#i said i'd do this months ago and got distracted but. considering that im on my chinese rep agenda

[poisiyn]

when i finally add china into jjk and create a whole lore out of it what then

[wri0thesley]

omg wait no hold on I just requested overhaul but then I remembered your overhaul thirst post about him pulling a "curing hysteria~" as an excuse and thought I'd request something along that vibe (no oun intended). I think that'd fall under orgasm control, overstim? (hope this is okay!)

hysteria antidote - overhaul x fem!reader (4k)

seeing nothing but the same four walls every day of your life is playing havoc with your brain. overhaul thinks perhaps you're suffering from hysteria. he has the perfect cure for that.

cw: not sfw/minors dni. dark content!!! dubious/non-consent. captive reader. talk of death, blood, etc. medical kink, gloves, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm control. misogyny. mentions of pregnancy/breeding. afab reader, fem pronouns.

[a/n: idk the internet said the 28th of may was his birthday so consider this both a birthday fic and a fic to celebrate 6k followers, sorry that i am gross and horrible but tbh im having a great time <3]

You really don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to be going out of your mind.

Since the Boss was taken ill, and Kai – Overhaul, you remind yourself, though he’s always just a little less sharp with you when you trip over the new name than he is with anyone else – took over leadership of the Shie Hassaikai, you’ve been pretty much stuck indoors.

Considering that you’re pretty sure he only has fond feelings towards maybe three people in the entire world, including you, you guess you ought to feel special about it – but all it actually does is make you feel like a trapped bird, caged and restless. It doesn’t help that all of the other members of the organisation have started being weird around you; people who you’ve known most of your adult life, people who you’ve worked beside and killed beside and done other horrible things beside (for the good of the organisation, of course)--

But now, they look at you like you might break at any moment. They treat you like an invalid. Their brows crease when they see you out and about, quietly murmuring; “Shouldn’t you still be in your room?”, avoiding touching you at all costs. There’s a kind of fear in their eyes, that they’re going to be told off for even speaking to you, that they’re afraid of being caught close to you.

And you know exactly who’s to blame for that.

You’d tried to speak to him about it, once; you’d thought that perhaps he might be amenable to your desire to do something to help the Shie Hassaikai. He’s always wanted to restore them to their former glory, after all! But after you’d let out your little impassioned tirade, his eyebrows had creased over the bird-mask.

“You don’t sound well,” he’d said to you. “Go back to your room. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

You had missed, at the time, that he hadn’t said ‘we’ll talk about it later’. He’d just said ‘I’ll’. When he had come, that is how it had been; the reassurance that he was keeping you safe. That he didn’t want you to be tainted. That he was keeping you well.

Your quirklessness has never been an issue before, but it certainly hasn’t been a boon. Still, for Kai--

“It’s disgusting,” he’d said, agitated by the discussion. You’d stared at his hands, thinking about the destructive power he himself wielded. “Quirks are a curse, and you not having one is just proof you’re not infected.” He’d looked up, golden eyes piercing directly into yours. “I’m going to keep you perfect.”

Overhaul is not a doctor, for all of his talk about illness and disease and plague. You think he could have used his quirk for something meaningful, once; but you also know that his burning curiousity, his disgust of anyone who deems tainted, his utter lack of morality . . . those are all things that would not have been welcomed in the medical profession. So instead, he deals in needles and pills and altering drugs in the underground labyrinth of the compound.

Sterile rooms, with examination tables and scalpels and impersonal, silver-grey equipment. Pill boxes that rattle when he passes them to you and tells you to take three of those a day, one of those, that one has to be taken to with food--

The idea that you won’t take them doesn’t enter his head, and though he has never . . . overhauled someone in front of you, you have walked past other members of the organisation mopping and disinfecting blood and gristle from sterile flooring.

It is better to go along with him, so you take the supplements and the pills and submit to the way he grabs your chin in gloved hands on the doctor’s chair, tipping your face up to shine a light into your eyes and watch your pupils dilate. But inside, you are screaming.

You’re not made to be locked in one room, occasionally allowed out to pace the hallways of the upstairs – never the underground ones, not any more – with restless footsteps and your muscles fizzing with desire to taste fresh air. You’re not made to stare at the same walls and breathe the purified air and think about how empty the compound is, now that Overhaul is in charge of everything--

(Too many knick-knacks attract dust. Pollen allergies act up, if there are too many plants, and he hates hearing people sneeze. Furniture should be easily movable and barren, to assist in the twice-daily cleanings of every room that people walk through.)

But it’s getting too much for you. Suffocating. You feel like you’re choking on air all of the time; you take the pills, because the thought of what he could do to you is terrifying, but sometimes you wonder if perhaps it would be better if you didn’t.

You’d woken up that morning to the sound of rain hitting the high windows in your bedroom, and you had longed to go outside in your thin nightwear and spread your arms and taste the air, smell the rain, feel it hit your body in fat droplets. Your entire being had ached. You’d tried to distract yourself, with what little there was in the barren prison cell that you called a bedroom – but when the door opened at four thirty exactly, and Kai had stood there with his face as impassive as ever, you had not been able to stop yourself.

Hand fastening around his upper arm (you shouldn’t touch him, you know you shouldn’t, but the same four walls are getting to you), you’d begged him;

“I want to go outside.”

If anyone else had touched him like that, they would already be splattered against the walls and floor. But all you get is a furrow of his eyebrows, careful fingers (gloved, of course; the latex against your skin always makes you shudder) pinching at your hand to get you to let go of him.

“No,” he says. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t care,” you’re petulant, you know, frustration bubbling up in every cell of your body. “If I stay in here for one more day, I will tear myself into pieces.”

“You’re being over-dramatic.”

“Kai—”

“Don’t call me that.” His rebuttal is sharp. “You know I’m doing this for your own good.”

Your face twists into something ugly. Overhaul hates it when you do that; hates the way your brow wrinkles, your mouth moves, your normally lovely face (one of very few he can bear to look at unmasked and not feel as though he is going to get sick from merely breathing the same air of you) marred.

“You’re not,” you hiss at him. “You’re doing this because you’re fucked up! Because you’ve got some weird fucking ideas about what’s clean and what’s unclean, because you’re on a power trip, because you don’t care about other people--” Your voice is pitching and modulating, all of the things that you usually try and keep balled up inside of you spilling out that the floodgates of how unhappy you are is open.

You’re breathing heavy as Overhaul, clearly irked by what you’re saying, tugs at the wrist of one of his surgical gloves. If he’s going to kill you, good – at least it will be better than this, you think, your breath coming in short sharp pants after the outburst.

He lets go. His hands fall to his sides. His golden gaze on you is very level.

“You’re hysterical,” he tells you. An exasperated laugh falls from your mouth.

“Yeah?” You ask him. “Of course I am. Do you know the last time I breathed fresh air?”

“Seven months, two weeks, three days.” He says it without blinking. Your shoulders tense. Has it really been that long? “You haven’t been ill once in that time. The world out there is filthy.”

“It’s normal to get sick,” you try and tell him, but Overhaul is moving forward; past the doorway, and into your room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound of a lock ominous. You don’t think you’ve ever been alone with Kai in your bedroom.

In the medical examination rooms, sure. In his office. In common areas, back when he was just the boss’ troubled protege and not the boss himself--

His eyebrows twitch in disgust as he notices the dust on your bookshelves. You’d stopped letting any of the cleaners in here a month ago; you’d refused to clean in the mean time, taking whatever small victory against your captor that you could.

“You’ll give yourself respiratory issues,” he says.

“Good,” your voice is cold, but you realise you’ve backed away from him. For all of your attempts to stand up to him, you’re terrified. Everyone knows what he can do. “Better dead than here--”

Gloved fingers around your wrist, so tight you can practically feel them bruising.

“You don’t mean that,” he says. His voice has gotten softer, cajoling. You’re trembling in his grip. “I told you. You’re hysterical.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you say, but your words feel like you’re spitting them out around a mouthful of gravel. “I—I’m calm--”

Your knees knock against your bed, but Overhaul is still clinging to you; still too close. Your heart is beating so fast that you can hear it pounding in your ears.

“You’re not. You’re hysterical.” He repeats it, calmly. The hand not on your wrist reaches up and cups your face, a gloved thumb stroking across your cheek as if you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. The scent of the latex is overwhelming. “But that’s alright. It’s not your fault.” He clicks his tongue behind the mask. “It’s mine. All of this checking for the physical sickness, and I didn’t think about checking your head.”

You fall onto the bed as his knees knock against yours, your back hitting the wall. It’s just a plain, single bed; rumpled sheets, because you’d fought against any attempt for someone to come in and collect your laundry, too. Overhaul looks silly in your room, you think dimly; like a huge black crow in the nest of a small, frightened wren.

“If you fight,” he tells you, “I’ll disassemble you. I’d rather not. I don’t want to taint you by using my quirk. But . . .” He’s sinking to his knees in front of you, those same methodical hands pushing up the skirt of your dress. “If I did, I’d get a blank mind to work with. I won’t hesitate. But I’d still rather simply fix you without having to break you into pieces first.”

You know him too well to think that he’s bluffing.

After all of the vitriol you’ve spat at him, he’s unwilling to kill you. Would it be worse, to be mindless and brainless under Kai’s quirk? You’ve heard some of his failed experiments before; babbling, drooling, broken things. He’s killed them sometimes just to put them out of their misery.

What if he did that, and your mind remained perfectly capable – just utterly unable to communicate with your body? A prisoner in your own skin. Worse than even now. You swallow back the lump of fear.

“H-how are you going to do that?” You ask him.

You start at how cold the gloved fingers are on your bare thighs, as Overhaul pushes them apart. Cold fear prickles down your spine. You’re too scared to fight back, but everything he’s doing is making you want to run.

“Did you know,” Overhaul says, those same hands sliding higher, to tug at the waistband of your underwear. “In the past, there were rumours that doctors would cure hysteria by genital massage and stimulation?”

His words are very clinical, but there’s a thickness to his voice behind the mask that fills you with revulsion.

“It might be nonsense, of course,” he says. Your underwear is being tugged down, pulled around your thighs, your knees, your ankle. “They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth--”

“Kai—” Your voice is a soft whine, fear-filled. This time, he doesn’t snap at you for calling him by the name he’s left behind. He simply says;

“Spread your legs.”

You don’t want to. But you want to risk what he’s threatening you with even less, so you tearfully open them as wide as you can go. He shifts forward, and the tip of the beaked mask digs into your inner thigh as he studies you like you’re nothing more than a diagram, not a living, breathing person--

“Next time I’ll have lubricant ready,” he says, under his breath, and your heart seizes up at the implication that whatever he’s going to do to you, there’ll be a next time.

You start at the sensation of gloved fingers gently parting the lips of your sex, Overhaul’s golden eyes drinking in the sight of you spread open and bare. You’re shaking, but for some reason the way he’s looking at you – the utter concentration in his eyes – makes a curl of heat flare deep inside of you.

“Don’t,” you breathe, trying not to squirm. “Please--”

“I don’t want to have to,” he says. His tone remains calm, unbothered. “I’m doing it for your own good, you know that. Just helping you along.” One finger slides through the slit; the sensation of the gloves against your most intimate, heated parts makes the muscles in your thighs clench. It’s . . . not exactly unpleasant, but neither it is pleasant. “Do you think I’m getting any pleasure out of this?”

He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. You know this; everyone knows this. If this particular thought was so unpleasant to him, you don’t doubt he’d have found somebody else to do it (the thought of one of the other members of the Shie Hassaikai doing this to you fills you with even more revulsion than the idea of Overhaul himself). But you can’t say that out loud. Not after what he’s threatened. So you press your lips together and shake your head, gasp dying in your throat as one of Overhaul’s latex-covered fingers prods gently around your opening.

“You’re getting wet,” he tells you, as if you can’t feel the shameful slick beginning to leak from you. “That will make this easier. Good.”

You hate that the praise makes another jolt of arousal go through you. You don’t want to like the feeling of his gloves, rubbing at your heated cunt; the sensation of a fingertip circling around your entrance, brushing the bud of your clit and making you want to clamp your thighs around his hand.

He sinks the tip of one finger inside of you and you jerk, your hips out of your control as you try and sink away from the intrusion. Overhaul clicks his tongue again in annoyance at you. The hand holding the lips of your cunt open moves, to land on your hip and pin you between the bed and the wall so you can’t squirm again.

“I’ll sedate you next time, if I have to,” he says. “I’m not getting anything out of this. I’d prefer not to have to do it at all--”

He’s lying. You know he is. But you can’t call him out for it, so you press your trembling lips together and try to stop tears spilling out from your lash line as the finger inside of you sinks further and further inside, past his first knuckle, right down to the base.

He crooks it inside of you and your hands curl into the bedsheets, nails digging into your palms through cotton. His touch is curious, exploratory; has he ever actually done this to anybody before? He slides over a rough patch inside of you with the latex-tipped finger and a moan escapes your mouth against your will, your head falling back against the wall. Narrowed golden eyes look up at you as he repeats the motion; taking in the gloss of your lips, the widening of your eyes, the way your shoulders are shaking up and down.

You can feel yourself pumping more slick out; helping the glide of his finger inside of you, as he begins to carefully thrust it in and out of you. His touch is made all the more impersonal by the mask obscuring everything but his eyes and eyebrows; you can’t even hear him breathing.

Your cunt is fluttering around him, pleasure swarming you in breathless waves as he withdraws his finger entirely. He lifts the glove to his eyeline, looking only vaguely interested in how the white latex glimmers with your arousal.

“I’m going to use two now,” he tells you – and that is all the warning you get before two fingers beside one another are opening you up, scissoring your tight channel apart with an ache that you feel up to your hips. You bite back the whimper, but you’re unable to stop the choked breaths that are falling from you as he fucks you with them in steady, constant thrusts.

A covered thumb brushes your clit; swollen, now. Sensitive. Standing to attention. Your hips attempt to jerk in his hold once more, a strangled noise that’s neither pleasured nor pain falling from your throat. You’ve touched yourself, of course you have – even recently, just to try and assuage some of the boredom that fills your exactly-the-same days – but Overhaul’s fingers and thumbs and touch on you are so entirely different from that.

He continues his assault over your clit, those same eyes watching you with that same detached, clinical disposition that he’s had most of the time. There’s a cast to them that suggests there’s something more, but whatever emotion – if, indeed, he’s still capable of that – he’s feeling about having you at his mercy in this way has been pushed to the back of his mind as his thumb rolls and pinches at the bud.

Your body goes all-over heat, Overhaul’s fingers still pumping in and out of you, the slick noises of your shaming wetness echoing around the prison of the four walls you’ve spent seven months in. You’re teetering on the edge of something, hot and needy and wanting – and as Overhaul’s thumb sweeps over your poor aching clit again, you tilt your hips forward for as much stimulation as you can--

And he pulls his fingers out of you.

The heat fades into nothingness as you let out a noise of disappointment. Overhaul’s head tilts to one side, considering.

“What do you want?” He asks you. “Say it.”

No. You don’t ‘want’. He’s wrong. You keep your mouth pressed tight now that the damning noise has fallen out of it; you have managed to not let the tears trembling in your eyes spill forth. Your gaze meets his, defiant and tired and afraid all at once.

“Alright,” he sighs. “If you’re going to carry on being difficult.”

He does it again; his fingers plunging into you, scissoring you apart, rubbing against your folds with a practised agility now that he’s done it for the first time. He has always been a fast learner; always been observant. His thumb is back on your clit with ceaseless assault, and all over again you feel heat begin to build up; tension that crawls into every crevice of your being and worms its way deep inside you despite how badly you don’t want this.

The hand holding your hip loosens somewhat, allowing you to messily thrust your hips into Overhaul’s stimulation. You’re torn; you shouldn’t want to hump against the gloved fingers stimulating you, you should be wriggling and squirming away. But it feels so good; even with the skin-tight covering of rubbery latex, Overhaul’s fingers seem to find every one of your weak points and exploit them.

There it is again, building up on you; a ball of tension in your stomach being gradually wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. Your hips flex against his hand, your fingers clenching and unclenching on the bedsheet--

He denies you the peak of your orgasm for the second time.

And a third.

And a fourth.

“Kai--!” You’re too far gone to even think, after the pleasure has been pulled from you so cruelly, over and over again. The tears spill over your cheeks., rolling down in fat, shaming droplets. Overhaul’s eyes narrow.

“No,” he says, vehement – more emotion in his voice than you’ve heard all day. “You know what to call me.”

You know what he wants you to call him. You know that he wants to leave his old name behind, start again, be someone who can drag the Shie Hassaikai out of the shadows and into light and power once again – and he thinks that the name will help. You gurgle out a sobbing, strangled noise;

“O-Overhaul, please--”

Three fingers are plunged as deep inside of you as they can go, crooked to rub against your sweet spot; as Overhaul murmurs, detached but soft;

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

They thrust into you, his thumb rubbing your clit with firm, certain strokes �� and this time, as the orgasm rushes up on you all at once, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you with his fingers through it, his thumb not ceasing the circling. Pleasure washes over you, finally, in great waves and crests. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, soaking him in your wetness (his eyebrows furrow again, at how close your fluid comes to spilling over his bared wrist; but you are too relieved to think about anything other than finally getting what you need).

Your hips flex, gasps falling from your mouth with every thrust of them – and you expect Overhaul to pull his fingers out of you. To stop touching you. Perhaps to strip off his gloves and put on a new pair – you know he always carries spares – and sneer at you as he walks out of the room.

But Overhaul’s fingers do not move from inside of you. The fierce rhythm of his fucking and petting and rubbing does not stop, even as the final aftershocks of your orgasm clench loosely about him and his constant stimulation becomes more of an annoyance than anything else on heated, sensitive skin.

You squirm, trying to push your thighs together to get him to stop touching you – but the hand not fucking you forces your thighs to stay parted with the curl of fingers into supple flesh, leaving you helpless to do anything but let him carry on touching you. Carry on fucking you.

A short, sharp shock of an orgasm rips through you as he swirls his thumb over your clit just so, and you realise that you’re drooling down yourself as well as panting; helpless and sloppy, utterly unable to do anything except lie there and take it until Overhaul decides he’s had enough of touching you.

You come, what? Twice more? Thrice? Until the pulsing of your channel is painful, your skin feeling red raw, your whimpers into the ceiling dry and broken. Only then does he pull his fingers out of you with a lewd pop.

A gush of your fluid that his fingers were stoppering soaks your bedsheets, and you watch, dazed, as Overhaul stands up. He looks down at you for just one moment, that stretches unbearably long in the heat-and-sex soaked atmosphere of the room.

He strips his gloves off of his hands, eyebrows twitching in disgust as he leaves the crumpled latex on your bedside table. He’s sliding on another pair as he speaks;

“Feel better?”

No. No, you don’t. You feel worse. You feel disgusted and violated and aching, your body over-stimulated and exhausted, sweat and drool and bodily fluids clinging to your skin. But if you tell Overhaul that--

“Yes,” you say, voice very soft and small and weak. You cannot see his mouth, but you see the way his eyes flash happily, the overall sensation of him smiling.

Why does Overhaul’s smile make you so scared, when Kai’s smile used to just make you feel warm?

“We’ll need to do it a few more times,” he tells you, as your blood runs to ice in your veins. “Such maladies aren’t cured in a day, after all. But . . .” He turns, rearranging himself carefully, his mask readjusted. You can’t see him as he speaks the next words. “I’d like to try some of the other suggested remedies, too.”

You think of his earlier words.

‘They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth.’

You’re never going to escape, are you? You’re going to be trapped in this compound until the day you die, and Overhaul is going to think that he’s keeping you safe--

“Take a shower,” he says to you, as he opens the door. It is not a suggestion. “And stop not letting the maids come in here to clean. I’m not having you get sick.”

You think he might be the sick one.

[mrkis]

a twlg ask from 🦄 anon below the cut!! yet again, i had to put it into a separate post to not clog up the dash bc of how long it is!! my response is beneath!!

Im keeping track with the discussion in Discord and all I can say is I am still team Jaemin, and I am still giving him the benefit of the doubt. We have seen fractures of what he went through up to part 3 and during part 4 & 5 a lot of stuff happened between him and mc and to me their relationship took a different route then. Also mc didnt truly fall for him up until that moment before the party in pt 3 when he said "you got me" so they are basically in the same boat up until this point, things change for her after that and I think for him too. And i'd like to think that there is so much more beneath the surface when it comes to him and how he views his relationship with mc, and her as a person.

Like I said in my previous ask yeah at first he sees her as only a fuck buddy, but its normal considering they never really knew each other and had any sort of a bond. I cant blame him for wanting and asking for what they agreed upon in the first place, its also not his fault how mc reads his actions, she doesnt know whats inside his head neither does he know whats inside of hers. Communication is still a big issue for them, they tend to ignore what they want to really say to avoid "complications" or simply because they are more scared of being vulnarable with another person again and its easier to brush it off and pretend its nothing.

Im still salting about how in pt 5 he was waiting for her to talk about that important thing yet she did everything in her power to distract him and they ended up having sex, a soft one which was nice ofc and seeing how much of an effect her calling him "baby" during it had on him, I so desperately want to see his side of that. Or how easily she let him go without even considering if he wants to give Eunbin a second chance, which he clearly stated he didnt, he forgave her more for himself to have his own closure, not to give her the joy of being forgiven.

Idk, both of them have huge faults in how things got so complicate, one honest long talk is all they need to resolve atleast 99 of their issues, but both of them are cowards. I just hope that when pt6.2 comes out we will see more of how things are for him in regards to mc and how he understands it, cause sometimes its hard to understand what you feel or even accept it because of the anxiety that comes with your own reality after you embrace all those feelings and thoughts. Its scary, terrifying even. This is more personal but a few years ago I had fallen for my ex-bffs little brother and believe me when I say those were the toughest, most heartwrenching couple of months in my life. I was in such huge denial, I tried to see him as a little brother but one look from him, one simple touch on the arm had my head spinning, and during those month of internal struggle I was even hating myself (he had a gf btw). I didnt want to admit to anything infront of myself let alone anyone else, and the moment those bursted down I was a wreck. It took me months to get over him. So yeah, I can kinda get why Jaemin, and mc for that matter, struggle with their own reality of what they feel and why, cause sometimes it can feel like its wrong, like some unwritten rule was broken and the world is ending. It may not be at all wrong, we all feel what we feel and its not sth we can control. This got a bit misdirected but you get what I mean 😅

I am still team Jaemin, and until I see him genuinely being a complete and total arse toward mc, like making her feel small and unreasonable and just wrong for having feelings for him, then I will root for him. I try to put myself in his shoes and despite all his wrong doings, I can see why he would build such walls around himself and how scared he must be to let them fall.

Also, for the yy x mc endgame trope, I know he is nice and has feelings for her and all but i cant see them together. Just because they may work good because of the foundation they have for their friendship doesnt necessarily mean they would be a good couple. There are many layers to a relationship and sure they can be cute, but the amount of drama it would create within the group would be too much. Also, i feel like a part of mc will always be for Jaemin, considering the complicity of their relationship. It would also not be fair to Yang Yang to sorta be her second choice after Jaemin. If mc ends up with anyone who is not Jaemin then it should be an outside person, so she can truly move on.

[ mrkis response ] : i'm gonna section my responses in a bulleted list for you!! thank you for sending me this btw!!

its fun to hear you're giving jaemin the benefit of the doubt and that you're still team jaemin!! in six(pt1), we saw jaemins thought process from part one to part three which, i think, is different from his upcoming thought process from part four to five (and so on as i'll be continuing present day in jaemins pov after the flashback scenes are over. but they will go back to mc's pov in part seven!!) — and you're right abt mc!! she didn't fully realise she liked him into the party scene. there was always something lingering, which was the comfort between them both that she craved, but diving further into their fwb relationship and becoming exclusive, that definitely persuaded her. — there is definitely more beneath the surface when it comes to him and his relationship with mc. he does really care abt her a lot and, admittedly, she has become his best friend over this short period of time. bare in mind, in jaemins mind, it has always been jeno and jaemin. jeno has always been his number one (he still loves the other boys, haru and miwoo tho) and jeno still is his number one.. he just shares that spot with mc now. so mc does mean a lot to him!! :D

i like how you said its normal and you can't blame jaemin to see mc as a fuck buddy as that was their relationship, bc its true!! that's all it was!! and its for sure not either of their faults for not understanding whats going on inside each others heads (this is where the communication is needed for sure. its one of their biggest issues in this relationship even though they made it a rule)

with that scene in part five, that was definitely mc's fault for sure. things could've been avoided if she was open abt her growing feelings towards him but she's vulnerable!! and she's very scared!! them being vulnerable and scared also plays a huge part for sure.. it's a problem they need to work on :( —you will for sure see jaemins reaction to the first soft sex scene they've had. it was so.. intimate. something that jaemin hasn't really had in a long time. so i can't wait for you to see that!

they're definitely cowards and both at faults. like i've said before, all this trouble and pain could easily be avoided if they just talked :/ six(pt2), for me personally, is going to be an eye opener. hopefully ahhh. its where eunbin comes into play, its where jaemins head gets fucked and it shows where the people in his life truly stand.

for me, i love the yangyang and mc endgame conversations that have been going on!!! i think they would be good together, mainly bc of how much yangyang truly cares and thinks abt mc... but then again, i fully believe yangyang deserves someone better. he doesn't deserve to be a second choice :(

[honesthammie]

Te amo

I am working on a few of the other prompts and a part 2 to prompt 4 the soulmate au I just recently got another puppy and I still have uni work to do so I'm a bit behind schedule with these and I'm so sorry. Hopefully this little kinda songfic makes up for it.

13th doctor x female reader

Warnings: swearing as usual, fluffy, sad thoughts, twist the original songs meaning, long as fuck.

Probably terrible as its my first songfic

I don't know much Spanish so some of the examples later on are Google translated and I know it can be wrong so I do apologise for any mistranslations

This is based off Rhiannas song Te Amo but I'm switching it up a little. I dont why 13th doctor came into my head when I was listening to it but it gave me this lil oneshot idea so enjoy! The picture is not mine but the rainbow effect added is done by me! Same for the picture later on.

I've been travelling with this amazing alien for a whole year now. The adventures are always amazing if she's there! The others sometimes complain and say its boring, especially on a junk planet but to see her face light up with excitement makes my day and it well worth the dirt we cover ourselves on by the time we are done. And when she finds something that she thought was useful and it turns out, it's not her scrunch is amazing.

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm in love with this alien. I know, weird, a human and an alien together? But I can't help it! I'm completely besotted with her. If she even looks in my direction, my legs go to jelly and I get butterflies. I know, cheesy. But thats exactly how I feel around her. I barely want to touch her because I nearly fainted the last few times. And I fear she may pick up on how I'm distancing myself from her. I don't want to break her heart and leave, the thought of her look kills me as is so I'm trying to get her to kick me off.

It doesn't seem to be working though. I've been distancing myself since I found out about how I feel, which is now 6 months ago and she's trying to get me to be as close as I was with her.

I'll tell her. On one of our amazing adventures but I can't do it straight forward, it's making me sick with anxiety just thinking about it. I'll fancy it up, make her work it out. Whenever we are next to each other and the moment is right, I'll tell her in another language!

I finally get out of bed after I finished writing in my diary. I slip some comfy clothes on and head out to the TARDIS library and hope no one is there, especially her. I'll be distracted and right now, I need to concentrate. I wonder the warm halls, grateful that the TARDIS had considered my preferences. I think the TARDIS likes me more than the others because I talk to her and show her gratefulness for taking us somewhere amazing and I chat to her regularly and I try to involve her in my conversations. The others find it weird, except for the Doctor, she just smiles and joins in with me. Im still learning how to translate her but I think I've sort of got it.

I reach my hand forward and grab the aged bronze doorknob and open to the giant room. There were so many floors that an elevator had to be used to access some of them as the Doctor said "walking would literally take weeks to reach some floors". Thankfully the TARDIS organises them to make them easier to find. I looked forward and saw an interactive map in front of me. My hands touched the screen and many subjects and categories came up. Anything ranging from kiddie tales to straight up smut, I have a feeling either River or Missy are to blame for that addition.

I've never met them but the TARDIS showed me videos from her database and brought books to my attention about them. They both seem very dirty minded people so I'm not surprised those are there. I wonder if the Doctor has ever stumbled upon this section or is it for none Doctor eyes only? If she does know about them, has she ever read one? No, don't go there you stupid brain! She probably doesn't know!

I quickly stop that train of thought and catch my breath. I've never thought about those kinds of things about anyone before. Stupid Timelord, making me go all weird and think dirty things. Now my face is all red, I really hope I'm alone in here. I quickly focus back to the task at hand, finding a new language to learn. The TARDIS seemed to know where to go and blue arrows appeared, guiding me to the right section in what could be a maze.

As I walking, I felt excitement rise within me. What if she felt the same way? What if she was impressed by how far I wanted to go just to say those 3 words? Would her hazel honey eyes sparkle with delight? Would she scronch her nose in amazement?

Before I knew it, I'd arrived at the language learning section and there were many alien languages but the TARDIS seemed to have a better idea of what would be perfect for me as a white hardback book fell off the 4th shelf onto the wooden floor. I picked it up and noticed how smooth the cover was and how old yet unused it looked. The white was a little off, almost a dull cream from ageing which made the gold writing harder to read. The title was simple:

Spanish basics and need to knows.

I did always find Spanish in school fun to learn, more than French or German anyway and I don't wanna stereotype this into a typical French is the language of romance. I never really found it romantic sounding compared to Spanish.

I picked up the book and quickly flicked through to the right page and took a note on my phone as to what the translation was and put the worn book away. I quietly thanked the TARDIS and rushed out of the library and back into my room where I could practice without getting caught.

A few weeks have passed since I picked up the new words and practiced them until I was confident and had the TARDIS' approval that I was saying it right. Today the Doctor wanted to take us to this party in the 18th century and we all decided to dress for the part once we landed.

Yaz was wearing a beautiful black and red ballroom gown, accented with little bows around the bottom and lace cuffs. She had her black hair curled into a ponytail. It was simple and cute, much like her style normally. Graham and Ryan wore similar suits but Graham wore green accents and Ryan wore yellow accents.

I let the TARDIS pick my dress. She picked a black and dark blue ballroom gown with blue roses on the bottom. It had black lace underneath and blue lace as the cuffs. The gown also seemed to glitter slightly in the light making me sparkle very subtly. I put my comfy boots on as you couldn't see my shoes as I walked anyway so why did it matter? With all the running we do, I'm not risking my ankles with heels, thank you very much. I had my (h/c) hair in (fave style). It suited my dress perfectly.

I nearly choked on oxygen when I saw how hot the Doctor looked in her suit. It took me a few moments to realise we match. We both blushed at the realisation. Of course the TARDIS makes us match! No wonder why she was more than eager to help me pick an outfit! Stupid sentient ship, shipping us already!

I quickly cleared my throat and complimented everyone on how amazing they looked but I just couldn't take my eyes off the Doctor for long. She was like a magnet for my eyes. Someone help before she realises!

"Don't we all look brilliant? Perfect for the party! 18th century Yorkshire to be exact! What a great century for you guys. Now then, this party is for Nobles and higher, as per usual in these times. Ryan, I suggest you keep in mind about any racist comments that may come out. But as long as you say your Graham's personal butler, you should be welcomed with little resistance. And Yaz, I want you to be (y/n)'s personal maid. That does mean you'll have to follow your so called "masters" around and do anything they ask unfortunately and Graham, (y/n), please act like the others around you and use them. Unfortunately this is the only way all 5 of us can join the party. You'll be fine as long as you bite your tongues. Now the Noble Edward Collins is the host so be sure to thank him for inviting you, even though you technically weren't. And try not to get too drunk, I know what you humans are like! Now follow me." The Doctor explained. I was going to tell the Doctor today, but I guess, I'll have to wait.

The Doctor opened the doors and we were in a cupboard under some gorgeous marble stairs. As we walked towards the party I noticed some family portraits along the walls. They were a very beautiful looking family. The mother had long blonde hair and pale blue eyes. The father was buff, long brown hair and daring brown eyes. There were two children, a girl and a boy. The girl had long brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, whilst the son had blonde hair and brown eyes. They also had a brown greyhound dog laying by the sons feet. The son must be the host, Edward. He looked not much older than 10 in the last painting but the daughter was no where to be found in the portrait and theu all looked mournful. Is she dead and is that the picture capturing the moment of grief? Why would anyone want that? It's so strange, even for this time period.

The Doctor held me and Yaz close, stopping us in our tracks. My heart was racing at the simple touch. But as soon as the touch was there, it was gone. "I hope its okay with you (y/n) but you're going to have to be married to someone."

My heart stopped for a moment and I nearly choked on air. "What? Why?"

"Because women like yourself would have been married as young as 13 or 14. Now your only choices are me and Graham. You can't choose Ryan as he's supposed to be a butler and you can't choose Yaz as she's your maid. The choice is yours, I just need to know wether or not I should refer to you as my darling wife or not?"

What. The. Fuck.

Why did her even calling me that l, turn me on? Obviously, I'm going to choose her but I'm going to have to perfect my reasoning here.

"As much as I love Graham, it's going to be awkward if I have to kiss him or anything because he's like my grandad! I guess you'll do Timelord. Come on then husband, we don't want to be late to the dancefloor!" I spoke clearly hoping she didn't notice how excited I actually was to have even a hint of a relationship with her. It may be fake but ill take anything when it comes to her.

We arrived at the welcome committee and handed our cards over, aka the psychic paper. We were going as Mr and Mrs (last name). The Doctor was holding my hand this entire time and it's driving me insane. I don't know if she can feel my racing pulse under her fingers but if she can I hope she puts it down to excitement! We walked down the most grandest staircase you would ever lay your eyes on.

First we walked around, greeting everyone as they came up to us or if she dragged me to someone she knew, but not personally. She was cute when she was fangirling over these people. Yaz found it annoying as she just wanted to party but I couldn't help it. The way her eyes shimmer with recognition was more beautiful than any galaxy she could ever take us. Sometimes her eyes flickered with admiration and it did make me have jealousy for just a moment before I remembered, I'm staying with her and they aren't .

As the party moved on we met the host Edward. He looked a lot different than in his paintings. He was around 20 years old now and his blonde hair was below his shoulders. He looked a lot like his father with his muscley build. And he was very charismatic which I did not like as he poured all his charm into the Doctor. Does everyone here know that he's gay or does he see through the Doctors disguise? Either way, it was rubbing me the wrong way. I quickly excused myself with Yaz and walked into the bathroom.

"I did not like him. I do not like this Edward guy. Something about him rubs me completely wrong. He's handsome but something is telling me he knows the Doctor isn't a man."

"I felt the same way. He knows something we don't. Before we go out there again, do you mind if I ask you a question?" Yaz asked. My mind was racing a hundred miles an hour. She knows. The jig is up with Yaz. "How do you feel about her, honestly? One minute you 2 are inseparable, then you distance yourself and now you are a nervous wreck around her! I won't judge but I just want to make sure my theory is correct."

Shit. I guess I really was obvious. Does she know?

"If your theory is about me falling hopelessly in love with the Doctor then you'd be correct. I can't help it. I'm going to tell her how I feel without being completely stupid. I just need a right moment to say it." I spoke with a heavy sigh. Hopefully, Yaz can help create that moment thay I need. She nods her head and opens the door. We walk back to the Doctor and notice Edward has gone to other guests and she was talking to Graham. I looked around and saw Ryan flirting with a pretty lady near the food table. Why am I not surprised?

A few hours had passed and the Doctor seemed bored with standing and talking so I made a plan in my head. I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the dancefloor as the next song came on. I didn't quite know how to dance properly but I knew the basics if it. She has to lead and I simply follow suit. It took a few moments but I got the hang of it with the Doctors help. Soon we were dancing so gracefully underneath the most beautiful candelabra that lit up her face perfectly.

Her hair swayed to our perfect dance ever so gently. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and her lips were in a permanent smile. She even laughed a couple of times. Then as the music slowed down to a pace that was perfect, I grabbed her waist and looked her. My heart was going crazy and my legs were about to buckle but I had rehearsed my lines. I can do this.

"Hey Doc. Its been an amazing time with you but I can't continue this without being honest with you. But everytime I get close, I back down in fear. So I'm going to let you figure it out. Doctora te amo. Entiendo que si no sientes lo mismo y me iré si quieres. (Doctor i love you. i understand if you don't feel the same way and i'll leave if you want.)" I spoke with as much passion and intention as I could. I looked into her eyes and saw her confused and trying to work out what I said. I would find it cute if my heart was beating right out of my chest. "Well, I've had a great time but I'm fucking knackered. I'm calling it night. I'll be heading to the TARDIS if you need me."

"I'll come with ya. I'm knackered as well and we both need each other to undo the corsets and mine is starting to hurt a little bit. How we used to do this for a full day, everyday, is beyond my understanding. As beautiful as we look, I don't think its worth the pain this will bring in the morning." Yaz spoke with a slight mumble as proof of her mental state and finishing with a yawn. I chuckled at her state and walked back to the TARDIS with a small amount of chat along the way.

She is right though. These corsets really do hurt you after a while, I'm glad I chose not to wear heels or else I'll be fucked for in the morning. I would literally scream. I think the Doctor had the right idea in wearing a suit, no pain. I do feel bad for leaving her but I just need some space after basically admitting everything that's been built up within me for too damn long. Maybe I should tell Yaz how it went and maybe she can help determine if the Doctor is happy or not.

We walked back into the wardrobe room and I helped Yaz out of her corset. She immediately sighed in relief. She finished getting herself into comfy clothes and started to untie my ribbon.

"So did you tell her?"

"Sort of. I basically told her everything but in Spanish. I just hope it doesn't change anything, except in a positive way, of course! If she wants me gone, I've told her that it's fine and I understand. She's very socially awkward and as cute as I find it, it may not help me in this situation. Do you have any clues on how she may react once she figures it out?"

Yaz stopped untying my corset for a moment and placed 1 finger upon her chin in thought. Her eyes were almost shut and seemed almost completely black in the light. After what seemed like forever, she took her finger off her chin and beamed a toothy smile. Her eyes sparkled as she remembered something and seemed to gleam slightly menacingly. A smirk replaced her smile soon after.

"There's a few times she's shown affection towards you. And I mean romantic affection. She always chooses to hold your hand over anyone else's if given the choice. She always steps I'm front of you when an enemy threatens to kill us all or hurt us in anyway. When you go wandering around on your own, she's terrified thats she's lost you forever to an enemy we don't even know of!" Yaz starts explaining carefully as if she's worried on how to word it.

"Those are just friendly affec-"

"I wasn't done. I was warming up." Yaz interrupts me as I was about to go into a self deprecating speech on how I'm just a friend to everyone and never a lover. "She always looks to see your face on adventures because she secretly loves your reactions, bad or good. When the Master revealed himself, she looked straight at you for support on how she should react. When she came back from the Kasavin, she ran straight to you and made sure you were ok first before any of us. When we were in the Tsungra medical ship, the first person she asked for was you! Whilst she was unconscious on board the ship, she kept mumbling your name, over and over again. When she saw how gorgeous you looked today, I thought she'd take you right there on the spot! She fucking loves you (y/n)! You're just so unbelievably blind to it all!"

Yaz was almost red with rage. Did she really do all that, for me? The TARDIS mustve read my mind and seemed to hum positively in reply. If everything Yaz said is true then she'll be so happy about it and maybe we can be a thing! But then again, maybe losing so many in a similar position as me will turn her away. Maybe her soul is awry and she's asking why right now.

Once I had gotten changed I went to sleep almost straight away, I suppose all that dancing and social ques having tired me out more than I thought.

I woke up to a soft knock on my door. I rubbed my (e/c) eyes and told them I'd be a few minutes as I've only just woken up. It wasn't until I finished brushing my (h/c) hair that I remembered what happened yesterday. All the panic rushed within me at once and I nearly threw up. I took several deep breaths and opened the door.

"GRAHAM THANK FUCK ITS YOU!" I almost shouted at him. He looked a little bewildered for a moment before he seemed to remember what brought him here in the first place.

"Hello Love, I'm here because Doc wanted to speak with you privately in the library. She says that the TARDIS will guide you to her location. She seemed a little off after you and Yaz left. Did something happen? Is everything ok?" Graham asked cautiously. He must be so confused.

"Sort of. I'll explain more when I get back but what do you mean by "a little off"?"

"Well she seemed lost in all sense of the word. She kept muttering "Te Amo" all the time. She was all over the place aswell. She got me and Ryan back here not long after you guys. Something about not trusting Ryan to not get alcohol poisoning without her around. She hasn't really left the library since if I'm honest. She's been in there for 12 hours. I only know she wants you because she whattsapped me on my phone. Whatever is going on, please sort it out, she's starting to really worry me. She hasn't been the same since that Master guy came around." Graham spoke clearly, albeit confused. I nodded my head and walked in the opposite direction to him and hoped the TARDIS would take me there quicker than normal. I want to treat this like a plaster, rip it off in one go.

Sooner than I realised, I grabbed the all too familiar door knob of the library. I took a deep breath and walked in. A blue line appeared towards the interactive map. I awakened the console and I saw a black screen with a few words on it. It looked like a message with how it was presented.

Hello (y/n)! Don't walk until you calm. Breath deeply and try not to panic. I promise you, all will work out in the end. I see more than you realise and I know my thief better than anyone whoever stepped foot into my being. I know of her main problem about the situation. If she loves you, drink this. It won't hurt, she'll know what it is.

The TARDIS

I should have been surprised by this new knowledge that she could speak to me, in a way, but I've seen so much and I am so tender hooks so I didn't take much notice of it. I quickly sat down and tried to control my breathing. After about 5 or so minutes, I felt calm enough to finally meet up with her and hear what she has to say.

I followed the blue line carefully until I spotted her in a comfy room. She mustve gotten changed at some point as she was wearing her usual rainbow outfit, minus the jacket. She was sat on a deep purple sofa, legs curled into her body. Her shoes were on the carpeted floor underneath her, seemingly forgotten for the moment. There were many books surrounding us from many cultures and spieces. One wall had a cozy wood burning fireplace crackling within the silence that surrounded us.

Her face was scrunched within deep thought. Her eyes sparkling with an emotion that I couldn't quite put my finger on; hope, sorrow or excitement? Her lips had a small smirk gracing them and her teeth had bitten a small part of it. Her hands were holding a book in a way where I couldn't quite see what it was.

I didn't want to disturb her as she looked so ethereal with the warm glow of the fire highlighting her in the perfect way. Unfortunately, it's plaster time and I wanted this sorted sooner rather than later. I took a deep breath took in the picture for memory.

"Hey, Graham said you wanted to talk to me? Is everything ok?" I asked gently and as softly as I could so she was carefully brought out of her little world. I didn't want to scare her. She raised her eyes from her book for a moment and bookmarked the page she was at with a little TARDIS paperclip. She placed the book on the table at the side of her and patted the seat next to her.

As I sat down my nerves were through the roof. She gave nothing away as she stared at me for a minute, as if assessing something about me.

"Why are you so nervous? Calm down. You are right, It is to do with last night. You left pretty abruptly after basically confessing your feelings to me. I was so confused, not just about what you said but about myself and what I wanted to do about you." The Doctor spoke monotonously. Did she mean get rid of me? "I had to first of all, find out what you said, well done on learning a new language by the way, one even I'm not fluent at. I'm guessing the old girl had something to do with that idea. Not that, you aren't smart enough but you don't know what languages I do or don't know."

The Tardis seemed to chuckled at the accusation and I simply nodded my head. "I wanted to buy myself time and to impress you."

"You impressed me a long time ago Miss (l/n). That is just a cherry on top. After I figured out what you said, no thanks to my old friend here, I went through a lot of thinking. I've not been in many relationships and you know my history regarding the ones I have been in. You know, River and Missy? And I have such a bad past with it ending in nothing but tears for me. I always lose those I care for deeply." She spoke with tears spilling from her gorgeous eyes. I grabbed her face gently and wiped away the stray tears that managed to escape their home.

"That was when you were a man. You're a woman now, everything is so different. Relationships can be heartbreaking. I know what you're main problem is and the TARDIS has a solution to that. I just need you to tell me the truth. How do you feel about me? Do you want me to stay or not?" I stated holding the small shot glassed amount of liquid in my hand. The liquid was golden and sparkled slightly in the light. There were specks of orange and silver within it and it was as hot as a nice cup of (hot drink). Her eyes sparkled with hope and shock. Her lips were smiling wide. And she seemed to giggle at the sight of it. She held it for a moment as if examining it like a rare artefact, maybe it was. Either way, I trust her judgement and if she's happy about it, then so am I. Once she had analysed the drink, she practically leapt into my arms and pushed me down on my back. She smelled of custard creams and the TARDIS which was odd but completely her and I couldn't imagine her smelling any other way.

"That does solve our problem! What she has just given you is the rarest liquid in the universe seeing as only one thing in the entirety of space can produce it. That drink is known as the nectar of the chosen ones. It's rare as the race that used to make them has practically gone extinct. There's only 3 left in the known universe and you're living in one. That drink is the blood of the TARDIS. It grants you immortality if you drink it. It is said to resemble your favourite beverage no matter who you are. However, it only lasts 100 years and you must drink it every century or else your body clock will kick in and you will age and be as mortal as you are now." She speaks with a warning as we sit up holding holds.

"I have no problem with that. I would sacrifice everything if it meant I got to call you mine. Just please tell me and I'll drink it." I told her with adoration in my eyes.

She held me close and planted a soft and gentle kiss to my lips. It was short but it sent more fireworks than you can imagine through my body. I knew I had found her. She grabbed my waist and whispered next to my ear:

"Te Amo"

[spookysanta]

daddy’s girl. (e.d.)

Summary: he's been watching her and she knows it. He's yearning for her, and he’ll have her, but she has to finish high school first. 

Pairing: Ethan Dolan xReader

WARNINGS: age gap (38 vs 18), creep shit

SAY NOTHING IM WRITING A NEW SERIES JUST READ IT AND TELL ME IF IT SUCKS 

DISCLAIMER! PLEASE READ: in this, the girl (cairo) is of LEGAL age. he (ethan) refers to her as a child bc yanno.... he's almost 40 here. this isn't on any pedophile stuff, okay? just for clarification. AND as i was writing this i got jake gyllenhaal vibes from this, but then i figured ethan could be the “sexy dad” in the future (so to speak)—which is what i was kinda going for; like a man that’s older but is so irresistibly gorgeous, even young girls swoon over him.

UNEDITED

****

******

She'd caught his eye. 

And he doesn't know how it came to be this way; he thought he was done messing around like this ages ago. But here he was, a thirty-eight-year-old man, watching an eighteen-year-old girl cheer at his neice's high school's football game. 

She sees him though; as if he's staring into her soul. As she finishes her tumbling routine in the halftime show, her eyes dart in his direction and his never leave her. She shivers slightly--

Who is that man? she wondered, walking away from the field to distract herself. 

**

She stands at the cash register, swiping his items across the scanner. "Did you find everything okay?" she asked in a monotone voice, looking at the clock on the register's screen. 

"Yes, I did. Thank you." the man responded, fishing in his wallet for cash as he already knew how much two bottles of red wine cost. "Do you need to see ID?"

"Yes, I--" she paused, looking at the man for the first time during their interaction. This was the man from the football game! She couldn't have forgotten those pearly eyes that bore into hers, and definitely didn't forget the way he ironically made her feel when their eyes locked. "I-I do."

"You okay?" he asked with a chuckle as he handed her his driver's license. He knew exactly who she was, and after a bit of research, he knows that she's what he wants. And, likewise, he knew that she remembered him. That in itself was exciting because now he knew where she was from 9-2 every Saturday--which meant he'd be seeing her a lot more. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

She glanced at the line forming behind him and shook her head at the idea of her confrontation. She took the card and read the birthdate carefully. "1980." she muttered, handing it back to him. "Your total's $18.20."

He handed her a $20, grabbing the bottles of wine by their necks and smirking. "Keep the change."

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome, Cairo. See you around."

**

She lay in her bed, wondering why this man clouded her thoughts. What was it about him that made him so intriguing? Yes, he was attractive, but he was more than twice her age--shouldn't that mean that he was repulsive to her? Should she shy away from this man and his beauty?

Ethan.

If there's anything she knew about men, it's that older men (well, boys, in her case) don't usually have the girl's best interest in mind. But no matter how many cons appear on this list, the only pro she seems to think of is the fact that he looked at her like he knew her already. His hazel eyes were almost magnetizing her brown ones to his gaze, and the energy was too strong to pull it away.

**

He's come to the realization that he's hooked on her.

He wants her, no--needs her. 

And he knows how crazy that sounds with all of the odds stacked against him (namely, her being a child by his comparison) but he'll admit they'd look absolutely perfect together. 

And there's nothing he won't do until they're in love.

**

day one.

She walked home from school every day. Three-fifteen on the dot, Monday through Friday. Sometimes, she takes the after-school bus after her cheer practices, and that drops her off on the same corner but at five-thirty. He sees her walk down Linden Avenue, then make a left on Conch Street, and then go into the tiny brick house at the end of the lively culdesac. Sometimes he sees her through her window at night, laying in her bed soundly. It takes everything in him each night to not climb up the big pine tree to the second floor, open the already unlocked window—she doesn't lock it anymore because the lock can get finicky at times and it can get quite hot in San Bernadino in May—and breathe in the same air as her.

Just once.

Just once, he wants to be there for her—hold her, kiss her, smell her, taste her.

Is that too much to ask?

Just one more month, he reminds himself as he perches himself on his porch chair, watching her walk into her home with her friend, Janelle.

He does not like Janelle.

Janelle has a tendency to be a bit manipulative when it comes to Cairo; she wants the best for her, of course. But she's always making Cairo go to parties that she doesn't want to go to, or do things that Cairo doesn't typically do.

Cairo's a good girl who doesn't need to be bombarded with social...ick.

"She's a good girl," he mumbled, palms set on his knees with white fingertips. "My good girl."

***

She continued her walk to the store like she usually does on Sunday mornings in the spring. Yes, she does work at the store, but why not stop by and visit her favorite co-workers while she picked up her favorite ice cream?

"Good morning, Edith!" she greeted to the elderly woman stood behind the customer service desk. She resembled Jane Goodall in a way; caring, generous, kind. "How are you today?"

"Hey, sweetie! I'm alright, hope you're doing well. Say 'hi' to Katherine for me!" she replied with a wave, going into the employee's lounge.

"Will do!" she wandered to the frozen food section, her coffee brown eyes set on the cookie dough ice cream in the freezer. With happy alarms blaring in her head, she grabbed a pint from the shelf, going immediately to the checkout line to pay for her dessert. "Hey Ricky." she said to the cashier.

"Hey, Cai." he responded, ringing up her ice cream and setting it on the counter. "$4.68. Got your employee ID on you?"

She fished through her wallet and came up emptyhanded. "Shoot. I must've left it at home." she sighed. "It's cool, I'll pay full price."

"Nah, I got you." he took a card out of his front pocket, swiped it, and put in his pin. "There ya go. $2.27."

"Thanks, Ky. I owe you one." She handed him a five dollar bill, keeping the cash fold of her wallet open so she could put her change in it.

"You know what you could do for me so we're even?" he opened the cash drawer, taking out her change and handing it to her.

"What?"

"Go to dinner with me." he wrote on her freshly printed receipt. "It doesn't have to be fancy, but if you're interested, you should hit me up sometime."

"Sure. I'd love to." she smiled, putting the receipt with her change and grabbing her ice cream off the counter. "We'll talk tonight?"

"Totally. See you around."

"See you!"

**

She entered the house again and put her ice cream in the fridge. "Ma!" she yelled into her mother's office as she passed it. "Ms. Edith at Ben's said 'hi'!"

"Aw, how sweet of her to think of me!" she said with a smile. "I'll have to send you by her house with a plate of cookies this week."

She groaned inwardly. Edith's a nice woman, but Cairo's mother, Katherine, does not conjure up her life-changing cookies on any given day. Which means that she would make a small batch—just enough for Edith and her husband, Clarke—and then, poof! No-one's going to see those cookies until Christmastime. Bounding up the staircase and into her bedroom, practically leaping onto her bed with a sigh.

Meanwhile, he was watching her still. He didn't even think to consider the idea of someone catching him stare at this girl, sat in the rocking chair on his front porch, watching her intently through a pair of zooming binoculars while she boredly scrolled through her phone. Quite frankly, he wouldn't care at all. If someone were to walk by and ask him what he was doing, he'd merely say: "Protecting my girl."

He doesn't give a damn if she took a glance out her window and saw a man—that man—staring back at her. Knowing her, which obviously he does, she'd probably scream for her mom and tell her mom to come and look because "there's a strange man" looking at her through her window. And then her mom would come and look but by then he'd be back in his home across the way from hers, in his bedroom, watching her panic through the telescope he'd set up.

That'd be a gift to himself, really. Because he knows deep within that she thinks about him. Even though maybe the thoughts are of worry or panic and not ones of admiration, all he cares about is the fact that he's invaded her thoughts just like she's invaded his.