic psychobabble, and ignored the flashing lights and divine music as Paingoreous's memory, personality, and identity were all wiped clean. He was only interested in what the reincarnation technician was doing. (Although when Bill briefly glanced at Paingoreous, his shape seemed somehow uncertain, as though his molecules had only just walked into the room and promptly forgotten what they'd come in for or who they were supposed to be. Ready to be reshaped into something else.)
The technician opened up the primary reincarnation program, checked a box confirming that the patient's previous incarnation had been erased, and began setting up the specifications for his next incarnation. Choosing the reincarnation world was easy enough: under the drop down menu, the "Goldilocks zone" worlds were sorted first. Earth was sixth on the list. Choosing a dimension was just as easy.
However, choosing the location and time period looked more complicated; rather than searching through a handy list of continents or geological epochs, the technician checked Paingoreous's patient file and typed a couple of long strings of numbers into the blanks for the coordinates and time. They didn't look like any date system or coordinate system Bill was familiar with. How the heck would he work with that?
And selecting the species, to Bill's horror, meant scrolling down a menu ordered by how frequently a species had been selected for reincarnation at this facility. That was insane! The Theraprism always discharged patients as unambitious species where one member was nearly incapable of making a meaningful impact on the local biosphere—anything useful like an octopus or a goat would be buried amongst the literal billions of species that had received zero reincarnations. Couldn't you just start typing the species's name to jump down to—? But no, the Theraprism's keyboard didn't have characters to type human loan words. The technician seemed to be scrolling manually.
That was fine! That was fine. Whatever Bill left as, he wouldn't be it for very long. He wasn't shopping for a makeover; just for an escape pod.
The technician located Vanessa atalanta (147 prior reincarnations) and kept moving, tabbing past a dizzying array of options—sex, size, coloration, visual clarity, caterpillar spine distribution, a whole list of health conditions and mutations the technician skipped—and every box she tabbed past automatically filled in with the word "DEFAULT". How many boxes could be filled in with defaults?
Bill leaned toward D-SM5. "So do you chuck these suckers out anywhere random on the planet or what?"
"Of course not," it said promptly. "What a thought! We take a deep interest in our discharged patients' well-being. We never leave where they spend their next lives at the whim of the computer's randomized decision." 
But they could leave it up to the computer. Still watching sideways as the technician scrolled past an "advanced settings" button without touching it (was that where the spontaneous generation option was hidden?), Bill asked, "Do youalways choose for the patient, or can the patient make requests?"
Dryly, D-SM5 said, "Unless you make some enormous progress, I doubt you'd get clearance to reincarnate anywhere near that town you terrorized, if that's what you're wondering."
"What! Who said I want to visit that crummy valley! All those mountains and trees? Ugh! No, do you know what kind of place I like? The Greater Cairo metropolitan area. Dry! Sandy! Flat!" said Bill, who detested flat landscapes with all his heart. "Covered in pyramids! Sometimes with my face on them! Plus there's the Nile! I love the Nile! I love being in the Nile! I'd spend all my time in the Nile if I could! I've had some loser ex-friends say that living your whole life in the Nile is an unhealthy coping mechanism to avoid addressing problems in your life, but if you ask me they're just jealous of how amazing my life is—"
"Ready for reincarnation," the technician said. "Proceed?"
D-SM5 left its seat, hovering closer to the glass to catch Paingoreous's attention. "Are you ready?"
"Sure," said Paingoreous, who clearly wasn't certain what he was claiming to be ready for.
"Proceed," D-SM5 said. Bill fell silent, paying close attention to how the technician began the reincarnation process.
She clicked a button that said "EXECUTE" (gruesome), clicked through a couple more confirmation screens, and then the faint background hum grew to a rumble and the magical stars glowed brighter. "Ten seconds," she said. "Nine... eight... seven..."
"Hey!" Bill shouted through the glass. "Friendly tip for Earth! Humans love when you fly into their eyeballs! You should do that!"
D-SM5 rounded on Bill, glowing furiously at him. (Maybe it was Bill's imagination, but he thought Jessica looked amused. Worth it.)
The soon-to-be caterpillar formerly known as Paingoreous stared in confusion at Bill. "Okay," he said—and then there was a bright flash of light.
He let out an awful wail of pure soul-rending agony.
When the light faded, he was gone.
The observation room had fallen perfectly silent.
"That's fine," D-SM5 said. "That's—that's normal."
####
Every once in a while, the Theraprism got something right. It was one of the few big government-sponsored "respectable" institutions that didn't make a fuss about how Bill ate. They just let him go to the cafeteria, strip down, unpeel his exoskeleton, and hang out with the photosynthesizers for half an hour or so in the corner under the grow lights. No gasps of horror or screams of outrage—not from the staff anyway; some of the patients took a bit to get used to it when they were new. It was a refreshing change.
On the other hand, even though they were willing to turn a couple lights high enough to melt most mortals' eyeballs when Bill was feeding, he never left feeling truly energized. The grow lights were designed for species with leaves and solar panels; they weren't designed to fuel up a god made of energy. A few bright lightbulbs didn't measure up to raw starlight.
He figured there wasn't any point in complaining. As much as he hated feeling like a gas tank trying to burn a dust mote for fuel, he knew that they knew that long before he even reached 1% of his usual power, he'd be strong enough to vaporize the Theraprism with the snap of a finger.
When he'd had his daily dose of light, he folded shut, redressed, and drifted over to the actual food for dessert. He grabbed a bottle of an allegedly "lemon" nigh-flavorless clear soda—this would do—and hovered toward the exit.
The cafeteria monitor stationed in the door elbowed her way in front of Bill. "Ahem."
"What?"
"You know the rules. No food outside the cafeteria."
"What! This isn't food, it's a soda. Beverages aren't food, everyone knows that." The monitor didn't budge. Bill tried whining. "C'mooon, I got injured in the void today. Look at this!" He gestured demonstratively at his splints. "Look how much pain I'm in!"
The Solitary Wellness Void made this cafeteria monitor uncomfortable. She'd never said so directly, but she tended to turn a blind eye when patients who'd just come out of the SWV were more aggressive than usual or tried to sneak extra desserts. One time when Bill had come out of a week in the SWV, she'd wordlessly slipped him a couple of packets of low-sodium fear sauce, a condiment usually distributed exclusively to the obligate phobophages in the ward. "Besides, it's my birthday! I'm a birthday triangle! You wouldn't deny a birthday triangle a soda, right?"
"Is it really your birthday?"
"Heck if I know. It could be. I don't know it isn't."
She was trying not to smile. "Fine. Just one time. Don't let anyone catch you with it and finish it before you're back in your cell."
"You got it, toots." Bill glided past her.
He slipped from the cafeteria into the nurse's office before his guards could catch sight of his illicit drink. "Hey, bartender! I'm here for my nightcap."
The nurse prepared Bill's evening battery of drugs. He bent his straw into a fun zigzag—honestly it was really more of a sad N shape—slurped down half the eyedrops, and opened his soda to refill his cup.
The nurse looked over at the hiss of the cap opening. "Hey! Hey—"
"It's just soda!" Bill protested. "The cafeteria monitor said it was fine! Besides, what's a little soda gonna do? Nullify all seven of my antipsychotics before I reach my cell?" (Bill had overheard the nurse grumbling to a colleague about the amount of antipsychotics he was on. They thought it was utterly excessive, considering that they'd had no evidence the drugs were doing anything but making him more erratic—which was something, because Bill had seen patients near drooling catatonia from their meds without any of the nurses questioning their current dosage. Conversely, the docs thought Bill's odd biology meant they needed to give him more if they wanted any hope of impacting him.) "Come on. It's not even caffeinated!"
The nurse took the soda bottle to check the ingredient list, then relented. "Fine. I suppose it won't do any harm."
"You're a peach." Bill topped off his cup, poured the rest of the soda over his eye, crushed the bottle, and consumed it too.
"The plastic probably isn't good for you, though."
"I like the way it melts in the back of my throat."
As he drank his medicated soda and got escorted back to his cell, he lazily drifted back and forth in the hall as far as the guards would let him go, dawdling more than usual—he knew they hated it when he dawdled, but they knew he hated spending one second more in his cell than necessary and grudgingly put up with a little lollygagging to keep the peace. But their tolerance ran out in the max security hall as Bill slowed down even further near The Beast's cell. The guard behind Bill pushed him. "Hurry up." 
"Hey!" Bill wobbled off path and stumbled into the wall, spilling some of his drink. "What's your problem!"
"You stopped moving."
"I did not! I'm just taking my time! Enjoying the weather out here."
"Well, take less time."
"Ugh, fine. Didn't realize you had plans I'm keeping you from." Bill rolled his eye and kept moving.
"Hold it!"
Bill froze. He turned around. The guard was pointing at a streak of clear fluid that had spilled from Bill's cup and rolled down the door. His bones frosted over.
"You dropped a pill," the guard said.
Bill's gaze focused on the circular soap-green tablet on the floor. "Are you kidding?! Aren't the other twelve enough?"
"No exceptions, Cipher."
"You don't expect me to eat it off the floor!"
"Do you want to go all the way back to the nurse's office for another?"
Bill groaned in frustration. "Fine!" He snatched it up, wiped it off on the guard's sleeve, and popped it in his mouth. The guard raised a fist; Bill bared his fangs; and after a tense moment, the guard backed down first. The Theraprism had taken nearly every other power from Bill, but it couldn't take his teeth—and though he knew the guards would win any fight, Bill could make it hurt.
They returned him to his room; Bill handed over his cup; they checked to make sure his cup was empty, inspected his mouth, and locked him in.
He hoped they wouldn't notice that half his pills had stuck in the zig-zag bend of the opaque white straw.
He hoped they wouldn't notice The Beast's tongue thrusting through his food slot to lap up the spilled soda that was running down his door and over the bright red "NO SUGAR ALLOWED" sign.
His entire plan hinged on it.
####
Bill was drawing on the wall with his scant art supplies when he felt reality ripple around him, like the wave in a still pool when someone new quietly slides into the water. He looked up from his work. It was happening.
There were several thuds; then a crash; and then the peal of a prison alarm piercing the air. The alarm melted into shrill dolphin-like laughter, and then the frenetic staccato of a hyper speed dance song that threatened to fracture Bill's internal organs. He shuddered as the sound tore at his wound like freezing ice crystals expanding a crack in a boulder.
But he rose into the air and turned to face the door, ready.
Just in time for the door to vanish. The Theraprism melted away like mist in the sunlight—and oh, the sunlight was glorious. The wide open sky pulsed maddening colors so vivid that the faraway rainbows looked monotone in comparison; the land consisted of rolling hills of candy-coated tongues and stomachs and muscles, the paws of enormous buried corpses thrusting up into the sky, the crevasses between burial mounds running with artificially-flavored saliva. It was Bill's kind of place. He wished he had time to hang around.
Before him, orange fur matted with a fine dust of powdery sugar, wild eyes contracted to pinpricks, stood The Beast.
"You did it, you beautiful monster!" Bill shrieked with laughter. "I knew you'd come through!"
The Beast rumbled, "Em deerf evah uoy."
"You're welcome! You can return the favor later! Me, I have somewhere to be." While The Beast was asserting his personal reality on top of the Theraprism's idea of reality, none of the Theraprism's walls or doors existed. Bill wasn't sure exactly how far The Beast's radius of influence extended, except that it was at least far enough to get him out of the maximum security hall—but he had to move now, before the guards rallied to sedate The Beast. Bill slipped a finger into the band of his ankle bracelet and found that under the influence of The Beast's physics, the stiff plastic stretched like a warm rubber band. He tugged it off and tossed it aside. "Seeya, pal!"
But The Beast held up a paw, blocking Bill before he could zip off. "Noob ym tpecca," The Beast said. "Hself ym emusnoc."
"Oooh. Woww." Bill looked at The Beast's candy paw. "Oh, man. Generous offer! You have no idea how tempting it is to take a taste, but I've really gotta get somewhere, and I've gotta be at least sober enough to pull that off..."
"Emusnoc," The Beast insisted. "Hsur ragus eht fo ssendam gnilims citatsce eht ni em nioj. Rehtegot srorroh letsap dna serusaelp kcis hcus wonk lliw ew. Evarg lufituaeb ym ni em htiw tor."
Bill stared again at the paw. The tip of his tongue slipped out beneath his eye to lick hungrily at his waterline. When was the last time he'd been on something that felt good? "Oh, what the heck!" He took The Beast's paw. "I can do this buzzed! How much damage can one little lick do, anyway?"
####
The guard heaved open the maximum security hall's door. The floor was covered in tacky pools of neon candy and removed ankle monitors. "It's just like we feared," the guard shouted into a walkie-talkie, glancing quickly through each cell door's window. "Every single max security patient escaped under The Beast's reality-altering field."
The guard stopped at the sight of neon yellow and orange, peering through the window at the triangle flopped flat on the ground and surrounded by powdery pink sugar.
"Well," the guard said, "all of them except Cipher."
Through the walkie-talkie, D-SM5 tiredly said, "He licked the paw, didn't he."
"Looks like it, boss."
D-SM5 groaned. "All right! Positive thinking! That's the second biggest threat in the ward already accounted for! Silver lining to Mr. Cipher's substance use issues. Assist in securing the others."
####
The good news was that The Beast seemed happy to frolic randomly around the Theraprism rather than head toward the exit, forcing the other escapees to follow along to remain under his reality-altering protection rather than get stranded in small rooms and locked-down halls. The bad news was that his meandering route let him pick up more and more revelers. After an hour, only a third of the max security patients had been re-captured and dragged back to their cells, and twice as many medium security patients had joined the riot. 
A-AOX4 was on hand in the maximum security hall to supervise as the guards brought in super-powered escapees. Most of them came back loopy on either The Beast's toxins or on the sedative that had been injected to keep them calm. A-AOX4 was checking them for awareness of their surroundings—name, where are you, when are you, why are you here—as each one was locked back in their cell.
And each time it passed by Bill's cell, it glanced in, concerned.
Bill had been almost pleasant when he'd come out of the Solitary Wellness Void—maybe after all those sessions in isolation he was finally ready to be more of a team player. And D-SM5 had said that he'd been unusually well-behaved and attentive during the reincarnation. A-AOX4 had hoped their most surly patient was finally opening up. It would be a shame if this incident with The Beast resulted in his new progress backsliding.
Plus, it took a heavy dose of anything to impact Bill at all, much less knock him out cold. He'd already had to go to the nurse earlier today; what if he needed medical attention?
So after locking up the latest subdued prisoner, A-AOX4 said to one of the guards, "Take over monitoring incoming patients. I'm checking on Cipher."
It unlocked the door and hovered into the room. "Cipher?"
No response. He was plastered flat to the floor.
"Bill?" It floated lower to check his condition. 
He was paper.
Paper meticulously colored in with yellow marker and folded into a triangle; scraps of paper colored black, carefully torn into hand and feet shapes, and shoved in the sleeves and pants of his prison uniform.
A-AOX4 lifted up the paper. On the other side was Bill's "Be a TRY-angle!" poster. He'd written across it, "IS THIS TRYING HARD ENOUGH FOR YOU?"
It turned toward the door—and discovered Bill had filled the wall with a drawing of himself making an obscene gesture, with a word bubble that read, "GIVE MY REGARDS TO THE AX! And tell Jessica I said bye xoxo"
It zoomed out into the hallway and grabbed its walkie-talkie. "Director SM5! Cipher's escaped his cell! He left a decoy! He's not with The Beast, we don't know where he is!"
There was a moment of dead air. And then the director growled, "I think I have an idea."
####
Trying to keep his giggles as quiet as possible, Bill looped through the Theraprism's halls, drifting between The Beast's rolling fields of hard candy corpses and the Theraprism's rigid monotone halls. What had he been worried about! Getting hopped up on astralplanar sugar before escaping his cell had been a great idea! It gave him instant shortcuts through half the walls! And he could handle a little buzz like this! He was totally in control of his actions and knew exactly what he—
How long had he been flying the wrong direction? He turned around. Wow was he high, he could barely focus on anything but all the colors. He wondered if The Beast's toxins had any weird interactions with his meds.
He was lucky The Beast had decided to dawdle around the Dimensional Tyrants Ward: here at the far end of the Theraprism, there were no signs of crisis beyond the sealed doors indicating the facility was under lockdown—and once he was outside a high security ward, there were plenty of cracks, gaps, and vents that Bill was thin enough to slide through. He hadn't even seen a guard since he'd left his cell. By the time he reached the reincarnation room, The Beast's landscape was fading out and the sugar crash headache was fading in, but the facility was still on lockdown and no one seemed to be looking for Bill. He slipped beneath the locked door and powered up the console to the reincarnation machine.
He skipped straight to the reincarnation program and checked the box that said, yes, the patient's brain had been washed. He paused when a warning pop-up blocked the screen. The technician hadn't gotten a pop-up. He had to read over the two-sentence warning three times before he understood what he was looking at. The soul sanitization routine hadn't been run recently, was he sure the patient's memory was erased—ugh, yes. He irritably clicked the confirmation and hoped that would be the last of it.
Bill quickly selected Earth and dimension 46'\; he tabbed past the coordinates and date, and they both automatically filled in "DEFAULT." D-SM5 had said the computer would make a "random" decision if you didn't plug in a time and place, but the staff didn't know Earth like Bill did. If he left the time and place up to the whims of fate, then something as weird as a trillion-year-old alien chaos god escaping a criminal insane asylum to spontaneously generate as a fully grown mortal would be sucked straight into the weirdest place and time on Earth. Gravity Falls: August, 2012. Weirdmageddon. He was willing to bet his life on it.
He was betting his life on it.
After that, with any luck, he'd be able to shed his new body like any other puppet and return to his castle in the sky. If for some reason he couldn't get out of it, he'd only need to pull a couple of magic tricks outside a normal mortal's capabilities to catch his past self's attention, find a way to prove his identity—heck, with any luck, they'd be seeing through each other's eyes and that would instantly confirm it—warn his past self about the Pines' treachery, prevent his own death, save Weirdmageddon, restructure the universe in his image, and rule his new party paradise as god-king for all eternity. Easy.
He scrolled down the list of available creatures, looking for something that would be easy to reach the Fearamid and prove his intelligence with—something with vocal cords that could speak eye-bat would be useful, it'd save him a lot of trouble if he could just shout at his sentinels in their own language and startle them into listening—but, to his surprise, the first useful species he found was humans, down amongst the species that had received a single-digit number of reincarnations from the Theraprism. Really, humans? They allowed that?
Over the blaring alarm, a voice made an announcement. He completely tuned it out—and only realized a moment after it ended that he'd heard his own name. They knew he'd escaped.
Bill didn't have time to search for anything better. He selected humanity.
He tabbed past dozens of features he could choose from for his body—default default default default—who cared what the body peed out of, he wasn't keeping the thing long enough to fill its bladder! He clicked open the advanced settings—there, spontaneous generation! He hoped this thing wouldn't drop him on the sidewalk as a baby, but usually when a human suddenly popped into existence, it was an adult sculpted from clay or something, right? He'd be fine! He checked the box for spontaneous generation.
He got another error message. He groaned. He wasn't sober enough for this.
Something about spontaneous generation being banned on Earth after 1859, is he willing to assume the liability if the patient generates after—yeah sure whatever, he clicked yes. Another pop-up prompted him for the digital signature of the person assuming liability. He typed in D-SM5's name.
As soon as he clicked enter, another error message popped up. "What!!"
He flinched at the sound of a muffled pneumatic hiss. Outside, somebody had unlocked the doors to this hallway. The alarm was still blaring; the Theraprism wasn't coming off lockdown. That meant whoever had unlocked the hall was coming for him.
"Focusss." He skimmed the new warning. Something about humans being on a list of species for which spontaneous generation was restricted—what loser had written a law about that! Who cared if a fully-formed, brand-new human popped out of thin air in the middle of town! What about Bill's wants?! He checked another box YES HE'S SURE HE WANTS TO SPONTANEOUSLY GENERATE A HUMAN YOU MONSTER and pounded enter.
Another pop-up. It wanted to know on which god's authority the spontaneous generation had been authorized.
Bill froze. Why did it need to know. Would it check? A machine that could reincarnate a soul was probably also a machine that could shoot off a prayer. Or was Bill supposed to have some kind of divine authorization code? Which gods were even allowed to authorize that kind of thing? He didn't know which stupid legislative body had made this stupid law or what their stupid definition of a god was! Gods weren't even real, they were just stupid, arrogant, stuck-up jerks who were powerful enough to trick people into thinking they were important! Like Bill! What name were they looking for?!
He heard voices in the hallway. He darted over to the door, slid his fingers through the seams around the doorframe to crush the latching mechanism so it couldn't be opened, and darted back. That wouldn't hold them long; he knew from experience that the guards could bust down the doors in these low security wings without much difficulty.
"Bill Cipher!" That was D-SM5. It had come personally? In any other circumstance, he'd be flattered. "Open up immediately!"
"Has that ever worked?" A god, a god, a god... his eye caught on the bas relief at the back of the next room. If there was any god this place would accept orders from... The guards were ramming the door; the bending metal groaned. He typed "THE AXOLOTL" and hit enter.
The button grayed out but the pop-up didn't go away. The screen froze. "What." Bill tried clicking again. The cursor turned into one of those little spinning balls that meant the computer was quietly having a stroke. "No no no no—"
D-SM5 hollered, "You know what the consequences will be if you don't—"
"I'm not listeniiing to yooou!"
"You're only going to hurt yourse—"
Dropping his voice to a demonic boom to drown out the director, Bill recited, "'I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited! People were not—" There was a shriek of tearing metal, and then a bright glow behind Bill as D-SM5 peered through the gap in the door. Bill started talking faster, "'Were not invited they went there they got into automobiles which bore them out to Long Island and somehow—'"
The pop-up disappeared. The cursor returned to normal. The box next to spontaneous generation was checked. Bill stared for a split second, then quickly closed out the advanced settings, scrolled to the bottom of the page, and hit "EXECUTE."
Someone blasted the door out of its frame; based on the blinding glow that accompanied the blast, Bill suspected that wasn't one of the guards, but D-SM5 itself. He frantically clicked through the next two confirmations, flung a couple of folding chairs toward D-SM5 and its thugs, and dove beneath the door to the next room. Ten seconds.
"Cancel the reincarnation!" D-SM5 snapped.
A guard ran to the console. (What if they saw where Bill had gone? They could probably guess the planet, but would the computer keep records of his destination, what his new body looked like—) "I don't see a cancel! I don't think—"
"Then get him off the altar!"
Five seconds. Please spawn as an adult and not a baby, please spawn as an adult and not a baby, please— Bill hadn't broken the door between the observation room and the altar; the guards easily unlocked it. "No no no—!"
"Don't let him esc—!"
Three seconds. An impossibly bright light shone down on Bill. He reflexively peeled open his exoskeleton to accept it. LIGHT—oh, he felt even more alive than the time he'd stolen a bottle of stimulants from the nurse station, ground them up, and snorted them off Mrs. Mirrorcube's back. His eye widened, taking in as much free energy as he could—and then he focused his gaze through the window on the console, focusing the infinite light into a laser powerful enough to instantly melt through the window and explode the computer. The guards fell back, trying to shield their tender mortal flesh from the fury of Bill's fire. Enjoy the blisters.
D-SM5 bellowed, "Bill Cipher, you mo—!"
"CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, SUCKA!" He could feel his body ripping apart, cracking open at the wound. It hurt, but not the hurt of dying; it was the euphoric hurt of spaghettification, of being infinitely sucked beyond a beautiful event horizon. Bill's triumphant cackle filled the air—
—and then the room was silent and dark, and Bill was gone.
####
(If you're new here: I posted this as a one shot because I think we could all use a little Bill escaping from Theraprism, yeah? However it's ALSO part of my ongoing Bill-stuck-in-a-human-body fic I'm currently editing for TBOB compatibility. So, if you enjoyed this and want to see where post-reincarnation Bill goes, check out the fic!! And if you DON'T want to read the rest of the fic, I hope you enjoyed the one shot and I'd love to hear your thoughts.
If you do check out the main fic be forewarned it's only 100% TBOB compatible up to chapter 6. After that it is, bizarrely, 98% TBOB compatible, because somehow I accidentally wrote a fic that lines up with the book so well that I'm legit worried people could use TBOB to work out fic spoilers. But I still need to edit the remaining 2%.
If you're NOT new here: hey gang this is the new chapter 6!!! I finished editing this chapter about fifteen minutes before post time so it's not as polished as my usual chapters, but I hope it didn't read that way. Anyway, I look forward to hearing what y'all think!)
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birdsareblooming · 22 days ago
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bc of the alcohol scene people are FINALLY clocking that Toriel is also kinda shitty. for people who didn't pick up on it this is not new to Deltarune:
Toriel is incredibly stubborn especially about her beliefs and therefore she states very blatently that she is good and Asgore is bad and evil and horrible, meanwhile Asgore himself is a pushover and takes it like a pussy. Because she states it with such confidence people just kinda.. believed her.
Toriel's the one who left and decided to stew instead of actually solving any problems. it took six kids for Toriel to actually try to hold one back. When she comes back like. yeah a lot of this is Asgore's fault but what she says to him then could've been said six dead kids ago instead of basically ghosting him. Even after all of her worry she still doesn't come with you because despite herself and what she thinks, she's just as much of a coward delaying the inevitable as Asgore is.
These themes really continue in Deltarune. While Asgore is definitely too pushy, Toriel refuses to talk to him in any way at all, throwing away his flowers and trash talking him behind his back while also not talking to him at all. Similarly to Undertale she'd much rather avoid and trash talk him than make moves to fix anything.
Even though Toriel kinda does, it's not an argument of who was worse in the situation of either Undertale or Deltarune, if you start counting "sin points" to decide who was worse than you're loosing your media literacy. As far as I can tell at least in Undertale Toriel is just as at fault as Asgore is, even IF she tried and failed years ago and gave up, shutting herself off from the world and pretending it doesn't exist is no solution, and it's almost the same solution Asgore took, even right before he kills you.
We don't know the situation in Delatrune other than Asgore seems to have something he's involved with that Toriel doesn't want to talk about that Carol is "financing", very well could be an addiction of his own.
But I think the blatant alcoholism (that's in Undertale btw, in the alarm clock event she also got plastered) that people who know what alcoholism looks like noticed how Kris (and Susie) act in that scene has made it more apparent than ever that Toriel is an incredibly flawed character and one of her flaws is not being able to see that, something that Asgore does the opposite of where he's always wallowing in self-pity.
Toriel is really good at general mom-isms like making breakfast, taking the kids out, supporting interests, giving hugs, etc. However when actually worrying about Kris' safety and wellbeing she ends up falling short, as people have pointed out when we come home in chapter 4 she doesn't ask why either of them were out so late. Even a controlled state Kris has enough embarrassment and shame about the scene that they hide their face, meaning Kris has shown obvious signs of disapproval before that Toriel has not seen or ignored.
I think that's why her and Sans mesh so well together in an actually horrible way. Sans also likes to pretend stuff doesn't exist and brush stuff off with a joke instead of doing anything until literally the last minute. With how he acts in the scene he may not know, but weather he knows or not he is absolutely enabling her, which weather Toriel knows it or not is why she likes him and keeps him around. Finally a succinct way of saying why I believe their relationship, whatever you believe it is, is a toxic one.
TLDR: the only parent doing a good job here is Rudy unless we learn info later that changes that
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kit-kat-katie · 4 days ago
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Old Flame, New Sparks
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a/n: After a year of silence, I have emerged with a new obsession that I just simply had to write about. Sue me for wanting to be in the middle of the Eddie-Volt sandwich. I giggle every time I see them, they're just so my type AHHHHH- (also ty @sanccharine for being just as insufferable about the breaker box boys as I am <333)
pairing(s): Eddie x Reader x Volt (romantic)
tw: implied sexual situations, reader has a toxic ex that demeans and belittles them, injuries sustained by electric shock
summary: After months of not contacting your ex, a moment of weakness causes you to consider going back to them. With the electrifying support of Volt and Eddie, you're able to close that chapter in your life for good. - 6.3k words!
“Cocktail or mocktail?”
“Mocktail, please.” You happily respond as Beverly grabs a strainer, shakers and mixing glass from the bar in front of her.
“So you're going to the Breaker Box tonight?”
Warmth floods to your cheeks - were your evening habits really that predictable? - but you try not to show it.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you only order cocktails if you plan on going to bed straight afterwards. Mocktails, on the other hand, are something you order if you have plans later…” She trails off with a light blush on her face. “I'm not trying to pry! I just heard that you like to visit the Breaker Box at night, so I put two and two together.”
You're in awe at the way Beverly masterfully pours your mocktail into a glass - bartending truly is an art, and she has refined her craft (minus the occasional broken glass).
She slides the glass over to you with an expectant look as you take a sip.
“Wow, Bev, this is really good!” You shower her with praise, which causes her to blush harder. “Don't worry - even though I'm a regular at the Breaker Box, you're still my favorite bartender.”
With a wink, you take another sip of your glass as Beverly does her best not to drop her bartender equipment. 
“Re-Really?” She shyly asks as you nod. “That means so much to me!”
As you finish the rest of your drink, Beverly cleans the bar and prepares to close for the night.
“I'll see you soon, Bev!” You wave to her before exiting the bar.
She happily waves back as you open the door, which pulls you from the interior of Bev's bar to the middle of your kitchen.
You quickly take your dateviators off as the sun sinks further into the horizon.
Although Beverly was right - you were going to the Breaker Box tonight - you just didn't feel like drinking tonight.
A familiar ding! from your phone causes a pit in your stomach to form as you check your messages.
???: Why do you keep blocking the numbers I text you with?
Just talk to me. That's all I want. One simple conversation with you so we can fully end our relationship.
You scoff at the thought of ‘fully ending your relationship’, since that has yet to be the result of one of these conversations. You talk, they somehow get all sappy and romantic on you, you take them back until you remember how toxic they were, and you block them until they manage to break down your walls, chip by chip. 
You ended things with them, permanently, six months ago, and it was the longest you had ever been without them since you met. You had felt yourself start to slip back into that toxic cycle when the dateviators arrived at your door.
Since then, you haven't had the need to check your phone for their messages, and if you happen to see them, you'd just block each number that came through.
Something about tonight, however, causes you to falter. Maybe it's the fatigue from the day, or the lack of sleep due to Nightmare's sudden appearance last night, but you're considering sending something back to your ex.
Damn, maybe I should've had Beverly make me a cocktail.
For now, you're able to gracefully slide your phone into your pocket. The urge to text them passes as quickly as you came, and you find yourself drained as the end of the day approaches.
I really need a spark to help me get through the rest of today.
With as much motivation as you can muster, you walk from the kitchen to the upstairs portion of your house, where the literal breaker box awaits you.
You gently place the dateviators over your eyes, and you swing open the breaker box door in order to get to the interior of the Breaker Box.
A gentle buzz surrounds the room, from the crowd and the lighting alike, as you step away from the door.
“Hello, love,” Dorian says from behind you, “Volt's wandering around and Eddie's somewhere behind the bar. They've been looking for you since they opened - Eddie especially. Just don't tell them that I said anything, yeah?”
“Of course, Dorian, and thank you.” You look back and offer him a friendly wave before walking further into the Breaker Box.
The crowd is a bit thicker than usual, due to the open mic night that's drawn in talent from all over your house, but you're thankful for the extra time to sit with your thoughts.
You encouraged Eddie and Volt to be open with you, but would they be just as kind as you were to them? Especially with such a vulnerable topic that made you feel so weak and queasy inside?
Part of you hopes that you'll run into Volt first - his flurry of affection and sweet nothings will melt your worries away and jolt your senses back to normal. He'll sweeten you up before he notices that anything is wrong with your demeanor… hopefully.
The other part of you wants to find Eddie at the bar, so he can make you a nice drink that can nurse your worries away. You'll throw playful jabs and small teases at each other until a smile lights up your face again. There's something comforting about the apparent coldness in his eyes - a calm wave amongst the wild sea - that pulls you in every time.
You're pulled out of your thoughts by another annoying ding! on your phone, and you feel the people next to you glare as you check your phone.
???: Please, baby, I'll do anything for another chance.
Can I see you tomorrow?
You can't help but roll your eyes before stuffing your phone back into your pocket, but not before you turn your ringer to vibrate instead.
With a sour expression, you turn away from the crowd and march towards the bar. As much as you'd like to drown in Volt's presence, you really needed that fucking drink right now.
A few bartenders catch your eye, but they quickly gesture towards the end of the bar, where Eddie sits.
A distinct coldness appears to radiate from him, where no one will approach or bother him, but it softens once Eddie notices you.
His posture shifts from lackadaisical to attentive and focused as you take a seat next to him.
“Drink?” He offers while not looking your way.
You hum in response, which causes him to get up from his seat and walk around to the bar area.
“Long day?”
You turn away from the crowd and stage to look at Eddie.
“Yeah. You?”
“Always.” 
You place a hand on the counter before resting your head on it.
“What are you making me?”
“Whatever you'd like, live wire.”
Volt's nickname for you still feels foreign from Eddie's mouth, but you certainly don't mind him using it.
“Surprise me.” 
To anyone else, your conversation would sound just like any other patron-bartender conversation, but there was enough subtlety between the two of you to suggest more.
It's in the way Eddie rolls up his sleeves excruciatingly slow, so you have all the time to ogle over his forearms and hands. When he notices where your eyes are focused, a small smirk forms on his face as he softly laughs, but he chooses to say nothing.
Or maybe it's in the way that you respond, by taking off your jacket to reveal a t-shirt that lands somewhere between tight enough to reveal what's underneath and loose enough to leave something to the imagination.
Eddie definitely notices the change in your attire, given the small blush on his cheeks, but he focuses on making your drink as you feel your phone vibrate against your pocket.
Can't you just take my silence as a no, for once?
Annoyingly, you're pulled out of the intimate moment, but you do your best to refocus on what's in front of you. You set your phone on the bar table, in an attempt to forget about your ex, as a drink is slid over to you.
The vibrant colors of the cocktail lure you in for a taste, and you're pleasantly surprised by how much you like this drink. Although you weren't one for cocktails, this one just so happens to incorporate your favorite flavors into a drink that you won't forget.
Despite not opening up about your alcohol preferences, Eddie still managed to figure out what you liked.
Or maybe he asked around the house?
“So?”
Despite not trying to look for approval, Eddie leans in and looks at you expectantly - he really wants you to like what he's made.
He definitely asked someone about my preferences.
“It's wonderful, Eddie. Thank you.” You offer him a warm yet tired smile, which causes a soft blush to appear on his face.
“You're welcome.”
He begins to clean up the bartending station as the guests settle in at various booths and tables in preparation for the show tonight. You still don't see Volt among the crowd, but somehow you can still feel his energy radiating off of every surface in the room.
As Eddie settles in on the bar seat next to you, you notice that he doesn't have a drink in his hand.
“Nothing for you?”
“I'd rather drink after the show, in case anything needs to be fixed up.” Ever-the-workaholic, Eddie refuses to indulge himself until everything is taken care of. “Are you going to stay after and help?”
“Of course.”
You'd like to say more, but you're interrupted by the intentional blinking of the lights, which signals that it's almost showtime.
This is the first time that you lay eyes on Volt, who is working on charming a customer into having just one more drink for the night, but you're too distracted by Eddie to say anything.
You notice that his arm is resting on the bar table, right behind you, but he hesitates on making contact with your skin.
You smile at the gesture - he's cute without trying to be - and you lean closer to Eddie until you're resting your head on his shoulder. Then, and only then, does his arm wrap around you to pull you even closer to him.
You decide to take it one step further, by nuzzling your head in your shoulder, which causes him to grumble.
“Comfortable?” Eddie grumbles in pretend annoyance.
He's enjoying this way more than he says he is.
You simply sigh contentedly as he gives your shoulder a light squeeze.
“Good.” He murmurs softly, only for you to hear.
You do your best to hide your laughter as Volt takes the stage. His magnetic presence draws every eye from every corner of the room as he introduces the first singer for the night.
Before he leaves the stage, his eyes find yours, and he offers you a flirtatious wink. Your face heats up from the gestures, and Volt smiles at the result.
The night flies by in a blur of music and people, and you're only aware of the passage of time when Eddie occasionally squeezes your shoulder, to see if you're still awake.
This would be far from the first time that you've fallen asleep in the bar - sometimes you and Eddie worked for a long time after the bar closed, and the combination of physical and mental exhaustion caused you to fall asleep before he could offer you a drink at the bar. Or you're listening to Eddie and Volt chat about the bar, while curled up against Volt's chest, and the mix of their voices and the soft thrum of electricity is enough to lull you to sleep.
Tonight, however, sleepiness seemed to avoid you. You were tired, sure, but your eyes seemed to be screwed open. Your phone was far enough away from you, for now, but it felt like a ticking time bomb was laying next to you as you awaited your doom.
Eddie notices - of fucking course he notices, he always does - and one-too-many glances to your phone causes him to say something between the second-to-last and last act of the night.
“Is there someone you'd rather be seeing?” 
You know he's teasing, but you can't help but internally gag at the thought of your ex-lover being as close to you as Eddie is right now. You don't even want them in the same house as you, or even the same neighborhood or city.
Normally, you'd shoot back with something like, “Nobody but you, loverboy,” and you'd delight as his face discovered a new shade of pink to display on his handsome features.
But tonight didn't feel like a normal night.
Instead, you let out a deflated sigh before looking up at Eddie.
“It's quite the opposite, actually. I'd do anything to not see this person again.”
And there it slips out.
There it goes, flowing out of your mouth like a river of shit headed downstream. Luckily, you manage to save any remaining grace you have by shutting the fuck up, but the bomb's already went off.
The concern etched on Eddie's features makes your heart pound, but you still feel horrifically bad inside.
Despite being in more… compromising positions with Eddie and Volt, this is the most vulnerable you've ever felt with one of them.
And it fucking blows.
You can tell he's trying to speak, trying to say something that'll make you feel better, but the words don't come out. This isn't as simple as cutting your hand on a broken bar glass or accidentally shocking yourself with a fuse - Eddie can't gently scold you while wrapping your wound with spare bandages he keeps on hand. You wish he would pull your hand to his face, just as he would in one of those moments, to place a small kiss on the injury so “you'll feel better soon so you can get back to work”. 
You steal the words from his mouth as you try to regain control of the situation and your emotions.
“Eddie, can you please make me another drink?”
You hate how needy, desperate, and distant you sound, but you need a quick pick-me-up, and if he's not going to offer it in words or affection, then you'll drown your sorrows in booze instead.
He says nothing, opting to press a very gentle kiss on your scalp before letting go of you.
“One more, then you're cut off. Can't have you trying to hurt yourself before we do any real work.”
You softly chuckle to yourself as you refocus on the stage. The final act is just wrapping up, and soon Volt will retake the stage to thank the crowd for coming tonight. 
You find yourself awaiting his arrival as Eddie slides you another cocktail. In return, you hand him your empty glass. He dutifully begins to clean the glass as you watch him work. 
You can't believe that you're letting some person from your past ruin what's in front of you.
You find yourself wanting to apologize, but the words won't reach your lips. Besides, what would you apologize for? Being a total fucking buzzkill?
Eventually, as Volt returns to the stage, Eddie retakes his seat next to you. His arm wraps around you again - this time, he holds you just a little bit tighter as you curl up next to him.
After Volt's ending remarks, people begin to file out of the Breaker Box. They mutter praises for the bar amid their scathing reviews of each performer. You always enjoyed the extra chatter that came with the bar, and part of you always missed that when you were closing up the bar. That, however, was made up in the fact that you had Eddie and Volt's undivided attention after the bar closed.
Just as you're about to see Volt, a wave of sleepiness finally washes over you, which causes you to rest your head on Eddie's chest.
“Live wire-” He gently warns you against further action, but you choose to ignore him as you press yourself against him.
“Stop squirming. You're making me uncomfortable.” You mutter as you hear someone walk towards you.
“You're uncomfortable? What about me?”
“You'll get over it.” You mumble into his chest, and you can hear him softly laugh as he adjusts his posture to make you more comfortable.
“Fine.” He begrudgingly says before moving his arm from your shoulder to your waist in order to better support you.
You feel yourself slip into the comforting embrace of sleep, but you force your eyes open when you hear Volt's voice.
“Live wire!”
You want to get up and greet him, but you are oh-so-comfortable where you are; however, you do weakly offer him one of your hands, which Volt gladly takes.
“Tired already, my spark?” Volt says before pressing a warm kiss to the back of your hand. “I should've caught you sooner, then.”
“I was looking for you, but I couldn't find you in the crowd, so I went and sat with Eddie.” You try to hide the disappointment in your voice, but it doesn't work on Volt.
“I'm sorry to disappoint, live wire. I'll happily make it up to you later, if you'll allow me to.”
“Please do.” You sleepily say as Eddie's other hand rubs up and down your back.
“They've been out of it all night, Volt. I got them to open up, but-”
“-But?”
“-it seemed like a sore spot, so I didn't want to pry.”
“Eddie, I'm sure you could've asked them something.”
“I didn't want to push them away after all they've done for us. What if I said the wrong thing and messed it all up? What then-”
You lift your head up when your phone starts to erratically buzz on the bar table.
“Oh, for fuck's sake.” You swear under your breath before laying your head back down. “Just leave me alone. I don't want to see you anymore.”
Eddie and Volt don't speak for a moment, and you're sure that they're sharing a questioning glance about what just happened.
“Are you talking about another object? If so, you'll find that Eddie and I can be very convincing-”
“Volt.” Eddie warns his other half, who chooses to ignore him.
“No, it's another human.” You softly say with a twinge of pain in your voice. “A human I should've let go of a long, long time ago.”
There's a beat of silence, between your confession and whatever reaction awaits you from Eddie and Volt.
“A human lover, I assume?” Volt asks with bated breath.
“Ex-lover, but yeah.” You feel a bit guilty after admitting all of this, but a weight feels lifted off of your chest.
It's enough to tempt you back into sleepiness, where you feel your eyes slowly shut as the world around you dims slowly into nothingness.
You can still hear Eddie and Volt, but they sound out-of-reach and far away, despite your closeness.
“My sweet, poor little wire… I suppose it wouldn't hurt to shock some sense into this human, right?”
“Volt.”
“Worry not, my sweet Eddie. It's nothing like you're thinking.” You can hear the smile in his words, but they still have some bite and agitation to them.
“Good night.” You murmur to no one in particular as sleep finally overcomes your body.
~
Your bed happily cradles your body as you awake from your slumber. You aren't hungover from the night before, but you still can't remember exactly what happened. 
You were with Eddie for most of the night, and you remember seeing Volt after the bar closed, but that was about it.
I'm sure I'd remember if it was anything important.
As tempting as it is to roll over and go back to sleep, you have a few promises to fulfill with a few special objects in your house.
Your dateviators await you on your nightstand, along with your phone and a napkin that displays the Breaker Box logo on it.
You reach for the napkin first, and you're happy to see a small message on the napkin, written in Volt’s handwriting.
Sleep well, live wire.
~ E & V
You open the drawer on your nightstand and place the napkin with the small pile of other napkins that you've managed to collect from your nights out.
You go to grab your phone, to see if Sam or that strange Tinfoil Hat character has texted you, but you're stopped by the ring of a doorbell.
Your doorbell is ringing.
You fly out of bed before assembling a quick outfit of something that is moderately presentable. You're mindful enough to store the dateviators in a safe place, in case your company is someone who's looking for their whereabouts. 
You grab your phone as the doorbell continues to ring.
“I'm coming. Hold on!” You yell before leaving your bedroom and descending down the stairs. 
Your hand grabs the doorknob, but it refuses to open despite you unlocking it a few seconds ago.
“Dorian…” You mumble under your breath, and the door opens before you start lecturing your door.
Your mouth hangs wide open as soon as you see who's on the other side with a bundle of roses in their hand. 
“Hey.” Your ex gives you a warm smile before handing you the flowers. “I got these this morning. They made me think of you.”
“Oh… um, thank you.” You awkwardly take the flowers from them as you try to figure out what they're doing here. “Would you like to come in?”
“I would, since you're the one who invited me over.”
You move out of the way as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion - you certainly would remember texting them, right?
Your ex heads further into the house as you shut your front door and pull out your phone to check your messages.
Surely enough, there's a plentiful stream of messages between the two of you, which only serves to confuse you further. The messages you sent don't even sound like you - they alternate between being too sappy or too passive-aggressive for your texting style.
It's almost like two different people wrote them…
You shake your head as you follow your ex into the kitchen, where they have already grabbed a vase and filled it with water.
“I still remember where everything is, as strange as it sounds. I don't remember the water in your sink being that hot - is there something wrong with your water heater?” 
They place the vase on your kitchen table, and you carefully position the flowers in the vase.
“Last I checked, it was working fine.” You shrug before gesturing for them to take a seat. “Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please.” Your ex answers, and you happily oblige them as your mind tries to wrap itself around the predicament you're in.
It's blatantly awkward between the two of you, and you're not quite sure what to tell them about the situation you find yourself in. 
“Listen, I wanted to talk about us-” They start as you place a coffee cup next to them before you take a seat on the opposite side of the kitchen table. 
“-I do too.” You interrupt them before taking a deep breath. “I know I reached out to you last night and told you to come here, but I needed to tell you this in person.”
Awaiting your answer, your ex leans forward.
“We're done,” Your voice is shaky, but you manage to say the thing you've been wanting to say for years, “for good.”
Bewildered, they look at you before letting out a dry laugh.
“You're not serious, are you? You're just playing hard to get, right?”
“No,” You shake your head, “I'm serious.”
You want to shrink into nothingness when you sense their anger starting to emerge, but you have to stand your ground soon if you want to truly be done with this person. The part of you that would grovel and beg for their attention and grace has died, and a newfound sense of bravery emanates from you.
“You play with my feelings all night, getting all hot and cold with me, just to pull this shit?” They stand up suddenly, but you refuse to let them see any fear from you. “What is fucking wrong with you?”
You'd like to shoot that question back to them, but you don't feel like launching yourself into an argument that would make Dirk and Harper's fights look like child's play.
You, instead, turn your head away and begin to fiddle with your fingers from under the table.
“Is there someone else?”
Heat rises to your face, and your ex bitterly scoffs before slamming their hands on the table.
“I fucking knew it. You've been sleeping around, like a whore-”
“-I'm not a whore.” You respond with an equal amount of malice as you slowly rise from your seat. “And who would care if I was? We aren't together anymore.”
As the argument continues to heat up, you and your ex fail to notice the way the lights above you flicker and respond to your words.
“You're still mine-”
“-since fucking when? The last time you told me I was yours, you cheated on me three days later with my best friend!”
“That was a one-time mistake!” They scream before throwing their hands up in the air. “Are you incapable of forgiving and forgetting?”
“You broke my heart!” Your voice cracks as hot tears threaten to fall from your face. 
You're so close to cracking and allowing them to comfort you, and they know it. They just have to push your buttons a little more, and then you're theirs again.
“Fine. Go off and enjoy your other lovers. I can't wait for them to see how boring you are. When they dump you, you'll come crawling back to me, just like the pathetic little thing that you are.” 
A small tear runs down your face, and your throat is strangled by all of the words you want to unleash onto them. You feel - no, you are - a blubbering mess, and you will do anything for this argument to be over with.
A victorious smile appears on their face, but they're interrupted by the power cutting out across your house.
You thank your lucky stars as a convenient interruption will allow you to escape for a few moments. 
“Sorry, there must be something wrong with the breaker box. I'll quickly go reset the power-”
“-let me. You were always terrible with handiwork around the house.” 
Your ex brushes past you, and you take a moment to compose yourself before following them up the stairs.
“Where's the breaker box?” They ask as you reach the upstairs portion of your house.
“Second door on your right.” You say before grabbing your phone and turning on a flashlight for them to see with.
Although it was light outside, this part of your house didn't have many windows, so it was poorly illuminated without any ceiling lights.
Your ex quickly opens the door and proceeds to open up the breaker box as you provide them with enough light to work with.
“You're directing power to the wrong things. This switch should go the other way-”
As they reach out to touch a switch on the box, a forgotten conversation echoes in the back of your mind.
“My sweet, poor little wire… I suppose it wouldn't hurt to shock some sense into this human, right?”
“Volt.”
“Worry not, my sweet Eddie. It's nothing like you're thinking.” 
“Wait, be careful, you might get-” 
You try to reach out to them, but it's far too late. A loud crackle emerges from the breaker box once they touch it, and they recoil in pain.
“-shocked.”
“FUCK!” They screech as you cover your mouth with your hand. “What is wrong with your breaker box?”
“I don't know.” Choosing to play dumb, you shrug your shoulders. “Maybe you should try another switch?”
“Yeah, genius, I was planning on doing that.”
Resting their injured hand on their side, they take their other hand and attempt to touch another switch.
Your ex gets a similar result to their first attempt- a loud crackling sound followed by their howls of pain as they clutch both of their hands to their chest.
You can't help the laughter that escapes from you - this feels like sweet, sweet karmic justice after all of the times they've ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it.
“Oh, you think this is so funny, huh?” They grumble before hesitating to grab another switch. “Why don't you try touching a switch, jackass?”
“Sure!” You gleefully move past your ex as you shine your phone flashlight directly on the breaker box.
Instead of reaching for a switch, you place your hand on the side of the box.
A bit of electricity courses through your veins - not enough to mess with the beating of your heart, but enough to let you know that Eddie and Volt are there with you.
“Alright, show’s over, boys.” You mumble under your breath. “Help me out?”
Another jolt of power goes through your arm, which you take as a yes. Your hand goes to touch the first switch on the left, but the power turns on before you even have a chance to shock yourself.
“Thank you.” You quietly say before your ex pushes you aside.
“There's no fucking way that worked!”
You collide with one of the walls in the closet, and you grumble in pain. The hallway light flickers dangerously as your ex continues to investigate the breaker box.
“I mean, you didn't even touch anything!” 
They attempt to close the breaker box door, but you see sparks fly as their skin makes contact with the breaker box again.
They let out a loud, frustrated scream as you allow yourself to smile and laugh.
“You set this up to make me look like a fucking idiot, huh?” Your ex learns from their first three attempts as they look at the circuitry without touching it.
“I think you did that yourself, to be honest.” You mutter under your breath, and a small buzzing sound comes from the breaker box.
Almost like a nod of agreement.
“Whatever. I'm done with this shit. Where's your band aids?” They grumble to you.
“Downstairs bathroom, under the sink.” You say as they step out of the closet. “Just be careful, that door likes to get… stuck sometimes.” You give them a gentle warning about Dorian as they angrily march down the stairs.
Once they are fully out of earshot, you turn off your phone flashlight before looking at the breaker box.
“I hope you know that you would have actually killed them if you went any further,” You begin to scold Eddie and Volt, but you're powerless to fight the shit-eating grin on your face. “but that was funny and, honestly, well-deserved.”
A happy buzzing noise comes from your breaker box. They're pleased that you're pleased with their efforts. 
“I'll see you later, alright?” You quietly say before closing the breaker box for the day.
You swear you can hear a bit of buzzing, as if Eddie and Volt are chatting amongst each other, as you head down the stairs to say goodbye to a guest that has long overstayed their welcome in your house, thoughts, and heart.
Your ex seems more than happy to leave as they await your presence at the front door.
“Can't believe that the stupid band aid container closed on my hand.” They grumble as they look at their bandaged hands.
“I think it's time you go. For good.” You cross your arms and lean against the end of the stairway railing as they scoff.
“Yeah, I don't want to be in this shithole any longer than I have to.”
“Stop calling me and texting me from different numbers.” This harshness is cold and unfamiliar from you, but it seems to work as they pause before nodding and agreeing. “Get out of my house.”
“Don't have to tell me twice.” 
Your ex opens the door with ease as you stand and watch them leave.
“Don't let the door kick your ass on the way out.” You cheerfully say as they head through the doorway.
“What is that supposed to mean-” They're barely out of your house before the door slams shut in their face.
You can't help but let out a hearty laugh, one that rings all the way through your house. A weight that has been on your shoulders for years has finally been lifted, and you've never felt freer in your life.
I think it's time to properly start my day.
~
By the time night falls on your house, you're dressed in something a little more formal as you aim your dateviators at the breaker box.
You open the door to the panel of switches, and once again, you're pulled into the bar.
Dorian offers you a quick nod as you enter the bar.
“I didn't think you were coming tonight, considering today's events.”
“Oh?” You turn to face him. “You mean when you slammed the front door in the face of my ex?”
“Just doing my job - keeping the bad ones out and the good ones in.” He cracks a rare smile that you happily reciprocate.
You don't have any more time to question Dorian as Volt approaches you with an alluring smile.
“Live wire, you look fantastic tonight!” He outstretches his hand, and you gladly place your hand in his.
He bends down and kisses your hand - an unusual approach, since he usually brings your hand to his lips.
“Volt-” You try to talk to him, but he's simply not having it.
“-my spark, I simply must assure you that today's antics were entirely my fault, and Eddie had not contributed at all-”
“Volt-” You attempt to use a tone similar to Eddie's, but he continues on.
“-though, if you do have some sort of punishment in mind, I'm sure Eddie wouldn't mind taking part of the blame from my shoulders so we can experience the punishment together-”
You place your free hand on his chest, and he finally pauses long enough for you to get a word in.
“Volt, I'm not mad. I know you're trying to protect Eddie, but I'm not upset at either of you.” A gentle sigh leaves your lips. “I'm just relieved that it's finally over.”
Volt seems a bit relieved with your admission, and he pulls you closer to his chest.
“I'm glad to hear that, my light.” He softly says. “It's a slow night, so I'll be able to give you my undivided attention.”
“I like the sound of that.” You tease him back before pulling him in for a kiss.
Electricity flows through every part of your body when you kiss Volt, and this time is no exception. You wonder how your heart can continue beating at the same rhythm when he's putting this much of himself into you.
You only part for air, and when you get enough air in your lungs, Volt recaptures your lips for another hungry kiss.
He pulls you to the side, away from prying eyes as your lips continue to meet with his again and again and again. 
You're only interrupted by a quiet scoff, which causes you to pull away from Volt and look right into Eddie's eyes.
He would look pissed, to any onlooker, but there's a bit of intrigue and want in his gaze.
“Volt, don't you think you should start the show before you attract any more attention to yourself?”
Volt simply laughs before pressing one final kiss to your lips.
“Of course, Eddie,” He pauses to look at you, “but we're not finished here, live wire.”
Volt pulls himself away from you before planting a kiss on Eddie's cheek.
“I'll see you two after the show.”
With a seductive wink, he heads towards the stage as you bite your lip and turn towards Eddie.
You're full of renewed energy from being attached to Volt, so you'd love to do nothing more than pounce on Eddie and smother him in kisses and affection.
“Don't look at me like that, live wire.” His face heats up and he looks away for a moment. 
You don't want to fluster him too badly, so you choose to wrap your arms around him and press a kiss to his temple.
“...You're irresistible.” Eddie says after a brief period of heated silence.
“But you love it.” You whisper as your face gets closer to his.
You can taste the whiskey sour on his breath as he breathes out for a moment, in an attempt to slow his beating heart.
You let him make the next move, and it doesn't take long for him to close the distance and gently kiss you.
The taste of whiskey coats your mouth as his hands tightly grip your waist. He parts from you much sooner than you'd like, but he still manages to make you breathless.
“You're feeling alright?” He asks as you try to form a coherent sentence.
“Never been better.” A genuine smile appears on your lips, and his smile matches yours, just for a moment.
“Good. I'll need you to help me with a few extra repairs, since we weren't able to work last night.” 
You whine softly at the thought of working after the day you've had, but you're quickly shut up by Eddie when he gently squeezes your hips.
“I promise that Volt and I will make it worth your while.”
With that, Eddie leaves you in a flustered state as you watch Volt briefly entertain the crowd.
Who needs to think about ex-flames when you have those two to light up your life?
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pitlanepeach · 3 months ago
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From Eden | Chapter Six (6/8)
Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)
Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.
Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.
Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.
She did.
Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. Mentions of mental health medication. Sexual content. Francesca has a lot of anxiety but is being very brave about it.
Notes — Some time skips, which I’ve tried to make as clear as possible. This chapter (and the final 2) are a lot longer, so grab a tea and a snack. Also: my race calender/fic timeline isn’t perfect. Just don’t focus on it too much and it’s fine. lol
It wasn’t a dramatic goodbye.
There were no tears, no desperate clinging (however much Francesca secretly wanted to). Just the low hum of the kettle in the kitchen, still steaming from their morning tea, and Henry sulking under the couch because his new treat dispenser (Oscar) was leaving.
His duffle bag sat by the door — not even fully zipped — and Francesca stood barefoot in the hoodie she’d claimed as her own, her hands swallowed by the sleeves.
“You’ve got everything?” she asked. 
He nodded. “I triple-checked. Twice.”
“Sounds excessive.” She teased, though the words came out quiet and unsure. 
“Sounds like me,” he grinned, stepping closer, his hands slipping under her arms to rest at the small of her back. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but didn’t move from where she’d tucked herself against his chest. “Just… it’s been so nice. Having you here. Being with you for real.”
Oscar’s chin rested lightly on her head. “Yeah,” he said, after a pause. 
Francesca’s fingers curled in the fabric of his t-shirt. “Do you want me to walk you out?”
He shook his head. “No. Stay here. It’s cold.” He leaned back slightly to meet her eyes. “You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be okay,” she echoed. Then, quieter, “you’ll come back, right?”
Oscar let out a breath, soft and sure. “Of course I’ll come back. I already miss you.”
“You haven’t even left yet.”
“Exactly. Tragic.”
She laughed, and he kissed her. A steady, soft press of lips that lingered a moment longer than it needed to, a goodbye without having to say the words, really.
When he pulled back, his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth like it was second nature now. “I’m only going to be an hour away,” he reminded. “Text me. Or call. Whenever you want.”
She nodded. “Okay. I will.”
“I like it when you bother me,” he added, as if she didn’t already know.
“I like being heard,” she said, a little wry. He was ridiculous. Who liked being bothered?
Another kiss, this one to her forehead.
She huffed out a breath, her cheeks flushing red. 
And then he was throwing his bag over his shoulder and opening the door, glancing back one last time.
Francesca stayed where she was, fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve, watching until the door clicked shut behind him.
Henry mewled in despair. 
“Yeah.” Francesca whispered. She stared at the front-door. “I think I know how you feel.” 
— 
TWO DAYS LATER
iMessage — Francesca & Oscar 
Francesca 
osc
would u still want me if i was ginger 
Oscar
I have nothing against ginger people 
Francesca 
🤨
oh
did u date a ginger b4 me 
Oscar
No I’ve never dated a ginger girl 
Francesca 
you’ve dated a ginger guy??????!
Oscar 
Stop 
I’m in a meeting 
Francesca 
ok sorry 
i might dye my hair 
Oscar
Whatever makes you happy 
Francesca 
ok <3 
— two hours later — 
katie talked me out of it 
Oscar 
Thank god. 
Francesca 
😾
ur mean 
Oscar 
You’re gorgeous just the way you are. 
Turns out they don’t need me for anything else this week. I’m going to borrow a car and drive back to you. That ok? 
Francesca 
yay yay yay 
of course it’s ok duh  
also i have a question. 
Oscar 
What is it baby 
Francesca 
do u wanna take me on a date? 
Oscar 
… 
Of course I do 
Do you want me to take you on a date? 
Francesca
yes 
somewhere like… quiet  
maybe not too far from the flat 
if that’s ok. 
Oscar 
I’ll make it happen
Proud of you. 👍🏻
Francesca 
ew why r u using the dad emoji. 
Oscar 
👍🏻
Francesca 
oscar 
Oscar
👍🏻
Francesca 
you’re good at making me laugh 
thank u 
i got a bit anxious overthinking the date thing 
Oscar 
I know 
Go make yourself a cup of tea and eat one of the pastries I got you 
I’ll take care of everything. 
Francesca 
god i want to kiss u so hard rn 
Oscar 
👍🏻 
Francesca 
fuck off 
iMessage — Katie & Francesca 
Katie 
Have you managed to get the outline finished? I’m getting pressure from the team at H.C. 
Francesca 
um 
yes it’s been done for 2 days 
im scared to send it to u 
Katie 
I need it. 
They’re annoying me with their emails Francesca 
Do this for me 
I hate emails. You know this 
Francesca 
im worried it’s not going to be good enough 
and they’re going to hate it 
Katie 
How about this. 
I like reading. I love romance. 
Send it to me. I’ll read it. 
I will be brutally honest with you - no holding back. 
Francesca 
ok 
i would rather you be the one to tell me that it’s terrible actually 
Katie 
Send it. 
Francesca 
*word document* 
— 
iMessage — Oscar & Francesca
Oscar 
About to leave Woking 
Do I need to go to Tesco for anything on my way back? 
Francesca 
i would like some cans of sprite 
and also there’s this book i need for the video i want to film tomorrow 
they sell it in tesco apparently 
*screenshot of book cover* 
Oscar 
I’ll try my best to find it 
Do you have dinner planned already? 
Francesca 
i didn’t know u were coming back tonight rmbr🤨
Oscar 
Yes but what were you going to eat? 
Francesca 
uhhhhh i have some instant noodles in the cupboard 
probably that 
Oscar 
I’ll bring food back for us 
I’ll probably get there around 7
Francesca 
im being very casual about this ‘u wanting to come back here so soon’ thing
but i might bite u or smth when u actually do get here. 
fyi 
Oscar 
I’m sure you weren’t this strange before I made you my gf🤨
Francesca 
no i was 
just hid it better 
do u want me to stop 
sorry 
Oscar 
Don’t stop. 
Francesca
😼
Oscar 
Freak. 
Can’t wait to see you 
Actually leaving now. Call me if u need me. I’ll answer on the Bluetooth 
Francesca 
❤️❤️❤️
iMessage — Katie & Francesca 
Katie 
It’s really bloody good 
Not perfect. Very real 
That’s what makes it so good 
They’re going to love it. 
Can I send it? 
Francesca 
yeah. send it. 
love u 
Katie 
Love u twice 
iMessage — Oscar & Francesca
Oscar 
Is this the right one? 
*picture of oscar’s hand holding a book* 
Francesca 
yesssssssssssssssss 
thanku 
Oscar 
Cool 
Are you okay with lasagna? 
Francesca 
yesssss please 
that sounds so good 
with garlic bread though
Oscar 
Of course babe 
Francesca 
hurry up and get back here
want to smooch you 
Oscar 
Don’t make me blush in Tesco 
Francesca 
ok 
ooooooooooo ur so handsome 
oooooooooo i wanna kiss u so bad 
oooooooooooooo ur my boyfriendddddd 
Oscar 
You’re impossible. 
The door swung open before Oscar even had the chance to knock properly.
Francesca stood in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy pink dressing gown covered in little hearts — fucking cute, Oscar thought — her hair a little mussed, her expression soft and sleepy. Hard to believe this was the same woman who’d been threatening to bite him an hour ago.
Her eyes darted straight to the bag in his hand.
“Book first,” she said, grabbing it from him. “Boyfriend second.”
Oscar blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” she said, digging through the Tesco bag not unlike the way a raccoon would approach a bin. When she eventually found the paperback — slightly curled at the corners due to the fact that he’d piled the family sized lasagna on top of it — she held it up triumphantly. “Thank you. Best boyfriend award goes to you.”
He stepped into the flat, kicking the door shut behind him. “Okay. What happened to wanting to smooch me, huh?”
Francesca, cradling the book like a newborn, looked up at him with a small, crooked smile. The way she held herself around him had already changed — looser, lighter — but there was still a flicker of nervousness in her eyes that made something tender unfurl in his chest.
“Oh, that’s still very much on the table.”
Then she launched herself at him.
She wasn’t particularly heavy, but Oscar still stumbled back a step, letting out a surprised laugh as she wrapped herself around him like an overexcited octopus. Her arms looped around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he buried a grin into her hair, heart thudding a little too hard in his chest.
“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured into her shoulder.
“I missed you,” she mumbled, clinging tighter. “It felt like you were gone forever. I nearly forgot what you looked like.”
Oscar hummed. “I was gone for two days. And we FaceTimed twice.”
“Same thing.” She pouted. 
He kissed her cheek. Then again, a little closer to her mouth. “I missed you too.”
“Okay,” she said, peeling herself off of him just enough to look at his face, though her arms stayed loosely around his neck. “I’m hungry. Ravenous. I’ve been glued to my laptop all day. I posted the Taylor video and it’s already getting such a great response. Comments are so sweet and—” She stopped herself abruptly, biting her lip. “Sorry. I’ll shut up. You’re probably exhausted.”
Oscar shook his head, eyes gentle. “Don’t do that.”
She blinked, caught off guard.
“I want to hear about it,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me everything.”
And then, without any real warning, he lifted her up fully off of the ground. Francesca let out a delighted squeak, arms tightening around his neck. He carried her into the kitchen, her dressing gown trailing behind them like a little pink cape, and settled her carefully on the counter. She beamed at him, legs swinging slightly.
He touched her thigh gently, grounding. “I’ll sort dinner. You talk. Start from the beginning. And don’t think I forgot — tell me what Harper Collins said to Katie too.”
Francesca looked momentarily flustered, but her smile was soft. “Okay. So, I woke up super early. Couldn’t sleep. Ended up doing this last-minute edit on the Taylor video because I thought the voiceover sounded weird and it was annoying me—”
Oscar opened the oven and slid the lasagna in, listening as she spoke. He added the garlic bread to a tray and popped it on the top shelf, wiping his hands on a tea towel as she continued.
“—and then eventually, at like five, I posted it, and it took off way faster than usual stuff. I thought it might do well, but not like… this well. People are already posting clips on TikTok and, like, videos of them talking about me analysis too.”
He pulled out a bag of pre-washed salad and gave it a little shake.
Francesca pulled a face. “No thanks.”
Oscar laughed. “It’s baby leaf salad. It tastes like nothing.”
“It’s sad green sogginess in a bag. I’m not eating that.”
Still grinning, he put the salad aside without argument and leaned back against the counter, gesturing for her to continue.
“Okay. And then Katie called,” she went on, fingers tugging at the edge of her sleeve. His gaze zeroed in on her hands without meaning to. Slightly red, a few new dark purple bruises near her wrist. He blinked and averted her gaze before she could notice where his attention had fallen. “She said she sent the outline to Harper Collins. And they liked it. A lot, apparently. There’s going to be another meeting next week. It’s not, like, a done deal or anything but… it’s probably going to happen.”
Oscar’s chest swelled with something deep and proud. “That’s massive, baby.”
“I know,” she said, in a whisper, like she still couldn’t believe it herself. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’ll have been a dream.”
He stepped closer and kissed her forehead. “Nah. It’s real. You did that.”
She smiled into the kiss. “You’re annoyingly supportive for somebody who has no real interest in books.”
“You’ve watched every race since we started talking,” he said, resting a hand on her hip. “Even though I know you hate it. Seems like we’re even.”
She nudged his side with her knee and leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder, quiet for a moment. 
“I really missed you.”
Oscar turned and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Yeah. I missed you too.”
They stayed like that for a beat — her legs swinging gently off the counter, his hand warm against her side, the quiet sounds of the oven in the background. Then she tilted her head, nudging her nose against his jaw.
“How was your simming?”
He let out a soft, amused breath. “Decent, actually. They’ve been saying nice things lately — about how I’m handling the car, learning fast. It’s been a bit surreal.”
She smiled. “I’m not surprised. Although maybe I’m biased, since I think that you’re the best driver in the world.”
Oscar rolled his eyes, but he looked suspiciously fond. “I have my moments.”
She gave him a measuring look. “What do they mean, though? Like… when they say you’re doing well — how do they measure that? Is it because you don’t crash a lot?”
He looked briefly thoughtful, then leaned his hip against the counter beside her. “Well, part of it is just about the data — lap times, feedback. But I think it’s also about how I’ve adapted. Rookie seasons are usually tough.”
“Rookie?” she asked, brows knitting slightly. “That’s like… you mean you’re in your first year?”
Oscar nodded. “Yeah. First year in F1.”
She blinked at him, clearly surprised. “Oh. Wow. Really? But you’re so good.”
His ears went a little pink, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess. I—uh, they’ve been saying I might win something. Rookie of the Year, maybe. Because I already have the podiums in Japan and Qatar.”
“Wait,” she said, brows lifting. “Okay. Podium. That’s when you got handed the trophy with Lando and the other guy, right? With the champagne?” 
“Yeah. When I came third,” he said, trying not to sound too proud. “In Suzuka. And second in Qatar.”
“I didn’t realise Japan was your first podium.” Suddenly, she was so glad that she’d sat and watched the entire race. 
He gave a small, almost shy smile and turned back to the oven to check the lasagna. “Thanks.”
She was still looking at him, trying to piece it all together. “I still can’t believe this is your first year, though.” 
He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve been racing for a long time, just not in F1. Started in go-karts when I was six. Moved through the junior formulas — Formula 4, 3, 2.”
She gave a slow nod, processing. “Like levels in a video game.”
He chuckled, setting a timer on his phone for the garlic bread. “Exactly like that.”
She swung her legs idly from the counter. “So how’d you get into McLaren, then? They’re a, uh, good team… right?” She attempted. 
That made his smile falter just slightly, like he was choosing his words. “Bit of a weird one, actually. I was with Alpine before. They had me signed as a reserve driver — like, waiting in the wings in case someone got sick or injured.”
She nodded along. “Okay. So what happened?”
“Well… they were supposed to offer me a seat for this year, but they didn’t. Or, they sort of tried, but it was messy. Public. I wasn’t even properly informed about it, and they kind of announced me without confirming things with me first.”
Francesca’s face twisted. “Wait — what?”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing over at her with a wry smile. “They just… assumed I’d go along with it. But I’d already been talking to McLaren, because I wasn’t getting answers from Alpine. And McLaren offered me a proper seat. Real deal. They wanted me.”
“So you picked them,” she said.
“Yeah. I signed with McLaren. And then Alpine’s team principal — Otmar — lost it. Tried to sue me.”
She blinked at him. “Wait. What? Like — actual legal action?”
He nodded, looking faintly amused. “Yeah. They took it to the Contract Recognition Board, tried to argue I was theirs and McLaren had no claim. But it didn’t go anywhere. The CRB ruled I was free to go. McLaren had the real contract. That was that.”
She stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You had a team try to drag you through court because you didn’t want to drive for them?”
He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, though the muscle in his jaw ticked slightly. “Yeah. It was stressful. It sucked, honestly, especially because it was all happening during the first few races of the season. But McLaren were amazing through all of it. They backed me.”
Francesca looked at him, a little in awe. “That’s… insane. No offence, but you’re kind of underselling this. You survived a motorsport custody battle and won.”
He laughed, properly. “It does sound much more dramatic when you put it like that.”
“Because it is dramatic,” she said, nudging his knee with her foot. “God. People online always talk about the politics in F1 but I didn’t realise it was that petty.”
“It can be,” he admitted. “But it worked out. Mclaren’s my home now.” He said. 
She smiled at him. 
He moved to the other side of the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets, trying to familiarise himself with the space. 
She cleared her throat. “Um.”
Oscar looked over. “Yeah?”
She fidgeted slightly, fingers picking at the edge of her dressing gown sleeve. “I, uh… I like your helmet, by the way.”
Oscar looked up from where he was rustling around in a drawer for a spatula. “My — what?”
“Your race helmet,” she clarified quickly, already pink in the cheeks. “The design. The colours. I think it’s cool.”
Oscar paused, blinked once, and then that slow, boyish smirk spread across his face. “Is this…” he started, crossing the small kitchen toward her, “is this like that TikTok trend? The one where girls admit they’re into guys who wear masks and helmets?”
Her eyes went comically large, and then she groaned loudly and buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”
“No, no, come on,” he said, grinning as he stepped closer and nudged her knee with his hip. “You like my helmet, huh?”
“I liked it before you made it weird,” she muttered into her palms.
“You like me better with the visor down?” he teased, voice low and amused. “Does it take me look all scary and mysterious?” 
She peeked out from between her fingers, glaring at him. “It makes you quiet. That’s the appeal.”
He laughed, light and happy. “Rude.”
“I was trying to be nice,” she mumbled. “I see lots of pictures of you. You look… cool. Really cool. Like you know exactly what you’re doing, even though you say that you’re still learning.”
That softened something in him instantly. His teasing grin faded into something smaller, more genuine.
“Thanks,” he said. “That means a lot.”
She shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “It’s just a helmet.”
“No, it’s not,” he said, nudging her leg again, gentler this time. “It’s a big part of the job. You wear one every race, every test. And the design — that’s personal. You pick it. You make it yours. Kind of the only part of the whole thing that’s really yours, you know?”
“I thought that,” she mumbled through her fingers. “Before you made it weird.”
“I didn’t say anything! You’re the one who—”
“Oscar.”
He grinned and leaned forward, nosing her hands out of the way. “Hey,” he said, soft. “Thank you. I like it too. It’s custom painted, you know. I’ve had different designs through the years but the current one, the colours, the patterns, it feels like me.”
She met his eyes again, visibly trying to recover her dignity. “It’s… really nice.” She glanced at her bookshelf, where she kept all of her trinkets. “It’d be cool to have a mini one. To keep there.” She told him. “On my shelf.”
He kissed her. “I’ll see what I can do.” 
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user17 ahhhhhh f1 + booktube (my worlds are colliding)
user8 i am SO excited for your next video pls upload soon
katiebirdx my godson is so beautiful
bookishgoldie isn’t he😍
The room was quiet, dark except for the soft golden spill of the hallway light that Francesca had insisted on leaving on. The bedsheets were warm and a little tangled, kicked down around Oscar’s shins. Francesca was curled up against his chest, her ear pressed over the slow rhythm of his heartbeat, one leg slung lazily over his hips.
It was the first night they’d shared her bed. The couch had been fine — cramped, but fine — and she’d liked the way he hadn’t minded, hadn’t pushed. But this… this felt easier than she thought it would. Softer.
His hand moved slowly up and down her back, tracing the hem of her t-shirt with absent-minded comfort.
“I like your bed,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
She smiled against his skin. “It’s my bed. Of course you do. I also have impeccable taste in blankets.”
He chuckled, low in his chest. “Mmm. Can’t argue with that.”
For a long stretch of moments, there was only silence, shared breaths, and the occasional shift of limbs, adjusting to new closeness. Then Francesca tilted her head just slightly, her cheek still pressed against him.
“Do you want to… I don’t know. Brainstorm date ideas?” she asked softly. “I was thinking about it again earlier.”
Oscar blinked his eyes open, a little surprised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, a little shy. “Just… you know. Not all at once. Just ideas. Things we could do. If I felt up to it.”
His hand stilled on her back for a second, then resumed its slow movements. “I’d love that,” he said. “No pressure. We can keep it all imaginary if that helps.”
She nodded against him. “Imaginary dates are safer.”
He smiled. “Alright. Imaginary date number one: picnic in the park. I bring sandwiches that are way too elaborate because I’m trying to impress you. You bring crisps and get mad when I try to steal them.”
She snorted. “Realistic.”
“Imaginary date number two,” he continued, warming to the game, “I take you to a little museum, rent the entire place out for just us. We look at weird 18th century art and pretend to care about it.”
“That sounds amazing, actually.”
“We leave early because it’s so boring and end up eating fast food in the car.”
“You would be the one to get bored first,” she teased.
“Probably.”
She shifted slightly, snuggling even closer, nose brushing along the edge of his collarbone. “I think I could do a museum. If it was just us.”
Oscar’s heart did something slow and fond in his chest. “If that’s what you want, I’ll make it happen.”
She smiled, sleepy and small. “That’s very boyfriend of you.”
He kissed her hair. “I am your boyfriend.”
“Mm. I like that.”
They lay in silence for a few more moments. Then, in a whisper so quiet he barely caught it, she said, “Thanks.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead and didn’t move them for a long while. “There’s never a rush,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere, ‘Cesca.”
She let out a soft breath. ‘Cesca. Nobody had ever called her that. She liked it.
Then, after a moment, she told him, “I love the beach. I haven’t seen the sea in a long time. Forever, it feels like.”
His thumb rubbed slow circles into her hipbone through the thin fabric of her sleep shorts. “Okay, baby,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll go.”
She nodded against his chest, and he felt it more than he saw it.
“Okay,” he repeated, this time with a little smile, a little certainty, “but for now, go to sleep.”
“Only if you keep tickling me like that,” she mumbled.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Deal.”
She melted further into him, her breathing evening out as his hand continued its gentle rhythm.
The sun had barely started to rise when Oscar stirred, warm and grounded beneath the Francesca’s weight. She was breathing steadily, her cheek smushed against his chest, legs tangled with his. Her hand, as always, had found the hem of his shirt in her sleep and was fisted there. Soon, all of his shirts would have pull-marks and creases in the front — he couldn’t even force himself to pretend to be bothered by the idea.
He didn’t want to move. But he had an idea.
He leaned down, brushing his nose against her hair, inhaling that sleepy mix of raspberry shampoo and his aftershave that made his heart clench. “Francesca,” he murmured.
She made a soft, displeased sound and burrowed further into him.
He kissed her temple. “Baby, wake up.”
“Mmnnno,” she groaned. “Go away.”
Oscar huffed a quiet laugh and nuzzled behind her ear. “Do you trust me?” He asked quietly.
Still half-asleep, she didn’t even hesitate. “‘Course I do.”
“Good.”
In a practiced motion, he sat up, pulling her with him. She slumped into his chest, blinking slowly.
“What’re you doing?” she mumbled.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed one of his hoodies from the floor and gently tugged it over her head. She whined in protest but didn’t resist, letting him guide her arms through the sleeves. It was far too big on her, hanging down past her thighs, but it would keep her warm, and that’s what mattered.
“Where do you keep your flat keys?” he asked.
She blinked up at him blearily. “My bag. Front pocket.”
He found them easily before coming back, bending down and, without warning, scooped her up into his arms.
She gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oscar!”
“I’m not giving you time to overthink,” he told her.
“This is kidnapping,” she said through a yawn. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled his scent. Then she nipped at the skin above his collarbone. “Don’t put me down.”
He snorted, not even wincing at the sharp pain of her fangs against his skin. “Not kidnapping if you don’t fight me.”
Outside, the morning air was crisp and biting. She shivered, instinctively pressing herself closer into his side, her face still tucked into the crook of his neck. He paused for just a moment, uncertainty flickering through him. Was he pushing her too far? Was this too much, too fast? But she hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t protested. She’d only held on tighter, quiet and pliant, when he’d whispered a soft “be good” to Henry and locked the flat door behind them.
So he settled her into the passenger seat of the sleek, absurdly expensive car (one of the McLaren courtesy models, perk of the job), and buckled her in. She blinked at the dashboard, then at him.
“This is a spaceship.”
Oscar leaned down to kiss her cheek before closing her door and walking around the car to slide behind into the drivers side.
She didn’t ask questions. She wanted to. The anxiety was curling quietly in her chest, a cold thread of apprehension weaving through her ribs. But she knew asking would make it worse. Knew that the need to control every part of her day was one of the reasons she hadn’t done anything like this in years.
Before even starting the engine, he had one of his big hands on her thigh, his grip tight and grounding and exactly what she hadn’t even realised she needed.
“I trust you,” she said again, barely above a whisper.
His eyes flicked to hers, warm, steady, and he squeezed her thigh in three quick motions. “I know.”
The drive was quiet.
She kept her eyes closed for most of it, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing, the soft hum of the car, the weight of his hand on her leg. When the roads started to widen, when the buildings gave way to trees and hills, she could smell salt on the air and feel the shift in the wind through the cracked window.
Her heart beat like a drum against her ribs.
It was too much.
The world. The movement. The not-knowing.
But she didn’t panic. She let it rise. Let it crest. Let it fall.
Just kept breathing.
When he finally slowed the car, she opened her eyes. The light had shifted, gone golden — soft and hazy with the rise of early morning sun. She blinked, disoriented and heavy with sleep, as he pulled into a small gravel lot nestled against a grassy hill. And when he eased the car into park, she turned her head to look out the window and… froze.
The sea.
Endless. Expansive. Glittering beneath the sunlight.
And just like that, the ringing in her ears stopped. The ache in her chest loosened. She could hear gulls crying overhead. The steady hush of waves meeting the shore. The quiet, constant pull of tide.
“Hey,” Oscar said gently, not looking away from her. “We don’t have to get out of the car. We can just sit here. I just—”
She turned to face him fully, her eyes wide and already brimming with tears. He hesitated.
“I couldn’t stand the thought of you not having seen the sea in so long,” he said softly. “Not when you clearly love it so much.”
The tears slipped free.
Francesca covered her face with both hands and sobbed.
Not loud. Not panicked.
Just quietly. Fully. Overwhelmed.
Oscar leaned across the console, wrapping an arm around her and tugging her onto his lap. She curled up into him.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out.
“Don’t be,” he whispered. “You’re okay. You’re so brave, baby. So good. I’m here.”
She clung to his hoodie like a lifeline, breathing him in.
And for the first time in years, she let herself be small in someone else’s care.
They stayed like that for a long time. Not speaking. Just existing.
When she was ready, when her breathing steadied and her hands stopped shaking, she pulled back and looked out at the water again.
“It’s so blue,” she whispered.
He smiled. “It is.”
“I forgot how it sounded.”
“Now you can remember.”
She turned to look at him, her face blotchy and red and beautiful. “You really didn’t have to do this. I- I might’ve freaked out on you. Made a scene.”
“You can make as many scenes as you want,” he said again. “But I will always try to give you what I think you need, yeah? Always.”
Francesca reached up and touched his cheek, brushing her thumb along the edge of his jaw.
“I- you know, Osc.” she whispered.
Oscar’s heart stopped. Then surged.
He leaned in, rested his forehead against hers.
“Yeah. I know.” he whispered back. “I know.”
With the sea as witness, she leaned up and brushed her lips against his jaw.
ONE WEEK LATER
Oscar was in Mexico.
Francesca and Katie were in her flat, the race coverage playing at a low volume on the TV as they chased Henry around the living room with a feather toy that had arrived two days ago — a surprise Amazon delivery tied with a note in Oscar’s handwriting, “for the little bastard”.
Francesca had laughed for ten minutes straight when she opened it. Katie had filmed the whole thing and, after stealing his number from Francesca’s phone, had sent it to Oscar, along with a voice note that simply said, “I don’t think it was that funny.”
Now, Henry was a blur of zoomies, paws skidding on the hardwood as he launched himself under the sofa to hide from the feathered menace. Francesca collapsed backward against the cushions, breathless and flushed. Katie flopped down beside her.
On the TV, the camera cut to a live shot of Oscar standing in the paddock. His race suit was half-zipped, arms folded casually as he chatted to his engineer, sun beating down on the brim of his cap. He was grinning at something, head tipped slightly to the side.
Francesca went quiet. Just… watching. Soaking him in through the screen like it might bring him closer.
Katie nudged her with a toe. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I just— I get it. Why they put up with long flights and stupid time zones and overpriced airport water. I’d do it. For him.”
Katie’s face softened. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know. You being here, letting him in, the fact you’re even saying that stuff out loud — that’s a lot already.”
“I know,” Francesca whispered. “I just think… he makes me brave.”
The feather toy squeaked as Henry pounced again, launching himself at Katie’s leg with the precision of a tiny, sharp-clawed assassin. She screamed, jerking her leg away and nearly spilling the tea she’d balanced on the arm of the sofa.
“Bastard!” she shouted, glaring at the cat now crouched smugly by the TV stand, tail swishing.
“Shit,” Katie murmured, genuinely impressed as she leaned forward. “He’s good, then.”
“The best,” Francesca replied without hesitation.
The footage shifted to Oscar on the podium in Japan, then in Qatar, smile boyish and eyes squinting beneath the bright lights as champagne sprayed from either side. Francesca felt her heart swell and ache at the same time.
“He’s going to win an award,” she added softly. “Rookie of the Year. From the FIA — the people who run the whole thing. He keeps trying to act like it’s not a big deal, but it is. There’s a gala and everything.”
Katie glanced over, eyebrow raised. “He tell you that?”
“I… looked it up,” Francesca admitted, shrugging with a sheepish smile. “The night he told me he might win. I couldn’t sleep, so I just kept Googling stuff. The voting, the dress code, past winners…”
“You’re obsessed.” Katie giggled.
“Not obsessed,” she said, nudging Katie with her foot. “Just… proud. And maybe a little bit obsessed.”
Katie laughed. “Okay, but like, in a really soft girlfriend way. Not a weird clipboard-and-red-string-stalker way.”
Francesca flushed. “I’m just trying to understand it all. His world. Because he makes so much space for mine.”
Katie was quiet for a moment. Then, “He’s very fucking lucky to have you.”
“I think it’s the other way around,” Francesca said quietly.
The camera cut to him again. He ducked his head.
“He doesn’t really know how to be the centre of attention. Which is crazy, considering the job he’s chosen.” Francesca laughed.
Katie tilted her head. “Sounds like he’s found the right person to help balance all that out, huh.”
Francesca didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, curled up in the corner of the sofa, the TV screen casting soft flashes of light across her face.
Then, almost to herself, “I think I want to go to the gala with him. If he gets the award.”
Katie blinked. “I— Uh. Wow. That’s… big. Seriously?”
Francesca nodded, tucking her knees closer to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. “I want to be there. I want to see him get it, hug him, tell him how proud of him I am.”
It came out calmly. Almost too calmly. Because inside, her heart was thudding like it had suddenly remembered all the reasons why that was a bad idea.
First, she’d have to travel to even get there — multiple planes, cars, etc. The venue would be huge. People would be watching. She’d have to wear something elegant, maybe heels — God, the idea of heels made her stomach flip. There’d be lights and flashing cameras and probably hounds of press. She could already feel the too-tight air in her chest, her body doing that thing where it anticipated danger before there even was any.
Katie hesitated, and Francesca braced — because she knew what was coming.
“Are you sure?” her friend asked softly. “I mean… that’s a lot, Fran.”
Francesca’s throat tightened almost immediately. She looked down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve instead of the skin that was itching to be scratched and tugged and twisted.
“I know,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I know it’s a lot. But it’s not like it’s next week or anything. There’s time. Months, even. And—”
She paused, squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then forced herself to breathe. To make the next words come out like they were calm and considered, instead of shaky and sitting way too close to fear.
“And it’ll take a lot of therapy. Like, probably multiple sessions just to deal with the dress shopping part. And definitely a higher dose of medication than I’m on right now. But… I want to do it. Not even just for him. For me.”
Katie’s expression softened instantly — because of course it did. She loved her. Francesca knew that. But the worry didn’t leave her eyes, didn’t waver. It was still there, settled in the tight line of her mouth, the way her fingers drummed absently against her knee.
“I know,” Katie said, voice low. “And I see that. How hard you’re trying. How far you’ve come. But… you also mask it really well. You always have. And I know what it looks like when you burn out. When you go too hard and then crash so badly it takes you weeks to feel even remotely human again.”
Francesca chewed on her bottom lip.
It was the truth, and it stung. But it wasn’t unfair.
“I don’t want that for you,” Katie added gently. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this, just because you like him, or because you want to prove you can.”
Francesca looked over at the TV, at the basically-muted coverage still looping behind them. A slow-motion shot of Oscar stepping into his car, pulling on his helmet, caught in profile — calm and sharp.
“I know I’ve done that before,” she said, her voice soft. “Made myself sick just to prove something. But this… this feels different.”
Katie was quiet.
“I want to be someone who shows up, you know?” Francesca continued, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. “I want to be there when they call his name. I want to experience the joy with him.” Her hands clenched briefly, and then she forced herself to loosen them. “I don’t want to live in this safe little box forever. I want more.”
Katie’s eyes were glossy now, but she smiled too. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. God, I can’t believe those words just came out of your mouth. I’m so bloody proud of you.”
Francesca exhaled, letting herself fall sideways against Katie’s shoulder, their heads leaning together.
“You’re gonna look hot as fuck,” Katie said after a beat.
Francesca laughed — a real laugh, bubbling up unexpectedly.
She didn’t think it would ever truly go away — the debilitating fear, the constant, clawing need to be surrounded by safety and warmth. That wasn’t how agoraphobia worked. It could get better, sure. There would be progress, steps forward, days where the world felt a little less sharp around the edges. But would it ever vanish completely?
Probably not.
Still, she could learn how to live with it. How to manage the spikes of panic, the silent spirals. How to catch herself before the fall.
Oscar had shown her that it was possible — that the world didn’t have to stay small and suffocating forever. That the sea was still hers if she wanted it. That safety could exist outside the four walls of her flat.
He’d shown her what it meant to be cared for without conditions, to be seen and still held gently. If she asked for the world, he’d put it in her hands. No hesitation. No doubt.
She reached for her tea and took a sip. Her hands still trembled.
But she held it steady.
TWO DAYS LATER
iMessage — Francesca & Oscar
Francesca
gonna walk to a café
i’m scared lol
His reply came almost instantly, despite the time difference.
Oscar
u got this baby
text me when you’re there
proud of you already 🧡
She stared at the screen for a moment, clutching the phone to her chest. Then, with a shaky breath, she pulled on her coat, slid her flat keys into her pocket, and stepped out of her building.
It hit her all at once — the cold air, the stretch of sky overhead, the noise of the street. Her pulse jumped. Her brain started whispering all the familiar taunts — what if you can’t breathe? What if you freeze? What if everyone sees you fall apart?
She stopped. Planted her feet. Breathed in.
What do you see? her therapist had said once, when she’d asked how to stop dissociating when things got scary. Don’t run from the world around you. Notice it.
So Francesca noticed.
The glint of morning sun on parked cars. The little cloud her breath made in the air. A dog straining at its lead, ears perked. A crisp packet doing a sad little tumble across the pavement. A window-box full of drooping flowers that someone hadn’t remembered to water.
Her heart still raced, but her feet kept moving.
By the time she reached the café, her fingers were frozen and her stomach was doing that slow, swooping panic thing it did — but then she spotted Katie by the window, already waving.
Francesca pushed through the door. The bell jingled above her head. The warmth and scent of coffee hit her like a hug.
Katie was up in a flash, wrapping her in a real one. “You did it,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”
Francesca didn’t trust herself to speak just yet. Her eyes were hot and blurry with tears, but she nodded, and let herself lean into Katie’s warmth.
They sat by the window. Ordered muffins and flat whites, Francesca’s with oat milk.
Francesca’s hands trembled around the mug at first. But Katie didn’t mention it — just kept talking, light and breezy, about some ridiculous email thread she’d been stuck in that morning.
And slowly, Francesca started to relax. Her fingers stilled. Her chest loosened. She took a bite of her muffin and actually tasted it — lemon and poppy seed, bright and soft.
Out on the street, life moved around her. A child in a school uniform trailed a parent, kicking a pebble. A bus drove by, and the windows slowly got misty from inside. Someone laughed across the room.
And Francesca realised, quietly, achingly, that the world could still be hers, in any way she wanted it.
They didn’t stay long, maybe an hour and a half, but by the time Francesca got back to her front door, her legs felt like lead.
Katie had walked her home, not hovering but close enough that it didn’t feel like she was alone. They didn’t talk much after leaving the café — just a few quiet murmurs about Henry and whether they’d both want to have a pizza night this week — but Katie squeezed her hand before heading off.
Inside, Francesca shut the door behind her and let her back hit it, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.
Her hands were cold. Her face was flushed. Her heart was still a little loud. But…
She’d done it.
She fished out her phone and typed, thumbs slower than usual, deliberate.
iMessage — Francesca & Oscar
Francesca
i did it
it was cold. i should’ve worn gloves
but the muffin was good
It took less than a minute before Oscar replied.
Oscar
What flavour muffin did you get baby
Francesca
lemon and poppyseed
i wanted chocolate but they’d sold out
Oscar
How dare they
I’ll UberEats a chocolate muffin to the flat
So proud of you baby
Francesca
<3
She really didn’t mean to write the whole thing.
At first, it was just a paragraph — a single paragraph that came to her in the shower and refused to leave her alone. Then it became a scene, and then a chapter, and then, somehow, fourteen days later…
“I think I blacked out,” she said, eyes wide, cradling a mug of tea. “I opened a blank word document and now I have… 82,000 words.”
Katie just stared at her. “I— What?”
“I finished the draft. Of the thing. The book.” Francesca said slowly. “Like, the whole thing. Beginning, middle, end. There’s an actual story in there. Characters. Pacing. A climax. I have no idea how it happened.”
Katie slowly lowered the spoon she’d been stirring her coffee with, mouth parted. “Francesca. Babe. That’s… that’s bananas. You wrote a whole book in two weeks?”
“I didn’t try to,” she said, almost sheepishly. “It just kind of… poured out. I couldn’t stop. It felt like if I did, I’d forget how to do it.”
Katie got up from the kitchen table and crossed to her, putting both hands gently on her shoulders. “That’s amazing. It’s also extremely unhinged, but in a way that I deeply respect.”
Francesca laughed — properly laughed — and it felt so surprising in her own mouth that she covered it with one hand, like it might escape again if she wasn’t careful. “I think it might be crap.”
“It probably isn’t,” Katie said with a smile. “You’re just your own worst critic.”
Later on, when Katie was gone and the sun had started to set, she sent a photo to Oscar — her laptop open on the coffee table, the word count highlighted in red.
iMessage — Francesca & Oscar
Francesca
author gf vibe.
Oscar
So many words
No explanation
Francesca
i kinda finished writing the book
Oscar
I think you mean started writing it
Two weeks ago.
Francesca
i guess i found my groove
i also think i have carpal tunnel now
my hands are very sore
Oscar
You’re crazy. I can’t wait to read it, baby
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bookishgoldie hi. posted a vid on youtube and it’s pretty special to me. go give it a watch ❤️ love ya’ll
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user64 YOU’RE WRITING A BOOK?!!!!!
user52 i really appreciate u being so open about your mental health. it helps SO MANY PEOPLE
Her camera was rolling, the soft ring light casting a gentle glow over Francesca’s face. She stared at the blinking red dot for a long moment, gathering herself.
“Hi,” she said, finally, her voice still a little scratchy from nerves. “Um. It’s been a while. I missed last weeks upload. Sorry about that.”
She gave a sheepish little smile, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her dressing gown had been swapped out for a black hoodie, soft and oversized — not hers, technically, but she didn’t think anyone would notice. Unless they looked close enough to see the little orange swoop on the left shoulder.
“I’ve been… working. A lot.” A pause. “And not just on my usual content. I’ve been working on myself, too. I’ve made some really big progress with my mental health. Not linear. Not easy. But… real. Lots of therapy. I kinda, like, actually leave the flat now.” Her voice caught slightly, but she kept going. “I’m still scared most of the time, but I’m learning how to deal with that in a healthy way.”
She let out a long breath, then reached down, holding up a printed stack of pages — thick, with a title page on top. “Anyway. I wrote a book.”
A beat. A smile. That dazed, giddy kind that always came when she said it aloud.
“I know. Wild. It just kind of… spilled out of me. And I’m still in shock. But it’s happening. It’s a romance, obviously.” Her smile twitched into something shyer. “I really enjoyed writing it, which is probably why I managed to do it so fast. I had some good inspiration.”
She bit her lip, trying and failing not to blush, then looked off camera briefly. “I’ll be sharing more soon,” she said, regaining her footing. “It’s still early days — editing, cover design, all the terrifying fun stuff. But it’s coming. And I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
There was a pause. Then, quieter, “Thank you for sticking with me. Even when I disappear sometimes. Even when I get scared to do this. It means more to me than you know.”
She reached out to stop the recording — then hesitated.
“Oh — and no, this hoodie isn’t mine. I stole it. No follow-up questions.”
Click.
Top Comments:
@litwitch420
the way you casually drop “I wrote a book” like that isn’t the most iconic thing you’ve ever done. proud of you, bestie.
@hannahsbookshelf
I don’t even care what the book is about. I’m buying ten copies. One for me, nine for the girl who couldn’t leave the house but still kept trying
@crymewithcoffee
not Francesca writing a book, going to therapy, AND soft-launching in the same video… multitasking queen.
@thisissochaotic
“i leave the flat now” I’M SOBBINGGGG you don’t understand how proud I am. been here since the ‘flop eyeliner tutorial’ days and this is the growth arc of the century.
@traumabrat98
Been battling agoraphobia for years and this gives me hope. Thank you.
@henryhasfans
I’m only here for Henry tbh but good for you I guess (jk I’m so proud of you I’m crying and I’d die for you)
@softestheartsclub
Your face when you talked about “the boy” 😭 you glowed. I don’t even need to meet him — if he made you write a whole book and start living again?? he’s a keeper.
@pidgeinajar
idk who needs to hear this but francesca wearing Someone Else’s hoodie while announcing her debut novel and mental health glow-up is PEAK soft girl renaissance
The front door clicked open with a soft thunk, and before Francesca could even reach it, Oscar was already inside, dropping his bag beside the shoe rack and wrapping her up in a hug so tight her feet left the ground.
“Hi,” she murmured into the side of his neck, her grin buried in his neck. “Welcome back.”
“Hi,” he said, kissing the side of her head, voice low and tired and happy. “Missed you.”
There were flowers in his hand — some daisies, a few sunflowers, wildly uncoordinated colours like he'd grabbed whatever looked brightest at the airport. A few petals had fallen off in transit. Still, they were perfect.
Francesca reached for them, heart too full. “These are tragic and I love them.”
Oscar gave her a sheepish smile. “Thought they looked happy.”
Before she could respond, Katie stepped out from the kitchen holding three glasses of Prosecco, eyebrows shooting up.
“Oh my god, you’re real,” Katie said, walking toward them with a glass of Prosecco in each hand, the third awkwardly balanced between her elbow and her ribs. They were celebrating the completion of Francesca’s first draft. “I was starting to think you were just one of Francesca’s very elaborate delusions. Like the time she thought the pigeon outside her window was trying to communicate with her through Morse code.”
“I— that was one time,” Francesca groaned, her voice muffled against Oscar’s shoulder. She didn’t move away from him, though — fingers curled into the hem of his t-shirt like muscle memory, like she needed to know he was still there. Still real.
Oscar’s arm stayed wrapped around her waist, steady and warm.
He glanced between the two women, visibly entertained. “Hi,” he said, smile crooked. “Francesca’s told me a lot about you.”
Katie handed over his glass, eyes scanning his face with barely disguised curiosity. She didn’t say anything immediately — just sipped her drink and narrowed her eyes slightly, like she was assessing a very expensive, very complicated piece of IKEA furniture.
Oscar didn’t flinch under the scrutiny, though his hand did tighten ever so slightly at Francesca’s waist.
“She better have,” Katie finally said, tone light but edged. “I’m very important to her.”
Francesca groaned again. “Katie.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Oscar said, a little too quickly, already half-grinning. “I get it. Honestly… I like knowing you two are so close.”
Katie raised a brow, as if surprised by his easy sincerity.
“I mean it,” he added, glancing down at Francesca, then back up. “You’re important to her. And I’m really glad that there’s someone else who sees her the way I do.”
Katie’s expression softened, just a bit.
“Well,” she said, after a beat, “good answer.”
Oscar smiled. “Thanks. Felt like a test.”
“Oh, it was.” Katie clinked her glass against his. “And you’re not done yet. But… you’re doing alright so far.”
Francesca laughed into his chest. “You’re both so annoying.”
“You love us,” Katie shot back, giving Francesca a quick, affectionate pat on the arm as she breezed past. “Now come on, there’s cake, and I’m not slicing it until everyone’s in the kitchen.”
Like she hadn’t just casually dropped the big L word.
Like she hadn’t just implied that.
Oh my god.
Francesca’s brain stalled, cheeks warming as she blinked rapidly up at Oscar, who, mercifully, didn’t seem to be reacting with any kind of alarm.
Instead, he watched Katie retreat into the kitchen, then leaned down to murmur near her ear, “She’s intense. I like her.”
Francesca huffed a quiet laugh, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Told you she’d be like this.”
He smiled, warm and genuine, eyes soft as they met hers. “Yeah. She loves you,” he added, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Francesca’s throat tightened unexpectedly. It hit her somewhere deep, that quiet reassurance. That he wasn’t threatened by the friendship she shared with Katie, or overwhelmed by the depth wrapped around it. That he saw the weight of it and respected it.
“I’m lucky,” she said, voice a little rough.
Oscar’s thumb brushed her knuckles. “You’re loved.”
She rose onto her toes and kissed him. Just a press of her mouth to his, gentle and real. Something in her saying thank you without needing the words.
Oscar stilled for a beat, surprised by her initiating it, maybe, and then kissed her back with a soft hum in his throat, his hand cupping the back of her neck. It was brief, sweet, but lingered in the same way that it always did with them.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were warm and her eyes a little too shiny.
Oscar’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Hi again.”
She laughed, the sound muffled as she dropped her forehead against his chest. “Hi.”
From the kitchen, Katie’s voice rang out. “If you two are done making out, the cake is getting impatient!”
Francesca snorted into Oscar’s shirt.
He just smiled and whispered, “Come on. Let’s go celebrate.”
It was late by the time Katie left, the last crumbs of cake still on their dirty plates piled up in the sink. Francesca had smiled so much her cheeks were aching, and Oscar hadn’t stopped touching her all evening. Little things like his hand at the small of her back, arm around her waist, kisses on her knuckles whenever he could.
Now, the flat was quiet again. Just the two of them.
She stood in the doorway to her bedroom, brushing her teeth with one hand, the other lazily twisting the hem of Oscar’s shirt. He was already in bed, hair slightly damp from the shower he’d taken, propped up against the pillows, scrolling absently through something on his phone. Shirtless.
She watched him for a second.
Noticed the strong slope of his shoulders, the thickness of his neck, the way his chest rose and fell in that even, sleepy rhythm. He looked up when he felt her staring.
“Hi, beautiful girl.” he said.
She grinned at him around her toothbrush, cheeks pink.
As soon as she’d rinsed her mouth out in the sink, she padded over to the bed on bare feet, curling up beside him under the duvet, slotting her body into the space he immediately opened for her.
“You’re so warm,” she mumbled against his skin, her fingers curling lightly at his side, nails digging into his skin.
“So are you,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch feather-light. “Everything okay?”
She nodded, eyes half-lidded. “Just… full of cake. And happiness.”
Oscar didn’t say anything for a beat. Just looked at her, his gaze soft, reverent in the dim lamplight. “I’m so proud of you.”
She smiled, shy, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. “You brought me flowers.”
“Half-crushed ones, yeah,” he chuckled.
“They were perfect,” she whispered.
Their lips met, slow and soft. No rush, just heat, rising in degrees, like a pot of water on an open flame. Simmering, simmering.
His hand slid down to her hip, not demanding, just there, grounding. Her fingers fanned out across his chest, slow and steady.
“Is this okay?” he asked against her mouth.
She nodded, then leaned in to kiss him again, more insistently. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
He shifted them gently, giving her room to roll onto her back, then hovered above her, foreheads nearly touching. His hands explored with care; the curve of her waist, the dip just beneath her ribs. He stared at every movement his hand made, like he was trying to memorise every inch of her body.
“You tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured. “You tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to stop, though.”
He kissed her again, her mouth, her neck, the hollow beneath her ear, and her body arched instinctively into him.
His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her (his) shirt, resting warm and still against her bare stomach, waiting. She nodded once, more sure about this than she’d ever been about anything, and he peeled it off with the same gentleness that he reserved only for her.
When she tried to cover herself, out of habit more than fear, he caught her hands gently.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful, ‘Cesca.”
She flushed. “You always say that. Call me that. Beautiful.”
“Because it’s always true.”
He kissed his way down her chest, slow and careful, taking care to notice every little reaction she gave him. Every time her breath caught, he paused. Every time she arched up to meet him, he smiled into her skin.
Her legs parted to welcome him without needing to be asked. The weight of him above her, around her, was a certain kind of comfort. And when he finally slid into her, it wasn’t shocking or overwhelming or intrusive.
It was right.
She let out a shaky exhale, fingers digging into his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed.
Oscar stilled, forehead resting against hers. “Okay?”
She opened her eyes. Nodded.
And then he moved.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even really about sex. It was about them being together, like this. About breathing the same air, pressing close enough that the fear didn’t stand a chance. He held her hand the whole time, fingers interlaced, their bodies shifting in the slowest, most perfect rhythm.
She let the thrill of sensations roll over her, the heat, the fullness, the sharp pulse of her heart softening into something sweeter. Safe. Loved.
When she came, it surprised her. Gentle and deep and unlike anything she’d felt before. Her breath caught in her throat, a tear slipping down her temple as Oscar murmured her name, again and again, grounding her in the present.
He followed soon after, with a deep grunt and a tremble that echoed down to his toes. And when it was over, he didn’t move. Just kissed her. Tucked her hair back. Pressed their foreheads together.
“I love you,” he whispered, like he hadn’t meant to say it yet, but couldn’t not.
She blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Her chest ached, in the best way.
“I love you too,” she said softly, voice trembling but sure.
Later, they curled around each other, her head resting on his chest, one leg slung loosely over his. The sheets were tangled around their hips, warm with the quiet hum of leftover heat between them. His hand moved in lazy circles on her bare back, soothing and unthinking.
Francesca let herself melt into it. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat — her new favourite sound.
Her voice came soft, nearly lost in the hush of the room. “Can you take me back to the sea tomorrow morning?”
Oscar’s fingers paused for a second. Just a second. Then he resumed the gentle motion, even slower now. He tilted his head so his lips brushed her hair. “Of course I can.”
Oscar was sleeping, one arm draped around her waist, his breath warm and even against the back of her neck.
Francesca reached carefully for her phone on the nightstand, trying not to wake him. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second, heart still fluttering with something so tender and unreal she could barely believe it had happened.
But it had.
They’d said it.
She opened her messages, scrolled to Katie’s name.
iMessage — Katie & Francesca
Katie
we said the L word
he said it first
and i said it back
katie. i think i’m in love with this man. like properly. like forever.
Oscar shifted behind her, murmuring something incoherent, and nuzzled into her shoulder with a content sigh. Her heart ached in the best way.
Katie
SHUT THE FUCK UP
Are you still breathing
Francesca
i would follow this man into war
im a new woman. i am reborn.
we. had. SEX.
like actual sex. not metaphorical holding-hands-and-weeping sex.
REAL. NAKED. BODY-TO-BODY. SEX.
and it was so good i think i saw god.
i am speaking to you as a ghost. i have perished. i have transcended.
i am levitating in the corner of my bedroom.
Katie
I’m not afraid to block you.
Is he… big?
Francesca
NO. MINE. BACK OFF HARLOT.
Katie
Jesus Christ
It was that good huh
Francesca
I. Transcended.
Francesca’s hand was tucked securely in Oscar’s. The world was still quiet, save for the cry of gulls and the rhythmic crash of the waves.
Oscar nudged her gently. “You look happy.”
“I am,” she said honestly. “It’s like my brain is breathing. I’m not… scared.”
He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you think you’d ever want to live somewhere like this? Near the water?”
She glanced sideways at him, brows raising slightly. “Like… move?”
He shrugged, but the question lingered in the air. “Maybe. Someday.”
Francesca didn’t answer right away. They kept walking. The breeze picked up, tugging her hair, and he watched as she closed her eyes for a second, just breathing in the salty sea air.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, my flat is my safety net. My bubble. But this… this doesn’t feel scary. Not with you.” She paused, then added, “I think… it would be possible. Maybe with my therapist on speed dial.”
Oscar smiled. “I could make that happen.”
She rolled her eyes fondly. “You- I mean, is that something you want? To live near the water?”
“I think it’d be nice.” He said, noncommittal, but honest.
“If I ever did leave my flat behind… it would have to be for something really, really good. Somewhere Henry would be able to call home for the rest of his life. Somewhere I could always rely on to feel secure.”
Oscar stopped walking. Tugged her closer until she was pressed against his chest.
“Baby,” he murmured.
She looked up at him, squinting against the morning light. “And I’d want to be with someone who makes me happy, as often as possible. Not always, but… often.”
He leaned down and kissed her, salt on their lips, sunlight on their skin.
“Okay,” he said, smiling against her mouth. “I’ll work on that.”
When they started walking again, her hand found his once more, thumb tracing the back of his knuckles.
Oscar was quiet. Thinking.
Not in the way that meant worry, more like… turning over puzzle pieces.
“I think you’d like Monaco,” he said eventually, voice soft and a little far-off. “It’s warm all year. Sunny. You could leave the windows open and let the air in, not just light.”
She glanced at him. “That’s a big change from London, huh.” She said, quietly.
“Maybe,” he said, not even bothering to deny it. “It’s small, too. The whole country. You wouldn’t ever feel lost in it. Everything’s within reach. You can walk almost everywhere. I know all the quiet spots.”
Francesca blinked. “You… you want me to live in Monaco?”
“I want you with me,” he said, simply. “And I want you to feel safe somewhere that we can both call home forever. I think it could be a good place for you. No pressure, obviously. Just—” He glanced at her. “I think about it sometimes. You, there. Henry too. Able to watch the water from a balcony.”
She was quiet.
“You’d be busy,” she said after a moment, her voice low. “With racing. And everything else. I’d be on my own a lot.”
Oscar didn’t pretend otherwise. He gave a small, thoughtful nod, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Yeah. But I’d come home to you. Every time. And… you wouldn’t really be alone. You’d never be far from someone you know.” He hesitated, then added, “The girls— I mean, if you wanted to know them.”
She turned her head slightly to look at him. “The girls… You mean the WAGs?”
Oscar’s nose scrunched a little, bashful. “They’re all nice. Some of them travel with us, but not all of them.”
Francesca hummed, then looked back out toward the water. A gull wheeled overhead, shrieking. The waves were starting to turn silver at the edges now, sun climbing higher.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Osc.” Her words were barely more than a whisper. “I— It excites me, though. The idea of making somewhere our home. And I do like the idea of being able to see the water from my window. Or a balcony, like you said.”
He didn’t push. Didn’t try to convince her. Just reached for her hand and tangled their fingers again. “Want to pick up pastries on the way home?” He asked.
She looked at him incredulously. “Uh. Yeah. When have you ever known me to say no to a pastry?”
He rolled his eyes at her, and then he kissed her.
Just because he could.
iMessage — Francesca & Katie
Francesca
hypothetically. in the future.
if one were to move to monaco. like monaco monaco. the fancy boat people place.
would that be a terrible decision or just like. a very bold rebrand.
asking for a friend (me)
also oscar told me he’d wait forever if it meant i’d be happy and i almost fainted like a victorian man seeing ankle for the first time.
Katie
When you say “in the future”
Do you mean 5 years or 5 weeks because those are very different things fran
Francesca
I HAVEN’T EVEN MET HIS FAMILY YET
he hasn’t met MY family yet
i’m still trying to mentally prepare for him being in the same room as my sister
we’re not there yet
we’re like. emotionally there. but logistically? spiritually?? maybe not. idk.
Katie
Answer my question you scoundrel.
Francesca
I DONT KNOW
maybe 5 months
maybe a year
maybe never
but also maybe i’ll wake up tomorrow and pack a suitcase and just see what happens
is this what love does??? it makes you consider international relocation???
Katie
It absolutely does.
And also you’re unwell. Deeply. Fundamentally.
But in like. A beautiful way.
Pls continue
Francesca
his eyes are so brown.
like unfairly brown.
like melted chocolate mmmmmm yummy
Katie
I’m gonna need you to calm down before you start a fire in your PHONE
What is this?? Shakespeare meets horny tumblr??
Pull yourself together girl
Francesca
i can’t
he said “baby, you’re all I want” last night and i saw god
like my brain blue-screened
if he blinks at me too lovingly again i’m going to dissolve into mist
Katie
ok nope. i'm out.
i’ve reached my francesca-in-love limit for the day
you’re talking like a victorian poet who just discovered lust and it’s deeply upsetting me
Francesca
LMAO
wait no come back
i haven’t even gotten to the part where he called me a good girl
Katie
🔇
this is me putting you on mute.
tell oscar to pay my therapy bills
Francesca
lol x
i’ll invoice him in kisses.
CHAPTER SEVEN
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iluvlennie · 4 months ago
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𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 ✦ ❱ HAECHAN X FEM!READER
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pairing : flynn rider!haechan (lee donghyuck) x rapunzel!fem!reader
genre : fantasy, romance, angst, humor, slowburn
description : you've been locked in your tower for years now, never seeing beyond what your window offered you. your mother has always told you it's to protect you and your special power. one day, a mysterious traveler stumbles upon the tower in search of a hiding spot and all kinds of escapades ensue.
warnings : use of pet/nick names, swearing, angst, manipulation, arguing, reader is depicted as blonde to fit in with the golden hair story, but nothing else about the reader is specified, violence, tba.
status : started on 16.03.2025.
fic wc: 15.4k
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chapters :
chapter one : the tower's secret
chapter two : the lantern's promise
chapter three : a start to something new
chapter four : chaos and peace
chapter five : a new dream
chapter six : coming soon!
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author's note : lowercase is intended. the plot of the tangled movie is not mine! this fanfiction was purely inspired by it. i'm not claiming i came up with it, however the writing is mine! now that that's out of the way, i literally was just listening to my liked playlist on spotify and a song from tangled came on and i thought about haechan for whatever reason (i know the reason, it's because i'm hopelessly in love with him /j) anyways... this is nawt my first ff ever, i have a bunch more, i just never posted any cause i'm really insecure about my writing. guess i'll never know if it's good if i never post anything. alright, i hope whoever reads this enjoys!! if anyone possibly wants to be tagged please either send me a message or comment under!! i'll happily tag you in future chapters! also, the updates may vary on my availability as i work quite a lot. i will try to push out chapters as much as i can, but be mindful that i am writing as i upload, so some chapters may be longer and some may be shorter and some chapters may take a little longer to be completed!
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© iluvlennie — 2025 ✦ likes and reblogs are appreciated!!
554 notes · View notes
wheresarizona · 3 months ago
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Learning to Live Part 35
summary: It’s your wedding night, and you’re finally alone with your husband in the privacy of your hotel suite. Not that you care much about privacy when things get hot and heavy on the balcony.
pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader
rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, explicit smut, age gap (about ten years), two extremely horny newlyweds, Husband Javier Peña, dirty talk, oral sex (f + m receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie(s), rough sex, loud balcony sex, exhibitionism, romantic bathtub sex, BREEDING KINK (so much), praise kink, marriage kink, love kink, ring kink, drinking, being buzzed, love confessions, body worship, body insecurity (and Javier making you feel better), cuteness aggression, relationship insecurity, romantic comedy, domestic bliss, Javier with kids, a new POV)
word count: 20k+
a/n: Hey! I hope you remember me. Lmao Let me just say the last six months have been literal hell, and my life is still in shambles. On a positive note, I’m no longer working 60-80 hours a week, and I now have time to write. A couple of notes about this chapter. It takes place in January of 1999. With inflation, $150 in 1999 would be $300 today. A big thanks to @devineconjuring for betaing! Also, thank you to @juletheghoul for checking out my Spanish. Thank you for reading!
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
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The San Agustín de Laredo Historic District, located downtown along the banks of the Rio Grande River, was where the original city of Laredo was established in 1755. The area had many buildings dating back to the 1800s, like the district’s namesake, San Agustín Cathedral—a place you were familiar with as it happened to be the church Chucho and many members of your new family attended and was where he married your mother-in-law some forty-plus years ago.
La Posada was the fanciest hotel in town since it offered room service and had valet parking. It was just down and across the old, narrow brick road from your family’s church. The tall, white bell tower could even be seen looming high in the sky from the hotel’s entrance.
The inn, opened in 1961, had its own rich history as it occupied the original high school building that was constructed back in 1916 and was surrounded by some 19th-century structures—one was a former convent, and another was the Capitol building for the short-lived Republic of the Rio Grande. Most of the buildings in the area showed Spanish and Mexican influences, including the hotel, with its rounded arches at entryways and windows, thick stucco coating the outer walls, and many balconies, courtyards, columns, and elaborately carved doors.
Javi could’ve rented you a regular room at La Posada or even something at the Motel 6 off the highway, and you would’ve been happy as a clam. Your dear, sweet, wonderful husband, however, didn’t think either of those options was good enough for you and somehow managed to book the ever-elusive Presidential Suite; this was the room that a person with any kind of notoriety stayed in when they were passing through the Rio Grande Valley—think B-list celebrities, like Matthew McConaughey, or campaigning politicians.
Most of the hotel was only two stories high, but one stretch had a third level dedicated to a few luxury suites, including where you were staying. Through the double doors of your one-bedroom accommodations was a small entryway that led to the living room featuring a built-in bar—a shelf with a variety of liquors, a countertop with different kinds of glasses, and a cocktail shaker—a sitting area with an entertainment system, and French doors that opened to a private balcony that had views of Mexico across the river. There was a kitchenette, a four-person dining table, and a half bath. Through another set of double doors, the bedroom had a massive two-postered king-size bed, an en suite containing an oversized whirlpool tub, and a shower that could easily fit two people. Every room had beamed ceilings, the wall connected to another suite was made of brick, the color scheme of everything stuck to earthy tones that complemented the exposed beams and wooden furniture, and the art on the walls depicted beautiful river scenery.
No matter how many times you asked, your husband refused to reveal how much two nights in such splendor put him back.
And here you were in the bedroom, you and Javi stripped of your formal attire on the bed that he had the forethought to put a towel down on to keep things from getting too messy. You could not stop yourself from loudly moaning at how good it was; your husband had you in heaven with how he was filling you up, and you were finally at the point of feeling stuffed.
He was beside you, so close your bodies touched. “Yeah?” Javi purred. "You like that? You want more?"
You had to swallow before you could speak, shaking your head as you replied, “God, it’s so good, but I don’t want to get sick.”
“Okay, baby.” He kissed your cheek. “Relax while I clean up.”
Your husband carefully took the paper plate that you had practically licked clean of every crumb of wedding cake and the plastic fork you’d been using. Sitting crisscross on the mattress, you were dressed the same as Javier in nothing but a big, white, fluffy, hotel-provided bathrobe. On the towel in front of you were two more sets of dirtied plates and utensils from the leftovers the two of you ate, which Javi picked up as he got off the bed, heading out of the room to the small kitchen to dispose of them.
Earlier, when your husband revealed the surprise that you’d be staying in this suite for two nights, he told you all of the places in the room he planned to fuck you. From those promises, you imagined that he would toss you onto the bed upon arriving here and have his way with you. What actually happened was you got to the door, and Javi made you laugh when he lifted you over his shoulder like a caveman and carried you across the rented room’s threshold. He did throw you onto the big bed, where the two of you made out for some minutes. It just didn’t go any further because your sweetheart of a husband was aware you were hungry, and that made his biggest priority getting you comfortable and feeding you. So, the first thing he did was strip you out of your dress, the man unable to keep himself from taking a couple of minutes to admire the lacy thong you’d been wearing before he got you naked and had you join him in the shower. Aside from some groping and a little kissing, there was hardly any fooling around since he was so focused on taking care of you, which was sweet.
After that, Javi heated up some of the food from your wedding that the Murphys were kind enough to drop off prior to your arrival since they were staying at the same hotel, and the two of you had a little feast on the bed. Now you were nice and full, but not overly so that you felt sick, just enough that you were relaxed and a little sleepy—a food coma, if you will.
Many pillows were on the bed, and you moved some behind you to prop yourself up and lie back on. You grabbed your almost-empty complimentary bottle of water from the mattress beside you, unscrewed the cap, and took a drink.
“Cielito?” your husband called from the other room. “Do you want anything else to drink?”
The options included the bottle of champagne the hotel gifted you to celebrate your marriage, something from the living room bar, tap water, or the two of you could trek to the floor below to raid the vending machine in nothing but your robes and the slippers that were with them when you got there.
His question made you smile as you re-capped your water, stretching your arm to set the bottle on the bedside table. “No, babe,” you answered loud enough for him to hear. “I’m good—get back in here!”
He returned seconds later, his knees sinking into the mattress as he crawled onto it, smiling. Javi made his way over to you, and when he was at your left side, he wormed his arm behind your back, the other over your front to hold you close, his head nestled on your robe-covered chest. After getting comfortable, he sighed happily, closing his eyes with a little smile on his lips.
“Javi?”
“Yes, mi esposa (my wife)?”
The title made your spine tingle.
“God, I’ll never tire of you calling me that.”
“Good, ‘cause I’ll never tire of calling you it, my beautiful wife.” He quickly kissed over your heart, then rested his head on you again. “What were you gonna ask?”
“Oh, right. I know we should be having the dirtiest, nastiest sex known to man right now—” Javi snorted. “—but, since we just ate, are you cool with us hanging out for a little bit while the food digests?”
“Are you okay with cuddling, or am I hurting your stomach?” He lifted his arm off your belly.
“Cuddling sounds wonderful.” You lowered his arm back to where it was, resting your palm on his wrist.
“Okay.” He nuzzled you with his face. “Would you, uh, want to play with my hair…?”
“You can bet your cute little ass I do.” That made him chuckle. Your fingers pressed into his hair, playing with the soft strands and lightly scratching at his scalp, which earned you a noise from the back of his throat that came close to a purr.
“How was your day?” you asked.
“Fucking amazing. How about yours?”
“Fucking amazing, though talk about our bad sex luck—which reminds me, thank god your dad does his laundry on Saturdays. When we return the Mustang, I need you to distract him while I disinfect his laundry room.”
Javi groaned at the reminder of hearing his cousin and your best friend Robyn fucking in said room. “I don't wanna think about that.”
“And you think I do? I just don’t want our father coming across a condom wrapper, or god forbid a used condom, when he goes to do his chores. You know as well as I do that he’d tell his sisters, and it’d be the chisme (gossip) everyone is talking about Sunday at tía María’s.”
Your hand was still on his head, curling strands of his hair absentmindedly around your pointer finger.
“Los chismosos (The gossipers),” he grumbled. “Hold on, why do we care if he finds evidence someone fucked in there?”
“Um, because they’ll all assume it was us, and I do not feel like announcing to our entire family that I exclusively get rawed and creampied.”
“Why would you announce that…?”
“Do you want everyone to think we’re horny newlyweds who fucked in a laundry room because they couldn’t keep it in their pants until they got home?”
“We are horny newlyweds who couldn’t keep it in their pants until they got home. We almost did fuck in that laundry room.”
“Sure, except if we had, we wouldn’t have left behind any evidence. We’re not sloppy, thank you very much. I mean, I know a lot about Robyn’s sex life—like a lot—but I don’t know how discreet she is. So, we’ll need to make sure nothing was left behind.”
“I say, if they’re gonna be rude and leave shit behind, we just throw them under the bus…”
Your hand stopped moving in his hair.
“You mean the woman who convinced me to let you fuck my ass?” you asked. “The woman who’s held down the fort while you and I fooled around on my lunch countless times? The woman who covered while I got you off in an on-call room at the hospital? The woman who has had our backs so many times I’ve lost count? That’s the woman you wish to throw under a bus?”
There was a pause, and you heard him gulp.
“I’ll tell Pop that I think one of the Mustang’s tires is low on air,” he replied, “so he has to go with me outside while you take care of the crime scene.”
His response had you smiling. “Thank you,” you said, leaning forward to kiss his head.
You resumed playing with his hair.
“No need to thank me. You, uh, had some good points.”
“I know I did.”
“I haven’t had a chance to see your nails.” His hand moved to grab yours that’d been on his wrist, bringing it up to his face to look at your white-tipped fingernails. “Look at those, they’re fucking gorgeous.”
“Thank you. It’s a French manicure, and I thought they’d look really good with my dresses.”
“They’re perfect.” He kissed the back of your hand and continued holding it when his arm relaxed over your stomach again.
For a minute, it was quiet as you both lay there, your fingers slipping through the soft brown waves on his head in comfortable silence.
“Did I tell you what Olivia said before they left?” Javi asked.
“Um, I don’t think so?”
“She confused the fuck out of me—she thinks I play baseball.”
“What?”
“She gave me a pep talk…?” he said it like a question.
“A pep talk? About what?”
“Something about how she knows I secretly play baseball and that I shouldn’t be embarrassed I’m bad at it because I’ll get better the more I practice. To be honest, it was adorable, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t play.”
“That is extremely random. Why would she think you play baseball?”
“I have no fucking clue. I’ve been thinking back on my conversations with her, and I don’t think we’ve ever talked about baseball.”
“Maybe she misremembered something or misunderstood something her parents said? No clue why Steve and Connie would be talking about you and baseball, though.”
“I don’t know, either. They’re both aware I’m a swimmer and played some soccer.”
“True. Who knows where Olivia got the idea.” You shrugged a shoulder.
“Yeah…”
“It’s gonna bother the fuck out of you until you figure it out, isn’t it?”
“A little.”
“We’ll ask Steve and Connie tomorrow at dinner, Detective Peña.” The Murphys were flying home the following evening, and the plan was to have an early dinner at the hotel restaurant before they left.
“Okay, Mrs. Detective Peña.”
“Oh my god!” you gasped. “I am Mrs. Detective Peña now!” you replied excitedly.
“Yes, you are.” The smile was evident in his voice. “You’re my wife.”
“Yes, I am, and you are my husband.”
“The best fucking thing anyone has called me.”
His response had you smiling.
It sometimes caught you off guard how much Javier loved you since the love you felt for him ran so deep that it consumed every fiber of your being. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could love you the same, not when your heart was more his than yours, yet Javi did. His devotion knew no bounds, and he saw you for everything you were and loved you despite it all—to him, you were perfection. No one would ever love you more, and you would never love anyone else more because he was yours, and you were his; fate, destiny, the writing in the stars led you to each other, and now your lives were so intertwined that his heart was your heart, his hands were your hands, his smile was your smile, he belonged to you as you belonged to him.
Enough time had passed for the food in your stomach to settle, and now you could acknowledge the want burning low in your belly, making your pussy drip with arousal. Something about how happy Javi was that he vowed to spend the rest of his existence with you was such a big turn-on that it was time for things to heat up so you could give him the sloppiest blow job to show your appreciation—except, you wanted it to be spicier than usual.
“My wonderful, perfect husband?”
“Yes, my wonderful, perfect wife?”
“You know what we should do right now?”
“Depends—has your food digested?”
“Yep.”
Javi jostled you as he moved his arm from under your back, rising up on it in order to meet your eyes, his plush lips smirking under his perfectly trimmed mustache. “In that case, have the dirtiest, nastiest sex known to man?” And it became evident you’d been together a while when he wiggled his eyebrows at you as you’d done to him many times before.
“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, playfully pushing his shoulder.
“That isn’t a no,” he pointed out.
“No, it’s not.” You shook your head. “But I was thinking we could get some fresh air out on the balcony.” It was your turn to wag your brows at him. Javi chuckled, giving you a big smile.
“Champagne?” he asked. “Or should I get out the salt and limes for tequila?”
“The room came with salt and limes…?”
“No—I brought the salt, limes, and our bottle of tequila from the apartment.”
He also brought you both overnight bags and somehow smuggled your toiletries out of his dad’s house–you’d taken them to Chucho’s the prior night when you stayed over, and you were pretty sure it was Connie who did the smuggling. She probably had Steve deliver your little bag with the food before he returned to their room, which Javi assured you was on the other side of the hotel and out of hearing range to your suite.
Your eyes rounded. “Because you knew I’d need liquid courage to fuck around outside?”
He gave you a look like the answer was obvious. “Yeah?”
“That is so unbelievably romantic. Horny, but romantic.” Grabbing a handful of his robe, you pulled him forward as you leaned toward him, slotting your lips with his, kissing him; he smelled like the floral rose petal-scented shampoo he used in the shower, and he tasted sweet from the bites of wedding cake you shared with him.
When you broke apart, you were both smiling.
“You get the goods,” you told him, “and I’ll meet you outside—I gotta pee really quick.”
“Okay,” he replied and pecked you on the nose.
The bathroom was on the other side of the room, which meant you had to go around the bed after you got off of it, Javi following you and smacking your ass. There wasn’t much of a smack with the thick robe in the way, but it still made you giggle. He headed for the bedroom door, and as you continued your journey to the en suite, something shiny on his bedside table caught your attention and made you frown.
“Babe?”
He hadn’t left the room yet, standing at the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“Does the gun have to hang out on your table, or can we put it in a drawer or something?” It was Chucho’s small revolver that he kept in the Mustang. Your husband didn’t want to risk it being stolen, so he brought it up to the room.
“Put it in the drawer.”
“Is it safe to touch…?” Unlike Javi, you did not have a lot of experience with firearms aside from treating many gunshot wounds when you worked in a big city emergency room.
“Would I ask you to touch it if it wasn’t safe?”
“No…”
“Exactly. The safety’s on.”
“That’s good,” you replied and moved closer. “I was worried about you shooting your cute little butt off when you shoved it in the back of your pants.” It was bewildering when he got out of the car and casually tucked the gun into the waistband of his slacks.
A huff of air left his nose. “Fifteen years with the DEA, and I never shot myself in the ass.”
Opening the drawer, the only thing in it was a bible. You carefully picked up the revolver by its grip with two fingers like an old, smelly sock and set it atop the book. “Yeah,” you replied, “‘cause you had the sexy tac-vest-thingy with the holster on the front.”
“I didn’t always wear a tac-vest...”
“What?” you replied, shutting the drawer and spinning around to face him. His fluffy, white robe reached down to mid-thigh on him, and it was tied closed, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “So, you’d wear a holster on your hip?” you asked.
You thought back to the pictures you’d seen of your husband in Colombia, trying to remember if he was wearing a holster in any of them.
His expression turned guilty. “No…”
The realization hit you. “A butt gun, Javier? You’d just walk around with a gun at your ass? That is not safe.”
One of his eyebrows rose. “The safety was on?”
“Okay? But even with the safety on, it’s still dangerous. I had so many people come through my ER because they didn’t properly holster their weapons. One dude had it in the front of his waistband, and when he went to pull it out, it accidentally discharged into his thigh and hit his femoral artery—dead on arrival.” Javi grimaced. “And don’t get me started on all of the butts I had to look at and treat because they carried like you and weren’t as lucky. Do you think I enjoy looking at strangers' butts?”
“I mean…”
“Us checking out bootylicious babes in San Antonio and Miami does not count, Javier. These butts I had to look at for work were mostly men’s butts, and I can tell you right now, they were not anywhere close to how cute yours is, and dear god, were a lot of them hairy—which, I am so thankful you are not a super hairy guy, and I really do appreciate that you trim your pubes.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He shrugged.
Your eyes lowered to his crotch, picturing what the white garment covered, your mouth watering at the thought of blowing him. Javi cleared his throat to get your attention, your eyes snapping up to his that sparkled in adoration.
“What were we talking about?” you asked.
Javi snorted. “You were getting on my ass about how I carry a gun.”
“Oh, yes—stop being dumb and protect what little ass you have.”
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Javier was not going to reveal that there was a gun in the back of his waistband most of the time they went horseback riding.
“I’ll start using a holster,” he said. “But, if we’re going out on Pop’s land, you can’t complain if you see me carrying; I know guns make you uncomfortable, but our safety is more important.”
“Okay.” Her shoulders shrugged.
His eyebrows pulled together—he was expecting more resistance. “Really?”
“Yeah? You told me about all of the dangerous animals out there, and I’ll feel safer if you’re packing—that’s packing as in a gun on your person, not the big dick in your pants.” She winked at him, and Javier huffed in amusement.
“Thank you for the clarification. You’re taking this a lot better than I expected…”
She walked up to him with a grin and threw her arms around his neck, Javier immediately pulling her into him. “It’s marriage, baby,” she said. “We gotta compromise sometimes.”
“Yeah?” He smiled, his head moving forward to rub the tip of her nose with his. He whispered, “Does that mean you’ll let me teach you how to shoot?” Something she’s always refused.
“I don’t know—will it make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Then fine, you can teach me.”
He pulled back to look at her. “Really?”
“Yes, because I am an amazing wife who loves my husband dearly.”
He grinned. “You’re a fucking incredible wife whose husband loves you more than anything.”
Javier didn’t give her a chance to respond; his lips crushed into hers, kissing her tenderly, hoping she could feel how happy she made him.
She really was a fucking incredible wife.
When they parted, he gave her another smack on the ass and told her to hurry, his wife giggling as they went their separate ways.
The balcony was covered, with a beamed ceiling overhead and walls on either end to offer some semblance of privacy—the railing was made of wrought iron, the vertical bars twisting like vines into delicate loops and swirls. The only furniture out there was a wooden bistro table situated against the stucco-coated wall with two armless chairs on both sides facing the river. The outdoor light was too bright, and Javier thought it would bring too much attention to them, so he settled on what light filtered out from the living room through the French doors’ windows and the brightness of the moon in the clear sky, illuminating the space in a gentle glow.
He was sitting back in one of the chairs, his legs slightly spread and his arm resting on the table beside him. On the tabletop was the half-drunk bottle of tequila, ziplock bag of cut-up lime wedges, and salt shaker he brought from their apartment, along with a shot glass he grabbed from their rented room’s bar that he washed himself to ensure it was clean.
The night air was cool and a little crisp as he looked out toward the Rio Grande, where, in the distance, he could see the lights of Nuevo Laredo across the way in Mexico. For some unknown reason—maybe being outside or how emotional the day was—Javier was craving a cigarette; even after quitting almost two years ago, he still felt the itch for nicotine here and there, and he’d done pretty well not giving in to the temptation, mainly because there was someone in his life now who distracted him from it. The French doors opened, and immediately, his head was turning in their direction to see his wife coming out.
His beautiful distraction.
He couldn’t keep himself from smiling even if he tried. She looked so comfortable in her robe that matched his, her face lighting up when her eyes landed on him. Her expression took him back to the first time he saw that beaming smile after she handed him the perfect tomato: that was the moment she pulled him in and made him want to know more about the sweet woman who was easily excitable over fresh produce. It was like meeting the sun—bright, warm, happy, and he wanted to bask in her rays and see that smile every day for the rest of his life. Better yet, he wanted to be the reason for that smile, and now he was proud to say he was.
Only a couple of minutes had passed since the last time he saw her, and when she made it over to him, she asked, “Is this seat taken?” She nodded at his knee closest to her, and without waiting for his answer, she sat down on his thigh with her legs between his and her arms around his neck, Javier pulling her closer.
His head was tilted up to look at her, his hand reaching to cradle her face in his palm, staring her in the eyes, smiling.
“I’ve got something else you can sit on,” he said.
“Javier,” she gasped. Her fingers went to his forehead, brushing stray strands of his hair off of it. “I’m gonna need a shot first, maybe two—actually, two for sure, no more than three because, as we know, one shot, two shot, three shot, four-the-love-of-god-stop-crying.”
He chuckled. “Two shots then, pero, quiero que mi esposa me bese primero (but, I want my wife to kiss me first).”
“Cualquier cosa por mi esposo (Anything for my husband).”
Javier couldn’t get enough of her calling him that.
He pulled her down until their lips were a hair's breadth apart. “Dilo otra vez (Say it again),” he rasped.
“Cualquier cosa por mi esposo (Anything for my husband),” she whispered.
“¿Quién soy yo (Who am I)?”
“Mi esposo (My husband).”
“Sí, chingados que soy (Yes, I fucking am),” he growled, pressing his mouth to hers.
The kiss was anything but chaste with how Javier plunged his tongue between her perfect lips to tangle with hers. His heartbeat sped up, the blood pumping through his heated body and traveling to his hardening cock. He moved his hand from her face down to her bare knee, tracing his fingertips up under her robe over the soft skin of her thigh to her ass to squeeze a handful of it.
There wasn’t the same pent-up need like their kiss in the Mustang when he parked them in the field. This one was instead full of promise for their night ahead, making the anticipation swell that they could now take their time and truly enjoy each other since they already dealt with the sexual frustration of being cockblocked multiple times when they were frantic in the car.
Javier savored the feeling of her mouth on his, how their tongues intertwined, and the sweet taste of her lips. He savored her moans and her fingers combing up through the hair from the nape of his neck to the back of his head, where she clutched it tight in her fists; sparks danced along his spine and collected at the base of it, feeding the fire of his arousal that had him half-hard already and wanting to touch more of his wife’s body.
His wife. His beautiful, smart, sexy, amazing wife.
They kissed until they were breathless, both panting when they separated. He nibbled on her chin, his mouth blazing a path along the underside of her jaw until he was at the taut skin of her neck, nipping and kissing down the column of it.
“Oh, god,” she gasped when he sucked at her pulse point, and it made him smile. She lightly tugged his head back by the hair to make him look at her. “Shots.”
“Yeah?” He squeezed her ass.
“Fuck yes.”
“Okay, baby. Ladies first.”
He got his arm out from behind her back, his other hand leaving her ass as his upper body twisted slightly toward the table to grab the bottle of tequila, unscrewing the cap and pouring the liquor into the clear shot glass. Then he opened the bag of limes and picked up the salt shaker, his attention returning to her.
“Where do you want the salt?” Usually, a pinch was licked off the hand between the thumb and forefinger, but he had other ideas for his turn.
She worked open the tie on his robe and pushed it away to reveal his chest, his arm going back behind her again to give her room. “Here,” she said, bending her head to lave at his nipple with her tongue.
“Fuck,” Javier breathed, swallowing hard—it looked like she had the same idea.
While she sprinkled the salt on him, he took a lime wedge out of the bag and gently bit the rind, holding it between his teeth.
Cielito set the shaker down to grab the shot glass and raised it. “Fuck the leather, fuck the lace, here’s to the one who sits on your face!”
The only reason he didn’t laugh was because immediately after she spoke, her face dipped down to suck the salt off his nipple—the shock of pleasure had the muscles in his thighs tensing. She quickly drank the tequila, her face pinching at the burn before she bit the lime out of his mouth.
The glass was back on the table, his wife setting the remnants of the fruit she sucked the juice from next to it.
“Woo!” she exclaimed. “One down, one to go.” She untied her robe and opened it, Javier’s eyes lowering to her bare tits.
His hand moved on its own accord, skating his large palm up her stomach to fondle her breast. He could hear her say something but didn’t make out the words. Her smaller hand came into view, and the snapping of her fingers ended his trance—he looked up at her. “Sorry?” he said.
She smiled. “I asked where you want the salt.”
“I think you know where I want the salt.” His tongue swiped along his bottom lip at the thought of getting his mouth on her tits.
“That’s why the robe is open.” She winked. “My guess was boobies or neck, and I see you’ve chosen the boobies, a tit for tit.”
“Don’t you mean a ‘tit for tat’?”
“No.” She shook her head. “A tit for tit works better in this situation.”
“I am so in love with you.”
“Good, ‘cause I am so in love with you.”
He took her breast into his palm and leaned his head forward, sucking her stiff nipple into his mouth. Her breath caught in her throat, the fingers on one of her hands going into his hair. Javier came off of her with a wet pop, her skin shining with his saliva. He shook some salt onto her, then poured himself a shot as she got a lime wedge.
“I expect a good toast,” she said. “No, ‘salud.’ Give me something raunchy that you and your guy friends would say in college, or you and Steve in Colombia.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Something raunchy Steve would say? The guy who doesn’t like us kissing in front of his kids?”
“Okay, you know what. The moment I said Steve, I realized the raunchiest thing he’d say before you guys drank would be cheers or bottoms up if he was feeling a bit scandalous. There’s gotta be shit you and your friends in college would say, though.”
He picked up the tiny glass that looked even smaller in his hand compared to hers and took a moment to think about what he could say. He’d never been much into toasting, and in college, they usually drank to getting laid or winning a swim meet. There was something he overheard years ago, down in Colombia, that an American tourist said that stuck with him. He just had to remember the wording…
She had the lime ready for him between her teeth, and he lifted the shot. “Here’s to love, here’s to honor; if you can’t come in her, come on her!”
Cielito was doing her best not to laugh. He sucked the salt off of her breast and shot back the tequila, the mineral lessening the initial burn—it was smooth with a sweetness of flavors, picking up vanilla and caramel and a hint of something oaky that was washed away by the sourness of the lime when he bit into it. The glass went back onto the table, along with used rind.
He looked at his wife. “How was that?” he asked, his hand around her back, squeezing her hip.
“Very good. I loved the play on words.”
“How are you feeling?”
She smiled at him. “Fucking amazing. Ready for round two?”
Javier mirrored her expression. “Where do you want the salt?”
This time, she salted his neck, and when she raised the glass, she said, “To us: may all of our ups and downs be in bed!”
Once again, he didn’t have a chance to chuckle before her tongue was licking up the sensitive skin of his neck, his eyes closing at how good it felt. The alcohol was warm in his belly, and he knew it’d take one more shot before he felt any of its effects—his wife would be feeling it any minute now.
For his turn, he chose her neck as well—a ‘tit for tit.’ He lifted the shot glass, keeping his gaze on hers, another lime wedge in her mouth for him. “To my wife, who I love more than anything. You are my forever and have made me the happiest man in the entire fucking world. This isn’t the best day of my life—it’s only one of them because I know there are many more ahead of us. Te amo, mi Cielito (I love you, my Cielito).”
Her eyes were misty, and he went through the steps—lick, drink, suck—she leaned his way, and he closed the distance, his tongue licking up the salty trail on her throat before he drank the tequila, then sucked the lime from between her lips. The moment her mouth was empty, she said, “Javier, how dare you say something so sweet when my toasts were gross.”
He spit the rind out onto the table with the others, the glass going bottom-up beside them. His hand went to the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. “I meant it all,” he replied, smashing his lips to hers.
His mouth muffled her moan—taking advantage of her parted lips, he licked inside, tasting the lime and sweet hints of tequila, their tongues dancing together as they had countless times before. His free hand gravitated to her tits, roughly palming one, then the other, pinching and rolling each of her pebbled nipples with his fingers.
Javier loved her breathy sounds.
The alcohol’s warmth was spreading through his body, his dick hard and throbbing, barely covered by his robe. His wife gave as good as she got, and she made him groan when she freed his length and wrapped her fingers around him, slowly pumping him up and down.
It was starting to heat up, and there was a list of things he wanted to do, but first, he needed to ensure she was comfortable. He detached his lips from hers, kissing the edge of her mouth, his nose bumping into hers.
“You good?” he asked. “Or another shot?”
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“I’m good,” you answered and kissed his plush lips.
The booze had you feeling warm and tamped down your nerves. You were good, you were more than good, your cunt weeping with your need for him.
With the way your husband had been obsessing about eating your pussy all night, you knew that was the first thing he’d want to do, and you were curious to find out what he planned—was he going to sit you in the chair and get on his knees for you? Bend you over the railing and eat you out from the back? Or put you in the position he had you in earlier when you were interrupted, with your back against the wall and him kneeling at your feet? It was honestly a toss-up on what he would choose. Luckily, he didn’t make you wait long.
Javi’s mouth broke away from yours, grabbing your hand that was on him, ordering you, “Up.” You didn’t waste any time, rising to stand in front of him. He grunted as he got up with you, the seat creaking from his movements; he was so close to you that your bodies touched, your palm still in his—he tugged it to make you face him and have you chest to chest.
His eyes were dark with lust when they met yours. “I fucking need you,” he rasped, and suddenly those big mitts of his were framing your face, his lips finding yours. This kiss was fervent, urgent, his need evident as he turned you away from the table and backed you up into the wall beside the chair.
From how passionately he claimed your lips, it seemed his words had a double meaning: he needed you physically at this moment and needed you always in his life. He needed you in every way there was, and wasn’t it the same for you with him? You needed him in every way there was, too. Not only that, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to breathe without him; would your heartbeat cease without him? These were questions you never wanted to learn the answers to.
With your robed back pressed to the stucco wall, it was apparent he wanted to finish what he started earlier, and you were happy to oblige. The glow from the lights in the living room trickling out through the French doors’s windows, along with the moonlight, softly lit the balcony. Thankfully, it wasn’t bright enough for anyone to make out what was going on if they happened to look, and that, added with the tequila, eased any worries you had.
Your robe was untied, Javi shoving it open to reveal your entire naked front, the cool air causing goosebumps to prickle on your warm skin, your nipples to tighten. He kissed you hard one last time and then began his journey down your body. Earlier, when you arrived at the room, your husband was so focused on taking care of you that he didn’t get a chance to take his time to admire your bare figure—something you could tell he wanted to do badly when he was undressing you. Now, he could, the man worshiping you with his lips and hands, kissing and touching every bit of flesh he came into contact with; his palms mapped out your belly and hips, his mouth trailing down your neck to your chest, Javier whispering into your skin as he went, “You’re beautiful… you’re so fucking beautiful… I’m so lucky… fuck, I love you.”
He took your breasts into his hands, his head lowering to suck one of your pebbled buds into his mouth. The pleasure had you gasping and needing to touch him, your palms sliding under his robe to hold onto his waist. His teeth grazed over your stiff peak before he lightly bit it and tugged, making you loudly moan his name; he let it go and moved to the other, enveloping it in the warmth of his mouth, giving it the same attention.
Arousal was coating your inner thighs, the anticipation welling up inside of you—you wanted Javi’s face buried in your pussy as much as he wanted to do it.
Once he gave your tits an ample amount of attention, leaving your nipples and the skin around them glossy with spit, he continued making his way down the front of your body. As he lowered, so did his lips, his kisses all over your stomach imbued with his words of love. “So beautiful… I can’t wait to see you pregnant… you’re gonna look so good with my baby inside you… I love you so fucking much… you make me so happy.”
Even after all this time you’ve been together with Javi, it was still hard to accept that he truly found you beautiful. You knew he meant everything he said, but there were parts of your body you hated, parts that you could still recall word-for-word the negative comments your mother made about them, parts that were far from perfect that you couldn’t believe anyone would ever love. Except, there was someone who did love them—Javi. He genuinely loved every part of you, and he loved them all so reverently and with such conviction—like if he loved them enough, you would, too.
Maybe that would happen; maybe he’d help you break through the years of insecurity, and you would learn to love your imperfections—only time would tell. For now, you were finally to a point where you believed your husband when he told you how beautiful you were, and with his excitement over eventually seeing you pregnant, he’d helped calm your fears about the changes your body would go through.
He kneeled in front of you, grabbing handfuls of your ass while he placed a kiss on your mound. He put your leg over his shoulder to open you up, his fingers spreading apart your lower lips where you knew he could see how wet you were for him.
“Finally,” he whispered, and that was all the warning you got before Javi dove in face first, the flat of his tongue licking up your slit. He had you biting your lip and curling your fingers into the soft strands of his hair, making you keen when he started lapping at your perky little clit.
“Oh, god,” you breathed.
No one ate pussy like Javier—it was like he was starving for it, the rumbling groans he made as he dragged his mouth all over your cunt, wanting to taste every bit of your essence while inhaling your musk. His words vibrated against your cunt, “You taste so fucking good.”
“You’re too good at this,” you panted. The back of your head hit the wall, your eyes closing, moans falling unbidden from your lips as the first signs of your orgasm took shape low in your belly. “I’m so lucky,” you continued. “I can’t fucking believe I get this for the rest of my life.”
For only a second, he paused. “Any time you want it,” he roughly replied. “Fucking love this pussy.” He then sucked on his ring and middle fingers to soak them in saliva. You whined his name when he pushed them into your sopping cunt. There was a slight stretch, Javi putting his mouth back to work, licking and sucking at your sensitive skin. His come—still inside you from earlier in the Mustang—and your arousal had his thick digits moving easily in and out of you, your hips grinding against his face and hand.
“Just like that,” you said. “Oh, god, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Your limbs were beginning to tremble as the pleasure built inside of you, and you cried out as his fingertips rubbed that one spot only he could find—that only seemed to encourage him. He growled into your pussy and doubled down, hitting nirvana every time he pumped his fingers, his mouth focusing on your clit, alternating between sucking it between his lips and flicking his tongue along it side to side, over and over again.
“Oh my fucking god, I love you,” you told him in your blissful haze. “I fucking love you, Javier Peña.”
He hummed something that sounded a lot like, “I love you, too.”
The muscles in your stomach started tightening, the liquor in your system keeping you relaxed as you stood there on the balcony with your tits out, getting your pussy eaten by your new husband. It didn’t take much more to have you cresting, euphoria exploding out from your core as you came, gasping Javi’s name. He loudly groaned, saying, with his face in your cunt, “Good girl.” He replaced his fingers with his tongue, licking up your come and what remained of his inside you while you rode out your high.
Your body went lax, and you slumped; your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths panting from your lungs. When Javi got his fill, he carefully removed your leg from his shoulder and rose back up onto his feet with a pained sound from his achy knees. He gently kissed your chin, then one side of your mouth, and the other—his lips were wet, and you could smell yourself on him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his hard cock pressing into your belly. This was when his mouth met yours to properly kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue, hugging him in return, the skin on his back warm under your palms.
Between the tequila and orgasm, you felt amazing, and you wanted your husband to feel the same. You ended the kiss, your hands moving to hold his face as you looked at him—his eyes were closed, his mustache and lower half of his face glistening with your juices, a happy little smile on his lips. He looked so unbelievably adorable that you gave in to the impulse and squished his cheeks to the point his shiny lips pursed—it made you grin.
“You are so fucking cute,” you said. “Even when you look like a goldfish, you’re a capital C, Ca-Utie. Ugh, it’s illegal how goddamn adorable you are.”
His eyes opened. “You done?” he asked, sounding a little funny.
“Obsessing about how cute you are? Never. Like, you’re so cute.” A thought caught you off guard that had your eyes widening, the alcohol in your system amplifying the doubts. “You’re too cute,” you whispered. Letting go of his face, you continued, “Why would you want to be with someone like me? Do you like me?” you asked. “As more than a friend? Like, romantically?” You chewed on your lip.
His eyebrows pulled together, and he squinted, clearly confused. “I married you…” he said slowly.
“Yeah, but did you marry me because you love me or because we’re best friends?”
“Am I married to Steve…?”
“No, but he was already married when you met, and polygamy is illegal.”
“Cielito, mi amor, I married you because I love you, and you’re wearing the proof of that on your finger.”
“Friendship rings exist.”
“I sure as fuck didn’t give Steve my mother’s ring because we’re friends. I love you as more than a friend—wait.” His eyes rounded. Quietly, he asked, “Do you love me as just a friend or more than a friend?”
“How can you ask me that? I definitely love you as more than a friend!”
“You asked me first, and it fucked with my head!”
“I’m sorry, I needed to double-check.”
“I needed to double-check, too.”
“Well, I love you so much that I want to have your babies—” You poked him in the chest. “—and I can tell you right now, I don’t want to have Robyn’s babies. I mean, unless it was like a surrogate situation.”
That made him smile, his hands rubbing up and down your covered arms. “I want you to have my babies, too.”
“Then that settles it. We love each other as more than friends, but you’re still my best friend.”
“You’re still my best friend.”
“I won’t tell Steve.”
“I won’t tell Robyn.”
He leaned in to kiss you sweetly, the two of you smiling when you broke apart.
“Javi?”
“Yes, Cielito?”
“We’re a couple of dumbasses.”
An amused breath left him. “It’s a good thing we married each other, then.”
“True. Dumbasses need to stick together. Now,” you gripped the open edges of his robe and turned you both, pressing him back into the wall hard enough that he grunted. “It’s time for me to blow your popsicle, Mr. Peña.” Something you said you wanted to do earlier, but he told you could happen later.
“Mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo, Mrs. Peña (My body is your body, Mrs. Peña). You can do any-fucking-thing you want to me.”
You grinned. “I love when you tell me that.” You leaned in to give him one last lingering kiss.
It was your turn to make him feel good, and you began by kissing down his body, starting at his jaw and moving lower and lower, down his gorgeous neck, his chest, his soft belly, crouching when you made it to the happy trail of hair below his belly button that you followed until you were face to face with his hard cock. It looked even better than you imagined earlier–long, thick, and with that slight curve that felt so fucking good when he was inside you, the tip flushed and shiny with precum. The tile beneath you was unforgiving when you kneeled on it, raising your arms above your head to drag your fingernails down his stomach and through the curls, Javi’s head falling back against the wall with a soft moan.
You spat in the palm of your dominant hand, wrapping your fingers around his shaft—it was hot and hard, Javi twitching in your grip as you started languidly pumping him.
Looking up at your husband through your lashes, you said, “Hey, babe?”
His face tilted down at you.
“Yes, mi amor?”
“What do you call a nurse with dirty knees?”
His eyebrows pulled together. “What?”
“A head nurse.”
He went from chuckling to groaning loudly when the flat of your tongue licked up his length from root to tip, swirling it around the sensitive edges at the head. You reveled in how his eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth fell open, loving the salty tang of his precum as you took him into your mouth, continuing to stroke what didn’t fit. His big hands found their home in your hair, moving with your bobbing head as you hollowed your cheeks, taking more and more of him until he was hitting the back of your throat.
His rough voice came from above, “That’s it, baby—it feels so fucking good.”
That only egged you on. It could be said that you were an expert at blowing your husband. You knew all the things that made him tick and what would really get him going, like when your head rose off of him, gathering a wad of saliva on your tongue that you let drip onto the tip of him.
“Yes,” he gasped. “Spit on it.”
More saliva fell, slicking up the movements of your hand stroking him. You ducked your head, sucking one of his balls into your mouth.
His fingers tightened in your hair. “Fuck,” he groaned, and the way he said that word had your cunt clenching. You tongued at the thin skin of his sack, then gently sucked his other ball, your palm on his dick twisting on every upstroke to slide along the underside of the head.
The muscles in his thighs were tensed as you licked up his shaft to take him back into your mouth. His hips just barely rocked as his dick slid further and further along your palate until you were swallowing around him, his cock sliding into the tight space of your throat. Your nose pressed into the neatly trimmed curls at the base of him, smelling the soap he washed with in the shower.
“Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped. Tears collected in the corners of your eyes as saliva dripped down his length, your hands clutching his thighs. You looked up, meeting his dark gaze, seeing the clear love and desire he had for you. “So pretty with my dick down your throat.” His palm caressed your cheek. “That’s my good girl making me feel so fucking good—fuck, I love you.”
This was why you genuinely loved giving Javi head—he was always so vocal, and when he praised you, it made you drip for him. Arousal was hot in your belly. It always turned you on to hear and see the effect you were having on him. You swallowed around his thick cock, causing your throat to squeeze him—his body shivered, and you watched it travel down from his shoulders to his hips.
“Shit,” he moaned.
The glow of the moon and what light reached the balcony from the living room softly illuminated the man above you, and you couldn’t think of a prettier sight than your husband struggling to keep from coming, as he was right then. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at you with pleading eyes. “I don’t wanna come like this.” The words came out scratchy like sandpaper. “Can I fuck you? Please, Cielito?”
He didn’t need to ask twice. Immediately, you came off of him, strings of spit and precum keeping you connected. Staring up at him under your eyelashes, you answered hoarsely, “Yes. Fuck me, Papí.”
That had Javi helping you stand. When you were finally up on your feet, his large hands framed your face as he kissed you hard. He didn’t care that your chin was wet with spit or your cheeks had tear marks; he kissed you as if his life depended on it and slowly started walking you backward toward the railing.
He spoke between kisses, his mouth pressed to yours, muffling his words, “Estoy tan feliz de que seas mi esposa (I’m so happy that you are my wife)… Estoy tan feliz de poder pasar el resto de mi vida contigo (I’m so happy I get to spend the rest of my life with you)... Estoy tan feliz de que algún día seas la madre de mis hijos (I’m so happy that one day you will be the mother of my children)... Este es el día más feliz de mi vida (This is the happiest day of my life).”
Suddenly, your husband spun you, his palm smoothing up the cotton covering your back to signal you to bend toward the railing. The top of it reached the middle of your ribs, so you weren’t bent at the waist—you were leaning onto it, crossing your arms atop the metal, and popping out your ass with a widened stance to give him more room. He gripped your hips and pressed his throbbing cock into your backside. Javi leaned into you. “Feel how hard I am? That’s all you, my beautiful wife.”
Arousal swirled in your belly, the beat of your heart pulsing between your legs.
You turned your head, looking at him behind you. “You should feel how wet I am. It’s all you, my handsome husband,” you replied, wiggling your butt.
He smiled and kissed your shoulder blade. “I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you, too.”
It seemed he had enough talking. Javi straightened himself and flipped up the bottom of your robe to bare you, the cool air chilling the wetness at the crux of your thighs. He grunted as he crouched down behind you, squeezing handfuls of your ass. His teeth lightly sank into the meat of your inner thigh for only a moment, and it was like dousing gasoline on the flames in your core.
His hands spread open your asscheeks. “So fucking pretty,” he purred. A second later, a rumbling groan came from his throat as he licked up through your slit from your clit to your entrance before spitting on the skin between your two holes—you felt the warm wad of saliva dripping down to your already-soaked opening.
He smacked your ass, the cheek jiggling as he rose back up on his feet. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he whispered. One of his hands held your waist while the other slid his dick through your arousal and his spit to wet himself. He bent at the waist to rasp into your ear, “Don’t wanna draw attention to us—unless you want everyone to know how good your husband fucks you.” He squeezed your hip as he notched the fat head of his cock at your entrance.
Your robe was open, your nipples tingling when a breeze hit your bare skin. The alcohol made you brave as you looked at him over your shoulder again with a smile, your hand going up behind you to touch his smooth cheek.
“I want the entire world to know how good my husband fucks me. Give it to me, Papí.”
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A shiver moved down Javier’s spine, his cock jerking in his hand.
This woman was going to be the death of him.
“Scream for me, baby,” he replied, turning his head to kiss the center of her palm.
He started pressing himself into the tight clutch of her pussy, her inner walls hugging his thick length as he fed it inside her inch by inch—her arm fell back onto the railing, and they both moaned, Javier’s eyes closing, his jaw going slack at how good she felt around him, all hot and wet. His hips met the softness of her ass, and he looked down to watch as he slowly pulled out, his dick glistening under what little light there was.
“I love how wet you get for me,” he said. “All nice and soaked for your husband.”
He couldn’t get enough of being called that: her husband.
The quickie in the car scratched the itch; still, Javier had been looking forward all-fucking-day to the moment when he got to take his time and properly fuck his wife. Gripping her waist, he pushed back in, Cielito’s head falling onto the cushion of her arms with a breathy “Yes” that riled him up. She wanted everyone to know how good her husband fucks her, and he was more than happy to oblige.
He started moving in and out of her, keeping most of himself inside for her to feel every ridge and pulsing vein as he reacquainted her cunt with the familiar shape of him.
“It’s so good,” she moaned. “You feel so good.”
“Yeah? I’ve got you, hermosa (beautiful).”
He could make it feel even better—this was a position where she wanted him to be rough, where she wanted him to fuck her until she was cock dumb and her legs shook.
He began increasing the momentum of his hips, slickly sliding halfway out and back into her over and over again until he was railing into her with hard, even strokes that stuttered her loud moans. Javier grunted with each thrust, their skin clapping where it met. With how the balcony had walls on three sides, the sounds echoed off the stucco.
Fuck, he loved being inside her. There was nothing better than feeling the squeeze of her pussy around him. He did love her going down on him a little bit ago, and earlier, when she gave him a hand job after their marriage ceremony, he loved that, too. He also loved the occasions when she’d let him fuck her ass—Javier loved anything she wanted to do with him. But if he had to choose a favorite, it’d be a variation of what they were doing right now.
“You like this?” he mumbled between grunts. “Is it good?”
Several seconds passed with no answer, and there was no hiding his smirk. He slid a palm up the path of her spine to firmly grasp the back of her neck, his other hand going to her front, roughly fondling her breast. He kept up the punishing pace of his hips.
“Am I fucking you good, mi amor?” he tried again a little louder.
Her head lifted, turning her attention to him behind her. Even in such dim conditions, he could see her eyes were heavy-lidded and glazed over. There was a scrunch between her eyebrows, and her mouth was slightly agape—she was absolutely wrecked. She finally answered, repeating, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Pride swelled inside him. “You like how your husband fucks you?”
“Yes! God, yes!” she cried.
Her words had sparks igniting at the base of his spine, making his cock twitch. His fingers plucked at her nipple, rolling the stiff bud. It’d be hard for anyone down below to fully make out what they were doing, but there was no masking the noise—the filthy repetitive slap of skin hitting skin, his rough grunts, and her whining moans that filled the air gave them away.
They were usually much more courteous to their neighbors when it came to their volume. His wife always found it embarrassing when Mrs. Hernandez banged on the wall between their apartments or the people upstairs stomped on the floor to tell them to quiet down. It had to be the tequila—the liquid courage—that had her acting so brazen tonight, and he loved it.
“Are you gonna come for me?” he asked.
“Yes! Don’t stop!” She started chanting over and over again, “Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop—”
He followed her orders, continuing to pound into her at the same speed, his fingers tweaking her nipple. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and the small of his back, his gaze locked on hers—she was so gorgeous.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Cielito,” he told her. “So fucking beautiful taking it like my good girl.”
Her eyes squeezed shut, and she loudly whined his name into the night. Her cunt was fluttering around him, her entire body quaking. She laid her head back onto her arms, and that told him she was almost to the finish line.
“Come for me, mi amor,” he said. “Let me have it.”
He’d follow soon after he. His orgasm had been slowly building inside him, feeling the pressure rising deep in his guts with every passing second. He was thankful they fucked in the car because there was no way in hell he would’ve been able to last this long if they hadn’t fooled around beforehand.
Javier loved every second of this, the thrill amplifying his pleasure. The thrill was the reason he enjoyed fucking in places he shouldn’t. He craved the adrenaline, something he experienced regularly in Colombia. But now, instead of possibly dying to feel that rush, he just had to try not to get caught.
It wasn’t much longer before they reached a crescendo. She let out an unintelligible cry, all of the muscles in her body pulling taut, choking his dick hard enough to stutter his rhythm—he sucked in a breath through bared teeth, willing himself not to come while he continued fucking her through her high, drawing it out.
It happened fast. Her legs went wobbly like a newborn calf’s. “Shit,” Javier breathed, quickly getting his arm around her middle and the other across her chest. “Don’t fall, baby,” he grunted, hauling her up against his body to prevent her from doing as much. It was his strength that kept her standing and walked her forward, pinning her by the hips to the railing.
By some miracle, his cock stayed inside her.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “My legs feel like jello.”
He carefully pulled the robe off one of her shoulders to lightly kiss the side of her neck, her skin prickling with goosebumps. “Don’t apologize,” was his muffled reply. “Means your husband fucked you good.” His lips made a journey to her ear. “Do you wanna stop?” he whispered. “Or can I keep going?”
She reached up behind her, combing her fingers into his sweat-damp hair. “Mmm, definitely keep going.”
Javier smiled. “Yeah?” He kissed that one sensitive spot behind her ear—she hummed happily. “I wanna look at you,” he said. “Can I turn you?”
“Of course. Just help me, please. I don’t trust my legs.”
He chuckled. “I’ve got you.”
He slipped out of her, the back of her robe falling into place. Her legs were still shaking as he helped her face him, pressing her into the railing again. They locked eyes, and both smiled. His hands reached to hold her perfect face while her arms went around his neck, her fingers pushing into the brown waves at the back of his head.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” His thumbs stroked over the apples of her cheeks. “There you are. My beautiful wife.”
Before she could respond, he closed the gap between their lips, hers petal soft and slotting together with his perfectly. He wanted to kiss her slowly. He wanted to savor this moment, take his time, but she made this delicious little noise that broke his resolve, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again. It made him greedy. Not only did he want that noise, he wanted her moans and her sighs. He wanted to hear her mouth caress the syllables of his name and cry it out when he brought her to the brink of ecstasy.
The kiss turned hungry and passionate, both of them ravenous. When that sweet sound met his ears again, it spurred him on. He was still hard and aching to come. Unable to wait any longer, Javier reached down to hook her thigh onto his hip, then guided his length back into her pussy. The moment his cock breached her tight opening, he moaned into her mouth, his head going dizzy at how good it felt.
He started slowly thrusting, his lips breaking away to nip at her chin. “Can I make you come again?” he breathily asked. “Please?”
Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, and she pulled on it to get his attention. “Is that what you need, baby? You wanna feel me come around your dick? You wanna watch your wife come?”
Javier whimpered—his eyes squeezed shut, and his cock pulsed inside her. He wanted to watch, he wanted to feel and hear her come, taste her tongue on his, and smell the sex on her skin. She already occupied his every thought, and he wanted her to take over his senses, too. Take over his entire world until she was all that existed.
He continued moving his hips, his dick sliding easily with how wet it was between her legs.
Javier looked at her, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. “Yes,” he answered. “Can I?”
Her palm pressed to his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “Yes, Javi.” This time, she was the one who crushed her mouth to his before he could utter another word, her fingers threading into his hair. Her tongue pushed past his lips, and he groaned, the kiss turning messy.
He was still so worked up that it wasn’t going to take a lot to get him off. Javier increased his pace, going harder and faster. There was an audible wetness where they were joined, and he could hear himself working in and out of her used cunt, her arousal dripping down his shaft and balls.
This was what he wanted. To be able to kiss her. To see her and watch her fall apart. He had one hand gripping her leg at his waist, keeping it up, and snaked his other between their bodies, sliding it down her stomach to the apex of her thighs to rub her clit. He swallowed her moan, her fingers tightening in his thick strands of hair. His lips broke away from hers, Javier ducking his head, spreading sloppy kisses along her collarbone, on her shoulder, and up her neck. With her robe open and off her shoulder, it gave him a canvas of bared skin for his mouth to map out.
“Tell me when you’re close,” he murmured against her throat. “Can you do that for me?”
He was doing everything in his power to hold off his own end so she could take him with her. The muscles in his belly were knotted up, his heart pounding in his chest. His cock was throbbing almost uncomfortably with his need to come.
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” Javier sucked on her earlobe, then returned his attention to her neck and shoulder, kissing and biting the skin. His voice was muffled as he rambled, “I’m gonna make you come, and when I do—fuck—when I do, I’m going with you.” He was circling her clit, giving her the friction she needed. “I'll fill you up, and you’re gonna stay full. I fucking meant it when I said I’m gonna keep you stuffed full of me.” He was panting hot breaths as he kissed her, getting himself worked up with what he was saying. “I can promise you—shit—I can promise you, I am going to get you pregnant. I am going to knock you up.” He swallowed hard, his hips continuing to fuck into her. “You’re gonna have my baby. I’m gonna make sure of it.”
They were pretty sure her actual shot at getting pregnant was the week prior. But since they weren’t 100% positive, they didn’t want to miss their chance, and that possibility made the shit they said while fucking even hotter.
“Please,” she moaned. “Put a baby in me. Please. I want it. Fill me up, Papí.”
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You can have it—fuck—you can have any-fucking-thing you want. I’ll fuck a baby into you.”
He tucked his face in the crook of her neck, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. It was taking most of his focus to keep himself from blowing his load.
“I’m close, Javi!” Cielito whined. “Oh, god, I’m gonna come!”
The excitement caused his rhythm to falter for a split second. “Shit,” Javier hissed. He quickly got back into tempo, his head lifting to look at his wife. Her eyes were closed, her forehead shining with perspiration, moans spilling from her rounded lips. His fingers kept strumming her clit, and his other hand gently grasped her jaw.
“Look at me,” he panted. “Open your eyes, Cielito. Let me see you.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, and he was met with hooded lust-blown eyes.
“Javi,” she gasped. Her fingers were clenched in his hair. “I’m gonna come, Javi.”
“I know, baby. I know. Come for me. Take me with you.”
She was quivering as his hips swung hard and fast into her. Javier watched as each stroke took her higher and higher, his gaze never leaving hers. After half a dozen more thrusts, she finally told him, “I’m coming.” Her eyes squeezed shut, moaning as she peaked; her body seized up, her pussy clamping down on him.
That was it for Javier.
A strangled noise left his throat as his balls drew up, pushing himself all the way to the root inside her. Pleasure erupted from his core, his dick pulsing, painting her insides with rope after rope of his come. He rolled his hips, fucking his spend as deep as it would go. The primal part of his brain making him ignore how sensitive his cock was in order to fill the depths of her cunt.
When every last drop was wrung out of him, he stopped moving, and his body became boneless. He slumped into his wife, but not before wrapping his arms around her and burying his face back into the crook of her neck. All thoughts had left his brain, the man blissed out, basking in her warmth and the familiar scent of her skin. And then she did his favorite thing and started playing with his sweaty hair. He sighed happily, nuzzling his face closer to her like he was trying to burrow himself under her skin.
This. This was the closest thing to heaven on earth. This was his heaven. She was his heaven.
Javier grew up going to church with his parents, and his interpretation of what he read and heard was that if there were a heaven, it wouldn’t be a physical place. There were no pearly gates or St. Peter waiting to greet you. Instead, it was a state of being where there was complete fulfillment and nothing but absolute happiness. How fucking lucky was he that he found that in life?
He stood there, his body pressed into her softer one, as the beat of their hearts slowed and their breaths evened out. There was a low rumble of cars driving on nearby roads and unseen crickets chirping in the distance.
It took a few minutes before either of them spoke.
“Javi?” she croaked.
He kissed the side of her neck. “Yes, baby?”
“I’m ready to go inside.”
He straightened to his full height to see her face. “Okay, mi amor.” He pecked her on the lips, rubbing his hands up and down her robed arms. “Can you walk?”
Her eyebrow rose. “Can I walk? Mr. I’m-going-to-make-you-come-so-many-times-you’re-gonna-need-a-wheelchair.”
Javier tried not to smile and failed, his hands pausing. “A wheelchair?”
“Yes, a wheelchair. Because my husband loves to fuck me to the point I can’t walk.” She wasn’t wrong, and it made his chest puff up. “Should’ve brought one home from work a long time ago.”
“You don’t need a wheelchair, baby.” He gently squeezed her biceps. “I did it, and I’ll get you where you need to go. Does a bath sound good? Or do you wanna get into bed? We could also watch TV on the couch—order a pay-per-view movie.”
Her lips lifted into a knowing smile. “Pay-per-view movie, huh? Like, porn? Javi, when you stay in hotels by yourself, do you order pay-per-view porn? You can be honest with me. I’m your wife.”
He scratched at the back of his neck. “I mean, not every time… what about you? You can be honest with me. I’m your husband.”
“A time or two, out of curiosity.”
He smiled. “Out of curiosity, huh?” His voice went a little deeper. “Did you touch yourself while watching…?”
“What do you think?”
Javier grabbed her hips. He leaned in to hover his mouth over hers, nuzzling her nose with his. “I think,” he rasped, “you played with your pretty pussy while watching. Did you get yourself off with your fingers?”
“Vibrator. You know I don’t like playing acoustic pussy unless I have to.”
“You like my fingers.”
“Because you’re sexy and an acoustic pussy maestro.” She brushed his lips with hers. “It’s your turn to choose,” she said. “Bath, bed, or couch, Mr. Peña?”
“Bath sounds nice.”
“Bath sounds wonderful.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do, Mrs. Peña.” He ended the sentence with a kiss, something slow and tender. They broke apart, smiling. “Let’s go, Cielito.”
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The rectangular whirlpool tub was massive enough that your husband could sit across from you with his long legs fully extended while yours rested over his. Javi’s cheeks and chest were painted with a pink flush from the bath’s heat, his broad shoulders dotted with a constellation of freckles. Your bodies were submerged in the hot water, covered from your shoulders down, the bathtub’s jets rumbling as they massaged your backs. It was relaxing, the warmth of the water and the pressure of the spray along your spine easing all of the tension from your body.
To continue the celebration of your nuptials, your husband brought the complimentary bottle of champagne into the bathtub with you. He popped it open and poured you each a glass, the two of you toasting to your marriage and the start of your family before drinking and chatting, laughter quickly filling the room. The bottle was over halfway empty, and you both were buzzed.
“You’re fucking with me,” he said with a grin. His arm was resting on the edge of the tub, holding his flute of bubbly. The man always had to be touching you, his other palm under the water rubbing up and down your calf, but it paused when he spoke.
Your smile got bigger. “I’m not!” you laughed. Your champagne was sitting on the bathtub’s rim, your fingers fiddling with the stem of the glass. “When I graduated nursing school,” you said, “I was trying to figure out what I wanted to specialize in. So, I did a rotation in labor and delivery, and I had this mother in labor who needed a C-section. Like, it’d been hours with zero progress, and the doctor called it. She told the couple, and I quote, ‘This baby has to come out the other way.’ I shit you not, after the doctor left, the father looked at me and asked, ‘They’re gonna pull the baby out of her butt?’”
He huffed amusedly, his head shaking in disbelief. “Jesus.” He took a sip of his drink and set it back down.
“It was so hard not to laugh,” you said. “Surprisingly, not the dumbest or wildest thing anyone has ever said to me at work.”
His expression turned curious. “What’s the wildest thing someone has said to you?”
“Ummm.” Your eyes left his to think about it for a second, your mind running through many memorable interactions until one in particular stuck out. Your attention went back to him. “Probably the guy who may or may not have been a gang member who gave me his number and told me if I ever needed someone taken out—as in murdered—to give him a call. He even said it’d be free of charge, which was weirdly sweet? Not that I’d actually take him up on it,” you clarified, lifting your glass to your lips for a sip.
His eyes rounded. “What…?”
Your champagne returned to its spot on the tub’s edge. “It’s kinda like how people propose to me all of the time because they’re so thankful I brought them food after they fasted for their procedures. When scary-looking dudes who may or may not have gang ties come to the hospital, and you treat them like any other patient—you know, with dignity and respect—they really, really appreciate it. Their way of thanking you is by offering their services or illegal goods.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Illegal goods, like drugs…?”
“Sure, and weapons.” You shrugged. “One guy offered me illegal European cheeses, and I won’t lie, that one was tempting.”
“Do you still have the contacts?”
“No. I never kept their info, and let’s be real, they weren’t using their actual names. Once they left the hospital, they were no longer my patient, and what they did was none of my business. Snitches get stitches and all that jazz.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, and his hand began a new circuit along the skin of your leg. “What’s the dumbest thing someone said?” He had another sip.
“Oh, listen to this. A male patient came into the ER complaining about abdominal pain. After the doctor did a quick exam, he ordered an ultrasound. When we told the patient about the ultrasound, he shouted, ‘I’m not pregnant! I’m a man!’”
“You’re fucking with me,” Javi said again, looking just as amused as the first time, his champagne flute hovering over the water.
“I swear I’m not!” you giggled. “He said that! This guy was in his mid-fifties, too. His wife was so embarrassed. The doctor had to pull out a fucking human anatomy diagram to educate the dude.”
“I’d be a shitty nurse. I wouldn’t have the patience for all of the stupidity.”
“Oh my god,” you laughed, thinking about Javi as a nurse. “Between your grumpy resting face and the fact you cannot hide what you’re feeling, you’d be so bad. No offense, babe.” You patted his knee underwater.
“None taken. I said it first. It’s nice knowing my wife has the patience of a saint to put up with my bullshit.” He raised his glass your way in toast, then took a drink.
“Stop it. You’re perfect. Now, are you finally gonna tell me how much you spent on this room?”
He smiled, setting his champagne back onto the rim. “No.”
“Rude.”
He chuckled. “Just enjoy it, baby.” Water droplets trickled as he lifted your leg out of the bath and leaned in, kissing the inside of your ankle.
“But I’m curious as fuck,” you whined.
He returned your leg to the water. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Earlier, you mentioned we sometimes have to compromise, so I’ll tell you how I got the room, but I won’t tell you what it cost me.”
That had you perking up. Maybe you could call the front desk and find out the price yourself.
“The front desk won’t tell you,” he continued, looking a little too pleased with himself. Of course, he knew what you were thinking.
You deflated with a sigh. “Fine,” you said. “How were you able to get the room?”
“The manager is mi prima’s (my cousin’s) brother-in-law.”
You grinned. “You’ve got connections. That’s very sexy of you.”
He was smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges and shining with love—a look you were all too familiar with and hoped he could see on your face. His hand continued stroking your leg.
He chuckled. “Even with connections, it took some negotiating. It was worth it, though. You’re worth it. I know our wedding was pretty short notice, and since we couldn’t get time off from work for me to whisk you away on a real honeymoon—which I plan on doing sometime this year before we have a baby—this was the next best thing to show you how much I love you and what you mean to me. You deserve the very best, and that’s what I’m always gonna give you, and nothing less.”
His words had you melting, your heart skipping a beat. It was a regular occurrence where Javier said or did something that made you wonder once again what you did to deserve him in your life or to be loved in this way you never knew existed. “How did I get so lucky?”
“I’m the lucky one.”
“I beg to differ because I am married to arguably the greatest man on earth, who worships me like a goddess, and that’s not even an exaggeration. A freaking goddess! Me! Insane.” It was crazy how much you loved this man, and the alcohol had your feelings threatening to burst from your lips. So, you let them. “I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah?”
“You make me feel so safe. You make me feel comfortable and so fucking loved. Javi, I’ve never been so loved, and I know it’s sad, and you hate thinking about it, but I’ve never had someone love me unconditionally like you do.” The emotions had tears welling up in your eyes. “I’ve never experienced a love like this that I feel deep in my soul, and that’s how I know it’s real. I’m not as poetic as you are, so I’m just going to say what comes to mind. Prepare yourself for some sappy bullshit.”
He was watching you with a fond expression and watery eyes. “I’m ready.”
“Hold my hand.” You reached out to him, and he grasped your fingers, his thumb rubbing over the tops of them. You cleared your throat to compose yourself. “There was an emptiness inside my chest?” You said it in question. “A lifelong longing for something I never knew I needed until you came along. You redefined the void. You gave it meaning. You’ve shown me what it is to be seen, to be cherished, to be truly loved. You’ve shown me a world that, up until you entered mine, was nothing more than a fantasy I’d only ever dreamed about. It was something out of reach, you know? But here you are, a dream come true, who loves me unconditionally, and for that, you have my love, you have my total devotion, you get my every morning and my every night. You get slow dances in the kitchen and four a.m. grilled cheeses—ooh, I like how that kinda rhymes.” Your husband laughed, his lips curved up in a smile. “I’m not half bad at this. Javi, I am going to give you the life you’ve always deserved but never felt worthy of—a wife, kids, dog, house, and hopefully, happiness. I want to make you as happy as you make me. This is my long way of saying I love you, Javier Peña. Thank you for loving me.”
“I’m so fucking happy,” he replied. “Come here.” He beckoned you toward him, lightly tugging your hand. Without another thought, you moved, the bath sloshing as you pushed yourself up onto your knees and crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs. Javi wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly to his body, your face nestled into the curve of his neck. His head tilted to touch yours. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so fucking much. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how fucking lucky I am to have you. I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you, and sometimes I catch myself wondering if this is all a dream. You have no idea how many times I’ve almost pinched myself because being with you feels so right and so perfect that I think it all has to be too good to be true, and I’m gonna wake up alone in my bed at the ranch or in fucking Colombia.” You gasped, your heart squeezing at how heartbreaking that was. “Being with you is teaching me that life can be kind and there is hope for the future. You’re my future, and even though there are moments where it feels too surreal and too fucking good, it is real. What we have is real, and I am grateful for you. I will forever be grateful that you chose me, and I will never take for granted a single day that I get to share my life with you.” His head turned to kiss your cheek. “This is my long way of saying I love you, too. Thank you for loving me.”
“Oh, Javi.” You sat up, taking his face into your hands. Sitting in his lap, you were taller than him, and his chin raised to look at you with his red-rimmed eyes. “It is real. It’s so fucking real. I love you.”
That was an understatement of how you felt about him. Not when it felt as if his heart was beating in your chest, and looking into his eyes was like coming home—the familiarity, the comfort, the safety. Almost as if you’d always known that those irises, with their unique mix of chocolatey-colored hues, would belong to the one who was meant for you. A recognition, a certainty when your gazes met that he was your person, your other half.
Emotions had you smashing your mouth against his, kissing him hard. You poured your love into each press of your lips to his, letting him taste the devotion on your tongue. His arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you flush to him. It didn’t matter that you’d already come a handful of times tonight. The things he said had you wanting, no, needing him again, the desire searing through your veins and pooling in your belly.
An interesting side effect of being in love with Javi and knowing he loved you, too, was how it made you so fucking horny. Confessing your love to one another was basically foreplay, and wasn’t that adorable? A couple of love-sick fools getting turned on from loving each other. Robyn would absolutely fake-gag if you told her about you and your husband’s love kink.
He sounded breathless when he came up for air. “I love you.” He messily kissed your chin and the shape of your jaw. “I fucking love you,” he murmured into your skin.
“I love you, too.” His face was still framed in your hands, and you pushed him back to gain access to the line of his neck, your head dipping to swipe your tongue up his salty skin.
“Jesus,” he breathed, his throat bobbing. You rocked your hips, rubbing his already half-hard cock with your cunt, his hands grabbing ahold of your ass, the soft flesh firmly filling his palms as he helped you move. You sucked over his pulse point hard enough to leave a mark, Javi groaning, “Fuck, I love you.” The words vibrated under your mouth, making your lips curl in delight.
“I love you, too, Javi.” Your mouth traveled up to take his earlobe between your teeth, nibbling on it before your lips were at his ear. “I really fucking love you.”
“I’m yours.” His fingers dug into your asscheeks, moving you. “You fucking own me. I’m yours forever.”
“And I’ll always be yours, Javi. Always. For-fucking-ever.”
His large hand came up, lightly grasping your jaw to maneuver your face in front of his, Javier’s lips colliding with yours. This kiss was much more frantic, the headiness of passion overtaking you both, matching each other's energy, heartbeat for heartbeat, breath for breath. He was completely hard as you rolled your hips along his shaft, the bath’s water lapping at the sides of the tub. Your arms went around his neck, threading your fingers into the hair at the back of his head.
You loved this man so much that he was your entire world, everything that mattered, and the wild thing was, he felt the same way about you—you were his entire world and everything that mattered to him. It was an intoxicating feeling to love and to be loved.
The sweet heat of want burned at the base of your spine, the tension rising with each desperate kiss until it hit a breaking point. In sync, your mouths separated, you lifted your hips high enough for Javi to position his cock at your entrance, and then you sank onto it.
“That’s it, baby.”
“Yes,” you gasped when he was fully seated inside of you.
There was nothing better than the familiar fullness or how he stretched you open.
Your gazes were locked.
“I love you so fucking much,” he said. “Use me, Cielito. Make yourself come. I wanna feel you.”
He didn’t give you a chance to respond. Javi leaned up to capture your lips once more, his hands gripping handfuls of your ass. Your palms slid up his flushed chest to grab his shoulders, and you did what he said: you started moving. You ground your hips, keeping most of him inside you while rubbing your clit on the coarse hairs at the base of his dick. Sparks danced in your core, your pulse pounding. Your husband helped you grind in his lap.
“Te amo (I love you),” he said between kisses. “Te amo muchísimo, mi amor (I love you so much, my love). Eres mi todo (You are my everything). Toma lo que es tuyo (Take what is yours).”
“I love you, too, Javi.” Pleasure built, and the coil in your tummy started to tighten. “I fucking love you. I’ll always love you.” Your hips circled in the most delicious rotations.
His tongue delved between your lips, plundering your mouth, moans coming from the back of your throat. With how close you were physically—your bodies pressed together like pieces of a puzzle—and emotionally—your love and devotion for each other—this was the closest you’d ever been with another person, and it felt much more intimate than sex. It was something deeper. Something on a different level where you were caught up in one another, lost in your own little world and the overwhelming feeling of love. Maybe it was the oxytocin, the love hormone, flooding your system that had you thinking this must be what it felt like when your souls came together, the two halves melding to become one.
The water splashed against your back and ribs, the bath’s jets continued to rumble. You didn’t stop the rocking of your hips or sloppily kissing your husband. He felt so good inside you, the pressure on your clit pushing you higher and higher.
“Eres mi vida (You are my life).” It was muffled into your lips. “Eres todo para mí (You are everything to me). Quiero que me uses como tú quieras (I want you to use me however you want).” He switched to English. “I wanna feel my wife come. You gonna get yourself off?“
“Yes.”
“My good girl. I love you. Take what you need, mi amor. Don’t stop. You come, I come. I’m following you. You’re taking me with you.”
Your orgasm was close, the muscles in your stomach winding tighter and tighter.
“I will, Javi. I will. I fucking love you.”
This man you married knew exactly what would have you careening toward your climax. He took your breasts into his hands, ducking his head to suck on your hardened nipple, his fingers teasing the other one. It felt like every nerve ending in your body lit up, your eyes closed, the shock of it making you cry out.
“I love you,” you repeated. “I love you, I love you, I love you—”
Each time you rolled your hips, it created the best friction against your clit, and that, combined with the attention he was giving your tits, had you tumbling over the edge, coming with a gasp of his name. This orgasm was softer than the others. When your body tensed and your cunt squeezed him, Javi hissed. He grabbed your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as he used his strength to keep moving you in his lap. He kept those gentle waves of pleasure flowing through you, letting you ride out your high while your husband chased his own.
“I’m yours, Javi,” you told him. When you opened your eyes, you saw his were shut tight, and his teeth were bared. It was that sexy look he got when he was close to coming; he just needed a push to get there. You touched your forehead to his, your fingers clutched in his hair. “I’m yours, baby. I want you to come. I want my husband to come. I want you to fill me up and fuck it so deep inside me you knock me up.” He whined, and that just encouraged you. “Get me pregnant, Javi. Let me have it. Let me feel it.”
“Fuck,” he gasped. “I love you. I’m gonna—Christ—I’m gonna fuck a baby into you. I’m gonna fuck you full of my come. Fuck it—shit—fuck it so deep in your pussy it takes. Te amo, te amo, te amo, te amo más que a nada (I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you more than anything).” The groan he let out was guttural. He hugged you to him, holding you still, his face pressing against your throat as he came. His teeth sunk into your neck, the pleasurable pain causing you to moan. His cock jerked inside you with each spurt of his spend gushing into your inner depths, and when it stopped, his heavy breaths were hot on your skin.
The only sound in the bathroom was the tub's jets. The water had turned lukewarm. The large mirror on the opposite wall over the two sinks was still fogged up. It was peaceful and calm. Time stood still in this little bubble where you luxuriated in one another and those happy chemicals flowing through your bodies. All of your muscles relaxed, making you melt into your husband. Javi nuzzled his face into your neck, and your fingernails lovingly scratched at his scalp, earning you a happy hum.
You loved these moments. You loved how comfortable it was to hold each other, your bodies and souls bare. You didn’t feel self-conscious or a need to cover up. You just wanted to share in the afterglow with the man you loved.
Javier told you once that his favorite part of having sex was this: the post-sex glow when you cuddled close and came down with the other person. He loved the intimacy of it. He craved it. He also revealed that down in Colombia, he’d pay the sex workers he slept with extra to stay with him longer instead of leaving immediately after he came so he could have some semblance of that intimacy. It was a little sad if you thought about it too hard; if you thought about how lonely and touch-starved he was, that was made exponentially worse because his love language was physical touch. You’d never let him feel that loneliness again. You were happy to spend those minutes with him after you both finished, cradled in his arms. You were happy to give him that intimacy he craved. You were happy to do whatever it took to make him feel as loved as he made you.
Seconds turned into minutes. Finally, Javi broke the stillness with a kiss to the skin his face was pressed against.
“Javi?”
“Hmmm?”
“I love you.”
He was smiling when his head lifted to look you in the eyes, and you matched his expression.
“I love you, too.”
“I have a serious question.”
His smile fell. “Yeah?”
“Are you a sea lion?”
As expected, his face pinched in confusion.
“What…?”
“Are you a sea lion?” you repeated.
“What do you mean…?”
“I mean, you must be a sea lion ‘cause I can sea-you-lion in my bed tonight.” To really sell it, you wagged your eyebrows.
He tried to hold in the laugh, his cheeks flushing red, but he couldn’t keep it in. He sputtered into full-on laughter, his eyes practically disappearing with how they crinkled in glee. It had you cracking up, too, joining him in the merriment. His head fell against your shoulder as you both laughed at your stupid pick-up line.
It took you back to your wedding ceremony, when you both vowed your marriage would be filled with love, happiness, and laughter. Which was another thing you loved about your husband: he made you feel comfortable enough to be your true goofy self. Something you didn’t feel in your past relationships. But Javi–even with him being a somewhat serious, no-nonsense guy—he appreciated your humor and laughed at your dumb jokes. He never made you feel stupid or embarrassed, and it was truly a breath of fresh air that you could simply be you.
Eventually, you both calmed down. Your husband kissed your cheek and then sat up, rubbing his palms up and down your ribs. He looked at you with soft eyes and a sweet smile.
“I am so fucking in love with you,” he said.
You grinned. “And I am so fucking in love with you,” you replied, poking the tip of his nose. He snatched your hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss your wedding ring.
“I love you naked like this,” he rasped. His burning gaze traveled from your face to your breasts, drinking in the sight of you before his eyes returned to yours. “But you know what would look really good on you?”
“Lingerie? That red thong you love?”
“Me.”
“Oh,” you gasped, your eyes widening. “That just made my pussy flutter.”
“I know.” Because he was still inside you.
You gulped. “Can I, uh, see your left hand real quick?” It came out of the water, dripping. He held it straight up for you to see the back of it. You stared at his fingers, seeing the gold band on his ring finger, and nodded. “Yep, that is a wedding ring. Jesus, you really did marry me. Me. That’s fucking crazy.”
“Stop that.”
Your attention went back to him to see he was frowning. “Stop what?”
He sighed and took both of your hands into his. “Thinking I’m out of your league. I hate it. Cielito, you’re fucking beautiful. Say it. Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’”
“You’re beautiful.”
He gave you a grumpy look. “You know what I meant. Say it.”
The thought of repeating it made you wince, but you did it anyway. You mumbled, “I’mbeautiful.”
“Say it louder.”
“I hate this,” you whined.
“And we’re working on fixing that. So, say it again.”
You took a deep breath. This was so fucking hard. “I’m beautiful.”
He smiled. “You are. Repeat it.”
“I’m beautiful.”
“Again.”
“How many times are we doing this?”
“As many as it takes for you to believe it. Again.”
You sighed. “I’m beautiful.”
“What are you?”
“I’m beautiful.”
He made you say it five more times, and it got easier each time you said it.
“One more,” he ordered.
“I’m beautiful.”
“Good girl.” He closed the gap to kiss you, his big hands coming up to caress your face. When his lips left yours, he nudged your nose with his. “You’re beautiful, smart, funny, sweet, sexy, talented, and an amazing partner. You’re perfect. I need you to remember that. You’re perfect,” he said again, “and I am lucky to have you as my wife.”
“Thank you, Javi. You know I struggle when it comes to that stuff.”
“Yeah, I do know. We’ll keep working on it.” He kissed your forehead.
“I’m lucky to have such a supportive husband who calls me out on my bullshit.”
He huffed. “You do the same for me. I love you, mi amor.”
“I love you, too.” You pecked him on the lips, then pulled back when you started to yawn, covering your mouth with your hand.
“You ready for bed?” he asked.
The question made you realize you were exhausted. “God, yeah.”
“Let’s go, baby.”
Thirty minutes later found you dry, your teeth brushed, and naked under the covers, with Javi spooning you from behind. The curtains were closed, the bedroom dark save for the alarm clock on the bedside table, whose glowing red numbers told you it was almost two a.m. Your husband’s arm was around your front, your hand over his on your breast, your rings touching. His nose was buried in the hair at the back of your head.
It was cozy and warm, feeling so happy and loved. Sleep was coming for you, and your eyelids were getting heavy, your thoughts slowing. In your sleepy haze, you remembered something.
“Javi?” you whispered.
“Yes, Cielito?” he answered just as quietly.
“I just realized Valentine’s Day is next month. I don’t know if you have anything planned yet, but you know what I’d love to do?”
“What?”
“You.”
He chuckled, hugging you a little tighter and kissing your hair. “That’s what we’ll do then. Any other requests?”
You smiled, wiggling back to get closer to him. “Nope. Do you have any requests?”
He was going to ask for the red thong.
“You said something about the red thong in the bath.”
There it was. You giggled. “You got it, babe.” You patted his hand, your rings clinking together. “Sweetest dreams, my wonderful, perfect husband.”
“They’ll be about you, my wonderful, perfect wife. I love you, Cielito.”
“I love you, too.”
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Steve lifted his wrist to check the time, the hands on the watch face showing 3:16 p.m.
He frowned. He could’ve sworn he told Javier earlier when they talked on the phone to meet in the hotel restaurant at three p.m. Not 3:30, three on the dot, because he had to get Connie and the kids to Laredo’s tiny airport by six p.m. for their flight to Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, where they’d get on a bigger plane to take them home to Miami.
Where the hell were the newlyweds?
He was sitting at the head of the long eight-person dining room table at the hotel’s restaurant, Zaragoza Grill, with a clear view of the entrance. Instead of a chair to his right, there was a wooden highchair with his one-year-old, Nate, sitting in it, chewing on a small slice of bread from the bread basket. Connie was next to their youngest in the middle seat, talking to Stevie, their three-year-old, on her other side while he used crayons to color the paper kids’ menu the hostess had given him. Olivia was at the other end of the table, opposite Steve, coloring her own menu.
His arm lowered as he looked at his wife. “Con?” he said.
Her head turned his way. “Yes?”
“I told Javi three, right? Not, 3:30?”
“Yes, you told him three.”
“Why aren’t they here yet?”
“Honey, they got married yesterday. You remember what it was like the days after our wedding. All of the laundry we folded.” She smiled.
‘Folding laundry’ was their codeword for sex, and he absolutely remembered the days following their wedding. They went at it like fucking rabbits and didn’t leave their hotel room in Cabo San Lucas for days.
He smirked. “How could I forget our honeymoon, baby? We had a good time. A really good time. You know, we should go back to Mexico. Maybe we could get your sister to watch the kids while we go on a little vacation.”
She rolled her eyes. “Keep dreaming, Steve. We’re not gonna be able to go on vacation alone until Nate graduates high school, and that’s a good seventeen years away.”
He sighed. She was right. They couldn’t pawn their children off on someone to fuck off to Mexico for a week. “You’re right, sweetheart.”
“I always am.”
That was the end of their conversation, Connie’s attention returning to Stevie.
Behind him was a table for two against the brick wall. The young women sitting at it had walked by them when they were seated, and he estimated they were in their twenties. He couldn’t help eavesdropping on their conversation when one of the girls asked, “Can you believe all that noise last night?”
“Oh my god, I know, right? Like from what it sounded like, either the woman in the room above us was getting it real good, or the rumors are true, and this place is actually haunted. But I just don’t think spirits of nuns would make those noises, you know what I mean?”
“Girl, the moaning? The screaming? The sound of that pounding? Whoever was staying upstairs is one lucky bitch. Her man knows what he’s doing, and I don’t blame her for not being able to stay quiet. I also think they probably figured that since they were on the third floor, no one would hear them going at it.”
Steve inhaled deeply, shaking his head. He knew who was staying on the third floor—he’d even been inside the massive suite. Javier had handed over $150 per night, a pair of expensive courtside tickets to a San Antonio Spurs vs. three-time defending NBA champions Chicago Bulls game, and all of his wife’s tamales from his and his father’s freezers for it. The hotel apparently didn’t rent out the Presidential Suite to just anyone to keep its allure of being something exclusive for the rich and famous who passed through the area. Javier’s local fame, unfortunately, wasn’t enough.
That didn’t stop him, though.
His pal could be a real stubborn son of a bitch.
Javier got intel that the manager was a huge fan of his mom’s tamales and the San Antonio Spurs. He lucked out that his wife’s tamales were the closest to his late mother’s, so he bribed the manager with fifty-something tamales and the highly sought-after tickets to the Spurs vs. Bulls game to book the place at full price.
There was no way in hell Steve would ever pay $150 per night for a hotel room. That was a month and a half’s worth of mortgage payments on his four-bedroom, four-bath home in Florida, for Christ’s sake. The only reason Steve rented a two-room, double-queen suite here in Texas was because Javi and his wife paid for it. They wanted his family to have roomy accommodations since they had their three kids, which was greatly appreciated, and their room only cost a reasonable fifty dollars a night.
Movement at the restaurant’s entrance caught his attention, and he watched as the new Mr. and Mrs. Javier Peña made their way inside. Steve snorted at seeing the newlyweds in matching outfits of jeans and lavender-colored shirts, Javi’s a button-up, and his wife in a V-neck. If that wasn’t ridiculous enough, they were practically fused together, with her tucked under his arm and pressed against his side, their heads close together, smiling and talking as they walked his way.
Steve had been friends with Javier for close to twenty years, and in all that time, he had never seen his best friend happier than he was with his bride. He wasn’t the same man Steve knew in Colombia. He wasn’t even the same man who lived with his family after he took down the Cali Cartel and quit his job. He changed, and he changed for the better.
To be honest, at first, Steve worried about his friend leaving the DEA and returning to civilian life. Javi had all of the signs of being what they call a lifer—someone who spends, if not all, then a significant portion of their career with the same agency. He’d been married to his job and fully committed to seeing it through no matter what it cost him. He didn’t visit his parents for years, and when his mother tragically passed away, he’d only gone home for a few days. Instead of grieving her death, he threw himself into his work. It sure as hell wasn’t healthy, but it was what he had to do to keep going.
Steve was so fucking thankful his friend got out and was getting a second chance. After all of the bullshit he went through, Javier deserved to be happy, and there was no doubt that this girl he married made him happy. She was the best thing to happen to him, and even though they needed to cool it with the PDA in front of his kids, Steve could admit they were really good for each other. He would never say it out loud, but he thought it was cute that a grumpy fucker like Javi ended up someone so bright and cheery.
He rechecked his watch to see it was 3:20 p.m.
The couple approached the table.
“Hey, guys,” the dark-haired man greeted as he pulled out the chair across from Connie for his wife to sit in. “Sorry, we’re late.” He got her settled, kissing the top of her head before taking the seat to Steve’s left.
“Tío (Uncle)!” Stevie shouted and hopped off his chair to run around the table to Javier.
His friend smiled. “Hey, mi principito (my little prince),” he grunted as he lifted the child into his lap.
When Javier was around, Steve and Connie no longer existed to their two eldest kids. Did that bother them? No. It gave them a break, and they weren’t going to be mad about that. They never expected Javi to take on the role of an uncle to their children. They never expected him to be as great as he was with their kids, either. He took his title of tío (uncle) seriously and loved the little Murphys as if they were his flesh and blood. It honestly caught Steve off guard the first time he saw how gentle and sweet Javi was with Olivia.
Steve could admit that at first, he didn’t like that his friend was so good and helpful with his daughter because it made him look bad. Steve grew up believing that, aside from the occasional diaper change, everything involving the children was his wife’s job. Looking back, he could see how that was a shitty way of thinking, and he felt ashamed for putting Connie through all of that. Seeing everything Javi did and how it helped his wife ended up being the swift kick in the ass he needed to step up and be a better father and husband.
“We lost track of time,” the bride said. “Empire Strikes Back was on the TV.”
That title sounded familiar.
“Is that one of those,” Steve started. “What’s it called? Star Trek movies?”
“Star Wars,” Javi corrected. Stevie got off his lap to run back to his original chair to grab his menu.
Nate had lost interest in the bread, so Connie put it on the table in front of the baby. Steve leaned down to his right to get into the diaper bag on the floor, grabbing a bottle of watered-down apple juice that he handed to the one-year-old as he sat back up.
“The ones with those, uh, laser swords?” Steve asked.
Javi sighed. “Lightsabers.”
“Never pegged you as a sci-fi guy.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Peña interjected. She looked past her husband at him. “Javi’s a space nerd.”
Steve smiled. “Is he, now?”
His son returned, holding the paper up to his tío (uncle). “Look!” He had crayons clutched in his other hand.
Javi’s attention went to the toddler. “Were you coloring, bud?” The man put the child in his lap again, and the page with a rainbow of scribbles on the table in front of them. “It looks good, buddy. What are you getting to eat?” He had an arm over the back of his wife’s chair, his other hand pointing at the list of three options, reading what each one was. Mrs. Peña watched the interaction with a fond expression.
Steve looked at Connie. “Honey?”
She met his eyes. “Yes, baby?”
“Five bucks says our kids will have a new cousin by the end of the year.”
She smiled. “I’d be stupid to take that bet.”
“She’s right,” Javi added before going back to talking to Stevie.
“Y’all are no fun.” Steve pouted.
The server interrupted to take their drink orders. After she left, Olivia called from across the table. “Tío (Uncle)?”
Javi turned to see her concerned face. “¿Sí, mi tesorito (Yes, my little treasure)?”
She asked him something in Spanish while pointing at his head, and whatever the question was made the other man’s cheeks flush and his new wife’s eyes widen. Connie looked where their daughter indicated and tried but failed to stifle a giggle.
“What did she ask?” Steve asked. His eyes traveled to each adult, hoping for an explanation.
Javier’s expression could be described as ‘panicked’ when he met Connie’s eyes. She didn’t even let him say anything. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know what happened, so you have to take this one.”
“What did she ask?” he tried again.
Connie caught his gaze and put her hand up to hide her mouth from Olivia while she mouthed at him, ‘Hickey,’ and pointed at the side of her neck. Great. Steve pressed his fingers to his forehead and sighed. They better come up with a believable excuse. His daughter did not need to be finding out what hickies were.
Javi finally answered Olivia in Spanish, and the young girl asked him another question Steve didn’t catch.
He hated it when they did this. He could make out some words, but his daughter and her tío (uncle) sometimes spoke too quickly for him to understand. They also liked to make it obvious when they were talking shit about him because they found it funny and enjoyed annoying the hell out of him.
Javier smiled and shook his head as he replied.
“What are they talking about?” Steve asked.
His friend’s missus threw him a bone. “Olivia asked about the bruise on Javi’s neck, and he told her what happened; he hit it on something last night, and he’s embarrassed about it.” That was a decent excuse. “She also wondered if it hurt, and he reassured her that it didn’t. Is that right, guys?” She addressed the uncle and niece.
His daughter said, “Yep!”
Javi turned his way and nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced over to Olivia and then back to Steve as he said something in Spanish that his daughter laughed at.
This was shit that made his jaw clench. “Hey, you guys know it’s against the rules to talk about me in Spanish.”
“Who said we were talking about you?” Javi replied. His attention returned to Olivia, the two of them, plus his wife, chatting in the language Steve barely understood.
“Leave them alone, Steve,” Connie said, and his eyes went to her. “It’s good practice for Olivia.”
“It’s rude,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
The server returned with their drinks, and the newlyweds had a chance to look over their menus, so the table ordered their food. Minutes passed. While Stevie was occupied with coloring, and the women were talking to his daughter about some show or movie he’d never heard of, Javier leaned his way and whispered for only him to hear, “Why does Olivia think I play baseball?”
The blonde man’s eyebrows knit together as he thought over the question. Why would Olivia think that Javi played baseball? It hit him: the conversation Connie and he had the day before on their way to the party after the ceremony. They used baseball terms to discuss whether the newlyweds would figure out how to fool around on the drive back to the reception.
He leaned toward his friend to reply just as quietly, “She wasn’t supposed to mention it to you.”
“Mention what?”
“It was nothing.”
“It was obviously something because your daughter is under the impression that I am a shitty baseball player.”
Steve had to hold in his laugh, air quickly leaving his nose. He needed to give his friend some kind of answer.
“You know how Connie and I use ‘folding laundry’ as a codeword?” he whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Well, we were talking more in-depth about the topic, but we used baseball terminology, so if the children overheard, they wouldn’t know what the hell we were talking about.”
“And it was about me…?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you discussing my sex life…?”
“You really wanna know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
“Okay. I was being an ass and bet Connie that you horndogs wouldn’t be able to keep it in your pants on the drive to the party.”
“She would’ve lost. I hope she didn’t take it.”
“Of course, she didn’t, and I sure as hell didn’t take her bet that you guys would be able to wait until you got back to the hotel to score the first run on opening day.”
“Consummate our marriage?”
“Yeah.”
“That was a losing bet, too.”
“How the hell did you manage that with your wife driving?” he harshly whispered. She drove the two of them from the ceremony to Chucho’s house. “Wait, don’t tell me.”
“It was later on our way to the hotel,” he told him anyway. “We stopped in a field.”
“Are you guys trying to get arrested?”
“It was in the middle of nowhere. We were fine.”
Whatever happened to saving those kinds of activities for the bedroom?
“Uh huh, right.”
“Hold on a second, if Olivia overheard your baseball shit and assumed I played, where’d she get the idea that I’m bad at it? Did you fucking tell her that?”
Again, Steve had to keep himself from laughing, but this time, when he whispered, his voice was a little squeaky. “Maybe…”
His friend sat back to glare at him and forgot to keep his voice low. “You asshole.”
“You ass’ole!” the three-year-old in Javi’s lap parroted. “You ass’ole!”
The other man’s eyes rounded. “Oh, Shit. I mean, shoot.”
Steve groaned. “Goddammit, Javier,” he hissed.
“OH, SHI’!” Stevie yelled at the top of his lungs. He turned his head to look at Steve, pointing at him. “Daddy, you ass’ole!”
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Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist
Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 
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potatomountain · 4 months ago
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Case: It's Us - Masterlist
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!!!!!!!! Please read first: Book 1~ Case: It's You !!!!!!!!
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED IF SEEN INTERACTING WITH ANY OF THIS SERIES, LIKES INCLUDED!
Pairing: Poly 0t8 Ateez x fem reader AU: Mafia/detective Genre: action, romance, thriller? Ongoing Word Count: 3,507 Summary: After 3 months since agreeing to join them fully, you had buried yourself into work to make up for how less you have been feeling since the traumatic incident. However, crime does not stop so you can properly heal, nor is it a burden you have to face alone. Eight is now nine, a lesson to be learned while also fighting for everything you believe in, and learning to believe in something new. General Warnings: 18+, member x member smut content and side ships, poly dynamics, lots of gay, kidnapping, killing minor characters, some members showing sadistic sides. Reader is recovering from a huge trauma so there will be light triggers, panic attacks, etc. General dark themes like stalking, killing, kidnapping, cnc, blood play, and a criminal world that condones human trafficking, r@pe, child slavery, and more. Smut warnings on the chapters that have them. About "Reader": For the sake of the story Reader is physically fit and professionally trained as a detective. There are some personality traits that are more based on the backstory of reader and so forth so I understand that it isn't entirely "reader insert". I try to avoid using y/n completely, thus the pet names. Reader is Fem for plot purposes however, reader's height, skin, weight, hair and eye color are left as vague as possible so you may picture her as yourself. Otherwise you can read it like an oc and picture your version of a femme fatale badass. Author's Note: I would like to note that the city this all takes place in is fictional, same with the country. Like Gotham or something similar. I know nothing about being a detective or undercover work aside from what i've seen in dramas. The world, characters, and actions are completely fictional and do not reflect on any of the idols used in this fic! edited in: All idols are aged up to be in their later twenties to early thirties for the time period to make sense (they didnt just become this influential after a few years but a decade). There will also be chapters that are backstory and will most likely be before MC arrived. Banner and dividers made by me! Beta readers include: @bunnliix , @adelusionforyourthoughts, and @yourfatherlucifer for all chapters. For any additional betas will be tagged in the chapters! Networks are first tags <3
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Chapters
Act 1: The Vipers - One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten
Act 2: The Goblins - TBD
Act 3: The Circle - TBD
Act 4: The Pirates - TBD
Act 5: The Wolves - TBD
Act 6: The Guardians - TBD
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Taglist will always be the first reblogs!! Rules to apply for the taglist lie on Chapter 30 of book 1! Will cap at 100. Slots: 50/100
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persephone-writes · 7 months ago
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A Diviner's Guide to James Potter: Series Masterlist
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(ongoing) - read on ao3
Description: Being friends with Lily Evans was difficult when you were head over heels for her ex-boyfriend, James. Your problems are only made worse when you begin receiving strange omens that point to a less than desirable future.
Genre: Friends to lovers, slow burn (I mean it!), fluff & angst.
Rating: Teen (swearing, alcohol/weed/cigarettes, no smut). More detailed warnings for the whole fic can be found on Chapter One.
Series Word Count (so far): 199.1k
+:。.。.。:+*+:。.。.。:+*+:。.♡.。:+*+:。.。.。:+*+:。.。.。+
Chapter One: The Omen
You tell your friends about your odd findings while working on your most recent Divination assignment, all while trying to push away your growing feelings for James
Chapter Two: The Heart Wants What it Wants
Answers to your predicament are few and far between when Sirius gets a letter from his parents and the Gryffindor quidditch team receives some excellent news. 
Chapter Three: Wicked and Wayward
Gryffindor plays Hufflepuff in the fourth match of the season, complete with an eventful after party.
Chapter Four: Paranoid
Hogsmeade is fun, but not when Sirius dangles a dangerous secret right in front of your nose.
Chapter Five: The Blizzard
A late winter storm buries Hogwarts in piles of snow, causing James to grow increasingly restless. It also blows in a much needed answer.
Chapter Six: Portraits Talk
Sirius attempts to quell your anger, though the pressure of acting aloof threatens to topple you.
Chapter Seven: Communing with Nature
You receive another omen which points to nothing good, though James is always there to help ease your mind.
Chapter Eight: The Duel
Mulciber becomes a looming threat to you and your friends, only increasing your existing anxieties. 
Chapter Nine: Red and Gold
Old insecurities are brought to the surface, but James attempts to reassure you with the promise of a fun weekend. 
Chapter Ten: Scurrilous Scoundrel
A night of firewhiskey, dancing, and racing hearts is unfortunately cut short when you stumble across eerie meeting. 
Chapter Eleven: The Hour Struck Nine
Tensions between you and James run high when you, Peter, and Marlene return to the RoR.
Chapter Twelve: Discontent
After nearly seven years, you finally make it into Dumbledore’s office, though this does little to ease your growing nerves, especially when it comes to James.
Chapter Thirteen: A Lovely Shade of Turquoise
James forces you to talk about what happened, opening up a can of worms you wish you could charm back in.  
Chapter Fourteen: The Stars Can Speak
After your fight with James, you're left entirely unsure how to act. However, your friends, and the stars, have some (un)helpful suggestions.
Chapter Fifteen: Repairo
Two diverging paths are presented to you: avoidance or intuition. Which one will you choose?
Chapter Sixteen: The Chaste Moon
The full moon comes just before Easter, fostering a time of rebirth and renewal…among other things. 
Chapter Seventeen: An Invitation
You and the others search for answers regarding the return of your nefarious classmates. 
Chapter Eighteen: Innamorati
Presents, dueling practice, and parties, oh my!
Chapter Nineteen: Yours, James
You and James are forced to deal with the highly eventful nature of Saturday night.
Chapter Twenty: And Then There Was You
You learn more about James's former pining, realizing there is less to fear than you initially thought.
Chapter Twenty-One: Severus' Story
It seems as though the past always has a way of catching up with you (and everyone else around you), even if Quattlebaum has hopes for your future.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Tears
Still reeling with your discoveries, you're left to deal with the aftermath.
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Hourglass
You try your best to help Sirius with his brother, even if it means trusting your abilities in Divination more than ever before.
Chapter Twenty-Four: A Cliff Worth Plummeting
You have an interesting run-in with Peeves, forcing you to confront the inevitable.
Chapter Twenty-Five: I Know
You have a run in with an odious adversary, reminding you that your problems may not end at graduation.
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Black Lake
It seems as though months of secrets, omens, and animosity is coming to fruition, swirling in a storm above Hogwarts.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Wonderful Accident
A tough conversation awaits, as does some unexpected perks of winning a duel against a dastardly opponent.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Daily Prophet
You are going to have to start getting used to more attention, and fast.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Dreams
The true meaning of your dreams are up for debate, putting your relationship with James, and your sanity, in peril.
Chapter Thirty: A Query for Quattlebaum
Quattlebaum's answers close one door and open another, forcing you to question everything you know about yourself.
Chapter Thirty-One: Maelstrom
Something strange occurs during Divination just three days before the final quidditch match of the season.
Chapter Thirty-Two: The Brothers
Quattlebaum's methods are questionable at best, though things still seem to be looking up after all.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Coming Soon!
•-—✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼—-•
Antique book cover credits:
The Deer-Parks and Paddocks of England by Joseph Whitaker, Captain Courtesy by Edward Childs Carpenter & Goldfish Varieties and Tropical Aquarium Fishes; a Complete Guide to Aquaria and Related Subjects by William T. Innes
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fairytaleendingss · 7 months ago
Text
Room For One More?
Chapter 1
Summary: After a sudden eviction from your home, your friend Mary puts you in contact with her high school friends, James, Sirius and Remus who just so happen to be in need of a roommate. However, living with a group of boys you’ve never met before proves to be more complicated than you expected; especially when they’re all so attractive.
CW: None I don’t think.
Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader
——
To say that life had been crazy lately would be putting it lightly. You had only just moved to the city six months ago, in pursuit of a career you were still yet to achieve, got landed with an office job that you were only barely qualified for, and the eviction notice on the door of your shitty downtown apartment was just the icing on the cake.
For a good few days it seemed like your world was caving in around you as you tried to collect yourself and figure out the next steps. In a city like London, real estate was scarce, not to mention expensive, and you were still working to pay off your student loans.
It was only two days before you were set to be kicked out when your new friend, Mary stepped in and saved the day.
You met Mary at your new office job and she’d been somewhat of a saving grace from the beginning.
She had been a splash of colour in a sea of black suits and beige blouses. She’d been quick to introduce herself, inviting you to join her for lunch on your first day, during which she caught you up on all the ins and outs of office politics. The two of you had become fast friends, something you were extremely grateful for.
And you found yourself even more grateful for her, as her car pulled into the driveway of the apartment building you were about to call your new home.
“How do you know these guys again?” You asked, glancing up at the red brick structure through the passenger window.
“We all went to high school together,” She explained. “I know them really well, trust me they’re great guys.”
You believed her. She’d never given you a reason not to. But still, moving into a household with three strange men that you’ve never met, is bound to be daunting nonetheless.
“And you’re 100% sure they’re okay with me moving in? I mean, they don’t even know me!”
She only giggled. “Don’t be silly! They’re completely on board. They’ve been looking for a new roommate since their other friend Peter moved out a month ago to get a place with his girlfriend, Sybil. They were just about to put up an ad on Craigslist, for heavens sake. Trust me, you’re doing them a favour. If I love you, they’ll love you too.”
You nodded at her but your heart still hummed unsurely in your chest. You took a deep breath. It was now or never.
After a treacherous journey up the narrow staircase with boxes in hand, you arrived at the door to the apartment. Mary was behind you, lugging a suitcase full of your clothes. You wished, for a moment that her friends at least lived in a building that had an elevator. You erased that thought from your mind a moment later, when you remembered that these people were doing you a massive favour. Besides, you were hardly in a position to complain.
Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door. When it swung open you had to make a conscious effort to pick your jaw up off the floor.
Standing in front of you was the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. He was fair and lean with long strands of dark hair fanning his face. He was chiseled in a way that made him look delicate, almost doll-like but he also had tattoos lining his arms and chest, which you could see poking out from beneath his white t-shirt. He was leaning against the doorframe, effortlessly cool, looking down at you with a flirtatious smirk on his face.
“Hey there gorgeous. You must be the new roommate. I’m Sirius.”
You peered up at him in shock, not quite sure how to respond to this man who had the face of a Greek God. And did he just call you gorgeous? You weren’t sure what you were expecting but this definitely wasn’t it.
“Um, hi,” you stumbled awkwardly. Your hands felt clammy even just looking at this guy, how the hell are you supposed to live with him? “I’m y/n.”
His grin only widened “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
“Ugh, stop flirting with her Sirius! And move out of the way, this stuff we’re carrying is heavy you know.”
You’d almost forgotten Mary was there until she’s stepping forward, shoving past Sirius who was blocking the doorway, and entering the apartment.
“Sorry hun, just trying to make conversation,” Sirius teased, stepping aside gently to let you in.
The place was bigger than you expected. Not huge but definitely comfortable, and better decorated. The picture you’d created in your imagination could only be described as a “bro cave” with bean bags on the floor and minimal furnishings. However, you were pleasantly surprised to see that the place is rather nice and homey, with comfortable leather furniture and a few framed artworks on the walls.
“Well, welcome home,” Sirius said, following you into the living room. “I can’t take any credit for the interior design, unfortunately. That was all Remus. Speaking of, I’ll go get him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet you.”
Sirius padded off down the hall, making his way to one of the rooms and banging heavily on the door.
“Remus! The new roommate is here! Don’t be rude and come and meet her!”
The boy that emerged was equally as attractive as Sirius. He was taller than the first boy, with a mop of sandy hair and dark, piercing eyes. He wasn’t as effortlessly cool as Sirius, he was more lanky and hunched in posture, but he had a sort of nerdy charm about him that was very endearing. He was dressed in a thick woollen jumper and his hair was mattered. He blinked up at Sirius, like he hadn’t quite caught up with the situation yet.
“What’s going on?”
Sirius just rolled his eyes. “Our new roommate is here! Come and say hello!”
He peered out of the doorway. Looking in either direction before his eyes landed on you. Not quite sure what to do with yourself, you sent him an awkward wave.
“Hi,”
“Hi,” he replied in return, with a tight lipped smile. Then he turned back to Sirius.
“Could you go away now please? I was having a nap.”
“Fine. Sorry.”
There door was abruptly slammed in his face.
You stood in the living room, holding a box to your chest awkwardly, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable about the interaction. Sirius could apparently tell, and was quick to jump to your aid.
“Don’t worry about him,” he said dismissively. “He’s just in a mood. He’s a med student and all the studying is driving him wild at the moment. He’ll come good after he gets a bit of sleep. Now, how about I show you to your room?”
He directed you down the hallway to a door at the end. Inside, you could already see Mary hanging up your clothes in the wardrobe.
“So this is you,” Sirius muttered, gesturing to the space like a magician revealing his assistant had not, in fact, been sawed in half. Then he sent you another flirtatious smile, something you were quickly learning was a signature of his.
“I’ll leave you girls to it but just shout if there’s anything you need. Although, if you want someone to help carry boxes, I’d recommend waiting until James gets home later on. He’s the athletic one of the three of us. And let me tell you those stairs are a killer.”
You chuckled, a genuine smile overtaking your face for the first time in this whole experience.
“Thanks Sirius. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it,” he drawled, giving you a wink.
Mary rolled her eyes. “Okay Sirius. Thank you but you can go now. We have a lot of unpacking to do here.”
Once Sirius had departed, you and Mary got to work on unpacking your things. Luckily for you, Peter had left behind a bed frame and a few pieces of furniture in his move, a saving grace considering most of your stuff had come with the previous apartment. You still had a mattress strapped to the roof of Mary’s car that needed bringing in, but like Sirius had said, Mary insisted that you wait for the mysterious James to return from work to help you carry any of the heavier items inside (With the way the others talked about him, you could only imagine he must be a superhero). Instead you busied yourself with unpacking your random assortment of trinkets collected over the years.
“So how are you feeling about the place?” Mary pried, unpacking a few shoe boxes into the bottom of the closet.
“It seems alright,” you admitted. “To be honest, I was a little nervous going into this but Sirius seems nice. I think he and I will get along.”
Mary smiled. “Oh good! I knew you’d like it. And just wait until you get to know the other boys better too. You’ll fit right in! I’m sure of it.”
You have her an anxious smile. “I really hope you’re right.”
It was a few hours later, when the sound of the door clicking open caught your attention.
“Honey! I’m home!” A playful voice boomed down the doorway.
You slowly emerged from your room to greet your final roommate. The guy was visibly buff and wearing a mud-covered jersey. He had matted tuft of thick dark curls and round glasses that balanced on the edge of his nose.
You couldn’t help but admire him as he kicked his shoes off.
“Hi. I’m y/n. I’m your new roommate.”
He looked up curiously before his expression morphed into a dazzlingly charming smile. He began to approach you and you held out a hand for him to shake. He bypassed the gesture all together, instead choosing to engulf you in a bone-crushing hug.
You were caught a little off-guard at first but tentatively hugged him back, heat rising in your cheeks as you felt the muscles of his biceps flex against you.
Pull yourself together!! You thought.
As he pulled away, he looked down at you, a few stray curls falling in front of his eyes. He smiled widely, reminding you somewhat of a playful puppy.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” He exclaimed. “Mary’s told me so much about you.”
You couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your own face as you looked up at him. You really liked James, you decided.
“How have you been settling in so far?” He continued.
“Pretty well, I suppose. I’ve done most of my unpacking now.”
He nodded. “That’s good. Well if you need help with anything, let me know. I’d be happy to assist.”
You grimaced. “Actually there is one thing you might be able to help me with?”
He raised a brow expectantly.
“How do you feel about mattress transportation?”
Manoeuvring a queen sized mattress up three floors of narrow stairs proved to be a challenging task. But somehow, between the two of you, you managed it.
By the time James actually wrestled the mattress on your bed-frame, you were just about ready to collapse on top of it.
Mary, unfortunately, had found the whole display hilarious, especially the moment where you’d lost your grip and send the mattress sliding down the stairs back to the first floor. So instead of offering to help, she’d taken the opportunity to film the entire ordeal on her phone. You expected it would be gracing social media by the end of the evening.
“Well, I’d say that’s a job well done!” James exclaimed as he finally dropped the material onto the bed-frame.
You chuckled. “Yeah! I mean it only took an hour and a half.”
James smiled and checked the watch on his wrist.
“It’s getting late and I really should shower. But how about we order pizza afterwards. We could have dinner and get to know each other a little better.”
“I’d like that.”
“Great! Mary, darling, you’re invited too of course.”
The girl looked between the two of you, smiling playfully. Then she shot you a look.
“Thanks for the offer Jamie but I actually have some stuff I need to get done back at home. You guys enjoy though.”
She sent you a wink as she went and your eyes widened.
“I’m going to go wash off, but there’s a take out menu on the fridge,” James said. “Pick out whatever you want. My shout.”
A short while later you found yourself sat on the loveseat, a plate of pizza in your lap while Sirius and James sat side by side on the couch, bickering about the most recent episode of the Bachelor. You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched on.
They argued in a way that was firm but affectionate. You could tell that they were particularly close and had clearly known each other a long time.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Sirius exclaimed, waving his piece of pizza in the air for emphasis. “Jennifer was such a bitch! She totally deserved to be sent home.”
James gasped in mock offence. “No way! He should’ve kept her. They had a special connection.”
“Are you kidding?” Sirius blurted. “All she did was talk about herself. She barely even gave him the time of day.”
“I disagree! She was playing hard to get. Girls only do that when they like someone!” James stated matter-of-factly. You couldn’t contain your snort at the comment.
Sirius turned to you then, a smirk adorning his gorgeous face. “Well, lucky for us, we now have a girl here to settle agreements such as these. What do you think, sweetheart?”
You rolled your eyes affectionately at the nickname. “If I’m being honest, I have to agree with Sirius. Jennifer was kind of a bitch.”
Sirius cheered and James held a hand to his chest dramatically.
“Well you’re both wrong,” James joked. “We must have been watching two different shows.”
Sirius scoffed. “Nah, mate. You just have a terrible radar when it comes to girls. I mean, you’ve been chasing the same girl since you were fifteen and she’s still shown you no interest.”
Your eyebrows raised at that one. “Wait what? I feel like I’ve missed a chapter here.“
“She’s just a friend.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yeah, a friend you’ve been in love with since third form.”
James sighed.
“There’s this girl, Lily, in our friend group,” he began to explain, looking rather bashful. “And I’ve kind of been into her for a while but she always turns me down.”
You grimaced, clicking your tongue in sympathy. “That sucks. But hey, If she’s managed to keep your interest for all these years then she must really be special. I’d love to meet her sometime.”
James smiled gently. “I’m sure you will soon. She and Mary are quite close.”
Sirius face lit up suddenly at that. “Actually guys, that reminds me. The band is playing a gig on Saturday and everyone’s coming. You should join us y/n!”
“Hold on, since when are you in a band?” You queried. “I thought you were a bartender.”
Sirius chuckled. “I’m a bit of both! Bartender by night and lead singer of ‘Snakes and Lions’ by… well also by night I guess.”
“Basically, he plays in a band on the weekends,” James clarified.
“Yeah, and soon, we’ll be world famous!”
“Well I’d love to come and see you play,” you uttered.
“Great, it’s a date then.”
“What’s a date?”
You all looked up to see that Remus had finally emerged from his room. He looked tired and a little disheveled. Although you supposed that was the only way you’d had a chance to see him so far.
“Rem, mate! Come join us! We got Italian sausage just for you!”
Sirius gestured to one of the pizza boxes on the table and Remus nodded, grabbing a plate to fill.
“We were just telling y/n about Sirius’ gig this weekend.”
Remus looked up at you for a moment, his tired eyes unreadable. Then he straightened himself up and came to stand before you awkwardly.
“You’re um… you’re in my seat.”
Your eyes widened. “Oh! I’m sorry.”
You shot up from the spot, feeling rather mortified by the interaction.
“It’s okay, you can come sit here!” James stated, sliding further towards the armrest of the sofa and patting the spot in between himself and Sirius.
You sat down tentatively, but Sirius threw an arm around your shoulder which helped a bit in easing the nerves.
You found yourself glancing over at Remus. He seemed quiet as he munched on his pizza. You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of frustration towards him. He’d been nothing but rude to you since you arrived and you had no clue why.
“So tell us, y/n. What brought you to London?”
Your thoughts were cut short by Sirius’ question.
“Well, I just finished my degree not too long ago and I decided I needed a change, I suppose. London has a lot of good opportunities.”
“What did you study?” James asked, leaning his head in his hand as he looked down at you.
“Literature actually. I want to be a writer.”
Sirius brows shot up. “Really? That’s great. You should talk about that with Remus. He loves books.”
“Hmm?” The boy looked up then, as if having been lost in his own world, before brought back by the sound of his name.
“Y/n studied literature at university.”
He glanced over at you, only looking mildly interested. “Oh, that’s good.”
Then he turned his wrist glancing down at the watch that he wore. “It’s getting late. If you all don’t mind, I think I will finish dinner in my room. I have a lot of work to do.”
You frowned at that. Had you done something to upset him? Why was he so eager to get away from you?
“Alright mate. We’ll see you in the morning,” James muttered, oblivious to the issue.
Remus nodded at him before getting up slowly and sauntering back into his room.
James continued munching on his pizza happily but Sirius clearly noticed the way you tensed at the boy’s exit. He leaned in closely, speaking in a low tone so only you could hear.
“Sorry about him. He really isn’t like this usually. I’ll have a talk with him.”
You sighed. “No no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
You really didn’t want to be a point of contention between these boys.
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble-“
“No it’s fine,” you shook your head. “Actually, I’m feeling a little tired as well. I might turn in for the evening.”
James looked over at you with gentle eyes. “Okay. Sleep well.”
“Thanks,” you murmured, jumping up from the couch. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
Once you got to your room, you lay back heavily against the door, sighing. You considered the events of the day. There had been few hiccups but you decided then and there that you’d do whatever you could to move past them.
You got along well with James and Sirius seemed friendly. It was just Remus who you were yet to win over.
As you got ready for bed, your mind ran over the interactions that you’d had so far and wondered what might be the root of his frustrations.
Maybe things will be different tomorrow, you thought, as you settled in for the night.
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yanderedrabbles · 7 months ago
Text
Misery - Part Two
Based on Misery by Stephen King
Stuck in the mountains, you foolishly decide to drive through a blizzard. The man that drags you from your wrecked car brings you to his cabin and patches you up. But as the snow piles up outside, you start to suspect that your rescuer's intentions may be far from pure.
Previous Chapter
The thing that brought you straight from unconsciousness and howling into the world of the living was your shoulder. In the bleary haze after you crashed, you were hurting in so many places that you couldn't have focused on an individual ache even if you tried.
It wasn't until the stranger popped your arm back into place that you realised it was dislocated at all.
You woke up with your shoulder and upper back a sharp, aching mess. You also woke up screaming.
"Easy, easy there ma'am. Hush now, you can take it."
The stranger's thick drawl was right next to your ear and you turned your head to find his hands on your upper arm.
You groaned. "I'm suffering enough without being insulted."
You tried to sit up and a host of new pains made themselves very known. You slumped back with a small gasp.
"I may look rough, but I am nowhere near old enough to be a ma'am, thank you very much."
To your surprise, he laughed. And if you weren't becoming intimately aware of your pain tolerance, you would have realised what a nice laugh he had.
"Hell, if you're this lively after I gave you morphine, I'm terrified to find you sober."
The man next to you was slowly taking shape out of the halos of light that streaked your vision. Grey eyes, that was the first thing you noticed. A kind of gunmetal grey that you would have found frightening if he hadn't been smiling.
"Oh, I've never had morphine before."
If you were hurting this much after getting doped up on pain meds, a part of you was terrified about them wearing off. A smaller part of you worried terribly about how much he'd given you. The rest of you however, was succumbing to the deep sleep that banged up bodies seem to demand.
Dimly you realised the stranger had stood up and was about to walk away. You thought of your car in the snow and your body hunched over the steering wheel, blood dripping little by little onto the floorboards.
Your hand shot out with a speed you didn't think yourself capable of and grabbed his wrist. The stranger stilled and looked down at you. Tall, that was the second thing you noticed.
"Please don't leave me."
You were falling asleep against your will and your voice was cracked with pain.
He wavered and then slowly sat down in the chair next to your bed.
"Alright then, I'll be right here. So you go on back to sleep."
Kind, that was the third thing you noticed about him.
As you fell asleep, your fingers stayed wrapped around his wrist. In that isolated cabin, with the wind driving snow down the chimney and rattling the hastily put up winter shutters, former USMC Corporal Andrew Wilkes smiled for the first time in six months.
......
Waking up the second time was much slower and a whole lot less painful.
You opened your eyes to the watery light of early morning. A thousand different aches called for your attention. To start with, your left leg was a throbbing mass of low grade suffering. Everything below the knee felt stiff and bruised. No, sharper than just bruising. You would have to take a look for yourself later.
Your ribs felt tender, like you'd gone head to head with a kickboxer who harboured a very personal grudge.
Your shoulder however, was a thousand times better than last night.
You sat up slowly, the sheets rustling quietly. Your mind felt slow and groggy - it must have been the after effects of the morphine. You heard a quiet groan and froze.
The stranger was asleep on the armchair next to you, his upper body resting on the bed. You still had your hand clasped loosely around his wrist but at some point in the night he'd shifted and now his other hand was draped over yours.
His hands were nicked with a collection of little scars and his palms felt calloused with work, but they were warm and you found yourself comforted by that.
He was handsome too, with thick blond hair and a five o'clock shadow on his jaw. A raised scar carved a crescent on his cheekbone and without realising it, you reached out to touch it.
Your fingers must have been warm because he smiled just a little before he opened his eyes.
"Mornin' ma'am."
Was his voice always so deep or was it just sleep? You pulled your fingers away from his face with a jerk.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."
He sat up slowly, rubbing his jaw with his free hand. You noticed he was wearing a courdroy jacket lined with sheepskin. For some reason, you thought it suited him perfectly.
"Ain't a bother. Besides, I'd be a damn shitty medic if I slept longer than my patient."
There was a faint clinking sound and you realised he was wearing a pair of dog tags on a chain around his neck.
"I'm Andy, by the way. Andy Wilkes."
You smiled. It felt strange to just now be learning his name, after you'd spent all night clutching onto his wrist.
"Y/N."
You cleared your throat, suddenly awkward despite your drowsiness.
"Thank you, for saving me. I would have died in the snow if you hadn't rescued me."
You looked into his eyes and then quickly away. Something about that gunmetal gray made you shiver.
"I owe you my life."
He was thoughtful for a moment.
"It was pure fate that I even saw your car way down in the trees. And good luck that I know enough first aid to fix you up."
He shrugged. "It ain't me you should be thanking."
"Still, others might not have stopped for a stranger."
He raised a brow and glanced down at the hand you still had clasped around his wrist. "How about you let me go and we call it even?"
Were you blushing? It sure felt like it, with the way your cheeks suddenly tingled. You let go like he was made of lava.
"Right. Um...Sorry about that."
He shot you a small smile. "Don't be. It was...nice."
He stood up and your half unconscious observation had been right - he really was tall. He was wearing Levi's and a pair of cowboy boots. There was a dark stain down his left leg and with a start you realised it was your blood. He hadn't even changed since bringing you here.
"You were banged up pretty bad. You should have some breakfast and then I can give you more pain medication."
You nodded eagerly. Your pain had faded a little when you spoke to him but it still throbbed throughout your body.
"And uhh..." He looked away from you and rubbed at his jaw. "I'll give you some clothes to change into."
He brought you a flannel shirt and a pair of sweatpants you felt sure to drown in. He set them on your nightstand and dragged open his first aid kit.
You raised a brow at the size of the thing. In addition to the regular bandages and disinfectant, he carried hypodermic needles, sutures and a whole host of injectable ampules. Is this how he had access to morphine?
"I used to be a medic, back when I was in the Marines." He smiled at you properly for the first time. "You're in good hands, I promise."
He put his fingers under your jaw and tilted your face towards him. You flinched as peeled back the gauze above your eyebrow.
"Let's get a good look at you - how are you feeling?"
You tried to smile and couldn't find the energy.
"It hurts."
"I'd be surprised if it didn't. This cut up here was pretty bad. You were bleedin' like crazy."
He dipped a cloth into a murky white antibacterial liquid and dabbed gently at the cut. He was close enough that you could see the pulse that beat in his neck.
"I've given you a few stitches up here. They seem to be holding fine."
"Stitches? Do you think it'll scar?"
He paused. "Maybe. But you're pretty enough that a little scar ain't gonna make a difference."
Okay, this time you were definitely blushing.
He bandaged you up again and his hands trailed down to your shoulders. From the look of him, you'd expect him to have a heavy touch, but he was careful and gentle.
"Shrug, maybe move around a bit."
You managed it, despite some stiffness.
"Good. We'll need to focus on working your shoulder a little everyday. Keep you limber as the swelling goes down."
"Yes, sir."
He tensed up for just a second before he continued.
"Any bruising or cuts you think I might have missed?"
"My ribs are hurting something awful."
"Lay down."
Good god, was he a natural at giving commands. You found yourself on your back without really realizing you moved. He lifted your shirt up and you flinched at the feeling of his hands on the soft skin of your belly.
"Take a deep breath for me."
You managed it without too much of a struggle.
"Good. Looks like it's just some bruising."
You noticed the lace of your bra peaking out from under your shirt at about the same time he did. He pulled his palm away from your waist like you scalded him and yanked down your shirt with none of the clinical professionalism with which be raised it.
He cleared his throat. "It's your leg I'm worried about."
He turned away from you to bend over your right foot, but not before you caught the redness creeping across his cheeks.
Your jeans were cut open to the knee and your ankle was a bulging monstrosity wrapped in layers and layers of bandages. He kept one hand wrapped around your calf as he worked and when you flinched away, he just tightened his grip and continued.
"It looks like a very nasty sprain. Grade 2 at least. Might take a few months to heal totally. For now though, you absolutely cannot walk on it."
He looked up at you as though to emphasise his point. "Any activity for the next few weeks will just set your healing back. Not to mention hurt like a bitch."
He sounded so mean when he swore that you dropped your eyes.
He straightened up. "From the look of things, I reckon you've bruised some of the bones in your calf too. So just keep off this leg."
"Ummm." You felt stupidly bashful with his hand still on your leg. "How am I supposed to move around?"
"Hmm. I might have an old crutch lying around here somewhere. If not, I'll just have to carry you."
He said it so damn casually, as if picking you up was the easiest thing in the world. You remembered how easily he got you out of your car and realised that to him, carrying you was just as easy as hauling wood or slinging a ruck on a march. Hell, easier maybe.
You were just a little afraid of his strength.
He nodded to the clothes he left beside you. "You try and change and I'll go and get your breakfast ready."
It was only after he'd closed the door behind him that you realised - he hadn't said anything about taking you to a hospital.
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last-words-ofashootingstar · 3 months ago
Text
CODE L-O-V-E
Chapter One: crUSh
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❥ ATEEZ x fem reader
Preparing to be an idol isn't easy, but you didn't expect it to be. Endless hours of practice, unlimited amounts of pressure from every eye on you, stereotypes to fit yourself into, all of that was expected. What was not expected, however, is the co-workers you can't seem to shake.
➽-❥in this chapter: Your first few days with the official status "pre-debut" go... semi-smoothly(?) and you find yourself bonding with your members and your co-workers. (Mingi, Yeosang, and Seonghwa focused with appearances from San, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung.)
➯a/n: what can i say... seriously what can i say to make myself look sane lmao BUT YALL VOTED ON THIS AND IT WAS OVERWHELMINGLY "yeas", so enjoy it ya filthy animals! this is just the tippy top of the iceberg, buckle up
♫ "The code is L-O-V-E!" ♫
✫彡wordcount: 10.5k
♡'・ᴗ・'♡genre: SLOW burn yandere
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: SLOW BURN, yall this is so slow im warning you, korean culture, brief description of a light injury, self doubt, ateez don't know what the words "personal space" mean, falling fast and hard, playful teasing, yandere tendencies are just a whisper in this chapter but they'll quickly start YELLING 🚩
MDNI
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➯a/n 2: this is a bit different than my previous stories because the life of a kpop idol is very public, and thus a lot of information has to be known about the reader(who is becoming an idol) but i also want all of my stories to be as inclusive as possible !! so here is the baseline information: reader is 22, no description of race or appearance in general other than shorter than hwa and mingi, from a war-torn country(unspecified, more to come later), has distant relatives in korea (again, unspecified: related by marriage or adoption is probably the case), speaks fluent korean(as well as english and some chinese), is a musical prodigy, and is generally ambi-verted and a natural leader
✩index: sunbae(nim) - a senior or mentor higher in the social hierarchy and having more experience than you. hubae(nim) - someone with less experience than you. unnie - a casual term for women to call another older than them. hyung - a casual term for males to call another older than them. ssi - someone on the same level as you but slightly older or younger. nim - used at the end of someone's name or title to show respect. ahjumma - a middle aged woman.
dialogue not spoken in korean will be italics, singing/rapping will be romanized and bold, texts or writing will be smaller.
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with all of that finally out of the way... let the journey begin !
⋆.ೃ:・달려가 CRUSH ON YOU𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
The beginning of the rest of your life is behind this door.
     You're finally losing your training wheels and moving into the big leagues so to speak, even though the company you now officially work for is relatively small. One year, six months, and seven days after you were accepted, you were properly set to debut.
    You were bouncing off of the walls at the news last night, nearly unable to sleep from your excitement. So why, now, are you standing infront of the door to the practice room unable to move?
    Jisu, your manager, informed you that the group that was being built would be called 'crUSh'. And that was the name on the little plaque next to the room.
    "Is it locked?"
    "Oh my god!" You yell, startled from your trance as you quickly turn to face the voice. 
    A few long steps away is an imposingly tall man that you immediately recognize as Song Mingi from the few times he'd came to help trainees with their rap and dance.
    "I'm so sorry," you bow repeatedly, making the man chuckle, "you startled me."
    "It's okay," he offers softly as he extends his hand, "Mingi, ATEEZ."
   "Ah, nice to formally meet you," you shake his hand eagerly, hoping to make a good impression — minus the fact that he had seen you having a staring contest with a door. "Ye (Y/n), crUSh."
    "You're the first one to get here I think," he takes a look into the empty room as he joins your side, his arm brushing against your shoulder, "should I get the keys? They should have unlocked it-"
    Before he can walk away, you muster up the courage to admit, "I haven't tried the door yet."
   "Uh? Well why not?"
    You look down at the floor as he looks down at you, awaiting your answer as you bite your cheek, "it still doesn't feel real."
   He makes a noise of understanding, nodding as he inspects you casually, "how long have you been a trainee, Ye-ssi?"
   "One year, six months, and seven days." He raises his eyebrows at the quickness with which you answer, making you laugh a little and a joke, "but who's counting, right?"
    He smiles at you before looking to the door again, "well, I think you've more than earned this then, right?" He turns the doorknob and swings the door open slowly. "Welcome to KQ, officially," he can't help but smile wider as you step in hesitantly, giving him another bow as you pass.
     There's a sparkle in your eyes that doesn't go unnoticed by your new co-worker. The same sparkle he sees in Hongjoongs eyes when he's producing, in Yunho when he's dancing, in all of them while they perform. The glint of passion.
     "Mingi-ya!!"
    He's a bit sad to see the shine in your eyes gone when you blink at the sound, turning away from admiring the room to face him, "ah, I'm sorry, Mingi-nim, I probably kept your members waiting on you."
    "Don't worry about it," he waves you off with a chuckle, "Wooyoung is on his fourth coffee so I had to get away before he blew out my ear drums."
    It takes you a few fleeting seconds before you fully translate what he said, and then you hold your hand over your mouth to stop the snort of laughter that leaves you. He leans against the doorway with a grin, looking you over again.
    "Song Mingi! Where are you? Don't make me come after you!"
    "Ah, well," he begins as he pushes off the wall and reaches for your hand again, "I should go before they come looking and bombard you. If you need anything, our practice room is just two doors over. I look forward to seeing what you can do."
    "Thank you, Mingi-nim," you shake his hand again and bow, "I'll do my best."
    "I don't doubt it."
   He spins to leave you to your own devices, catching himself leaning back before he goes, "and Ye-ssi?"
   "Uh?" You look up to him as you take your small backpack off, already itching to warm up.
    "You don't have to call me that," he flashes you a gummy smile that almost makes you swoon, "Mingi-ssi is okay with me. We both worked hard to get here."
    "Ah, okay, okay," you nod quickly, not wanting to offend him by being overly formal, "thank you, Mingi-ssi."
⋆.ೃ:・CAN'T STOP MY CRUSH ON YOU𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
     "Let's go girls!" Jisu claps from the middle of the room, watching the seven of you run around in circles as you sing to the songs blasting on the stereo. "C'mon, push yourselves! Sunji, I can't hear you!"
      The young girl infront of you, who you've already lapped once, is clearly struggling. As are a few others — but the youthful girl tugs at your heart strings. Choi Sunji is the youngest of the group, only turning 17 in a few months. Everyone falls somewhere in the 25-19 age group besides her.
    Which makes it sadder to see her falling behind on the very first day. "Sunji, let's go! You got this!" Wu Bongcha, the eldest shouts over the music before resuming her singing. The twenty five year old is the only other foreigner, which you immediately bonded over.
You all recognized one another from your days spent as trainees, but you never really spoke to one another; too busy trying to secure yourselves a spot in the first girl group that KQ would debut.
"Don't give up!" Second eldest, Lee Aeyoung is next to chime in, though she's struggling herself.
Sunji doesn't give up, but is instead made to forfeit as she trips and skids along the floor on her knees.
"Oh no!"
"Oh, fuck!"
Jisu rushes to her side, as do you. Bongcha runs and cuts off the music, and then joins the rest of them in staring — not knowing what to do.
"Are you okay?" Jisu asks softly as she rubs the girls back, taking a glance at her knees and hissing, "oh, I'm sorry, Sunji. Here, here come sit down."
You wrap the girls arm around your shoulders and help her to the bench at the back of the room as you asses the damage. It's nothing that will keep her from walking, but it will definitely cause the girl some pain as she does so. Her knee caps are red and littered with scratches from the friction; and you can only be thankful that the floor is smooth.
You can see unshed tears lining her eyes, and you pat her shoulder with a pout, "do you need anything?"
"Uhm," she sniffs, "could you get me a water, please?"
"Of course, I'm on it." You dash out of the door, making a bee line for the refrigerator at the end of the hall, hearing your manager tell everyone to take ten.
You fill your arms with waters from the stocked fridge, having noticed only a few of the others brought their own. You had always been provided water in the trainee building, so you aren't shocked that this isn't any different.
You stop a few steps from the door, still for a moment before you turn back around and go two doors down.
The door is cracked open, and you can hear light chatter from within. You don't see him through the window, but you hear the deep rumble of his voice.
You slip in unnoticed until you speak up, "excuse me."
Four pairs of eyes are on you at once, confused as to what you're doing in their practice room practically folding youself in half with how deep your bow is. "Hello, I'm very sorry to interrupt," you begin to ramble, holding the cold waters for your members close to your chest as you face the floor, "ah, Mingi-ssi, you said to let you know if we needed anything..."
"Yeah, of course," he replies quickly before speaking to the others, "this is Ye (Y/n), the early bird." You don't have time to digest the fact that he told them all about you, you simply give them another bow, this time smaller. "What can I help with?"
"You see, one of our members fell while we were running and she scraped her knees up pretty badly. I was wondering if there might be a first aid kit around? I- I would look for it myself but we're only on a ten minute break and I want to get her cleaned up before we start again so she doesn't fall behind-"
"Hey, hey, calm down," Mingi chuckles softly, standing from his resting spot on the floor, "there's one in the bathrooms, I'll show you."
"Ah, thank you so much, Mingi-nim!" You thank him profusely as you follow him out of the room, leaving the three remaining men in shocked silence.
"That was cute," Wooyoung finally breaks the quiet, "looks like Mingi got himself a puppy," he laughs loudly, standing up as well and stretching his arms above his head.
"She seemed sweet, you see all the waters she was carrying?" Seonghwa smiles as he follows suit, recalling the way you held the bottles to your chest.
"Yeah, and so many formalities, you can tell she hasn't been in Korea long, she was so afraid to offend us. Ah," Hongjoong sighs wistfully, "remember when Xikers were like that? Now it's 'Hyung! Hyung, buy me lunch!' Gosh, they grow up so fast." His words make the duo laugh as he gets up with a groan. "Let's go see how the newbies are doing."
By the time they come to stand in the doorway, you've already returned with the waters and first aid in tow. The others are sipping and resting against the walls, while you're kneeled down infront of the injured member.
"Little sting," you whisper before quickly wiping the girls knees, barely giving her a chance to register the pain before you're blowing cool air over it to sooth it.
"Thanks, Un-" She stops herself and looks away embarrassedly, fingers tapping on the bench.
"It's okay, you can call me Unnie. We'll be working together for a long time, right?" You hum kindly as you cover the scratches with two large bandaids, "so let's not be too formal with each other."
"Okay," she nods reassured, handing you your untouched water. "Then I should tell you that you should drink, Unnie."
"Hm, touché." You grin as you take it, downing half in one breath as you fall back onto your bottom to rest. "Ah, I have some Tylenol in my bag-" when you go to stand back up and get it, it appears in your face.
Courtesy of Mingi, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere just like he did in the morning, "here you go, Huebae."
"Oh," you blink in shock before taking it, "thank you."
"Hello," Sunji greets him politely, as do the others as they notice his presence. The others in the hall go unnoticed, probably on purpose as they watch from afar how you interact with everyone; curiosity clear on their faces.
You hand some Tylenol to the girl and pat her shoulder before looking up at Mingi, having to tilt your head back. "Sorry again for intruding on you, Mingi-ssi. I was just worried about Sunji here." You apologize once more as you dig out your phone from your bag. Mingi briefly notes the fact that you have twelve messages from the same person, and the way you smile at that.
"It's nothing to worry about, we were taking a break anyways. As long as the door is open, you're welcome to come in." He pauses for a second before he looks around, almost like he forgot the others were there, "that goes for you all as well."
    "Okay girls," Jisu claps, headed back to the front of the room.
    "Ah, duty calls," you huff as you jump up, helping Sunji onto her feet as she wobbles, "thanks again, Sunbaenim! I owe you."
     "Owe me?"
     "Yeah, I'll take you for lunch or something! Taking so much of your time on my first day, I must seem like a wreck." You laugh, but Mingi thinks anything but that. He thinks you have leader material written all over you, and you obviously have a passion for idol work.
      "Okay," he grins as he moves to leave, "I'll hold you to that."
      "Okay, let's go easy with some flexibility stretches," he hears Jisu instructing you all as he closes the door, coming face to face with Seonghwa's large smile.
     "What's that look for?"
    Wooyoung and Hongjoong are smirking as well, and it takes him a moment until he catches onto the fact that they think he was flirting with you. "Pssh, you guys don't know me better than that? I wouldn't flirt with a junior, especially one from our company."
    "Uh-huuuuh," Wooyoung teases as he turns on his heel and heads back to their room.
     "Seriously!"
   Seonghwa wraps his arm around Mingis neck, messing with his younger member, "Mingi-ya, are we invited to lunch too?"
    "You guys got the wrong idea!" He pouts as his cheeks and ears become flushed, quickly blaming it on the broken air conditioning in the hallway.
⋆.ೃ:・L-O-V-E𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
       The building is nearly empty at this hour, only one or two floors lit up. One of them is the practice floor, where you have been all day long.
    Your manager was long gone, your new members filtering out after her.
     They'd told you to get home safe and rest well, but you were too wired to even think about leaving.
    You had the music on considerably quieter, but your footsteps and voice carried through the floor as the cracked door went unnoticed in your focused state; left that way as Bongcha chased Aeyoung while begging her to teach her a specific dance move.
   "Shit," you curse as you stumble, rewinding the music ten seconds and trying again — only to do the same thing. "Son of a bitch! Ugh, Mom was right, you never work well when you're frustrated." You grumble to yourself as you switch the music to something much slower.
    You lower yourself to lay flat on the cool floor and groan as you catch your breath. Quickly, thanks to more than a year of KQ's intense stamina training, you're back to breathing evenly as you stare up at the fluorescent lights, letting the music vibrate your bones.
     "Nareul wihae fight for my life. Mudyeojimi iksukan sesangeseo," you belt out the lyrics, eyes closed as you appreciate the echo of the room. "Nawa haruman simjang bakkwo jul saram eodido eomn-AH!" You squeal as you reopen your eyes and find a man staring down at you.
You slide away on the smooth floor and quickly stand as you realize it's not just any man, but a member of your older group of seniors. He backs up, hands infront of himself, similarly startled.
"Ah, I'm sorry!"
"I'm so sorry!"
You both apologize at the same time, almost knocking your heads together as you bow in unison.
You bow again when he straightens up, showing him respect after you just screamed in his face. "My apologies," you offer a small smile, and he returns it.
"No, it's my fault, I kind of snuck up on you there," he shakes his head, gesturing for you to stand, "I just heard you singing while I was leaving and came to get a clearer listen. Your voice is nice."
"Oh, really?" You feel a heat on your cheeks, turning to get your bottle, "that's nice of you to say..." You pause as you try to recall his name.
"Oh, Kang Yeosang! You must be... ah, Ye (Y/n)?"
"Yes, nice to meet you, Kang-nim-"
"Please, please, that's way too formal! Yeosang is fine, or Sunbae. We'll probably see a lot of each other," he interrupts quickly, going on to explain himself, "no matter how long I do this, I never get used to being called that."
You turn back to him and nod in understanding, "of course. I get that, yesterday a little kid called me Ajumma and I almost cried."
He laughs softly and observes you as you cut off the music to be able to hear each other. "How old are you, Huebae?"
"I'm 22, 23 this year."
"Ah, not too much younger then," he wanders to the bench, sitting a good few feet away from you as you settle back on the floor, pulling your bag over to you, "your pronunciation is really good, aren't you a foreigner?"
You nod as you pull out a granola bar, offering him one to which he politely declines. "I lived out of the country for most of my life, but some of my family is Korean so I've always spoke bits and pieces. I moved here two... maybe three years ago?"
"Well, that explains it! You aren't really a foreigner, two years in Korea, you're practically a citizen," his words make you smile, and you find your cheeks sore from how much you've done that today. "Why did you move here?"
You're happy to find that the conversation flows naturally between you and Yeosang. "I have some distant relatives here that I moved in with. My home country isn't the safest at the moment, so they took me in. I'm still learning Korean customs and things, so hopefully I fit in well enough."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that... I'm glad you have your family to take care of you. And I'm sure you'll fit in, Mingi told me about how you came to him for help with one of your members."
"That's embarrassing," you face palm with a huff, "barging into another teams room because I don't know where the first aid kit is."
"What? No," he shakes his head firmly, "I think it was smart. Hurry to someone who can help so that no member gets left out. I think it's smart, not embarrassing." He speaks sincerely, making you look down at the floor with a thoughtful pout. "And it's a very Korean thing to do, taking care of people younger than you even if you might not know them well."
"Ah, I guess I can't argue with that," you slide across the floor and toss your wrapper in the bin.
"How long have you been a trainee at KQ?" He asks, resting his chin in his hand. He and you both are sweaty from your individual practices, your hair in two messes. Since he's in the same boat as you, you don't feel self conscious as he looks at you somewhat intently.
"Going on a two years soon." You beam proudly, finishing your water so it can meet the same fate as your wrapper.
"Really?! How come I don't remember seeing you around the trainee building? I'm in and out of there pretty often."
"I usually keep my head down," you giggle at his bewildered expression, "not the best trait for a wanna-be idol, I know."
"Hm, that's fair. Being introverted in life won't hold you back though, as long as you don't hide on stage." He provides reassurance from experience, you can tell. "Why is it you want to be an idol?"
"Oh, uhm," you stretch your legs out infront of you, nearly knocking your feet with his, "it's a long story. But the short version is I love music. I always have. And I want to make something for others to love, too." You fidget for a second before you speak again, "can I ask you something, Sunbae?"
He nods, eagerly awaiting your question, and when he hears it it takes him a moment to really think about it. "How does it feel? Singing, dancing infront of so many people?"
"Well, to me... it's like- it's sort of like this huge feeling of pride in myself, and my members. Showing all of my hard work in something that people can watch and enjoy. There's nothing like it, really. You'll have to wait and see for yourself," he finishes with a soft, lopsided grin, ignoring the non stop buzzing of his phone in favor of watching you take in his words and try to imagine them.
"Yeah. I'll have to see for myself, I can't wait."
"That's the spirit!" He says as he jumps up, heading to the computer desk in the corner and ripping a small piece from a discarded paper, "if you ever need a fellow introvert to talk to, any advice or help practicing, here's my number."
"Oh, seriously?" You stand quickly and take the paper with both hands, bowing to him once again, "thanks, Sunbaenim. You're very kind."
"Ah, it's nothing. We have to stick together, we're outnumbered," he jests as he heads to the door, "I have to head out now. You should do the same, (Y/n)-hubae. Go home and get some rest, the practice room isn't going anywhere."
"I will, Yeosang-sunbaenim. Goodnight."
You watch him go for a moment before you look down at the paper, putting it in your bag for safe keeping.
⋆.ೃ:・I FEEL YOU CALLIN' ME𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
   The next day, you're the first member there again.  You flip on the harsh lights and observe the nearly barren room.
    With a small pout, you toss your bag to the floor and begin stretching.
    Sunji is next, giving you a small bow before joining you in silence.
   Hwan Namseon, the second youngest, comes after. Then its eldest member Bongcha coming in with a loud greeting of good morning. Kim Eunhwa, the only other seemingly introverted member slips in and joins. Han Yoomi hops in with a grin. Aeyoung is last to come, apologizing that her bus had a flat tire as she quickly jumps into the line that's formed behind you as you lead the stretches.
"Hey, where do you think Manager-nim is? It's twenty past eight, she doesn't seem like the type to be late without letting us know." Aeyeong questions with a groan as she touches her toes to mimic the rest of you.
"Ah, really?" You glance at the clock on the wall. You turn away from the wall of mirrors and face them, "should we text her?"
Unbeknownst to you all, Jisu was in the security room watching you on the live feed from the camera at the top of the mirrors usually reserved for taking dance videos. To see what you would do when left to our own devices.
"Yeah, I'll text her and let her know we're all waiting for her," Bongcha leaves the group to grab her phone from the bench, quickly texting the older woman. "Manager-nim," she mumbles out loud as she types.
"What should we do while we wait?" Namseon asks with a glance thrown your way.
"Uhm," you think with a thoughtful frown, "why don't we do an exercise? I'm sure she'll be here soon!"
"Like what?" Eunhwa looks up, fiddling with her sleeves as she speaks just above a whisper.
"I have an idea!" Yoomi jumps with a hand in the air, looking towards you with big eyes.
"Yeah," you laugh a bit as she waits for your permission, gesturing for her to continue.
"Dance-build. We did it at my elementary school. One person does a dance move, and the second person adds to it, and it just keeps going until someone messes up- and that person is out! It could help us with remembering choreography."
"That sounds like it could be fun!" Aeyoung claps, "rock, paper, scissors for the order! Rock, paper, scissors, go!"
A few minutes and a fight about if gun is allowed and if so does it beat rock (it isn't, but it would) later, the order is decided and you begin copying and building off of each other as some dance music plays from Bongchas phone.
Eunhwa, you, and Bongcha move past your turns pretty quickly, watching as Namseon tries to remember the moves and execute them properly. She moves her legs in a different way than Bongcha did, and Aeyoung shouts, "eeeh! Namseon, out!"
"What?! Dang it, what did I do wrong?"
Bongcha repeats the last movement and Namseons eyes widen, "ah, I wasn't looking at your legs!" She slumps before shuffling to take a seat on the wall.
"It's okay," you smile her way, "you can be the referee now!"
You begin again, as Namseon watches everyone like a hawk. It goes Eunhwa, you, Bongcha, Aeyoung, Sunji, Yoomi. Eunhwa, you, and then Bongcha messes up.
At some point, it becomes just you and Aeyoung going back and forth adding more and more dance moves as the others cheer. Clearly, you guys will be the main dancers with how many moves you're doing without even a hint of struggle of remembrance.
"Our Unnies are so cool," Namseon whispers to Sunji, who nods with a wide smile.
A loud chime comes through the speakers, and Bongcha dives for her phone, "its Manager-nim! She said she's on the way, five minutes."
"Good," you pant softly, hands on your knees. "I don't know how long I could keep up with you, Aeyoung-ssi!" You share a laugh with the slightly older girl, who pats your shoulder as she mimics your pose to catch her breath as well.
"Aisssh, says you! You were so fast coming up with moves I could barely keep up!"
"Bongcha-ssi, will you hand us our waters?" You pant softly, wiping your brow as you sit with your newfound dance partner.
"Here you go," she smiles as she hands them over, going on to ask you two about some dance moves.
Small chatter continues as you rest until Jisu enters, "hello, everyone!"
"Hello," you all greet with your various degrees of bows, standing up and beginning to conquer your training for the day.
⋆.ೃ:・널 향한 낯선 VIBE𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
"How are your knees feeling, Sunji-ya?" You ask with a casual nickname thrown her way as you join her in waiting for the elevator.
During the few hours of your second practice together, the seven of you grew more and more comfortable with each other as the ice was broken.
"Oh, they're okay! Thank you for taking care of me yesterday, Unnie. I'm sure it was scary asking our seniors for help on the first day, I'm sorry about that."
"Oh, they're not so bad," you nudge her shoulder with a grin, "nothing to be afraid of." You enter the elevator together, and you ask, "going to the cafeteria?"
"Yeah, I'm starving." You press the button for the second floor, where the cafeteria and locker rooms reside.
"Ditto, let's eat together, yeah?"
Her smile pulls at your heartstrings as you enter the vast and open room. With only two doors, one with a male figure and one with a female figure: which had previously never been used, but now you see your members coming and going. Being the first girl group in the company was a weird feeling. Everyone was kind, but everyone was also waiting to see if you would be a massive failure.
Two younger boys nod their heads in greeting as you pass. You and Sunji bow back, a small and polite, "hello, Sunbaenims," coming from the girl which makes them smile.
The tables are far too many for all of the people you've met or know work here, but you know that it's a growing company. Still, it's oddly quiet with only the two Xikers boys and a handful of the Ateez members eating and conversing.
"Why don't you get us some food and I'll get us a cold drink?"
     Sunji scoops some rice and broccoli into two bowls and goes to claim a table for you both, not completely isolated but far enough away to give the men their own space.
     "Here you go," you slide her a glass of iced tea and sit across from her at the rectangular table, eyeing the way she has the lesser filled bowl infront of her. "Thought you were starving?"
    She nods, going to stop you from swapping your bowls, "ah, it's okay, Unnie! I should loose some weight before we start recording things-"
    "Tsk," you suck your teeth and swap the bowls despite her polite protesting, "you're still growing. You need to eat well."
    "Well, but-"
    "No buts," you give her a stern glare as you take a large bite, "I won't let our maknae wither away."
    "Maknae," she giggles, taking a spoonful with a bright smile, "it's weird to be the youngest. I'm the oldest of my siblings, actually."
     "Yeah? How many siblings do you have?" You converse smoothly as you eat, making sure she gets her fill.
As you laugh at her story of how her little brother cried harder than she did at the news of her official status of pre-debut, one of the men you briefly met yesterday approaches with a small head bow.
You and Sunji nod back, with you greeting him, "hello, Park-nim." You know his name, thankfully remembering him from an encounter you had in the trainee building.
"Hello, may I sit?" Seonghwa asks with a soft smile, gesturing to the table.
"Yeah, of course!" Sunji nods quickly, blushing in the presence of your pretty senior. "Nice to meet you," she beams, and you can't hold back a smile of your own at her eagerness.
"Nice to meet you, too. How has Jisu-nim been treating you all?" He inquires as he sits on your side of the table.
    "She's great! She pushing us to be our very best," the girl says, and you nod in agreement as he looks to you for your opinion as well.
    "That's good to hear. She's been waiting a long time to have a group of her own to manage, so I'm sure she'll treat you well. She came up with your concept and everything on her own, worked with Hongjoong for days on your title song."
    Both of you freeze with bites half in your mouths, and he realizes he's said something he probably shouldn't have as the young girl leans over the table with wide eyes, nearly toppling over as she asks him with urgency, "our debut song is already planned?!"
 
      "Sunji-ya!" You scold her, slapping her arm, "I apologize for her, Park-nim, we haven't been told about that yet, you see." He laughs as you force the shell-shocked girl back into her seat.
     "Ah, well I'm glad to be the one to tell you!"
      He feels a spark of energy as he sees both of your excitement, yours especially as you try to hide it with a nonchalant expression as you ask, "could you, maybe, could you tell us about it?"
     "Oh, I'm not in the production team," he begins, "but from what I've seen it's a very cute concept. Some lore has been tossed around but nothing solid. Hmm, what else?" He hums as he takes a bite of his food, feeling both of you looking at him expectantly. "Oh! Yeah, the song. I've heard some snippets of the instrumentals and it sounds very upbeat. I haven't gotten a glance at the lyrics but they're finalizing them right now, actually. Maybe you'll get your first look today."
     "Ah!" Sunji squeals into her hands before diving over the table to hug you, "I'm so excited!" She bounces out of her seat and bows to Seonghwa like she's been snapped in half before running away, leaving you both confused. "Thank you, Park-nim! Ah, I have to tell the others!"
     You watch her go with your jaw slacked before you grumble, "that little jerk left her dishes."
     Seonghwa goes into a fit of laughter at the seriousness on your face, the sound making you remember he was still there. "Ah, sorry," you give a little laugh of your own, "I guess our maknae is very excited to debut."
     "It's okay," he says between breaths of laughs, placing a hand on his chest, "whew! She's definitely going to be the mood maker."
    "Right? No kidding, that kid has energy like she just chugged seven Red-Bulls in a row."
     You share another chuckle, comfortable silence taking over as you finish your meals. When he goes to stand and take his dishes, you quickly stuff your last bites into your mouth and shake your head.
     He leans back as you collect all of the dishes on the table, his included. He watches as you scrape any remnants into the bin and set them all ontop with the others. "Thank you," he nods as you come back around with a smile, headed towards the elevator, "going back up to the practice rooms?" He asks as he joins you in waiting.
    "Yes, thank you again for telling us about the debut, I'm sure everyone will be happy to know."
"Ah, it's the least I could do, I know the feeling." He sighs as he presses the button, looking over his shoulder at you as the doors close. "You think you'll fit a cute concept?" 
"Oh, yes," you nod at lightning speed, "a lot of our members are light on their feet and good with facial expressions that will go well with that. Our second youngest, Namseon, has an adorable gummy smile that will be just perfect. Oh- my Unnies both have insane charisma, it's like they were born for the stage! And you met Sunji, she's a ball of sunshine. I think they'll do well."
He waits, gesturing for you to continue.
"Sorry, I rambled a bit! I'm done," you scratch the back of your neck and push past as the doors open, "thanks again-"
"What about you?" He asks before you can get away, gently laying a hand on your shoulder to stop you just outside of the elevator. "You said 'they'll' do good, but what about you?"
"Uh? Me?" You look down, clearly caught off guard as he asks about how you'll do, "I dunno, actually. I never thought about what concept I could fit..."
As if he senses your anxiety (because he does, it's a bit hard to miss), he smiles reassuringly down at you, "don't worry, I think you'll fit your group's concept just fine. You have that charm, y'know?"
    "Charm?"
   "Mhm! Something about you that's just... cute!" He feels a heat creeping up on his cheeks, and you see it.
"You think I'm cute?" You peek to his hand, still resting on your shoulder; and he quickly removes it when you do.
When he notices your eyes lingering on his flushed cheeks, he starts walking away, quickly headed to their practice room. "Aisssh, Mingi was right, we need to fix the air conditioning in the hall. Don't worry, you'll be perfect!"
⋆.ೃ:・간절히 FIND, FIND OUT𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
As soon as the door to the practice room slams shut: Seonghwa crouches and places his head between his knees, then his hands over his head. "Ahhhh!" He groans loudly, calling San's attention up from his phone.
"Jesus, what happened to you? You look like a tomato."
"I can never show my face to our crUSh hubae again!" He shouts from his crouched position, refusing to move even as he hears the door open and feels someone step over him.
"Don't mind meeee," Mingi says as he vaults over, "I'm not apart of this, just want my notebook."
"Are you sure you don't want in on this? Hyung embarrassed himself infront of one of the girls- or multiple? My bets on multiple."
Mingi stops with his notebook in hand, leaning against the wall next to San, "again? Is this a 'accidentally call everyone the wrong name' situation repeat?"
"Ahhhh," he groans again, slumping against the door and revealing his face to the two.
"Wait, that's not an embarrassment blush! That's a crush blush!" Seonghwa curses the fact that they've spent that much time together, they even know the difference between each others blushes.
"Crushing on crUSh, Hyung? You made fun of me for that!"
"I am not 'crushing', I'm not a schoolboy!"
"You are too! Who is it? Tell us!"
"Tell us, tell us, tell us," they go on to chant, San clapping with amusement as Seonghwa hides his face with his hands, "tell us, tell us, tell us!"
"Yah! Fine, I'll tell you-" he's cut off by their cheers "-but if you so much as even think about telling a single soul, I will-" cut off again:
"Yeah, yeah, get on with it!"
He takes a deep breath, leaning his head against the door, "I was talking with Ye (Y/n) just now." Mingi tilts his head and smirks as he continues. "She was worried that she wouldn't fit into the groups cute concept... so I told her that she was cute." San whistles. "While I had my hand on her shoulder." San whistles louder before cackling.
"Man, you are horrible with women!"
"It came out of my mouth before I could think!"
"At least you didn't give her your number, Yeosang beat you to it."
"Woah, woah, back up — when the hell did that happen?" Mingi finally pipes up, eyebrows bunched together, "is he The Flash all the sudden? He's been with us all day!"
"Last night, dummy." San rolls his eyes, "is he The Flas- ow!" He punches Mingi's leg after he kicks him, glaring up at him from the floor.
"Did he actually?" Seonghwa tilts his head, thinking about the introverted member. "He's usually really shy around girls."
"Not as shy as you, Mr.Tomato," San makes both of them chuckle before he goes on to say, "he said he heard her singing after all her members left and went to complement her. They talked a little bit and he gave her his number if she ever needed anything, so he sayssss- but he was blushing too."
"Damn, Sang has game," Mingi slides down the wall to join San, letting out a little sigh which makes the man next to him perk up.
"Wait, wait, wait, hold on-"
"Don't!"
San goes on despite Mingi's protest, "is Ye (Y/n) the one Wooyoung called your puppy?! The girl you said was 'suuuuper ni-' yah, quit hitting me!"
Mingi glares, and San glares back.
"She is super nice," Seonghwa breaks their intense staring contest as they both turn to him. "She made sure the member that got hurt yesterday was taken care of so she didn't fall behind, she cleaned up all of our dishes after her member ran off, she even knew all about her groups killing points. She didn't even mention herself when I asked how everyone would fit into their concept, just went on about how well everyone else would do."
After a moment of quiet, the younger men digesting his words, San hums, "she can't be that sweet, to have three of you crushing in not even a few days?"
    "There's something about her, man," Mingi pushes back his hair, "she had a literal sparkle in her eye when she saw their practice room for the first time. Like- like a cartoon princess!"
   "Yes, the sparkle! She had it when she was talking about her members, too!"
    "You guys are whipped, no one is this... enchanting! Enchanting, that's it!" San would be eating his words in less than forty-eight hours.
   Seonghwa shakes his head, "she might be- woah!" He falls back into the hall as someone opens the door, landing with a thud.
      "What's going on?" Wooyoung asks as he takes in the scene. Seonghwa and Mingi's fading blushes, San's look of disbelief. The oldest of them on the ground because he was hiding against the door.
    "Hyung embarrassed himself infront of his crush!"
     "I'll kill you!" Seonghwa yells, finally finishing his threat.
⋆.ೃ:・L-O-V-E𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
   Once again, you're left in the practice room on your lonesome after everyone left pretty shortly after your intense work out with the company trainer.
      It didn't slow down the buzz everyone had over the news of the debut song almost being completed so you could begin working on it yourselves.
     Especially not yours, as you stayed to study and practice other girl group songs with cute concepts.
   "Signal bonae signal bonae, jjirit- aaaah," you grumble as you fall back into your resting face. You glare at yourself in the mirror for a moment before you return to a soft and cheery face, "try to let you know. Signeul bonae signal bonae," you try to throw in the hand movement as well, groaning loudly as your focus fails you and your face no longer does what you want it to. "Ah, really!? C'mon, (Y/n), you're better than this."
     You point at yourself accusingly, unaware as the door swings open. "Neol bomyeo useumyeon arac- fuck!" You curse as your face falls once more as you focus too hard on singing.
You close your eyes and lean your forehead against the mirror defeatedly, not noticing as two semi-familiar men come into the room and witness you kneeling infront of the mirror wall, tears beginning to wet your eyelashes.
"Excuse me," Hongjoong speaks first, making you flinch. You quickly wipe your eyes as you turn to face him, hoping (though futile) that they didn't see your mini-breakdown.
"H-Hello," you internally curse yourself as your voice cracks.
"Are you okay, Hubae?" Mingi asks hesitantly, tilting his head.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay! Just a little frustrated is all! Thank you, Mingi-ssi."
"Ah, we all know the feeling," Hongjoong offers softly, nodding toward you with a comforting smile. You notice the stack of papers in his hand, remembering what Seonghwa had told you earlier.
"Thank you," you pause, unsure of what to call him. He's technically your senior, yes. But he's also a producer and leader.
He notices your brows pushing together with your thoughts, and he helps you out, "Hongjoong-sunbae is fine, don't worry."
"Ah, okay, okay! Thank you, Hongjoong-sunbae. Can I help with something?"
"Are your members around?" He gestures to the empty room save for you and Mingi, who's still looking down at you with a pout.
"No, sorry," you shake your head, offering an apology, "they left about an hour ago, we finished our work out early."
"Oh, that's too bad," he slaps the papers against his palm lightly and bites his lip, "I was hoping to give you all the lyrics to your title track."
"Really?! It's ready?" You perk up immediately, forcing yourself to calm down as you step closer, "may I see it? Please?"
He can't say no to those puppy dog eyes of yours, and apparently neither can Mingi; who grabs one of the stapled packets from his hyungs hands and extends it out to you with a big gummy smile.
You take it with an equally big smile, bowing deeply to the two of them before coming up and scanning the paper with that shimmer in your eyes that Mingi saw yesterday. Hongjoong sees it now too, and he understands what the man was trying to explain to them.
Passion in your eyes, he didn't think it would be so clear to see. But anyone who looked at you as you read the lyrics of what would be your first song would be able to see it. It's brighter than any other trainee, producer, lyric writer- it's brighter than anyone else's he's ever seen. And he finds him self excited to see what you do with it.
"SYNC-LOVE," you read with a gigantic grin. "crUSh official debut. Ah!" You can't help the happy yell that escapes you, hiding your face in the paper as the men chuckle.
You pull the paper back and scan the words, flipping the page and reading it all; credits included. Seeing their names on the credits, you bow repeatedly to them with your smile present all the while, "ah, thank you. Thank you so much, I'll make sure to do my very best with your song and my members as well! I'll make sure we make you proud to have u-"
Mingi puts a hand on your shoulder to stop your repeated bowing, laughing along with Hongjoong at your excitement, "careful, now! You'll get dizzy!"
"My bad," you look down to hide your still present grin.
"It's an exciting moment!" Hongjoong reassures you again, handing over the rest of the papers, "you'll get these to your members? In a few days we want to hear you all sing it individually so we can start assigning parts."
  You nod and take them carefully, turning to your bag and getting your phone, "is it okay if I send them photos of it- or is that a leak risk?"
    "No, that's okay. People don't even know we have a girl group yet," Mingi waves off your concern, "just do it through your number, no social media."
    You quickly snap a photo of each page and create a group chat with the numbers that you'd thankfully collected.
YOU ADDED BONGCHA.
YOU ADDED AEYOUNG.
YOU ADDED EUNHWA.
YOU ADDED YOOMI.
YOU ADDED NAMSEON.
YOU ADDED SUNJI.
YOU SENT A MESSAGE. Hongjoong and Mingi sunbaenims just stopped by the room. Good news, our debut song is completed!!
YOU SENT TWO ATTACHMENTS.
    As you turn back to thank them once again, your phone begins going off nonstop with messages from the others. "Oops," you turn off the ringer quickly, "I think they're just as excited as I am. Thank you again."
     "We're all excited to do what you guys can do," Hongjoong says truthfully, "Yeosang said you're a nice singer, is that the main position you want?"
     "Ah, rapper actually," you chuckle a bit, shifting on your feet, "admittedly, after my manager told us all your story, Hongjoong-sunbae, I started writing."
     "Really?" He beams, jumping a bit, "oh, I like you more by the minute! I can't wait to work with you!"
    You laugh as you wrap your arms around yourself, "thanks-"
    Mingi suddenly gets a brilliant idea, "hey, why don't you bring some of your songs to the recording booth so we can hear them?"
    "Oh, no, no, I don't have instrumentals or anything like that- I just write them for fun!"
    "So sing them for fun too! Let your voice be the instruments." Mingi is practically begging, and Hongjoong looks at you hopefully as well.
     "Maybe, maybe just one. I don't want to waste your time," you give in, making the men cheer.
⋆.ೃ:・THIS LOVE IS NOT FAKE𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
After your work out together the next day, you speak up before anyone can leave, "hey, before you all go!" You hop up quickly, stopping Yoomi and Eunhwa in the doorway.
You suddenly feel a bit shy speaking when all of the others are looking at you, "uhm, do any of you want to stay and try some of ATEEZ-sunbaenims choreography? I was thinking, we have a lot of pressure to live up to them and Xikers as well, especially in the dance department. Not to say that we aren't good! Just that they're very intense performers and we have a soft concept compared to them so maybe we could do a dance cover to show that we can kick ass too-"
In your rambling, you don't notice as they set their bags back down, gathering around you as you speak. "Because I know that we can! We can show the world that KQ doesn't mess around, even with their girls!"
"Hell yeah!" Bongcha yells, making you flinch, "sorry! But, yeah, I'm in for sure."
"What song were you thinking?" Aeyoung, eager to prove her dance skills to the world, is pulling back on her sneakers.
"Oh, I wasn't expecting you all to agree," you take a deep breath as you scan the rest of your group, "maybe we could pick together?"
A couple of hours later, you're all sweaty and out of breath once again as you finish your third run-through of Guerrilla. 'Start off strong,' Namseon said as she was the deciding vote.
"Let's take five," Bongcha heaves as she falls onto the floor, "...hours."
A couple of breathless chuckles go her way as the rest of the group sits minus you. "I'll get us some waters," you manage as you head to the door, grabbing your phone on the way.
Once you get to the fridge, your phone pings.
BONGCHA SENT AN ATTACHMENT.
BONGCHA SENT A MESSAGE. Guerrilla, take three
You lean against the fridge as you open the video, watching each member intently. You're all very good, but you could be better. Your footsteps are almost louder than the music at times, and it helps that you can hear them all being in sync. As the dance break begins, you hear yourself in the video. "Let's go, Guerrilla!" The rest of them follow suit, "the guerrillas!" You're definitely louder than the music as you all shout to hype each other up, "break the wall!"
Smiling down at your phone, you don't hear the person approaching you until he speaks.
"I thought those stomps sounded familiar."
"My god!" You clamber to catch your phone, breathing a sigh of relief as you hold it tightly.
"Sorry," Yeosang laughs softly, "I should stop sneaking up on you." He gives you a little bow of apology before he gestures to the phone, "may I see?"
    "Ah," you place a hand to your chest as your shoulders relax, "you're going to give me a heart attack." You joke as you rewind the video and hold it out to show him.
    He leans closer, his shoulder against yours as you both watch it.
     "Woo!" He smiles as you all shout when the youngest looking member slides to the center. He can tell you already have a bond that will be helpful when things get tough. It's not often that groups click immediately, but he's happy that yours did; and it's clear that you have by the way you move in tandem with each other after only a few days. Some of you have more energy, more power behind your moves maybe, but you all move at the same time despite that. He thinks, as do you as you watch over your group, maybe you were meant to debut together.
    After it comes to an end, Yeosang claps and leans back, "woah! You guys are good! How many tries was that?"
    "You think so? It was our third take, we still have a lot of improvements to make," you say as you slide your phone into your pocket, moving to get the waters you came for.
    "Yeah, I wouldn't think that you guys are a new group based on that, you're a very well rounded group looks like." He takes some of the waters from your arms and earns himself a smile from you.
     "Thanks, Yeosang, that means a lot to hear. It was my idea actually to cover one of your dances to show that we could be badass too," you look down as you admit with a little laugh, walking with him back to your groups room.
     "You're a good leader," he nods with a thoughtful expression.
    "Uh? I'm not the leader."
    "No?" He raises an eyebrow, "who is?"
    "Uhhhhhh," you blank as you enter the room, making the others look up confusedly. "-hhh, heres the water!" Yeosang laughs heartily as you quickly change the subject, going on to hand over the waters he carried for you as you distribute them. "Guys, this is Yeosang-sunbaenim," you gesture to him before sipping on your own water.
     "Hello," they bow to one another, and Aeyoung is quick to drag you over after the formalities are out of the way. She leans over her phone, having similarly been monitoring your last take.
     "Ye-ssi, look here," she points, "I think Yoomi and Eunhwa should swap here, to have Eunhwa in the front. She has more intense facial expressions, don't you think?"
    "Ah," you nod along, backing up the video a few seconds to see again, "I think that's a good idea."
    "Yoomi-ya! Come here, I need to teach you a different part!" The older members yells dramatically, making you cover your ear with a grimace.
     Yeosang joins your side again with a grin, "not the leader, huh?"
You take a long sip of your water and look up at the ceiling thoughtfully before — "nope!"
⋆.ೃ:・달려가 CRUSH ON YOU𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
     The next day, you're surprised to see someone else in the practice room when you arrive — multiple someones that is, and an array of cameras and microphones.
    You pause in the door way mid-way through fixing your hair, slowly backing out as the main camera man swivels the lens to face you. "Sorry," you let your hair fall and bow, looking around curiously from the hall, "am I interrupting?"
    "(Y/n)!" Jisu waves from the group of people, having to jump for you to see her. "Come on in," she gestures you forward, placing a hand on your arm as you get closer, "we're going to start filming for a pre-debut documentary."
    "Really? We're making one? That's exciting!" You look around the room, waving and bowing once again to the crew, "hello. Good morning."
    You get a few responses back, looking away from the camera shyly. You'll definitely have to get used to that.
    "You're here early, practice doesn't start until eight," she observes, smiling as she realizes how dedicated you are from the fact that you have now been the first member to arrive four days in a row. "Did you plan to start early?"
    "Ah, I actually came to work on some songs," you hesitate, looking around as the crew continues to set up in the back of the room.
    "Writing?" Jisu asks, knowing that you've been coming up with songs of your own nonstop since she told you of Hongjoong's passion and subsequent success.
    "Yes, I wanted to write some that fit with our concept," you whisper as you fiddle with the hem of your hoodie.
    "Oh, that's great! You go ahead and do whatever you need to, pretend we aren't even here. We don't have the main sound going yet but the director may want some footage of you working." She pats your arm as she notices your nerves, giving you a little nod, "hwaiting!"
    "Thank you, manager-nim," you nod back, carefully taking your bag off and setting it on the wall by the door so it's not in the way.
     You can still feel the camera trailing you as you take out your newer notebook that has strawberry printed papers, along with your pen and a dry erase marker. You settle infront of the mirror with your legs folded under you.
    A few minutes of calming breathes later, you finally decide 'screw it', and allow yourself to begin working like no body is there, following your manager's advice.
    From your notes about what kind of lyrics you want, you begin writing on the mirror with your dry erase marker just like you do at home; only on a larger scale.
CHORUS
dallyeoga crush on you
super crush on you
can't stop the crush on you
code in L-O-V-E
TIPI-TAP TIPI-TIPI TAP
You write it out in romanization to see how it will sound, chewing on the back of the marker.
    "Hello," the camera woman who comes up to you greets politely, and you return the favor. "Director-nim wanted me to ask what you're doing?"
"Okay, okay," you nod quickly, scooting to the side a bit to allow her to film the writing on the mirror, "since our concept is super cute, uhm," you clear your throat, showing her the page in your notebook full of ideas, "I'm writing some songs that I think would fit along with it..."
"Why do you write on the mirror?"
"Oh," you look at it before smiling, almost reminiscently, "it's a technique someone taught me! Write it in dry erase or chalk so you can easily change it, move it around, see where things might fit better. And when you think you have it, write it on paper and see how it is!" You beam as you explain, quickly falling into your comfort zone.
"Ah," you erase part of it with your hoodie sleeve before leaning and writing in something different, "chorus should be a bit repetitive!"
dallyeoga crush on you
dallyeoga crush on you
"Better," you smile to yourself as you look it over.
"Hello," a voice calls all of your attention from the door, and you smile brighter as you see Mingi and one of his group mates you've yet to meet.
You wave briefly before gasping and turning back to the mirror quickly as some lyrics come to you.
pow pow
my heart just flew up
You hardly notice as the duo stop talking to your manager and the team, heading for you instead as you mumble to yourself. "Flew up?"
You peek up as the camera-woman backs up, getting all three of you in frame as they come up on either side behind you.
"Pow, pow, my heart blew up?" Mingi suggests as he reads over it, smiling as you immediately click your tongue and rewrite it.
"Aye, why didn't I think of that? Thanks, Mingi-ssi," you blink at the other man in the reflection and give him a bow of your head, "hello."
"Nice to meet you, Ye-ssi," he flashes you a soft grin in the mirror, "I'm San."
"Nice to meet you- ah sorry," you look away quickly and scribble a little further away from what you already have down before the words can get away from you, "inspiration waits for no-one."
beonjineun seollem
gidarin chit-chat
"This is a cute vibe," San complements as he reads it over with Mingi, "how long have you been working on it?"
"Hm," you take a glance at the clock in the mirror, 7:40. "About twenty minutes."
Mingi makes a noise of surprise, nearly falling from his crouched position until you grab his arm and steady him, "ah, are you okay, Mingi-ssi? Are you dizzy?" He laughs as you worry over him, pointing back to the writing after he's steady.
"Twenty minutes and you have a solid chorus?"
"Mhm!" You smile towards your work, humming the imaginary tune to yourself for a second to see if more inspiration hits.
"How long have you been writing?" San asks with a slight awe, taking a look at your book of ideas.
"Ah," you scratch your head, "since... April, I think?"
It's Sans turn to be surprised, raising his eyebrows and counting on his fingers, "four months?! Hey, no way," he shakes his head, "you're pulling our leg."
"She's a genius," Jisu buts into the conversation, coming to pat your head, "she's my own mini-Captain."
"Not even Hongjoong can come up with a chorus in twenty minutes flat," San argues, glaring at the words and mumbling them to himself.
"Hey, (Y/n), how are you imagining this?" The woman grins, as you begin to tap on your leg, thinking of the right pace.
"Kind of- aaah, no," you stop yourself before even starting, restarting quietly, "dallyeoga crush on you, dallyeoga crush on you. Ah, yes!" You lean over your paper and draw a little meter of how upbeat it should be. "Like, tipi-tip tap, tipi-tipi, tap-tap~ That fits right?"
Mingi points at Sans look of speechlessness, squeaking with laughter and leaning into your side.
"Hey, Unnie, can you-" You look and see Sunji enter, quickly looking up from her phone and having the same look of 'oh shit' that you did. "Oh, hello," she quickly bows, having the same conversation with your manager and nodding along.
Mingi and San are still helping you with fine tuning lyrics as she joins, sitting beside you and looking at the words curiously.
"What were you going to ask, Sunji?" You question as you making the recommended change that San suggested, nodding at the way it looks.
"Ah," she blushes a bit, asking in a hushed tone, "could you braid my hair before practice? Yours was really pretty the other day, but I don't know how."
"Awe," you smile at the young girl, sliding back and patting the space you previously occupied, "of course, anything for my maknae!"
San looks down at you two with a fond expression as you card your hands through her hair and she reads the words with curiosity. "Is this our next song?"
"No-"
"Maybe!" Mingi cuts you off, taking the marker and jotting down some more words, "your Unnie wrote the chorus all by herself!"
"Woah, really?" She meets your eyes in the reflection, "you can write too? You're good at everything!"
She bounces, making you pat her shoulder with a chuckle, "stay still."
"Sorry," she giggles, stilling as you begin to braid her hair back in an intricate way, "how does it go?"
You sing the chorus for her, San nodding along and Mingi listening closely; tilting his head as he thinks.
"Hey, Ye-ssi," he points to one of the lines with the marker that he's effectively taken over, "here, code in L-O-V-E~ What about," he wipes the line and replaces it as you watch with interest, "this?"
"The code is L-O-V-E," you sing together to the rhythm in your heads, feeling out the vibe.
    "I like it!" Sunji peeps, breaking you and Mingi's sudden staring contest.
     "Ah," you turn to her quickly to avoid his gaze, "really? Why don't you sing it for us?" You settle back behind her and continue to braid her long hair, watching as she smiles brightly. "Your voice really suits a soft concept."
To anyone watching the moment in the documentary many months later, it's certainly a heartwarming scene. Especially paired with the caption the editors slipped in: 'Ye-ssi is showing off her makenae<3'.
    If they looked hard enough; they'd also see that Mingi's gaze never left your hands as you gently braided your young members hair, and that San's kept flicking to you with a sense of wonder...
⋆.ೃ:・CAN'T STOP MY CRUSH ON YOU𐦍.ೃ࿔*:・
⋆.ೃ:・DELETED SCENES.ೃ࿔*:・
#ONE#
     After your strange but heart warming moment with Seonghwa, you return back to your own practice room; where Bongcha and Namseon are watching Eunhwa play a game on her phone. 
    Sunji and Aeyoung are seemingly having a flexibility competition, with Yoomi as the judge.
    You sit on the bench and watch between the two groups, a content smile on your face until from the open door you hear —
     "I'll kill you!" All of you perk up, running to the door and peeking your heads out.
    "Was that Park-nim?" Sunji asks with a pout, "he doesn't seem like the type to get angry."
    "What'd he say? I don't know that word," Bongcha looks to you.
    "I'll kill you, he said," you translate for her while watching curiously as the man in the doorway slides out of the way to make room for another, who comes flying out of the room; quickly followed by Seonghwa.
      "Come back here!"
       "No, I want to live! Hyung, please! I want to live!"
⋆.ೃ:・L-O-V-E WILL BE RIGHT BACK.ೃ࿔*:・
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newtsniffles · 7 months ago
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BETWEEN YOUR EYES
the jackal x oc
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chapter one
WARNING: this fanfiction will contain mature scenes, violence, and coarse language.
word count: 1.6k, a short set-up chapter. enjoy!
if you enjoy this fanfiction, please don't forget to interact.
CHAPTER ONE: ONE SHOT, ONE KILL.
Grace McCarron loved the smell of coffee. Especially in the early mornings when the sun hadn’t risen and the streets were still wet with last night’s rain. It irked her though, how people could be so loud at such an early hour. Couldn’t people just be quiet? Talk at a normal volume, it was only the hour of six. 
The blonde’s fingers rap against the counter in a steady rhythm. Her expression reads neutral as she watches the customers enjoying their breakfasts, discussing work projects and gossip. It was all so mundane, every word they said was capable of drawing a yawn from her lips. Nobody is interesting this morning.
With a sigh, Grace reaches under the counter for the remote, flicking on the television in the corner. Her head tilts, blue eyes sparkling with intense focus at the headline written across the lower third of the screen. 
Manfred Fest assassinated.
Grace’s eyes narrow, something interesting. Her attention is only being drawn away by the sound of a customer waiting to order. A young woman, brunette, she’d be mid-twenties. 
‘It’s horrible isn’t it?’ The woman says.
‘I’m on the fence,’ Grace admits. ‘What can I get for you?’
‘A latte, please… You don’t think it’s bad?’
‘That a fascist offended somebody and got himself killed? Not really.’ Grace presses the coffee, clicking it into the machine before foaming the milk. With practised expertise, she fills a takeaway cup with the espresso and milk, creating lines of art on the top. 
‘I don’t know much about foreign politics,’ the woman taps her card.
‘Take it from me, be glad he won’t be the new German Chancellor.’
Grace’s attention is brought back to the screen as the customer walks away with her latte. A single sniper shot from a distance of over three kilometres. Impressive. More than. The corners of her lips tilt into a small grin, leaning back onto the counter with crossed arms, she watches the news report.
It had started raining again, like it usually did in London. The sound of tires driving over the slick roads was comforting to Grace. Red brake lights reflected in the puddles by the footpath, headlights and street lamps casting a warm hue despite the darkening sky. She loved the rain, the sound of it pattering against whatever surface. However, it did make it hard to get a decent line of sight. Her lips quirked slightly, a lover of challenge. One blue eye closed, a glint of thrill in the other as it stared through the scope of a personalised sniper rifle. 
Sleeping with the blinds open, Grace could never understand it, but it certainly helped her in this case. The target laid across his bed, his thumb scrolling across the screen of his phone. The lights in his apartment were on, everything visible. He was so stupidly vulnerable. She could’ve shot six times over by now, but would there be any fun in that? Her finger taps against the trigger as she recalls the deviance of the sleazy man. The world would be better off without him.
BANG. One shot, one kill.
Grace pulls her head back from the sniper, standing up, she starts to pack down the rifle. Her eyes don’t leave the window of the now-deceased target as she unscrews the barrel, packing it all into a case. She hurries downstairs, unlocking her car and driving off swiftly. Chances are nobody would find him until morning, but it is still safer to get away as quickly as possible.
The internet cafe was practically dead at this hour, a lone stranger or two.  It had started to rain outside again, Grace could hear it on the roof, see it on the windows. It was also a Wednesday, unlikely that it would be busy. She plugs a USB into one of the many PCs, accessing Dark Core.
Access Chatroom:
Username: xxxfOxTROT22971x$
Password: ************
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___ job complete.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___he will not bother you anymore.
FPOxENT779X___thank you.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___yes.
CRTVDSTRYR*1908 one new message.
CRTVDSTRYR*1908___Big admirers of your work. Have project we think will interest you. Superlative remuneration.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i don’t work for money.
CRTVDSTRYR*1908___What do you work for?
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___enforcement of consequence.
CRTVDSTRYR*1908___There is a man who needs to face consequences.
CRTVDSTRYR*1908___Can’t talk here.
CRTVDSTRYR*1908___Will you meet in person?
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___where?
Grace sits back in her seat, her finger traces her bottom lip as she waits for a response. This was an odd one, but they seem insistent. For them to know of her work, they had to have communication with sources she had helped in the past.
CRTVDSTRYR*1908___Will make a transfer of good will. Location attached.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___tomorrow morning.
Logout.
A sum of $10,000 has been transferred to your account.
A transfer message has been left.
Grace shuts down the computer, taking out the USB, she packs it into her handbag. Her lips quirk as she exits the internet cafe. Something new, something interesting, a potential challenge. This calls for a stop at that delicious dessert bar down the road from her apartment, a nice meringue or maybe some ice cream would do.
For once the sun was out in London, albeit only slightly, but it did still make Grace look less ridiculous for wearing a cap and sunglasses. She notices a woman sitting on the park bench, must be her. Her black coat flutters behind her in the wind as she sits beside the other woman.
‘Who are you?’ Grace asks.
‘Irish?’ The woman responds with a question.
‘And you’re American.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why am I here?’ Grace leans back against the park bench, crossing her legs. ‘What did he do? Was it assault, did he hurt the kids…?’
‘Ulle Dag Charles.’
‘UDC… the River man?’ 
‘Yes,’ She answers.
‘I don’t see how exposing the rich is a crime,’ Grace grins. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve wasted my time.’
‘If he releases River, it’s not just the rich who fall. All secret networks will be exposed, you’ll be discovered.’ The woman turns to face Grace, trying to get a look at her expression. She quickly realises it’s impossible with the cap and the darkly tinted glasses. ‘You’ll go to prison for a long time.’
‘If that’s the case, hidden networks of paedophiles, rapists… it will all be exposed. You think they’ll go after little old me?’
‘I think even after exposing the rich, they’ll still have the power, and they’ll still be protected.’
‘You’re very insistent,’ Grace observes. ‘Why me?’
‘Because you always get the job done.’
Sighing, Grace looks up at the cloudy sky, the sun peaking out slightly. She sucks in a breath of the fresh park air before responding. ‘This job is a bit harder than the others…’
‘Which is why we’ve hired a second… professional, such as yourself.’
‘First, you ask me to eliminate a man for wanting to expose the rich, and now you tell me I’d have to work with another person?’
There is a silence that passes momentarily between the two women as they stare each other down.
‘River is good for nobody. You will go to prison.’
‘No, I won’t.’ Grace smirks knowingly. ‘Who is the other person?’
‘He is one of the best, alongside yourself.’
‘Who is he?’
‘I don’t know his identity…’ She answers. ‘He took out Fest.’
‘Ah.’ Grace’s lips immediately quick upwards, a grin taking over her expression. She stands up, hands in pockets, she stares down at the woman still sitting. ‘And what do they call you?’
‘Zina.’
‘Zina… I don’t kill innocent men. Give me one good reason to take this job, and not because of River.’
‘...’ The American woman sits there contemplating for a moment, her mind working a million miles an hour. ‘You don’t have to take the shot. We need you to… babysit.’
Grace lets out a loud chuckle, ‘babysit?’
‘It seems our other hire is caught up in a few… troubles after the fest situation. We need you to ensure he gets the job done, and if he fails to, you step in and finish it.’
‘Well… let’s hope he doesn’t fail.’
‘Is that a yes to the job?’ Zina sits up straight.
‘He is aware, I assume?’
‘He will be made aware.’
‘Get me in contact,’ Grace turns around and walks away, her coat once again billowing behind her.
It was another early morning, three days after Grace’s meeting with Zina. She sat behind the counter at the cafe, it was a very quiet morning. A Sunday morning, not many were up and about. She opened her laptop, plugging in her USB.
Access Chatroom:
Username: xxxfOxTROT22971x$
Password: ************
**&525marTinGuerrE^$___who are you?
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___should i not be asking you?
**&525marTinGuerrE^$___i do not need babysitting.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___ah.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___the other ‘professional’
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___nice shot.
**&525marTinGuerrE^$___refuse the job.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i don’t think i will.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i get bored sometimes.
**&525marTinGuerrE^$___then stay out of the way.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i do the job i’m hired for.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___don’t get into trouble, and i won’t have to step in and clean it up.
**&525marTinGuerrE^$___i don’t need anybody to clean up.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___a little birdy told me otherwise.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i am not the enemy.
**&525marTinGuerrE^$___i don’t work in teams.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___there is a first time for everything.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i’m not here to steal your job.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___i’m here to cover your ass so you can get it done.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___you said you don’t work in teams, that means you have no connections.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___you will fuck up, you will go to jail.
**&525marTinGuerrE^$___Munich.
**&525marTinGuerrE^$___i will send the hotel details.
xxxfOxTROT22971x$___see you there.
═══════════════════════════════════════════
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loveindefinitely · 2 years ago
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༊*·˚ NEW JOBS AND DEATH THREATS — cod x reader
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CRAVE YOU — call of duty x reader CHAPTER ONE
featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + alejandro vargas + rodolfo 'rudy' parra + könig + keegan p. russ
warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, prison au, serial killer au, reverse harem, therapist/patient, medical inaccuracies, graphic violence, depictions of murder, everyone's unhinged, poly tf141, minor ships, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, this is not medical advice!!
series masterlist. read on ao3.
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Life was hard. That was a fact.
Bills and groceries didn’t pay for themselves. That was also a fact.
Adding these two factors together, the final product will be a high-risk job in one of the highest-risk places on Earth. That’s… not a fact.
And yet, here you are, standing at the visitor entrance of Las Almas Prison, sporting a disgruntled grimace and a new pair of black slacks that you’d splurged on. They, at least, made your ass look good, although that was truly the least of your worries.
No. Your current list of worries looked something like this;
Getting Murdered
Getting Attacked
Vomiting Within The First Five Minutes Of Your New Job?
…Yeah. Something like that.
The early morning sun is blinding where it sits, just off to the side of the giant concrete building that was the main offices and Visitor Centre. The fact that you were standing in front of what was only a small part of the overall prison grounds was… alarming.
You were well aware that this was the largest prison in your country, housing the most lethal and awful of criminals. Some you’d seen either on the news, or heard of in passing conversations.
This was the real deal. And, somehow, you’d managed to find yourself being hired to work here. You. Work with serial killers. The worst of the worst.
With the stress on your bank account, and the endless struggle that was trying to find a stable career in the current job market, you simply had no other choice but to accept the offer. It paid extremely well, had great benefits, and your safety was… fairly considered.
The amount of NDAs, liability clauses and agreements, however?
Not the best at calming your nerves, to say the least.
The biting chill of the winter wind has you wrapping your arms around yourself, leather bag slung over your shoulder as you finally step through the automatic sliding door.
You’re not surprised to find that the chill only deepens inside the concrete walls of the building, with no heaters or air conditioning from what you can see. There is, however, bright white overhead lights that do nothing except aid the throbbing in the side of your head – probably due to the restless sleep you’d had the night before, anticipation and anxiety warring inside of your thoughts.
There’s an office in front of you as you step in, with only a few decades-old couches to your right, in front of a dingy TV that’s turned off. Saving their budget for more important things, you suppose.
The walls are a pale, grimy yellow, with sparse photos hung about, framing newspaper articles that are surely from the last century, and black and white pictures of the prison’s opening.
It’s an unsettling place, that much you’ve already gathered.
You haven’t even actually been inside the prison, you remind yourself, your stomach churning where it now lays at your feet.
Without a second thought, you continue with hurried steps to the front desk, where scratched plastic encases the sole woman inside, sitting behind a monitor. There’s a circle of holes that allow for sound to pass through, but other than that, there’s no way of entering from this room. With a quick study of your surroundings, you see a steel door to the left of where the desk sits, with a small square window covered in iron bars.
…Jesus christ.
“Can I help you?” The woman drawls, sliding her glasses further up her nose. Her voice is nasally, and the words come out in a slow drawl as she looks you up and down, unimpressed.
You give her your best smile, although even you can tell that it’s an uneasy one. “Yes! This is my first day, I think I’m supposed to be meeting Kate Laswell?” You ask, nerves betraying your voice with unsteady breaths.
The woman snaps her gum.
You stand there.
She blows it again.
You continue to stand there.
Her gaze is bored and completely void of any thought, before she nods slowly. “Laswell… I’ll call her.”
Really, you couldn’t be more shocked if you tried. What the fuck was happening? How could one lack so much… professionalism?
“Hi, Kate. Yes, it’s Jenny. I have a new hire who apparently wants to see you…” Her voice remains that unbearably slow, sloth-like delivery, before her eyes unhurriedly meet yours again. “What’s your name…?”
You give it to her, tone only the slightest bit impatient as you roll back on the heels of your feet. You can only hope that your black boots are appropriate; you’d figured that they were safe, closed-toe and still somewhat professional.
Time would tell. Jenny was giving you the impression that they were more than acceptable, because at least they got you to do your job in a timely manner.
Jenny says a few more words to who can only pray is Laswell on the other end of the phone, before she places it back in its holder. 
“Laswell will be here any…” She pops her gum once more, and maybe, just maybe, you can understand the urge to murder. “Moment.”
You give her a tight, painful smile. “Thank you, Jenny.”
She doesn’t respond, and you decide to just stand back and wait. You certainly weren’t complaining – any more conversation with her would’ve ended with a severe lack of hair on your head.
A minute passes, before a buzz in the pocket of your slacks has your throat tightening. 
Pulling out your phone, your next exhale comes out shaky as you read the text.
Charlie: get milk otw home used it all
No ‘good luck’. No… ounce of care for you, or the absolute stress that comes with a new job, let alone one like this.
When you’d told him about the offer, all he’d said was, “It might make you worth something for a change.” Didn’t even question, not for a minute, the risks that came with a job like this. He simply couldn’t give less of a fuck.
“Doctor?” The sound of a door opening, and the kind, almost motherly tone of the voice has you shoving your phone into your pocket once more as you turn to the source of the sound.
It’s a woman, her hair pulled back into a slick bun, one hand holding what seems to be a clipboard. Her other hand rests in the pocket of a white coat, not unlike one a scientist would be fashioning in a lab. Her smile is warm, the corner of her eyes crinkling as you direct a smile of your own her way.
“Kate Laswell?” You ask, extending your hand for her to shake. Taking her hand out of her pocket, she accepts it gracefully, nodding her head.
“The one and only,” she says, before gesturing to the steel door she’d entered through. “Now, today we’ll get you set up with a keycard, general rules, and I’ll have you meet two of your patients.”
You nod, following her as she swipes a card in a black reader, before the red light buzzes green, and she pulls the door open. Right behind her, you take an unstable deep breath as you take in the greyed, jagged walls, a complete contrast to the painted ones of the entrance room.
“We really are so glad to welcome you to our team,” she continues, her black work shoes clicking against the smooth concrete flooring. She doesn’t turn to you as she speaks, but her voice carries around the echoey hallway. “You’ll make a great addition. A necessary one, also. We’ve needed an innovative, young therapist for a while. Most of our… previous hires have held out-dated beliefs, and a lack of humanity for their clientele.”
That makes your brows furrow in confusion. “That’s… odd,” you murmur, before pausing your steps as Laswell stops, swiping her keycard, before entering another room.
As you step into the newly revealed space, your eyes go wide as you take it in. 
It’s a wide, large space, with several floors. Metal staircases sit at either end of the vast space, allowing access to every floor. Guards sit at every level, some walking around the space where you and Laswell stand.
It’s a lot, all at once. You’d never even stepped foot into a prison – not before now.
“Most inmates are at the mess for breakfast,” Laswell supplies, turning to you with a neutral expression. She gestures for you to follow her back out of the space, and you do with hurried steps. “The ones you’ll be dealing with, however… they usually eat by themselves.”
You don’t decide to push that statement, not now, as you continue to follow her down the hallway.
“You won’t be seeing much of the prison,” she admits. “There’s heavily guarded spaces on the top floor for your sessions, both for your protection and for the safety of our staff and other low-risk inmates.”
You nod, humming a sound of affirmation as the two of you start heading up the cleaner steps at the end of the hallway. The staff staircase, you suppose.
“Today, you’ll be meeting two of our more… understanding ambers.”
You raise a brow. “Ambers? What does that mean?”
She turns her head over her shoulder, just enough to shoot you a knowing look. “Ambers are our highest-risk inmates. We house ten of them, and you’ll be dealing with eight as per your contract.”
Your stomach falls. You’d known, of course, that the risks were high when applying for this role. But… this was more than you’d imagined, in a way. Ambers. Huh.
Silence falls over the two of you as you make your way up the never-ending steps, no windows in sight. It’s unnerving, in a creepy, strange way. When you finally reach the top, you try and hide how out of breath you are from that small exertion.
Fucking christ.
Laswell, for her part, looks completely fine in an effortless way. You can’t eve find it in yourself to be envious. The feeling’s closer to admiration.
“Here’s the files on them both. You’ll be seeing Kyle Garrick first,” she hands you the clipboard she’d been carrying, and you accept it with only a slight tremble. She doesn’t comment on it, and you find yourself warming up to her already. “They’ll be restrained, and there is heavy security, so you needn’t worry about that side of things.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” you say earnestly, flipping through the files without reading much of anything, not yet. 
She waves you off with a soft chuckle. “None of that. Kate’s more than fine,” she insists, and you give her a bright smile in return. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad – a boss like this was much better than a creepy middle-aged man any day of the week.
You don’t realise you’ve made it to a small room until she stops walking, scanning her keycard and pushing the door open, gesturing you in. “While you have your first two sessions, I’ll sort your keycard and the rest of the processes out. I wish you luck.”
With that, the door shuts behind you, and you’re alone in a small room.
It matches the rest of the hallways you’ve seen – grey concrete walls, grey concrete floors. The only furniture, however, is one metal table drilled into the floor in the centre, one chair on either side. 
…It’s depressing. Not at all like you’d prefer, not for a fucking therapy session, but then again, you hadn’t met your clients yet.
Ambers. High-risk.
With a deep breath, you take a seat at the chair closest to you, finally reading through the top file on the clipboard.
Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick. 
You skim over the height, weight, sex – immediately reading the comments made and his sentence.
Mass murderer. Motivated attacks.
Your eyes go wide, almost comically so, as you bite at your lip, folding one leg over the other as you continue to read. 
Of course, you’d prepared, been made aware that you’d be dealing with murderers. But having it in black and white, right in front of you, is a whole other thing entirely. 
Apparently, they were motivated attacks. Targets being large CEOs, specifically those with reported claims of misuse of power, and those against green laws. Anti-environment types.
The motive is… you’re aware killing is bad. You hadn’t spent years studying for a degree in Psychology to think otherwise. But it wasn’t as simple as some made it out to be. You’d done papers suggesting that certain motives implied healthier patterns, healthier outlets.
If you had to choose between him killing pregnant women, and CEOs with broken moral compasses?
It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out your answer.
You’re about to flip the page when there’s a knock on the door on the other side of the room, before it opens.
There’s two guards that walk in, before a man in an olive green jumpsuit follows, hands cuffed tightly together in front of him, head down. Another guard from behind shoves him in, too rough for your liking. You sit up straighter, eyes assessing as you take in the man in the jumpsuit.
He’s forced into the chair opposite you, before one of the guards grabs his cuffed wrists and chains them to a rig in the middle of the table. You’re grateful for the precautions, but there’s a part of you that feels guilty watching the manhandling of the seemingly calm man.
“Half an hour,” the most brutish guard of them all grits out, beer belly spilling out over his belted jeans. He jostles the chain attaching his wrists to the table unnecessarily, and your eyes narrow.
He goes to leave, along with another guard, but one stands to stay in position inside, beside the door.
Your brows furrow, and you speak up before you can stop yourself. “Sorry, sir, but my sessions will need confidentiality, as for the best results. I’m sure that I’ll be safe with his restraints.”
The guard stares you down, seemingly mulling your words over, before shrugging and leaving the room, door shutting behind him.
…Huh. Alright.
You find your posture relaxing, just slightly, which is odd, considering you’re now only a metre or two away from a convicted murderer.
His gaze is trained to the table, left foot tapping incessantly against the concrete floor.
“It’s nice to meet you, Gaz,” you say with a soft tone and a gentle smile. You figure that his nickname is the best bet, not wanting to stir up any possible traumas with his given name during your first session with the man. “I’ll be your new psychiatric evaluator.”
His eyes flick up, meeting yours, and he nods slowly, as if awaiting a punchline. 
“Is it okay for me to call you Gaz?” You ask, tilting your head to the side and flipping to an empty page to take notes on. You’d need to grab a notebook from home, you decide.
He relaxes, only the smallest of movements, and he nods. “Gaz, yeah.”
Your smile widens at the small victory. Any step towards progress was a huge one, in your eyes. You’d be facing a lot of them in the coming days.
“Do you have any advice for this place?” You push, trying to form a bond of trust with the dark-haired man. “I’m gonna be honest, you’re my first patient, and I’ve only met Laswell and… Jenny?”
His mouth quirks at that, a dimple showing to the left of his mouth as he looks back up at you. “Jenny’s a character, ain’t she?”
You laugh, a genuine one, and nod. “She certainly is. You’ve met her?”
He shrugs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Few times, yeah. She drives me up the fuckin’ wall.” His accent is only minimally apparent, but his voice is of a somewhat humorous tone.
Small victories.
“Well,” he exhales, settling into his chair a bit as he seems to ponder. “Do ya know who else you’re assigned to?”
You’d been sure to thoroughly go over your contract, and you were allowed to disclose your other patients between your others. They’d find out within the day, anyways, so there was no point in being discreet.
“It’s only you and a… John Price? Today. I’m sure I’ll find out the other six over the next few days,” you say, appreciating that he’s starting conversations. It’s more than you’d allowed yourself to hope for.
Gaz’s eyes light up, and even if you hadn’t been incessant in watching him, it’d be an obvious shift in emotions. “Price?”
You nod, quickly making a note on your clipboard, before folding your hands in your lap as you gesture for him to continue with a quick inclination of your head.
“He’s the best. Man’s a legend,” he enthuses. “Love ‘im.”
There’s… a hidden truth to that statement, that you make a mental note to unpack during a later session. Your smile is a natural one as you say, “He’s an amber, correct? Laswell told me I’d been assigned eight out of ten ambers… you’re one of them, right?”
Gaz seems to fold into himself, and you kick yourself for going back to square one. He answers, however.
“...Yeah. Only Ghost ‘nd Valeria are aggressive, though. We’re just… misunderstood,” he murmurs, and in the back of your brain, you find yourself believing his words.
“Thank you,” you smile, and he responds with a sharp one of his own. Maybe you’d covered more ground than you’d expected. “I think it’d been mentioned that I was only assigned men, due to the nature of the job, or something like that.”
Seeming to mull over your words, he starts to slowly nod. “Sounds ‘bout right. As long as you don’t get Graves, you’ll be alright. The others are… fuckin’ weird, but they’re good men. Mostly.”
That’s a lot of information at once, and quite frankly, it takes a moment for you to process. 
“‘Good men’. What do you think it takes to be a good man?” You ask, curiosity laced into your tone. Getting to ask such questions of a convicted murderer, it’s a thrilling, exhilarating task.
His eyes don’t shift as he replies. “Good men do the acts others are too scared to do. They see the evil in the world, and rid of it with their own bare hands. You can be an ethical murderer, Doc.”
Those words, they’re – they’re authentic, and conviction aches in their structure. 
You swallow around a dry mouth.
“You think you’re a good man?” You ask.
His smile would be seen as warm to any who weren’t aware of his acts, but to you – it’s chilling. Haunting in a way you’ve never experienced.
It remains as he answers.
“I think that I’m a man who people wish they had the bravery to be.”
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a/n. okay so im really nervous about posting this, cause ITS EIGHT FUKCING LOVE INTERESTS and also im a humanities girl not a science one!! sociology all the way not psych!! so forgive me for all the inaccuracies and legality issues please. im just a girl. hopefully u guys will like this one? i mean, obsessed serial killers cod is smth i need so here we are. all comments and feedback mean so muchhh ty ily mwah mwah mwah
taglist comment/msg to be added. [nothing to see here.]
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maraudersilver · 3 months ago
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DOE EYES (Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!Reader) Chapter 1
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Summary: No one ever wins the Games. You survive. And that's what you did at the 66th Hunger Games. Years later, you find yourself on an annual routine of mentoring tributes from your district to send them to slaughter, just as they did with your fellow tributes back in your Games. Decaying would have been the option if Finnick Odair hadn't offered his hand as a shield. However, a certain drunkard from District 12 earns your curiosity after judging him for more than a lustrum.
A/N: Hello! I've been missing for a while, but I promise the new Despise You chapter has been half written by now. However, after reading Sunrise on the Reaping, I've been on a Haymitch brain rot that cannot be stopped until I write a whole fanfic for him where he gets his happy ending. In this account we respect and love Lenore Dove, so she'll be honoured as someone who was the most important person for Haymitch for a huge part of his life. Also, the reader is from District 6 and has a very interesting cultural heritage that you'll be learning as the story moves forward. Haymitch loved his Covey girl, so it's natural for him to fall for someone with such a cultural difference for him to learn from.
Warnings: Age gap! 15 years age gap, Haymitch is 40 and reader 25. In this chapter and until we reach the 74th Hunger Games he's 38 and she's 23. Future smut. Alcoholism (is Haymitch, what were we expecting). Hunger Games in general is a warning. Mentions of sexual abuse (we have Finnick here, girls). Future spoilers for Sunrise on the Reaping. Slow burn.
Wc: 4,3K
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Blasting through the cannons of sound came the soundtrack of class difference. Ever since you won the Hunger Games six years before, the music had barely changed. Fashion, however, tended to go worse each time you made it to the Capitol under orders of Snow. Apparently, having victors around was la creme de la creme for everyone who was anyone in the rich men world. 
Holding a glass of white wine fetched from the waitresses choreographing around the main hall, you made your way towards the only person at that party that could give you enough serotonin to not jump out the roof at that very moment. His blond, curly hair moved in waves that brought in the attention of harpies ready to stab his neck with their fangs. Never getting tired of consuming everything that he was since he won at the age of fourteen. 
“Ladies!” you greeted with a wide, fake smile. The same one you had put on since the moment you were reaped. “How lovely you all look. Is that the new Dires’ dress, Miss Seedpipe? No wonder you seem so radiant!”
The bunch of old, decrepit women filled with anti-aging treatments that did little to conceal their ugliness laughed pleased at your compliment. Your friend, on his part, just grinned his characteristic crooked smile, so loved by everyone in the Capitol due to its mischievous implications. 
“Always so sweet, my dear,” said Miss Seedpipe with a hand pressed to her heart. “You look rather dazzling yourself.”
“She definitely does.” Finnick raised his glass as if toasting, to which the women followed him like a herd of sheep without critical thinking. “What do we owe the honour of your presence, hotstuff?”
On any other occasion, you would have rolled your eyes. However, you pulled out your white feather fan and giggled dumbly. If you knew this would be your destiny back in the arena, you would have killed yourself in the bloodbath. “I just needed to steal Finnick from you, ladies.” The nosferatu look-alikes booed in complaint, yet your smile stood steady. “Won’t take long.”
“All yours.” Finnick grinned wider if even possible, offering me his left arm to run away in a slow pace from the bunch of vultures. 
Once out of earshot and behind a purple, velvety curtain, Finnick sighed in relief. “Thanks for that. Madam Dominatrix wanted to pull at my pants.”
Although the nickname had been incredibly funny to refer to the woman who’s outfit consisted of a red latex body, the feeling of doom at your friend’s fate prevented you from laughing. Silently, you placed a hand on his bicep, caressing in comfort, to which he just gifted you a sad smile.
“Anyway. What did you want?”
“Nothing, I was bored.”
Finnick looked at you with a deadpan expression, huffing in amusement. “Can’t say I wasn’t, either.”
It had become a habit. On your first big Capitol party, while many of the citizens surrounded you and asked you for a ‘chance’ you weren’t quite sure of what they were referring to, Finnick had come to your rescue. The, at that moment, fifteen-year-old had grabbed your hand sweetly and brought you to an adjacent room where you were safe from the critical and lustful looks of the animals that called themselves humans. 
You didn’t know it back then, but Finnick had made it his mission to be the person who freed you of as many uncomfortable situations as he was able to, something he had wished he had when he had first appeared at the Capitol after winning. So, what started as a survival relationship in the feisty claws of the most sadistic people to ever exist on Earth, ended up blossoming into the most platonic, meaningful friendship you had ever had. Finnick became your beacon, your lifeline in the moments of darkness that surrounded you whenever you stepped a foot on Snow’s mansion or in any other important building. And, without knowing it at first, you were Finnick’s excuse to disappear from the claws of any rich member who attended the parties.
So sad people only saw him for his looks, because he was definitely the most gorgeous on the inside.
“Have you seen Johanna?” you asked, looking around as if you would find a secret passage from where she could appear.
“No. Thought she would be with you,” muttered Finnick with furrowed brows.
You shook your head, trapping your lower lip between your teeth. “Maybe she’s not here?”
“Lucky bastard, if that’s the case,” laughed him mirthlessly.
Johanna won the games two years ago. She had been the new rising star among the Capitol, and Finnick and you agreed to save her from the awful fate Finnick had been prey to. Maybe you weren’t as close to her as you were to Finnick, but under all that rough exterior and mean words, Johanna had won your trust, something very difficult to gain after your games. 
Commotion exploded outside the curtain. Sharing a confused look, both Finnick and you peeked your head out to see Haymitch Abernathy vomiting the rug in the middle of the living room. Couldn’t say you were surprised. After years of roaming around the Capitol, you had been witness to the famous drunk performances of the District 12 sole victor. 
The vultures who had been pestering Finnick not even five minutes ago were gagging and gasping in horror as Haymitch fell down on his own puke. Some Capitol staff rushed towards the passed out man and grabbed him down his armpits, dragging him down the hall to where you could only assume was his room. It didn’t take long for the party to resume. They were also used to Haymitch’s shenanigans at that point. 
“Well, that was a hell of a way to flee the party. I have to give it to him,” Finnick said, chuckling once his head was back behind the curtain.
“Not funny. He’ll have an awful hangover tomorrow,” you mumbled. However, the pull of your lips upward conveyed the silent laugh that was rumbling your chest. 
“He’s never hungover. Can’t be if you never stop drinking.”
By then, both of you were guffawing and trying to regain some composure and breathing. On the inside, you pitied Haymitch. You didn’t really know what happened to him apart from the trauma of his games. If twenty-four tributes were a nightmare, forty-eight was the epitome of horrors. You couldn’t really blame him for his copying method.
“A dance?” Finnick offered, exaggerating a bow that had you snorting while you took his hand.
“Lead the way, fish boy.”
That was the last time you had sight of the victors until the following Hunger Games. The reaping back at District 6 had given you a thirteen year old boy and a fourteen year old girl. Both of them starved to the point their cleavages were visible and as sharp as knives. Another two kids to bring to the slaughter. 
“Do not resist the prep team,” you had advised back at the train, while the kids looked at you with terrified eyes. “It doesn’t matter what they do, keep still and be compliant, okay?”
“Okay,” Ruby, the girl, agreed, while the boy just nodded. 
“I’ll be able to see you before the parade. We can agree on a strategy once I see how the stylists have dressed you. Until then, rest and try to calm your nerves.” You stood up from your seat to exit the compartment, but stopped when you passed by the snacks. “Oh! And make sure to eat. Some pounds more are welcome in the arena.”
Andromeda, District 6 escort, and you made your way to the Tribute Centre, installing before sending the kids towards the prep team to be showered, disinfected and, well, prepared. You smiled at them softly, both children shaking like leafs as they left with Andromeda in the elevator. 
With nothing else left to do, you had three hours for yourself, so you went down to the Tribute Centre bar, placed there for the Mentors and escorts. If you were lucky, you would be able to spot Finnick and Johanna there. 
Soft jazz played at the dimly lit establishment. There was not much music left after the rebellion, but those melodies without lyrics were the ones used for occasions. Much to your detriment, none of your friends were yet there, so you made your way to the bar to ask for a non alcoholic beverage. As much as intoxicating yourself to oblivion was a tempting offer, your job was to protect your new kids as much as you could from where you stood as their mentor, and sobriety is the bare minimum requirement for that. It had been years since a drop of alcohol had soaked your tongue. 
Yellowish light trespassed the glass bottles behind the barman, and you felt guilty of enjoying the fake cozy feeling settled at the bottom of your stomach. There weren’t many people yet, and the stools were comfortable. How disgusting to be so lightheaded in a place like that while twenty-four kids were being prepared to be sold to sponsors down in the basement. You thought of your Mentors drinking themselves stupid in the bar while you fought for your life at the arena and your stomach crumbled; you hated your predicament as a perpetrator of bad practices. 
Suddenly, there was movement on your right. Lifting your head from where it looked at the counter, you found the sluggy, yet big form of Haymitch Abernathy. His curly hair was unkempt, and although he was wearing a suit, the state of the collars of his white shirt gave the impression of unlaundered. Even if he had just arrived at the bar, the smell of raw liquor reeked from him. The only clean and tidy part of him was his dove coloured vest. 
“Your tributes on prep team already?” you asked, looking for a topic of conversation to clear your troubled mind.
Haymitch lifted his head clumsily, almost disoriented. With furrowed brows, he nodded. Great. A man of few words.
“Yeah, mine too.”
He didn’t even hum to acknowledge your pathetic attempt of small talk, already lost on whatever the barman had served him. Shaky hands gave you the impression that he had been drinking for a while already, and your heart constricted at the thought of the poor angels who had to count on him for sponsors. Irresponsible. That’s what Haymitch Abernathy was.
You observed him. Fine lines covered his forehead, increased by the snarl on his face. He definitely looked older than thirty-eight. Yet he conserved some of the youthful beauty you had heard many Capitol citizens talk about.
After an hour of silence and brooding, and with no signs of Finnick and Johanna, you decided to leave the bar. The grey coloured walls of your Tribute Centre floor was definitely better company than the drunkard victor.
“See you around, Haymitch.”
“Hmm.”
At least he had the decency to give some answer. Without paying no mind to him, you left the confines of the bat to the floor designated to your District, Haymitch’s gaze lost in the grey wall in front of him. 
There weren’t seats reserved for victors on the parade; part of the job consisted of looking for the best spot to talk to sponsors since that very moment. Cashmere and Gloss were already roaming the wealthiest of them, all sat together at the centre of the bleachers. Finnick and Mags were talking, mostly Finnick, if you were being honest, to the women who had been fanning over him a few weeks ago. Johanna was somewhere on the other side. Beetee and Wiress lost in the crowd. Funny enough, Haymitch had settled on the left side with a hip flask in hand. 
That year you had decided to mentor alone, the mental health of your fellow victor too damaged to be of any help. So you made your way to the sponsors who usually paid attention to your words. Every year it was more difficult to earn their trust on bets, District 6 not having a victor since you won. And, truth be told, this year would be more of the same. Those poor teens would probably die during the first few minutes of the Games. But you had to try. For them.
With a fake, sweet smile you approached the Rainwalls, a couple whom you’d had a fairly close relationship with since you started to mentor. “Would you mind if I take a seat?” you asked with the smoothest of tones.
The old pair looked up with annoyed expressions until their eyes settled on you, and their smiles grew so much you wondered if botox could come out of their pores. “Oh, dear! How are you doing, darling? Of course you can sit with us! Come, come.” Miss Rainwall urged you with her hand to take the place right next to her, and you did with a small nod of gratitude. 
“It’s been a while, dear. Are you excited for these games?” she asked, her hands moving in cheerful spams. Your stomach churned in disgust, but you continued grinning and nodding enthusiastically.
“Absolutely! Tributes look very interesting this year.” Both she and her husband nodded in agreement. “District 1 strong as ever.”
“Yes, although District 5’s boy has a je ne sais quoi,” Miss Rainwall said, peeling an orange in the meanwhile. “Let’s see what they pull up at the parade. Do you know anything about your kids’ stylists?”
You shook your head. “Not much. I’m as clueless as the rest of you,” you giggled, and both of them followed you. She placed a hand on her husband's bicep, something she did whenever a District person said something funny. As if you weren’t humans at all and she was surprised at how clever you could be. “Can’t wait to see them, though. Witty tributes I have.”
“Really?” There it is, Miss Rainwall took the bait. You nodded with another sweet grin, and she smiled along. “I prefer them to strong tributes. But don’t let the word spread,” she chuckled in whispers, and you passed your fingers over your lips as a zipper.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” The older woman nodded in agreement.
“They last longer. Don’t look for conflict, which is boring, but if I have to bet, I prefer to do so with those who live more.”
It was upsetting, hearing her speaking so lightly and detached from reality about dying kids. How could she say that kids that look for shelter instead of battling to death were boring?
“I’m pretty sure my kids will get far. At the very least one of them.”
You hadn't even thought about it. Didn’t know their strengths or weaknesses, if they were clever or clumsy, or if they managed any weapon at all. But you would get them sponsors even if you had to lie through your teeth. 
“Good to know. I’ll take it into account when- Oh, look! It’s starting!”
Miss Rainwall settled her gaze on the District 1 chariot, and the conversation died completely as her attention shifted from District to District, criticizing the styling, deciding who had her benefit based on their clothes. From afar, you saw Haymitch looking down at his shoes, unable to pay any mind to the Coal Miners that ended the line of chariots parading around. Maybe he was embarrassed of his state, or maybe he was so intoxicated his brain could not even process where he was. 
You looked back at your kids, dressed in silver and metallic colours representing manufacturing. It wasn’t the best, but definitely not the worst. However, their terrified gazes did nothing to fuel the entertainment of the Capitol citizens, and you knew you would have a hard time finding sponsors. 
“You did great!” you lied to your tributes after they arrived at the apartment once the parade ended. “Now just focus on the training days. I’ll help you come up with strategies and Andromeda will also be here for the interview training, alright? Now go shower. We’ll have dinner and then straight to bed.”
Ruby and Tyler nodded, too tired to pronounce a word, and left in a hurry to the safety of their rooms. You sighed, pressing two fingers to the bridge of your nose. Andromeda placed a hand on your back in comfort, but it did nothing.
“They seemed marvelled by the Capitol!” she cheered, and you kept the temptation of choking her guarded. 
“Sure,” you huffed, disappearing in your room once more.
The next few days were tiresome. Ruby knew how to manage a knife, but Tyler barely even knew how to differentiate edible from poisonous plants. It ended up with a six for Ruby and a four for Tyler. You kept your tears for the secluded area of your room, wanting nothing more than to tear the Capitol to shreds. Those two kids who had hoped you could help them would more than probably die within the blood bath. The odds weren’t in their favour. 
In the interview, the public was awestruck by both of them. So sweet, so young, so clever and spirited even in their terrified states. And you somehow gathered hope enough for them, because if they survived the blood bath, sponsors wasn’t a deluded idea. 
“Remember. The moment the gong sounds, flee from there. You don’t have strength enough to fight in the blood bath. Look for high ground and for water. Water is your new friend, understood?” 
“What about food?” Ruby asked, tears gathering at the base of her precious brown eyes. You placed your hands softly on her face, cleaning the tear stained path from her cheeks.
“That’s the next step. In the Cornucopia you’ll see bags. They usually have food, water, and some elements of importance for the nature of the arena. Don’t grab them. Don’t look at them. Only go back if you don’t find any fresh water or food. Get as far away from the other tributes as possible, especially because you don’t have any allies.” The elevator was almost reaching its destination, so you turned to both of them, rubbing Tyler’s head. “That doesn’t mean you won’t find allies once the Games start. But always keep your guard up.”
Tyler leaped on you, hugging your torso with an abnormal strength for a boy his age. Terrified, trembling, and wetting your shirt with his own tears. You were able to pull down the sobs that threatened to come out of you.
“Come here, Ruby,” you called the girl, and she complied. A hug of three. The last one you’d share with them.
“Thank you,” Tyler mumbled, pulling away from you and angrily drying his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. 
“Whatever happens, remember I’ll be watching. I’ve been working on sponsors, so I’ll try to send you anything that you need. Stay alive.”
You didn’t have time to hug them one more time, as Peacekeepers grabbed them by their arms towards the train that would send them to the arena. Once they were out of sight, you broke down on your knees, sobbing uncontrollably for you didn’t even know how long. Until someone pulled you on your feet again, placing your head on their shoulder. His smell comforting and familiar.
“They won’t make it,” you sobbed, clenching your fists on his clothes, to which he shushed you and kissed the top of your head.
“You’ve done what was in your hands,” Finnick whispered your name, rocking you from left to right. “Now work hard for sponsors, yeah? C’mon, let’s go to the Headquarters. And clean your face, people won’t do business with you looking like that.”
You nodded against his chest, snorting at his words, and grabbed the arm he offered to walk back up to your floor to change.
Unfortunately, your gut was always right. Your two angels died not far from the Cornucopia, assaulted by the Careers as they tried to flee. At least, it was a quick death. Ruby gor pierced by a spear, and Tyler hit by an arrow. When both cannons sounded, you felt bile rising at your relief. They wouldn't have to suffer in the arena any longer. 
Finnick caressed your back, while Johanna, who had sat with you both and Mags, grabbed your hand in a white knuckled grip. No one apart from you four mourned the poor kids who had just cruelly died on the projectors, Capitol citizens too preoccupied cheering for the blood bath. It made you sick with fury, wrath running down your veins instead of blood. Harshly than you intended, you pulled your hand away from Johanna’s and stood up. Both of your friends looked at you with alarm.
“I need to be alone.” Was all you said without waiting for a response before storming out of the viewing hall.
Your ears were buzzing with white noise. Blinded by your own tears and consumed by a sadness difficult to explain to anyone who wasn’t a victor. You heard your name being called a few times, not stopping until a hand grabbed your wrist.
“Dear, I’m so sorry about the kids.” Miss Rainwall said, although the lack of grief on her face was telling enough. “Your predictions didn’t aim well this time, though. Such a pity.”
You wanted to rip her face with your nails, but in a controlled sob, you smiled. “Seems like it.”
“How adorable! Your accent’s back!” Miss Rainwall applauded, calling her friends. “Can you repeat that for them? You have such an… interesting accent we haven’t been able to hear since your games!”
She deserved to be punched. She really deserved it. But you didn’t do it, opting for a more friendly approach. “I would, but I really need to- Need to make arrangements. You know, for their trip back home.”
It took everything in you not to whip in front of them, storming away again until you reached the secluded bar. No one was there, not even the barman. Everyone too occupied watching kids battling to death. 
It didn’t matter. You served yourself. Again, nothing alcoholic. You didn’t deserve oblivion. Those kids didn’t deserve to be forgotten at all. And you couldn’t bear the voices that would surely plag your mind and tear your sanity out the balcony. 
Hours passed, or so you thought until a clock on the far side of the room marked just ten minutes had gone by, when another figure sat beside you on the counter. Sighing, you mumbled, “Not in the mood, Finnick.”
“Good I’m not Finnick, then,” a slurred voice muttered, gripping a bottle of Nepenthe by its neck and chucking it like a thirsty man.
Haymitch Abernathy was already wasted, sweat covering his hairline. How you had ignored the reeking booze of his breath thinking it was Finnick, you were clueless. 
“Don’t look at me like that, Doe Eyes, your tributes are as dead as mine.”
Doe Eyes? But what infuriated you the most was the indifference with which he talked about those kids. Your blood was boiling. “You could show a little sympathy to the very least,” you snarled, taking your eyes off him and looking down at your own beverage. 
“Oh, but I do. Early death is the best thing that you could wish upon a tribute.”
You had heard people say Haymitch was sarcastic, always thinking it was a trait to be admired. However, your grieven state processed his words as a direct attack. “You’re heartless.”
“Hmm. Absolutely. My heart was taken from me ages ago.” He shrugged, swigging another mouthful of Nepenthe.
“We’ve all survived the Games, Haymitch. Don’t act as if you’re the only one affected by it.”
“But I’m not the one judging others by their stances, am I?”
You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, searching for something clever to counter. “It’s not the same.” It wasn’t your day, that was clear enough.
He snorted, rolling the bottle like you would a glass of wine. “Is it not? And what’s the difference then?”
Stumbling over your words, you huffed in indignation, grabbing your glass and drinking to prevent answering. Although Haymitch didn’t relent.
“For someone who prides on empathy, you don’t apply it on others when it doesn’t fit your narrative.”
“Shut up.”
“Stroke a nerve, Doe Eyes?” He chuckled, emptying another quarter of the bottle. 
“Don’t call me that!” 
Haymitch snorted, bottle forgotten for a moment on the counter. He looked at you with his deep, grey eyes, which matched the colour of the walls. His dove coloured suit also enhanced the dazzling, yet dull light of his gaze. For a moment you stood breathless. Never had you ever seen such a look on somebody. And then, his rough voice brought you back to the present.
“Not one to obey orders, Doe Eyes.”
Scorching was your skin. He was shameless, ill-mannered, rude and a pain in the ass. Left was the unfinished glass on the counter when you walked past him to leave, only to feel his rough hands grabbing your arm softly. 
“I’m really sorry about the kiddos,” he mumbled your name, his look now solemn, though fixed on the counter. It surprised you the fast change between prick to somewhat gentle. But you were too angry at him to indulge, so you just nodded.
“I’m sorry about yours, too.”
And with that, you hoped to see nothing about Haymitch Abernathy until the following Hunger Games. 
Back in the confines of your room, tears fell down your eyes to your cheeks. There was no more air your lungs could transform into sobs, too strained by the misery of the last few days to continue working. With a small sigh, a whisper left your parted lips. “Goian bego, Ruby and Tyler.”
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Translation - Goian bego: rest in peace.
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indecisivemuch · 10 months ago
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hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>
Message in a Bottle
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Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader
Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)
Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).
Word count: 4.4k (whoops)
You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore. 
The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off. 
However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).
“Luke!”
The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own. 
You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.
“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.
Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be. 
In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near. 
Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.
Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him. 
No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.
You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.” 
Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.
“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”
“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand. 
For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.
Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.
The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.
“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”
Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:
“You…”
Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—
“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.” 
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words. 
“Yeah, but—”
“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.
Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.
“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.
“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.
“Shut up.”
Oh, you were going to be the death of him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…
While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word. 
Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you. 
Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters. 
Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years. 
Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand. 
Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.
But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.
Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. 
However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.
Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention. 
Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts. 
Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you. 
“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you. 
Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.
“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—
“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him. 
“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”
“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.
“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.
There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying. 
Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.
You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to. 
Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.  
Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:
“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”
Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.
Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on. 
Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.
“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.
Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.
“You could be the one that I love, 
I could be the one that you dream of,
Message in a bottle is all I can do, 
Standing here hoping it gets to you.”
Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.
Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago. 
Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.
You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.
You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—
Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before. 
Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.
You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility. 
If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him. 
“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.
Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you. 
“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.
The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.
“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”
“No—”
“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?” 
“I was going to.”
“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”
“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew. 
“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.” 
Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.
It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly. 
Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.
They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.
“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.
“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.
You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.
You know now to trust your gut feelings more.
“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.
“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.
Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner. 
“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”
Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two. 
Without hesitation, he kissed you.
Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.
Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.
A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints. 
Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that. 
You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment. 
“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.
“Mhm.”
“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”
“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.
“I’m not against that.” 
As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.
Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.
-------------------------
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kanekisfavoritegf · 10 months ago
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PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin
MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED
SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.
Table of Contents
WORD COUNT: 1.5K
CHAPTER SIX:
Kento’s bathroom was nice, and it was also nice the last time you sat on the edge of his bathtub, hungover. 
You stared at the drying white patch on the bottom of your dress and fought the urge to break out into uncontrollable laughter. 
It was hilarious, it shouldn’t have been, but it was. This whole situation was starting to dawn on you; Kento Nanami, no matter how tall and how stoic and sneakily flirty he was, was a virgin—a virgin who was trusting you to be the calm and collected one. Running to the bathroom after having him release on you isn’t painting the image of a calm and collected person.
Opting for a calmer approach, you changed out of your dress first and threw on his shirt. It was black and oversized, with the words “Metallica” written in big white letters.
Metallica? He didn’t seem like the type.
When you opened your door, you were half surprised not to see Kento standing at your door waiting to usher you back into the kitchen, but he was nowhere to be seen. Walking down the dimly lit hallway and back into the living room, it was empty, with no sign of the blonde anywhere. You made sure to step over the rug and look over the couch to see Kento setting up the dinner table.
Candles lit and food already set down, Kento walked around the table, fussing over every last detail. It was cute to watch from a distance. You approached slowly and quietly, stopping once you were close enough to watch but far enough not to be detected. He hummed along to some jazz song that played in the background.
“Can I sit down, or should I keep watching you shift the cutlery to the right and then the left again?” You smiled at him, stepping into the warm yellowish candlelight. Its soft scent hugged your body and filled your nose.
“I don’t know…” Kento looked up at you, “I quite like my view right now. Maybe I’ll make you stand here for the rest of the night as I eat.”
“You wouldn’t be so cruel, Mr. Nanami.”
“I just might.”
Kento took your hand and led you to your spot. You were across from each other at the ends of the table. 
“So Metallica?”
“Don’t seem like the type, do I?”
“Not in the slightest.” You laughed.
“Was very antisocial in high school.”
“More so than now?” Kento nodded before continuing,
“It was comical how bad it was. Anyways, my lack of want to socialize, along with wired earphones and a lock on my door, I found solace in music, loud, loud music.
Long story short, he was a big emo kid who swore that his life was not just a phase.”
“Awe. I was a big Orchestra nerd, Cello first chair, Always.”
“Of course you were.”
“I look like an Orchestra kid?”
“No, you look like the type to be perfect at everything.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Nanami.”
“Don’t let it go to your pretty head.”
“You think I am pretty?” you asked, taking another bite of the food, holding back the urge to moan at the taste.
Nanami didn’t answer immediately, taking a slow sip at his wine as he held your stare. 
“You have no idea what I think about you.” You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to; it was like he dared you to break it first to give in. Kento was pulling you in each direction. Did he want you to take the lead, or did he want you to give in? Something in his eyes, a glimmer of defiance. 
Take the lead, it is.
“Eat your food, Kento.” You said, a small smile painted on your face as it was your turn to take a long swig at your drink. The red wine slipped down your throat and warmed your stomach.  
“I think you should do the same, Y/N. I can’t have you drinking on an empty stomach.” You laughed under your breath, taking a bite out of your food, watching as he followed along, only eating when you did.
Soon, nothing was on your plate and an almost empty wine cup.
“Come to the couch and bring the bottle with you, Kento.” Standing up, you didn’t wait to see if he had followed your order; you heard the quiet sound of his steps tracking behind you.
Sitting across from you, Nanami Kento looked on, a proud man. 
“What do you want from me, Mr. Nanami?” Fear tightened its grip on your heart, uncertainty casting a shadow over your thoughts. You were both grown adults; there was no need to beat around the bush. Casual relationships were a familiar territory for you, but they always left someone hurt. Was Kento looking to be serious, or were you just a pawn in his game of manhood? A person must satisfy his desires and boast about them to Satoru. No matter how much you wanted to belive he wasn’t like that, he could be that type. 
“I am a virgin.”
“As we have previously established.”
“I like you, but I am a virgin.” He took a deep breath before continuing. His eyes not on you fully. “I want to please you. I want to give you what others also could. But I— I don’t know how.”
“Kento… We don’t have to jump straight into the sex. It can wait.”
“I don’t want to wait. I want you to teach me.”
“Teach you?” 
“Yes. So tell me what you want, and teach me how to do it. I’ll be good for you; I’ll be so so good if you give me time to learn.”
“You want me to teach you?”
His head nodded rapidly as he inched closer to you, and now on your thigh, ghosting over your damp-clothed cunt.
“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath.
“Is that what you want? Me to fuck you?” His head fell into your neck, panting as his hand pressed against your pussy. 
You shook your heads at his words. You did want him to fuck you, but your head became less and less there as his fingers rubbed you over your panties. 
“No? you don’t want me to fuck you?” He was teasing you. Mocking you.
“Kento.” You warned him as you pressed yourself into his hand more.
“Y/N.” He mirrored.
 “I want you to make me cum.”
“Teach me.” He whispered against your skin. Hands tugging at your panties until they ripped. He discarded the wet fabric on his rug and kept his attention on you. More so, your aching cunt. With one thick finger now inside you, you writhed against him.
“Tell me what to do, Y/N.” He demanded.
“Pump in and out.” He nodded, watching your face as you let yourself be taken by the pleasure. 
“Oh fuck, Kento. More. More Please More now.” You grasped his hair, tugging it back slightly as you moved your hips in time with his digit. 
“Another one?”
“Yes, God Y-Yes.” 
With another finger in you now, your whines and moans became more consistent as he forced them out of you.
“Curl your fingers up. Kento.”
He didn’t even verbally respond. He was too busy moaning at you, moaning as if your pleasure was just as much his as it was yours.
His head was already nuzzled in your neck. He took a long stripe at your jugular as his fingers made a come here motion inside you. 
You were a mess, moaning and panting. It was like he was pulling pleasure from you on a string. His breath felt hot against you, and in between the groans of pleasure he received, grinding into your words so high pitched, so whiney they couldn’t have possibly been from him. But they were.
“Teach me.” A bite to your neck and a groan followed. You could barely breathe, let alone process his words to you.
“I am teaching you.” You slurred through a honeyed tongue. 
“Teach me”, He repeated, licking over his previous bite. “Please, Y/N. Show me how to make you cum,”
“Y-You, are already doing– Fuck!” It was too much; you tried, but the words failed you. Your sentences became nothing but incoherent babbles, 
“I thought you said you wanted me to make you cum,” Kento removed his fingers, taking them to his mouth, “So Teach me, Y/N.”
He raised your hips until your legs sat over his shoulders and mouth hovering outside of your wet entrance. He took a greedy stripe at your cunt; slowly, with so much pressure, a broken sob escaped you. It was a single lick, and he pulled away immediately, not before moaning at your taste.
“Please,” he begged over and over as he continued to force your hips against him.
“Teach me.” He licked again. This time, no moan left you. Despite your mouth being wide open in the shape of an “O”, You didn’t make a single sound. Your body convulsed, and you came all over his chin.
“Teach me,” Kento demanded one last time. And you nodded mindlessly along to his words, and Kento had cum again, just from the sight of you.
Preview...
“Bend over and be a good girl.”
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CHAPTER SEVEN: UPLOADED
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